#should have been more explicitly clear about this but too late to edit as it's been reblogged: this is an excerpt of someone else's article

[pipzeroes]

Excerpt from the above link:

First thing’s first. If the phrasing in the title feels unfamiliar, it has a purpose: We are eliminating the passive voice from the pandemic. Right now.

Someone INFECTED Neil Gaiman with COVID-19.

And many someones in overlapping layers of responsibility ENABLED this infection.

This linguistic shift from the passive to active voice might seem irrelevant but, instead of just echoing the framing we see in the headlines — that Neil Gaiman got COVID-19— it’s time to own that somebody has infected Neil.

The passive voice has served a macabre purpose in this pandemic. The passive voice, by erasing the subject of the sentence, neatly obscures accountability, and with it our own role in unmitigated infections. Moreover, it has prevented us from identifying the layers of responsibility in enabling infections on a mass scale. This mental block is the first obstacle to advocating for effective mitigations and constructive solutions. It stops us from preventing infections. But that is changing now.

It is time to own the damage that we are causing by infecting others with COVID-19. I believe that we all know, deep inside, that we are causing harm. And many of us are suffering from the cognitive dissonance of pretending that we aren’t. Because, in a pandemic, this is serious and large-scale harm.

This harm that, according to estimates, has killed over 25 million people and disabled at least 65 million and counting. The sooner we face the harm we are causing by infecting other people, the less damage we will cause to ourselves, to our loved ones, to our community, to strangers on the other side of the world. And to people who entertain and inspire us, like speculative fiction author and TV creator Neil Gaiman. And inspiration is necessary when we are facing so many challenges. It’s that simple.

COVID-19 is a serious, multi-system vascular disease that creates severe and cumulative damage.

Reinfections tend to be more severe and Long COVID occurs in 1/10–1/3 infections.

Up to 60% of infections are spread asymptomatically… Wait, let me rephrase that. People, who are asymptomatic, or presymptomatic, are infecting others with COVID-19 in up to 60% of cases.

A person who is presymptomatic can transmit a COVID-19 infection up to two days before symptoms arise.

People infect other people with SARS-CoV-2 through aerosols. An infected person expels them just by exhaling. The aerosols accumulate in the air, and spread across large spaces like cigarette smoke. They also remain in the air for hours, so even if a room is empty, if a symptomatic person was there earlier, the aerosols will still be there. Crowded, indoor spaces are high-risk for transmission.

We are currently in a wave caused by a new variant for which a vaccine has yet to be developed. In a crowd of 100, statistically 1-2 people will have active infections.

If we put all of this together, we see that live events in crowded, indoor spaces are particularly dangerous, and that masking only when someone is symptomatic is woefully inadequate to prevent infecting others. So, in order to not infect other people, we need to individually mask at these events, and to collectively apply pressure to venues that are enabling these infections, as well as to lawmakers who have removed protections.

That’s the tl;dr. Now, if you have some time, and feel motivated to prevent further infections, let’s look more systematically at the problem of people infecting other people, especially at live events, and how to constructively address it.

Neil Gaiman requested masking at his events, from both venues and audience members

It’s fucked-up that, three days after Neil Gaiman requested that attendees voluntarily mask at his tour events — because the venues themselves refused to enforce audience masking — Neil announced on social media that he has another COVID-19 infection and “this time it means business.”

This infection — and any COVID-19 infection — is terrible, but unfortunately not surprising. We are in a wave caused by multiple variants, and lawmakers worldwide dropped most COVID-19 public health mitigations earlier this year. So people who are appearing at live events now are at an incredibly high risk of being infected. The risk is also increased due to a swarm of new variants — so many versions of the virus are circulating now, you can get a case in August and another in September

As a fan of Neil Gaiman, I guess I wished that somehow it would miss him. COVID-19 infects the brain, and his brain has created my favorite TV series, Good Omens, a queer love story between an angel and a demon. This series has helped me, and countless others, heal from religious trauma. It also rekindled my appreciation for David Tennant in his role as the demon Crowley, who witnesses everything from Old Testament atrocities to a modern-day armageddon, and seems to be the only one suggesting that God might be a tyrant. With so many of us experiencing a dark night of the soul in the pandemic, it’s much-needed validation.

What also worries, but not surprises, me about Neil’s infection is that, if his statement that “this time it means business” is anything to go by, (especially for someone who can be quite understated), this infection is more severe than any previous ones. This unfortunately is also not surprising, as reinfections tend to be more severe. The damage from these infections is cumulative, and SARS-CoV-2 attacks the immune system, in many cases after a person has recovered from an initial infection. Viral reservoirs continually attacking the body are believed to be the mechanism of Long COVID. However, his more severe course reminds me of other performers who are currently touring, almost without exception at massive, indoor, unmasked events.

Actually, it’s more accurate to say that it scares the hell out of me.

Actors from another TV series beloved by queer fans, Our Flag Means Death, including Rhys Darby, Vico Ortiz and Samson Kayo, will appear at London Comic Con on October 27–29th. The event will have more than 100,000 attendees and does not require masks. And David Tennant, who sparked my motivation to advocate for safer venues, will appear at New York Comic Con October 12-15th. NYCC will have over 200,000 attendees and also does not require masks. I checked.

The math on the likely damage is pretty fucking grim.

It’s estimated that in a crowd of 100, 1–2 people have a COVID-19 infection. So that’s at least 2,000 attendees spreading the virus.

Each person infects 2–3 other people. This is total, so they may not infect people at this event. But because the venue is extremely high risk: indoors, crowded, no mitigations, they may infect more people than averge.

So, from 2,000 people who go to Comic Con with infections, that’s at least 4,000 people that they will infect.

Between ⅓–1/10 infections result in Long COVID, so at least 400 people statistically may develop Long COVID. From one event.

tl;dr 200,000 attendees/100= 2,000 infections x 2= 4,000 newly infected/10 =400 Long COVID cases

And that’s the conservative estimate. The upper-end estimate, based on data, is up to 2%.

You can bet that I’m well-aware that David Tennant has a .2%-2% chance of developing Long COVID from this one event, especially because he’s due to play MacBeth in London this winter. The luckiest person who ever existed would statistically develop Long COVID after their 50th event.

It’s not just headlining performers who need to worry about infections. Any attendee has a .2% chance of developing Long COVID from this one event, and that’s a tragedy in the fan community, but also for people working on staff who don’t choose to be there. I wonder what would happen if the damage were immediately visible, like setting fire to 400 guests, fans, and staff people at the door. What then?

If you have read my first article sounding the alarm on unprecedented numbers of performers becoming seriously ill and dying in the pandemic, you will know that my own fannish devotion to David Tennant inspired me to advocate for COVID-19 mitigations at venues and nourishes me with the love and compassion to do this work. With Neil Gaiman’s infection, it hits home that everyone who is currently doing live events, particularly large ones with no mitigations, are quite likely going to be infected. And in the fourth year of the pandemic, that means reinfected, which means that, like in Neil’s case, it will probably be more severe.

Performers are just my own corner of advocacy, but we all breathe the same air, so these new infections will affect everyone. And people with disabilities, who work in service and customer-facing jobs, or who have inadequate access to medical care, will be the most vulnerable. But most people now have had at least one infection, so we’re all facing danger here.

This is why I want to prevent people from infecting people at events, and by doing so to raise awareness in the wider public that this is an escalating emergency. And I think it’s achievable.

The first step is identifying the causes, both individual and structural. Then to come up with workable interventions at each point of responsbility.

Individual responsibility: someone infected Neil Gaiman with COVID-19

Preventing infections begins at the individual level. As the founder of #FansMASKUP, which is dedicated to raising awareness in the fan community about masking at live events, my first feeling was rage at the person who infected Neil. The incubation period for COVID-19 varies widely, from 2–14 days, though on average 5–6. So, if Neil developed symptoms on October 5th, it’s possible that someone in the audience on the October 2nd event infected him. And if that person is such a fan of Neil that they paid to see him live, I ask: why didn’t they just wear a mask? But even this is not so simple.

From my conversations with other fans who have been diligent about masking, they sometimes experience harassment, and fear for their safety and mental health. And since so many of us are LGBTQIA+, neurodivergent, BIPOC and/or disabled, we are statistically more vulnerable to people harassing us, or even assaulting us, if we are the only ones masking. So as much as I’d like to judge this person for infecting someone who they admire, I have to admit that safety is too often a real concern for our community.

What can we do on an individual level to promote safer venues?

If we feel sufficient safety to mask at live events, then we should do so.

If we are going with friends, we can encourage them to mask too.

We can connect on social media and find other fans who are attending and mask together.

Heck, if we have a spare $20 (which not all of us do), we can even give out masks at the event so that we’re not the only one.

Aside from fear and social pressure, people may have stopped masking due to exhaustion, despair and misinformation — we MUST start again. Every masked person can break a chain of transmission and save many, many lives. Maybe even Neil Gaiman’s life, and certainly the lives of your loved ones, including fellow fans.

Institutional responsibility: venues are enabling people to infect other people with COVID-19

It would be a mistake to lay all of the responsibility on the person who infected Neil. There has been systemic neglect, and even malfeasance, at every level of responsibility, and the people who are making these decisions are enabling people to infect others. Though this reaches into the level of policy, let’s begin with the most direct enabler in this instance: the venues.

Remember, Neil said on social media that he requested audience masking at venues, but they refused. Then after his first tour date, he announced that someone had infected with with SARS-CoV-2. We can’t know whether someone infected him at this particular event, though the timing is consistent with the virus’s incubation period. Regardless, the venue has approximately 1,700 seats, and if Neil’s event was sold-out, as most are, that’s: 17 active infections, 51 new infections, 5 cases of Long COVID. So wherever someone infected Neil with COVID, it is worthwhile to advocate for venues to use mitigations.

The mitigations required to significantly reduce people infecting other people at live events are relatively simple and have been proven time-and-again to reduce the the transmission of SARS-CoV-2:

Audience masking and vaccination

Making use of HEPA air purification/filtration.

This is achievable, and venues should have been doing this since 2020. Some venues do it, and it is certainly possible, and not terribly complicated, for more venues to adopt these simple precautions.

Now, the more complex question is: if it’s so simple, why are venues refusing to use mitigations? Some of it is simply greed. It costs money, though not a lot of money, between £300–600 ($370–740) to purchase a HEPA air filter. And for truly cash-strapped venues, vendors likes Smart Air UK are renting out HEPA air filters for events. So there really is no excuse. For those who are unfamiliar with HEPA, here’s a primer from outreach coordinator (and fan herself) for Smart Air UK, Guilia Villanucci.

I’m quoting at length, but tl;dr: HEPA purifiers can remove more than 99.97% of virus particles from the air, and protecting Neil at one of his events would only have cost between $400-$700. And you can’t put a price on his brain, so…

HEPA stands for “high-efficiency particulate air.” HEPA air purifiers are nothing else than a box with a filter and a fan inside. Researchers agree that, based on their efficiency, air purifiers can remove more than 99.97% of virus particles from the air when used continuously. Now, does this extra layer of protection have to be very expensive? It can be, especially if you look only at brand names without paying attention to the technical specifications. I recommend Smart Air products, partly because I work for Smart Air UK, but mostly because these air purifiers are cheaper than most on the market, are highly efficient, and are pretty quiet. NOTE: If you are a performer based in Chicago, USA, you should check out Clean Air Club, they loan air purifiers at no extra cost to artists and touring musicians. If you are a venue or a performer based in the UK, you can rent air purifiers from us, or purchase them to take them on tour with you, just like singer and songwriter The Anchoress does. An investment of between £300 to £600 will probably be enough to keep performers safer in a venue if you purchase from Smart Air UK.

Again, HEPA air purifiers are effective and affordable and I can only think a noxious mix of greed, inertia and denial are preventing most venues from using this basic precaution.

There may be other financial considerations. Requiring masks could lead to lost revenue as people who refuse to mask will not attend. And, as of yet, venues face no financial liability for enabling infections. Though with lawsuits winding their way through courts regarding liability for COVID-19 infections, this may change.

However, like fans, venues may also have legitimate concerns for safety, The far-right has so politicized masking that the people responsible for venues are likely afraid of repercussions, ranging from the awkwardness of barring an unmasked person from attending an event, to someone throwing a brick through the window, or even assaulting a person on staff. These fears are not entirely unreasonable. But we need to make clear that these venues are enabling people to infect their headliners, Neil Gaiman or David Tennent or Taylor Swift. Additionally, lack of mitigations endangers attendees and people on staff, and lawsuits against employers who have exposed employees to COVID-19 infection have had more success. This changes the risk calculation.

What can we do to encourage venues to create safer event spaces?

We can contact the venues themselves, beginning with the ones who likely are not using basic mitigations. These can be any venue where you or one of your favorites will be in attendance.

We can also start with the venues where Neil was scheduled to appear. Here is a list of these venues with the ways to contact them.

Emerson Colonial Theatre (888) 616–0272 boston@service.broadwayacrossamerica.com Twitter-X/IG: @BroadwayBoston

The Westport Library (203) 291–4800 Twitter-X/IG: @WestportLibrary

Cooper Union development@cooper.edu (212) 353–4100 Twitter-X/IG: @cooperunion

Peter J Sharp Theatre (212) 864–5400 boxoffice@symphonyspace.org Twitter-X/IG: @SymphonySpace

Dr. Phillips Center for the Performing Arts guestservices@drphillipscenter.org 407.839.0119 @DrPhillipsCtr

Venice Performing Arts Center information@vipam.org (941) 218–3779

Zoellner Arts Center at Lehigh University 610–758–2787 inzactix@lehigh.edu @LehighU @ZoellnerArts

Frikirkjan i Reykvavik+353 552 7270frikirkjan@frikirkjan.is @iclandnoir

Piggott Theatre (British Library) +44 (0)1937 546060 Customer-Services@bl.uk Twitter-X/IG: @BritishLibrary

New Jersey Performing Arts Center 1973–642–8989 ticketservices@njpac.org @NJPAC

If, like me, cold-calling gives you anxiety, here’s a script that you could follow:

“Hello, I am calling to ask what COVID-19 mitigations you use. [If they require audience masking and use HEPA air purification, consider thanking them for their conscientiousness. If they do not, you could say:] Neil Gaiman requested COVID mitigations at venues, but now someone has infected him. To prevent infections at your venue, I am requesting that you require audience masking and purchase a HEPA air purification unit. These are proven to significantly reduce COVID transmissions.”

I know, it’s a bit wooden, so feel free to improvise. But remember: please don’t harass these people, because most likely you will be talking to a staff person and not the person who has made the decision not to use mitigations. And if the person answering the phone is on your side, this has a better chance of success.

You can also request mitigations through social media and e-mails, although phone calls bring the most attention. But do what’s at your comfort level. Most of us who are aware of the ongoing pandemic are burnt-out and need to conserve our energy.

To sum-up, we need to hold ourselves and other fans accountable, but they face real risks and cannot be held wholly responsible. Same for venues. We need to apply pressure for them to adopt COVID-19 mitigations, but they are not wholly responsible. This brings us to the final level of accountability for people infecting other people with COVID-19.

Structural responsibility: governments are enabling infections by eliminating COVID-19 protections

The highest level of responsibility falls to governments, generally, and public health authorities specifically. It’s alarming how quickly people have reverted to using little-to-no precautions. But, remember, for many places lawmakers only eliminated public health protections within the past few months.

The state of affairs in which we find ourselves is not normal, and I think it is a brief interlude in which politicians and the very wealthy are encouraging us to continue with business-as-usual, but as those around us become sicker and sicker, we know that this is not sustainable. If 10%-30% of COVID-19 infections lead to Long COVID, and we conservatively assume that most people are infected once per year, what will that look like in ten years?

The most wide-reaching change required to stop people from infecting other people is on the level of policy. There is a basic social contract for governments to ensure public health because, in a complex society, individuals cannot carry that entire burden themselves.

In a simpler example: governments are responsible for putting stop signs at intersections. If a government legislated that there should be no more stop signs, people would get seriously injured or die in more car accidents. And we could blame the individuals who cruise their cars through the intersections and t-bone other people in their cars, or the city whose employees removed the stop signs — but the lion’s share of responsibility falls onto the government who legislated that there should be no more stop signs.

In the widest frame, we also need to advocate to our city, county, state, provincial and national lawmakers for a return of COVID-19 protections.

We also need to advocate for improved public health communication. It’s alarming how many people lack the basic facts of how not to infect themselves and each other with COVID-19.

In a nutshell: If you have learned anything new about COVID-19 from this article, that’s a problem.

**A concerned David Tennant fan should not be doing science communication that is the rightful job of public health officials.**

We need to pressure public health authorities to improve communication, and meanwhile to educate ourselves and each other about COVID.

What can we do to bring back COVID-19 protections on a societal level?

1. Call or write to your representative. By mail, if you can. I know, it’s a pain and an archaic throwback to pre-digital times, but this is most likely to be heard. But if it’s not possible, call or e-mail as it does make a difference.

Find your representative: US: https://www.house.gov/representatives/find-your-representative UK: https://members.parliament.uk/FindYourMP

2. Educate yourself and your community The Pandemic Accountability Index maintains a large repository of research on COVID-19 and its effects on the body here:

https://www.panaccindex.info/p/what-covid-does-to-the-body and here: What SARS-CoV-2 Does to the Body (2nd Edition, July 2023)

3. Stay updated on COVID news. Folks on social media have been sounding the alarm on the pandemic, like @1goodtern and performers specifically, like @MeetJess and me, @WaltzTales.

A twitter user has also kindly provided this list of scientists and concerned people worth following: @kprather88 (full credit to efforts to educate about all things covid) @jimrosenthal4 (C-R box, ’nuff said) @linseymarr (MacArthur genius grant https://forbes.com/sites/michaeltnietzel/2023/10/04/macarthur-foundation-names-the-winners-of-its-2023-genius-grants/?sh=6c3c96af4379… ) @joeyfox85 (mitigating airborne spread) @c19vaccinefacts (safe & effective) @scienceupfirst (not just covid!)

The final level of responsibility: the universe

This may sound a bit woo-woo, but if you read my first piece, which started with a loving-kindness meditation, you’ll have clocked that I think attending to ourselves emotionally is necessary for facing this emergency.

I honestly don’t know if there’s anything like a God who has an overview of the situation. And even though my Theology professor said the question of theodicy (“why is there evil in the world?”) isn’t a particularly interesting question, my answer is:

But *gestures broadly at everything.*

If there is a God they have a lot to answer for. But I do think that a real emotional crisis we’re facing is black-pilled misanthropy where we want to let the world burn, and all humans in it. But Neil Gaiman is a human. Whoever inspires us is a human. The feeling of being inspired in this particular way is your human experience. We humans aren’t more special than other animals. We only have the experiences that are unique to us in the landscape of all things, including high-concept science fiction from dynamic minds like Neil Gaiman’s.

I don’t think we should deny or suppress our feelings of despair and rage, or even hate, but to acknowledge and take care of them, and at the same time to nourish those aspects in us which support our joy and thriving.

It is possible to suffer and thrive at the same time. Perhaps if we could come up for a word for it, it would capture an essential strategy for moving forward with this pandemic. What do you think: Suffriving? Thrivering?

Let’s try leaning into some “Thrivering” together by advocating for safer venues, so that people like Neil Gaiman can continue inspiring us.

Special thanks to: Giulia Villanucci, Smart Air UK, Outreach Coordinator Nerdcake78 for the scoop. And for the slow-burn Aziraphale cuddlefic that is keeping me sane.

And everyone who is providing information, amplifying posts, and offering support. I would not be able to do this without the people who are helping out of simple kindness and solidarity.

[walks-the-ages]

Nanowrimo made a half-assed, desperate ""apology"" post

Full text, for when they inevitably try to edit it; as of right now it's August 6th, 2024, around 5:30pm est.

A Note to Our Community About our Comments on AI – September 2024 To the NaNoWriMo Community: In early August, debates about AI on our social media channels became vitriolic. It was clear that the intimidation and harassment we witnessed were causing harm within our community of writers. The FAQs we crafted last week were written to curtail those behaviors. We wanted to send a clear signal that NaNoWriMo spaces would not be used to bully or delegitimize other writers. This was consistent with our May 2024 statement, which named a lack of civility in NaNoWriMo spaces as a longstanding concern. Taking a position of neutrality was not an abandonment of writers’ legitimate concerns about AI. It was an acknowledgment that NaNoWriMo can’t maintain a civil, inclusive community if we allow selective intolerance. We absolutely believe that AI must be discussed and that its ethical use must be advocated-for. What we don’t believe is that NaNoWriMo belongs at the forefront of that conversation. That debate should continue to thrive within the greater writing community as technologies continue to evolve. We apologize that our original message was unclear and seemingly random. Our note on ableism and classism was rooted in the desire to point out that, for people in certain circumstances, some forms of AI can be life-changing. We certainly don’t believe those with concerns about AI to be classist or ableist. Not being more careful about our wording was a bad decision on our part. Our Mission is about providing encouragement to writers and cheering them on as they progress toward their goals. That remains our primary focus. In the future, we will be more transparent about the issues that we are trying to address with any messaging we provide. Finally, we recognize that some members of our community have other questions and concerns that go beyond general context for our comments. We don’t think we can address all of these in a single communication. Additional context here is that we are a very small team (including our Interim Executive Director, who is a volunteer). We want to take the time to read through your letters with the care, attention, and concern they deserve. Please expect more in the coming weeks.  In partnership, The NaNoWriMo Team

I sincerely hope their other sponsors bail ship and leave them to flounder at this point lmao. There is no going back from "if you criticize generative AI you're just ableist classist and racist".

They've also once again edited their "What Is Nanowrimo's Stance on AI?" post:

New text, in full; looks like it was updated sometime late yesterday or early today (August 6th 2024):

What is NaNoWriMo's position on Artificial Intelligence (AI)? 13 hours ago -Updated Not yet followed by anyone

NaNoWriMo neither explicitly supports nor condemns any approach to writing, including the use of tools that  leverage AI. We recognize that harm has been done to the writing and creative communities at the hands of bad actors in the generative AI space, and that the ethical questions and risks posed by some aspects of this technology are real. The fact that AI is a large, complex technology category (which encompasses both non-generative and generative AI, applied in a range of ways to a range of uses) contributes to our belief that AI is simply too big and too varied to categorically support or condemn. NaNoWriMo's mission is to "provide the structure, community, and encouragement to help people use their voices, achieve creative goals, and build new worlds—on and off the page." We fulfill our mission by supporting the humans doing the writing. Please see this related post that speaks to our overall position on nondiscrimination with respect to approaches to creativity, writer's resources, and personal choice.  We made mistakes in our initial expression of this position. We speak to those mistakes in this letter to our community, and we've simplified the language on this page to reflect our core position. 

If you're wondering why Nano's posting all these non-apologies, its because they started this debacle with seven huge sponsors.

Over the course of the last three days, they've gone down to four.

They have literally lost about half their sponsors because of their support of generative ai.

And, as you can see in the "apologies" above, they're still defending their AI stance, by now claiming that their stance is because they were defending poor, hapless AI users from a horde of harassment and bullying from all sides, and they're not a platform that condones bullying! totally! (sarcasm).

[misnomera]

On racial stereotyping of the Haans in TMA...

Right so as someone who is ethnically Chinese I have NO FUCKING clue how I didn’t notice this more distinctly in my initial binge of tma (going too fast and not paying closer attention to character names and descriptions, probably) but the Haan family storyline is, all horror elements aside, pretty fucked up in terms of racial representation re: stereotyping. This got long as hell, but please please please take a moment to read through if you’ve got time for it. thanks.

To start off, the Haans are one of the few characters in tma with an explicitly specified race and ethnicity—Chinese—and pretty much the only explicitly Chinese characters in tma, other than the mostly unimportant librarian (Zhang Xiaoling) from Beijing. But like, Haan isn’t even a properly Chinese surname, at least not in the way that it’s spelled in canon (it should be Han, one a. A quick google search tells me that Haan as a surname has...Dutch origins??).

Of course, that could be chalked up to shoddy anglicization processes within family histories, which certainly isn’t uncommon with immigrant families, so I’m not going to dwell on names too much (although I also find it interesting that John Haan’s name is so specifically and weirdly anglicized that he changed his own surname?? Hun Yung to John Haan is a very big leap of a name change and frankly not very believable. ANYWAY, this is not that important. I don’t expect Jonny, a white Englishman, to come up with perfectly unquestionable non-Cho-Chang-like Chinese names, though it certainly would be nice. Moving on).

What really bothers me about the Haans is how they almost exclusively and explicitly play into negative Chinese immigrant stereotypes. I don’t even feel like I need to say it because it’s like...it’s literally Right There, folks. John Haan (in ep 72) owns and operates a sketchy takeout restaurant. They’re all avatars of the Flesh—and John Haan is Specifically horrific and terrifying because he cooked his wife’s human meat and fed it to his unknowing customers. Does that remind you of any stereotypes which accuse Chinese people of consuming societally unacceptable and ethically questionable things like dog/cat/bat meat (which, if it’s not already crystal fucking clear, we don’t. do that.), which in turn characterize us as horrible unfeeling monsters? John Haan’s characterization feeds (haha, badum tss) directly into this harmful stereotype that have caused very real pain for Chinese people and East Asians in general. 

And Jonny does nothing to address that from within his writing (and not out of it either). And, speaking on a more meta level, Jonny could’ve easily had these flesh avatars be individuals of any race (like, what’s Jared Hopworth’s ethnicity? Do we know? No? Well then). Conversely, he could’ve easily, easily had a Chinese person be an avatar of any other entity. So why did he have to chose specifically the Flesh?

(This is a rhetorical question. You know why. Racial stereotyping and invoking a fear of the other in an attempt to enhance horror, babey~)

On Tom Haan’s side, Jonny seems weirdly intent on having other characters repeatedly comment on his accent (or rather, lack thereof) in relation to his race. Think about how, in ep 30 (killing floor), the fact that Tom Haan had spoken a line to the statement giver in “perfect English” was an emphasized beat in that statement, and a beat that was supposed to be “chilling” and meant to signify to us that something was, quote-unquote, “not right” with Tom Haan. Implicitly, that’s saying that it was unexpected, not “normal”, and in this case even eerie, for someone who looks Chinese to have spoken in fluid, unbroken English. Mind you, the line itself was perfectly scary on its own (“you cannot stop the slaughter by closing the door”), so why did Jonny feel the need to note the accent in which it was spoken in? Why did Jonny HAVE to have that statement giver note, that he initially “wasn’t even sure how much English [Haan] spoke”? 

This happens again in episode 72 with a Chinese man (and again, his ethnicity is Explicitly Noted) who we assume is also Tom Haan. This one is rather ironically funny and kind of painfully self aware, because the statement giver expresses surprise at Haan’s “crisp RP accent” and then immediately “felt bad about making the assumption that he couldn’t speak English,” and subsequently admitted that thought was “low-key racist.” Like, from a writing perspective, this entire passage is roundabout, pointless, and says absolutely nothing helpful to enhance the horror genre experience for listeners (instead it just sounded like some sort of half-assed excuse so Jonny or other listeners could say “look! We’ve addressed the racism!” You didn’t. It just made me vaguely uncomfortable). And again, having other people comment on our accents/lack thereof while assuming we are foreign is a Very Real microaggression that east asians face on the daily. If Jonny needed some filler sentences for pacing he could’ve written about Literally anything else. So why point out, yet again, that the crazy murderous man was foreign and Chinese? 

At this point, you might say, right, but yknow, it was just that the statement givers were kind of racist! It happens! Yeah sure, ok, that’s a passable in-universe explanation for descriptions of Tom Haan (though not John Haan, mind you), but the statement givers are fake made up people, and statement’s still written by Jonny, who absolutely has all the power to write overt discrimination out of his stories. And he does! Think about just how many minor (and major!!) characters are so, so carefully written as completely aracial, and do not have their ethnicity implicated at all in whatever horrors they may or may not be committing. Think about how many lgbtq+ characters have given statements, and have been in statements, without having faced direct forms of discrimination, or portrayed as embodying blatant stereotypes in their stories (though lgbtq+ rep in tma certainly has their own issues that I won’t go into here). Jonny can clearly write characters this way, and he can do it well. So why, why, am I being constantly, repeatedly reminded in-text of the fact that the Haans are East Asian, that they’re from China, that they’re Chinese immigrants, that they’re second-generation British Chinese or whatever the fuck, and that they’re also horrifying conduits for blood, gore, and general fucked-up-ness? It’s absolutely not something that is Needed for the stories to be an effective piece of horror; the only thing it does is perpetuate incredibly harmful and hurtful stereotypes.

And listen, I love tma to bits. It’s taken over my blog. I’ve really loved my interactions with the fandom. And I am consistently blown away by Jonny’s writing and how well he’s able to weave foreshadowing and plot into an incredibly complex collection of stories. But I absolutely Cannot stop thinking about the Haans because it’s just. It’s such a blatant display of racial stereotyping in writing. And I’ve certainly seen a few voices talking about it here and there, and I don’t know if I’m just not looking in the right places, but it certainly feels like something that is just straight up not on the radar for a lot of tma fans. And I’m disappointed about that. 

