#in my logic. it's perfectly fine to not want sex because that's a choice

[gcldfanged]

♡

Send ♡ to see what my muse thinks of yours [ACCEPTING] LOW | ●●●●● | HIGH

●●●●● | ATTRACTION

Have you seen Genesis, the man is stupidly pretty. Definitely doesn't mince words when he wants something, so the forward nature and bold approach is both attractive and appreciated. Being as unpredictable and exciting as his own magical affinity is just icing on the cake.

●●○○○ | AFFECTION

Jae tolerates a lot of antics where Genesis is concerned, but if he doesn't feel like playing along, he has been known to pick up his toys and go home. In social situations involving people that Genesis is friendly with, it can get a bit too rowdy for Yoon's tastes, so it's not uncommon to have the agent up and disappear like a tomcat down an alley.

●●●●○ | INTEREST

Rhapsodos is alluring, but never shallow nor vapid- He is very intelligent and enterprising. Jae would very much like to see more, how the redhead responds in high stress situations and making difficult choices. His desire to be a 'Hero' is a rather nebulous dream to pursue and I feel like he kind of loses respect points there, but the fact that Genesis is not bothered by Yoon's cynicism manages to write back in some missing tally marks.

●○○○○ | LOYALTY

Again, very low but that's common with Jae-hyo. He would cover Rhapsodos if needed because it is his job, but I also don't think he'd necessarily worry about his well-being that much since he see Genesis as more than capable of looking after himself. He can rain apocalyptic fire down on people, for christ's sakes.

●○○○○ | TRUST

Jae knows that their skills are compatible in battle, but he also believes that Genesis has little reason to consider his survival. If anything, Jae's wounded presence would be a hindrance and the logical choice would be to leave him behind- In comparison to Jae being smart and wanting to keep Genesis alive as the main source of firepower. Also, there's a certain COMFORT in not revealing much about himself- He's perfectly fine being little more than a casual sex partner to the other man because it's low effort.

[whatisgoingoninmyhead]

I feel so bad sometimes for not wanting to take part in sexual situations. I'm perfectly fine with not wanting sex, but when there's sexual jokes in the group and they want me to participate and I can't bring myself to, that's when I feel guilty.

[nagito-kissmaeda]

Yandere Komaeda Headcanons submitted by Chaos under the cut (y) Warnings: Slight nsfw, yandere behavior, stalking, mention of suicide, masturbation (not very explicit.)

Yandere Nagito probably wasn't very Yandere before you came along. The unlucky boy was probably still the funky little creep to his classmates as always but as soon as you step through the doorway of 77-B's classroom then he kind of just thought, "Oh, they're pretty." And continued with his day. He didn't think too much of you.

If you were an ultimate who walked into the classroom, he wouldn't have thought much of it besides the idea that "YoU wErE sPrEaDiNg HoPe 😩"

If you were a reserve course student, on the other hand, he would think he is slightly superior. So, if you talk to him he'll feel like he's better than you but won't say anything except under certain circumstances (ex: You ask him for his opinion of you, his opinion on reserve course, that kind of stuff. At least, he's honest :/) But keep in mind, he only really acts like this when you two first meet.

After getting to form a friendship with you (however that happened, I'll leave that up to you), his crush on you takes shape quickly.

He mostly just did small stuff that made it obvious that he liked you (whether he realized it or not.) If you weren't around he'd be asking everyone in sight if they knew where you were. He'd linger uncomfortably close to you whenever you two were together. The unlucky boy also tended to...✨follow✨ you.

Bestie, run while you still can 🏃‍♀️💨 because after he kidnaps you you're gonna be more like ♿

(I guess that's assuming you can run at all...sorry if I offended someone ._.)

When you two are hanging out, he eventually opens up to you about his illnesses and past. All of what he told you would probably be a lot to process so the only thing you can think of besides, "I'm so sorry that happened to you," is that you just hug him. Now he's shocked. You're both shocked. wOAH! Nagito doesn't move at all during the hug and probably forgot to breathe because c'mon...homie hasn't received any form of physical affection for God knows how long. He's drawing a total blank and the first words that spring to his mind are, "I'm going to marry them."

You cannot tell me this man doesn't want to get married one day. Yes, his luck sucks fat juicy butt but it's just something he craves and can be selfish about. Nagito's opinion on his want for having a spouse goes back and forth, like how the fitness gram pacer test works (I bet some of you don't even know that this is something outside of a meme lol.) He probably got this desire from seeing how bad his parents' relationship was.

Nerdy headcanon stuff you don't have to read: So, it isn't canon that his parents had a bad relationship but I imagine that they did because Nagito mentions that his mom had never complimented him and he gained a massive inheritance after his family's death. Let me explain my logic on those. Nagito's mom probably never complimented him because she didn't like or want him. I also headcanon that his parents were in an arranged marriage which is why they were so rich and why I think they had a bad relationship, because let's be honest, not all arranged couples are comfortable with one another. The arranged marriage also could've been the reason why his family was wealthy, it could have had to do with business and work. So to wrap it all up, Nagito's parents are rich because of an arranged marriage and they don't really like each other and they had a kid that neither of them wanted so now it's a broken family with a fucked up kid. I know that sounds like a stretch but that's why it's a headcanon and not actually canon lol.

After that one hug, that's when he truly sees you as some sort of ethereal Deity that he was sure he was going to wed in the future (Hell, he'd probably settle for right there, right now.) He no longer cared if you were an ultimate or not because now he saw you as something even greater. Of course, he still views himself as scum but even scum has desires that they are willing to do anything for.

After Nagito had come back to his dorm, the realization hit him that if he was going to marry you, he would have to be worthy of your hand in marriage. So, he prepares. By that I mean he starts stalking you a lot.

You two were already friends on social media so you probably didn’t dwell too much on it when you found him accidentally liking old posts. He’d go on your socials and scroll through it looking for every little bit of information he could find on you. Sometimes he'd strike gold and other times he'd dig up dirt. Nagito began talking to you a lot more so he could gain some information on your likes and dislikes. You only assumed that he was more comfortable with talking to you now because he confided his troubles in you but in reality he was planning your future life with him. Once in a while you'd invite to your dorm whether it was for hangouts, study sessions, or just sleepovers (he absolutely LOVED it when you brought those up.) The only opening he had to steal stuff is when you went to the bathroom and when that happened all he'd do every single time is go to the closet, grab another one of the pillow cases that the dorm provides, and switch them out with your current ones. When the pillowcase stops smelling like you then he just sticks it in the school's laundry basket where things like bed sheets, pillow cases, and blankets that belong to the school go.

After weeks after weeks of obtaining bits and pieces of information on you such as food you like and dislike, what your family is like (If you/your oc has one), your favorite movies, music genres, and clothing, etc., He eventually realized that he lacked three more things. Romance, experience, and…"performance."

The one thing he absolutely needed to learn first was "How to kiss." Even though no one sees his search history besides him, it was still very  embarrassing to put those words on his computer. He typed those three letters into the google machine and ta-da! A wikihow page and a YouTube video were apparently his best options. He opted for the latter and watched as a lady and her boyfriend demonstrated how to perform different types of kisses. Intimate and sexual. He feels awkward just watching this and he feels like he should practice but...on what? Luckily for him, there is a perfectly good pillow lying on his bed.

...This was definitely weird. His chapped lips were pressed against the plush pillow as he imagined he was french kissing you. This doesn't seem like the greatest method but Nagito doesn't seem to have any other choice.

The pillow in front of me was wrinkled and slightly wet from where I had last kissed it. It felt beyond awkward to kiss a pillow and imagine it was your future partner. I couldn't imagine them walking in on me as my face was buried in a pillow while moaning out muffled noises. It would be far too embarrassing but, I've faced worse. Practice should continue or else my mouth will never come as even a fraction of pleasure to my love. I approach the pillow and lay, stomach down, on my bed again. While this has been an awkward situation, my insides are starting to feel like they're on fire! It's probably just the thought of Y/N floating around in my brain. I take a deep breath before cupping my hands at the corners of the pillow and diving my mouth towards the pillow once more. I start off with a short kiss but continuously start moving my lips against, what I imagine to be, their lips. I move my bottom lip more often than my top. Imagining I'm trapping their lips against mine. Just the thought of trapping them makes me grind my hips against the mattress a little. Even though I'm soft I still let out a little whimper. Does Y/N even like it when their partner makes noise? I wasn't able to find any information on what she likes in bed so...with my luck, I'll just leave it to chance. My kisses get more sloppy and desperate. I begin swiping and swirling my tongue against the pillow thinking about just what it might feel like to make out with them. Their hot, wet mouth pressing up against mine while our tongues rub against one another in an attempt to touch each other. I moan seemingly too loud at that thought and start humping the bed. Everything feels so hot.

Maybe combining kissing practice and "performance" practice would be a good idea.

Once he starts performance practice, his browser is constantly on sex related websites. But more on the education side...he wants to know how to make you feel good and how to make himself last longer. Once in a while, he does go on the hub though so he can pretend it's you and him having sex on the screen. He tries his best to look for ones where it sounds like you or looks like you. He prefers the ones where it sounds like you so that way he could just close his eyes and imagine you and him are together. 

Just a random bonus I thought I'd add in: He got a boner during class once and sat there for like ten minutes just waiting for it to go away. So he just ended up palming himself through his pants and struggled to not make any noise. He liked to imagine you were under the desk pressing your face against his clothed crotch and just rubbing your face around that area. Luckily, he came without letting a single noise slip past his lips. Unluckily, Nagito cums a lot. So everyone could see the enormous wet spot on the crotch of his pants when class was dismissed.

He happens to have a weird habit of doing domestic and soft things with a hint of creepy. For example, one of his favorite things to do as of recently is print out a picture that has your face in it, tape it to his pillow, and fall asleep cuddling it. This sounds fine if you two were dating but… you aren't. He'll give it kisses, cuddle with it, fall asleep with it, and, of course, it's what he uses during his performance practice. He also enjoys eating meals with it and watching movies while cuddling it too. He perceives it all as practice for when you two are wed.

I'm going to assume you aren't an oblivious idiot and just say that you probably began to notice how weird he'd get around you. You tried distancing yourself a little bit but enough to still stay friends. He noticed the change in how often you'd hang out with him and his anxiety skyrocketed. Nagito would feel he had only a couple choices left. And that was to kidnap you, get rid of any obstacles that didn't allow him to spend every waking moment with you, or just flat out kill you so that way no one could have you. He already knew he wouldn't be able to even breathe without you so he'd likely kill himself as well in the process.

Author's Note: I'll probably be discontinuing that one Nagito x reader chapter 2 because I wasn't able to finish it before the school year started and I was just dissatisfied with the chapters BUT! I do have plenty of headcanons on yandere Komaeda! Message me if you want some far more nsfw headcanons because I have a lot for this guy.  I'm also very open to crackfic oneshots.

[mostlycompetentwriter]

“Spread My Wings” - A Sunshine AU Drabble

M/F Pairing: Y/N x Han Jisung (SKZ)

Warnings: 3.2K

Genre: Marriage AU; Sequel

Summary: Y/N has started to realize that the endearing pregnancy “glow” that all those magazines talk about is completely untrue. Pregnancy sucks, and Y/N is tired from suffering through the morning sickness, weird cravings, and insatiable desire for sex. Thankfully, Jisung is nothing but patient, and she can always count on him to brighten her days.

A/N: Check out Sunshine here if you’d like!

In a strange turn of events, I found myself spending an enormous amount of my spare time at my mother’s house.

The only logical conclusion was the growing baby inside of me because my future son/daughter had somehow managed to alter my brain patterns. Suddenly, regular Sunday evening dinners turned into weekday lunches and the occasional mid-afternoon nap in my childhood bedroom. Not that my mother complained since she often doted on me, especially while I was pregnant with her grandchild. 

“How are you feeling today, Y/N?” my mother asked while I eyeballed the pickle jar in the fridge because I had been experiencing an odd craving for the sour dills in recent weeks.

“Hungry,” I said, slamming the fridge closed while I trudged to the table. “I think I’ve put on like a thousand pounds.”

My mother scoffed at my exaggeration. “Y/N, it’s perfectly healthy to gain a lot of weight.”

“Yeah, but I feel gross,” I whined. “And I’ve been constipated for three days.”

My mother frowned, but at least she didn’t laugh at me like Jisung had when I told him the other night. He was supposed to be my biggest support system, but I had to hit him with a discarded magazine a few times to help him see reason. Even then, he still chuckled about it later that night when he was supposed to be massaging my feet because they were just as swollen as the rest of me.

“That’s all normal,” my mother explained. “You’re experiencing the same things that I did when I was pregnant with you. I went through every symptom listed in those pregnancy books.” 

“Fine, but mine are way worse,” I grumbled. “Everything sets me off, and I can’t believe Jisung hasn’t said anything.”

But maybe that was because he was getting laid a lot these days since, in addition to the bizarre food cravings, I often drooled over the thought of his cock pounding me into the mattress. 

Trust me, the fantasies were rampant. 

Plus, I was also a lot more sensitive, and I could usually orgasm after begging Jisung to rub me through my pajama shorts before I went to sleep.

“Are you coming to my dinner tomorrow night?” my mother asked, bringing over a stack of pancakes which I had requested that morning over the phone.

“Of course,” I said, dipping my pinky finger into the syrup lathered on top of the soft breading to taste it on my tongue.

Gross!

“Perhaps we can talk about the cruise that your step-father and I are planning for this summer,” my mother suggested. “I want all of my children to come.”

“And Jisung,” I added.

“Yes.” My mother sighed. “I suppose he can come as well.”

“You sound thrilled,” I remarked, clapping my hands together when my mother deposited a fresh bowl of fruit in front of me; specifically, an entire spectrum of berries because I was craving sweet things. 

“Well, he’s your husband,” my mother grumbled. “I guess I have no other choice in the matter.”

But I was too occupied with my breakfast to reprimand my mother for speaking about Jisung with such little reverence.

The following evening, I spent approximately twenty minutes finding a suitable dress that still managed to fit me because it was the only thing that I found comfortable to wear. And I wanted to look nice for my mother’s dinner, even if that meant sitting down for most of the evening because the hem of my dress-line was much shorter than I remembered.

I was also suspicious of Jisung because my husband had been unusually quiet about tonight’s dinner, and he often snuck in a complaint or two about my mother’s treatment of him. But maybe he was in a good mood, and that would only work in my favor because my husband had been doing his best to be patient with me through these insufferable nine months.

However, when I stepped out into the living room, I realized that my husband’s silence was due to the fact that one of his friends was sitting next to him on the couch while watching Netflix. “What the hell, Changbin?” I groaned. “We’re going to my mother’s house tonight.”

“Oh?” Changbin grinned, and he didn’t seem concerned at all about my grievances. “Can I come too?”

I rolled my eyes because if Changbin came over, then my mother would have someone new to bother and I didn’t feel like listening to Changbin complain afterward. “My mother never invited you.”

“Whatever, Y/N,” Changbin retorted. “Your mother loves me, and you’ve been such a bitch with your pregnancy hormones.”

“Asshole,” I muttered. “My mother only likes you because she thinks she can set you up with her best friend’s daughter.”

“So?” Changbin snorted. Then, to my husband: “I kinda hate you, man. I wish you had never knocked her up.”

“Okay!” I interceded. “How about this? It takes me ten minutes just to walk down the stairs. Whoever happens to be in the car before I pull out of the complex gets a free dinner.”

“Free?” Changbin smiled. “What are we waiting for, then?”

Still, I sighed when Changbin pulled on his shoes, studying Jisung from the corner of my eye as he laughed at something Changbin whispered to him. “Do you need help, baby?” Jisung asked, and I snatched my hand away from his because I was tired of people treating me like I was moments away from keeling over.

“I can manage on my own,” I insisted, but Jisung still followed me with anxious hands when I descended the staircase, ignoring Changbin’s whines that we were moving too slow.

“Dinner will be cold at this rate,” he said, and I glared in his direction as I unlocked the car.

Thankfully, Changbin proved to be a good distraction for Jisung, engaging him in a conversation concerning the school where they worked. But at least it kept Jisung from his regular routine of whining about my mother for the entire thirty-minute duration of our drive. In the meantime, I could occupy my attention with driving instead of the incessant desire to use the bathroom for the thousandth time. 

Even so, I was pleasantly surprised to catch both Felix and Chan standing shoulder-to-shoulder in my mother’s driveway when I pulled in next to my step-brother’s fancy sports car. “Are you two staying together?” I asked when I allowed Chan to help me out of the car.

“Duh,” Felix said with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “There’s a fortnite gaming tournament tonight!”

“How fun,” I dead-panned, accepting Jisung’s outstretched hand as the five of us greeted my mother at the front door.

“Look at you!” my mother said, squishing Chan’s cheeks between her hands as if he wasn’t an adult man who lived in his own apartment.

“Yeah, yeah,” Felix grumbled, pushing inside the house with Changbin trailing behind him.

