#posting my writing makes me realise how subpar it is

[briyourmotherdown]

i just found your account and i’m already obsessed, i need cold water part ii

AHHHHHHH WELCOME ! Im so so glad you liked it, that means so much to me <33 i’m working on part 2 alongside all my university assignments so hopefully it won’t be too long before it’s out ! thank you so much for reading <3

[littlemissnoname13]

Wisps of Smoke (Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader) - Part one

Summary: Draco and y/n find themselves drawn to an abandoned classroom every single night.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Slytherin! reader (implied pure blood for the storyline to work)

Warnings: Excessive smoking, mature language, mature themes, no full fledged smut till now. Also please remember that the characters have all been aged up in all of my stories.

18+ Content

A/n: A pack of cigarettes on my desk seduced me into writing this one (smoking is injurious to health)

Word count: 3000

Monday

To say that Draco Malfoy was your friend was a bit of an exaggeration.

The two of you tolerated each other at most.

Having grown up in the same friend circle that consisted of Theo, Blaise, Pansy, you’d both learned how to remain perfectly civil.

Of course, it wasn’t always that easy.Sometimes the blonde git got on your last nerve.

Just last week, Theo had to pull him back by his robe and Pansy had to clutch tightly onto your arm because you and Draco were this close to hexing each other’s faces off.

And today Blaise looked anything but pleased about his choice of seat at your Potions class. The boy who donned a calm, cool and collected—almost condescending expression on most days leaned against the table in a bracing position while you and Draco yelled at each other from his left and right.

“You have to stir it twice. Clockwise.” Draco scoffed rolling his eyes as he watched you stir your Draught of Living Death potion.

“Clockwise y/n—No! no! No— y/n you are doing it all wrong. That’s anti-clockwise! Can you get any more stupid?! Merlin!”

“Why don’t you do it yourself instead of sitting over there, crossing your fucking arms and barking out instructions.” You shot back getting angrier by the minute.

“You should be glad I’m here to give you instructions. If it were up to you, the whole classroom would be up in flames by now.” He said icily, picking up a Sopophorous bean and observing it.

“In case you haven’t noticed already, I never asked for your help Malfoy!”

“And I did not ask to work with you and Zabini on this stupid potion y/l/n.”

“And I most certainly did not ask to be put in between two bickering children but here I am. Life isn’t fair now is it?!” Blaise snapped causing you both to retreat back into your seats.

That’s how your days usually went by.

And your nights...well your nights weren’t particularly any better. In fact, it was always the same old routine.

You stared up at the ceiling and focused on the creaking sound your bed made while your long time boyfriend Adrian Pucey chased his release on top of you.

He was always a blubbering, sweaty mess and you lightly stroked his hair and closed your eyes wondering why you felt nothing at all.

You were devoid of all emotion and pleasure—wondering if you were broken.

There was no pleasure and no pain.

And after Adrian’s quick departure, your room reeked of sex and sweat and your pillow would sometimes be wet with tears.

Sex with Adrian felt like nothing at all even though you loved him.

Adrian was gentle, almost too gentle and you had come to a conclusion that orgasms and passionate sex that left you wanting for more was nothing but a myth.

You channeled all the energy you had left into slipping your clothes back on. You lethargically wiped at your mascara stained cheeks with the sleeve of your sweater before slamming your door shut behind you.

Discreetly, you exited the dungeons and let your feet guide you all the way towards an empty and abandoned classroom with a huge window and a windowsill wide enough for sitting.

Nobody really paid much attention to the classroom and going there felt like hiding in plain sight. Going there in the middle of the night had somewhat become a night time ritual for you.

You quickly got comfortable on the moonlit windowsill and took deep calming breaths—filling your lungs up with the air around you.

The air had a stench of nicotine these past few weeks and It hurt your head at first. But now, you’d learned to ignore it.

Everything felt silent and tranquil for a brief moment until you started to hear moans and groans coming from the other side of the classroom door.

The sounds made your blood freeze and you closed your eyes, mumbling an inaudible prayer to the universe. The last thing you needed was an awkward encounter with the people making out on the other side of the door.

It didn’t take very long before the door started to creak and shake violently.

The creaking only got louder and louder. As did the moaning and groaning and cursing.

Soon, the shaking of the door came to an abrupt halt followed by a shrill post-coital giggle.

You closed your eyes and finally heaved a huge sigh of relief when you heard the pitter patter footsteps walking away from the room.

“What the fuck are you doing here y/l/n?” A familiar voice startled you and you held your breath hoping it wasn’t who you thought it was.

You opened only one eye and looked at the door that had been flung open.

Draco Malfoy stood on the other side of the now open door with the buckle of his belt still undone, his shirt all disheveled and his silver hair in a state of disarray from being yanked on.

“I would ask you the same question but it’s best if you don’t tell me.” You gagged.

The corners of his lips twisted into a typical Malfoy-esque smirk as he used his thumb to wipe his bottom lip.

“Well, would you like me to show you instead?”

“Smooth.” You muttered, letting out a sarcastic chuckle at his words while he sat down next to you on the windowsill.

Malfoy was the last person you wanted to see that night. Especially after Potions class.

Even though you were looking out the window, you felt his eyes linger on you through your peripheral vision. He was drenched in the moonlight seeping in through the large window giving his place skin a pearlescent glow.

Although Malfoy had maintained an unreadable expression on his face, his prying eyes gave everything away.

“Pucey?” He finally said.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been crying haven’t you?” He asked, lifting your chin up with his index finger and observing the redness around your nose and the puffiness around your eyes.

“Since when do you care?” You jeered, eyeing him suspiciously.

“I don’t.” He shrugged abruptly pulling his hand back—letting your face fall.

He turned towards the window, put a cigarette between his lips and lit it up. After taking a long drag, he tilted his head around to look at you again. “I just don’t think Pucey is worth crying over. If you’re crying over hi—”

“Merlin’s beard Malfoy! It’s you. You’ve been smoking your stupid cigarettes here haven’t you?” You cut him off with your eyes widening in realisation.

“I have.”

“And all this time I thought I was hallucinating the smell of smoke.”

“Sorry to break it to you y/l/n but I’ve been coming here since the fourth year.”

Wisps of smoke came out of his mouth and drifted all the way to the tip of your nose when he exhaled.

“I come here all the time.” He continued. “Sometimes alone and sometimes—”

“You bring a poor naive girl here for a quickie.” you finished his sentence coughing and swatting the air around you. “Who were you shagging outside anyway?” You asked, arching your eyebrows.

“Since when do you care?” He retorted.

“Touché.”

~~~~~~~~

Tuesday

“That poor girl you were with last night sounded like she was in pain.” You commented the next night dangling your legs outside the window as Draco stood next you, smoking.

“I am assuming Pucey is horrible in bed then.” He snickered making your cheeks heat up.

“He isn’t horrible.” You protested as he inspected the slightest amount of dust gathered in the corner of the windowsill paying little to no attention to you.

“He’s just…” you trailed off in your pathetic attempt to justify Adrian’s subpar bedroom skills.

“Go on love.” He mocked, lighting up another cigarette and extending his hand to offer you one. "Tell me."

"You are the last person I wanna discuss my sex life with.” You snapped pushing his hand along with the pack of cigarettes away from you.

~~~~~~~~

Wednesday

You gathered your hair up and threw on a silk robe over your slip dress and walked towards your usual spot in the abandoned classroom.

You found yourself subconsciously waiting for Draco to show up as you leaned against the glass window.

After a few minutes, he was quietly standing next to you staring outside the window that overlooked the school courtyard.

He placed a cigarette between his lips and turned to look at you. “You want one?”

You shook your head as you watched him light the one between his lips up—observing the way he inhaled and the way wisps of smoke came out of his mouth.

The wisps drifted your way and you didn’t even bother to fan it away.

Instead you took a sharp breath.

It felt like your brain was slowly associating the scent of smoke with him.

“Didn’t find anybody to shag tonight?” You asked in a feeble attempt to break the silence.

This made him turn his head to look at you—the true blue specks in his otherwise grey eyes glistened in cool tones and you felt a strange ache inside of you.

“Nope. Not anyone that I’d like to shag anyway.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“I won’t be surprised if I find you loitering around the Ravenclaw tower in a few nights—considering you have been with every other Slytherin girl I know.”

He shot you a bone chilling glare before flashing a devious looking grin.

“You’re in Slytherin.” Draco drawled, taking a step towards you.

“Your point?” You looked at him quizzically, taking a step back but Draco took a step towards you for every step you took away from him until you felt the coolness of the wall behind your back.

His palms rested on the wall on either side of your face as he stared down at you with his glacial eyes— the mere intensity of his gaze made you want to look away.

It was just too much.

The way his shirt was unbuttoned at the top and the way platinum colored strands of hair fell onto his face helped you understand why girls pined over him. You tried so very hard to hold your breath but failed in miserable fashion has his face inched closer and closer to you.

He let his slender fingertips trail on your waves before tucking the stray bits behind your ears.

“I hardly think I’ll find myself at the Ravenclaw tower anytime soon.” He raspily whispered into your ears.

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

Thursday

He was in a rather foul mood that night.

Quidditch practice in the rain had gone on for a bit too long and to top it all off, his father had paid him a visit right after.

“Is everything alright Draco?” You asked, folding your arms over your chest and turning to face the exhausted looking boy standing next to you, with his hair still damp from his shower.

“Just perfect.”

“Doesn’t look like it.” You commented running your eyes up and down his frame, earning a disdainful scoff from him. “Anyway, how was quidditch practice? Adrian was telling me it got quite intense today.”

“Well well, looks like someone is feeling rather chatty tonight.”

“Okay, nevermind the quidditch talk. How’s Narscissa? My mum owled me about the upcoming New year's ball at your Manor—something about an announcement.” You scratched your head trying to remember what the letter said as you looked at him again. The bare minimum light cast soft, fuzzy looking shadows on his angular features.

“You aren’t usually this annoying. Is there any way you will stop with your ramblings!?” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration before fumbling with his pocket to pull out another cigarette.

You quickly stood from the windowsill and reached for a very distraught looking Draco’s hand.

“We don't have to talk if you don’t want to, Draco.” You said quietly as you looked up at him.

“Then what do you suggest we do hm, y/n?” He asked more or less rhetorically as he pulled you towards him.

You thought you’d forgotten how to breathe by the way he said your name. You weren’t particularly fond of your name but the way he said it made you want to thank your parents for picking out your name—the same name he said so smoothly and easily, with tension and emphasis on all the right places.

“I—I was thinking we could just quietly sit out here—maybe open up the window and breathe in some fresh air. It's rather pleasant for a rainy night don't you think?” You babbled.

At your mention of a pleasant night, he turned away from you to face the window, occasionally surveying the half smoked cigarette between his fingers as you opened the window.

“We could do that actually.” Draco finally said in a calm voice, taking a prolonged drag from his cigarette from the corner of his mouth and tossing it carelessly to the ground before stomping on it. “Or—”

“Or?”

“Or....” He said with his silver eyes muddled and darkened into an opaque grey. “We could just do this.”

You couldn't even begin to comprehend why or even how, but his nicotine infused lips softly came crashing down onto yours making your heart pound loudly against your ribcage. The way he pressed his lips to yours—the connection made you lightheaded.

What was even more surprising was the fact that you kissed him back even harder.

Compiling to all of his requests.

When he nipped your bottom lip, you parted your mouth.

When his tongue met yours, you moaned softly into this mouth.

When he cupped your face to draw you in closer as his tongue seduced, tantalized, licked, and sucked, you surrendered.

The sweetness of your lips only made him want you more as he wondered how he had gone so long without his lips pressed up against yours, his thumb gently yet possessively caressing your cheek.

And now that he’d gotten a taste, he wasn't sure he could make do without it.

He wanted this.

He needed this.

There was something so sublime, so achingly beautiful about kissing your lips that a million different thoughts encircled his mind.

Why did it suddenly feel like his thirst was gradually being quelled by the way your mouth, your breathing, your pulse melded into his?

Your fingertips intertwining with the hair on the nape of his neck pacified him.

This was unfamiliar territory.

You were both treading uncharted waters and yet, there was something soothing and familiar about the way he ran his hands up and down your sides, feeling and remembering your curves.

“That ought to keep you quiet y/n.” He whispered, his voice hoarse and saturated with yearning as he pulled away.

The rain outside had transformed into a tempestuous storm and the wind brought in splatters of rain drops inside the classroom window colliding against both of your skin and clothes.

You turned your head to look outside. “Looks like the weather is no longer pleasant.”

His eyes mirrored the flash of lighting that lit up the night sky in shades of lilac, yellow and violet back at you as the sky roared.

“But I kinda like the storm you kno—” Your attempt to finish your sentence was futile.

Lightning struck again but this time in the depths of your heart as his cold, damp, rain-soaked lips brushed against yours in an urgent fashion. The way he aggressively moved his lips made you see more colours than just lilac, yellow and violet.

Magnificent shades of cerulean, emerald, crimson, and burgundy. You could see them all.

"I have pictured kissing you a thousand times over in my mind." he murmured into the kiss while the hand he had placed on your waist trailed down to your hips.

“Draco.” You mewled as your hands found their way to the back of his shirt, gripping onto the fabric tightly for support while you let his ravenous mouth place kisses along your jaw and clavicles.

"You drive me...mmmm... fucking insane y/n. You make me.. mmm..so fucking furious" He whispered between kisses with his fingertips digging into your skin hidden under layers of fabric.

"As do you. I know..hmmmm..the difference...fuck...between clockwise and...mmhh..Anticlockwise." You said breathlessly pulling him flush against you.

Draco backed you further into the wall and his fingertips lingered on the string of your silk robe and you guided his hands through the knots and tangles of the string and let the robe fall onto the floor.

He found his way underneath your slip dress and let his hands roam around your bare flesh turning you into a whimpering mess.

Your own hands trailed to the buttons of his shirt as the aching need to feel his bare skin grew.

And when his shirt did hit the ground, you greedily ran your hands all over his firm chest and toned abdomen— your mouth watering while the flimsy fabric of your panties turned damp.

When he felt you palm the tent forming in his trousers, he smirked and the kiss came to an abrupt stop and his eyes fluttered open.

He pressed his forehead against yours—shoulders rising and falling from his heavy breathing.

"Not yet. " He murmured with his breathing still laboured.

"Draco—"

He shut you up with another kiss before backing away and walking towards the door.

"Good night y/n." He smirked, fixing his clothes as he stood near the door.

“Uh, good night?!” You mumbled, dumfounded.

"y/n?”

“Hm?”

“Nothing.” He mumbled, shaking his head as he closed the door behind him.

