#says the one taking two advanced science courses

[onyxxxxxxxxxxx]

how to write chem lab conclusion

[mecub-writes]

A while ago I had an idea for a fanfic for @somerandomdudelmao’s Marble Sky, and I finally wrote it! This is probably all gonna be proven wrong at some point, but whatever! It was fun to write!

Ward is five when he decides he’s going to be an astronaut. His teacher shows the class a video of space– stars and galaxies and planets and rockets– and his eyes light up and he thinks, I’m gonna do that. He announces it to his teacher after class, and she smiles and tells him he’ll have to get really good at math and science if he wants to go to space, and he nods. He can do that. 

That Halloween, Ward makes an astronaut costume out of paper mache and an old painter's suit. It’s messy, but he wins the class costume competition, and he gets a ton of candy from trick-or-treating because everyone thinks he’s adorable.

That night, he stands on his bed in his costume holding a roll of tape and his award from the costume competition: a little box of glow in the dark stars and rockets. It’s a long way up to the ceiling, but if he climbs the headboard just right he can get onto his shelves, and from there it’s just a balancing act. Usually it’s scary getting up there, but now he’s an astronaut. He can do anything!

He scampers up the shelves and holds on with one hand as he tapes a star to the ceiling above his bed. Then another star, and then a rocket, and then a galaxy (A spiral nebula! He knows this one!) for good measure. He’s struggling to tear off another piece of tape for a shooting star when his mom clears her throat from the doorway and he nearly falls off the shelf.

When he gets his balance and turns towards her, she’s watching him with her usual smile: small, tired around the eyes, but affectionate.

Ward waves. Technically, he’s not supposed to be up there, but it’s Halloween and he won these stars fair and square.

“It’s past your bedtime, kiddo,” his mom says.

“But mom, look!” He holds up a big green star. “I have to put these up.”

“Hmmm,” she says, but she’s smiling in a way that Ward knows means she’s gonna let him stay up. “Okay. Just be careful, and make sure your lights are out soon.”

“Yes!”

His mom says, “G’night,” and turns to go. Her voice sounds kinda flat but kinda wobbly, which is how it gets when she’s really tired and needs a hug.

“Wait!” Ward calls after her. She turns. “Can you sit with me while I put up the rest of these? You could even help!”

She stares for a moment, then shakes her head. “I’m too tired tonight, kid. Can I help you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Of course, mom,” Ward says, even though he knows she has work tomorrow and he’s going to put all of the stars up tonight. But she smiles again, bigger this time, so it’s worth it. They have to take care of each other, and this is him taking care of her. She’s not happy all the time, but she’s smiling now, so Ward knows he’s doing something right.

He makes sure to be quiet putting the rest of the stars up. His mom needs to sleep.

—

Ward joins science club in sixth grade. It meets every Tuesday after school, and they spend the hour doing experiments or talking about new advancements in different fields. Students can sign up to present, so he signs up and gives a presentation on the mirrors on space telescopes. The teacher who runs the club, Ms. P, tells him afterwards that it’s one of the best researched presentations she’s ever seen. Ward beams.

After his presentation, someone starts a conversation about the possibility of alien life, and the club spends the rest of the hour arguing. Sources are pulled. Theories are made. Two of the seventh graders nearly get into a fistfight over whether or not there was ever liquid water on Mars. It’s the most fun Ward’s had in a long time, and he leaves in the middle of a group of friends all teasing each other and laughing.

It’s raining when they get outside. Ward sighs and sits down under the awning in front of the school, waving goodbye to friends who run off laughing and shrieking through the rain to their parents' cars. 

His mom is picking him up. She told him she’d be a bit late, but she promised to be there.

Ward waits. He does some of his history homework. He walks in tiny circles. He thinks about his telescope presentation. The rain drums on the ground and on the awning, steadily getting heavier. 

Ms. P leaves the school building, shouting a  goodbye over the downpour. Ward waves back, a sinking feeling in his gut. It’s been half an hour since school ended, and there’s no sign of his mom.

He does some of his math homework. It’s interesting enough.

The rain doesn’t let up.

Finally, after an hour has gone by, Ward gives up on waiting. No one is coming for him, and if he sits out here in the cold he’ll just get sick. He pulls up his hood, tucks his backpack under his jacket, and heads out into the rain with his head down. 

It’s a mile and a half to his house. Usually it takes forty five minutes, but in the rain without an umbrella it’s longer. Ward loses track of the time around the same time he starts shivering, and by the time he reaches the front door he’s just glad to be home.

He changes into dry clothes and makes himself tea and soup. He can feel himself getting sick, but he doesn’t call his mom. It’s fine. He knows that even if he did, her job wouldn’t let her off.

No one is coming for him. 

—

In his junior year of high school, Ward takes AP physics, AP calculus BC, and AP biology. Everyone, including his counselor, tells him he’s crazy, (although the counselor phrases it as “doing something highly inadvisable”) but he doesn’t care. He does his homework under the glow in the dark stars he put up when he was a kid, and he dreams of space. His dreams are different from when he was five, more I’m-gonna-discover-an-exoplanet and less I’m-gonna-discover-intelligent-alien-life, but the goal is still there. He’s going to go to space, no matter what. That’s what he reminds himself of when physics and bio have a test on the same day, or when his calc teacher announces that missed tests cannot be made up.

It’s what he reminds himself of on the days he comes home exhausted from school and finds that his mom hasn’t gotten out of bed all day. It’s what he reminds himself of the day he has to check her pulse to see if she’s alive or just sleeping. (She’s still breathing, but Ward has to spend the day checking up on her and making sure it stays that way. He emails his teachers. The biology and physics teachers understand. The calc one does not.) He’s bone-tired, but it’s going to be worth it some day. 

Ward gets through that year, and the next, and he graduates. He gets into every college he applied to. His mom hugs him tight, looking more alive than she has in months.

The night before Ward leaves for college, he stares up at the stars he put up years ago. They’ve been with him every night since he was five, and now he won’t have them. 

The idea is suddenly unbearable. Before Ward can think, he flips on the lights and climbs up on his bed and peels off the glow in the dark stars. He can reach the ceiling without climbing the shelves now. The stars go back in their original box, preserved on the top shelf for years, and he tucks them into a box along with his bedding.

A knock sounds on the door of his room. He opens it and sees his mom standing there, giving him the watery smile she’s been giving him for years.

“It’s past your bedtime, kiddo,” she says.

Ward tucks her into a hug, and they stay like that for a long time.

—

Ward smiles at the cockpit of his plane. It’s perfect, but it’s missing one thing.

He tapes a little glow in the dark star to the dashboard. There.

[mistiell]

Hello!! Since your requests are open and I absolutely love the way you write him (despite there only being one—), may I request some sort of angst to fluff for Astarion with a reader that accepts his advances but doesn’t seek him out because they know that he’s only doing so for protection/convenience?

Like; yes, the reader does care deeply for him. They could even say that they love him. But they don’t want him to do anything just because he feels as if he’ll be denied kindness and sustenance if he doesn’t. So they’re very reserved and keep to themselves, treating him very kindly when he propositions them, but doesn’t do anything more than what he asks.

Omg, thank you so much!! I worried I might have portrayed him in a way that was ooc but I'm glad to see people like the way I write him!! lol WC: 1.6k

---

Astarion has manipulated and romanced countless people over the centuries. He knows what he’s doing. The routine differs depending on the person, of course, but he has it down to a science.

You shouldn’t be any different.

Since the first time you let him feed on you, it’s become a sort of routine he regrettably relies on to stay satiated. It’s been nearly a month and a half of sneaking to and from your bedroll every few nights, and he’s begun to worry that you’ll tire of it – that you’ll get sick of the fatigue and the lingering ache in your shoulder that clings to you well into the morning after.

This particular morning, he sees it in your sluggish movements and absentmindedness. Karlach has to call your name thrice before you finally turn to her with a small, “Hm?”

“Gods, has the tadpole migrated and blocked your ears?” The tiefling chuckles, cuffing you on the shoulder on the same side Astarion had fed from the night before. With a pained grunt, you wince, brow scrunching in discomfort as you roll it out a little.

Karlach gasps, “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s alright.” You smile, but when Karlach leaves, it falls as you rub at the juncture between your neck and trap muscle. If he doesn’t find a way to keep you on the hook, there’s no chance you’ll let your late night meetings continue.

So, when the two of you are sitting by the fire after setting up camp for the night, he decides to offer up the only thing he can think of to keep you interested.

“Ugh, Gods. There is nothing to do around here.” He huffs, prodding for an opening.

You snort, taking a sip out of your water skin, “You can say that again.”

There it is.

“You know,” He leans just far enough into your space to make you fluster, smirking, “We could always make our own entertainment?”

Eyes darting away from him, your throat bobs, “What do you mean?”

He leans in a little more, making sure to glance at your lips as he purrs, “I think you know what I mean, darling.”

“I think—,” Your voice cracks up an octave and you clear your throat, embarrassed. It’s rather cute, “I think I do...?”

“You think so, hm? Tell me what I mean, then.” Your mouth opens and closes a few times, and he can hear your heart beating fast against your ribs. He chuckles coyly through his nose and leans forward to brush the tip of it along the apex of your cheekbone, lowering his voice to a seductive whisper, “Might it have something to do with,” His fingertips find the top of your hand where it rests on your knee, ghosting up under your sleeve and over your wrist as he breaths, “Touching, maybe?”

A shudder runs through you as you swallow hard, “May— Maybe...,” He’s not expecting it when you pull back and look at him apprehensively, “But... I mean, are you sure?”

The question takes him aback; throws him off balance. No one’s ever bothered to ask before. It makes him wonder if he’s off his game, if perhaps his act isn’t as convincing as it normally is.

He shakes it off, grinning at you coquettishly, “Of course, my dear. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t.” It’s not the first white lie he’s told you, and it certainly won’t be the last.

You wet your lips, searching his expression for any sort of hesitance. He’s careful to make sure there’s none to find. When you’re satisfied, you smile shyly, “I’d like that” “That’s what I like to hear.” He hums, standing before offering his hands, “Shall we?”

You take them, and as he leads you somewhere more secluded, he counts it as a victory.

Weeks pass, and he’s sure to propose a little fun between feedings to keep in your good graces. One thing that he’s noticed is that you never really ask him to do anything more than what he’s suggested. He expected you to come to him every once in awhile after the first time he’d bedded you, maybe ask for a piece of him when you’re bored or in need of some stress relief, but... you haven’t.

He also expected you to have at least some demands, but aside from voicing your preferences in the heat of the moment, you haven’t asked him for a damn thing. For a moment, he wonders if he’s losing his touch, but he shakes the thought off as quick as it comes. The implications of it make his stomach churn.

If not his body, what else does he have to offer?

“Astarion?” You call as you approach him where he stands near his tent.

He startles, then clears his throat to play it off. “Yes, darling?”

You smile apologetically. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No worries, my dear.” He doesn’t understand why you’d apologize for something so small, or why it makes his undead heart twist uncomfortably in his chest, “Did you need something?”

“Come with me?” You ask, offering a hand, “I have something I’d like to show you.”

This is it. You’ve finally come to offer yourself up instead of it being the other way around.

“Ooh, I like the sound of that.” He hums, taking your hand and allowing you to lead him into the forest. A rather odd location to lay, but he’s definitely worked with stranger.

Weaving through trees, you lead him to a small clearing with a blanket spread out over the grass in the center. You only let go of his hand when you reach the edge of it, toeing off your boots before carefully plopping yourself down on top of it.

“So this is what you had in mind, hm?” He grins, following suit after you pat the spot next to you, “A romantic romp under the stars?”

“Oh! Uhm, no.” You titter, and he frowns.

“Then what did you have in mind, pet?” He asks, watching you twiddle your fingers.

“I-.” You huff, rubbing at your mouth and glancing away, “There’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight, and I thought we could watch it together.” You let out a small, embarrassed laugh, “It’s stupid. You don’t have to stay, obviously, but... I thought it could be nice.”

What the fuck.

“You... brought me all the way out here, just to watch the stars?” He asks, sounding bewildered even to his own ears.

You look back at him nervously, nodding, “I did.”

What the fuck.

He should say something, but for the first time in a long while, he’s completely lost for words. His brows draw together in confusion, and when he speaks, his voice comes out wrong; too soft, too shaky. “Why?”

You stare at him, worrying your lip for a moment before starting carefully, “You don’t need to sleep with me to buy my kindness, you know. I enjoy our nights together, of course, but I’d like you just as much without them.”

Now he’s really at a loss. His stomach lurches with the anxiety and embarrassment of being seen without meaning to be. He feels vulnerable; exposed.

“Of course I know that.” He scoffs, attempts a smug grin. His voice shakes as he says it, “What’s not to like?”

You huff a small, singular puff of laughter, “Right.”

Something flashes above, drawing both your attentions. Stars shoot across the blackened sky, streaking it with white and blue and purple. You gasp, eyes so wide, he could watch the whole spectacle through the reflection dancing over them.

You lay back, using your forearm as a pillow as you watch the sky intently. He follows soon after, a strange silence falling over the two of you.

He tries to focus on the sight above him, but your words have a hold on his mind like a vice grip. It’s been so long since anyone has shown him kindness without some sort of transaction involved. So long that he can’t even recall it ever happening.

He stares hard up at the sky, mouth twisting down in apprehension. He swallows thickly before murmuring, “Would you really?”

He sees you turn your head to look at him out of his peripherals, brows drawn together in confusion, “Would I really what?”

Embarrassment flares and writhes in his gut; his nose wrinkles at the feeling. He feels utterly ridiculous as he replies, “Still like me if I didn’t...”

He can’t find a word that sounds right. You understand anyway.

Some strange, melancholic sort of horror flashes over your face before you will it away, nodding resolutely.

“Absolutely.” You flip your hand so it lies palm up on the blanket. An invitation, not a demand, “You mean more to me than sex, Astarion. I don’t care what we do or don’t do, as long as I get to be with you. Whatever that entails.”

A lump forms in his throat and his eyes burn. He knows if he looks at you, he’s not going to be able to keep the tears at bay. He looks at your hand instead, staring for a moment before slotting his fingers between yours. Squeezing, he hopes you’ll take it as what it is, “Thank you. I don’t think I deserve this. I don’t know how to navigate this. I think I want to try.”

You squeeze back. He takes it as, “I’ll wait for you.”

[astriiformes]

Hi, i just learned about the scientific revolution in europe at school. Can you tell me why you dont think scientific revolutions exist? im curious!

So I feel like I have to lead with the fact that I'm kind of arguing two different points when I say scientific revolutions aren't really a thing

One is that I'm objecting to a specific, extremely foundational theory of scientific revolutions that was put forth by the philosopher Thomas Kuhn, which I think really misrepresents how science is actually practiced in the name of fitting things to a nice model. The other is that I think the fundamental problem with the idea is that it's too vague to effectively describe an actual process that happens.

It's certainly true that there are important advances in science that get referred to as "revolutions" that fundamentally changed their fields -- the shift from the Ptolemaic model of the Solar System to the Copernican one, Darwin's theory of evolution, etc. But there are historians of science (who I tend to agree with) that feel that terming these advances "revolutions" ignores the fact that science is an continuous, accretional process, and somewhat sensationalizes the process of scientific change in the name of celebrating particular scientists or theories over others.

Kuhn's model that he put forth in The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (which is one of those books that itself stirred a great deal of activity in a number of fields) suggests science evolves via what he called "paradigm shifts," where new ideas become fundamentally incompatible with the old model or way of doing things, causing a total overturn in the way scientists see the world, and establishing a new paradigm -- which will eventually cave to another when it, too, ceases to function effectively as a model. This theory became extraordinarily popular when it was published, but it's somewhat telling who it's remained popular with. Economists, political scientists, and literary theorists still use Kuhn, but historians of science, in my experience at least, see his work as historically significant but incompatible with how history is actually studied.

Kuhn posits that between paradigm shifts there are periods of "normal science" where paradigms are unquestioned and anomalies in the current model are largely ignored, until they reach a critical mass and cause a scientific revolution. In reality though, there is often real discussion of those anomalies, and I think the scientific process is not nearly so content to ignore them as Kuhn thinks. Throughout history, we see people expressing a real discontent with unsolved mysteries the current scientific model fails to explain, and glossing over those simply because the individuals in question didn't manage to formulate breakthrough theories to "solve" those problems props up the somewhat infamous "great men" model of history of science, where we focus only on the most famous people in the field as significant instead of acknowledging that science is a social enterprise and no research happens in a vacuum!

Beyond disagreeing with Kuhn specifically though, I think the idea of scientific revolutions vastly simplifies how science evolves and changes, and is ultimately a really ahistorical way of thinking about shifts in thinking. Take the example of the shift from Ptolemaic, geocentric thought to the heliocentric Copernican model of the solar system. When does this supposed "revolution" in thought actually start, and when does it "end" by becoming firmly established? You could argue that the publication of Copernicus' De revolutionibus orbium coelestium in 1543 was the beginning of the shift in thinking -- but of course, then you have the problem of asking where Copernicus' ideas came from in the first place.

The "great men" model of history would suggest Copernicus was a uniquely talented individual who managed to suggest something no one else had ever put forth, but realistically, he was influenced by the scientists who came before him, just like anyone else. There were real objections to the Ptolemaic model during the medieval era! One of the most famous problems in medieval astronomy was the fact that assuming a geocentric model makes the behavior of the planets seem really weird to an observer on Earth, referred to as retrograde motion, which had to be solved with a complicated system of epicycles that people knew wasn't quite working, even if they weren't able to put together exactly why. There were even ancient Greek astronomers who suggested that the sun was at the center of the solar system, going all the way back to Aristarchus of Samos who lived from around 310-230 BCE!