“Oh, Changbin?” my mother smiled. “How are you?”

“He was so excited to talk to you tonight!” I said, flashing Changbin a victorious smile when he frowned.

“Is that so?” my mother asked, and she instantly grabbed his arm, pulling him into the kitchen while going on and on about how she worked for hours on tonight’s meal.

“That was dirty of you,” Jisung whispered into my ear, and I shrugged.

“He deserves it,” I said. “Now, can you help your pregnant wife make it to the couch?”

“I thought you didn’t need help,” he teased, but I wasn’t in the mood for his antics, and Jisung immediately apologized as he wrapped an arm around my waist. “Let me try again,” he said as we neared the couch. “I would love to help you, baby.”

“Much better,” I said, and I pressed myself close to his side while greeting my step-dad who walked into the room with a yawn.

“Hey, dad,” Felix said. “Has she been like this all day?”

“She’s just excited,” my step-father replied, but I knew that my mother could be a lot to handle whenever she was too excited.

“I’ve been exhausted with cases,” Chan remarked, fixing himself a drink from the mini-bar.

“Don’t drink too much,” Felix scolded him. “I need you to be fully cognitive for the tournament!”

“Is it really that big of a deal?” I questioned Felix, but I regretted my words when he turned to look at me with a glare.

Thankfully, my mother’s entrance stopped whatever sharp retort was waiting on the edge of his tongue. “Channie!” my mother said, returning from the kitchen with Changbin who was balancing a plate of cheesecake between his hands. “I hope you’re getting plenty of rest between those cases of yours.”

“There’s cheesecake!” Jisung whispered frantically into my ear, and I smiled and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“If you sneak into the kitchen, my mother will never notice,” I replied.

Jisung nodded quickly, and I watched as he left the room before returning my attention to my mother once again. “Changbin!” my mother grinned, sitting down right between him and Chan who was holding a glass of wine in one hand. “Are you still single?”

I smirked in his direction while Changbin simply nodded his head - far too occupied by his own food selections to really pay much attention.

“The cases are fine,” Chan said, and I pouted because it might’ve been fun to see my mother attempt to convince Changbin to have dinner with a random stranger.

“Tell me about them,” my mother requested, and Chan spoke in a rapid tone while my mother listened with a polite smile. And she was too preoccupied with Chan to even notice Jisung’s return.

“No fights while I was gone?” Jisung asked, and he was already speaking over a mouthful of food as he sat back down next to me.

“Not yet,” I returned.

“Well, we should be thinking ahead to Y/N’s baby shower,” my mother said, clapping her hands together in excitement. “You’ve been thinking about it, right dear?”

“Mhmmm,” I agreed, but I was also distracted by my husband, man-spreading across the couch while stuffing his face with my mother’s cheesecake. 

“I just adore baby showers!” my mother squealed. “You don’t mind if I plan it?”

“Not at all,” I said, and I tilted my head to the side, noticing that Jisung’s tight suit pants did an amazing job of highlighting his cock.

“I think we should just have a small party here,” my step-father suggested, and everyone sitting in the room was aware of the fact that my mother could be over-the-top when it came to party planning.

“Oh, very well,” my mother agreed. “Y/N you can invite your friends...and Jisung’s as well.”

“What? They both have the same friends,” Felix remarked, and he was eye-balling Changbin’s cheesecake with interest.

“Are we allowed to help ourselves?” Chan asked, pointing down at Changbin’s plate while my mother sighed.

“Of course, you hungry boys,” she said, standing up with a dramatic flourish. “Come on, I’ve got plenty in the kitchen.”

It was a golden opportunity, and I waited until everyone had migrated into the next room before I leaned in closer to Jisung. “I need you to fuck me when we get home,” I whispered into his ear, and Jisung shivered when I palmed the outline of his erection. 

“Shit,” he cursed, lowering his plate over his lap while trying not too appear affected by my words. “Do you wanna fuck in one of the bedrooms upstairs?”

“No, my mother will get too suspicious,” I said.

“Come on, Y/N,” Jisung whined. “You and I both know that I can get you off in like five minutes.”

“Hey!” I protested. “It’s not my fault that I’m sensitive!”

But any further arguments were dispelled when Changbin suddenly reappeared in front of us with desperate eyes. “She called that girl over here! The one she’s trying to set me up with.”

I laughed at the horror on Changbin’s face while reaching out to pat him on the shoulder. “Congratulations! Make sure to mail us a wedding invitation.”

The remainder of the dinner concluded without incident, and I dropped off Changbin at his own apartment before Jisung and I drove the rest of the way home in amiable silence.

Or, maybe it was the growing anticipation between us because I was more than ready to sit down on his cock. 

In any case, I pushed him back against the door to our apartment as soon as he had the key turned in the lock. His lips met mine in the narrow space between our bodies, and I could feel one of his hands move down to touch my stomach while his other wound itself tightly around my waist.

“Bedroom,” Jisung whispered, and I agreed while we attempted to clumsily move through the apartment where we could enjoy the comforts of a Serta mattress.

“I was ready to jump your bones right there on my mother’s couch,” I whined into his mouth, kissing him feverishly while shamelessly groping his cock through the fabric of his pants. 

“Oh, fuck,” Jisung panted. “Get on the bed.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” I said, reaching down for the hem of my dress because I was desperate for him. 

“Look at you,” Jisung gasped, eyes wide as he studied my naked form, watching me shove my panties down to my ankles before lying down on the bed with my limbs outstretched.

“Hurry up!” I said, lowering my hand to run my fingers through the arousal already dripping down the inside of my thighs.

Jisung cursed again while jerking himself off in front of me, crawling onto the bed to grab my thighs. “I love this part,” Jisung said, tracing circles over my clitoris because he knew how good it felt.

“Put your cock in me!” I hissed, and Jisung nodded while leading himself to my drenched opening, splitting me in half with a single deep thrust that sent me to cloud nine even though we had barely even started.

“Jisung,” I gasped, spreading my legs even wider for him as he pounded away from where he knelt between my thighs.

“Such a good girl,” Jisung said, and there was already a bead of sweat forming on his chest as he leaned down to kiss me - a chaotic exchange of tongues and saliva that cost me valuable oxygen. But it only made me want more.

“No, wait,” I groaned, pushing against his chest and forcing his cock to slip out of me. “I don’t like that position,” I explained.

“Oh,” Jisung said, and he tried to look serious even with a raging boner between his legs. “Do you want to stop?”

“We’re not stopping,” I said, and I carefully rolled onto my stomach, supporting my weight onto my forearms. “Fuck me from behind,” I said, lifting my ass enticingly for him.

“Yeah,” Jisung agreed, and I moaned at the feeling of his familiar weight pressing against my hips. “Hold still,” Jisung whispered, and he grabbed the base of his cock, guiding the tip back to my sopping entrance before shoving himself back inside with another languid thrust.

“Is this better?” Jisung asked, and he was so gentle as he moved his cock at an excruciatingly slow pace.

But I didn’t want gentle.

“Sungie,” I whined. “Can’t you fuck me harder?”

“Harder?” Jisung repeated, and there was a slight hint of hesitation in his tone that had me sighing as I took the initiative to spear myself back on his cock, meeting each thrust with a desperate grind of my hips. 

“I’m not made of glass,” I snapped at him, and it was enough to get him back into motion, taking a hold of my hips to better guide his cock as he started to pick up the pace. “Touch me please,” I whined, reaching back for his hand because it would only take a few rough circles of his fingers on my clit before I would melt around him.

“Are you close?” Jisung asked, and I nodded because my words were an indistinguishable mess of squeals.

He adjusted his angle accordingly, using the leverage to hit my G-spot every time he pulled back out, and I was moaning for him and clenching tightly around his cock when I came. “Jisung!” I groaned, seeing stars around the edges of my vision as I felt him continue to move faster inside of me, chasing his own high before everything became too much for me to handle.

And he came with a low grunt and whispered moan of my name, holding himself in place long enough to catch his breath. “I think we need a bath,” he finally said, and I nodded despite the exhaustion threatening to knock me out right there in the middle of the bed.

“Carry me?” I asked, and Jisung chucked, but obliged - holding me in his arms as he brought us both inside the bathroom.

The water was lukewarm because anything too hot might be bad for the baby, and I was fighting off the occasional chill while trying to steal more warmth from Jisung sitting behind me.

“I hate being pregnant,” I said, leaning against Jisung’s chest as I pouted with my arms crossed over my chest.

“It’s not that bad is it?” Jisung asked, and his lips were feather-like against the back of my neck.

“Well, I’m certainly not having fun,” I complained. “Everything hurts and my tits are always swollen.”

“I like your tits,” Jisung said, humming at the back of his throat when his thumbs started to rub sensual circles around my nipples.

“Stop acting like a dude,” I said, whimpering at the barely-there touches that somehow managed to feel ten times as heightened. 

Of course, I knew that Jisung liked my breasts. He made no secret of that fact, and whenever we shared any intimacy together, he was always groping the flesh or sucking on my nipples because he knew how sensitive they were!

“Okay, fine,” Jisung chuckled. “I’m sorry your tits hurt.”

“They’re swollen!” I insisted. “Everything is bigger, including me!”

“And it’s not a bad thing,” Jisung said. “I love all of it!”

“I know you do,” I said, and I couldn’t help but smile when I thought of all those nights when Jisung had crawled over me to lavish attention to my rounded stomach, pressing gentle kisses to the skin while whispering words that weren’t meant for my ears.

“Y/N, I get an erection sometimes just holding you in the mornings,” Jisung said, and it was a total contradiction to the soft thoughts that I had been remembering.

“Well, you have a crazy libido,” I snarked. “But thanks for ruining the moment.”

“I’d take away your suffering in a heartbeat,” Jisung said. “And I’m sure you don’t want to hear this right now, but it’ll all be worth it in the end.”

I nodded my head in acknowledgement, looking over my shoulder to meet his gaze. “Do you think we’ll be good parents?”

“I think as long as we have each other, we’ll be just fine.”

“Jisung,” I whined. “Gross, that was super cheesy.”

“Hey!” Jisung protested, but there wasn’t a single ounce of malice in his tone; instead, there was only affection reserved for the two people he loved most in the world. And I was perfectly at ease, savoring Jisung’s comforting presence as my husband’s fingers traced soothing patterns over my stomach in sweet little circles.

[kim-bobbae]

88. “I’ll see you later.”

This is legit the first gif I’ve EVER made in my life cos I couldn’t find one of Jay looking hot bothered...like mad kinda bothered. Haha. I swear the only reason why I enjoy writing angst is so I can imagine Jay looking hot and shit (is that normal? am I weird??). But he’s such an angel... Like what in the world could he possibly be mad at his girl about??? I know the flow for this one is pretty similar to what I just posted recently, but it’s been in my drafts for a hot minute so I hope y’all enjoy this one nonetheless!

“I’m sorry. Can we please talk?” 

You sighed for what felt like the hundredth time of the day, burying your face in your hands as you threw you phone aside, already expecting Jay to ignore your texts again. It’s been two days since you’ve last seen or spoke to him, and the fact that you were going to see him at work in a few hours amidst the silent treatment was already making you dread it. 

The thing about Jay was that he wasn’t really one to get angry at anyone but when he did, he’d rather cool off alone while you, on the other hand, preferred to iron things out there and then. Then again, despite the little squabbles over the two years that the both of you had been together, there hasn’t been any particularly huge fight…until your dumbass decided that it was a great idea to get yourself drunk as fuck in front of your boyfriend and his colleagues while they performed at the club that you and your friends were drinking at, that is. 

“We can’t dare you to go up there and make out with him, can we?” Your best friend challenged, downing another shot. 

“C’mon, what do you think?” You replied, shrugging her off. 

“Then it’s no fun, why are we even here if we can’t dare you and Jay to do shit!” Another chimed in. 

Your friends were in town for a few days and having not met them for a few years since your graduation in London, you took the opportunity to take them out for dinner where one of them suggested a round of drinks after. Jay who had been scheduled to perform at Soap then offered to book you guys a table and here you guys were, wilding it out on a Friday night with a game of truth or dare after having a shot too many. 

From making out to dancing with strangers, your friends were definitely taking this game more seriously than you had expected them to, especially when you were pretty bad with alcohol yourself and had to down shots one after another when none of their dares for you even seemed logical. Sure, they had toned it down taking into consideration that you were attached hence sparing you from going up to random dudes on the dance floor, but with how some of their ideas were literally out of this world, you were left with no choice but to drink continuously and very soon you were more drunk than you’d like to be. 

“Well, he felt bad that he couldn’t join us so he tried to make up for it. Plus points for a VIP table, no?” You tried reasoning. 

While you tried to be a good sport and answered some of their prying questions about your relationship with your superstar boyfriend, some were inevitably too personal to be answered – not that you really minded, but you were pretty sure Jay wouldn’t be too pleased if you were to spill the beans on your sex life. You were thus left with no choice but to chug shots after shots and in no time, you were too intoxicated for your own good. 

At this point, your vision was a blur and you could literally hear your heart throbbing in sync with the bass of the music playing in the background. Yet, your last bit of consciousness managed to miraculously bring you and your friends to the dance floor. Jay’s voice in the distance as he performed had your body automatically grooving to the music, a stupid drunk smile plastered on your face as you threw your hands up and moved your hips without caring about how ridiculous you looked at this point. 

Egged on by your friends who were in no better states of mind than you were, everything about that situation got you more excited…except you weren’t the only one as a man who had been dancing near you came up close behind you, his hands very enthusiastically helping themselves to the curves on your body as he grinded against your ass. 

You weren’t sober enough to make sense of the situation and it wasn’t until you felt his hands tug at the hem of your blouse did you snap your head up, catching a glimpse of a very unamused Jay through the slits of neon lights in your hazy vision did you finally realize what was going on and the next thing you knew, you remembered being pulled out of the club, the rest a distant memory. 

You debated on the idea of turning up at the office a little earlier in hopes of at least speaking to Jay before the photoshoot and despite the several ‘what if’s, you decided to do just that because no, you wouldn’t be able to just turn up to work, putting on makeup and doing his hair in front of everyone else, pretending that everything was perfectly fine between the both of you. 

A tray of coffee in hand, you knocked on the door to the meeting room where Jay and some of the guys were chilling, taking a deep breath before you entered the room. 

“Hey,” You started, glancing briefly at Jay – to which he looked right back at you – before smiling at Kiseok and Wegun. 

“How are you?” Wegun greeted you, a warm smile on his face as usual. “What brings you here?” 

“Jay has a magazine shoot in a bit, thought I’d just drop by with some coffee since it’s been a while since I last spoke to you guys,” You replied. 

“Well you could’ve spoken to them after the show that day if Dukhwa didn’t have to drag you out of the club,” Jay spoke, his expressionless gaze on you unwavering. 

You sighed, “Do you mind if we talk outside for a second?” 

Sensing the tension in the air, Kiseok whispered at him to cut it out but to no avail as Jay ignored your request and continued, “Did you really have to get yourself in that mess while I was performing? What were you thinking?” 

You bit your lip, lowering your head in embarrassment as Jay literally lectured you in front of his colleagues. Yet, the fact that he had decided to have this conversation in front of them angered you for a bit. Sure, you screwed up, but did you really deserve to be humiliated in front of them yet again after what they had witnessed at the club two days ago? What was he even trying to prove? 

“…we’ll leave you guys to talk,” Wegun spoke, signalling at Kiseok and getting up from his seat. 

“It’s fine, there’s no point if he’s just going to be like that,” You interrupted, then stalked out of the room. 

You were just trying to be professional about it, hoping to resolve the feud before you guys had to face each other at work because like it or not, despite the perks that came with dating and working together, it was times like these that truly made you wish you didn’t have to see him at work. 

It ticked you off even more realizing that the entire situation had only snowballed purely because he was being such a kid about calling you out in front of his colleagues for it. They were, after all, your coworkers too and his petty tantrums were completely uncalled for. 

Needless to say, you were fuming throughout the shoot. You tried your best to keep your composure as you did his makeup, though the rest of the staff had noticed that you were quieter than usual and that you had refused any eye contact with Jay throughout the whole time you were getting him ready for the shoot. With the little saga earlier at the office being your first time on the receiving end of Jay’s hostility, you wanted nothing more than to be done with the shoot without any more drama. 

This being the longest you guys have gone without speaking to each other despite being in the same space had Jay feeling a little conscious of you by now, sneaking glances at you from time to time. He’d watch the way you’d squint at the monitor as you observed the pictures carefully, then step in to put strands of his hair back in place every now and then. Your jaw was clenched the entire time, face void of any expression compared to your usual chipper self that he was used to seeing and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t beginning to regret what he started earlier. 

“You okay?” He whispered as you dabbed the beauty blender under his eyes. 

You ignored him, exhaling deeply as you finished off with some loose powder. 

“Ji Eun.” 