To be continued.....

~~~~~~

Part 2 teaser:

"Took you long enough." Draco breathed,holding you tightly against him as he desperately ran his hands along your sides feeling the fabric of your silky nightdress.

"I was going to stay away. I tried so fucking hard." You whispered, and he instantly placed his lips onto yours furrowing his brows as you fiercely kissed him back.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list: @maybesandohnos ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~

Message me if you want to be on my tag list.

[firewoodfigs]

a smorgasbord of unbidden thoughts / highlights (long post ahead!): 

we’re slowly creeping out of the lockdown, and we’re allowed to go out for meals now! I got to meet a friend for dinner on Monday and he treated me to some amazing Italian fare as a belated birthday gift :’) I was really craving Italian after watching Luca and I haven’t had good pasta in a long while, so that was really nice. I also met a friend for dinner today after work, and we’re just glad to have made it to Friday tbh lmao. it was nice catching up again after so long and talking about everything under the sun (in this case, under the moon). I love spending time alone and having time myself, but I can’t deny that I’ve also missed interacting with other sentient life forms lmao. 

I managed to re-schedule my vaccine slots, and I'm getting my first shot tomorrow! fingers crossed it won’t be too bad (I still wanna be able to type through the soreness 😩). I'm a little nervous tbh because I absolutely detest needles, but I feel like at this point I just don’t care anymore LMAO. it also helps that my bf and I got the same vaccination slot, so I guess I'll just make a ruckus and be a nuisance if things go south. jk 

next week’s my last full week of work before my two-month break begins! I'm really excited to finally get a breather from work (although to be fair I've only been working for like... 6 months lmao rip) before things get real hectic in September haha. I'm definitely not looking forward to the added responsibilities, and i’m honestly not sure how to feel about getting called to the bar because everyday is just a flurry of shit, am I really cut out for this and help, work is dulling my * sparkle * and yo, you think I can just move somewhere west and be a country singer? but oh well. too late I guess. I'm too deep in debt to get out now LMAO. jk 

on the bright side, though, I received news today that I’ve been designated to my preferred area of practice for my next seat :) and i'm pretty excited about that! I've honestly been feeling pretty desiccated about the law ever since starting practice because it’s so different from whatever I've studied and something that college couldn’t have possibly prepared me for lmao (many thoughts but I don’t want to turn this into an essay so I will simply project my feelings onto my favourite war criminals)

it’s been a struggle to create lately, for various reasons. these days it feels like anything I make is woefully inadequate and subpar and mediocre, and i’m just. constantly torn between striking everything out altogether and desperately wanting to be better, to feel better. I felt a little burnt out after royai week because  I was rushing to complete so many projects and ideas on time (I do tend to get a little overambitious and overzealous that way, haha), and so I tried to take a break, but I couldn’t properly rest, either, because these days I only feel alive when I'm... creating. LOL. it's like an unresolvable paradox where I slog to feel alive and then feel like death, and then feel like I'm wasting away and wasting time when I'm being unproductive and fruitless. idk, man. it’s probably the productivity guilt acting up or something. it doesn’t help that my mind is an unholy mix of anxiety and imposter syndrome and perfectionism, either, or that inspiration only strikes me at the ungodliest of hours. I find that it’s easier to write when I've cleared everything else on my plate, but sometimes it’ll be midnight by the time I've done that because there’s just so much to do. I end up writing at two in the morning and/or recording snippets of a putative song while half-asleep (the result is usually pretty dang awful, because I have no idea what I was saying when I listen to it the next day lmao).

I also find it to difficult to alternate between so many forms of writing. my job mostly consists of reading and writing (mostly boring and terribly dreary stuff, because lawyers have apparently never heard of punctuation or one-liners, and I am 100% proving this right now with my streams of consciousness), and my hobbies primarily include that, too. I've also been struggling to switch between writing prose/fic and poems and songs because i tend to focus on different things. (I also have the attention span of a goldfish. or a confused rat.) like, I focus a lot more on how things flow for the first, how things look for the second, and how things sound for the third, if that makes sense? but I also literally cannot focus on one thing at a time so everything is just a half-written mess and a smattering of my illegible scrawls tbh 😞 I'm hoping that I'll have more time to sit down and properly sort these out one at a time during my break hahaha. 

that being said, I read something this week about the four stages of learning a new skill LOL iirc it goes (1) unconscious incompetence (2) conscious incompetence (3) conscious competence (4) unconscious incompetence? I find that I'm stuck at (2) atm for a lot of things, which is probably why it’s so hard to go forth and do the damn thing without descending into a spiral of self-doubt haha. the truth is I rely on external reassurances and validation a great deal to tide me through, because my mind is just so used to criticising myself for everything and being my own harshest critic that it’s become a challenge to objectively assess my own work. it’s probably a defence mechanism to feeling like failure is not an option and/or my upbringing or something, and it’s how I’ve coped with a lot of things, but I'm also coming to realise that it’s not always the healthiest way to live haha. 

BUT, you know. at the end of the day it’s a hobby and it’s supposed to be fun and joy-inducing and. it’s so easy to ruin all of that in the process of pursuing perfection so. I think i’ll just work on attempting the damn thing and worrying about it afterwards 🤠 (and also being less exacting on myself haha) 

ending things on a lighter and brighter note - I received a lovely surprise from a friend this week!! I ordered some earrings from her (the stuff she makes is the stuff of DREAMS) and she tossed in a necklace for me and it’s just. it’s beautiful. it’s handmade. it’s astounding. I'm weeping. 

[jamaiskookie]

bangtan headcanon: OT7 IN HIGH SCHOOL 📓✂️

☞ genre; fluff, crack

☞ warnings; excessively stupid

masterlist  u wanna talk to highschool!bangtan?

《KIM SEOKJIN》

class clown

always manages to sneak kimbap in class, and stuffs his face despite being in the front row. 

he’s alarmingly good at sneaking food into places. 

cafeteria ladies love jin so much. 

and every christmas he brings in his perfected sugar cookies and never shares them.

(he’s in the cooking club)

((he’s the only one in the cooking club))

will interrupt the teacher to make a bad joke. 

“yes so helium is the fo- oh yes seokjin?“

“i was reading an excellent book about helium, i couldn’t put it down!! ahHAHAHHYUKHYUKAHHAHAHHA“ 

nobody’s?? really sure?? if he’s dating namjoon or not?? it’s the schools biggest mystery, there’s currently a betting pool going on worth about $500

likes to annoy namjoon and yoongi about holding bake sales. 

is surprisingly good at planning parties?? but never hosts them?? hoseok always gets him to plan his parties and he even planned prom!!

he’s particularly proud with the theme he came up with. 

‘zombie meets elegance‘ 

it was actually pretty nicely pulled off (much to the shock of the entire student body) 

《MIN YOONGI》

student council president 

takes his job very!! seriously!! 

fights with the principal on funding daily. 

doesn’t come to school without coffee and resting bitch face.

even the teachers are afraid of this short little emo boy. 

is the only one who actually wears the school uniform properly with the little tie and jacket because that’s how you show school spirit. 

definitely that closeted gay in high school who thinks nobody knows about his homosexuality when in fact, everyone knows.

(nobody has the guts to bring it up to him though)

“hyung why are you staring at jimin’s as-“

 “-NO WHY GET BACK TO WORK” 

actually enjoys doing morning announcements. 

“make sure to check out jin’s dumb bake sale i think he’s selling brownies for some charitable reason anYWAYS time for min’s advice column!!“ 

min’s advice column is yoongi’s free therapy. namjoon suggested adding an advice column to the school paper so now yoongi just judges his classmates’s decisions gives subpar advice. 

“i personally think you have no chance with this girl, but you’re clearly hell bent on asking her out. it’s a dumb choice. good luck.“ 

《JUNG HOSEOK》

fuckboy

throws obnoxious parties at his parent’s huge ass mansion. 

somehow?? is?? the nicest? playboy??? evER??

will respect your girl’s boundaries but also would 300% hit on her when you’re not looking. 

aftercare king wILL cuddle with you and help you clean up or whatever until jimin eventually comes in screaming. 

his school id says “hobi 💦👅” ... noone knows how he managed to do it (taehyung thinks he seduced the secretary) 

surprisingly good at romance even though he deTests dating

“it’s a waste of time, money, and ass.“  “- what?”

gives everyone dating advice whether they want it or nOt- he lives his *shhh very secret* romantic fantasies through his best friends. 

once helped taehyung ask out his girlfriend... they’re still going strong!!

defo has daddy issues that he never talks about,, maybe if a girl finds it sexc™️ in that kind of messed-up-bad-boy-she-could-fix vibe he’ll bring it up

kinda failing science lmao he probably needs a tutor.. but will never admit he needs a tutor for sake of his pride. 

most definitely has had sex in the janitor’s closet a couple times, up until yoongi caught him once, reported him to the school board and got him suspended... for a month. 

(yoongi has no regrets, that was the best month of his life.)

《KIM NAMJOON》

student vice president

honestly would probably be the council president and is the most qualified for it but can’t be bothered.

plus he hates public speaking and the president has to speak at assemblies.  

genuinely enjoys learning!! bUT HATES GROUP PROJECTS

because every single fucking time taehyung and jimin pester him about teaming up and he ends up doing like 75% of the work.

not because anyone forces him to or anything.

it’s because jimin and tae are such dumbasses every time they finish their work namjoon has a sudden uRGE TO REDO ALL OF IT BC THEY GOT IT WRONG.

tries to take all AP subjects.

gives up and drops half of them by the second semester.

great student but also will “no yoongi i don’t want to fucking play basketball i've been awake for thirty hours trying to finish this goddamn essay that’s due tomorrow. wHAT DO YOU MEAN WHY DIDN’T I DO IT EARLIER I WAS BUSY TAKING CARE OF MY BONSAI TREES.“

started the school paper!! it’s called “persona post”

writes about actual relevant things like political events and global problems, but everyone else just writes about school gossip *sigh*

although that one column examining hobi’s sex and dating life was a pretty fun piece of writing to read through. 

he sits in the back of the classroom and never raises his hand even though he knows the answer like 95% of the time.

definitely has a crush on seokjin

《PARK JIMIN》

the one everyone has a crush on

and when i say everyone i mean everyone, even hoseok has had a crisis over park jimin. 

(jungkook is definitely president of his fan club) ((in case it wasn’t clear, he’s dating jungkook))

school’s golden boy, basically gets away with everything with a bat of an eye... and the most infuriating thing is he doesn’t even realise it. 

“omg jimin!! you’re so cute!! this shirt looks sO good on you, can i touCH?” “omg thank you i didn’t think it fit well because it’s my boyfriends but that’s so sweet!!” “boy... hm?”

mom friend: sweetest bitch alive and is always worrying about his friends but everyone knows he’s secretly really fucking kinky.

(again, jungkook has no comment)

the kind of person who celebrates christmas in june. 

literally- he starts putting decorations in his locker and around the school mid june. by november, he’s wearing reindeer ears to school.

*lowkey kind of a nerd* genuinely enjoys studying with namjoon.

“well, studying with anybody else is just too stressful!! plus, namjoon’s so chill. he doesn’t look like it but he actually is super sweet and nice!!!“

“... please take those reindeer ears off, it’s embarrassing.“ 

half of the school would probably cut off an arm to sleep with him. seriously, he gets offers like everYDAY it’s kinda getting tiRING

is considering starting a youtube channel where he just takes videos of all the dogs and babies he meets throughout the day. 

“idk i think vlogging would be fun“

《KIM TAEHYUNG》

art hoe

nEVER FUCKING STUDIES OR PAYS ATTENTION BUT GETS DECENT GRADES.

the definition of bisexual mess, WILL trip when he sees hot people.

exclusively wears wired gold glasses and soft neutral sweaters to school. if it’s a good day he’ll wear a beanie. on special occasions he’ll maybe throw in some fUN loafers.

dyes his hair to match ~the vibes~ of that season. the most recent wild hair colour is cool toned teal. 

jungkook said he looks like leprechaun shit, but tae really likes it. 

tried to go vegan countless times, failed each and every one when he passed by a mc donalds. 

carries his sketchbook wherever he goes. he has that thing around 24/7, 100% would not be surprised if he slept with it under his pillow.

really quiet until he has a point to make;; like that time where he launched into a three hour screaming lecture on how phineas and ferb is an animated masterpiece.

drinks tea purely for the aesthetic of it. 

goes to hipster coffee shops to pretend to study... ends up watching barbie movies and critiquing them on the writing blog that he thinks nobody knows about. 

watches anime in class (he recently rewatched all of ATLA for the third time,, failed his econ class but worth it!!1!!1)

《JEON JUNGKOOK》

preppy jock

once again, everyone is attracted to him, but he’s so whipped for jimin everyone’s crush fades away once they talk to him because-

“oh it’s so cool that you have a dog!! you know, i think jimin kind of looks like a pomeranian sometimes it’s sO CUTE- hm? oh jimin’s my boyfriend.“

... it’s disgustingly adorable. 

plays almost every sport and is somehow always the team captain. not out of obligation or with leadership skills or anything, everyone else just votes for him. 

mess with his friends and he’ll put a stink bomb in your locker. 

his nickname is “golden baby” because he’s good at everything, teachers love him so much. 

grades? sTELLAR. sports? he’s done them ALL. creativity? pAINTED THE SCHOOL MURAL. service? volunteers at a pet shelter whenever he can (the bunnies love him for some reason) 

everyone either is 

a) in love w him, wants to fuck

b) jealous of him but is also secretly gay for him

pretends to not know how talented and cool he is and plays it off super cool

proceeds to fail, the only thing he’s bad at is humble bragging. 

“wow omg lol i got a 100 on my bio test and yesterday i got a hole in one in golf, my first time playing it but it’s chill i guess hahhah day in my life amirite.“

**this headcanon is the start of the bangtan school series, stay tuned**

wanna be tagged in school series or my writing? here or send me an ask

[ripley95]

Self-positivity ask! Show off some of your favorite bits of writing. It can be from a WIP or a published work, but go ahead an show off and be proud of your amazing work!

Thank you so much for this awesome ask whoever you are!! It means so much to me that you’re interested and thought of me. I’ve chosen a few passages all from already published works, some are under the read more including a long passage:

From A Cursed Blessing - Synthesis ending one-shot, F!Shenko:

He sees the husks helping rebuild in droves. Once grotesque reanimations of humans, asari and turians with the sole purpose to harvest are now breathing and civilized and have lives of their own. They are no longer hordes meant to kill. They're functional and cooperative. He laments at the thought that his father could be among them. He doesn't know what to make of them, and he can't decide if it's a blessing or a curse.

...

He turns in the middle of the night and moves his arm to envelope a body that isn't there. His fingers brush the empty pillow. He opens his eyes to see his arm, covered in green. He feels tears begin to form. He shuts his eyes tight and presses his fingers gently against his eyelids, and still sees green. Everything's green. He curses it and wants to scream. Just one night, he doesn't want the reminder. He clings the empty pillow tightly to his chest and imagines how he used to brush her hair out of her face as she slept. He remembers that this green sheen was because of her. The thought of it quiets his breath. He trusts in her decision. It was an end to the war, even if it wasn't how they'd planned it. He still doesn't know what happened up there, but he knows he would have done anything to stop the war. He knows he may very well have done the exact same thing as Shepard had their positions been reversed. It's a small comfort. He reminds himself that they'd won, and the war is over, and that's all that should matter. He willfully reaffirms that this is a blessing as much as it feels like a curse. He bunches the pillow up closer to his face and is saddened that it no longer smells like her. It hasn't for quite some time now. Eventually, he finds fitful sleep.

-

From This Ratty Old Thing - Post Alchera, Hannah Shepard grieving the death of her daughter:

She looked back to the screen then, any trace of mirth entirely gone. “Sometimes I wonder if we pushed you into this life. It was never my intention. As much as I’ve appreciated my time in the Alliance, I always felt like it was my only option. I never wanted that for you. I can’t deny that you’ve done well with it, but sometimes I wish I pushed you harder to consider other things. We never really talked about our careers much, but were you happy? Did you like it?” She cut herself off rather abruptly after that, realising she would never get a response.

Her gaze shifted back to the stuffed dog. Any semblance of happy memories was exchanged for something resembling disdain. “They never even found your body. How is someone supposed to grieve with no proof of death? I don’t even have any ashes. No dog tags. Nothing!” She was visibly upset now, still not looking at the screen. She waited until she calmed down slightly before continuing. “Nothing but this ratty old thing.”

She gave the toy one last glance as she brushed her thumb over the dog’s face, and set it down on the desk. She didn’t even bother looking back at the screen as she stood up, her finger hovering over the power button to her terminal.

“This was a mistake.”

She pushed the power button, and the room returned to blackness.

-

From Echoes of Old Embers - Post-War, accidental/fake dating, F!Shenko (this one’s long) Honestly, I think this has become my favourite story of mine, and it probably has most of my favourite passages in it, but only chose one to share:

Maisie walked up to them, moving to the beat as she made her way from the dance floor.

“What, you guys aren’t going to dance?” She asked with a beaming grin on her face.

Even if this was an ideal situation and she and Kaidan were somehow together, she would have had a good excuse for getting out of this one. She may as well have been a ballerina on the battlefield, but she had absolutely no rhythm when it came to dancing. Unless she wanted to make a mockery of herself, she wasn’t about to go out there. It was one thing in privacy with her crew. Under normal circumstances, she might not even mind letting loose here, but it would have been one more thing to draw attention to her. For the most part, Libby’s already had her magical night, but she still hated the potential to steal it from her and opted to want to stay on the sidelines.