Putting an end point to the Copernican revolution poses similar challenges. Some people opt to suggest that what Copernicus started, either Galileo or Newton finished (which in and of itself means the "revolution" lasted around 100-150 years), but are we defining the shift in terms of new theories, or the consensus of the scientific community? The latter is much harder to pinpoint, and in my opinion as an aspiring historian of science, also much more important. Again, science doesn't happen in a vacuum. Copernicus, Galileo, and Newton may be more famous than their peers, but that doesn't mean the rest of the Renaissance scientific community didn't matter.

Ultimately it's a matter of simple models like Kuhn's (or other definitions of scientific revolutions) being insufficient to explain the complexity of history. Both because science is a complex endeavor, and because it isn't independent from the rest of history. Sure, it's genuinely amazing to consider that Copernicus' De revolutionibus orbium coelestium and the anatomist Andreas Vesalius' similarly influential De humani corporis fabrica were published the same year, and it says something about the intellectual climate of the time. But does it say something about science only, or is it also worth remembering that the introduction of typographic printing a century prior drastically changed how scientists communicated and whose ideas stuck and were remembered? On a similar note, we credit Darwin with suggesting the theory of evolution (and I could write a similarly long response just on the many, many influences in geology and biology both that went into his formulation of said theory), but what does it say that Alfred Russel Wallace independently came up with the theory of natural selection around the same time? Is it sheer coincidence, or does it have more to do with conversations that were already happening in the scientific community both men belonged to that predated the publication of the Origin?

I think that the concept of scientific revolutions is an important part of the history of the history of science, and has its place when talking about how we conceive of certain periods of history. But I'm a skeptic of it being a particularly accurate model, largely on the grounds of objecting to the "great men" model of history and the idea that shifts in thinking can be boiled down to a few important names and dates.

There's a famous Isaac Newton quote (which, fittingly, did not originate with Newton himself, but can be traced back even further to several medieval thinkers) in which he states "If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of Giants." I would argue that science, as an endeavor, is far more like standing on the shoulder of several hundred thousand other people in a trenchcoat. This social element of research is exactly why it's so hard to pull apart any one particular revolution, even when fairly revolutionary theories change the direction of the research that's happening. Ideas belong to a long evolutionary chain, and even if it occasionally goes through periods of punctuated equilibrium, dividing that history into periods of revolution and stagnancy ignores the rich scientific tradition of the "in-between" periods, and the contributions of scientists who never became famous for their work.

[sunnysidestories]

Introductions Pt 2

Pt 1

Pt 3

Summary: Reader is a vigilante on young justice who goes to the same school as Walls. Only Wally doesn't know the readers identity, but she knows his. SLOW BURN

Wally West x Fem!Reader

"Hi, I'm Wally West. It's nice to meet you."

As his voice rang in my ears, and he seemed to look back at his book, my heart would begin to race. I sat there for a moment too long, so I quickly would pick up my own voice, even if it cracked. "I'm y/n l/n. It's nice to meet you too." He doesn't know. He can't know.

Wally would once again look back up from the textbook, his eyes seeming to scan along my face. "You're not new. I know you." shit. "Well, I just changed classes, not schools. I've been at Keystone my whole life. I'm just not the most popular person."

"Oh cool, I hope you like the advanced course. If you ever need any help I'll gladly give you my number. Science is one of the only things I seem to be good at." he genuinely doesn't know? I'm glad, at least this is my chance. Let's find out who Kid Flash is under all the spandex.

He's a nerd. He's a total nerd.

Often, before class, I would find myself in a conversation about the latest scientific fact, most of them being obscure. He seemed to always speak with his hands, a grin never leaving his face. I found out his uncle is a forensic chemist, which helps explain his passion for all things scientific. Even if he didn't outwardly say it, I could tell he meant a lot to him. But when the class would eventually begin, Wally would totally shut off the conversation, rarely continuing it over a note. He took the class very seriously.

He's not exactly how I would have expected him to be. Compared to how he is as Kid Flash, he's much more sporadic. He seems to always lead a conversation, which I don't always mind, but when he asked me about what I liked one time, he didn't interrupt. He let me rant for a while before I realized what I was doing, though he only encouraged me to go on with a smile.

...

"So that's why I've got to go to Central City for the week." Wally lied about some other excuse for a mission. It felt wrong knowing he's really going to fight crime. I have no room to talk, really. I'll be busy at Keystone myself. I wonder how much of it is actually a lie and how much is really fact.

"It's fine, I understand it's not your fault, but i'll miss you." Wally seemed to avoid eye contact almost if my comment had made him uncomfortable. I was telling the truth though, I would miss him. Even more than I would like to admit. I didn't pressure him about it further as the class went on.

But when it was time for us to take notes from the textbook, and the whole class was sent on their own, Wally would slide me a folded piece of notebook paper. He didn't even look at me, so if any outside eyes had seen the exchange, it would look as if he was returning something of mine. I would quietly open the slip to be greeted by Wally's hastily written writing.

Hey, text me the work I'll miss next week

My eyes scanned the page only to land on his number at the bottom. He could just get it from the teacher, but the fact he trusted me enough with his perfect grade was flattering. Wally's handwriting is another one of those things I didn't think would differ from note to note. Ones he had the time to write at home are always much neater, though his handwriting is much bigger than normal standards would accept, I don't mind. The notes he writes me at school are always messy, almost like he's trying to write faster than he can but doesn't want to use his speed, so in the end, it's just much slopper. If one didn't know Wally, they could rightfully assume the contrast between his writing could be the work of two different people.

Sure, but is it just for the notes right?

I would put in my own words under his before slipping it back to him. He would immediately slide it back into my hands. I didn't even think he wrote anything until I opened it again. This time, his handwriting was perfectly placed, almost as if it was typed.

Yes.

I tuck the paper in my jacket pocket, I'll put it in my drawer with the rest when I get home. I feel bad about throwing them away, so they sit in my bedside table, its not like anyone would ever go into my room and find them anyway. Sometimes, I like to read over them before I go on patrol. It reminds me of our conversation at the warehouse. One where I'm not as alone as I think I am.

Yet the nervous tapping of Wally's pencil brings me back to the class. He taps it ten times before flipping the pencil back over, continuing to write. No matter what, he seemed to always tap it ten times. In a way, it felt like he knew I zoned off. It was him bringing me back to everything. Even if it wasn't intentional. Wally fidgets a lot when he tries to focus or distract himself, the repetitive movements being a form of comfort.

...

It's Tuesday now, and I'm perched on top of a building in full gear. My phone sits in my hand with Wally's contact staring back at me. I need to text him the work from yesterday. I haven't even said hello yet. Hello is too formal, we are friends, a hey would fit better.

These past two days have been abnormally quiet. His empty seat in class is only a reminder of why he's really gone. I hope he's okay.

FLEETFEET

Hey, it's y/n. Here's the work from yesterday and today. Hope everything is okay in CC

2 attachments  sent 11:20 pm

I would sit there for a bit, looking at the screen. Maybe he's already on some sort of mission. Why is texting so stressful? As soon as I started to shut off my phone, it would light back up with his reply.

FLEETFEET

2 attachments seen 11:27 pm

Hey y/n! Central City has

been pretty cool, my Uncle Barry

showed me around his work at Star Labs today. That place is surprisingly

really huge. Thanks for sending

the work.

Seen 11:27 pm

Sooooo wyd?

Seen 11:28 pm

Its almost midnight, he should really go to sleep. I should really start patrol. This really isn't a good idea.

Nothing much hbu? just watching

traffic go by. I swear I've seen three

crashes in the span of two

hours ppl r wild.

Seen 11:31 pm

Dude you should see it here.

Traffic is actually so slow it

makes me want

to scream. We sat at a

red light for 4 whole mins.

Seen 11:31 pm

Oh. My. God. 4 whole mins?!1!

How can they do that to you!

Don't they know who you are!!!

Seen 11:33 pm

The hottest guy alive thats who.

Seen 11:34

I couldn't help but laugh at his statement. Typing back a quick 'pls lol' before turning off my phone. It was getting too late I needed to start. I wish he was here, sometimes I could get a glance of the yellow and red highlight speeding by back home, on this road, about this time. He never worked late at night. That was more left up for the other heros, ones like me. I look to the streets, the dim lights from the lamps only shone back with a faint glow. No streak of color to be seen, but a part of me hoped it would still apear.

My night was full of stopping petty crimes, luckily I didn't have to go against any metahumans, but still like any other night everything would start to hurt after a certain threshold. Inbeetween threats I would find myself checking to see if Wally had kept our conversation going.

He did.

Until 4 am.

He was asking me mostly about myself, which was weird in a way. But in another, it made sense. The questions were more deep then anything since he already had asked the basic getting to know each other questions months ago. In the end, though, he stopped the conversation telling me to head to sleep, as I had school in the morning. Which was true. Even after patrol, I was still texting him from the comfort of my home, but I would eventually listen, heading to get some rest.

The week would continue the same as the night before. I was sending Wally the work and him dragging on our conversation throughout the night, but never long enough for the sun to rise the next day. On Saturday was when one of his messages caught me by surprise.

FLEETFEET

Are you free to call?

Seen 1:12 am

Before I could even protest how that could be a bad idea or how that might reveal who I was, his contact was flashing onto my screen along with his picture. I place the phone to my ear and answer it. I hoped the interstate couldn't be audible up from here.

"I told you shes not going to- hey! Hey..."

Wally's voice picks up on the other line, he seems to be in some sort of living room, as the hum of a television can be heard in the background as well as someone else having a conversation.

"Hey Walls? What's up?" My voice sounded strained from not speaking for hours, I hoped Wally couldn't tell. "Oh, um, I was just wondering about some of the work you sent me. Like you took the photos of the work perfectly okay, but in the background, I saw something." At the word something, his voice would slightly jump.

Did I leave my equipment in a photo? was my reflection shown? Was it something he wasn't supposed to see?

"Yeah It's-It's going to sound really stupid. What... what were those papers spread out on your bed?" Oh. Ohhhhh no. The notes, I left out his notes on my bed. I must have got some of them into the frame. I quickly opened out a chat to the last photo. There they were. Luckily, they were not in focus, so he couldn't really tell what they said, but still. There they were.

His voice would start up again after my second of silence. "Are they really swamping you with that much work?" "Yeah, yeah. My other class, a big final its uh its is coming up, so I was studying the notes." I let out a sigh of relief. "But that's not your handwriting? It actually kind of looks like-"

"Wally, I have to go. I'll see you Monday at school."

*BEEP BEEP BEEP*

That was terrible. He would never let me live that down if I told him I was keeping such things. That even more was embarrassing, I have to explain why I had to go. And I have until Monday for these excuses. Which is technically tomorrow. Fun.

...

I was saved. I got called into a mission before school at Mt. Justice. Even though Wally would be there, y/n technically wouldn't. When I arrived, he was already in costume talking to Megan about something. He still did the thing with his hands while he spoke. Making his statements larger than life and thoroughly exaggerated. "I just don't know what to do. I trust her more than anything, I wish she would just tell me. It's not like im going to judge her. She knows that. I mean, you heard the conversation. "

His back was turned to me, so I couldn't see his face while he went on. Although I knew what he was talking about. "Hey Megan. Hey Wally." I waved at the two while I walked past them to the kitchen. "H/n! You're a girl. I need advice. What do I do when my friend is keeping stuff from me." I would stop and slowly turn around to his pleading gaze. "Walls, aren't you keeping stuff from her? You have to trust her in that sort of regard. Give her time to open up."

"Thats...Fair." Wally would drop himself back to normal as my words got through to him. "Besides, it took me a while to realize I trusted you." Both in and out of costume. I do. I trust him more than anything. More than anyone.

So I should have told him. He said he wasn't going to judge me, and I know he wouldn't have. I let my emotions get the better of me at the moment, If he asks again, I'll tell him the truth. No matter what.

...

The mission went by with a breeze, the biggest threat being now as Robin sent Wally falling towards me at full speed. I ended up catching the both of us before he could send us tumbling over a building. I held us there for a while, my arms wrapped around him in a hug. He just looked at me. His heightened breathing trailed my neck as he grasped onto my arms. He didn't admit it, but he was scared, I was too. Fifteen stories were a lot to fall from.

The other heroes, as well as criminals, paid us no attention, too occupied in their own fights, as I held Wally at the edge of the roof. One of my feet hanging halfway off. I was closer to falling than he was. My back was to the city.

"Hey, h/n." Was all he said as his face began to knowticablely regain too much color. "Hey West." Wally would move his head to rest in the crook of my neck as he tried to calm his rapid breathing. He told me late at night over text one time he was scared of heights.

As I started to try to move us back away from the edge, Wally would only plant himself in my hold even more. I needed to help him snap back into the situation. Before he messed up and tipped us over.

"Wally. You've never asked me who I am before." Trust. He needs to trust me. "Be...Bec..Cause! You're not comfortable... ye-yet."  Inbeetween words, he would let out large audible gasping. "You won't judge me, right?" He shook his head side to side, keeping his eyes remained shut. I would let out a sigh of my own.

"I trust you. Kid Flash, I need you to trust me. Not only as h/n but as y/n. y/n l/n. The one who's going to get you off this roof. Back to the ground floor."

[esamastation]

Part fifty-nine of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five, fifty-fix, fifty-seven, fifty-eight

-

By the end of the day Tseng has been left with answers, questions and a whole lot of sections unfelined in his original assessment to be removed as no longer applicable. Sephiroth… neither behaves nor reacts as expected, that much is clear. But that's not the most concerning thing, at all.

Sephiroth's Energy Alignment is. His cultivation is a concern. As is the fact that the man is absolutely certain that it can be taught to anyone.

There is a number of theories about what is happening to Sephiroth. Professor Hojo has one theory, the Science Department as a whole has another. Tseng himself had added a few more theories to the list, which have now been proven wrong.

Sephiroth's cultivation isn't Wutai in origin. It's similar in nature, self-improvement and self-betterment, the cultivation of your self in order to advance in your abilities is certainly part of it. But what Sephiroth is doing is taking all that to a metaphysical - or perhaps magiphysical - level. He is quite literally cultivating the energies inside himself, honing them in manner unheard of, into something no one has ever theorised.

And Tseng can't deny that it does indeed seem like it might be an Ancient doctrine. Sephiroth can already perform magical feats without Materia - and according to the man himself, he's still in the beginner stages.

"What will happen once your cultivation is complete?" Tseng can't help but ask, after the day's training and meditation is over and they're making dinner.

"I will ascend to the heavens as a new god," Sephiroth answers loftily and then laughs softly at the look Tseng gives him. "Cultivation is never complete. It doesn't have an end goal. It is a process and a journey - one you dedicate your whole life to."

"... During which you get more and more advanced in your abilities?" Tseng asks, setting aside the chopped vegetables.

During the day he's noted two things. One, Sephiroth reacts best to direct, unambiguous questions. Two, he can't resist a chance to explain. The man had also relaxed immediately when Tseng began asking those questions - and began imparting information with much greater ease.

Tseng had adjusted his approach accordingly.

"Isn't that the goal of everyone who is in progress of learning anything, to get better?" Sephiroth asks and adds the washed rice into a pot, closing the lid. "Cultivation isn't exactly a sliding scale with set points of improvements, but yes, the more you practise, the better you get."

In other words, there's no such thing as being done with Sephiroth's new practice. If the man was given leeway, he'd stay here indefinitely, training and meditating. Hmm. 

Well, it's good to know that there's definitely a way to remove the man from the volatile equation that is Shinra. 

Tseng makes a mental note to procure a permanent and suitably secluded safehouse for Sephiroth, should the need arise, and then moves onto preparing the rest of the food.

Sephiroth watches him with that smug look of satisfaction he's had on for most of the day, and then asks, "Tell me, Tseng, what do they think of all of this back at Shinra?"

Tseng glances at him. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm curious," Sephiroth smiles. "I know they have theories. I would like to know what they're saying."

Tseng shakes his head. "So that you can adjust your behaviour accordingly?" he asks pointedly.

Sephiroth huffs. "No, of course not. I just think it would be funny, that's all."

Tseng gives him a look, not believing a word of it. "One of the theories is that you have a case of confabulation."

Sephiroth blinks and then frowns. "What does that mean?"

"You have amnesia, you've forgotten most of your life - but not all," Tseng explains. "You remember some things and are subconsciously leaning more into those things. They take more space in your awareness and have higher importance. Your brain, unbeknownst to you, fabricates memories and knowledge around those few things, giving you a false sense of expertise in matters you probably only perceived peripherally."

Sephiroth looks taken back. "Like what?" he asks, sounding stunned.

"Home decor, fashion, Wutai martial arts, monster knowledge - tea?" Tseng points to the Wutai tea set, Sephiroth's most prized possession here, after his sword. "What little you remember you cling onto and wrap yourself around, to make it seem like you have a past, likes, habits, and preferences."

Sephiroth blinks at that, his brows arching, and Tseng adds, "Though you drank tea before, it was without such ceremony. You've expanded a minor habit into a full on hobby."

"Huh," Sephiroth says, sounding fascinated now. He folds his arms, looking at Tseng in a new light. "You really think that?"

No, not really. Sephiroth's new habits aren't just self-deluding mind-fronting in the face of his amnesia. He's far too well practised and skilled in them. It's not just the tea drinking - everything new he's doing now he does with an unnerving amount of prior knowledge.

His new talent as a teacher is the most damning of it all. It's not just knowledge - it's both expertise and experience. Sephiroth teaches like a man who's been doing it for years, who's had hundreds of students, and who both enjoys what he's doing and is very good at it. It's a mix of qualities that only time and practice can give you.

"I don't know what's going on with you," Tseng admits. "But I know it's not something you got from a simple Mako injection."

Thought he still isn't sure he'd call it necessarily Ancient knowledge. He's seen the things Aerith does without thinking, without effort, as natural as breathing. What Sephiroth is doing definitely takes effort.