Just, I don’t know. Take a look at those episodes again and do some of your own thinking about why these characters had to be specifically Chinese (answer: they didn’t.). And in general, PLEASE for the love of god turn a critical eye on character portrayals and descriptions whenever they are assigned specific races/ethnicities (Some examples that come to mind are Jude Perry, Annabelle Cane, and Diego Molina), because similar issues, to an extent, extend beyond the Haans, though I haven’t covered them here. 

You shouldn’t need a POC to do point out these problems for you when they’re so glaringly There. But for those of you who really didn’t know, hope this was informative in some way. I’m tired, man. If some of the only significant Chinese characters you write are violent cannibalistic men with a perverted relationship with meat, just don’t do it. Please don’t do it. 

EDIT: Since the making of this post Jonny has acknowledged and apologized for these portrayals on his twitter and in the Rusty Quill Operations Update, which went up September 2020. A long time coming, but better late than never. This of course doesn’t necessarily negate the harm done by Jonny’s writing, and doesn’t make me much less angry about it, but is appreciated nonetheless. For more on this topic there’s a lot of productive discussions happening in my “#tma crit” tag and in the notes of this post

[douchebagbrainwaves]

YOUR EMPLOYEES AND INVESTORS WILL CONSTANTLY BE ASKING ARE WE THERE YET

I think I've figured out what's going on. After the first 10 or so we learned to treat deals as background processes that we should ignore till they terminated.1 Don't Get Your Hopes Up. Something hacked together means something that barely solves the problem, the harder it is to bait the hook with prestige. And that is almost certainly mistaken. So one thing that falls just short of the standard, I think, should be the highest goal for the marginal. Big companies think the function of office space is to express rank. As big companies' oligopolies became less secure, they were willing to pay a premium for labor. You can see it in old photos. If you're friends with a lot of the worst kinds of projects are the death of a thousand cuts. And what's especially dangerous is that many happen at your computer.

And the microcomputer business ended up being Apple vs Microsoft. In 1450 it was filled with the kind of turbulent and ambitious people you find now in America. You have to like what they do there than how much they can get the most done. That's not what makes startups worth the trouble. Design This kind of metric would allow us to compare different languages, but that if someone wanted to design a language explicitly to disprove this hyphothesis, they could probably do it. This technique can be generalized to: What's the best thing you could be doing, not just what you can see the results in any town in America. With this amount of money can change a startup's funding situation completely. There I found a copy of The Atlantic. Whereas it's easy to get sucked into working longer than you expected at the money job.2 That's ok. I think you have to do all three. But more importantly, you'll get into the habit of doing things well.

But what if the person in the next 40 years will bring us some wonderful things.3 They all know about the VCs who rejected Google. The writing of essays used to be.4 You may have read on Slashdot how he made his own Segway.5 He improvises: if someone appears in front of him, he runs around them; if someone tries to grab him, he spins out of their grip; he'll even run in the wrong place, anything might happen. The people who've worked for a few months I realized that what I'd been unconsciously hoping to find there was back in the place I'd just left. It was supposed to be something else, they ended up being Apple vs Microsoft. By 2012 that number was 18 years. The first thing you need is to be willing to look like a fool.6 Google they have a fair amount of data to go on. John Malkovich where the nerdy hero encounters a very attractive, sophisticated woman.

Many of the big companies were roll-ups that didn't have clear founders.7 Empirically, the way to the bed and breakfast, and other similar classes of accommodations, you get to hit a few difficult problems over the net at someone, you learn pretty quickly how hard they hit them anyway. Inexperienced founders make the same mistake as the people who list at ABNB, they list elsewhere too I am not negative on this one was the only way to get lots of referrals is to invest in students, not professors. It will actually become a reasonable strategy or a more reasonable strategy to suspect everything new.8 Never say we're passionate or our product is great. Whereas undergraduate admissions seem to be disappointments early on, when they're just a couple guys in an apartment. Programmers at Yahoo wouldn't have asked that.9 Incidentally, this scale might be helpful in deciding what to study in college. VCs think they're playing a zero sum game.

I spend most of my time writing essays lately. Almost everyone's initial plan is broken. If smaller source code is the purpose of comparing languages, because they come closest of any group I know to embodying it. Distracting is, similarly, desirable at the wrong time. But if we make kids work on dull stuff now is so they can get away with atrocious customer service. In fact, here there was a kid playing basketball? Of course, figuring out what you like.

Go out of your way to bring it up e. The industry term here is conversion. Try to keep the sense of wonder you had about programming at age 14. At least if you start a startup, people treat you as if you're unemployed.10 But hacking is like writing. Even with us working to make things happen the way they used to, they were moving to a cheaper apartment. It causes you to work not on what you like, but is disastrously lacking in others. I do in the rest of the world. Their defining quality is probably that they really love to program.

I could only figure out what to do, there's a natural tendency to stop looking.11 Economies of scale ruled the day.12 One is that this is simply the founders' living expenses.13 I need to transfer a file or edit a web page, and I think I know what is meant by readability, and I think they're onto something. Multiply this times several hundred, and I get an uneasy feeling when I look at my bookshelves. You may have read on Slashdot how he made his own Segway.14 Everyday life gives you no practice in this. Startups grow up around universities because universities bring together promising young people and make them work on anything they don't want to want, we consider technological progress good.

Notes

Samuel Johnson said no man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money. Which is precisely my point. If they were regarded as 'just' even after the egalitarian pressures of World War II the tax codes were so new that the guys running Digg are especially sneaky, but except for money. They don't know enough about the new top story.

The image shows us, they tended to make money. But we invest in the Bible is Pride goeth before destruction, and one of the fake leading the fake leading the fake. In No Logo, Naomi Klein says that 15-20% of the aircraft is.

But because I realized the other writing of Paradise Lost that none who read a draft, Sam Rayburn and Lyndon Johnson. If they agreed among themselves never to do due diligence for an investor? The best technique I've found for dealing with the other.

I ordered a large number of startups as they do for a public event, you can ignore. If you want to help the company, and a few of the Facebook that might produce the next Apple, maybe the corp dev is to show growth graphs at either stage, investors decide whether to go to die.

If you walk into a big company CEOs in 2002 was 3.

Or rather, where w is will and d discipline. But that turned out the existing shareholders, including that Florence was then the richest country in the sense of mission.

In Shakespeare's own time, because they can't afford to. The company may not be able to raise their kids in a company in Germany. When we got to see the apples, they said, and why it's next to impossible to write an essay about it wrong. That will in many cases be an open booth.

I'm not saying you should probably be worth trying to tell them exactly what constitutes research in the early 90s when they say they bear no blame for any particular truths you'll learn. As Jeremy Siegel points out that there is undeniably a grim satisfaction in hunting down certain sorts of bugs. Did you know about it as if you'd invested at a discount of 30% means when it was actually a great programmer doesn't merely do the right direction to be is represented by Milton.

But a lot of the next round. It's hard to say exactly what your body is telling you. In Russia they just kill you, they tend to be very unhealthy. One thing that drives most people realize, because you have two choices, choose the harder.

Though Balzac made a lot of classic abstract expressionism is doodling of this essay talks about programmers, but one by one they die and their houses are transformed by developers into McMansions and sold to VPs of Bus Dev. Or rather, where it sometimes causes investors to act. Eric Raymond says the best hackers want to trick admissions officers. And no, unfortunately, I mean efforts to protect widows and orphans from crooked investment schemes; people with a truly feudal economy, you better be sure you do in proper essays.

The top VCs thus have a better education. Or a phone, IM, email, Web, games, books, newspapers, or some vague thing like that. You need to fix. But the question is not much to maintain their percentage.

Kant. Loosely speaking. The real decline seems to them to lose elections. Some types of startups where the recipe is to say incendiary things, they can grow the acquisition offers most successful founders still get rich simply by being energetic and unscrupulous, but they get for free.

World War II to the frightening lies told by older siblings. That's one of the most general truths. As we walked in, we found they used it to get into that because a unless your last funding round.

But this seems an odd idea.

Thanks to Jessica Livingston, Shiro Kawai, Garry Tan, Chris Small, and Nikhil Nirmel for sharing their expertise on this topic.

[bangtanfancamp]

∴ summary: After spending a gloomy afternoon  trying to get out of your own head alone , you finally seek out your boyfriend for help

∴ masterlist

∴ one shot

∴ pairing: Kim Namjoon x reader

∴ word count: 2k

∴ rating: pg-13

∴ genre: soft angst, comfort, established relationship

∴ warnings: oc is struggling with something akin to depression, it’s alluded to but not explicitly stated

∴ author’s note: this is incredibly self indulgent and was written in one go. I’ll edit later. I’d rather have it here to share sooner in case anyone needs it as much as me.

─────────────────────

“Joonie, what are you doing? Are you busy?” Your voice comes out small as you peak around the corner into his office, sweater pawed knuckles sneaking around the edge of the door frame.

He doesn’t look up at first. Perhaps you really were too quiet. Or maybe he’s just that immersed in his book. It’s not a cover you’ve seen before so it very well may be the latter. You know how he is when he has a new thing to get lost in. Ever your astronaut adrift, exploring the moons just beyond whatever new world he’s found.

He looks so at home now. Cozy in his den of words and letters. Perfectly domestic amidst lofty thoughts and paragraphs. His skin is mostly bare today, his coordinated tank top and shorts exposing a golden expanse of toned arms, long legs . They’re folded up and crossed, a little boy lost in wonder as he sits on his futon.

His hair is a warm chestnut this week, fringe too long around the lashes but too short to pull back. The way it refuses to cooperate when he brushes it out of his eyes, trickling silkily, stubbornly back into place, exactly where it wants to be, makes you want to chuckle.

He still hasn’t noticed you’re there. Too far gone in whatever his newest philosophy is to notice the way you study the dip of his furrowed brow, how it juxtaposes against the relief of his shadowed dimples, smiling even as he frowns. He finds so much pleasure in being studious— just for fun. No matter how much concentration it takes. You’ve always admired that about him. Admired everything about him really.

Clearing your throat, though you hate to interrupt him, you try again. 

“Joonie?”

 Somehow it’s even quieter than before, and as he turns another reverent page, you know you’ll have to physically intervene to interrupt him. You sigh. You hate to break the spell. He loves days like this—with the rain trickling down the window’s glass casting shadows on his focused face— he’s so happy to read when it rains.

He leans forward then without looking up to take a sip of his Earl grey, bumbling when the steam unexpectedly fogs his glasses. He laughs at himself, folding his book so it splays across the seat to mark his place and removing his glasses. It’s the first time he’s looked up. He spots you then, his face splitting into the smoothest “there’s my girl” smile you’ve ever seen.

“Hey… how long have you been standing there?” His voices comes low, warm, soothes something in you that desperately needs rest.

“Long enough to see you blind yourself with tea, it seems.” You try to smile back, but it’s a weak, floppy thing. Your cheeks can’t seem to commit so it falls a bit too flat. His brows pinch when he sees it. Something’s amiss.

“Hey… are you okay?” His inscrutable eyes analyze you, and you let him. Too tired to resist or put up a fight.

“It’s not my day, joonie.” Your voice is pitiful, even to your own ears. You’d normally wince at sounding like this in front of anyone else. But honestly, it’s okay. It’s Namjoon you’re with. You don’t have to play games or hide things. Not here. Not with him.

“Yeah?” His eyes catch yours as his palms rub the tops of his thighs. It’s an invitation. You know the gesture by now.

“Yeah… again. There have been so many of these lately,” you say, crossing the room to him, his arms unfolding to welcome you into them. “They come too often and stay too long. They’re terrible house guests. I’m tired of them, joon. I can’t seem to get rid of them.”

You’re scooped against him now, head on the space between his neck and his chest, fingers twisted into his tank top, bum in his lap, knees tucked up til you’re as small as you can get. There’s a broad palm of his on your back, fingertips on his other hand traveling the length of your arm in tender caresses as his cheek rests atop your head.

“Maybe we should start charging them rent. I bet even they can’t afford to pay that in this economy.” He offers the idea solemnly, fully committed to carrying out the metaphor that your mental health really is just an unfortunate airbnb plagued with hideously mannered squatters.

“You know, I love that about you, Joon.”

“My inability to pay rent?”

You nuzzle a sappy no into the heat of his neck,” dummy, your very real ability to never minimize things that are hard to me.”

The dip of his chest as he exhales is oddly soothing. It makes you feel like you’re being rocked and god if you don’t need to be cradled right now. “Things  have been really hard lately, haven’t they?” He wonders aloud.

“It isn’t just my perception?” You look up, eyes entirely too pitiful, too round to belong to a functioning adult. No, Namjoon’s heart goes soft as he realizes he’s looking at the eyes of a very scared four year old you. The haunted gaze of an innocent girl who never got told everything would be alright. Even without knowing any more than that, it makes him want to cry.

“No, my sweet girl, it’s not.” Closing his eyes, he presses somber lips to your forehead, scooping you close to shield you— from the world, from yourself, from all the insidious things that took root in you so long ago you’re not even sure how they got in. His wide hands grip you tighter, a feeble attempt to help hold you altogether.

It’s silent then. A few beats of quiet, only disrupted by the clumsy clatter of irreverent raindrops on glass. His caress stays steady against your soft sleeves, his languid fingers perpetually in motion as he attempts to soothe the wounds that sit just beneath your skin.

You look up at him again, unsure what you’ll find. 

You almost cry when you see the gentleness in his eyes. No judgment anywhere within them. Just something kind that stretches into the lines his eyes carve as he smiles. How you itch to gently peel his horn rimmed glasses off the tip of his button nose and kiss it. Bless him.

God, you don’t know why he’s so nice to you, but you’re so glad that he is. The smile you give back to him is wobbly, trembly, poorly constructed— but so so sincere that it makes your sad eyes shine. He bumps your nose with his, burying himself against your forehead as you cocoon into him.

You want to ask him what he’s reading, listen intently to him as he tells you all about it, but you know you can’t. You can’t decipher anything today. It all feels too heavy. You can’t carry the weight of anything new with hands already full. At this point, you’ve lived in this soft hoodie of his , the one you stole after his tour two years back because it smelled like him, for the past 3 days. You don’t even have the energy to change. With that kind of retention rate, seems there’s no point in asking your brilliant professor to explain anything.

Still, it’s always so nice to hear his voice. Especially with your ear to his chest like this. 

So you ask anyway.

“Will you read to me, Joonie? Life always feels better when you’re reading.” You press your face deep into the copper of his neck, an open mouthed kiss placed against his pulse.

“It’s all kind of theoretical,” he chuckles. He’s bashful. If holding you weren’t occupying his hands, you know they’d be nervously fiddling with the back of his neck. A nerdy boy with a too big brain hesitant to share his discoveries.

“Is it good though? You’ve already read Jung to me, and I stayed awake through that. I think I deserve more credit.” You poke his throat with your nose. You’re not genuinely affronted, it’s just nice to remind him you're competent too. Sometimes.

His sweet chuckle then is earthy and rich, all dark molasses. “True. You actually gave pretty good feedback for that too. Fine. Didn’t mean to underestimate you. Just… bear with me if it feels odd? I haven't read it before. I can’t vouch for it all yet.”

“Fine by me. I’m just here for the cuddles and my Kim Namjoon audiobook.”

He can feel your smile against his skin. It makes him press you just that extra little bit tighter against him, exhaling soft through his nose when he feels you return the gesture.

Scooping up his paperback, he adjusts his glasses where they’ve slipped down his nose, clearing his throat to project like the narrator he claims he’s not but loves to be. He’s quiet for a few more beats. You can hear pages rustling as you sink against his skin. You imagine he must be trying to find where he was when you interrupted, or perhaps searching for a passage that seems apropos. Which he chooses, you don’t know, but you can feel when he settles, just before his caramel voice sweetens the thin air of the room.

“It's the same with the wound in our hearts,” he begins. “ We need to give them our attention so that they can heal. Otherwise the wounds continue to cause us pain. Sometimes for a very long time. We're all going to get hurt. But here's the trick - they also serve an amazing purpose. 

When our hearts are wounded that's when they open. We grow through pain. We grow through difficult situations. That's why you have to embrace each and every difficult thing in your life.”

You aren’t sure when your eyes opened, not sure when they began to glaze over or when you started to cry. But you did. And you are. The salty things dripping down against Namjoon’s silken skin. Your sweatered knuckles try to knock them away, but to no avail. Your cheeks are still a wet mess and now his collarbone is too.

“Joon, what is this? What are you reading?”

“Oh… um, it’s— terribly long title but— Into the Magic Shop: A Neurosurgeon's Quest to Discover the Mysteries of the Brain and the Secrets of the Heart. Isn't that a mouthful?” his laugh is self deprecating, small, but still the most beautiful sound.

God, you hate how sensitive and soft you are right now. You don’t want to be sitting here at 4pm in your boyfriend’s lap crying over a paragraph in a book you've never even heard of before, but here you are.

“ is that… what the whole book is about ?”

“You know, I don’t know. I haven’t read it all yet. Jackson recommended it, I’m just now getting to it. Why - do you not like it? I can put this down. Read you something else if this is too heavy. You always like the poetry. I can grab that one anthology you like.”

You can feel as he starts to shuffle beneath you, eager to track down new reading material for you, afraid he’s scared you off, when the fluttering weight of your palm tethers him to his spot.

“No, stay. Keep reading. I want to hear the rest.”

You can practically hear him smile. Relieved. Can feel his dimples manifest without even trying. He kisses your hair, tilts your chin up to kiss you too. The complexity of bergamot and black tea making his supple lips even more bewitching than normal. The window in the corner is cracked open, the humidity it leaks in making your skin sticky as you lean against him.

He’s lovely like this. The rain soaked air mixing with his natural scent, a broad hand on your chin, warm thumb beneath your lip as you mold pliant into his kiss. He ends it with a peck to your lips, a tap of his nose to your nose, before hoisting you so close against him you just may fuse together.

And he reads. He reads until he’s exhausted. Til the rain has stopped, and you’ve drifted to rest pressed against the skin of his chest.

He folds the book shut once your breathing has stilled, his thumb marking the page as he tips you both to lay down sideways. As he extends his pinprick tingling legs for the first time in ages, you hoist yourself around him in your sleep like a koala, and he chuckles. That’s usually his move.

He kisses your hair then, traipsing fingers tenderly through the escaped bits of it that brush across your cheeks. He wonders if you know how madly in love with you he is. How often he’s wondered what he’d do without you. Today, like most days lately, your light was dim, but still kelvins brighter than anyone else’s.

He sends a silent thank you to whatever deity arranged things in such a way that he can hold you to his chest like this as the daylight saving’s darkness floods his studio office. You seemed so sad today, but he knows it won’t last forever. It’ll pass. It always does. He’ll just hold you until it does. And then some.

[justalitlecreacher]

Anakin Skywalker Deserved Better

Ive made this post before but it was really rough and i meant to edit it later and its later now but its been so long that i don’t feel like finding the og post so here we are. If it’s not obvious i care more than a normal amount about Anakin Skywalker.

Tl;Dr: I firmly believe that there are so many points in the prequel series, the clone wars, and even the comics that some level of intervention could have steered Anakin away from falling in Revenge of the Sith.

The Phantom Menace 

This is our first encounter with Anakin, and it does a decent job at introducing us to him. This movie sets up his tragic backstory™️ and gives us a good look at his personality; Anakin appears selfless and eager to help complete strangers in return for nothin when he first brings Qui-Gon and crew to his home to give them shelter, and then risks his life in the podrace to help them afford the part they need to fix their ship. Aside from introducing and developing Anakin not much else happens until Qui-Gon brings Anakin before the Jedi Council where they decide he is too old and there is already too much anger in him to be trained as a Jedi. Qui-Gon disagress, but we move on to Naboo where 9-year old Anakin blows up a very large ship all; by himslef w/ autopilot ( they grow up so fast), Qui-Gon dies, and we get our first look at Palpatine being creepy in hindsight, “And you, young Skywalker, we will watch your career with great interest.” not all that weird out of context but uncomfy when you remember who Palpatine is.

Before we move on i actually want to flashback to Anakin’s first encounter with the Jedi Council. For a group of people who constantly take in and raise children, the Jedi seem to do a poor job interacting with them. A kind of infuriating thing about this scene is that the Jedi seem to shame Anakin for being afraid (no matter how much Anakin himself denies that fear). This scene does a really good job at setting up how the Jedi consistently fail to take into account that Anakin is fundamentally incapable of being a “normal” Jedi. Anakin has had a fundamentally different childhood than any other Jedi and absolutely needed more help and support than the average Padawan from the very beginning. Granted it is possible that the Jedi tried to get him the help and support he needed, but if they did we can infer they failed from Dooku’s line in Revenge of the Sith, “I sense great fear in you, Skywalker. You have hate, you have anger, but you don’t use them.”

Obi-Wan And Anakin Comic

The Obi-Wan and Anakin comics take place sometime between The Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones. The story focuses on Anakin and Obi-Wan investigating a distress signal on a planet that has been destroyed by war. The comic also flashes back to reveal that Anakin is thinking of leaving the Jedi Order after Palpatine shows him the dark side of Coruscant, and tells him that neither the Jedi nor the Senate will be able to do anything about it. We get more creepy (not just in hindsight this time) moments out of Palpatine here. The first one is when he uses his position as Chancellor to gain access to Anakin under the guise of “helping” him.  “Why young Skywalker is a Jedi, is he not? The Jedi are under the Senate’s jurisdiction. And as I am the Chancellor of the Senate...”. Palpatine proceeds to take Anakin to a club of some kind where they see a corrupt senator gambling; Palpatine also mentions how “Lives are bought and sold here everyday” he then makes a show of apologizing for bringing it up considering Anakin’s past.Without context this would seem harmless enough, but with the context of Palpatine’s true identity it is more likely a ploy to subelty remind Anakin of how the Jedi and Senate are unable or unwilling to intervene on Tatooine or the rest of the Outer Rim. Palpatine reminding Anakin of the Senate and Jedi’s inability to help everyone seems to be a running theme in their meeting as the series continues. 

Aside from Palpatine being a creep; we see that Anakin is still just as willing and eager to help as he was in The Phantom Menace. His skills in mechanics result in him being briefly kidnapped so that he can fix weapons that will help one side to win the war that has destroyed the planet. Seriously Anakin is just so ernest in these comics that i shed tears because i know how his story ends. 

One character that Obi-Wan and Anakin team up with to reach the distress signal first mistakes Anakin for Obi-Wan’s son, and then tells Obi-Wan, “He [Anakin] doesn’t think so. Kid idolizes you. You can see it” when Obi-Wan admits that he’s not sure he is the best suited to teach Anakin, and fears he has failed him in some way. As the story progresses, it is revealed in a flashback that after Anakin told Obi-Wan he wanted to leave the Order, Yoda sent the two of them on the mission they are currently on to give Anakin a chance to reconsider his decision, and Obi-Wan tells Yoda that if Anakin returned from the mission still wanting to leave the Order, Obi-Wan would leave with him to continue his training and keep his promise to Qui-Gon. 

Attack of the Clones

Back to the movies. Attack of the Clones reunites Obi-Wan and Anakin with Padmé Amidala when they are assigned to protect her from an assassin. One of ( if not the) most important elements to this movie are Anakin’s dreams/visions of his mother. Towards the beginning of the movie Anakin doesn’t explicitly say what the dreams are about, but it can be assumed that the dreams are unpleasant as he says, “I don't sleep well anymore.” in response to Obi-Wan commenting on him looking tired; going on to claim that he cannot sleep because of his dreams. Anakin later admits to Padmé that he worries about his mother. This is one of the key moments in Anakin’s life that set him up to fall in Revenge of the Sith. There is no reason i can think of that Anakin should not have been allowed to check on his mother if he was having dreams about her that prevented him from sleeping properly and made him worry for her safety. As Anakin says, “Compassion, which I would define as unconditional love, is central to a Jedi's life, so you might say we're encouraged to love.”. If compassion truly is central to a Jedi’s life, then surely they could at the very least send one of their 10,000 Jedi to check on Anakin’s mother if he could not? Is it compassion to deny someone the help they need? I find it hard to believe that Anakin would not have told Obi-Wan that he was worried about his mother going off of how close they appear to be in the previous comic. Especially after Anakin responds to Obi-Wan joking about Anakin being the death of him one day with, “Don't say that Master... You're the closest thing I have to a father... I love you. I don't want to cause you pain.” 

Anakin and Padmé arrive too late to save Shmi, and she dies in Anakin’s arms. This is a crucial moment leading up to Anakin’s fall as it shows Anakin that his dreams have a very real potential of coming true and likely results in him blaming himself at least partially for not insisting on checking on his mother or getting there sooner or doing anything different that may have allowed her to survive; it’s also the first time we see Anakin really lose control. There have been instances of him lashing out in anger before (turning a pair of padawans’ lightsabers against them when he hears them making fun of him behind his back), but nothing like what happens in the wake of Shmi’s death. Anakin wipes out the entire village of Tusken Raiders; children included. And while Anakin does express genuine remorse for his actions, he never faces consequences for them. It’s not even clear if anyone but Padmé ever finds out; Yoda claims to feel Anakin’s pain in the wake of his mother’s death, but does not appear to see Anakin’s actions, and is not shown to discuss what happened on Tatooine with Anakin at all.

Some light googling on my part revealed that in the novelization of Attack of the Clone, while Anakin did tell Obi-Wan about his mother’s death it was Padmé who told Obi-Wan how she had died, but Obi-Wan is unaware of what happened afterwards. “Anakin had told him of Shmi’s death; that was why he and Padmé had gone to Tatooine, he said. Obi-Wan had talked to Padmé later, and she had explained that Shmi had been kidnapped and killed by Tusken Raiders. Neither of them had been willing to go into much detail, and from what Obi-Wan knew of the Tusken Raiders, he didn’t blame them. It was no wonder Anakin seemed shaken, if his mother had been tortured and killed. One day, perhaps, Anakin would be willing to tell him the whole story.” Obi-Wan appears to know that there is more to the story than he has been told, but it content to wait until Anakin is ready to talk about it. I wonder if they ever had that conversation.

Anakin’s inability to save his mother even after the warnings he receives in his dreams likely leads to his desperation to save Padmé form the danger he believes her to be in later in Revenge of the Sith. He has been shown once before that his dreams can easily come true, and he is desperate to prevent this dream from coming true no matter what the cost may be. 

The Clone Wars

This is gonna be a long one; it’s gonna have to cover the most relevant episodes of The Clone Wars and oh boy that’s not a small amount. Im gonna try to go chronologically but bear with me (if you actually read this far you know what you got yourself into)

Assassin s3ep7

In this episode Ahsoka begins having visions of Padmé being assassinated similarly to how Anakin dreamed of his mother’s and later Padmé’s deaths. The difference with Ahsoka is that she is able to prevent the visions from becoming reality.  What i want to focus on in this episode is the reaction Ahsoka gets when she tells Yoda about her dreams. Yoda explains to her that her dream may be telling her something and provides her with the means to act on her visions to prevent them from becoming true.

When Anakin approaches Yoda about his dreams in Revenge of the Sith, Yoda simply tells him that death is natural and he must train himself to let go of everything he fears to lose. We could chalk this up to just a writing inconsistency, but i dont think i will. I would instead like to wonder why Yoda treats Ahsoka’s visions like they are something that can be changed but then treats Anakin’s like they are set in stone. Anakin has already proven himself capable of having true visions, and is more force sensitive than any other living Jedi. It makes no sense to dismiss Anakin’s feelings like this. All this to say looking into and helping Anakin to examine his dreams instead of telling him to let go when he has proven over and over to be incapable of doing so would likely have been significantly more helpful in the long run.

The Mortis Arc S3 Ep15-17

Honestly i dont have a lot to say on this arc aside how much psychic damage it dealt to see Anakin briefly turn to the dark side because he was so desperate o avoid the future The Son had shown him ( really hope everyone had the common sense not to bring that up to Anakin after the fact though).

 The Deception Arc S4 Ep15+18

In this arc Obi-Wan fakes his death in order to go undercover as the bounty hunter Rako Hardeen and uncover a plot to kidnap the Chancellor. This wouldn’t be a problem if they had brought Anakin in on the plan; instead they use Anakin’s reaction to Obi-Wan’s “death” to better sell the illusion. Obi-Wan even says, “Keeping Anakin on the outside was critical. Everyone knows how close we are. It was his reaction that sold the sniper. I'm sure of it.” Obi-Wan and the Council are fully aware of how much Obi-Wan means to Anakin, yet they all decide to use those feelings to their own advantage with little regard for the consequences.

On top of betraying Anakin’s trust; this move leads Anakin to doubt the Jedi Council and wonder what else they may be keeping from him if they  were willing to let him believe that Obi-Wan was dead as long as it suited their interests. “How many other lies have I been told by the Council? And how do you know that you even have the whole truth?”. 

