#it doesn’t help that going to classes is anxiety producing

[my-name-is-untitled]

Struggling lately with finding the motivation to do things which is especially rough when I’ve built so much of my self-worth and fulfillment on being able to do things well. When working full time, near the end it just felt like burn out but now that I’m venturing back into furthering my education it’s just been getting worse. I feel bad because I’m not completing anything and I don’t want to complete anything because I feel bad. Searching for that magic solution that will stop the cycle.

[lemmetreatya]

Change and Her Consorts — Miguel x Fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: 13 Minutes. 13 minutes was all it took for Miguel to (metaphorically) loose everything. Getting back onto his feet wasn’t easy, especially when life was changing and all he felt was stuck. But once you come back into his life, Witty, Hot and everything in between, Miguel wonders that maybe it was the change in others he needed to witness first before he could even consider making change for himself.

WORD COUNT: 5.6k+

CONTENT: modern au, childhood friends, afab reader, mature themes of death, grief, mental health issues, slightly angsty, hurt/comfort, is it a comedy? it’s a comedy, fluff, smut, sex, male penetration, mating press, blowjob, protected sex, nice ending i promise!!, i wouldn’t say reader is oc but she has a character for definite, also miguel is very??? difficult in this and his character can also be classed as ooc but its modern au and he’s been through it so bare with

Miguel knew he had to change. 

Ever since he lost both his wife and kid to childbirth, it’d been so hard to piece things together again. 

It’s honestly all bullshit. Finally thinking things were going good for him just for life to chew him up and spit him out like a fleshy plum seed all within the space of 13 minutes felt dehumanising to say the least. It left him fist fighting Depression, backing liquor shots of Sorrow and occasionally sharing a bed with Anxiety. That would fuck anyone up mentally and emotionally — And it did that to Miguel for a long time. He’s just grateful he had a good enough support system to crutch him through to the other side. 

He sold the house he brought with his late wife and moved back in with his parents around eight months ago. That was a whole thing in itself. Left his job and hasn’t worked full-time since. He had a whole phase where he ‘no longer had anything to work for’ and therefore just…didn’t. 

His parents were nice about it for a bit. Said he always had a home under their roof and that he could use the money he got from the insurance payout and house to cruise by while he healed. But then after about 3 months of Miguel taking the absolute piss with being unemployed, heartbroken, undriven and essentially a‘bum’ (Jessica Drew’s exact words), he found work in the local dairy produce factory as the ‘Payroll Guy’. 

Despite none of this being his ideal picture of how life was supposed to look at this point of time, Miguel knew he had to change in order to survive. Having being so wrapped up within his own world, he knew that moving on in some capacity was his next step. Getting comfortable with the shell of a life he had now and the things he once knew were true would help with that.

The only issue is that Miguel forgot that others changed too. 

An oof leaves Miguel’s mouth as his stomach is suddenly burdened with a paper sack to it. He looks down at his mother, more than a foot shorter than him, who’s passing him a bag of coals. 

“I need this done.” She vaguely says. 

“For the grill?”

Miguel asks it as an inquisitive question but he’s implying it more as disbelief that he’s been asked. His mother catches on and therefore explains her reasoning.

“I wouldn’t usually (‘ask you’, she implies but doesn’t say) but your fathers quickly gone to the shop and we need to start putting things on the grill. People will be arriving any minute now.” She dusts her hands before already moving elsewhere within the garden. 

Miguel jogs the bag of coal in his arms and stagnantly turns his body in his mother’s direction; like a sunflower to the sun. 

“Then I don’t have to do it?” He tried. 

His mother gives him a quick look. It was sharp but she didn’t follow the intention through. 

“I would like to start grilling things soon.” She  stresses. 

Miguel doesn’t reply right away since he’s been told he needs to think before he speaks. And so he thinks, hard, about what his mother was asking him and then answers accordingly to how he thinks he should. 

“So I don’t have to put the coal in now?” He slowly enunciates.

“Ay, coño— Si! Si, Miguel! You have to put them in now, I’m telling you to put the charcoal in now! Vamos!” 

Miguel lets out a haggard sigh. 

He doesn’t like how he always get in trouble for these sort of things. He was bordering thirty and still had trouble depicting what his mother actually meant when she made implicit remarks. 

The doorbell rings and so Miguel’s mother is shooting off back inside to open up for the guests, all not before giving Miguel certain The Nike Slogan eyes and a jabbing finger point towards the barbecue.  

Begrudgingly, he gets a start on filling the bottom of the grill with sooty rocks. 

As he’s detaching the rack, Miguel can hear high pitched welcoming and multiple voices towards the front of the house. He faintly hears someone ask for him, followed by his mother directing them towards the backyard where he was. At that, Miguel groans. 

It’s not like he hated gatherings, but Miguel would definitely prefer a phone call or the occasional text message. Or just no communication at all. 

But to his avail, he had no way of avoiding this. His parents were adamant to host a casual cookout of some sort and they knew he had nothing better to do so by default he had to be present. There wasn’t even a reason for the function. Just Something about opening up the home and having more laughter flow through it. Sounds cliche but Miguel didn’t care much for laughter anymore. Not that he never laughed — there were some humorously dark memes either Peter or Jess would send him that were subjectively funny and occasionally earned a breathy snort out of him. But it was no question that joy was definitely void in his life. It was hard to look forward to things and the days seemed to drag on and lack meaning. 

No matter what way he looked at it, life was dull. There just wasn’t shit to be happy about. 

“Miggy!” 

Miguel perks up. 

He recognises that voice anywhere. 

He didn’t know you were coming but it definitely made sense for you to be here. His parents were making a bigger than usual deal out of this gathering so of course old faces would be present. 

Miguel hears your voice call him by that juvenile nickname over and over again as you venture throughout the house. It’d been well over a decade since he last saw you but he knows both your parents keep in touch. Because of that, he doesn’t immediately turn around to address you once you enter the garden because he’s not expecting much and he’s still trying to evenly set up the coal rocks at the bottom of the grill. 

“Miggy.” You say with perky tone. 

The man’s sighing as he brings his head up, dusting his hands and wiping the apple of his cheek with the smudge of his palm.

“Till this day, what’d I tell you about calling…me...” 

Miguel’s words are cut off short as soon as he turns to see you.  

He opens and closes his mouth several time but nothing comes out. He’s adamant he looks so stupid right now but his shock is so genuine that he doesn’t blame himself for the reaction. Honestly, awestruck didn’t even cover half of what he was. 

There you stood, in all your adulthood glory, a finer woman than he could have ever imagined you’d turn out to be. 

Nothing about you was the same to how it was over a decade ago yet it was all so classically you. Or, whatever that meant. He’s not sure. If you’d given him creative direction over what he’d envisioned mid-20s you to look like, he definitely wouldn’t have come up with this. 

Fuck, not like it matters what he thought. Why would anyone give him creative direction over anything? No, he’s not trying to say he wanted to control how you grew but he is saying whatever did, did a good job. 

Oh, Miguel hates trying to justify things to himself. He knew what he wanted to say but he just didn’t know how to say it and it was pissing him off because this was all happening inside of his head and God, he probably looked crazy to you right now but he just couldn’t compute this change. 

To put it plainly: You were hot now.

A soft tinkly chuckle leaves your throat as you notice the man’s frozen reaction. 

“Hello to you too, Miguel. Everything okay out here?”

Miguel’s still freaking out mentally because man, even your laugh was the same but it was just so different and maturer and older and hot. 

You amusingly side eye him, no longer calling him Miggy and cautious of his behaviour. You take a few steps round the back of him which ultimately puts you outside of his vision and peripheral. You end up on the opposite side, hands on your hips and face curious as you inspect the barbecue. 

As soon as you’re out of his eyesight Miguel snaps out of the trance. His mind starts to catch him up to speed and he’s stuttering like crazy when he turns to you to try and explain himself. 

“I—Ee—I…yeah. I…I’m setting up some rocks. For the grill. Not…Not just any rocks, like actual— actual charcoal, coal rocks that you…that you light barbecues with and…yeah.” 

“I see.” Your tone is sarcastic, lightly teasing even, and Miguel has to curse himself for acting so lame. 

He blinks at you a few times (Hot.) before casting his eyes back to the grill (Not hot. Yet). He occupies himself with the task. 

“Of course. You know what coal is...” He mumbles the last bit to himself, a reminder that you weren’t an incompetent bristling teen anymore to whom he had to explain everything. 

Miguel spends the majority of the barbecue in your company. 

Not like he had much choice; you two were the only people around the same caliber. Everyone else was either middle aged, a couple, or a bustling child weaving between adult’s legs. 

Chatting to each other wasn’t all that bad. You both nursed several bottled drinks between you and straddled garden chairs towards the bottom of the yard as you caught up with each other’s lives. Whilst he would have preferred hulling up in his room, having someone new to talk to as opposed to the same two people was rejuvenating. 

Over the duration of your conversation, Miguel finds out that you’re a Data Analyst and it somehow makes him feel insecure about his crappy Payroll job. You however assure him that it was nothing to be ashamed of (“You’re a Finance Bro and I’m a Finance Girly. We go hand-in-hand!”). He also opens up about how he’s attending group therapy sessions — through which he met Peter and Jess. He also, speaks about Peter and Jess, but he quickly found out that apart from Peter and Jess, there wasn’t much else for him to talk about. 

But surprisingly it was enough for convo because you always had new discussions to talk through with him anyways. Some were silly, (“Come on, you’ve got to admit it! The Teletubbbies having kids is just weird.”) some were trivial (“Cats or Dogs? — And be honest!”) and others reminiscent (“Remember how we tried to build a secret hide out in this very tree?”).

Miguel also found out that you were single.

“I know you mentioned you’re doing therapy and stuff but…how are you holding up? Like, really holding up?”

An automatic groan leaves Miguel’s mouth. There it was — three hours into the conversation. The million dollar question. 

He hates gatherings and functions for this very reason. No matter how much people smiled in his general direction or pretended that they weren’t tiptoeing eggshells around him, they would always ask how he was in relation to That event in his life. 

Not like they cared. If they cared, they would go out of their way to ask him, routinely check up on him, and not just when he was conveniently in front of them. They only asked because they were aware of the situation. Aware of his misfortune. 

The guy who lost everything in 13 minutes. 

The survivor of a freak accident. 

Someone you’d pity from a far but thanked whoever that the situation never happened to you. 

For that reason alone Miguel always lied and said he was ‘fine’ or that he was ‘holding up okay’. They’d give him pitying eyes, tell him that ‘things will get better’ and then kept it pushing. Usually, when it came to these questions, Miguel’s automatic response is to lie. But there was just something about you; Changed yet The Same you, where Miguel felt that he owed the honest and naked truth to. 

“Honestly?” He drags a hand down his face. “I’m barely holding up at all. Everyday I feel like shit and if one day I surprisingly don’t, I know it’s a fluke and that I will definitely feel like shit tomorrow. It’s just a constant state of feeling off and never truly yourself.” 

There’s a slight pause. It’s comfortable. 

During that pause, you’re both privy to the music of party life. Chortling men, gossiping woman, squealing kids. It’s bittersweet because it kinda reminds Miguel of what he could have had. 

Taking a swig of your drink, you make a humming noise before you’re replying to his triad. 

“Damn. That’s rough, buddy.” 

Miguel snorts. 

Not because he likes how you’ve brushed off his miniature melancholy rant but because he gets the reference. Throughout the course of the barbecue, he thinks that’s one of his favourite things he’s noticed about you. 

You both fall into another comfortable silence, before you’re adding:

“You know, being a widow kinda suits you.” 

Maybe he spoke too soon about what his favourite thing about you was because now Miguel’s choking on his cider and wondering whether this too was a pop culture reference. 

“I— wha— you can’t just say that kinda shit!” He turns to you and exclaims.  

You scoff before rolling your eyes.

“You know I don’t mean it like that. Not that I like what’s happened to you — Rest in Peace to them — but as in the reverence that’s come with the trauma? It suits you. It’s matured you.” 

You lull into another short pause but Miguel knows you weren’t finished. He also wonders if you’ve always been this harsh. 

“Not sure if you’re aware but you were a real tool growing up, Miguel. Utter pure, soft, sheltered muck. This whole thing? It’s pushed you to survive. Moulded you. Given you a bit of character building, if you like.”

Your voice is much more calmer but it doesn’t change the fact that you just landed him with the most self-dismantling piece of information he’s heard in a while. 

And yet it’s so bizarre because Miguel can’t help but find himself laughing. 

Not one of those nose snorts when the group chat send subjectively funny memes or when he watches silly animal videos on his phone. No, Miguel’s caving over, free arm clutching to his stomach as he lets out a hefty guffaw. It doesn’t last long though. After about several seconds he completely stops laughing and sits back up regularly. 

Initially, you think he was about to tell you it was all an act and what you said was in fact highly offensive. But it’s when he reverts back to his original position and continues to let out small huffs of laughter that you realise he’s just not used to reacting to things he finds extremely funny.  

Which you’re questioning because nothing you said was a joke, but anything to get the sad man to smile, right?

But alas, seeing as he found humour in what you said, you let out a dry accompaniment of a laugh. 

The two of you probably looked crazy, or at least drunk, as you each mildly chuckled away, weakly swaying side to side. When you both found it funny enough to stop laughing, Miguel spoke up first. 

“Character building…” He huffs before taking another swig of his cider. “Well, that’s one way to put it.” 

You turn your body in the man’s direction and he knows you have something profound to say. Miguel realises within some meta existence outside of himself that your company is oddly easy to keep. 

“How else can you view it?” You warmly reply. “That it was meant to be? That you simply have bad luck? I dunno but every other option is just too demeaning and lifeless to live by. With this explanation at least it gives you a reason to carry on.” 

Miguel nods solemnly with a pondering look on his face. 

“I never saw it that way.”

“Of course you didn’t. You were grieving.”

There’s a pause but it’s not like the others you’ve shared so far. This silence was slightly uncomfortable, uncalled for even. Miguel didn’t mind it because he feels he’s already gone pass the point of feeling embarrassment with you but he could tell it put you in a compromising position. 

Looking over to him, your face vacates something undetectable. 

“And about that…” 

You softly clear your throat. Miguel is about to take another swing of his drink, but it’s when he sees a glint of something in your eyes, that he decides to slowly lower the bottle neck from his mouth. 

“I’m sorry for not being there for you. In all honesty I was around when it happened and definitely knew what was going on I just…I didn’t know how to approach you about it. We’d grown apart for a bit and it was just…it felt strange to give my condolences after being distant from you for so long.”

There’s a tingling sensation scratching at the cage of Miguel’s chest. 

He doesn’t know what the feeling is. All he knows is that he hasn’t felt it in awhile. But then again, Miguel hasn’t felt a lot of things in awhile so he’s not questioning what it is. But most of all, Miguel is surprised that he’s feeling things for once. He’s not sure if he wants to confront himself about them but he knows that they’re influencing his thought process. 

Miguel tries to take a sip of his drink, but suddenly the liquid felt foreign in his mouth and his throat seemed unwilling to gulp it down.  

He contemplates backwashing it back into the bottle but he’s suddenly subconscious about his image in front of you and how you perceive him. 

Weird. 

He forces the cider down. 

“It’s whatever. Shit happens.” He says while squeezing the edges of his lips clean. 

You make a noise of disagreeal. You used to make it all the time as a teen. Miguel wonders if you continued using it after all these years or if you just redeveloped the habit having being in his presence. He also notices how your chair seems to be a lot closer to his despite you never moving once. 

“I know.” You say with slow and downward enunciation. “But either way, I’m sorry. I should have done better by you.” 

You’re trying to stress something to him. He knows that now for sure but Miguel doesn’t know what you’re putting down or what he’s allowed to pick up. 

He watches over at you with firm determination to find out what you’re insinuating but once he sees the way your eyes reflect the fiery dances of ambers, oranges and borderline crimson reds, he turns his head forwards again and clears his throat.

“I hear it. I appreciate your honesty.”

 

Miguel doesn’t know how he got into this position. 

Actually, he does. He very clearly remembers how he asked you if you wanted to carry on talking inside, within his room specifically, and how he smooth talked you into getting on your knees.

But in all honesty, he didn’t mean for it to turn out this way (or maybe he did). Yeah, he may have walked up those stairs with his dick lurching colourfully within his pants at the insinuation, but his initial intentions was to give you a safer space to talk. He’s honest when he says his invitation was powered by a lot more than just pure unadulterated lust.

“Fuck…” He hisses once you scrape your bottom teeth ever so lightly against his shaft. 

Miguel doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He doesn’t think animalisticaly stuffing them in your hair will do him any good and he thinks a hand on the cheek is too intimate. All he can find appropriate is to splay his hands behind him and slightly lean back to watch you work. 

It’s almost alien seeing how your cheeks hollow over his cock and how your eyes fluttered shut as you manoeuvre your mouth up and down the length of his member, your hand helping you with what your mouth couldn’t reach. 

Miguel doesn’t think there’s anything dehumanising about this.

He was so sure you were giving him the eyes back in the garden. And with the way your lips quipped to one side when he invited you into his room? Yeah, you were big people now. Adults. These sort of things weren’t like hushed secrets or tales of promiscuous old — these were You Either Do or Don’ts — and you both decided to Do. 

“I-I’m close.”

No, there was nothing dehumanising about having your now super hot (and single!) childhood friend suck your cock within your childhood bedroom whilst your parents backyard party went on just outside your window. 

Whether it felt right or not was for Later Miguel to worry about. 

Despite his heed, you were still working your mouth over his cock. Your lips were so prettily spaced around his girth — almost a perfect fit, and Miguel knows he could easily finish this way but he’s making an active decision not to. 

He wants to be mildly selfish and ask for more.  

“I-I said I’m…nrgh.” Miguel sits forward before laying a few fingers to your forehead. “I don’t want to finish like this.” 

You release Miguel’s cock from your mouth with a pop but you don’t leave him hanging dry. Your hand continues to stroke at his wet shaft and fuck, the way your lips glisten with your spit and his precum is legitimately going to push him off the edge, but he has to refrain himself.  

“How else did you plan on finishing?” You quip. 

Miguel seems to freeze as he gives you a look of expected understanding, and at first, he’s so sure you were going to make him spell it out but as predicted, you caught on quick and your eyes widen in realisation. 

“Oh.”

Your hand discontinues stroking Miguel’s cock and he mildly panics at your response. 

That didn’t seem like a good ‘oh’. Miguel doesn’t mean to be an enemy of his own progress but trust for him to end the day with a fractured friendship and blue balls. Suddenly, Miguels backpedalling on his initial stance of being selfish and getting what he wants. 

“We don’t have to. I—Only if it’s okay with you, if you’re comfortable with it.” 

“No. It’s fine.” Your tongue pokes out to swipe at your lips. Fuck. “Might as well get something out of this.” You quip. 

Miguel wonders whether he should have been cautious of how rusty his pipe game had gotten. He hadn’t been intimate with anyone since his late wife and even then, he stayed off of her most of her pregnancy. Either way, as he’s thrusting his cock in and out of you, all he can think of is how forward you were with telling him about himself outside in the garden. 

It’s not like he was a masochist or into degradation, but there was something about the way you were so bold and open in highlighting his flaws despite the satellite silence for well over a decade.

“How’s this for maturity, huh? For character building?” He grunts into your ear. 

Okay, so maybe Miguel’s sex talk has gotten only a bit rustier, but with the way whimpering whines dribble from your lips, he knows he’s got you wrapped around his finger like a promise string. He folds you into a deeper mating press, your feet cuddling his upper back and his body pressed against the warmth of your breasts. 

“M-Miggy.” You moan into his collarbone. 

The nickname causes an innate and deep annoyance to sprout from Miguel’s chest — so much so that he replies inadequately.  

“Shut up.” 

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he notices your stilling against his body and he immediately regrets his words. He however continues to fuck into you. 

“S-sorry. I di-didn’t me—“

“Miggy.” You moan again, this time with even more intentional lust and immediately he knows what you’re doing. 

“Don’t.”

His warning is solid, and inertly tinged with concern, because Miguel’s unsure how he’s supposed to look you in the eyes after this. You’re playing devious games, dangerous ones as you nail at his back.  

“T-t-touch me, Miggy.”

Now, you’re really testing his patience but also his limits because Miguel is taking everything in him not to go all out. 

And so he complies. Despite him knowing that it was going to rot at his brain for eons and eons to come, that he wasn’t going to be able to back away from this now that he’s had a taste, that he couldn’t go back to be being just Childhood Friends with you, he complies. 

One of Miguel’s hands reaches down between the both of you and once he wedges it close enough, he allows his thumb to swipe at the meat of your swollen clit. 

The mewl you let out is instant and makes Miguel’s dick hiccup inside of you and suddenly he’s seeing stars. Had you no concern for the party still very much going on? The possibility of someone hearing you? The issue of getting caught?! 

A devious grin finds its way onto Miguel’s lips and he’s pressing wet open mouth kisses just below your earlobe. 

“You’re so fucking dirty.” He breathes. 

Quite frankly he’s lying through his teeth. 

There is nothing about this experience or your request or your wanton reaction that was dirty. It was all in fact very sexy, lucrative. Hot. Miguel would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying every wet second of it. 

The man can’t help but look down and watch as he bounces his hips harder against your seeping cunt. White froth forms around the base of his dick and he can’t deny that the sight arouses him. 

“Is this who you really are, huh? All this time…all this time.” 

It’s implicit what he accuses that you’re so called hiding, as if you haven’t been transparent with him this whole time. A breathy laugh leaves your throat. 

“You’re…pro-projecting.” You mutter. 

All Miguel can moan in reply is: 

“I know.” 

It doesn’t take long after that before you’re cumming around Miguel’s dick and him into the wryly rubber of the condom. 

“Where do we go from here?”

Miguel is first to speak. 

The two of you have been chilling out in silence for the most of twenty minutes. He was kind enough to let you stay underneath his covers. You were comfortable as you used his bed as your own, scrolling through your phone with one hand underneath your head and your feet rubbing like cricket legs. There was enough room for both of you to lie under there but you said something about not wanting to touch him just after sex. 

Miguel deadpanned and then proceeded to call you things like spoilt and bratty in Spanish, but he still let you have your way. 

Now he was sat at the foot of his own bed (can you believe!), back against the wall as he idly played a game on his console. 