“I’m afraid I’m a horrible dancer,” Shepard said.

“What?” Maisie asked incredulously, stopping dead in her tracks. “You can’t be serious. You?”

“Oh, she’s telling the truth all right,” Kaidan said from beside her with a snort.

“Hey! You’re one to talk. I seem to remember you making finger guns at that party in my apartment,” she said with a big grin on her face.

“Hey, now, this conversation isn’t about me. Maisie’s already well aware of my dancing abilities.”

“Uh-huh,” Shepard said with a smile that she couldn’t help thinking would wane the moment that Maisie left them alone again.

“It’s true, I know he’s got no game on the dance floor. You, on the other hand, are not allowed to say that without a show,” she said, all but ready to drag Shepard into the middle of the crowd when Shepard pulled back.

“Maisie, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t want to draw attention to myself,” Shepard tried to say in a lowered voice.

Maisie huffed out a laugh at her. “Well, if that’s your goal, maybe you should reconsider. Have you taken a good look at that crowd?” she asked, turning to look at everyone dancing. “Everyone’s making a fool of themselves. Only ‘Commander Shepard’ would have a complex about this. If you ask me, I think standing on the sidelines is probably drawing more attention to you than however bad your dancing must be.”

Shepard looked out into the crowd. Sure enough, it was full of people just letting loose. No one cared about how they looked, though she still thought her skills were subpar to everyone out there. At the same time, she probably wasn’t bad enough to draw attention away from everyone else who was just out there having fun.

Shepard turned to Kaidan then, “Shit. She has a point, doesn’t she?”

“I’m afraid she might,” Kaidan said with a smirk.

“Yes! You know I’m always right,” Maisie said with a smile.

“You don’t have to rub it in,” Kaidan said, holding his hand out to Jane. “Shall we?”

“Can’t wait to see this,” Maisie said with a smirk.

Maisie took their glasses and Kaidan gave her the tiniest of glares before he and Shepard made their way out onto the dance floor.

“So, do you have a buzz going yet?” Kaidan asked.

Shepard looked at him, slightly amused. “A bit,” she answered.

“Good, because I think it’ll at least help us not be so self-conscious out here,” he said with a smile as he started dancing.

Maybe it was because she was teasing him about it moments before, but it seemed like he would be leaving his finger guns holstered for the evening. His rhythm was almost as bad as hers. In fact, it was as bad as hers. It brought back memories of them dancing in that casino on the Citadel when they were trying to figure out who stole her identity. Before they even knew she had a clone. They had the exact same dance style then too… And somehow she was always the one that got flack about it from the crew. It made her wonder how security at the casino never thought they were suspicious, because who would want to be seen dancing like that out in public? Shepard had to laugh at the memory of it.

“What?” he said, in mock offense as he stopped dancing immediately, thanks to her outburst. “You don’t like it?”

“No, it’s not that,” she said, grabbing his arms to get him to start bopping them again. “It’s just that, I’d say we’re two peas in a pod or something.”

She started mimicking his moves. Not that she was trying to match him or anything, but more because she legitimately didn’t know any other way to dance. She never knew what to do with her arms. Or her legs for that matter... or where to look. Practically nothing came naturally to her about dancing, but then again, she rarely ever had a partner. Today, she had Kaidan as a distraction and it was easier to let go of the insecurities, already knowing that she looked ridiculous, because he looked ridiculous too. They looked into each other’s eyes. It made both of them laugh some more as they kept dancing.

She didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the dancing, but the night’s tension finally started to feel like it was easing away. She liked seeing Kaidan let loose a bit. It wasn’t something that was typically easy for him either.

Before they knew it, they danced through song after song, and the tempo suddenly changed to something much slower. That made them both stop and catch their breath as they looked to each other again, wondering what to do.

Kaidan saw everyone else around them starting to dance, so he looked back towards her with a smile, holding his hands out in question for her to join him. “I guess we probably should.”

Shepard looked around her, realising the same thing. “Right,” she said as she put her hands in his, and he pulled her closer.

-

Thanks again for this ask! This was really fun to pick out some favourites.

[maybankiara]

I HAVE COME TO SAVE THE DAY

pairing: JJ Maybank x Kiara Carrera

summary: JJ is a postman and Kiara is his favourite receptionist (alternatively, 4 times Kiara didn’t know JJ’s name and the one time she did).

w/c: 5k

a/n: i posted this on ao3 back for jiara week and totally forgot to post it on tumblr, too, so here’s a belated jiara fic, a short ‘lil enemies to lovers trope for y’all!!

masterlist | tag list

read on archive of our own

1: J.

‘Carrera Law Firm, how may I help you?’

  The guy standing in front of Kiara in a postman’s uniform gives her a glance that’s part-question part-disbelief, and then points at the device in his hand. ‘Delivery for Anna Carrera.’

  ‘Oh. Okay.’

  Blood rushes to Kiara’s cheeks as she clicks the button on the desk telephone, reaching her mother within seconds. 

  ‘Just sign it in,’ says her mother. 

  ‘Okay.’

  She hangs up and looks at the guy, extending a hand. ‘I’ll sign it.’

  He gives her a slight eyebrow raise and she may or may not see a hint of wickedness in the tight corner of his smile as she takes the device from him. She’s quick to sign it, with a shaky hand, and give it back to him. 

  ‘You’re new here.’

  Kiara nods, says: ‘Yeah, it's my first day’, even though it was a statement, not a question. 

  He stares at her for a hot second with the same expression, and Kiara expects him to ask something else, make it a conversation—it seemed like a conversation starter—but he doesn’t even acknowledge her answer. 

  ‘Where do I put this?’

  There’s a slight thud and she leans across her desk, seeing a medium-sized box with his black combat boot right next to it. 

  Her lips purse as she realises what he’d done, and decides she dislikes him. 

  All she wants to do is tell him off, that could be fragile, but she’s new and he seems cocky and reeks of trouble enough to make her bite her tongue. 

  So all she actually does is lean back into her chair and nod towards the wall to her side. ‘Just leave it there.’

  He does so without a question, and on the way out, gives her a two-finger salute. 

  Kiara checks the paper slip he left on her desk, finding his name with ease: J. Maybank. She thinks of his short but shaggy blonde hair, rugged and self-satisfied appearance that oozed confidence, and yeah, he looked like a boy whose name begins with J.

  It’s not the most awkward conversation/situation she has that day, but it’s the most memorable one, mostly because she can't get his smirk out of her head for more reasons than just one (and far too many of them she’d never admit). 

  She decides she hates him, anyway.

2: JOHN

The next time he comes, it’s Friday and Kiara’s got the hang of it, so she wags a finger at him to tell him to wait as she picks up the ringing phone. 

  ‘Carrera Law Firm.’ 

  She talks with the customer—a lovely lady, has the misfortune of living next to a new construction site—for a little bit, laughter falling from her lips. It’s Friday already and she’s gotten better at this, more confident, and making J. Maybank wait on her is worth it. 

  (It’s not a personal vendetta, per se – more of karma, really.)

  She watches him shift weight from one leg to another, hands resting in his pocket. He’s got a slouch to him, the ease in his shoulders making him seem as if anything he wishes for, the world gives him. Kiara’s friend Sarah calls boys who stood like that suave, but Kiara calls it arrogance. 

  The same half-smile with the same dose of wickedness in its curve is mocking her when she bids farewell to the lady on the phone. Her back is resting against the chair and a pen slides across the paper, before she actually looks at him. 

  ‘Delivery?’

  J. Maybank reaches into the side of his backpack and takes out a handful of letters, placing them on the desk. 

  Kiara frowns, because he’s still standing there. ‘Do I need to sign those?’

  ‘Nope.’

  He doesn’t budge and neither does his smile. 

  She collects the mail and goes through it, separating them in piles for each of her mother's employees. It takes her a couple of seconds, but J. Maybank’s gaze on her burns on her cheeks and makes it last a whole eternity. 

  Her glance at him comes in pair with a single raised eyebrow. ‘Can I help you?’

  J. Maybank puts his fingers on the desk, tapping one of them. ‘I can leave a message with you, right?’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’

  ‘Okay’'

  He nods. Kiara notes his fingers are shaky as he reaches into his pocket, taking out a pen and a piece of paper, even though there’s a bunch of both already on her desk for this exact purpose. 

  He scribbles down a note and folds the paper in half, hiding the text. He slides the note towards her, fingers still shaky. It’s a far cry from the overconfident, cocky person he was a mere minute ago. 

  ‘I looked up on the internet and it said that you offer free consultations, right?’

  Kiara nods. ‘Mostly, yeah. Depends on what you need.’

  ‘Family law,’ he elaborates. 

  ‘Then a consultation is free. It’s Mrs Viola Glisson’s department.’ Kiara puts her finger on the note and she wants to open it, to see what he’d written. Instead, she swallows dryly. ‘Do you want me to give this to her?’

  He nods. ‘That’d be great.’

  No thanks comes her way, only a smile that is innocent for less than it takes her to blink. He gives her the same two-finger salute and is back to the cocky J. Maybank in moments, and Kiara hates to admit that she can’t take her eyes off of him as he walks through the glass door. His uniform doesn’t fit the aesthetic of the building, nor Kiara’s smart black trousers and a red t-shirt with a propper-up collar and a zipper on the cleavage, but he doesn’t look out of place. 

  As soon as he’s out of sight, Kiara’s fingers take the paper note, ready to give it to Viola, a woman who grew up with her mother and Kiara dated her son James back in middle school. She’s planning to give it to Viola immediately, no wicked intentions, but J. Maybank’s face pops up in her mind, complete with the self-confident smirk. She gives in with a sigh, thinking that he deserves her snooping for the way he’s been acting. 

  To her disappointment, the writing is just a phone number with John Maybank written underneath it. 

  She hands it to Viola with a sigh, offering no information to go with it. Viola reads the note and a knowing look spreads over her features. ‘Maybank, the postman, right?’

  Kiara nods. 

  ‘He’s about your and James’ age, no?’

  ‘I guess.’ Her face flashes before her eyes and she places him in her school corridors with ease. She knows he doesn’t go to the Cooke Academy because a face with demeanour like his would stand out. 

  ‘He’s a good kid, Maybank. Mowed our lawn a fair amount,’ Viola muses to herself. Her fingers flip through a stack of papers and she writes something down, looking up at Kiara. ‘Did he say what he needed?’

  ‘Just a consultation with Familial.’

  ‘Hm? That’s interesting, might be about his father... Can you bring me a cup of coffee on your way out? You make the best coffee I’ve had in years!’

  Kiara knows when she’s being dismissed, so she does as Viola asked of her. Her mind buzzes with the newfound information about J.—John—Maybank. 

  He’s a mystery, and stays in her mind longer than she’d like, again. 

  3: JOHN J.

‘Mrs Grubbs, I can’t give away our employee’s private information.’

  ‘It’s just a phone number,’ repeats Mrs Lana Grubbs in exasperation. ‘It’s not private.’

  ‘A personal phone number is private information. I don’t have the right—’

  ‘Fine, I’ll just do it myself.’

  The short woman with greying brown hair pulled into an elaborate bun walks past Kiara's desk with complete disregard of any manners whatsoever, and is already halfway through the main hallway when Kiara comes up in front of her. 

  The young Carrera puts her hands between her and the woman, lips pressed tight. ‘Mrs Grubbs, you can’t walk in here unannounced.’

  ‘Announce me, then.’

  ‘You need to have an appointment,’ elaborates Kiara. She feels herself close to seething; there are firm rules set in stone when it comes to culture, and the woman before her seems to have completely missed them. ‘I can arrange you an appointment.’

  Mrs Grubbs scoffs. Her perfectly defined eyebrows shoot up, and her lips purse as she raises her chin. ‘I need an appointment now, young lady.’

  ‘My mother is in the middle of a meeting, and is busy until the end of her shift.’

  ‘She is not that busy. Push me in after this meeting.’

  Kiara sighs. Even if she pushed her in, she knew her mother wouldn’t give her time of the day with that attitude. ‘With all due respect—’

  ‘Ms Lana!’

  The two women avert their attention to Kiara’s reception desk, where a fair-haired boy in a postman’s uniform is standing with a small box in his hands and a grin on his face. He waves at them, but he’s looking at Mrs Grubbs. 

  ‘Hey, Ms Lana. How you been?’

  Mrs Grubbs’ demeanour changes in an instant – Kiara watches her go from a ruthless witch to a friendly lady from the neighbourhood. She approaches John Maybank and squeezes his cheeks with, asking about school, his friends, and whatnot. 

  Kiara takes the opportunity to go back behind her desk, eyeing the exchange suspiciously. Before she knows it, John is hugging Mrs Grubbs and she turns to the girl with a disappointed smile on her face. 

  ‘I will arrange an appointment elsewhere,’ she states, as if Kiara is supposed to give a damn. ‘Your services are subpar.’

  at least we don’t need to deal with entitled, mannerless assholes like you, crosses Kiara’s mind, but the only thing noticeable is the smile on her face. ‘In that case, I hope you find services that match your demands.’

  What she gets in return is a distasteful eye roll paired with an over-dramatic huff. Mrs Grubbs turns on her heel and walks out of the door without so much as a goodbye. 

  At last, Kiara takes a deep breath and shifts her gaze to the postman in front of her desk. 

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he tells her with the smirk she’s gotten used to in the past two weeks. ‘Ms Lana is a bitch to everyone.’

  ‘Not you,’ sighs Kiara. 

  ‘No, that’s because everyone likes me.’

  She raises her eyebrows at him—she seems to be doing that a lot when he’s around—and just opens her hand. ‘What you got?’

  ‘Delivery for Mrs Viola Glisson.’ He hands her a paper slip and the device to sign, which she does. ‘So you don’t agree that everyone likes me?’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Ouch.’ John places a hand over where his heart is supposed to be (a little too far to the left) and grimaces. ‘That hurts my feelings.’

  Kiara gives the device back to him, walking around the desk to pick up the box and put it on it. She knows he’s staring at her cleavage (not very exposed, but noticeable when she bends over) and wonders if he left it there on purpose. 

  When she sits back in her chair, he’s still there, fingers tapping against her desk.

  ‘Look, thanks for your help with Mrs Grubbs,’ she says, because a) she’s not a fool and she can tell what he did, and b) she can swallow her pride for one second. 

  ‘Does that make me your prince?’

  ‘You didn’t come on the white horse or in your shining armour.’

  ‘My uniform’s kinda shiny,’ he says, tugging at the short sleeves that have the reflective tape on it that is a must-have for Kildare. ‘And my bike is white.’

  Kiara laughs. ‘Your bicycle?’

  ‘My motorbike.’

  He says it slowly, with the “e” stretching into a knowing smile, and Kiara hates that he knows exactly what he’s doing, and hates even more that it’s working. 

  Thing is – by now, Kiara is half-certain that the majority of the reason why his presence irks her is because she’s attracted to it, and Kiara Carrera hates being attracted to people who are cocky and self-serving. He looks like he could be a good night’s fun, with his cheeky grin and eyes that remind her of waves she sometimes surfs on, and he reeks of trouble, still. This used to be her type – tall, blonde, with a streak for illegal activities, but Kiara said to herself that she isn’t fifteen anymore. She hasn’t been fifteen in two years, come two weeks. She’s past that childish behaviour. 

  ‘I don’t need a knight in shining armour, pal,’ she states, shutting down her thoughts before they progressed even further. I need a postman.’

  ‘We could be friends,’ he says. ‘Why not, huh?’

  ‘Do you always chat with receptionists for longer than it’s appropriate?’

  ‘Only cute ones.’

  Kiara can’t contain her laugh this time, and it echoes in the room full of marble. John is smiling at her, and she thinks that the wickedness in the crook of his smile is just playfulness, instead. Teasing, too, and maybe just the slight hint of a daredevil. 

  She leans her elbows on the desk, intertwines her fingers, and rests her chin on her hands. ‘I don’t even know your name.’

  He cocks his head to the side as if he knows she’s lying and, based on the way he seems (perceptive, in any case – he’s very good at finding out what makes her tick), he knows that she is. 

  The blond extends her a hand and she takes it. ‘John J. Maybank.’

  ‘Kiara Carrera.’ His grip is firm but so is hers, and they have a little staredown. ‘Adding in a “J.” to make yourself seem fancy?’

  (She pretends her hand isn’t cold once his is away; she pretends she doesn’t feel the blood coursing through her veins, or the knots in her stomach when his eyes fall to her lips.)

  John J. Maybank laughs with his whole chest, arms crossed on it. ‘Fancy is the last word anyone would use to describe me.’

  Her eyes travel up and down his body, and she tries not to linger on his biceps, accentuated by his pose, or the way his uniform sits just right on his body. 

  Instead, she grins. ‘I can tell.’

  He taps his fingers against her desk, and her eyes catch a pair of rings she didn’t notice before. ‘Anyway, we're friends now.'

  ‘Do I want to be friends with you?’

  John J. Maybank is already halfway out of the building when he turns to her, walking backwards, and shrugs with his arms outstretched. ‘I don’t think you have a choice.’

  He’s right – she doesn’t. 

  She thinks he’d be surprised if he knew just how little choice she has when it comes to him.

  4: JOHNNY JAY

John J. Maybank catches her as she’s walking out of the small—hers only—bathroom next to her desk. 

  ‘Hey, friend.’

  Kiara still rolls her eyes at the greeting. There’s something off about him, only she doesn’t notice what it is until she's sat down at her desk – he’s wearing a basketball top and short cargo pants, paired with the usual combat boots. 

  Kiara certainly didn’t expect to find out that the uniform actually hides quite a good bit of his body that is, objectively (and not in the way of Kiara objecting), quite pleasant to look at.

  He catches her looking. ‘I’m here for an appointment with Mrs Glisson.’

  ‘Now?’

  John J. Maybank glances at the clock to his right, above the bathroom door. ‘In ten minutes.’

  ‘Give me a second.’

  Her mind buzzes as fast as her fingers flip through the book of visitors. She recalls him asking for a consultation with Viola about two weeks ago, distinctly remembering Viola saying something about his father possibly being the reason. Her fingers land on the last time someone came for Viola. 