Tseng still can't quite reconcile them as somehow being the same, with how fundamentally different they are. Though after today…

He's not so sure anymore.

Sephiroth hums, his expression going serious as he looks away. Then he shakes his head and offers, cheekily, "Tea, while we wait for the rice to cook?"

Tseng hums and joins him at the tea table, tugging at the knees of his trousers to keep them from stretching as he sits down. Sephiroth makes tea like an old Wutai master, pouring the first steep away and then pouring for them both. 

The tea is, of course, perfectly prepared.

For a moment they're quiet, listening to the fire crackling in the stove and how the rice pot start to bubble.

"Are they really trying to recreate what happened?" Sephiroth then asks quietly, somewhat guiltily. "With someone else?"

Tseng considers his mood and then answers honestly. "Yes. With several others. Almost the entirety of the SOLDIER program has been tested for viability, though very few suit Professor Hojo's criteria."

Sephiroth's full bottom lip draws into a line. "How many are…?" he can't seem to bring himself to finish the question.

Tseng fishes out his PHS and pulls up the report. "There have been four casualties - SOLDIER Second Class Laxey Jansen, and SOLDIER cadets Mick Rowley, Dient Wreck, Justus Owley, and Gus Fusel," he lists, watching Sephiroth's reaction closely as the man's face tightens with discomfort. Tseng continues, "There have been a number of candidates in and out of coma, too many to list. And there's one case of brain death, cadet Cloud Strife."

The teacup in Sephiroth's hand shatters to a thousand pieces.

-

>:3c

[taesspark]

Cafe O Lay | Jungkook x Reader

summary: You’re a studious university student, Jungkook is a hot barista. Pretty straightforward, right? Nope, not when you spend all your time playing the Sims instead of studying, and Jungkook is the crush you're convinced will never like you back.

warnings: this is E for Everyone, sweet caramel frappucchino fluffy fluff, maybe a sprinkle of secondhand embarrassment, y/n has relationship anxiety

word count: 10k

They say the amount of effort you put into something directly determines how much you get out of it. At least that’s what your advisor tells you every month you visit him, begging for direction. But your advisor is beyond done with life, and you? You’re a college student. Worse, you’re a college student majoring in anthropology.

Justifying the student loans to your parents was bad enough. You were undeclared for your first two years, and after one (1) cultural anthro course that you chose for an easy A elective, you signed the paperwork. 

“That’s it. You’re an anthropology major!” Your advisor told you with a smile. 

It sounds alright. You like people. You like culture. It’s not as heavy on the reading as history or literature, and it’s not as heavy on the math as science and engineering (your parents were real bummed when you dropped Engineering 101 a week in). 

Maybe it was just the pressure to have everything decided by the end of your second year. Either way, you’re set. You’re not sure if you even like anthro anymore, to be honest, but you chalk that up to being in the spring semester of your third year of university.

You know you should be figuring out your life (you’re almost a senior!) or at least working on the 8 page paper for your Advanced Gender and Migration course that’s due in a week. Still, you feel no remorse as you sit in your favorite coffee shop, hunched over your laptop with your headphones in, like all the other diligent students in here, playing the Sims. 

All of your essays for that class are just rants about gender inequality anyways, and your professor passes you with flying colors. Fine, make it flying color, singular. It’s still passing. 

“One vanilla latte and one strawberry danish for Y/N!” 

Before you get up to grab your order, you close your laptop on instinct. It’s a short walk to the counter, but you take your time, allowing the others waiting for their orders to leave. You tell yourself it’s because you’re polite, and you don’t like to swarm the counter. 

Jungkook turns around and greets you at the counter with a smile that you return warmly. 

Yeah, it’s definitely because you’re polite. 

“What are you working on?” He asks. “You were really concentrating just now.” 

You were concentrating, but it was on adding a new wing to your Sim’s mansion. 

“Just an essay,” you say. 

“Sorry to take you out of the zone, but you can’t forget to eat, okay?” He hands you your danish and your coffee. He’s got this little smile on his face, and it makes you grin like a fool. 

“Okay.” You nod and take a bite out of the danish as proof that you’re listening, and it prompts a laugh from the barista. 

Jungkook leans over the counter a little further. “Hey, Y/N, I was thinking…” 

“Yeah?” 

“Well—”

“No one’s paying you to chat up the customers, Kook!” Hoseok wacks Jungkook in the head from behind as he fetches a new bottle of chocolate syrup. “Go get me the new box of toffee syrup from the back. You’re the only one who can lift those anyway.” 

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but another stern look from Hoseok has him straightening his posture and waving goodbye to you. When he makes his way into the back room to grab something or the other, you make a point to glare at Hoseok. 

“You didn’t have to scare him away, Hobi,” You complain. 

“More like you’re gonna scare him away,” Hoseok says, and your glare fades to resignation at the knowing look in his eyes. “We just hired the kid a month ago. At least let him earn enough to buy one of his textbooks.” 

“Who says I’m gonna scare him away?” 

“Your goat laugh does.” 

You take a sip from your drink. “You’re snappy today, Hoseok.” 

“Thank you for the observation,” he says, eyes on the drink he’s mixing. “If you really cared, you’d tip me more.” 

“You still owe me for that time you stole my donut holes.”

“That’s what you get for buying a bag of donut holes.” 

You scoff, but you know it’s all friendly banter. You wave him a farewell before taking your food back to your table. Hoseok sends a dazzling smile your way, and you can’t help but forgive him for the goat laugh comment. You and Hoseok have become good friends in the year or so that you’ve been coming to Cafe O’ Lay. 

It was the day you moved into your apartment in your second year. Even though you have two lovely roommates (Jin and Jieun always have your back), your apartment is a lot different from the dorms that you lived in during your first year of university. Cafe O’ Lay is just down the street from your apartment, and since then, it’s become your safe haven. 

You were there for hours on end during finals season, your highlighters shoved between multiple (emptied) mugs of coffee. You were also there when it wasn’t finals season, on those calm afternoons where it was calm enough for you to chat with the employees. 

You’re a regular. The employees at Cafe O’ Lay will even save you a strawberry danish on the days you usually visit. Some are even nice enough to let you use their employee discount once in a while (thanks, Hoseok). 

This semester has been a little...different though. It’s all the same, for the most part. You still visit the shop every other afternoon after your classes, you still sit at your table by the window, and you get your latte and danish (sometimes just tea to spare yourself the sugar). There are only two differences this semester. 

The first one is that you haven’t actually been doing any homework. You can’t even blame it on senioritis since you’re still a measly junior, but you might as well. At this point, you’re going to class every day with nothing in your bag but your laptop, your wallet, and a pen you found on the floor. 

You honestly don’t get it. How can you spend hours each week at Cafe O’ Lay that are supposed to be fully dedicated to getting your assignments done and somehow still come home with nearly all of it left to do? Where does the time go? 

You open your laptop, and the screen lights up with the Sims. 

That’s it. That’s what you’ve been doing instead. 

You’ve created a Sim version of yourself that you live vicariously through. No, it’s NOT sad or pathetic. No one can convince you that the Sims wasn’t created for this exact purpose. 

Your Sim is amazing. You named her Y/N so you wouldn’t get too carried away, but she’s got clothes worth more Simoleons than you make dollars in a month at your part-time job as a secretary in the science building on campus. Your Sim is a successful actress, which is what you wanted to be after you starred in your grade school’s showing of Annie. Too bad your talent for theater at age 8 didn’t carry over to age 21. 

Sim Y/N is everything good about you—she’s creative, funny, and outgoing—minus the emotional baggage and poor work ethic. 

Jin found out about your Sim fantasyland one fateful afternoon when Cafe O’ Lay was closed, and he never lets you live it down. He says it’s his duty as your best friend to balance his love for you with a healthy amount of mockery. 

It’s not your fault for getting lost in this alternate universe fantasy you created for yourself. Things are just better in the Sims. You call it coping and leave it at that. 

And that brings us to the second difference in your life since the semester began: Jeon Jungkook. He’s apparently a junior just like you, a fact you found out from Hoseok and Google before you worked up the courage to ask him yourself. It’s not that he’s intimidating—how could he be, with his shining eyes and chirpy “Welcome to Cafe O’ Lay”—but it still took you a solid week before you were able to say more than “Hi. One small caramel macchiato and a strawberry danish please.” 

You don’t have a crush on him, despite what your nosy roommates and Hoseok seem to think. You’re simply curious about him—that’s all. And who could blame you? Your eyes drift over to his form behind the counter, hauling boxes of syrup out of the backroom. He’s wearing his usual barista outfit: a stained apron over a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

“Yum,” you all but sigh. 

The girl sitting at the table next to yours looks up at you. Apparently it was louder than you thought. You hold your danish up and wave it at her. 

“I highly recommend these!” 

She lets her gaze linger for another painfully awkward moment before turning back to her laptop. 

It’s like your mind is a whiteboard, your thoughts are the scribbles on it, and Jeon Jungkook is the fateful eraser. The only thing that saves you is your Sim, who set her kitchen on fire while trying to cook eggs. You exhale before bringing the danish to your mouth. At least you and her have more in common than just a name.

“Hey, Y/N!” 

You look up from the Sims camping extension, instinctually slamming your laptop closed. 

“You don’t have to do that. I already know that you’re playing the Sims.” Hoseok scoffs at your guilty expression before setting down a steaming mug in front of you. 

You grin at him. “Oh? What’s this for?” 

“Bribery.” Hoseok shoves his hands in the pockets of his apron. “Come to the open mic tonight.” 

“Hmm.” You pretend to think about it, lifting the mug to take a sip. 

“C’mon, please? I know it’s not your scene, but if there’s only 3 people there, I’m going to cry.” 

“The 3 people being…?” 

“Me, Namjoon, and Yoongi,” he says, not without a grumble. 

“So your roommates? Who have no choice in the matter?” 

“You don’t have to rub it in.” 

You purse your lips. “I dunno. After what happened last time-” 

“We all agreed to never force you to sing in public again,” He says with a strained smile. 

“It was humiliating.” You stare into the tea Hoseok made you, trying and failing to suppress memories of Hoseok’s last open mic he hosted at Cafe O’ Lay. 

Your friends all pressured you to sing a song. Jin even announced to the crowd that you’d had plenty of practice singing in the shower. Unfortunately, your short-lived musical theater days were well behind you, and it’s now one of the most embarrassing moments of your life. You’re sure your voice cracked at least 5 times, even if your friends assured you that it was angelic. 

Your bad memories aside, it’s a nice event, where plenty of students gather to perform or speak. But hosting one now, mid-semester, when everyone’s starting to feel burned out? It’s either going to be a hit or an entire flop. 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Hoseok reassures you. 

“It was,” you deadpan. 

He only chuckles in response, scratching at the back of his head. “Look, Y/N, I am promising you right now that you can just sit back and have a fun time watching everyone else. It’s no big deal. I’ll even bring you that overpriced gelato that you love.” 

You look at him curiously, your interest piqued. “The lavender honey flavor?” 

“Yep.”

“I don’t know, Hoseok…” You trail off.  

“Jungkook will be there.” 

Your eyes widen above your mug, and Hoseok’s smile relaxes into something much more smug. He’s got you, and he knows it. 

Goddamnit. 

“What? Why would that matter?” You fix your eyes back on your tea. 

“Whatever, maybe it doesn’t,” He shrugs. “But he’ll be there. You know, if you wanna flirt with him sometime when he’s not working.” 

“Shut up,” you say, swatting at him. He only takes a step away from your flailing hand and laughs. 

You have priorities, you tell yourself. Essay to do, people to call, money to make, Sims to manage. Your priorities have always been a little fucked up though, and you’re never more sure of it after hearing the next words fly out of your mouth. 

“I’ll be there.” 

Hoseok cheers, earning both of you rude looks from other people studying in the cafe. “Great! Bring your friends!”

You don’t want to bring your friends. You really don’t. It’s not that you don’t adore them, but they have an intolerable urge to embarrass you in front of anyone and everyone.

“Y/N,” a sing-song voice calls from behind you. 

Seokjin is on your bed, face smooshed against your heart-shaped pillow. His dark hair is fanned out on it, and he frowns when you ignore him. You can see him flailing around through your mirror, but you still refuse to turn around. 

“No.” 

“I don’t like that color on you.” 

You frown at the orange jumpsuit you chose. “Who asked you?” 

“You did,” he says. “You came home and said, and I quote, ‘Jin, please help me choose something to wear in front of the hot barista. I’m a fashion disaster, and I could really use your keen eye and lovely personality.’”

“I did NOT say that.” You turn around and fall onto the bed next to him. 

“It’s okay, honey.” He pats your head like you’re a lost puppy. You hate how nice it feels. “I could see it in your eyes.” 

You both lay on your crumpled duvet in silence for a moment. The sun is setting outside your window, reminding you of the time. 

“Should I really change out of the orange?” You ask. 

“Duh.” Jin stretches out his hands and sits up like a zombie. “Hurry up though.” 

He runs a hand through his hair, dusts off his pastel pink hoodie, and checks himself out in the mirror before leaving. Unbelievable. 

“Are you not gonna change?” You call. 

“Nope.” He pops the “p” sound and grins at you. “I don’t need to. You, on the other hand.” 

You throw your heart-shaped pillow at him, but he closes the door before it can hit him. 

“Hoseok’s done it again.” 

You think it would sound more flattering if it wasn’t Hoseok talking about himself in third person. 

Something about the night has completely changed the cozy hole-in-the-wall cafe you’re used to seeing. The cafe is decked out in fairy lights that your friends ooh and ahh at in support. Hoseok beams at them, and you figure the least you could do is compliment is hard work. 

The lights glow and change colors with the ebb and flow of the crowd in the cafe.  There’s a decent turn out, and the sparkling lights and chilly air draw in more people to enjoy a cup of tea and live entertainment. It’s not like a club, where you feel smothered by the people packed against each other. People are sprawled around the cafe, mingling with each other and sipping drinks. 

“See, I told you that you’d like it,” Hoseok says. His grin is almost too smug. 

You roll your eyes. “It hasn’t even started, Hoseok.” 

“Yeah, yeah. The sign up sheet is in the front. Stay away from it, please.” 

He grins at you again before leaving you with Jin and Jieun at a nice table towards the back. You’re fine being in the back, and you’re fine staying away from the sign up sheet. You almost want to sing again, just to spite Hoseok. It says something about your friendship with Jin that he has the same thought. 

“Let’s do a duet, Y/N,” he urges you, leaning over your shoulder. “It’ll drive Hoseok insane.” 

He cackles right in your ear. 

“We can do that without publicly humiliating ourselves,” you say. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Jin asks, bemused. 

“She can’t be fun tonight, Jin,” Jieun says from the other side of the table. “That barista she has a crush on is here, remember?” 

“Oh, right. Lame.” 

“I’m right here.” You try to appear angry at your friends’ insults, but you’re preoccupied looking for Jungkook. You spot his familiar head of dark hair near the front, talking to Hoseok. “And I don’t have a crush. It’s just casual intrigue.” 

“Ugh, I can’t watch this anymore.” Jin is gone before you can turn your head back to him. You figure he’s off to talk to some of his other friends who are around or maybe to run Hoseok up the wall. In ordinary Seokjin fashion, you expect him to circle back to your table once his social battery runs out. You give him an hour. 

With one friend gone, you turn to Jieun. 

“Which one is he, Y/N?” She stands on her tiptoes to see over the people that begin to gather around the stage area. “Which one’s Jungkook?” 

“You’re so loud.” 

“You’re so stubborn.” 

“Shut up, someone’s starting to speak.” 

Hoseok introduces the open mic, reminding everyone to sign up and perform. 

“Welcome, everyone! This is the first open mic of the year—yes, I know it’s April—and if tonight goes well, I hope we’ll be able to have more of these. There’s a sign up sheet going around if you want to perform. If you don’t, that’s okay too!” He lingers on you when he says that, and you resist the urge to hide. 

Hoseok pats the stool at the center of the stage. “If you need any help setting up, me and the boys are right here.” He gestures behind him at Jungkook and Taehyung, another barista who usually works mornings. “Let’s get this party started!” 

Everyone applauds and whoops, and you can’t help but join in on the fun. 

The first one to go is the lovely Park Jimin. You know him from your part time job as a secretary in the science library. Jimin’s actually in science, unlike yourself, and he has bailed you out of answering scientific questions from students many, many times. 

After Jimin sings a song that has the entire room swooning, someone else goes up to the mic and performs a slam poetry piece. You pointedly ignore Seokjin’s lecherous grin from the front, and you ignore Jungkook too. Jieun brings you coffee at some point, and the two of you enjoy the show. 

In between acts, she leans over to you, and you rest your head on her shoulder. Friendship is what really matters, right? 

“Y/N, hey,” she whispers. “What’s your plan of action?” 

You straighten immediately. “What do you mean?” 

“Well, sitting here and watching people sing is great and all. But you keep glancing over at Jungkook, and he keeps glancing here at you.” 

“You’re just imagining things. Besides, I’m not going to leave you here.” 

Jieun shifts in her seat beside you, and you can read the expression on her face like it’s the front page headline: Guilt. 

“Listen, Y/N, don’t look now, but there’s a girl near the plant over there—I said, DON’T LOOK—who’s been checking me out.” 

She’s right. The girl by the plant is cute, and considering the heart eyes she’s been sending Jieun, your friend’s going to get lucky. The guilty look, the girl by the plant, it’s all coming together. 

“This wasn’t even about Jungkook,” you hiss. “You just wanted to get rid of me so you could invite plant girl over here.” 

Jieun’s lowered eyes confirm your theory. “I see it as a win-win.” 

If you thought Jieun was going to be any more supportive than Jin, you were sorely mistaken. Whatever happened to girl power? Women empowering each other? What happened to feminism? 