“I don’t wanna talk. Not now. Not after I tried to resolve this earlier this morning and especially not after the shit you pulled on me.” You fired back at him in a hushed whisper, then turned your back against him as you walked back behind the camera. 

He sighed, then briefly stretched his neck and went right back to work – not without glancing at you once more. Jay being a natural in front of the camera as always thankfully allowed the shoot to wrap up in a few short hours and you couldn’t be more relieved to retreat back into the dressing room, away from Jay’s piercing gazes but the respite was short lived as Jay cracked the door open slowly, the both of you making the first brief second of eye contact in the several hours of the shoot before you looked away and started packing up. 

“Let me help you with that,” He said, walking towards you. 

You didn’t reply, putting away the brushes and palettes. 

“Babe-” 

“What?” 

He pressed his lips together, slightly taken aback by your little outburst before gesturing for you to hand him the bags in your hands. 

“Don’t lecture me in front of your colleagues then pull a sweet boyfriend shit after. Make up your fucking mind,” You said. 

“I don’t know what got into my mind this morning…” He trailed, his gaze on you softening as he watched how tears were beginning to well up in your eyes. 

You didn’t even know why you were crying. You were mad, so mad, but you hated how weak you were for him every damn time. 

You looked away, tilting your head back in an attempt to stop the tears. The last thing you wanted was to cry in front him. As much as you were upset, your screw up had started this whole mess and you knew very well that he’d feel that much worse if he was the reason for your tears. 

“I’m sorry,” He apologized, grabbing your hand to get you to look at him. 

“I tried resolving this nicely, texted you, and turned up earlier at work to apologize but you decided to be a dick about it. Yes, I fucked up. But no, I don’t deserve this,” You told him, shrugging his hand off as you busied yourself packing, tears blurring your vision by now as they rolled down your cheeks. 

“Hey c’mon,” He said, hands on your shoulders as he spun you around to face him then cupped your face, wiping away at your tears with his thumb. “Don’t cry...”

“I just wanted to talk. I don’t want to fight,” You told him, your voice coming out as a soft whisper. 

“Me neither.” 

He watched as you simply looked up at him, resignation evident in your bloodshot eyes and he leaned in to bring his lips to yours, desperate to draw a reaction – anything – from you to be reassured that everything was going to be okay. There he was, thinking he could diffuse the situation with a few sweet kisses after being an absolute asshole and you hated that it was working. 

You hated that you knew this was exactly how he was going to salvage the situation, as with all your other fights, yet here you were, kissing him like he didn’t piss the hell out of you just hours ago, as if he had not ignored your fifty calls and text messages over the past forty-eight hours. 

This wasn’t just an argument of who should be doing the dishes, nor about the time you turned up half an hour late to a date that he had painstakingly squeezed amidst his busy schedule all because you couldn’t find that one dress you were looking for and refused to wear anything else and you hated that despite the gravity of the situation, it didn’t take much for you to succumb to his sweet gestures. 

You pulled away as soon as he you felt his tongue pressing against your lips and he looked at you, a mix of worry and disappointment in his eyes. 

“I have to go,” You told him, gathering your belongings. 

“Don’t-” 

“I have another schedule to attend to, Wonjae’s shoot starts in two hours,” You explained. 

“I’ll pick you up from work.” 

“You don’t have to.” 

“I want to,” He said immediately, and the way you silently looked at him with an unreadable expression frustrated him to no end. 

He held your gaze with his own and for a while the both of you just stayed like that, his deep brown eyes pleading with yours for any form of reassurance and in all honesty, that was enough for you to want to put this all behind so that you guys could finally go back to having pizza on the couch and cuddling to sleep. 

You pressed your lips into tight line, giving him a small smile before you picked up your bags and walked right past him. 

“I’ll see you later,” He whispered, reaching his hand out to hold yours. 

And the little squeeze you gave in response before walking out of the room was just what he needed to hold up until he could see you again that night.

[brandstifter-sys]

Just Like Old Times

Word Count: 1698

Pairing: Dukexiety (other sides mentioned)

Rating: T+

Warnings: Sex mention, game grumps, food mention, death mention, svs pt2 spoilers

--------

Laying in bed after a stressful day was one of the best things Virgil could do. He could melt into his mattress and let all of the tension in his body go. But his mind was a different story. After surviving the wedding, he needed to find the right video or videos to distract him. Vines were out of the question, he needed something to really focus on that wouldn’t include Thomas. His mind would wander back to the wedding. He knew exactly what to pull up.

With his laptop open and youtube up, his shaky fingers danced over the keyboard. The light from the screen lit up his face as the video loaded, and then his face lit up. 

Yes, the Game Grumps. Their laughter and antics made him feel better. This episode was definitely a classic, Pokemon FireRed #28. He loved that bit and had to thank Ninja Brian if he ever met the guy.

Hey I’m Grump! I’m Not-so Grump! And we’re the Game Grumps!

But just when he was getting into the story, his peace fell apart. 

“Oh Emoraptor!” Remus sang as he rose up.

“What the hell are you doing in here, and what do you want?” Virgil paused the video and huffed, not bothering to look at the duke. He couldn’t smell him at least. 

“I just wanted to tell you something,” Remus pouted and rocked his shoulders back and forth. 

“What? I’m in the middle of something here,” Virgil responded briskly and spared Remus a tired glance. The duke brought his finger to his lip and bent his knee.

“I’m a sexy widdle baby!” he cooed and fluttered his lashes. He topped it off with a wink and blew a teasing kiss. Virgil couldn’t fight back a snort. Remus was good at being ridiculous.

“And what does the sexy widdle baby want?” Virgil asked with a taunting smirk. 

“I wanna watch with you!” Remus cheered and shimmied. Virgil rolled his eyes. He was clean, including his nails, they were perfectly trimmed too, and head scratches sounded wonderful, even if it meant getting them from Remus. He scooted over and patted the bed next to him.

“Keep it in your pants and no licking and you can stay.”

“Yes!” Remus cheered and leapt on the bed, “Bring on the Daddy Sexbang!” He wiggled to get comfy on his front and got close to Virgil to see the screen.

“Don't call Dan that again," Virgil groaned. He knew it was a lost cause but he was not going to let it slide that easily. 

"But he’s a sexy widdle baby!” Remus laughed and threw his arm around Virgil. Vigil didn’t push him away but he rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, he is, you aren’t.”

“Excuse moi?”

“He doesn’t have a mustache, or smell like shit,” Virgil jeered. Remus retaliated by scratching his scalp. 

"I'm sorry are you sniffing Dan Avidan daily?" Remus snickered as Virge melted into the touch. 

"I don't have that kind of access or the need to sniff a straight man." 

"Don't summon Janus with that kind of talk!" Remus laughed, "He's busy watching for when Patton flings logic out the window!" 

"They're talking with Thomas?" Virgil asked wearily. 

"Yeah but you can stick around and nut over Dan with me! This is a moral dilemma!" 

"Should I be reading between the lines? I'm too tired to do that shit," Virgil grunted and scooted closer to Remus. 

"I mean if you want to read between the lines you can assume I want to nut with you, over Dan or otherwise!" 

"Gross!" Virgil snickered and sighed contentedly as the video switched into the next one. 

"Come on! Like you haven't looked up some polygrumps art in your spare time to get some ideas!" 

"Shipping real people is gross." 

"Shipping and smut aren't the same thing! They're cool with that art, so it's fine!" Remus countered with a wink, "Do you think they make art of us like that?" 

"They do. I try not to look it up. I don't want to imagine that much of the others. Especially Janus—there's a select group that takes the snake thing to a whole other level." 

"Hot!" Remus cheered and shimmied, wiggling his eyebrows at Virge. He snorted in response and pressed his tongue into his cheek. 

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" 

"Because I'm me!" Remus giggled and glanced at the video, "Soap carving?" 

"Yeah, I guess so. Ten Minute Power Hour. This shit is right up your alley!" Virgil hummed and watched as Arin and Dan debated the source of the smell of soap. 

“Soap smells like soap, didn’t think that would be up for debate,” Virgil says, shaking his head.

“They usually add something to give it a scent, otherwise it smells like ammonia and meat fat!”

“Is that why you stink?”

“Nah! That’s just the scent of rejection!–Holy shit that cheese!” Remus hummed only to be distracted by a moldy old cheese carving that Dan dropped on the table.

“David Cheeseman, rip in pepperonis.” Virgil sighed wistfully, “He was a likeness of Dan and now he’s a likeness of you.”

“I resent that, unlike Dan, I know my sexiness has limits!” 

“We define them differently.”

“So you think I’m hotter than Danny Sexbang? I don’t know what to say!” Remus preened and rolled on his side, putting himself on display. Virgil scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“That despite all the shit you do, you have normal thumbs, so that's a plus,” Virgil couldn’t help but tease. Remus gave him a questioning smirk and scratched his scalp in retaliation. 

"You know you love me!" 

"I don't know what you're talking about—" Virgil shrugged while continuing to watch, "—oh god, Arin no!"

Remus watched amusedly as Arin bit down on a bar of soap wrapped in brown yarn. He was going to town trying to bite through it. The pause when he "realized it wasn't ice cream" got a chuckle out of Remus. But it was Dan suggesting he bite it again and his nonchalant agreement and subsequent chompage that got Virge laughing. 

"Mixing in the rootbeer is a good choice," Remus noted over the emo giggles, "it is creamy, but not like my favorite cream!" 

"Dude!"

"What? I have a preference for Kelpie milk and cream! And they think I’m the dirty one!” Remus cackled. Virgil shoved him playfully and scoffed.

“You and I both know you would say the other thing.”

“Yeah!” Remus said and fluttered his lashes, “But I didn’t! I’m unpredictable like that!”

“You’re as random as a soap taco.”

“They call it a clean taco!”

“Who’s they?”

“Arin.”

“Touché”

“Tushy!” Remus cheered and flopped on his stomach with a giggle. Virgil was tempted to shove him off the bed while the grumps goofed off with soap.

“That’s supposed to be satisfying?”

“Usually, yeah,” Virgil shrugged and flipped his hair out of his face, expecting Remus to go on about soap cutting stim videos. He was not expecting the joyful smacking on his arm when they started singing.

“This is my jam!” Remus squealed, “Oooh! Can we sing it! Please! You know you love this song!” Virgil bobbed his head in mock contemplation and smirked.

“Yeah, if you think you can remember the words,” he said with a teasing lilt to his voice. Remus smiled darkly and nodded.

"There used to be a graying tower alone in the sea. You became the light on the dark side of me.” They sang in tandem, waiting for the other to mess up.

“Love remains!” Remus practically screamed as he climbed that octave, before dropping to his usual range.

“A drug that’s the high not the pill. But did you know that when it snows, my eyes become large, and the light that you shine can be seen?” he let Virgil handle that next chunk, mainly because there was a smoothness to the emo’s voice that he didn’t have. Plus he liked Virgil's singing.

“Baby! I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey, ooh, the more I get of you the stranger it feels, yeah! Now that your rose is in bloom, a light hits the gloom on the–” they were getting into it, having fun until...

“Grey.” “Grave.”

“It’s 'grey,' dukebag,” Virgil scoffed, “I can google the lyrics for you.”

“I know but I like saying ‘grave’ better! It still fits!” Remus argued.

“Just like you and your coffin,” Virgil jeered.

“Exactly! Now how about you let your rose bloom on my face so I can die happy!”

“That was a terrible euphemism, even for you.”

“Yeah, but that’s because I’m spending time with you again after so long, like almost nothing has changed except for the benefits and it makes me happy to be around and wanted!”

“Wanted?"

"I'm always showing up uninvited and it's part of the job. But it's nice to be wanted too, not just tolerated." Remus answered cheerfully. Virgil winced. He knew what that felt like, and almost forgot it too. 

"It sure is," Virgil sighed and wrapped an arm around Remus, "It sure is." 

"Janus just revealed his name." Remus hummed after a beat of silence. He was good at listening in on whatever was at the forefront of Thomas' mind when he wanted. 

"What?" 

"Yep! And he's gonna be a mess when he gets back, happy and hurt!" Remus hummed, "Of course so is Princey but it seems like Pat has that covered." 

"Are you gonna go help him?" 

"Nah, not yet. My name reveal wasn't emotional, so I'm useless in that department! Besides, I'm busy watching Game Grumps with my old flame and having fun! Self-Care Snake always says leisure is important!" 

"Yeah, the emotional stuff can wait. Wanna see them fail at summoning a ghost?" 

"Do I have a tentacle tramp stamp?" Remus answered with a mustache wiggle. Virgil snorted and ruffled Remus' hair.

"I missed you, you little shit!" Virgil laughed as he clicked on the next video. 

"I love you too, Scare Bear!" 

Virgil hummed noncommittally and leaned against the duke, resting his head on his shoulder. It really was as if nothing had changed at all.

[fandom-necromancer]

1740. This isn’t what it looks like, I swear! Okay … it’s kind of what it looks like, but just give me a chance to explain.

This was prompted by the wonderful @definietlynotsatan! I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 (Warnings: mentioned smut in the third and fourth paragraph, discussion of what could be considered cheating)

When Gavin was driving home that day, he wanted nothing more but have a hot shower and fall into bed. He hated the days he was alone at work and all the work for two was his to finish. His and Nines’ workdays were near synchronised by now but every now and then it did happen that one of them was free for the day while the other had to go to work. Sometimes Gavin wondered how he had managed to do this for years. Maybe there really was a reason they weren’t supposed to work alone. Maybe it had been the main reason he had been a total asshole to everyone around him. Maybe he had overworked himself all these years to the point he hadn’t even realised it himself. Or maybe it was just his personality.

‘I’m back home’, he murmured after unlocking the front door, hanging up his leather jacket on autopilot and bowing down to untie his shoes. His fingers had just gotten a hold of the laces when he froze. Nines hadn’t answered. For a moment he thought of all the possibilities why he wasn’t. Maybe he just wasn’t home? But the faint sounds that came to him from upstairs made him mentally recoil. It sounded every bit like- no, that couldn’t be. Gavin let the key in his hand drop to the floor and stomped towards the stairs, taking two steps at once. It couldn’t be, that had to be some kind of prank, Nines could recreate any sound after all and-

But as he ripped the door of their guestroom open, Gavin’s worst nightmare seemed to come true. A very familiar back was angled towards him, showing off Nines’ very defined pseudo-muscles and perfectly imperfect skin. In any other situation Gavin would have welcomed that sight. But not when foreign hands trailed it up and down while the android’s hips rocked in a motion that couldn’t be misunderstood. Neither of the two people on the bed had realised his presence, moaning with static voices he had thought only he was allowed to hear. Gavin stood there in shock, watching Nines having sex with another person, unsure what to do or how to even react. He felt so many different emotions and none of them were good, but he couldn’t find one of them to act upon.

‘Nines, what the phck’, he whispered then, his voice not cooperating with him at all. Immediately all movement stopped, and Nines’ head jerked up. He looked behind himself in about the same moment the person underneath him turned to the side a bit to see who had come into the room. Gavin connected eyes with them. An android like Nines, but not a model he recognised. His face was cold with hate as he uttered a single word to them: ‘Out.’ He tried to keep his anger at bay for everyone’s sake, but on the inside, he was ready to explode. At least they had the courtesy to nod and hurried out form underneath Nines, gathering their clothes and running past him. All the while Nines had fetched the blanket to cover himself, before turning to Gavin. ‘Gavin! I- I’m so sorry. This isn’t what it looks like, I swear! Okay … it’s kind of what it looks like, but just give me a chance to explain. Please!’

Gavin took a deep breath his chest trembling with anger. He was ready to hit this damn android, to press him into the mattress and punch him until no one could recognise his face anymore. But he held back. He didn’t know where he got the strength from. Maybe all their time together, all the trust Gavin had been able to put into Nines allowed him to not kill him on the spot. He had to look away though. He couldn’t look him in the eye. ‘Fine’, he pressed out between clenched teeth. ‘Here is your damn chance, explain how it kind of was exactly what it looked like.’

‘Gavin, I’m sorry, I-‘ ‘No! No apologies!’, Gavin screamed, not being able to keep the tears at bay. He was furious. He would need a new word for just how angry he was at what he thought to be his partner. ‘I want an explanation! I want reasons, I want-’ He had to lean against the wall, his knees suddenly weak from the added stress on his already tired body. ‘Phck. I thought you loved me. I thought you loved me, Nines!’ Gavin was about to collapse, and Nines was there to catch him, but Gavin struggled against his hold. ‘Don’t you phcking touch me!’, he shouted into his face. ‘Don’t you dare pcking touch me you cheating asshole! Do I really matter that little to you? This dumb human isn’t enough for you, am I right? Why bother when you can have others while he is away, right? I hate you, Nines! I phcking hate you.’ The android visibly swallowed, but guided Gavin gently down to the floor to lean against the wall. Then he let go as ordered. Gavin immediately pulled his knees to his chin and looked to the ground, tears running freely. He was far to exhausted to care or deal with the situation. He just wanted to hear an explanation from Nines and be done with it. He would just gather his things and go. Wouldn’t be the first time.