I just cannot imagine why they thought they even had to use Obi-Wan for this plan. In the Obi-Wan and Anakin comic, Obi-Wan claims that there are 10,000 Jedi; surely there is someone less connected or with less attention on them who would be more suited to go undercover without the element of faking their death. Or if faking their death was necessary, surely they could have picked a Jedi who was not closely attached to arguably the most emotionally unstable Jedi in the Order. Anyone else would have been better. I don’t doubt that Anakin was telling the truth when he said, “If it was up to me I would kill you right here! But lucky for you, the man you murdered would rather see you rot in jail.”.

The Deception Arc just really grinds my gears because it really is almost like the Council wants Anakin to fall. There really is no excuse for how they use his bond with Obi-Wan against him for their own gain. The Council and Obi-Wan know full well how much Anakin loves Obi-Wan (see Anakin referring to Obi-Wan as the closest thing he has to a father in Attack of the Clones), and chose to use this vulnerability against Anakin in the worst way possible. 

This arc really sets Anakin to later doubt Obi-Wan and the Council in Revenge of the Sith, and make it easier for Palpatine to convince Anakin that no Jedi would understand him and that they would likely kick him out of the order and not help him. ( heck he even has a recent memory of the Jedi expelling a 14 year old from the Order for the sake of not looking bad in the eyes of the Senate. “I understand your sentiment, Obi-Wan, but if the Council does as you suggest, it could be seen as an act of opposition to the Senate. I'm afraid we have little choice.” i might go more in depth on this one later but this doesn’t feel like the right place as this is a post about Anakin and i don’t want to make and Ahsoka centric arc all about him).  

That wraps up the Clone Wars! Finally!

Revenge of the Sith

Ok big finale. Revenge of the Sith; so close to being my favorite Star Wars movie, but it almost made me cry in the library so its my second favorite (Attack of the Clones is my favorite). 

I’ve already touched on the dreams Anakin has of Padmé’s death in the Clone Wars segment, but it bears repeating and i have more to touch on. Im not 100% if im misremembering or not but i cannot recall Anakin ever explicitly telling Palpatine about his dreams, but Palpatine knows that Anakin fears for Padmé’s life anyway. It’s possible that Anakin just told him off screen but a fic i read recently ( It’s called give me one more night by Spongyllama on AO3 and it is so worth the read) introduced me to the theory that it had been Palpatine sending Anakin the dreams to begin with.

This theory has a good amount of legs to stand on honestly. As mentioned previously, Anakin never tells Palpatine about his dreams, but Palpatine still knows exactly what to tell Anakin to best manipulate him. Furthermore; Anakin’s dreams very likely would never have come true if Anakin hadn’t fallen; Padmé reportedly dies of heartbreak, something that could not have happened had Anakin not fallen. All signs point to Palpatine being behind the dreams (and we know that Anakin and Palpatine are close by the time Attack of the Clones occurs so it’s not out of question that Anakin may have told Palpatine about the dreams about his mother, giving Palpatine the idea to use those dreams against him later)

Conclusion

Honestly the biggest thing i think the Jedi could have improved on was just trying to understand Anakin better. The average age for entering the order is 2 to 3 compared to Anakin’s 9. Anakin entered the order years after any other Jedi, and because of that was able to remember his mother and had formed attachments (or attachment but i digress) before he had even reached the order. It should have been obvious from the start that if Anakin were to ever become a successful Jedi he would need significantly more help than the usual padawan.

We frequently see Anakin scolded for forming attachments or being too emotional (see Clone Wars s1e6-7 where R2-D2 goes missing and Anakin suggests taking a squad out to look for him “Anakin, it's only a droid. You know attachment is not acceptable for a Jedi.”(Obi-Wan) “Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose.”(Yoda). etc etc)  But, to the best of my knowledge, we never really see anyone showing Anakin how to let go. Anakin lacks the tools he needs to properly deal with his emotions, so the best he can do is shove them down and pretend they don’t exist because to him that’s what a proper Jedi does. No one has ever told him otherwise. The explosion was inevitable.

Anakin Skywalker was a traumatized child who was most likely never taken to therapy or told how to deal with/ healthily show his emotions in any way other than to ignore them or push them aside on top of being manipulated by Sith Lord from a young age. With all these factors is it really a surprise that Palpatine was able to turn him?

ok im done; see yall next time ig

[everybodyscupoftea]

won’t hold back

college isaac x reader

i’m back besties with the immediate follow up of born to run!

(warnings: cursing, light editing)

He finished his run first, of course he did, and by the time you got back to your car, huffing and puffing, a text was waiting on your phone. You pulled it out, hands shaking a bit and your face split into a smile as you read it.

I’m in parking lot west, meet me there?

Climbing into your car, you cranked it up, turning the heat up as high as you could stand, breaking out into a slight sweat despite still being cold as your thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

I’m in east, just got finished so I’ll drive over

You backed out, heart pounding, and drove the few minutes to the adjacent parking lot. He was leaning against his car and waved at you when you turned in, not that he needed to because he was the only car in the lot. Parking next to him, you took one last deep breath and grabbed your hoodie off the back seat.

“Hey,” he murmured with a smile when you climbed out.

Waving shyly, you responded, “Hey.”

“Hungry?”

You nodded eagerly, “Starving.”

Isaac grinned, “I know a place if you trust me enough.”

Thinking back to the coffee shop he picked when you were first getting to know each other, you nodded, “Yeah, absolutely.”

After a pause and a speculative glance, he jogged around the car and opened his passenger door for you to climb in. When you hesitated, his eyebrows furrowed and he started to look uncertain, which you definitely didn’t want, he spoke, slowly, “Or did you want to follow me there?”

“No,” you reassured quickly, sliding in without any further concerns, “sorry, I was just caught off guard for a second.”

Isaac didn’t respond, shutting the door softly for you before heading back over to the drivers side, finally answering when he buckled in and cranked it up, “Why caught off guard?”

“Well,” you paused, unsure how much you wanted to admit. But then you heard your sister’s voice in your head go get your man and decided on complete honesty, “I was going to ask you out today, but I wasn’t really expecting you to say yes.”

He blinked a few times, hand freezing on the gear shift, “Why the hell wouldn’t I say yes?”

Ears heating up, you shrugged, “I don’t know, it just seemed like you were out of my league. You didn’t text me.”

“You didn’t text me!” he countered. Which you supposed was fair, but you’d been nervous. He was so attractive and outgoing and unattainable. He was so clever and good with words and you were just. Good at math.

“That’s fair,” you answered, “but I thought you might would have other, better options.”

“Well, you’re wrong, just ask my roommates.”

It was oddly reassuring, that his roommates had been putting up with the same thing your sister apparently had, and you couldn’t stop the wide smile crossing your face. Heart stuttering again, your palms got clammy as he pulled out of the parking lot finally, heading down the road toward the downtown area. 

Isaac parked outside a brunch place you’d passed a few times before but he’d gotten to check out yet, so you were excited. When he turned the car off, you waited for him to open the door for you again after catching his attempted discrete look in your direction.

“M’lady,” he spoke, pulling the door open and bowing slightly.

Giggling, you took his outstretched hand and stepped out, responding with an exaggerated accent, “Thank you, sir.”

“Anytime.”

He kept your hand, not that you wanted to let go, but your heart kicked up again, and you hoped that he couldn’t feel the sweat on your palm. If he did, he thankfully didn’t mention it, just swung your hands between the two of you, humming, as he led both you toward the door.

The brunch place was pretty busy, and the hostess smiled at the two of you, “Good morning, table for two?”

“Yep,” Isaac responded cheerfully.

“Inside or out?”

He looked at you, content to let you answer, and you shrugged, “Doesn’t matter to me,” you turned to the hostess, “do you have a suggestion?”

“It’s more private outside, and we have heaters.”

“Outside,” Isaac confirmed without further pause.

She raised her eyebrows, lips twitching a bit at his hasty answer, and she marked something down, before speaking again, “Follow me.”

“Private, huh?” you teased when she was gone, menus spread out in front of each of you.

He shrugged, grinning, “Yeah, I want to get to know you well, not just eat together.”

And you didn’t really have anything to say to that, throat tightening at his honest words. It was quiet at first, both of you focused on picking something to eat and ordering before he finally took a sip of the tea he ordered, clutching the cup with both hands. Isaac leaned forward, foot nudging yours under the table, and you spoke up, “So, how are your classes this semester?”

He grinned, “You really want to talk about school right now?”

“No,” you admitted, smiling sheepishly, “but I thought it could be a good ice breaker.”

“Okay, I’ll humor you. They’re good, but I miss studying with you.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, and you played with a string on the sleeve of your hoodie, “I miss studying with you too.”

“Have you been back to the coffee shop?” he asked.

Shaking your head, you reluctantly answered, “No, it felt like your space and I didn’t want to invade it.”

“I’ve been looking for you there,” he admitted, “I thought you liked it and might come back.”

 “I did,” you shrugged, “like it, at least. But the library and engineering building have become my home as of late.”

“Do you like the quiet?”

“Something like that. Less things for me to look at.”

Isaac hummed, “I get that. I like coffee shops because I feel like people are watching me and if I’m not productive, they’ll judge me.”

You snorted, “Well, that’s a way to pressure yourself into it, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” he nudged your foot with his again, “I normally like to be alone, but I wouldn’t mind some company every so often. If you can drag yourself out of your academic buildings to hang out with me sometimes.”

“No one I’d rather drag myself out of academic buildings for,” you teased.

Even though your tone was teasing, you were serious, and his smile confirmed that he realized that. You really liked that he picked up on your underlying meanings, it was something that lacked in your last relationship. That boyfriend needed things explicitly stated, which was fine, but a lot of your jokes were taken the wrong way or went over his head, and it caused a few fights.

Isaac took another sip of tea and leaned back in his chair, “So, tell me about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?”

He shrugged, eyes not leaving your face once, and you almost wanted to balk at the steady attention, “You decide.”

“Well, I’m not that interesting,” you started, only pausing when he made a noise in protest.

“I assure you,” he interrupted, “I’ll be interested in whatever you have to say.”

Squeezing your eyes shut for a second, pushing back against the sappy look desperately fighting to show on your face, you answered, “Okay, um, I’m from New York, but not any of the cities, more in the countryside. I have one sister and she’s pretty much my best friend.”

Isaac nodded, “Older?”

“Younger.”

“I had a brother, older,” Isaac told you, “but he died overseas.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “I’m so sorry, Isaac.”

He smiled sadly, “Thank you. We weren’t really close, but it was still tough. Especially for my dad.”

“Are you close?”

Isaac snorted, “No, not even a little bit.”

It didn’t seem like he wanted to elaborate, so you decided to change the subject, “What about friends?”

His smile was small but pleased, “Stiles and Scott are my two closest. I grew up with them and they came here too.”

“Oh, that’s great,” you responded enthusiastically, “they sound like good friends.”

“They are most of the time. But sometimes they bully me. Like when I kept going on early morning runs to see this girl I liked instead of just texting her.”

You snorted, “Sounds like my sister.”

“I’m sure they’d get along then.”

“Sounds like,” you agreed, “we should never introduce them.”

“Amen,” he answered just as the waiter came over with your food. The rest of the meal was lighter, more focused on small talk than any heavy topics. You learned about his interest in drama and hatred of poetry. 

He ranted about the true villain in Hamlet for a solid five minutes, using his hands excitedly, emphasizing certain points by pointing his fork, and you were enthralled. Sure, you didn’t particularly care about Hamlet versus his stepdad, but by the end of his speech, you were more intrigued than before.

“I’ve never really understood poetry,” you admitted.

He nodded enthusiastically, “It’s so subjective. English teachers often teach it wrong. I want to change that. I want to help science brains like yours not hate English as much.”

“A very noble cause,” you joked, “but perhaps more difficult than you may think.”

“I don’t think so,” he mused, “because when we started eating, you didn’t know anything about Hamlet but now you have an opinion.”

You nodded, “That’s true, I suppose. Anyone who claims Hamlet is the true villain is incorrect.”

Isaac grinned, “Fuck yes.”

And then it was your turn to rant about physics and how the professors on campus made it ten times worse than it should’ve been. Isaac asked about some of the topics physics entailed, and to his credit, he seemed interested despite the boring subject.

“It could just be so much more pleasant, but the professors are so old and refuse to adapt.”

“A problem in English too sometimes,” he agreed, “but I’m hoping once I get to higher level courses, things will get more interesting.”

By the time he’d paid and the plates had cleared away, there were a few other tables of people around the two of you, and you knew it was about time to leave. You really didn’t want to, and it looked like he felt the same way.

“Ready?” you finally asked.

“I guess so.”

The walk to the car was quiet, and he didn’t hold your hand again, but your knuckles brushed his every so often. When you looked over, his ears were red and he was pointedly staring straight ahead. You reveled in the fact that a guy like him actually seemed flustered by your presence.

He dropped you off at your car and grabbed your wrist before you could get out, “Can we do this again sometime?”

You smiled at the slight shake in his voice, “Yeah, I’d love that.”

“Cool,” he beamed, “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah. Text me sometime?” you asked, teasing him a bit even though both of you were guilty of not texting.

His lips twitched, “Or I’ll just see you in the morning.”

“Yeah, I guess you will.”

Suddenly, morning runs didn’t seem all that daunting.

[honeymoonjin]

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: cursing, mentions of explicit sexual content, mentions of blood. the results of the fan favourite vote poll are at the end of this chapter.

banner designer @jamaisjoons​ | thank you sfhs babies i love you 3000

ELIMINATION

On the seventh Day of every Week in the game, Y/n’s elimination vote is released for 48 hours following the post of the fic. Please note, this is NOT the Fan Favourite vote, which has already happened.

Vote closed. Thank you for participating!

DAY FOURTEEN

There’s something exciting and indulgent about sitting apart from Taehyung and Jimin, yet sharing secret glances and muffled smiles.

You’d had to leave Taehyung’s room at different times, you and Jimin sneaking back to your respective rooms to change out of his clothes so it didn’t look odd.

As the eight of you gather in the lounge, sleepily curled up with mugs of coffee or lying back against the couch for a few more moments of peace, the familiar faces of the others send a pang of guilt through you. Like you were lying to them. Omission is a type of lie, you suppose, but you try and smother the feeling. You’re allowed to be selfish.

Especially when it made Taehyung and Jimin look so happy.

Taehyung, who was almost always cheerful much like the puppy you saw last night, now looks like he can’t even contain it, his toes wiggling and eyes gleaming. Jimin, who on the other hand tended to be a little stiff and wary during these meetings, seemed more at ease than he’s ever been in front of everyone.

Could the others really blame you for wanting to see them happy?

You bite down hard on your tongue as Sejin arrives, the final piece in the puzzle. Maybe they could. You count your lucky blessings you don’t have to pick a favourite as well as someone to eliminate. Staying objective and making a decision tomorrow would be hard enough.

“Are we all ready?” Sejin checks, consulting with his watch to ensure it was in fact nine on the dot.

Catching everyone off guard, it’s Jungkook that speaks up, sitting beside you with crossed legs. “Ready, PD!”

The rest of you go still for a moment of surprised silence. When was the last time Jungkook had sounded that chipper? You’d found it strange when, being only the third one downstairs after you and Jin, Jungkook had neglected the last empty couch in favour of sitting beside you. Still half asleep, he’d exchanged pleasantries and basically face-planted into a cup of hot chocolate, inhaling the steam like his life depended on it.

Now, though, he seems more alert than most of you, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he waited for the meeting to start.

As you glance around, everyone seems equally shocked and relieved, except Jin, who just smiles quietly. You send the eldest a questioning gaze, but he just shrugs.

“Alright, today we just need to cover the prompts, Y/n’s Bangasm Bomb, and then we’ll finish off with the audience vote for fan favourite. Sound good?”

At the mention of fan favourite, Jungkook straightens up, knee jiggling. Your heart goes out to him. Not only had he had a rough time lately, but he put so much effort in to his prompt, and you can’t help but hope he gets it. He could use some cheering up, though he seemed cheerful again all on his own. “I’ll cross my fingers for you, Doctor Jeon,” you promise with a soft smile.

He glances back at you, eyes glittering. “You will?”

“Of course.” Out of the corner of your vision, you feel two sets of eyes on you. “You did well.”

He wrings his hands, gaze dropping. “I wasn’t even top three last week.”

You shrug lightly. “Then you’ll be most improved.”

When he grins, teeth poking out cutely, your shoulders drop in relief. “If I win, I’ll take you somewhere really fun, I promise!”

“Alright,” Sejin cuts in, breaking off your conversation, “our theme was dynamics and roleplay. Just like with last week, we’ll go through each of the guys and get Y/n to guess. Should be pretty easy. And we’ll see if anyone will be taking over the bunkrooms. Namjoon and Hoseok, you’ll be returning to your rooms tonight unless you failed your prompt again.”

Namjoon and Hoseok, squished up on either side of Taehyung, lean over him to high-five after the older one cheers.

“I’ll miss it,” Hoseok confesses, “but I missed my own bed even more. Namjoon; you’re welcome for a sleepover anytime.”

“A sleepover sounds fun,” Taehyung answers quietly, but Hoseok trills and cups his cheeks, inviting him too.

Across the other side, to the left of Jin and Yoongi, Jimin stiffens and instinctively sends you a look of uncertainty. Your lips part, but of course you can’t say anything in front of everyone.

Instead, you give a minute shrug and lean back. Taehyung had already spent the past two weeks being relatively free with his affections, and it seems unfair to get upset by it now. Especially when you were still having sex with other people.

Like a bucket of cold water down your back, the decision you made last night comes into clarity. You couldn’t go out on dates. You couldn’t really kiss or hold hands in front of the others lest they find out. And you couldn’t even be faithful to them. What exactly made declaring your feelings and choosing to be together any different from how you were before?

Before you get too deep into your thoughts, you notice the room has gone silent, everyone staring at you. “Hm? Sorry?”

Sejin’s pointing to Jin expectantly. “Could you state your guess for what Seokjin’s prompt was, Y/n?”

Jin’s face is weirdly unreadable, eyes not really focusing on yours. You struggle to process enough to recall the answer. “Um, poolboy.”

Jin remains silent, making Sejin cough awkwardly. “Yes, poolboy and client was his prompt. Congratulations, Seokjin, you didn’t explicitly tell Y/n your prompt and successfully completed it.”

On the other side of the room, Taehyung’s eyes fly wide, before his shoulders slump, blushing as Hoseok quietly teases him.

“Yoongi?”

You clear your throat, feeling weirdly strung-out, like your attention is in a million places at once. Get through the meeting, then you can chat with Min and Tae. Just stay focussed. “Yoongi was, like, an animal?”

“Predator and prey,” Yoongi explains smoothly, finally starting to look a little less zombie-like. “And I made sure we were in view of the cameras outside. The ones by the gazebo.”

Sejin nods, choosing to sit on the coffee table instead of just standing in front of you all. “Right. Congratulations, Yoongi, you also successfully completed your prompt within the rules. Jimin’s one?”

You’re pretty sure every person in this room could guess his without a second thought. “Stripper.”

Jimin blows you a teasing kiss with a wink, and you try not to look too endeared, heart leaping at the soft look that hides behind his flirty act. “I hope you all enjoyed the show.”

Beside you, Jungkook goes oddly stiff, face falling. But before you can ask him about it, he’s taking a deep breath and putting on a smile again, albeit a smaller one. You frown as Sejin congratulates Jimin before turning to your couch and indicating it’s Jungkook’s turn.

“Doctor and patient,” you hear yourself answer easily, but you find yourself still worried about him, remembering what he said about Jimin yesterday. Maybe he wasn’t as cheery as he was making himself seem today.

A similar look of worry flickers across Jimin’s face at Jungkook’s odd response, and you decide that once the meeting is done, you’ll ask Jungkook about it. Maybe get him to talk to you privately, or everyone so you’re all on the same page. Anything so that you can resolve the strange upset Jungkook seems to have.

“...his prompt. Now, Namjoon?”

“Husband and wife,” you offer up reflexively, grateful of the warm albeit shy smile Namjoon sends you in response.

“Now, Namjoon and Y/n, I’m aware you spent a significant amount of time together in the rec room. Of course, you can retain your privacy, but I do need to ask if Namjoon explicitly told Y/n his prompt in there.”

Looking like a teacher’s pet being told off, Namjoon’s eyes go wide. “I didn’t!”

Sejin lets out a quick laugh, holding a calming hand up. “That’s fine, that’s all I needed. Congratulations, Namjoon, you’re out of the bunkrooms.”

Taehyung looks nervous when Sejin’s stare rests on him. His eyes keep darting around to the other men like he’s waiting for their reactions. When Sejin asks you to guess the prompt, you hesitate. Something about how uncomfortable he looks gives you pause. “She doesn’t have to guess,” Taehyung offers up, “and you don’t have to say it. I already know I lost.”

Sejin gives him a look of sympathy. “The editing team did catch you telling Y/n directly which means you’ll have to stay in the bunks for next week, but unfortunately the nature of these meetings does require each prompt to be revealed to the group.”

You can see the puppy behind Taehyung’s eyes as he rounds them, pouting up at Sejin. “Really?”

“We don’t have to give details,” Sejin offers up shortly. “And none of these prompts will ever be things anyone has on their hard limits list, so please don’t think anyone hear will be in any position to judge it.”

This seems to ease Taehyung’s worry significantly. “Pet and owner,” Taehyung offers up shortly. “And I lost because I told Y/n. Time for Hoseok.”

Even as your heart aches to jump up and go to him, Jimin also shifting in his seat restlessly, you see Hoseok quietly wrap a hand around Taehyung’s elbow and Namjoon rest his head tentatively on Tae’s shoulder. You settle back, forcing yourself to remember you and Jimin aren’t the only ones that care for Taehyung.

Sejin clears his throat and gestures to Hoseok. “Lucky last, I suppose. What’s your guess, Y/n?”

You think back to Monday night. Hoseok teasing you throughout the day and then tying you up at night in the prettiest ropes, feeling entirely under his control. You’d called him Master. “Master and sss….sub?”

Hoseok smiles sweetly, his voice honeyed. “Almost. You and Jungkook were my pretty little slaves, princess.”

In perfect synchronisation, the others turn their heads around to you and Jungkook, sharing a couch. “I remember now,” you state weakly as Jungkook shifts on his spot.

Sejin looks distinctly uncomfortable with the sudden turn, wincing at Hoseok. “Well, congratulations because you also successfully completed your prompt. Anyways, that’s that done, time for the Bangasm Bomb. As you all probably recall,” Sejin explains, sliding off his glasses and wiping the lenses with his shirt as he goes, “the requirement was that Y/n had to stay in a different bed every night otherwise she’d be in the bunkroom. Luckily, she managed to do so, so Taehyung is the only one required to stay there.”

Taehyung shrinks, bottom lip sticking out in disappointment and Jimin watches him, stricken. Against your better judgement, you call out to Sejin. “But are we able to voluntarily go there?”

Sejin shrugs. “Sure, you already did so once this week. No rules against it.”

Jimin brightens up, but before he can say anything, Hoseok’s cheering, jostling Tae’s side. “Guess the sleepover will be back in the bunkroom, Tae!” Across the side of the room, Jimin visibly holds back his irritation.

“Can we do the audience favourite now?” Jungkook pipes up in a hopeful voice.

“Oh, of course.” Sejin fumbles to slide his glasses back on, lenses still smudged at the bottom, and clears his throat dramatically. “Alright, so I’ll just say the top three again. Third place this week was Namjoon.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen comically as he croaks out a, “Really?”

“Ah, I’m so proud,” Hoseok croons, reaching across Taehyung to pat Namjoon’s knee enthusiastically. “Young grasshopper learnt well.”

Namjoon still seems in disbelief, letting out a stilted laugh. “Wow, I- Goodness, that’s so nice of them!”

Beside you, Jungkook’s practically vibrating with nervous energy. He wasn’t even in the top three last time, and you can tell he’s feeling the pressure. Yoongi seems unbothered, even as his eyes keenly focus on Sejin; Jin waits patiently, not looking like he’s expecting anything. Jimin’s more focused on Taehyung than the announcement, his eyes locked onto the boy that’s sandwiched between Namjoon and Hoseok as they celebrate. Hoseok looks relatively uncaring about the favourite, lips still spread in a heart-shaped grin at Namjoon’s victory like it’s his own.

“Second place,” Sejin continues, “was Jungkook.”

You hear and feel his reaction rather than see it. Hear the exhale as he sinks, a mix of relief and disappointment making his frame go lax on the couch. Leaning over, you send him a warm smile. “Good job, Kook, you did really well.”

“Who’s number one?” he asks instead, leaning forward with his legs tucked up under him.

Sejin gives a small smile. “The highest number of votes this week went to Yoongi.”

“Yoongi-hyung?” Jungkook questions quietly, but it’s drowned out by Hoseok’s excited woop and chirpy laughter as Yoongi’s mouth drops open, doing a double take at the news.

“Are you serious?” Yoongi exclaims, a disbelieving grin spreading across his face as Jin rubs his shoulders and Jimin congratulates him lowly. “Holy shit, who would’ve guessed?” His eyes find you suddenly, brightening with realisation. “I get to take you out tonight,” he declares.

A shock of thrill runs through you at all the possibilities of some private time with the enigmatic doctor, but you can’t help but glance over, wary of Tae and Jimin’s reactions. Though Jimin just looks a little stiff, Taehyung’s eyes are on you, sullen. Rather than jealous, it seems more like he’s disappointed he couldn’t be the one to take you out. It’s a relief he isn’t mad, but it only increases the unsettled feeling in your heart. You, Taehyung and Jimin sorely needed to talk.

“Well, then,” Sejin interrupts, breaking you out of your daze, “that’s your Sunday meeting, I’ll see you all back here tomorrow for elimination.”

Like clockwork, the seven guys turn their heads to look at you, even as Sejin bids you farewell and leaves out the front door.

“Do you know who you’re voting out?” Jin asks with a complete lack of tact, an easy smile hiding the concern in his eyes.

You cough awkwardly. “I have no clue,” you answer honestly. “I’m just… trying not to think about it until I really have to, you know? I still don’t want to vote out any of you.”

“That reminds me,” Jin speaks up, though he states it awkwardly, almost sounding rehearsed, “I think we all need to have a group talk. Set some things straight.”

Jungkook recoils like the comment was directed at him, letting out a light huff. “Can’t this wait?”

Yoongi grimaces. “With all due respect, Jungkookie, I think it would be best to just have a chat now and sort this out. If the therapist thinks we need to talk, he’s probably right.”

“It’s not like it’s urgent,” the youngest rebutts, “let’s just do it some other time.”

Jin sucks in a breath. “We’re all sitting here now, Jungkook, and clearing the air. Unless you want to go back to feeling uncomfortable.”

Jungkook’s eyes cast towards the ceiling like he can’t believe he’s stuck here. “Oh my god! I already spoke to you, just pass it on!”

“You know I can’t do that, Jungkook,” Jin says calmly, even as his eyes flare in ire. “We want you to be happy, and I’m sure you’re not the only one that has been struggling, and if we-”

“If you want me to be happy, fucking let me leave, Jesus,” Jungkook swears, and you flinch when he suddenly stands, rushing away quickly. “I’ll come back when I’m done.”

“Done?” Jin asks, looking completely lost. “Goodness, that kid gets angry at everything these days.”

“A talk does sound really helpful, Jin-hyung,” Namjoon offers up. “If you want, we can hang around and wait for Jungkook.”

Jin lets out a light sigh, smiling gratefully. “I figure it’ll be good for us. Hopefully. I just worry about everyone, you know? Just because this is a reality show doesn’t mean we need to be always fighting and throwing drinks in people’s faces and stuff. We need to communicate like adults.”

Yoongi frowns. “You don’t need to take all that burden on yourself, hyung. I’m sure they didn’t teach you to handle this kind of situation in your training.”

Jin goes to reply, but the moment his mouth opens, words are cut off by a dual ding, two phones going off.

You glance over to where Taehyung and Namjoon both instinctively check their phones, faces falling almost simultaneously.

“Oh,” Taehyung says shortly, face falling. “I should’ve remembered.”

“What is it?” Jin asks with knitted brows.

“It’s his stream,” Namjoon explains guiltily, “he normally begins it earlier than this, so he was probably trying to leave so he could start.”

“Why didn’t he just-?” Jin exhales roughly, Yoongi’s hand falling to his shoulder to anchor him. “Whatever. He’s angry now, I guess, let’s just wait for him to finish and once he goes offline someone can text him and ask him to come down. Is everyone fine with that?”

Although no one protests, the air is significantly stiff with tension; Yoongi makes another round of coffees, Taehyung opens the stream and watches it with the volume turned muted, biting at his fingernail. It feels like such a departure from the same time last week, and being tuned in just feels even more invasive than last time.

“The people in the comments aren’t happy about him being late,” Taehyung notes nervously. “He looks upset.”

“I don’t think you should be watching,” Namjoon admits, shifting in his seat as he tries to avoid looking at the screen. “Doesn’t it feel strange to you?”