When you voice your thoughts, she just laughs at you, a soft tinkling sound that’s 100% more melodic than your singing. “I’ll have you know I’m all for feminism, Y/N. I love women. In fact, I love women so much, I want to go over there and empower that girl over there.” 

“Empowering and gay sex aren’t synonymous.” 

“Says who?” And with that, she’s gone. So much for bringing friends. 

You sigh, turning your attention back to the performer. It’s a student who you don’t recognize, but she’s singing a song while strumming an acoustic guitar. Her voice cracks—just once—and you swear you almost get flashbacks to the last open mic. You shudder, downing the rest of your coffee. 

“Are you sitting alone?” Jungkook slides into the chair that Jieun left empty. He’s wearing a black hoodie over ripped jeans, and the minute he sits down, he begins absently drumming his fingers over his thighs. 

You shrug. “I wasn’t at first, but my friends abandoned me.” 

“Well, I’m here now,” he says. “I won’t abandon you.” 

Your cheeks heat up, and you silently thank Hoseok for investing in color-changing lighting. At least the blue lighting doesn’t make it as obvious how flustered you are. 

“At least, not yet,” Jungkook adds, a little sheepish. 

You give him a questioning look. “What do you mean?” 

“I’m up next, I think.” He gestures at the girl singing in the front and lowers his voice to avoid disrupting the performance. It seems like she’s nearly at the end of her song, and she hits a high note that elicits whoops from the crowds. 

“Oh, you’re going to perform? What are you gonna do?” You ask. You spot Jieun at the other side of the cafe, next to the girl she abandoned you for. She makes eye contact with you and winks before turning back to the mysterious stranger. 

“You’ll just have to wait and find out,” Jungkook says. The lights change from blue to purple, casting colorful shadows on his face.

You lean forward, eyes sparkling. “Let me guess, you’re secretly a ventriloquist.”

“Damn, you got me. It was supposed to be a surprise.” He smiles, teeth and all, and your heart stops for a second. “What about you? Are you going to do something?” 

You bark out a laugh, and you thank the applause in the room for covering up how loud it was. “Hell, no.” 

“Sad. I wanted to see you sing.” 

You freeze. “What?” 

“Hobi mentioned that you sang last time. It’s a shame I never got to see it.” Jungkook smiles sweetly, and you can tell he’s being sincere. Poor, misguided Jungkook. You thank the universe that he wasn’t around for your traumatic singing at the last open mic. It’s bad enough that Hoseok and Jin would sing the same song around you to tease you, but if Jungkook had seen it? You wouldn’t be able to face him again. 

“No, it’s really not. I’m not very good.” You scratch at the back of your head, not knowing what to do with your hands now that your coffee mug is empty. 

“I’m sure that’s not-” 

“Jungkook, get your ass over here!” Hoseok calls from the front. The girl who had been singing is putting her guitar away, and Hoseok waves Jungkook over for his performance. Jungkook’s face creases with panic for a fleeting moment before relaxing again. 

Jungkook stands up, looking stressed, and you grab his arm for a moment. 

“Hey, you’re gonna do great,” you tell him, and you mean it. “Puppet or not.”

He smiles, his eyes crinkling into smiles of their own. If only he knew how that smile turns you into putty in his hands. 

As Jungkook and Hoseok arrange the stool and mic for him, you lean back in your chair. You were joking about the ventriloquy, but you wouldn’t put it past Jungkook. He’s odd, in an endearing and hilarious way. You know he’s artistic, if his experimental coffee art on your caramel macchiatos was anything to go off of. You never took him for a performer though, what with his shy personality and the way he blushes his head when you pay him a well-deserved compliment. 

He settles on the stool, the lights shifting to an orange that makes him all but glow. Looking at him now, you can see it. He sits with confident posture and a slight tilt to his mouth as he surveys the audience. His eyes meet yours, and the ends of his mouth curl into a smile. 

“Hi, everyone,” he says into the mic, waving a hand. “I’m Jungkook, and I’ll be singing a song I wrote. It’s called Still With You.” 

There is a light pause before the music begins. It’s soft music that seems to fill the cafe with soft blue light when the colors change yet again, reminding you of a warm summer rain. The audience goes “oooh,” and you can’t help but join in. It’s already beautiful, relaxing, and freeing all at once. 

Then, Jungkook begins to sing. 

You don’t expect it. You definitely should have. His speaking voice is already beautiful; you should’ve expected him to be an amazing singer. There’s just something special about watching him, eyes closed, fully immersed in the music, singing with a voice that is as golden as 24 carat gold jewelry or maybe the sun itself. 

“Might wanna close your mouth,” someone murmurs beside you, and you whip your head around to see Jin sitting beside you again. “A bug might fly in there.” 

You don’t reply, you simply turn your attention back on the beautiful man on stage and pretend he’s serenading you on a rainy summer night. 

It’s not just you. By the end of the song, the whole cafe is swooning and applauding Jungkook with a vigor he seems unaccustomed to. He blushes and ducks his head down to hide the ear-splitting grin on his face. He catches your eye when he looks back up, and the satisfied look in his eyes is your second reminder to close your mouth. You manage a grin at him, and his smile only grows wider. 

“Thank you for listening,” he says into the mic. 

A few boys swarm Jungkook, Hoseok among them, and you assume those are his friends. You take a deep breath and swivel on your chair to face the table. Jin is already looking at you, chin resting on his palm. 

“I see it now,” he says with an infuriatingly knowing smile. 

“Shut up.” 

“I’m just saying,” he continues, despite your grumbles. “I get it.” 

Jieun takes the moment to insert herself back into the conversation. “Who can get it?” 

“Jungkook.” Jin says. Jieun doesn’t recognize the name and stares blankly at the two of you until he explains further. “The barista Y/N has a boner for. We literally had a whole conversation about him before.” 

You bury your face in your hands. “Why would you say it like that?” 

Jin shrugs. “It’s true.”

You can’t stop thinking about Jungkook. It’s interfering with your ability to pay attention in lectures, your focus when you’re writing your essays, and even the health of your sims. Even when you’re sitting in the cafe with a coffee, danish, and The Sims in front of you, your head keeps looking over at the counter and searching for the familiar dark head of hair. 

“Are you whipped or what?” 

“Huh?” You turn your head away from Jungkook. Jin’s sitting across the table from you since you’re supposed to study together on Tuesdays. 

“You didn’t even notice me speaking to you because you keep staring at Jungkook.” He looks a little miffed, but it’s nothing a little attention won’t fix. 

“Aw, are you upset that I ignored you?” You taunt, drawing your index finger down your cheek in a fake tear motion. “I’m so sorry, Jin. How could I?” 

“That wasn’t my point,” he says, although he looks assuaged. “What I meant is that, you keep looking over there for a certain someone, and that makes me think that you have certain feelings for this certain someone.” 

“I don’t speak riddles, sorry,” you say, eyes focusing back onto your screen where your Sim is talking to her Sim boyfriend. You know exactly what Seokjin is talking about, but that doesn’t mean you can’t pretend you don’t. For starters, it’s hilarious to play dumb with Jin. You love to see how annoyed he can get, how red his ears will turn. 

“Fine. Let’s talk about your massive, pathetic boner for Jungkook the barista.” 

Oof. To hear it said so plainly...it hurt a little bit. 

“That was rough.” You look back up at Jin, and he lolls his head in the palm of his hand. “You can’t even be gentle with your best friend?” 

“No.” The lack of hesitation makes you snort. 

“Okay, well, I suppose I’ve been feeling like,” you begin to say, watching the interest pique in Jin’s eyes, “like maybe there’s a small chance that I’m a little bit infatuated with Jungkook.” 

“Oh, a confession!” Jin straightens up and slams his palms onto the table, making your cup of coffee tremble. “I didn’t expect you to cave so soon!” 

“It’s not a confession! Besides, you saw him sing. No one in that room escaped without delusional feelings for that boy. He’s insane.” 

“Maybe you should tell him that.” 

“And why would I ever do that? I like it here, Jin. I’m not gonna ruin my favorite spot just because of a stupid schoolgirl crush.” 

“I dunno, I think the feeling’s mutual.” Jin snags a bite from your danish before you can swat his hand away. 

“You don’t know that.” 

“I have a feeling.” 

“A feeling isn’t enough.” 

Jin sighs. “You always do this, Y/N. You always have to wait until you’re 110% sure about something before you take a risk, and you end up losing the opportunity.” 

“Sue me for being cautious–!”

“It’s not cautious, it’s self-sabotage!” 

“Are you guys doing okay over here?” 

You and Jin turn your heads to the intruding voice at the same time, and the shock on your faces is almost comical. In comparison to Jin’s sky-rocketing brows and wide eyes, you look like a fish, all but gaping at the barista who stands near your table. 

“I heard you two having an argument, and I just wanted to check if everything’s alright,” Jungkook says, shifting on his feet. He fiddles with the ties on his apron, absently rolling them into balls and unrolling them in his fingers. You can’t help but be hypnotized by the motion.

“We’re fine, thanks,” Jin replies pleasantly. “I’m just helping Y/N get through one of her many issues.”

Jungkook raises his eyebrows. “What issues?” 

You blanch. Jin gives you a smug look, and you return it with one that’s nothing short of pleading. 

“Nothing! No issues!” You assure Jungkook, coughing to cover up how shrill you sound. “You know me and Jin, the besties we are, always playing around. Sometimes I think we’ve been besties for far, far too long.” 

Jin clears his throat. “It’s true. Y/N would be lost without me.” 

You shove your elbow into his side, and when Jin tries to do the same to you, you grab his elbow. He lets out a frustrated noise. Jungkook stares curiously at the two of you, before his eyes light up. 

“You guys remind me of myself and my older brothers.” His eyes are warm and affectionate. “We were always fighting, but it’s out of a place of love.” 

Why is it that everything about Jungkook makes you feel warm, your chest a hot air balloon rising up and up and up? He proceeds to tell you about all of the antics he and his 2 older brothers get up to, all the pranks they pull on each other, and all you can do is admire him. Here he is, telling you about the time he covered the toilet seat with plastic wrap and videotaped his brother pissing on it, and all you can do is think about what a fun and lovely person he is. 

Jin offers some of his own anecdotes from your past—fortunately not any embarrassing ones—before Hoseok is calling Jungkook back and scolding him for “fraternizing with the customers.” As if both Hoseok and Jungkook don’t already loiter around your table to chat every time you’re here. 

The silence after Jungkook leaves is so thick, you think if you stuck your hand out in the air in front of you, it’d get stuck. 

Jin steals the last piece of your danish while you take a sip of your lukewarm coffee. He chews thoughtfully before speaking. “He’s perfect.” 

You nod miserably. “I know.” 

With your undeniable crush on Jungkook, you think maybe you’ve been neglecting your Sim’s mental health and wellbeing. It might be insane to say so, but you can’t help but feel a pang of sadness for Sim Y/N. While you’ve been daydreaming about a certain hot barista, she’s lost her job as an actress (because she set the coffee machine on fire, ironically enough) and her Sim boyfriend left her at the altar. Or rather, he was kidnapped by aliens the night before their wedding, but either way, your Sim is going through a rough patch. 

You check the time—it’s still afternoon. You have plenty of time before you have to write your next essay, this one about cultural diasporas through the ages. Your Sim hasn’t gotten out of the bathtub in 14 Sim hours, so you suppose it’s worth it to spend some extra time playing. It only takes a minute of watching Sim Y/N weeping in the bathroom to convince you that you should make a new Sim, a partner just for her. She’s done so much for you, she deserves it. 

You spend the next two hours choosing the details of your new Sim. You begin to manufacture the ideal man for your Sim, and in some ways, for you. He should be a little nerdy, a little mischievous. Done, and done. He should be funny and shy at the same time, with a cute smile. Done, done, done. It makes you feel a little bit like Dr. Frankenstein when he was creating his monster, but you dismiss the thought when it’s time to choose the Sim’s outfit. 

 When your new Sim is complete, you survey your handiwork with satisfaction. He’s perfect, and he’s perfect for your Sim. 

“Hey, Y/N, wanna try this new type of latte I’ve been experimenting with?” 

You glance at the familiar voice with a bright smile. “Of course, when would I ever say no to free coffee?” 

Jungkook grins and places the mug on the table in front of you. 

Your eyes drop back to the screen to your new Sim, and an unsettling feeling strikes you deep in the pit of your stomach. You look back up at Jungkook. You look back down at the Sim. Back up at Jungkook. 

“Is everything okay?” He asks. 

Holy shit. You just made a Sim version of Jungkook.

You need a moment to process it, but with Jungkook staring at you with concern, you don’t have a moment to spare. You knew you liked Jungkook, but enough to create a Sim of him? Unintentionally? When you were creating your ideal man? It’s too much. The screen itself makes you feel exposed. All he would have to do to see the abomination you just created is look down. 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. All good,” You sputter, closing your laptop, and the abrupt slam startles Jungkook. “Just looking at my grades.” 

He cracks a smile. “That bad, huh?” 

You sigh. “Even worse.” 

“This might make you feel better,” he says, nudging the mug towards you. 

The coffee that Jungkook created is steamy, covered in foam latte art that he’s definitely been practicing. Today’s art is a melting outline of a kitten, whiskers and all. It smells divine, like cinnamon and something else aromatic that you can’t name. When you take a sip, you want to melt, melt straight into the coffee and live there forever. 

“Jungkook, this is amazing,” you breathe, your eyes closed to savor the taste on your tongue. “This might be my new regular.” 

When you open your eyes, Jungkook’s moved to the seat across from you, amused and proud and bashful all at the same time. The glow of the afternoon washes over him from the window you’re seated beside. 

“I’m serious, you could add this to the menu. Hell, you could start your own coffee shop at this rate.” 

Jungkook chuckles. “Thanks, but don’t let Hoseok hear you say that.” 

“Maybe if I tell him, he’ll start paying you more. You must be in demand in the cafe industry.” 

“It’s true, I am.” 

You take another swallow of the coffee, not caring about the foam collecting on your upper lip like a mustache. 

Jungkook laughs louder this time, watching you inhale the coffee. “You got something on your face, Mario.” 

Without a single warning, he’s leaning over the table and wiping off the foam from your upper lip. It’s a gentle swipe of his thumb, nothing more, but it stops your breath. You stare straight into his eyes; you don’t even risk blinking. Jungkook’s eyes are always starry and glittering like there’s an entire galaxy inside of them, even at 4pm. 

You once told Jin and Jieun about Jungkook’s eyes, and they were less than enthusiastic. Jieun told you to save the whole “waxing poetry about someone’s eyes” thing for marriage, and Jin complained about how often he has to horny shame you lately. 

Then, as if things could not get any more difficult for you, Jungkook takes his thumb and pops it into his mouth. 

You follow his movements, not sure if you’re breathing or not. All he does is grin at you. “You’re right, it’s amazing,” he says. 

He’s a maniac. He has to be stopped.  

You can only blink at him. 

Jungkook says nothing of your inability to speak or move, and he takes it as an opportunity to grab your mug and take a sip of it. “You know, it’s funny that you looked so horrified at your grades, since you’re always here studying.” 

You nearly choke on your own spit. You’re even more screwed than you thought.

You’re good at the slow game. It’s like Jin said, you won’t take chances if you’re not sure. The only exception might be choosing anthropology as your major, and that was more out of pressure to choose a major than a meticulous and calculated choice on your end. If there’s anything that can break your cycle of hesitation, it’s peer pressure. 

Unfortunately for you, your roommates know this about you. 

Jieun lays on the couch with her head in your lap and you’re slumped onto Jin’s entire person. The three of you look like one disturbing mass of a human from far away, one with limbs sticking out at every angle. It’s a comforting tradition of yours, where the three of you get comfortable and snug on the couch and watch shitty movies together. Your side commentary is usually more entertaining than the movie itself, but that’s the point. 

“What is the world’s obsession with fuckboys? I don’t get it,” Jieun complains, shifting her body in your lap. 

Seokjin snorts. “It’s about confidence. And having a big dick. Everything is always about either of those things.” 

“Or both,” you chime in. “Usually both.” 

“Speaking of boys that Y/N wants to fuck…” Jieun eyes you, a small grin on her face. 

Seokjin snorts again, and you can feel the movement in his chest from where you’re draped over him. 

“That wasn’t what we were even talking about, dipshit.” You shove her lightly. She doesn’t even react to your push, but the mischievous light twinkling in her eyes tells you that she’s going to continue the topic. 

“So? I needed a segue to talk about Jungkook.” Jieun says indifferently, as if she doesn’t feel you stiffen when she says Jungkook’s name. As a pre-law student, Jieun never had any qualms about interrogating you. She could always tell when you’re lying and when you’re telling the truth, better than you could yourself. 

You heave a sigh. “You guys should just give up now. I’m not good at making the first move, you know that.” 

“This is boring,” Seokjin complains. “We already know Jungkook likes you back.” 

“What?” You sit up. “Did he say something about me? Did you talk to him?” 

“No, I can just tell,” Seokjin says.

Your shoulders slump, and your friends laugh at you. 

Jieun rubs your back soothingly, and you crash back down onto your awkward pile of bodies. 

“It’s not enough to just KNOW.” 

“Why not? My instincts are always spot on.” 

“Like they were with Yoongi.” 

“Don’t throw that name in my face, you whore.” 

“I’M a whore?” 

“Shut up!” Jieun all but throws the two of you off of her with the force of a much larger person. She huffs and glares at you, probably because you and Seokjin had started getting physical with each other and she had been collateral damage. “You guys are so annoying.” 

Jieun turns to you first. “You—Y/N! Why are you making this harder than it needs to be? You like this hot barista-” You open your mouth to make a half-hearted protest but she beats you to it. “No, you like him! You made him a Sim, for god’s sake. That’s basically your love language. If he rejects you, which he probably won’t, then so what? You wallow, we buy you some gelato, and you move on.” 