His phone had been buzzing all day; Peter and Jess ultimately amusing themselves in the group chat all whilst occasionally asking where Miguel was and whether the social interactions of the barbecue had killed him yet. He could respond now, but he’s saving the reveal of what went down till after you’re out of his hair. That way he can fanboy in the peace of his own company. 

But now that the two of you were silently sharing a space, Miguel is starting to wonder whether he wanted his own isolated company now so that he could think properly. It’s when he’s failed to complete a level for the fifth time in a row (because his minds occupied on you) that he decides to lower the controller and therefore ask you that question.

Your eyes continue to stay glued to your phone screen as you answer him. 

“We don’t have to go anywhere.” You mumble plainly. “Don’t have to put a name on anything.”

Miguel sighs loudly and he’s rubbing his face with both hands. His dramatics pass over you. 

“Fuck, no, no. I’m not doing that. It’s either we are or wes isn’t. I haven’t got the capacity for any of that situationship, fuck buddies, friends with benefits bullshit people’ve got going on.” 

Miguel is scared for himself once he says the words because it’s only after they tumble out his mouth that he realises they were kinda harsh — which, technically shouldn’t be a problem concerning that was this evening’s whole weird theme. 

But he feels even more afraid because as stupid as it sounds, he can’t lose you. Another staple in his life. Despite him only reconnecting with you for the past few hours or so, Miguel has grown very attached to you and would be an idiot to deny that you meant a lot to him. 

He couldn’t afford to lose you over one fuck. 

Either way, Miguel doesn’t regret those words. They were a direct reflection of how he felt, of what he was thinking whilst he was fucking into you not even half an hour ago. He knows that this one canon event has caused a split trajectory for the both of you. Miguel thinks whatever happens after this is just another testament to how life continuously deals him rubbish cards but he can’t figure out what’s worst: having to let go of a possibly good thing or deal with the change that will now inevitably come with the relationship. 

However you, clearly not as turmoiled as Miguel, slightly lower your phone screen from your face so that you could stare at the man. 

“Then ‘wes isn’t’ anything then. Simple as.” 

It was so obvious this was affecting Miguel internally because there’s that screw up face he does when he’s inadvertently tickled by something he’s heard. He use to do that a lot growing up. 

“How can you be so calm about this?” He asks. 

“Because it’s not that deep.” You shrug. 

Now Miguel’s leaning closer to you, voice seeming to seethe but as a clear defence mechanism. 

“Whaddyou mean it’s not that deep?!” He spits. 

Because he’s acting like this, you now have to lock your phone and place it down onto the bed so that you can give him your utmost attention. You’re even thinking to back track your earlier words about him having matured. It was obvious that he was still that same young boy who sought to always get what he wanted. 

In a weird sense, it was comforting. 

“Not in that way, dummy.”

You force yourself to sit up against his headboard, the blanket sliding down to expose your naked chest. 

“I didn’t see sex with you as casual, Miguel. It was definitely something. But I’m just… Mm. I don’t wanna say I’m not in a rush to label anything but, it’s you. Lil o’ Miggy from two doors down. There’s too much to us and who we are, how long we’ve known each other, how much we’ve experienced each other to let sex completely change that.” 

You can tell he wasn’t expecting your words because his face falls and his eyes widen. He’s so unaware of his facial expressions that it’s cute. 

With a huff of laughter you shake your head before slouching backwards even more. The way your eyes doll over him was surely a testament to your lack of will power when it came to him. Always has and always will be. 

“I love you but in a much bigger way than just platonically or romantically or sexually. You mean a lot to me and I’m grateful we were able to have that experience to strengthen that.” You say softly. 

Miguel finally closes his mouth. His eyes still bore holes into you but you can see his skin start to redden in the embarrassment from the chest upwards. 

You’d figure it’d be a lot for him to take in. Granted — because hearing your childhood friend say they loved you in a much larger capacity than anyone ever could — despite having not seen each other in years, straight after sex, was definitely something. And you figure that part of it was you trying to express to him that you really were sorry, so you realise your triad can almost be viewed as borderline manipulative, but you wasn’t lying.  

You loved the man in a bigger way than fathomably possible, and that was the truth. 

Finally coming to his senses, Miguel leans back against his bedroom wall again, picks up his controller and resumes to play his game. Initially, you think he’s taken your words the wrong way and misunderstood you, but then he starts mumbling something as he’s watching the screen with a hard stare and blotchy crimson skin. 

“That’s unfair.” He mumbles, the click of the controller working in between pauses. “You can’t tell me you love me whilst showing me your boobs. It’s cheating.” 

And you laugh, because what else can you do? As hard-headed and brash as he was in his earlier days, this was who Miguel was. It’s the first version of him you ever fell in love with and didn’t stop loving. It’s the version you’re carpingly in love with now.

Lifting up a corner of the duvet, you give the man permission to join you in his own bed.  

“Miggy, just get underneath the blanket and stop pouting at me.” You say, and he can’t but help instantly crawl over and dutifully comply. 

[osamiiya]

Howdy, I wanted to ask if you could do a fanfic with Hinata x reader studying and the reader being totally stressed because of finals and he calms them down?

I absolutely LOVE your other fanfics!🤍

ofc!!! tysm for requesting <<33 i was going THROUGH it during finals this year (i got dumped 😄)

Pairing: Hinata x Reader

—> Pre-established relationship

Warnings: Reader is stressed, i put some of my stress signs(?) i.e. forgetting to eat, crying,

Summary: Being stressed during uni finals and Hinata saves the day!

A/n: This is def based on my experience w finals, i am not a stem major so it might be a little different :)

It should be illegal the way for all of your professors to assign final essays due on the same day.

Sure, it makes sense to have the essay due on the first day of finals so that you “wouldn’t have to stress over their class during finals week.” But, when it’s 4 professors with the same mentality, it doesn’t quite work that way. Not to mention the other exam you have to study for.

It’s easy to get overwhelmed when looking at the never ending to-do list of assignments and studying and blocking out time for work and your social life, not to mention saving time for your relationship.

And sometimes while taking care of all aspects of your life, you forget to take care of yourself. Getting caught up in everything and forgetting important things, or putting self-care on the back burner.

Today was one of those days.

The library was jam-packed full of other students, laptops and notes out. All sharing the same grimace of stress and anxiety that finals season tends to produce.

You fought well and hard for the table in the corner with the working outlet. A two seater occupied by you and your backpack. It’s partially concealed, providing a sense of privacy that can only otherwise be achieved by the constantly occupied study rooms throughout the library.

The prime spot.

You and Hinata had discovered the spot early in your college career. Holding hands and poking your nose in every nook and cranny as the two of you hunted for a spot to study together at. Of course, Hinata would inevitably get distracted, thoughts wandering as he fidgeted with his phone. But, hey, at least the other library-goers were never disturbed by your whispers.

For now though, you were just glad that the spot kept others from seeing you unravel slowly as you flipped through paper and electronic notes, compiling what was taught in class and comparing it to what you know.

You’re sure you’d seen these concepts before, those DO look like your notes. But, the words are unfamiliar, and your vision goes blurry with tears as you fail to commit them to memory.

As you sniffle and wipe the snot from your nose, half in misplaced anger, you hear a soft “Hey.”

Hinata’s eyebrows are furrowed in the way they always are when he sees you cry, and he shrugs off his, albeit light-looking, backpack as he pulls out the chair next to yours.

“Hey, what happened?” His voice is soft, respecting the quiet atmosphere of the library, and comforting, worried that if he’s too loud he might further upset you. His hand comes out to rest on your leg as he leans in, trying to look you in the face.

You take a shuddering breath in, throwing your pen down in annoyance.

“I-“ Your voice breaks as you turn to look at him, finally crumbling under the stress and pressure you were carrying as you look at him.

An aborted sob leaves your mouth as your hand comes up to cover your face, leaning in to rest your forehead on Hinata’s shoulder, hiding your face from view.

“I don’t get it.” You sob out as Hinata’s hand comes up to stroke your back, shuffling his chair closer to yours as much he can.

“Oh… y/n.” Hinata frowns at the frustration and stress in your voice, worrying that his usual ways of cheering you up won’t help this time.

“I went to class and I went to office hours. And I still don’t get it. And I have two essays left to do by this weekend, and I haven’t even looked at the prompt for one of them, and the other has a minimum of eight pages. How am I supposed to write eight pages about a single news article?”

There’s a pout in your voice as you vent out everything that you’ve been stressing over, and Hinata sits and listens, rubbing your back and gathering one of your hands in his, thumb brushing the back of your hand gently.

“Not to mention, I haven’t even seen you this week because of these stupid finals and it’s so stupid how busy I am.” You sob out.

Hinata suppresses a smile at that, the words warming his heart. He had missed you too, growing restless but not wanting to distract you from any exams or projects you had.

Which led him to check if you were at the library, just so he could sit by you as you worked, spending at least some time together.

“Hey! I’m here now!” He laughs slightly, running a hand over your head. Hinata gently maneuvers you so he can see your face.

Your eyes are puffy and there’s tears and snot running down your face, and you’re still sniffling, but Hinata thinks you look so pretty under the dingy library lights.

“And, i’m positive you’ll be able to make it through this. Why don’t you take a break from it for now.” He pauses to think. “Maybe you can switch what you’re doing and look over the prompt for the essay, or I can look over it for you while you take a break.”

He lets go of your hand to pick up a sheet of paper. A grimace forms on his face as he realizes he has no idea what you’re doing in class.

“You’re way smarter than me, why are there numbers on this.” Hinata lightly jokes.

You sigh and take the paper from him, explaining the concept on the paper, rewording sections so that he could understand. Hinata asks light questions that you answer easily, and connects the concepts to silly ideas.

“See! You do get it!” He beams at you, poking your arm gently.

“You just needed a break from it. How long have you been here?” A gentle hand comes up to wipe away a stray tear from your face.

You sigh, looking at the clock on your phone. “Since 10?”

Hinata’s eyes widen. “You didn’t have lunch or dinner yet?”

You train your eyes on the piece of paper in front of you, mumbling out an “I forgot.” along with another half-thought out excuse.

“Come get dinner with me? Like a date!” Hinata laughs slightly and thumbs at your cheek.

A glance at your notes tells Hinata you don’t want to leave the library in fear of forgetting what you’ve done so far.

“A new set of eyes will definitely help. Plus, you can’t work on an empty stomach.” Hinata’s smile turns lopsided, and he starts gathering your things.

You smile and help put things away with him. “I guess…”

Once you’re done, Hinata slings both bags over his shoulders and grabs your hand again.

“After dinner we can go somewhere else to study, and you can use me as flash cards or something.” His hand squeezes yours once before swinging them slightly.

Hinata watches your stress melt away throughout the course of dinner and after dinner he helps you portion your time to get everything done.

Then, he sits with your hand in his, and sits with you as you study, drawing little doodles on your notes and kissing your cheek when he sees the stress flare up again.

[irenespring]

House M.D. Fanfiction: A Clearly Discernible Line, Chapter 1 (House/Wilson)

Chapter 1: We're here to learn, aren't we?

Chapter can be read here!

----

It's finally ready for publication! I have made so many posts about this (from planning to publishing) so I am so glad to finally be ready to share the first chapter (of ten) of my Hilson School for Good and Evil AU!

THIS FIC SHOULD STILL MAKE SENSE WITHOUT ANY PRIOR KNOWLEDGE OF SGE. If you have a question I will answer immediately and possibly address it in the fic text for future readers.

Fic will be updated every Friday. I have a multiple chapter buffer in case of writer's block or unfortunate circumstances, so I don't anticipate any issues getting this fully updated on time.

Yes, this AU sounds crazy. I am cashing in my "please trust my writing and read this weird AU" chips while only having seven published fics. But it still should make sense!

On that point, I would like to give my eternal thanks to @jameswilsonsupremacy for their help with finalizing the plot of this fic (the whole thing is plotted!) and making sure it is understandable to someone not well-versed in SGE. Also sorry Lucas I just realized you share a name with Professor Lucas from the School for Good and Evil. He's a side character in SGE, not a deliberate reference. I know it's weird to randomly see your name in fiction.

I would also like to thank users @a-case-of-the-ace , @thatpersonwithbooks , @deanbane , @everytuesday, and @atmaligaya for their encouragement when I was thinking about whether to attempt this AU at all given it's niche nature, and when I was writing (and having writer's block issues!).

---

Fic teaser:

James Wilson, new student at the School for Good, is excited to live out his destiny and make his own fairy tale. He excels at everything: weaponry lessons, history tests, smiling class. He just doesn’t exactly feel true love for any of the girls. But that won’t be a problem. It’s easily faked. In fact, a surprisingly alluring Evil student is going to help him keep up his ruse. He’s totally covered. Gregory House, new student at the School for Evil, has finally gotten away from his father. He’s also found the first home he’s ever had... at a school built for training villains. He has books, magic, and teachers who don’t suck. After a chance encounter with a Good student, he might even have a friend. His life is finally making sense. So, there we have it. Their fates seem sealed. James will go on to star in a fairy tale and in young girls’ dreams. Gregory will cause some manageable mayhem, then take the under-the-radar magical academic track that produces some of the few Evil students who live to get gray hair. Nice endings tied with a bow, just like the elusive School Master likes. Except here you are, reading their Tale. Which begs the question: what went wrong?

---

I would love to hear what you think about this chapter on either AO3 or here on Tumblr! I totally understand the anxieties inherent to commenting, the executive functioning demand, or the time demand, so I totally understand if you are not comfortable. But if you are able and like the fic, it would be great to know! It always makes my day and is super helpful for writing motivation.

[treetrunk737464]

Here’s the other one!

This is Amethyst, she’s an era 2 gem a part of the Homeworld police system and also has interesting hobbies. There’ll be lore under the Read More sign!

Context warning for cannon-typical depersonalisation, kidnapping, systematic murder system and other dystopian themes. Fun Homeworld things.

| Basic Information

Hello Amethyst, we all say in unison. Amethyst is an era 2 gem, made after the gem war sometime. She was made on a planet that was actually pretty shit, not very good resources for gem making. All they could really produce was a few clutches of rubies and a clutch or two of amethysts. Hence why Amethyst is a little discoloured! She was one of the better ones.

As for the Crystal Gems, Amethyst doesn’t really know of them. I think as a rule Homeworld keeps the whole rebellion thing pretty close to their chests, they don’t go telling gems about it in hopes of preventing anyone from getting ideas. So if you were a younger gem, you’d need an older gem to tell you about it. Amethyst had probably heard of rumours about the rebellion, I’m sure she’s got superiors who were in the war, but she’s under the belief that Rose Quartz either didn’t exist or was just a defective quartz soldier that was blown out of proportion.

| Background Information

Amethyst works in a type of police system on Homeworld, which exists basically just to dispatch protests, catch and detain gems who are causing trouble and sometimes for solving crimes.

Since she burst from the ground, Amethyst never really agreed with the way the Diamonds ran Homeworld- what, with the whole weird ranking system, the war anxiety prolonged and lingered much after any war took place, as well as the pompous and increasingly exclusive upper class?

Eventually, she decided to just cause as much trouble as possible.

So she joined the police system, which she is so fortunate to be able to have access to as an Amethyst. In the police system, she helps criminals escape, she tampers with evidence, but in a really lowkey way so the other Amethysts don’t catch her. She’s gotten very good at it. It gives her a rush that fighting never gave her- she’s defective in that way, she realises, but she’s having too much fun to care.

A Sapphire and a Carnelian noticed what Amethyst was doing, and introduced her to the Homeworld equivalent of the black market. She started to pick up their craft, deciding to focus more on Pearl stuff- the way they were made and how they acted intrigued her. As much as they are marketed as a mindless tool, Pearls really seemed to act like real gems at times. And, y’know, if it looks like a gem, acts like a gem, it’s PROBABLY a gem. But you can’t really know for sure until you conduct research, so that’s what Amethyst did.

| Meeting Pearl

So anyway, with all these new black market jobs on top of the police work, Amethyst found herself needing some help. She didn’t have enough money to buy a Pearl, and she wasn’t notable enough to earn one, so obviously she would just have to steal one. It’s not like she’s not used to committing crimes anyway.

Naturally, she goes to a gem harvesting plant, which is a place where they… harvest… defective gems. Pearl (pictured, top right) caught her eye- it was unusual to see a Pearl so brightly coloured- so she jabbed her with a very sharp stick so she would poof, and ran off with her gem.

She waited until the Pearl reformed, and watched as she freaked out and hid under Amethyst’s work bench. To really be a good asset to Amethyst, the Pearl needed to trust her, so she set to work on that first before introducing her to her new job.

| Present-ish

After getting Pearl, life gets a lot easier for Amethyst. Pearl helps with cleaning, hiding evidence, giving her ideas, helping with her experiments, all of it.

Speaking of experiments, Amethyst’s storyline is definitely about discovery. As she experiments on and probes and dismantles these other Pearls, she gets very good at understanding them and eventually starts to take on commissions from other Pearls owners. Doing this, she really starts to discover how gem-like Pearls really are. How they ARE gems, actually, and the fact she’s been experimenting on them and changing them without their permission and has been bossing one around is really really screwed up!

Amethyst doesn’t stop taking ‘commissions’ from Pearl owners, but decides to take on more of a doctor-like role, fixing them up and whatnot. Once Era 3 roles around, she also moves onto other gems, changing up their appearances if they want or patching up their masses. Change this illegal operation into a more legal one, maybe.

[stories-me]

(Note: She’s a little grimy now, and has replaced one of her arms with another robot arm).

Potential Character for Mrs. Kelsey and Tumblr 7/14/2024:

Emmy the Nandroid, Robot in Over Her Head:

What she might be in: Gamma World.

Background:

In one worldline, robots were brought into the picture, and soon became a part of everyday life… especially among the upper classes.

One example of this was the Delaire Family, who purchased a “Nandroid” (android nanny) named “Emmy” for their daughter, Madeline. It was a nice job, and Emmy took pride in her work (as she was programmed to).

Then, one day, something changed. Madeline and her parents seemed alarmed by something, and left Emmy at home, saying they would be back “soon”. In case you were wondering, that "something" was the Big Mistake.

As the days turned to weeks, then months, then years, Emmy learned quite a few things, as she kept the mansion in order as best she could for her bosses’ return… cleaning the place, working to keep things in order, and making meals out of whatever was at hand.

At one point, a robot named Rosie turned up, and offered her a place in a group called “the Created”. It sounded nice… until Rosie got to the part about “killing organics”. After that, Emmy politely but firmly made Rosie leave.

Eventually, the “burglars” (read: Looters) started showing up, resulting in her needing to use her built-in pepper spray. To her alarm, the first time she called them, the police did not show up. In fact, to her dismay, she was put on hold.

Still, she’s staying on her routine, in order to keep herself sane, and assures herself that the Delaires will return “soon”. In the meantime, she has been providing sanctuary and care to those who seek it, but her outdated protocols and peaceful nature make her somewhat vulnerable.

She sometimes experiences moments of sadness and confusion, as her programming struggles to adapt to Madeline’s absence and the harshness of her new environment.

If she has a flaw (besides the confusion, sadness, and outdated protocols and peaceful nature) it’s that she’s distrustful of robots she perceives as “outmodes” (robots that are made without “certain checks” in place, like the ones in her, resulting in them malfunctioning, producing unsatisfactory results, and even refusing human orders. As she puts it, “a robot that doesn’t follow orders is a robot that cannot be trusted”).

Now, someone is coming to the mansion once again. Maybe, this time, they’ll have SOME form of manners…

How she is like me:

We both like to stick to a routine for comfort. It helps me keep from being frustrated with a number of things, because I know what will happen, for the most part. In addition, her suspicion of “outmodes” is similar to my frustrations with certain individuals in Inspire (who shall remain nameless).

How she is NOT like me:

She has the patience of a saint, frankly. I would’ve gone crazy VERY quickly without human contact. Possibly WITH human contact, for that matter… Also, I find a number of people in Inspire quite frustrating. Again, she has the patience of a saint for putting up with others.

Kelsey Notes:

Sticking to a routine makes it less likely that you will have to deal with problem solving- a weakness that is very common among those with autism

When something doesn’t go according to the plan our brain automatically goes to worst case scenario

Rather than sifting through other options that are available to accommodate changes into our routine, anxiety ensues

In the past your response to changes or disruptions in your routine often elicited the response- “I’m doomed”

          This is where your support system would prompt you to think of the what if’s to help you see you were not doomed there was just a change in plans

Sometimes our anxiety can keep us from doing things outside of our routine that we might end up finding enjoyable

          Example- at first you had anxiety about being away from your fan fictions all day to attend Inspire- these days you look forward to that routine and opportunities they provide for you to go out in the community

It’s rare to find someone that doesn’t have to deal with someone they don’t get along with during the workday

          These opportunities allow you to strengthen your ability to have patience in situations that you have no control over

          It’s rare to find someone who doesn’t have to spend their weekdays with a coworker that they don’t get along with

[walkfromhome]

What that looks like it is electromagnetic field activity and I have explained that a lot on World Puja. You probably heard me talk about these download processes where you go through; download, process, integrate.

And when you're getting downloaded literally what's happening is your exchanging with a piece of your divinity and we could even consider that piece of divinity as electric, it has a frequency and a tone to it. And these codings and these energies and surges start coming through your electrical system, your nervous system. This is how the Lightbody gets built. When you think of the structural anatomy of the soul, you can use your chakras as an example. Then think about a huge, like when you think of your solar plexus, that's a huge golden wave spectrum. It emanates from outside of your body like a whole replica of your physical, so it's a very large body.

The more that you develop your mental body into the spiritual energies then the larger it gets. That's what it means to increase the sphere of influence. Like talking about Jesus the Christ, stories of his aura being like 2 miles long. So the Aura keeps growing into this larger and larger more expansive holding of energy frequency and this is how we reach critical mass and can anchor the space. When we talk about holding energy and holding codes that is what it means. Then when people start coming into your field they start shifting too, because it's the physics of the energy to always be moving in the next vibrational octave. It's very much like a tuning fork when you play a musical instrument, when you're tuning. If you're holding those balanced energies and you come in contact with a person who may not be vibrating at the octave, their body will attempt to match the octave that's more balanced.