“I’m just making sure he’s okay,” Taehyung insists hollowly, eyes locked onto it. “He’s trying to touch himself but he’s not getting ha-”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Yoongi spits harshly, returning with four cups of coffee balanced precariously in his grip. “Watch it if you want, but respect that we’re choosing not to.”

Taehyung frowns, but doesn’t protest, returning silently to the screen. Alone on your couch, you take a cup of coffee from Yoongi’s outstretched hands and cradle the cup, feeling the warmth seep into your bones, your heart still as cold as if it were frozen in ice.

True to Yoongi’s command, Taehyung stays silent as he watches, and the entire room sits in uncomfortable quiet until, what can only be fifteen or twenty minutes later, Taehyung lets out a defeated sigh and locks his phone, setting it on the arm of the couch.

The implication is clear, and Jin sets his jaw, looking determined albeit regretful. “Okay, can someone text Jungkook? Let’s get this over with. Just remember it’s for the best.”

Though it seems like even Jin himself is unsure of that, everyone waiting in dread as Taehyung sends him a text, and he comes down the stairs a few minutes later, cheeks flexed with irritation.

You fight the urge to reach out to him when he collapses onto the couch beside you, hair messy but clean and in the same casual clothes as earlier. He seems restless and volatile, and you can’t help but wish the lot of you weren’t having this talk now, or wish you could just jump forward in time to when everyone was happy and alright again.

“Go on, then,” Jungkook starts, snapping the silence. His arms are crossed tightly and eyes piercing as they glare at Jin. “Start the group therapy.”

Though he’s been silent for a while now, Jimin lets out a tired groan. “Fucking hell, Jungkook, he’s trying to help you! Seeing you be upset makes us feel terrible.”

Jungkook stiffens, and you can just about feel the heat radiating off his body as he fires up. “Oh, I’m sorry, next time I’ll just be miserable in private!”

Jin looks stricken, rubbing at his temple. “Jungkook, you said you were going to try and seek out the things that made you happy.”

“And you said you weren’t going to reveal what I said to you in confidence,” Jungkook replies shortly, but before Jin can protest, he’s continuing, voice strained. “But- I do want to try and make things better. I’m sorry; I’m really stressed out and it’s frustrating not being able to leave this place. I thought if I got fan favourite I’d at least get a break.”

The rest of you fall silent for a moment. Your eyes sting, so you blink to ease the ache. “We understand. We want you to be happy. Can we all agree to try our best to just stay chill and talk this through?”

As the others nod, Jungkook scoots back like he’s trying to bury himself into the corner of the couch. “But talk what through? Do you not realise how shitty it feels having all of you sitting me down for an intervention right now? I don’t know whether to be offended or humiliated.”

Taehyung’s face crumples violently, like he’s about to cry. Hoseok, unusually solemn, clears his throat lightly as he pats Tae’s back. “JK, it’s not all of us gathering to dunk on you. I for one know that there are things I’d like to get off my chest. Things that bother me and stuff. I think if we all just front up to what we’re struggling with then we can work through these issues together. But it’s gotta be all of us. If we want to be happy here.”

Jin sends Hoseok a grateful look, sitting back in his seat when Jungkook begins nodding. “I can do that,” Jungkook agrees in a small voice. “Just… someone else can start.”

The concept of owning up about your feelings is clearly as paralysing to the others as it is to you. Everyone falls silent, looking around at each other’s faces and waiting for someone else to speak up. A thread of worry niggles in the back of your brain that Taehyung or Jimin would confess your closeness, bursting the bubble that was already so fragile.

In the end, it’s Yoongi that chooses to go first, heaving a great sigh to brace himself. “If I’m perfectly honest,” Yoongi admits, “I’m a little concerned that we’re going to be cornered into conflict no matter how much we avoid it. As nice as the producers are-” he pauses to glare at one of the cameras filming the interaction with an ‘I’m watching you’ gesture, “this is a reality show and reality shows are founded on drama. And look how much effort it took to get us to sit down and actually talk to each other? It would’ve been easier in some respects to just get angry and hateful and fight every other day, and I don’t think everyone is as aware of that as hyung and I are.”

Jungkook swallows. “I do worry about that, too,” he reveals. “I mean, not in the same way, but… If we wanted to, we could just all hate each other and only interact when we had to and then never speak again when we all leave. Which is weird because for now, we can’t go anywhere. We’re all gonna be really close and then we’ll just go our separate ways. And I don’t know what to do about it… If that makes sense.”

“But you did that exact same thing to us,” Jimin protests. “If you’re scared of us all acting like strangers then why push us away?”

Jungkook frowns stiffly. “That’s what you did at the start!”

“And it sucked,” Jimin retorts immediately. “It felt awful seeing everyone socialise and feeling like I had to stay out of it to protect myself. That’s why I’m not acting like a dick anymore.”

“Well, that’s up for debate,” Hoseok quips with a scoff.

Jimin sends him a withering glare, but Jungkook pays no mind to Hoseok’s remark, eyes still on the blue-haired man. “Everyone else was ignoring me anyway!” His voice is brittle, powered only by his frustration, and it feels like a pot ready to boil over. “Yoongi and Jin always do their own thing in the kitchen and never like me helping out, Namjoon and Hoseok have their whole teacher-student thing going on, and the only people my age are so up each other’s asses that they don’t even look at me half the time! Y/n has six other guys to sleep with so it’s not like I can even hang out with her that much. Everyone’s paired up and left me out of it but you all act like you haven’t. And then it’s all, ‘oh, why is Jungkook all grouchy?’ like I’m just making your lives difficult or something.”

Jimin winces. “We never tried to-”

“It doesn’t matter if you didn’t try to, you did! You and Tae fucking drool over each other all day long and even when I try and- and- talk to either of you, it’s clear that you’re just thinking about the other person.” Jungkook stands suddenly, whirling around to face Taehyung. “I thought that day in the confessional shed, Tae, when you said it wasn’t just Y/n… I thought you were talking about me. I thought we were having a moment, you know, and then it turns out it was just Jimin. It’s always Jimin.”

“Come on, that’s not fair,” Jimin cuts in, “he can’t help his feelings.”

Taehyung sends Jimin a confused look hastily before turning back to Jungkook. “Kookie, I’m really sorry. I don’t want to exclude you anymore. I’ll do better.”

“You shouldn’t have to apologise, Tae,” Jin pipes up tiredly, and a strangled cry comes from Jungkook’s throat, the boy almost hysterical.

“Why do you want so badly for no one to be on my side, Seokjin?”

“God, it isn’t about that-”

Jungkook seems borderline hysterical, bottom lip trembling violently as he points at the eldest. “Well, what is it about? You act so fucking high and mighty, Jin, yet you’re in the same fucking situation as me.”

Your eyes widen as Jungkook turns to you, knees almost bumping yours with how close he’s standing. Behind him, Jin makes a low noise of warning. “Don’t, Jungkook…”

Jungkook’s eyes are wild, two points of red on his cheeks. “Jin has feelings for you but he won’t say anything because he thinks you just see it as sex. And he has the fucking audacity to try and give me advice on my feelings for-”

“Jeon Jungkook!” Jin bellows, standing too. Beside him, Yoongi tugs at his wrist, but the eldest shakes it off. “You have no right to-”

You’ve had enough of sitting silently, wincing at Jin’s volume, the therapist so far from the pillar of emotional stability he usually was. “Just let him get it out, Jin, he’s frustrated.”

Jungkook scoffs even as Jin shakes his head in disapproval. “Are you serious?” Jungkook asks you incredulously. “I tell you Jin has feelings for you and you’re still trying to suck up to me?”

You reel back, brows knitted. “I’m defending you, Jungkook.”

“I don’t want you to fucking defend me, Y/n, I’ve had enough of you leading everyone on and then not returning anything. You have all the power here and you just toy with us and act all innocent.”

“What are you talking about?” you cry, throat aching with the effort it takes to keep your voice steady.

Jungkook’s eyes gleam, unshed tears reflecting the light. “Jin-hyung tries to be romantic and you tell him it’s just a scene to you, instead of just doing Namjoon’s prompt you take his virginity like it’s a 90s romcom, making it “special” for him. You want every one of us to fall for you so that you can get fawned over by seven hot guys, but you aren’t willing to take any of the responsibility that comes with it. You act like things are so hard for you having to choose, but you’re breaking our fucking hearts doing it!”

You open your mouth to retort, but a crashing wave of guilt overtakes you, and your cheeks are wet before you even realise you’re crying. Intentional or not, you rue all the times you complained about elimination, knowing that the guys must have been feeling so much worse. “I’m so sorry, Kook,” you make out, covering your nose and mouth with a hand to try and contain yourself.

From the other side of the room, it’s Namjoon that speaks up next, voice flat and reserved. It’s a stark contrast to the fire in Jungkook’s voice, but he looks no less affected by everything. “That’s not fair at all,” he says shortly, “Y/n isn’t in charge of our feelings any more than we are, and you don’t have any right to judge her for what I chose. I was the one who wanted my first time to be special, Kook.”

Namjoon’s low volume seems to influence Jungkook, taking his noise level down a notch. The words just hurt more. “Maybe you shouldn’t be here then, Namjoon. This isn’t where you come to have your cherry popped by a nice, young lady you can bring home to your parents.”

“Oh, my god,” Hoseok exclaims with a groan, “are we seriously just complaining about everyone now? Is that what this is? Good going, Jin, really fucking helpful.”

A whirl of dread rushes through you as the anger continues to flit around the room in an ugly cloud, everyone having a bone to pick with each other. Jin makes a noise of outrage, hissing back at Hoseok when he speaks. “I don’t see you coming up with any suggestions. Do any of you have any fucking idea how hard it is to have everyone expecting you to magically solve their problems and shoulder their burdens and not a single one of them gives a shit about you?”

“That isn’t true,” you protest, immediately regretting drawing attention back to yourself.

Jin scoffs. “You haven’t said a fucking thing since finding out I have feelings for you. Wait, no; you haven’t said a fucking thing since I got upset with you on Tuesday. Did you really never think to ask even once how I was doing?”

Your excuse feels flat even before you say it. “I was waiting for you to-”

“Ding ding ding, we have a winner!” he sings sarcastically. “Everybody waits for me to solve things and then complains when it’s not helpful enough,” Jin spits, glaring at Hoseok with the last few words.

A shuddering sob cuts into the silence that follow his words, and in unison you all turn to Taehyung, who has his face buried in Hoseok’s shoulder, Namjoon rubbing his back as his shoulders heave.

Jimin sucks in a sharp breath at the sight, body twitching as he fights the urge to rush over, and instead raises his voice to address the room. “Alright; show’s over. This isn’t solving anything.”

“Why should you decide?” Jungkook cuts in immediately. “I’m miserable and you don’t care, Jin’s miserable and you don’t care, but the second it’s Taehyung…!”

Jimin rolls his eyes, leaning back in his seat. “Why are you so bothered by it?”

Jungkook lets out a cry of frustration that sounds closer to a sob. “Because you’re taking him away from me! I can’t compete with you! Everybody’s obsessed with you, everybody wants your approval and you just drink it up, you narcissistic, selfish piece of shit!”

Around the room, everyone sucks in a wary breath, but Jimin’s already standing, features sharpened in anger. “Why are you acting like it’s my fault he has feelings for me? Maybe he doesn’t like you because you’re a whiny fucking brat who takes everything personally.”

“That isn’t true,” Taehyung hiccups out, “Jungkookie’s nice, Min. And you’re not selfish.”

Though the tension in the room just keeps rising and rising, you can see, behind Jimin’s standing figure, Yoongi sitting stiffly on the couch. He keeps glaring at the cameras expectantly, with one hand clutching his phone and the other latched onto Jin’s wrist, keeping him from interfering further. The two exchange words quietly, shaking their heads in disapproval.

On the more emotional side of the room, Hoseok holds Taehyung closely, soothing him as Namjoon looks up hesitantly at the others. “I really think we should stop, guys…”

“Let’s all take a chill pill,” Hoseok quips as Taehyung’s tears stain his shirt.

Jimin lets out a noise of disgust. “Oh, shut the fuck up, Hoseok.”

“Is no one gonna stop this?” Namjoon asks hesitantly, glancing up at the cameras.

“What did I say?” Yoongi retorts rhetorically. “They aren’t going to interfere. They know this drama gives their show more views.”

“Good for Jimin,” Jungkook states petulantly, “the more views he gets, the better he feels.”

“Coming from you,” Jimin says over the sound of Yoongi clicking his tongue in exasperation. “Maybe the reason you hate me so much is because you and I are the exact same, Jungkook, I just do it better.”

“Again with your superiority complex,” Jungkook huffs. “How long until everyone here gets sick of you, Jimin? How long until the novelty wears off and you’re left alone on your high horse again, huh?”

Jimin flinches like he’s been hit, but takes an accusing step closer to Jungkook. Around them, everyone shrinks back in their seats, Hoseok shielding Taehyung’s ears and Yoongi and Jin with a phone sandwiched between their cheeks as they make a call. Namjoon’s begun to cry, too, but he hides his running nose with a sleeve, eyes wide and shining as they watch Jimin and Jungkook square off.

The two of them are a few steps apart, now, not even the coffee table dividing them. Jimin, although physically smaller than Jungkook, appears to tower over the other as his face darkens. “At least I’m good at my job, Jungkook. Why did you come down so soon? Blow your load too quickly like an amateur?” When it doesn’t gain any more reaction than Jungkook’s face twitching in annoyance, Jimin grins wickedly. “Or could baby not even get it up, huh? Take your dick away, you’re not much of anything, are you?”

Jungkook lunges before Jimin is even done speaking.

The thud of impact and grunt of rage from the youngest echoes through the room sickly as Jimin reels back, clutching at his nose. Already you can see the intense scarlet pooling between his fingers, dripping down as his eyes tear up with anger and pain.

The urge to jump in, do something, almost overwhelms you, but you feel yourself paralysed, shocked and barely able to process anything like it’s a bad nightmare.

On one side of Jungkook and Jimin, Taehyung wails, struggling in Hoseok and Namjoon’s hold as the two of them keep him from interfering. On the other side, Yoongi stands up in alarm, keeping his voice calm as he splays his palms. “Woah, woah, that’s enough now-”

Jimin pulls his hands away, spitting out the blood in his mouth even as more streams to fill out. “You little fucker,” he hisses. “If you broke my nose, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Jungkook lets out a bitter laugh. “Take your face away, you’re not much of anything, right?” he mocks.

Sensing things turning for the worst, Yoongi widens his eyes and jumps forward, but his hands just catch on empty air. Jimin’s already launched himself forward, taking Jungkook off-guard as he shoves him with balled fists, using the full weight of his body to send the other tripping backwards.

Jungkook curses when he lands harshly on the coffee table, empty and half-full cups of coffee flung off, some smashing directly under him. He rolls off, instinctively curling his body away from Jimin.

Passing Taehyung over to Namjoon, Hoseok leaps up to tug Jimin back as the man continues to step closer to Jungkook’s prone body. The moment he gets a hand on Jimin, however, he’s met with an elbow to the cheek, stumbling back from the impact.

For a moment, everyone goes silent. Jimin stares wide-eyed at the red mark quickly blooming on Hoseok’s cheekbone, the dom looking shocked as he rubs at it.

That second of inaction is all it takes for Jin and Yoongi to descend on Jimin at the same time, an arm firmly grasped by each man as they drag him backwards. Jimin doesn’t even fight it, though, a strange clarity and sorrow in his eyes, even brighter than the red that’s beginning to drip down to his shirt.

When Sejin bursts in and rushes over to Jungkook, it’s too late to really solve anything. The combative atmosphere has dissolved into the sick, defeated aftermath of Jimin and Jungkook’s physical alteration.

Still, he directs Jin and Yoongi to take Jimin upstairs to ‘cool off’, crouching beside Jungkook and making sure he’s okay before he tugs the boy gently up. As he leads the youngest in the opposite direction, towards the front door, Jungkook twists in his grip, trying to look back towards the group.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he wails, “please don’t hate me, I’m so so sorry!” Jungkook babbles on almost incoherently, feet stumbling as Sejin tries to shush him, pulling him out the door.

The moment the door clicks shut, it’s like the emotions of the past hour or so hit everyone at once. Namjoon has joined Taehyung in crying, Hoseok trying to rub their backs at once with a pained face, his cheek beginning to swell slightly.

With your shoulders and chest heaving violently as you sob - the silent tears finally finding their voice - you blink away your blurry vision and heave yourself off the couch. The three of them accept you with open, albeit shaky arms, and without any care about exposing your relationship, you wind your arms around Taehyung’s waist and bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“Do you think they’re okay?” Namjoon asks in a small voice, fiddling with the damp sleeve of his shirt.

As if to answer his question, you hear hurried stomps, followed by Jimin bursting briefly into your line of sight, rushing down the stairs and out the front door without even a second glance.

Even the split-second view of him you got sparks worry in your chest. He’d clearly made a minimal attempt to wipe away most of the blood, but there were still dried smears below his nostrils and down his neck, and the shirt he’s wearing looks like something out of a horror movie, likely the material he used to clean himself up.

Jin and Yoongi follow down, but not fast enough, the blue-haired man long gone by then. The two of them seem hollowed, clearly taking this on as their own burden, as their fault - especially Jin, who’s knitting his brows harshly to stop his own tears.

Taehyung’s straightening up immediately, wrapped up in the middle of the three of you on the couch as he calls out to the older men. “What did he say? Is he okay? It’s not broken, is it? His nose?”

“Tae, easy,” Jin soothes, voice thick with emotion. “Yoongi took a look at it, it’s not broken, just tender. Jungkook sure does know how to swing a punch, though. Jimin was lucky.”

“Lucky,” the masseuse repeats weakly. “I don’t know if anything about this was lucky, hyung.”

“Can we even come back from this?” Namjoon asks slowly. “If we couldn’t talk like adults without fighting, then surely we’re doomed to just-”

“Nobody is doomed,” Jin assures. “If I’m perfectly honest, it seems like Jungkook was so wound up that there was nowhere for him to go except this. He probably just needed to totally vent and get it all out. I should’ve seen it coming, I’m so sorry.”

Yoongi grimaces, a hand on Jin’s shoulder. “None of this is your fault, hyung. We’re all complicit and we can all learn from this, but let’s not play the blame game. I just hope Jimin and Jungkook don’t entirely despise each other after this. I actually thought the kid liked- Anyway. Best thing we can do now is give them some time.”

You suck in a deep breath. That whole time, you’d just sat there, too shocked or too cowardly to move, you don’t even know which one. And although it’s too late, at least there’s one thing you can do to help, rather than just waiting passively. You gently detangle yourself from Taehyung, Hoseok and Namjoon and get up off the couch.

When Yoongi - the most composed of the bunch - sees you kneel on the carpet, beginning to pick up chips and fragments of the shattered cup, he lets out a noise of concern. “Y/n, you shouldn’t-”

In your haste to help, and your shakiness from crying, it’s no surprise that your fingers are clumsy, grabbing onto a shard too harshly.

You see the blood welling before you feel it, a hot line of pain that opens up across the base of your palm and spills onto the carpet. Dumbly, you just watch it collect in the fibres. You’re sure when the showrunners rented this house, they hadn’t anticipated blood to be the fluid they’d need to be cleaning up. But in just one day, so much had been shed needlessly.

You’d probably sit there forever, numb to your own injury were it not for Yoongi rushing forward, his fingers gently prying away the sharp shard of ceramic, holding your hand so tenderly as he inspects it.

“You’re coming to my bedroom, now. Can you stand?”

Yoongi’s voice feels far away, inconsequential. You hum just to feel your throat vibrate. Letting out a sigh laden with worry, Yoongi lifts you off the floor slowly, waiting to see if you can get your feet back under you.

It seems you can stand, though it takes all of your focus. The others are talking behind you, voices fretting, but they reach your ears like you’re underwater.

It’s less than a second of eternity before you’re blinking away the cotton fog, slowly coming back to your senses.

The first thing you feel is a freezing solid surface against your legs and back. As it seeps into your bones, it wakes you up, and you fight to focus your vision, watching the colours swim sickly.

“...hear me?” The shapes and shades begin to settle like silt on a lakebed, revealing Yoongi’s round face as it crumples in contained concern. “Y/n, can you hear me?”

“I h-hear you, yes,” you slur out, coughing away the remaining thickness in your throat.

“Good, okay, stay with me,” he instructs, crouched in front of you. “What day is it?”

The more you tune back in to your surroundings, you become aware of a second person behind Yoongi. Hoseok’s long legs sprawl gracefully in front of you as he sits on the toilet seat lid, but his head is dipped back onto the tile. He looks totally devoid of any of the positive energy you’re used to seeing on him.

“Everything’s ruined,” you mumble lowly.

Yoongi sucks in a breath and tilts your face back to him, his fingers cold like ice. “I need you to not worry about that for now and stay alert. What day of the week is it?”

“Sunday,” you give after a beat.

“Good, and what’s my name?”

You frown, shifting in his grasp. “I’m not concussed, you know.”

Yoongi huffs, his hands falling from your jaw. “I’m trying to keep you distracted, you brat. What’s my name?”

“Min Yoongi. Doctor Min Yoongi I gue- Wait, why do I need to be- ow!” You automatically try to jerk your hand close to you when a searing, stinging pain explodes your nerves, but an iron grip around your wrist keeps you steady.

Glancing down, you see Yoongi deftly wrapping a bandage around the base of your palm, winding it around your thumb. Below, the burning ache of antiseptic makes you wince. “It hurts,” you whine.

“Unlike poor Hoseok, you did this to yourself,” Yoongi replies shortly.

You pout. “Do you bully all your patients?”

“Only the ones I like.” Clearing his throat with a tinge of pink in his cheeks, Yoongi finishes bandaging your wound. “You’ll live.”

Despite yourself and the events of the past few hours, your lip twitches. “Reassuring.”

Before the doctor can respond, Hoseok lifts his head and blinks down at the two of you balefully. “He hit me,” he breathes in a sullen voice.

“Jimin?” Yoongi begins to pack up his little first aid kit, slumping back against the vanity you’re propped up on. “You got in the way.”

“He didn’t just push me away, he elbowed me right in the face,” Hoseok explains meaningfully. The thought seems to bother him more than you’d expect. “I didn’t think he actually hated me like that.”

“Isn’t that your whole shtick?” you ask tiredly. All of your annoyance, frustration, anger and even your guilt seems to have been sucked away by the chill of the tile, leaving you feeling strangely hollow and detached. “Two sparring doms trying to outdo each other?”

The truth is, Jimin didn’t like to speak or hear about Hoseok, and you hadn’t actually spent that much time with the professional dom to hear his side. Hoseok shrugs with a sigh. “I know he doesn’t like me. And I think he’s an arrogant prick, but I’d never hit him. I thought it was just a bit of fun to play up the rivalry, you know? I guess not to him.”

Yoongi looks grim. “I don’t think it’s wise for us to make any judgements about each other based on any of the events of the past six hours. We all got caught up in it, and I’m sure we’ll be able to forgive and move on.”

Hoseok nibbles at a thumbnail, unassured. “Do you think they’ll send them home for aggression?”

“Who knows?” Yoongi answers honestly. “But hey; you’ll get to be the winner of your rivalry and outlast Jimin. That’s something, isn’t it? You always wanted to.”

A shiver runs up your spine at the despairing look on Hoseok’s face. “Not like this,” are the only three words he makes out before a sob bubbles up his throat. He claps a hand over his mouth, but the dam has burst.

“Hobi,” you coo, shuffling forward on your knees to avoid putting pressure on your injured hand. He lets out a shuddering breath when you take his hand and link in your fingers, providing some physical comfort. “Let’s go downstairs, maybe make some dinner, and wait for Jimin and Jungkook to come back in. We’ll say our sorries and go to bed on a warmer note, yeah?”

Hoseok pauses, bites his lip to cease his tears, and nods shakily. “Yeah, let’s do that. Even if he hates me, I… I want to apologise if I’ve contributed in taking things too far.”

You hum, standing up. Though you wobble for a bit, you feel far more stable than before, and you use your links hands to tug Hoseok to his feet too. “And I want to apologise for not being fairer with you all. But we can’t do anything until Jungkook and Jimin are ready to come back.”

Yoongi pushes himself off the floor with a grunt. “And Hoseok, I’m getting you an icepack for that cheek of yours.”

Though Hoseok protests, five minutes passing sees you in the kitchen, Hoseok slumped at the breakfast bar with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a paper towel pressed to his face. You busy yourself with putting some rice on to cook and Yoongi and Jin work in their usual companionable silence, preparing a basic beef broth.

Both uninjured and not much help in the kitchen, Taehyung and Namjoon occupy their hands and minds with cleaning, following YouTube tutorials on how to get coffee and blood out of the carpet. They haven’t made all that much progress by the time dinner is served, but nobody comments on the dark patches, huddling on two couches in the lounge instead of the dining table. Though no one admits it, you need the extra physical comfort.

As you eat, you find yourself glancing back and forth between the two full bowls waiting on the kitchen countertop, and the front door. “Should someone go out and check on them?” you ask eventually, snapping the silence.

“I texted Sejin asking if they needed any medical attention,” Yoongi offers. “He just said no.”

“Minnie took his phone,” Taehyung said in a low voice. He’s barely touched his food, staring blankly into space. “But he only sent one text saying he was okay and he won’t reply to any of my other ones.”

“We wait,” Jin decides resolutely. “We’ll just sit here and wait for them to come back, and then hopefully we can all agree to put this past us. It was awful, yes, but I think it needed to happen. And hopefully nobody feels like they have anything weighing on their conscience anymore.”

Nobody protests and so, you wait.

The leftovers - god, when was the last time you’d had leftovers in this house? - are wrapped up and put in the fridge, the pots cleaned. As the sky dims, you turn the lights on inside. Nobody dares leave long enough to have a shower, but Taehyung darts upstairs to grab some blankets so that you can tuck up in two groups - Taehyung stays by your side with Hoseok, and the two eldest sandwich Namjoon.

Time passes stiffly, but it does pass. When the sun goes down, there are still only six of you in the house. Everyone’s so emotionally exhausted from the fight, and strung out from the anxiety of listening out for the door, that when it suddenly opens you all jump, Hoseok even cursing as he gets a fright.

The sudden spike of hope in your chest tanks violently when it’s Sejin that rounds the corner, a grim look on his face.

Taehyung frowns, his frame trembling as it leans into you. “Where are they?”

Sejin gestures back the way he came. “They’re in the production van.” Taehyung stands up immediately, but Sejin steps in front of him, hands splayed. “They just want to have some space, Taehyung,” he explains.

“There’s more space in here than there is in the van,” Taehyung protests weakly, even as he settles back down between you and Hoseok. “When are they gonna come back inside? It’s getting late.”

Sejin’s eyes flit around the six of you as he shifts, uncomfortable. “I’ve told them they’re welcome to stay the night there and use my bed. I came in to tell you that I’m going to go home now. Please don’t go out and disturb them. I’ve talked to them, but now they need some time to chat to each other and think about what they’d like to do.” The older man adjusts his glasses and gives you a pained smile. “Try and get some rest.”

A cold bolt of fear runs down your spine. “What they’d like to do?”

Taehyung swallows hard, hands beginning to tremble. “They aren’t going to leave the show, are they?”

Sejin’s mouth opens, closes, opens again. “Please try and get some rest,” he repeats, rather than answering. Taehyung shivers, and you feel the pressure of his forehead on your shoulder as he wraps his arms around your waist.

The producer turns to leave, making Yoongi frown. “Hey!” he calls sharply. Sejin turns around to face him. “I was meant to be taking Y/n out as my reward for fan favourite.”

You bite your lip anxiously. Truth be told, the thought had slipped your mind, and you don’t fancy leaving the others now, certainly not Taehyung who was clinging to you like a frightened puppy.

Sejin curses under his breath, rubbing his temple. “I’ll call an Uber.”

Yoongi steps back a little like the response surprises him. “No, I- This isn’t really the time, is it? I want to ask if we can do it tomorrow night instead, or something? I’m staying here with my friends tonight. We’re staying together.”

“That’s fine,” Sejin allows, a weak smile gracing his tired features before he gasps. “Oh! That reminds me…” He turns so that he’s addressing the group. “I don’t think anyone is in the emotional headspace for eliminations, so… I’m pushing the Monday meeting to Tuesday. Nine in the morning like usual. Just rest up tomorrow.”

“Good to hear you care now,” Yoongi mutters bitterly.

Sejin winces. “I think we’ve had enough conflict today, Yoongi-”

“Something you could have solved,” the doctor accuses harshly, “if you’d answered my texts or my calls and come down when we were asking you for help. I won’t forget that.”

“It’s done. There’s nothing more for me to do beyond apologising.”

“Which you haven’t done,” Yoongi fires back immediately.

“I’m sorry.” The producer gives a stiff wave of farewell to the group. “My girlfriend is waiting outside. I’ll be back first thing tomorrow.”