‘Gavin, I love you.’ The man pressed his lips tightly together. What a pile of bullshit. ‘I love you and you are more than I ever wanted. You matter more to me than anything else in the world.’ ‘So that’s why you phck other people when I’m away. I’m sorry, but that’s very hard to believe, asshole!’ ‘No, Gavin, that’s not why I fuck other people. Please, listen to me and let me explain.’ Gavin kept silent, but stared up at Nines out of eyes that could kill. ‘Gav, I… Humans have many years’ time for exploration’, he began. ‘You can spend years changing partner because you learned or made experiences. I happen to be awake for a year and already finding just the right person. I want you. I love you. And I want to spend my whole life with you. I just… I didn’t want to be unprepared. I want to give you what you deserve.’ He tried to catch Gavin’s eyes again, but the man stubbornly refused to look anywhere than on the carpet. ‘I… I also have to discover what my boundaries are. What I’m comfortable with and what I don’t like. I don’t want to have any bad experiences with you. Not when I know how much you care for me and definitely nowhere where feelings are involved. I didn’t want to hurt you by ruining a night and leaving you to your thoughts. I didn’t want to hurt you, but now I realise I did exactly that.’

Gavin mulled over what he had just heard. Was this a lie? Would Nines lie to him this openly? Normally he would have dismissed the thought immediately, but now? He wanted him to speak the truth. He wanted to believe Nines’ story and continue like nothing happened, because according to the bot, nothing had. But was he ready to trust him after what he had just seen?

‘Then why the phck didn’t you tell me?’, Gavin spat. ‘I didn’t think you would like to know’, Nines muttered. ‘If you hadn’t known of it I could have just told you I had past experiences and that would be it. I don’t know of your exes and I don’t want to, so I thought you would handle it similarly. Also, I feared to get a reaction like that.’ ‘Nines, I haven’t even reacted yet’, Gavin sighed, still torn in between allowing his feelings to take over or give in to his hope Nines had been honest to him. ‘I don’t know if I believe you. I want to but I can’t.’ ‘Gavin, I-‘ The android reached for his hand, but stopped just before he could hold it. ‘I love you. If I didn’t love you anymore, I would have told you. I owe you so much; you were always there for me. It would be the least thing I could do for you to tell you if I didn’t love you anymore. I wouldn’t deceive you like this. And I can only hope you believe me and that I haven’t lost your trust completely.’

Gavin sighed and rubbed his eyes. Maybe it was his exhaustion, but he was willing to give the bot a second chance. To for once bet his money on the more optimistic choice. So, he spoke up: ‘I… I understand you, as weird as that sounds. I just… Talk to me about these things.’ He pulled up his sleeve to wipe away his tears. ‘I would like to know what you are up to, so something like this doesn’t happen. So I don’t walk in on you. Spare us both the embarrassment.’ Nines nodded, eager to take the olive branch Gavin held out for him. ‘Yes, Gavin. I will tell you in the future. And I’m sorry, I… should have told you from the beginning.’

Gavin swallowed as another thought came up. Nines wouldn’t stop. Not until he had made the experiences he wanted. He couldn’t really bear the thought, even if he tried to see it as logically as the machine did. ‘It’s just sex, though, right?’ ‘What do you mean?’, Nines asked. ‘Just sex. No… feelings, no… Nines if you want someone else, if an android is better suited for you or-‘ Nines interrupted him immediately. ‘Gavin! Gavin, no! No feelings at all. Just sex. You are the love of my life, the only love in my life. You are the one person I would do everything for and I can’t live without. You are my partner in life. I would never want anyone else. It’s just sex. I just want experience before we make our own. I want to know my boundaries. And that’s all. The people I chose are not just androids but humans too. And we don’t even know each other’s name. We meet once and that’s it. I love you Gavin and loosing you is my biggest fear. I just want to be perfect for you and determined for myself.’

Gavin sighed and held up his hand so the android could help him up. ‘Then I won’t start any drama, tin-can’, he said as all the stressors of the day settled on his shoulders and left him with an agonizing tiredness. ‘Just know that we can always talk about it and you can always tell me everything.’ Nines nodded, holding onto his arm as if the human could break down any moment again. ‘And Nines? You are already perfect to me. Just promise me the moment I am not what you want, you will tell me that too. I love you, but I won’t let myself be lied to.’ ‘I will’, Nines promised, helping Gavin towards the bathroom. ‘But rest assured that will never, ever happen.’

[hopevalley]

The Real Problem with the Love Triangle

Here we are, in Season 8, and I feel like I’ve finally settled on what it is I hate about the love triangle.

I mean, there are a lot of things wrong with it. It divides the fans, it splits the attention of the scenes between two “potential” romances instead of one certain one, and, perhaps one of its biggest offenses: it’s in the spotlight due to the fact that the plotline was given to the main character.

I could talk about all of these, and I could do it all day, but let’s just look at them quickly (because I do feel there’s a bigger issue than any of these at play, here).

It divides the fans. Yikes? They clearly expected some kind of...I don’t know, Twilight-era Team Jacob/Team Edward split, but Twilight’s endgame was always painfully clear. It’s not that fans weren’t disappointed by the reality when it hit, but...I don’t think many people were...genuinely surprised by it, either. Splitting the fans of an already itty-bitty teeny-tiny fandom was maybe not the best idea, but I guess I can see why they took the risk. After so many characters left the show in S5 (Frank, Dottie, Phillip, Shane, Jack) they probably felt they had to do something drastic to keep the fans invested in the show.

It splits the screentime between two potential romances instead of one certain one. This is less yikes in some ways and moreso in others. The biggest issue with this is mostly that When Calls the Heart has limited screentime to begin with, so splitting screentime and therefore also believable development of any romance makes everything take twice as long to happen, which can either bog down the show (if they take the time to do things correctly) or everything will feel rushed (if they skip proper character development).

It’s in the spotlight. Obviously they had to do this to get attention from the fans, but I can’t help but think that a genuine love triangle for a side character/background character might have been a more appealing option story-wise. Having the focus of the triangle be on Elizabeth means that most of the fans are very invested in their choice...which is GREAT up until the point where it’s suddenly not anymore. Writing yourself into a position where approximately half of the fanbase will be disappointed, perhaps even to the loss of their viewership when things don’t go their way (this is always a risk) is...maybe not the best idea. I can’t imagine anyone would quit over a minor love triangle storyline (for example, Bill/Molly/AJ or Fiona/Kevin/Hickam). Sure, you won’t have the level of engagement in the fans that Lucas/Elizabeth/Nathan brings to the table, but I think it could be fun while also not really risking anything. Not many people would stop watching if Fiona picked Hickam over Kevin, you know?

There are other problems with the love triangle and the concept/use of it, but I think the writers at least tried to make it feel balanced. Did they succeed? Well, that’s personal opinion, so I won’t get into that, but you can tell the effort was there from the start.

So we have a love triangle. Lucas and Nathan are both vying for Elizabeth’s affection, and the crux of Season 8 is: she needs to choose one of them.

Which brings me to my thesis statement.

The problem with the love triangle is that the choice is limited to two options.

She chooses Nathan.

She chooses Lucas.

I think logically as a fan and as a writer who occasionally does enjoy trashy tropes, it’s really no surprise that one of these choices is going to be endgame. What’s annoying—what hurts the love triangle the most—is that they are also the only options presented to the audience. They are the only options Elizabeth and those around her are openly considering.

In reality, there are at least three options.

She chooses Nathan.

She chooses Lucas.

She chooses nobody/to remain single.

We all know When Calls the Heart is a romantic “period drama” so naturally the writers leaned into writing the romance. And again, we know that one of these men is endgame.

But when you’re writing something like this, a plotline that is most assuredly risking future viewership to some degree, you can’t really forget that Staying Single is equally as good an option as Lucas or Nathan.

It’s made worse with things like time skips. Elizabeth has had plenty of time to make a choice if she wanted to make one. She’s obviously not that attached to either man if she’s just going to leave them hanging like that. I think it could be argued that she’s avoided letting herself get too emotionally intimate with either of them on purpose—because she’s scared to try again after what happened to Jack, she’s afraid of having to feel like that again—but that lends credence to my thesis: if she’s not that emotionally attached, and she’s not ready to actually move forward romantically, then...Staying Single is looking like a great option.

But...not one character in the show has told her that. No one encourages it. Not Rosemary (which I sort of expect), not Bill or Henry or Florence (who all seem likely candidates), not anyone. It’s not like Elizabeth’s still heavily mourning Jack (if so, I could see her friends eagerly encouraging her past that). She seems perfectly content by herself and is seemingly doing a good job of raising her son. She doesn’t need a man. She doesn’t act like she wants one.

So why does she have to choose between TWO of them?

What could fix it? Not much at this point. Elizabeth said ages ago that she was ready to move on, or at least try, and that was followed up by all of her friends (Rosemary and Clara specifically) being extremely pushy about how she needed to find romance again. Not once were all of her fears/anxieties seriously discussed and validated.

The best they can do now is have someone close to Elizabeth point out that if she’s not ready to move on, or simply doesn’t want to get involved in a romance again, she doesn’t have to pick anyone (but should be honest with both Lucas and Nathan that she’s not looking for that kind of commitment in her life). It’s also possible that Elizabeth herself could come to this conclusion and speak it aloud to a friend like Rosemary. Just because both men are interested doesn’t mean she has to pick either of them.

I know the fans have been really frustrated at the triangle, specifically how drawn-out it’s been, but I think the reason for that is that Elizabeth’s character has been written in this...really confusing sort of way where...she’s understandably not ready to move on right after her husband has passed away, but even though she’s still in mourning the “potential suitors” get shoved down her throat (and ours) for two full seasons. We (and she, by extension) never get the idea that she could just choose to stay single. The next “logical” step is to choose a man. And that would be fine if she were like Mary Dunbar from the first season, but...she’s the main character. We should see her considering all of her choices.

And like, not to be a fun-killer, but...everything from the past few seasons makes me think she’d just be happier single. That’s the issue, too, with not giving Elizabeth “staying single” as a valid choice: we’re all kind of at a point where we all see how poor her relationship to both suitors is and we’re like, “Hey...maybe neither of them are good options for her at this point in her life.”

Certainly the ensemble-style show lately has contributed to less screentime for Elizabeth and therefore also Lucas/Elizabeth and Nathan/Elizabeth stuff, but I think this could all be fixed if...her choice wasn’t between the two of them, but between choosing to date again vs. choosing not to. She has a career. She has a child. She has a lot of friends. She doesn’t NEED a man, so I want “choosing a man” to feel like...she actually WANTS to date. She WANTS to be romanced. She WANTS physical affection/sex/to be loved and cared for in a romantic fashion.

If I felt that Elizabeth was wholly into the idea of romance and dating and finding someone to live out the rest of her life with, then I might feel good about the love triangle, and about her trying to decide which of two decent men she’d like to allow to court her first.

But because she doesn’t seem eager to court or date, we feel like she never made the decision to move on, and as a result of all of this and the writers trying to keep the love triangle balanced (which unintentionally makes her seem equally DISINTERESTED IN BOTH MEN), her relationships with both Lucas and Nathan feel flat and uninspiring. 

TL;DR? The love triangle should have been presented from the start as Nathan vs. Lucas vs. Staying Single, and then we wouldn’t be in a situation where she’s known these men for two+ years and has been ready to move on for more than one of those years, and still doesn’t feel like she knows either man well enough to choose which of them she might like to court.

If we would have started with three choices, she could have spent all of Season 6 working on eliminating one of the options (staying single, in this case) while also being open to CLOSE friendship with both Lucas and Nathan*. Then, in Season 7, she could find that while it’s flattering to have the attention of two good men, it’s emotionally draining and anxiety-inducing to feel she has to choose between them as she likes them both a great deal and doesn’t want to hurt either of them.

*I think they were sort of trying for this, but it fell flat. It would have been ideal to have Lucas and Nathan confide in Elizabeth about deeply personal/emotional things that never leave those scenes. Fears, concerns, they could have some inside jokes... In order for a love triangle that lasts a long time to work, she has to feel very close to both men...and right now she doesn’t feel close to either of them.

As an aside, the love triangle would definitely feel softer around the edges if it wasn’t pushed from Day 1 as a Thing They Were Doing. Elizabeth forming close friendships with two men without TPTB ever saying anything about romance (let alone a love triangle) would have given the characters time to feel like they’re friends first. What we got was romance shoved down our throat (à la “Elizabeth’s still in mourning because her husband seriously just died BUT ALSO LOOK AT THESE TWO NEW MEN... WHICH WILL SHE CHOOSE WHEN SHE’S READY TO MOVE ON?!”) which put too much pressure on the triangle and the characters/interactions from the get-go. It felt like they jumped from brand-new acquaintances to love interests in the span of five minutes...which is, you know...bad.

[kissjane]

MORNING AFTER / Short fic

#25 from this prompt list.

Wrapping arms around them when they make breakfast

Lucas wakes up to an empty bed and humming from the kitchen. He stretches contently, feeling slightly sore after last night. He had made the right choice yesterday night, when he decided to bring – Frédéric? Firmin? – either way, when he decided to bring home the guy he’d been grinding to on the dancefloor. He’d had some long overdue sex, and it sounds like – Florent? François? – either way, is cooking breakfast. Sunday mornings couldn’t start better.

Lucas quickly pulls on his boxers, and tiptoed to the kitchen, where he is greeted by the sight of a naked back, bare feet and a delectable ass in a pair of jeans.

He sneaks closer, and with a hum wraps his arms around the slender waist in front of him, resting his cheek against warm skin.

“Morning, tiger,” he purrs. He thinks they can eat something, and maybe go back to bed for a final farewell fuck.

Then – Fabrice? Fabien? – turns around, and – fuck.

Lucas lets go as if burned.

“You’re – you’re not – Fernand? Félicien? Franck? Oh, fuck,” he stammers.

The boy in front of him laughs.

“I’m not,” he confirms matter-of-factly. “I’m not one of your one-night-stands. But I’m impressed, though. Three at once? Wow.”

He raises a perfectly curved eyebrow, and Lucas’ cheeks burn a fiery red.

“Oh, fuck off,” he mumbles lamely. “Who are you? And where is… fuck.”

The guy laughs again.

“I woke up about thirty minutes ago and I ran into a guy in the hallway on my way to the bathroom. I didn’t ask for his name, but it could very well have been – what did you say it was again?”

Lucas glares.

“Seems like your tiger had other places to be.”

The mirth in the other’s voice gets Lucas’ hackles up. There’s really no shame in bringing a guy home and he is definitely not the first not to remember the name of his hook up in the morning.

“And the answer to my first question?”, he says, as coolly as he can muster.

“Eliott. I’m a friend of Idriss. He said I could crash here.”

Ah, yes. Lucas vaguely remembers his flatmate saying something about this before he left to spend the weekend with his family.

“And I guess you are Lucas,” Eliott continues.

Lucas nods. He doesn’t even want to know what Idriss told his friend about Lucas. He doubts Idriss has warned Eliott about one-night stands doing the walk of shame at seven in the morning – mostly because Lucas especially waited for Idriss to be out to bring somebody home. Being okay with a gay flatmate is fine in theory, but Lucas wasn’t about to test Idriss’ limits only six weeks after moving in. He was lucky enough that Imane suggested this place, after Mika had decided to go live with his boyfriend.

“Okay, so that’s all clear then. Want some breakfast, Lucas? You look like you need to replenish your strength,” he says, and has the audacity to add a wink.

“Oh, fuck off,” Lucas retorts lamely.

“What?”, Eliott inquires innocently. “You had a tiger in your bed all night, it’s only logical.”

An impervious glare is sent in his direction, but Eliott only chuckles as he stirs in the pan.

Lucas can’t help but let his eyes wander freely. He already knows the sexy skin presented to him is warm and smooth. Eliott is tall, but he keeps his shoulders hunched a bit, and Lucas wants to let his hand glide over them, scaling Eliott’s spine until his fingers reach the waistband of his jeans. Okay, fine – he doesn’t want to stop there, but he forces himself to stop drooling over Eliott’s ass.

“That’s twice you’ve brought that up now,” Lucas blurts out, annoyed by the whole situation – Félix? Filibert? sneaking out, this fucking hunk teasing him about it. “Do you have a problem with that, or what?”

Slowly, Eliott turns off the gas, and faces Lucas.

“I might,” he says, crossing his arms over his naked chest, staring Lucas down.

The hairs on the back of Lucas’ neck rise.

“Ah, you’re one of those guys,” he challenges. “Afraid of gays, are you? Think we will rape your ass first chance we get, do you? Well, newsflash, you can fuck straight off then. You may be Idriss’ friend, but he’s not here, and I don’t need homophobes in my kitchen.”