  ‘Sorry, she’s still in a meeting.’

  ‘Thanks. It’s okay, I’m not in a rush,’ he says, taking a seat in the waiting area, a few feet from Kiara’s desk. He throws one hand on the back of the seat next to him, ankle over a knee, and grins. ‘Besides, I don’t mind the company.’

  ‘I’m busy,’ retorts Kiara. 

  ‘When’s the last time you had fun?’

  ‘How long ago did you come here?’

  ‘Damn, dude. You still don’t like me?’

  ‘Nope.’

  They both know it's a lie. 

  In the past two weeks, he’s been here about five times, and every single one of those, he stayed behind to chat a little bit. Kiara didn’t mind – she liked having someone to talk to, especially someone who was her age. 

  (Well – not anymore, as of today.)

  ‘You should come to the Boneyard,’ he says. ‘And before you say you don’t want to—I see you—I’ll just let you know that I know you do, because I’ve seen you there, with Sarah Cameron and the kooks.’

  At this, Kiara leans back in her chair, crossing her ankles underneath her desk. ‘Don’t recall the Kooks playing at a Boneyard party. I think they tend to have proper concerts, instead.’

  ‘So what, you’re gonna say going to Boneyard parties isn’t your bad habit?’

  A smile spreads over her lips, heated underneath his gaze. She likes that he caught her reference – she likes that maybe they have the same taste in music. She likes the idea of them dancing to it, at a Boneyard party, red solo cups in hand. 

  ‘Relax, Johnny Jay.’ He raises an eyebrow at the name, but doesn’t interrupt her. ‘Boneyard parties aren’t really my scene anymore.’

  John J. Maybank stares at her with the same knowing look. She catches the glimmer in her eye that tells her she's not fooling him, and she sees the intent in the curve of his Cupid’s bow. 

  He flashes a set of white teeth and a pair of dimples. ‘Bring Sarah Cameron and the kooks. It might be a pogue party, but it’ll be a proper party.’

  Kiara’s smile is soft, and her cheeks are heating up again underneath the sharpness of his gaze. ‘What will they say when I find out I’m friends with a pogue?’

  ‘You care about that?’

  ‘No,’ she admits, ‘but I thought you might.’

  ‘Nah, dude. My friends already know about us.’

  ‘There’s no us.’

  ‘There could be.’

  He gives her an award winning smile, one that must’ve given him the aura of someone good for a night's worth of fun. (She hates that it’s drawing her in the way he is, making her want to say yes when she told herself she’d be more responsible her last year before leaving for college.)

  Kiara just sighs, going back to what she was doing before she took a bathroom break – doodling on a paper they used for testing the new printer (the one only Kiara seems to understand, which makes her useful, and the situation annoying). 

  John J. Maybank walks over to her, fingers on the desk. It irks her when he does it, so he does it as often as possible. 

  She looks up at him and for once, there is not a hint of anything wicked.

  ‘Come on, Kiara. Next summer, you’ll be getting ready for college, and you’ll be too busy to enjoy yourself. Then you’re gonna leave for college and you won’t look back, and that’ll be the best years of your life wasted. Besides,’—he taps against her hand and she slaps his—‘I won’t be there anymore.’

  He tries touching her hand again, and she slaps it all the same. ‘Why does that matter?’

  ‘‘Cause I’m the best thing Kildare has to offer.’

  as if.

  Kiara is about to snap back with something—he hasn’t figured out what—when Rafe Cameron walks past the two of them, giving her a court nod. She pushes John J. Maybank’s hand off the wood, pretending her hands don’t burn where skin touches skin. ‘That’s your cue.’

  He nods, and she notices the smile fell off his face while she watched her best friend’s brother walk out. His blue eyes are glazed, and his lips are trembling so Kiara pokes his hand with the top end of her pen. 

  ‘You’ll be fine, Johnny Jay.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He nods to her, or himself, and taps once against the desk. ‘See you later, I guess.’

  Kiara gives him what she hopes to be a reassuring smile. 

  John J. Maybank leaves, and she listens to the familiar thuds of his boots until she hears Viola's door open, and he walks in. What they’re doing isn’t her business, regardless of how badly she wants to know. Rafe Cameron’s here because he’s dealing with some bullshit his dad’s putting him through, and the only reason she knows any of that is because Sarah told her. Kiara is practically family to the two, even if she isn’t the biggest fan of the boy. 

  Johnny Jay, on the other hand, is someone she struggles to even consider a friend, since they’ve never met outside the confines of these four walls. They read each other well, bounce off of one another like a pair of old friends, and they’ve got a lot more in common than she would’ve ever thought. 

  They’re not friends in the traditional way, but they’re friends enough. 

  The telephone on the desk buzzes with the word VIOLA in place of caller ID. Kiara answers. 

  ‘Kiara, sweetheart, can you please print for me the documents I sent you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Thank you, darling.’

  Printing is actually much simpler than any of them realise. Kiara doesn’t even open the documents before sending them to the printer, clicking a few buttons that are just settings for how the page will come out (and most of them she doesn’t even need to touch). The printer is in the building’s library on the first floor, and the room smells of old books and freshly printed papers. 

  There’s a difference between snooping into a note he left for Viola and looking over the documents that she is currently taking out of the printer – she can’t not see what is written on them when she has to check that the printer hasn’t gone out of ink. 

  It’s only a glance at each of the pages, but it’s enough for her to see EMANCIPATION FORM and RESTRAINING ORDER FORM written at the headers of each of the two sets to clock onto what’s happening.

  The only thought in her head is: shit.

  She wasn’t meant to see that. 

  Kiara’s hands produce a shaky knock against the wooden door, and it’s Viola’s raspy smoker-voice that invites her in. She’s still feeling a little bit sick in the stomach when she enters, papers in hand. 

  ‘Thank you, Kiara,’ says Viola, a thoughtful expression on her face.

  ‘No problem.’

  Her voice is feeble, filling out every inch of space not occupied by something, or someone. She’s halfway out the door before Viola even gets to dismiss her, and she glances at Maybank on the way – he’s pale, face sickened with something she doesn’t recognise, but his eyes are weary in a way no sixteen-year-old’s should be. 

  He doesn’t seem angry – it’s Kiara’s last thought before the door shuts, and she can’t see him anymore. 

  Time passes as she waits for the meeting to be over. The fair-haired boy is all she can think about; she shouldn’t ask questions but there are many in her head, and her doodles can’t distract her anymore. When customers call, she doesn’t chat to them, and no people walk in to divert her attention. 

  He walks out about quarter of an hour later, a bittersweet edge to the eyebrows looming over his eyes, a stack of paper in tow.

  ‘Hey, friend.’

  A finger taps against the desk, next to a doodle that looks an awful lot like him. She moves her arm and rests her elbow on it. 

  ‘Hey,’ she says back. ‘Did it go well?’

  ‘Well.’ A sour smile. ‘I’m not sure getting a restraining order against the same old man you’re trying to get emancipated from could ever go well.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ offers Kiara, and it's genuine. 

  To John J. Maybank’s credit, he gives her a court nod and a smile that seems a little less like it’s saying i am doing something that could go terribly right or terribly wrong.

  ‘Come to the Boneyard on Saturday. Bring Sarah and everybody. It’ll be fun.’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  He must know her well enough to be able to tell this is as close to a yes as anyone will ever get from her, because the smile his cheeks stretch into is the one with dimples, and a fancy for trouble.

  She knows him well enough to be able to tell that what she found out stays between them. 

  (Kiara wonders when strangers turned into friends turned into people who understand each other without having to say anything.)

  ‘Oh and, uh,’ he calls back from the main door, ‘happy birthday!’

  He doesn’t stick around long enough to hear her thanks, but he sticks around many other times.

  + 1: JJ

Flowers. 

  ‘Those better not be for me,’ muses Kiara from her desk. ‘I don’t like orchids.’

  JJ walks in with a bouquet of flowers and his postman uniform, all accompanied by a wide, cheerful grin on his face. He’s got a spring to his step and he swings himself around the desk, planting a kiss to Kiara’s cheek. 

  Her hands loop around his waist. With the flowers now on her papers, Kiara feels as if she walked into the Camerons’ backyard. 

  ‘It’s not for you,’ says JJ, wrapping a curl around his finger. ‘For Mrs Glisson.’

  ‘What’s the occasion?’

  Kiara’s—well, whatever they are to one another—hesitates for a second, but she thinks it’s more for dramatic effect than actual hesitation. 

  His finger taps her cheek, warm and rough at the tip. ‘I’m moving into the Chateau today. Officially.’

  ‘Have the forms gone through?’

  He nods, and Kiara flings her around his neck, pulling him into a full kiss. It shifts into a hug, and she feels him relax into her. ‘I can breathe now.’

  ‘I can only imagine.’ She pulls back, smiling as wide as he is. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Shocked. Terrified. Excited. Ambi-feelous.’

  ‘That’s not a word.’

  ‘God, you’re starting to sound like Pope. I never should’ve introduced you.’

  ‘It was inevitable,’ Kiara says. 

  They both know it, so JJ just runs a finger alongside her jaw, and his lips briefly touch hers. He’s gone after that and so are the flowers (Kiara is genuinely glad they weren’t for her). Viola isn’t in a meeting right now so it’s fair game, and about two minutes in, she’s pretty sure she can hear the woman crying/yelling (when it comes to Viola, those sounds are way too similar). It’s a big deal for everybody – the whole firm took him under their wing once they found out about the horrors of living under the Maybank roof, enough that they decided to do the case pro bono. 

  (JJ doesn’t like pity, so he made sure to help out in any way they can, from running errands while doing her postman job or being their personal mechanic during his free time.)

  When he comes back, he’s all smiles, lips stretched out wider than Kiara thought it possible. 

  ‘I’m picking up post today,’ he says, walking over to the box with mail thrown into it. ‘Busy day.’

  ‘How busy?’ 

  ‘Busy.’

  ‘Could you spare ten minutes?’ asks Kiara, stepping away from her desk. He can see her in her full glory now – she’s pretty sure he has a thing for secretaries and their lookalikes, and she’s been putting in extra effort the past few days. ‘I think a pipe went off in my bathroom, or something. Since you said you’d help out with maintenance…’

  JJ checks the clock above the bathroom, then shrugs, facing away from the camera to give her a coy grin. ‘I guess ten minutes won’t hurt.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She starts walking over to the bathroom, JJ at her heel. ‘I’ve been dying to get this fixed for days.’

  ‘Mhm. I can imagine. It must’ve been awful.’

  ‘Truly terrible.’

  The moment they’re behind the closed door of Kiara’s bathroom, she’s pressed against the cold wall, JJ’s body hot in front of her. His lips are all over her neck and her hands making a mess out of his hair, while his are busy tugging her shirt out of her trousers and sliding underneath the fabric, pulling lines on the bare skin. 

  Instinctively, Kiara’s hips buckle against his as she arches her back and tilts her neck, exposing more skin for him to brush his lips over. She feels the bugle, and lets out a hearty laugh. 

  JJ stops kissing her, just enough to give her a glare with a frown. ‘I can see how terrible it’s been if you have time to laugh at me.’

  ‘Shut up,’ Kiara says, tugging at his collar to pull him closer. ‘We’ve got to be quiet.’

  His hands travel downwards until they’re in her trousers, cupping her ass, and Kiara buckles against him again. She pulls him closer until they’re chest to chest, and she kisses the spot right below his ear, feeling him moan against her, his hands gripping her tighter. The thrill of being caught is making both their hearts race, and Kiara can think of very few things hotter than this moment.

  ‘Quiet is the last thing you’re going to be, Kie,’ he threatens.

  She’s up on the sink within a heartbeat, and he tugs her trousers down with more ease than she’d think possible. 

  There’s a mirror on both sides of the wall, in front of her and behind her; she sees the grin on her lips, with self-assurance and a hint of wickedness to it, watching JJ press kisses up her tight that leave marks no one but her will be able to see. 

  Her hands are tugging on his hair, pulling him closer to her. ‘Ten minutes,’ she reminds him. ‘Make ‘em count.’

  All JJ does is bury his head between her legs, and she starts to think that this bathroom had never been meant for anything other than this.

  ★

tagging. @jjmaybanky​​ @chasefreakinstokes​​ @drewstarkey​​ @thatsme-johnbookerroutledge​​ @outrbank​​ @juneyxx @drewstarkeyobx​​ @ilovejjmaybank​​​ @teamnick​​​ @jjmaybanksbaby​​​ @mahleeyuh​​​ @nicolewithasoul​​ @kiarawilliams127​​ @starlightstarkey​​ @anonymous0writer​​ @outerbongs​​ @warnettc​​ @jjandreidsgirl @jjmaybanqs @sofiesshitshow @kaitieskidmore1 @maybanksbaby @abbiesthings @tempestuousjj @coconutroseowl @queenofthepouges

[the-magnus-backlogs]

Statement of Suzanna Harkness regarding a manuscript she reviewed for publishing.

Statement taken direct from subject, 27th December 1993.

You wind up stumbling down a lot of weird rabbit holes when you work for a small press long enough. Niche genres you’d really rather remain oblivious to, arts majors trying to break the mould by submitting something they swear up and down you’ll have ‘never seen before’. Never mind if it’s actually legible, but that’s…that’s another matter, I guess. I’m not here to talk about the subpar sci-fi erotica or whatever, I’m here because I found something weird.

I’d like to say right off the bat that I’ve got a strong stomach. Wouldn’t have lasted this long in the company if I didn’t. We only publish a couple hundred books a year, but we take in all sorts around here. Sometimes it feels like our only real submission requirements are ‘unmarketable to the general public’, and it seems like anybody with a half-baked idea is willing to try their luck at tossing their unedited manuscript into the ring.

That’s where I come in. Wading through the mountains of unusable garbage, hunting for hidden gems. I’ve even found a couple, but mostly it’s just about finding something readable. Or something we can pass off as being readable for those rare readers capable of ‘comprehending the author’s artistic vision’. Yeah, the marketing team winds up throwing phrases like that around a lot.

Maybe I’m being unfair. I was a lot more patient about that sort of thing when I started. So preoccupied with not coming across as judgemental, but I’ve worked in publishing over ten years now.

It used to be more common for us to get manuscripts sent in through the post, back then. Nowadays it’s pretty much all done online. A couple we get from literary agents, but most are just emailed in by aspiring writers who stumbled across our site, usually after receiving their rejection letters from the two dozen publishing houses that show up above us on pretty much any search engine.

Every once in a blue moon, though, a manilla envelope will find its way onto my desk. Some bright spark who thinks they’re above using a laptop decides to send their manuscript in the old fashioned way. Sometimes it’s just a precaution in case we somehow miss the half dozen emails they’ve already sent out to every listed staff member on the site. Hell, sometimes it’s written by typewriter.

You know typewriters require special paper to print? Special ink, too. They probably spend more writing the damn thing than they’ll ever see in royalties, but to each their own, I guess. I even got one handwritten, once. The idiot sent a follow-up a month later anxiously asking if he could have it back if we weren’t going to consider it because it was his only copy. Can you imagine? Mailing off the only copy of your handwritten manuscript to some backroom small press without any insurance.

By comparison, this manuscript was relatively normal. It had been typed, I think. The paper was…I guess it was sort of crumpled, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. The postal service isn’t always the most careful about this sort of thing, and it wasn’t really packaged properly. Just shoved loose in a box and shipped out.

It was pre-bound. Just a bundle of papers held together with a few strands of red string. A little unusual, but not exactly throwing up any red flags. Even when I started reading it, I didn’t know. How the hell could I have?

It was good, though. Maybe that should have been my first clue. The prose dragged on a bit, but hey. There are plenty of successful writers out there who probably could have benefited from a harsher editor. They made up for it, in my opinion. Even just skimming those first few pages, I was hooked. Didn’t even really realise it when I was due my lunch break. I was so focused on that damn book.

The visuals were the thing. Plenty of writers can pour out half decent prose, but something about this writer…they had a way of making it feel real, you know? All the little touches, the scenes they crafted from the ground up. It felt…it felt like I couldn’t stop reading. Even if I’d wanted to, and trust me, back then I didn’t.

I didn’t leave my office that day. Barely noticed it when the phone rang, ignored all my emails. I really, really thought we’d accidentally stumbled on a gold mind. Not just a passable debut novel, but an honest to god genuine talent.

The funny thing is, I can’t even really remember what it was that drew me in. Couldn’t tell you what genre it fell under. The plot itself was practically non-existent. A girl who dreamed of being a dancer and crept out of her house to practice under the moonlight in a clearing in the forest behind her house.

Then, one blissful night, illuminated by the full moon, the forest provided her with a partner. The partner.

Nothing too out there, right? Your basic fantasy-romance type stuff. Pretty tame compared to a lot of what we publish, but I was enthralled from the first description of their first dance. Barefoot and so light on her feet her toes barely skimmed the dew-slick grass. They loved each other, and in that moment, I think I understood that. Really knew what it was to love someone so much you’d offer them your still beating heart if it would mean holding onto them for just a second longer.

Except it wasn’t love. Not really. It was an obsession.

I couldn’t stop devouring page after page as their budding romance grew and spiralled, twisting into something unrecognisable. Those whispered words of I can’t live without you became their mantra as they clung to one another so tightly they left bruises on one another’s skin. Soft kisses turned sharp as they came to understand what it was to need to consume and be consumed. They needed one another in a way neither could truly provide. Not really.

In their despair, they begged the forest to offer them a solution, and it gave them one. A way to lie in the sweet summer meadow forever, and in their glee they didn’t think to ask what it would cost.

Not until they began to rot, anyway.