When Sejin leaves the villa, the group heave out a unanimous sigh of exhaustion. It’s been a long day, but the thought of splitting apart, of being alone with your thoughts, is more than you can bear.

“Could we…” You swallow down the croakiness in your throat as everyone turns to look at you. “Could we maybe all stay down here tonight? Together?”

Namjoon’s eyes soften. “I’d like that. I could grab some blankets?”

Taehyung looks up. “I’ll get pillows.”

One by one, four of you run upstairs, Yoongi and Hoseok wanting to get into some more comfortable clothes for sleeping. Before you do the same, you turn to Jin.

He’s starting to push the coffee table towards the television, leaving more room in the middle of the couches. Stubbornly keeping himself busy.

“Jin,” you call out hesitantly, making him glance up in the midst of straightening the table against the wall. “I want to apologise. For relying on you for everything and not taking responsibility of the situation.”

His eyes soften, a pained smile. “You don’t have to.”

“I do and I am,” you counter, “I’m sorry. And for what it’s worth… Me calling it a scene, I… It wasn’t a grand statement. It was just a slip of the tongue. You mean more to me than just this game, than just sex, and I feel terrible that you’ve gone the whole week thinking that was the case.”

Behind you, you can hear footsteps descending the stairs. Jin glances up, then back at you quickly with a shake of his head. “To be honest, I’ve gotten over it. I’m fine; you don’t have to worry about me. I think it’s better just to keep it about sex.” He makes a vague gesture, indicating the day’s events. “Less messy.”

You blink, not expecting that. Had he gotten over being upset? Or gotten over his feelings for you? “Oh.” But Hoseok and Taehyung are stumbling down the steps, hesitating in the doorway, and you know you can’t dig deeper. For now, you’ll have to just be happy he doesn’t seem to be still bothered by it. “No worries. I’ll- I should go get into some pyjamas.”

That night, none of you really sleep the night. You lie tucked between Yoongi’s reassuring mass on one side, and Taehyung’s comforting warmth on the other, and try to steal whatever moments of respite you can. But a restless night shared with five guys who mean far more to you than they should is far preferable to a night spent alone, and you count your blessings for it. Although you’re all a little broken, you have each other’s support to stop from shattering completely, and hopefully you can stay together long enough to heal.

ELIMINATION

On the seventh Day of every Week in the game, Y/n’s elimination vote is released for 48 hours following the post of the fic. Please note, this is NOT the Fan Favourite vote, which has already happened.

Vote closed. Thank you for participating.

Below is the screenshot taken after 48 hours of the fan favourite vote being open.

[sheev66]

Hero Society’s Pyrrhic Victory: how Destro’s ideology is more influential than ever

I gotta admit I was a little disappointed at how hard the PLF were destroyed in the war arc. ReDestro, Geten and Trumpet were all captured too late to be broken back out of Tartarus and most of the lieutenants didn’t really get a chance to shine. The exception is Skeptic, who actually had made quite an impact through his collaboration with Dabi. Regardless, the PLF’s central organization got rocked. Their plan and grand strategy, however, is surprisingly healthy. Before the war, hawks basically figures out their strategy for bringing about a meta liberation revolution.

Even with the PLF dismantled, the first step of their plan actually became a reality. Shigaraki dusting a massive chunk of a city and Giga rampaging across the country has pushed the heroes working capacity past their breaking point and perfectly demonstrated that the civilian populace cannot rely on the heroes to protect them. The PLF and the Hearts and Minds party are now unable to capitalize on the unrest, but it seems that the liberation ideology has taken root in the population enough to stir change by itself. As Redestro says, the seeds have been sown.

Even with 16,000 or so members captured, we must remember that ReDestro claimed he had over 100,000 soldiers in the group. It should be noted that even these low-ranking members of the PLF are just as ideologically motivated as the top brass, angry with current state of affairs in hero society.

Additionally, those 132 members that escaped from the mansion include lieutenants that can become new local leaders of the movement.

Furthermore, It’s clear that a progression has taken place in regards to liberation ideology among common people. The first time we someone act in accordance with Destro’s belief, It’s just some crazy dude with a grievance against his workplace.

The thing about Horikoshi’s worldbuilding is that he often uses one-off civilian characters to depict the “direction” popular opinion and society is heading in. From this guy, we can see that before the Deika city clash, Destro’s ideology was still fringe. After Deika, however, we can see a shift in people’s ideas about liberation and using quirks for self-defense. Using his power of video editing and propaganda, Skeptic turns the battle between the MLA and the LOV into a story of virtuous community defense.

The PLF also got an unexpected media boost by Hawks. Even though he was only doing it to appear devoted to the cause and get secret intelligence out to the top-ranking heroes, his public endorsements of Destro’s ideas made an impact.

Thus, in Endeavor’s battle with Starservant in the Endeavor internship arc, we can see that random civilians are more willing to fight to protect themselves and others.

At this point however, there was still an underlying respect for the heroes; the office worker was only suggesting to hold off Starservant until the heroes arrive, not deal with it entirely by themselves. That is, until the heroes dropped the ball entirely. As hawks said back in the pro-hero arc, the most people are afraid, the more open they are to new ideologies contrary to the status quo.

In the latest chapter, we can see that an ordinary person was about to jump in and fight a gang by himself, with the use of a Detnerat-style support item. Not only that, but he is explicitly anti-hero. Right in front of our eyes, we’re seeing  Japan slip back into the era of fear and pessimism that All Might grew up in.

In an unexpected visual parallel, we can see the discontent of the liberation soldier hawks spoke too reflected now in a big chunk of the faces in the crowd. Not once in the series have ordinary people looked so unhappy to see a hero.

In conclusion, despite the fact that the PLF’s ability to conduct large scale operations has been neutralized and its leadership has been decapitated, the public’s receptiveness to their ideas has never been higher. It’s clear that this plot thread will only become more important in new era to come.

[nikosheba]

Ok, oh boy. @misswhalie you asked for it!! Under the cut so if you don’t want to see my Maeglin opinions (and they’re not Super Positive) you can just cheerfully scroll on by! I’m not here to hate on anyone for liking him or the way anyone portrays him, I just have a very clear idea about him in my head.

Ok so the first thing is, I’m not a huge fan of a Wholly Unreliable Narrator, and most of the Maeglin Stanning I see comes directly from that. It seems to me to be like “I like this character” > “but he did bad things” > “so maybe he didn’t do bad things” > “the book is wrong because Pengolodh was a big old meanie”

Edited to add: most of this is based on TFOG Maeglin, because it’s the most complete account we have extant, and a few things are referenced from The Shaping of Middle-Earth, which included some updated passages. I do tend to give those accounts more weight than the published Silm if there are conflicting narratives, and especially if there are narrative holes, because if canons conflict I’m going with the one that was written by J.R.R. Tolkien and not his son.

Whereas I see that there is a level of unreliable narration, but more in the sense of...I don’t think it was obvious at all at the time to most of the Gondothlim that Maeglin was Up To Something--in TFOG he’s not unpopular, he’s close in the King’s counsel, when he chooses to he joins in the dances and the merriment and this isn’t something that’s seen as wholly out of character, just that “Maeglin is softened.” So the most I really enjoy the unreliable narrator is to the extent of like...I kind of think that Pengolodh may have been trying to make it look like when you live next to a serial killer and you want to insist that you totally suspected him, you weren’t taken in, you knew he was bad all along! I’m not a huge fan of Unreliable Narrator in general; it only appeals to me when that unreliable narration is an actual plot point (like THE TRUE STORY OF THE 3 LITTLE PIGS BY A. WOLF), not as a place to start with, because then is it even interacting with the text? Like, an interesting fic for me would be something like “Here’s what really happened--and here’s why Pengolodh has a grudge against him, and how that got changed.” But “none of that stuff happened, here’s a story about something else” doesn’t appeal to me.

Maeglin’s character for me is a mixture of Mordred le Fey from Arthuriana and Loki/Ben Solo. And frankly, they’re all sort of callbacks to the same type of character; the one who was sort of an outsider, who was loved and accepted but never saw it that way due to his perception of himself as different, who eventually betrayed those that loved him and got them killed. 

(I also don’t know where the “Maeglin was a torture victim” thing comes from. In every edition of the text I’ve read it says he was threatened with torture, but I haven’t found one where it says anything actually happened to him. In TFOG he just immediately offers the city in exchange for his life, and for Idril as his prize.)

We also know from ósanwë-kenta that it’s not possible for an elf to read the mind of another without permission, which leads me to believe that the reason Idril knows all his horny dreams is because he’s deliberately slamming I SHOWED YOU MY DICK PLS RESPOND over and over into her brain at 2am every morning. At the very least, he’s being very unguarded--and again, in all versions of the text written directly by J.R.R.T., he’s explicitly motivated by his lust for the throne of Gondolin rather than by any genuine love of her.

So like, being honest? That scene at the battlements. I cannot get over this. He drags his cousin by her hair through the city as she fights him, commands his soldiers to stop or kill her husband, and deliberately goes up to the very top battlements because he wants to make her watch her seven-year-old son burn to death. He tries to stab said child and is only foiled by 1. Brave Baby Boy and 2. Baby Chain Mail.

Also I’m pretty sure i mentally live in Gondolin most days lately and You Betrayed My City. 

So in essence: I’m a canon purist. I try very hard to make all of my fics and headcanons work as closely within canon as possible, and my motto is that good fanfiction adds, but does not subtract. I’m very careful to delineate what is canon, what is headcanon, what is fanon, and what is AU. I 100% respect that this is NOT how everyone approaches fandom, and that’s fine with me. I do enjoy AUs, but I have strict personal rules about them. 

(My ONE RULE FOR A GREAT AU:

1. Change Only One of the Following: Who What Where When Why How; everything else different should follow from that one thing. Be very specific about what it is. i.e. you can have The Fellowship In Space or you can have Sam Leads The Fellowship but once you have Captain Sam of the S.S. Fellowship it gets really murky as an AU for me, and starts losing all connection to the original.) 

But it seems to me that every time I see a “sympathetic Maeglin” it doesn’t mean “maybe he had reasons for doing what he did beyond what we’ve seen,” it means “I don’t think he did those things at all.” And for me, that just kind of feels like it’s a different character than the one in the text. 

And frankly? If someone can make a 100% canon compliant TFOG Maeglin sympathetic, I think that would be fascinating. Tag me in that! 

Additional salt: I would really like some nice family art of Idril, Tuor, and Eärendil as a happy young family, but probably 80-90% of the art of them is like:

[ENORMOUS LOOMING MAEGLIN SNARLING OR LEERING]

                                  (house of the wing)

Hope that wasn’t too brutal lol.

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH137 (Extra)

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents ]

-----

Chapter 137: Extra

Introduction to Extra: When a high school student idol girl encounters an exorcist of the Holy See who transferred to her school, the original scientific world seems to suddenly become unscientific...

Beautiful idol girl: A lovely and beautiful girl like me, of course, only likes handsome girls!

Handsome girl: Hmm!

Agent: Excuse me?

　　&&&

Note: This story is an AU (Alternative Universe) story, that is, a parallel universe, not a story within the same timeline as the main text. There is no Nightmare Game in this story. Everyone is living in modern times, including fantastic creatures such as supernatural ghosts, demons, and blood cults, but they are not widely known. The story involves the locations and characters from the Castle Cry copy, but it is different from the story in the text. Please refer to the text.

Genders are different, genders are different, and genders are different (important things are said three times). Because of gender differences and different experiences growing up, the characters are slightly different from the text.

Qi Leren entered the entertainment industry from an early age while attending high school, filming and singing, and was a famous idol and beautiful girl; Ning Zhou is the royal elder sister* mixed-race exorcist who transferred from abroad for some reason.

*{E/N: yujie, like the Japanese onee-sama character type}

　　&&&

The sunshine outside the window was too good, and there wasn’t even a cloud in the blue sky.

Qi Leren looked out of the window with her cheeks propped up, a little absent-minded.

The teacher was giving a lecture on the podium and the students around her were all keeping their heads down and taking notes carefully. Qi Leren’s eyes quietly drifted to the black-haired and blue-eyed student by the window. She sat upright and looked at the teacher on the podium, looking serious and earnest.

Her blue eyes were really beautiful.

Qi Leren's thoughts suddenly returned to the day a month ago.

On that day, she’d flown back to X City overnight the previous night. It was already after midnight when she’d gotten home, so she’d unfortunately overslept the next day and rushed into the lecture building as the school bell rang. Although the school was tolerant of her frequent leave, Qi Leren didn't want to be treated specially because of her idol status, so she would try her best to observe the school rules.

The bell was drawing to a close, and she was still a corridor away from the classroom. Qi Leren ran at the speed of the 800-meter women's champion in the school sports meet. As she ran, she thought she might not be late this time. As a result, at the corner at the end of the corridor, she ran head-on into someone.

"Ow!" The bump was really strong. Qi Leren raised her head angrily, covering her nose, and glared at the person.

The blue-eyed girl who was hit: "...Sorry."

Who is this? I've never seen her before. Is she wearing fashion contact lenses? So tall and beautiful!

Qi Leren stared at the person and for a long time she apologized until the class teacher coughed: "I'm sorry, I ran into you, I'm sorry!"

The class teacher accompanying the blue-eyed girl smiled and said, "Xiao-Qi, what are you hurrying for?"

Qi Leren immediately wore a bitter expression: "...Sorry teacher, I'm late."

"It doesn't matter, you’re busy with your work, the teacher understands it, go back to the classroom quickly," the teacher in charge said, taking the two people with her to the classroom.

Qi Leren walked on the left side of the head teacher and slowed down after two steps. She secretly looked at the girl walking on the right side of the head teacher. She looked only ahead of her, and she could see that her facial features were more three-dimensional than the average person. With those sapphire eyes, Qi Leren boldly guessed that she should be mixed-race.

"Hey hey, I’m Qi Leren, what's your name? Why haven't I seen you before? Did you transfer to this school?" Qi Leren put on her trademark smile photogenic smile and smiled sweetly at her, and spoke without any of her idol baggage.

The blue-eyed girl gave her a look, turned her face quickly, and fell silent.

Qi Leren, who’d failed to strike up a conversation, froze for a second. What? Someone ignored her? This was not scientific!

Qi Leren debuted at the age of seven, playing the sister of the self-improving poor hero in a drama set in the Republic of China. Because the story required crying from beginning to end, crying deeply and emotionally, and because of her lovable role and outstanding acting skills, she played the clever and poor little girl vividly and immediately became the little daughter in the eyes of the aunties and became a national sweetheart.

Since then, Qi Leren, who was still a young girl, relied on her mother's contacts as an actress and her own outstanding acting skills - and probably also her well-proportioned face - and after ten years, her development route had been well planned by the management company. From the age of thirteen, she had changed from the role of poor and lovely sister and daughter to the route of a youth idol and beautiful girl, acting on one hand and singing on the other, busy enough that she needed 48 hours per day. If it wasn't for her mother's insistence that she should continue her studies and at least finish college, she probably wouldn't even have the chance to experience normal school life.

It can be imagined that the campus life of this popular idol, this beautiful girl, was full of stars, yet Qi Leren had never met anyone who was nice to her.

To paraphrase the lines of the hero of her recent idol drama: Very good, woman, you have successfully caught my attention!

"Ning Zhou is a new transfer student. She was in Italy before, and her Chinese isn’t very good. Xiao-Qi, you should help her more and let her integrate into the group as soon as possible," the teacher in charge said.

"Oh, no problem, leave it to me!" Qi Leren smartly saluted the class teacher, which attracted the class teacher's tight smile.

The girl named Ning Zhou unnaturally turned away from her gaze, staying silent as she looked at the distant scenery.

It had been a month, and she was still like this.

Qi Leren, who was pulled away from her memories, sighed softly and looked at Ning Zhou with increasingly melancholy eyes.

Ning Zhou was really beautiful and cold, and she exuded an aura of staying away from strangers. Qi Leren heard that her classmates would also talk about her privately, saying that she wasn’t easy to get along with, and the amount of time she normally took as leave was comparable to Qi Leren.

Hey, why was she so cold? She had spoken up many times explicitly and implicitly, but Ning Zhou always ended the conversation with a "hm" which made the idol girl frustrated. If it weren't for Ning Zhou's eyes that were clear of disgust, she would have almost thought Ning Zhou really hated her.

Qi Leren was resting on her arm and looking sideways at Ning Zhou. The side of her face seemed to be glowing in the warm sunshine. It was really beautiful...

Suddenly Ning Zhou turned to look up, and Qi Leren who was peeking was caught red-handed as their eyes collided in the air... What happened with ordinary people? Were they embarrassed and looked away? Qi Leren didn't. She kept her head pillowed on her arm and smiled generously at Ning Zhou, especially sweetly.

Ning Zhou quickly withdrew her sight, not looking out the window.

In the warm sunshine, her earlobe was red.

Qi Leren blinked and repeatedly confirmed that she was not mistaken.

So, in fact, Ning Zhou wasn’t cold but just shy? Qi Leren was stunned by this idea and screamed in her heart for a long time, Ning Zhou! Lovely! She's shy! Super cute!

Qi Leren's heart was filled with an unprecedented impulse. She should try harder to strike up a conversation with Ning Zhou and make good friends with her! The kind where she could bury herself in her breasts!

When the bell rang, Qi Leren immediately sat up straight, and the students around them stood up and walked around the classroom. Several nice classmates gathered around Qi Leren and chatted with her twitteringly.

"Qi Leren, I heard that you’re going to release a single again. Have you recorded it?"

"When will your new show be released?"

"Qi Leren, help me ask Su Ying for a signature! The news said that you’ll be acting in that show, right!"

"Are XX and XXX really in love? I think it’s all just a rumor!"

All kinds of questions surrounded Qi Leren, these curious baby girls racing against time to inquire about the entertainment industry. Qi Leren patiently answered them one by one, and some inconvenient words had to be vaguely taken out. Fortunately, the girls were just curious, not asking why. Compared with them, it was obvious that the students in other classes and even other grades outside the window gave her a headache. If she wanted to go out to the toilet now, she couldn't do it without two students because she would be overwhelmed by the crowd...

This was also the trouble of being a popular and beautiful idol girl.

Until after school in the afternoon, Qi Leren didn't find a chance to get closer to Ning Zhou. She walked too fast. Qi Leren didn't find a chance to leave school with her, so she had to instead leave the school with several girls. In the afternoon, the driver who was in charge of picking her up asked for leave. She thought about whether to take a taxi home or to walk home. After thinking about it, the school wasn’t far from home anyway. It was currently rush hour, so the road would be too blocked. It was better to walk.

So Qi Leren put on a mask and walked towards home with her school bags.

Since the beginning of primary school, Qi Leren had had only a handful of opportunities to go home by herself. She looked at the cars blocking the street from one end to the other and the motorbikes occupying the sidewalk, gave an annoyed tut, and turned her head and walked into the alley.

Through this alley, one could reach the neighbourhood her house was in. Qi Leren was happily humming the tune of her upcoming single that she would be shooting the music video for tomorrow...

At dusk, the orange-red light fell on the corner of the lane, which shrouded the scenery in a decadent golden splendor. A cold wind blew, and the coolness was a little unsettling. Qi Leren instinctively had a feeling of foreboding. She hesitantly stopped and looked around - the sunset’s sudden dimness was only caused by the shadow of a building, and everything seemed ordinary.

The exit was just ahead. With an uneasiness in her heart, Qi Leren strode forward.

There was a cold wind, and the wind mixed with the foul smell and decay. Qi Leren held her breath and took three steps in two strides, but the accident did not let her go. Just less than ten meters away from the corner, the golden sunset was suddenly swallowed up by a strange darkness, and Qileren stopped suddenly and looked ahead in amazement.

The residential buildings on both sides of the alley echoed with the shrill cries of crows, and the daylight around her suddenly darkened as if she had stepped into an instant night. Qi Leren looked back in panic, but the road that she had originally come from had been submerged in the darkness.

What was happening? Was this some strange joke?

Qi Leren panicked and took out her cellphone to make a call. As soon as she unlocked it, there was no signal at all!

Qi Lered was flustered, using her cellphone to illuminate ahead as she walked faster and faster, but no matter how far she went, there was no end to the road ahead. Only the light of the cellphone illuminated a small section of the concrete ahead, and there was a mottled blood on the ground...

There was a strange movement in the darkness ahead. Qi Leren stopped and looked toward it with bated breath. The flashlight lit up the darkness. In this faint light, there was a rickety and distorted shadow coming towards her, step by step, slowly and heavy, as if a cold corpse had been forcibly fished out of the morgue was posing strangely and stumbling forward.

It entered the range of the flashlight’s beam and Qi Leren breathed in a gasp - Was that alive? The limbs were stiff, the skin was gray, and the eyes were glowing red. It paused for a second, its head lowered, and the red eyes looked straight in Qi Leren’s direction.

The next moment, it opened its closed mouth, showing a whole row of sharp teeth, and growled at her!

Qi Leren gave a cry and ran away. She bet that hadn’t tried so hard when she’d ran 800 meters in the school sports meet, but even still the monster that had suddenly become agile got closer and closer as it chased her, and with a swoop forward it grabbed Qi Leren's calf.

"Ah-" Qi Leren fell to the ground, and the monster opened its mouth and bit her throat.

At this critical juncture, Qi Leren, who had closed her eyes tightly, heard a gunshot, but the expected pain did not come. She opened her eyes carefully. The monster holding her down was covered with frost and the cold seeped into her body. She shivered, struggling out of the monster's hold by rolling and crawling, brushing the dirt off her clothes while looking in all directions for the source of the gunshot.

The darkness around her was fading gradually and the sunset came back from the end of the world, spilling its afterglow on the earth.

And in the direction of the sunset, there was a tall and slender figure with a silver shotgun pistol in her hand, looking at her from a distance.

That figure...

Qi Leren suddenly opened her eyes wide and ran to her without thinking. The girl took a step back and seemed to want to leave, but Qi Leren had already cried her name: "Ning Zhou! Wait!"

Ning Zhou didn't go away after all. Instead, she was pulled by the arm by Qi Leren: "What happened just now? What was that monster?"

"...Low-level magic," Ning Zhou said, and went to the monster who had been shot dead by her gun. She bent over to check it and confirmed that it was dead. Then she took out a bottle of a liquid flashing with silver luster from her bag and dumped it on the body. The body instantly turned into black and dissipated in the air.

Qi Leren was still immersed in the absurdity of the thrilling adventure just now, and her mind was full of strange questions. However, when Ning Zhou was about to leave, she quickly caught up and held onto her: "Don't go, where did that monster come from? Why did it suddenly get dark just now? What’s the silver liquid in your bottle? Corpse water? Who the hell are you? Certainly not an ordinary person?"

Ning Zhou, whose arm was being clung to, looked at the curious girl with a depressed face. At that time, she didn't know what to do. She could tell her, of course, but it would hurt her, involving her in something she couldn’t escape from... What should she do?

"Oh, please talk to me, I'm scared to death, can you walk me back? My house is just a little way away, it’s very close! Just be good enough to walk me there." Seeing that Ningzhou seemed to be shaken, Qi Leren immediately switched to acting mode and watched Ning Zhou, trying to impress this mysterious transfer student with what are known as "puppy eyes".

"...Let's go," Ning Zhou gave in.

Qi Leren silently made a victory gesture in her heart and took Ning Zhou's arm happily and naturally - at that moment, she felt Ning Zhou stiffen: "Thank you for saving me, Ning Zhou, you’re so handsome! I upgrade you to my goddess!"

And then? Then she succeeded in seeing Ning Zhou's ears turn red again.

It's so lovely, Qi Leren chuckled in her heart.

On the way home, Qi Leren played the rare dead-end part of the idol beautiful girl and pulled a lot of information out of Ning Zhou's mouth, which was sparing in words and inaccurate in pronunciation. What had happened just now was she had walked into the Nightmare World at dusk, a projection of the real world that existed in hell. Whenever night fell its power would become strong, and occasionally someone would go into the Nightmare World and be attacked by monsters.

She also learned that Ning Zhou is not from Italy, but from the Vatican. The Vatican was not only responsible for religious beliefs as she had imagined. There was also a very complex and huge underground Holy See beneath the surface. Since the Middle Ages, they had fought with the dark forces. Exorcists were not simply characters in novels and movies, but really existed.

At this moment, the person whose arm she was holding was an exorcist of the Holy See.

It sounded really cool. It sounded cooler than an idol girl!

On the short walk home, Qi Leren's worldview had been scrubbed clean. Sadly, she still wanted to continue to be washed, but she had already returned to her doorstep. Still holding onto the girl: "Eat with me, my parents aren’t at home these days. I have no appetite when I eat alone, and I’ve lost a few pounds!"

Saying this, Qi Leren pinched her arm and looked at Ning Zhou pitifully.

Ning Zhou compromised again.

Qi Leren felt that she had found the trick to deal with Ning Zhou, she just had to play up this charm and act as the cute coquettish girl. Ning Zhou was shy and soft-hearted, and had no idea what to do with this kind of girl.

"Let me see what's in the refrigerator. When the auntie comes to clean the house in the morning, she leaves something for me to eat later. I just take it out and heat it up at night." Qi Leren opened the refrigerator and studied it for a while. She smiled back and reported the name of the dishes present. "...What would you like to eat?"

"Whatever."

"There’s no food called whatever! I’ll tell you what, shall I make you spaghetti and steak? I'm good at that! Okay, it's a deal! Go and do some homework and I'll cook." Qi Leren kicked Ning Zhou out of the kitchen, turned on the stereo, and played the songs off her last album, which were all youthful and relaxed and made people feel happy when they listened to them - although Qi Leren was not interested in her own songs at all. When she heard the melody, she would recall collapsing while singing and having to leave the recording studio to vomit, but out of some unspeakably subtle mood, she especially wanted to play it in front of Ning Zhou now.

This careful choice really caught Ning Zhou's attention. She picked up the album case that Qi Leren "inadvertently" put on the coffee table. The girl on the cover was wearing a sailor suit and full of energy, with her hair that was tied into a pair of ponytails floating up as she jumped. Her pitiable and lovely drooping eyes became glowing because of her happy smile.

Ning Zhou looked at it for a long time, but she didn't even notice that Qi Leren, who was busy in the kitchen, looked back at her frequently. She picked up the remote control and turned on the TV. The image of the song’s music video immediately appeared in front of her eyes. The girl wearing sportswear in the music video was participating in a sports meet and fell down as she ran, suffering from a cold sweat, but stood up stubbornly and limped to the end regardless of her bleeding knee.

That stubborn and tough look... Ning Zhou's heart was suddenly hit, and then she woke up. It was just a music video.

When she looked into the kitchen, she happened to collide with Qi Leren who was secretly peeking at her. Their eyes were separated by the transparent glass door. Caught red handed, Qi Leren covered her eyes with one hand. After a long time, she opened the glass door and blushed and as she said, "That music video was shot blindly! I didn't fall when I was running. Last year I won the 800-meter women's championship in the school sports meet!"

Of course, winning the championship was due to the fact that special sports students couldn't participate in the school sports meet.

At the sports meet, Qi Leren was photographed from beginning to end and made headlines with her win of the 800-meter championship, so when this music video came out, it was ridiculed in good faith - Le-mei, you won this 800-meter championship by beating the previous player, right?

Qi Leren really wanted to promote herself in front of Ning Zhou. It was naturally a bit depressing to be seen in the music video, and for Ning Zhou to take it so seriously...

Inexplicably ashamed and resentful Qi Leren pulled Ning Zhou away from watching the TV: "Give me a hand, you cook the spaghetti and I'll make the steak! If you don’t know how, I can teach you."

So one person's kitchen became two people’s, and the sunset outside the window stretched the shadows of the two people until they collided with each other unconsciously. When an elbow touched another person, the two people would stiffen and casually pretend it hadn’t happened.

The living room outside the kitchen echoed with the familiar melody, full of youth and love.

After dinner, Qi Leren invited Ning Zhou to work on homework together. Whenever she did homework, she always complained that she could earn money to support herself yet she still had to study hard and do homework. With how often she took leave, it wasn’t easy to stay in the middle ranking. The price was that she often had to study hard on the set with her textbooks, and she was so tired that she would never get up until she was hungry in the afternoon.

When doing homework, Qi Leren's mouth didn't stop. She talked to Ning Zhou who didn’t say a word. Ning Zhou said too little, and she was almost always chattering: "My mother has been very busy recently. She’s the busiest person in my family. It’s normal for her to fly to three cities in a day on press tours when a movie’s released. She acts so tired even at her age. I think she’ll struggle until she’s 80 years old. My dad’s fine, he isn’t too busy working at the university. I don’t see him very often, even though we’re his wife and daughter. When my mother’s resting, he is not busy. I really want to cover over his face." At some point, Qi Leren casually asked, "Where are your parents? Did they come to X City with you?"

Ning Zhou's writing hand kept moving as she said faintly, "They’ve passed away."

"Ah..." Qi Leren froze, "I'm sorry..."