Eliott doesn’t move, and Lucas bristles.

“Well? What are you standing around for?”

“I’m debating what I should say. I mean, should I just say I’m hardly afraid of gays? In fact, I have slept with two or three before. I do think I can remember their names, though.”

Lucas’ mouth falls open.

“Or should I say you’re welcome to my ass any time you’d like? I’m afraid it would be a bit too forward, but maybe it’d get things resolved quite quickly. What do you think, Lucas?”

Lucas is unsure his brain is capable of thought. He splutters something incoherent. The grey eyes across from him seem to burn.

“Or should I say your fuck buddy is obviously either blind or criminally stupid to leave your bed?”

Eliott’s gaze slowly moves down over Lucas’ body, and he shivers under the intensity. When Eliott looks up again, Lucas’ cheeks burn and he feels feverish.

“Or should I just do what I want to do?”

A silence falls, and Lucas’ fried brain cannot keep up. Finally, he manages to get enough synapses firing to get his mouth moving.

“What is that?”

Eliott takes a step closer, but doesn’t answer, and Lucas, who has caught up enough to realize Eliott might be interested in him, does the same. One by one, they take a step, not breaking eye contact, until their toes almost touch. In the same split second, they drop their eyes to the other’s lips.

“What do you want to do, Eliott?”, Lucas mumbles. He is unsure Eliott can hear him, or if he lipreads the words, but he growls in response.

“Show you a fucking tiger. Right here.”

Lucas nods, as if his entire skeleton system has not just dissolved into a puddle of jelly, as if his lungs aren’t burning with fire, as if his dick has not just tightened painfully.

As if he can handle any of these things.

“Should I, Lucas?”, Eliott whispers, and his voice is molten lava, sultry and seductive, and it takes all of Lucas’ brainpower to nod.

Eliott’s lips come crashing down, and their kiss is electrifying, and soul-mending, and earth-shattering, and life-changing.

And then Eliott’s hands are all over Lucas, and Lucas cannot help the moan that escapes him, and Eliott laughs as he presses his lips on Lucas’ jaws, his nose, his chin, his eyelids.

He will definitely not forget Eliott’s name.

[thesublemon]

on reviewing

Watched a documentary on Pauline Kael a couple nights ago. It clarified for me why I always find her reviewing refreshing and frustrating by turns. Refreshing because she doesn’t tend to treat genre or subject matter as something sacred. She will watch many kinds of movies with the same degree of curiosity and judgment. Her instincts about whether a movie is working, or lying, or doing something new are also often very on point.

But she falls prey to the two big things that I think make reviewing a flawed, sometimes maybe even useless endeavor. Especially if the goal is to accurately describe what a work is.

1) An inability, or disinterest, in modeling why artistic choices work or don’t. For instance, at one point in the documentary she complains about artists and critics equating repetition with lyricism, and states that repetition in movies simply annoys her because it feels like belaboring a point that she’s already gotten. But that complaint misses out on an opportunity to explore why people would think that repetition is lyrical, or why an artist would reach for it as a choice. And whether, once you’ve modeled what the goal of repetition actually is, maybe there are good and bad versions. If it were me, I would argue that when repetition is good, it doesn’t actually feel like repetition. It feels like riffing. The artistic impact comes not from reiteration, but from reframing—and if it does feel like reiteration, then it’s probably weak repetition. If I were to make a similar complaint about a movie, I might instead complain that a motif did not add or gain complexity each time it appeared. Or I might complain that an attempt to convey monotony by unchanging repetition did not feel worth it, because I didn’t find the underlying point insightful enough to justify the experience of slog. Whatever my exact argument though, the point is that there would be a curiosity and emphasis on what the artist was trying to accomplish. And a generosity about what they could accomplish. As well as a self-awareness about my own values (like “density” and “coherence”) and the fact that I judge works by those values. Without this sort of meta-level mindset, reviews seem to quickly descend into authoritative subjectivity. Kael was good at viciously panning things, but how can a pan help the artist make better work unless it’s accompanied by some sort of model or rationale? Why would an artist listen to your opinion unless you first prove that you understand what they were trying to do? Without a level that exists outside of the reviewer, a review runs the risk of simply being an exhortation to appeal to that reviewer’s taste.

2) A love of saying things that sound good, regardless of whether they’re actually meaningful. At one point in the documentary, Renata Adler, another writer, attempts a takedown of Kael. But ends up making the exact mistake that Kael does.

RENATA ADLER: [Kael] has, in principle, four things she likes: frissons of horror; physical violence depicted in explicit detail; sex scenes, so long as they have an ingredient of cruelty and involve partners who know each other either casually or under perverse circumstances; and fantasies of invasion by, or subjugation of or by, apes, pods, teens, bodysnatchers, and extraterrestrials.

Compare to Kael’s own style of evisceration. Here’s her on The Sound of Music.

PAULINE KAEL: What is it that makes millions of people buy and like THE SOUND OF MUSIC—a tribute to "freshness" that is so mechanically engineered, so shrewdly calculated that the background music rises, the already soft focus blurs and melts, and, upon the instant, you can hear all those noses blowing in the theatre? […] And the phenomenon at the center of the monetary phenomenon? Julie Andrews, with the clean, scrubbed look and the unyieldingly high spirits; the good sport who makes the best of everything; the girl who's so unquestionably good that she carries this one dimension like a shield. […] Wasn't there perhaps one little Von Trapp who didn't want to sing his head off, or who screamed that he wouldn't act out little glockenspiel routines for Papa's party guests, or who got nervous and threw up if he had to get on a stage?

Having read both pieces, I think both writers identify something true about their subject (Adler even makes remarks similar to what I’ve already said). But are the pieces useful? Or accurate in a more total sort of way? Kael had particular kinds of movies she loved, it’s true, and tended to be bad at self-criticism about whether her preferences actually indicated any sort of objective reality. But Adler’s criticism of Kael is no more interested in modeling than Kael’s reviews are. It isn’t interested in an evenhanded consideration of what Kael gets right and wrong and why. What unites Adler’s takedown of Kael and Kael’s takedown of The Sound of Music is that they want to be takedowns. They want to be stylistically rollicking reads that create the aesthetic experience of nailing something to a wall. But the thing about wanting too badly to make an argument “aesthetic” is that it becomes tempting to gloss over anything that would ruin the aesthetic flow. Adler devotes a long paragraph to identifying all of Kael’s tics, and the wall of text is certainly rhetorically effective at making you feel like Kael is some sort of dirty-minded one trick pony. But at the end of the day, it’s rhetoric. Not really argument. Similarly, Kael is so delighted to be able to use phrases like “glockenspiel routines”, that it gets in the way of saying anything more considered. Which isn’t to imply that I think the writers don’t actually believe what they’re saying. On the contrary, I think they hold their opinions powerfully and sincerely, and are trying to identify something wrong in their culture by singling out and drilling down on the sins of one thing in particular. But nonetheless, by caring so much about being good bits of writing—and they are good bits of writing; there’s something juicy and relentless about Kael that sticks with you—they end up empty on the level of argument.

These two failure modes highlight the central problem of reviewing, I think. Which is that reviews tend to be three things at once: ekphrasis, analysis and evaluation (which implies some sort of rubric of quality, whether personal, cultural, or “objective”). This is partly understandable, given that art is an abstract, experiential thing and therefore difficult to evaluate or analyze without some degree of ekphrastic description. It if was easy to say what a work was doing, the artist wouldn’t have needed to make art of it in the first place. So it makes sense that the process of making a work legible enough to opine on would have to trade in artistry itself. It makes sense that in order to show an audience what a work feels like, a review would have to poetically reproduce that feeling. Similar to the way that the translator of a poem needs to be a good poet themselves in order to make the meaning and experience of a poem accessible to an audience in a different language.

The problem is that ekphrasis, being expressive, is also necessarily subjective, and not primarily concerned with logic. Which on its own, is perfectly fine. I’ve written a ton of ekphrasis on this blog. I’m pretty pro-ekphrasis. When it’s done right, there isn’t much like a bulls-eye poetic description of a work to make you feel like you get it on a level you didn’t before. But when that sort of writing is also trying to say whether or not a work is “good”, the expressiveness frequently gets in the way. It’s easy to state or promote an opinion expressively. It’s harder to defend an opinion that way. In good faith, anyhow. Which results in all of these reviews that succeed in observing true or true-feeling things about art, and do so in a sometimes deliciously readable way, but don’t leave me with the feeling that the writer has any consistent or defensible take on how art works. I can’t help thinking that I much prefer reading writing about art that keeps its purpose siloed. So either a piece that tries to poetically explain how a work affected them, or an academic work that tries to argue for an interpretation, or something more philosophical that puts forth a theory of what makes things good and bad and explain why a work does or doesn’t live up to that. I don’t want this to be the case. I think writing that can blend those three modes together is some of the best possible writing about art. But the average reviewer is not really up to the task, despite the fact that the review is probably the most common and widely-read type of writing about art.

(None of which is to say that I’m free of sin these regards. One of the reasons I try to keep the tone of this blog casual is because I want to be able to be able to play with these different modes of writing about art. And see where and when and how I can get away with blending them. It’s a practice space.)

[vicunaburger]

Admittedly, I’m Hard to See

Fandom: Beetlejuice the Musical Chapters: 13.1/? Pairing: Beetlejuice x OC (Holidae) The Players: Beetlejuice, Lydia Deetz, Holidae Bell Word Count: 2,301 Warnings: M for Suggestive Content and Language

Notes: I had to break this one up because it was getting away from me. Part 2 coming soon~

Chapter 13.1 - In Which the Mind is a Terrible Thing to Use

Time was a weird concept when you were dead.

Minutes, hours, days: none of them really had any meaning anymore. They were just arbitrary things that kept the mortal realm in line, dictating the daily lives of those still living in it. The Neitherworld time difference was one of the hardest things for the Recently Deceased to grasp upon entry, and it was part of Beetlejuice’s job as a guide to break it down in simple terms. Congrats! You’re dead, do what you want because you’re here forever. Take up a hobby or something, it makes the days go by faster.

When he was in the mortal realm, he never really paid attention to the passage of time, but he knew it happened.

It had been dark when Holidae had dragged him topside, and now her room was brighter with sunlight peeking through dark curtains. He wondered if Holidae even realized time had passed that much, since she had her nose buried in the Handbook for a while now. She had let him sit with her this whole time, occasionally leaning against his shoulder to find a more comfortable reading position.

When he realized it was already nearing the middle of the day, he offered to leave her alone so that she could sleep, something he knew breathers had to do, “Hey, your eyes are gonna cross if you keep that up. Go to bed or something, I gotta check on a project back on the Other Side anyway.”

Holidae looked up from her reading, blinking at him to let her eyes adjust, “You’re leaving me?”

Beetlejuice had been lighting up a cigarette, but her question made him pause, the unlit smoke hanging from the corner of his mouth. Something in that tone of voice was… familiar. A little nagging worm in the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite pin down.

“I won’t stay away too long, babes. You won’t even miss me that much.” He chuckled, resuming his task and taking a long drag, puffing out jagged little smoke heart in her direction. “I know how eager you are to have me all to yourself. I don’t blame you; all this sexiness within arm’s reach for so long… your willpower it amazing, ya know?”

Frowning, she waved the smoke away, “Not going to miss the crushing weight of your ego, that’s for damn sure.”

Chuckling, Beej snapped his fingers, vanishing with a soft pop. Holidae rolled her eyes, sliding off the bed and going over to check the alarm clock on the dresser, wincing when she noticed it was already the afternoon. Hearing movement from downstairs, she quickly changed out of her pajamas, heading down to see what Lydia was up to.

Lydia was by the front door, one foot planted firmly on the top of an overstuffed suitcase as she attempted to close it, struggling with the zipper. Holidae skipped down the stairs two at a time, going over to kneel down and help to make sure nothing was being caught in the closure.

“Jesus, Lyddy, you’re going away for one night. Do you really need all this stuff?” Holidae mumbled, stuffing a frilly lace skirt back inside the suitcase. “Are you going for a fashion show?”

“Hey, you never know what can happen in the uninhabited part of the woods at night. What if some cryptid comes out and want to borrow an evening look? I’m not going to be rude, Holli.” Lydia snickered, managing to secure the small padlock on the closure.

Laughing, Holidae helped to lift the suitcase up onto its wheels, “I can’t argue with that logic. Just make sure you take the dress to the dry cleaner’s afterwards. Might have fleas.”

“Speaking of fleas, it’s your turn for chores this weekend. I’ve already seen this house looking like a Halloween haunt once, don’t let it happen without me, okay?” Lydia grabbed the car keys of the entryway table, dragging the suitcase behind her as she headed outside.

———

Holidae spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the house from top to bottom; mainly not wanting to incur Lydia’s wrath should the house get another inch of dust before she returned, but it also served to take her mind off of other things. Her sudden burst of confidence in inviting her ghostly roommate to spend the weekend with her… alone… she wasn’t normally such a forward person. Her brain was having a time of it; trying to decide if she should try and politely rescind the invitation, or just jump in with both feet.

Reading the Handbook hadn’t really done much to ease her fears, seeing as there was absolutely no useful information on whether or not such activities were even allowed, let alone possible. Were the going to be consequences? Did they need to take any extra precautions? How did he even retain a sex drive with no functioning organs? Obviously, Beej wasn’t shy about getting a little frisky with her, but was it done through some sort of non-biological means?

Over-thinking about such things were probably why she hadn’t slept in the past 24 hours.

Holidae halfheartedly pushed the broom around the outdoor deck, trying to gather the fallen leaves into a pile. A sudden breeze kicked up some fallen foliage, disrupting the progress she had made in sweeping the porch clear of debris. Groaning, she knelt down and picked up one of the leaves, glaring at it as though it were the sole cause of her internal torments.

“Why must you taunt me, huh? I just get this all clear and pretty and moderately balanced in some semblance of external harmony. And now you ruin it so casually?” She tossed the leaf into the small pile she had gathered with a huff.

Not wanting to be deterred from her task, she slipped her phone from her back pocket, queuing up some music to break up the silence of the outdoors. Once she found something suitable, she placed the phone on the nearby lawn chair, turning up the volume.

It was a bouncy tune; one that made it impossible not to add a few extra flourishes to her broom strokes, sweeping along to the rhythm. Before long, all intentions of actually cleaning had ceased, and Holidae was far more concerned with pulling off fantastic moves with her dance partner. For a broom, it was surprisingly limber as she swung her arms wide, twirling in some bastardized ballroom number created just for this occasion. Waltz for an autumn cleaning spree.

“You’re making a mess.” A familiar, gravel laden voice cut over the music.

Holidae looked around wildly, clutching the broom to her chest in surprise, noticing the ghost casually lounging on the lawn chair. He held her phone in one hand, scrolling idly; a half-finished cigarette burning in the other.

“Holly-baby, you’ve been holding out on me. All these cute underwear pics… and you never bothered to share? I’m hurt. Who’s been seeing these if not me?” Beetlejuice waves the phone around for emphasis. “Do I need to remove some dude’s eyeballs now?”

Her face cherry-red, she marched over and snatched the phone away, “Hey, that’s private stuff, jerkass.”

Upon inspection, the phone was set on the lock screen, meaning he hadn’t been browsing her private photos as he had claimed. Beej sat up with interest, laughing at her panicked state.

“Ah-ha! So you do have sexy pictures on that thing. Give it here… don’t you know sharing is caring?” He held out his hand impatiently. “Call it a sneak preview.”

Holidae shoved the phone into her pocket, “Whether or not such pictures exist is none of your concern. And please don’t go around removing eyeballs. Or at least don’t tell me about it. I don’t want to be complicit.”

“It’s very much my concern, babes. I should be the only one getting the honor of seeing every bit of you from now on. But fine, I will keep you out of my eyeball collection.” Beej reached up, hooking a finger through the belt loop of her jeans, tugging playfully. “So, Cinderella, you done playing housekeeper? I could always get you a little maid outfit for authenticity.”

“Well, technically I’m done, but there’s always- eep!” Holidae was cut off, having been picked up and thrown over Beetlejuice’s shoulder like a sack of flour. “Put me down! This is undignified!”

Beetlejuice ignored her struggling, humming a nonsense tune as he glided through the house, heading up the stairs. Holidae kicked her feet in protest, stringing a few choice words together as she was carried around with little effort. One of her kicks landed dangerously close to a rather sensitive area below his belt, earning her a sharp smack across her backside.

“Ow. Fuck you!” She hissed, gripping his coat as he floated up the stairs. “I don’t like this one bit! Put me down or I’ll kick you again, and I won’t miss.”

Undeterred by her protesting, the ghost continued all the way into the attic, unceremoniously depositing her on the ratty sofa; having been folded up at some point. She sank into the half-stuffed cushions, propping herself against the arm of the sofa, angrily scrunching herself as far into the corner as she could fit. The ghost settled himself into the opposite corner, amused with how flustered he had made her in such a short time.

