#oh and I guess I won’t have to write text into a shared document from my phone to my computer

[every-eye-evermore]

Bought a Bluetooth keyboard so now my suffering beast of a laptop can play video games :)

[lady-of-the-lotus]

Xuexiao Goes to the DMV

Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen go to the DMV (aka Where Hope Goes To Die) and share a kiss.

That’s it. That’s the fic.

Xuexiao - T (just for some cursing) - Read on AO3!

*

“If you hear about someone going berserk in a DMV on the news, that’ll be me,” the mechanical text-to-speech voice reads aloud, and Xiao Xingchen turns to Xue Yang questioningly.

Xue Yang reaches over and turns the volume down on Xingchen’s phone. “Meant to send that to A-Qing.”

“Are we going to be escorted out? Again?”

Xue Yang grins and looks around the room. They’ve already been at the DMV for over an hour. Dozens of people are draped limply over the hard orange seats, eyes glazed, going down for the third time in a sea of government bureaucracy.

“Ticket 4352, now being served at window thirty-three,” announces the robotic voice over the loudspeaker.

“It would take an alien invasion to wake these people up,” Xue Yang says as a man in overalls shuffles past. “You should see these people. This must be what a lobotomy post-op recovery room looks like.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Like the world’s most incompetent deli, filled with zombie customers waiting to eat the brains of whatever the opposite of employee of the month is. Well, ‘brains.’ They work at the DMV, after all.”

Xiao Xingchen adjusts his sunglasses. “Let's not be mean.”

“And we can all hear you,” adds a woman on his left. “Not that it made much sense.”

Xue Yang makes a face at her and turns back to Xingchen. “If they make me come back a third time, I’m going to go postal. You know, going postal should be called ‘going DMV.’ It’s catchier, for one thing, and I’ve never so much as stepped foot in a post office—”

“I’m keeping you far away from post offices. Those poor people have suffered enough.”

“How so?”

“Well, there must be a reason they go postal, right?”

Xue Yang rolls his eyes. “If the post office has the same taste in music as the DMV, I don’t blame them. Who picked this station? If it’s not Justin Bieber it’s whoever inflicted ‘Kiss Me Through the Phone’ on the world. I’d like to do something to them through the phone, and it won’t be a kiss, I can tell you that much.”

Xiao Xingchen takes a Snickers bar out of the fanny pack Xue Yang has vainly begged him not to wear. “According to the television commercials, this will improve your mood.”

“My mood?” Xue Yang takes a bite. “If I have to hear ‘Baby’ one more time—”

“Ticket 9753, now being served at window fourteen.”

“ ‘Served.’ Ha. As if.”

Xiao Xingchen feels around for another Snickers bar but comes up empty. He should have planned this better. He’d sensed Xue Yang’s mood coming on last night as Xue Yang went through his documents. He’d been cheerful enough until he found his birth certificate in the bundle of papers he’d been given after leaving his last group home.

Then he’d grown strangely quiet, and wandered aimlessly around their apartment for an hour, carrying his phone around with him and switching between a half-dozen different YouTube videos before deciding to bake brownies at 1am and burning them when he got distracted playing video games. He wasn’t paying much attention to the video game, either, going by his cursing as he got repeatedly blown up by what Xingchen suspects was a twelve-year old somewhere in Japan, and eventually gave that up to go take apart their toaster in the interest of “fixing” it.

Now he sits beside Xingchen, jiggling his leg. Xiao Xingchen wants to ask him about his birth certificate, but he hadn't dared to last night, and doesn’t dare now.

“Ticket 9755, now being served at Window 26.”

“Weren’t you 9754?” he asks Xue Yang.

“Oh, crap—” Xue Yang jumps to his feet and rushes to Window 26, brushing past a mohawked man holding a ticket marked 9755. “I’m 9754.”

The woman behind the glass may as well have been carved from wood. “You missed your number.”

“There was no announcement!”

“Or your number isn’t working. It’s not showing up on my computer.”

“What the hell does that mean? I’m on the screen! Look!” Xue Yang jabs a finger at the screen above the booth. At the bottom of the list it reads Ticket 9754 – Window 26. “9754! Window 26! All you need to do is take my picture—”

“Get back in line. Get a new ticket. Window 13.”

“Get back in line?” He looks over at the line for Window 13. It wraps around the entire room. “I already have a number! I’m on the screen!”

“Back. In. Line.”

“Just take the damn photo—”

Xingchen lays a hand on his arm. “Thank you, ma’am. We’ll get back in line.”

“Like hell we will! I’ve been here since 5 o’clock—I made an appointment! I even brought my own pen! You ever watch Monsters Inc.? You know Roz? Are you her evil older sister? Because you look exactly like—”

“Back of the line.”

“Younger sister, then. Happy?”

The woman doesn’t bother shrugging. “You’re blocking traffic.”

Xingchen begins to move, heading in the wrong direction. Xue Yang has no choice but to follow or else let him walk into a column plastered with posters emblazoned with, Make your visit easy - download the forms at dmv.gov! , Streamline your visit - make an appointment online today!, and We’re here to help!

“Let’s just go home,” says Xue Yang. “The gray, water stained walls are starting to close in. At any second I expect a giant ball to roll towards us. Well, wrong movie—whatever. I’m sick of this place. It’s cursed.”

“We’re just going to have to come back, and you’ll have wasted the hour we already spent here.”

Xue Yang groans and gets in line behind a woman with three small screaming children. “This whole thing is stupid. We can barely afford rent, let alone a car."

"We will, one day. Besides, it's good to have a license."

"We’ll just take trains and buses everywhere, or you can learn to drive. We'll fudge the vision test."

Xingchen laughs. Xue Yang relaxes slightly at the sound. After a moment, Xingchen slips his hand in his. He’s not one for public displays of affection, but there’s an edge in Xue Yang’s voice that has nothing to do with his return to Window 13.

Xue Yang’s hand tightens in his, and Xingchen rubs it reassuringly with his thumb.

“You again?” says the woman at Window 13 when they finally make it there, twenty minutes later.

“That power-mad dictator at Window 26 wouldn’t take my picture.”

The woman tilts her head at Xue Yang. “She wouldn’t?”

Xue Yang tilts his head back at her, as if to say, I know! Who wouldn’t want to photograph me ?

She smiles, a synthetic smile that reminds Xue Yang of his friend Lan Xichen’s dimpled little fiance. “Strange.”

“ ‘Strange’? I knew she could have just done it had she wanted to—”

The woman blinks at him, her smile growing faker by the minute. “I’m sure what she told you was accurate.”

“Sure, and there is no war in Ba-Sing-Se—”

Xiao Xingchen squeezes his hand, and Xue Yang stops talking and passes her his form. She stamps it a second time and hands him another ticket.

He and Xingchen return to the waiting area. Xue Yang puts his boots up on the seat next to him, resting his head on Xingchen’s shoulder.

“Describe the room to me again,” Xingchen says, trying to distract him from his brooding and, with any luck, keep him from taking out his Swiss army knife and carving his initials into the seat and get them kicked out again. Xue Yang has a talent for describing things, and Xingchen has been trying to encourage him to start writing.

Xue Yang begins to play with his long sleek ponytail. “Purgatory’s antechamber. Humanity’s lost-and-found. A void where time has no meaning. Pit of despair and industrial cleaner.”

Xingchen chuckles, making sure it’s loud enough for Xue Yang to hear.

“If their posters were honest, they’d all be in Comic Sans font, with things like, Where hope goes to die; This is your home now; Nothing escapes our pull, not even time; Human sacrifices while you wait—”

“Human sacrifices?”

"Yeah, I think so."

A crackle of static over the speaker as a new song comes on. “You know you love me, I know you care...Just shout whenever and I'll be there….”

Xue Yang starts up violently, but Xiao Xingchen gently pulls him back down beside him. “Some kind of cannibal conspiracy?” he asks, hoping Xue Yang’s knife has remained in his pocket and is not seconds away from being embedded in a blaring loudspeaker.

Xue Yang settles back against his shoulder. “I’m positive Overalls Guy never returned from Window 17. He’s probably in the office barbecue pit.”

“This must go all the way to the top. Shift supervisor too, I’d guess.”

“Baby, baby, baby oh….Like baby, baby, baby no….”

Xue Yang stops playing with his hair and starts picking at his black nail polish. He’s feeling a bit better, Xingchen’s shoulder warm and solid. “I swear that Roz lady put a curse on me. They all probably dance in a circle around a stack of burning Social Security cards every night, chanting.” He squirms, suddenly bored. “You got any more food? I’m starving.”

Xingchen rummages in his fanny pack. “Just a burned brownie.”

“I swear I set a timer!"

The timer had gone off while Xingchen was in the shower last night. Xue Yang had simply ignored it, too absorbed in trying to virtually blow up his twelve-year-old nemesis. He tends to ignore timers while cooking, usually followed by a mad rush to the kitchen to salvage dinner. “You know dinner is ready when the smoke detector goes off,” he likes to say.

Xue Yang sniffs the crumpled foil surrounding the charred black brownie chunk. “Is this the same foil I wrapped your tuna sandwich in yesterday?”

“We only have one earth!”

“Xingchen, I swear—” Xue Yang stops, rolling his eyes fondly. He’s never met anyone who can be so annoying and endearing at the same time.

Xingchen takes the brownie back. “I'll eat it. I like the burned bits.”

"It's all burned bits."

"Exactly. Perfect."

“She knows she's got me dazing, 'cause she was so amazin'....And now my heart is breakin', but I just keep on sayin'....”

“Who wrote this? I swear I won’t hurt them. I just want their address.”

Xingchen knows he shouldn’t laugh at that, but he can’t help it.

They sit there for another half hour, talking. Xue Yang has succeeded in denuding the nails of his left hand when his number is finally called. He gets his photo taken by a man with glazed eyes and no chin, and is shuffled off to the next waiting area.

“They refused to show me my photo,” he says as they settle back down. “I swear the camera stole my soul and is using it to power the fluorescent lights. I feel at peace now. Kind of floating.” He discovers a piece of gum in his jeans pocket and begins to loudly blow bubbles, making full eye contact with the annoyed Bluetooth Guy and irritated Woman With Facial Tattoo Of Bugs Bunny. “I am one with the DMV demigods, part of something larger than myself.”

“Like joining the army.”

“Or drowning in the ocean.” He lays down with his head in Xingchen’s lap, boots on the edge of Bluetooth Guy’s seat. “Why does your fanny pack smell like patchouli? Have you been burning weird hippie incense again? You promised you’d stop after you set fire to your curtains.”

Xingchen would rather Xue Yang didn’t semi-cuddle him in public, but Xue Yang’s energy is calmer when he’s touching Xingchen, and he lets him stay. “It’s that new candle you bought me, remember?”

“Right. Bought you.”

“What do you—”

“I thought it was peppermint.”

Xingchen bites his lip. Xue Yang is…well, he can read well enough to pass a driving test, but his education was…slipshod at best. Next on Xingchen’s list is encouraging Xue Yang to get his GED.

“You smell like a music festival,” says Xue Yang. “I must have grabbed the wrong one in the store. I sniffed all of them. My picture is probably hanging beside the register of every Bath & Body Works in town: ‘Beware the Candle Perv’—”

“At least someone was willing to take your picture.”

Xue Yang laughs. Xingchen rests a hand on his chest, heedless of the people around them. He likes how Xue Yang feels when he laughs, his whole body shaking, making no attempt to hide his feelings. Xue Yang makes him laugh so often, it’s a special joy for him to return the favor.

They’ve been there almost two and a half hours when Xue Yang’s number is finally called. As if the DMV curse is kicking in again, the loudspeakers creep up another few decibels.

“Like baby, baby, baby no, like baby, baby, baby oh, thought you'd always be mine, mine….”

“Xue Yang—” Xingchen starts before Xue Yang can say anything.

“I know, I know. This is penance for my putting that egg in Song Lan’s shoe last week. The DMV knows all. The DMV was here before us, and will be here after we are gone. The DMV—”

“—The DMV will make us wait in line again, if we don’t hurry.”

Together they go to Window 10, where a drab little man sifts through Xue Yang’s documents. “Fifties, balding, completely dead inside,” Xue Yang whispers to Xingchen.

“I’m thirty-nine,” says the man in a monotone, not looking up, “and you’re missing a birth certificate. And what’s this stain on your Social Security card?”

“Definitely not blood.”

The man stares at him with eyes that, had his life force not already been sucked out of Xue Yang by an afternoon at the DMV, would have done the job. “Current passport, or birth certificate.”

Xue Yang hesitates, then slips a folded piece of pink paper under the glass partition.

The man unfolds it with the sterling speed of a drugged snail and spreads it over the counter. He lines up Xue Yang’s Social Security card, bank statement, and birth certificate, and examines them line by line as if he’s a Bletchley Circle analyst and Xue Yang’s documents are intercepted enemy transmissions.

He looks up at Xue Yang. “Is this a valid birth certificate? There are no parent names listed, and the date of birth has an asterisk—”

“I know what it has!”

“What’s your date of birth?” The man slowly pushes his chair back. “I’m going to have to get a supervisor—”

Xue Yang slams the counter. Xingchen lays a hand on his arm. It’s a miracle Xue Yang’s knife isn’t out. “Don’t you fucking dare! This is what they do when—just Google it, okay? I don’t know what day I was born, they just put whatever date they thought was accurate—”

Xingchen swallows hard.

He had known Xue Yang had grown up in foster care, but had assumed he had been given up by his parents as a child when they could no longer take care of him.

Not—not abandoned as an infant—

“And change the fucking station!” Xue Yang adds. “If I have to hear that stupid fucking song one more time I will go fucking berserk —”

The man’s dead-eyed stare intensifies. “Sign here,” he says after a moment, pushing a slip of paper at Xue Yang.

“You want my love, you want my heart….And we will never, ever, ever be apart…”

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Xingchen asks as they step outside. The words sound hollow, and he wishes he had simply remained silent.

Xue Yang takes a deep breath. It’s almost cool out, a welcome change from the week’s heat. “Well, we escaped. Now we just have to get help for the others. Or do we abandon them to their fates? I vote we abandon them. You should have seen some of the looks I got. It’s like they never saw someone threaten a DMV employee before, something I’m willing to bet happens a dozen times an hour.”

Xingchen takes his arm as he begins to walk. It’s easier than using his stick in the crowded city. “Xue Yang…”

Xue Yang’s muscles tense beneath his arm. “What?”

“Nothing.” He bites his lip. He’ll have Xue Yang feeling better soon enough. “What street are we on? Turn in on 33rd.”

“What’s on 33rd?”

“Just let me know when we’re there. 33rd and 7th.”

“The train’s on 36th.”

“But the restaurant’s on 33rd.”

“The what?”

Xingchen wants to smile, but is afraid Xue Yang might take it the wrong way after what happened at the DMV. For someone who does his best to project an I-don’t-care attitude, Xue Yang is surprisingly sensitive.

“What’s today’s date?” He already knows the date, of course. It’s been on his mind for weeks now.

Xue Yang’s arm grows even stiffer. “Is this a ‘you-don’t-know-when-your-birthday-is-so-every-day-is-your-birthday’ thing? Because—”

“Not at all… Remember the day we met? You made fun of my shirt—”

Xue Yang frowns at this sudden change of subject, but goes along with it. Better than talking about that damn birth certificate. “It was white, and ruffled. You looked like an escapee from a high school production of Hamlet. What was I supposed to do?”

“You crashed a motorcycle not three feet from me. An unregistered motorcycle with stolen plates.”

"I bought you coffee to make up for it, didn’t I?”

“You had them put four sugars in my cappuccino. It was undrinkable.”

“One was a Splenda, and anyway I took you to dinner to make up for the coffee, didn’t I?”

“Pizza at one of those dollar-a-slice places you have to stand at a counter to eat. I paid for it.”

“And I paid for your kombucha, whatever the heck that is.”

“And I paid for the band-aids we had to go buy after you cut yourself after playing catch with your knife.”

“You were distracting me!”

“I was quietly eating my pizza.”

“The light reflecting off your shirt ruffles got in my eyes.”

“Four dollars for the band-aids. You insisted on Hello Kitty.”

“Spongebob was also on the table." He wrinkles his nose. "I've got about three-fifty in my pocket, if you want it. But what’s your point, exactly?'

Xingchen smiles. He enjoys winding up Xue Yang, and it’s by far the most effective way to distract him when he’s in a dark mood. “Just that you better not put extra sugar in the fondue.”

“The what?”

“A-Qing read me the dessert menu. Chocolate fondue with bananas, blueberries, pineapple, and cherries. Strawberries, too, I think, and marshmallows, maybe even non-charred brownies—”

Xue Yang stops walking. “Xingchen—”

Xingchen lets go of Xue Yang’s arm, takes his hand instead. Kisses him soundly, right there on Sixth Avenue.

“Forget your birthday," he says. "We have a new date to celebrate every year." He gives Xue Yang's hand a little squeeze and kisses him again. “Happy anniversary, Xue Yang.”

*

Liked it? AO3 👉👈

Ruffle shirt reference

Obviously, Xue Yang was simply distracted by how pretty Xingchen was.

[evolmaze]

bts hyung line find/hear your confession

summary - hyung line finds or hears your confession

pairing - jin x reader, young x reader, hoseok x reader, namjoon x reader

genre - fluff, angst, comfort

word count - 3.1k words

warnings - some angst, otherwise pretty harmless!

a/n: parts for the maknae line will be out soon!

masterlist

JIN

You had spent weeks racking your brain for some sort of answer, for an explanation why you suddenly thought your friend and neighbor from down the hall was the only person for you. It had happened so quickly, you didn’t even realize. One night you’re watching a movie together, something you’ve done at least once a month, and the next thing you know your heart is racing at the idea of him being in the same room as you. You had no idea why you started to feel this way, but the instant you realized, you couldn’t stop yourself from constantly watching him, thinking of him, wondering what in the world you were gonna do.

You were currently on the phone with your best friend, complaining to her for the hundredth time about how rude it was that Jin thought it was perfectly normal to walk around the laundry room shirtless, “I mean come on f/n, he’s so hot it should be illegal. The man has the body of a god, and I as an innocent bystander should at least be given a warning before walking into it!”

“What do you mean ‘walked into it’?” she asked, amusement in her voice, and you groaned.

“I was doing laundry the other day, and I ran right into him as he was leaving the room, I dropped my clothes everywhere, and he totally saw my underwear and bras, but that’s not the point, the point is that he was shirtless, he was laughing at his clumsiness, and it was the hottest thing I had ever seen.”

It was at that moment that Jin had walked up to your door, preparing to ask you to borrow your hammer, when he heard your voice faintly through the wall.

“F/n, I don’t know what to do, I’ve literally never felt this way about someone before, and it’s not like I can even say anything, we barely know each other--yes I know we’ve hung out before, but everything feels different now, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ll probably pass out the next time I see him, and if he’s not wearing a shirt again, oh my fucking god, plan my funeral please.”

Jin laughed quietly, deciding he could ask for the hammer later, he had other plans to attend to, like making sure to ask you about this supposed incident the next time he was in the laundry room; shirt conveniently off for your viewing pleasure.

YOONGI

“Hey I have a question,” Yoongi mused, turning down the radio. You and Yoongi were on your way to a cabin up north, planning to meet some friends there for a fun weekend getaway. You’d been on the road for almost two hours now, and he had decided that it was time to break the silence that had settled between the two of you.

“Yeah what’s up?” you asked, closing your book, and setting it in your bag. You waited as he beat his fingers rhythmically against the steering wheel.

“Who’s Voldemort?” you froze in your seat, and turned to him slowly, gauging his expression. How the hell did he know about that?

“Why do you ask?” you said slowly, thankful for your sunglasses that hid your panicked expression.

“When you asked me to grab your bag from your room, there was an envelope addressed to ‘Voldemort’sitting on it. Do you have a pen pal or something?”

No, no you did not have a pen pal. Stupidly, you had written your feelings to Yoongi out on paper, an ode to all the boys i’ve loved before. You  planned to store it away forever, never to be read again, in hopes of riding this stupid crush from your heart. All you wanted was peace, and the ability to hang with him without the looming cloud of love stalling over your head, but you must have forgotten to put it away before you left.

“Uh, no, no it’s not that,” you muttered, trying you best to sound nonchalant. “Just a letter I was writing to someone, probably won’t send it though.”

“Their name isn’t actually Voldemort, is it?”

You laughed, “No it’s not. It’s a pseudonym, my friends and I used it all the time to talk about boys we liked in middle school.”

Yoongi sat in silence for a second, and you hoped that that was the end of the conversation. “Do you like this Voldemort?”

You paled, and cleared your throat. “Uh, I don’t know, it’s complicated. I’m trying to get over them, so it’s probably best to not talk about it.”

Yoongi nodded, and didn’t say much for a while, and you assumed that was the end of it, thank god. The drive went on in silence, and you calmed down a bit, mentally cheering for evading a disastrous situation. You even talked with Yoongi about other topics like the weekends upcoming events, and how excited you were to try this new soju flavor. It was nice, peaceful, and definitely less stressful then the previous conversation. That was until you both started talking about college and first impressions. You had been explaining your thoughts on your other friends Namjoon and Lia when he stopped you.

“Wait,” he said suddenly, “Didn’t you and Lia have nicknames for everyone?”

“Yeah, we made up nicknames for everyone based on Harry Potter characters...” you said, trailing off on the end as you connected the dots.

“Yeah!” Yoongi exclaimed, oblivious. “Like yours was Ginny, Joon’s was Lupin, mine was..” he paused, looking over at you suspiciously. “Mine was Voldemordt, right?”

You shook your head, “Noooo, yours was something else I think.”

“Hmm, no I’m pretty sure it was Voldemordt,” he said. “Cause you and Lia always joked about how I was pale just like him,” You didn’t say anything in response, instead finding the dirt under your nails way more interesting.

“Y/n...” he called, pulling you from your thoughts. You didn’t look at him, too embarrassed to talk about it. “Hey, it’s fine, seriously.”

“Ah, can we please not talk about it,” you whined, putting your head in your hands. This was so awkward. You had written a middle school crush letter to the man sitting right next to you, and you still had to spend the whole weekend and ride back with him, great.

“Okay,” he said simply, tapping rhythmically on the steering wheel again. “I guess I’ll just have to wait to read it.”

“Oh no way, you’re not reading it!” you yelled, facing him as adrenaline raced through your veins. “I’m burning it the second we get back.”

“But why? I wanna hear all the nice things you said about me, you never compliment me in person.”

“Shut up,” you said, a blush blossoming on your cheeks. He laughed, lightly swatting your knee.

“So mean,” he teased. He lifted his hand to pull your hand from your face. You looked up, surprised by his action. He was never one for skinship, especially with you. “You know I’m joking, right?”

You nodded, “Yeah, no, I do, no worries, it’s fine”

“Good,” he said simply, bringing his hand back down the arm rest, except he hadn’t let go of your hand, so yours followed suit, held in his grasp. You stared intently at your intertwined hands, and then looked at him, confused. He was staring straight ahead, but you could see the smile forming on his face, and the red hue on his cheeks as well. Looks like you weren’t the only one with a secret.

HOSEOK

Hey y/n! Do you have a copy of the notes from last class that I can borrow?

You smiled at your phone, Hoseok had definitely slept through class again this week, and as always, you were more than willing to share notes, any excuse to talk to him, right?

Yeah for sure! Give me one sec and I’ll send you a link to my notes

You had always preferred to take notes on your computer, you could type way faster than you could write, so in fast-paced lectures it just made sense. You found the document within a folder the two of you shared information. With Hoseok consistently sleeping through one class every other week, and you having such detailed notes, it made much more sense to just put all your notes in a folder he could access. You found the latest document with your notes, and quickly shared it with him.

Just sent it now, it’s in the folder with all the other ones in case you need them too! Let me know if you have any questions!

Sounds great, thank youuuuu!!!

You grinned at his response before going back to your studying. He usually had questions, so you were a little surprised when he never texted you back. You figured maybe he understood it better than you, and made a mental note to ask him some questions next time you saw him. You went about the rest of your day, finishing up your homework, getting your laundry washed and put away, and four hours later, still no word from Hoseok.

“So weird,” you mumbled to yourself as you grabbed your keys. You had talked about meeting him for dinner tonight, so you wondered if he was still up for it.