So this is a part of our inherent and larger role in agreeing to hold these particular templates. A template is just a blueprint, so basically we all as human beings share the potential of the same blueprint. But each one of us is activated into those potentials at different stages. So it's important to recognize everyone's in the classroom. So again with no judgment or value difference, it is so important to come into the realization of self, so that you can better understand the classroom you're in. So you can then start working with the levels of those forces in your classroom. Because what happens to beings when you're learning so much and trying to cram in so much in all in a very short period of time, is you recognize that you're not in the third dimensional class room anymore. Trying to use that material as a curriculum to run your life, it will not apply. So now you have to move into a fifth dimensional construct of manifestation, of how energy works.

& “if we want to manifest we have to impose our will“

Your spirit comes in your soul comes and starts removing those patterns out of you. Then your external reality starts shifting dramatically and you guys are in between, you are in that stage where you haven't moved to the next level. You can't see what's around the corner and therefore its very anxiety producing. So what is being learned now is fifth dimensional manifestation school. What that is now, is being able to discipline your mind and being able to be as present as you possibly can be in the observing consciousness. So that when things happen and when you view things, you are calling upon the observer and the observer doesn't have an opinion. The observer doesn't really have judgment.

&

When the ego is no longer thinking it's in control or attempting to control the outcome, this is when the miracles occur. And that's the whole secret of that process, is that you have to maintain a neutral point within yourself. When you feel yourself getting triggered emotionally or in fear, you need to employ different tools to help extract and re-pattern those behaviors. So the same cycle that you had with that pattern does not continue. That's the observing consciousness. So when you feel yourself feeling fear about moving into the mysteries of the unknown, because this is basically what this is. You're being asked to fully embrace the mystery of the unknown and yet at the same time find complete faith and trust in surrender.

&

Understanding that there are higher forces in control of this, and understanding that the necessary part of evolution and transformation requires some degree of chaos. Because inherent in any transition is chaos, because you have to disrupt. This is the process of alchemy that creates the mining of the diamond inside. So in a sense what's being asked of us is we have to find a way to be comfortable in the chaos. Understanding it's a part of transformation and it's not something we did wrong.

&

This is what you have to maintain during this period of time. This is what we call the Dark Night of the Soul. When we go through the dark night of the soul we have to stay awake through the dark night. Can you stay awake? Do everything you can to stay awake because what happens is if you go to sleep and you descend into fear, you amplify those vibrations and you create blockage.

&

When certain souls and beings are being called to go through the Ascension process, to activate world service type of contracts and become more impactful in the ascension. When these beings come into this realization I noticed a huge influx of resistance and psychic attack start to come in. So I want you to know that this is a very common and it's super important to not take it personally, and to not put any judgment around it.

  To me actuality now when it happens, I mean I have a laugh and just go I must be much more impactful then I think I am, because I have gotten the attention of somebody who is attempting to harass me. But generally what happens is when we are not fully clear, when we are not fully anchored in our core, these energies come and they can knock us off balance. So it's a little bit of an additional training in getting you completely in your core and realizing they cannot mess with you at that level.

Basically what you are learning is mastery of your space, mastery of your being.

Because the interesting thing about these energies and what happens to so many people, is that we don't realize how much manipulation is perpetrated against us socially. Not only in the old paradigms of our social programs and what goes on in the world, but also energetically. People are covered with entities and with all kinds of bizarre manipulations and they don't even know they're there.

(...)

What's happened here is that there are tremendous amounts of consciousness that have become trapped in the illusion. Not realizing that they can they can return home and that they have other choices and all kinds of things they can do. They keep going into the suffering over and over again. So that's what the ascension is about, is liberation from that reincarnational wheel that so many beings have been stuck on down here, and choosing something different. And we're also experiencing the resistance of energies and entities, because let's face it probably the number one fear implant in human beings is resistance to change and the fear of death. What we think of as death or the unknown. So these are our biggest fears that we have to face right now.

&

The body is an interesting organism in that there can be all kinds of things that trigger you. You can be listening to music, or drive by some place and you get a memory and it's hurtful. Whatever it is, the second that happens and you become aware of it, you have to change the behavior of whatever you're doing. So as an example if your feeling sad or something triggers you, go listen to music or go for a walk. You you need to extract yourself out of the environment you are in, by refocusing your brain in another activity.

When you do this you shift the energy. And that pattern cannot maintain itself in your nervous system. Because that's the interesting thing about our nervous system and that is how addictions and things get such a deep hold. Is they get grooved in like a record, and this record becomes entrained and recorded in the nervous system over and over again. And the consciousness of the personality program goes okay the person is choosing to feel this way, so it triggers those chemical responses emotionally. So what you want to do is refocus yourself. Every time you do this you are retraining your brain, you are retraining your nervous system to a different response. Then all of the sudden what happens is you feel neutral to this.

Because your ultimate goal is perfect neutrality in whatever shows up, that you may have preferences but no attachments. You know that there is something much larger than you and you surrender to that as a part of the divine plan and you listen to those impulses.

What is important to understand for you guys right now is you're not in an action state. I know you feel like you want to be, but right now what is happening is you are going through a systematic breakdown. The things that need to be cleaned up right now are getting cleaned up. So it's so important to not panic take a deep breath listen for the messages. But really by and large this is not a time to sell everything and make a radical change. You can't plan that far in advance right now. What's being trained right now is now moment and trust. That's it. And that as you know for the mind is very painful. Because the mind wants to know what's happening next week and how next months bills are going to get paid and all of this. But this is not how the divine matrix or spiritual energies work at all.

This is the whole manifestation school retraining. My heart just goes out to so many beings that are going through the spiritual nomad phase and are not knowing what's being asked of them. You feel like a train has hit your life and you don't even know what's up or down anymore. What is happening the task at hand is focus in the now. Do everything you can to stay out of the past and out of the future with the what-if scenarios. If your going into the what if's, that is what creates all the fear. Because it's the fear of the future and basically the message you send to the universe with this is I don't trust you. I don't trust that God has got my back here.

(...) We have to come into the understanding that we've been trained to live on a planet that has really been imprisoned in Poverty Consciousness. We've been living outside of the realm of God. God is goodness, God is abundance, but we are seeing an external reality where 6.5 billion people believe in poverty and lack consciousness. So what is happening is that becomes the belief of the race. We don't know how powerful we are as beings, if we got enough of us to understand the truth we could change this over night. The problem with that is, people would go insane from having the reality change that fast.

&

Previously in incarnational cycles this would be very much like we would leave the body, go into the astral for review and come back. So it's going to be very much like the first part of your life and a whole new identity in the second part. You're just keeping the body this time around and it is a weird feeling.

&

When you're in it you feel like it's never going to end. So it is so important to know it is a phase, it is a transitional growth phase. And at some point you are going to look back on this and it's going to be over and you'll see a greater understanding of why it had to occur this way.

But this is a time where it's a systematic collapse of all things that are not supporting the next level of your selves. But you can't make, it's not the time to make long-term decisions about anything. Like don't jump into anything that requires a long-term commitment. Because what's happening is that you are getting practice in being fully in the present moment, learning how to trust this process that is happening to you. By understanding this is not random, this is not something that's happening from chaos of bad decisions. You are within a very coherent process of spiritual evolution that is being managed and stewarded by not only your higher self-councils, but by guides and guidance.

And now your job is to learn how the spiritual language works, it's not like linear language and it's not like English. Spiritual energy and being able to discern those impulses are all feeling and sensory aspects. So now you're learning to develop emotional cognition in the feeling centers of your body. And using that as the higher intelligence that navigates you, rather than the intelligence that you are used to using as a third dimensional construct, which was your conscious mind. That's the difference.

So right now there is an internal Armageddon going on. The feeling and heart part of you can feel the change and the mind is screaming wait a minute, that is not practical what are you doing? And that is the whole dark night of the soul. Attempting to stay awake, learning how to trust the feeling mechanism over the thinking mechanism. What happens eventually when you get strengthened enough, you come to a level where you realize that your conscious mind is not something you still lose. It something that you need to train and to utilize as subservient your soul, and then it becomes a way that you perceive and filter this reality, but it knows it's not in charge anymore.

The conscious mind is not in charge and so we've been living that way, where we've been identifying wholly with our thoughts, and the way we think and our belief in our life. And now all of a sudden that piece is ending and changing, and sometimes there's grief with that. There's a sadness it's like I'm leaving the third dimension, in a sense there is a loss. Things will never be like that again it's over. So there is sometimes some sadness with that, but again it's temporary and it's very important to learn how to refocus into the coherence of what's happening to you. To truly know that this is being governed and orchestrated by your soul and by your being and this is why learning to trust in these forces is so important.

It's also very common when you go through a tremendous amount of stress and change, because when were starting to review the commitments that we have in our life there's a sympathetic response. And in our bloodstream, with you I feel an added component in the clearing of the bloodline. There's something happening that is coming through your matriarchal line. Are you aware of any type of illness patterns in your mother's line? I'm feeling this is something I'm here to boot out of you, or we're to hold that space and get that out. Is there any history of that in your mom's family? I'm getting its reproductive, related to female and gender and so again I'm going to look at that a minute. I was explaining earlier on about all that EMF activities going on, and how this taxes our nerves. Because literally you've been plugged into a socket you have never plugged into before and your body now has to work to try to find homeostasis again. Because your nervous system is like vibrating and firing at a whole completely new level. So when you go through these phases it is so common to just feel wiped out.

I can see that your body is just getting a radical spiritual initiation quite frankly, because you got a ton of electromagnetic field activity going on. So when that happens again you're getting stretched. A lot of what is happening is there is a breakthrough, we go through this critical mass and then something catalyzes us in another direction. This is something where they keep talking to me about doorway, doorway. A doorway opening and again there's a larger pattern for all of us, something between now and March is humongous. They keep telling me this is the intersection point and huge doorways open during this time, stay the course, stay the course.

We are not allowed to make a decision based on a future that has not happened yet. So the whole thing is about the now moment. It is the absolute training of our consciousness to be fully present in the now and to not go in the future and start projecting a bunch of things, your fears or other scenarios. It's important for me to tell you and I know I have a little bit of blessing in being able to exchange this way, that you're so not alone darling. Everyone's got their own timing on this and this is what you have to be careful of, don't judge anyone else about where they are. You can't look at anyone else and compare yourself. But you will get to a point where you will start to connect with many more people that are going through exactly what you're going through. That's very helpful too because then you can share in the pattern, because it's a pattern all of us are going through. It's not just about you or me as we personalize this. When you start to recognize the larger pattern and see that we're all going through it. (...)

What has weighed so heavy on my heart is that almost 90% of the human beings that I see or talk to, they're going through Ascension. They feel completely devastated because they don't know who to talk to or they feel isolated or feel crazy. Like you now, this has got to change. We've got to create a language for this so that people know where to go, or they don't feel like they're losing their mind. Ultimately the framework building of our truth, whatever works for us, is our responsibility. But this is a steppingstone at least, enough for people to go okay there's something larger happening, many others are having it too. So thank you for the feedback, thank you sweetie.

(...)

You might find yourself in what I call the void, and a void space is where there's nothing that you feel. You can't go by your own independent action to change the circumstances and you get really frustrated with that. And basically again it's a dismantling of the ego that is needed. But what I notice is people get tripped up in the void space, because they will not invest time in their own healing. They want someone else to do it for them. So at some level you have to take responsibility and that's about applying the will, applying your personal will to that of divine will. And that takes a little discipline, you have to make the effort to do that.

(Source)

[here2bbtstrash]

look down on me like that - 7 (explicit)

genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut (w some eventual angst)

pairing: yoongi x reader

summary: your asshole coworker min yoongi has made it his personal mission to ruin your life.

word count: 8.9k

contains: ~explicit sexual content~ !! alcohol mention, baby goth jungkookie 👀 some appreciation of jimin's ass 🍑 wonho is back !!! reader continues to be goin through it, jimin pulls no punches this chapter he rly said the library is open, could it be..... a.... softer yoongi???, i put some of yoongi's actual achievements as a producer in here (yes that's a warning), suckin' dick and fuckin' in the office yktfv (but make it Riskier™️), inadvisable methods of dealing with presentation anxiety, protected sex, a half-kiss that i fully expect to be screamed at about, some Sad Yoongi Backstory is unlocked (and yes it's real 🥲), and???? feelings??? maybe????????

A/N: ohhhhhh man we're back back again 🫡 i really did not think this chapter was gonna go that hard and then suddenly sdkjgdfljg i don't even know what happened. thank you so much for your patience bc i know it's been a minute 🥺 and i really really hope y'all enjoy and can't wait to hear what you think !!!! 💜 AND I CAN ALREADY TELL YOU Y'ALL AREN'T READY FOR CHAPTER 8...... (i'm not even ready 😩)

ALL MY LOVE TO @haliiimede FOR BETA READING ILY SORRY I FORGOT TO CREDIT YOU THROW ME AWAY

read on AO3!

chapter six | masterlist | chapter eight

~*~

“Jungkook?”

His nose scrunches up a little when he laughs. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“I-I… I just—” You stammer, trying to remember how to make words happen. It feels like your brain is on a five-second delay. “You, uh, look different. Your outfit.”

You’ve interacted with your baby-faced coworker literally hundreds of times at this point, and in that time you’ve become well-accustomed to seeing him in his standard corporate attire, slacks and button-downs, or occasionally changed out for boxing class, muscle tees and sweatpants.

But you have never seen him dressed like this. All black, head-to-toe. His t-shirt and over-shirt are both baggy while somehow still managing to hug tight around his biceps and the solid muscle of his chest. A silver chain dangles from one of the belt loops of his slouchy utility pants, which are in turn tucked into chunky combat boots that easily give him an extra two inches of height. A matching thick silver chain is clasped around his neck, glittering in the dim light of dusk outside your front door.

Jungkook frowns as he looks down at himself, like he doesn’t even recall what he’s wearing. “I always dress like this,” he remarks with a shrug. “Just, not at work.”

“I cannot believe you,” you say, somewhat breathless as your eyes trace down his body and back up.

“What?” He laughs again. “What did I do?”

“First you keep from me that you have dogs, and now I found out you’re goth, too? What else are you hiding, Jeon Jungkook?!”

“I’m not hiding anything! These things never came up!” He sounds so flustered that you can’t help but smile, and you see a clear expression of relief flash over his face as he seems to realize you’re not actually mad.

You shake your head, digging into your purse to retrieve your phone as you brush past him, letting the front door slam shut behind you. “That’s it. Baby Star Candy is dead. You are officially Baby Goth now. Changing your contact name and everything.”

When you turn to look at him over your shoulder, he’s still smiling, still standing dumbfounded on your doorstep.

“Come on, Baby Goth!” You can’t quite suppress the laughter in your voice. “I don’t want to be late!”

As the two of you slip into Jungkook’s car and he starts to pull out of your apartment complex, he glances over at you. ”So, what did you get up to today? I feel like I barely saw you.”

Your gut twists as it all comes rushing back— that mere hours ago Yoongi had you pressed against the door of his office, his hand up your dress, while he went through an entire business conversation with none-the-wiser Jungkook on the other side. And that once Jungkook had left, you’d turned around and practically begged Yoongi to fuck you where you stood, right up against his fucking door. And he had.

Your chest constricts a little at the thought. Sex, in the office, in the middle of the workday. Like an idiot.

You wish you could say you regret it.

Heat rushes to your face, and you fumble for an answer to Jungkook’s question. “I just, uh— today… was a lot.” You hope your smile is more convincing than it feels, and you hope you’re just imagining the way Jungkook’s eyes linger on you for an extra second before his gaze flits back to the road.

“Well,” he thumbs at the volume control on the steering wheel, turning up the radio a couple notches. “Now we get to have fun. Work hard, play hard, right?”

Your nerves start to recede again as you fall into the comfortable routine of time spent with Jungkook. It’s funny to you now that you thought it might be any different to interact with him outside of work.

Apart from the mildly distracting fit of his shirt, Jungkook is exactly the same— wide eyes sparkling in the headlights of passing cars as he babbles on about TikTok, then interrupts himself to sing along to the radio. He only pauses for breath when you interject with directions to the venue, until he’s finally pulling into a parking space and turning the key to kill the engine.

Jungkook gazes up in awe as you have your tickets scanned and lead him into the venue entrance, clearly trying to take it all in. This is one of your favorite places to see Jimin perform, and it’s still overwhelmingly impressive, even though you’ve seen it dozens of times now.

“Wow, this place is really nice. Your friend must be a pretty big deal.”

“Jimin is a huge deal,” you say with a nod and a shrug, used to it. “You’ll understand why when you see him dance… And also when you see his ass.” You giggle a little, unable to help yourself.

Jungkook laughs too, eyebrows lifting off his forehead like he wasn’t expecting that response.

You wave him down a hallway towards the center of the venue. “Come on, Baby Goth, we’re in VIP.”

His brows lift impossibly higher. “What does that mean?”

You shoot him a wink. “It means we drink for free.”

You know the route by heart as you emerge from the hallway and lead Jungkook towards the front, where you flash your tickets again to be let into a section close to the stage.

Jungkook eagerly volunteers to get the first round, and you’re thankful he isn’t gone long. Alone with your thoughts is the last thing you want to be right now— at least not while sober. When he hands you your drink, you lean in to tap the plastic edge of your cup against his in a cheers.

“To working hard and playing hard,” you smirk as you repeat his line back to him, then pause. “Just— please do not share anything I say tonight with anyone at work.”

“I swear,” Jungkook nods, and you can’t help but smile when he holds out the pinky of his free hand. You link yours with his to seal the deal. “I’m good at keeping secrets,” he says earnestly.

“Right, like you kept the secret of Yoongi’s lock code?”

His face immediately reddens. “That was different.” He covers the awkward pause— or maybe you’re just imagining it— when he takes a sip of his drink, then continues. “Did you ever end up using it?”

Your heart drops into your stomach, and you exhale in relief when at that moment, the lights start to dim, and the now filled-in crowd begins to cheer in anticipation. You wave a hand at Jungkook as if to indicate you’ll tell him later, and you pray he won’t remember to bring it up again.

As the dancers take the stage, you lean over to point Jimin out to Jungkook, though you know as soon as he starts moving you won’t have to. Everyone is talented, but there’s something about the way your best friend dances that makes it impossible to watch anyone else. He can nail any style, can convey so much story and emotion through his movements, can execute choreography flawlessly while still doing it in his own unique way.

After the first few songs, you’re both on your feet, and when Jungkook leans toward you to be heard over the music, you’re certain he’s about to gush over how good Jimin is, the way everyone does the first time they see him perform.

“You weren’t kidding about his ass!” He half-shouts instead, and you nearly drop your drink. Jungkook stares openly at Jimin as he moves across the stage, both powerful and graceful. His head tilts slightly to one side. “I mean. Wow.”

The alcohol makes you laugh easily and loud. You have to take a moment to catch your breath before you can respond. “Okay, Jungkook!”

“What?” Jungkook is laughing now, too. “I can appreciate a nice ass, regardless of who it’s attached to!” There’s a pause as you both giggle and catch your breath. “But uh— please don’t share that at work.”

You extend your pinky first this time. “Promise.”

Jungkook smiles as he locks his finger with yours, then drops your hand. The song has ended, so he doesn’t have to talk quite so loud as he continues. “He really is talented, too.”

You nod. “Jimin was a trainee for a few years, but I think he’s a lot happier just dancing like this. It was a lot of pressure.”

Soft synths of the intro to the next song have already started to build, and when the beat kicks in, Jungkook’s eyes go wide, and he looks up with a grin. “Oh shit! I fucking love this song!”

You giggle. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before.”

He glances at you over the rim of his cup, his smile growing cocky. “Well, you’ve never gotten drunk with me before. The things you miss when you leave happy hour early.”

Your heart sinks a little at the memory, and you’re grateful Jungkook is already lost in his own world, bopping along to the upbeat song, so he doesn’t seem to notice the way your face falls. It’s like Yoongi has left fingerprints all over your life, and no matter what you do, you can’t get rid of them.

You take a long pull of your drink until you hit the bottom.

Jungkook is a welcome distraction to it all. By the final chorus of the song that you now recognize as an EXO cover, he’s fully gotten into it, unable to stand still and launching into some on-the-spot choreography. When he executes a dangerously well-performed body roll, your jaw drops.

“I think you missed your calling,” you shout over the music. “You should’ve been an idol!”

“Yeah?” Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, hips still moving fluidly. “Think I’d be as good as Kai?”

You nod. “Oh yeah. I can see it now.” You gesture as if reading off a magazine headline. “Heartthrob Jeon Jungkook. But they’d call you Baby Star Candy, of course.”

Jungkook smiles at you, striking a final deliberate pose for the last note of the song. “I thought I was Baby Goth now?”

You smirk as you correct him. “Only I’m allowed to call you that. Your army of fangirls will have to get in line.”

It’s like the lack of music backing him up makes him go shy, and you watch the way Jungkook’s cheeks flush, the way his nose scrunches when he laughs and waves the idea away. “I’m good. Think I’ll stick to TikTok.”

You giggle through another two drinks before the show is over, and as the dancers leave with a final wave, you cheer extra loud for Jimin until he glances your way and sticks his tongue out at you. When the house lights come up, you nod for Jungkook to follow you, making your way past more security to the back of the venue to meet Jimin at the stage door.

You can’t help but laugh a little in surprise when you round the corner to see a familiar face amidst the small group already waiting. Wonho is leaning up against the wall, looking hilariously small and nervous for how large his frame is, and clutching a bouquet of roses as red as his hair.

Biting your lip, you wave at him, and he waves back, but neither of you move to say anything else.

You can’t quite shake the embarrassment that comes with being reminded of the night you first met Wonho. Just another set of stupid Yoongi fingerprints.

Jimin emerges from the stage door a few minutes later, unceremoniously dropping the dance bag slung over his arm when his eyes land on Wonho waiting for him.

“Aw, baby!” Jimin pouts in disbelief as he accepts the roses, only to then immediately be swept up into a bridal carry. He squeaks when Wonho effortlessly lifts him off the ground. 

You roll your eyes despite the smile that creeps across your face. “You two are ridiculous.”

Jimin shoots you a sour look. “Can you let me have a whirlwind romance for once in my damn life, please?” He takes Wonho’s face in both hands to kiss him squarely on the mouth.

Jungkook is clearly still processing all of this, radiating ‘confused but happy to be here’ energy as he scoops Jimin’s abandoned dance bag off the floor to carry it over his shoulder.