You hang your head in shame. Jieun makes everything sound simple, approachable, and much easier than you do. You’re the opposite, always seeing the intricate details before you even see the big picture. Your friends don’t have to say it, and you know they wouldn’t, bless their souls, but you’re a coward. Always flirting and making impulsive decisions then ducking for cover, hiding, and refusing to see the consequences. 

But what if it could be simple? What if it is? What if you went up to Jungkook and told him “Hey, I like you, wanna go out?” You’ve said more to him before. 

You take a deep breath and ease your worries with these thoughts, but before you can tell your friends about how the pep talk had worked, Jieun had turned to Seokjin. 

“And you! Where do you get off, telling Y/N what to do? You danced around Yoongi for months. You put yourself in the friendzone!” 

Seokjin appears to go through a similar internal battle as your own, only his doesn’t seem to have much of a resolution. You pat him on the shoulder before drawing both your friends’ hands into your own. 

“It’s no use yelling at him now, Jieun, but this has been really helpful. Even though you guys are a pain, you made me realize that I might be a little stupid. But not anymore! I’m going to ask Jungkook out this week!” 

For the sake of friendship, you ignore Seokjin’s mumbled “a little?” and Jieun’s fond eye roll. 

“Seokjin, we can do it together!” You tell him, eyes bright. “You ask Yoongi and I ask Jungkook. It’ll be fun.” 

Seokjin’s face falls by the end of your explanation. “It’s too late. Yoongi’s dating someone else. I saw him sucking Park Jimin’s face off the other day.” 

“Good for him.” 

Jieun punches your arm. “What Y/N meant to say is, it’s okay, Jinnie! There’s other fish in the sea.” 

“Not like Yoongi,” Seokjin says forlornly.

“That’s rough, buddy,” you say, squeezing his hand. 

“I mean, you’re a catch,” Jieun says, her pep talk never finished. “Who would turn you down? THE Kim Seokjin? Only a fool.” 

“Only a fool,” you echo. 

That seems to make Seokjin feel better, and you can tell from the way he sits straighter (his posture is no joke) and puffs out his chest like a bird that’s got the best nest. Instead of a nest, he’s got the best friends. It was mostly Jieun’s magic, but you like to think that your silent support means something too. 

“Thanks, guys,” he says. 

You missed a sizable chunk of the movie, but it’s not hard to pick up where you left off. You snuggle closer to your friends, and you think even if it doesn’t work out with Jungkook, you’re in good hands.

You’ve changed your mind. You love your friends, but if things don’t work out with Jungkook, you’ll be crushed. This is why you prefer to pine from afar, where your feelings aren't on the line.

It’s another quiet day in the cafe, and that only adds to your nerves. The calmness of the place guarantees some time to talk to Jungkook, but you start to get in your head. What if he only talks to you because it’s part of his job? Would it be better to ask him after work? When does he even get off his shift today? What if he rejects you, and the cafe is no longer a comfortable place? Would that even be a bad thing, since you’ve been spending way too much money on fancy coffee and danishes lately? What if you never speak to him again out of sheer humiliation? What if he never speaks to you again because of the awkwardness? 

Your mind is a breeding ground for doubt. Even watching Sim Y/N and Sim Jungkook dance together at their neighbor’s party isn’t enough to calm you down or distract you. Your Jungkook-like Sim isn’t actually named Jungkook. You named your Sim Y/N to ground yourself in reality, and for the same reason, you couldn’t name her partner Jungkook. That would be too far, even for you. 

Instead, his name is Jongkook, and he’s a bartender. 

Yeah. You think it’s embarrassing too. It’s why you’ve been even more vigilant to hide your Sims whenever Hoseok or Jungkook float around you. 

Today your mind seems to be elsewhere though, and when you hear an intentional cough from behind your shoulder, panic immediately courses through your veins. 

“Is this what you do instead of studying?” 

You turn to the right, and Jungkook is all but resting his head on your shoulder, peering at the Sims on your screen. He’s so close to you that you can smell his soft linen and coffee smell, but you can’t even enjoy it. Instead, you want to scream. You open your mouth, but you’re frozen. Is this sleep paralysis? God, you hope so. 

Before you can shut your laptop off, he registers what he’s looking at. “Is that...me?” 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“N-no, no, it’s not you,” you say, voice cracking. 

“You even spelled my name wrong.” He tilts his head curiously at Jongkook the Sim. “It’s Jung, not Jong.” 

“I-I-I-” 

This is your worst nightmare. This is it. You thought your worst fear was singing in public again, but nope, it’s this right there. You can only watch Jungkook in horror as he squints at your Sims, taking in their names, outfits, appearances. 

“Wow,” he says, turning to you, “this is really thorough. Tell me, do we have children yet?” 

You choke on your own spit. 

“No! This isn’t based on you!” You sputter, trying to create some half-assed excuse on the spot. “These aren’t my Sims, they’re my friend’s. I was just, um, watching them for him.” 

Jungkook looks at you closely, his eyes twinkling in the cafe’s lights. You can hear your heartbeat knocking, no, banging, against your chest. You can hear the blood pounding through your body, in your ears, and the twinkle in Jungkook’s eyes makes you think he can hear it too. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, Y/N,” he says, his voice sounding like a song with a melody that you can’t place. “Besides, I’ve known you were playing the Sims for months now.” 

Somehow, that’s what does it for you. Your jaw all but unhinges. “You what?” 

“Yeah, I mean, you’re not as stealthy as you think.” Jungkook laughs, and it hits you that he is laughing at you. 

You lift a shaking hand to shut your laptop, finally. “I have...I should go.” You sound weaker and softer than you intended, your voice trailing off into nothing. The sound of the coffee shop bustling around you saves you from further embarrassment.

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “Hey, I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” 

You avoid looking him straight in the eye, standing up and packing your stuff up with the finesse of a baby deer. Your hands fumble with your laptop charger, and it falls onto the ground. Jungkook attempts to gather it off the floor with you, but Hoseok being a competent employee saves you for once. 

“Jungkook,” Hoseok calls. “Jungkook, get the F over here or else I’ll really say the F word in front of all of these people.” 

You meet Jungook’s gaze when you stand up with your charger. He looks at you with concern, his eyes asking you what he did wrong. You feel too exposed with him looking at you like that. He waits in front of you for one moment, one long moment, before you move towards the door and he moves towards the counter. 

By the time you’re down the street, you let out a breath. You feel dampness on your face. You raise your head to the sky, and when you realize it’s not raining, you crumple a little bit more. 

The door is loud when you open it, like the sounds of the keys turning in the door and the sound of entering your empty apartment alone are amplified somehow. Seokjin finds you later, silent and face down on your bed. 

“Oh, no, honey.” He sits beside you, running a warm hand through your hair. You turn towards him and wrap your hands around his torso. He hugs you back even though the position is awkward. 

“Jungkook saw my Sims,” You say, partially muffled by his thigh. 

Seokjin pauses thoughtfully. “And what did he say?” 

“He laughed.” 

Seokjin gives you some comforting pats on your back. “What did you want him to do?” 

You shrug helplessly against his leg, and he sighs.

In the week that you’ve been studying in the library instead of Cafe O Lay, you’ve done 3 essays. You actually started them early too. Of course, that might be because you no longer have the heart to play the Sims, but you blame the distracting environment of Cafe O Lay. It’s a coffee shop, after all. Not the perfect place to study. Especially not with certain people roaming around, flexing their forearms while they mix shakes and absent-mindedly pushing their hair behind their ears. 

You’re holed up in a table in the quietest nook of the university library. This is really the perfect place to study. You should come here every day. Your grades would probably skyrocket. 

When you shift in your chair, it makes a squeaky noise. Someone shushes you, and you whisper a “Sorry” that’s met with a hiss. 

You cringe and turn back to your essay. 

It’s silent for a long time—so long that you lose track of the passage of time. When you glance at the time, you realize only 10 minutes have passed since you got here. Staring at the glossy finish of the table, you come to terms with a few different facts: 

The library is not for you. It’s too quiet. The people are not friendly. Who are you kidding? You’re miserable here. 

You miss coffee and danishes. How are you supposed to get shit done if you’re hungry and tired? 

You miss Jungkook. You definitely have a massive boner for him, in the eloquent words of Kim Seokjin. You miss his jokes and his funny expressions and his laughter. 

You’re startled from your trance by the sound of two plastic cups hitting the table. Even more startling is the face of Jeon Jungkook, smiling down at you. 

“What are you doing here?” You whisper, alarmed when he sits himself down in the seat across from you. 

He quirks a brow and pushes one of the drinks towards you before taking out his own laptop. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m studying with a friend.” 

Studying with a friend? He brought you a drink? He smiled at you? You try and fail to keep the bewilderment off your face. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. You do see the ends of his mouth curl up when he takes a sip of his drink. 

It’s something cold with a lot of whipped cream and sugar and coffee. He even got the little caramel sprinkles on top that he knows you love. 

You can feel your forehead pinching from the effort it’s taking you to resist this drink. 

“What’s the catch?” You ask, although your hand is inching towards the drink of its own will. 

Jungkook shoots you a bemused look. “Why would there be a catch?” 

You can’t find a logical answer for him. 

True to his word, he starts pulling study materials out of his backpack: a notebook, a textbook, a pencil case, a laptop, over-the-ear headphones. 

To say you’re bewildered is a massive understatement. 

It takes you a few minutes of fumbling and blatantly ogling Jungkook, who patiently smiles back at you, before you can relax your shoulders and spine. 

An hour later, he’s still there, deeply immersed in whatever he’s studying. You know it’s been an hour because you’ve been watching the time slowly tick since he got here. You’ve been watching Jungkook’s eyes flit across his screen and his hands jostle restlessly and his leg bounce under the table and his hair brush against his eyebrows. There seems to be no point in doing essays to distract yourself from a certain someone if he’s sitting right in front of you. 

At one point, he pulls his headphones down to rest around his neck and shuts his laptop. You busy yourself with clicking and typing at the 1 page, mostly empty word document that’s open. 

“Y/N,” he says. 

You look up at him like he’s caught you off guard. “Yes?” 

“Are we gonna talk about it?” 

“About what?” 

He sighs. “About how I saw your Sim of me and then you ran away and haven’t been to the coffee shop since?” 

Wow, he was straight to the point, wasn’t he? 

You sip at the drink he got you, as if it’s not empty. The straw makes a loud sputtering noise that has several students glowering your direction. 

Jungkook waits. 

You bury your face in your hands. “Can’t you tell? I’m so embarrassed. I’m so sorry you had to see that, that I even made you into a Sim in the first place. That was probably the most embarrassing moment in my life.” 

“What’s so embarrassing about it?”

“You laughed! You knew about the Sims all along!” You catch more people trying to telepathically kill you and you lower your voice. “Oh my god, you’re laughing right now.” 

Jungkook looks like he’s using every muscle in his body to prevent himself from laughing. You suppose that should count for something. 

“I’m not laughing,” Jungkook says, grinning. “Okay, I am laughing, but not because it’s embarrassing. I think it’s cute. No, I think you’re cute.” 

“You what?” Your voice is so loud this time that you get an actual “Shush!” from someone. 

Jungkook’s shoulders shake silently from how hard he’s laughing. You throw all your things into your bag haphazardly and drag him away. 

A moment later, you’re sitting on the stairs in the emergency stairwell of the library.

“You WHAT?” Your eyes must be bulging out of their sockets, and you’re staring at Jungkook like he turned green and pregnant and started speaking Simlish. Not unlike Jongkook the Sim bartender, who was the next alien abduction victim.. 

Jungkook beams at you. “See? Cute.” 

It shouldn’t be so mind boggling that someone finds you cute, but you’ve always had anxiety around love and romance. That’s why you never approach people you’re attracted to, and it’s why you never intended on pursuing Jungkook. 

“Tell me something,” Jungkook says, sitting down on the stairs next to you. “How did Sim Y/N and Sim Jungkook meet?” 

“At a bar. He works at a bar.”

“Are they happy together?” 

You hum. “They were happy, but then he got kidnapped by aliens and returned the next day green and pregnant. Sim Y/N was upset about that.” 

Jungkook nodded sympathetically. “The baby’s not hers, huh?” 

“Nope. It’s very tragic.” 

“Is there any hope?” Jungkook nudges you with his arm, and you turn to face him. 

Your faces are much closer than you realized. Every cell in your body is screaming at you to turn away and scootch farther away and maybe even tell Jungkook you are unwell and go home immediately and never see him again. Maybe not every cell though. There’s one that sounds suspiciously like Seokjin, and it’s telling you that there is hope, for maybe more than just your Sim. It also tells you to stop self-sabotaging your life. 

You somehow manage to stay there and enjoy staring at Jungkook’s sparkly galaxy eyes up close. 

“Yeah, I think so,” you tell him. Your voice isn’t more than a warm breath. 

Your eyes drop to his lips, and you spot a mole on the bottom lip. You lift up a hand to touch it, but you stop yourself before you can. 

Jungkook puts a hand against yours and interlaces your fingers. He stands up, lifting you up along with him. 

“Let’s go get something to eat,” he says, searching your face. “Like a date. Is that okay with you?” 

You nod, and the ends of your mouth are floating upwards like balloons. You smile so widely at Jungkook that you fear you’ve accidentally cosplayed as the Joker. He cosplays as the Joker right back. 

You trudge hand in hand back through the library. 

“Let’s go get coffee,” you say. 

Jungkook groans loudly. 

Someone shushes you again, and the two of you hightail it out there, giggling like the lovesick fools that you definitely are.

A/N: I had a blast writing this 2 YEARS ago, and then I left it unfinished in the vaults like I do with every work of writing I start. I rediscovered it recently, thought it deserved an ending, and here I am posting it! I am so glad I could finish a longer one-shot for this blog even if I'm not actively writing fanfic anymore. Hope you enjoy!

[ericityyy]

Good afternoon, I just recently came across your blog and I really liked the way you write.

Can I request a story about how Sheldon found a new friend fem reader.

The two of them have a lot of common interests:she also loves comics, video games, science fiction, and so on, just like him.

Thank you in advance for the answer and also apologize in advance for mistakes English is not my native language.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: 𝘚𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 ��𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯.

𝙏𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙚: 𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 (𝘗𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘤)

𝙏𝙮𝙥𝙚: 𝘍𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 692

𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

“I’m telling you, Shelly, there will come a time when all versions of Spiderman will meet.” Y/N argued with the boy, “And if that happens, you’ll owe me 10—scratch that, 50 bucks.” The girl crossed her arms smugly.

Sheldon, who always loves being right, stretched out his hand with a nod of his head and said, “Alright, I’ll bet on that. But only if it was made into a movie. If not, then you’ll owe me 50 bucks and be my servant for the whole week.” Y/N shook his hand with one movement as they both looked arrogant and smug. People would believe that they’re the actual twins because of how similar their personalities and expressions were.

“Dinner’s ready!" Mary called out from the dining room of Cooper's residence. Both Sheldon and Y/N stood up and walked toward the living room, each carrying a pair of mittens for the both of them. “Oh, Y/N, will you be staying for dinner?”

Y/N nodded her head politely, her hands on her back. “Only if I am not intruding, Mrs. Cooper. Your cooking always tastes divine.”

“Of course, hun. You could always eat here.” Mary laughed as she watched the two kids sit down on their respective seats, Y/N being in between Georgie and Sheldon’s seats.

After a while, all the Coopers are now present at the table. “Let’s say grace.” Mary put her hands on the table as did everyone else, except Sheldon and Y/N, who were in the process of putting on mittens and being watched by the family.

“I hope you do not mind me wearing my mittens; I just have a hard time making skin-to-skin contact, not knowing whether you washed your hands or not," Y/N said as she placed her hands on top of Sheldon and Georgie’s. George Sr. smiled stiffly at the girl as he gripped in his hands his wife’s hand and Sheldon’s.

“We don’t mind, dear, not at all.” George Sr. then made eye contact with Mary as the woman just mouthed to him, ‘Let them be.’

“Thank you, God, for the food we are about to receive and for the nourishment of our bodies, and bless the hands that prepared it. Amen.” All of them then released hands and then dived into eating the food prepared by the matron of the house.

“Y/N.”

“Yes, Sheldon?”

“To continue our conversation earlier, who do you think would win between Captain America and Iron Man?” Sheldon took a spoonful of his food as the rest watched their conversation.

Y/N seemed to be thinking of an answer: "Well, Cap has strategy and can be cool-headed at times, making him able to think of what to do next; his leadership skills are also there. Iron Man, on the other hand, is a genius, no doubt; he made all his suits himself, and he could totally make any weapon with any material given to him, so I vote for Iron Man.

“What?!” Sheldon dropped his utensils hard on his plate, which made the whole table quiet. “You’re letting your biased thoughts infiltrate what is the truth.”

“It may be so, but you asked who I think will win, and I gave you my answer," Y/N calmly stated while eating a spoonful.

“No! You’re wrong; if you take out Iron Man’s suit, what is he?”

"He is a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and he is Tony Stark. Like I said, he can make any weapon, whatever material you give him. I’m not saying that Cap is weak or something, but everything special about him came out of a bottle; without that, he would be this twig honorable soldier with good morals.”

“But…”

“You told me if I took out Iron Man’s suit, now that I have listed out the possibility of Cap not having his serum, what then?”

And for once in his life, Sheldon kept quiet. He was flabbergasted that it left his family speechless, until Missy spoke, “Oh man, now there’s two of them.” She leaned her hand on her face before smiling at Y/N, “But you’re tolerable.”

“Hey!”