Hey are you still up for dinner tonight? Hope studying is going well!

After 10 minutes, and no response, you grew worried and annoyed, so you decided to just walk over to his place yourself. The walk was short, you jammed the whole way, wondering what you’d get tonight, and hoping that your professor would put out grades soon. Walking into the dorm, you passed a number of doors before standing outside Hoseok’s.

You knocked three times, and waited patiently for him to answer. The door creaked open slowly, and you watched as his head appeared in the crack. He stared at you and said nothing.

You cleared your throat, “Uh, hey. I texted, but you didn’t answer, are you still down for dinner tonight?” He said nothing still, and you sighed. “It’s fine if you’re busy, I can go. Text me next time you’re free to hang.” You didn’t mean to sound annoyed, but you were hurt, confused why he was acting this way all of the sudden, especially with no explanation. Waving goodbye, you turned on your heel and walked down the hallway. You made it about three steps before he called out your name.

“Y/n, wait, I’m sorry.” turning around, confused, you saw him open the door. “Please come in.” He gave you a half smile, and you sighed, ignoring the smile that sat on your face as you entered his dorm. It was dark, his blinds were drawn, and it looked like a hurricane had come through here, which was odd since he was usually so clean.

“Hey what happened here? Everything okay?” you asked, worried, when you turned to face him he was standing by his desk, computer in hand.

“I--I, um, need you to read this,” he said, handing you his computer. You raised an eyebrow, and turned the computer around. As your eyes adjusted to the bright screen in the otherwise dark room, your heart dropped into your stomach.

It was about a week ago when you wrote a letter to Hoseok. It was 2 in the morning, you were so tired, but you couldn’t sleep, the whirlwind of thoughts running through your mind were too much to handle, so you wrote them all down. Wrote down everything you wanted to say, and closed your computer, never intending to read it again. What you had failed to notice that night was that you created the document inside a folder, the very folder you shared with the man in front of you. You had carelessly titled the document to hoseok so it’s no surprise that he clicked on it, he probably thought it was a funny message to him, but instead he got a look right inside your heart.

You looked up to see him already watching you closely. He looked pained, confused, and most of all angry. “Why would you say those things?”

“I, I, uh--” you paused, you knew at the time it was wrong to write them. He had a girlfriend, they’ve been together for almost a year, and they were so happy together, and you had no problem with that. You loved Julia, and had even introduced the two, but you also couldn’t help how you felt, you had no intention of him ever reading this, you felt awful. “I swear, I didn't realize this was in here, Hoseok I’m so sorry.”

“But you wrote it, and put it in this folder, you must have known I would have seen it at some point.” he protested, coming closer to you.

“I swear, I didn’t do it on purpose, I opened it in the wrong folder, I, oh my god, Hoseok I swear to god I never wanted you to read that.” you said, tears filling your eyes. You had jeopardized everything with your carelessness. He took the computer from your hands and set it on the desk. You couldn’t look him in the eyes as he sat next to you on his bed.

“I believe you,” he said quietly, and you nodded. “I’m sorry there’s not more I can say.”

You shook your head, “Why are you apologizing, it’s not your fault. I was the one who put it in the wrong folder. At least the worst part is over though,” you laughed weakly at the statement, the worst was far from over, but at least you could stop staying up at night wondering what he thought about you. “I’m sorry that you’re in such a weird position, I promise that I’m working on it, I’ve been trying to get over it.”

“You don’t have to apologize for what you feel, y/n.” he said, standing up in front of you. “This is nobody’s fault, let’s go get dinner and talk it out, yeah?”

You smiled at his attempt to smooth things over, you agreed, but a part of you wondered as you walked out the door how long it would last before you grew distant and never spoke again. For now, you’d cherish these last few memories with him, and always remember the times before it.

NAMJOON

“Just say it,”

“No!”

“Why not?!”

“Cause I already told you no!” you sighed in annoyance, flipping through another page in the magazine you were currently reading, or trying to read at least, until Namjoon showed up and rudely interrupted you.

“Come on, y’n, I need to practice!” you laughed at him, practice? What in the world was he thinking?

“You’re not seriously saying you want to practice this,” you said, setting down the magazine and facing him. He looked at you, and you realized he was serious. “Ugh, fine.”

He grinned, happy that he had finally convinced you to help him out. All of this started about a week ago when Namjoon caught wind that a girl in his bio class had a crush on him, the man absolutely lost it, so flustered and confused, he didn’t know what to do. You felt like you were watching a cheesy romantic comedy with the way he came to you, pacing back and forth in your living room. He was totally clueless, had no idea what to do, and came to you for help. You had been around the block a time or two when it came to dealing with situations like this, so it was no surprise that he wanted your expertise on how to politely reject someone.

It wasn’t that the girl in Namjoon’s bio class was awful or anything like that, it was the fact that Namjoon barely had time to live his own life, let alone make room for someone else. You were lucky if you spoke to him once a week, you practically had a heart attack when he showed up today. He explained to you the rumor he had heard, and how he had also heard that she was going to confess after their next class together. All of that combined was enough to stress the man into oblivion, so he desperately asked for your help.

“y/n thank you so much, I just don’t want to hurt her feelings, you know?”

“You’re literally the nicest person I know, there’s no way she would leave feeling anything but mildly sad, knowing you, you'd probably offer to pay for her bus fare home.” The look on his face had you laughing as it looked as though he was seriously considering it. “I’m kidding, Joon. Don’t do that.”

“What?” he said, “I definitely wasn’t gonna do that.”

You smirked at his obvious lie, “Whatever, let’s get this over with.” Taking a breath, you tried to get into character: a biology girl who likes Namjoon. “Hey Namjoon,” you said, trying to sound flirty and leaned casually on the side of the couch.

“Hey, y/n-”

“Don’t use my name,” you laughed, “use her name.”

“Oh okay,” he said, and he took a breath before looking into your eyes, “Hey, Emily. What’s up?”

“Nothing much, I actually had something I wanted to talk to you about,” you said, getting up from the couch, and walking over to where he stood by the kitchen island.

“Oh what’s that?” he asked, moving away from you just a bit. Your act must have been spot on, you smirked.

“I have feelings for you, Joon.” you said, trying to sound nervous and excited, however the hell someone sounded when they admitted their feelings. You were never one to discuss such personal topics, probably the reason why you were single at 23, but whatever, you liked it that way. Poor Namjoon looked terrified, and you’d take being single over being the cause of a situation like this any day.

“Oh,” he said simply, and you raised your eyebrows at him. “I-oh, I’m sorry, y/n--Emily, I’m way too busy for a relationship right now, I’m sorry.”

You grinned at his attempt, it was weak, but you’d work on it. By the end of the night, he’d be confident and sound sure of his feelings, you could feel it. 

“Okay,” you said, patting his shoulder. “That was good, but next time sound more sure of yourself, your reasons are perfectly valid, and if she’s as nice as you say she is, I’m sure she’ll understand. Again.”

[babbysquid]

Not A Whiskey Drinker

Author’s Note: Okay weeee I’m super excited about this. I’m really happy with how this first chapter turned out and I already have plans for future chapters. I am such a sucker for Whiskey and I can’t wait to write more.

Warnings: some slight cursing

Length: 1,934 words

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

For as much as you loved New York City, you absolutely hated its winters. Snow in the countryside was beautiful; white and fluffy, it stayed perfect for days on end. Snow in the concrete jungle however; wet, slushy, and turned disgusting in a matter of hours. Trudging your way through Central Park, the snow and salt crunching beneath your feet, you mind drifted. You had just been let go from you recent job, a personal assistant at a high end marketing office. Sighing to yourself and thinking about the possibility of moving back home your foot slipped. Before you could catch yourself you shut your eyes tight, preparing to land hard on your ass. But that smack never came. Opening one eye you were standing face to face with…

“A cowboy?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow at the man in front of you.

“In the flesh.” came the sweetest accent.

Opening your other eye you realized that the cowboy in front of you had snaked a hand around your waist. No wonder you hadn’t fallen. A beat passed and you realized the cowboy still had his arm around you. You stepped away and out of his hold.

“Thank you.” you said, giving an awkward cough and taking a closer look at you savior.

Not to be a cliché, but he was tall, dark, and handsome. Atop his head was a black Stetson, an odd sight in the middle of New York City. He had a perfectly trimmed mustache, and a small smirk underneath it. You silently thanked the cold for hiding the blush that crept up your face. The redness could easily be passed off as a flush from the biting wind.

“Anytime darlin’.” he said, shooting you a wink with eyes that you felt could swallow you whole. “Anyways, I best be on my way.”

Giving you a dazzling smile, he tipped the end of his hat with a gloved hand and brushed past you. You could’ve sworn that his hand grazed yours, but because of your thick mittens it was hard to tell.

Shivering slightly to yourself, you pulled your coat tighter around you and continued your walk to your apartment.

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

Unlocking your door and sighing to yourself you looked around your small studio apartment. It wasn’t much, but over the past year it had become your home. Shucking your jacket off you headed to the couch and sat down to pull off your shoes.

‘Guess I won’t be here much longer’ you thought to yourself.

After making yourself a steaming cup of tea you decided you may as well look at your email. Two days ago when you were told of your “dismissal” you had signed up for a couple different job search sites. If you were lucky enough maybe someone would offer you an interview, but your hopes were low.

You crossed your legs underneath you trying to generate as much heat as possible. As much as you loved your tiny apartment, it was an older building so the heating was shit to say the least. You clicked on the mail icon on your desktop and silently prayed to yourself. 10 new emails. Maybe there was hope.

10 Kale Dishes That’ll Be Sure To WOW Your Houseguests!

WARNING — WE HAVE DETECTED MALWARE

Most of the emails were similar to those: junk and spam, until your eyes landed on the last email.

RE: Y/N Y/L/N Job Opportunity FOUND!

Your eyes widened at the subject. Clicking on the email you realized that it wasn’t a scam, it had really come from one of the job search sites. Swallowing hard you hoped that it wasn’t just an offer from one of those salad making chain restaurants. You had your fair share of beginner jobs; barista, Subway, etc. After getting a taste of something more professional, you knew that that’s where you were meant to be. Besides, the pay that Starbucks gave was certainly not enough to live in New York City on your own.

Dear Ms. Y/L/N,

My name is Mr. Daniels and I am writing to inform you of opening at Statesmen Brewery, the New York City branch. I have been in search for a PA since my previous one left. After reading your resume I have become very interested in your skills and talents. Please let me know what days you are free in the coming week.

Jack Daniels

Head of Statesmen NYC Branch

You snorted at the sign off. There was no way someone’s real name was Jack Daniels and worked for a brewery. It was comedic to say the least, but there was no harm in responding to his email and getting an interview. Maybe this was your chance to stay in the city you loved, even if its winter was disgusting. Taking a sip of your tea you started to write out your response.

Mr. Daniels,

Thank you so much for your offer. I am very interested in an interview and am free Monday all day. Please let me know what time is best for you. Is there anything specific I should bring besides a printout of my resume and documents?

Thank you for your consideration,

Y/N Y/L/N

It was currently Friday so you had the whole weekend to prep yourself for the interview. If you were honest, the idea of an interview created a small pit in your stomach. It had been over a year since you’d been interviewed for a job.

May as well do some research on Statesmen.

Pulling open a new browser you typed in ‘Statesmen Brewery’ and clicked on their website. Clearly the company had some tech savvy people working for them as their website was modern and easy to navigate.

Statesmen Brewery has been brewing fine whiskey since 1885 and serving people all across the country and world.

No wonder you never heard of the company, you had never been big on whiskey.

The brewery had its start in a small barn in Kentucky and has since expanded to include two offices in New York, New York and Los Angeles, California. While our reach is wide, we consider every employee and consumer of our alcohol a close family member.

The rest of the front page went on to describe their whiskey and how smooth it was, as well as some fun facts about the company. You closed your laptop and picked up your tea, holding it close to your face and letting go of the tension in your shoulders that you didn’t realize was there. Before you could fully relax you heard your phone buzz on the couch cushion next to you.

It was your best friend Parker. When you first moved to NYC you decided to visit a small bookstore/coffee shop and accidentally grabbed the wrong drink. Turns out that drink belonged to Parker. She had come to the coffee shop to work on a script for an up and coming TV show that was set to be filmed in the city. The two of you became fast friends. You were slightly jealous of the girl as she really had landed her dream job.

Opening the text she had sent it was a photo of her holding a script she had written. Her round face was pulled up into a smile, her auburn hair slightly frizzed from what seemed to be an all nighter. You smiled at the photo and read the text that followed.

Guess who just finished her first script for SVU!

Quickly you typed out a response:

Congrats! Proud of you P. I have some good news too. Landed an interview with a fancy brewery.

Suddenly your phone buzzed nonstop, Parker was calling you.

You pressed the button to answer the phone and before you could say anything a scream hit your ears.

“AHHHHHH I’M SO EXCITED FOR YOU!!!!!”

“Haha, thanks Parker. Honestly I’m a bit nervous. I did some research and the company seems to be a pretty big deal.”

“What’s the company?”

“Statesmen Brewery.”

“Oh shit my parents love their stuff.”

“I literally know nothing about whiskey other than the fact that I don’t like it. I feel stressed. The interview is on Monday.”

“I’ll come over tomorrow and help you with prep. Also you know I gotta help pick out the perfect interview outfit.”

“Thanks babe. You’re the best.”

“I know.”

You snorted at her response. Parker was confident, and more importantly confident in you. The thought of having her help you prep eased the knot in your stomach.

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

The rest of the afternoon was spent talking to Parker over the phone. Eventually the two of you ended your call and you were left to do some random chores around your place. As you mopped the floor you slipped a bit but caught yourself before you fell over. Your mind flashed back to earlier in the day.

At the time you didn’t realize how strong the cowboy’s grip was, but it was not overpowering. You remembered how gentlemanly he was. Looking back on it you tried to remember his face. While it was a short interaction, you couldn’t deny that he was easy on the eyes. Sighing softly you tried to remember the last time you went on a date. It had been several months ago. Your busy PA job never really allowed for romantic relationships. Shaking your head you got on with your day, finishing your chores, eating some leftover Chinese food for dinner, and sinking deep into your bed.

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

You were awoken by a knock on your door. Grunting as you got out of bed you swung open the door. The only person who would bother to come over without letting you know was Parker. Your suspicions were correct as she walked through the threshold and made herself at home, talking a mile a minute the entire time.

“Okay so first we need to talk about clothing options.” she said dumping her bag on your couch.

“Not prepping for the interview?” you said giving her a confused look.

Parker sighed.

“Look, I already know you have this interview in the bag. Sure, you may not like whiskey, but you are a wonderful person. While you may be stubborn” you frowned at her comment, “that can be super helpful in interviews. You are a go getting Y/N. I have no doubts about that.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Fashion show time!” she said, opening the small closet and rummaging around to find something suitable.

After an hour had passed the two of you finally settled on a suitable outfit. It was professional but still had a touch of you in it. A simple black skirt with a fun silky button down shirt that had a cool pattern on it. As you looked at yourself in the mirror you couldn’t deny that Parker knew what she was doing when it came to fashion.

“Okay finishing touch time.” she said as she unbuttoned the top two buttons of your shirt.

“Parker! This is a job interview, not a date.”

“Ugh. It’s a brewery, they’re gonna be more relaxed about these things. Plus you never know, this Jack Daniels could be a cutie.” she said, giving you a wink.

You chuckled and shook your head. Parker was eccentric but you really did love her. You still had a small bit of anxiety running through your body, but the help of your best friend made you feel more positive about Monday. Maybe you’d be able to stay in New York. Maybe this job might be better than the previous.

[marrys-dream-world]

if we’re bound to be something, why not together? (chapter 11)

Read on AO3

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Notes:  Double update to cheer up a bit! This chapter turned out much longer than I thought it would be, almost double the size of other chapters. No content warning, just fluff! The song "Blueming" by IU, I think this fits this chapter a lot so if you want a song to listen while you read, it's that! Day 11: Voice Mail/Phone calls. @ladynoirjuly

After their last patrol, Ladybug sent Chat Noir a link through their communicators.

[Download this!!] She sent along with it, eagerly waiting for him. 

[As my lady commands : D] He sent back almost immediately. 

That talk had been a bit of an eye-opener to Marinette. She was getting to know Chat Noir more and more each day and she treasured every bit of information she got, jealousy holding it close to chest, hesitating to write it even in her diary. He was a quiet student during class, he had a friend whose name was definitely not Sallie (ugh), his father was distant, his mother and mother-figure were out of reach. He was lonely. All this information was worrying, just not as much as what she learned that night. At that moment, with him shaking in her arms, she made a decision.

Being there for him just as Ladybug wasn't going to cut it anymore. 

This idea wasn't anything new, she had been playing with it in her mind for a while now. So when she sent him a chat room code through her communicator with other instructions and detransformed, she was fairly confident it would work. Picking up her phone, she smiles as she saw that there was already a message.

CN

My lady!! <3 <3 <3

LB

down, Chaton. :)

CN

I'm just mdlaomqnahsbsk

Is it okay, though? Talking like this?

LB

yeah, i've been testing this app with RR and it's fine, there's no way we'll leak our numbers or anything like that to each other. don't worry ;)

CN

This app is to warn each other about attacks and schedule meetings? Are you going to add RR to the chat?

LB

nah, i'll just make one for the 3 of us. this is one for us to talk and stuff, doesn't need to be about job things.  

The "CN is typing…" kept it's place on the screen for enough time for her to start getting worried. 

CN

You don't need to force yourself for my sake, bug. I don't want to bother you. 

Marinette thought about making a joke. The situation, however, didn't seem right for it. 

LB

you never bother me.

His response came almost immediately.

CN

You never texted me before.

LB

guess i'll have to learn what's the maximum amount of cat memes a person can humanely send per day

CN

Is that a challenge, my lady?

LB

;) ;) ;)

just remember to not blow up my phone, we have class

CN

I'll use my powers for good, don't worry : D

Marinette smiled and put down her phone, fixing up her bag for the next day on the chance (certainty) that she would wake up late the next day. When she picked the phone up again, there was a single text:

LB

Thank you, bug. Good night. 

He was absolutely unstoppable after that. Next morning, as she was brushing her teeth, her cell phone pinged with the telling sound from the app and she smiled as she opened the app on her phone. 

CN

Look, look, we can change each other's names.

LB

good to know

You changed "CN" 's name to "Chat-terbox"

Chat-terbox

You know me so well. Soulmates.

Chat-terbox changed your name to "lady of my heart"

lady of my heart

yeah, i should have seen that coming, that's on me. 

oh yeah, gm

Chat-terbox

Good morning <3 <3 <3

Are you in class already?

Marinette froze in place, eyes snapping to the clock. There was only ten minutes before the class started. She bolted, barely noticing if she had on the right shoes or if her jacket matched her pants. So much for being an aspiring designer. Marinette blurred past the kitchen, taking a croissant and a banana and cramming them into her mouth as she ran. She made it to the classroom in the middle of the roll call, not even stopping by the lockers.

“Thanks for joining us, Marinette.” Ms. Bustier said dryly. “Please take a seat.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” She answered, out of breath. Sitting down, she took out her tablet and noticed another message making her phone screen glow. 

Chat-terbox

Is everything okay?

lady of my heart

i made it late in class but the teacher let me in hehehe

i think she's used to it *forehead sweatdrop emoji*

Chat-terbox

Hahaha a friend of mine just did the same thing, you two are twins 

lady of my heart

let me guess… Sallie *eyeroll emoji*

Chat-terbox

I mean, yeah, but why the eyeroll???

lady of my heart

you just talk too much about her, don't you think

Chat-terbox

You sound just like Plagg.

lady of my heart

maybe bc we're right

Chat-terbox

Why does that bother you? Jealous? *eyes emoji*

lady of my heart

as if *kicks u*

Chat-terbox

You kick your partner? You kick his body like the football? Oh! Oh! Jail for my lady! Jail for my lady for One Thousand Years!

lady of my heart

since my fate is already decided *kicks u again*

Chat-terbox

Nooooooooo

A giggle escaped her mouth.

"Marinette?" Ms. Bustier raised an eyebrow. "Something you want to share with the class?"

"N-no, ma'am." She answered, face heating up. Marinette quietly put her phone away, ignoring Alya's prying eyes. 

She only opened the app again during the break between classes, moving away from a curious Alya to hang by Kim and Alíx. 

Chat-terbox

I'll assume you're actually paying attention to class, which is great. You probably need it to make up all those crazy plans ;)

SM beaten by ninth grade physics 

Hey, boo, did you see this one SM identity theory video making rounds on the internet?

Marinette frowned.

lady of my heart

there's nothing new on the ladyblog

Chat-terbox

Oh, it's not on the Ladyblog, here 

She opened the video as quickly as she could before Ms. Bustier came back, only from the sound to make Kim and Alíx burst out into laughter.

lady of my heart

i opened it in my class I hate u so muuuuuch ughhhhhh

Chat-terbox 

C'mon, boo, it was funny

lady of my heart

>: (

Chat-terbox

: 3

This time, she willingly put her phone away. 

On the next break, she tried to ignore the pinging from her phone. However, curiosity killed the cat(‘s lady).

Chat-terbox

Please don't be mad, my lady, I have written you a lengthy apology to make up for sins

File attachment: apology letter for my beloved.doc

lady of my heart

if it's another rickroll i swear to god i'll END you

Chat-terbox

You can see it's not a video, it's safe to open

Scout's honor

lady of my heart

u were never a scout

Chat-terbox

I could be!!

Please read <3

Sighing deeply, she clicked on the document. He would never shut up if she didn't. It read as:

l would like to offer my sincerest According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway because bees don't care what humans think is impossible…

She clicked back

Chat-terbox

Did you like it? :3

lady of my heart

…

blocked

Chat-terbox

Boo, noooooooo

After that, Marinette didn’t open the app again no matter how much her phone pinged. She wasn’t mad, not really, just a bit annoyed. Before lunch ended, she would read and answer. But now, she was stuck watching Alya and Nino play Super Penguino and make moon eyes at each other. Adrien wasn’t allowed to join them, as much as he begged his father, and she was feeling pretty bummed about that. She poked around her chicken pasta when she heard her phone playing a familiar song.

kore nani kore nani korenanikorenanikorenanikorenani-

Chat Noir!

"Is everything okay?" Marinette asked as soon as she picked up the phone. Alya and Nino, noticing her worried tone, paused their game to look at her. 

"You picked up!" Chat Noir said, cheery. "I thought you blocked me."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Is there actually something wrong? I'll hang up "

"No, wait!" He yelped. "There's nothing wrong, I just wanted to talk. Are you busy?"

Marinette looked over at Nino and Alya, who were still watching her expectantly. She smiles reassuringly and waved them away, furtively signaling to Alya that it was Chat Noir on the phone. Her friend nodded and bumped her shoulder on Nino's. 

"C'mon, babe, let Marinette talk to her 'friend' by herself." Alya said, leering. 

"Why did you say it like that?" Nino asked, confused. Then, his eyes lit up. "Is it Adrien? Tell him I said hi!"

"No!" Marinette shouted, gaining weird stares from the other patrons.

"No, you aren't busy?" Chat Noir asked on the phone.

"No, it's not Adrien, or no, you won't tell him I said hi?" Nino asked. 

"It's another friend." She said hurriedly before focusing on the phone. "I can talk now, not that busy."

"If you're with your friends, it's okay." He said, rather meekly for her chaton.

"I'm just third-wheeling." Marinette said as Alya and Nino began another round of Super Penguins. "Why did you call? Aren't you having lunch now?"

Chat Noir chuckled humorlessly. "Yeah, I'm having lunch at home and I'm all alone, so I thought I could give you a call. Is that too much?"

"No, it's fine." She reassured. "Why are you alone? What about your siblings?"

"What siblings?" He asked, genuinely confused. 

"Uh… the siblings I assumed you had for some reason." She said awkwardly, noticing how out there she sounded the more she spoke. 

"Really? You thought I had siblings? Why?"

"Because you're just like an annoying little brother." She said teasingly, a complete lie.

Chat Noir struck her as a mischievous, but supportive older brother. The kind that sneaked you treats after midnight and comforted you after failing a math test. Not like she could tell him that, though. If he was a little brother, it would be to a stressed older sister that he admired a lot and that found him reliable in return. She dreamed about meeting them sometimes and now it seemed that they would truly stay dreams forever. 