My memories around here get a little hazy, or maybe the words were just less clear. The writing seemed…hurried towards the end, but the couple didn’t seem to mind much when the insects began to burrow through their skin and make their homes inside. They had so much love to give, literally brimming with it. As sickening as it was, it sounded almost…fond. Like the writer truly wanted to give them the happy ending they deserved, but somehow couldn’t think of anything more befitting than allowing their decaying corpses to be infested with creepy crawlies.

It was sick. The concept was sick. Everything about it was sick, but even now I can’t truly convey how vividly they described it. The picture they painted was so clear. Even the affection the insects lavished upon them as they crawled and burrowed through their decaying flesh. It was…God, it used to make me sick just thinking about it, you know that?

Because it wasn’t enough that I had to read it. That I physically couldn’t tear my eyes away. I had to see it. The idea of it…It got its hooks in deep.

By the time I got to the end, I was at a loss for what to do with the manuscript. On the one hand it was probably one of the best written pieces we’d ever received, and there are plenty of twisted readers out there looking for something to churn their stomach.

Somehow it didn’t feel right to publish it, though. I’ve read body horror before, but this…It wasn’t right. I couldn’t…I couldn’t just inflict that on people. How do you make someone understand, truly understand, when they’re signing up to read something that won’t ever let them go? How do you make them understand that the words they’re paying you to read will imprint themselves against the backs of their eyelids? That they’ll grow and spread and fester.

I dream about that dancer in the moonlit meadow. The descriptions of her actual appearance were relatively scarce, but I can still see her face when I close my eyes. I see her intertwined with her dance partner, caked in a mossy fungus that failed to disguise the living hive crawling beneath their skin. I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins, anymore. Not even sure if I could tell them apart looking at them, what with their withered skin being so covered in filth and grime.

That damned book made it sound like something beautiful, but their beauty decayed with their childish notions of romance. They chose to become hollow husks of themselves to make room for the love they could no longer contain, but that’s…that’s not love. It can’t be…right?

So why can’t I stop thinking about the way their fingers intertwined before rigor mortis set in and cemented their bond forever?

I can’t concentrate on anything else anymore. At first it was just a niggling seed of doubt at the back of my mind, but it’s grown so much since then. That image burrowed so deep inside my mind turned its hungry mouth towards the parts of me which were most vulnerable, eating and eating and eating and eating until I could think of nothing else.

I don’t know why I never thought to burn it. Maybe I was worried it would make it worse. Maybe it felt too much like sacrilege. I never read it again after that first time, though I considered it often. It sat on my desk while my other assignments lay scattered around it, disregarded without a second thought. After all, there was no room left in my mind for anything else anymore. Every other passage I tried to read just seemed so…dry. So false. I used to get so invested in the lives of paper people, but now I know what true love is, how could the half-baked notions of romance ever compare?  I tried at first, but by the end I just…stared at it. Waiting.

Maybe if I’d tried to destroy it…Too late now, I suppose. I never let it see the printing presses, but I did let it go in the end. Some old man came in asking for it specifically. Something about it being a collectable.

I don’t know how an unpublished manuscript could be considered a collector’s item, and frankly I didn’t ask. I’m not sure if I even really cared about what he’d do with it by that point. Did it bother me that I might be condemning him to share my fate? It doesn’t now, I know that much.

It’s…I was hoping this might help me clear things up, but I just couldn’t see any of it straight. I can’t see anything, anymore. Not really. It may have started in my dreams, but once I let her in…They’re everywhere, now. I saw him in the faces of my colleagues before the press finally let me go… I don’t remember how long ago now. I think the power company cut the power at some point. It doesn’t matter now.

The funny thing is, I really thought they cared about me. They did, at first. I think. It all sort of blurs together, but I remember how they used to talk about me when they thought I couldn’t hear. The nervous looks they’d send me when I zoned out at my desks. Then they staged their first intervention, and I saw it. I saw her. It was the man I saw painted across the features of everyone I knew, in the arches of eyebrows and slants of cheekbones, but it was her I saw reflected in their eyes.

It was her I saw in the mirror, before they ran out of space inside my skull, and the maggots took my eyes…or maybe I imagined that part too.

I’m pretty sure it’s too late for me now, but when I heard about you guys I figured it was worth a shot. I’m full of it. Whatever that feverish contagion that claimed the couple was. That sickly, rotting thing they mistook for love. I can feel it now. I can understand it now and it’s so much. Already I’m on the brink of bursting with it, I think.

I just can’t wait to share.

[meandmydisease]

Masking



It’s been a while since I posted a personal post and they certainly haven’t been frequent. This wasn’t because nothing happened, quite the opposite. Instead I would write posts and they’d never leave my drafts. Too much happened and I couldn’t get my thoughts on paper to my satisfaction. My depression got worse and nothing I wrote seemed to make sense. 



As a defence mechanism I usually become more and more of an actor when I feel bad. This works against me when I am trying to be honest, like I try to be on here. Suddenly it feels as if I’m overreacting, whining and moaning. And I convince myself that others have it much worse, I shouldn’t complain.

I’ve realised that my therapist isn’t seeing this, nor is she really helping me on the points I actually requested. However, my depressed ass still feels guilty for looking for another therapist. Now, that will finally change and not because of me.

See, I recently met the specialist my doctor requested for a second opinion and for the first time I think I was really seen. He didn’t fall for my happy-go-lucky routine, making him the first person in a long time to see through it. Mere minutes into the meeting, he called me out on the discrepancy between my words and my body language. He soon appeared to have a better grasp on who I am and what I need than the doctor that has been with me for years now.

He apologised for the subpar assistance I’ve received so far, agreed that at my age I should not be this bad and promised to keep working until I felt significantly better. 
A day after first speaking to him, I started new meds. A week later, my pain went from a 9 to a 4. It’s currently at a 2. I haven’t been at a 2 in almost 10 years. I feel (physically) amazing.

Now, my health is still a mess, but there is hope. There is room to breath. And I wonder if he really sees how much that means to me. In addition he has requested a specialist medical therapist for me. There is a bit of waiting list, but he thinks this might be a better fit for me. This therapist knows a lot about my illness and the limitations it brings. So they can take that into consideration as we work on my depression, anxiety, inferiority complex and overall mental mess.



I haven’t been hopeful in a while. But right now…I might dare to dream again. Who knows, 2021 might just be my year.

[ofhowls]

PSA – on myself !

hi, okay, i’ve had a good night’s sleep and in my dreams and the rest of the morning, i have reflected. and, i’m gonna be honest with all of you, my habit of giving my two cents when it isn’t needed is… stupid, to say the least. i would’ve liked to think i did more good than harm ( especially when it came to my whole slave rp crusade, which i’m realising might be the only thing of value i did for this community ) but that appears to definitely not be the case. i posted an apology for some things said about a year ago though i can’t find it now with my blogs gone. i’m also assuming it was a subpar post regardless. 

so, whether you like me or not, i still feel the need to apologise – so if you feel that some of the things i’ve said has had a negative affect on you or the community, then click below. 

i won’t bring up everything i’ve ever said because honestly, i can’t remember it all. but i will mention some things that have been mentioned last night.

i. tw pedophilia // i’m not good at words. i’m very bad at them, actually. i have a whole lot of trouble articulating my thoughts and usually, most of the time, it comes out completely wrong. i won’t defend my pov ( like i did last night ) because it is a topic i haven’t thought of in ages and an opinion i shouldn’t have stuck with without proper reconsideration. i’m always quick to defend myself, you know? but in this political climate and the way “ minor attracted people ” ( saying that with the most sarcastic of quotations ) are attempting to be apart of the lgbt community… my previous opinion on the matter is absolutely whack. sure, i think help should be offered by therapists and psychologists and all of the professionals in the world. but my previous point was maybe not crucify people with paraphilias in general areas such as tumblr and twitter and whatever. because it will keep them from getting the help needed, but most importantly, prevent any children getting hurt if they don’t. 

but that was wrong. like, completely. clearly, shaming and ridiculing and reporting is the only way to deal with those who see no wrong in their doings. my attention was always shifted towards that do and that was because of a documentary i watched sometime ago. it’s obvious the former, those who think their attraction is valid and healthy, make up the majority of these people. my point of view was skewed based on a singular source and that’s messed up. i realise now that those who know their attraction is wrong will seek help without me coddling them, and my posts would only encourage those who don’t, to be more open & proud about it. i apologise for it seeming that i was accepting pedophiles and their attraction into the community, because that was most definitely not my intention. i have no excuses for this and i will educate myself more, with recent and relevant information, before i ever try and speak on the matter again. especially on a public forum. 

ii. ableism tw // i was diagnosed with autism when i was about eighteen years old. that was very late. and up until that point, i was dealing with a tons of misinformation regarding the people on the spectrum and my own shock & confusion over the diagnosis given. and though that’s not an excuse, it’s also not the reason i said what i said. if you know me, at all, you’ll know that i’m very much obsessed with being an individual and getting a rise outta people. way more back then than now. but that’s who i am. i hopped onto a trend i deemed stupid and attacked it from every angle, not quite thinking of the implication behind the words that i said. 

i realise, later, that why i choose the autistic example might be because of my own issues with it. at the time. over the past two years, i’ve grown so much regarding my identity and i finally feel comfortable, and proud, in my own skin and with my autism. there used to be a time where i hid it and made comments on how ~ i was different ~ , somehow, and i can gladly say that’s not me anymore. i’m very sorry for what i said because i realise how hurtful that must’ve been to the rest of the community. me being autistic myself is no excuse and i know what kind of effect a commentary like that would have on others. especially those who were struggling with it like myself.

iii. every tw under the sun // i’m gonna be honest with y’all, once again my edginess came into play. my need to open my big fat mouth for no other reason other than i could. that post, especially given just how ignorant a lot of the community is on issues mentioned, myself included on some, is bad. it’s a bad take that is bad. and it’s quite possibly the stupidest thing i’ve ever written/read. i know so many writers who have refused to do research and me going up there and saying “ that’s okay, you can do what you want! ” … no. i still believe there’s freedom to write whatever you want, though – but to an extent. there’s a limit that shouldn’t be crossed and that’s the limit i attempted to bend in the post i made. at the time, i think, i felt entitled to have this opinion due to the minorities i’m myself included in. but that’s also a real bad take. i did see people’s point of views then but i think i failed to apologise once more. i’m bad at that, and it’s something i’m working on. 

anyways, to the topic at hand. we need to make people take more responsibility in this community and although i’m getting a whole bunch thrown at me at once, at the moment, i’m a bit grateful for it. i’ve realised thanks to these things being brought back up, that i didn’t apologise and i didn’t take responsibility – and i should’ve. i said things on a public platform that actively reassured people, who should not have been reassured, of their place in this community. racism, homophobia, TRANSPHOBIA, and pedophilia, are among the things that have no place here. i fought so much against the slave roleplays and their opinion on how ~ it’s writing, freedom of speech, and yadada ~ was WRONG. yet, i turned around and wrote a post like that? it was a bad, and hypocritical, take indeed. and one i thoroughly apologise for. 

vi. racism tw // once upon a time, i defended a friend’s roleplay without much knowledge other than ‘ it’s my friends, i have to ! ’ i have the lowest of iq’s, if you can’t tell. anyways. i think it was called siouxfalls, or something like that, and we found out that it was the name of a native tribe. i thought, personally as a white little bitch, that it was no big deal. who cared! ( lots of people, but i really only paid attention to the anons i got… which was… stupid ) and thus, i went out of my way to defend a friend of mine. i didn’t read the plot, i barely looked at the roleplay. i involved myself in a situation i had no clue about, and took it from there. i used a large following and a huge amount of traffic on my blog, to shit on people with genuine concern. there’s no excuse for that! i kept this up for hours, and anons swarmed to my inbox to poke fun at it, too. and i thought, hey, if anons are cool with it – that must mean i’m in the right. i wasn’t. 

there came a time where the other admin of the roleplay, the one i hardly knew, leapt to their roleplay’s defence. in their, very, long post about the matter – they mentioned that, hey, we aren’t forgetting about natives! in fact! there’s gonna be a plot drop about all of those slaughtered there! and that… was yikes. i backed out of the conversation when that happened. and that also a bad decision! i should’ve stuck around, spoken to this person i actually had access to – and 1. realised my own wrongdoings for the night, and 2. used the audience i had to correct myself and draw attention to an even bigger issue. i didn’t. i let it go, hoping no one would remember. i was in a shitty position of allowing racist subtext into the community and diminishing the concern of people of color, and i sincerely apologise. i was a 15 minute of fame whore and i didn’t bother with the feelings of others. i was, in all honesty, a garbage person. and i take full responsibility for that. 

v. no tw because this is more of a general statement // i am sure there are more specific things that i’ve done and that i’ve said, but with the sheer amount of garbage that came out of my mouth, i have trouble recalling anything significant. i would gladly accept receipts and reminders from everyone and anyone. i’m not asking you to coddle me, but i really do wish you’d help me take some responsibility. memory like a goldfish and like 5k posts of bullshit just don’t add up. anyways. since my latest ‘ jayden said something fucking stupid ’ discourse was about a year ago, i feel like i have grown. tumblr, for me, was a very bad place to be in many ways. i’m not saying the community is toxic but it was to me. i like attention and i like getting asks and i like putting my two cents out there. it created a whole bunch of issues and it gave me a bigger platform than i should’ve had. with my absence, which i’m also a bit grateful for, i spent more time on other social medias and i learned more about issues i never even began reading about on here. 

i’m not saying i’m the brightest now, either, but i’m definitely smarter. i didn’t come back to the rpc, with the exception of one or two posts, because i don’t feel like i should have an audience to barely formed opinions. and i’m not apologising now because it was all brought up but because it being brought up reminded me of damage i’d caused. i’d be an idiot to think it should be swept under the rug, because it shouldn’t! if it weren’t from the backslash of the rpc, i never would’ve second-guessed my opinions and reevaluated them, and that’s extremely important. it’s important to hold people accountable and it’s important to make sure apologies are made. i’m not asking for anyone to forgive me, because let’s be real, this was long overdue. though, i hope this has made it clear that my opinions aren’t the same as they once were and i genuinely am apologetic for damage done.

i don’t know if any of this was remotely coherent, but i hope it was? the anon feature is back on, and hopefully instead of racist commentary, it can be used for things more constructive. once again, no need to hold my hand, but if you feel like i’ve missed out on anything that should be addressed – please let me know! like i’m not the same dimwit i was a year ago. that’d be too freaking sad. anyways, once again, i apologise for what i’ve said and many lessons have been learned. believe me. 

[iesorno]

I know the name Fred Egg Comics better than I know the name David Robertson, but only because I’ve seen his comics mentioned by many of the people I follow.

What’s fascinating about David though, is that, as well as making comics, he talks and thinks about them and has a cultural reference more deeply steeped in fandom than mine. In fact, some of his strips drawing on sci-fi and Star Wars fandom are some of my favourite strips of his. You should check out his work as it’s very personal but very personable.

I’ll also add that he collaborates with some very good artists.

You can find David here

website        shop          blog          twitter

you can also find him on Comichaus if you subscribe

Over to David

Can you tell us a bit about the first creator whose work you recognised?

Comics creators have a tradition of being minimised, if not made completely invisible, by the publishers of their work. So, the comics I would enjoy from companies like IPC and D.C. Thomson would pointedly not tell me who had done the work I liked, certainly in the 1970s. I didn’t have a name to attach to the style. So, it may be someone creative in the pop music field. I always loved music and was a big fan of The Police, getting all their albums for birthdays or Christmas as they came out.

The Police

Which creators do you remember first copying?

I was a big reader of Eagle and Starblazer comics and was fascinated by the extreme colour and shading contrasts, especially in characters’ faces, in the work of Ian Kennedy.

Dan Dare art by Ian Kennedy

I also loved the comics of Jack Kirby, including his late 1970s Captain America and early 60s FF and Incredible Hulk, which were being reprinted in the UK.

I specifically remember looking at how Kirby drew fingers and copying that. Lastly, I used to watch Bugs Bunny and Danger Mouse cartoons on TV, drawing the characters from what was shown on screen. This was before the days of video and DVD, so you had to try to grab what you needed in a hurry.

Who was the creator that you first thought ‘I’m going to be as good as you!’?