“Holli~” Beetlejuice was purring deep in his throat, “Babydoll, look at me.”

“No,” Holidae kicked at him with her feet.

He chuckled, “C’mon. Look, I’ll apologize if you just look at me. I don’t say sorry often, so I think you should take advantage of this opportunity. Look look look…”

With a heavy sigh and a roll of her eyes, Holidae turned to look at him, “You are such a pain in the- JESUS CHRIST.”

Beetlejuice was sitting with one leg folded over the other, his arm draped across the back of the sofa. A perfectly normal pose… save for the fact he was stark naked. His pale coloring covered his entire body; the bits of green-tinted mold dotting various parts of him. A thin smattering of chest hair - green of course, matching his hair - made a trail down his pudgy stomach, the rest hidden by his crossed leg. She could only assume that all of his hair sported the same color-changing hue, but wasn’t about to ask. The only thing really out of place about him was the fact there was a brutal looking scar in between two of his ribs.

Holidae stared, slack jawed like a fish, unable to look away for far too long; desperately keeping her eyes locked onto his face. Beej waggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner, gesturing over himself with his free hand.

“I’m sorry I made you undignified or whatever.” He attempted a sorry look, “I take it you like what you see? All this can be yours~ whenever you want. As an apology.”

“I… I can’t look anywhere but your face.” Holidae stuttered, a flush of color spreading out from her nose across her cheeks. “P-Please put on pants. At least pants.”

The ghost mumbled disapprovingly, but complied with her request to a degree; a pair of boxer shorts covering the most scandalous bits of him for the moment. Breathing a sigh of relief, Holidae allowed herself to relax against the arm of the sofa, running a hand through her hair as she gave him a better look-over this time.

“Ah, good, my plan worked.” Beej crawled over to her side of the sofa, squishing her playfully between his body and the cushions.

Holidae head-butted him, “The plan to embarrass me to death?”

He shook his head, conveniently resting his face on her chest, “My ice-breaker. Getting naked. You ever heard of that old thing where if you’re awkward about something, you picture people naked? I cut out the middleman. You’ve now seen me naked, so it you won’t be embarrassed about later, and now we just gotta work on getting you naked.”

“That’s an ice-breaker to you? That’s… that’s like final step territory. What kind of person just immediately disrobes like that? Okay, well, not everyone can just magic their clothes away like you, but it’s the point.” She pouted, brushing through the shorter hairs at the nape of his neck with her fingers.

“...hookers?” He offered, taking a moment to adjust her legs so he was between them, using her body as furniture instead of the sofa.

“Ah, good point, but you don’t strike me as a street walker.” Her skin grew warm under her sweatshirt, fully processing the mostly naked man lounging with her. “Even then I think there’s a least a few minutes beforehand where it’s all business transaction talk. So, being naked immediately is optional. Plus, what if the client wants to keep their clothes on? There’s too many variables, Juice. Did you even account for activities that don’t require disrobing at all?”

Holidae realized she was rambling, her nerves having set her brain on fast-talking auto pilot to cover the fact she was stalling the whole situation with him. She glanced down, finding herself face to face with a pair of molten gold eyes, practically glowing in the sunlight in the attic window. It was so easy to forget how inhuman he was; things like that were a stark reminder.

Beetlejuice had a lazy grin on his face, a few sharp teeth peeking out from the corner of his mouth, content with watching the breather talk circles around him.

Not the breather. His breather.

As much as she tried to ignore him, or refuse his playful offers, he could see it in her face as she stared back at him. Who else would let him lie around like this? Who else would validate his need for constant attention without even realizing she was doing it? This was not a bestest best friend: he already had one of those.

This was a Holidae: and he only wanted one of those.

Before he could utter so much as a snarky quip, her hands grabbed the sides of his face, pulling him close, and she closed the gap between them with a kiss.

Writing Tags: @mr-geuse @paxenera @leiasolo77 @go-commander-kim @ashemspirit @asriells

[jjkpls]

Love (G)

> genre : fluff

> pairing : kim namjoon x reader

> total words : 1.6k

> warnings/content : established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff (like really, namzoon makes me real shoft), writer!namjoon

“Mom, listen. I think I love him.” She's cooing in the phone, loud and ear-piercing squeals hurting your eardrum, you have to pull the phone away from your face to preserve it. Namjoon is watching you through his thick-framed spectacles. His pretty eyes are staring with an obvious alarm. They're twitching nervously, widening further at each blink. He's gawking for a minute before he starts pouting, cute lips puckered and jaw set in discontent. It makes you grin, giggle even, as he frowns deeper, genuinely upset, with a sweet flush on his honey cheeks. He’s patient though, waiting quietly for you to ramble a bit more to satisfy your mother's curiosity, wait for you to finish listening to the couple advices she has for you even though none really falls in a receptive ear and finally hang up. When you do, he’s been waiting for so long he doesn’t know how to break out of his silence. It’s your feet, snug under his warm thigh, sneaking further under that unravel his stiff tongue.

“You're so mean! What was that?” He exclaims right away. His voice is all low and rough, his alluring voice almost intimidating. He sounds like he used to to you when you first met him and you were a tiny little shy thing, just wanting to be noticed by the tall handsome monster of charisma. It was before you discovered he was just a giant nerd, lanky and clumsy and anything but daunting. 

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes searching the sky for an answer, you casually ask, “What do you mean?”

“I- You- can't just say it like that!” He can tell you're feigning innocence when you know damn well what you just did and it tickles his patience even more. “I was supposed to-” Here goes the sexy brain flushed down the toilet by your malicious amusement. You’re not mean. It’s just that he’s too funny to mess with. Anyway, he can’t be mad at you for saying you love him, can he? “I wanted to say it first. I've been- I've been working on a poem for you, you brat.” He’s done fighting, knowing his previous weapons of choice won’t work. You wanted to mess with him and he showed like a pure idiot that you hit just right. It’s pointless to fight back therefore he decides to whine. He doesn’t believe himself cute enough to have this technic effective but after months of being with you, he’s learned that you don’t know him the same way he knows himself. He’s proven it again as his whiny complain, although he cringes hearing himself, reaches you and so effectively brings all your guards down. You’re rising from your end of the sofa, making your way to him so you can install yourself on your favourite seat: his lap. He’s so comfortable under you, with his big meaty thighs and his broad chest that’s always supporting you so kindly. He’s still sulking when you appear in front of him, though his hands are already reaching to set on your ass. He likes to pretend it’s just a safety issue: he doesn’t want you to fall over and knock your head open on the corner of the coffee table. But you know your man better than that.

You lean in to work your magic on his mouth, smooching him generously before his jealous cheeks try to catch your attention by winking their lovely dimple at you and you give them the same treatment. 

“I have to meet your mom before marrying you, right?” He asks so calmly, you’d think he’s just wondering aloud. The words shock your heart for a second. It’s more excitement and happiness rather than surprise. He’s said that a million times before. He’s never properly asked. He would just throw it out. During sex or when you’d cook for him or massage his taut neck when he’d spend twelve hours on end writing, he’d say “You’re really good at this. I should marry you, shouldn’t I?”. You’d be a mess of embarrassed giggles or snarky comments to bite him back for teasing you but that’d be about it. The thing is, he’s never looked at you like that while saying it. Or maybe he did but you’ve never noticed. This time anyway, you see so much adoration, you wonder if he’s not about to sneak a little black velvet box from under the cushion. There’s no box coming out so you brush away your stupid greedy and hasty self to joke around with him. 

“You're not even going to ask me?” Because as any of the other times, it doesn’t look any close to a proposition.

“You lost the right to choose when you stole the first 'I love you' from me.” It makes you laugh in the crook of his neck. He sounds so petty, it’s the cutest. He is not that bitter though, as you chuckle, replaying the funny way he stressed the ‘stole’ in your head, he kisses the side of your face, his hand gently smoothing your hair out. He’s so sweet. Your boyfriend is the sweetest person you’ve ever met, and he’s yours for some reason. You straighten up to see his face, his eyes are searching for yours, saying ‘hi’ so lovely so when they do find them. He’s also the most handsome. Gosh. 

“So I'll be wearing your name?” He nods, you press a peck on his smiling lips. “And then, we'll have little babies?” Your grin extends from one end to the other. You just think back to that time he babysat his nephew for a day. He was so excited, rambling on the phone about all the things he'd planned on doing with him that day, all the places he wanted to take him to. You can't recall the full list of all the projects, mixed between artsy places clearly age-inappropriate for the three-year-old and fun places for kids you just couldn't imagine his giant gangly figure to stand amongst the short crowd. What you can picture perfectly though, as if it happened just yesterday, is his pale face. The teary eyes, flushed nose and trembling lip. He looked half-dead, about to cry from how overwhelming and harassing the day had been. Children are a blessing. Made of love and fun, but they require a lot of work. He didn't know that or had chosen to ignore it to let the enthusiasm take over. He was far from ready to have kids of his own, you knew that much. But you want to have some with him eventually and fantasizing about it feels wonderful. “With your dimples?” You question with undisguised euphoria, asking and smiling with your palms pressed together, as if he was Santa Claus and you were begging him to please, please, please, grant you the present you wanted oh-so-bad.

“What if they don't get my dimples?” He challenges with a side grin. 

“Well,” You start with a dramatic rise of your eyes to the ceiling. What an upsetting thought. “I'll have to love them anyway but I might cry a little.” It makes him laugh so you just keep it at that. Knowing he knows damn well that whatever your children take from him will be a gift. He knows because he thinks the same about you.

“I love you.” You say again because the way you said it earlier was way too entertaining but this man deserves to hear it softly too. “Do you really wanna marry me?” He kisses you softly. His plump bottom lip lingers against your own as if it just wouldn’t leave. He gives in, kissing you deeper for an instant. Short but strong enough to leave a deep impression on you, rendering your eyelids so heavy, opening them up is turned into a challenge. He always does that. Always takes your breath away. Always steal an additional piece from your heart. It's fine with you for he makes sure to replace each pieces he steals with one of his own. 

“I'll never feel lonely again with you by my side.” It’s so genuine. So thoughtful. Carefully thought about. Namjoon even if he’s a man of art and beauty is also a very intellectual, logical being. You know he sees love as this beautiful, magical because fairly-unexplainable thing. But he also admits that love takes thoughtful dedication, time and effort. It’s a decision, it can’t just be something undergone, it'd be too easy. Too easy to feel and too easy to lose. When he’s looking at you with those eyes, his warm hands tender on your skin, feeling his frenetic heartbeat under your palm, you know he’s chosen you. You might cry, you realise. How lame would that be? He would love that, the hopeless romantic asshole. 

“Was this in the poem?” You ask, turning your head to the side to avoid his stare as you sniff discreetly. Namjoon gasps out loud. 

“Ok, it's on!” He exclaims before his giant hands are grabbing you by the waist to throw your back on the sofa. There’s an alarm in your head going off to remind you that this clumsy ass man has almost killed you multiple times just by having sex with you, therefore you know for a fact you don’t want to play wrestling with him because it’s too early to die, you’re not even wearing his name yet! But he’s a giggly mess as he starts tickling your sides, watching you, with pure teary adoration, squirm and cry for mercy and you gather that it’s fine. Dying by his side with his lovely laughter tickling your ears would be such a heavenly way to die.

a/n : another happy birthday to our precious namjoonie <3. i hope you guys enjoyed, lately i’ve found myself writing so much smut, i wonder if i’ve not become inept for fluff lol let me know! kisses!

[strawberrymeriadoc]

Saturday morning

Merry enjoyed having a bed to himself. Peony would sometimes snuggle with him when he first lay down to sleep or in the morning. On some level, though, Merry missed the feeling of safety and belonging he got from sleeping next to someone. It had been almost a year since his girlfriend, Jamie, had broken up with him. It was funny because he had spent a decent amount of the relationship fantasizing about leaving her. But once it finally happened, he wasn’t prepared. He missed resting his head on her chest and putting his arms around her as they slept.

[To tell the truth, Merry didn’t know if he ever wanted another relationship or not. There was something about being in them that set him into fight or flight mode. For the duration of the relationship. No wonder he didn’t feel like himself during them. But doubt filled his mind: is it just because of my trauma with abusive relationships? Merry knew that he always wanted the closeness of an intense friendship marked by fierce loyalty and love. And that in the past, once he felt such a pull to a person, he’d end up feeling like the next logical step would be to enter a romantic and sexual relationship with that person. He had no choice if he wanted to be that close to someone. Or, at least, that’s what he always thought. Lately, Merry had heard rumors here and there of something called being aromantic. It had come up in passing a few times at the university’s lgbtq organization. But he didn’t want to be that. It’s bad enough I don’t want to have sex with people. Do I have to be wrong about this too?

After pondering all this, Merry felt it was high time to actually get up and start the day. It was Shabbat, so there wasn’t really anything he should do today, but eating breakfast was still a (begrudged) requirement. Merry walked quietly by Pippin’s room and came into the kitchen. For once Pippin wasn’t asleep on the couch and Merry wondered when he would get up as it was already noon. Merry silently hoped that Pippin might want to hang out with him today. He was used to feeling unwanted by Jamie and she would get upset if he suggested an outing, so his hopes weren’t very high. Regardless, it was a perfect day to sit out on the balcony and enjoy some coffee.

Once outside, Merry could hear the chirping of sparrows as well as the sounds of the city. Being Shabbat, it was much quieter than it usually would be at noon, but Merry could still hear the sounds of a plane overhead and a few cars and motorbikes which were somehow the loudest of all. Merry was thankful it was Shabbat. It had been a long week. He spent half his days in the library and the other half cleaning the apartment and just doing the necessary dirty work of making sure life ran smoothly. Merry loathed this kind of busy work most of all. He didn’t want to email his advisor, he didn’t want to get the fridge fixed, he didn’t want to go grocery shopping, he didn’t want to call the pharmacy for the fourth time to make sure his Testosterone prescription had gone through. He just wanted to read his books, write, ride horses, and hang out with his friends. Merry suddenly felt silly for mentally complaining about all these things, even though no one was around to hear it. He half worried that G-d Themself would be angry with him. For not being grateful enough for what he had. Merry didn’t love this relationship he had with G-d. He thought it seemed suspiciously like his relationship with his mother. And as far as he knew, there was nothing in the Torah or the teachings of the rabbis that would support the existence of such a relationship (or, really, for the existence of G-d all together, though that thought also filled Merry with fresh guilt and a feeling of being watched and judged).

Pippin was just waking up from a cozy dream. He half opened his eyes and saw Peony sitting before him, tail wrapped around her paws. She was staring intensely at him. “Up to our judginess early, aren’t we?” he half-scolded her. Peony flicked her tail and continued to look at him, clearly nonplussed. Pippin closed his eyes and thought about what he wanted to do today. Coming up blank, the boy reached for his phone and checked his messages. There was a sweet good morning text from Frodo. And the pictures he posted of the dinner he made last night were fairly popular. He was glad to hear from his friends even if it was just a like on one of his creations. He scrolled through and saw some pictures of lovely handwriting that Frodo often posted. Rosie and her siblings had gone for a day trip to the Sea. Even Bilbo was sharing some photos of his most recent trip to the Lonely Mountain. Pippin felt sad. He really wanted to travel. He was sick of being cooped up in boring old Minas Tirith.

Finally, the boy realized he was quite hungry and made his way to the kitchen. Merry was sitting outside on the balcony. He was looking out and seemed deep in thought and hadn’t noticed that Pippin had woken up. Pippin set to making an omelet. He didn’t hold with coffee like his roommate, but enjoyed a hot cup of green tea instead. As he ate, he thought about Gandalf, his Organic Chemistry professor. Pippin was about to enter his second year of graduate school and as such this would be his first semester assistant teaching. This was all fine with Pippin. Except he had been assigned to assist Gandalf in his Introduction to Environmental Science class. I can hardly stand one class with him, Pippin thought, how am I supposed to endure being his assistant?” Gandalf was an enigmatic figure in the Science Department. He would sometimes disappear for weeks, forcing his teaching assistants to cover for him with no notice. He also had a habit of not explaining his full thoughts to the other members of the department, but Saruman the Chair seemed to manage the department perfectly well despite the wizard’s secrecy. To make matters worse, Gandalf seemed to have a particular chip on his shoulder about Pippin. The boy was one of the finest students in the department despite being a year young for his grade. Perhaps the professor was pushing his pupil because he knew he could handle it. I wish people wouldn't do that, lamented Pippin, why when I’m already doing so well do they keep having to raise the bar? This was really all too much to Pippin. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that he wouldn’t be able to make it through the semester, much less the year.