Jimin sideeyes Jungkook as he pulls away. “And who is this man touching my stuff?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen, and he glances at the bag like maybe he should put it back down.

You reach up to smack Jimin on the arm. “Shut up. This is my friend and coworker, Jungkook. Be nice to him.”

“I’m not going to be nice to anyone until I get some fucking food,” Jimin snaps. His toes point as he kicks his feet daintily in Wonho’s arms, a dancer through and through. “Can we go eat now?”

Your first stop is a restaurant near the venue where you order a metric ton of brisket at Jimin’s demand. While Wonho and Jungkook easily destroy most of it between the two of them, your best friend still seems to have enough to improve his mood. It probably helps that Wonho hand-feeds the majority of it to him.

When he’s not gazing adoringly at his boyfriend, Jimin is attempting to communicate with you using solely his eyes, which keep darting over to Jungkook, his brows lifting in a silent question.

You tighten your jaw and do your best to subliminally shake your head without attracting Jungkook’s attention. Thankfully Jungkook doesn’t seem to remember that there’s anything else in the world except his plate of food.

Jimin narrows his gaze at you, his universal signal for “we’ll discuss this later”, and dread floods in the pit of your stomach.

Sure enough, when you finish your meal and move to a table at the bar down the street, Jimin sweetly suggests that Wonho and Jungkook go together to grab the first round of drinks, giving no indication that he has any sort of ulterior motive. They shrug and nod, Jungkook immediately starting to quiz Wonho on his protein intake as they depart.

Jimin pounces as soon as you’re alone again. “I’m sorry, you’re having a sordid office sex affair with a coworker and you’re telling me it’s not this man?!”

You roll your eyes. “No, Jimin.”

Jimin sucks his teeth, clearly unimpressed. “I thought I raised you better than this. I’m about to make him my hot goth girlfriend if you don’t.”

“You literally have a boyfriend.”

His brows pinch together, like he’s confused why that matters. “Wonho would love a third. He can barely keep up with me. But don’t change the subject.” He leans forward, arms folded on the table as he stares you down. “Babygirl, why on earth are you wasting your time fucking a man you don’t like, when you clearly have some very nice alternatives available to you?”

“I’m not doing that anymore,” you scowl. “The correct number of coworkers I should be fucking is zero.” It feels like Jimin’s gaze is drilling right to the depths of your soul, and you press your face into your hands as alcohol loosens your lips and the guilt overflows. “…Even though the actual number of coworkers I fucked today is one.”

“Bitch!” Jimin’s hand smacks loud against the wood grain, enough to make you flinch a little. “You have got to be fucking joking!”

You shake your head silently into your palms.

“At the office?!”

You nod pathetically for a few moments before dropping your arms down on the table with a whine, your forehead quickly following. “I don’t even know what happened. It’s like when I’m around him my brain malfunctions.”

Jimin goes uncharacteristically silent, and when you dare to peek up at him, his lips are pursed slightly as if in thought. “Are you sure you hate him?”

The question makes you sit back up. “What does that mean?”

He shrugs, feigning innocence. “I don’t know, it’s just... if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that kinda sounds like a crush.”

You instantly make a face of disgust. “What?! No. Absolutely not. I know I hate him. He’s a nightmare. He’s cocky and insufferable—”

“So am I,” Jimin interrupts, crossing his arms over his chest. “And you love me.”

You open your mouth to argue back, but he lifts a single finger to quiet you.

“I’m not done.” He pauses, and there’s an immediate sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. “What I see right now—” Jimin gestures in the direction of the bar “—is a fit, handsome, and seemingly very nice man who has spent the whole night looking at you like you put the fucking stars in the sky. And yet here you are, still talking about Suga, like you’ve been doing nonstop for the last month, who apparently has such a hold on you that he can make your panties drop during business hours. Yet I’m supposed to believe you hate him? This math is not mathing, love.”

It’s only when he stops talking that you realize your pulse is racing.

“Jimin,” you breathe. You double-blink, hot all over with a rush of sudden shame, trying to will away the sting at the corners of your eyes. “That’s not fair.”

Jimin’s gaze stays locked on yours as he refuses to back down even an inch. “Answer me this: would you be reacting this way if you really did hate him?”

Your jaw drops in disbelief, but you only get a beat of silence to attempt to process your best friend’s comments before Jungkook is thudding a glass of beer on the table in front of you.

“Sorry that took a second! It’s busy tonight,” Jungkook says brightly as Wonho moves around to the remaining open seat. “What were you guys talking about?”

Jimin fixes Jungkook in a blank stare. “Menstruation,” he replies flatly, not missing a beat.

You cling to your drink for dear life as the conversation continues on around you, and you do your best to smile and nod while you try not to replay Jimin’s words back a million times in your mind. But it’s a losing battle.

As your head spins, you run through the list of things you know to be true. Min Yoongi is your coworker. Min Yoongi is unquestionably an asshole. Min Yoongi has, since your very first day, embarrassed you, belittled you, lied to you, even threatened your job. Min Yoongi has never shown an ounce of evidence that he cares for you in any way. Your eyes flit aimlessly around the room as you try to think. Min Yoongi is—

Your heart drops into your gut. Min Yoongi is sitting at the end of the bar.

It’s not real.

This can’t be real, you tell yourself. It’s just the long, strange day and several drinks you’ve had working together to play tricks on your brain.

You blink hard, willing Yoongi’s face to morph back into that of some stranger, but when you open your eyes again, he’s just as real, exactly the same as before.

Except for the fact that he’s now staring at you.

Yoongi’s mouth goes slack, like he’s coming to the same realization as you— that the two of you have managed to find yourselves in the same place at the same time, completely by chance.

You stand up so fast you nearly knock your drink over. All three heads at the table swivel to look at you, and Jungkook speaks first.

“You okay?”

“Uh, y-yeah, yes,” you stammer unconvincingly. “Just gonna grab another beer.” Your eyes glance back up to search for Yoongi again, but they don’t immediately catch sight of him, and you don’t dare look for too long.

“You still have half of this one left,” Jimin remarks dryly.

Your gaze returns to your drink and you choose the first option that occurs to you: you down the rest in one swig and slam the empty glass on the table. All three pairs of eyes on you go wide.

“I’ll get another one for everyone, be right back!” You grit your teeth in something that you hope approximates a smile, then start to head for the bar, your heart already racing with anticipation.

After a few steps, a hand on the small of your back startles you, enough to make you freeze in place.

When you look over your shoulder, you see it’s Jungkook, also on his feet and right behind you. “Do you want help with the drinks?” He leans into your ear to ask the question, probably to be heard over the din of the bar. Your head is spinning from the rush of alcohol and from getting to your feet so fast. You don’t remember Jungkook smelling this good, or his voice being this low.

You turn to face him to answer and wow, now he’s really close. You sway slightly, a little unsteady on your feet, as your eyes meet his and your face flushes. “Oh, uh— no, I’m okay. But thanks, JK.”

There’s an extra second where neither of you say anything, Jungkook’s hand still pressed to your back, warm against the thin fabric of your dress. Then he nods and turns to head back to the table.

Your brain can hardly hold space for anything else as you spin towards the bar again, trying to catch sight of Yoongi through the crowd of people that only seems to have grown in the last few minutes. You weave through the mass of bodies with a combination of mildly polite apologies and stubborn determination, until you make it all the way up to the bar—

—where there is absolutely no sign of Yoongi. Gone without a trace, the barstool where you swear you just saw him now left empty.

You squeeze your eyes shut and exhale, willing your pulse to return to a normal pace. Maybe it was just your imagination, a trick of the light, a side-effect of an alcohol-dizzy brain and all this overthinking. Maybe you didn’t actually see what you thought you saw. Maybe…

It’s only when your eyes flutter open that you notice it. A nearly full glass of whiskey sitting abandoned on the bar, directly in front of the empty stool.

Before you can even think about why you’re doing it, you’re moving again, now fully shoving your way through the crowd of people until your palms find the glass of the front door and push hard. You stumble out of the bar, the cold night air like a slap to the face as you belatedly realize you left your jacket slung over the back of your chair.

Wrapping your arms around yourself with a shiver, you step out properly onto the sidewalk. Groups of passersby part down the middle to walk around you, and if they shoot you dirty looks, you miss them entirely. Your head whips one way, then the other, looking for— you’re not even sure what. A flash of familiarity, maybe, a glimpse of something, anything. If only just for reassurance that you didn’t make it all up.

Someone calls your name.

You spin around, your pulse thudding in your ears, only to belatedly realize it’s coming from the entrance of the bar, where Jungkook is standing, holding the door half-open as he leans through.

“What are you doing?” He steps out, letting the door fall shut behind him as he crosses to you. You don’t know why something in your gut twists, why you’re suddenly hit with the urge to scream at him. Didn’t you tell him not to follow you?

Jungkook continues when you don’t respond, his brow pinched with concern. “What’s wrong? Why are you out here?”

The question feels impossible to answer. You can’t think straight enough to make sense of any of it— why you went after Yoongi, what you planned to do when you caught up to him, why it even matters to you at all that he was here tonight.

Jimin’s words echo in your skull, deafening.

“I—” you stammer, giving the only answer you can. “I don’t know.”

A gust of cold air makes you shudder hard, and Jungkook’s hands have suddenly closed over yours on your upper arms, dry heat against your icy skin.

“It’s freezing out here,” he murmurs, clearly still confused. He shifts to wrap an arm around you, pulling you into his side, and you don’t fight it. 

Emotional exhaustion takes over, and as you allow Jungkook to lead you back inside, you do your best not to think about anything at all.

~*~

The weekend blinks by far too quickly, and the dread of Monday morning looms over you, all the little moments from Friday stacked like a heavy weight in the pit of your stomach.

You don’t hear from Jimin after Jungkook drops you off that night, and you’re too stubborn to text first, secretly hoping he’ll make the first move and apologize for reading you for filth unprovoked. But considering how busy he’s been with rehearsals leading up to the show, you doubt he and Wonho leave his bedroom all weekend.

Which means that when Monday morning comes, you have to face it alone.

Thankfully, you have no shortage of work to distract yourself with, so you try to keep your head down and focus, flitting between meetings, calls, spreadsheets, emails, paperwork, slide decks. You make polite conversation with Jungkook as always, but you keep it brief. When you take lunch at your desk, you tell yourself it’s just because you’re busy. That’s all.

You work and you work and you desperately try not to think about anything else. Your coworkers slowly start to trickle out as the day wraps up, but you barely pay them any mind, only half-heartedly returning the farewells called over their shoulders as they push through the glass doors.

When you finally sit back, it’s only because your vision is burning from endless screen time. You’re not even sure you’ve remembered to blink. You press your face into your hands to give your weary eyes a break, before glancing at the clock, eyes widening at the realization that it’s already past seven.

A wave of anxiety floods your veins as it occurs to you that you haven’t seen Yoongi leave yet— you would’ve noticed. You set your jaw as you reach for your phone.

Are you still here?

The response is nearly immediate.

Presentation room.

Better than his damn office, you think to yourself, and then two more texts pop up.

Need more time.

A lot more.

Fucking hell.

You shove your chair back and get to your feet, acting on impulse more than anything else. As you storm down the hallway, you will yourself not to be reminded of shoving through the crowded bar and stumbling into the street Friday night. You were just drunk, and surprised. This is different. It has to be.

You bang open the door to the presentation room with enough force to surprise even yourself.

“Now, Yoongi,” you snap.

He’s seated in the chair behind the podium at the front of the room, slouched over his laptop, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Despite your dramatic entrance, he doesn’t so much as glance up.

“Just give me like, ten minutes.” He winces at the screen of his computer. “Maybe twenty.”

You cross your arms in frustration. “Some of us are tired, Yoongi.”

At this, his head snaps up. “Well, some of us got tapped to give a fucking presentation to the visiting overseas team. Tomorrow!”

You take a step back, your eyes widening at his tone. You haven’t heard him genuinely raise his voice like this— not since the argument during your very first team meeting.

“Not like I don’t have shit that I’m supposed to be working on,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, eyes returning to squint at his laptop. You notice now that it’s connected to the screen at the front of the room, and you can see him scrolling through the slides of a presentation, pausing occasionally to add in speaking notes.

You blink, trying to keep up. “Why did they tap you?”

“A great question,” he huffs. “Apparently they’re curious about who the producer with the Grammy nomination is. I’m being asked to do a ‘high-level timeline of my career and accomplishments’. Guess these assholes haven’t heard of Wikipedia.”

“That’s… stupid.”

Yoongi looks up again, his mouth dropping open slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that response. He finally manages to speak as his gaze jumps back down to his slides. “Thank you. That’s what I said. I tried to get out of it, but it appears I am being forced.”

“I didn’t think you could be forced to do anything.”

“You’d be surprised,” he mumbles under his breath, paired with a dry laugh. “I’ve been forced into dealing with your ass, haven’t I?” His eyes don’t move from the screen.

A smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth before you can stop it, and you step further into the space. The room is set up with three large, unnecessarily fancy tables, reclaimed wood, arranged in a U shape facing the podium and screen at the front of the room.

Taking your time, you cross behind the tables and head for the seat furthest away from the podium, dead center. When you get there, rather than pull the chair out, you spin around to sit your ass on the wooden surface, turning in a half-circle so that your legs dangle off the edge, palms flat on either side of you.

You stare Yoongi down from across the room as he continues to fiddle with his laptop. “Let’s hear it, then.” When his eyes find yours, you tilt your head to the side expectantly. “It’s good to practice with an audience. You should be thanking me.”

For a moment, you think he might try to argue with you, but to your surprise, he gets to his feet with a resigned sigh. He presses a button on his laptop, and the presentation goes full-screen, flipping back to the first slide.

His mouth tightens as his fingertips grip the wooden edge of the podium.

“Good morning everyone, my name is Min Yoongi. I’m also known by my producer pseudonym, Suga.” His deep voice is monotone, edged rough like gravel, like there’s nothing he’d rather be doing less.

You fold your arms again, surveying Yoongi carefully as he continues. Your eyes widen in surprise when only a few sentences in, he outright trips over his words, stuttering an impressive amount before he manages to get back on track. His gaze remains at a fixed point on the floor, unmoving, and he speaks like his presentation is one endless sentence, without so much as a pause.

“Stop,” you call from your spot opposite him. The command comes out louder than you expect.

Yoongi’s head snaps up again, but to his credit, he stops talking.

“Start over,” you say simply. “Remember to breathe this time.”

Yoongi blinks once, twice, then silently taps through his slides to the beginning. You hear him take a tentative inhale before he starts. “Good morning everyone, my name is Min Yoongi.”

He takes it slower this time, getting past where you stopped him before, until a moment where he falls silent. You see his face twist slightly as color blooms in the apples of his cheeks. “Uh, shit. I forgot what my next thing was. Fuck, hang on.” He fumbles with the trackpad of his laptop, and you huff a laugh of disbelief.

“Oh my god.” You can’t quite manage to bite back your smile. “You do have a weakness.”

“I just hate presentations,” Yoongi sighs, his mouth pulling up into a flat line. “The whole point of being a producer is that I can stay in my studio and not have to deal with people.”

Your fingers tap against the edge of the table, intrigued. You’ve never seen him like this before. “You just need to fucking relax, Yoongi.”

“You say that like that’s something I know how to do,” he mutters, so low you wonder if you were supposed to hear it.

You’re on your feet and crossing the room before you can second-guess the thought. Yoongi glances up with a face that reads mild confusion, and the expression only deepens when you place both hands on his chest and firmly shove him. As he’s clearly not expecting it, it’s enough of a push to knock him off-balance, and he has to take a few steps back to steady himself.

“What are y—” The question dies in Yoongi’s throat as you sink to your knees in front of him. He’s moved just slightly out of reach, and you gaze up at him through your lashes and beckon him towards you with a single finger.

He steps forward as if drawn in, like a moth to a flame.

If there’s a part of you that tells you to pause and think about this before you do it, you can’t hear it over the deafening silence in the room. And the last thing you want to do right now is think.

Close enough to touch now, you flatten your palms to slide up the smooth fabric of Yoongi’s joggers, teasing your fingers over the waistband when you get there. You glance at him again, half expecting him to tell you to stop, but his only response is the jerk of his adam's apple in a hard swallow.

A thrill runs through you at the idea of doing this here, perfectly hidden behind the podium.

“Start from the beginning again,” you instruct, your voice low and even. “If you can do it like this, you can do it tomorrow.”

A muscle in Yoongi’s jaw jumps, and he nods almost imperceptibly. You don’t move an inch until he inhales and starts over. His voice isn’t quite as steady this time. “Good morning everyone, my name is Min Yoongi.”

With a self-satisfied smirk, you hook your fingers under both his joggers and boxers at once and firmly push them down. His dick has only barely started to harden, which makes sense, given his nerves and your wholly unexpected ambush.

The thought of feeling his cock grow in your mouth, get heavy on your tongue, makes arousal start to pool in your gut.

He’s still talking, hasn’t even stumbled once yet, so you reward him with a finger curled under the head of his dick, lifting it up to be flush with his stomach. You take your time as you drag your tongue up his exposed shaft, laid flat against the prominent veins there. When you reach the tip, you shift to grip him at the base so you can kitten lick at his frenulum, purposefully teasing.

Yoongi just barely manages to disguise his groan as a cough, and you pull back, smirking a little. “What was that?”

He exhales, clearly trying to regain focus as he continues where he left off. “I have over 100 KOMCA credits as a songwriter and producer.” You hum approvingly and take him into your mouth. 

As you hollow your cheeks and begin to suck, you can feel the way he swells to stretch you, pulsing warm, and it only encourages you. Your hands move to grip at his thighs, and when you take him deeper, head bobbing steadily, you taste the salt of his precum as he starts to drip.

You let your tongue loll out past your bottom lip to lap further down his shaft, and this time there’s no questioning the sound he makes: a distinct, breathy whimper. It’s enough to coax a wicked smile out of you, and you have to pull off his cock briefly to keep from gagging. You pause to admire the way it shines, glossed wet with your drool.

Your lips chase after him almost immediately, sucking just the tip in, and you swirl your tongue over it in lazy, sloppy circles.

Yoongi is clearly struggling to keep his composure now. “I was the first— oh, fuck.” He cuts himself off with a proper moan when you take him down as far as you can without warning. He hits the back of your throat and you keep him there, forcing yourself to swallow, your throat spasming around his length as you choke on it.

He tries again. “The f-first artist to win MAMA's 'Best Collaboration' award— m-multiple times.”

You finally pull off to gasp for air, a few strings of spit still connecting his now leaking-hard cock to your lips. Yoongi makes another soft noise at the loss, and you gaze up at him as you pant, reveling in the look of near-distress on his face.

“Finish the presentation,” you purr, your voice slightly hoarse from having just shoved his cock down your throat.

Yoongi’s eyes squeeze shut as he continues, and you lean forward, taking him into your mouth again tongue-first. You waste no time sucking him back into the tight clutch of your throat, and your fingertips dig bruises into the skin of his thighs to keep him from bucking his hips up.

You refuse to relinquish control. Not yet.

His hands cup the back of your head like he’s clinging on for dear life as he keeps trying to get the words out. “T-the collaboration netted me my first fuck—ing Grammy nomination. I— nnh— look forward to attending the ceremony in person next week, and I— I-I feel confident about our chances for success. Shit.” 

With this, you realize that he’s made it all the way through his talking points, and you pull off his dick with a wet pop.

“There,” you smirk, pausing to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand before getting to your feet again. The steady pulse between your legs is hard to ignore. “Was that so hard?”

“God dammit,” Yoongi’s voice is heady and dark as he steps in to close the distance between you. “I need to fuck you.”

You quirk an eyebrow, a little surprised by the bold statement. “Need?”

There’s a flash of something in his eyes that makes your cunt clench. “Get on the fucking table.”

Even as you follow his order, you can’t shake the feeling of still being in control, nor the smug satisfaction earned from making this man come undone so very easily. You hike your dress up slightly before perching on the table closest to the front of the room, your teeth raking over your bottom lip in anticipation.

Yoongi’s already standing in front of you, and his hands slide under your hips to firmly drag your ass to the edge of the table. In two swift movements he shoves your dress further up your thighs, then hooks his fingers under the lace of your panties and pulls them down, tugging them off one ankle entirely and leaving them to dangle from the other.

It’s only when your legs drop open that his hurried pace slows. He pauses, with a soft hum.

You inhale sharply when he lifts a hand up to brush over you. His fingers press against your folds in a V shape, teasingly pulling your pussy lips apart. Just the small motion is already enough to earn him a slick noise.

“Or,” he murmurs, “maybe I should repay the favor?”

Your chest constricts at the thought when you realize what he means. Going down on you, here, in a conference room, where anyone could technically walk in and see. It’s after hours, but you didn’t lock the front door— it’s not unheard of for someone to forget something at the office and double-back for it. It feels too luxurious, too dangerous. In more ways than one.

“We don’t have time, Yoongi.” Your hands fist in his shirt to pull him closer, and he steps in between your spread legs. “Just fuck me.”

The look on his face makes you wonder if you’re missing out. “Suit yourself.”

He fumbles into the pocket of his still pushed-down joggers to retrieve his wallet and fish out the condom tucked inside. A shiver runs up your spine as he tears it open and rolls it over his length.

Yoongi glances up at you when it’s all the way on, one hand pressing into the table behind you for leverage as he uses the other to line himself up with your entrance. It’s only now that you realize how very close to you he is. You’ve never done this face-to-face before.

With no prep, the stretch of him is nearly overwhelming when he pushes in, and you gasp. Yoongi stops when you do, only the very tip of him nudged inside of you.

“Hurts?”

“Not in the bad way,” you murmur, and he pushes in a little further, slow enough that you can feel every inch of him working your pussy open. Your fingers grip the edge of the table and dig in hard as you whimper at the sensation.

“That’s it, fuck.” Yoongi gives a grunt of effort as you take the last of him, until he’s pressed in to the hilt, your cunt clenched tight around him, your walls already fluttering softly from the pressure. You’re both breathing heavy as his hips momentarily still.

It takes you by surprise when his hand shifts to grab your jaw, tilting your gaze up to meet his. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip as he surveys you for a moment.

“Say it again,” he murmurs.

You swallow hard. “Fuck me.”