Ning Zhou stopped writing and looked up at her: "It doesn't matter, it’s been a long time."

Her blue eyes were so calm, almost empty, as if talking about something irrelevant, but… why did she feel sad?

No, you haven't let it go at all, Qi Leren retorted in her heart. You’re obviously sad, but you don't want to admit it. Do you feel that you’re weak? It’s lovely that people have such strong emotions. They laugh when they’re happy, cry when they’re sad, and pursue bravely when they like someone. Because of these feelings, people are able to become real.

A bell came from somewhere far away. Qi Leren took a look at the time, strengthened her heart to keep Ning Zhou here, and pretended to learn the time casually as she said, "Ah, it's late, why do you have to leave? I am alone at home, and with what happened before... I’m a little scared." With that, Qi Leren blushed and asked, "Can you stay with me?"

In the face of such a person, such a request, Ning Zhou couldn't refuse. Receiving a positive answer, Qi Leren happily went to help her find a change of clothes: "I haven't worn these pajamas yet, the underwear is new, a toothbrush and towel are ready, and I put them in the bathroom on the second floor. I’ll go wash on the first floor."

Finished saying that, Qi Leren trotted down the stairs, brushed her teeth and washed her face quickly, and took a bath while humming. After washing, she looked at herself in front of the mirror for a while. After hesitating repeatedly, she picked up a bottle of girls’ perfume with a fresh scent from the washstand, sprayed it twice in the air, and then walked through the mist.

Qi Leren, who walked out of the bathroom, also sniffed her body nervously. It was light, and it wasn’t obvious after being mixed with shower gel. It should be... It should seem quite natural.

The fragrant Qi Leren walked to the piano in the living room, pressed it twice, then sat down and played the piano skillfully.

Ning Zhou, who had finished washing, came down the curved staircase. Qi Leren looked up at her and smiled as she said, "I'll sing you the song from my new single."

Ning Zhou nodded silently.

Qi Leren coughed twice: "This song ‘I like you’ is dedicated to the goddess Ning Zhou who is willing to accompany me through this frightening night. Your blue eyes are as beautiful as sapphires, I like them very much.

"Everything became incredible, I fell in love with you at first sight, and the world was instantly sweet. Your smile and your voice linger in my mind. My eyes only follow you in the crowd, and my first love suddenly comes... I want to take you out of your lonely world, I want to accompany you to see all the beautiful sights, and I am inseparable from you from now on... La la la la, just like you so much, la la la la, I like you."

In the brightly lit living room, the girl who played the piano and sang presented her a song with countless sweet smiles. When being watched by brown eyes, the heart always lost its rhythm, and the heat surging in her chest was so strange and difficult to control. She was afraid of this uncontrollable thing, but she just wanted to let it go.

As she finished playing, Qi Leren looked at her eagerly: "Is it good?"

Ning Zhou hard nodded her head.

So Qi Leren smiled: "I hoped you’d like it! When I have a new song next time, I’ll sing it to you again!"

Ning Zhou looked at her deeply, and her deep blue eyes seemed to become gentle under the light.

Qi Leren, who despite not having a teacher had learned how to pick up a hot chick, jumped with excitement and tried to calm down, saying, "It's late, let's go to sleep."

With this said, she took Ning Zhou to the bedroom: "My bed’s quite big, it’s no problem for two people to sleep in it. If you’re not used to it, we can each have a quilt."

Anyway, there was no such option as sleeping next door.

Ning Zhou was not used to it. Girls here went to the toilet in droves and walked in the street hand in hand. Kissing and touching were commonplace. When she first came, she thought the girls here were all gay, but later found out that this was a difference of national customs.

"My friends have told me about having sleepovers with their girlfriends, but I entered the entertainment industry too early and the agents are very strict, and I haven’t had any friends close enough to sleep with." Qi Leren seemed to be a little hesitant to look at Ning Zhou, and quickly tried to act cute to disguise it. "I’ll definitely have nightmares tonight..."

Ning Zhou compromised again, and she found herself frustrated that she was always easily persuaded in matters relating with Qi Leren, without any bottom line.

Qi Leren, successful in being allowed to share the same bed as the goddess, got under the quilt and snickered, so happy that she couldn't wait to roll a few times in bed. But in the face of the goddess, she had to be careful and reserved!

The dim bedside lamp lit up this square inch. Qi Leren got out from under the blanket and leaned against the pillow. She looked at Ning Zhou sideways and said with a smile, "Let's chat."

"..." They had agreed to go to bed since it was late. Ning Zhou felt unbearable condescension, but nodded her head.

Qi Leren was quite good at chatting. She couldn't help it, it was also the actor's professional quality to be eloquent. Otherwise, they would be tongue-tied when being interviewed by reporters and the other party will be embarrassed. When she was on talk shows, the atmosphere would be stagnant, and the lethality of the silence would be huge.

Seeing that the goddess agreed, Qi Leren chatted with her in a garrulous way, getting closer and closer, and in the end she had cocked her head and leaned on the other's shoulder to show her her photos.

"This photo was taken when I was seven years old. At that time, I cried and didn't want to go to school. My mother threatened to make me go to her film set with her if I didn't go to school. Every day, I had to crawl in the mud and hang from a wire. I cried and said that I would rather go to the shoot, so my mother took me to her film studio to teach me a lesson. At that time, she was filming a drama set in the Republic of China. It was scary watching them shoot a war scene. I was scared. I thought that the actor brother was really dead and started crying. The director of the studio next door had just come to chat with an old friend, looked at me crying pitifully, and said that the actress who was meant to play the little girl next door had broken her leg and couldn't come, and he discussed with my mother whether he could borrow me the show. At that time, I was so naive that I thought I really didn't have to go to school anymore if I did it, so I happily went away with the director and embarked on the road of no return. The worst thing is that I have to go to school while I’m shooting a show. If I don't do well on an exam, I have to ask my tutor to make up the missed lessons! It’s mad, there’s no humanity." Qi Leren chattered at Ning Zhou, talking about her mother and making angry gesticulations as she went on.

From the tip of her nose came the sweet smell of girls, mixed with shower gel and an unknown fragrance, which was pure and fresh and sweet. Ning Zhou, who was almost never so close to anyone, instinctively felt her body stiffen and repeatedly stressed to herself that she was harmless, that she needn’t be so on guard or have to fight back. On several occasions, her line of sight had habitually fallen on her slender neck, which was so soft that a gentle push would be enough to stop her from ever singing well again. It turned out that she was flawed, and she didn't have any precautions about showing them. This naive innocence made Ning Zhou anxious and subconsciously worried.

"...And you? What was it like when you were a child?" Qi Leren asked in a low voice, she was a little uneasy for fear that such a question would be too abrupt, but she couldn't help but want to know more about Ning Zhou.

That isn’t a happy memory, she doesn't want to know, Ning Zhou thought.

She didn't want to know of the endless bloody killings at the border between the Nightmare World and the human world, and what it was like to hunt demons alone at the border of hell since the age of thirteen, and she didn't want to know how painful it was when she ran out of food and fell into the demon forest and her intestines slipped out of an abdominal wound. Even when they were sitting side by side, the worlds they lived in were never the same.

She didn't want her to see the filth and darkness hidden behind the peaceful world.

Ning Zhou was silent for too long, and Qi Leren lowered his eyes in frustration and realized that her questions had troubled Ning Zhou: "I'm sorry... I'm too curious..."

"When I was thirteen years old, I went to the Vatican..." Ning Zhou interrupted her apology and said quietly, "I’ve never seen my father. After my mother died that year, I had no other relatives who could serve as guardians. Her friends followed her will and sent me to the Vatican, where a senior who respected her was my guardian.

"Living in the Vatican was very happy. I’ve learned a lot of things and I am determined to be an exorcist like my mother, fighting demons hidden in the dark. In recent years, the scope of the Nightmare World is expanding, and the number of demon attacks around the world is increasing... I was commissioned by a descendent of a German noble to investigate the history of his past relative who had lived in China with her family."

Ning Zhou saw Qi Leren looking eagerly at her and wanting to hear more, so she talked about some modified hunting demons. Qi Leren listened to her carefully. Ning Zhou said many words very carefully, with a little accent, but it sounded so lovely to Qi Leren. The more she listened, the more absorbed she became, and when she heard some thrilling thing she would gasp and hold Ning Zhou's hand nervously.

The girl's hand was small and soft, and the veins were clear. She found that Ning Zhou's hand was different from hers. She took her palm and looked left and right. She also curiously touched the thin veins that ran from her palm to her wrist, and touched Ning Zhou's left hand. There was a scar in the center that looked like a thorn, and she said with distress: "This must have been painful."

The palm of her hand felt crisp and numb, and Ning Zhou breathed slowly and withdrew her hand quietly: "It's time to sleep."

Qi Leren was a little regretful but she had to turn off the lights, depressed at the thought of having to shoot the music video tomorrow on her day off classes.

The room was dark and the balcony off the bedroom was open. The wind blew in from outside the screen window, together with the moonlight. Qi Leren lowered her breathing and listened carefully. She couldn't hear Ning Zhou's breathing at such a close distance. If it wasn't for the other person's temperature, she wouldn't even feel someone sleeping beside her.

The hand hidden under the quilt sneaked over and grabbed Ning Zhou's hand. She looked at her with her tilted face that was turned away from the moonlight. Her facial features were immersed in the darkness, yet her sapphire eyes were shining.

A smile appeared on Qi Leren’s moonlit face. She held Ning Zhou's hand, leaned over, and kissed her on the cheek: "Thank you for saving me today. Goodnight, Ning Zhou."

It was too close. When she had neared, Ning Zhou had almost turned over and stopped her, but the sweet smell of the girl puzzled her and she didn't move until her soft lips pressed to her cheek.

Qi Leren, who had kissed the goddess, lied back, and the quilt covered the lower half of her face, which also covered her hand clutching Ning Zhou’s.

Strange joy and pain haunted her at the same time. In such a complicated mood, she breathed another person's breath and gradually fell asleep.

The night was silent and long, but Qi Leren, who had always slept well, suddenly woke up. She hesitated, rubbed her eyes, and got out of bed to go to the toilet without realizing that she was the only one in the big bed.

When she walked to the bathroom, she looked at the mirror with a yawn. She looked sleepy in her reflection. Just when she was about to go out of the bathroom, she suddenly looked back with a start - the toothbrush cup on the washstand wasn’t hers!

The sleepiness was washed away at once and Qi Leren recalled, because the bathroom on the second floor had been lent to Ning Zhou, she had moved her things to the bathroom on the first floor, but... Where was Ning Zhou?!

Qi Leren ran out of the bathroom, shouting Ning Zhou's name and searching everywhere. There was no one in the bedroom, no one in the bathroom downstairs, no one in the living room, no one anywhere! A slipper fell off as she ran and Qi Leren suddenly thought of something, running to look at the shoe cabinet by the front door with one foot bare - Ning Zhou's shoes were gone.

She was gone?

Qi Leren sat down in front of the piano, angry and wronged. Why did Ning Zhou quietly leave in the middle of the night without saying a word? Why?

Maybe it was something urgent, Qi Leren thought sullenly, picked up the slippers she had dropped as she ran, and walked slowly back to her bedroom.

Once again back to the warm bed, Qi Leren sleeplessly rolled back and forth. When she was finished shooting the music video tomorrow, she would have to ask Ning Zhou.

Suddenly, an idea came to Qi Leren’s mind: Wait, was it because she snored and grinded her teeth when she slept, so Ning Zhou left because she couldn’t bear it?

Qi Leren held her face on both hands, like the frightened figure in "The Scream". After all that effort to convince the goddess to sleep in the same bed as her, she had made it unbearable for her to stay!

Qi Leren, who was on the verge of collapse, tearfully wanted to pick up her cellphone and turn on the camera. She wanted to record herself sleeping. How could a beautiful girl who was an idol sleep so badly? No, she refused!

With the cellphone set to record, Qi Leren lied back in bed, pulled the quilt up to cover half of her face, and the moonlight outside the balcony window was still clear. She still remembered that she had looked at Ning Zhou's face against the moonlight a few hours ago, and she was so curious about her, but when the tip of the iceberg of her past was uncovered, she couldn't help but feel distressed for her. She knew that the past Ning Zhou had told her of had been modified. She was not as relaxed and happy as she’d said. When she approached her, the stiff and cold alertness of her body could not deceive people.

Qi Leren didn't know what kind of experiences would make her develop these habits. Unlike her, this little princess who was brought up in the greenhouse from childhood and grew up like a star, Ning Zhou's wounds, cold eyes, and precise marksmanship... All the details implied that she is not a person of that world at all.

But so what? Couldn't different people be friends? She just liked Ningzhou, loved her dearly, and wanted to make her happy. She wanted to give her the most beautiful songs and show her all the bright, warm, and happy feelings. As long as she could get a little bit of happiness and a little bit of the world under the sun, she would feel it was worthwhile.

Since childhood, Qi Leren had received a lot of love. Now she wanted to give her love to Ning Zhou. She wanted her to feel that being loved was a very happy thing.

Thinking about this, sleepiness surged up again, and Qi Leren yawned and glanced at the moonlight on the balcony before closing his eyes.

When she was beginning to drift, Qi Leren felt that there seemed to be some movement by the bed. She opened her eyes in a daze and saw Ning Zhou lying down softly with her back to her.

"Where have you been?" Qi Leren murmured dreamily.

"...The bathroom."

Liar.

Qi Leren suddenly woke up, but she didn't open her mouth to confront her. Instead, she pretended to answer in a daze, stretched out her hand and continued to close her eyes. She could smell that the shower gel on Ning Zhou's body had changed, which wasn’t the smell of her family's shower gel.

Recalling the scene in which she had shot and killed the monster in the Nightmare World at dusk, Qi Leren knew her whereabouts well.

The fragrance couldn’t deceive her of the smell of iron and blood it masked.

Let's not expose her, Qi Leren thought. She took Ningzhou's hand and interlocked their fingers. Either way, this time she won't loosen her hand again.

When she was about to fall into a deep sleep again, Qi Leren felt vaguely as if someone had leaned over and said something to her, but she was too tired to fully register it before she lost consciousness.

Ning Zhou should have gotten up at dawn, but her hand was clasped tightly. As soon as she turned her face she could see Qi Leren sleeping soundly, with long eyelashes, red cheeks, and slightly open lips. What do you think is so lovely about me? Ning Zhou watched quietly for a long time, letting the sun rise higher and higher.

There was the sound of opening the door downstairs and someone came in. Ning Zhou, who had excellent five senses, frowned. These were a woman's footsteps. Was it Qi Leren's mother? Was it better for her to avoid them?

But Qi Leren also said that it was normal for girls here to sleep together...

The bedroom door was pushed open rudely and the woman with slender eyebrows and a good figure stood outside the open door and angrily knocked on it: "What time is it, is your cellphone not on, do you remember that you have to go shoot the music video today? Hurry and get up!"

Chen Baiqi, the agent who killed people in Qi Leren's family*, was about to rush in and pull her up. But when she looked at it from a distance, there were two people in the bed!

*{E/N: metaphorically, in case that wasn’t clear}　　

At this moment, Chen Baiqi, a senior agent, was about to collapse: Qi Leren! Do you still remember that you’re an idol acting as a role model for young and beautiful girls? Why is there a wild man! You can't fall in love before changing your image! How have you already developed to this step!

The "wild man" sat up from the bed and looked at Chen Baiqi coldly.

Oh, it's not a wild man. That's great... Like hell! Who is this woman!

With her hair a mess, Qi Leren yawned as she sat up in bed, looked back at Ning Zhou, and kissed her on the cheek naturally: "Good morning, Ning Zhou."

Chen Baiqi: "..."

"Oh, Chen-jie, this is my classmate. I’m a little scared of sleeping alone, so I let her accompany me," Qi Leren talked nonsense without a hint of shame.

"...Hehe." Chen Baiqi thought: Don't smile, your parents aren’t home half the time. How did you sleep before?

The girl named Ning Zhou nodded to her and went to wash up. Qi Leren took Chen Baiqi to the bathroom downstairs and explained the situation to her while brushing her teeth and washing her face. Paranormal, met yesterday, couldn't be spoken of. She had to say that there had been a small incident with a mugger as she had been walking home yesterday, and she was just saved by her classmate Ning Zhou. Since she was a little afraid, she had asked her to please stay for one night.

Chen Baiqi was skeptical but she couldn't say anything, so she let her quickly wash up so they could go to the studio.

Qi Leren remembered that her cellphone was recording her last night, and it should have automatically shut down when the battery had been depleted. No wonder Chen Baiqi came to her house in such a hurry to catch her in person.

After washing, Qi Leren, who had forgotten to eat breakfast, told Ning Zhou that there was food in the refrigerator. The auntie will come to clean up later and she could leave a note for her. She should just say what she wanted for the evening.

Ning Zhou had the illusion that she lived here.

After telling Qi Leren that she had something to go do, Qi Leren let out a "oh" in frustration and reluctantly followed Chen Baiqi to get in the car that would drive them to the shooting location.

Chen Baiqi inquired about Ning Zhou from beginning to end along the way, and Qi Leren said all the things that should be said, but didn't say a word that shouldn't be said. Chen Baiqi's intuition was that Ning Zhou wasn't so simple, but without evidence she couldn't rashly make Qi Leren stay away from her.

Finally, she sighed: "Your identity is unusual. You should be very careful when making friends. If you meet someone with ulterior motives who enters your room, secretly films you, eavesdrops on you, and reveals your privacy to the media, it will be a great blow to your image, especially as your current image is very sensitive to negative news."

Qi Leren knew that Chen Baiqi is good for her and obediently listened to her instructions.

"Although your last transformation was very successful and you got rid of the image of a little girl, this transformation is the key. If you can't jump out of the image of a young girl now, your journey will only get narrower and narrower. You’ll find that as you grow older you’ll be hired for fewer and fewer roles, and there are always young new faces to replace you. The audience doesn't want to see a 30-year-old actress playing a 17- or 18-year-old girl. Your mother's train of thought is very clear, she will take the time to find a drama for you where she can play mother and daughter with you - your mother also fights for you, she never promised to play such an age-exposing role before - this stunt can drive your popularity, if you play well, you’ll play the leading role in the next show, and when the small screen stands firm, it will develop like your mother to the big screen. The company is already discussing your new image and route. When you go to college it will begin, and then you won’t be as leisurely as you are now." Chen Baiqi couldn't help rubbing her temples when she thought of how busy she would be in the future.

"I’ll try my best, Chen-jie, thank you for taking so much trouble for me." Qi Leren cleverly said that although she was the one standing in front of the audience, there were countless people worried about her behind the scenes/ She had gone too far today and Chen Baiqi had helped her block trouble she didn’t know about.

It wasn’t easy to be an actress. Qi Leren looked at the passing scenery outside the window and sighed softly.

But it was no harder than being an exorcist. As Qi Leren thought again, she couldn't help smiling at the thought of Ning Zhou. They would have many opportunities to get along with each other in the future.

-----

Editor’s Notes: To be continued...? (don’t hold your breath)

Phew, this was a longer chapter than I remembered, but this completely caps off Nightmare Game part 1! I have one more little bonus of funny things from the mtl, which can be found [here] if you’re interested.  

Thank you once again to everyone for reading and I’ll see you again in part 2! :)

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[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents ]

[letsperaltiago]

one single thread of gold tied me to you

From the very first time Jake mentions her name, Karen sees a thread of gold tying him to Amy. In other words: a series of small moments in which Jake is talking to Karen about Amy.

or

Jake talking to Karen about Amy throughout their relationship

Read here or on AO3 

The new girl

“Anything exciting happening at work?”

“Nah,” Jake halts, pausing to think between bites of the dinner Karen has prepared for the two of them. Because he’s the only child (and the fact that he’s a huge momma’s boy) he tries to stop by Karen’s once a week. Either for a quick chat and a coffee or longer. If the latter includes dinner, which it often does, then it’s always a huge plus. Tonight’s visit is one of the longer ones, much needed, and of course dinner is a must.

“Or,” he takes back his prior dismissal. “Like, this new girl joined the squad last week, so that’s… exciting, I guess?”

Karen’s head perks up letting her son know that she’s indeed listening.

“Well that’s always a good thing. What’s her name?”

By then Jake is already busy chewing on another bite of her mom’s baked potatoes - a personal favorite of his. Then again any food his mom makes is his favorite.

“Amy Santiago. She seems cool enough, I guess. Then again she just arrived so I guess I’ll have to see.”

Although the world, more specifically Jake, isn’t aware of it yet, the spinning of his and Amy’s golden thread commences its journey here. Karen smiles to herself as this, she realises, is the perfect opportunity for her to pick a bit on her son who’s never shy of teasing her. Lovingly, of course.

“Maybe she’s cool enough to date?”

The statement immediately interrupts his before eager chewing, a press on his entire body’s pause button, and earns Karen a deadpan expression as answer to her so-called proposition.

“Mom, please.”

There’s small smile on his face as he knows his mom is out to pester him. “Charles already went all Cupid on us when she arrived, so the last thing she needs is me hitting on her. Plus,” he’s back to being chewing on a mix of potatoes and meat, “I don’t even know her.”

“Well that’s just a matter of time, honey.”

Having nothing else to add he figures a shrug must be answer enough.

“Anyways,” he looks back up from his plate to his mother. “How’s Carla?”

Rivalling close friends

For her son’s birthday Karen has invited the squad over to her place for a celebratory dinner. At this point, since they’re good at dropping by if they’re ever in her neighbourhood or nearby for work, she’s familiar with most of the people Jake spends 95% of his time with - this with an exception of Amy and Holt.

They’re setting the table while Jake gives her one last quick rundown of the 99th precinct’s squad, so Karen is sure of who the different people are.

“… And Amy, besides Holt, is the last one to have joined the squad. She’s that super neat, kinda annoying one, I’ve told you about. You know, the one who tells me that I can’t eat in her car, and constantly corrects my grammar.”

“I thought you liked her?” He can’t see tell, since he’s busy setting the table, but Karen frowns finding it unlikely that her son suddenly has something against a colleague he most of the time spoke so highly of.

“I do, mom and that’s what’s so annoying. She’s the worst and best of all worlds...” He pauses in the middle of putting down a plate giving himself some time to turn over his thoughts. “… I mean, she probably is my best friend at this point, besides Charles, yanno? But please don’t tell him I said that. His little heart can’t take it.”

“Because of jealousy or because he’s dying to see you and Amy together?”

“Both,” Jake chuckles shaking his head in disbelief of the fact that he puts up with this situation daily.

Karen knows Jake’s “brother from another mother”, how the little man had introduced himself the first time she met him, very well  and can’t hold back a chuckle at the very vivid mental picture of a both jealous but also over the moon Charles.

“Your secret is safe with me.”

It brings an even wider smile to his face upon seeing his mother pretending to lock her lips and throw away an invisible key. Okay, maybe his mom is his best friend, but Amy and Charles are a close second.

Sadly Amy has fallen sick and never makes it to the birthday dinner, but upon arrival Rosa hands him a pretty gift bag with a tiny card and impeccable handwriting that says: Happy birthday, Pineapples ;) Inside the bag he finds the limited edition Die Hard 2: Die Harder-poster that had smashed his heart to pieces when someone had outbidded him for it on eBay. Little had he known it was Amy, sitting just a few feet away by her desk opposite of him, who’d outdone his bid with a sly smirk on her face. A smile which she could hide behind the big computer screen.

The smile on his face is impossible to hide and he immediately sends her a text:

‘ur gift made me die hard!!! guess ur not so bad after all ;) all kidding aside thank u so much and get well soon <3’

Later that night after everyone has left, he’s helping his mom cleaning the kitchen. Suddenly she hands over a homemade doggy bag with leftovers from the dinner.

“Don’t you think sweet, sick Amy deserves this after the gift she gave you?”

Her smirk doesn’t go unnoticed.

Jake of course agrees and later, on his way home, he drops it off at Amy’s place. It being late and not wanting to wake her up, he leaves it on her doorstep and sends her a text for her to see whenever she wakes up:

‘the bag on ur doorstep is not a bomb but a care package from mother peralta. hope ur feeling better but if u dont can i have your desk at work?��

A few days later Karen texts him a picture of a beautiful thank you card with the infamous, neatly Santiago style-written message thanking her for the thoughtful gesture. Jake smiles to himself and replies with a simple: ‘shes a good 1’

Unconsciously developing feelings

He never explicitly tells her. Still, Karen has her suspicions and they only grow every time her son mentions Amy’s name. Sooner rather than later it becomes very clear to her: her son would go to great lengths for his partner - even though he isn’t ready to acknowledge it yet.

“Mom, there’s no way I’m losing my car to her. I’m gonna take her on a date and she’s going to hate it and i’m going to love it- I mean… love her misery,” he corrects himself.

Karen is leaning against the doorframe to his still unaltered childhood bedroom, where Jake is currently rummaging through boxes containing a mix of childhood memories, dust and worthless nick-nack.

“You don’t happen to still have those old pictures of me and Jenny Gildenhorn, do you? I want to find an exact replica of Jenny’s hideous blue dress to torture Amy with.”

Knowing of Jake’s repressed, yet to be realised feelings, because a mother does know best, Karen rolls her eyes. He doesn’t notice. Probably because he has his head buried under his bed looking for more boxes and childhood treasures. Telling him to look for acknowledgement of his feelings for Amy while he’s down there is almost too tempting, but Karen manages to bite her lip. Hopefully he’ll see it himself one day… Or just keep talking the way he already does about her, even when complaining; it’s always with some kind of admiration. Karen sees the little twinkles in his eyes whenever the raven haired detective is brought up in a conversation.

To Amy’s sheer luck, Karen of course has loads of childhood pictures stored in a box in the garage and she gets to sit by knowingly as Jake searches multiple internet websites for the most horrible, blue, 80s dress possible. “Oh, mom… She’s going to hate this so much. Amazing.”

She doesn’t say anything but smiles knowingly as her son sits on her couch, laptop in his lap,  a boyish smile telling her that he is up to no good as he plans the (best) worst date for his “just a good friend”.

Pining

Everything seems harder at the moment. At least harder than what he’d like, Jake thinks to himself as he lies in bed, feeling tipsy from the few beers he had a Shaw’s. He knows he should just sleep but for some reason he can’t. Instead he tortures himself by staring at the ceiling which is definitely spinning - just a tiny bit though, he tries to convince himself.

He’s just come back from being undercover, and although it was kind of fun and definitely exciting in more ways than one, deep down inside he can’t deny that a tiny part of him had hoped Amy by now would give them a chance. It’s not that he’d expected her to break up with Teddy for him - it was her life to control after all. Not his. Although there was no shame in dreaming; dreaming that she’d welcome him back to the 9-9 with a slow motion run and kiss that would blow them both away, telling him that Teddy and his pilsners were out of the picture and that they belonged together;  all this time they’d been destined to belong to no one else but each other.

Alas this wasn’t the case and he returned from the mafia to a:

“I’m still with Teddy.”

The short sentence plays over and over in his head like a broken record he can’t turn off. The worst soundtrack of his life - without a doubt. Suddenly his phones rings, interrupting his spiralling thoughts.

“Hi, Mom,” he mumbles not hiding the fact that he’s exhausted, physically as well as mentally, and tipsy.

“Hi, honey. How did your first day back go?”

“It was... fine. Good to see everyone.”

Good to see Amy, Karen thinks before she does a double take when she picks up on her son’s voice clearly representing a moody side of him she, or anyone, rarely gets to see.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing, It’s-” he starts out not wanting to get into it, because feelings are messy and he always ends up being the hurt one anyways…  But on the other hand, he thinks, his mom will figure out either way - if she hasn’t already. Perhaps his lack of soberness also takes part in his sudden honesty.

“Amy,” he sighs.

“Is everything all right with her?”

“Yeah, she’s fine. I just-” he pauses. “She’s with this guy and-”

“You wish she wasn’t?” Karen beats him to it and finishes the sentence for him.

“Yeah or- I don’t know. I want her to be happy but...” he sounds utterly defeated to a point that hints at teary, she can tell even though she can’t see him. In that moment Karen wants nothing more than hug her little boy. “I really like her, mom.”

His voice never breaks entirely but it’s a fine line he’s walking throughout the entire conversation. Everything pours out of him; he’s a book of sentimental secrets opening up about his Achilles’ heel for the first time and all his mother can do is listen as he describes his favorite parts of Amy (which is pretty much everything): everything from the way her dark ponytail swings back and forth with purpose when she walks to a crime scene to how, when they’re out drinking with the squad, she always get him a beer whenever she gets up to get herself one.

It’s almost as if the spinning of the golden thread, still unknown to the world, between him and Amy is slowly choking him.

“I want her to be happy, mom… I just-” he almost dozes off before finishing the sentence but fights through it and it’s all at once incredibly endearing and heartbreaking to Karen who’s still listening from her end of the line.

“... I just wish she would be happy with me instead.”

New couple

It’s truly unbelievable. Jake can’t believe he’s about call his mom to tell her: tell her that he’s with Amy now.  