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

thank you so much for requesting this! i am so sorry for posting this late but i hope you like this!!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

@bellaisswagger // @somesimpformen

[best-underrated-anime]

Best Underrated Anime Group E Round 4: Are You Ok vs Moriarty the Patriot

#E1: Are You Ok (You Yao)

Transmigrators modernize ancient China. Chaos ensues.

#E4: Moriarty the Patriot (Yuukoku no Moriarty)

Gay found family criminals versus corrupt nobility

#E1: Are You Ok (You Yao)

Summary:

People from the modern world transmigrating into the ancient Chinese fantasy world has become a common and everyday occurrence that the royal court in the latter has decided to moderate them. If you’re a transmigrator, you must report your existence to Lou Zhu, the master of Best Tower. Once you pass his test and prove that you are indeed a modern person, you can then be assigned to work in different areas of the government and be given a high salary.

Because of this promised benefit, many impostors have showed up before Lou Zhu. And one day, Zuo Yunqi takes this test as well. Is he an impostor, or is he an actual modern person?

But some transmigrators also choose to hide their existence out of distrust in the government. Where are they? And with their advanced knowledge on science and technology, what are they planning in the dark?

Elsewhere, other transmigrators find themselves in all sorts of situations—an art student is detained and forced to come up with a recipe for a poisonous meal, while another is stuck sharing a body with the original soul and fighting for its control. Meanwhile, unrest rises in the Jianghu and a storm brews in the palace. Can our transmigrators’ modern knowledge save the day? Or will their lack of understanding in the current world lead to their downfall?

Propaganda:

As someone who is in the You Yao and YuuMori fandoms and adores both for being very gay while still having a good plot, I’d say these two stories are tied in terms of quality. They both execute their respective genres well and really shouldn’t be pitted against each other. But since I absolutely have to choose, then I’m siding with You Yao for this round. The YuuMori anime is a bit lacking compared to its manga, whereas the You Yao donghua elevates the original novel and breathes new life into it.

I started both shows as an anime-only. While watching YuuMori, there was always this nagging feeling at the back of my mind that I was missing out on something. There were so many instances that seemed odd or abrupt. The “found family” gang felt forced, and Sherlock’s attachment and dedication to William seemed excessive in the episodes leading to the climax and even at the climax. It turns out the anime had cut out a chapter in the manga where Sherlock visited William at the college where he teaches. This was such a let-down for me because that chapter showed how the two interact outside of a crime scene and still be friends.

In contrast, the You Yao donghua was able to stand on its own. You don’t even have to read the novel anymore, which is surprising coming from someone like me who always advocates on experiencing the source material.

In the novel, arcs seem disconnected from each other that, while reading, you don’t get the feeling that there’s an overarching plot. It is only later in the story that everything starts slowly coming together.

Somehow, the You Yao donghua was able to take the scattered puzzle pieces of the novel and connect them all together to deliver a coherent story all the while still keeping the spirit of the original—a suckerpunching emotional rollercoaster ride masquerading as yet another comedy. Characters were also given more emotional depth, which is a plus because the novel only portrayed it subtly. Even the donghua-original characters were so likable that I had to double-check if they were canon.

The YuuMori anime has its good parts of course, but overall I think it could’ve done a lot better in terms of character relationships and pacing.

So yeah, both stories are equally good in each of their own genres. But on being an animated adaptation? You Yao takes the win. Vote You Yao.

Trigger warnings: Guns, kidnapping, and imprisonment. Nothing too dark, though.

#E4: Moriarty the Patriot (Yuukoku no Moriarty)

Summary:

During the late 19th century, Great Britain has become the greatest empire the world has ever known. Hidden within its success, the nation's rigid economic hierarchy dictates the value of one's life solely on status and wealth. To no surprise, the system favors the aristocracy at the top and renders it impossible for the working class to ascend the ranks.

William James Moriarty, the second son of the Moriarty household, lives as a regular noble while also being a consultant for the common folk to give them a hand and solve their problems. However, deep inside him lies a desire to destroy the current structure that dominates British society and those who benefit from it.

Alongside his brothers Albert and Louis, William will do anything it takes to change the filthy world he lives in—even if blood must be spilled.

Propaganda:

The story isn’t quite on par with the manga (solely due to there being not enough episodes to cover full character arcs), but the ‘eat the rich’ vibes are immaculate, the plot is complex and interesting, the queercoding and subtext are both wonderfully done, AND there is a CANON TRANS CHARACTER !!!!

Trigger Warnings: Child Abuse, Gender Identity/Sexuality Discrimination, Graphic Depictions of Cruelty/Violence/Gore, Rape/Non-Con, Self-Harm, Suicide

When reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

If you want to criticize one of the shows above to give the one you’re rooting for an advantage, then do so constructively. I do not tolerate groundless hate or slander on this blog. If I catch you doing such a thing in the notes, be it in the tags or reblogs, I will block you.

Know one of the shows above and not satisfied with how it’s presented in this tournament? Just fill up this form with your revisions, and I’ll consider adapting those changes.

New: Starting round 5, screenshots will be included in the poll post. You can submit screenshots through the form linked above, or through here, via ask or dm.

Guidelines in submitting screenshots:

No NSFW or spoilery images.

Pick some good images please. Don’t send any blurry or pixelated ones.

You may send up to 9 screenshots, but not all may be used.

[ohraicodoll]

So rewatching TLoU…for science of course. Episode 3, the lunch with Bill, Frank, Tess and Joel. After Frank takes Tess inside and Joel say-

“I understand. If my- if mine”

Imma need that but with Red, a possessive ‘you’re mine’ Joel. I know we got a ‘you’re it for me’ when little miss hussey tried to sneak her way in but hearing him say “mine” just does something to me.

I thank you in advance.

No sooner than the hand touched her waist, Joel's hand was there gripping the stranger's wrist tightly.

She hadn't been paying attention to the man next to her at the bar, too overwhelmed by the amount of people in the small place and focused on her task of finding Tommy. She had reasoned that it would be quick, only needing to let him know she was switching out the dog that was scheduled to go with them on patrol the next morning before heading home.

But the place was busier than usual and she had to focus on her breathing to get the small task done. She hadn't noticed the way one of the newcomers looked over at her from his stool and hadn't heard the words from his mouth as he tried to get her attention. It wasn't a common occurrence, after all, most of Jackson knew to stay away from her. Either because of her own tendency to bare her teeth at anyone that tried or because of the very man that now stood at her back.

She hadn't noticed Joel in the bar, if that was any consolation to how overwhelmed she was.

Her head jerked to the side, eyes narrowing and watching as the stranger winced in Joel's tightening grip. He smelt of wood and sunshine after working construction all day, standing so close to her back, and she focused on that to ground herself.

"What the fuck, man?" The guy hissed and grimaced, trying to yank his arm out of the older man's grip. "I'll give you a warning this time, considerin' you're new and all," Joel grunted, not letting go, "One, you're lucky it's me telling you to knock it off instead of her unless you want a knife through your damn hand." It was a morbid thing to feel her stomach flutter at, but something in her always preened that Joel considered her the more dangerous of the two of them. She wasn't sure if that was true, but the fact he thought so had her breath hitch. The man's eyes darted to her and she raised a brow, arms crossed. "Two," Joel clenched his fist tighter and the guy groaned painfully, neither of them caring about the attention focused on them from the other bar patrons at the sound, "If I catch you touchin' what's mine again, I'll break your fuckin' arm in three places. Got it?" "Fuck y-" his mutterings were cut off when Joel twisted in the opposite direction, pulling his shoulder the wrong way, "Goddamnit-" "Repeat it," the older man ordered calmly, anger a low simmer underneath the two words. "Fuck! Okay! Okay, I won't fucking go near the bitch!" She didn't need to look at Joel to know his brow was furrowed, eyes darkening at the comment as a sigh left his lips. It was almost expected to hear the crack of the man's wrist breaking shortly after and thud of his stool as he jerked away. But Joel wasn't done and held him in place by the back of his neck.

"Apologize to her," he was standing behind the man now, fingers digging in even as the newcomer squirmed in pain and blubbered. Snot and tears were running down his face but Joel shook him a little to get him to concentrate.

Her own face was a mask, void of surprise or emotion. Almost bored. Inside her heart was racing, electricity shooting through her watching the feral rage coursing through Joel behind his eyes. He was mad, oh definitely, but he was mad for her. It was over the top, past unnecessary considering all the man had done was touch her waist, but she didn't care.

They'd done worse for each other.

The stranger looked up at her, face red and a mess, and bit out shakily, "I'm fuckin' sorry." The moment the words were out Joel released him abruptly and let him fall to the ground curled over his injured wrist. They both watched silently as the man scrambled to his feet and ran out of the newly quiet bar, everyone's eyes on him.

That wasn't anything new. It felt like they were always watching them.

Feeling the burn of Joel's gaze on her, her tongue went dry and she swallowed, turning to meet it. They'd always been good at communicating silently, able to read the other like a book. The lighter furrowing of his brows, the tiniest dimple in his cheek, the way his eyes darkened and swallowed the hints of hazel in his irises. The word he'd used earlier clanged through her. Mine. She was his, entirely and utterly. It was something she was getting use to, this new branding of their relationship, but having it said out loud in such possessive and blatant terms sent heat blazing through her.

And maybe he could see that because he slowly stepped forward, not caring if the whole bar or town was watching, and pulled her forward by her neck to meet his lips. Her nails twisted in the worn fabric of his shirt, body melting into his touch and letting him take control.

Drawing back the barest bit, she couldn't help but pull her bottom lip between her teeth, thighs pressed together to ease some of the pressure building. His eyes followed hungrily, watching her chew on her lip and it was an effort not to smirk. It was a trigger for him, so often him kissing her senseless if only to bite down on the lip himself.

"Home. Now," he grunted, kissing her hard again before yanking her from her spot against the counter and leading them out.

She figured she could tell Tommy about the dogs later or when he inevitably came over to the house to yell at them. There were better things to be doing. ___________________________________ Taglist: @alouise20 @faceache111​ @hawsx3 @taxidriversainz @iluvbunnyhops @mrfitzdarcyslover @emlovesya  @agent007knight @spaacerabbit @namgification @wonwoosthetic  @wxnderingthoughts @sagggy @escaping-reality8 @badwolf00593​ @themothersmercy @badwolf00593 @mxtokko @happinessinthebeing​ @taranicristeard  @aroacefanenby @barbellpedro  @maviee​ @sgt-morgan @peppesgirl​ @spideysimpossiblegirl ​

[giginings]

This was a hard choice but prompt 9. “ you’re a big girl, use your words. “ with overstimulation with Minji. Thank you bestie!! Take your time :D

“ you’re a big girl, use your words “ + overstimulation + minji - newjeans

masterlist + 500 likes milestone

warnings : brief dubcon but both reader and minji wants it

how did we get here…? oh, yes. now you remember. about 2 hours ago, kim minji had asked you if you wanted to partner with her for the science project. and of course, who were you to say no? especially after her not so slick attempts to get your attention.

she had felt so accomplished, thinking she had you wrapped around her finger. however, it proved to be the opposite as soon as she agreed to go over the details at your house. as soon as you heard the tap-tap-tap on your door, you hadn’t realized how fast you rushed downstairs. you opened the door and the first thing you saw was smiley, stunning kim minji. you wanted to pull her inside and ruin her. but you couldn’t, that would be letting her win.

so instead, you stepped to the side and waited for her to make her own way inside. you shut the door and locked it, before gesturing for her to get comfortable on your couch. once she sat down, you took the time to admire her outfit. white tennis skirt, pink plaid sweater vest. cute. you made your way to the couch next to her.

you opened your bookbag, asking her what she thought the two of you should start with first. you watched as she thought about it, paying attention to her lips, and how she nibbled on the bottom one. she did that a lot. after she took a while to think, she finally piped up to say “i think we should start with dichromatic and trichromatic vision.” that was fine with you. you both opened your books to the related page and got to work.

sooner or later, minji’s head ended up resting on your lap while you leaned back on the armrest of the couch. the two of you had given up on studying ages ago, doing your own things on your phone. you felt the girl that was laying on you shuffle and reposition herself. looking down so that you had a clear view of her, you realized she had turned on her stomach, looking up at you with those big puppy eyes. trying your best to ignore her, she carefully pushed your legs open. she started to softly push on your clothed clit, and you felt your breath hitch.

you saw her furrow her eyebrows, upset that you weren’t acknowledging her advances. she pushes harder, lessening your chances of being able to keep your calm. you nibble on your bottom lip, and as soon as she starts to rub your clit through your underwear, all intent of playing it cool went out the window. you grip her hair, yanking her up so that she was looking straight at you. her face had this stupid smirk on it, which just fed into your desire to ruin her. “you thought you were so fucking slick didn’t you?”

her silence caused you to continue. “you think i didn’t notice? you’re such a fucking whore, minji. you wanted my attention so badly, when you could have just told me that you wanted me.” she stared at you blankly, leading you to give her hair a hard yank. a yelp left her mouth. “well? you’re a big girl, use your words. what is it you want from me?”

“i…i want you. want your fingers in me, please?” that was all you needed to hear. you laid the girl down, lifting up her skirt. you couldn’t help but chuckle at the wet patch in the center of her panties. pulling them down to her ankles, you made her spread her legs so you had a clear view of her glistening cunt.

you ran a finger down her slit, sending a shiver down minji’s spine. a gasp left her mouth once you started to rub her clit, your thumb entering her hole. you thrusted your thumb into her messy cunt, the sound of her whimpers and moans washing out the squelching sound coming fron her hole. replacing your thumb with your index and middle finger, you fucked her faster. she gripped onto your arm, her moans increasing in volume. you could tell she was close the way she squeezed your fingers.

the girl finally creamed around your fingers, but your movements never faltered. "w-wait, what are you-" you cut the girl off while she was speaking, "you were trying so hard for this, and now you're gonna fucking get it." at this point her fingernails were digging into the flesh of your arm, the sensitivity of her last orgasm making it easier for minji to cum quicker. "fuck, wait-" before you knew it, she was cumming around your fingers again while a string of profanities and moans left her mouth.

"cmon, you can give me one more." minji shook her head, tears forming in her eyes due to the intensity of the pleasure she was feeling. her abused hole ached, but she still found herself trying to fit as much of your fingers inside of her as possible. you added a third finger, stretching out her messy cunt. "wait, stop- stop, 'm gonna-" her words were cut off, her essence coating your couch, fingers and wrist.

minji had squirted all over the fabric of your couch, her frail body shaking because of how hard she had just came. her breathing was ragged, and strands of her hair stuck to her forehead. the sight was so incredibly hot.

maybe it wouldn't hurt to have a bit more fun with her, would it?

[topazadine]

Signs That You Will Probably Finish Your Writing Project

Anyone can finish a book if they work hard at it, even if it takes them longer than someone else. That's right: anyone. Anyone, anywhere, can write a book. Maybe it won't be the best book in the world, but it would be done!

But most don't. Many start a project and never do anything else with it. They then come up with a million excuses as to why they couldn't do it.

After speaking with dozens of writers over my lifetime, I've become able to predict with good accuracy whether someone will actually achieve a completed first draft. I am not always right, of course, because I am simply a human. But I am right most of the time.

There's no rocket science here, and I'm not a mindreader. It's just that there are certain habits conducive to finishing projects, and others that stymie your success.

I know that this will upset some people, and I'm sorry in advance. I'm not saying any of this to be mean, nor am I trying to discourage you. All these bad habits can be fixed, though it requires a mindset shift. You can achieve all of these powerful mindesets with some of the tips I provide.

Why should you listen to me? I have a pretty good track record of finishing things. I have 132 stories available on AO3, have published two parts of The Eirenic Verses, and am already revising the third manuscript before the second is even out. I've finished three of the other manuscripts in the 10-part series already in addition to the aforementioned third part.

It is the mindset I mention here that helps me stay so productive. This is not exhaustive. There are probably plenty of things that go into a great writing mindset that I have completely forgotten about. And maybe you'll beat the odds and have one of these issues but still get it done! And that's great, and I'm happy for you.

But nevertheless, let's get into it.

You have healthy self-esteem (or are working on building it)

I'm dead serious here. Having a healthy self-esteem is crucial to being a great writer. Here's a few reasons why:

You believe your work is good enough as it is, but that it can always be better. You think you have something important to say and that other people will enjoy it. You are not shooting yourself in the foot by bemoaning how terrible your writing is, making no one want to read it. You self-soothe when things get frustrating (writer's block, plot not working out, etc) and encourage yourself out of that hole rather than needing others to comfort you. You believe you have the skills to solve problems in your text and remain proactive in fixing things. You don't get absolutely obliterated by critique because you recognize that it's not a personal attack, so you improve by taking good advice. You don't think that rejection of your writing is rejection of you as a person. Your happiness doesn't hinge upon success as a writer, which may not happen no matter how good you are. You're willing to take risks, to talk to people about your work, and to market yourself because you understand that you won't get success without a bit of exposure.

What are some signs of low self-esteem for writers?

Not wanting to show anyone their writing yet also talking about it constantly hoping that others will want to read it

Talking about how bad their writing is

Getting jealous of other peoples' success

Being hypercritical of other writers

Talking more about their failures than their successes

Dismissing any praise as disingenuous

Needing constant reassurance at every part of the writing cycle

Being a perfectionist, especially during the active writing phase

Constantly revising to the point where they don't get anything done

Obsessing over perceived imperfections in their work

Avoiding getting feedback after they have completed a draft

Just as with everything else in life, your mindset plays a huge role in your success as a writer. Having healthy self-esteem (not an overinflated ego) will serve you much better than being overly critical of yourself or others.

Knowing you have the skills and talents necessary to tackle your project (because you do) will help motivate you when things get tough and keep you from giving up at the first sign of trouble.

Look, I had a shit childhood and a rocky start to adulthood. But I've managed to scrabble up some good self-esteem juice, and I am sure you can too. It takes time, and it looks different for everyone, so I'm not going to tell you how to do it because I don't know you personally.