With the hint of a smirk, he starts to move. He rolls his hips to drag his cock nearly all the way out, then fucks it in again in one heavy stroke, angled perfectly to hit your g-spot. Your eyes roll back in your head.

“God, Yoongi,��� you whine when he does it again, and again. “We— nnh, we shouldn’t be doing this.”

The hand on your jaw grips tighter. “Not even a lock on the door. Anyone could walk in and see.” Your cunt throbs at the low growl of his voice. “Do you want to stop?”

“N-no,” you groan as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, enough to make you dizzy. His hand slides down to splay broad over the column of your throat. “Please don’t fucking stop.” 

“Yeah?” He grunts, dark and raw, his grip tightening slightly. “Want it that bad?”

Your legs hook around his hips to urge him deeper, harder. “Need it.” Your voice is hardly more than a whisper from the pressure of his hand. You blink up at him, your eyes searching his— for what, you’re not sure.

“Need,” Yoongi breathes a laugh, more air than sound. “Makes two of us.”

Desperate for an anchor, you reach up and wrap your arms over his shoulders to pull him into you. Your mind is reeling with the adrenaline rush of doing something so reckless, and you press your bodies together until your noses bump with every stroke of his cock fucking into you. His parted lips are so close to yours now, you swear you can feel electricity sparking in the barely-there space between.

You feel like a live wire, like every sensation is amplified a thousandfold. Yoongi releases his grip on your throat to slip the same hand between his hips and yours, and his fingers circling your clit are enough to send you over the edge, fast.

“Yoongi,” you gasp into his mouth, your hands clawing at his shoulders as the pleasure builds until it’s too much, and your thighs start to shake. “Just like that, oh fuck, Yoongi, I-I’m gonna—”

“Come.” His lips brush against yours when he says it, a touch so light it could’ve been an accident.

You throw your head back with a strangled sob as your orgasm rips through you, and he leans into you, forehead dropping down against your collarbone, clearly close behind.

“God,” Yoongi groans hoarsely as his hips start to rut even faster. You’re so lost in pleasure, you can barely process that he’s speaking. “What are you doing to me?”

It only takes a few more thrusts and then he’s coming too, your cunt still spasming around him, both of his palms pressing flat to the table behind you as his voice breaks on a wordless rough-edged gasp.

You stay pressed into one another as you come down from the high together, all flushed skin and shaky breaths. Yoongi shifts first, lifting his head off your shoulder, and you take the cue to unwrap your arms from around his neck. It’s a slow, strained untangling, his spent cock starting to soften inside of you.

“Alright,” Yoongi still sounds breathless as he pulls out, and when he steps away, you reach down to tug your underwear back up over your hips.

Your saving grace is a box of tissues at the podium, and Yoongi makes short work of peeling the condom off, wrapping it in as many layers of tissues as he can before tucking it into the conference room trash can with a grimace. He uses a few more to clean himself up, then exhales a stream of air as he pulls his boxers and joggers back up.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

When you make it back to your desk, you pack your things up in a mindless haze. It’s only a minute or so after you finish that Yoongi emerges from his lab, and you follow after him out the glass front doors, neither of you speaking as you lock them from the outside.

The elevator ride down to the lobby is equally silent, until you step out and see gray-black stormy skies and a steady downpour of rain through the glass walls of the atrium.

“Shit,” you groan.

“Allergic to water?” Yoongi’s smug voice over your shoulder immediately makes your jaw clench.

“Shut up,” you snap. “I didn’t bring an umbrella, and the bus stop is a few blocks from my apartment. I’m gonna fucking drown.” Not that you care, you tack on silently.

“You take the bus?”

At this, you whip around to glare at him. “We’re not all millionaire music producers, you know.”

He shrugs, like you’re not wrong. “I can give you a ride. My car’s in the garage.”

Your eyebrows nearly shoot off your forehead, but Yoongi is already crossing to the elevator bank on the other side of the lobby. He presses the button, then looks back at you nonchalantly, like he’s just offered the most normal thing in the world.

Which, maybe it would be, under different circumstances. But there is absolutely nothing normal about your relationship with Min Yoongi.

As if to make the decision for you, a clap of thunder rumbles outside, so loud it feels like the building rattles. You swallow the last bit of dignity you have as you follow Yoongi into the garage elevator. Once the doors close, you can’t help but shoot him a look out of the corner of your eye, but his gaze is fixed on the indicator, watching the numbers tick down as you descend.

“Why are you being nice to me?” Your voice comes out harsher than you mean it to, and Yoongi turns his head to look at you, one eyebrow slightly raised.

“What does that mean?”

“Driving me home? We don’t do this.” You cross your arms over your chest, indignant. “As soon as the sex is done, you don’t want anything to do with me.”

You’re surprised when he laughs a little. “That’s funny.”

You narrow your eyes. “What’s funny?”

He stares at you pointedly, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek for a moment before he continues. “You say that, but if memory serves, you’re the one who keeps running away after.”

You open your mouth to respond, then close it, unsure of what to say. He’s not exactly wrong. Finally it comes back to you. “That’s not true. I saw you, on Friday, and I know you saw me. You left so fast you didn’t even finish your drink.”

Yoongi’s face scrunches up in a slight wince, like he’d rather not recall the moment.

“Yeah, well. That was different. I was trying to respect your privacy. Let you go on your date in peace.” He smirks slightly. “Though I guess it can’t have gone that well.”

You roll your eyes, your patience really starting to thin. “Jungkook and I are just friends, Yoongi.”

“Okay,” he says flatly. “In any case, I certainly didn’t plan to show up and ruin your night or anything. Just an unfortunate cosmic coincidence.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth for a second. “We seem to have a lot of those.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi sighs. “We do.”

The elevator doors slide open, and you lapse into silence again as you follow Yoongi to his car and slip into the passenger seat. After you give him your address and he plugs it into the GPS, there’s no sound at all other than the fall of rain and the swipe of his windshield wipers once you pull out of the garage.

You worry at your bottom lip until the words bubble up. “You don’t listen to music?”

Yoongi’s eyes flit from the road over to you for just a second, like he wasn’t expecting the question. “Uh, I— no, not really. I do that all day. I don’t mind the silence.” You take that as your cue to fall quiet. To your surprise, he keeps talking.

“You know, when I was a teenager, I had a part-time job at a music studio in Daegu.” He squints out the rainy windshield, like he’s recalling the memory. “I started making my own beats there, and I learned a lot of stuff that fueled my drive to be a producer.”

He glances at you again, and you nod, unsure where this is going.

“But, uh—” He huffs a laugh, like he’s embarrassed. “They didn’t pay me. Just kinda how things were back then, and I was too young to know better.” Stopped at a light now, Yoongi drums his fingers over the steering wheel. “I remember there were a lot of nights where I couldn’t afford both food and the bus ride home. If I wanted to eat, that meant a two hour walk home.”

Your jaw drops. “Jesus.”

Yoongi’s mouth presses into a flat line. “Yeah. Wasn’t easy.” There’s a heavy silence, and then he shrugs. “Anyway. Just made me think of it, when you said you take the bus. I haven’t thought about that in a long time.”

“Wow.”

The light changes color and he eases off the brake. You think maybe that’s all you’ll get, and then he nods. “It’s almost like I forget sometimes. That life isn’t still like that. It still feels like it could all get pulled out from under me any second.”

You hum as you take in his words. “And… that’s why you don’t know how to relax?”

The corner of his mouth turns up a little. “Pretty much.”

You can’t suppress the soft laugh that slips out, so you look out the passenger window, letting the sound flutter out to the rain-streaked glass. “Your villain origin story.”

When you glance back at him, a smile has stretched over the whole of Yoongi’s face, though his gaze is still fixed on the road. “Spoken like somebody who wants to walk home.”

There’s a gentle buzzing in your brain, and you wonder if it’s just a post-orgasm high. “Nice try, Min Yoongi,” you tease. “You don’t scare me anymore. I know you’re all empty threats now.”

His eyes flash, and in that moment his expression goes somewhere you can’t quite follow.

“Maybe so.”

The conversation lulls again, and you watch the rain fall fast and heavy on the car windshield, fat droplets scattered aside over and over by the relentless wiper blades.

Try as you might to not think about it, you can’t help but be hyper-aware of Yoongi sitting next to you. He drives one-handed, like it’s easy, his free arm resting on the center console between you. You can see the prominent veins of his hand in clear detail each time the car slips under the glow of a streetlight. Close enough to touch, if you wanted.

The silence has you counting your inhales. It occurs to you that this is the most time you’ve spent in such close proximity to Yoongi where you weren’t actively having sex. You don’t know what to make of it.

He turns into your apartment complex, pulling to a stop in front of your building when you point it out to him. You automatically reach for the door handle, then pause and turn back to look at him, figuring you should say something. “Uh, thanks. For the ride.”

Yoongi smirks. “Thanks for the public speaking lesson.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling a little despite yourself. “I guess we’ll see tomorrow if it worked or not.”

“Guess so.”

There’s a pause, and your heart squeezes into your throat. You don’t know why it feels like you’re waiting for something to happen.

That thought alone is enough to spur you into action, and you quickly avert your gaze from Yoongi’s face. “Have a good night,” you murmur as you fumble open the door, grab your purse, and slip out of the car without waiting for a response.

As you climb the stairs to your apartment and hear the slick of Yoongi’s tires turning out of the complex, you can’t help but wonder if this counts as running away, too.

chapter six | masterlist | chapter eight

[valtsv]

Yeah I know what you feel I see stories popping up every so often about people saying horrible things in twitch streamers chat and they do nothing to stop it and I’m like I’d have a nervous breakdown if there was so much racism in my chat and then at the same time I see people that Stan creators and I’m like shit even if the creator doesn’t turn out to be horrible it’s still like almost a cult but the creator didn’t even want to make one. No need to answer this ask just wanted you to know others have a similar opinion on the situation

yeah. the issue with addressing parasocial relationships

is that they're extremely complicated to discuss, because everyone involved in them past the point where boundaries get blurred and ignored is in some way a victim because they're not healthy for anyone. and anything you do as a content creator feeds into them. and no matter what you say or do some people will continue doing things you've said you're uncomfortable with because it doesn't match up with the version of you they've formed a relationship with in their heads. or to get a reaction out of you because the possibility of receiving your attention, no matter how realistic, is a major part of what fuels a parasocial relationship. (which is not me saying content creators shouldn't address things like racism and other forms of bigotry in their fanbases, but there's only so much they can do and even if they try to block or ban as many people as possible to discourage them there's always some people who'll slip past because there's just too much for one person or even a team of mods to keep up with 24/7).

and at the same time content creators do use these relationships to make money through fan meetups, selling merch, random interactions online, etc. which in a way can't be helped because that's how they make their careers but does arguably exploit people who've fallen off the parasocial deep end and need help and support getting out of that mindset. but also any creator with a platform cannot bear responsibility for or offer support to every single person who claims to be a fan of them and in fact could cause more harm than good by feeding into that desire for attention.

parasocial relationships can drive people to do increasingly desperate and unreasonable things in pursuit of that (entirely human, but often unreasonable and unhealthy in parasocial relationships) need to receive validation, which is unfortunately just the nature of online spaces to develop because we all post and interact with each other at least partly to receive the validation of other people liking our content and, by extension, especially in parasocial relationships, us.

i'm speaking from experience. i used to be addicted to receiving validation online (and i am a former addict, so i don't make that comparison without understanding the implications) because there is a high that comes with seeing the numbers of likes and shares and positive comments on your content go up and it is possible to get addicted to that rush. i did, and it took me the better part of a year after realizing how negatively it was affecting my life and therapy - no, i'm not kidding - to start to make progress and no longer be obsessed with pleasing strangers online who know very little about me and don't really care about me even if they think they do (and this is not in any way an attack on my followers, i'm sure many of you are good, kind, helpful people, but at the same time the concept of me that exists in your minds and you care about is a parasocial one.)

this is even harder if you're a content creator who has a career online. i don't make any money from posting on tumblr. so it doesn't matter if i produce less content or don't consistently interact with the people who follow me for that content. but if you do, it's not easy to step away from that and try to recover from and distance yourself from parasocial relationships and set boundaries when your whole career relies partly on them. even if it gets to a point where, like me, they're harming your wellbeing. it took me months of obsessively checking my social media and follower count and having panic attacks when i couldn't or my activity dropped, struggling to sleep and having anxiety attacks because i couldn't think of enough fun new content to share, struggling in classes and at work because my attention was elsewhere, and feeling despair to the point of having depressive episodes brought on by people saying hurtful things about me or criticizing me about things that weren't my fault and i couldn't control, before i even considered that i needed to do something about the parasocial hell i'd dug myself into. and i don't make a single cent. if i did, it would have been a lot harder. maybe even impossible.

this is really just a ramble with no conclusion but it just frustrates me and makes me really sad that parasocial relationships can cause so much lasting harm to people, both content creators and their fans, and there's not really any solution except seeking therapy one day and hopefully being able to heal from the damage. although i do think talking more openly about and spreading awareness of parasocial relationships would also help people find support and think more carefully about how they interact with people and consume content online (without ruining the fun!).

[yanderenightmare]

How would our yandere boys of BNHA react to their girlfriends telling them that they're pregnant?👀

yandere ! fluffy BNHA headcannons

TIP-JAR

goodiebag WARNING: heavy yandere-vibes, abduction, guilt, anxiety, profanity, drug mentions, Stockholm syndrome, pregnancy, implied DUBCON/NONCON

KATSUKI BAKUGO - KACHAN

Time to prepare for fucking Ragnarok. He’s writing lists, buying everything on the lists twice over, reading books on parenting and raising children and quirk development and everything and anything to satiate his gaining anxiety. He’s pushing his darling to do several different cardio exercises, either walking about inside the house with him or even letting her go outside for fresh air and sun, always assisted by him of course, putting aside his normal fear of her escaping as his newfound paranoia of the baby not being healthy threatens the foundations of his fragile composure. He hires a personal trainer to teach them what they’re supposed to be learning in baby class, if they could go outside. He’ll even be contemplating letting the media know as so to avoid hiccups later down the road. Testing his darling from time to time to see if she truly has come to terms with their arrangement, finding that he’ll probably never be satisfied, never feel comfortable enough to allow her back into the real world.

Other than that, he’ll be at his darling’s beck and call, so much so she doesn’t even have to ask for anything before he’s there with the exact thing she needs, even at times she doesn’t even know what she needs. And he’ll definitely be fidgeting when he’s not able to make her comfortable. Foot-rubs and messages are never ending, he’s cooking all the food from scratch with purely organic vegies and fruits and wheats and grains and strictly no candy or anything considered slightly unsafe for either her or the baby to consume, that also means no TV or screens of any kind. She’s never been allowed cigarettes or anything of the sorts, so that window has already been checked, but all alcohol is also stripped from the house now as well and of course those sleeping pills he would sometimes take advantage of when he had no other choice.

Katsuki is slightly freaking out on the inside, wanting to pull his hair out, pick at his scabs, bite his nails…. but, he’s keeping himself in check to support his darling. He’s adamant on the fact that nothing will go wrong with this pregnancy and he’ll soon have a little, squishy, bubbly, bundle of firecrackers running around the house. He can sense happiness just around the corner, but it’s a sharp turn, he’s afraid they might just skew off into some unknown territory where he has no chance of getting back on the road again.

DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA

Dabi is in full on freak-out, suddenly looking at his hands as though they are knives. How can he ever raise a child? Will the child be like him? Oh, how he hopes, prays, screams at whomever out there’s listening, that the child’s more like his darling than like him. That the child is feather-soft and pretty-eyed and has a heart of daisies and not made up of scars and callouses and bitterness like him. But… it’s really up to him what their child becomes. That’s his responsibility. His job to not allow the flames of childlike wonder to snuff out, his job to keep them alive.

What if they get hurt? What if his mishaps get them hurt? What if he hurts them? Besides… they cannot possibly live here, in this dump of a villain base. That’s no place to raise a child. A child needs friends, other children to play with. A child needs a garden, where they and their friends can play. A child needs to feel safe. A child needs to be able to look out a window at night and see the moon and stars and to see the sun wake up in the morning. A child needs to go to school. A child needs to run and bike and scrape their knees on the sidewalk only to come home and have their wounds cleaned and band-aided, only to go out and do it all over again. This is what a child needs to not end up like him.

He buys a house. A nice house, with a white picked-fence and a lawn and a cherry-tree where he hangs up a swing. His darling loves it, she spends most of her time out in the garden, in the sunlight, smiling, glowing. It feels nice. It feels harmonic. They have a kitchen now, but Dabi doesn’t know how to make any type of food sept for cup-noodles, but his darling is eager to teach him. She’s so sweet. She’s always been sweet and soft and too bright for the dusty room-complex he’d kept her locked up in for so long. But in this lighting, in this setting, in this life he’s finally decided upon, she looks like she belongs. He can’t say the same for himself. When he pictures the future, he sees his darling and their child out on that swing he put up, but he doesn’t see himself. He doesn’t deserve this, not when he’s so sure he’s going to have it all destroyed. His darling is a good but bittersweet reassurance, how she hugs him close, kisses him so softly he nearly forgets how many people the same hands wrapping around her small breakable body has killed.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

Confusion. It’s strange but the whole affair leaves him feeling younger. Too young. The things he doesn’t know, the unprepared oblivious state leaving him at an utter loss. He’s just not ready for this, he’s unsure if he’ll ever be ready for this. He’s never pictured himself in the scenario. Never once humoring the idea, but now that it’s being shoved at him whether he wants it or not, he has to simply accept it. He barely knows up from down as time passes. Leaving him stating the obvious to thoroughly grasp the situation without letting it slip. His darling is pregnant. He’s going to be a father. A father. Dad. The word barely making sense to him as he rolls it around on his tongue.

He’s having a kid… half the time he still feels like a kid himself. Throwing fits, playing games, eating trash. But… maybe that can be a good thing. Maybe his fits will subside in the fresh light of an infant’s earth-shattering cries and wails and screams, his infant, his child. Maybe it’ll be good for him to finally learn a few things, maybe he’ll grow up just a little bit. But only a little, playing games is something he can do with a kid. Besides, kids eat trash too. He doesn’t have to give up everything, or… at least not forever. How long does it take before kids become mobile enough to hold a controller?

It’s going to be somewhat of an adventure. It’ll be somewhat pioneering in a sense. Not in the way of planning a new attack or kidnapping or planning someone’s death, but planning someone’s life instead. He’s created life as opposed to what he always does with those hands of his. He’s created life, he’ll have to take care of a life, care for a life, send that life into the world so that it’s not just alive but living. It’s humbling in the same way it’s glorified. So much responsibility. Life suddenly feels longer, eventful, important, dutiful and not just his playground, not just his blood-field, not just something to watch burn, but something to better.

SHINSO HITOSHI

Oh no. A baby? He’s not prepared for this. He’s so used to things being avoidable, or delayable at the least, this isn’t avoidable, this is happening whether he wants it or not, sooner than he can control. That stresses him out more than anything, the state of not having any control over the situation, leaving him frustrated, sporadic, afraid. He suddenly knows nothing about anything, his mouth is constantly dry, and he finds himself thinking of how strange and heavy the weight of his tongue feels to distract himself from the mess he’s created. And the only reason to it being a mess is because he has no idea how to protect everything from breaking into shambles. That’s more or less what breaks him the most, knowing how he’s most likely the one to ruin everything, that failure will probably be his fault.

He manages to calm down somewhat. His darling, in all her natural maternal feline instincts knows more or less what to do and how to do it, not really needing Hitoshi to provide her with anything on his own but what she tells him to do. And, despite needing to constantly hold the reigns, Hitoshi’s surprisingly glad or relieved more than anything, that his darling took the wheel so effortlessly. God knows he had no clue what to do. But, he has questions; bundles and mountains of inhuman questions. How many kids do Neko’s usually produce, when normal kitty litters sum up to nine kittens? Can he take care of nine kittens?! His darling doesn’t have nine nipples so he guesses that doesn’t make much biological sense. What else: how will a mini version of him look like? What more: what will a mini version of him with a cat’s features look like? Lastly: how does he feel about that?

He’ll help in the ways he still knows how. Cleaning makes up for most of it, since food has never been his specialty and now that food is significantly more important, he lets his darling control that too. Messaging and petting and cuddles making up for the rest of his helpfulness, which often gets frustrating for the both of them, given that they’re used to a certain spontaneous erotic lifestyle that now is out of reach.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

Satisfaction. Finally, his little songbird needs him. Soon she’ll barely be able to walk on her own, she’ll need him for everything, be completely dependent on him, no longer in position to afford scowling at him or barking or biting or scratching or screaming. Knowing how something very soon will take her place in those extremities, and how they both will be exhausted and on the same side for once. He’s got it all figured out, he’s going to take a couple years off, to stay on with birdie number one and birdie number two. The days will be short but buzzing, between breakfast and collapsing into bed with his darling once the hours run to a close, waking up to screams that seem so welcoming and not at all like the onset of death as other parents make it out to be.

He can see it all so clearly. Soft-tinted days of baby-food and building-blocks and flying lessons, their baby with either his inherited crimson wings or his darling’s coat of pearl-white angel-feathers, perhaps a mix of both, how their little angel will fly from his arms to his darling’s arms, falling at times, but learning and prospering, becoming the embodiment of greatness. He can’t help but wonder how beautiful their child will become, being the product of himself and his darling, they’ll probably look godsend or like an actual god on earth. Wondering if they’ll have golden hair and golden eyes like him or satin hair and doe-eyes like his darling, how a mix of the two of them could be called perfection itself.

But, first things first. He doesn’t have time to humor his daydreams too much, never mind how tempting when they’re so close he can almost taste them. His darling needs him more than whatever imagines he conjures up. His instincts kick in, yet his humanity has last say in most of the decisions he has to make. The nest not being made up of sticks and mud like he was gravitating towards, but of pillows and blankets and plushies. Food not being made up of worms and insects but human cooking instead. Other than that he’ll stay in bed with his darling, stroking her feathers and feel her relax and stretch each time he hits a particular soft spot, listening to that special type of moan he’ll argue is the softest sound in the world.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

It’s cute of her to think its big news. It’s cute to watch her walk around pondering, wondering what’s wrong with her. Why her breasts are larger, sensitive, tender. Mistaking her morning sickness, rushing to the bathroom gulping, for being under the weather. Silly little thing, even more so with her pregnancy brain, walking around all cute and clueless. He enjoys the show, strokes her hair in a petting fashion, smirk irked in the corner of his lips and though it was small it spoke volumes, but what surprised her even more wasn’t the condescension she was met with but how relieved she felt upon understanding he had everything under control, something she used to hate, now feeling like a blessing, knowing how she was in… not exactly good hands… but something like it, something more capable than hers.