"I would like an older brother or sister." He sighed longingly. "The closest I have is my cousin, but he lives in another country."

"Oh, sorry."

"No, it's better this way, we would kill each other if we lived together. Everyday I would have to check for poison in my breakfast."

"A true sibling dynamic."

"Yep."

"Hey, why aren't you having lunch with your friends then?" With Sallie, she wanted to tease, but held back for fear of sounding, as Tikki said, bitter. 

"My father would rather I have lunch at home." He said vaguely. "My friends did invite me to go with them to a café, but my father didn't like the idea. He only likes one of them, the rest he says are bad influences."

"Let me guess, the one he likes is Sallie?"

"I can hear you rolling your eyes, but yes."

"Well, if you ever get lonely at lunch, you can call me." Marinette said honestly. "I don't mind it."

"Thank you." Chat Noir said softly.

They spent the rest of lunch talking on the phone, even sending pictures of their food to each other (Chat's limp salad made her take a bunch of mental notes to take him some pastries next patrol). On the way to school, as she walked to the classroom, they kept talking. She could hear Chat getting on a vehicle (a bus?) and when he got to school, she was disappointed he had to hang up. After Marinette clicked the end call button, the first thing she noticed when she looked up was Alya's smug face and Nino's confused one. 

"Wow, does my bro have some competition, dude?" Nino said. "You spent the entire break talking."

"What? No, that was just a friend!"

"Yeah, a friend." Alya sing-songed, making her face heat up.

"Yeah." Marinette said firmly. "There's no competition for anything."

"Who's competing?" A sweet voice asked from behind her and she jumped.

"Adrien!" She shouted, scrambling. "N-nothing hehe."

"Dude!" Nino smiled. "How was your lunch?"

Adrien smiled, brightly. "The best I've ever had."

Marinette felt inclined to agree. 

[g0ldengubler]

chapter two~a mysterious night

(*i do not own this gif*)

A/N: aaaaaaa i know i know i went from a really long chapter to a filler, but at least y'all get some backstory to how Y/N feels and thinks! thank you guys so much for the love on chapter 1! it seriously means a lot :’) also, i’ve been asked about a taglist and that was the one note i completely forgot about. i’m unfamiliar with them so if someone could message me what taglists are and what its purpose is that would be amazing! don’t worry though, those who have asked about it will be put on once i get to it, just ask for your patience. ok, enjoy the next chapter :)

Category: fluff

CW: there’s a bit of smut in here and mentions of weed and hangovers, but other than that it’s just a pure fluffy filler :)

Word Count: 2065

before you read | last chapter | next chapter

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You woke up the next day feeling so/so. You didn't feel hungover because you were smart and had lots of water in between drinks, probably because your mouth would get dry whenever you got even more high. You look over to the other side of the couch and see Spencer, still asleep. He was hugging his book bag like he did on the jet when he took a nap. You quietly get out your phone and check up on anything you might've missed, which even though you had a lot of notifications from tweets and story updates, nothing was there for you to click on it quickly and check it out. You open your photos app and look at the pictures and short videos you took from last night. You always documented every party, every time you hung out with another human being, because those moments meant a lot to you. You didn't get them often in life.

You swipe along, remembering how the night ended. After Spencer got out of the bathroom, everything went back to normal, like that little thing he did never happened. You finished the game and then Garcia got up with Morgan and they started dancing to the music that was still playing. They invited everyone else to get up and dance, too and that you did.  You danced with Spencer, but not in a seductive way. You were both being goofy and doing stupid moves that made everyone else in the room question you. You were even showing him ones that people do online and he wasn't getting it at all because he doesn't use social media. It was so hilarious you almost peed your pants from laughing so hard. If this was a sober event would you laugh that much? Probably not, but you couldn't help it. Jj was passed out through the whole dance party and Emily eventually did as well, snuggling with her. When you looked over to see them, they were still in the same positions they were last night.

Garcia walks in with some tea and Advil. "Oh good, I had a feeling you'd be awake!" She whispered.

She hands you a very colorful mug with pink and purple tie dye pattern and unicorns all over it. You told her thank you and took the Advil. "Oooo, pumpkin spice my favorite!" you said after taking a sip. "I had a feeling," she said, "You give me fall vibes through and through."

"Are you sure you're not a profiler as well, Penelope?"

Garcia chuckled. "I mean, when you work with them for over a decade, some it rubs right onto you."

Slowly everyone else woke up and you helped Garcia handing out the aid. Spencer woke up last and as you handed him his Advil and tea, he spoke raspy, "I haven't had a headache like this in months."

"I'm sure you'll live." you said, roughing up his hair a bit more than it already was. You check the time and your phone and stood up quickly. "Hey, I'm sorry guys I know we were planning on going to breakfast but I feel more tired than I should so I think I'm gonna go take a nap at my place."

"I can give you a ride." said Spencer.

"Yeah, that'd be great, Thanks Spence!"

You say goodbye to everyone and thanked Garcia for a wonderful night. She promised that this night can happen again with the girls on Friday night and you were all in for it. You walked out with Spencer and got in his car and drove home. It was quiet at first. You kept looking over at him, thinking about last night, wanting more of his touch, even more than his touch. You needed him, but you knew that it probably won't happen again.

"So, you remember anything about last night?" you asked him, trying to be normal about it but you could feel yourself failing.

"I do actually," he said, "I never knew this about myself, but even as messed up as I was, my eidetic memory still worked."

You began to blush as your eyes grew a bit wide. So he remembers what we did then? You thought to yourself. You were silent again the rest of the way there. You were pretty close to your apartment when all of a sudden you felt a hand rest on your thigh. You look up to see it was Spencers, but you didn't flinch. You didn't want to be obvious and ruin everything. You stayed quiet until he spoke, "I also remember the fun we had in Garcia's room."

To your surprise, you were already back at your place. You went to the back to grab your bags and went to the passenger window. "Thank you again, Spence!"

"Anytime you did a ride, I'll be your chauffeur!"

You both smiled and you waved goodbye. You started walking to the front door when Spencer called out for you again. "Y/N wait!"

You turn around, confused as to what he was gonna say. You didn't think it would be...

"Call me when you wake up, I have something planned for us tonight if you're down."

A Couple Hours Later

"Spence, don't stop!"

He kept going, not going off beat as he made you scream for him. You could feel your stomach in knots. You were ready for him. You needed him inside you. He was making you scream, begging him for it. He gave you a dark smile. He was really enjoying the sight of you so helpless and being a little brat.

You could  tell he was close by his cock twitching.

"Spencer I'm close pleeeasseee!" you beg.

"Cum for me.  Be a good girl and cum for daddy." he growled.

It was building up and building up. You were ready....

*Ding Ding*

You wake up to your phone going off. How long had you been asleep. You slowly grab your phone and see that it was 3pm. Not too bad you guessed. You saw you had a couple of text messages from the BAU group chat, sharing the pictures from last night. You remembered what happened on the way home, yet you couldn't remember  the dream you just had. Shit, you said you'd call him.

You go to the group chat and click on his name to call. As it rings, you get nervous as to what he had in mind of doing.

"Hello?" (A/N: Think of that one audio on tik tok where he starts of with saying hello and then it goes to 'baby hotline' lol)

"Spence, hey! It's Y/N."

"Oh hey Y/N! I have something fun planned if you want to hang out tonight."

"What's that?"

He was quiet for a moment, then spoke again but sounded unsure of himself. "Now that I'm thinking about it, I'm not sure if you'd find it fun. It might be boring but um...would you want to get high and walk around DC?"

You thought for a moment. This wasn't a bad idea, but part of you was kind of surprised that he asked you. He could've asked Jj or Emily or Garcia since she was the one who gave you the pens. Why would he ask the newbie? Then you remembered that he said he remembered everything from last night...

"Sure," you said, "sounds fun! What time were you thinking?"

"Let's say 10pm? You know that park that's on Jefferson?"

"Yeah, I remember seeing it when I gave myself a little tour of the city."

"What?!" He sounded shocked, but he could've just been playful. Why would anyone be shocked at you? "You did a tour by yourself?"

"Well yeah silly, I gave myself a tour the day before my first!"

"Ok, that's it. Our walk around the city will now be an official tour and I'll be your official tour guide!"

You let out a little laugh. "Ok, "pretty boy", I'll take you up on that."

"Great! I'll see you there at 10!"

You said your goodbyes and hung up. Spencer sounded more confident than when you first met him. You thought that he would be the shy and awkward type that would take days, even weeks, to ask someone to even hang out with him, let alone go on a date. Wait, was this a date? No. A date would be like fancy dinner with expensive wine and then either going somewhere after that or back to either place and have sex. This was just two friends getting high and hanging out, you finally convinced yourself, Like anyone, even Spencer for that matter, would like you enough to take out on a date.

So now, you had 7 hours to not overthink and play in your head how you think this would go. This was the time to pretend like it was just something in your planner that you wrote down to do for the day. You wondered why you were so flustered and nervous to hang out with someone, acting like it was a date. Did that little scandalous event you had last night really affect you that much? You told yourself to snap out of it a few times before going into the kitchen to make yourself something to eat.

Once you had your food, you grabbed a beer and headed to the couch to continue rewatching Murder, She Wrote on Netflix. You didn't watch much tv, but when you do it's mostly crime shows, Rupaul's Drag Race, or old sitcoms like Golden Girls. Murder, She Wrote had always been your comfort show. It something you went to when having a bad day or you were nervous about something. Anything negative you felt, you turned on the show and think about living like Jessica when you retired. Moving to a small town on the east coast, writing stories and making friends with everyone. The more you thought about it, the more you realized that you wanted to be like Rossi, too.

And there you were, for 3 hours hours before you took the remaining four you had left to get ready.

10pm-Jefferson Park

You make your way into the park. It was chilly, dark, and peaceful, something you admired about the night. You had gotten ready before, but didn't do anything special. You wore your grandpa sweater with black mom jeans and your vans. Your makeup was your everyday, wings with a nude pink lip. You didn't dress so exciting because you were just hanging out with someone, so you didn't worry about it much. Sitting on a bench waiting, you start to play a game on your phone to take your mind off from running in circles. After ten minutes, you heard your name being called out. "Y/N?"

You look over to see Spencer, long hair and all. He wore a brown sweater with jeans and black converse. He almost looked like he was ready to head into the BAU at anytime, which you thought cute of his aesthetic. He came over by you, hands gripped to his book bag strap, smiling awkwardly but with a bit of excitement.

"Hey, Spence!" you said, waving at him. He just stood in front of you as you talked for a minute.

"Did you walk here?" He asked.

"Yeah," you said, "I live pretty close to here actually. Didn't realize that until tonight."

"Oh really? Me too! I just live half a block away."

You both awkwardly laughed and then went awkwardly silent until he said, "Um, I know a spot we could sit at before we start walking."

"Lead the way, Doctor!" you say as you get up.

He takes your hand in his and runs for a bit. You didn't know he was gonna drag you along, but you could tell that from that moment on, this was going to be a ride; A fun ride full of adventures.

[ot3tropetober]

Eliot and Hardison are travel journalists for rival publications who keep showing up in the same places 

Fic for this (~3500 words) is below the read more! Some notes: 

[backstory on why Hardison is writing these comes from this post]

[Eliot, Parker, and Hardison are all commenting on this document, think of it like the chat in Google drive? In-document comments from Eliot are italicized, from Hardison are in bold, and from Parker are plain text] 

By the time Will Coffey stepped off the plane in Dallas, all he wanted was a nice long shower and to sleep in his own bed for once. Being a travel journalist for a leading travel magazine had its perks– a month-long trip across Mexico, for example, all expenses paid or at least reimbursed – but after a month on the road he was dead tired and ready to be home. 

Is this supposed to be me? Why am I living in Dallas? 

Yes, and also, you don’t actually live in Dallas, Eliot, you live here, in Portland, with us. 

I know that, I just– you know what, never mind. 

Well, Will Coffey likes Dallas. 

I am Will Coffey!! 

That’s the spirit. 

The other thing about being on the road for a living was that sometimes it felt kinda lonely, and as relieved as he was to be home, the first couple of minutes after he walked in, turned on the lights, and looked around at an empty place, that was always a little bittersweet. But the only other person he’d really seen in any kind of serious capacity the whole time he’d had this gig was a fellow traveler who spent just as much time on the road as he did, so it just kinda was what it was. He set his keys and his bag down and headed to the kitchen for a beer, but he hadn’t even opened his fridge when his phone buzzed a couple times. It was a text from Sarah, his editor. He’d known her forever– they shared a couple classes in college. Now they shared the stress of managing a print publication in an increasingly digital world. 

“Did you see this?” she had written. There was a link in the next message. “How does this guy get this stuff up so fast?“ 

Will already knew what he was gonna find before he clicked the link, and sure enough, it directed him to a popular travel blog called The Travel Geek, which was a ridiculous name for a travel blog but people absolutely went wild for it. Will liked it too, not that he would ever really admit it, but that probably had more to do with the guy who ran it than anything else. They had…not a thing, exactly? It was hard to explain whatever was going on with Jeremy Edwards, who by rights Will should probably hate for stealing his stories and his audience. But the problem with that was mainly that the guy was so goddamn likeable. 

I’m guessing that’s you. 

You would be correct. 

You think I think you’re likeable? 

No, I know it. 

he is pretty likeable

Yeah, yeah. 

Will had met Jeremy a couple of years ago, right when he was just starting out with his blog. Jeremy said he’d been reading Will’s stuff for a while and would love some advice from a pro. It wasn’t like Will didn’t know it was a little bit of flattery, and it wasn’t like he didn’t know it was a little bit of flirting, either. It also wasn’t like Jeremy was bad to look at. So Will said sure, he’d be glad to, and they were in Belgium, so they shared some beers, ate fries from a baraque at one in the morning on a park bench, shoulders pressed together, while Will tipsily rhapsodized about gaufre de Liège while Jeremy laughed and laughed. 

I have never *rhapsodized* about anything in my damn life. 

Have you heard you talk about food? This is not a criticism. I could listen to that all day. 

Nothing really happened, in the end, just a good conversation and the promise to keep in touch. That turned out to be easier than it should have been, because they started covering the same damn things, all the time. One big world, and somehow they were always sharing part of it: Will was in India on a camel safari through the Thar Desert, and Jeremy was there, keeping Will up at night tappity tapping on his keyboard. Or Will was in Oatman, Arizona, for a piece on Route 66, and there was Jeremy, taking selfies with the wild burros roaming the streets of the town. Or Will was traveling around Japan, doing a feature on onsens, and Jeremy was there, too, acting like he wasn’t looking in Will’s direction while they sat, very naked, in the soothing hot water. It went on like that for a while until finally one night in Barcelona, in front of Sagrada Familia, he looked at Jeremy, tall and handsome in this absurd brightly patterned scarf, and said, “This is ridiculous, man,” and pulled him in for a long, lingering kiss. 

Do you honestly think it would have taken me that long? 

I don’t know, baby, it took your cowboy ass five years in real time, so Will’s doing a lot better than you. 

OoooooooOooo 

We had a lot goin on!!! And what is that supposed to be, parker? are you some kind of ghost? 

it made more sense in person 

I’ll take your word for it. 

It wasn’t a relationship, exactly. It was just something they did, sometimes, if they happened to run into each other on the road. It wasn’t like he was getting invited home for the holidays, or anything, and he was fine with that, really. The long and short of it was, they’d basically been circling each other for years now, professionally, personally, whatever, but the professional stuff was definitely getting in the way of anything else. Because Will would sit down and write out his long, detailed articles with carefully selected photographs that would look just right on the page, while Jeremy had already turned out quick blog entry after quick blog entry, listing off places people should visit with witty little one sentence summaries, and people just ate it right up with a spoon while Adventure., Will’s magazine, slowly saw its sales circling the drain. It stung a little. Maybe more than a little. It wasn’t like he could say the guy wasn’t working hard, but damn. Hell, the best selling issue they’d had in a couple years was the one where Sarah had masterminded a collaboration between Will and Jeremy. Blogging was definitely here to stay. 

That night in Belgium was five years ago, and at the time it seemed impossible that the internet would ever really fully overtake print. But bloggers and phones had both gotten smarter over the last five years, and now everyone wanted their news in little chunks that they could read on a screen during their commute, so travel blogs were the hot new thing. Will grimaced as he looked at the blog entries Jeremy already had up from Mexico, where they’d run into each other at least half a dozen times. 

Five Reasons You Need to Visit Mexico City Right Now; What You’re Missing Because You’re Not in Monterrey; Everything You Wanted to Know About Agave But Were Too Afraid to Ask 

“You gotta be kidding me with this,” he muttered, staring at his phone and thinking about the half-written article he had saved on his laptop detailing the history of agave and how to experience Jalisco as more than just the birthplace of tequila. 

He pulled up Sarah’s number and dialed. 

“I don’t know how we can compete with this,” he sighed, when she picked up. 

“We’re going to have to adapt,” she said. “You know that. I can hear you making a face." 

"I don’t want to blog,” he complained. “I like print." 

"I know,” she sighed. “I’m working on it. Anyway, I’m glad you called, I was going to call you. I need you to go to Italy. Flight leaves tomorrow." 

"No way. Not interested,” he told her. “I just got back to my apartment, Sarah, I’ve been in Mexico for a month. I’m beat." 

"It’s not my fault that you spend half your time on extracurricular activities,” she teased. 

“You can just say sex,” he said. “I won’t be offended. And it’s not half my time. Like, maybe twenty-five percent. Anyway, I get the job done." 

"Yeah, and you’re very good at it, which is why I need you to go to Italy,” she said. 

“I’m not saying yes,” he told her, “and I’m not interested. But what’s in Italy that’s so important for me to get to?" 

"You’ll love this one,” Sarah promised. “It’s a food festival." 

Okay, maybe he was a little interested. "Oh?”

“Yeah,” she said. His phone buzzed in his ear. “I just emailed you the details. Including your flight info." 

"Dammit, Sarah–" 

"Oops, emergency, the printer’s on fire, gotta go!” she chirped, and the line disconnected. 

Yeah okay that’s Parker huh

Yep!

I do know y'all a little bit. 

“Dammit,” Will said again, and opened Sarah’s email to read up on his next destination. 

+ 

The food festival turned out to be a week long international celebration of local food from around the world. It only happened once every few years in October, when a world of people descended on the city of Torino, and more specifically the park by the River Po, where they set up tents and stands and served pretty much every kind of food you could imagine, and Will loved food and could imagine a lot, so that was saying something. It was pretty cool, seeing all these people from all over the planet showing off food that was important to them, sharing it with strangers. It really was the whole planet, too, the way the park was set up you could walk through a continent at a time, with all the countries on it represented at their own space. He figured he’d pay his respects to the hosts first and start with Italy, which was definitely the largest section. Halfway through the displays he found a stall with some folks from Campania selling fresh mozzarella di bufala the size of his fist for a Euro. It was speared on a stick like a candy apple so he could walk around with it, nibbling on the sweet cheese as he checked out the festival’s other offerings. Aged cheeses covered in mud and straw from a little town in France. A swanky tent with wood plank floors where the Filipino agriculture offices had a set up with big displays dedicated to traditional food and heirloom crops. Six different kinds of wild rice were layered in a glass display bottle in the booth dedicated to Indigenous agriculture in North America. There were folks from the Yucatan peninsula displaying cured meats and wild honey. There was a whole series of displays about preserving, protecting, and raising Maasai red sheep, from Kenya. The whole event was really impressive, actually, and even though his body had no idea what time zone he was in, he didn’t feel too tired– although that might have been more because he’d been downing every cup of coffee from anyone selling it. 

Okay, this actually sounds pretty cool. But now you gotta fake a whole food festival like this if we ever use these aliases. 

I don’t have to. That’s a real thing. Happens every couple of years. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go to the next one. Parker can probably find us a job after, anyway. 

I’d love– like that. 

Hardison. HARDISON.

Why isn’t this deleting the things I tell it to delete??? 

Ooh, forgot to tell y'all, this chat records your keystrokes? You know. Just in case you happen to type something sappy about how much you love me, and then delete it before you send it in the chat. Pretty much exactly what just happened. 

Dammit Hardison I’m gonna delete YOU

Baby, that doesn’t even make any sense. 

im w hardison on this 1. it’s ok if u love things eliot. especially food . or us 

Just let me finish reading Hardison’s make believe story so I can get back to dinner prep, ok? 

(he loves us) 

I know :) 

Will strolled around the park, snapping photos here and there, jotting down notes. He talked to folks from all over who came here to run their country’s booths, locals who had come out to enjoy the day, and people who had traveled long distances to be there. After a couple of hours and a really good lunch, he found an unoccupied bench near the river and posted up there for a while, notebook open next to him as he flipped through photos on his phone, the story he could tell about this event already starting to take shape in his head, and he had to admit, at least to himself, that Sarah had been right about this one. Nobody else on their staff knew food enough to get this right. But even though he had a good idea where to start, he couldn’t help feeling a little overwhelmed, too. You could spend two weeks here and still not talk to everybody, and it seemed important to try, somehow. 

“Well, well, well,” said a voice, and Will looked up from his phone and his notes to see the tall form of none other than Jeremy Edwards. 

“Dammit, Edwards,” Will swore. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. Again?" 

Yeah it’s pretty much EXACTLY like that every time

Mmmhmm. You talk a big game, man, but no one here believes you. 

What he said ur like that stuff u put on the dessert u made 4 us last wk

Stuff on dessert– the Italian meringue? You really comparing me to Italian meringue?! 

Is that the stuff that was kinda hard and crunchy on the outside but actually really soft and sweet inside? 

Yep that’s the stuff

This is the worst conversation we’ve ever had. 

It’s weird how I can hear you smiling right now, though.

Shut up, Hardison, I’m reading.  

Got him! XD 

"Looks like it,” Jeremy said. He took a seat next to Will on the bench, despite the fact that Will had absolutely not fucking offered it to him. He grinned. Will looked back at his notes before he smiled back. “We’ve really gotta stop meeting like this." 

"Yeah, well, trust me, I’m working on it,” Will grumbled, and risked a look at Jeremy again. Still handsome, and still smiling, unfortunately. He thought about the blog a little and made himself frown. “So, you’re here to blog about this, huh? How many blog posts have you done already?" 

"None so far,” Jeremy said, scratching his chin, “but I am working on one right now. Tentative title, How to Tell The Guy You’re Casually Seeing And Have Been Chasing All Over the Globe That His Boss Sent Me Here To Work With Him." 

Well, there was a lot of information there, but Will decided maybe sticking with the professional stuff was better for now. "I’m sorry, you’re here for what?" 

Jeremy shrugged. "Sarah really liked that collaboration thing she got us to do last year, I guess, wanted to try it again for this. I said yes. It’s good for your magazine and it gives my blog some credibility with all you snooty print folks." 

"We’re not snooty,” Will said, although that wasn’t exactly true. Maybe they were, a little. He unlocked his phone and saw the email from Sarah, the subject line of which read: “DON’T ARGUE IT WILL BE GOOD FOR YOU/US/THE MAGAZINE.” He sighed and looked back at Jeremy. “I can’t believe she sent you to a food thing." 

"I’m offended,” Jeremy said, although it didn’t much sound like it. “I know food." 

"Oh really? So last year when we were in Beijing and you were looking for a McDonald’s that was just you knowing food, huh,” Will drawled.

“Sometimes you just really want a Happy Meal,” Jeremy joked, and Will just shook his head.

“I guess we should figure out what we’re doing, then,” he said, and Jeremy raised his eyebrows. 

“About the story,” he said, “right?" 

"Yeah, about the story,” Will grumbled. 

“Whatever you say,” Jeremy said affably, just like always. 

+

It was actually pretty easy to figure out how to cover the festival now that he had a partner in crime. They worked out a plan that afternoon, sketched out a couple of pieces, a collab for Adventure., a short guest piece for Will on The Travel Geek, and a short story in the magazine for Jeremy. Sarah signed off on everything from afar– “What time is it where she is? Does that woman ever sleep?” Jeremy asked, as they both got email after email. “I don’t think she does, man,” Will laughed– and they got to work pretty quick. There was plenty to do and they were both here for a few days, so they wandered through the park as they worked, stopping occasionally to sample food or take photos.  Eventually they walked all the way out of the park and into the city, up to a big plaza, Piazza Castello, in the center of the historic part of town. They got gelato from one of the many carts set up nearby for the festival, and sat outside, eating and talking as the sun set. 