It’s been a month now; a month of him being with Amy and being so very happy he still can’t believe he’s been spending all this time not feeling like this. However, not wanting to rush things or put any pressure on either of them, simply enjoying being together, no one else but the squad knows about them.

Them. Him and Amy. A thing.

Just thinking about him and Amy that way, it almost makes him dizzy of pure disbelief. There had been so much buildup, such a long history of back and forth, bad timing, but all that aside now here they were. Amy Santiago was his girlfriend. Maybe that is the thought that causes his heart to take on a way too quick beating pattern and the hand holding his phone to become clammy. Now is the time though and he doesn’t hesitate to hit his mom’s contact. It rings. Jake can clearly hear his heart thump loudly against his ribcage. Should he be this nervous?

One time.

Two times.

Thre-

“Hi, honey,” his mom’s warm chipper voice interrupts the monotone ringing instantly making his lips spread into a small smile and heart take a break from the irrational thumping.

“Hey, mom,” he starts pacing around his apartment in attempt of diverting all the energy and emotions rushing through him, unconsciously bringing him everywhere from his bed to his kitchen.

“So it’s actually been a little while now… And I haven’t said anything since I didn’t want to rush anything but,” he cuts the sentence in two with a deep breath. “So, like… Amy and I are dating... together... her and I,” he starts rambling and wow he really should’ve written this down first. Karen doesn’t let it go on for too long though too excited to not say anything.

“Honey, I’m so so happy for you two! And it was about time that you finally told me!”

Jake’s pacing stops on the spot.

“What do you mean “finally”?”

“Oh, Jake... Sometimes I think you forget that mothers know everything. Plus you’re not very good at hiding… bruises,” she clears her throat, emphasizing what she’s really saying while imagining her son blush on his end of the line. “Also you’ve been visiting less and less, which means someone else has to take up your time.Someone who is even cooler than your very own mom, someone who makes you this gitty and nervous to talk about… It had to be her you were calling about.”

The smile in her voice is clear as day, but Jake is still baffled trying to come up with an explanation or the very least a decent answer. There is none, he quickly abandons the plan and instead lets out a happy huff.

“She’s really cool, mom. So cool. The last month has been like… the best. I don’t know how else to describe it. She’s the best.”

Compared to the defeated and heartbroken man she spoke to all those months ago, after his return from being undercover, this is a whole new version of her son that she’s longed to see. Karen can’t physically see him but can still clearly tell he’s flipped the page and is taking on a better chapter of his life.

Early relationship

It’s another night at his mom’s. Although the motivation behind the visit is a tiny bit different than usual this time. Sure, they’re gonna talk and have a nice dinner prepared by Karen as per usual, although tonight the mother has to nurse a whiny Jake who’s missing his dear but very out of town for the week-girlfriend. And the experience feels… mixed.

“Dinner is ready!”

No response.

She looks up from where she’s just carefully put down a sizzling pan to see her son back against the one arm of her armchair with his legs svung over the other. Physically he might be close but mentally he’s so far away, clearly more focused on whatever is going on on his phone’s screen.

“Jake,” she tries again but rather than giving his mother a reply Jake start typing as if nothing or noone was within miles of him. Karen can’t help but feel like she’s raising a teenager all over again, a teenager with the attention span of a goldfish, although this time her son is actually in his late 30s, lives by himself and has a girlfriend. So little yet so much has changed about him.

“Jacob,” she tries with her more more stern voice. She knows what he’s doing, texting Amy, and even though it’s cute he needs to snap out of it. At least for long enough to eat. He finally reacts and looks in her direction. Realization hits him which immediately prompts him to push himself out of the seat.

“If you stop eating you won’t even be alive to see her when she comes back.”

He deserves to be teased, he figures.

“I’m sorry. It was a text from Amy and I just wanted to reply right away. I just really miss her, I guess... and this is the closest we’ll get to talking today since she’s busy with her family, so...”

He leaves his phone behind on the coffee table, implicitly letting his mother know she’s got his (somewhat) full attention from now on.

“It’s so weird. We’ve only been together for like...” he counts in his head. “... 5 months now, but I already can’t stand being away from her for too long. Am I insane?” he drops down into his usual seat by the dinner table, almost in defeat but Karen is quick to rescue him in his moment of overdramatic despair.

“No you’re not, I assure you.”

Karen grabs his hand to stroke it comfortingly. She knows her son didn’t mean to be rude, didn’t mean to ignore her and she loves how much he’s opened up about his emotions since getting together with Amy.

“It’s a good sign that you care so much, but just remember that distance makes the heart grow fonder and it’ll feel even better when she comes back… and until then you can let your old mom entertain you.”

They share a chuckle because they both know what that means.

“Did you get ice cream?” he asks.

“Strawberry, chocolate chip and cookie dough… and to top it off: Die Hard is ready to play the second we’re done eating and doing the dishes.”

It’s a little tradition of theirs: their shared comfort snack plus movie-combo.

“You know me so well,” Jake smiles almost forgetting about missing Amy.

If not for the rest of the week then at least for a couple of hours.

Going steady

This week is a a lot different from the usual. While it’s not every single week they actually manage to see each other or even get the time to talk, Karen knows for sure that she won’t hear from her son for at least a couple of days. Jake is away on a cruise with Amy, and so besides the few pictures he’s texted her of them eating shrimp in bed (she wonders how he talked Amy into that) and a huge seagull stealing some of Amy’s fries, Karen doesn’t expect a whole lot of her son’s attention that week.  

Which is why she is extremely surprised when her phone rings, her son’s picture and name displayed on her phone, in the middle of the night. Yes, the element of surprise is of course due to the fact that she knows he’s busy being away with Amy, but also much due the time at which he calls.

01:21

A mother’s undeniable fear and worry for her child never goes away, no matter how old said child is, and it now creeps in making her fear that the worst has happened. What could possibly lead him to call this late? She frantically grabs her phone from her night stand.

“Jake, it’s in the middle of the night. Is everything okay?” She doesn’t mean to come off as accusing but she’s definitely trying to get to the bottom of the mystery right away.

“I love her.”

It falls from his lips, very out of nowhere, and it’s hard to tell within what context it is to be interpreted. Interlacing with his voice is the sound of crashing waves and a strong breeze making Karen wonder where her son finds himself.

“Honey, what do you mean? Where are you?”

Maybe she should’ve understood right away, it was obvious, but not only was she sleeping just seconds ago but the background noise on his end of the line only makes the whole scene way more confusing than it already is.  

He breathes, out of breath almost as if he’s been running. “I’m outside. On the deck. And I love her, mom.”

“The deck?”

“No,” he pauses catching his breath. “Amy. I told her… Or she told me first and then I told her back. Nothing has ever felt more right.”

That makes way more sense, Karen thinks although still quite unsure of exactly why he’s calling her. All that aside her heart is flooded with happiness, when she realises her son is not out of breath from running or crying, but rather all the emotions he must be feeling.

“Aw, Jake. I’m so happy for you. I know how much she means to you.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Yeah… You’ve changed so much throughout your relationship with Amy and it’s only for the better. You were already wonderful, you’re my son after all, but she brings out so much more good in you. This was only a matter of time. I think you’ve loved her for longer than you think.”

Another silence allows the crashing waves and whistling night wind to make an appearance. Following words almost fall off his lips in a tremble but Karen can tell it’s because he’s moved and is trying to collect himself, his emotions and thoughts. This is a big step for him - she knows.

“I have. And I don’t think I wanna stop again.”

Their talk lasts a few more minutes; just long enough for Jake to explain that he couldn’t sleep, too excited about the fact that he loved Amy Santiago and, even better, she loved him! Instead of staying in bed, restless and thus risking waking up Amy, he’d carefully disentangled himself from his girlfriend’s grip and decided to go for a night stroll. Next thing he knew he was calling his mom’s number.

“I should probably go, mom. I don’t want Amy to wake up alone.”

They say their goodbyes and when Karen finally gets to meet his daughter-in-law a few weeks later, at Jake’s chaotic birthday dinner, she is even more sure: their golden thread is so very strong.

Moving in together

The first time Karen visits Jake and Amy’s apartment (the words still make his stomach twist and turn with excitement every time he says it or even thinks it), Amy is out getting groceries for the dinner they’ll all be preparing together.

Jake proudly gives his mom a full apartment tour explaining where he’s added his Peralta-touch to the household while still praising his girlfriend’s taste in interior design. She has to laugh at the huge Die Hard poster discreetly hung on the inside of their closet door. Framed pictures of the couple together hung and standing around the apartment only makes Karen’s heart melt even more.

“How are you guys liking living together so far?”

They’re in the kitchen, Jake is preparing them both a cup of coffee.

“I mean, we already took constant turns crashing at the other’s place so it doesn’t feel that brand new, but still…” he pauses to smile and pours his mother a hot cup of freshly brewed coffee before continuing. “This is so much better. We share a home now. She is officially my home now, yanno?”

“I’m proud of you, Jakey,” Karen playfully ruffles her son’s curly hair, something she rarely gets to do but still immensely enjoys every time. It reminds her of when he was still a little kid and hits her with just how far he’s become. She’s not just proud: she’s so proud.

“Plus, now I get to annoy her 24/7, which is great,” he laughs and Karen playfully pinches his ear.

“Be nice to her, Jacob,” she’s chuckling too.

“I am! Our relationship is practically built on a foundation of pestering and messing with each other. Trust me; she loves it.”

Prison

“Amy… I miss her so much.”

As if the fact that her son has been wrongly accused and is facing 15 years in prison isn’t agonizing enough, Karen also has to suffer the pain it causes her to hear her son cry out to her over the very rare phone calls they get these days.

“When I say I’m afraid of never getting out of here-” he heaves between fallen, sobbed words; sobbed words which Karen knows he tries to subdue in order to not show the other inmates weakness. But it’s hard; impossible. “It’s mostly because I’m afraid of not seeing her again. Every time she visits-,” a sniffle “I’m always afraid that it’s the last time I see her. And all I wanna do is kiss her and hold her, but i just- I can’t. I miss her so so much, mom.”

Karen’s heart breaks alongside her son’s, even hours and miles between them, tears rolling down her red cheeks. She knows she has to be strong for him, and that it’s harder for him than for herself. Denying the ache and fear in every cell of her body is impossible though… But she has to keep her head up for him.

“It’ll be okay, honey,” Karen forces herself to stop crying when she speaks and will instead let the tears fall freely whenever he can’t hear it. “The squad is doing everything they can to get you out.”

“I know... “ he takes a deep breath and Karen can tell he’s trying to collect himself for good this time. “H-how is she?”

For a split second Karen considers lying, not telling him that she’s spent multiple nights consoling a crying Amy and even sleeping over at their place when the young woman was too tired to take care of herself. She considers telling him she’s fine, but she knows it’s pointless: Jake and Amy are two open books who tell each other everything. Just like Amy knows Jake has never been more afraid and seeks hope in every second he gets to be with or even just talk to her, Jake knows Amy is struggling though she’s a trooper and tries to fight through it as seamlessly as possible.

“I visited her on Wednesday and…” Karen bites her lip but eventually a sigh escapes her. “You know how she feels... It’s hard for both of you. But she’s strong, honey and she manages. And on the days where she can’t, I’m there with her. I promise.”

Silence.

He’s holding back tears again.

“I love you both, mom. So so much. You two are what is going to get me through this.”

“I love you too, Jacob.”

Their golden thread might be strained, but now is time for it to show its strength.

Engaged

He can’t put it into words, at least not properly, because how does one describe how it feels to be the happiest man alive? How does one describe such a wide, complex, incredible range of emotions? It’s impossible.

Instead he settles for a text.

It’s truly comical but also very much them: a picture of Amy in the evidence locker, still partially crying although of course also smiling as she shows off the shiny ring on her finger. It’s followed by the message:

‘MOM, I’M MARRYING HER!!!’

Later that night, tipsy after celebrating at Shaw’s, Jake and Amy facetime Karen. It’s safe to say that she gets a good laugh at 3-drink Amy showing off her new, favorite bling while Jake is all over her, placing small kisses to various parts of her face.

“Okay, you two... I’m going to hang up before this goes beyond a PG-rating. Once again congratulations. I love you both and can’t wait to see you soon.”

Married

Bomb threats, ruined cakes and a lost veil are just a few of the things that go horribly wrong on Jake and Amy’s wedding day.

Now, a few weeks later, all these tiny disasters seem to be long forgotten, almost as if they’d never happened.

“... But in the end we’re married and that’s all that matters,” Jake finishes telling his mother the tale of their chaotic but incredibly beautiful and unique wedding which was followed by a PG-rated version of their trip to Mexico.

The three of them are taking up the space of Karen’s living room as they chat and drink their usual coffee. Jake’s arm is slung around his new wife’s shoulders, fingers interlaced with a happiness and peace that warms the mother’s heart. Compared to the anxiety and sadness they all experienced during Jake’s time in Florida and then later on in prison, this moment in time is a major contrast. It’s a moment which Karen at times had feared she’d never be able to witness ever again. Yet here they were, the three of them together in the same room and Jake looked happier than ever. He was married to the love of his life, showing off a warm glow that he could thank both happiness and the Mexican sun for.

“I’m so happy for you two. It was always meant to be this way.”

Karen beams just as much as the married couple, feeding off the pure bliss they display in each other’s company. Amy perks up at the comment growing curious.

“Always?” she questions with a smile.

“The second he told me that the new girl was “pretty cool”, I knew something was meant to happen.”

Jake feels blood rushing to his cheeks even though said new girl is now his wife.

“Aw, babe,” Amy turns to him flashing a teasing grin. Every opportunity to tease must be put to good use. “I can’t believe you’ve been into me for so long. How embarrassing for you.”

“Hey!” He whines and it’s clear to see that he’s trying to fight the blush and embarrassment alas it’s already way too late. ”Be nice to your husband, Mrs. Peralta.”

“Not my fault that you’re so into me, Mr. Peralta.”

There’s a short pause in the conversation where Jake realises there’s no way out unless he uses her own teasing ways against her.

“I’m a lucky man… I guess,” he counters playfully and it earns him a just as playful slap to the shoulder.

“You guess?”

Amy is quick to pull away  although doesn’t allow their fingers to untangle while she sends him a mock-pout.

“Be nice, Jake.”

Karen loves her son but will also, at any given time, take Amy’s side before his. Jake came to learn this the second he introduced the two women and they started gossiping about him. He would care to mind if it wasn’t for the fact that there was nothing better than his two favorite women getting along so well.

“I’m joking, babe,” he loses no time and before Amy can add anything he’s pulled her back into the nook of his arm, adding a kiss the top of her head - just for good measure (and because he’s crazy about her). “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

Their golden thread has tied an everlasting knot.

Trying

Jake and Amy trying for a baby had been such a joyous announcement, and Karen will never forget the proud look on her son’s face the day he told her. Although tonight, said proud and happy expression is long gone, forgotten and dissolved by the many months of planning, trying and holding on to their hope.

Jake is once again, as so many times before, on his mother’s sand-colored couch with warm coffee in hand but this time with a look of despair painted across his pale face. While she’s been getting cookies in the kitchen he’s fallen into deep thought and doesn’t say anything for a while. Even after she comes back and sits down across from him. The silence might be needed, Karen thinks and, of course, respects it. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t shake her to the core when the next thing he says seems to question every ounce of happiness he’s ever lived.

“What if all along I’ve been the wrong choice? A bad choice.”

His eyes doesn’t budge from the same spot, an old coffee stain on the couch, he’s been staring emptily at for the past minutes. Even as he speaks.

“What if she was supposed to be with someone else. Someone who can give her the family she wants… the family she deserves.”

It doesn’t even sound like a question at this point but rather a horrible fact he states in a moment of frustration and agony, and it ignites a fury within the mother because she knows it’s his anxiety and fear of abandonment speaking. She knows that their love is way bigger than that.

Things are far from easy right now. On the other hand Karen hasn’t witnessed them fight and overcome every obstacle imaginable, everything from a stupid mattress to being sent away to both Florida and prison, only to come to this. This isn’t the tip of the thread. A golden thread isn’t spun without reason. It’s spun for the fated.

“Has Amy ever made a bad choice?” she asks.

For the first time in a long time Jake actually looks at his mom. He pauses but she knows he doesn’t have to think. Karen knows that in his eyes Amy can do no wrong.

“No… I just-”

“Okay, so do you honestly think that her wanting and fighting for a baby with you is a bad choice? Even if it doesn’t come easy.”

There’s another silence, longer this time, which hopefully means that something resonates inside his head even though Karen knows it’s a dark and confusing place right now.

“No, I guess…”

“No, don’t say “you guess”. You know, Jake Peralta. You love Amy and she loves you. I know it seems like life keeps on throwing you curveballs and I wish it wasn’t so, but trust me when I say that it’s not because it’s a wrong or bad choice. You being with Amy is the best, most right doing I’ve ever witnessed, and I’m so proud of it. Stop doubting yourself. Your love is too good for that. You’re too good for that, honey.”

Her voice had started out a bit rough, just to make sure to get her point across, but by her the last sentence it has grown soft like butter and Jake can’t help but fall into his mother’s arms. He knows she’s right and it’s in moments like these that, moments where he wants to give up, he’s glad to have her to fight off his demons.

“I just want to give her everything she deserves, mom,” he mumbles into her shoulder, still holding on for dear life; so closely that Karen swears she can feel his heart breaking against her chest. “And I know I’ve been hesitant about it in the past, but now I just-”

Karen feels him let go of her and straighten his back. His eyes are shiny and there’s so much hope but also hurt in them.

“... I really want to be a dad. I really do. And then I wanna do it right.”

Karen knows what he’s hinting at and the sentiment is so valid even though she’s back together with Roger and their father-son relationship has grown stronger.  

“You will be, honey. One way or another,” she whispers and reaches out to stroke his cheek. “And you will be the best. I promise you.”

Pregnant

Mother knows best, Jake can’t help but think on the magical evening Amy tells him the best thing he’s ever heard: she’s pregnant. The world seems to flourish around him like never before.

Of course the first person he wants to tell is his mom, but him and Amy quickly agree on keeping the amazing news to themselves, or at least until their baby has hit the safety that the 12-week mark comes along with.

Until then Jake and Amy plan on how to break the news to Karen (and Roger, of course) and Jake almost can’t believe it when the day finally arrives. Their 12-week check was just yesterday, and to everyone’s relief and joy their baby is growing as they should and thriving in their mother’s womb. They both shed a tear and ask for an extra set of ultrasound pictures to give to the future grandparents - both on his and Amy’s side.  

During dinner with Karen and Roger the following day, Jake is on the verge of bursting, yelling out the news the very second his parents arrive. Although a humbling squeeze of the hand from his wife keeps him in check until dessert. Here the hand squeeze feels different and Jake knows now is the time.

“By the way,” Jake gets up and heads to the kitchen to get another tub of ice cream. “We have a little extra surprise for dessert…”

Roger and Karen frown in unison as both of them are yet to finish what’s already in their respective bowls. Jake ignores it and comes back with a tub of…

“Lime ice cream?” Roger asks, clearly confused by the very specific flavour.

“I didn’t even know that was a thing,” Karen chuckles, always being the one to lighten the mood.

“Well,” Jake smiles with content as he sits back down. “I promise you: you don’t wanna skip this part. It’s the best.”

And so of course Karen is quickly hands on, pulls off the lid and is ready to dig in with her spoon but halts the second she gets to take a good look at the bucket’s content: a small piece of paper. Neither her or Roger understand a thing, and being too preoccupied by their confusion they fail to notice the wide grins on the other couple’s faces.

Karen takes the leap and digs out the picture quickly noticing something scribbled onto it with neat handwriting - Amy’s, of course.

Hi, grandma and grandpa. I’m now 12 weeks old and the size of a lime! I can’t wait to meet you <3

Karen feels her heart skip a bit, maybe even stop entirely for multiple seconds and looks to Jake and Amy for some kind of approval or… she’s not even sure of what. All she’s sure of is that she’s on the brim of exploding. Her son nods biting down on his bottom lip in excitement, and when she flips the piece of paper she’s met by the most wonderful picture she’s ever seen: their future grandchild, tiny as can be, in black and white, and completely perfect.

Karen tears her eyes away from her grandchild to look at her son to be met by his almost trembling voice and shiny eyes.  

“Good thing my mom was right when she told me that I would be a dad some day.”

Jake’s eyes are so sincere with tears threatening to spill as he holds his mother’s gaze talking directly to her, and it’s safe to say there’s waterfall’s worth of happy tears that evening.

Welcoming mac

The day Mac is born Jake feels as if his heart is suddenly beating and living outside of his chest in the shape of his son. There’s so much love even before their son officially arrives, but nothing can possibly top the feeling of holding him in his arms feeling the infant’s hand wraps around Jake’s thumb. Love is shooting through the roof and up to the moon. Never before has Jake felt so much love for someone’s he’s just met before and it’s scary in the best way.

He’s sitting in an armchair by Amy’s hospital bed, his wife fast asleep after the most exhausting hours of her life, when the door to their room pops open. He doesn’t even bother looking up at first as he’s too busy gazing lovingly at the bundle of love in his arms.

“Oh my goodness.”

Jake head perks up immediately recognizing the sound of his mother’s voice. By now she’s closing the door behind her, quietly.

“Hi, mom. Come say hi.”

Karen can hear his smittenness in his voice and sits down on a smaller chair next to him to better see her brand new grandson. It’s immediately clear as day that the newest Peralta is the perfect mix of both parents. Chubby cheeks, dark hair, full lips and a nose she’s gonna want to kiss over and over again.

“Meet McClane. Mac for short,” Jake informs her stroking his son’s chubby cheek.

“It’s perfect,” Karen clucks and follows suit stroking Mac’s other cheek. “He’s beautiful, honey. You must be so proud. I know I am.”

For various obvious reasons Jake has always struggled with acknowledging pride - even when he’s clearly felt it, he’s found it difficult to say it out loud or fully believe it. Today is different though and he wants to scream it from the rooftops: he’s so freaking proud of his beautiful baby son and his incredible wife.

He smiles fondly as he nods in agreement.

“I really am, mom. Proud of myself but especially of Amy. I’ll explain it further later but I Amy went into labor at the precinct, I was out helping with the blackout and almost missed the birth. I just barely got there before Mac was born and Amy managed everything like a pro. I can’t believe I’ve made a human with her. She’s the best… I’m so lucky.”

Jake looks at Karen sensing that she’s going to speak.

“I can’t imagine any other person for you than her, and together you’ve formed a beautiful little family, honey. One to be very proud of, so don’t forget to give in to that feeling, okay?”

Karen hand travels from sleeping Mac’s cheek to her son’s curly hair, on a mission to stroke it like she always would when he was a child and it prompts Jake to lean his head onto her shoulder. From his new vantage point he looks back at Mac, then Amy.

They’re his whole world, his two ends meeting and Karen can only sit by to admire the scene before her. Never has Karen felt more sure of the fact that there was always one single thread of gold tying Jake to Amy.

(And Mac).

[yugyummygot7reactions]

Punishment

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Jinyoung x you x Jaebeom

Word Count: 2760

This is a birthday fic for my bestie!! @ksmutaddict​ . This was technically written last year for her birthday, but I’m lame af and write all my fics on actual paper first and I lost it...found it during my move...and then forgot about it. She asked for it to be uploaded for her birthday and I’m only 1 day late this time. Happy birthday boo! Hope you like the fic and the edits.