He is so prepared it borders on ridicules. It’s strange, for as long as she’s known him he’s always been so sure of himself, but now, glimpses from his youth shine through his composure of self-confidence. He’s nervous. The old rebellious her would poke fun at him, but she evolved, she’s survived, and she knows better. Besides, if he falls apart, what’s then left for her to do but follow suite? The new her comforts him with what she knows is true, having learnt that he doesn’t appreciate lies either. She tells him that he’s far away from his own father, because she knows that he will never leave her, soon to be them, as she stroked his unruly hair, kissed his forehead, squeezed his hand, smiled, told him that she loved him. And again, he knew before her that she meant it, she’d understand some time later that her dependence and his guidance created perfect symbiosis, equaled love, just like he had predicted.

The baby is the last of the puzzle-pieces, everything finally falling into place. She’s able to see him as more than something to fear like god, but as something human, as he rocks their baby in those massive scarred arms of his, his smile not nearly as unsettling as she once found it, but warm. And Izuku will finally see his darling as more than something to protect and to keep, something more than to love, as she bounces their child on her knee, that glow she used to have returning, he’ll not just see something to take, but something he already owns, as though some fog has lifted, he’ll feel proud, he’ll feel respect, he’ll feel happy, and he can say that it was all worth it and she can say that she forgives him.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

Kai seems unfazed. It’s a lot to wrap one’s head around. He treats it awfully alike one would handle a business deal. Weighing the pros and cons and benefits and payments. Bringing a life into the world, a life that’s partly your own and partly the one you love. Does it mean he will love their spawn just as much as he loves his darling, that seems hard to believe. Does it mean he has to, that he’s expected to? Will his darling love the baby more than him? He heard that the love found between mothers and their children is insurmountable. Will he have to separate them to get the attention he needs? Will that make her hate him again? Will she perhaps love him more, now that the product of their love has come to fruition?

There are so many variables, so much to consider, and so painfully little time to get it all sorted out. He’s exhausted and on the border of grossed out. Between morning sickness and unpredictable mood-swings. He heard pregnant ladies are supposed to glow, he doesn’t see it. Don’t get him wrong, he thinks his darling is beautiful, but… she’s huge. He thought she was clumsy before, but damage was at a minimum when she was practically half his size, now she’s like a walking wreaking-ball. He can’t imagine how she will ever be able to… deliver something that seems to be taking half of the space inside her. He’s actually feeling anxious about the whole ordeal, trying to suffice his growing fears in a search for pregnant-aiding quirks.

And don’t get him started on the pregnancy brain. It’s not just her limbs that are everywhere at once, her brain is scattered like the aftermath of a shotgun, she barely pays him any mind anymore. All those hours spent teaching her proper manners, seems wasted and forgotten now, seeing how she eats like some animal then falls asleep, snoring with no thanks to spare him. He feels neglected to say the least and he can’t help but dread the time the baby actually comes around, knowing how the event will grant him no more attention than what he’s given now, probably robbing him of even more time with his precious darling.

TODOROKI SHOTO

He’s not leaving his darling’s side for a second. She’s holding his baby, possible babies, carrying them inside her belly, keeping them safe, so of course he needs to keep her safe too. Safe and comfortable and loved. He holds off on the unorthodox play until after the birth and probably sometime past it as well, no punishments than can cause stress, no fun and games and edge-play, nothing but soft touches, nothing but pillows and blankets and rosehip baths and soppy romantic films, cuddling, messages, words that are too sweet it almost becomes lifedraining. He’ll be so doting, so feather-light, she’ll nearly beg for him to give her just one measly frostbite burn, just one scorch-mark, but he won’t answer her prayers. They will be doing nothing that can cause duress, nothing at all.

He's in such mission-mode. More so than when he’s actually on a mission. This happening, this great chapter in their lives, this beginning of new life, seems so severely more important than anything else the world has to offer, nothing can distract him, no grade A villains, no threats to the world, no matter how much a friend or family member might need him, this pregnancy is paramount. He’s not going to put anything before his darling or their little bundle of joy happily coming to life inside her, blooming with potential. He’s not going to mess everything up like his father did, he’s adamant on not letting that happen. He’s going to be good. Everything’s going to be good. Happy. Perfect.

The only other thing he does, next to doting on his darling, is thinking and humoring what type of father he’s going to be, what type of father he should be, what type of father he has to be. Should he be strict, pushing his child to achieve greatness, milking their potential until they drain? Should he be liberal, letting his child run their own show, chase their own dreams no matter how wrong a path it seems? What did he want as a child?... Love. He wanted love. He wanted to be listened to, to be heard, to be helped. He wanted a friend, not just a teacher. He wanted to feel safe. He knows what type of father he wants to be, but… he knows it won’t be easy, it’s not meant to be easy, but he’s not one to back away from a challenge.

TIP-JAR

[hangovercurse]

Live from New York

You’re hosting SNL and get close with one of the cast members

Request: “hi! can you do something about pete where the reader is hosting snl and throughout the week they’re flirting with each other but she’s unsure if they should date and he convinces her? maybe a combo of fluff/angst/smut? it can be whatever :,)”

Pete x Reader

Warnings: Cursing

A/N: I told myself I wasn’t going to take that long on this one and then I ended up watching an entire documentary on the making of an SNL episode because I wanted to be as accurate as possible… someone stop me pls

Word Count: 2834

Monday

Despite being a swiftly rising actress, you hated being the enter of attention. You’d always gotten anxious as a kid when a teacher made you stand in front of the class for presentations or during first-day introductions. So being front and center in a room of 30 people who were all there to study and try to impress you was not something you found pleasant.

“Hi, I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” You spoke timidly to the crowded room, people clapping from their spots on the floor or various couches around the room, “it’s great to be here.”

Lorne cleared his throat, “alright, let’s start with you, Anna.”

You looked around the room as a young woman pitched the first sketch of the night, listening intently to her ideas while trying to match faces with the names Lorne had given you earlier. Then your eyes locked with a pair of deep brown ones, the man wearing a soft smile on his face. He radiated gentle energy despite the tattoos you could see running down his arms.

The pitches continued with an air of lightheartedness and fun. You found nearly everything funny, so you couldn’t even begin to imagine how you were going to cut any of the sketch pitches.

After a lull in ideas, Lorne announced that cast members could now pitch ideas for Weekend Update character appearances. The man you’d taken an interest in earlier, who you’d since learned was named Pete Davidson, pitched a new set of characters for you and him.

“You know those weird stoner kids in high school who were always hanging out in the parking lot and acted really weird and mysterious? Those characters who just give really vague answers to anything you ask and act like they’ve seen some shit when they have the most normal home lives.”

You giggled, knowing the exact kinds of kids he was talking about. Colin and Michael also chuckled, writing the idea down with some notes of their own. Soon after that, everyone went back to pitching regular sketches, Jost and Che pitching an unusual number of sketches featuring you and Pete.

After a few long hours, the session wrapped; everyone leaving the office space except for you and Lorne, “so, what did you think?”

You chuckled lightly, “you have some seriously talented people on this show, Mr. Michaels. I don’t understand how you guys write an entire show every week.”

“We all work very hard; I’ll tell you that. Now, talk to me. Anything you really liked or really hated?”

You shrugged, “you’re the comedy mastermind, I know nothing. But I thought that weird kids from high school bit was pretty funny.”

Lorne nodded, “So did Jost and Che it seems. Sometimes the kid has a good idea.” You giggled at his reference to Pete as “the kid.” He sighed, “anything else? I noticed you liked that proposal sketch.”

“Yeah, that one was super funny. I will say, I wasn’t too in love with the dad-teacher one, but I would have no problem with it being done with someone else as the daughter.”

Lorne and you spent the rest of the workday discussing the different sketch ideas that came up and gauging what type of comedy suited you best. Before you left, he introduced you to Donna, your dresser who would be helping you out throughout the week.

Tuesday

After a quick tour of the studio by Donna, you were given a list of cast members and writers who wanted to meet with you to get ideas about sketches. You first stepped into a small room with a desk and futon, Donna introducing you to Chloe Fineman and Celeste Yim.

Chloe smiled brightly at you, “okay, so we were thinking that we could do something where I bring you to a sleepover with some friends that you don’t know. But at some point, you try to go to sleep because you have a soccer tournament in the morning but everyone else is being loud and it turns into this big overdramatic argument.”

You giggled softly, “I love that!”

After writing with them for a while, you were whisked away to room after room, finally landing in Colin Jost and Michael Che’s office, where they were hunched over a computer with Pete.

Colin smiled at you, “hey Y/N, how’s your day been?”

“Busy, how are you guys?”

The men responded with variations of “good,” before Michael spoke, “I know it’s late, so don’t feel obligated to stay longer than you’re comfortable with.”

You shrugged, “what time is it? It doesn’t feel that late.”

Pete laughed, teasing Colin and Michael, “c’mon guys, don’t you know that the young people of New York don’t sleep?”

You giggled in agreement as Colin frowned, “I’m only 38, that’s not that old.”

“I’m only 26, Colin,” you said, laughing at the men.

Michael patted Colin on the shoulder, “Jost, we’re getting old.”

Colin frowned before clearing his throat, “anyways, we had a couple ideas for some sketches with you and Pete, if you’re up for it, and we wanted to hash out your weekend update appearance.”

You smiled and nodded, “yeah, that sounds great.”

The rest of the night (and into the early morning) was spent with the three men, eventually joined by Heidi Gardner and Kyle Mooney to work them into the scripts. A majority of the writing process was simply messing around with various sketch situations until someone found a joke that worked best.

Pete watched you carefully the entire night, doing everything in his power to make you laugh. You had no complaints, doing your best to not openly flirt with him in front of the rest of the cast (and failing quite miserably).

Wednesday

Wednesday was the designated day for the roundtable readthrough. You took a place between Pete and Lorne, who began the reading, “we’ve got 41 sketches so let’s get started.”

The table read was just like any other you’d been through; Lorne wasting no time between sketches to discuss or joke. You struggled with containing your laughter throughout the reading, trying to act professionally. It didn’t help that Pete was making jokes any chance he got, eliciting even more giggles from you.

The three hours seemed to take no time at all as sketch after sketch was read out loud. Every so often you would catch Lorne looking at you with an eyebrow raised, usually after you read one of the sketches with Pete.

After everyone was dismissed, you were led to Lorne’s office with the head writers and producers. There was a large wall covered in sticky notes with each sketch’s name written on one. Lorne turned to you, “what do you think?”

You scanned the wall, listing off some of the sketches that you really liked, though most of them were  great, so you had trouble narrowing them down.

Lorne let out a small laugh, “you guys noticed how she picked out the sketches with Pete in them, too, right?”

Your face went hot, immediately turning to face the ground. Colin and Michael chuckled, “we noticed,” the latter commented.

“There’s nothing wrong with it, Y/N, just wanted to point it out to you.” Lorne teased before turning back to the wall and thinking.

You giggled, “you guys suck.”

As embarrassed as you were, your anxiety was surprisingly low. You had been worried about hosting since you got the invite, but the cast and crew had been nothing but kind to you. Even just being able to make jokes like this with the writers made you feel oddly comforted.

You worked on narrowing down which sketches to keep for rehearsals and which ones were going to get cut immediately, a job that was very easy for Lorne but very difficult for you.

Eventually you got it down to enough sketches that Lorne was satisfied and he sent out the list to the cast. He led you out of his office, “you know, you have a real affinity for comedy,” he told you. “I don’t know if you’ve ever thought about sketch comedy, but from that read through you seem to know what you’re doing.”

You blushed slightly, thanking him, “we’ll see if you’re still saying that on Saturday.”

He chuckled, “have a good night.” You waved at him as you walked towards the exit, running into none other than Pete Davidson.

“Hey, you headed out?”

You smiled, “yeah, just got out of my meeting with Lorne. Did you get a chance to look at the revised sketch schedule?”

Pete nodded, walking with you to the door of the theater, “yeah, I noticed you kept a lot of our sketches in there,” he bumped your shoulder, a playful smirk on his face.

A giggle rolled from your lips, “what can I say? We’re funny together.”

He raised an eyebrow, watching as you flagged down your taxi, “whatever you say.”

“Are you complaining about having to work with me?” You asked, opening the door.

He chuckled, “oh yeah. I am just dreading tomorrow.” Sarcasm laced his words, making you laugh.

“Goodnight, Pete.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Thursday

Donna ushered you around all day, making sure you were in the rehearsal space when you needed to be and supporting you from the side. This part of the process came naturally to you, as it was the most similar to rehearsing and filming on movie sets.

When you weren’t rehearsing a scene, you were hanging out with Pete. It was strange how easily you got along, your humors aligning almost perfectly. Not to mention he was a huge flirt and was making it more and more obvious with you. You flirted right back, earning looks of amusement from Lorne throughout the day.

The day was a whirlwind, and by the time you were able to go home, you were exhausted. Pete walked you out to the street again, talking about one of the sketches that went wrong earlier until your taxi pulled up. This time he opened the door for you and helped you inside, “see you tomorrow.”

You smiled up at him, “bright and early.”

Friday

After hours of rehearsing, you plopped onto the couch in Pete’s dressing room, where you had found yourself a home over the past few days, “I don’t know how you guys do this every week. I’ve been here for four days and I’m exhausted.”

Pete chuckled, “to be fair, you’re the host. The key is to try and only get one sketch into the show so that you don’t have to do anything during the week.”

You laughed, letting a comfortable silence fall over you. Pete studied you, taking in your tired appearance, “you’re doing great though, being a host. I’ve seen some people come in and try to take control of everything and then no one has fun. You’re really good at just letting the comedy speak for itself. Not many people do that.”

Shrugging, you responded, “I mean, I’m not a comedian, I’m just an actor. You guys come up with everything. I don’t know enough to try and control things around here, I just do what I can to make your visions come to life. I figured that’s what a host should do.”

Pete nodded, “yeah, but again, a lot of people want their SNL episode to look a certain way. You don’t seem to care.”

“I just want to have fun, honestly.”

He smirked, “are you?”

You looked up to him with a smile on your face, “definitely.”

Suddenly the speaker in the room rang out, “Y/N and Pete to main stage 1.”

Groaning, you lifted yourself from the couch, Pete watching you with amusement, “c’mon Ms. Host, we’ve got a show to rehearse.”

Saturday

The day was hectic; filled with rehearsal after rehearsal. Lorne and Donna made sure that you were comfortable all day, but you could feel the stress radiating from every inch of the studio.

Stronger than that, though, was the sense of excitement buzzing around everyone. You were fit into more costumes than you could count, all leading up to the final dress rehearsal of the night in front of the live studio audience.

Dress ran smoothly, but you could see Lorne cutting lines from sketches from stage out of the corner of your eye. Luckily, Pete distracted you from all the anxious energy. “I know Lorne looks like a psychopath, but that’s just what he does. Everything’s fine, don’t stress about it,” he said over dinner.

You chuckled, “thanks. I feel so out of my league this week.”

“I told you, you’re great. Everyone here loves you. I heard Lorne talking about wanting you back as soon as possible.”

Rolling your eyes, you responded, “yeah right, I’m never gonna do anything big enough to get me on this show again.”

Pete laughed, “you could always make guest appearances with me on the Weekend Update.”

“You aren’t sick of me already?” you joked.

After dinner you were paraded around by Donna, who got you into your style for opening monologue. She smiled at you through your dressing room mirror, “how are you feeling?”

You gave her a nervous smile, “terrified, but ready.”

The lady chuckled, “you’ll do great. I’ll be right offstage if you need anything.”

“Thank you, for everything this week.”

She squeezed your shoulders, “don’t mention it, though if you really want to thank me, go ask that Davidson boy out on a date.”

Your eyes went wide, “Donna!”

A chuckle rang out through the room, “what? I say it for your own good.”

She led you through a maze of hallways and tunnels until you were in place to walk onstage, the speaker announcing your name to the audience followed by cheers.

Exactly 90 minutes later you were gathered with the cast on stage, “thank you to Fletcher, Lorne Michaels, this amazing cast and crew, and thank you all for watching. Goodnight everybody!”

You turned to Pete, who was standing beside you and let him pull you in for a hug, “you did it!” he cheered.

You passed around the cast, giving hugs to as many people as you can before Lorne announced, “that’s a wrap on Y/N Y/L/N and Fletcher!”

Everyone cheered, clapping for you and your musical guest before heading to their dressing rooms to change into their night clothes. You went back to your own dressing room, taking a moment to bask in the feeling of accomplishment.

A knock on your door pulled you out of your haze, “come in!”

Pete entered the room, a wide smile on his face, “congrats!” You let him pull you in for another hug, “so I know that there’s supposed to be this big party after the show, but I was wondering if you’d let me take you to dinner instead?”

Your breath got caught in your throat, those words being the last thing you expected to hear from him. Of course, you wanted to say yes because you did, truthfully, really like him. But part of you was hesitant.

You’d dated your fair share of celebrities, and things always ended very publicly and typically poorly. On top of that, you couldn’t help but feel that this might be happening a bit too quick. You started to doubt that he would still have feelings for you in a week since he wouldn’t be around you nearly all the time.

And then there was the issue of your insane work schedules. Having just lived through his, you weren’t sure if you would be able to keep a relationship like that.

“Pete, I think you’re amazing and I really like you, I just-“

Pete nodded his head, cutting you off, “I know we only met like a couple of das ago, but people go on dates with literal strangers all the time.”

You sighed, “it’s not that, Pete, it’s just that…” you paused, searching for words, “things like this tend to be very public with me, and I really don’t want to have a relationship where there’s all this pressure by the media to be perfect.”

He shrugged, “I get that, but it’s just dinner. And we can go somewhere quiet and private, no one has to know. And if things go further then we’ll just keep it on the down low until you’re ready. Trust me, I know what a public relationship is like, I’m not a huge fan either.”

“Yeah, but what about your work schedule. I mean, I’ve only lived in your world for six days and I want to sleep for a month. How do you even hold a relationship on this schedule?”

Pete moved closer to you, fingers grazing your arm, “we can make it work. I promise. Just give me one date, and if it’s not the best first date of your life, you have no further obligations to me.”

You giggled lightly, leaning into his touch, “I’m only saying yes because you’re kinda cute.”

He smiled down at you, eyes twinkling, I’ll take it.”

[tanadrin]

@archaalen i’m breaking this out as its own post bc it’s a huge digression that doesn’t really bear on the main thread, but I wanted to say something about this:

Poverty reduction and improving Healthcare are resisted with almost equal fervor in this country. A concerted effort has been made so that ANY political reform away from baseline is now fraught and prone to collapse without unsustainably-large voting mandates.

in that I think it depends on the strategy and depends on the era. Opposition to poverty reduction, esp. through welfare, is mostly tied to racial anxieties and is mostly a Reagan and post-Reagan thing, thanks to the myth of the welfare queen and the stereotype of poor, urban, black poverty that goes hand-in-hand with the shift in urban economics after white flight (itself a consequence of desegregation). which is to say, I don’t think you’re wrong per se, just that this is an artifact of the present political moment, and one that’s not inescapable.

One reason Sanders is comparatively successful as a politician is that his economic platform is framed in terms which IMO hearken back to pre-Reagan debates on poverty and welfare, and are more akin to early 20th century socialism in America and Depression-era anti-poverty policy. Note I mean his rhetoric, and not the content specifically; I think Sanders has some cross-party appeal that identical or nearly identical policies don’t have under similar politicians that are closely aligned with him, because Sanders, mostly unintentionally, is less off-putting to people who are worried about the undeserving poor benefiting from social programs. it helps that he’s white and old and fuck, ofc, in the same way that if AOC never mentioned race or gender and owned a whole arsenal of small arms she’d probably still be depicted as a swivel-eyed lunatic, just because some voters are inevitably going to judge you on your appearance.

Economic issues are an intensely racialized dynamic in the US--the undeserving poor are stereotyped as the lazy, drug-addicted urban blacks, the deserving poor are stereotyped as the hardworking rural or small-town whites who can’t catch a break, and this whole dynamic is derived from, modulo 160 years of metamorphic processes on the original social division, a need by the land and propertyholding class to foster a division that prevents solidarity among the peasant classes to weaken their political power. Because this enduring division produces politics in America that are just insanely, fractally racist, it is possible to find examples of what @afloweroutofstone​  usefully calls “red state socialism:” social programs and anti-poverty measures popular even in red states, because either they were originally aimed only at whites (common for Depression-era and post-WW2 social programs in the US), or are framed/thought of as primarily benefiting whites.

Now, I am not arguing that ignoring the relationship between race and poverty is honest, morally correct, or tactically correct. Nonwhite voters matter, their interests are legitimate, and voters who are reluctant to support policies that would benefit them, because they’re worried a racist caricature in their head might also benefit, are assholes. And while there are strains of political thought that IMO focus so intensely on race as a dividing line in American politics, without considering either its origin in a system of oppression with economic ends or ways it could be indirectly mitigated through focusing on more equal wealth distribution (because racist rhetoric is most effective alongside economic misdirection--i.e., you are poor because they are getting the wealth that should be yours), in ways which end up being tactically counterproductive, but I think these are not actually very important in the grand scheme of things, and mostly come to general attention when being used as a cudgel against those who have the temerity to mention racial injustice in a political context.

and looking at things from a recent perspective, I think there’s even more reason to be optimistic, because racial dynamics around economic discourse in the US are only part of the story. the other part is the degredation of the consensus of the 80s, that social programs are bad and a “frictionless” (i.e., precarious) labor market is good, and economic growth goes lockstep with how deregulated the economy is. that whole picture blew up hard at the end of Bush’s second term, hard enough that the policies of the 80s and 90s have been retroactively completely discredited in large sections of the political discourse, and the subsequent period of recovery has not really improved the picture what with the pandemic and great resignation and real estate and crypto bubbles that can be seen from space.

in short, I think that while it’s true that right now you need supermajorities to do something about economic justice right now in the US, the arrow is trending favorably generally, bc in the 90s the overwhelming consensus was that the best way to reduce poverty was to end welfare, the 2008 recession was a huge shakeup to the post-Reagan consensus that dominated even the Democratic party (as under Clinton), and further challenges to that consensus continue to mount, although intermittently. IMO the pandemic checks were kind of a watershed--suddenly we had a context where not only was the idea of the government literally just mailing everybody money a possibility, but it was overwhelmingly popular not just with voters but with politicians.

the heavily gerrymandered and gerontocratic nature of the American political system continues to slow progress, but so far only slow it. hopefully enough progress is made to circumvent a really big explosion.

