#its nawt fair its not f

[luaspersona]

hello my love, here i am again with yet another review of your amazing writing

i've been missing hobi especially hard these past days, so the timing on this was just p-e-r-f-e-c-t, just like everything else when it comes to you 🙇🏽‍♀️

so let's get to it!

first, i wanna know where do you find these grain textured images for your fics because they are just always so domestic, so mundane and i love them 😔

secondly, i wanna say that oh my god, how do you manage to write every single drabble, every single fic, every single paragraph of anything with such mastery? it's so good it almost makes me frustrated, 'cus it doesn't make SENSE, but somehow you always do it.

i mean, just the way you settle the mood with the first sentences — hobi's trance, the wa he's frozen in the middle of a party, and how grounded it all feels. in fact, nothing ever feels like fiction when it's your writing it. it feels like a recollection, like a glimpse into a stranger whose life we are prying into. it's just so ridiculously natural! and mundane! in the best possible way, always.

anyway, i sidetracked.

*ahem*

man, i really love your dialogue and i think i don't say it enough (tho to be fair, i don't think any of the times i've complimented your writing was enough), but like??:

“Seriously, that look on your face is clinical. Blink twice if you need medical attention.”

and aaaa this was just so damn cute, i feel like hobi would be exactly that kind of person that's ridiculously social all the time but get's suddenly all unsure when he's into someone:

Though he’s never been shy, he’s never felt this boneless before.

and i loved the level of detail here, the way you push us into the scenery and hints at certain thoughts and reactions:

Your free hand grips a coffee mug — a Snoopy mug, no less — though its contents certainly aren’t coffee, and the ceramic rests gently upon your leg. Even from several meters away, Hoseok can see the condensation dripping down from that mug, down the side of your thigh. He watches a bead of water roll down, down, down, out of sight. He swallows hard.

and something that you always do and i ALWAYS love, is drop exposition subtly, in a gradual and natural way throughout the story, like letting us know the reader's new and hobi's graduating:

“Transferred here at the start of spring semester, so you just missed her, lover boy.” Hoseok, whose graduation ceremony concluded mere hours ago, swats Jimin’s hands away as tickling fingers attack his side.

and this also feels like such a jimin thing to say 😭😭😭:

“It’s hard to explain,” he sighs, unhelpful. “They’re a bit chaotic, and honestly, it intimidates the shit out of me whenever I find someone more charismatic than me.”

honestly i'd just die of embarrassment:

He can’t react quickly enough to catch it; it tips over and shatters on the floor. Behind him, someone pauses the stereo while everyone else boos. 

and i just loved the way you phrase this:

You trot over to him like a field medic and, as you do, any grasp he has of the Korean language goes flying out that open window behind you. 

honestly, jade? you personality overflows your writing in the most beautiful way. it's so uniquely you and so amazingly charming that it just makes me lowkey obsessed.

and ugh! this was just so fucking good, the way you shine the character's personality in such a creative way:

For good fucking reason, you’re puzzled by his silence. Hoseok gets the impression that you aren’t used to one-sided conversations, but he’s having a hell of a time forming coherent thoughts. You just walk around looking like this — all the time? And what, everyone else just has to deal with it?

(btw that's so ridiculous of hobi. how is he one to say? has he ever seen himself?? cus i think nawt)

🗣️🗣️🗣️ no comments, i just loved this:

You cringe, sigh forlornly at your own fuck up, and drop into a seated position. Thankfully, you manage to steer clear of the jar’s remnants as you do — though Hoseok would’ve readily volunteered to help remove any glass that may have gotten stuck to the back of your thighs.  Your breezy laugh floats into the distance between the two of you, smelling like pineapple juice and vodka. Hoseok has never encountered someone who embodied summer so completely. Now, he’s warm all over.

and this reader is just so !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *screaming and glass shattering noises* AKIFUBWEKLAD i just wanna be them so bad:

“The lines on your palm are telling me you’ve got a luck problem,” You explain casually, not looking up from his hand.

and omg that's also such a hobi thing to say 😭 (and i'm 100% like that too, can't beat the pisces sun):

“Nice to meet you,” He starts. And before he can stop himself, he finishes with, “I think I love you.”

ooof, overall bb, that was just such a charming and heart-warming story. it really did soothe my hobi and jade missing hours. your writing is always so impactful in a way that through small glimpses and short moments of pure life, i can believe in destiny too, so thank you for this

My lovely Jade, you are hitting these milestones so quickly AS TOU SHOULD because you are a wonderful human being and everyone needs to know this 💜 My request for this milestone is Hobi + strangers to lovers love (lust?) at first sight 🥵 Please and thank you :)

so, i went in more of a cute direction than a spicy one, i hope that’s okay!! i just miss hobi and needed to be a lil bit dumb about it 😵‍💫

the one with hoseok and the palm reader

pairing: jung hoseok x gn!reader type: drabble (f) | wc: 1.5k | rating: pg15 au: university, house party, meet cute / strangers to ? summary: hoseok’s fate line says he has a luck problem, but when he meets you at a party, he begs to differ. cw: alcohol use, brief blood mention, wingman jimin is drunk (lol). 🔞 this drabble is sfw, regardless, my content is not for minors. minors and ageless blogs who interact with me or my writing will be blocked.