However, fixing your mindset and believing in yourself does wonders for your writing - more than any expensive course, more than a personal editor, more than any of that. Trust your own process, and you'll reap wonderful results.

You think of yourself as a writer first, not an aspiring author.

Though my profile says I'm the author of The Eirenic Verses, that's not how I introduce myself. When people ask me what I do, I say I'm a writer. Because it's true: I write business stuff for work, and I write fiction for self-fulfillment.

When I was still working on the first book in the series, I did not call myself an aspiring author. I said I was writing a book. I've never called myself an aspiring author once in my entire life, and I'm glad for that.

Why is this important?

"Author" is a status, but "writer" is an activity. Anyone can publish one singular book and be an author, but only people who write regularly can call themselves writers.

"Aspiring author" is a dead-end title. It means you want something but haven't achieved it. Then you become an "author" and ... what? That doesn't mean you're going to keep writing. It just means you did one thing, once.

For sustainable mindsets, we need to remind ourselves that if we want to be something, we have to do something.

No one calls themselves an "aspiring scientist." They call themselves a scientist in training because they are learning how to be a scientist. That's an active title. It implies you are doing something.

So, if you want to keep doing, call yourself a writer. It reminds you, every single time that you tell someone, that you need to write. You'll feel guilty if you call yourself a writer and then haven't written anything in five months, and it will compel you to keep going.

You don't worry about what happens after finishing.

Fussing about what will happen after you finish is the best way to burn yourself out. The writing phase is about writing, not about revising or publishing or marketing or whether anyone will ever want to read it.

Focus on one thing at a time. Think only about the writing when you are writing. Everything else comes at a later date.

You do not announce WIPs when you start them.

There's this author I follow over on Twitter whose name I will not share. It seems like every other week, she's announcing a new WIP with a pretty moodboard and a name and characters and so on.

She has little emojis and "code names" for each of her WIPs, and she'll "drop hints" about all of them every once in a while, all mysterious and Taylor Swift-esque.

Has she published anything? Nope. Nothing. Nada. A whole lot of talk and not a lot of action.

Why are you announcing something you haven't even done? Why are you telling us about a project that you personally haven't devoted much attention to? Why should we care about something that you haven't cared enough to work on yet?

I have a list of my WIPs for The Eirenic Verses because they are all in the same world and all have to exist for the next part to make sense. I don't have a choice to drop them if I want to finish the series. I didn't create that WIP list until I had already decided on each of the parts and had already published the first book, so now if I want to keep people reading, I have to commit to them.

But if you have dozens of different unrelated WIPs, who is to say that you'll finish all of them? You probably won't.

Announcing a WIP before you have done the work is cheating; you're getting a little dopamine hit of everyone telling you how excited they are rather than a dopamine hit of achievement for doing the thing.

You do not talk excessively about your projects.

The more you talk about your work, the less you get done because you are tricking your brain into thinking that you are actually getting things done.

Again, you get the dopamine hit of people saying "ohhh that's so cool I love it!!" and then you are happy that people liked your idea, and then you don't do the idea because you don't need to. You already got the result you wanted, which was people telling you they liked it.

Great authors don't tell anyone about their projects except in the most general, vague sense before they are well underway, because they don't want to jinx themselves. If you're already staying mum about your work, then you're doing great.

And yes, your constant updates of "here is exactly how much I wrote today" every single day does count as talking about your project.

You are okay with going it alone.

The Active Writing process is the loneliest part of writing. No one is looking over your shoulder and encouraging you. It is only after you get to Percolation and Revision that you start to share your work with others, get feedback, and find ways to improve what you already have.

If you need someone to constantly build up your confidence and tell you that you're wonderful and that you should keep going, then you are not likely to finish because you are constantly talking about your work instead of doing it.

Writers need to be comfortable with solitude, but they also need to be willing to network, get feedback, and listen to other perspectives. It is a balance and it all depends on where you are in the specific stages of this given project.

When I'm working on a project, I tend to just avoid other writers entirely and stick to my other activity groups so that I'm still getting social stimulation but don't feel encouraged to share details of my work.

Those other friend groups do not really care about the ins and outs of writing, and that's perfectly fine; they don't need to. If they're willing to show up and cheer me on when I actually finish the project, great! That's all I need.

Constantly needing to check in with other people and having them rubber-stamp your writing is a sign of a lack of confidence, and it's something you need to work on it if you want to finish anything.

Be okay with going it alone. Be okay with waiting for feedback. Trust in yourself and your writing.

You have a process.

Your process doesn't have to look like mine to be successful. I've shared my process so that those without a process yet can get some inspiration for how to organize themselves, but there's no rule that you have to do it like me.

I will say that my process has achieved great results, but I'm not omniscient; maybe there's an even better way of working that I don't know about yet.

Every writer goes about things a different way, and that's totally fine. What matters is that they are getting things done in a manner that they like and that is working well for them. Even if their approach would make me want to tear my own skin off, I cannot and will not judge. They've got their thing, and that's perfect.

You need to have something that guides you so that you can replicate your successes. Scattershot approaches get scattershot results.

Contrary to how it may seem, I am not actually a very organized person. I work on both Google Docs AND Word for different parts of the process because I like doing it that way, but it would probably drive someone else insane if they like to use things like Ellipsus or Scrivener.

But it works for me, and if it ain't broke, I'm not going to fix it. If what you has is doing well, then keep at it. If it's not working for you, then you have many options to better organize and systematize your work.

You worldbuild as you go along.

This is specifically for fantasy and scifi, two of the genres where I see people crash and burn the most.

That's because they set everything up to perfection before actually doing anything and then just ... don't do the thing. Or do the thing in fits and starts because they spent so much time and energy worldbuilding that they don't have any creative juice for actually writing anything.

If you have like one chapter done but you have a full bible-sized guide to your lore, you've gone about things in the wrong order. Now your project becomes about fitting all of that in somewhere instead of writing an entertaining story, and you're far more likely to fall into the Infodumping Trap. You're making things too complicated.

In my guide to worldbuilding, you'll notice that the things I encourage people to emphasize are little things that don't have anything to do with the plot. One cannot build a plot around a cultural dish.

And I emphasized those things on purpose, because those are things that aren't going to overtake your story and become a substitute for actually creating something people want to read.

When I started writing The Eirenic Verses, I had a pretty simple premise: there's one country that has poetry magic and one that doesn't, and there's a giant mountain range between them and the girls are fightinggg.

That's about it for what I had at the jump. All the other things - lore, mythology, religion, international politics, festivals, cultural consciousness, economy, clothing, etc - all came later, as I was writing.

I didn't set out knowing what festivals the Bremish had or how the royal family works in Sina or what the towns looked like or exactly how High Poetry works or any of that. I discovered all of that during the writing process and noted it down so I wouldn't contradict myself.

By focusing only on the "what if" at the start, then infusing the rest as you go along, you will avoid the sin of infodumping because you don't know what to infodump. Things will just come to you as they make sense, and you will include them as relevant. You don't have anything to infodump on the reader.

You remember that you can always revise.

And lastly, great writers worry about getting the draft done. They don't fret over every word because they know that they can get it looking flawless LATER. They just want that rough draft, and then they seek specific feedback on how to improve that draft.

My third book, Funeral of Hopes, is extraordinarily short right now. after finishing the first draft, I then sent it to a great beta, who offered me suggestions for how to lengthen it, and I'm now fitting those new puzzle pieces together.

I knew as soon as I was done that I needed more, but I wanted to let it sit for a bit and get some suggestions for how to do that. If I had spent ages trying to lengthen it the first go-round, I probably would have gotten frustrated and given up. It's okay to just have the bare bones of the story and then seek out feedback; there's something there to scaffold off.

If you'd like to read more of my work, consider buying my book!

9 Years Yearning is a gay coming-of-age romance set in a fantasy world. It follows Uileac Korviridi, a young soldier training at the War Academy. His primary motivations are honoring the memory of his late parents, protecting his little sister Cerie, and becoming a top-notch soldier.

However, there's a problem: Orrinir Relickim, a rough and tough fellow pupil who just can't seem to leave Uileac alone.

The book features poetry, descriptions of a beautiful country inspired by Mongolia, and a whole lot of tsundere vibes.

You can also check it out on Goodreads for a list of expanded distribution.

Be sure to preorder Pride Before a Fall, arriving January 1, 2025!

If you do purchase my book, don't forget to leave a review!

Reviews are vital for visibility on Amazon and help to support indie authors like me. Whenever you love a book, be sure to let the author know! It's much appreciated.

I've also created a masterlist of writing resources that you can peruse at your leisure, all for free.

Enjoy!

[mci-writing]

I’m so ready to go home, why am I still a state away 4 days after I was supposed to leave RAHHHHH-

Bandages (Ishigami Senku x Reader)

Warnings: Spoilers for New America Arc (specifically chapters 158-161 give or take), angst with a happy ending, angst and fluff, mention of Senku being shot but no explicit detailing of it that I can remember 😭 sorry if there is, gender neutral pronouns but there may be plausible she/her that I missed (very very sorry if there is)

Giggles flow out of an open window, a desk lamp the only source of light in the room as low music plays from a speaker. The owner lays out across a bed, feet happily kicking in the air while the fluff of their socks frisk each other in passing. The international calls on the phone will more than likely wrack the bill up, but it's hard to care when their closest friend is chatting away on the phone. It's getting late for them, inching into the next day, while their friend's day is slowly approaching the evening.

“So you tried lion, just like that?” (Y/n) holds their phone close to their ear as they roll onto their back, head hanging off the side of their bed while the plush of their blankets presses into the back of their neck, "I thought you were joking about it earlier... What did it taste like? Was it good?"

The other person on the line chuckles at that, grinning as he sits in a desk chair and scoots it to the desk in his current room with his arms crossed. He flicks on a light, grabbing a pen as he pulls a notebook towards him, "I'm ten billion percent sure you're more interested in the food I've been eating here than my research, Dragonfruit."

"Of course not, Leekboy. Tell me all about your disease research onnn... Ebola!"

This is their second phone call together for the day, the first during (Y/n)'s lunch break at school while Senku was getting up for the morning. They'd talk for an hour, the whole lunch break, until the two had to disperse for their respective duties, and then would reserve ay other catching up for night calls. It was technically both of their way of tricking the other into going to bed, but they'd spend weekends up for hours on end talking to each other about whatever came to mind until they'd pass out.

Senku was currently talking about the advancement on their research, in as much detail as possible, as per usual. (Y/n) might not understand much of it, but they still let him excitedly tell them about the topic. It's enough for them, satiates the longing to see their friend and calms the tugging feeling of them missing him. Deep down, Senku also knows they don’t understand a word of what he’s saying, but he still entertains them.

“Buuut,” He finally ends his rant when he can sense (Y/n) getting bored, a grin forming on his lips as he leans more against his shoulder, adjusting the phone a little better. He’s fully stopped writing, twirling his pen between his fingers before slamming it on the desk, “I’m ten billion percent sure I’ll be back in Japan soon. I finally got what I actually came down here for and our recent test trials are looking promising.”

He leans back into his chair, an entertained twinkle in his eye as he hears the realization dawns on them. He holds back a snort at the noise they make, “Really?”

“I’d give it a solid week or two,”

Senku jumps at the loud bang on the other line, a soft ‘Ow’ following a little after. (Y/n) lifts their face off of the book they’d just smashed it into, sheepishly laughing as they scrub the squashed feeling off, “Try coming back in one piece, please? I’ve really missed you… you being in the science lab every day after class. It’s soooo boring not being able to mess with you.”

The line’s quiet a moment before Senku lets out a few chuckles, “I guess a lab’s not the same if you don’t have a few goofballs running around you,” He responds after a beat, “Get excited, ‘cause when I get back I’ve got a few project ideas.”

“Ohh, joy. I’ll be sure to warn Taiju and Yuzuriha,” (Y/n) pulls up their group chat and happily sends a message, taking a minute to check the time. The sight makes them shiver, a groan releasing from the deepest parts of their body, “It’s suuuper late…” They peek at the time once more, doing a quick calculation in their head before their eyebrows furrow, “And it’s definitely getting late for you, sir.”

“I’m not even tired-,” His phone rings, a FaceTime request with (Y/n)’s glaring face staring right back at him. He feels his face warm at the small pout on their lips, eyebrows knitted together with narrowed (e/c) eyes.

He watches their mouth move as they say, “Turn on your camera,” and he’s intelligent enough to do as they say. He’s rewarded with a smile, “It’s nice to see your face again, Leekboy.”

“You could’ve seen it more often if you just asked, Dragonfruit,” He easily quips back, setting his stuff aside neatly before getting up to lay his head down. His grin grows at how flustered they get, “It’s nice to see you too, (Y/n).”