It was nice. It was always nice, when they ran into each other. That wasn’t the problem. But they’d been stuck in the same routine for years now: they’d find themselves in the same place, Jeremy would laugh, Will would pretend he was annoyed, and then they’d spend a good chunk of their time together enjoying each other’s company in as many ways as they could find, and then they’d head to the airport and go their separate ways. And that was that. This shouldn’t be any different, but somehow it was. Maybe it was the sunset lighting up Jeremy’s skin, or maybe he’d just been lonely too long, but maybe they needed to figure out what they were doing with more than just the stories they were here to tell. 

“You wanna get dinner?” Will said, before he could talk himself out of it. 

“Yeah,” Jeremy said, smiling again, and this time Will let himself smile back. Just a little.  

They asked around for recommendations and ended up at a little restaurant in the city, a few blocks from the Piazza. They split a bottle of wine, a margherita pizza, and some perfectly fried fish, and they didn’t really talk about work at all. 

“You know,” Jeremy said, about halfway through the wine, “not for nothing, but I’ve gotta say, this looks and feels a lot like a date." 

"I wasn’t under the impression that you’d be opposed to that,” Will said.

“Oh, I’m not opposed,” Jeremy told him, “I’m just a little surprised you’re asking. I figured at this point it was gonna have to be me who said something." 

Will eyed him carefully, thought back to a lot of nights on a lot of trips. "How long exactly have you been waiting around?" 

"I mean, don’t get the wrong idea, here, I haven’t been pining away for you like some Victorian in a bad novel,” Jeremy said, and Will snorted. “But yeah. I played a long game, man. I gotta say, though, after that fishing boat incident in Guyana I really thought you figured out we had a thing." 

"Yeah, well, I didn’t have time to notice, I was too busy taking pictures of you hiding behind that skinny British guy when that big old fish jumped out of the water,” Will snickered. 

“Big old– that thing was two-hundred and thirty-four pounds of ichthyological torpedo headed straight for yours truly,” Jeremy said, and Will chuckled. “Big doesn’t really describe it.”

“Hmm. It was kinda wild he thought we were gonna get in the water with it,” Will mused.  He winked. “Glad you finally remembered you owed me dinner for keeping him from pushing us into the river." 

"Ha. You know Sarah wants us to work with that guy again, right?" 

"Aw, hell,” Will said. “Really?" 

"Yeah,” Jeremy confirmed. “She said she was gonna talk to you about it when we got back from this. Canada this time, so when Mister Fisherman tries to throw me in the water at least the hypothermia will probably get me before the monster fish does." 

"Nah,” Will said. “Don’t worry about that. Nobody throws you off a fishing boat. Except maybe me. No. Well. Maybe. No,” he concluded. 

Hah. I mean, okay, that does sound like me. 

Oh, I am aware, trust me. 

“Sarah maybe also mentioned we might do a few more of these little…collaborative things,” Jeremy said, drawing invisible circles on the table. “Maybe even in a more formal capacity." 

Will raised his eyebrows. "No way she talked you into giving up the blog." 

"Oh, definitely not,” Jeremy said. “But funnily enough, people keep sending me emails about wanting a print version of some of my photographs? But I don’t really have the publishing connections. A magazine, though…” he shrugged. “Me and Sarah figured we might come to some kind of mutually beneficial arrangement, somehow. Might be seeing more of you, is what I’m trying to say." 

"Can’t say I mind that,” Will said, and reached out across the table to cover Jeremy’s hand with his. 

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Jeremy answered, and this time Will didn’t try to hide his smile. 

/end 

Okay? 

Okay, what? 

Well where the hell is the rest of it? 

What rest of it? It’s clearly implied that they’re dating now. They’re dating, they’re happy, they’re gonna work together for real, happily ever after, et cetera. 

they should have at least kissed. i would be into that 

This is what I’m saying. Where’s the resolution, here? 

Baby, anytime you want a kiss, you know where to find me. 

What I want is for you to take this seriously since you’re making us read all of it. 

Wow, okay. Here: 

They walked around the city for a long time after dinner, still holding hands, and the kiss they shared later under the moonlight felt like a promise. The Actual End. 

Y'all happy? 

too sappy 4 me but idk what eliot thinks

Not your best work but it’ll do, I guess. 

Are you still in the kitchen? 

Yeah, why? 

I’m gonna come give you a demonstration of my best work, that’s why. 

Bring it on, man. 

do i get a demo too

You know it.

[jadekitty777]

I'm curious about four of them and am finding it hard to choose between them, so I'll let you pick.

"To Qrow Branwen"

"Fairy AU"

"Stormy Night"

"Brownies"

sdjdghd! Why not all of them?

Well, okay actually Fairy AU is Not Your Ordinary Tinkerbell - the FG Dark Fairy AU. That one already has it’s first chapter posted up! I’ll give you the rest though. To Qrow Branwen

This is a high school-style love story in which Qrow is getting anonymous love letters in his locker - one for every day leading up to Valentine’s day.

Snippet: 

Qrow slammed his locker shut, hastily shoving the note between the pages of his math textbook as he glanced up and down the hall. But no one was comically staring too hard to gauge his reaction or poised with a film camera to document the hilarity of their hoax. He strode down the rows of lockers, beelining for the science classroom he and his friends had made their hangout spot before first period.

Professor Ironwood was writing out the day’s lesson on the whiteboard, sparing him a glance. “Good morning Qrow.”

“Morning.” He mumbled, hurrying for the back of the classroom.

As usual, he was the last to arrive. Bart was already three-quarters through his daily triple-shot espresso, jabbering on about some documentary he’d been watching the night before. Despite having his head pillowed into his arms, Oz seemed to be listening. Summer and Tai were sharing a plate of French toast sticks one of them had picked up from the school cafeteria.

Tai offered him one when he sat down in the empty seat beside him. When Qrow waved off the offer, he shoved the whole thing in his mouth, saying around it, “Ye’lright?”

“Dude. Someone’s messing with me.” Qrow wasn’t sure if the feeling in his stomach could really qualify as butterflies. They felt more like bees, swarming and stinging.

At least Tai swallowed first this time. “What?”

He pulled out the letter, pushing it across the table. As Tai lent closer to read it, Summer practically draping over him to get a look herself, he mumbled, “It was in my locker this morning.”

~~~

Putting the rest under a cut for length

One Stormy Night

This is... admittedly, one of my darker stories that will probably not see the light of day. I won’t go into details, but it’s a modern-day Taiqrow story, in which on one of his weekly visits to his boyfriend, Qrow realizes Tai’s behavior has changed drastically, seemingly overnight. The night of a storm... Snippet:

The weather was gloomy and damp, the sky heavy with pale grey clouds. It was clear the damage was already done, the rain leaving the streets precarious with oil-slickened puddles and the trees evenly spaced along the sidewalk having greedily sucked in their fill, displaying a healthy green hue. Qrow stepped out of his car, getting hit immediately by the lingering briskness tempering the normally intolerable humidity Boston had to offer. He was all too happy to welcome the arrival of autumn, looking forward to walks through the Public Garden with Tai and getting drinks afterwards at their favorite little hole-in-the-wall café that served the best seasonal teas.

He checked his phone as he rounded his car, seeing there was still no response to the multiple texts he’d sent his boyfriend. As he hit the call button, he peered up towards the second-floor apartment, the one occupant with the yellow curtains standing out amongst the rest. A little bright spot in a surrounding sea of blacks, blues and browns.

There wasn’t even a ring as the voicemail kicked on. “Hey, you reached Taiyang. Sorry, I missed your call but I must be a little Tai-ed up right now. Leave a-”

He ended the call before it could finish. Oh, he couldn’t wait to give it to Tai for being the one to forget to charge his phone for once. Two whole years of hearing nothing but ‘Qrow, you need to be more responsible.’ and ‘What if there’s an emergency and I need to reach you?’ and ‘What if I’m on Who Wants to be a Millionaire and you’re my lifeline and I lose because you won’t charge your stupid phone!’, finally, the tables had turned.

Qrow pulled open the passenger door to fetch the bag of take-out, all the while pondering over the possibilities of what he could say. He had to make sure it was a good one; there was no telling when he’d get this chance again. Maybe get him with his own humor? Like a pun? ‘Guess I’ll see you text fall?’

Nah, it was so dumb Tai would be too busy laughing over it.

~~~

Brownies

Another story that may never get finished. Another modern day Taiqrow story! God I got a lot of these xD The story premise here is Taiyang recently got out of a relationship and needs a place to live. Heartbroken, he turns to Qrow who can’t just leave his best friend out in the cold. Things develop from there.

The reason I named that one brownies is because... well...

Snippet:

Qrow hurried around the couch. Sure enough, Tai had a large bowl in his lap. Inside were streaks of the remaining brownie mix, the God of all baking mixes to eat uncooked.

Tai turned to him, amusement dancing in his eyes. He licked the spoon with deliberate slowness. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah.” He said, sitting down and sliding in close. “Give me some.”

“No way.” Tai said, getting another spoonful. “I bought it. I made it. It’s all for me.”

The challenge was made.

Their gazes met.

Tai tightened his grip on the spoon.

Inch by inch, he rose it to his mouth.

Mere centimeters before he could eat it, Qrow sprung. He clutched onto his arm, grabbing wildly for the bowl.

“No!” Tai yelped, yanking the bowl away, practically pulling Qrow with him so he could toss it onto the corner of the table. It hit loudly, rotating on its bottom, before safely settling.

The distraction was enough though, because Qrow managed to shove Tai down onto the couch, using his better leverage to wrestle his arm close. His tongue flicked along the back of the spoon. He yelled in triumph, “I licked it! It’s mine!”

“Nope.” Tai rejected, snatching it with his now free hand and cramming the whole thing in his mouth. He was grinning.

“Cheater!!”

“You child.” His words distorted around the spoon.

Qrow glared at him, before setting his sights on the bowl. Innocent, alone – and his for the taking!

He sprung again.

He heard the noise of denial just as muscled arms enclosed around him as firmly as a bear trap, before flipping them around until Qrow was pinned sideways, trapped between Tai’s body and the couch cushions. His arms slid from around him. Hands pressed firmly against his sides.

Then Tai attacked him with his greatest weapon of all.

Merciless tickling. 

[if-found-return-to-gusu]

Drunken Shenanigans

(First off, sorry that this isn’t broken up into parts. I don’t know. Maybe you guys prefer it in one long chunk anyway? Well whatever. I’m too lazy RN but let me know your preference maybe for future stories? Cuz like. Y’all know how long winded I am.)

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

FUCK OKAY JUST

FUCKING DO IT WEI YING

ENOUGH PUTTING OFF THINGS.

I want to tell things in order. Or as close as I can remember. But I’m gonna be honest. The fire fucked me up. And I know that each story brings me closer to having to talk about it. 

But I think I have to talk about it. 

So

Let’s see. Drunk Lan Zhan. 

I WANT to talk about that because in retrospect it was fucking hilarous. 

But I haven’t been able to because I’m just all sorts of fucked up right now. 

But I think a way to get me less fucked up is to just start unwinding the pieces.

And honestly, writing helped before so I think it’ll help now. 

It’s just that starting has been difficult. 

So I’m just gonna rip off the bandage. 

I’m just gonna start. 

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

So it was Friday. Fuck. Already a month ago?? Jesus I’m late. 

Okay A month ago today. Friday. 

Let me gather my thoughts. 

What was I doing? I think I was at home. Doesn’t really matter. 

I got a text from Lan Zhan. Not completely unusual, but I knew he’d had plans to meet his family earlier. I think I was surprised that he was texting me so early in the evening? I remember expecting to hear from him later..

Er.. no wait I think I was going to text him around 9. To at least check in on him and wish him a good night. But he texted me first. 

I’m scrolling back through my phone. What exactly did he text? I know it was like… wrong right away.

Oh yeah. It was my name 3 times in a row. Or almost. The first two times were mistyped. And then after he got it right he apologized for the misspellings. 

I asked him what was wrong and…. String of martini glass emojis? Oh man he was GONE already wasn’t he?

SO obviously I booked it over there. Remember going through a few different apps to figure out which company would get me there the fastest because I sure as shit wasn’t gonna leave him there alone.

Looking back maybe I should have called someone else? His brother could have gotten there faster. I think I didn’t want him to worry. I figured if this was the state that Lan Zhan was in after meeting with his uncle, then Lan Xichen probably wasn’t in the best state either. 

I should have checked up on him too but I didn’t. I was too worried about Lan Zhan. 

I really should have checked in on him.

Maybe it’s not too late? Who takes care of Lan Xichen when Lan Zhan is fucked up? 

Okay that’s not right. Fucked up isn’t right. Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan has issues, I know he does. After all he is, surprisingly enough, still human. But he manages them so much better than I do. 

I’m fucked up. Not him. 

So let’s rephrase. Who helps Lan Xichen when his little brother is also upset? I know he was, is?, dating Jin GuangYao? Though he doesn’t talk about it much. I’ve met the man in passing a couple times. Doesn’t seem the most comforting.

Though I guess there’s DaGe too. I remember he took pretty good care of him at my birthday. 

Is it wrong to want to make Lan Xichen split up with Jin Guangyao so that I can set him up with DaGe? I just think they’d be cute together. 

Ah not that I’m in any place to do that. See above; I’m fucked up. I should untangle my own love life before I try to poke holes in someone else’s. 

And… maybe I shouldn’t be talking about these things on my blog?

Ah fuck it. I’ve said more personal stuff here already and none of you know anyone I’m talking about anyway except Ghosty and… Idk. I trust Ghosty. 

Can’t help it. I just trust them. 

Anyway

Anywaaaaayyyyy where was I?

Fuck these tangents. Are they worse than before? Or have I always been like this? I should re-read my old posts but somehow I’m scared to. I don’t want to look at where I was right now. I feel like so much has happened… am I even that person?

I don’t know why looking back scares me. Probably old defense mechanisms. Probably why I can’t remember anything before I was 10 too. Mmm. I should look back. I don’t want to forget.

But I think I’m afraid that I’ll… I don’t know… Either miss or hate who I was. If I miss who I was what will I do? I can’t go back to it. You can’t go back to what you were. 

But if I hate who I was…. Well I hate who I am so I guess there isn’t much difference….

Shelf that.

Fuck. My complaining about going off on tangents became a tangent. 

Where Was I???

Okay. So I carted my ass over to Lan Zhan’s, thinking not for the first time that maybe I should just fucking learn how to drive???????????

But whatever. I got there pretty quick. 

I knocked on the door, heard some concerning bangs and then silence. 

Knocked again and called out his name. 

Think I heard him again… swearing????? But it was muffled so I can’t be sure. 

Shame.

Haha

So I decided to do what he told me to do before and just use my damn key. 

I mean… it’s not breaking and entering right? And besides. He texted me. That… meant he wanted to see me right? At the very least even if he didn’t it was for his sake. Totally not at all because I was curious what he’s like when he’s drunk. 

Nope. Not a factor. Purely just wanted to make sure he was okay. Absolutely innocent. 

(You know that’s a lie. I REALLY wanted to see what he’s like when he’s drunk. But I DID also want to make sure he was okay. So really, win win. Or… True neutral in intent? IDK but I think they cancel each other out.)

So I very carefully opened the door and peered inside to find…. An empty apartment. 

The lights were off in the entry way, but I could see something down the hall and around the corner. Turns out that he was in the living room with a lamp and a bit of a mess. 

He’d knocked over the bottle of wine when I knocked. Apparently I startled him? And then when I knocked again… ???

I’m not sure. 

But he was somehow tangled in his own pant legs? They were comfy pants and a bit flowy and his foot got stuck in the other leg? I don’t know how it happened and clearly neither did he. And he’d toppled over and… apparently had given up. 

So clearly my coming over was the correct call. 

(Sorry Lan Zhan. I know you’ll never read this and never know but… this was just too precious to keep to myself. I promise I won’t embarrass you TOO much but there needs to be a documentation of your drunken hijinks. SangSang please don’t tell him. ;w;)

So about this point. I decided that instead of helping him, I was going to call out to you guys to ask for help.

I don’t know why? I was panicking. 

So I posted Help. 

And then went to untangle him. 

Managed to fix his pants (don’t think too hard about that one) and get him sitting properly. He just kinda blinked slowly at me and kept silent the entire time. ????

Like okay looking at his face you’d never know the guy was trashed. But the guy was TRASHED. 

I asked him how much he’d had and he just held up a finger. 

One.

One what??

A glass? A bottle? A keg?

I looked over at the jug that had tipped over and tried to gauge how much he’d had. I don’t know if the bottle had been full or not when he started. I don’t think I’d left any half-empty? But he may have shared with another guest? I wouldn’t have been surprised if he kept some on hand for SangSang too. Not just me. It’s good wine.

Well either way. With how much was now spilled on the table and floor, and how much was in the bottle… I’m guessing… he had no idea and was bullshitting me how much he’d had. 

So there’s that. 

He had enough alcohol for one drunk. Got it. 

Well didn’t matter. Either way he was sloshed. I suppose this is karma (I know that’s not how karma works) for when I got drunk off my ass in front of him before. Ah well. 

You know… speaking of karma…. Like what kind of fucked up karma do I have? Like I must have just been a DEMON in my previous life. What the fuck did I do? Massacre a ton of people? Raise the dead? FUCK. Well whatever I did. Thanks a lot past life me. You’re a DICK.

Anyway.

I went to get a cloth to mop up the mess. While I was wiping everything down he disappeared.

I posted on my blog again because I have shit priorities, and then went to find him. 

He was in the kitchen. After turning on every single light. His head was completely in the fridge. 

I called out to him, because what the fuck? And he stood up and blinked at me again. Except now he was holding a package of skinless chicken breast??? For some reason?????

Why did he even have that Probably was planning to make it for me the next day since that was our Saturdate. He doesn’t eat much meat so it wouldn’t make sense for him to have so much. 

But okay

Like

He just held it out to me and said my name. 

???????

Just.. standing in the kitchen with ALL the lights on with the fridge hanging open offering me skinless chicken breast in its neat little vacuum sealed packaging. 

So uh…  Like what do you do with that?

I asked him what he was doing and he just pushed the package at me, asking if it was good? 

I mean they looked fine. Lan Zhan always buys good stuff. And this stuff was clearly bought fresh and then wrapped up by himself. He’s got a vacuum sealer thing. So like it’s not even stuff from the grocery store? He probably got it from a humane butcher. Because he does his research on EVERYTHING. 

So like… yeah?? They were good? And I like chicken. 

So I just kinda nodded and said yeah they’re good. And so he pushed the meat at me again and said it was all for me? 

So um.. I don’t know if he was asking me to cook it? I asked him if he wanted me to cook it and he looked confused. 

And fair. I mean I was confused too. No one wants me to cook. Everyone always complains. They just don’t appreciate the culinary genius that is me. 

But Lan Zhan looked at me, then the chicken, and seemed to be in the deepest thought. 

“Let’s put this in the fridge and we can eat it tomorrow, yeah?” I suggested, trying to take the meat from him and edge to the fridge at the same time. 

Apparently this was incorrect as he yanked it away from me and started towards the stove?????

I got to him just in time to stop him from turning it on. 

Like okay Lan Zhan is an amazing chef. And he’s got a NICE kitchen. But the stove is a gas one. You know the one with open flame? And like 

THe man had just dumped have a container of Emperor’s Smile on himself???

Like fuck. So I think I screamed. 

Because Fuck. No. Lan Zhan was NOT going to cook for me while drunk off his ass. 

I remember lunging at him and like pulling all the knobs off of the stove so he couldn’t turn it on. He glared at me with this.. this …. POUT. omg it was adorable. 

But NOT adorable enough for me to give him back the stove knobs. He tried to grab them but I put them in my pocket.

And then he tried to grab them again which is danger zone no no for SO MANY REASONS ;asldkfjsa;lkfaslkfjsd;lkfjas;dkfj;lafkjk

So I took his hands 

And put on my best most adorable pleading expression and asked him to please let us have it tomorrow? Because I really wanted to eat it tomorrow. He stared at me again, binked, then slowly nodded and put the chicken… in the cupboard. 

So I asked him if he wanted to watch a movie or something instead. He didn’t answer (How is drunk Lan Zhan even more quiet than sober Lan Zhan? How is it possible?) but he didn’t like protest or anything. 

So I asked him if he wanted to pick something out and I’d come in in just a minute for him to surprise me with whatever he selected. 

He nodded at that. Mumbled something that sounded like “for Wei Ying.” or something and stumbled off. 

I took a moment to breathe and update the blog again before putting the chicken in the fridge. Contemplated hiding the knives and stove knobs somewhere where Lan Zhan couldn’t get to them, but that seemed a bit much. So I put the knobs back on and went to see what Lan Zhan was doing. 

He was….

Drinking….

More….

Again.

So I updated my blog again????? What the fuck is wrong with me?

Well I did stop him again.  I grabbed the bottle and just took it. Downed the whole jar so that he couldn’t have any more. 

Maybe not the best option? But I had eaten dinner for once and I’m actually not a lightweight. (That one time was a fluke. Like it seriously was) so it was fine. Not like I was driving home anyway.

And besides maybe it’d help me get on his level? IDK. It was stupid but then so am I. And it was just a shame to dump it all out so down the hatch it went. 

It was at this point that I realized that Lan Zhan was still wearing the clothes he’d spilled all over. I suggested he go change into something clean. He seemed to find logic in this and stumbled off to his room.

Did NOT shut the door but that’s okay. It was down the hall and I couldn’t really… SEE anything unless I went further into the hall myself. 

Tempting but I was a good boy and resisted. 

Thats when things got quiet… too quiet (see post I’d made about it being quiet). 

I went to go check on him to find that he was stripped to his boxers, with his pants around his ankles. He was looking in his closet, probably trying to find out what suit to wear???

But when I entered he stumbled back, slammed the door shut and toppled feet over head to the floor!!

Man he’s jumpy when he’s drunk. 

I helped him to rights and was actually so distracted that I didn’t realize that he was practically naked for like 2 whole seconds!!

(I’m pretty sure Lan Zhan isn’t a mortal, no matter what I said earlier in this very post about him being a human. No human being has the right to be that fucking cut??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

It is NOT fair. 

FUck. )

WELL being a responsible and reasonable adult (lol) I decided I would help this drunk toddler of a man get dressed. I dug through his pajama drawer and pulled out something soft and fluffy. Hoped that it’d be more appealing to him if it was super super comfy. Started to hand it to him, but then figured fuck it. Probably better to just do it myself. 

Managed to keep my eyes and hands to myself as I helped him. Very proud.

He let me do this without complaint. He was very good. He lifted his arms up when I told him to and his legs. Ended up putting my face WAY too close to his hips but I looked at the wall the entire time so it was fine.

Fine. It was fine. We’re fine. I’m fine. It’s fine. 

Fuck I’m a mess. 

Okay what happened next. He was good. Sat like a good boy. Got him dressed (thank you A-Yuan for giving me practice? Did not think this was a life skill i’d be needing now that you’re growing up and can do your own buttons but guess life likes to throw them curve balls. Either way. A-Yuan m’boy. I owe you a solid.)

(Also do NOT miss changing your diaper. Fuck) 

ANyway

NO TANGENTS. (that’s a lie. There will be more tangents. Whatever.)

SO Lan Zhan was dressed like a human again. Somehow even drunk of his ass he looks like some sort of adonis. Not fair.

Uh.

Oh yeah. I got up and was gonna step away and he grabbed me. 

Not like hard? But really firm. Grabbed my arm and said “no.”

No what? No to the pajamas? No to the bunny slippers? No????

I asked him what he was saying no to and he just said no again and pulled me closer. 

“Lan Zhan Lan Zhan” I chided, “You’re being unreasonable. I got you all dressed and you were being so good but now I try to get up and you say no and stop me? What are you wanting? Do you not like these pajamas? Do you want me to dress you in something else?”

I remembered him looking at the closet and decided to be a little shit. I was gonna pretend I was gonna grab one if his suits to dress him in that instead. (No way I was going through that effort. Just wanted to prove a point that the PJ’s were much more comfy.)”