Suddenly the room felt very small and like it was circling rapidly around him. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. To make matters worse, his heart started pounding out of his chest. He wanted to call out to Merry for help but he couldn’t make words come out of his mouth. Pippin could move his arms though and without really knowing what he was doing he threw a pencil that was on the counter at the sliding door. It made a quiet dink sound and clattered to the floor. Merry heard the sound and turned around. He got up and went to the door. He could see Pippin holding his head in his hands. Concerned, Merry came back into the house. “You alright?” he asked. Pippin nodded his head “no”. Merry sat down next to his friend. He didn’t really know what to do but he knew Pippin needed him now. “Hey, it’s alright, it’s ok. Do you want to talk about it?” Pippin nodded his head again. Finally, Merry perceived what was going on. “Here, let’s try this breathing technique together: breathe out for 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8, in 1 2 3 4, hold it 1 2 3 4 5 6 7, out 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8” Merry repeated the set several times.

Pippin started to look a little better. His face wasn’t as pale as it had been earlier and it seemed to do him good to focus on Merry’s breathing exercise. “There you go,” Merry said, smiling gently. Pippin was still not feeling well but he was feeling better. “Was having a panic attack,” he faltered. ��It’s alright” Merry encouraged “They just go away with time, we just have to wait it out”. The “we” in that sentence hit Pippin. He didn’t realize before that Merry had committed to helping him with this. “Anything I can do that would help?” Merry offered (as he often did). Pippin hesitated, thinking about what he really needed in this moment. “Could you...would you mind if I held your hand?” he asked quietly. “Sure” said Merry and he stretched out his hand. Pippin took it and gave it a weak squeeze. He used his other hand to hold up his head as the room was still spinning. They sat there for a while in silence.

Merry was happy to be able to help his friend. So often it was Pippin who was helping him. Merry had had his fair share of panic attacks and had spent all of them alone. He didn’t want anyone to have to go through that, least of all Pippin.

After about twenty minutes the room stopped spinning. Pippin sat up and pulled his hand back. Merry waited for his friend to say something or indicate what he wanted to do. “Well, now I’m hungry again!” and with that Pippin stood up and began foraging around the kitchen. Merry laughed. After Pippin had eaten some yogurt with granola he was feeling much more himself again. “Thanks for helping me through that Merry!” Pippin said cheerfully “It meant a lot.” “Oh you’re-you’re welcome” Merry stammered putting his hand behind his head.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Nobody” Part 2

After not feeling well for months, The Joker finally found out why: the life threatening condition is so serious there’s only a 50/50 chance of survival.  Dealing with a brain tumor is not going to be easy, that’s why The King of Gotham asked his half-brother Arthur to help Y/N while he’ll undergo treatment.

Part 1

“Hey Pumpkin,” The Joker kisses you. “Are you awake?”

You smack your lips and stretch, opening your eyes since you have no other choice.

“I am now… Are you feeling sick? Need anything?” the nursing side takes over while he’s silent, too busy wrapping your right leg around his waist. “Mister Joker,” you immediately gasp. “No guns in bed!”

“It’s not my gun,” he smirks and you chuckle at the evident truth. “When’s the last time we had sex, huh? Two weeks ago?!”

“Mmmm…” you debate, caressing his face. “Something like that.”

“All the meds are messing me up,” J pouts. “Great news though: turns out I’m not dead yet,” he adds and you yank him in your arms before his speech ruins the mood.

“Maybe we should sleep outdoors more often; it seems to have a beneficial effect,” Y/N underlines the welcomed idea The Joker had last night about resting on the terrace.

“Or maybe it’s just from having my girl close,” he utters a nice sentence, instantly correcting himself. “This is clearly the tumor messing with my brain; makes me say weird stuff.”

“Perhaps we should keep it then,” you sigh as The King of Gotham pulls down on your PJ shorts. “I like to hear weird stuff like that.”

“Do ya’?!” he fakes his surprise because he tries to avoid the subject.

“U-hum.”

“Naaah, I vote for sex and dirty talk!” J hisses and slides on top of you, prompting laughter when he starts nibbling on your cleavage. “Let’s have some fun before my mojo’s gone!”

“Mojo!” you repeat since you can’t stop cracking up, the unexpected entertaining morning 100 percent welcomed after the stressful past months.

“Shut up and let’s sin,” The Joker gives in to your charms. “You can be laud: Arthur’s a heavy sleeper, not that he can hear us anyway.”

***********

His brother is actually downstairs; Arthur woke up at 7:15am, moped around for a bit, then decided to cook breakfast. That’s what he’s been doing for the past 20 minutes: it wasn’t difficult to locate the necessary ingredients and bestowing his talents upon the famished couple might help in the long run.

He figured Y/N and J will appreciate his culinary abilities succeeding napping on the inflatable mattress outside; fresh air is bound to make one hungrier than usual.

So here’s the result of his hard work: two plates filled with bacon, eggs, hash browns, waffles and freshly sliced oranges perfectly arranged in symmetrical patterns.

Arthur places the dishes on a tray, humming a little song while he pours hot tea in the cups; it smells delicious and he can’t wait to enjoy the praises: he needs extra credit after upsetting Y/N yesterday with the unnecessary fight she witnessed by accident.  

Mister Fleck lights up a cigarette, swiftly creeping out The Penthouse: he puffs the smoke like a chimney, mindful at the ashes flying in the breeze. A few extra steps and he’s almost in front of the canopy; Arthur prepares to announce his presence when moans reach his ear. He freezes and carefully listens, unsure on what to do.

“Oh my God, J!” you squeal as The Joker growls, purring up a storm.

“What are you doing to me, Kitten?”

Further panting and groaning suggests he should probably abandon his plan: Arthur holds in his breath, unwilling to interrupt the fun. The 42 year old begins to gracefully walk backwards, totally caught up in a tiny dance with the food tray.

“Sssttttt,” he admonishes his own action while sliding the glass door. “Let’s give the kids privacy,”Arthur mumbles and covers the plates to keep breakfast warm.

In about 20 minutes he notices J chasing you towards the entrance, your rosy cheeks turning red when you bump into the guest. 

“Good morning,” you smile and let The Joker catch you.

“Easy prey,” he gropes a bubbly Y/N although if his older brother is present.

“Morning,” the reply triggers your boyfriend’s out of context comment:

“You cooked?!”

“Yeah,” Arthur gestures at the covered plates. “It’s ready to go.”

“Let me take a fast shower and brush my teeth. Are you coming?” J slaps you butt instead of another encouragement and you steal a piece of bacon to munch on the way up to the master bathroom:

“Thank you Arthur!”

“No problem,” he blows a rebel curl off his forehead, intrigued to see his sibling in a good mood; it’s a well-known fact The Joker didn’t have an abundance of fine days lately. Today must be an exception.

He’s actually the first one to arrive and Arthur has to ask:

“Where’s my sister-in-law?”

“She’s not your sister-in-law!” the sour tone underlines.

“I had you guys married,” the man insists.

“We didn’t agree to that!” The Joker hisses. “I barely tolerate her!” Arthur calmly lights up his second cigarette for the day, sharing wisdom with the feisty green haired menace:

“I wouldn’t take her for granted if I were you; one day you might wake up and realize she’s not even here. I talk from my own experience when I tell you it happened to me too: my relationship with the woman I loved was just an illusion, nothing more. Trust me when I tell you you’ll never feel such a deep disappointment again…”

“Ahhhh, I’m starving!” you pop up in the kitchen, completely unaware of the discussion they’re having. “Coffeeeeee,” you gush at the freshly brewed pot, excited to sip on the miracle drink.

“It’s impossible for us to hallucinate in the same time,” Arthur whispers. “Wanna check to make sure?”

J nods a yes and you’re suddenly trapped at the counter: Arthur grabs your right hand, his brother your left, both squeezing your fingers.

“I think you’re OK,” Mister Fleck concludes and you’re confused:

“What’s going on?”

“Confirming you’re real,” he admits on their strange experiment.

“Of course I’m real,” Y/N frowns, yet she has a vague idea regarding the mysterious behavior.

“Perfect; take your coffee and let’s eat,” J avoids expanding on the topic; that’s the best he can muster without revealing the slight panic at the thought you might be a product of his imagination.

*************

“I have a meeting at Savage Club this evening. Could end up profitable, depending on the terms. Would you care to accompany me?” Arthur offers to get The Joker out of the house for the heck of it.

“Nah…” the latest mutters, quite uncomfortable after his afternoon pills.

“Come on, baby; let’s go out!!! It’s been forever!” you implore because the proposal sounds super enticing. “I miss having fun,” you blur out and continue when his bitterness is obvious: “Not that it’s not fun staying home. Pleeeeaasseee, can we? I promise I’ll take care of you.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me; I’m not a child!” The Joker raises his voice and you are frustrated since no matter what you articulate it gets twisted.

“Why do you have to be like this?...” the rhetorical question is a clear statement of how much you hate conflict over trivial issues of no importance whatsoever.

Your other half believes otherwise.

“Like what, hm? Like what?! Explain so everybody can get an intelligible and logical breakdown!!” J yells for no reason but you are so done with his outbursts.

“Never mind,” you sniffle and stroll out on the terrace in order to avoid more bickering; today started so damned uplifting and you don’t know how to keep things together anymore.

When you give your all and you don’t receive too much in return, the good moments blur out in the background to the point of becoming insignificant.

“You’re a jerk,” Arthur affirms after he’s left alone with his sibling.

“Pfft,” The Joker rolls his eyes. “It’s the tumor,” he sarcastically emphasizes.

“Bullshit! It’s not the tumor, kid. And I’m taking her out, she earned it. Your crabby ass can stay here; Y/N is certainly due for refreshing fun!” the fierce answer provokes J’s resentment.

“Definitely not!!!”

“Watch me,” Arthur scoffs at his relative’s conduct, deciding to follow you outdoors.

You watch the busy city from the 30th floor and it’s safe to say you don’t really see it; the wrists loosely hanging over the railing cue him to approach with caution.

“I had this epiphany that you should escort me to Savage Club,” he tests the waters. “If you don’t fancy to attend the gathering you can always sit at the bar and have some drinks. Call me insane but I have this hunch you might want a distraction.”

“I can’t,” you regretfully inform. “I have to ensure J takes his medications and eats; what if he has an episode while I’m gone?... I simply can’t…”

“Plenty of people to supervise him; he’ll be ok.”

You don’t reply and Arthur lights up another cigarette, nonchalantly chatting with the quiet Y/N.

“Tell you how this will play: we’ll get ready and at 6pm we are leaving with or without the kid. If he joins it’s fine, if not… infinitely better,” he elbows a sulky Y/N. C’mon, put on a happy face! See?” he grabs the corners of his mouth and forces them into an eerie grin, eager to demonstrate his proclamation. “It’s not complicated, you just have to practice,” he moves his fingers to your face and elevates the corners of your lips, trying to mimic a smirk for a few seconds. “Tough crowd…” he grumbles when there’s no reaction. “Don’t make me take out the heavy artillery,” Arthur threatens. “I used to do stand-up comedy, you know?”

“… Did you?...”  you finally respond to his repeated attempts, pretending you are clueless of his skills.

“You should be aware I’m a tour de force nobody should reckon with,” Mister Fleck boasts, super confident he can make you laugh.

“Yeah, after you tell a joke there’s so much silence you can hear the crickets chirping all the way from New York!” J snarls because he tiptoed on the patio to spy on the conversation.

“Oh yeah?!” Arthur gets annoyed and without further delay he lays upon you one of the best masterpieces to ever emerge from his genius brain: “I hope my death makes more cents than my life.”

And now he waits… and waits…

“Told you before: it’s not funny,” The Joker reprises his march back to the Penthouse, thrilled at his brother’s failure when the unthinkable happens: Y/N bursts out laughing like crazy, not necessarily due to the pun being hilarious (she actually finds it kind of sad, that’s why she didn’t react sooner).

Arthur’s inflated ego makes him shout from the top of his lungs, ensuring the younger sibling can perceive his triumphant bragging:

“IT IS FUNNY!”

************* “Welcome to my humble kingdom,” Joker guides you towards the bar among the increasing ruckus his presence is creating among the audience.

Savage Club belongs to him and his “fans” meet here on a regular basis: a safe haven for the eccentrics, misfits and wackos, ready to do whatever necessary to please their role model.  

Arthur picks a microscopic crumb from the collar of his impeccable red suit while pulling a high chair for you:

“Take a sit,” he quickly glances at the huge mirror behind the counter to make sure his clown make-up is flawless: it took him an hour to get ready after you accepted his invitation. He’s usually faster yet the feminine company required auxiliary efforts; it’s not every day you steal a woman from her crib and take her out for invigorating entertainment.

The woman being your brother’s partner makes it even better.

“J is not answering my texts,” you sigh, already worried he might be sick.

“It’s his fault for acting up,” Arthur takes out a cigarette and seven hands holding lighters pop up around him. He chooses the one belonging to the pretty lady to his right, giving her a little wicked wink that visibly flusters the recipient of such undivided attention. “I’m going to my meeting, it should take too long,” he addresses Y/N and she nods, prepared to guzzle down much needed alcohol away from the grumpy boyfriend.

“Nothing happens to my sister-in-law,” Joker barks at one of the bouncers on his way to the VIP room; there’s no soul to argue the disclosure regarding your connection so he gets away with it.

“No worries, sir; she’s safe.”

“You misunderstand,” Arthur cuts him off. “This is for their safety,” he points at the mob. “In case you didn’t recognize her, that’s Y’N and she’s in a foul mood; we all heard rumors about her temper, hm?”

“Yes, Mister Joker.”

“Don’t be an idiot!” The Clown scolds. “My brother’s Mister Joker; I’m simply Joker. Or did you forget?!”

*************

1 hour and 13 minutes later

“How are we doing?” Arthur makes himself comfortable next to you, gesturing at the 8 empty shot glasses collected in a small pyramid.

“Amazing,” you slurp from your second Mai Tai cocktail and chew on the pink straw.  

“How many can shots can you handle?” he curiously interrogates the buzzed Y/N.

“About 5,” you snort and it makes him content to notice you’re carefree for once.

“Going overboard?” Arthur snickers and you lift your glass, lively concluding: “I’ll drink to that!”

He has no beverage so he snatches a beer bottle from a guy, inquiring:

“Did you touch this?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“It’s mine,” he clinks the container against yours and instructs: ”Here’s to going overboard; bottoms up!”

**************

“Look who’s home at 2 in the morning!” J criticizes when Y/N and Arthur show up in the living room at The Penthouse.

“I wasn’t aware we had a curfew!” your drinking buddy enunciates as you hide behind him, concealing your face in the soft fabric of his jacket.

You obviously thought your boyfriend would be in bed but nope, he waited for your victorious return.

“A-are you mad?” your slurred words dissipate in the air, closely followed by hiccups.

The Joker exhales, resigned: oddly enough he missed you, although you were absent for a whopping 5 hours and a half.

“No.”

“Oh my God!” you peek from beyond your human shield as if the opposite was stated. ”W-what are you gonna do?”

“You’ll see,” J finally takes his night meds: he postponed the remedy because he wanted to be awake for this magnificent after show.

“Oh my God!” you squeak, appalled. “W-what are you gonna d-do?” the repeated question prompts actual confessions:

“First, I’ll help you take a shower and brush your teeth…”

“Oh my God!” your eyes get big like this is the worst thing ever; the inebriated Y/N can’t connect the dots too well.

“Then we’ll have sex and I’ll be sweet; you won’t remember in the morning,” The Joker sneers.

“Oh my God!” you glare at Arthur completely dumbfounded, then at J, then at Arthur who’s sturdily holding your arm so you won’t fall.

“Stop teasing her!” he hisses.

“I’m literally replying to her quizzing.”

“W-what are you gonna do?” the plastered Y/N has to know again.

“This is your fault!” The Joker comes to grab you, exasperated. “I consider you responsible!”

“Cool,” Arthur proudly delivers his date to the rightful owner. “I’ll retreat to my room and leave you kids alone,” he waves and distances from the couple while blessing them: “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you Nobody and Joker!”

“Shut the hell up!” his brother snaps, irritated at the persistent charade.

“You may kiss the bride!” Arthur mocks, positively not giving a crap about the rant: he’s an individual with a mission and won’t admit defeat that easily.

“Can you believe this shit?!” The Joker complains and shoves Y/N in one of the bathrooms downstairs. “Ewww, you smell like a distillery,” he rants while tugging on your clothes.

“Oh my God!” you whimper, distressed at his words.

“Ugghhh, you sound like a broken record!” The King of Gotham urges you to step in the shower and it doesn’t fail:

“Oh my God!”

“Seriously??!!” your actions skyrocket his blood pressure to unknown heights. “Take a break!”

“A-are you mad?” you stutter, the hot water making you even drowsier.

“I’m starting to be!!” he reprimands and you fakely sob since you can’t recall how to cry properly:

“W-what are you gonna do?”

The great Clown Prince of Crime huffs, convinced the universe unleashed you upon him to test his patience as punishment for past transgressions:

“Why me?!”

You rub your eyes and J turns off the water, bundling the intoxicated Y/N in a huge towel.

“Stupid helpless burrito,” he grunts and sweeps you off your feet, entirely done for the night.