I never thought that about any creator. I liked certain artists but didn’t think I would be as good as them. More the opposite, actually. I was obsessed with Al Williamson’s art for years (still am), and for a while was always trying to reach his style.

Al Willaimson

I realised all I could manage was a subpar version of what he did, and really even if I did manage to be “as good” as him – I would just be a Williamson clone. Trying not to be as good as other artists has allowed me to draw in my own style.

Which creator or creators do you currently find most inspiring?

When I see good writing that ties story points or themes together in a good way, I get inspired. Sometimes I’ll be watching a programme on TV or reading about a group of people making something together, working hard on it, and I think I’d love to do something like that. Recently it’s been a documentary of making Blade Runner and reading Steve Howe’s book on playing guitar. Then I remember my field, my area for doing work like that, and giving something to the world, is in my comics. It does inspire me to get to work.

Dangerous Days – Making Blade Runner

Steve Howe – All My Yesterdays

Which creators do you most often think about?

I think about comics creators Peter Bagge, Jack Kirby, James Kochalka, Carol Tyler, TV writer Russell T.Davies, Film director Stanley Kubrick, TV and film maker Chris Morris, actor Leonard Nimoy, musicians Prince, Frank Zappa. I think about their creative work, and how they talk about their creative work.

Peter Bagge

Devil Dinosaur by Jack Kirby

James Kochalka

Carol Tyler

Can you name the first three creative peers that come into your head and tell a little bit about why?

Zook and Max by Tim Kelly

Tim Kelly is a cartoonist who I first came across in an APA 20 years ago. I love his style, and his humour. Even when I don’t know where he’s coming from, I always enjoy his work.  I’ll mention Tucker Stone of Comic Books are Burning in Hell. I always admire his storytelling, humour, insight and fearlessness. To me, that was the original comics podcast. Lastly, I’ll namecheck Treehouse Comics, launched by the two artists Stuart McAdam and Neil Scott, who I’ve enjoyed working with over the years.

Treehouse issue 5 Cover

Finally, can you tell us a bit about your recent work and yourself?

Clap

Mount A Rescue

I make comics, read comics and write about comics. My most recent Fred Egg Comic book is Mount a Rescue, which is an anthology written by me, with art from me and guest artists too. My own comics and articles have appeared in various anthologies, journals, magazines and websites. I contribute to workshops and podcasts. I’m a regular on That Comic Smell podcast. Other Fred Egg Comics I publish are the titles Bell Time; Berserkotron; Break the Cake; But a Dream!; Dump; Wow! Retracted; and Zero Sum Bubblegum. I love comics.

Previews of my latest comic book Mount a Rescue can be found here

Process posts for comics I am working on currently can be found here

Podcasts I appear on can be found here 

Thank you very much for taking the time to fill this out and let us into your mind.

Los Angeles November 2019

all art copyright and trademark its respective owners.

content copyright iestyn pettigrew 2020

    Small (press) oaks – David Robertson @fredeggcomics talks inspiration and influences from Star Wars to modern indie greats, it's all here #comics #indiecomics #smallpresscomics I know the name Fred Egg Comics better than I know the name David Robertson, but only because I've seen his comics mentioned by many of the people I follow.

[4nimenut]

is this an AO3 tag thing

tagged by @aja154ever...!! thank you for the tag aja~

calling my lowkey writer status out though LOL SWEATS

1. How did you come up with your username and what does it mean?

sachiyoumi

THIS IS SUCH AN EMBARRASSING REASON BUT

my original writing alias when i was still writing was kimura yumi, named after my dragon nest character after looking up japanese names and their meanings (look 12y/o shao was a huge japanophile shh) before realising there was a real person named kimura youmi (the singer of itsumo nando demo)

and afterwards i took this online test thing that would tell you your name in japanese and i got inoue sachiyo

and then i decided to mash both together and got sachiyoumi / sachiyo yumi and it just stuck ever since LOL 

i wish i had the creativity for a cooler alias though, now thinking back o)-(

plus it coincides with my real name initials ssssso yeah. its hella cool.

2. Which fanfic of yours has the most feedback? (bookmarks/subscriptions/hits/kudos)

transience

it’s like, my only fic on AO3 HAHAHAHAHA

there used to be an OnS fic up there but i decided to take it down until i have time to get back to it and revise it and post it when it’s more complete, perhaps

(will i ever finish it though)

3. What is your AO3 profile icon, and why did you choose it?

idk it looks p aesthetic LOL i kinda like how i drew akira here//

(please see this post for reference)

4. Do you have any regular/favourite commenters?

i only have one fanfic that i’ve written after a number of years of not writing / completing a fic soー s w e a t s,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

favourite-wise i love all comments...! it means so much to me that people would go out of their way to enter their name if they’re anonymous, and write a comment about the fic q_q thank you.... even though my writing is really just subpar uuu

5. Is there a fanfic that you keep going back to read again and again?

Fox Chimes by Kuranoa / @kurapls

i love reincarnation and youkai tropes so this just perfectly hits the nail on the head KURA I LOVE YOU THANK YOU FOR WRITING THIS FIC BUT MY HEART,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, cries pools of blood

Three Fundamental Truths by @likeshining

STAR SAN MY FKING HEART SHAKES FIST

6. How many stories are you subscribed to? How many do you have bookmarked?

9 subscriptions, 52 bookmarks www

7. Which AU do you find yourself writing the most?

i’ve only ever written one fic, so....... if anything, it’s canon-divergence LOL

8. How many people are subscribed and bookmarked to you in total? (you can view this on the stats page)

2 subs, 18 bookmarks (there’s people that are actually subbed to me wh a t)

9. Is there something you’d like to write about but are afraid of people judging you for it? (Feeling brave? If so, share it!)

probably sensitive things, but i think i’d still write it (or draw it out, at least)

as far as i know i don’t think i have anything i’m paaaarticularly afraid of, but if there is now, or in the future, then i think i wouldn’t post it publicly ww

10. Is there anything you would like to be better at? Writing certain scenes or genres, replying to comments, updating better, etc.

everything

11. Do you write rarepairs or popular ships more often?

i don’t have a good basis for judgement, but based on really old fics, i think i’ve been writing popular ships more often...!!

12. How many stories have you posted on AO3 to this day (finished and unfinished)?

one finished LOL

13. How many stories do you have saved in/with your writing program?

about 3 or 4?

14. Do you write down story ideas, or just keep them in your head?

i tend to write on paper if the idea just hits me, and transfer to a google doc afterwards! ///

15. Have you ever co-authored a story?

nope. im too noob lol + i hardly write orz

16. How did you discover AO3?

i used to read on fanfiction.net! afterwards there were some writers i followed that mentioned that they were moving to AO3 and i just found out about it afterwards. though i ended up largely lurking because i didn’t have the confidence to write anything decent.

17. Do you consider yourself to be a popular or famous author in your fandom(s) on AO3?

what

18. Do you have a nickname or fandom name for your readers?

i only have one fanfic what are you talking about

19. Was there an author who inspired or encouraged you to write?

hi star san

20. What writing advice would you give to a beginning author?

if the idea comes to you, just yolo and go for it LOL don’t let your dreams be dreams

21. Do you plot out your stories, or do you just figure it out as you go?

in the past when i was still writing i tend to figure things out as i go, though that was because i was writing multichapter stories. but this resulted in me being confused over my own plot and i was hesitant to continue writing anymore, along with RL stress and stuff so i eventually dropped writing altogether. though that was... 4-5 years ago?

now i barely write still, but i lean towards monster oneshots now so i tend to plot out and find references for better clarity ^^ though finishing them and posting them is another story altogether LOL

22. Have you ever gotten a bad comment on a story? If so, what did you do?

not really,,,? but i’ve only ever written one (complete) story to date, and the comments on it have been rather heartwarming (i’m glad it was to your liking...!)

23. Is there a certain type of scene that you have a hard time writing? (action, smut, etc..)

i haven’t ventured deep into writing yet, but i think i’m really bad with flashbacks  www

24. What story(s) are you working on now?

chuuya goes through traumatic shit

courtesan!AU

unfinished fics wise that i’m not sure if i will ever touch and continue include something about granblue’s percival and lancelot

25. Do you plan your next project(s) before you finish your current ongoing story(s)?

i... i guess LOL I REALLY JUST WHACK AND YOLO

26. Do you have a daily writing goal set for yourself?

i’m more of an artist so i usually write when i have time to spare ; v ;

27. Do you think you’ve improved as a writer since you first started?

definitely...!

28. What is your favorite story that you’ve written?

transience

it’s my first (finished) fic after a long while

29. What is your least favorite story that you’ve written?

transience (GUYS I ONLY HAVE ONE FIC)

i really dislike how i wrote the opening paragraphs as compared to the rest of the fic to be very honest;; i think i could have written it better....! i’ll work hard and improve if i ever continue writing things 

30. Where do you see yourself (as a writer) in 5 years?

writing only to fuel the angst in my art

31. What is the easiest thing about writing?

definitely the ending. THE ENDING. 

ITS THAT FEELING OF LIBERATION AFTER xxx AMOUNT OF WORDS OF SUFFERING wheezes

32. What is the hardest thing about writing?

everything else aside from the ending the torture sucks im jk im sorry

33. Why do you write?

honestly there’s some things that i find it difficult to portray through my own art, and i lack the stamina to draw comics proper so i turn to writing...! it’s a really fascinating form of contribution to a fandom to be honest x.x)a most of my time has been spent making art so writing feels like a really exotic kind of art to me ;v;

also i think it’s also a way to keep my english intact HAHA

i tag @adargo, @nugget-writes, @memosfromchuuya, @catsbythegreat, and.... i think all the other writers i know have done this already ww,,

[vskpop]

October 2017 ⋅ Who the hell are you?

W, Here – NU’EST W

If there’s something that I have to thank Produce 101 for, is that it finally opened my eyes to Nu’est. I regret not paying any attention to them earlier, and even looking back I realise that I liked all their songs, but never really had any interest in the group itself.

Since their debut, Nu’est have been doing stuff that was basically avantgarde in terms of k-pop; now that electronic/EDM inspired pop has reached Korea, they can keep doing what they’ve always done and still sound better than everyone else.

Their title track Where You At is completely faithful to what their style has been so far; it’s EDM, but it somehow feels more refined than a lot of stuff that’s been put out recently. There’s a very trendy drop, but it’s announced by Dongho’s explosive vocals. There is a rap break, but it isn’t completely disjointed from the song.

While I wasn’t expecting that most of the album tracks would be solo songs, I do think that this is the best time for them to experiment: they were on the brink of disbanding, so anything that happens between now and contract renewal (and Minhyun’s return, hopefully) is a chance to test themselves and prepare for what they will do when they are back as 5. It’s also true that each of them can absolutely hold his own as a solo singer, which is not true of every group.

7 for 7 – GOT7

I’m going to quote my March 2017 self:

I never felt like GOT7 had a clear identity, but listening to their singles up to Fly, there is a faint thread that was completely cut with Hard Carry (the wooooorst) and hasn’t been picked up with Never Ever.

As of October 2017, I think GOT7 are back on track: with 7 for 7 and lead single You Are, I feel like they’ve finally gone back to their “romantic universe” concept, which is what has suited them best right from the beginning.

I was hoping this would happen ever since JYP’s new boy group, temporarily called Stray Kids, was announced. They seem to have been assigned the iKON/BTS image, leaving GOT7 free to shed their Never Ever grimy concept and go back to what they do best.

While previous songs relied heavily on GOT7’s not-so-amazing rappers, You Are features their super talented singers – not a complete surprise, after JJ Project had done so well this summer. The EDM elements of their previous releases are still there, but the vocalists really make the song special; I never stop being surprised by how lovely Youngjae’s part in the chorus is.

Of course I’m happy that the singers get to shine because that’s my personal taste, but it’s worth noting that this completes the shift of Jackson and Bambam from the most prominent members of the group to background figures. The difference between their presence in the Fly and the You Are performances is stark.

This bizarre dynamic – the members who caused trouble shoved in the back and the popular members thrown at the front – in the context of an album that is literally called 7 for 7, and the rhetoric of them being a 7-member group being very much reinforced.

I’m quite wary of this language being used at a time where the group is quite fragmented – there was a point a few months ago in which the members were spread over four countries when they were supposedly preparing two comebacks. Instead of feeling reassuring, it suggests that the situation is not quite as stable as it should be.

As far as I’m concerned, GOT7 have found their sound (again) and I would be more than happy for them to continue on this path. I’m curious to see if they will manage to stick to it for two comebacks in a row, and if it’s really true that #OT7 is forever.

Move – Taemin

If I had more time and more of a willingness to be disappointed by SM Entertainment, I would look into what was cut from the subpar video for Move, the title track of an otherwise perfect comeback. There isn’t a single bad song in this album. The aesthetics and styling are wonderful. The choreography for Move is the sexiest thing to have been performed by a man on a k-pop show this year.

K-pop either does big bangers or big ballads, but Taemin needs neither. The 80’s synth works perfectly with his breathy, sexy vocals. Move doesn’t exist in a completely different universe to last year’s Press Your Number, which had different 80’s elements, but it’s still something new and unique in the k-pop panorama.

While every single song on this album would be worth mentioning, I’m always struck by how much emotion he manages to put in his ballads. He could be talking about socks, and Rise would still make me cry for three hours.

I will be endlessly impressed with Taemin, who could have had nothing at this point if it was for SM (not the greatest at growing talents, sorry not sorry), and instead has managed to find an image for himself and to grow as a true artist. I hope he keeps it up for a long time.

Twicetagram – TWICE

It turns out that I’d rather hate Twice’s songs: at least I can pretend they don’t exist. When I find them catchy, which is the case for Likey, I am destined to suffer because of the absolutely revolting lyrics.

“In that small screen / I want to look the prettiest”

“Getting all dolled up / Is so annoying / But I can’t just be careless”

“I’m holding in my breath so I can zip up / Pulling it over my waist once more” “There are so many / Pretty clothes in this world”

I know that pop songs aren't that deep, and that this is not their first song with terrible lyrics, but it's shameful that a group as loved by young girls as Twice would push the idea that it's women's duty to look attractive to others (men, that is). This is one of the cases in which I’m kind of happy that my Korean is not that good, because I can just pretend that they’re not being absolutely idiotic and enjoy the song on my commute.

This is one of their better comebacks as far as I’m concerned: they all get to properly dance after Momo’s break, they aren’t dressed like schoolchildren, there is some actual singing from members that never made a sound before.

On the upside, while they still have zero production credits, many of the members got to write lyrics for the album tracks, which is more than many other girl groups ever get to do. Even the Wonder Girls members only had a handful of lyrics credits until the group was on the verge of disbandment and had to write their own songs. I love 24/7, Rollin’ and Don’t Give Up.

RAPID FIRE ROUND

Max & Match – LOONA Odd Eye Circle

I don’t know why it’s been so exhausting to follow Odd Eye Circle. I found Girl Front a bit too cute for what I was expecting, but on the other hand the choreography for repackage single Sweet Crazy Love is a bit too sexy for Choerry (who is only 16). While I love the song this time around, and I do think they look incredible in the video, I’m just looking forward to moving onto the next batch of girls and not have to question the concept of OEC anymore.

Fantasy – JBJ

With JBJ, basically all my Produce 101 favourites who didn’t make it into Wanna One have debuted in one form or the other. The song and the costuming have a very old school k-pop flavour, which is an interesting choice in a context where the trendiest post-Produce group wins (hi and bye, Rainz). I’m especially glad to see model-turned-idol Hyunbin onstage, because now YG will be forced to put him in the next boy group (muhahahahhah). I also live for Taehyun’s dancing and Sanggyun’s face rapping, so following them has been an absolute delight.

Knights of the Sun – SF9

I low key wanted to hate SF9’s O Sole Mio because Italy has nothing to do with the Latin sounds and “te quiero”, but my brain has been mushed by Despacito and anything by CNCO, so I was totally endeared by SF9 using their shirts as muletas and those random guitar interludes. I’m also not sure if someone thought that “Latin sounds” referred to actual Latin, because the phrase “ego dormio” is repeated several times in the song and friends, that’s the dead language, not the Enrique Iglesias genre.

It has to be said that all their albums have been excellent so far (I was obsessed with Breaking Sensation earlier in the year) and Knights of the Sun, despite not really sticking to the Latin theme, has some really good songs in it, like falsetto extravaganza Just On My Way.  

Hallelujah – Jimin (AOA)

I don’t even know how to justify this. Jimin’s voice is as grating as ever, and I love it as much as I always do. There is nothing that should bring together her squeaking, the pseudo-reggaeton, the signature “HEY HEY HEY HEY”, and the Christian hook that has nothing to do with the rest of the lyrics. This song makes no sense, but I’ve been listening to it constantly. What the hell are you, babe, hallelujah.

MORE SONGS OF NOTE

The whole of Epik High’s We’ve Done Something Wonderful Red Lie – BTOB Callin’ – ACE Pinwheel – Seventeen (more on this next month) Good Night – DIA I Wander – HA:TFELT When You Love Someone – DAY6

STRAYS

Monsta X Shownu and Jooheon dancing to Ariana Grande’s Side to Side, because why not.

I love, love, love, Twice’s Japanese single One More Time.

[svubloods]

Imagine finding out how your parents, Rafael and Erika, met (TPELB PART SIX)