“Alright. Why don’t we change into something else? I know you like wearing suits. Or well, /I/ like when you wear suits. So let’s go get one.”

He started to relax his grip and I got up again, but then 2 steps to the closet he seemed to panic and grabbed me again. 

He wrapped his arms around me from behind and sat back down on the bed with me mostly in his lap?????

Okay Trying to keep myself pure here. I’m a good boy. Who was not going to take advantage of my best friend while he was drunk off his ass.  Good boy. Think of ANYTHING else but being in his lap. 

And of course. THis meant. I had to run my mouth. 

“OH? So you DON’T want a suit? Well then you should just be happy in those pajamas. As nice as you look in a suit I think they’re much more comfortable. The pajamas that is. Unless you’d rather be naked. But that--”

Anddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd

He covered my mouth. 

I tried to twist to look at him but he wouldn’t let me. 

I tried to protest against his hand but he wouldn’t let go. 

So I examined my options and decided the only course was to lick him.

So I did. 

Because I have had a brother and that always got me out when Jiang Cheng actually managed to pin me.

Worked like a charm this time too. Lan Zhan dropped me like I was made of fire. 

Maybe I should have been offended???? But I was too busy laughing. 

He stared at his hand in what had to be horror. I calmed down enough to offer to wipe it off for him but he just pulled it in to his chest protectively. 

“Oh come one. I’m not gonna lick it again! I said wipe it off! Clean it. Fuck I’ll wash ‘em with soap if you want. Dear goodness it’s not like I’ve got fucking cooties or something.”

He stared at his hand again and pouted, seemingly not sure what he wanted to do. 

I reached out gently again and he pulled away again.  Clearly not down for touching anymore. 

So I huffed and said fine. 

“You just go to bed or something then. I’ll leave you alone if you’re just gonna get all grumpy at me.”

So I started to leave. And he tried to grab me again???????????????????????????????????

Does he want to be touched or not? Or maybe he just wanted to do the touching now that I look back on it.

Well at the time I just kinda leapt out of the way and complained he wasn’t being fair changing his mind about what he wanted every 2 seconds. Quite unreasonable.

And somehow….

This ended with us chasing each other around the house??? 

Admittedly that part’s a bit of a blur. It started with him chasing me and then somehow we switched and I ended up chasing him?

Oh yeah. I think I thought he was going back to the kitchen or something and I panicked and tackled him onto the couch. That’s when I sat on him to keep him there and posted about it again while I caught my breath. 

He just let himself lay face down on the couch, his face pressed into the pillow completely. Both a blessing and a curse because I don’t know what I was thinking at the time. I dont’ know what I would have done if he’d pouted at me again. Licked him again?? But a curse because that meant all I had to focus on was how thicc his ass was. Like I was sitting on it. 

And it is a COMFY perch. Gotta say. Like fuck. This man is perfect in every way. 

NOT. THE. POINT.

KEEP MIND. AWAY FROM THAT. YOU DON’T NEED THIS RIGHT NOW. ESPECIALLY THINKING ABOUT THINGS THIS WAY WHEN YOU KNOW YOU’RE GOING TO BE SLEEPING IN THE SAME BED AS HIM AGAIN TONIGHT. 

(DON’T @ ME WE JUST SHARE A BED. OKAY? IT MAKES US BOTH FEEL BETTER AND IT’S FINE. IT’S FINE. WE’RE FINE. I’M FINE. IT’S FINE. I’LL TELL YOU ABOUT THAT MORE LATER BUT JUST.. IT’S FINE OKAY? IT’S FINE. TRUST ME. COMPLETELY NOTHING ROMANTIC ABOUT IT. IT’S OKAY TO CUDDLE YOUR BROS. I MEAN IT’S A BIT COMPLICATED SEEING AS I’M IN LOVE WITH HIM BUT WE BOTH AGREED THAT THE KISS MEANT NOTHING SO WE’RE FINE. 

FUCK.. okay I’ll get back to this in a minute because I made myself cry again. 

Hold on. 

Okay I’m back. And I’m actually fine now. Just a little bit of heartache. It flares up if I think about it so I just don’t think about it. 

So sometimes when it sneaks up on me like that it just causes a little bit of a panic. We’re fine though. It’s passed and we’re fine. 

Where was I? Where was I…. um… oh yeah. Sitting on that juicy ass--- um.. Sitting on Lan Zhan to keep him on the couch where it was safe and cushioned. 

It worked for a bit. But apparently only because he wanted it to. 

Somehow I forgot that the man can bench a fucking truck? So he just did a push up with me on his back while on the couch (Have you tried to do pushups on a cushioned surface? Please do not do this. Make sure you exercise on sturdy, solid surfaces or you will roll your wrists or something and I will not be held responsible for unsafe workout practices.)

SO Lan Zhan just pushed both of us up and I tumbled right off like I was made of fucking feathers. 

No idea what he was planning to do. 

At first he seemed worried about me because I tumbled. Which I think broke his train of thought away from what he’d originally planned? Or did he even have a plan to begin with? 

FUck who knows. Not me!

Well anyway

I had a bold stroke of genius. Because how does Lan Zhan get me to stay put?

So I told him to sit and wait because I had a surprise for him and that I’d be really sad if he didn’t do it. 

So he immediately assumed the lotus position and closed his eyes. Coulda been a fucking statue. 

I stared for a second but then remembered he was drunk as FUCK and I had no time. So I rushed off and grabbed Bichen and Suibian so I could dump ‘em in his lap. 

Fucking worked like a charm. Suibian didn’t stay too long because she always prefers my lap (aaaaaaaaaaaah my heart) but Bichen will always stay put when plopped on Lan Zhan’s lap. (I feel ya, li’l buddy. If I could get away with it I’d live there too).

Told him that he needed to be nice and calm for the bunnies and he nodded so seriously. He started to pet Bichen so carefully it was so sweet. The little bun flopped over right away. She loves her Lan Zhan so much. (Same)

Decided to try and get him to talk to me once he’d been quiet for a little while. I asked him what started all this anyway. 

At first he said that he wanted to learn to be more tolerant to alcohol so that he could drink with me

Which is so fucking sweet but does not explain why he went so hard into it. 

And I knew he’d seen his uncle earlier that day. So I pressed. 

I won’t tell you all that he told me. But yeah. Family is complicated man. 

But that part of the story.. That’s his story. I’m not sure if he even wants ME to know about it, so I’m definitely not telling you guys. Sorry. But please try to understand. 

We talked for a long while and eventually he ended up falling asleep. I very carefully moved the bunnies to their pen, then picked him up and carried him off to bed too. 

There’s something surreal about princess carrying Lan Zhan. Not gonna lie. 

I wasn’t willing to leave him alone in case he woke up again so I just climbed into bed with him. Wrapped him up in my arms to make sure I’d wake up if he tried to leave (hopefully).

But he slept through the night. 

It wasn’t until morning that he lurched out of bed and booked it to the bathroom. Poor guy.

I will never try to get him to drink again. With mornings that awful it’s just not worth it. Though admittedly he’d probably do okay if he just didn’t drink as MUCH as he did. Make I’ll get him a Mikes Hard? I know from talking to him since then that the wanting to be able to share a drink with me was genuine even if it wasn’t the only reason he was drinking. So maybe we can ease him into it. I mean Mikes hards are so weak that they may as well be virgin drinks so that should be safe? 

I’ll talk to him about it later. 

Anyway. I took care of him all morning and he was so miserable. (Even got to carry him again. He was so worn out he barely protested). 

I brought him back to bed with some aspirin and some water. I should have made him drink some the previous night but I guess with how crazy that night was maybe I can be forgiven for that at least. 

I gave him some kisses on his face because at that point it was our thing??? (Because… what were we??? Well now we’re back to just friends I think. After… after the kiss that meant nothing.)

Fuck.

Okay don’t think about it. We were… we were something… but now we’re just friends. And that’s just… how it is. Because i fucked up. Because of course I fucked up. 

I let him take a nap and watched something trashy on TV. Eventually he shlumped out of bed (as much as Lan Zhan ever schlumps which is not a lot) and crashed onto the couch next to me. 

We talked some more and he tried to apologize to me. I wasn’t gonna hear it. I got a bit of a more sober re-telling of the reason he was drinking and I did my part to listen. 

Despite how much I talk, I can actually listen if the occasion calls for it! Surprising, I know. 

We went to bed again eventually after watching more garbage TV together. 

And uh.. Yeah…

That’s the adventures of Drunk Lan Zhan. 

Sorry I know some of the details are probably wrong. It’s been a while and a lot happened. But yeah. That’s more or less it. 

[sugarfreecapsicle]

study buddy

bucky barnes x reader

Prompts: college!au (1.5k constellation writing challenge by @sunmoonandbucky); fake dating!au & unplanned bed sharing trope (star’s multi-fandom follower celebration by @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan )

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, bit of pining, lots of awkward interaction, fluff!!!!

Wordcount: 2k-ish

A/N: oh my god, y’all, I can’t believe two of my favorites have challenges going on at the same time. I’m so honored to call them both friends - both are phenomenal writers in their own right and I am always floored by their respective work. I love the both of your oh so dearly and am so happy you’ve reached such important milestones! You deserve every happiness, and I hope this fic can bring you just a little of that.

Gif Credit (x)

Assigned seating did not end in grade school. The nightmare of desk dictatorship held strong in Fury’s classroom - a man of simple rules and unquestioned respect for his time. Your research into your professors via many forums and sites like RateMyProfessor did not alert you to the nightmare of obeying his law to the letter.

“If I were sorry about my decision, I’d apologize, but I’ve always been an honest man. You chose your seat, you chose your partner, and you chose to break up. That’s a personal problem to solve on personal time. Not mine. See you next class.”

Your conversation on the phone with Wanda and Maria definitely didn’t help lift your mood. Wanda, empathetic and full of irrational resolutions like falsifying a restraining order. Maria, ever practical and smug with her I-told-you-so attitude.

“I don’t know what else you expected from Fury of all people,” Maria chuckled before biting into an apple slice. “Even if he thinks Brock is an asshole, he won’t make an exception without something dire on the line.”

“Maybe you can just switch classes? I’m pretty sure there’s an opening in-” “Wanda, I love you, but I can’t switch classes two weeks from finals.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, squeeze your eyes shut in the afternoon sun. “I’ll just...I’ll just handle this as gracefully as I can.”

“Godspeed,” Maria deadpans before dropping the call.

“Y’know, I didn’t want to have to resort to this,” Wanda’s trepidation fueled your oncoming tension migraine, “but maybe it’s time to call in your favor with Bucky.”

Your heart drops somewhere on the pigeon-shit sidewalk.

“Wanda....I think you might be right.”

The saying goes that once you’ve hit rock bottom there’s nowhere to go but upward. If calling in a favor to your freshman year crush turned campus heartbreaker didn’t qualify, you didn’t want to find out where bedrock truly could be.

You shouldn’t be surprised to find a technology major in the library swamped with work on a Tuesday, but when that student is James Buchannan Barnes, it’s worthy of flipping the world ass over teakettle. Dashing as ever, stormy eyes, chestnut hair combed just so. Your backpack thuds on the floor beneath the co-op table, and his eyes find you.

“Hey, stranger,” he murmurs with an impossibly charming smile that lights his entire face. “Where have you been since August?”

Fighting a smile around Bucky is futile, so you let a grin appear. “Unfortunately dating Brock and sitting next to him in Fury’s class.”

His smile pulls into a tight wince as you take your seat across from him and retrieve your laptop from your bag.

“I don’t envy you.” Bucky waves and nods briefly at another student passing by behind you, and you turn to notice it’s a shapely redhead you recall from last semester’s art history class. “He won’t budge without legal documentation at best.”

Your fingers twist and curl together in nonsensical patterns in your lap. “Well, I was hoping to get Brock off my case, actually.”

Bucky doesn’t respond more than raised eyebrows and startled blinking. 

“Would...could you be my fake boyfriend long enough to convince Brock we aren’t getting back together?” It comes out all rushed and nervous, syllables running together like a skittering mouse across the kitchen floor. Your heart hammers against your chest, determined to break free of your body every second Bucky stalls his reply. You can’t read him - he’s still leaned back in dumbfounded silence. 

At long last he leans in, hands steeple between the two of you, calculating gleam in his eye. “If you’ll help me figure out how to pass this English Lit final, I’ll actually date you.” 

You both laugh quietly, minding the nearby staff eyeing your space at the table. Pink tinges your cheeks dangerously beyond mere flattery. 

“Let’s just agree to fake dating for now, and we’ll see if you can still stand to share space with me after a few weeks.”

“Deal.” Bucky extends his hand, you grasp it and shake to your agreement. Your fingers reluctantly move to let go, but Bucky holds firm and pulls the back of your hand to his smirking lips. “Whatever you need, darlin’.”

Days later you’re still tingling from his public affection in the library. Could you have been imagining the color shift in his eyes when he peered over your hand or was it purely fantasy? Lack of caffeine, mental fixation from stress - more likely than any truth to how deeply in character he seemed to be already.

Bucky escorts you to your classes with his fingers threading yours, a hand at the small of your back, an arm flung around your shoulders. He’s in your ear, whispering jokes and delicious plans for the rest of your time together, kissing your forehead or your cheek when you reach the door. Keeping your arrangement from Wanda and Maria could only be explained by the stress of impending finals, and you’d managed to avoid inevitable party and holiday invitations. If nothing else, this pretending made the idea of being near Brock again less intimidating.

Fury Friday arrived sooner than you’d felt it should, and as set in precedent, Bucky strolls next to you with his hand in yours, beaming and chatting about how he’d managed to bring his scores up enough in Statistics to earn a pass on his final and thereby free up his weekend. Dread skirted in your lungs, a distant siren’s call to your sense of reason as the reality of sitting next to Brock for two hours pressed upon you. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind or are you gonna keep me guessing?”

He’s too good at this, and Bucky has to know it. “Sorry, I...am not looking forward to this.”

“I can’t think of anyone that looks forward to a Fury class to be fair,” he laughs breathily and puts a soothing hand to your waist. A kiss lingers on your forehead, and Bucky’s spicy cologne takes over your senses in a tight embrace. “Especially with Rumlow as your seatmate.”

His whispered acknowledgment makes your whole body shiver, and he responds with a few brushes over your arms and back to stir away the obvious chilled gust of wind that’s painted your cheeks pink again.

“Knock ‘em dead, killer,” he teases with a single knuckle against your chin. Bucky’s nose brushes just barely against yours, and then he’s dashing down the hallway with a wave over his shoulder. It dawns on you as you take your seat - your neighbor pleasantly absent - that Bucky could be sacrificing too much for a fake relationship, for your sake. Brock could be all bark and no bite, but a small part of you felt he could be a breath away from snapping. Others are milling about the room, so you pull your phone out and send Bucky a text. The little heart next to his name stings somewhere deep in your chest.

You’re not missing classes just to walk me to and from, right?

Your laptop is open and ready to go, humming to life while you bend beneath the elongated desks to make sure you could plug into an outlet if need be. The buzz of a reply sends you hurtling into the composite tabletop, a loud thud followed by tittering giggles around the filling room.

Brock is glaring down at you and your phone screen, mouth in a thin line, eyebrows knitted together. You don’t say a word to him and try to keep his prying eyes from your screen.

Not missing, exactly, but cutting it close. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.

“Didn’t take you long to hop on someone else’s dick, did it?”

His voice churns in your stomach, but you don’t acknowledge him. Had this been any other class but Fury’s you could put in earbuds and block him out. Brock’s eyes are on you, or at least the cold sweat chilling the back of your neck makes you think as much, and he’s seething, boring holes into your form. For two hours. For an entire Fury lecture.

Your shoe catches one of the rear legs of his chair, but you can’t bother to turn around and apologize - not like the seat budged under the star athlete. Bucky grins as you exit through the wide double doors, moves to wrap an arm around you, and you pull him by his jacket to your lips. You’re lost in his cologne, the feel if his mouth on yours, his body heat against the biting December cold. There’s a hum, something of a moan quiet enough to feel and dream of hearing - and you can’t be sure if it came from you or Bucky. With a dizzied wobble, you’re separated and Bucky’s eyes are still closed, arms cocooning you against his form.

“Hey,” he chuckles, voice deep and husky, the grin tugging at the right corner of his mouth.

“Hi,” you’re just as breathy and more than a little wanting. “Ready for the weekend?”

______________________________________

Friday night passes without a mention of the kiss.

The entirety of Saturday passes, and no mention of the kiss.

And it’s all you can think about. Forget studying for finals, forget meal prepping for the guaranteed necessity of pre-made lunches and dinners. That kiss.

You’d caught him off guard, but he didn’t hesitate to respond hungrily. Bucky tasted of honeyed tea and cinnamon chewing gum, carried the warmth of summer sun beneath his jacket. You hadn’t considered prior to the rash decision to just fucking kiss him that your senses would swim in his aftershave, his sheer proximity, the comfort of him. For you, Bucky had never been so tangible.  

Truthfully, Bucky had never been tangible for anyone - notorious campus-wide for gracefully bowing out of invitations for dates, one night stands even. People of course talked, spread rumors that he had to be dating a professor in secret, that he had a long distance relationship with a supermodel overseas. 

Until that kiss two days ago.

Bucky arranged for time to cram for his English Lit final with you tonight in his apartment, more for the convenience of avoiding scorned women at every corner of your dorm than anything else. He did have more space, privacy and faster internet than the supplied campus Wi-Fi. 

Is it appropriate to bring wine to a study session or is that strictly for dinner parties? Maybe some appetizers? Seven o’clock on a Sunday night typically meant binging as many football games as anyone could consume, especially in a college town. 

You’re buzzed up to this apartment, cream puffs in hand, and freeze when Steve opens the door to a living room full of people in various coordination of navy and ivory. The tall blonde ushers you in and sweeps your dessert out of your hands before you can locate your study buddy.

“Buck’s in his room,” Steve offers with some mischief. “Says he needs to pass this final, so he’s passing on the game night.”

It’s easy enough to figure out which room with a shut door is Bucky’s when Sam walks out of the bathroom and immediately checks the score on his phone (the space around the smaller television is too busy to see). You knock, probably a little too lightly at first, but the second set of taps nearly clock Bucky’s throat.

He’s beaming, cheeks flushed, smile wide - like a smitten kid. His electric touch pulls you into his bedroom already scattered with his scrawlings and textbooks. The door barely provides enough sound protection from the party for you to feel comfortable at attempting to concentrate.

“I really thought Steve had an away game this weekend, but I hadn’t thought about having a bye week for finals -” Bucky stops, feet strategically between loose paper and dog-eared texts. And god, he’s looking at you like that again and you can’t breathe. 

Suddenly you understand the gravity of your feelings, and your mouth goes dry.

This isn’t fake for you. Not anymore.

“Really, I’m glad you still wanted to help me out.” Bucky’s sincere, permanently grinning as he’s rearranging his chaotic floorspace to make room for you. You swallow hard as you eye the sliver of skin between his sweater and his lounge pants, the well-loved hoodie pooling around his middle as he bends from his hips. When he’s upright and inviting you to settle in, you decide that professionalism has to outweigh your own personal crisis - think like Fury.

Hours later, the two of your are in a shambles - Bucky insisted you change into a pair of his sweats and a tee shirt in the event of an all nighter, you’d made a run for fast food, and your eyes can hardly stay open long enough to fact-check Bucky’s recitation. 

“I think maybe we should call it a night,” he yawns, interrupting his monologue. You nod mutely and move to get up when Bucky catches your arm. “Uh, I mean, you could...you could stay.”

You shouldn’t, though, for reasons Bucky doesn’t know - but he has an excellent argument: you’re in no shape to get yourself home and with the party still going strong outside his bedroom there’s no way he can drive you home. 

Bucky helps you get to your feet and smooths his hands over your shoulders. “Scout honor, no funny business. They’ll all crash on top of each other in the living room and Steve’s room. You’d at least have a little more space in here. I’ll take the floor -” 

“Absolutely not, Bucky Barnes.” Your tone even surprises you; the Fury switch quickly dissipates. “I mean, I can’t in good conscience let you do that, it’s your room. We can...we can just share, if you don’t mind -”

“Not at all.” Maybe it’s your drowsiness but he seems eager. “Just washed the sheets anyway, and the blanket’s something Mom and Gran quilted for me as a kid.”

Soft cotton and jersey envelop your aching muscles, and a betraying moan of contentment escapes you when Bucky curls into bed next to you. He’s warm, a furnace beneath the covers, haven from the biting cold. 

His stubble, still unshaven from Friday, borders on scruff and tickles your forehead. Hands ease over your back, tentative, hesitant. You can’t deny him and certainly can’t deny yourself this moment. 

“Darlin’?”

He’s whisper soft, cotton candy words prickling against your skin. You hum and his hands still against your shirt.

“Wasn’t kidding about actually dating you, y’know. If you want to take up the offer-”

Your fingers are on his lips, you crane your body to get a better look at his beautiful, tired face. 

“Ask me again in the morning, Buck. After coffee. So I know this isn’t delirium.”

He sighs and presses a tired smile into your forehead. “Whatever you need, darlin’.”

[onewfantaesy]

Cubicle au is so stinkin cute!!!!!! I don't even have anything to say other than that! Just gimme all of it!

Let’s start this morning with more cubicle au then!

Coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee. If Taemin didn’t get coffee in the next twelve seconds he was going to pass out. His head was swirling so bad - screw Jinki and his plans and his no sleep all weekend - weren’t Monday’s bad enough?

Taemin forgot to have his morning coffee. He woke up late. Well, actually, he had fallen asleep just eighteen minutes before his alarm was supposed to go off and then didn’t get out of bed until twelve minutes before he had to leave.

Taemin is going to pass out, he’s sure of it.

“Morning Taemin,” Key calls before Taemin’s keys even hit his desk.

“Hi Key,” he says, his voice wavering.

“I’m about to do a Starbucks run, wanna tag along?” Key asks.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

“God please yes please.”

“Whattaya want? I’m ordering right now.”

“Uh,” Taemin’s mind goes blank. “Coffee?”

Key snorts.

“How often do you get Starbucks?”

“Never.”

“I’ll get you what I get,” Key says. “You’ll like it.”

“It has lots of caffeine?”

“So much caffeine.”

“Oh,” Taemin stutters, digging in his backpack for his wallet. “I don’t have any cash - can I -”

“Don’t worry about it,” Key says. “My treat.”

“I’ll pay next time,” Taemin says.

“Cool,” Key says. “Let’s go.”

Taemin hears keys jingling and Key’s chair creaking, and Taemin hadn’t even logged into his computer yet.

Boa was coming with them. There were eight coffees waiting for them to pick up.

“Who in the heck-” Taemin starts, but Key just snorts.

“Monday morning meeting,” Key explains. “It was my turn to pick up coffee.”

Taemin scoffs.

“You guys get Starbucks?” he asks. “Baekhyun only ever gets us the free shit from the break room.”

“That’s because Baekhyun is a boring team lead,” Boa says, smirking. “And because our team is better.”

Taemin laughs, but he’s a little uncomfortable. He does also manage to balance one tray of coffees in one hand and open the car door for Boa with the other.

“Aww, you’re sweet,” she says, getting into the front seat.

“Um,” Taemin stutters, “thank you.”

Boa only continues cackling and sharing a look with Key while Taemin gets into the backseat.

The coffee Key got for him is an iced venti sweet thing. “The ratio of size to flavor shots is very important,” Key had said. Taemin writes down a note in his phone of what’s on the label. It’s the best damn coffee he’s ever had.

Taemin spends most of the morning with his lips wrapped around the straw and staring at his computer. The caffeine helped, but he’s still tired.

Once Key’s team meeting is over, he hears Key and Boa talking in hushed voices.

“I want to steal him,” Boa whispered.

“We can’t steal him,” Key whispers back.

“Yunho agrees!”

“They won’t let us steal him.”

“We can try.”

“Don’t you have something to do besides pester me?”

“Fine,” Boa huffs. “But this isn’t over.”

Taemin hears her leave Key’s row and go down a couple more towards her own cubicle. Taemin smirks.

“Who are you trying to steal?” He asks. He loves office gossip, even if he won’t admit it.

“No one,” Key laughs. “Don’t worry about it. Did you like the coffee?”