“You should’ve started with that!”

~~~

“Senku!” The sound of gunshots still ring through (Y/n)’s ears days after the fact. Every time they look at him they remember each and every detail of the attack: the blood, the look of shock on everyone’s faces, the helplessness they felt watching Senku be targeted and almost taken out by a sniper.

He may be resting now, but (Y/n) knows that first chance he has he’ll jump right back up to lead, even if he’s still in the process of healing. They’ve heard him whispering his plans for once he’s back on his feet and it makes their heartbeat pound in their ears. There’s not much they can do to stop him.

“Hey, Leekboy,” They call when they finally get him alone, sitting on the edge of his medical bed. They’re unable to look at him, (e/c) eyes staring straight ahead to the walls of the lower deck, “Promise me you’ll take it easy?”

“Heh,” He chuckles, a little more breathless than before but better than the last few days since the incident, managing to tilt his head to look to them, “It’ll take more than that, Dragonfruit. 10 billion percent sure-,”

“Don’t brush it off! Stanley still hit you with his bullets,” Their eyes finally meet his, tearing up a little. He’s a little taken aback by their small outburst, analyzing their face and body language, “I… wouldn’t be able to handle you being gone, whether you’re worried about it or not. I could barely handle when you were off in Africa for a few months, but if you died?”

They feel their tears fall onto the skin of their hands. The cool feeling shocks them as they start to realize how worked up they are. They feel Senku squeeze their hand, pulling it a little closer to him after he manages to sit up.

“Well, get excited, cause I’m not planning on dying anytime soon,” He reassures. He doesn’t stop them from laying their forehead on his shoulder, his cheek pressed against the back of it, “If I did, you’d miss seeing my face-”

“Senku,” They state, straightening up and looking into his eyes. Their grip on his hand tightens, shifting their hold to press their hands to their chest. He can feel their heart hammering, the air around them stilling as their (e/c) eyes look through him, “I’m worried about you. You’ve almost died so many times, but this time…” They hesitate, their breath hitching as the tears start to roll down their cheeks. Their shoulders shudder as they attempt to hold back everything they’ve been bundling up, “This time…”

They’re unable to stop the tears, their free hand doing it’s best to run at their eyes and clear their sight. They begin full on sobbing, letting his hand go as they hold themself. (Y/n) leans into him, like they have numerous times before, and cried into his chest, drenching his bandages. Senku doesn’t hesitate to hold them their, focusing on the wall ahead of them as he takes in their words.

This isn’t his first time seeing them cry, but he’s never seen them openly cry over something concerning him. It’s makes him feel even worse, that he could cause them such distress due to his reckless actions and that they’ve been holding it in.

“(Y/n),” He finally speaks as their sons die down, his hold tightening as he pulls them more into his chest, “I promise, I’m going to survive this and I’ll try not to make you worry so much again.”

They shift in his hold, getting a better look at him as he stares down at them, (e/c) eyes meeting his crimson ones that are a mix of serious and teasing. His mouth slowly curls up into his usual confident grin, his hand coming up and wiping their tears away.

They mirror it with a smile of their own, laughing a little, “Yeah, Leekboy? I’ll miss seeing you geek out in your lab with Chrome if you’re gone.”

“Of course, Dragonfruit,” He teases back, “Heh, I’d miss seeing your face.”

He doesn’t miss the way their face flushes or the small shift in their body language as they avert their eyes, “I’d miss seeing your face too…” A small glint reaches their eyes, “Senkie~”

He grimaces at that, flicking their forehead and narrowing his eyes, “I prefer Leekboy-,”

“What happened to preferring Sen~ku?”

He grips their cheeks between his fingers, continuously squeezing them til their lips pucker, “I’m gonna kiss you to make you shut up.”

“I’m not gonna stop you.”

He doesn’t hesitate, cupping their face before pulling them closer. Their noses brush against each other, his breath fanning over their lips, before softly connecting. It’s quick, a little nervous, and leaves them both smiling. They both go straight back to each other, deepening the second kiss before inevitably pulling away for air.

(Y/n)’s a little dazed after, their hands at some point gripping his shoulders. They use them to keep them steady and grounded.

“Holy shit…” They mumble, Senku chuckling at their reaction. They take him in, remembering his bandaged state.

Wait, how long has he changed his bandages out?

His drenched bandages…

“Shit, your bandages!” They hop off the bed, pressing a quick peck to the top of his head, and rush out of the room in search of Luna or a new set of bandages stored away.

[lilareviewsbooks]

4 SFF Books For (Humanities) Nerds

Hey guys! I know I promised this like, last year, but life got in the way :( But now I can finally present to you - my list of books for humanities nerds!

To put it simply, these are books I think broach topics that are close to the humanities nerds' interests - sociology, history, art, anthropology, political sciences... And sure, they could be considered "boring", but if you're into the humanities - you'll have a ball with them! (and, of course, anyone can enjoy these!)

The Goblin Emperor, by Katherine Addison

5 stars | 446 pages | standalone, but there are spin-offs | queer side character

This is the book that spurred this list, so, if you want a longer review, I have it on my blog. But suffice it to say that The Goblin Emperor is a fairly long and detailed account of what happens in the court of a country of elves when the youngest, unfavoured and half-goblin son of the king ascends the throne. This book is masterful. It seemlessly weaves in personal and political concerns as we follow Maia, the newly crowned emperor. The writing style is slow - we follow the emperor's every day life. We are with him when he rises in the morning until when he wakes up. It waits for something to happen, and is quiet and slow. It's absolutely delightful: despite his politicking, Maia is mostly and more ardently concerned with kindness. He wants to treat people fairly. This not only makes for a sweet main character, it also means the book is a fascinating character study, as well as an incredible feat of world-building. I think nerds will enjoy its slow and traquil pace, its dedication to politics, language and customs of this world and its charming main character.

A Memory Called Empire, by Arkady Martine

5 stars | 462 pages | completed duology | queer main characters

For a sci-fi twist, I think A Memory Called Empire is the way to go. The duology follows Mahit, a citizen of a small satellite of the Teixcalaan Empire, who is chosen as the next ambassador for her home. She must journey to the capital with a very important mission - find out why her predecessor mysteriously disappeared. Again, what there is to enjoy here is lush, expansive world-building. The Teixcalaani feel so, so real. Every little detail was thought of, from their language to their smiles. It's truly impressive, and the prose, I remember, is also beautiful, making these details pop out even more. This is also incredibly political, as Mahit descends into the belly of the beast, so to speak, in search of answers. But it is framed by a pretty straight-foward murder mystery, which might be fun for people used to mystery stories. And the second book broaches first contact! - it's just so much fun! I also have a longer review for this series, if you would like more details! Nerds will be drawn to the expansive world-building, attention to detail, and reflections on empire, memory and legacy.

Elder Race, by Adrian Tchaikovsky

4 stars | 201 pages | standalone | no one's queer, I don't think :(

This one might be a good pick for veterans of SFF - it has a fun gimmick! You must've heard the phrase "any science advanced enough in undistinguishable from magic", attributed to Arthur C. Clarke. This book takes that concept and runs with it. For Lynesse, a princess in a medieval society, Elder Nyr's "giant tower" is magical, and he, a magician. For Elder Nyr, an anthropologist come from a different planet, his interests are scientific, and his "tower", a spaceship. The fun of the novella is that we flip-flop between these two people's perspectives, so that half the story is a sci-fi, and the other half, a fantasy. I found this story to be unique, and to understand its place in the speculative genre quite well. It defies expectations and conventions in a creative way that I think nerds familiar with them will enjoy!

The Traitor Baru Cormorant, by Seth Dickinson

5 stars | 399 pages | uncompleted series | queer main characteres

Another good bet is The Traitor Baru Cormorant, the first installment in the Masquerade Series, which is not finished yet. It follows Baru, who, as a child, watches her country be colonized by the Masquerade Empire. She vows revenge, and to destroy the empire from the inside out. In this installment, she is finally trusted to be sent as an Imperial Accountant to Aurdwynn, a famously ungovernable territory... This one is very, very brain-y. It's dense political fantasy, and I admit I had some trouble following the economics, sometimes - that was never my strong suit!! The tapestry of betrayals, alliances and twists is rich, intricate and realistic. People have diverse interests, are multi-faceted individuals, and yet have a reason to be acting they way they are acting. This makes for satisfying plot lines, and incredible twists. I still haven't recovered from what the first book did to me, to be honest. Nerds, if you want to be dazzled and made to work for it, pick this one up. The Traitor Baru Corumorant will have you scratching your chin, thinking hard and having a lot of fun with (yay!) economics and accounting!

I have a couple more of these if anyone is interested :) And as always, if you need a book rec, feel free to send me an ask!

[holewithinahole]

The Spirit's in It | Egon Spengler x nb!reader [1/3]

Summary: “I didn’t know psychology doctors also specialized in particle physics, is all.”

What you meant as a light joke to relax him did quite the opposite. He straightens, righting up his glasses one more pointless time. “I have a degree in nuclear engineering,” he states before walking out, leaving you confused and feeling like you’ve spent the entire time offending him unintentionally.

Warnings: dubious science, non-native writer, non-beta'd

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Ao3 Link

Woopsies, I'm back to plaster my insecurities on fictional characters. This work is part of a two-part series which follows the events of the Ghostbusters primary canon. The first part, set during the first movie, will be cut in 3 smaller bits for Tumblr. When all parts will be posted, I'll upload it on Ao3. The parts are all written, so it'll be released soon enough.

I just want to do a little disclaimer. Usually my 'reader' characters are very loosely characterized so anyone can project on them. However, this reader might not fit everyone? I'm sorry about that. Overall, if you're autistic, on the aro/ace spectrum or just a tiny bit ND, you might feel more connection to the reader lmao.

Ah! Also, the science sucks, pls ignore. It can be read as a prequel to It's always the quiet ones, btw.

Summer, 1984

This is a good song, you think, the beat intense enough to distract the back of your brain as you write down the last advancements of your research. You’ve spent the entire month of July reading books and other scientists’ papers, but not managing – until now – to sit down and order the large number of notes you piled up. Running on the pure energy of your hyper-focused state, a dozen cups of coffee and a single chocolate bar, you definitely didn’t notice the man stepping into your lab, not until you randomly glanced up and met the disconcerted gaze of an unknown guest.

“Excuse me?” he mouths out.

You straighten in your chair so quickly your back snap.

“Ah! Yes! Sorry, what is it?” you stammer, taking out your headphones with shaky hands and fumbling with your Walkman.

The man stands at the entrance of the lab, strangely stiff, seemingly assessing his next course of action before taking exactly four steps toward your desk.

“I would like to borrow a soldering iron.” He rights his glasses up his long nose.

The first thing you take note of is the low modulation of his voice; an unusual pitch that seems to vibrate directly out of his chest. The second is his wide, rigid build. From your chair, he towers over you, and your neck is starting to hurt from stretching uncomfortably (it might just be your overall terrible posture.)

You’ve been staring a little too long so you clear your throat and get up. “And you are? Not that I’m unwilling to lend you a soldering iron but I can’t just give my tools to strangers–”

“Dr. Spengler, I work at the psychology pole of this university,” he interrupts.

He looks at you like you’ve got a stain right in the middle of your forehead. You glance away.

“Psychology? What do you intend to solder? A loose neuron?” You stand up, cracking up a joke nervously.

“I assure you I don’t conduct any dangerous experiments on unwilling subjects.”

Despite the tension, it’s the ‘unwilling’ that does it for you and you let out a chuckle. Finally meeting his eyes, the light frown he adorns is either one of incomprehension or irritation, making you drop the smile immediately.

“Uh–” you croak out before you decide better not to say anything. You both end up looking awkwardly at each other, and time seems to be stretching to amplify your discomfort – and probably his as well. It feels like orbiting a black hole while he’s rushing through the universe at 18.5 miles a second.

Smart enough to be a researcher, stupid enough to ruin a simple conversation.

Fingers fidgety, you walk away to rummage through your closets, taking out the tool and handing it to him. “I do intend to have it back soon, Dr. Spengler.”

There’s a slight hesitation in his hand before he takes it, nodding curtly. In your defense, you do try to smile, even if it’s an uptight, embarrassing attempt. Oddly enough, he doesn’t leave, staring at the iron for a couple of seconds.

Abruptly, he clears his throat, looking intently at your face. “I’m improving a prototype that detects the presence of paranormal entities and directs me to them using a boron-trifluoride counter tube and a platinum electrode.” He doesn’t even take a breath. “A component of the rate meter I installed seems to be defective, and the cable of my soldering iron broke while I was working.”

He comes to a sudden stop, mouth half-opened but doesn’t resume his explanation. At a loss on how to react –and surely gaping at him considering you weren’t expecting to be slapped across the face by a presentation on neutron detectors, you whisper a small: “I see.”

A nervous twitch at the corner of his mouth makes your stomach drop.

“Uh, I mean; you can borrow mine!” You let out a tiny laugh. “I didn’t know psychology doctors also specialized in particle physics, is all.”

What you meant as a light joke to relax him did quite the opposite. He straightens, righting up his glasses one more pointless time. “I have a degree in nuclear engineering,” he states before walking out, leaving you confused and feeling like you’ve spent the entire time offending him unintentionally.

Ground control to Major Tom, your circuit’s dead, there’s something wrong, screams your forgotten Walkman.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dr. Spengler didn’t come back to your lab after your disastrous first meeting. He did return the iron, though. You simply found it on your desk one morning at seven o'clock, electric cable neatly wrapped around the handle.

You were secretly hoping for the doctor to come back to your lab to hand the iron back, so you could have apologized and asked more about his work, about his degrees… anything really. You had planned the interaction at least thirty times, going through a series of ice-breaking sentences that all relied on the fact that he would be back. He had preferred to avoid you, which couldn’t compel you to go see him yourself. Clearly, you had left a bad impression, and anxiety wouldn’t let you go look for him to apologize.

In the meantime, intrigued by his academic history, you started going through published papers by Dr. Egon – you quickly learned – Spengler. And if you thought you couldn’t get more curious about this mystery of a man, you browsing through numerous seemingly random articles – like ‘Quantum tunneling in anastomosis formations and nuclear exchanges’ – made you raise many eyebrows. Your fascination reached new heights with his brilliant article on ionizing radiation, written in M.I.T. no less. Egon Spengler had become the person you wished to chat with the most yet the most inaccessible.

You can think of a million questions to ask him, a million conversations to have. Why ionizing radiations? Did he have an interest in cosmic particles? Were his studies on gamma radiation related to his microbiology degree? How did he end up working in the psychology aisle of Columbia? Could ectoplasms really be quantified as a network of negatively charged particles?

Your life became filled with thoughts of the doctor, so you blamed it all on professional curiosity and you pushed yourself back into your work. Labs have been deserted by most researchers, preferring to treat themselves to a well-earned vacation. Nothing you can’t agree with in essence but previously attempted vacations had instilled a strong feeling of dread in you: you showed yourself incapable of not visualizing the amount of unfinished work. It’s not as bad as it sounds, really, to be work-obsessed; you love your work. Summer in Columbia is peaceful, solitary but also desperately unstimulating. Researching alone is undoubtedly slower, especially in your field, and knowing there’s an ideal candidate for some great brainstorming a few buildings away is nerve-wracking.

After an entire month going by with no new interaction with Dr. Spengler – not even sighting him at the corner of a corridor, the awkwardness that made him run away fuels your guilt. However, the opportunity of meeting again with Dr. Spengler comes unexpectedly. It comes with a mandatory meeting with the dean of the academy.

“You’ve been summoned as well, uh?”

You snap out of your social distancing trance. “Sorry?”

Next to you stands another professor with an easygoing smile and a relaxed stance. “Dean Yaeger. He likes to summon us like he’s royalty,” he jokes followed by a low staccato of a laugh.

“Oh,” you pointlessly say. “Yeah, he tends to do that.”

He offers his hand, showing another pearly-white-toothed smile. “I’m Dr. Ray Stantz, department of psychology.”

You offer your name back as you shake his hand. “Department of Physics.”

“Neat.” Dr. Stantz grins. “You should drop by our aisle sometimes. Spengs has a degree in physics; I’m sure you’ll get along well.”

“Who?”

“Dr. Egon Spengler, my colleague and friend.”

“Oh.” How you despise idle chatting. “I know him. He came to my lab to borrow a soldering iron about a month ago.”

“Venkman – our other colleague, forced him to go ask; he was so grumpy after being stopped in the middle of his experiment.” Dr. Stantz sure does enjoy making conversation. “He returned it, right?”

You have the impression he already knows the answer. “Yes, he did.”

“What field of physics do you specialize in by the way?” he asks excitedly. You have to say his jolly attitude is endearing, slowly getting you more at ease.

“High-energy physics.”

“That’s amazing, man. ‘actually wish I knew more about it. You should definitely swing by our lab soon. You can take a look at what we’ve–”

“Ah. Dr. Stantz.” Dean Yeager has the most distasteful expression on his face. “You may come in.”

Dr. Stantz gives you an apologetic look as Yaeger nods at you. You remain standing in front of the door, anxiety spiking up. Now you have no other choice than to go, or it’ll be rude, right?

Shit.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It took you more than a week of conditioning to get your ass moving, leading you, once more, in front of a closed door. You have to say, this part of the psychology department is far from what you’ve imagined. You wonder what Dr. Stantz, Dr. Venkman, and Dr. Spengler did to offend Dean Yaeger to the point of being located in the university equivalent of a demilitarized zone. No wonder they need to borrow equipment from the physics department. The bright red ‘Burn in hell Venkman’ tagged on the door isn’t the most welcoming sight either.

You reluctantly raise your hand and knock four times. The shuffling you hear inside almost makes you run away. But thankfully – or miserably you’re still unsure about that one, an unknown man opens the door. Dr. Venkman, you guess.

A lazy smile stretches on his face. “Can I help you?” There’s a low edge to his voice, something that’s intended and practiced.

You try not to come out as too appalled. “I’m looking for Dr. Spengler.”

Dr. Venkman raises an eyebrow, and you immediately chastise yourself. At that moment, you see Dr. Spengler popping his head behind him and you lose your train of thought… and your words. “Uh, Dr. Stantz told me to–”

Dr. Venkman opens his eyes almost comically wide, pivoting slowly between Dr. Spengler and yourself. “Aaal-right. You know what; I have to meet up with Veronica of the literature department so– I’ll leave you guys to it.” He claps obnoxiously on his friend’s shoulder before departing, sliding past you while whistling some tune.

You watch him go, slightly distracted when Dr. Spengler grabs your attention again. “Dr. Stantz isn’t here today.”

“Ah, I see…” No wait–

“He’ll be here tomorrow at 8 am.” He angles his body towards the inside of the room like he’s wanting to go back to what he was previously doing.

“Actually,” you force out, heart at the edge of your lips. “I wanted to apologize to you.”

Only the small widening of his eyes behind his frames indicates his surprise because his voice remains soft-spoken. “Apologize for?”

Better to be honest than invent a stupid excuse he’ll probably spot immediately. “Yes, I clearly made you uncomfortable last time. I was only trying to idle-chat, but I’m terrible at it.”

“What makes you think you made me uncomfortable?” Dr. Spengler asks.

A few seconds pass. “…because I went out of my way by questioning whether or not you had the knowledge to speak about particle physics?”

“Did you?” You realize he’s probably genuinely asking, not as a way to rile you up but as a way to understand. Somehow, it calms your nerves. Just a little.

“No,” you say. “I’m sorry… you just looked upset when you left.”

He faces you completely this time, taking his time to answer. “Then I’m the one apologizing. I was grateful for your help, but I failed to show it.”

Some part of you wonders if it’s entirely true. You brush it off. “It’s alright. I guess we’re not good at understanding social cues, uh?”

He seems to be pondering something. “I’ve been told that before.”

You chuckle. There’s a tension off his shoulders, and you thank Dr. Stantz internally.

“I’m actually working on a prototype of particle thrower. Your input would be appreciated.”

“A what?!”

[alpaca-clouds]

Let's talk about the whole "natural order" thing

Something I have realized is that a ton of people are not quite aware of the context of the one idea that the bad guys within Castlevania: Nocturne keep bringing up again and again: The natural order.

If you watch the show you will find that no episode goes by without a bad guy bringing up that idea every other scene, so let this history nerd quickly explain that concept.

So, this entire idea came from two sources: Enlightenment, and the pre-capitalist, colonialist system.

You need to understand that from the 4th century till the 16th century usually most stuff got explained to people with "because it is God's will". Why is that person poor, and that person rich? Because it is God's will. Why is that guy the king? Because God had made him. Why do we have this war? Because God wants us to.

That does not mean that the people in power actually believed that, but they could get away with everything by having some arch bishop or even the pope agree with them. (I mean, just look at the crusades.)

But then things happened. Gutenberg invented the printing press. Folks read the bible for themselves. People started to get more literate in general. Information about science got wider spread. There was splintering within the church. And people were just not as willing to accept "because God" anymore.

At the same time we had just as bad (if not at times worse) differences in quality of life between rich and poor than in the middle ages. And of course we had the entire colonialism happening, that also included genocide and slavery. And this needed justification. Que: The natural order.

This was just the umbrella under which so much pseudo-science would pressed underneath at the time. A pseudo-scientific explanation for everything that was happening.

Why are some people richer than other? Because they are just naturally more suited to be rich. That is the natural order.

Why do we have a king? Because it is a human need to have one central leader. And that family were always kings. It simply is the natural order of things.

Why do we subjugate the people in America? Because it is just natural for advanced civilizations to subjugate other civilizations. It is actually good for them. It is the natural order.

Why do we enslave Black people? Because they were actually born to be servants. That is their natural state. It is the natural order.

The entire stuff with phrenology and eugenics and all of that came from this specific idea. Of a natural order. Like, racism and all that came from that. Manifest destiny. All of that was connected to this idea of a natural order.

Ironically, while this sprang from the need to take the religion out of the stuff, they then just fitted religion right back in. Making the "church being excempt from everything" also as part of "natural order".

And yes, this is still very much the idea that a lot of conservatism is build around. That there is this pseudo-scientific idea of "this has proofen to work this way before, so it should work like that forever, that is only natural".

Funnily enough those new atheist scientist dudes also LOVE to appeal to the natural order. At times literally. Because they are also really big at conservatism when it comes to women, and keeping cultures apart, and anti-queerness and all of that. And yes, they are gonna appeal to the natural order and it being natural. Somethin that has only been brought up and seen critically recently.

But of course religious conservatives also love to use that, too. Because not all of them have the guts to just keep saying "but God" to defend their position (and sometimes they even know that their stuff directly contradicts the bible). And then they will also go: "But it is natural!"

It is a shitty idea. That is where it came from. It was what a lot of people used to argue against a lot of change that was happening in the 18th and 19th century.