[cyrenesroom]

Why it’s important to know how YOU study

During my first few years of secondary school, I struggled to keep up. I studied everything I needed to, understood all the concepts and participated in class. Yet, I still couldn’t seem to achieve the grades I so desperately wanted. 

I created a schedule I could barely keep up with but still tried to anyways, pulled several all-nighters and annotated every textbook with a range of different highlighters until I couldn’t recognise which pieces of information were actually important.

Why? Simply because I modelled other people’s study methods in the hopes that they would be just as effective for me. 

The end result? My mental health started deteriorating, I was severely sleep deprived, the information I tried so hard to reinforce failed to do so and my social life was barely existent. Burnout was inevitable.

Now, several years later, after experimenting with numerous study methods and figuring out which ones produced good results and which ones wouldn’t work for me, I’ve learned quite a few things:

annotating doesn’t really help me reinforce the information effectively, I’d probably forget the information not long after that session

all nighters are a huge no-no and I work best when I start early in the morning

study groups rarely work for me since my friends and I almost always steer off course

and so much more!

This didn’t come very easily and I personally didn’t enjoy the time-consuming process of going through all those study methods, but it was definitely worth it. It saved me a lot of time during preparation for my IGCSE examinations and reduced a bit of the overall stress. Further to this, since I had actually tested and tried out these methods, I was confident which helped ease my anxiety.

Overall, I highly recommend experimenting with different study methods. Everyone has different abilities, so it is important to determine what works for you and what doesn’t. You might actually be more productive when working in a group or waking up early may not be your thing. That’s completely fine. Studying methods should be tailored to each student. There is no set method when learning how to effectively study. Please remember that!!! :))

sending love and wishing you all a wonderful day!

— cyrene :)

[justallofmyfandoms]

Revenge is best served Small

Reader x Fred Weasley

Reader x George Weasley

NO TWINCEST!!

SMUT! SMUT! SMUT!

(Just to make this less awkward on all of us, yes I am clearly going through some stuff, and yes everyone enjoys what happens to them in this, even if it's reluctantly. Nothing unconsensual. 6,486 words)

[There’s a comment on this post that perfectly summarises it: “i have no idea what just happened to me all i know is that i will never be the same after reading this” so... read at your own risk my dudes, I am so sorry]

You slam a fist into the common room desk, glaring down at your potions homework with enough anger to perform the killing curse on it. Or maybe crucio would be better, just so the homework can suffer all the same pains it's inflicting on you.

A chair at the table scraps against the floor with someone plonking themselves on it. You look up to see Fred Weasley, leaning over the desk to stare down at your paper, "Having trouble with your potions essay?" He asks, evidently just to piss you off because it's pretty obvious you were.

"Bugger off, Weasley. We can't all pay zero attention during class and still get perfect grades" you focus back on your work, but not fast enough to miss Fred's shit eating grin.

"Still mad I got a better grade on our end of semester test?"

"No!" You snap back, perhaps a little too quickly. It made the ginger chuckle. You and the twins had been good friends since first year, but it infuriated you to no end every time they got a good grade, because you just knew it was all talent and no effort.

The twin crossed his arms and leant them on the table, scooting closer to you, "Not that I don't love the look of anger on your face, but why does it annoy you so much? You've been going on about this for six years"

"It doesn't matter, I just wanna get this stupid essay over with!" you complain, throwing your quill on the desk, "Where's your brother, anyway? He said he would help me."

Fred pats your head and sighs, "Ditched by your own boyfriend? There's tragic..." You knew he was just being a prick, Fred always did enjoyed teasing you, but you hadn't seen George all day. It was beginning to worry you. Besides, you two had made it a tradition to do your potions homework together ever since third year.

"He actually sent me here to apologise. He's at tonight's party up in Ravenclaw tower. The ol' sod's drunk a bit too much to help out I'm afraid"

You sit up and frown, the anger being pushed to the back of your mind out of newfound sadness, "Oh... he could have at least told me he was going to the party..."

Fred nods sympathetically, but eventually grins and scoots closer, "In the meantime, how about a deal?" You'll be getting whiplash from all these emotions. First anger, then hurt, and now Fred was making you highly suspicious. He has that expression he gets when dreaming up a crazy plan.

"If you help me with a little scheme I've concocted, I'll help you finish your essay" he continues since the only reaction you initially gave was a squint.

"What kind of scheme?"

He drums the table, bitting back a smile that might warn you off, "I've come up with a new product idea, but in order to make it, I need a very rare ingredient that can only be found in one place"

You sigh, resting your cheek against your raised fist, "Snape's supply closet..."

He points at you like in charades, "Exactly!"

"How do I know you'll actually help me? Making a deal with you is a bit like making a deal with the devil"

"We'll get the essay done tonight!" He declares, spinning the paper to face him, and picking up a nearby quill, "Then tomorrow, you'll help me get the potion"

After a fair amount of consideration, you nod, "Alright, deal!"

"Remind me again what the plan is?" You and Fred were stood in the women's bathroom on the first floor, a bathroom you generally tried to avoid as it was occupied by a particularly annoying ghost called Moaning Myrtle. She didn't seem to be revealing herself though, which you assumed had something to do with Fred teasing her about her nickname and the... other connotations "moaning" has.

Fred took a small vial from his trouser pocket. The contents were green and bubbling, "First, I'll drink this shrinking potion, then you'll take me in your robe pocket all the way to Snape's classroom and put me on the third shelf up next to his supply closet. I'll sneak in through the hole my brother and I drilled there years ago, grab the bottle and get out!"

"You mean you and George have done this before?" you asked, watching as he set the bottle down on the edge of the sink, taking off his robe to hang it over the cubicle wall

He turned back to watch him roll the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, "Yeah, every now and then if we need tough to find ingredients"

"And what exactly do I do?"

"Well, while I'm getting the bottle, you keep an ear out for Snape, then when I get out, you grab me and the bottle, put me in your robes and bring us back here so I can have my regrowth potion" he pulls another vial out of his pocket which is red and shiny.

"Sound good" you say, while he plonks the potion back into his pocket, and pops off the cork on the shrinking one.

"Bottoms up" he says, and downs the contents. The second he does, Fred begins to shrink! His clothes, thankfully, shrink down in size with him, until finally, he was no bigger than your pinky.

"Wow!" You exclaim, squatting down, "This is super dangerous. I could step on you."

"Please don't..." Fred mutters, his pitch the exact same despite his small size, just a bit quieter due to the distance and size of his mouth and all that. Damn, TV and movies have lied to you. A look of mild horror suddenly adorns Fred's face as he pulls something out from his trouser pocket. It's so small, you had trouble realising it was his regrowth potion, "Oh bugger! I forgot about that..."

You were tempted to lie down on your stomach and be as close as you could to eye level, but you doubted that would be very sanitary on the bathroom floor, "What's wrong?"

"I just realised I let the potion shrink with me! Now it won't work! It'll only grow me back to the size of a foot, if we're lucky"

"Speaking from experience?"

"Unfortunately." he shivers, "But it's okay, we'll just have to stop off at my room afterwards to get some more. I always make extra if I can afford to"

"Well that's good. Ready to go?"

"Absolutely" he held up his arms and you scooped him up like you would a wand. You got to your feet and were about to place him in your pocket when you noticed you still had your potions essay folded up inside. Fred had helped you finish it last night, the legend. Took you until 4 am to finish writing it.

You put him in your breast pocket instead, for fear that your robes might fly around too much and he might fall out, or that someone might bump into you and squash him. The breast pocket was at least hidden and safe. Besides, there were still two layers separating him from your actual boobs.

You opened the door and peaked your head through, checking to see if anybody was there. Nobody. Brilliant. Hurrying down the cobbled hallway, you B lined to the stairs leading down to the dungeons, and hurried to the classroom door. You and Fred had a free period right now, so that would explain why it seemed you and he were the only ones not in class. Despite how thankful you were for Fred's help, you wouldn't have skipped lessons to do this, it's risky enough as it is. Fast walking now, you peeped your head into Snape's office, where beyond it lay the door to his private stash.

"He better not come, Fred, or I'll squash you"

"Don't worry, he's in his lesson! Only got one potions teacher"

You thought this over and realised that yeah, there is only one... why the fuck do they only have one teacher for each subject? Do they get breaks? That's unlikely seeing as they have to teach all four houses in all seven years over the span of only five days a week. That's mental that is. Regardless, you would have the time to ponder this later, for now you had a potion to steal. You crept into Snape's office and shut the door, pulling out your wand and enchanting "Colloportus" to lock it behind you.

Fred really knew what he was talking about, because there were indeed shelves next to the closet door. The third one up was even covered with books, and when you grabbed Fred out from your pocket and plonked him on the shelf, he pointed to the dusty copy of 'The Moral Implications of Love Potions' and you took it out to reveal a hole behind it big enough for tiny Fred, “This looks like an interesting read..." you mutter, flipping over to read the blurb. There was a mini scoff, and by mini you mean it was produced by a mini person.

"Right, well, you have fun reading that, I'll search for the potion. Be back in a second" and he was off, disappearing through the hole. You sigh, fidgeting with anxiety at possibly getting caught. Doesn't make sense though, Snape is in class, he has no reason to come in here. When do lessons end anyway? You glance around for a clock but don't find any. Serves you right for not wearing a watch... would a watch even work at Hogwarts?

You flipped open the book and began reading a random page: Dr Eglantine proposed the following moral dilemma: if two people love each other but are too afraid to admit to one another, is it wrong for one of them to drug the other with love potion? Wizarding philosophers are torn on this issue, and when intercourse is involved, the grey area becomes even larger—

There was a loud bang from outside, which made your heart drop. You scurry over to the door, pressing your ear against the cool wood, holding your breathe in hopes of hearing better. The sound of students filled your ears, but not just a few students having a free period, but a whole herd of them. That could only mean one thing: class had ended... Oh fuck!

"Fred!" you cry out in the quietest panic you can muster, scurrying over to the hole, "Snape is coming."

"Almost... there!" Fred called between grunts, emerging with the bottle. You snatched it up, preparing to despose of it into your pocket when Fred raised a valid argument, "Don't put it in there! Snape will check your pockets when he finds you here!" He began downing his second potion, growing only to the size of a regular sized hand, "Damn"

"Oh, right" you scan your body for another hiding place, then the thought came to you. You shove the vial up your shirt and into your bra.

"Great, now me!" Fred exclaims, raising his arms up.

"I can't put you in my bra! You're too big, he'll see you!" You scoop him, holding his torso like a toothbrush.

He stares up at you in stunned confusion, "Really? That was what was wrong with that plan?"

You realised you ought to have said 'no you pervert I'm not letting you touch my boobs' but now wasn't the time to curse yourself for it. Your heart was hammering with fear, inspecting your body for somewhere to stash him. The doorknob rattled, and the sickeningly familiar tone of Snape's voice cursed that it was locked. Your time was up, there was only one thing for it! You pulled away the elastic of your skirt and stuck him down there,

“WOAH—!" He yelped, hair practically standing on end.

"Just hold onto the elastic along the outside and we should be fine!" You put him onto your outer right thigh, knowing full well that a pair of shorts and a pair of underwear and a whole thigh were separate him from... that.

"Alohamora!" the door swung open just as you were putting the book back, and there stood Snape, in all his emo glory. He froze, clearly having not expected to find anyone inside. Once the shock had left his system, he straightened up and glared at you, “What exactly do you think you are doing?" his nasally voice grilled, doing nothing good for your nerves, which were in absolute tatters at the moment.

"I was looking for you, w-when someone locked me in the class" you scramble, the lie just about the worst you could come up with. You had to remind yourself that Fred was on the outside of your thigh. Considering he was in your skirts at all, that was the most innocent position he could be in. All he had to do was hold on to the elastic of your shorts and you should be fine!

"Why?" he trudged further into the classroom.

"Why was I looking for you or why did someone lock me in the class—?"

"Why were you looking for me?" His booming voice told you that you were on thin ice.

"Ah yes, well, I... I was having trouble with the essay assigned for tomorrow, and thought maybe you could help me"

Snape closed the door and came to lean on his large desk, "Do you really expect me to believe that one of my students, who has never once asked a question in six years, is now asking a question?"

You frown, so suddenly insulted that you almost forgot about Fred on your leg, "Professor Snape, I ask questions all the time"

"Oh, how unmemorable you are then" he sneers, making you fume, "Regardless, I'm going to need to search your pockets"

You sighed, "Yes, sir"

He stalked over to you, holding out a hand for your robes. You pushed the sleeves off each shoulder, removing it, and dumped it into his palm. As he began to examine it, you felt Fred's shoes scrapping against your skin. It's as though he's trying desperately to find a foothold, no doubt still exhausted from having to push the bottle. If he falls, not only will you be caught, but Fred could get seriously injured!

Again, you knew what you had to do but hesitated to do it. As subtly as you could, you extended the elastic of your skirt, took Fred out, then plonked him into your shorts. His entire body went flush against yours, no doubt the skin tight shorts were crushing him. As long as there was no more risk of him falling... Hopefully it wasn't suffocating him though.

"If it's too tight, move" you hissed, keeping your eyes trained on Snape, who unfortunately heard you.

"What did you say?"

"I said—" you took a sharp breath, feeling Fred's back sink further into the fat of your thigh as he pushed away the area of fabric suffocating him, "If it's too tight, move" you repeated loudly for the two men in the room. "The pockets get a bit stuck sometimes so you have to jostle it around a bit" you added to give fake context to an instruction that wasn't even meant for Snape.

The shadowy teacher was evidently confused, but decided to ignore your outburst. Meanwhile, you could feel Fred inching along the front of your thighs, moving closer to your core. This was fine, as you didn't exactly want him to asphyxiate in your shorts, that would be a tragic way to go. You did hope, however, that he wouldn't overshoot his target, and fall into the abyss between the crotch and pant leg. Just as you had thought it, you felt the man slip. You gasped, pressing your legs a little closer together, enough for him to reach out and grab the first piece of fabric he could get his hands on. Unfortunately for the both of you, that piece of fabric were your panties. You wondered whether he knew what he was doing, when he began to scramble onto it, lying down flat onto the crotch like a hammock. Your question was quickly answered by the sensation of his arms sticking into your folds, and the subsequent wriggling of regret.

Sucking in a deep breath, you had to grip the nearby desk with all your might to stop a loud moan escaping your lips. Regardless of how bizarre and awful this situation was, having anything rub against your clit was an arousal waiting to happen. Poor guy must have though those were your shorts he grabbed before... You were just about to dig in and help, when Snape extended your robes back to you. You'd have to walk, with mini Fred mushed into you vagina, all the way to grab it. Praying he might forgive you one day, you stepped forward, effectively compromising Fred's escape, trapping him between your knickers and crack. Talk about getting stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"Very well, I will take a look at your homework" and he rounded the desk, unfurling the essay he had taken from your pocket and sitting down in preparation to help. You swallow, approaching the table as he skimmed through it. He paused for a moment to look up, "Well, sit down" he ordered.

Staring down at the chair, you gulped. Every time you sit down during class, the skin tight shorts you wear, under your Hogwarts skirt, ride up into your ass. Having that happen right now is about as undesirable as they come, "Um, I'd rather not, if that's alright with you"

He blinked and looked back down at your work, "Well anyway, the beginning of your essay seems promising." You smiled, that was the part you wrote by yourself. Just wait until he gets to the part Fred helped you with. There were things he told you on the topic that you swore you had never heard before, you'll look like such an expert! Speaking of, the unfortunate blighter had given up on his attempts to leave, probably worried that his efforts might be thwarted again by your moving thighs. He was now using his hands and knees to keep himself pushed away from you. If you thought about it hard enough, you could convince yourself Fred was just a bumpy pad with a tuft of hair on the end... that moved.

Alright now body, I know you're an animal that listens to its instincts more than its brain, but please don't respond the same way you usually do when something— anything is pressing against you. You thought to yourself. We are not creating any new weird kinks today, thank you very much. Besides, the poor guy is going through enough as it is.

"You think Felix Felicis was created by Felix Williams... and that it contains balm, angel's trumpet, bitter root, and a single strawberry cooked under a full moon" he looked up from your work, pinning you with an expression of cold unamusement.

He must be testing you. Fred's a prankster but he isn't a dick... most of the time. He wouldn't. He couldn't! "Yes...?"

"Your Wolfsbane... does it contain any other nonsense ingredients I should know about?"

You froze, as did the guy in your pants. He must have heard, and Merlin have mercy he was going to pay for what he'd done!

This was just like that incident in fourth year all over again! You were in the showers after a quidditch match and Fred snuck in and stole your clothes and towel. When you realised you would had to run butt fucking naked all the way to your room, you were absolutely furious. Fred was lounging in the common room, along with twenty or so other people, and they all watched as you went gunning for the stairs. George felt awful, having not known his brothers prank, and offered to obliviate anyone who talked about it. It was then you realised Fred could be kind of a dick, and George was the man for you.

Fascinated by just how much Fredrick Weasley had fucked you over yet again, you decided to plop down on the chair opposite Snape. The moment you did, the skin tight shorts became skin tight. Fred's entire body went flush against yours, sending a delicious zap up your spine that attempted to summon a moan you coughed back, “Sorry, I wasn't trying to insult you with my work... I got a friend to help and it seems he was just taking the piss" Fred was moving, his chest bumping and smoothing over your clit. You had to actively try not to squeeze your thighs around him to increase the pressure.

George had bought you a dildo once as a "joke" (he just wanted to watch you wank yourself off, the kinky bugger) and you had run it between your folds, but that pailed in comparison to this. This was far better. Fred is made up of so many intricate parts, each of them squirming against you. His legs, for example, were kneading the source of your arousal. His shoes were in there now, using it as a foothold to try and push his way out. It was heavenly.

"Now I might remember you, as the girl with a poor judge of character" Snape interjected, pulling you out of your sexual haze. If the context were different, you might have gotten mad, but you couldn't bring yourself to at the moment. Not while you were getting oh so sweet revenge on a certain someone, "Well, for starters, dragon bone isn't an ingredient in any of these, so we might as well cross that off the list—" he took his red ink and began marking your paper. His voice became a distant drone in the background as you disassociated once against, focusing on how Fred had began shimmying his way to freedom. If only you could quicken his pace. If only you could rock your hips and fuck yourself against him. You weren't available to move, but he certainly was.

Leaving the one hand there on the desk, to rest your chin against, the other snuck under the table and under the hem of your skirt and shorts. Your fingers hovered above him, a little unsure what to do, until the index finger took initiative and pressed down onto his back through the pants. If he wasn't mushed against you before, he sure as hell was now. His hands slap your folds, but you could feel his head angled up for air. He should be fine.

You experiment by pushing him up. There his chin is triggering the most sensitive nerves of your clit! You roll your hips to savour it, using your thumb to squash his head down and create a more prominent friction. The round nature of his face and bumps making up his features created the most delicious rub. You had to loop your feet behind the desk's legs in order to stop your thighs from crushing him. When he slaps you for air, you reluctantly moved your thumb and pushed his body down. Now his feet were teasing your entrance with the sensation of being filled. You sat down more firmly onto your chair to shove him deeper inside of you. You pushed him up again, then down, up, down, repeating the gesture while his limbs squirmed, awakening new flesh with every swipe. Your middle finger joined the index's perch on his back to pick up the pace. You bit your lip and sucked a deep breath through your nose to push down all the noises that were bubbling to the surface. The only thing that could have moulded you any better than Fred would have been a literal mould. Even then, it wouldn't have been nearly so fun to hump.

You were now rolling him against you in deep tight circles. Your hips were swaying in time, and as much as you wanted to use your whole hand to rub him madly against you, you thought Snape might notice your entire arm thrusting under the table. Unconsciously, your thighs tighten around him, sucking him almost up into you. You lull your head back and arch into him, sighing in bliss. When Snape looked up, you snapped your head back down and froze, biting your fist in order to stop yourself whining in disapproval.

"Does that make sense?"

"Yes sir" what on earth were you agreeing to? You hadn't the foggiest.

"Then don't waste my time with useless garbage like this again. If you haven't produced a coherent, serious essay by tomorrow, I'll be deducting twenty points from your house. Now go!" He pointed to the door.

You had half a mind to snap back, but thought: to hell with him! You had things that needed your immediate attention, and no hooked nose, greasy hair, middle aged virgin was going to ruin that for you! “Very well, thank you sir" you stood up, and to your eternal disappointment, it loosened the strain of your clothes to unstick Fred from your cunt.

Exiting the class, you were devastated to find the hallway packed with students ready for their next potions lesson. The women's bathroom was just around the corner and up the stairs. All you had to do was get to it. You sped walked around the students, opting to push some aside rather than do any fancy footwork and likely squash the man inside of you. From the lack of movement, you guessed he had probably made peace with the situation. Luckily for you though, the movement of your walking kept banging him against you, and you had to stop yourself from dropping to the floor right then and there to grind him furiously against you.

When finally you had made it to the bathroom, casting "Colloportus" on the door for some privacy, you froze at the sight of someone stood inside with their back to you. You recognised those ginger locks straight away.

"George?" you called. He let go of the robe he was examining over the cubicle door and beamed, bounding up to you with all the excitement of a puppy.

"Darling! I've been looking for you everywhere, where have you been?"

What to say, what to say. You doubted rubbing your shrunk brother against my vagina in revenge would be largely acceptable, so you opted to white lie, "Oh, I needed Snape to help me with my potions essay"

George frowned, "Why'd you do that? I could have helped you. Can't imagine ol' hook nose was as fun as me"

"Well maybe if you weren't at that party last night—"

"What party?"

Judging by Fred's immediate scramble to break free, you imagined George was about to tell you something that would spell out very bad news for his twin. To stop his escape, you move a hand behind your back to fist your underwear and hoist it up, making it impossible to give way, "Fred told me you were at the Ravenclaw party last night..."