“It’s the best dang drink I’ve ever had.”

“Good.”

That’s when Minho comes in to Taemin’s cubicle to talk about a document they just got emailed about. Key goes back to typing at his keyboard. Taemin is sure he’s messaging Boa - he never types and pauses and types and pauses like that when he’s actually working. Plus, he keeps sighing. Taemin thinks it’s funny.

Taemin is still exhausted, despite the coffee. He doesn’t even have the energy to make fun of some of the corporate emails with Minho.

“Long weekend, Taemin?”

Taemin blinks slowly, then turns his eyes toward the wall he shared with Key.

“Yeah, kinda,” Taemin mumbles. “My brother was visiting.”

“Aww, that’s sweet,” Boa’s voice calls. It makes Taemin jump. He hadn’t heard her come back over. “Do you want to come get lunch with us today?”

“Do you guys just always go out to eat?”

“Not always,” Boa says. “Unless you like that.”

Taemin is confused. Or maybe he’s still just tired and can’t follow.

“We’re gonna go to Olive Garden.”

“Ah,” Taemin perks up. “True American food.”

It makes Boa and Key both choke a laugh.

“Shut up,” Key calls. “You coming or not?”

“Um,” Taemin stutters. “Let me ask Minho if I can.”

“He’s not your boss.”

“I can hear you guys!” Minho scoffs from the cubicle behind Taemin’s. “I’m his direct superior!”

“No you’re not,” Baekhyun says from the window cubicle behind Minho. “Taemin, if you want to go to lunch, it’s fine.”

“Thank you!”

“Taemin, we still have-” Minho starts.

“It’s not due until Friday,” Baekhyun cuts in, knowing exactly what Minho and Taemin are working together on. “And aren’t you guys already ahead of schedule? He can take an hour and a half for lunch if he wants.”

Flexible schedules really are the best thing that ever happened to Taemin. He’ll have to stay later than he usually does - because going out to lunch always takes longer than planned - but it’s fine. He can make up the time tomorrow if he really wants to.

“I can’t wait to eat seven breadsticks,” Taemin says, mostly to himself. It’s still only eleven o’ clock, it’s no doubt another hour before they leave for lunch.

“Seven breadsticks?” Key laughs.

“They’re free,” Taemin says. “I’m going to eat as many as possible. Maybe even eight.”

They bicker about the amount of breadsticks one can consume in a single sitting for another seven minutes. Until Minho comes into Taemin’s cubicle and insists they need to look at part of their current assignment. Taemin just thinks he’s jealous that he won’t be getting to eat breadsticks today.

“So what’s with you and Minho?” Taemin asks while he sits in the back of Key’s car. Boa is in the front seat again, and Yunho is sitting in the back with Taemin.

Boa and Yunho laugh, and Key just scoffs.

“We literally joined on the exact same day,” Key starts. “He just annoys me. It’s nothing specific.”

“They used to bicker like an old married couple,” Yunho says.

“Until they both went to different teams,” Boa adds.

“And now their cubicles are next to each other again and it’s hilarious,” Yunho laughs.

Taemin is smiling, but he’s back to being a little uncomfortable. He’s getting used to the members of Key’s team little by little, but it still takes him a while to warm up to people. He can’t help it.

“He’s nice to me,” Taemin says with a shrug.

“He’s an ass to you,” Key scoffs. “You’re just too nice to notice.”

“How’s he an ass?”

“He pushes so much of his own work off on you,” Key says, and Taemin can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “He used to do it to me too. It’s not on purpose I don’t think - he probably doesn’t realize it - but it’s annoying. I’m annoyed for you.”

“Oh,” is all Taemin says. He hadn’t noticed. But Minho does give him a lot of extra work that Baekhyun doesn’t.

“He’s also not your boss - or anyone’s boss - but he likes to act like it,” Key scoffs. “He’s nice, I won’t deny that. He’s a cool guy. But he’s just annoying to work with is all.”

“So do you like your position?” Boa asks.

“Um,” Taemin stutters. “It’s alright. I can’t complain.”

“So what do you know about contracts?” Yunho asks.

“Uh - it’s what you guys do?”

“Are interested in it?”

“I guess? Sure.”

“Cool.”

They immediately start talking about something else, then park in front of Olive Garden and go inside to meet the rest of the team for lunch. Taemin is so confused. But he’s looking forward to his breadsticks and soup so he quickly forgets it.

Lunch lasts an hour and fifteen minutes. By the time they get back, Taemin has been gone for an hour and thirty three minutes.

While they were in the car on the way back, Taemin texts his brother.

“I’m making more work friends!”

“That’s great!” Jinki texts back. “You just needed to open up a little bit. See? You need to listen to your big brother. I’m very wise.”

“Shut up.”

Taemin stays an extra hour at work that night, then decides to go in an extra half hour early tomorrow to make up the time. Key sounds surprised when Taemin comes in at seven thirty on Tuesday instead of eight. Taemin smirks. He likes to keep people on their toes sometimes.

[moralanxietystudio]

Buried In Words - Roadwarden Devlog

(Roadwarden is an illustrated text-based RPG in which you explore and change a hostile, grim realm. It combines mechanics of RPGs, adventure games and Visual Novels, and you can now wishlist it on Steam!)

Since the middle of December, working on Roadwarden is mostly about writing new events, dialogues and quests. There were almost no updates on social media - I don’t have time to draw (aside of some inventory icons), and by popular demand, I try to avoid deeper spoilers. I’ve written quite a bunch of stuff, but the results won’t do for exciting screenshots.

I’m  currently focused on designing and filling up Howler’s Dell, the largest settlement in the game, so there’s a LOT of important character interactions to introduce, including quests, merchants, and lore. But in the meantime, some major changes have also been introduced:

 1. The game over screens

In the original Roadwarden’s Design Document, there were no game-overs. You could get significantly hurt during your journeys, but never to the point where you’d hit a brick wall that would make the further progress impossible. You’d need to rest and heal your wounds to participate in some events, but you could always move forward.

I’ve finally decided to change it. In most situations, reaching 0 HP won’t result in an instant death. But in some scripted encounters - usually when facing an overwhelming opponent while being completely unprepared - your character will be broken.

Still, I hope to make it as player-friendly as possible. Did you forget to save your game? Was autosave ran in an inconvenient spot? You can jump back in time a bit, no strings attached.

In various European cultures, the winged hourglass is an image related to the ephemerality of life, and it has became an important part of the Viaticum fantasy setting over ten years ago. Since there’s no single “canonic” design, I’ve had an opportunity to experiment with various approaches.

 2. New “regular” font

The text has now more space to breathe, the letters have more personality, and thanks to the serifs, it’s going to be easier to keep track of the lines you read. Everybody wins:

While the majority of feedback that I’ve gathered shares my enthusiasm, I’ve also seen some words of criticism. It’s still possible that the font is going to be replaced with a different one, but I’m convinced it’s still a step in the right direction.

Even if the font is going to be replaced again, this little feature will be kept in the game. The good old “select a font” setting now showcases a small frame that explains the most significant traits of the regular font and the pixel one. Even though the pixel font looks cool on screenshots, it won’t be gentle on your eyes.

 3. Updated inventory menu

From now on, pointing at an icon in your inventory will showcase not just the item’s brief description, but also its name.

This update was essential due to the constantly growing number of items added to the game. Usually, the player will keep using or loosing some of them as they complete more quests or take a part in more unique interactions, but you may reach a point when you’ll see a couple of dozen of icons at once, and they may start to get a bit blurry. When there was maybe 20 items in the entire game, clicking an icon to see the broader description wasn’t a large problem, but it became clear that it was a short-sighted, flawed design.

 4. Redesigned armor system

I’m not gonna lie. The gambesons that were present in the demo? They were a placeholder, waiting for a better idea to show up. And here it is.

The original two “types” of armor were related to the character’s class selected at the beginning of the game - the Warrior gets the good stuff, while both the Scholar and the Mage have a piece of trash, since they couldn’t afford anything better.

I was expecting to introduce some encounters “better” armors later in the game, and also script interactions where the better armors help you survive major injuries or even death, but I felt it was not good enough. This approach doesn’t introduce much decision making, and it introduces sort of a boring stagnancy.

The new system offers three “levels” of armor. The level 1 - “A Worn Gambeson” - offers you little to no protection. If you want to be saved during some difficult encounters, or maybe get less hurt when you screw up, you want to get to at least the level 2 - “A Decent Gambeson” - which is given to the Warrior class at the beginning of the game.

Upgrading armor requires getting in touch with a tailor, and paying them to do some fixes for you. However, when the armor “saves” you, it often also gets damaged. Its level decreases.

The 3rd level of your armor - “A Fine Gambeson” - follows the same rules. Wearing it will save you from most wounds, but during this process, it may also get torn, downgraded to level 2. As the player, you have to decide how many dragon coins you are willing to invest to keep yourself in one piece.

So simple, yet so much better. And I can still decide to introduce levels 0, 4, 5... Depending on  what will turn out to fit the larger picture.

 5. Updated journal menu

The journal has received the very needed scrollbars, which appear only when there’s too much text to fit in a single window. From now on, I don’t expect that the player will just “figure out” that they can use a mouse wheel, or drag the text box. Nice and easy:

Also, when you select a chapter (like “Quests”) or a specific entry (like the “Necromancers?” quest), the button is now highlighted, what will help you keep track of what you’ve been clicking through:

Also, unlike in the game’s demo, the “People” chapter is now cohesive with the “Quests” formatting. Originally, these sections had different sizes, what didn’t look as good as I intended.

6. Dolmen updates

Just to make it clear - the game receives a whole bunch of updates and bug fixes every week, and I don’t plan to list dozens of small adjustments just because. But this one is pretty fun for me, since it shows the progressing level of attention to detail, and the evolution of the game’s design. : )

Since the day I’ve introduced this area to the game’s prototype, I was unhappy about the low amount of visual changes it had to offer. No matter what you’d type down to solve the puzzle, the only clues you’d receive were presented in text.

The updated dolmen required some rewrites and a fair bit of drawing, but from now on, once you find something that provides a significant clue, you’ll also see a visual feedback that’s going to reflect your discovery. It will help you backtrack the older information, and focus your attention on more successful guesses. Oh, something new has showed up? I guess it’s important!

7. The world map reworks

Some of those updates are difficult to spot without a looking glass. Some percentage of the “bushes” have different colors now and a couple of new shapes; the forests and trees now cast shadows; the lake nearby the Southern Crossroads has more details; the river in the east is broader; there are new hills nearby Tulia’s Camp...

But it’s the eastern part of the map that has seen some major updates. It’s filled with hills and mountains, and because of it, it provides more limited vision than lands in the west, covered with plains and swamps. Previously, this disproportion was quite a bit larger, and I’ve decided to town it down a bit. I hope that the effect I’ve had in mind is still clear to spot.

 8. More “stable” text boxes

When the player points at an icon, it usually creates a text box with a related description. From now on, more of these text boxes will be anchored to specific parts of the screen, instead of showing up in an area related to the player’s cursor. It should make the information less chaotic, and won’t cover other icons anymore. Also, there will be no more situations when the text box is partially outside of the game’s window.

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

Thank you for taking a look at this devlog, for your support and kindness. Remember, you can also find me on Twitter and Facebook, and the game has a Steam page on which you can add it to your wishlist. Have a great day!

[whnvr]

Brain Drain

Ah yes, hello. It is once again time to drain these brains of mine. A couple of more thoughts on this ‘Morning Pages’ process. Firstly, I’ve decided to take the Artist’s Way wording to heart and think of this as a non-negotiable exercise and, at least for the time being, I am going to do the full 1500 words as a block before I move onto anything else in my day. I’m still going to take the approach of retroactively editing them before I sleep in order to be more formatted, but the main body of text will be done first as, based on yesterday, I think this will focus me far more than spreading the writing out. Secondly, the more I think about it the more experimental I realise this entire process is for me. It’s probably best thought of as a heavily modified and specified version of the ‘Artist’s Way’ approach, as one of the stipulations offered up by Julia Cameron is that these are to be for your eyes and your eyes alone - even then going so far as to suggest that these should be sealed away in an envelope so that even the practitioner does not read them. So in that sense I am both taking a more documentative, methodical approach to the process and I am altering the formula by hosting these in a public forum. I understand that privacy helps to remove any filtering one may do but I also believe that the potential for these to be read comes with its own benefits. To that end this feels like an experiment of being creatively candid in public which is simulatenously exciting and daunting given that it runs so counter to the common approach of creating behind closed doors. I’d love to explore these ideas further as this journal progresses and see how my relationship with creativity changes due to these factors. So, I guess I’ll start by taking the measure of my day, as I am very much enjoying the ‘touching base’ element of these Morning Pages. I definitely feel a lot more blocked than I did yesterday, and it seems as though there’s somewhat of a hump to get over when I do these within the first 500 words or so before I get into a state of flow with it - this was true of yesterday also. Maybe that is one of the possible benefits of this exercise, that 'ramping-up-to-flow’ stage is one I likely experience whenever I sit down to create and the Brain Drain may be a way of me overcoming that before I come to do any of the actual creative work of my day. It seems as though forcing myself to do all 1500 words yesterday put me into the same sort of flow-state I gain from working on a really successful piece of music, and then today I am once again reset back into that familiar place of being 'blocked’, which even now I am slowly working through and unpicking purely by writing these words. Looking back on previous creative work this would seem to make an awful lot of sense. How much more demotivating it is to have to wake up and untease the same blocked feeling each morning on projects that I care deeply about and am heavily invested in than it is to instead get that part of the process out of the way on an off the cuff exercise like Brain Drain each morning. Maybe attempting to ease such a block through the work we care about is where all feelings of 'I’ve lost it’ and 'this project is hard now. Therefore how much better it must be to work through those blocks in a format that we’re not quite so invested in. Even right now there is a part of me that is very much resisting this process. It is an anxiety that masks itself as restlessness and tells me to 'go and watch a film, Aaron. Why put yourself through something so hard?’. As it is the creative enemy I have decided to call this my personal Antagonizer. Other thoughts of the Antagonizer, or the 'me’ that feels uncomfortable and uncreative: - 'Go and make a milkshake Aaron. Don’t do this. It’s 30 degrees outside today. You really need to just cool down.’ - 'Get up and walk around. You really need to release some of this tension that you’re feeling.’ - 'Go and talk to a family member. Telling them about what you want to write would be much easier than simply writing it’. That’s right Antagonizer, I WILL use your criticism in order to help me hit this wordcount. Checkmate. Yesterday has taught me that past this feeling is where enjoyment and flow lie if I can only push through it. I imagine some days will be significantly harder than others, and I imagine that I will even have days where 1500 words won’t begin to scratch the surface of this block, but I would so much rather try to push through this block writing whatever comes to mind over-and-above pushing through this block attempting to create whatever passes for a masterpiece in my world. On to next steps then. I would like to select a new artist to listen to today as I get on with other work. This would also be a good opportunity to show off a little of how I organise my inspiration, despite how embarrassingly over-elaborate it is.

On Spotify I keep a folder of artists who I’m either interest in, inspired by, are important pieces of musical history, examples of current artists who are doing what they do incredibly successfully, or artists that I feel would be generally useful to experience. For each artist, I will create a playlist, and in each playlist, I will save that artist’s entire discography chronologically. I will then slowly work my way through each of the artist’s discographies, deleting what I’ve listened to and categorising songs that jump out to me either in terms of whether I love, like, or dislike them, the emotional qualities that I want to emulate in my own music, or the technical qualities that stand out as exemplary within each song. This allows me to simultaneously build a picture of what my musical tastes are, keep an accurate record of my listening history, and create song palettes for different emotional qualities that I wish to put into my own work.

(Above: the technical qualities of music that I have categorised. This forms up a reference library that I can use to further refine these qualities when I’m working on my own music)Here are the criteria I use to define each of these categories. Idea: the concept behind a piece. Narrative: the story told. Lyrics: how ideas are expressed through words. Mood: the emotionality of a piece. Expression: how ideas are framed and delivered through the articulation of the music. Musicality: the use of harmony, rhythm, and theory to communicate those ideas. Rhythm: the measure, speed, flow, and cadence of a piece. Timbre: the overall texture, tone, and sonic palette of a piece. Structure: the flow of a piece over time. Mix: how the timbre has been arranged as an ensemble. Master: how the piece has been polished. Delivery: the title, artwork, context, presentation, and moving image that contain the piece.

(Above: the emotional qualities of music that I have categorised as a reference library for how artists that I look up to achieve specific emotional qualities in their work). These are decidedly more abstract and are generally more subject to the songs themselves that are being added. For reference, here’s the current list of artists who’s work I want to study, all at various stages of listened to, completed, or not listened to at all: - Labelle - Car Seat Headrest - Snail Mail - Japanese Breakfast - Let’s Eat Grandma - Soccer Mommy - LCD Soundsystem - Big Thief - Have a Nice Life - Beebadoobee - Animanaguchi - 100gecs - Courtney Barnett - Chromonicci - Owsey - Dark Cat - Valentine - SOPHIE - Kamasi Washington - Prince - Aurora - Massive Attack - Haywyre - Maths Time Joy - Counting Crows - Jack Strauber - Blossom Calderone - Goldfrapp - Janelle Monae - Meteorologist - Easyfun - Saint Lewis - Julian Gray - Jade Cicada - Blake Skowron - 92Elm - Maxime - Stereo Cube - Chuck Sutton - Gemi - Queen - Laxcity - Duumu - Oh Wonder - Galamatias - Umru - Underscores - Brockhampton - Fleece - i Monster - Deaton Chris Anthony - Amy Winehouse - The Beatles - Sumthin Sumthin - Radiohead - Flume - Knapsack - Dodie Here are the artists who’s discographies I have completed via this approach: - Sidney Gish - M.I.A - In Love With a Ghost - Bowie - Pink Floyd - Baird - Rudimental - Iglooghost - Madeon - Porter Robinson - 100gecs I use a similar system alongside this over on Pinterest for visual work in order to better inform my visual style and aesthetic sensibilities. Here is how I define my visual observation: Interior & Exterior, the space of dwelling.

Colour, of which idiosyncrasy and primary colours are a main focus.

Tone, subtler than colour. An intangible quality communicated by shifting hues and gradiated layers.

Mood, the way an image feels.

Looks, clothes, & apparel: personal artistic image and identity.

Desolation, a quality not currently present in my own work, but one that I often observe and love within other work, as well as in storytelling and other environments.

Layout, the way things are arranged in relation to one another within a space.

Idea, the concept behind a thing.

Texture, the tactile quality of visual elements.

Form, the shape and bounds of a thing.

Presentation, the context a thing is placed within.

Render, the quality imparted by computer generated imagery.

Type, how words are displayed.

Pattern, the use of repetition.

As you can see, how I define sound and visual art share a fairly common language between them. Anyway, I divert. I’m going to select SOPHIE as the next discography to tear through and I am also going to continue working through the UE4 Beginner learning path, though before either of these I have some university paperwork/admin stuff to finish so I’d best crack on with that. Toodles!

[angelynrostrand]

Chapter 7

Summary:  To the outside world, nothing should connect shy girl Angel Monroe and popular boy Xavier Hazelwood. But that isn't entirely true. They both hold secrets. Behind both of them lie 2 separate wolf packs. Xavier is well on his way to Alpha status and running the pack. Angel is not a wolf but instead the last healer in the world. When the realization comes forward that they are connected by destiny, will they decide to fulfill it? Is their connection predetermined by fate or will they choose their hearts? Lives and packs cross and mingle while romance and conflict brews. The story of 2 opposite souls on a collision path. Will destiny win out? Even the most innocent face, has the darkest secrets.

Word Count: 3,789

http://www.waymarking.com/waymarks/WM6QX0_I_70_Diner_Flagler_CO

I make my way to Dr. Shirley’s office. I do my best to avoid my alpha while making my way to the left side. I am actually excited because Dr. Shirley is someone I don’t have to lie too, which is refreshing. I walk right inside but decided to knock at his office door. His door is open but the knock gives him a chance to look up.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Shirley. How are you?”

“I thought we agreed on first names. And I am good.” He finishes some documents on his desk. I sit right in front of him.

“True but I was thinking…”

“Oh no that’s not good.” He teases. I smile at his comment.

“How about I will call you Trevor outside of work? I just think it would be professional when we have clients in and out.”

“Ok I agree but then I will call you Miss Monroe.” I just nod to agree. “While we are here,” pointing at his desk, “why don’t we arrange a schedule for you and what will be your duties.” I continue to nod to follow his orientation.

We both agree to meet up every other day. But if there is an emergency then I am needed. We exchange number so he will be able to contact me faster. He gives me a tour of the office, showing me each warrior’s medical history. I will need to be familiar with documents and the organization. Then he shows me around the hospital. We walk in the back room. 

“I think you are going to like this room.” He unlocks and pushes open the door.

“Oh my god,” are the only words that seem to come out of my mouth. I was speechless. The room has white and clean tile counters. It is full of plants hanging above my head. “Is this for making medicine?” He just nods and smiled at my excitement. “Is this fresh rainwater?” I pointed at the clear veil. 

“Yes. I wanted to get some before the rain stopped.” I hold my laugh knowing it was me who caused most of the rain. “What are you laughing about?” He questions.

I guess I can tell him, considering he knows my secret. While telling my story of about the rain caused by my teen boy trouble with Xavier. We walk back to his office and take our original seats. I tell him about most of my day and the weird love triangle of me, Xavier, and Rebecca. It is nice to be able to talk to some and let it all out.

 “I am sorry I didn’t mean to vent and take up most of your time.” I feel a little guilty.

“No. It’s fine. I enjoy talking to you and I bet you don’t get to do it as often as you should.” I just shrugged. “And I bet being your own kind of species it must be lonely.” I nodded. “I want us to be able to communicate and we need to trust each other. So I am hoping you telling me this will create that bond. Thank you for sharing.” Why is he so nice? “Anyways I have to get going. Here is a key for the infirmary. I am trusting you. It will open all doors and cabinets in this place.” He handed me a key with a key chain attached to it. I check my watch. It is already 5 pm. Where did the time go? We did talk back and forth but I guess when you have a great company time does go by fast. He locks the room and I walk him to his car like I did yesterday. 

While walking, we are stopped by Alpha Monroe. “May I take my sister for a moment?”

“Of course Alpha Monroe. I will see you later Angel.” He bows to my brother and walks away.

“Bye,” I say. I looked up at my brother. We have a lot to talk about. I follow behind him silently to his office.

“How was school?” He asks as we both sit on his leather couch.

“Are you asking as my brother or as my alpha?” I ask with little patience. “Sometimes I am not sure anymore.” 

“Angel, I will always be your brother. I am sorry about this morning, but I am new to this.”

“I understand that. I thought you would never use your title against me. Because if that’s what we are doing. Don’t forget I am part of an Alpha’s family member, also a luna to a different pack, and a healer, and you shouldn't forget I can control the elements. So don’t you dare use titles against me.” When I finish, he looks shocked. I don’t know where this power came from but I am glad I was able to speak up. I normally stay quiet. 

“Angel, what is happening to us? We never fight.” He asks.

“We are growing up. I’m leaving for college soon and you are the mighty Alpha.” I stand up and walk back and forth. I feel like I need to let off some steam. It is true we never fight. Since he is an Alpha we don’t get to spend time together anymore. I need to do something. I feel like I’m going to explode.

Eric noticed my stressful face.“Angel talk to me. Like you used to do. What is going on?” 

I want to. I really do. Should I mention Xavier and the kiss? He used to ask me about my day every day right after I got home from school. We would talk for hours and he would make fun of my study habits. “Ok. But I need a brother and not an alpha. It’s about Xavier.”

His body tenses up just by the mention of him. I can tell he is holding himself from saying anything. “What about him?”

“I really like him and I want to have some kind of relationship with him. Why are you so against it? He’s not a bad guy and...” 

“Angel don’t you understand. You are going to put his pack in danger too. If they keep your secrets they will come after them.”

“I won’t tell him then.”

“That is not going to work and you know that. You need to keep your distance away from him. He will only bring trouble for you and for this pack.”

“No, he won’t! Are you worried that he might hurt me like how they did?” That event still haunts me and just the mention of it shuts him up.

“You know what? Yes! That’s why me, father, and the pack has been protecting you for years and we will until we die!” How did we end up yelling at each other?