(A/N: Hope you enjoy. This may seem like a filler chapter but it lays out the background and themes later on so pay close attention. Sorry, I’m posting here but I was dragging out as I’m getting some of my results tomorrow and I’m too stressed out to sleep) 

Masterlist with all the Parts HERE

Imagine finding out how your parents, Rafael and Erika, met

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?” You countered, looking up from your session of staring aimlessly at the surface of your desk.

“Do you have an answer?” Your physics teacher, Mr. Morgan, asked, turning to look at you as he stopped scribbling on the board.

“800,” You breathed, without hesitation as you quickly glanced over the problem, but you were still distracted.

“That's right,” He smiled softly, writing it on the board for the class, “Well done,”

You returned his comforting smile with your own forced one, before looking back at your desk again. You could feel his eyes still lingering on you but you elected to ignore it as it wasn't like him to select someone to ask a question twice in a row. So you knew that you didn’t have to pay attention anymore not that you often had to pay attention to his explanations of concepts but usually you enjoyed it, just not recently.

The class was over in around ten minutes, signaling the end of class, but that ten minutes seemed to go much slower for you. The bell rang and everyone got up to head to their next lesson which for you was Music, you had a showcase coming up and all your lessons were dedicated to preparing for it.

“Alright, I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Mr. Morgan waved off before everyone started to file out of the room.

You got up yourself, your friend waiting for you patiently. You turned to follow her when you were stopped.

“Y/N, do you mind staying back for a few minutes?” Mr. Morgan asked suddenly, appearing close behind you.

You raised your eyebrows at your friend who smirked as you trend around.

“Sure,” You agreed, “I’ll catch you up,”

“I’ll let Mr. McNamara know,” She added before heading out the room.

“Thank you,” Mr. Morgan called after her as you took a seat in the desk closet to his desk.

Mr Morgan was arguably your favourite teacher, mostly because he was your Physics teacher but also because he was a very good physics teacher. He had joined the school as a teacher around three years ago straight out of MIT, your dream school. He also did Mechanical Engineering there just like you, he even took a semester abroad and completed part of his degree at Cambridge. He joined this school because a large portion of graduates here attended institutions on par with MIT, plus it was an impressive start to his teaching degree, not a lot of graduates taught here right out of school. He had basically done everything you wanted to when you reached eighteen expect you had no interest in teaching but research and innovation. You only knew all this about him because your mutual love of mechanical engineering meant he took a special interest in you and you grew quite close in three years since he had started teaching you.

It’s funny actually because originally you thought you wouldn’t like him. The first lesson you had, you corrected him around three times. You assumed that he was just incompetent and that school had lowered the standards of their new hires but you later found out it was simply because he was nervous. You gave him a chance after the second lesson after hearing that he was an MIT graduate unable to believe that your beloved institute would produce such a subpar graduate. And you were right in doing so. He was an amazing teacher, one of the best you’d ever had and it was because he loved it as much you did. He quickly realised that you weren’t like the others in your   class. Like you said you loved it all as much as he did. He took an interest and decided how far you could go. After getting through all the material set for the year in around a month, he kept progressing you. He’d often just give you college lesson problems to solve during class while he taught everyone else.

Knowing that you would probably and hopefully head to MIT yourself, he enjoyed talking to you about latest developments in the field and going through problems with you. You attended the Physics club that he ran and always stayed back so you could work on some problems for his former classmates that were still at MIT doing their masters. A couple of months ago he invited you and your Uncle Joe to go down for a couple weeks and meet some of the professors and sit in a couple lectures. It was one of the best experiences in your life and your sure your Uncle Joe’s most confusing.

So I guess you could say you were friends, as much as a student and a teacher can be.

You rarely discussed personal matters but he knew your situation and he talked about himself as well. He had a crush on your English teacher but he didn’t think you knew that. You also often discussed or mocked how almost every female student in the school envied your friendship as they all had a crush on him.

“So?” You prompted, as he sat down at his desk from shutting the door.

“How are you feeling?” He inquired.

“Annoyed,” You confessed truthfully.

“Why?” He asked.

“I should be in music right now,” You reminded.

“Y/N…” He sighed, spinning in his chair dramatically at you.

“It’s true,” You pointed out.

“How long is it until the trial?” He questioned gently.

“A month tomorrow,” You informed, emotionless.

“How long has it been now then…?” He inquired, continuing his gentle streak.

“Four weeks, three days, fifteen hours,” You informed.

“No minutes?” He teased.

“I can’t be bothered to count,” You confessed.

“This is really getting to you isn’t it?” He commented.

“How can it not?” You countered.

“Well, you haven’t been acting like yourself.” He pointed out.

“How so?” You entertained.

“It’s subtle stuff, really,” He observed, “You’re still doing amazingly in your all classes which you wouldn’t expect from a student going through what you’re going through but then again it’s you and not just any other student. You’re just not yourself. You don’t make faces at me when I teach to try and throw me off and you don’t do our whistle to let me know when you’ve finished whatever problem I’ve given you. Little things like you aren’t smiling like you used to.” “There isn’t a lot to smile about lately,” You sighed sadly.

“You haven’t said much about it,” He mentioned.

“Everything you need to know was in that meeting you all had about me,” You responded all-knowingly, as you mentioned the meeting that all your teachers had had with the principle about your situation once the principal had been informed of your current situation.

“You know about that?” He asked, surprised.

“Jones let it slip when he said he was sorry about for the loss of my mother. I’m assuming they weren’t particularly clear on that side of the details. Because after I told him that she had been dead for ten years he needed to tell me something to make things better and less awkward.” You informed.

“He can never keep quiet that one,” He commented.

“He was just trying to be nice,” You defended.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He inquired.

“No,” You stated, “I know I’ve been pretty off lately but I’ve been trying to act normal, particularly here. It’s really my only escape from it all and most of the time it works and I can but some days I can’t shake that cloud that hangs over me, you know?”

“How about after we finish this conversation we go back to how we were before all this?” He suggested.

“I’d like that,” You nodded.

“Okay, then that’s what we’ll do,” He agreed, “But first I have to make sure you’re okay to make myself feel better. I’m really worried about you.”

“Then continue with your completely selfless intentions,” You teased, sarcastically.

“You’re acting more like yourself already,” He chuckled, before beginning, “How is everything with the living situation?”

“Good,” You admitted, “Everything would be having a much worse impact on me if I wasn’t with Will. He tries to make me forget about everything by keeping me busy and stuff and it works. I usually thunk about everything when I’m alone, like at night.”

“Are you sleeping?” He asked.

You shook your head.

“Are you talking to someone about all this?” He inquired.

“I have a therapist,” You informed.

“You do?” He questioned.

“Court-appointed.” You nodded, “Another one of the magical things you have to do when apart of a bitter custody battle,”

“Well, that’s good,” He nodded, in return, “Do you like them?”

“She’s nice enough,” You replied, “Good at what she does, told her more than I thought I would,”

“She can’t help you if you don’t tell her what’s going on,” He reminded. “You sound like Will,” You commented, rolling you eyes.

“It’s true Y/N,” He insisted, “Her job is to help you,”

“Her job is to determine the impact of not knowing either of my parents my whole life has had on me and whether my Grandparents did an adequate enough job of managing that impact and generally just raising me,” You clarified.

“Was the therapist your Father’s idea?”He inquired.

You nodded.

“I’m sure she is neutral,” He insisted yet again.

“She is,” You confirmed, “But the fact I have to see her is a common tactic with Father’s wanted to show that they care about their children’s mental wellbeing. I read up about it,”

“All this makes what I know make more sense,” He nodded.

“What are you talking about?” You asked, confused.

“Miss Norden asked me to give this to you,” He explained, “She said that she doesn’t think that you weren’t meant to give it to her,”

You reached over and took it, just looking at the first sentence made you realize what it was and how you had made a mistake.

“I must have given her the wrong letter,” You sighed, looking through your bag and pulling out the correct one and handing it to him.

“Chien-Shiung Wu,” He nodded in approval, as his eyes scanned over your actual assignment, “Nice pick,”

“Well, the assignment was to write a letter to a  dead person whose had an impact on you,” You reminded, “Quite childish if you ask me, but I love writing letters,”

“You do?” He questioned.

“It’s a dying art,” You insisted.

“So the first one was…” He leads on.

“Last week my therapist asked me if I could say anything to my Mom what would I say. I said I didn’t know so she said to jot down some ideas and bring it to the next session. I was inspired by the assignment and wrote a letter. I must have handed in the wrong one,” You said, offering an explanation.

“That makes sense,” He smiled, comfortingly, “I’ll tell you she was worried that her assignment may have upset you or made things worse.,”

“How did you even get this?” You inquired, “Miss Norden has been off all week the flu and you should tell her not to worry,”

“I went to go see her,” He mentioned.

“Can you just tell her you like her already?” You sighed playfully, “This whole ordeal you two have sucked me into is giving me Ross and Rachel flashbacks.”

“You’re a Friends fan?” He inquired, skeptically.

You nodded in confirmation, “Me and Grandpa like watching it,”

“You’re Grandpa, the Commissioner, is a Friends fan?” He continued to question, surprised.

“I personally think he only watches because he has a small crush on Monica,” You confessed.

“He is her type,” He chuckled.

“Is that all?” You inquired, with a slightly happier smile than you had when you started, “I need to get to class,”

“Just one more thing,” He announced.

“Okay,” You prompted.

“What you wrote is it true?” He whispered.

You nodded.

“Promise me you’ll talk to your therapist about it,” He asked.

“I will as long as you give my new assignment to Miss Norden and you both promise not to talk about it,” You insisted.

“You have our word,” He guaranteed.

“I’m sure I do,” You winked, getting up.

“We’re only friends,” He insisted, getting up as well to see you off.

“Sure,” You agreed unconvinced as you both headed for the door, “Just like Ross and Rachel, Monica and Chandler…”

“Off you go,” He hurried, flustered.

You chuckled as you headed down the now empty corridor towards the music room. Clutching the letter he had given back to you close to your chest. You contemplated tearing it up and throwing it away in one of the many trash cans you walked past but you decided to half honor your promise and shoved it into your bag. You’d keep it but whether or not you would talk about was another story. Your next appointment was that afternoon so you would have to make up our mind sooner rather than later.

As you slipped into music, you were acknowledged briefly by your teacher before he started organising the next performance for rehearsal. One you weren’t apart of, so you got to just sit and watch. It was the performance of yours, you had missed your one rehearsal,  it was the last one in show and involved a tiro of girls from a few years above you. The piano was a big part of their performance as one of them was an avid player who had her eyes set on Juilliard so it was always enjoyable to observe.  

That night after school and after therapy for that matter. You were sitting at Will’s kitchen island doing homework as he attempted to make you dinner. He wasn’t much of a chef so it was a lot of work for him to suddenly have to cater for someone else. He used to just order takeout for himself every day basically but you couldn’t do that when you had a kid.

“Ah, I give up!” He sighed, throwing his arms up, the saucepan still clutched in his hand.

“Do you want to order Chinese or pizza?” You inquired, not looking up.

“We can’t have any more takeout,” He cried undecided, “You need to eat actual food,”

“So you don’t want me to call?” You questioned, confused.

“No,” He stated adamantly, clearly making up his mind, “I’m going to cook…something,”

“How about pasta?” You suggested.

“Simple enough,” He nodded.

“And we can just eat it with ketchup so you don’t have to make any sauce,” You added, as you closed your book.

“It’s moments like these I understand why they all call you a genius,” He commented, pulling out a saucepan and putting on the gas.

“An hour ago I did your taxes in under fifteen minutes,” You reminded, unimpressed.

“And I appreciate it and you,” He countered.

“But not enough to learn how to cook food that would help constitute a healthy diet,” You smirked still unimpressed, rolling your eyes, “You put the pasta in after the water starts boiling,”

“Right,” He agreed, stopping the pasta he was about to pour in from going in before saying, “It’s nice to see you smiling and making jokes again,”

“I was smirking nor smiling,” You clarified, still smirking.

“Same difference,” He sighed, shaking his head at you, “It’s nice to see you being like your old self,”

“Are you suggesting that I haven’t been acting like myself?” You demanded, with mock offense, not taking the matter seriously.

“You’ve been a watered down version of yourself which is understandable given the circumstance,” He clarified this time.

“That’s a nice way to put it,” You complimented.

“Y/N, your teacher called,” He informed.

“And he’s worried about me?” You offered.

“He said for the most part you’re handling it extremely well but he’s still worried that you’re not dealing with it all,” He explained. “Talk to me Y/N,”

“I’ve accepted what’s going on if that’s what you mean,” You began, with a heavy sigh, “I don’t agree with everything that has happened and i know what I want. But I know that it may not happen. I just hate not knowing what is going to happen. I miss knowing what’s going to happen and the certainty of it all. I don’t know what my life is going to be like a couple months from now. And it makes me anxious not knowing, uncomfortable. I just want to know what’s going to happen so I can feel comfortable with it. There is so many scenarios that I can’t help but think of all of them constantly. Am I even making sense?”

He nodded encouragingly.

“I miss my routine,” You continued to confess, letting everything out, “Take today for example. I came home to any empty apartment and waited a couple of hours for you to arrive. But usually I would stay at school for a while and my Uncle Joe would pick me up and I’d hang out at the station surrounded by all the people and business. Then I’d come home and me Grandpa would eat dinner together and play card games with the TV in the background before bed. I was always with someone which was something I thought I hated but now I don’t have it. I miss it so much that it hurts in a way I’ve never felt before. It’s in my heart and it doesn’t go away, expect during the visits when I can be with them. It just doesn’t go away. I miss having them around all the time and I’m so scared that I’ll never to get to go back that. That for the rest of my life I’ll have to see them during supervised visits,”

“It won’t always be like this,” Will insisted, coming around to hug you, you were chest level as you were on a seat.

“But what if it is?” You countered, “What if he wins and I won’t get to see them?”

“Y/N, emotions are just running high,” He tried to comfort, “Once there is a decision thing will settle down and something will be arranged. You’ll get the best of worlds, I promise. You’ll get to be with your family as much as you want and you’ll be able to get to know your Father.”

“I don’t know if I want to anymore,” You commented, spitefully.

“Don’t say that Y/N!” He scolded, “I’m almost certain that he has his reasons for the way he acts in regard to all this. Do I agree with them, no, but I can appreciate how hard it must be for him to navigate through all this,”

“He still gets to go wherever he calls home and he can see whoever he wants whenever he wants…” You reminded scornfully.

“Expect for you.” He pointed out.

“What?” You asked.

“The person he wants to see most is you Y/N and that’s the truth. I know it for a fact. He can’t see you whenever he wants. He has the same two supervised visits as your family does. Expect in his case you don’t actually take up on them. You’ve refused to see him for the past month,” He elaborated.

“Why are you defending him,” You demanded.

“I’m not,” He insisted, lowering down so he was eye-level with you in the chair, “I’m staying neutral. Putting your interests first which includes your future interests. And the fact is that is all going to be over soon and I don’t want you to throw away the chance of getting to know your Dad because you don’t agree with how he’s handling things. I’m trying to help you see that this is a hard situation for everyone. I know it’s difficult right now and your hurt but try and remember you’ve always wanted to know who your Dad is. And now you do. You have a chance to get answers to all those questions you wanted to know your whole life,”

“How do you do that?” You questioned.

“What?” He asked.

“Always know when to be serious and what the right thing to say is?” You elaborated.

“Emotional intelligence,” He chuckled, “The only level of intelligence I beat you on,”

“I wish you were my Dad,” You whispered.

“I know. I wish you were my kid too sometimes,” He smiled comfortingly, “But I’m not. He is,”

“Would you do what he’s doing if you were in the same position?” You pressed.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I can’t imagine getting robbed of the chance of seeing my kid growing up,” He responded.

“You think he was robbed of the chance?” You inquired. “Do you not?” He countered.

“I don’t know what to think,” You confessed, “Does he really want to see me?”

“Of course he does,” Will chuckled, “He wouldn’t be doing all this if he didn’t. Plus I get calls from both him and his lawyer, trying to schedule a meeting with you,”

“You do?” You asked, surprised.

He nodded, “He’s desperate.”

“What do you say?” You asked.

“That you would probably never talk to me again if I said yes for you and surprised you with a meeting. And that until you say you want to it will alway be no,” He explained.

“And he still calls every day?” You continued.

“In case you change your mind,” He explained.

There was a silence.

“Waters done,” You pointed out.

Without a word, he went to put the pasta him. You watched intently and then in turn confused as he stopped once again before putting in the pasta. He turned off the pasta and spilled the water down the sink.