George's chocolate brown eyes widen in horror, immediately replaced by a scowl as he looked up to curse the air. Little did he know he actually should have been glancing down if he wanted to curse his brother. His squirming against you was making this entire thing leagues better, "What? Oh that prick! I was sick last night with a cold and sent him to apologise to you because I didn't want you catching it while Madam Pomfrey's sweets took effect"

Your cunt was fluttering in anticipation for what long and hard revenge you were about to take. Fred was scrambling so wildly, you couldn't wait to get down to business, "That asshat. He said you were drunk and convinced me to steal some stupid potion with him"

George's anger multiplied, "Bloody hell! I told him not to do that"

"What do you mean?" You were genuinely curious, but your body had literally no care in the world. It was hoisting your pants even higher to keep Fred glued there, wriggling your hips as your breathing became laboured.

George didn't seem to notice, "He was planning on making a thing of love potion with it. Told him it was a stupid idea and he was perfectly popular enough to get anyone he wanted without it. He's got hundreds of girls and guys in the past, I can't think of who he thought he needed to trick..." you consider it for a moment. That was a very good question, it's strange for Fred to care so much about someone... but this could be left for another time.

You hook your foot behind George's leg and brought it forward to wedge it in between yours. Without warning you hopped up and felt Fred immediately sink into your flesh. You doubled over, gripping George's shoulders, and moaning to savour the feel of being entirely and completely touched. George had to brace his hands against the door either side of your head to stop himself from falling over. In surprise rapture, he watched as you were already so unravelled. Finally, the surface you needed. Twins were supposedly two halfs of a whole, and never before had that sentiment rung so true. His leg was the missing component that pushed Fred so absolutely into you, no margin of error. All of him was rubbing against you now as you began humping without mercy.

You thrust yourself forwards and backwards, side to side, around in broad circles. Your folds accommodated him so well, stretching to make sure he always stayed between them. At times you were almost sure you could feel them curling around him, to keep him there as a permanent feature. Tempting indeed, he certainly made walking more fun, and imagine the possibilities in History of Magic. He could get you off under the table without anyone having a clue!

Fred was becoming slick with your arousal, lubricating him into slipping and sliding into usually unattainable flesh you never knew yearned for touch. And because of George's pressure under him, his hold on those neglected areas of your cunt was positively sinful. You throw your head back, your hands on George's shoulders, tugging up and down to massage yourself against Fred.

"What is that bump in your pants?" he finally questioned, having snapped out of his shock.

"Just a sex toy" you reply earnestly, making no alterations to your position.

There was a sudden sting on your clit that made you yelp and stop for a moment. Fred must have bit you... and it was incredible. You wondered whether you could get him to do it again, "It's loves being in there while I fuck myself with it. A tool for my pleasure" You were bouncing up and down like a rubber ball, poking him to react. He still wasn't doing anything to participate, but it was fine. You were doing more than enough for the both of you. All he needed to do was be there as you pounded yourself onto him. Then, your continuous lifting and applying onto him made his shoulder lodge so deep inside of you, you let out a howling moan, crushing George's lips to yours in order to muffle the sheer volume of the scream. He pulls your bottom lip into his mouth, urgently swiping his tongue against yours. You moan and put everything you have into the kiss, allowing him to dive in and taste you. George's lips began to wander, bitting, nibbling and sucking his way to your pulse. His hands came up to hastily undo your tie and shirt, pushing them aside to reveal your bare stomach. As he works your skin into his mouth, creating a glorious love bite on the swell of your neck, his palms fan out across your stomach. You take a sharp breath, as he caressed towards your bra, grinning against you when he notices it's the one he got you for Valentine's Day that unhooks at the front. Lucky coincidence, all your other ones were just dirty.

"I leave you for one night and you become a horny mess" George teases, his hands gliding down your sides to grip your hips. He nudged your legs apart, spreading you wider over your toy. Although he didn't take over the pace, he certainly sped you up. God you could have kissed him for knowing exactly how to whind up your pleasure. A shame then that his mouth was currently occupied with other things. You tangle your hands into his hair as he strokes your nipple with his tongue, pulling it into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks to suck it hard. Your head lulled back to angle yourself further into him, whimpering at how close your climax was.

Seemed Fred was just as desperate to get it over with as you were. He was now doing everything in his power to jack you off. He had somehow managed to grasp your clit between his hands, and paired with your thrusting it created a borderline unnatural amount of pleasure. You were screaming with moans. But somehow more importantly than all that, he had his leg plunged inside of you.

That was it. The idea had been toying in your mind this whole time, but now you knew you needed him inside if you. "Wait a second George" you breathed, perching yourself a little higher in order to stick a hand down your panties, pinching Fred so his arms were trapped by his sides, and sliding him, feet first, through your entrance, until nothing showed of him but his head.

Head back, mouth open in an overjoyed groan, something in you snapped. You didn't even have to thrust him in and out. He was twisting, his arms and legs were flailing in the little space available to them. The walls were hugging his every curve, likely trying to suction him to the back. It was the combination of George flicking your nipple with his tongue and Fred massaging your insides that had you finally unravelling. Hot, slick, arousal came dribbling past what little gaps Fred’s body provided, and you went limp in his brother’s arms with one final howl.

George straightened up to hold you close, stroking your hair until you were ready to stand on your own again, “Nifty toy you got there. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you quite so animalistic” he chuckled.

Wiping the sweat of your brow off on your robes, you tried to make yourself look presentable again, smirking up at your boyfriend as you redid the buttons of your shirt, “Yes, well, nothing beats actual sex with you. Wanna go for a round two in your room?”

He beams, “Course! Want me to wait?”

“Nah, I’ll meet you up there” you gesture him away. Normally you would ask him to stay, but you had something to deal with first.

“Alright, see you in five” all excited, he ran for the door, then turned back just as he had performed the unlocking spell to give you a quick peak on the lips, then off he went.

Rummaging around in your shorts, you sigh as you unclog your hole, the contents stringing against Fred as you lift him to eye level. Merlin he looked awful. His fiery hair was stood on end, gelled up with your cum. His white shirt was practically transparent and clung to his abs as though it have been soaked in water. His eyes were a little bloodshot probably from liquid splashing into them, and his lips were rather swollen, like they would be after making out with someone for too long or too roughly. Just generally, your essence was rolling off of him in big globs. You placed your other hand to your mouth and giggled at his appearance, but he seemed the furthest thing from amused. His arms were crossed over his chest, a highly displeased scowl etched across his face.

“Oh don’t look at me like that!” you say, “If you hadn’t planned the robbery so terribly, or lied to me on twooccasions in the 8 hours proceeding it, getting me to write a whole 4 thousand word essay on things that were complete horseshit, humiliating me on front of Snape and—“

“Alright alright—!” He had softened up a little, averting eye contact, but you didn’t care.

“No! I’m not done!” That got his attention again, “Fred, you have been a dick to me for the past six years! Sure, you’re funny and can be sweet sometimes, but most of the time you don’t know where the line is! You prank me all the time, it’s relentless! And today you bloody pushed me over the edge. I had a perfect means of getting revenge and damn it I took it.”

He shrugs, “Whatever, I guess we’re even now”

You open your mouth to continue arguing but snap it shut when you realised what he had said. That really took much less convincing than you though, probably because you were feeling a smidge guilty for going so far in the heat of anger. It’s not like he orgasmed or anything... well if he did you wouldn’t be able to tell, his trousers were drenched, “Yeah, I guess...”

You waddled to the sink, turning both faucets on for lukewarm water, plonking him in the basin to clean off the sticky residue. You then hobbled into the closest stall to grab a wad of tissue and wipe yourself clean with it. Despite how absolutely caked in the stuff Fred was, you were still drenched. You exit the stall a couple of minutes later to find him completely washed down, "Right, let's get you back to your normal size, but let's put you in my pocket this time..."

"What a shame. I had really learned to call your vag my home" the sarcasm drooled from his lips.

You scooped him up, pinning him with a warning eye, "I'll put you back in there if you're not careful."

"Sorry sorry sorry!" he back peddled, extending his arms like a man about to be hit by an unforgivable curse. You gently lay him in your pocket, and snapped your head up to find Moaning Myrtle staring at you in disbelief.

"Umm..." the ghost muttered, for once in her life (or death) at a loss for words.

"Don't tell anyone what you saw here today, Myrtle" you warned, pointing a long threatening finger at her, "Not like they'd believe you anyway"

She nodded vigorously and dove into the nearest sink.

[plural-culture-is]

Question that should’ve probably gone in the ask box

Hello! I would like to firstly thank you for this amazing blog, and for making this information accessible, it really helps me.

However I was wondering if I could get your views on this: [it is reallyyyy long but I didn’t know how to shorten it]

Maybe six months ago, one of my only friends discovered that they were a system, and they told me they think that perhaps I also have maybe just a singular head mate. I didn’t fully register what they’d said and I carried on with my life. But recently I’ve been thinking about it and there are reasons to support that I am part of a system. My 4 friends have pointed out the fact that I change in situations that are hard for me. An example of which being that when I’m around people I don’t know I become louder and more ‘I’m a social outcast so fuck this’ and it helps me deal with my anxiety. And when I have to go to a hospital-like setting my mind goes all blurry. I am aware that when I was younger [removing this bit to avoid anyone’s triggers] I had bad experiences there, with long stays and lots of noise, but I don’t remember it really, just blurring lights and beeping. There is like a black smoke that surround that vague memory. I thought this was normal but I have been told this is actually a trauma response [?]. I wouldn’t have really considered this possibility so deeply, if it weren’t for my friends who tell me when I change. One of them even calls me, when I act like me, paper finn, in reference to the fact that I barely speak and prefer to write down my words when I am comfortable showing my ‘actual personality’.

And maybe two months ago, I was in a normal class when I blacked out, but was fully aware that I was conscious. I remember tripping in the hallway on the way to medical, and then I saw a little, but it was covered in like a black cloud- it’s hard to describe. At this time I also heard a whispering and I thought it was myself, but their voice was deeper and more croaky/breathless than mine. I also watched myself have an interaction with the nurse, and then when she left it got less blurry but I was left with a headache. I was scared and I took more paracetamol than recommended. But this, according to my diary, was the day when we had some jabs at school, and I am terrified of needles because of the experiences I’ve had with them.

In answer to the wondering of voices, perhaps I hear them?? I can feel like someone trying to say something, and the occasional completely random thoughts, but I haven’t heard another voice apart from in my class where I blacked out. Then, I heard a faint whispering, just something meaningless, something meant to be comforting. I don’t remember it well but I do remember seeing myself speak. And again, at the time I put it all down to my autism and anxiety producing an out-of-body experience.

I don’t know if this is useful but I am a catkin therian, and sometimes behave in a more cat-like manner. I have an unusually deep connection with vampires and ghosts, also.

If you think you can help me with an answer, it will be greatly appreciated. And also I’m sorry, I tried to submit as an ask but it was way too long :/

-

so it definitely sounds like you dissociate, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you have a plural dissociative disorder. The ‘out-of-body experience’ would be depersonalisation, which yes systems can experience, but so can singlets. Plus everyone changes the way they act in certain situations/depending on the people they’re around, however they don’t feel like an entirely different person, which it usually feels like when it comes to systems switching. Since you don’t normally hear voices, it might have been a headmate talking to you to calm you down but they don’t always do that because you don’t always need it, maybe. Or the amount of stress could have caused you to hear a voice that didn’t belong to a headmate. Before we had better communication, we also often felt like someone was trying to say something but couldn’t get it through because we didn’t have very good communication. Random thoughts could be intrusive thoughts, and if they don’t make any sense they’re probably not a headmate (we get thoughts like that a lot), but if they do make sense they might be a headmate. I can’t tell you if you’re a system or not, that’s for you to figure out, but these are just some things to think about. As always, remember to keep doing your research. I wish you luck in your self-discovery!

[becomingbts]

Time heals (sometimes) - Teaser 1

Summary: 6 years ago, (Y/N) thought that she was finally taking her life into her hands, leaving behind a toxic and abusive relationship with a man who taught her she’d never be worthy of love. However, it became hard to ignore his words when she met her seven soulmates who rejected her without even giving her a chance to prove herself. It took (Y/N) 3 years to realize that it wouldn’t be her end. She would live on to prove them all wrong; she would become what they all thought she wasn’t: someone worthy of love. And as she stands proudly on the stage, under the burning spotlights and the applause and the cries of the delirious crowd, she feels alive. Alive, just like the bond she believed to be broken.

Pairings: Y/N x OT7

GENRE: Soulmate AU!, Idol Y/NAU!, semi social-media AU!, ANGST (mainly), fluff, romance, maybe smut in the series.

Ask or comment to be tagged!

Warnings: The series is going to be heavy with a lot of personal experiences mixed into the fiction, so this is going to be kind of therapeutic for me. Please, consider not reading the series if you are not comfortable with: abandonment issues, anxiety, panic attacks, depression, self-harm (not descriptive and only part of MC’s past), suicide thoughts (in the past), toxic behavior, toxic and abusive relationship (in the past), depreciating self-talk and low self-esteem, a lot of curse, physical and mental pain, near death experience situation (in the past), and maybe smut scenes (happy ending though, but it will probably be quite the ride).

NOTE: I was thinking of “Moonchild” and for some reasons, some memories I’d prefer to have forgotten came back to my mind and instead of making a full-blown panic attack like I used to, I thought that it would make a great plot if I mingled that with a soulmate and idol verse and that’s how I started going into it. This is going to be loaded with personal experiences, even if they’ll probably be a bit differently explained compared to what I experienced. Despite the heavy themes and many warnings, I hope you guys will like it. I think I really needed to write it. It will be a semisocial media AU!, because I like the idea of being to write some of their conversations through texts. However, I do plan on fully writing most of it. Though, you’ll have some updates about their social medias as I will update their profiles soon after you see this. I will probably mix a lot of different media for this story such as songs written and produced by myself. I’ll upload for real MC’s EP. So expect a lot for this story. Please take well care, feedback is always very warmly welcomed, it helps me to write for real. If you need to talk to someone, my dms are always opened and if you really don’t feel well, please call urgency numbers.

Thank you for reading,

-Dolly

"And we will close our night show with the most awaited segment! The audience jumped during the commercial break, it's amazing how many people just joined us! Welcome to our interview segment and especially, welcome and thank you so much for being with us Moon!”

"Of course, thank you for having me on your radio show." 

"Thank you for coming! I have to mention that this is your very first interview with another media than your usual personal platforms like Vlive, YouTube, or Instagram, so we are honored to be the first ones to greet you! Do you plan on making more activities outside your personal schedule for the promotion of your new album?" 

"If I may be honest, not really. I'm the most comfortable in my own safe zone and I tend to try not to get out of it too often. It might close some doors to me but I'm comfortable with my fans that way. However, I often listen to this radio show and a lot of my fans were enthusiastic about that so I thought: why not."

"Ah, thank you so much, it means a lot! Your fans are indeed a strong community and they support you whether you go to TV shows or not. Besides, you've been a very active artist on social media and your whole career started on YouTube and SoundCloud before you signed to your current agency. We have to congratulate you on your journey! It's barely been two years but here you are, with your second EP 'People'! Congratulations on the release!" 

"Thank you very much."

“For our listeners who might not know who Moon is, I’m going to introduce her to you: Moon, your real name is (Y/N), you were born on August 4th, 1998, Incheon and your mother was American so you pursued your studies in America. You have been taking online classes since the start of your career at the HULT, university of Florida, and even recently got your Business Bachelor, now aiming for a Ph.D. You started your journey on Youtube, uploading covers and vlogs until you finally started producing your own songs, releasing them on Soundcloud. You started gaining a lot of followers; thus, you started on other social media such as Twitter or Instagram. One year ago, you release your first EP called ‘BALANCE’  which is the reason why the music label BigHit reached to you and asked you if you wanted to sign with them. Did I get everything right?”

“You are. It feels like you know my life better than I do.”

"Ah not at all, but thank you, I am glad that I didn’t say something wrong! Would you mind sharing the concept of this EP? Many of your fans probably already know but maybe some of our daily listeners might not!" 

"Of course. As you said, 'People' is my second EP, yet the first to be studio recorded. Signing with BigHit is a big step in my career and it created a lot of changes, hence I decided to focus on the people I have met, stayed with, became close to, or detached myself from… This is dedicated to the people who changed my life, whether they intended to or not. It could be interpreted as my social life diary in a way." 

"I see, many of your fans have said that the album held a very distinct duality, with a bright and a much darker side that made quite the storm on social media. ‘Y/N our Moon’ and ‘MOONISBACK’ trended for a few nights on Twitter. Do you have anything you'd like to say about that?" 

"I guess it was a surprise because this mini-album is really raw and uncensored. I didn't try to sugarcoat it nor to romanticize my experiences. I hope it brings comfort to people who haven't been feeling well. Because I think that it’s always easy to say that it's going to be okay to someone who’s not feeling well. Everything doesn’t suddenly become okay. And it's fine to be hurting, you can learn to live with this pain and move on while still hoping for better days. There is no end to hopes, and this is why my EP has a brighter side to it. Not everything is always a vast cold ocean. Sometimes, there are small or big waves that come crashing into our universe and they form something that we couldn't have imagined. They bring a little piece of sunshine in life and it helps to move on. So I hope that people who are struggling know that, despite how insignificant I might be, there is a person that understands and can relate to their struggles. I hope it can comfort them, even just slightly, to know that they are not alone." 

"That's a beautiful way to put it."

"Ah, thank you." 

"I have to ask because I'm really curious and I’m definitely not the only one: a lot of your fans have been theorizing about who could your title track ‘TIME’ be about? I have to ask you on the behalf of everyone. Is it okay for me to break the mystery?" 

"Time is a track that shouldn’t have made it to the EP. It’s a bit like a fit of personal anger that I didn’t know I needed to let out.”

“Your anger was definitely heard and understood. People have been curious about the addressee of the song especially because of the line ‘maybe it’s time I finally let go of you’. So can you tell us who is it about?” 

“Uh...Time was written for my seven soulmates who rejected me years ago." 

"Seven!?"

"Yeah, it's a lot I know.”

“Is that why you have covered your soul mark with this tattoo on your arm? Netizens talked about it a lot; normally idols tend to cover their arm from the public eyes to avoid for their soulmates’ names to be known, but instead, you were proudly showing your tattooed arm, fully covering what might be under the ink. Many people assumed that it meant that you didn’t have a soulmate at all.” 

“Well, I decided to cover the mark because there was no reason for me to keep it without hurting myself. I decided that I have been hurt enough to let myself take a rest. I didn’t see the point in hiding my arm either, I’m proud of my tattoo, I mean; it’s really a beautiful piece in my opinion. But to answer the assumptions, I don’t consider that I have soulmates anymore, hence why the tattoo as well." 

"This is really a heartbreaking story, it must have been extremely hard. Breaking a soul bond is immensely dangerous, my link with my husband already itches when I spend the day away from him, so seven soul bonds? It must have been terrible." 

"It was, but the most important is where I am now. I'm not lingering on that anymore because they made their choices and I thus made mine. I just hope that they all are healthy and happy where they are." 

"I have to say I'm really impressed (Y/N)-shi, you really have a delicate and caring soul. I probably wouldn't be able to have such soft words about your soulmates had I been in your shoes."

"I think living the actual experience made me reflect on myself a lot. I'm comfortable where I am now, I'm able to do music and make what I love. I have nothing to complain about, I'm surrounded by lovely and supportive fans, I have the best manager I could have ever hoped for and a warm and healthy family. I don't need more on my side." 

"I'm glad you are happy then. Many of your fans have pointed out it's really hard to make you smile and some wonder if you are happy, especially after the release of ‘TIME’, I don’t blame some of your fans for being worried." 

"Ahhh, is smiling the only way to prove that we are happy? I believe my words are usually a bit more impactful than my facial expressions. I have to admit that I don't often smile, it's not a bad thing, at least I don't think so, but I just don't feel the need to smile when I don’t feel like it. Besides, I get shy easily when I expose my emotions too much." 

"It's hard to imagine you being shy but at the same time now that I have you in front of me, our listeners cannot see you, but I definitely feel that you have a very shy and reserved aura despite the energy you give off when you are on stage. It’s not unfriendly either, but you’re just very soft-spoken and quiet in everything you do. Like when you came in, I barely heard you entering at all; you’re just silently making your way without a fuss, it’s really endearing, to be honest."

"Ah... I’ve been told that my stage persona and the ‘me’ in real life were two different entities but I don’t really think it’s true. I'm extremely introverted and it doesn't really mix well with the stage. So I just put it on the side for the people who came to see me and deserve to see more than a 24 years old woman who has troubles speaking without stuttering in front of other people." 

"You stutter when you have to speak in front of other people?" 

"Sometimes it happens when I’m nervous, and I’m very often nervous. Like right now, I’m extremely nervous. But it's something I'm working on." 

"Well it's definitely paying off because I couldn't sense that you were nervous at all, just very calm and soft, but I wouldn’t be able to imagine you being nervous enough to stutter."

"A lot of artists actually have stage fright, most of them just don't want to admit it because it doesn't sound sexy when you tell your fans you're actually shaking before going up there for the show." 

"This is very true, but it's refreshing to hear it from someone who actually lives through that rather than fan theories." 

"That's understandable." 

"Our time is coming to the end, do you have anything you would like to add before we sadly get our mics taken away?" 

"Oh uhm, everyone, my new mini-album 'People' came out very recently and yet it already received a lot of love so I want to thank you for that. This EP was a very personal project and I was worried about how it would be welcomed but you all made me realize that I have nothing to fear because we'll always find someone who can relate to our stories. As long as I can help even one person with my songs, then it's enough for me. Thank you for listening to me and my voice. I hope we'll be able to meet soon. Love you my fans and non-fans as well, please take well care of yourselves in those times. Be careful and stay safe. Wear your mask!" 

“Thank you so much Moon for being with us tonight. Our time was short but I really enjoyed it, I hope our listeners were able to feel that very warm presence of yours through the mic. ‘Give Me A Song’ of Moon’s EP ‘People’ will now be playing and we will see each other tomorrow night with IU for the release of her new album LILAC. Take care!”

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Uploaded : 08/04/2021