“He wouldn't do that!” I take a deep breath and calmly said. “Father may have isolated me from the pack, but you have isolated me from the whole world.” I walk away before he can notice my watery eyes. I open the door and everyone who was outside stares at me. They must have heard the argument. I ran away as fast as I could to my only safe place. The moment I got inside I wrapped myself in a blanket that was on top of the couch.  I quietly repeat to myself “Relax.” I can’t blow up. If I do, unthinkable things can happen. 

I woke up the next day with the sun in my eyes. I must have fallen asleep probably from exhaustion. I check the time and if I don’t get up I am going to be late for school. Luckily I have some clothes in the cottage. The weather is sunny with no clouds nearby. So today I will wear a simple dress with a large cardigan over and white keds. I love cardigans. I just feel like I am being hugged the whole time. I am starving. I didn’t eat lunch or dinner yesterday. I grab an apple from a tree I planted. I put it in my bag and biked off to school.  

For running late, I got to school pretty early. I decided to go to the library since I didn’t do my English homework. I always sit on the second floor with the table next to the window. The view for a morning sunrise. I pulled out my computer and started to write my daily summary for The Brave New World. I submit it before the class start and now I can rest until the bell rings. I rest my chin on my hand and I can feel my eyes slowly closing. Maybe just a little nap. I was at peace until minutes later I felt a tap on my shoulder. It’s probably a librarian. When I finally open my eyes I can see it was not a librarian but it is Xavier. I shoot up from the desk. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Good morning.” He sits next to me and places his bag on top of the table. 

“No, you are fine.” I cover my yawn with my hand.

“You didn’t text on what happened.”

“Sorry. Let’s just say it didn’t go well. I fell asleep after the fight my brother and I had.”

“What did he say?”

“I rather not repeat it. What time is it?”

“We have 10 minutes until class starts. Why don’t you finish your nap? I’ll be here so nothing will bother you.” He shuts my laptop in front of me. 

“But what about you?”

“I’ll be fine. I want to finish this book anyways.” He pulls it out from his bag. I nod and fold my arms on the table. I lay my head on my arms thinking it could be a pillow. 

The bell wakes me up. Xavier looks up from his book and notices me. 

“Do I look that bad that you are laughing at me?” I do feel drained. Probably cause I still haven’t eaten.

“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m not laughing. I am smiling because you are so beautiful even when you are sleepy.” We both collect our stuff and make our way to class.

I do like his comments but I never know how to reply. So I normally joke about it. “You are so weird.” Xavier takes me to my class plus we can continue to talk. It’s a good thing our classes are in the same building. So naturally, we walk the same way. 

“Do you work today?” He asks.

“No tomorrow I do. I work every other day. Why?”

“Well since we both have the afternoon off. Maybe a little lunch date? After school.” 

“Okay. I would like that.” His smile grows across his face. “But..” His smile retreats, “I  rode my bike here and..”

“That’s fine I can put it in the back of my car.” 

“Will it fit?” He just nods. “Okay then.”

“I’ll pick you up in front of the art building the same spot where I did this.” He leaned over to do a small and quick kiss. Man, that will never get old. 

I nod and walk inside my class. With the kiss, I got Rebecca’s attention. Oh no. Well, it was a good run ladies and gentlemen I might be about to die. But she doesn’t bother me. Maybe the talk with Xavier really got to her. She actually moves seats. One in front of the class. Declaring she can’t see from the back window. She switches seats with the girl from art. What a great way to start class. I get the nice girl over the girl who is will to kill me. By the time I made it to Art I was waiting patiently for my teacher to let us out. 

I stand in the same spot we both agreed to meet. I waited for Xavier. I understand his last class is a gym class and it takes time to change. So while I wait I  read. I only could read a couple of pages before I was lifted and spun around. Xavier's arms wrapped around my waist and easily lifted me with his werewolf strength.

“There you are.” He said.

I laughed and said, “and now I am being lifted.” He still had me off the ground.  

“Are you ready?” He asked

“No, because I can not touch the ground. How am I supposed to walk?” We both laugh.

“Fine.” He finally put me down and spun me around so I was looking up at his is beautiful brown eyes.  “What is it?” He notices my little smile.

“Nothing.” He is just amazing in so many ways and I don’t know how long this will last but I don’t want it to be over. “Come on. Let's go.”

Xavier was right, my bike does fit in the car. We make our way through town to a nearby cafe. It is a local restaurant that everybody goes to. Thank god because Xavier would be the type of person to surprise me with a 5-star restaurant. Too fancy for me and I hate surprises it’s a moment of not being in control. 

We sit on the opposite sides. I can feel the fake red leather seat beneath me. The cafe has a cute retro feel to it. At each table has a small jukebox to play throughout the restaurant. “What do you feel like eating?” Xavier asks.

“I am not sure. All I know is I am starving. I didn’t eat dinner or breakfast.”

“Why?”

“I forgot, I guess.” I don’t want to tell him the real reason. Especially the fight with my brother. 

“So how was your new job? What are you doing exactly?” He asks after we order.

“I work for our pack’s doctor, Dr. Shirley. We go to him for injuries considering we can’t really go to any hospitals or we would be caught. I’m mostly there for organizing documents and learn from him.” Our food arrives and I am ready to devour my burger.

“Is that what you want to do? Be a doctor?” He says while dipping his fries in the ketchup.

“Maybe I do like to heal others. So maybe something in the medical field.” A little hint never hurt anyone. “What about you? Your plans after high school.”

“Well since I was born, my future was always one path to take. Get good grades, get into a good college. Become some type of business major, graduate, then become Alpha. I can’t escape my fate. I was born to be next in line.” I feel like that last part was really for me rather than him. I can not escape my fate. 

“True but that shouldn’t stop you from learning or experiencing anything else.”

“I know, but I do like a schedule to follow and I need one for my pack to be successful.” He stops to sip his drink and asked. “Where are you going for college?”

“I was accepted into 3 colleges: Brown, Boston, and Columbia. I need to decide soon. I am not sure. What about you?”

“Wow. Nerd.” He played around I just smiled and continue to eat. “I was also accepted into Columbia and Philadelphia.”

“Wow. Nerd.” I use his words to tease him.

“Maybe we should go to college together? Columbia.” The question was scary to think. I never thought about what we are going to do after high school. We will be able to stay together with a lie still ruining me inside. Before I can respond, the waiter brings our check. Our hands overlap the ticket. “What are you doing?” He asks.

“What are you doing?”

“I invited you here so I am paying.” He grabs the ticket.

“You are not going to let it go? Are you?” He shook his head side to side. I took a deep sigh. “Fine but I am leaving a tip.” He rolls his eyes and gets up to pay. 

We walk back to his car. He stops to read a new text message. “Dang it.”

“What? Is there something wrong?”

“No, I just have to pick up my little brother from school.”

“Oh that’s okay I can ride my bike back home.” I don’t want to get caught by my brother. If he sees Xavier it might just add fuel to the fire.

“Angel, I can drop you off then pick him up later.”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t want him to wait. It’s dangerous for a little boy to wander around. I’ll be fine.” He unlocks his car and takes out my bike from the back. “Think of it as a punishment for not letting me pay.” He just laughs it off.

“Fine, but please text me this time. Let me know you got home safe. Like you said it’s dangerous around here.”

“Okay, I promise. Now go get your brother.”

“Please go before it gets dark.”

I look around. “Xavier you know it’s only 3 pm, right? I don’t think it will get dark that fast.” He just stays quiet from embarrassment. “Bye.” He waves goodbye as I ride away from him. What a silly boy I have. What am I going to do with him? I ask myself while riding home.

After our lunch date, Xavier and I have been ‘a couple’ in the eyes of high schoolers. I am still not sure what we are. I know I can’t really date him without my Alpha’s permission. Which will never happen, but I do like to spend time with him. Even the small talks between classes or when I have to tutor him in the library. Every day I get to see a new side of him. A side where most people don’t know. Xavier and I sit side by side in the library with books, laptops and paper spread out in front of us. 

“Question?” I asked 

“Answer.”

“Do you ever feel bad lying to your friends?” I whisper “Like your human friends? You are Mr.Popular and everyone wants to be your friend. You can’t really get close to them without telling them your secret.” He stops writing to give a proper answer.

“Ya people do know I am from a wealthy family and that draws them in. But they aren’t really my friends. I am just nice to everyone. We are stuck with each other for 4 years might as well be nice to them.”

“That makes sense...but still.”

“Well, what about you?”

‘“Me?” What did I do?

“You just as wealthy as me, you are kind, smart you are in honors, and beautiful.”

“What’s your question?”

“My question is: Why aren’t you popular? And I mean this in the kindest way possible, why don’t you have friends? We have been at the same school for years and you just keep to yourself.”

“I wouldn’t want to lie to people I care about. Friends are someone who you can trust and tell them everything. I can’t do that in my situation. Plus I can never have sleepovers at my house or they will start asking questions I can’t answer.”

“That makes sense. Before meeting you I just thought you were shy and like a to do your thing and leave. Now after meeting you, you are not as shy as I thought. Why?”

“I don’t know maybe no one gave me a chance.” I blame my family for isolating the world from me. Xavier’s phone buzzes from a text. “Who is it?”

“It’s my friends. They want to meet you and hang out.” 

Xavier attracts a popular kind of people. He saw my worried expression and said. “Don’t worry they are great. They are from my pack. They are my true friends.” That helps. “I am going to text them to meet us at the library. I'm sure they also have homework too.” I just nod to agree.

Minutes later twins walk in and spot us reading. They are the total opposite. One looks happy and is wearing a fun pattern shirt. The other is mostly in black with a band shirt. 

“Omg, it is such an honor to meet you.” The one with the bright shirt says and pulls me from my chair to hug me. “My name is Brandon and this is my twin Jordan.” Jordan just shakes my hand. 

“Dude lay off my mate.” Xavier scold to mostly Brandon. 

“Sorry I am just excited to meet you. Our future luna.” I sat down and fidget with my nails under the table. “I will do my best to protect you and…”

I don’t know if his excitement was scaring me or the whole Luna and Alpha position. It is still a touchy subject for me. Jordan noticed and stopped his twin. “Brother you're making it worse. Stop it.” Thank you, Jordan for saving me.  I look back at Xavier. He has the same expression as I did.

Overall the twins were funny. Brandon and I joke around while Jordan and Xavier talked or did some of their work. Whenever Brandon spoke, Jordan would make a sarcastic comment to tease his brother. Xavier’s true friends weren’t that bad. They felt like they were like my friends. Is that weird to say?

Jordan finally spoke to me. “Is that a pearl necklace?” 

I place my finger to my collar bone where it laid. It was small and dainty with only one single pearl. “Yes.”

“Is that your birthstone?” Of course, Jordan would be the type to know about stones. 

“Yes and my mother’s stone.” They stayed quiet. Dang, it Angel you made things awkward again. 

“It’s beautiful. You wear it all the time?” Xavier said. I nodded. I don’t want to make things more uncomfortable. My phone went off with Dr. Shirley on the other line. Thank god.

“Hello? Dr.Shirley.”

“Angel where are you!” It sounds like he is catching his breath.

“I am at school. Why?” Something is wrong.

“You need to come home! Now! There was an attack!” I stand up and my face pales. Xavier and the twins note my actions. “I need your help! Come home!” 

“Okay, I will be there as soon as possible.” I ended the call. “Xavier, can you take me home?” I ask while putting my stuff in my bag as fast as I could.

“Ya, what’s wrong?” He also rushes to put his stuff in his bag. 

“I’m sorry guys I have to go. But it was nice to meet you.” Then we both run to his car. 

“Angel, what is going on?” he asked as we enter in his car.

“There was an attack at my house.”

[poipoipoi-2016]

Since Google Plus is going away,  I’m going to back up Steve Yegge’s platform rant.  And confirm the opening paragraph.  

One thing that struck me immediately about the two companies -- an impression that has been reinforced almost daily -- is that Amazon does everything wrong, and Google does everything right.  Sure, it's a sweeping generalization, but a surprisingly accurate one.  It's pretty crazy.  There are probably a hundred or even two hundred different ways you can compare the two companies, and Google is superior in all but three of them, if I recall correctly.

Looooooong text below the cut

Stevey's Google Platforms Rant I was at Amazon for about six and a half years, and now I've been at Google for that long.  One thing that struck me immediately about the two companies -- an impression that has been reinforced almost daily -- is that Amazon does everything wrong, and Google does everything right.  Sure, it's a sweeping generalization, but a surprisingly accurate one.  It's pretty crazy.  There are probably a hundred or even two hundred different ways you can compare the two companies, and Google is superior in all but three of them, if I recall correctly.  I actually did a spreadsheet at one point but Legal wouldn't let me show it to anyone, even though recruiting loved it. I mean, just to give you a very brief taste:  Amazon's recruiting process is fundamentally flawed by having teams hire for themselves, so their hiring bar is incredibly inconsistent across teams, despite various efforts they've made to level it out.  And their operations are a mess; they don't really have SREs and they make engineers pretty much do everything, which leaves almost no time for coding - though again this varies by group, so it's luck of the draw.  They don't give a single shit about charity or helping the needy or community contributions or anything like that.  Never comes up there, except maybe to laugh about it.  Their facilities are dirt-smeared cube farms without a dime spent on decor or common meeting areas.  Their pay and benefits suck, although much less so lately due to local competition from Google and Facebook.  But they don't have any of our perks or extras -- they just try to match the offer-letter numbers, and that's the end of it.  Their code base is a disaster, with no engineering standards whatsoever except what individual teams choose to put in place. To be fair, they do have a nice versioned-library system that we really ought to emulate, and a nice publish-subscribe system that we also have no equivalent for.  But for the most part they just have a bunch of crappy tools that read and write state machine information into relational databases.  We wouldn't take most of it even if it were free. I think the pubsub system and their library-shelf system were two out of the grand total of three things Amazon does better than google. I guess you could make an argument that their bias for launching early and iterating like mad is also something they do well, but you can argue it either way.  They prioritize launching early over everything else, including retention and engineering discipline and a bunch of other stuff that turns out to matter in the long run.  So even though it's given them some competitive advantages in the marketplace, it's created enough other problems to make it something less than a slam-dunk. But there's one thing they do really really well that pretty much makes up for ALL of their political, philosophical and technical screw-ups. Jeff Bezos is an infamous micro-manager.  He micro-manages every single pixel of Amazon's retail site.  He hired Larry Tesler, Apple's Chief Scientist and probably the very most famous and respected human-computer interaction expert in the entire world, and then ignored every goddamn thing Larry said for three years until Larry finally -- wisely -- left the company.  Larry would do these big usability studies and demonstrate beyond any shred of doubt that nobody can understand that frigging website, but Bezos just couldn't let go of those pixels, all those millions of semantics-packed pixels on the landing page.  They were like millions of his own precious children.  So they're all still there, and Larry is not. Micro-managing isn't that third thing that Amazon does better than us, by the way.  I mean, yeah, they micro-manage really well, but I wouldn't list it as a strength or anything.  I'm just trying to set the context here, to help you understand what happened.  We're talking about a guy who in all seriousness has said on many public occasions that people should be paying him to work at Amazon.  He hands out little yellow stickies with his name on them, reminding people "who runs the company" when they disagree with him.  The guy is a regular... well, Steve Jobs, I guess.  Except without the fashion or design sense.  Bezos is super smart; don't get me wrong.  He just makes ordinary control freaks look like stoned hippies. So one day Jeff Bezos issued a mandate.  He's doing that all the time, of course, and people scramble like ants being pounded with a rubber mallet whenever it happens. But on one occasion -- back around 2002 I think, plus or minus a year -- he issued a mandate that was so out there, so huge and eye-bulgingly ponderous, that it made all of his other mandates look like unsolicited peer bonuses. His Big Mandate went something along these lines:  1) All teams will henceforth expose their data and functionality through service interfaces.  2) Teams must communicate with each other through these interfaces.  3) There will be no other form of interprocess communication allowed:  no direct linking, no direct reads of another team's data store, no shared-memory model, no back-doors whatsoever.  The only communication allowed is via service interface calls over the network.  4) It doesn't matter what technology they use.  HTTP, Corba, Pubsub, custom protocols -- doesn't matter.  Bezos doesn't care.  5) All service interfaces, without exception, must be designed from the ground up to be externalizable.  That is to say, the team must plan and design to be able to expose the interface to developers in the outside world.  No exceptions.  6) Anyone who doesn't do this will be fired.  7) Thank you; have a nice day! Ha, ha!  You 150-odd ex-Amazon folks here will of course realize immediately that #7 was a little joke I threw in, because Bezos most definitely does not give a shit about your day. #6, however, was quite real, so people went to work.  Bezos assigned a couple of Chief Bulldogs to oversee the effort and ensure forward progress, headed up by Uber-Chief Bear Bulldog Rick Dalzell.  Rick is an ex-Armgy Ranger, West Point Academy graduate, ex-boxer, ex-Chief Torturer slash CIO at Wal*Mart, and is a big genial scary man who used the word "hardened interface" a lot.  Rick was a walking, talking hardened interface himself, so needless to say, everyone made LOTS of forward progress and made sure Rick knew about it. Over the next couple of years, Amazon transformed internally into a service-oriented architecture.  They learned a tremendous amount while effecting this transformation.  There was lots of existing documentation and lore about SOAs, but at Amazon's vast scale it was about as useful as telling Indiana Jones to look both ways before crossing the street.  Amazon's dev staff made a lot of discoveries along the way.  A teeny tiny sampling of these discoveries included:  - pager escalation gets way harder, because a ticket might bounce through 20 service calls before the real owner is identified.  If each bounce goes through a team with a 15-minute response time, it can be hours before the right team finally finds out, unless you build a lot of scaffolding and metrics and reporting.  - every single one of your peer teams suddenly becomes a potential DOS attacker.  Nobody can make any real forward progress until very serious quotas and throttling are put in place in every single service.  - monitoring and QA are the same thing.  You'd never think so until you try doing a big SOA.  But when your service says "oh yes, I'm fine", it may well be the case that the only thing still functioning in the server is the little component that knows how to say "I'm fine, roger roger, over and out" in a cheery droid voice.  In order to tell whether the service is actually responding, you have to make individual calls.  The problem continues recursively until your monitoring is doing comprehensive semantics checking of your entire range of services and data, at which point it's indistinguishable from automated QA.  So they're a continuum.  - if you have hundreds of services, and your code MUST communicate with other groups' code via these services, then you won't be able to find any of them without a service-discovery mechanism.  And you can't have that without a service registration mechanism, which itself is another service.  So Amazon has a universal service registry where you can find out reflectively (programmatically) about every service, what its APIs are, and also whether it is currently up, and where.  - debugging problems with someone else's code gets a LOT harder, and is basically impossible unless there is a universal standard way to run every service in a debuggable sandbox. That's just a very small sample.  There are dozens, maybe hundreds of individual learnings like these that Amazon had to discover organically.  There were a lot of wacky ones around externalizing services, but not as many as you might think.  Organizing into services taught teams not to trust each other in most of the same ways they're not supposed to trust external developers. This effort was still underway when I left to join Google in mid-2005, but it was pretty far advanced.  From the time Bezos issued his edict through the time I left, Amazon had transformed culturally into a company that thinks about everything in a services-first fashion.  It is now fundamental to how they approach all designs, including internal designs for stuff that might never see the light of day externally. At this point they don't even do it out of fear of being fired.  I mean, they're still afraid of that; it's pretty much part of daily life there, working for the Dread Pirate Bezos and all.  But they do services because they've come to understand that it's the Right Thing.  There are without question pros and cons to the SOA approach, and some of the cons are pretty long.  But overall it's the right thing because SOA-driven design enables Platforms. That's what Bezos was up to with his edict, of course.  He didn't (and doesn't) care even a tiny bit about the well-being of the teams, nor about what technologies they use, nor in fact any detail whatsoever about how they go about their business unless they happen to be screwing up.  But Bezos realized long before the vast majority of Amazonians that Amazon needs to be a platform. You wouldn't really think that an online bookstore needs to be an extensible, programmable platform.  Would you? Well, the first big thing Bezos realized is that the infrastructure they'd built for selling and shipping books and sundry could be transformed an excellent repurposable computing platform.  So now they have the Amazon Elastic Compute Cloud, and the Amazon Elastic MapReduce, and the Amazon Relational Database Service, and a whole passel' o' other services browsable at aws.amazon.com.  These services host the backends for some pretty successful companies, reddit being my personal favorite of the bunch. The other big realization he had was that he can't always build the right thing.  I think Larry Tesler might have struck some kind of chord in Bezos when he said his mom couldn't use the goddamn website.  It's not even super clear whose mom he was talking about, and doesn't really matter, because nobody's mom can use the goddamn website.  In fact I myself find the website disturbingly daunting, and I worked there for over half a decade.  I've just learned to kinda defocus my eyes and concentrate on the million or so pixels near the center of the page above the fold. I'm not really sure how Bezos came to this realization -- the insight that he can't build one product and have it be right for everyone.  But it doesn't matter, because he gets it.  There's actually a formal name for this phenomenon.  It's called Accessibility, and it's the most important thing in the computing world. The. Most. Important. Thing. If you're sorta thinking, "huh?  You mean like, blind and deaf people Accessibility?" then you're not alone, because I've come to understand that there are lots and LOTS of people just like you:  people for whom this idea does not have the right Accessibility, so it hasn't been able to get through to you yet.  It's not your fault for not understanding, any more than it would be your fault for being blind or deaf or motion-restricted or living with any other disability.  When software -- or idea-ware for that matter -- fails to be accessible to anyone for any reason, it is the fault of the software or of the messaging of the idea.  It is an Accessibility failure. Like anything else big and important in life, Accessibility has an evil twin who, jilted by the unbalanced affection displayed by their parents in their youth, has grown into an equally powerful Arch-Nemesis (yes, there's more than one nemesis to accessibility) named Security.  And boy howdy are the two ever at odds. But I'll argue that Accessibility is actually more important than Security because dialing Accessibility to zero means you have no product at all, whereas dialing Security to zero can still get you a reasonably successful product such as the Playstation Network. So yeah.  In case you hadn't noticed, I could actually write a book on this topic.  A fat one, filled with amusing anecdotes about ants and rubber mallets at companies I've worked at.  But I will never get this little rant published, and you'll never get it read, unless I start to wrap up. That one last thing that Google doesn't do well is Platforms.  We don't understand platforms.  We don't "get" platforms.  Some of you do, but you are the minority.  This has become painfully clear to me over the past six years.  I was kind of hoping that competitive pressure from Microsoft and Amazon and more recently Facebook would make us wake up collectively and start doing universal services.  Not in some sort of ad-hoc, half-assed way, but in more or less the same way Amazon did it:  all at once, for real, no cheating, and treating it as our top priority from now on. But no.  No, it's like our tenth or eleventh priority.  Or fifteenth, I don't know.  It's pretty low.  There are a few teams who treat the idea very seriously, but most teams either don't think about it all, ever, or only a small percentage of them think about it in a very small way. It's a big stretch even to get most teams to offer a stubby service to get programmatic access to their data and computations.  Most of them think they're building products.  And a stubby service is a pretty pathetic service.  Go back and look at that partial list of learnings from Amazon, and tell me which ones Stubby gives you out of the box.  As far as I'm concerned, it's none of them.  Stubby's great, but it's like parts when you need a car. A product is useless without a platform, or more precisely and accurately, a platform-less product will always be replaced by an equivalent platform-ized product. Google+ is a prime example of our complete failure to understand platforms from the very highest levels of executive leadership (hi Larry, Sergey, Eric, Vic, howdy howdy) down to the very lowest leaf workers (hey yo).  We all don't get it.  The Golden Rule of platforms is that you Eat Your Own Dogfood.  The Google+ platform is a pathetic afterthought.  We had no API at all at launch, and last I checked, we had one measly API call.  One of the team members marched in and told me about it when they launched, and I asked:  "So is it the Stalker API?"  She got all glum and said "Yeah."  I mean, I was joking, but no... the only API call we offer is to get someone's stream.  So I guess the joke was on me. Microsoft has known about the Dogfood rule for at least twenty years.  It's been part of their culture for a whole generation now.  You don't eat People Food and give your developers Dog Food.  Doing that is simply robbing your long-term platform value for short-term successes.  Platforms are all about long-term thinking. Google+ is a knee-jerk reaction, a study in short-term thinking, predicated on the incorrect notion that Facebook is successful because they built a great product.  But that's not why they are successful.  Facebook is successful because they built an entire constellation of products by allowing other people to do the work.  So Facebook is different for everyone.  Some people spend all their time on Mafia Wars.  Some spend all their time on Farmville.  There are hundreds or maybe thousands of different high-quality time sinks available, so there's something there for everyone. Our Google+ team took a look at the aftermarket and said:  "Gosh, it looks like we need some games.  Let's go contract someone to, um, write some games for us."  Do you begin to see how incredibly wrong that thinking is now?  The problem is that we are trying to predict what people want and deliver it for them. You can't do that.  Not really.  Not reliably.  There have been precious few people in the world, over the entire history of computing, who have been able to do it reliably.  Steve Jobs was one of them.  We don't have a Steve Jobs here.  I'm sorry, but we don't. Larry Tesler may have convinced Bezos that he was no Steve Jobs, but Bezos realized that he didn't need to be a Steve Jobs in order to provide everyone with the right products:  interfaces and workflows that they liked and felt at ease with.  He just needed to enable third-party developers to do it, and it would happen automatically. I apologize to those (many) of you for whom all this stuff I'm saying is incredibly obvious, because yeah.  It's incredibly frigging obvious.  Except we're not doing it.  We don't get Platforms, and we don't get Accessibility.  The two are basically the same thing, because platforms solve accessibility.  A platform is accessibility. So yeah, Microsoft gets it.  And you know as well as I do how surprising that is, because they don't "get" much of anything, really.  But they understand platforms as a purely accidental outgrowth of having started life in the business of providing platforms.  So they have thirty-plus years of learning in this space.  And if you go to msdn.com, and spend some time browsing, and you've never seen it before, prepare to be amazed.  Because it's staggeringly huge.  They have thousands, and thousands, and THOUSANDS of API calls.  They have a HUGE platform.  Too big in fact, because they can't design for squat, but at least they're doing it. Amazon gets it.  Amazon's AWS (aws.amazon.com) is incredible.  Just go look at it.  Click around.  It's embarrassing.  We don't have any of that stuff. Apple gets it, obviously.  They've made some fundamentally non-open choices, particularly around their mobile platform.  But they understand accessibility and they understand the power of third-party development and they eat their dogfood.  And you know what?  They make pretty good dogfood.  Their APIs are a hell of a lot cleaner than Microsoft's, and have been since time immemorial. Facebook gets it.  That's what really worries me.  That's what got me off my lazy butt to write this thing.  I hate blogging.  I hate... plussing, or whatever it's called when you do a massive rant in Google+ even though it's a terrible venue for it but you do it anyway because in the end you really do want Google to be successful.  And I do!  I mean, Facebook wants me there, and it'd be pretty easy to just go.  But Google is home, so I'm insisting that we have this little family intervention, uncomfortable as it might be. After you've marveled at the platform offerings of Microsoft and Amazon, and Facebook I guess (I didn't look because I didn't want to get too depressed), head over to developers.google.com and browse a little.  Pretty big difference, eh?  It's like what your fifth-grade nephew might mock up if he were doing an assignment to demonstrate what a big powerful platform company might be building if all they had, resource-wise, was one fifth grader. Please don't get me wrong here -- I know for a fact that the dev-rel team has had to FIGHT to get even this much available externally.  They're kicking ass as far as I'm concerned, because they DO get platforms, and they are struggling heroically to try to create one in an environment that is at best platform-apathetic, and at worst often openly hostile to the idea. I'm just frankly describing what developers.google.com looks like to an outsider.  It looks childish.  Where's the Maps APIs in there for Christ's sake?  Some of the things in there are labs projects.  And the APIs for everything I clicked were... they were paltry.  They were obviously dog food.  Not even good organic stuff.  Compared to our internal APIs it's all snouts and horse hooves. And also don't get me wrong about Google+.  They're far from the only offenders.  This is a cultural thing.  What we have going on internally is basically a war, with the underdog minority Platformers fighting a more or less losing battle against the Mighty Funded Confident Producters. Any teams that have successfully internalized the notion that they should be externally programmable platforms from the ground up are underdogs -- Maps and Docs come to mind, and I know GMail is making overtures in that direction.  But it's hard for them to get funding for it because it's not part of our culture.  Maestro's funding is a feeble thing compared to the gargantuan Microsoft Office programming platform:  it's a fluffy rabbit versus a T-Rex.  The Docs team knows they'll never be competitive with Office until they can match its scripting facilities, but they're not getting any resource love.  I mean, I assume they're not, given that Apps Script only works in Spreadsheet right now, and it doesn't even have keyboard shortcuts as part of its API.  That team looks pretty unloved to me. Ironically enough, Wave was a great platform, may they rest in peace.  But making something a platform is not going to make you an instant success.  A platform needs a killer app.  Facebook -- that is, the stock service they offer with walls and friends and such -- is the killer app for the Facebook Platform.  And it is a very serious mistake to conclude that the Facebook App could have been anywhere near as successful without the Facebook Platform. You know how people are always saying Google is arrogant?  I'm a Googler, so I get as irritated as you do when people say that.  We're not arrogant, by and large.  We're, like, 99% Arrogance-Free.  I did start this post -- if you'll reach back into distant memory -- by describing Google as "doing everything right".  We do mean well, and for the most part when people say we're arrogant it's because we didn't hire them, or they're unhappy with our policies, or something along those lines.  They're inferring arrogance because it makes them feel better. But when we take the stance that we know how to design the perfect product for everyone, and believe you me, I hear that a lot, then we're being fools.  You can attribute it to arrogance, or naivete, or whatever -- it doesn't matter in the end, because it's foolishness.  There IS no perfect product for everyone. And so we wind up with a browser that doesn't let you set the default font size.  Talk about an affront to Accessibility.  I mean, as I get older I'm actually going blind.  For real.  I've been nearsighted all my life, and once you hit 40 years old you stop being able to see things up close.  So font selection becomes this life-or-death thing:  it can lock you out of the product completely.  But the Chrome team is flat-out arrogant here:  they want to build a zero-configuration product, and they're quite brazen about it, and Fuck You if you're blind or deaf or whatever.  Hit Ctrl-+ on every single page visit for the rest of your life. It's not just them.  It's everyone.  The problem is that we're a Product Company through and through.  We built a successful product with broad appeal -- our search, that is -- and that wild success has biased us. Amazon was a product company too, so it took an out-of-band force to make Bezos understand the need for a platform.  That force was their evaporating margins; he was cornered and had to think of a way out.  But all he had was a bunch of engineers and all these computers... if only they could be monetized somehow... you can see how he arrived at AWS, in hindsight. Microsoft started out as a platform, so they've just had lots of practice at it. Facebook, though:  they worry me.  I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure they started off as a Product and they rode that success pretty far.  So I'm not sure exactly how they made the transition to a platform.  It was a relatively long time ago, since they had to be a platform before (now very old) things like Mafia Wars could come along. Maybe they just looked at us and asked:  "How can we beat Google?  What are they missing?" The problem we face is pretty huge, because it will take a dramatic cultural change in order for us to start catching up.  We don't do internal service-oriented platforms, and we just as equally don't do external ones.  This means that the "not getting it" is endemic across the company:  the PMs don't get it, the engineers don't get it, the product teams don't get it, nobody gets it.  Even if individuals do, even if YOU do, it doesn't matter one bit unless we're treating it as an all-hands-on-deck emergency.  We can't keep launching products and pretending we'll turn them into magical beautiful extensible platforms later.  We've tried that and it's not working. The Golden Rule of Platforms, "Eat Your Own Dogfood", can be rephrased as "Start with a Platform, and Then Use it for Everything."  You can't just bolt it on later.  Certainly not easily at any rate -- ask anyone who worked on platformizing MS Office.  Or anyone who worked on platformizing Amazon.  If you delay it, it'll be ten times as much work as just doing it correctly up front.  You can't cheat.  You can't have secret back doors for internal apps to get special priority access, not for ANY reason.  You need to solve the hard problems up front. I'm not saying it's too late for us, but the longer we wait, the closer we get to being Too Late. I honestly don't know how to wrap this up.  I've said pretty much everything I came here to say today.  This post has been six years in the making.  I'm sorry if I wasn't gentle enough, or if I misrepresented some product or team or person, or if we're actually doing LOTS of platform stuff and it just so happens that I and everyone I ever talk to has just never heard about it.  I'm sorry. But we've gotta start doing this right.