Ahh, it sure feels nice and you bury your cheeks in his neck, burping in the process.

“Jesus!” he protests as you clumsily apologize:

“S-sorry baby…”

“I should push you off the balcony and be done with this ordeal!” he stumbles on the hallway, vexed.

The Joker really should have kept his opinion to himself since Pandora’s Box is automatically reopened.

“Oh my God!”

“I’m cursed,” the genuine declaration is accompanied by a soft kiss; despite the circumstances, The Joker is not that angry.

Arthur closes the door to his bedroom, delighted to have observed the scene:

“He kissed the bride,” the man inhales from the last cigarette of the day, flicking the bud out the window afterwards.  

 Also read: MASTERLIST

You can follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[jenomark]

Your so fascinating haha when did you realise you were claircognizant?

Within the last two years. I didn’t know there was a name for it. I’m not sure how honest I should or can be. I feel like I have to explain how it was, so that I can explain how it is now. I’ll put the sensitive material under the cut! (Feel free not to read any of this. I know some people only come here for the NCT content, which is valid)❤

I’ve always been like this, just completely oblivious. I’ve had a weird life. People can believe what they want about life, but all I know is what I’ve experienced. Again, feel free to not read this. I’m only writing it because you asked, and lately, I’ve been trying to be more honest with people.

I was born under interesting circumstances. My mom was pregnant with another baby before I was born. She had a miscarriage about 6 months into the pregnancy and my mom almost died from it. She lost an ovary and a Fallopian tube, if I am not mistaken. The doctors told her she should never get pregnant again, or risk having the same thing happen. A few months later, on birth control (she was on it, just in case), she got pregnant with me, and everything was perfectly fine. I feel like, right out of the gate, that was a bit…odd. 

My childhood wasn’t the most normal. It was tumultuous, and I found myself behaving more adult-like than a child should. I saw and felt everything, but I didn’t understand any of what was going on. Divorce. Death. Sex. I thought everyone processed things how I did. I thought too deeply about everything. I questioned the decisions of the adults around me, even when I was really small. Like, if life were a movie, my childhood would have been a cut scene where I’m standing in a crowd saying, “No. You’re doing that wrong. That’s the wrong choice.”

In 3rd grade, I colored this picture in school about how I wanted to die and go back up to heaven because I felt like the people on earth were disappointing me ( I still have it!). I was around twelve the very first time I tried to kill myself. I had no idea what was going on with me, just that I wanted it to stop. I was feeling and seeing so many things I couldn’t explain. I was bullied really badly in middle school. I saw a ghost during my worst rebellions and she flipped my world upside down. My family home life was changing. All of those things happening around the same time overwhelmed me. My grandmother gave me a tarot deck when I was thirteen (she thought it was pretty), and now I’m wondering if that was a new beginning of some sort. When I was fifteen, is when I noticed that something might not be quite right. I was picking thoughts out of peoples heads, hearing music that wasn’t there (that people would then start singing out loud), and my sleep paralysis started. 

For the next few years, I grew with it as much as I could. I wrote more. I think writing goes along with it. The more I write with my hands (versus computer), the easier it is for me to be open. I channel a lot when I’m writing. I was still a very depressed teen, because I didn’t fully understand anything. I didn’t link it with anything paranormal or spiritual. I ignored it and buried it under years of the growing pains I experienced. After a few more suicide attempts, I met a psychic who put me on the right path. She moved in next door (the universe has a funny way of doing things). She could talk to the dead. She went through similar life things as me, but she was well into her 30′s at the time and, in my opinion, her gift had mentally scarred her. During the few years she lived next door, I experienced a lot of paranormal things, various tarot readings and life advice. All very much validated (scarily so). In fact, our whole block, validated her. That was a very strange time period, tbh. All of it feels like a dream now. I’ll never find a connection like that again. She knew what I was the moment she met me. There were things about me she didn’t understand and hadn’t seen before (apparently smoke things follow me, and if I’m worried about someone-usually my parents- one will stay with that person??? Like, what the fuck??), but she tried her best to guide me. 

When she moved away, I was on my own, but I was stronger. By then, my mom and stepdad knew there was something going on. They’ve both witnessed things they can’t explain. I’ve learned to be open and honest with my family and friends about whatever gift I have, even if I don’t fully understand it quite yet. In 2017, I met another psychic by a strange twist of fate. I was at an actors music gig and the psychic worked for the celebrity. This man approached me and realigned my path because I was starting to stray. I tend to ignore things I fear. I’m too fucking logical sometimes. I don’t like feeling different from others, even though there are so many people like me. I don’t like that kind of attention on me. He made me feel less alone. In just a few hours, I like to think he gave me the incentive to keep moving forward. Now, three years later, I’m slowly but surely trying to make sense of it all. I understand it a lot more than I used to. Being open is a really hard thing for me!!!! I’m terrible at it. I don’t like feeling like a fool, and I’m scared people won’t believe me. I stay quiet to protect myself, but I also know it’s a terrible decision. Open is better than closed. Within the last two weeks, I’ve sped up my involvement. I’m taking the steps to fully keep myself open and accepting of the messages I am receiving. 🙃

This felt really good to get out. Please, if you’ve read this far, try to look at all of this with an open mind. Like I said, these experiences are all I have. Thank you!!❤❤

brb gonna go throw up now for being so vulnerable

[ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is]

The (indie) Kids Are(n’t) Alright.

[piece by Nick Southall of Stylus Magazine which has sadly been defunct since 2007; I’m reposting it here because I had to dig through the internet archive to find it]

The following was posted by one of our readers in the comments section of our recent Top 50 Singles of 2005 article. 

Posted 12/09/2005 - 08:07:34 AM by tintin1000: i hate this list. but before i get into a rant, i shall tell you all the "rules" which i relied upon to come to the conclusion that this list is a pile of steaming bullshit. (a) this is a snobby list (b) i understand that this is a list of singles, so it cannot include bands like deerhoof or anything because they don't HAVE singles, but ... (c) this is a lame attempt at justifying why you guys like top 40 chart songs ... a shoddly constructed "logical" justification of listening to top 40 songs, with the "indie mag," stylus, as a sort of buffer ... "oh -- we're really into indie music, so that means we can accept pop music from an "elevated" plane of existence or some bullshit like that. okay -- who the hell thinks that the friggin' backstreet boys write "better" songs than the mountain goats?! than the futureheads!? uh ... and sure -- the concept of r. kelly's trapt in the closet is cool, i think, but how in the hell do you distinguish which gwen stefani single is the "best" on the album? is it the originality of the song? nope? is it in the creativity? nope. is it the craftmanship? nope. is it the songwriting? nope. as far as i can tell, you guys compiled a list that should be dubbed "best singles that will get you crunked in 2005," but since you worded everything so perfectly, it sounds like there is an actual intellectual, logical reason behind the creation of the fucking whisper song. the whisper song is about fucking. since when has fucking merited any artistic credibilty? just plain, raw, primitive sex? if you guys like to dance to this shit, cool ... but don't be dumbasses and pretend that you listen to this shit because you actually think it actually has a true artistic quality to it ... damn. 

I usually try and avoid responding directly to people in the comments boxes, unless they ask a specific question about a piece or raise a factual error, because I think it’s slightly unbecoming for writers to be trawling their own work looking for flame wars, but I couldn’t help but respond to our friend tintin1000, initially with a couple of short notes in the comments box, and now here, in more length and with more thought. 

tintin1000 isn’t alone in his indi(e)gnation (I’m sorry, that’s a terrible forced pun)—you can see dozens, if not hundreds of other people spilling outraged bile into the comments boxes every week in protest at our temerity in choosing to review a country record favourably (and I’m not talking about Lambchop or Uncle Tupelo) or vote Kelly Clarkson as our single of the year ahead of, say, the latest 7” by The Ambivalent Corduroy Medical Students on Squirrel Records which features nine Canadian college graduates banging ukuleles and broken harpsichords and singing about their guinea pig’s gravestone. What’s wrong with us? Why are we pretending to like such manipulative top 40 pop shit? How could we possibly be so short-sighted as to not see the genius inherent in something like Pig On A Stick’s masterful limited edition EP, I’m Ugly, I’m Lonely, All My Friends Are Dead?!Especially when we lavish such shallow, fetishistic praise on hollow, manufactured acts. 

The thing is that Stylus has always loved pop, hip-hop and r’n’b singles, consistently voting them highly in the end-of-year singles lists over the last three years. Just look at the Singles Jukebox articles from the last 9 months—pop music is something we love and something we cover—we’ve never claimed to be an indie website any more than we’ve claimed to be an IDM website (something we used to get accused of every so often when we began). If you’re still not convinced, take a look at the Mission Statement; all we’ve ever been bothered about covering is music, not specific genres. 

So why are indieboys still so vehemently disgusted by our (un)surprising pop-centricity, our schizeclecticism, by the fact that some of us like country records and others like pop records and yet others really do enjoy Clap Your Hands Say Yeah (I’m still not entirely convinced that that particular band isn’t a complex hoax perpetrated by Derek Miller)? I’d wager, for a start, that the majority of our most vocal indieboy naysayers are probably in their late teens rather than their mid-to-late 20s, and that the music they like isn’t just a sonic preference based on what tickles the hairs in their ears in a pleasant way, but that it is a much more deep-seated culture-aesthetic choice. A choice as much about identity as music, perhaps. 

Which is fine, because adolescent cultural choices—hell, adult cultural choices too—are about identity. They’re about peer groups and aspirations and association. The music you like may well help determine the clothes you wear, the friends you keep, how you cut your hair—it’ll certainly determine which clubs or gigs you go to, and who you go with. It’s a chicken / egg conundrum, though, as to which comes first—the music or the identity. Do you like this music because of who you are, or are you making a definite effort to determine who you are and using the music as a tool to do so? Because like it or not, and whether you’re aware of it or not, your cultural choices are a signifier pointing towards who you are. 

Here are a handful of bands and what liking them says about you: 

Interpol - “I am deep, moody, urban and edgy, given to pathos and bad poetry. Please have sex with me, but don’t expect an orgasm.” 

Bright Eyes - “I have read a book about true love and am too scared to treat you badly. Please don’t have sex with me, as I will cry.” 

Embrace - “I really am in it for the music, because the public perception of my favourite band is terrible. Please have sex with me in a slightly dull, monogamous way.” 

Kompakt-style techno - “I transcend the body-mind divide by being intellectually into dancing. Please have sex with me on drugs.” 

Bloc Party - “I am very cool but not as alternative as I’d like to think, and I wish I knew more black people. Please have sex with me, but be careful not to mess-up my hair.” 

Girls Aloud - “I am a shallow pop whore. Let’s fuck! But it will be without true, meaningful emotion.” 

Arcade Fire - “I am into way more cool and obscure stuff than anyone else. Please let me say I had sex with you ages ago, before anyone else.” 

Oasis - “I am a piss-throwing troglodyte misogynist. I am going to date-rape you.”

Each of these assumptions says as much about the inferer as the inferred, if not more so. Each one is a value judgement based on cultural baggage, and everyone’s cultural baggage is different. Most internet-based discussion of music that I’ve come across deals not with what people like, but with what people dislike. What people like is a matter of assumption, some kind of unspoken test to see whether someone is cool enough to be spoken to, to be let into the secret club. You wouldn’t want someone uncool hanging around with the cool kids (on a messageboard, natch) and making them uncool by association because they like, heaven forbid, “The Whisper Song”, would you? 

Ah, “The Whisper Song.” Here’s what tintin1000 said about it: it sounds like there is an actual intellectual, logical reason behind the creation of the fucking whisper song. the whisper song is about fucking. since when has fucking merited any artistic credibilty? just plain, raw, primitive sex? This raises a whole other issue that indieboys can’t stand. Sex. It’s often been stated that indieboys are afraid to dance because they have an intrinsic “fear of the middle of the body,” a post-Victorian-era Catholic / Freudian guilt / paranoia about all things sexual which dates back, perhaps, to Morrissey’s fiercely foppish stance of asexuality and beyond, to Keats or Wordsworth or whoever, and the myth of the sexually-frustrated romantic, the idea that one’s art will be somehow purer if untainted by the dirty touch of lust. But go beyond that, go to Michelangelo sculpting David’s sensuous masculine frame; or all those countless portraits of St. Sebastian, pierced with arrows like an S&M; stunt gone awry, loincloth barely covering his genitals; all those pre-Raphaelite female nudes; every film to ever reveal more flesh than grandmother would like; to Led Zeppelin wailing about plain, raw, primitive sex and John Lennon trying to make the end of “A Day In The Life” sound like a great big musical orgasm. Very few people would question Björk’s artistic credibility, and she’s written countless songs about sex. People are rushing to proclaim Kate Bush’s Aerial a work of genius, and it’s positively dripping with eroticism. Sex is not the be-all-and-end-all of human existence, and to get too caught up in its alluring juices and scents can screw with your head (just ask Michael Douglas or any random Tory politician) but to claim that plain, raw, primitive sex has never inspired any worthwhile art is the folly of the hungry, short-sighted virgin. Pop music in particular (and The Mountain Goats and Deerhoof are as much pop music as Charlotte Church or Sisqo) is about sex. 

And of course sex is key to identity—as if I needed to say that after the assumptions about bands above. Anyone who ever wore skinny jeans or dyed their hair black did so because they wanted some of their idol’s allure by proxy, because they thought that listening to this record and wearing those shoes would get them laid. Everyone. Except me, of course, because I’m above it all. 

The problem with our intrepid hero tintin1000 is that he’s finding his identity, and is thus vulnerable to having the fragile foundations of that identity shaken. And so he sees Mountain Goats, an act he loves for their literate, melodic music made in the cottage-industry style, unadorned by commercial trappings but instead blessed with deep insight into the human condition, at number 50 on our list and is pleased, thinking, hoping and assuming that the rest of the list will continue to reaffirm his identity. Because he trusts Stylus, possibly, as someone he can talk to about these things. And there’s the fucking Ying Yang Twinz, wtf? And Gwen Stefani? And other music that is liked by the people he sees at college or in town and takes an instant dislike to for their shallow natures and unthinking ways, and it jars his assumptions about what it means to like Mountain Goats, about what it says about him when he realises what he thinks liking Kelly Clarkson says about other people. 

The thing is that once you stop worrying about what owning (and more importantly liking) a Girls Aloud record says about you, you can start taking it on its own merits, which are (generally) pretty plentiful. Something like Die Hard is a great film because it knows what it is and what it does and it executes its plan with zero faffing around—there’s no narrative fat in that film (unlike, say, the odious Goodfellas), every single event is a plot device, and there’s joy to be found in such craftsmanship, never mind the actual tangible visceral thrill of the finished article once we get past ontological rumination on the efficiency of the screenplay. Likewise Girls Aloud’s records are faultless exercises in meta-pop constructivism, not so much songs as processions of hooks and choruses with the boring, fatty verses left over for the likes of Okkervil River instead. And, of course, as with Die Hard there is the sheer physical joy of listening to them, of dancing to them, getting caught up in the beats and the insidious melodic hooks, which outweighs even the music-journalistic catnip attraction of playing spot-the-reference. 

And once you’re past the stage of crushing insecurity and aspirational identity positing, the idiocy inherent in statements like how in the hell do you distinguish which gwen stefani single is the "best" on the album? becomes clear. You distinguish your favourite (no such thing as objectivity, kids) Gwen Stefani song on Love Angel Music Baby in exactly the same manner as you would your favourite song on The Sunset Tree—by listening to the record and choosing the song that you like most, for whatever reason(s) it is that you ever like any song. Until your superego stops screaming at you that it’s bad to like Gwen Stefani though, that’s not going to happen. 

It works in stages though, this music / identity nexus. As a child one likes simple things, the multi-coloured hues of pop music perhaps, but once one senses the transition to adulthood one puts away childish things. By writing off whole areas of music for the simple reason that “it’s not the kind of thing someone like me listens to” you are, quite simply, denying yourself a whole lot of pleasures, both frivolous and profound. Malcolm X said in his autobiography that “children have a lesson adults should learn, to not be ashamed of failing, but to get up and try again. Most of us adults are so afraid, so cautious, so 'safe,' and therefore so shrinking and rigid and afraid that it is why so many humans fail. Most middle-aged adults have resigned themselves to failure.” It’s not just failing that we shouldn’t be ashamed of. A major finding in neuroscience in recent years is the extent to which our brains display advanced levels of ‘neural plasticity.’ We are not forever ‘hardwired’ for rigid modes of behaviour; we are not static ‘slaves’ to our DNA. There is a remarkable degree to which we can change ingrained patterns of thought, intention and practice. Our identities are not fixed, are not immutable—admitting that you enjoy a Britney record unironically will not destroy your future character. And that goes for an awful lot of things besides music. 

Of course this is all blatant assumption, and doesn’t mean anything at all. Except, perhaps, that you should give in to your ids, indie kids.