Hoseok holds his plastic cup to his lips, knowing full well he emptied it half an hour ago. As he does, he peers over the top of it at the keg in the kitchen. It’s no more than a few meters away; it’s already been tapped. It would be so easy to cross the living room and top up, but he’s frozen. Worse, he’s staring.

He can hear Jimin talking — his ears work just fine, thanks — but he isn’t processing a single thing being said to him. That staggered, surprisingly quick rate of speech can’t hold Hoseok’s attention, and somehow, Jimin doesn’t seem to notice that his captive audience is otherwise captivated. 

Well, Hoseok assumes he hasn’t noticed. 

Any idiot with eyes can see that Hoseok’s been holding that cup to his mouth for far longer than it would take a person to down its contents — if it even had any. Instead, he bites down on the lip of that cup with squinted eyes, focus zeroed in on the keg.

Well, the person standing directly behind the keg.

“Are you going to talk to them, or are you just going to drool?” Jimin smirks, jabbing his elbow impishly into Hoseok’s ribs. The elder hisses in response to the unexpected contact but says nothing; the sound of his expelled air multiplies as it echoes through his cup.

“Seriously, that look on your face is clinical. Blink twice if you need medical attention.”

Embarrassed, Hoseok jerks his neck to glare at Jimin. The sudden movement pulls the plastic cup from the vice grip of his teeth. A loud click erupts when it slips past his incisors, and it startles them both. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. Two fingers fly up to his lips, rubbing half-heartedly at the emerging soreness below them. 

Jimin’s eyebrows raise expectantly while he waits on a substantive reply; he isn’t likely to get one. Still, his blinks come in slow-motion, eyelids heavy under the weight of his intoxication. Slurring just a little, he offers, “Maybe it’s weird for you to just walk over and introduce yourself, but it’s way weirder to gawk at them for twenty minutes without saying a word.”

Jimin’s right, and Hoseok knows he’s right, but something is making his knees wobble, and he can’t bring himself to move. Not towards the keg, not towards you. Though he’s never been shy, he’s never felt this boneless before.

“I don’t even know their name,” He mutters, as if it’s a viable excuse. Even he doesn’t buy it.

Up ahead, you sit crooked on the kitchen counter without paying any attention whatsoever to the loudness around you. One leg dangles from the counter’s height while the other is bent, tucked comfortably underneath the hinge of your knee. Your elbow rests on the sill of the open window behind you, adjoining hand propping your head up. 

And because it’s somehow possible to look even more effortless, your hair flutters ever-so-slightly upon the breeze.

Your free hand grips a coffee mug — a Snoopy mug, no less — though its contents certainly aren’t coffee, and the ceramic rests gently upon your leg. Even from several meters away, Hoseok can see the condensation dripping down from that mug, down the side of your thigh. He watches a bead of water roll down, down, down, out of sight. He swallows hard.

Jimin snickers at the slack-jawed boy beside him. Pointing one hand lazily at you in the distance, he drops your name with an odd reverence. Somehow, it feels appropriate. Still, Hoseok’s own — frantic —  hand reaches out and pulls Jimin’s down to his side.

Subtlety has never been Jimin’s strong suit.

“Transferred here at the start of spring semester, so you just missed her, lover boy.”

Hoseok, whose graduation ceremony concluded mere hours ago, swats Jimin’s hands away as tickling fingers attack his side.

“They’re terrifying,” Jimin continues, unprompted. 

Hoseok wonders how the fuck this is supposed to be reassuring. If Jimin’s coaxing him to talk to you, why would he lead with this? 

Jimin course-corrects. “Not in, like, the kind of way that should make you fear for your safety, of course.”

Hoseok is puzzled and it’s palpable. His brows furrow as he questions, “So, what, then? They won’t hit me, but they might steal my wallet?”

Jimin hums thoughtfully before responding. Hoseok figures he’s trying to access the part of his brain not currently steeped in gas station rum.

“It’s hard to explain,” he sighs, unhelpful. “They’re a bit chaotic, and honestly, it intimidates the shit out of me whenever I find someone more charismatic than me.”

Hoseok shoots his friend a pointed look.

Jimin scoffs, “What? It’s rare.” He lifts his hands in self-defense, albeit lazily, then adds, “Not mean or anything, just a wild card.”

“If you’re scared to talk to them, why should I?” Hoseok asks, incredulous.