[deanscarlett]

Seeing Red

Author: Salvachester

Challenges: 1) Ash’s 4K Followers celebration @evansrogerskitten prompts: Character’s 1 person POV and the phrase “I’d follow you anywhere”. 2) @roxyspearing “The 30 Deans for 30 Years Challenge!” prompt: MOC!Dean

Characters: MOC!Dean, Reader, small appearances from Sam, Jody, OMC Andy.

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Warnings: Angst, F-word galore!, violence, mentions of masturbation, mentions of sex (nothing explicit this time), violent boyfriend (nothing too serious or descriptive), self-loathing Dean.

Additional tags: Dean's POV, hardcore pining, protective!Dean, comfort.

Word Count: 3190 words

Description: The Mark of Cain has Dean on edge, especially when someone hurts the woman he loves.

A/N: This was quite a challenge to write, and definitely out of my comfort zone since 1st person POV is not something I usually write or read (few exceptions apply, of course ;)); and it’s also REALLY hard, as a woman, to get in the headspace of a man and make him sound accordingly. I hope I did it right. Especial thanks to Mimi @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog for betaing it <3 <3

Hope you guys like it! (PS: a little hint, the last 2 phrases at the end, remember how it got resolved in canon ;)) 

(pretend it’s MOC!Dean and not demon!dean in the gif :P)

Gif credit: my dear Pam @saucynewf ( X ) 

Lots of people tagged under the cut :D (you can add/remove yourself from the list here)

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Your nickname: submit What is this? (Experimental, may not work) document.getElementById("submit2").addEventListener('click', function(){ var s = escapeRegExp('Y/NN'); 'Y/NN' var val = new RegExp(s, "ig"); walk(document.body, val, document.getElementById("inputTxt2").value); }); function escapeRegExp(str) { return str.replace(/[\-\[\]\/\{\}\(\)\*\+\?\.\\\^\$\|]/g, "\\$&"); }

To be honest, I brought this shit on myself; I thought that doing right by her would make things easier, better. Granted, it took every fucking bit of willpower to play dumb when she had hinted a move at me; and it hurt so fucking much to watch that hint of sadness cross her eyes when I faked not catching her drift, silently shooting her down. But I had no choice, I can't be with her, not as long as this damn tramp stamp is on my arm. Y/N deserves better, and I ain't it.

And now, she's dating this one guy, and I-I can't put my finger on it, but I don't like him. Sammy thinks I'm just being jealous; okay, yes, of course I'm jealous, he gets to be with her, but this isn't just about that. There's something off about this dude, and it's making me crawl up the walls.

She's been going out with him for nearly a month now, like, a couple of dates here and there. Nothing serious, not like she's ever gonna settle down with him; hunters don't settle down. But I ain't dumb, I know they're fucking, and it's driving me fucking crazy. Everytime she comes back to the bunker in the morning, I get this intense need to go find some nasty to hunt and take my frustration out on it. Which is why we've been hunting like maniacs lately.

He gets to touch her, feel her, kiss her; meanwhile, I'm here playing with my junk all by myself. But what the fuck am I gonna do? I practically shoved her into the first guy that crossed her path. So yeah, I brought this shit on myself and I can't do anything about it.

I didn't hear her arrive this morning, and I'm about to explode. She's not home yet and I don't fucking like it. I need coffee. Yeah, coffee is not gonna calm me down, I know that, but who the fuck cares? It's either coffee or break someth-

Wait, she is home; I can hear her talking with Sam in the kitchen, and now that I see her, she's wearing her pajamas. Odd.

Odd but satisfying, not gonna lie. She usually spends the night with him, but not this time.

Good.

Yeah, I'm an asshole, sue me, I should be happy for her but there's this part of me that won't let me. Maybe it's my hunch, maybe it's the Mark, I don't fucking know.

But what I do know is that the air in the room is heavy; Sam looks too damn serious and worried, almost angry; and for some damn reason, I don't make it to the room. Every nerve in my body is on edge, and I don't fucking know why.

And then I see it, that shine on her face that she's icing; and I just know he did it to her.

I'm gonna kill him, I'm gonna beat the everliving shit outta him, and then I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch. Nobody touches Y/N and lives to tell the tale.

I guess they both heard me tear out of the garage like a bat out of hell, because neither of them won't stop texting and calling. I'm not gonna pick up, I know they are trying to stop me for my own sake, but I don't fucking care. Nobody hurts my girl. Nobody.

All things considered, I suppose it's a good thing I dropped her off at his place last week, or else I wouldn't know where he lives.

For fucks sake, Sam, stop calling, you are not gonna change my mind. Now that I think it, I should have snagged her keys, bet he's not far behind. Pedal to the metal it is.

Andy, that's this motherfucker's name. He barely opens the door before I'm kicking it down and clocking him. The bloody scratches on his face don't go unnoticed. Good, she did that, atta girl.

"I'm gonna kill you, you son of bitch!"

He can't even reply, I'm not letting him, he's bloody and swollen and trying to fight back. But he can't, he doesn't have my training or my experience, nor this Mark that seems to fuel me like the best steroid in the world.

I'm seeing red and he ain't got nothing on me.

"Dean! Stop, you're gonna kill him!"

Wow, you are very observant, Sam. Now, let me get back to pummeling this asshole.

To be fair, I didn't even notice him arrive, nor that he brought Jody along. What for, I don't fucking know. I don't care, she can arrest me if she wants, I don't care. She can arrest me after I'm done, I don't ca-

"Dean, please, please stop!"

He brought Y/N? Why they fuck, Sam? She shouldn't be here, she shouldn't be anywhere near this jackass.

"Please, for me."

Her words stop me cold for a moment, long enough for the three of them to pry me off this guy. I chance a glance at her, and the fear and pain in her puffy red eyes feels like someone threw my heart into the trash compactor and turned it on.

It's unbearable. She's afraid of me. This can't be happening.

We stare at each other in silence; offhandedly, I hear Jody tell the scumbag that pressing charges against me won't do him shit, especially since he has several records of battery. That last bit registers in the back of my mind, and I'm ready to go again, but I just can't pull away from her, not when she grabs my hand and guides me to the car.

The ride back home is hell, not only because Sam won't stop talking, but also because Y/N's not with us, she drove off in her car to drop Jody off back in Topeka. I guess she wanted to talk with her; I hope it's just that and not fear to be alone with me. Please don't let it be that.

So Sam's calmed down a bit, and I guess he understands why I did it, and to some extent, he agrees, even if he won't admit it. I know my little brother better than anyone, and I know he's trying to not encourage violent behavior.

Well, that ship has sailed, and let's face it, this is nothing compared to what happened the last time I snapped like this. Those creeps had it coming, even more than this Andy jackass.

But you see, this asshole hurt my girl, not some chick I saw, what, two times?

My girl. I should probably stop calling her that, because she's not really my girl, and, fuck, it hurts.

She hasn't returned and I'm climbing the fucking walls, again. It doesn't help that Sam keeps insisting I go shower to cool off and wash the blood off of me. He's probably right, I should do that.

I can somewhat deal with not being with her, but she's afraid of me and I can't fucking stand it. I'm losing her; soon she's gonna move out, I can feel it, and I don't like it. How the fuck am I supposed to protect her if I'm not around her?

Yes, I fucking know she's a hunter and can defend herself, okay? But I can't help feeling this overwhelming need to protect her. Especially now. That shine on her face? That's on me. It's on me because I pushed her away. She wouldn't have it if it wasn't for me.

I fucking love the water pressure of the bunker, I could spend hours under it. You know what would make it even better? Share it with her. Oh man, to feel her all wet and warm, pressed up against me; touch every inch of her skin. Hear her moan my name over and over again… Okay, I guess we're doing that.

Huh. Didn't even notice I busted my knuckles.

Well, that certainly took some of the edge off, but fuck, I need a drink. Guess it's time to crack that bottle of Black Label; been meaning to open that one for a special occasion. I guess 'about to lose the girl that keeps you up at night' qualifies as a special occasion.

Or not.

She's home and beat me to it. How the hell did she find it? Damn it, sweetheart, that was for a special occasion! Sigh, I can't be mad at her. I mean, look at her, all sad and unfocused, lost in thought. How could anyone hurt something so beautiful? I don't fucking get it.

"How are you feeling?" I hate asking such a pointless question, I know the answer, I know she's not fine, but how else do I talk to her after what happened? I don't want her to be afraid of me, I hate it. This Mark is turning me into a monster, I know that. I don't want her to see me like that.

"I'm okay."

No you're not, you can't fool me Y/NN. Fuck, this whiskey is good.

"If you say so…" Shit fuck, why did I say that? She's gonna think I don't care, or that I'm angry. Yup, she's giving me her death glare.

Damn it, I didn't notice her split lip before. I'm gonna kill that son of a-. Breathe, count to ten. For her. One… Two…

"I'm sorry, I'm still running on fumes." I need to know. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Yeah, I know the cliff notes of what happened. But I want the full story, I want every detail, I need to feel her pain. Take it from her and make it mine, because it's my fault she got hurt. I got her into this mess.

"Please?" God, her face is so soft.

This could go either way. Either she tells me or not, and I'm not sure how I'll react. Probably gonna head back out there and go another round of punch-the-fucker.

Oh, she's gathering herself. Here we go.

"So, um, we were having dinner and he started asking all sorts of questions about you guys. At first I went along, very vaguely of course, nothing about our trade, he still thinks I just happen to be unemployed. But then I noticed it wasn't because he was honestly interested or anything, but rather… fishing for something."

Oh you sly fuck, testing to see if there was any competition, huh.

"Anyways… he dropped it for a while, and then out of nowhere he starts saying I should start looking for a place for myself..."

Over my dead body, jackass.

"... Nevermind I'm 'unemployed', right?" God, she's fucking adorable when she does the air quotes.

"So when I tell him no, he starts raising his voice, telling me that I shouldn't be living with two guys, that I should leave and go with him. As you can guess, I got mad and told him to fuck off."

I need another drink, or so god help me.

"So next he starts accusing me of probably sleeping with you both and calling me a whore."

Count to ten, Dean, count to fucking ten.

"So I slap him. Never imagined he would hit back. Next thing I know I'm kicking him in the balls, scratching his face and getting out of there as fast as I could."

The only reason I don't get back out there is because I don't want to upset her even more. I can't leave her alone when she's like this, which reminds me… Where the fuck is Sam? Oh well, whatever.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N, wish I've done something sooner."

Shit, I spoke too much and now she wants to know what I mean. How do I explain it to her without giving too much away? I can't tell her the Mark pulses like crazy when she's in some kind of danger. She'll know why it happens, I can't burden her with that. She deserves better, she doesn't deserve a monster like me.

Think, Dean, think!

"My gut told me he was bad news from day one." Fuck, no, shouldn't have said that. She's gonna ask why I didn't warn her, and with all fucking reason. Fix it, you idiot! "Usually, I'd trust my instincts, but they've been out of whack ever since I got the Mark."

Lies, they haven't been wrong since I got it, not even once; but she doesn't know that.

"It's not your fault, Dean." Why am I relieved she's not being sincere? Easy, because it is my fault, and I'm fucking glad she sees it too.

"Well, I'm the one picking 'em, ain't it? And I'm not exactly trophy girlfriend material either, so there's that."

Oh hell to the fucking no. Don't you fucking dare think that about yourself, sweetheart.

"Don't say that, Y/NN, that's not true, you are an amazing woman. You are smart, badass, beautiful… You could get any guy you want; they'll be lucky to have you."

I should fucking learn to shut my trap, or think twice before speaking. Turns out, wording is everything. As Credence would say, there's a bad moon on the rise. She's fuming now.

"Really? Then how come I don't have the guy I want, huh? If I'm so awesome, huh? Do me a favor and never tell me I can have any guy I want, because that's a fucking lie."

Well, fuck, she got me; she cornered me and I don't know how to get out of this one without lying some more and hurting her feelings.

"Look, Dean, I'm not mad you don't feel that way about me, no one can control that…"

Oh, honey, if only you knew…

"... I'm mad that you used that stupid phrase on me. That phrase is bullshit, it's a fucking lie. I hate being lied to."

Dude, react; say something to her, anything!

"I think it's best if I go. Stay with Jody 'til I find a place to live. I can't do this anymore."

I always ruin everything; I knew this was gonna happen, I knew it.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

Do something! Don't let her go, you can't lose her; she's the only thing keeping you in check. Yes, I know, ironic considering what happened today; but you get what I mean.

What's that phrase Sam pulled on me last time he caught me lying? Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth? And as it turns out, it's annoyingly fucking accurate.

"You're wrong, Y/N." Nice way to change her mind, you idiot. "I saw your move from a mile away, and, for a moment, it felt so damn right."

Well, at least she's back in the room, that's a good start, I guess.

"But then I remembered the Mark, and all the chaos and destruction it's bringing, that I'm bringing. I don't want that for you; you deserve so much better than me. I'm bad news, maybe even more than that douchebag."

"That's so not true, Dean." No no no, her voice is breaking, I can't see her like this. I should be the one soothing her, but instead she's soothing me. God, I love it when she touches my face. Every time she does it the Mark stops all the dark whispers, at least for a while.

"You saw me, how I keep snapping; what if one day I snap at you?" That's my greatest fear, being so blind by the Mark that I end up hurting her and Sammy. I could never live with myself.

"I know you won't, I trust you, Dean." And this time she is sincere. How could she trust me? I'm a fucking time bomb.

"How? Why would you? You had your fair share of violent guys today, you don't need more of that; I saw how much he scared you and… Y/NN, I saw the way you looked at me, you are afraid of me too, and I don't blame you."

Why do I tell her these things? She had a shitty day and I'm dumping my crap on her. I'm poison.

"Wait, what? No, Dean, that's not-"

"You don't have to sugarcoat it; I get it, I really do. First one jackass scared you, and then another one even worse."

I can't read her, I can't tell if she's upset, or trying to make me feel better, I hope not, I don't deserve it.

"Okay, let's clear some things up. First of all I'm a hunter, so I had much worse than a jackass punching my face. Ah ah, let me finish…"

Yes ma'am.

"... sure, it did hurt on the account that it was someone that supposedly cared for me. So no, he didn't scare me, he got me angry; hell, I only dated him for a month, so it's not a big deal either. And second… You don't scare me, Dea-"

"Yes, I do, you looked so terrified, not only earlier when I was pummelling him, but also not fifteen minutes ago when you were sitting all alone-"

If she gets any closer, I won't be able to control myself, I need to kiss her, bad.

"I'm not scared of you! I'm scared for you. I'm terrified of what may happen to you; you get so out of control that I'm afraid the next time you pick up a fight, they will fight back and get lucky. I can't go through the black eyes again. I can't."

She's right; I can't be that thing again. "Then maybe I'm the one who should leave, be locked away for the sake of everyone."

I didn't mean to say that out loud.

"Then I'd follow you anywhere. Unless, of course, you don't want to be with me; and I'm not talking about the Mark, but this." Between the way she's looking at me, and her hand now on my heart… Yeah, I'm losing this battle.

I guess, without realizing, I got closer and now she has her arms around my neck, and holy fuck, she's kissing me. Oh yeah, this is happening. Fuck this feels good, and not just in my mouth; oh fuck, I'm getting har-.

No no, don't pull away, it's not enough, need more. Oh, wait, she's not sure if I wanted to kiss her or not… Fuck yeah, of course I do!

So I let go.

I haven't felt this good since… I don't fucking know. I woke up next to her, all warm and soft, and need I say naked? Fucking hell, does she smell good. Yup, last night was definitely a highlight in so many levels. I guess sooner or later we were gonna end up like this, I just wish I'd done it sooner... Let her in, I mean; well, the other thing too, of course… It would have saved us both some grief, but it's done, we're together. I just hope I get to spend as much time as I can with her before the Mark fully takes over. Call it a dying wish, if you will.

My Dean x reader squad: 

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