“What are you doing?” You inquired.

“We are going out,” He said, “Come on,”

“I’m in my pajamas,” You pointed out.

“It doesn’t matter,” He insisted, tossing you a jacket.

Though you were hesitant, you eventually followed. And you both set off in his car to whatever mysterious location he had in mind.

“Will?” You asked.

“I’m not telling you where we are…” He went to say once again.

“How do you know it will all work out?” You asked instead, referring to what he said before.

“Because I’m your side. Whatever happens, I’m always going to put your first. I’ll do whatever I can to make it happen and when I set my mind to something it will happen. So I know it will work out because I’ll fight for it until to does. I will always put you first,” He responded.

“Thank you,” You replied.

“What did I say about thank yous?” He sighed.

“Sorry,” You apologized quickly before asking, “So where are we going?”

“You still hate surprises?” He inquired, tactfully.

“I haven’t changed my position in the half hour since we last discuss it, yes,” You commented.

“I know you’ve had a go of it today. With you teacher, your therapist and then me. It’s a lot of things to deal with and a lot of information. So I thought why not juts take you where you want to be the most? My main job is to put your interests first and if that means letting you see your Grandpa three times over two times. Then so be it,” He revealed.

“Really?” You whispered, your eyes tearing up almost instinctively at the thought.

“All you need is a hug and I think mine are loosing effect,” He joked.

“Never,” You grinned.

“And this a one-time thing,” He warned, “And no one can find out about this,”

“I understand,” You nodded.

“I just want you to feel better and being home for a while hopefully will do that,” He smiled.

You soon reached your Grandpa’s house and once you did. You raced out the car and to the front the door. And as soon as your Grandpa opened it, without saying a word, you hugged him and cried. Overwhelmed by it all, by all the emotions and being with him again. Not to mention the whole considering things from Mr. Barba’s perspective thing. But that was a brief thought at that moment because you were home and that was all that mattered. You stayed with your Grandpa throughout the whole visit, not leaving his side or his arms. You need to make up for the lost time.

For the first time in a month, you drifted into a sleep peacefully, so much so that when you woke up you were back at Will’s and you ha don idea how you had gotten back. You were later told that you had fallen asleep while playing Blackjack with everyone after having eaten the homemade dinner that your Great Grandpa Henry had made. He still made extra and still made a plate for you.

You felt much better the next day. You almost felt normal. Later that day, you were in your room. You had heard the buzzer ring a couple minutes earlier but hadn’t reacted as you weren’t allowed to answer it anyway. You heard the door open and then shut again before Will came into your bedroom clutching an envelope.

“Who was it?” You asked casually.

“Ella Hennessy,” He informed.

“Mr. Barba’s lawyer?” You questioned, “What did she want?”

“She wanted to see if you wanted to arrange a meeting with Mr. Barba,” He informed

“What did you say?” You asked.

“No and then she gave me this,” He explained, handing it to you, “It’s for you,”

You took it gingerly and inspected it. You eventually opened it up and pulled out a written letter. Your eyes immediately went to the name at the bottom. It read Rafael Barba.

“What is it?” Will asked this time.

“A letter from Mr. Barba,” You informed, your eyes going back to start in preparation to read it.

“Are you going to read it?” He inquired.

You nodded, “I’ll give it chance,”

“Do you want me to go?” He asked.

“No, stay. I’ll read it out,” You insisted, pulling at his arm so he sat beside you on the bed. “Okay,” He agreed.

“Dearest Y/N,” You began, “I’d like to start with thanking you for opening this letter and hopefully reading it. I know we aren’t the best terms and I know that’s mostly due to my actions so I appreciate you hearing me out. Even if it’s through letter form but it’s a dying art anyway…”

“Sounds like you,” Will commented.

“I’ll try and keep this short,” You continued, “Because I have so many things I want to say to you and most of them aren’t things that I can express in a letter and things I’d rather tell you in person. But I know this won’t be possible for all things because of the trial. I know my actions aren’t favoring too well with you and I hope one day that you’ll give me the chance to explain myself in person as to why I’m doing this. Just know that all my actions are based on two things, what I think is best for you and trying to make up for all the time we’ve lost. It may be hard to believe now but what I’m doing is for you. For us. For the family, I hope that we can be one day.

It is truly all I want.

On the topic on the trail, I know that you may end up hearing things about me and your Mother that most kids shouldn’t know about their parents and also things that most kids get told not under oath. So I thought instead of letting you hear the story of how your parents first met in a courtroom in front of everyone. I’d give you the chance to hear it from me. Your actual parent, a thing most kids take for granted.  

You may not even want to hear it or you may not care but I want to start making up for all this and giving you something that most kids get. The story of how their parents met. So here’s the abridged version. Maybe one day I’ll tell you the extended version, hopefully in person. 

It was around midnight. I had just come back from upstate which was where I was based at the time. It was my first job and I was only a couple of years since I had passed the bar. I was working in the private sector and I hated it but it paid well, which then was my only focus. Trying to make all my hard work worth it by earning money that could have only dreamt of while growing up in the Bronx, which is where I grew up by the way.

I had come to the city to see my Mother, your Grandmother…”

“I didn’t even think about that,” Will confessed.

“What?” You asked.

“The fact that you just don’t have a Father but a whole new family,” He continued.

“Me neither,” You confessed, “This is all so much bigger then when you first think about it,”

“Sorry, for interrupting,” Will apologized, "Please continue," 

“But I quickly got bored and because back then I couldn’t just call any of my friends from the city. They weren’t that sort of person and the ones that didn't like going out in the middle of the night.” You continued to read out-loud, “So I don’t know how but I ended up in Brooklyn and I thought why not go to the piano bar over the usual lawyer or upscale bar that my new profession had thrown me into. I loved the piano, still, do and I like to play it. So I thought why not. There were only a few people there and it was hardly upscale. But that didn’t matter because all I saw was the women playing on the stage.

The light was shining on her as you tapped at the keys effortlessly. I’ll never forget how happy she looked being up there. Like she was born to play and she was born to play on stage. It was mesmerizing and all she had to do was lock eyes with me and flash me that captivating smile during that performance and I was hooked.

Not to mention she was playing my favorite song which I later learned was hers as well. A coincidence you couldn’t deny. Meant to be almost.

I remember thinking how strange it was that someone that beautiful and talented to be playing at a place like that. To say the least I was suspicious and rightfully so upon reflection. But regardless and against my better judgment I walked to the end of the stage so I could be the first person this beuatful talented starnger saw and be the first person to tell her how amazing she was. And I did.

We got to talking and I won’t bore you with the details of everything we talked about but just know from the second I met her I just knew she was special. She just one of those people that you could ever forget and I never did. And of course, especially now never will.

I won’t lie and tell you that we were in love because we weren’t. We never got the chance and if I'm being honest I knew that she wasn’t going to be my forever but I felt that connection. It was instant and pure magic. I just assumed she’d be my biggest ‘what ifs’ and until I met you that’s what she was. That girl I thought about from time to time, that girl whenever did think about her I could feel the electricity I felt when I fist met. She never left me and I know now it’s because a part of me never left her.

You.

I don’t want you to think that you were the product of a one night stand or anything because you weren’t. We went on few dates but we weren’t in love but more of a deep infatuation with each other. We are our way to love. But there were other things going on in her life which meant that we never did. Things that I still don’t know the whole story of but since meeting you I’ve become steps closer.

There are a lot of questions and things that don’t make sense about the brief time we shared which is why I’m not going into detail but I still thought you should know the story of how your parents met. Hopefully, I’ll get to tell you more someday. Perhaps we could figure it all out together because there are some things that still don’t make sense. Not all that I've made clear here. But like I said perhaps we could talk about in person sometime in the future.

But until then,

Yours Truly,

Your Father, Rafael Barba,”

“That was…” Will begin.

“Wow,” You breathed, overwhelmed but in a strange way, a good way.

“What did he mean by all that not making sense stuff,” Will pondered.

“I don’t know,” You said, in what felt like a trance, “But they met in a bar…”

“That was obvious wasn’t it?” Will joked.

“Sure, but here is the confirmation, that is what happened.” You grinned.

“I’ve got to make a call,” Will announced all of sudden, getting up, “Are you okay, can I go for a couple minutes?”

You nodded in reassurance, still looking at the letter, waving him off. He quickly left and you read the letter again. Taking in every word and letting it soak in. You clutched it close to your chest and shut your eyes.

For the first time, you felt close, connected.

You reached under your bed and pulled out a box where you kept everything that was important to you. Most of it was you Mothers, containing all the things that she had given you and left you. And for the first time, you got to put something that your Dad had given you.

A memory.

[footbaliimagines]

gold digger (an aaron ramsey imagine)

Summary: they ain’t saying she a gold digger…oh wait- they definitely are

It was like a Pandora’s box.

Everyone told you that reading his Instagram comments section was a seriously bad idea. His teammates’ girlfriends were quick to shoot you wary looks and raised eyebrows and rattle off horror stories, and even he had once told you it probably wouldn’t be the best idea.

(“Don’t want you getting those kind of ideas in your head, babe. It’ll just make you feel bad about yourself.” Aaron had informed you with a self-assured nod, and you’d hummed a short ‘sure’ in response.)

Plus, Calum’s girlfriend had once warned you, with wide eyes and a shudder, of that one time a fan followed her private Instagram under a fake name to share her photos and commented that she was a ‘filthy slag’ on all her posts. “Yep. All 128.”

That didn’t stop you from scrolling through his timeline to find the photo of the two of you he had posted the past weekend. It was a mirror selfie and you were trying (and subsequently failing), in fits of laughter, to give him a piggy back. You had thought it was a cute photo. A photo that showed you weren’t some unattainable-hot-leggy-model-stereotypical-WAG on a red carpet but a normal 25-year-old woman who wore Disney pyjamas like the rest of the world and didn’t care too much about how she appeared on the internet.

But the comments section below seems to disagree.

‘Can’t help but think she’s just a bit of a gold digger. Am I the only one?’

‘All she seems to do is take photos with him and leech off his money. My left arse cheek would do a better job as girlfriend.’

‘Does she even have a job?’

And you wish you could respond to the last one with a firm, obstinate, in-your-face-fuck-you-actually ‘no’ but then you remember that you spend 5 days a week sitting at a cramped desk opposite a middle-aged man who looks at you far too often for your liking and picks his nose at his desk, and you have to face the wrath of the London underground at rush hour twice a day, and refrain from commenting back.

You hear the door open and promptly shut, and see Aaron sling his bag to the floor and come over to where you’re sitting on the sofa. He’s home from training and wearing grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips, and an Arsenal sweater that’s potentially crossing the line into too tight territory. You smile at the sight of him walking over and feel yourself breathe out in bliss when you remember that his man, this gorgeous man who knows you like the back of his hand and you’re pretty sure would jump off a bridge if you asked, is all yours.

(And the thought kind of makes you want to kick yourself, but you realise that the sight of him at this precise moment in time would probably turn any sane, moral woman into a gold digger.)

“Hi, my love.” He approaches you, smiling lopsidedly and leaning down to kiss your cheek. You lock your phone and throw it across the sofa swiftly and then lean up to kiss him back. “What are you doing, babe?” He raises an eyebrow at you. “That wasn’t suspicious at all.”

“Nothing, nothing,” You squeak. “How was your day?”

“Were you watching porn?” He asks incredulously.

“How is that the first conclusion you jump to, you silly twat?”

“It’s what I’d be doing.”

“Because you’re still a 12-year-old boy at heart.”

“Come on, you’re the one acting suspicious.” He pouts and threads his fingers with yours. “What are you doooooing?”

“Just reading. Stuff.”

“Reading what?” He presses. “Aaron Ramsey fanfiction?”

“Jesus Christ, are you always this annoying?”

“You’re the one who’s been with me for the past three years.” He reasons, which elicits a snort from you. Then he gasps, and looks at you in mock horror, “You must have bad taste. Unless- God forbid- you’re only with me for my money?”

It strikes a nerve and it’s as if he can read your mind, and instead of laughing in response, or firing back with another remark, you groan and cover your face with your hands. “Apparently, yes.” You mumble against your hands, and it comes out muffled and quiet.

“What?”

“Apparently, I’m only with you for your money.”

“According to who?”

“Um, 90% of your fans?”

“You know I don’t care about what other people say.” He insists. “If I listened to all the comments on my Instagram I would have retired about 3 years ago, because I apparently have the pace of a slow horse and can’t pass to save my life.”

“I know that, but- but…” You trail off, unable to properly quantify how you feel.

You weren’t even sure if you knew you felt, to be frank. On one hand, you didn’t care about what people on the internet were saying (as he had reasoned, “they didn’t know the real you”) but at the same time the thought of so many people thinking badly of you kind of made you want to cuddle up in bed with Gossip Girl and never leave your room again.

(You had always prided yourself on having a thick skin. But there was something about so many people believing such abhorrent lies and crafting this false image of you that was wearing away at your self-esteem and questioning how strong you thought you were in the first place.)

“Talk to me.” He says softly.

“I know they’re all just chatting shit, but…”

He presses a delicate kiss to your cheek and says softly, interrupting you, “But it doesn’t matter at all. I know you’re not really with me for my money, because if that’s all you were truly interested in you’d try it on with Mesut or Alexis, not me.”

It forces a smile and you suppress a laugh. Aaron continues, “Please don’t listen to what these people are saying. They don’t understand our relationship, and I know it sucks to read what they say but at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter.” He murmurs against your cheek, pressing his lips against your skin to punctuate each sentence. “Let them think what they want. Let them think that you’re a ruthless gold digger and that I’m stupid for believing you. Let them think that we’re superficial and boring and arrogant. The important things are that they’re not true and I don’t care.”

“I know, I know.” You sigh. “It’s just annoying that people are so quick to jump to conclusions and assume shit that isn’t true.”

“It’s not worth your time.” He smiles sympathetically and you exhale. “I know what you need.”

“If you say sex, I’m going to slap you, Aaron.”

“I was going to say Chinese takeaway.”

“That would be nice, too.”

“And a dance party in the kitchen.” He smiles at you smugly and he’s so confident and charming and able to make you smile regardless of how shitty you feel.

(And he’s in overwhelming agreement with you that kitchen dance parties are the perfect cure for everything.)

He pulls you to your feet and leads you by hand to your kitchen, his fingers skating over your knuckles and his face fixed with a smile. Aaron walks to plug his phone into the speakers, tapping the screen and walking up behind you again to wrap his arms around your waist. You feel him kiss your shoulder and his stubble graze your cheek and feel yourself relax instantly, the tension leaving your neck, as the speakers begin to blare ‘Gold Digger’ by Kanye West. 

“God I want to DIE.” You groan, and he laughs, a deep throaty chuckle that rumbles through his chest. “You’re not funny.”

“Can’t help it you’re a massive gold digger.” He murmurs, peppering your neck with light, delicate kisses. “And that I’m possibly the funniest man to ever come out of Wales.”

“Shut up.” You moan.

“Evidently you must be with me for the money, then. Have I hit a nerve?” You feel his teeth nip at your skin and your cheeks flush as your head lolls back in pleasure.

“Clearly just with you for the sex.” You smirk. “And-“

“And?” He effortlessly spins you around and grips one hand at your waist and the other on your bum.

He leans in and ghosts his lips over yours. He’s so close that you can see every pore and every eyelash and feel his breath over your lips, so close that you can feel his chest heaving against yours. “And even that’s subpar at best.” You whisper teasingly.

His eyes had closed just before your lips had met, expecting a sultry comment and an excuse to take you in his arms, but your sarcastic quip catches him off-guard. “What?”

“You heard me.” You sing-song.

“I hate you.” His arms wrap around your middle. “But you do have an ass like Serena.”

“Oh Kanye.” You sigh with a smile that he’s eager to return.

“My Kim.”

“I’m definitely more of a Kourtney.”

“Kim’s the one that got famous from sucking a celebrity’s dick though, so we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

“You are awful.”

“And you’re a gold digger. I guess we’re all unearthing new things today.”

“You learn something new every day.” 

And the way he’s looking at you, as if you hung the moon, eases all your stress and makes it all kind of worth it. They could call you a gold digger all they wanted because in the end, they’d at least got one thing right.

You’d definitely hit the jackpot.

 ---

A.N.: long time no post ........ finally wrote something for aaron ramsey!!!! not my favourite thing I’ve ever written but I hope you all liked it nevertheless!!!! also I played with the narrative/perspective that I write with and went with a ‘you’ rather than a ‘she’ (if that makes sense) so let me know what you think/if its worse than before/if I should play around with it and carry on using it etc.!!

songs I listened to when writing this and are kind of relevant:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gb0zSG0kwZ8

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6vwNcNOTVzY (obviously)

send in requests pls and come and say hi!!!! xxxxx <3