Jimin simply shrugs. Unhelpful. With a frustrated groan, Hoseok chucks his cup at the overfilled trash can in the corner. It bounces off the top of the pile and lands lamely on the hardwood. Hoseok frowns.

Tired of his stalling, Jimin stumbles behind Hoseok and pushes at his shoulder blades. Hoseok trips off towards the kitchen, wholly unable to stop his momentum before crashing into the table. Upon impact, several stacks of cups clatter down around his feet. The beer bank —  a jar full of loose change collected to cover the cost of the keg — wobbles ominously.

He can’t react quickly enough to catch it; it tips over and shatters on the floor. Behind him, someone pauses the stereo while everyone else boos. 

“Party foul!” A voice shouts from nowhere. It sounds a lot like Seokjin, to no one’s surprise.

Within seconds, Hoseok is pelted with empty cups, beer pong balls, and other assorted garbage. As the trash ricochets off him, his face burns, blushing beet red. That embarrassment bites at the tips of his ears, which poke out under the beanie shoved down over his hair. 

To be clear, Hoseok doesn’t give a shit or fuck about the people roasting him — loudly and with vigor — behind his back. He does, however, give a massive shit about your bemused gaze, which is now fixed squarely on him.

Your mouth is frozen in the shape of an “o,” but it quickly thaws when you hop down from your perch and grab the dish rag hanging off the oven handle behind you. You trot over to him like a field medic and, as you do, any grasp he has of the Korean language goes flying out that open window behind you. 

“If I had a nickel for everything I’ve broken, I could’ve paid for the keg myself.” 

The force of your giggle damn near knocks him prone. 

When you crouch down to assess the damage, Hoseok joins you automatically. He still hasn’t said a word by the time you begin sweeping shards of glass into the towel; and he’s still unwillingly mute when you prick your finger. The words are still missing when you press your tongue flush against the nick left behind, pink on red. 

For good fucking reason, you’re puzzled by his silence. Hoseok gets the impression that you aren’t used to one-sided conversations, but he’s having a hell of a time forming coherent thoughts.

You just walk around looking like this — all the time? And what, everyone else just has to deal with it?

“Oh shit!” You suddenly exclaim, though your words are close to incomprehensible with your tongue indisposed.

Realizing this, you pull your finger away from your mouth and instead pinch it hard against the hem of your denim shorts. Your face is awash with embarrassment, and that makes your tone soften significantly. Almost whispering, you say, “Someone said there’s an international student here, doesn’t understand a word of Korean. Is that you?”

Hoseok snorts, “If it was, how would I know you’d asked?”

You cringe, sigh forlornly at your own fuck up, and drop into a seated position. Thankfully, you manage to steer clear of the jar’s remnants as you do — though Hoseok would’ve readily volunteered to help remove any glass that may have gotten stuck to the back of your thighs. 

Your breezy laugh floats into the distance between the two of you, smelling like pineapple juice and vodka. Hoseok has never encountered someone who embodied summer so completely. Now, he’s warm all over.

“Don’t ask how I made it three years into a bachelor’s degree while being this much of a babo,” you warn him. “It’s a mystery to me, too.”

You squint one eye and scrunch your nose. The smattering of freckles on your cheeks slips into the creases of your grimace. A smile tugs at Hoseok’s lips, though he tries very hard to conceal it. 

“But now that I know you do speak Korean, I don’t see any reason why I can’t know your name.”

Jesus.

Jimin was right.

You are a pistol — and goddamn, does he love it.

“Hoseok,” he says finally. He holds out a hand for you to shake, but you grab it, pull it, and nearly send him falling face first into your lap. He sputters, all the while, “Aish! What are you —”

You run your index finger over a crease in his palm, near his thumb. It tickles; his own fingers twitch reflexively under your touch. You chew on your bottom lip, deep in thought. Hoseok is enthralled. 

“Had a rough go of it, Hoseok?”

His eyes widen, brows shooting up into his hairline. “I – what?”

“The lines on your palm are telling me you’ve got a luck problem,” You explain casually, not looking up from his hand.

You offer nothing further except a thoughtful hum. Without letting go of his hand, your twinkling eyes blink up at him from under a thick curtain of black eyelashes.

“Better turn that around, yeah?”

All he can do is stare. He’s dumbstruck and you haven’t even introduced yourself yet.

Tragically, you let go of his hand and flick your hair over your bare shoulder. As if you can read his thoughts, you beam and state your name. Then, with your head tilting curiously to one side, you smirk, “But you’re in my kitchen, so I hope that’s not news to you.”

“Nice to meet you,” He starts. And before he can stop himself, he finishes with, “I think I love you.”

[frieza-pp]

WHY IS THERE BARELY ANY KOITO/OGATA FICS *rips all my hair out and screams*