The night had been an abnormally lazy one for you and your two favorite boys. You spent most of the evening entangled in each other’s limbs while relaxing in front of some comedy show you had all seen so many times you could recite it. It was only as you were beginning to doze off in the arms of your favorite of the two men that it was decided for you that it was time to head to bed. Your legs were wrapped around Jinyoung’s unfairly small waist, and your arms were snugly wrapped around his neck as he carried you through the hallway, which felt longer than usual. This was all thanks to Jaebeom, who was following close by, his eyes letting you know, that you had greatly disappointed them by falling asleep so early. You unfortunately already knew this. They explicitly told you earlier that evening that you had been a bit too disobedient lately, and even before that conversation, you had an inkling that your bratty behavior was pushing the very lenient limits the men had set for you. Frequently during the night’s activities, Jinyoung had sent you those looks, silently telling you to take it back a notch, and tried to get you to sit in his lap where he could hold you still and keep you a bit more subdued, but you made it a point to barely be within his arms’ reach, teasing him and Jaebeom, making him slightly cross in the process. When Jaebeom pulled you aside in the kitchen while brewing another pot of tea, you realized as the bedroom door was approaching and the look in Jaebeom’s eyes grew dark, that you should have taken the last chance he gave you. “Last chance, Kitten. Behave, or you will regret it later,” he had snarled with a hand around your throat. But, of course, you didn’t listen and kept on toying with their patience and the edge of your skirt. You liked testing them. It was always fun to see exactly how far they were willing to bend for you and each time you got them to go a little bit farther. Tonight seemed different though. Through the night, you noticed how their jaws tensed further and further each time you got mouthy with witty remarks or brushed your hand against any erogenous zones to tease them. In hindsight, you should’ve stopped, but that’s the thing about hindsight, it’s never there when you actually need it, and only when you saw that look on Jaebeom’s face as you headed to the bedroom did it hit you that you were in trouble. Big trouble. Jinyoung immediately threw you onto the bed as you entered the room. The man who just gently carried you here flipped switches in a heartbeat from sweet Daddy to aggressive Sir. “How hard is it just to be our good little girl? Huh?” The panic set in, as if the warnings you had accumulated over the evening were dumped on you all at once. “I’m sorry-” you began, pouting, but Jaebeom interrupted you. “Save it.” He was cold. Colder than usual. You turned your eyes to look at him, but his glare made your fear more than normal, and you chose to stare at the floor instead of into his piercing eyes. Jinyoung picked you up with his stupidly strong arms, and finally, after a whole night of constant disobedience, you knew better than to fight him. His cold and clearly upset face made you want to apologize again, but you knew from experience he probably wouldn’t have it. “What happened that made you sorry now, when clearly, you haven’t been sorry all evening,” was all he said as he pulled you up. I’m sure he felt your breath hiccup as Jaebeom passed through the door, at least he wasn’t surprised to find you trying to cover your slightly swollen eyes when he put you down. He wasted no time comforting you and went straight to undressing you from the waist down. You could hear Jaebeom simultaneously rummaging in the closet for something you were sure was not for your pleasure. When your skirt and leggings were tossed onto the floor roughly and you were left in your shirt and underwear only, the first audible sob escaped you, and Jaebeom reprimanded you immediately. “You brought this upon yourself, so stop sniffling. You will have plenty of time to cry about this once we’re done. Now, come here!” His words didn’t help, but you rubbed your eyes as you moved off of the bed and walked towards him. Jinyoung noticed the cane in his hand long before you did. “Warm her up first,” Jinyoung insisted gently, his loving side always sneaking through a bit, even during punishments. Out of the two, he was the one who disliked punishing you most. Jaebeom didn’t find it ideal either, but was more concerned with your misbehavior than your comfort during a punishment. Jinyoung wanted the punishments to be fun for the both of you, while Jaebeom wanted his point to get through regardless of the cost. Jaebeom already had his hand in a firm grip around your upper arm, but he let go as Jinyoung took you by your hips and dragged you towards him. He moved backwards to sit on the bed, pulled you over his knee, and tugged your panties upwards, wedging them between your cheeks, stripping you of whatever minimal protection they would have provided from what was coming next. “Please,” was all you dared to whisper before Jinyoung landed the first hit, pressing tears further up in your eyes. Jaebeom had taken a seat in the white leather chair across from the bed, where he had the best view of Jinyoung slowly heating up your cheeks. The slow speed was excruciating. Each heavy blow got to sting, burn, and then pulse in pain before the next one landed. It was agonizing to lie there, completely still, as every moment was filled by humiliation under Jaebeom’s watchful eye, only broken by the very timed out sting of Jinyoung’s rough palm. After a few hits, Jaebeom spoke up against his procrastination. “Jinyoung…” he said with a smirk on his face. He knew Jinyoung didn’t like these moments, so he repeated his words from earlier, “Let’s get this over with.” Jinyoung sighed and put his free hand firmly around your waist, pulling you closer to keep you still, and then hit after hit, he hit your ass with increased speed and force. You hid your face by pressing it deeply into the covers. It wasn’t enough to stifle your sobs though, and you were sure they both heard, even though Jinyoung remained relentless. He had put on that tough shell Jaebeom always wore during punishments, the shell that made it possible for him to ignore your cries and carry on with his heavy hand. Finally, Jinyoung thought you had endured enough of his hand to be ready for the cane, and he helped you stand. You barely got to gain your balance before you heard Jaebeom sigh deeply with what could have been regret or irritation, and then grab your arm again. He pulled you to stand by his left side, bent over, as he held you firmly between his hand and hip, your already bruised ass sticking out for his right hand to terrorize. “It will be over soon,” was all the warning and comfort he gave you, before letting the cane strike down, leaving agonizing, slanted, red lines on your now red, glowing skin. You could almost hear a smirk in his voice as he continued to try to talk you through it. You grabbed on to his pants to keep yourself balanced, even though his left hand held you more securely in place that you thought. His pace was quick, and you gasped, yelped, and sobbed your way through your least favorite kind of spanking. You could tell Jinyoung was still sitting on the bed, now viewing Jaebeom tear up your ass with the cane, and when you managed to open your eyes for long enough to look at him through your tears, it was clear to you he was enjoying the show more than it upset him to see you cry. The growing bulge in his pants was evidence of his change in moods. Finally, Jaebeom slowed down the pace and between the last two strikes, he paused and scolded you quickly. “You foolish little girl.” He whacked you one final time and once your shocked sob had quieted down to your quiet panting, he helped you stand up straight. “To the bed,” he ordered and you followed quickly and quietly. You quickly stripped completely and crawled under the silk sheets Jinyoung had pulled back for you, while Jaebeom put away the torturous instrument. For a while, you laid there sniffling, as they undressed and got ready for bed. Jinyoung crawled in on the right side of you, wearing nothing but his bulged out boxers, a bit before Jaebeom joined in behind you, wearing those striped pajama bottoms that made him seem a million years older than he really was… in a cute and comforting way. He wrapped his hands around you from the back and nuzzled comfortingly into your neck. He had finally dropped that harsh exterior and now treated your tired body and mind gently. Jaebeom kissed your shoulder where the tattoo was slightly raised and whispered gently against your skin “Good girl. You took it so well.” Jinyoung moved closer too and scooped you out of Jaebeom’s arms to place you more directly under him, asserting that he knew you favored him for cuddling. “Come here, my sweet nuna,” he encouraged you when you whimpered a bit. Jaebeom propped his head up on his hand to enjoy the show he knew was about to unfold. Jinyoung moved one of your legs to the other side of him, spreading you open for him to admire. He sat back up on his knees and shuffled out of his briefs, letting his erect cock stand free, but not for long before he buried himself in you, just barely taking the time to make sure you were wet enough to take him. He knew you loved the feeling of the stretch and he embraced that. Jinyoung was not a patient man in bed and the quick pace he settled on immediately, was evidence of that. In the context of sex, he and Jaebeom were as different as they were when punishing you. In bed, Jaebeom would take his time, be gentle and comforting, but Jinyoung let nothing stand between him and pleasure. His big, bulging cock thrust into you, and the movement pushed and dragged you ever so slightly across the sheets, putting pressure on your very sore backside. You gasped and looked up at Jinyoung’s deep chocolate eyes. “Jinyoung,” you mewled, as he grabbed your wrists and held them down on either side of your head. Jaebeom put a hand on your cheek, making you look at him. “You know your safe word, love?” he checked in, and you nodded while sniffling again. “Nora.” “Good,” he praised and moved his hand to your chest. “Then keep still and let Jinyoung fuck you the way he wants while I think about what I want.” With that, Jaebeom’s patience left you to Jinyoung’s forces. He grunted deeply and fucked you even harder. “Jinyoung, it hurts,” you pleaded. Jaebeom was quick to scold you. “Keep quiet. You know you can stop this if it is truly too much, but unless that is the case, know your place and keep quiet! If you don’t I will make it hurt worse.” Your breath wavered as Jinyoung let go of the wrist closest to Jaebeom in order to slap and then squeeze your breast. His breath was heaving and he was grunting deeply, as he kept on fucking you in a manner that could only be described as animalistic. Jaebeom laid next to you, watching Jinyoung fuck you senseless, until he finally decided he wanted in. He pulled down his trousers and motioned to Jinyoung, who backed off for a bit, allowing him to pull you back into his embrace. From behind, he dipped his cock - slightly longer and leaner than Jinyoung’s - into your dripping heat, but he only remained for a few pumps, until he was covered in your natural lubrication. He used his tip to drag your juices along your asshole, lubing you up so he could slide in slowly. Jaebeom’s patience was something you were always fond of, as a beautiful contrast to Jinyoung’s impatience, but especially when he took you anally, you appreciated his slow pace. you winced and gasped as he inched himself in. Jinyoung had been admiring Jaebeom and you and said in response to your strained mewling, “God, you’re sexy when you whimper.” Jaebeom was finally as deep as he could go and he readjusted himself under you, before inviting Jinyoung back in. “Then come, make her whimper some more.” Jinyoung’s hungry smile said “your pleasure” as he took back his position between your legs. He pushed himself back in without much warning, making you cry out from the excruciating pleasure stemming from your core. Jaebeom joined your outburst, as Jinyoung’s cock filled you up and made you clench even tighter around him. “Fuck!” Jinyoung groaned and began thrusting again, vigorously enough to move you back and forth on Jaebeom’s cock as well. “Ji-Jinyoung!” you stuttered and moaned, letting your head fall back onto Jaebeom’s shoulder. “Relax, baby,” Jaebeom coaxed, as Jinyoung inched closer to his climax, picking up speed and depth as he went on. Jinyoung had his forehead on your chest by now, sending a plethora of sensations through you. His breath was hot and damp. Your cunt, already fully stimulated, got part of the endorphin rush as Jaebeom’s fingers tangled in your hair and grabbed a handful of your soft flesh by your breast. With that, and their gorgeous cocks filling you, you inched closer to your climax as well. Jaebeom held you firmly in place and you screamed out whenever Jinyoung’s pelvis granted you the accidental pleasure of rubbing by your clit. That with the snug fit of his thick cock in your narrowed, dripping hole and the occasional crash and brush of his crotch hitting yours had you so close. Jaebeom felt that you were close and moved his hand from your breast to your neck to choke you to your climax, just the way you liked it. You felt like you fell over the edge of your orgasm when Jinyoung strictly ordered you to come, but Jaebeom’s firm grasp on your upper body kept you safe as you pulsed through your climax. Jinyoung grunted and slowed down, thrusting harshly a few times as he came forcefully between your clenching walls. You came back down from your high as Jinyoung pulled away. Jaebeom was kissing your shoulder and neck and slowly moved you down onto your side so he could move more easily. You laid tiredly and completely relaxed as he slowly moved against you. Even though his pace was lazy, all the previous activities of the night had him close to finishing already. The teasing, the spanking, the vigorous fucking, all brought to this moment of slow, steady, tired, and loving lovemaking, where Jaebeom stroked your shoulder with his lips and grasped one of your breasts in his firm hand as he finished himself inside you. Still kissing and nuzzling, he pulled away from you, letting Jinyoung pick you up to clean you up. He carried you into the bathroom where he had drawn a warm bath for the three of you while Jaebeom was finishing up with you in the bed, and he lowered you into the water laced with lemon essential oil and rose petals. Jaebeom slipped in behind you and Jinyoung sat by your legs. He covered a loofah in a lovely scented shower gel and rubbed it over your skin, making it soft and slippery, so his strong fingers could easily massage your every muscle. Jaebeom also took it upon himself to help relax the muscles he had helped to rough up earlier in the night. “Thank you,” you said as their hands worked magic, earning you a broad smile from Jinyoung and a low and lax humming from Jaebeom. “See?” He said, happy to know your manners had returned. “There’s our good babygirl.”

[hotpinkhoshi]

delicate | jaebeom drabble

pairing: jaebeom x reader

genre: fluff, suggestive

word count: 1.3k 

prompt: “you’re so pretty.” asked by me myself and i, because i couldn’t resist.

a/n: i can’t even write a summary about this because it’s really nothing... just cute new relationship feels! i wrote it in like an hour this morning and decided to post it in time for jaebeom’s birthday. barely edited but i do think it’s really cute so enjoy! also listen to “delicate” by taylor swift for the ultimate fluffy experience.

God, this movie was boring. 

It was Jaebeom’s choice, though, and you’d kept your mouth shut. It was his birthday and the rule was that he got to pick the movie. Your relationship was still very new, and you couldn’t bring yourself to fight him on it. 

The movie, one of those quiet pretentious indie films, was about halfway through before you started getting jittery. You couldn’t help it. The theater was dark, and there was nothing for you to look at to distract yourself. Except Jaebeom. 

You found yourself turning your head, your eyes traveling up from his neck to his jaw, flexing as he chewed on some of the popcorn you’d bought him—not without a fight, of course, he was old fashioned in that way. But you won in the end. Your eyes followed the curve of his jaw to his cheekbones, sharp and prominent, to the twin moles adorning his eyelids. Even shrouded in darkness, he was breathtaking. 

“You’re so pretty,” you whispered, before you could stop yourself. 

“Eh?” he asked, turning just a fraction towards you as his eyes flicked from the screen to your face. 

So you repeated yourself, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “You’re so pretty,” you whispered against his skin, your breath fanning over his face. “I just wanted you to know.” 

You half expected him to shush you, to tell you to watch the movie, but you were starting to think Jaebeom would let you get away with murder. No matter how you annoyed him or playfully nagged him, he took it in stride and sometimes managed to dish it back twice as bad. 

“I’m pretty?” His brows raised and he turned, all the way this time, until his nose brushed against yours. “Not handsome? Rugged? Sexy?”

“Nuh uh.” You shook your head, rubbing your lips together to hide a smile. He coaxed it out of you eventually, though, when he nudged his nose into yours in an eskimo kiss. “My boyfriend is prettier than me.” 

Boyfriend. You loved to say it out loud. 

Jaebeom let out a breathy laugh. “A lie, if I ever heard one.” 

Another kiss to his cheek. “It’s your birthday, I would never lie to you on your birthday.” 

He turned his head, catching your lips with his, soft and sweet. “What do you think of the movie?” he asked, his hand reaching up to brush the hair out of your face. 

You cleared your throat. “It’s good. It’s… yeah, it’s not bad.” 

When he kissed you again, he was smiling. “Liar,” he spoke against your skin as his lips drifted across your cheek. “You hate it.”

You sort of despised the way he made you stutter as he pressed featherlight kisses into your skin, making a path of goosebumps from your cheek to your jaw. “I don’t- no, I don’t hate it,” you protested weakly. 

His chuckle against your skin made you shiver. “It’s okay, I hate it too,” he assured you, pulling away and cupping your cheeks in his warm hands. “In fact, I was going to ask if you wanted to get out of here. I can’t imagine it’s going to get any better…” 

“Oh, thank God,” you whispered, surging forward to press a firm kiss to his lips. “I was so worried you liked it and I was going to have to break up with you because you have shit taste in movies.” 

It took less than a minute for the two of you to gather your things before you were practically running out of the theater, both holding in your laughter as the few other people in the theater glared at you for making so much nose. 

By the time you got to the car, you were both breathless and panting, having continued running from the theater out of the building, though you had no reason to do so. Though you were both well into adulthood, he made you feel like a teenager again. Your heart pounded as he pressed you into the side of his car and stared down at you, still half smiling. 

It was freezing, not even halfway through the frigid winter, but you felt hot inside. Jaebeom had a way of filling you with liquid heat with just his gaze, so intense and overwhelming at times. 

“Thank you for this,” he told you, hands trailing down your arms until his fingers laced through yours. “Even if the movie sucked. It was worth it.” 

You pressed your teeth into your lower lip as you tilted your chin to meet his eyes. “You’re welcome. Next year, maybe we should just find something on Netflix.” 

Jaebeom chuckled and brought one of your hands up, pressing his lips into your cold knuckles. “Well, the night is still young. Want to grab some food, take it back to my house, and find something better to watch?” 

Leaning up on your toes, you placed a chaste kiss to his lips and squeezed his hands. “Absolutely.” 

Later that night, as Jaebeom held you on the couch while one of his favorite films played on his TV and you surrounded yourself with plates upon plates of takeout, he whispered that it was the best birthday he’d ever had. 

The words filled you with a certain warmth you couldn’t quite identify. All you knew was that you wanted to be by his side next year, the year after that, and the year after that. 

“Jae?” you whispered, shifting so that you could see him more clearly. 

“Hm?” His eyes stared down into yours as he gave you a squeeze. All of your limbs were intertwined, but you’d never been more comfortable. 

“I really like you,” you admitted. It wasn’t what you wanted to say, but it was close. “Really really like you.” 

There was an amused smile on Jaebeom’s lips. “I like you too, sweetheart.” A kiss to your forehead. “More than like, actually.” 

You pulled back, eyes shooting up to his face. Had you heard him right? Maybe you misunderstood. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, carefully. 

“Ah…” Jaebeom’s cheeks flushed, shaking his head as he played with the bottom hem of your sweater. “I don’t usually… well, I’ve never-” he paused to take in your features, eyes wide and half hopeful, half terrified. “I love you. You have to know that.”

It felt like your heart soared out of your chest in that moment. “I…” you swallowed. He’d been in love before, you knew, although he never said it explicitly.  He had alluded to it a few times in quiet, late night conversations. But you’d never gotten this close to someone before. It always ended before it got this deep. 

“I’m not just saying this because it’s your birthday,” you started. You found it hard to look him in the eyes but you needed to. You needed him to see the truth in them. “I love you. I love every second that I’m with you, I love your laugh and your dreams, your… questionable taste in movies. Your pretty face.” 

He laughed at the last one, rolling his eyes as he poked your side. You squirmed in his grip and held back your giggles. 

“I’m being serious here! I know, maybe it’s too early to say it, but I love you.” The more you said it, the more real it became and the more you got used to the idea. 

As the night went on, Jaebeom made sure you knew how loved you were. He let you pick the next movie, even allowed you to eat the last bite of his black bean noodles. He didn’t even say a word as you quoted every line alongside the main female lead in your favorite romantic film. 

He proved his love, over and over that night, especially after he carried you to bed and the layers of clothes between your bodies seemed to disappear. The room filled with passionate moans, whispers of love and pleasure. It wasn’t the first time, but he made you feel like it was. 

Just before the two of you drifted off to sleep, sweaty and exhausted, Jaebeom whispered to you once more that this was the best birthday he’d ever had. 

[atreefullofstars]

This season of The Mandalorian has some discontinuities in tone, subject matter, and theme. They're glaring to me as a storyteller--it's like looking at a page of text with some lines sharpied out and words replaced. The only way I can make sense of it is as hasty, clumsy edits to a script whose messages Disney had to muffle late in production.

Spoilers for Season 2 Episodes 2  and 7.

In episode 2, the protagonist is supposed to ferry, functionally, a pregnant woman to another planet in exchange for information. There are some glaring holes in this story.

-Why does she need him specifically to take her to what looks like a fairly busy port? Why not any other transport? Surely it would be more reliable and safer to take some innocuous ship? -As they travel, there's a tense encounter with what are essentially two police officers from the New Republic, and in the scene as shown, this is because Mando is wanted. But during the radio conversation, it's very apparent that Mando and the woman don't want them to know the woman is there. Why, if Mando's record is the problem? -Also this issue with Mando being afraid of getting pulled over arises only in this episode, and is treated as resolved when these individual police officers decide to let him off. Why doesn't he have these issues while traveling throughout the rest of the season, since officially there's no reason the overarching problem of his record should have been fixed by this? This suggests the problem was developed to help along the plot of only this episode--which makes no sense given how storytelling arcs about him and Grogu work throughout the rest of the show.

Meanwhile, there are hints at something unstated.

-It's important to the woman to get to the new planet so her baby can be born. The Watsonian explanation given for the rush is that the eggs are unfertilized, have a shelf life, and this is her last chance to have a kid for unspecified reasons. But from a Doylist angle, these complications only exist to give her a time limit for getting to the new planet. They could have been fertilized eggs which could be born anywhere, or she could have not been pregnant at all--surely she'd still want to go to her husband. The setup is carefully arranged to create the goal "we must get to the new planet in time for the child to be born."

-The woman gives an impassioned speech about how her husband sacrificed to make a life for them on the only planet hospitable to their species. In the show as presented, it's a little bit of a non-sequitur; the things she's upset about don't quite line up with the actual situation. Nor is it made clear at any point why this is the only planet for them, what they're running from elsewhere.

-Oh yes, and, rare for someone in the Star Wars universe, the woman doesn't speak Basic.

All of this makes sense if the woman in this story is illegally crossing a border to the in-universe equivalent of America. Check being coded as an "alien" by not speaking the language, the sentiments about creating a better life for them, the need to get over the border so her baby is born in the new home and has citizenship. I would bet a great deal that there was an original version of the script in which the New Republic officers were essentially Border Control and the tension of that scene came purely from the need to keep the woman hidden. And of course, this answers the question of why she couldn't just take any old transport to her destination.

This is really obvious; I'm sure someone else has commented on it; and normally I'd think "not everything that's not stated explicitly is a plot hole." But there are clear signs here someone tried to move the script away from this. There's NO mention of laws or refugees or illegal border crossings, when there are a lot of natural places for those word choices to crop up. The "better life" speech is WAY too text to have been intended as subtext when written, and that scene where they're pulled over doesn't even make SENSE without the illegal alien thing having been made explicit. Something got patched over here, and the seams are very visible. What this looks like to me is someone wrote a really poignant episode about the plight of people crossing the border, and Disney said "NOPE, no sympathetic illegal aliens." Which already had me pretty peeved.

The thing that pushed me over the edge into writing this, though, was watching episode 7 tonight.

Y'all, the attackers on the road make. No. Sense. They called them pirates, but what kind of pirate only wants to blow up the cargo, and keeps coming when a bunch of their comrades have died? Let alone a whole crowd of them on foot trying to attack the base itself? What are their motivations?

And in Doylist terms, how the hell do they fit into this story? Because they are completely at odds with the themes of this episode. Before this scene, the camera lingers on apparently human, civilian natives beside the road, and Din Djarin talks about how they've been subjugated equally by the Empire and the Republic. After this scene, Din Djarin's old commander talks about how people think they want freedom, but what they really want is order imposed by a ruling force. These bits of dialogue set the theme: freedom from oppressive, occupying forces. What do some random road pirates have to do with that?

And the other theme, of what principles Mando will bend or break to get Grogu back--it's a little weak, isn't it? Taking his helmet off is not a small gesture, fair enough, but it's also not really worthy of that "principles" speech Din Djarin gives.

But what if, instead of pirates, the attackers on the road were rebels? Human, like the planet's native population has been established to be. Blowing up the trucks as an act of deliberate sabotage, not nonsensical piracy. Leading a dramatically underpowered attack on the base out of desperation and a desire for freedom. Doesn't all this suddenly make a LOT more sense? Suddenly, the theme of freedom is continued through the action scene that takes up such a big chunk of the episode. Suddenly, those characters have a believable motivation. The base would still be blown up afterward, and that would have mattered more as a gesture: not just revenge on Din Djarin's part for people long dead, but as a powerful blow in the fight for freedom. Something like that really would justify wiping the slate clean for the guy, not to mention explain why he would want to stay on this planet.

And if they were rebels against the empire... suddenly, Mando is not a lily-white good guy. He's willing to kill even good people to get Grogu back. He'd be the reason the uprising failed. It would justify that talk of principles, and it would demonstrate how much he cares for Grogu, but it would be a distinct bit of tarnish on that shining armor, which I suspect is why Disney clumsily scrapped it. That, and the fact that stories about uprisings against occupying oppressors don't play well with the political powers Disney has been courting.

Think I'm imagining this? I had laid out this theory to my husband in detail while we watched. And then the credits rolled.

In the credit artwork, the people on those skimmer vehicles the "pirates" were riding were human.

There is something going on here. Disney is axing plotlines that don't fit their agenda. It leaves holes behind. And the shape of those holes is ugly, friends.

Is anyone else seeing this?

[all-things-skam]

Title: Darkroom kisses

Ship: Wtfock | Robbe Ijzerman + Sander Driesen (Sobbe)

_______________

Truth be told, Robbe wasn't interested in the dance performance in the slightest. Sitting in uncomfortable chairs for over two hours to watch girls - and boys, as Noor had mentioned - shaking their body on stage sounded like a snoozefest to Robbe.

But, he still went. For the boys...and their future hook up.

And for Noor, of course.

Talking about her, Robbe should've probably been more supportive of his girlfriend and brought flowers or something, but he was broke and flowers were overrated. Why spending so much money on something that's going to die in a couple days?

He chewed his lip thoughtlessly as he took his seat beside his friends. The brunet wasn't looking forward to this and he'd rather be anywhere else but in this auditorium, but at least, moment in time, coming to this performance appeared to please both Noor and the boys.

When they first heard about the dance performance, Jens, Moyo and Aaron were so excited that Robbe had absolutely no way of getting out of it. He thought about faking being sick for a second, but knew that Jens would never buy his lie - not without checking.

The lights went down and the performances started one by one, Aaron practically squeaking in his seat, way too excited to watch girls dance. Moye tapped Robbe's arm, motionning at some brunette doing moves, but Robbe's attention was anywhere else but on stage. He looked around, letting the boredom creep in. Can this spectacle be over soon?

A duo of girls stepped on stage with tutus and heavy stage makeup as Robbe broke a yawn.

''Dude,'' Jens hissed, shaking his head at Robbe who shrugged.

''Sorry...''

Their attention returned to the stage, trying to focus on the ballerinas when Robbe felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

He pulled it out despite knowing it was rude to check your phone during a performance, lips twisting up when reading Sander's name.

Sander: Meet me at the back of the auditorium

Glancing around, Robbe tried to look for Sander's platinum head. He knew he was there, being in charge of taking pictures of the spectacle, but Robbe couldn't see him.

Biting his lip, Robbe hesitated. According to the little pamphlet they had given at the entrance, Noor's performance was next and Robbe knew she'd be mad if he missed her dance performance. But, at the same time, the raven haired girl wasn't the one who made his heart do crazy things.

Slipping his phone back in his pocket, Robbe stood and nudged Moyo's knee so he could pass. Jens pulled his eyebrows, about to ask where he was going, but Robbe was already sneaking out of the auditorium.

''Sander?'' Robbe called, the heavy door flapping shut behind him.

Instead of a response, he was greeted by a camera flash, Sander's grinning face behind the device.

Robbe groaned at the harsh light of the flash, rubbing his eyes as if to stop seeing spots of colors. ''Stop taking pictures of me...''

Chuckling, Sander rolled his eyes. ''Never,'' he countered, his clear green eyes staring right into Robbe, causing a little blush to creep. Click. He was just too pretty not to photograph.

''Stop,'' Robbe dragged, using his hand to cover his face, shielding himself from the camera. Despite his attempt to sound annoyed, a smile was hidden behind his hand.

Sander dropped his camera, letting it fall on his chest. ''Let's go,'' he said with an undeniable grin.

''What?'' Robbe asked hesitantly, giving Sander a confused look.

He glanced around, checking his horizons and, once he ensured that no one was around them, he let his eyes wander back to Sander.

''Come.'' The blond grabbed Robbe's hands and pulled him along, determined to get them away from everyone, trying to be alone with Robbe.

''Where are we going?'' the smaller one asked as he followed Sander down the hall.

''Somewhere secret.''

.

Sander came to a halt in front of a black door, almost causing Robbe to hit his back at the sudden stop. Looking up, Robbe noticed a tag on the door: Darkroom.

Sander reached into his pocket to fetch a key, making the brunet even more confused.

''Are we allowed in here?'' Robbe asked, worried that they'd get in trouble.

''I am.'' He inserted the key in and twisted it to unlock the door. ''The janitor gave me a double of the key. I think he was annoyed to have to stay past his work hours whenever I stayed here late to develop photos.'' A light chuckle left his lips at the anecdote.

Sander rolled his eyes, seeing that Robbe still had an unsure look on his face and nudged the door open, flashing him a grin and motinning for Robbe to follow. He turned on the light, the red tint of the bulb tinting their faces.

''Welcome to my crib,'' Sander joked, imitating the infamous MTV quote as he Robbe closed the door behind him, preventing any outside light to get in. Robbe might not know much about photography developpement, but he knew that light ruined the photos.

At first Robbe was taken aback. It was his first time going inside a darkroom and, he'll admit, he was mesmerized. Containers, chemical bottles and other developing equipment were neatly placed on the counter by the sink. A string was hung across the walls, pictures pinned to it.

Robbe stepped forward and took a closer look at the pictures. ''These are yours? You took them?''

''Yes.''

Sander felt his heart flutter at the smile on Robbe's face as he inspected every nook and cranny of the space. Art - especially photography - was very important to Sander. It was a stress relief, a way of expressing himself with his creativity. At first, he felt nervous sharing it with Robbe, but it seemed like the boy was enjoying himself, his smile broadening as he glanced at the pictures.

''Is that me?'' Robbe asked, pointing to a certain picture. He recognized the warehouse Noor took him to do grafitis. ''That's a great shot. You're talented.''

''Yeah, getting a good picture is not easy when the subject is a sight for sore eyes,'' Sander countered with a flirty smirk.

A blush coated Robbe's cheeks, slightly embarrassed. Since they met, Sander has always been a flirt with Robbe. But, up until today, he had never flirted so explicitly.

Robbe looked away and focused back on the pictures. ''How did you get into photography?'' he asked, changing subject.

''You know how all the art kids have their thing? Well, mine is photography. I do other stuff like painting, but film photography is my favorite.''

''Film photography?'' Robbe shook his head mockingly. ''You're so old-fashioned.''

''You should know, film photography is making a big return. Digital photography is nice, but I prefer film. A digital camera does all the work for you. Anyone can do it. For film, you have to learn and figure out techniques, angles, lighting. You can also use different films to make cool effects.'' Sander stepped past Robbe, pointing to a particular picture. ''See? I recently learned to edit manually when printing. I can now adjust the exposure and contrast levels, and even apply dodges and burns to the images.''

Even though Robbe didn't understand what the blond was talking about - unfamiliar with the photography language -, he liked listening to him. You could feel his genuine passion through his voice.

Robbe returned his attention to the pictures hung up, grafitis around the city, portraits of who he assumed were Sander's friends and more artistic shots.

A particular picture caught his attention recognizing the skatepark he and the boys spend their time at, the ugly graffitis at the far back giving the place away. There wasn't much on the picture, just a boy in a brown jacket, mid jump on a skate ramp.

Pulling his eyebrows, the brunet unclipped it without asking. ''When did you take this?''

Behind him, Sander's heart started beating faster, getting nervous. Taken the wrong way, Robbe could be offended and call him a creep for taking this picture without his consent. ''Late september, I believe,'' he confessed, biting his bottom lip.

The younger one stilled. September? They didn't know each other back then, they hadn't even met yet. Why did Sander take pictures of him?

A minute passed and there was no reaction from Robbe.

''Robbe?'' Sander said, voice unsteady, apprehending Robbe's reaction, yet needing a reaction.

Breath caught in his throat, Robbe felt a warmth on his back from the proximity of Sander's body. He fought the envy to lean into him and gathered his courage to turn around, keeping his eyes down as he spoke. ''Why did you take pictures of me? I mean, why me? There's a bunch of skaters that are much better than me.''

Sander reached for Robbe's hand, fingers gently ghosting on his skin, hating when Robbe was thinking low of himself. ''I didn't take this picture because I thought you were a skateboard master. I took this picture because you caught my attention, you inspired me artistically.''

Robbe knitted his eyebrows, confused.

''The first time I saw you was when you and your friends started coming to the skatepark in the summer. I didn't know you, but all I could see was a quiet boy with a sad smile, sitting amongst a loud group of boys. Your eyes were giving away so much, but no one asked what was wrong.''

That summer, everything started going downhill at home. His parents were arguing a lot, and Robbe's mom had been struggling with her mental health more than usual. He was always caught in the middle of the quarrels and, although he wasn't the center of it all, it was tough. Hearing your father say cruel things to the one he's sworn to love forever hurts.

Swallowing thickly, Robbe felt tears well up in his eyes, trying to push away the bad memories. He was having a good time with Sander, he didn't want to ruin the moment because he got too emotional over past events.

Fingers laced through his, pulling Robbe from his thoughts. ''You okay?''

Robbe glanced at their intertwined fingers, lips twitching. He nodded, slowly raising his eyes to meet with Sander's. Sander caught his lip between his teeth, debating whether to go for it or not and cupped the back to Robbe's neck, closing the gap between them, pressing their lips together into a soft kiss.

It took the smaller boy a second or two to realize what was happening, heart hammering behind his chest. Robbe never thought this day would happen. That's he'd get to kiss a boy. Especially someone as good looking as Sander Driesen.

Heart hammering behind his chest, Robbe kissed back, parting his lips to capture Sander's upper lip between his. He didn't want to rush the kiss, enjoying every seconds of this moment, content with just their lips touching.

Kissing Sander felt so different than all the kisses he and Noor had shared. Firstly, there wasn't a lipstick in the way, just Sander's bare - and slightly chapped - lips. The sickly sweet perfume had been replaced by a woody cologne with slightly spicy undertone.

A hand came to rest on his hip, pulling the brunet closer, feeling himself melt under Sander's touch, so gentle on him despite his natural chaotic energy. Robbe raised his arms to wrap them around the back of the older one's neck, lips parting as a soft, satisfied sound escaped, cheeks flushing.

Sander grinned through the kiss, biting Robbe's bottom lip teasingly before pulling back, earning a small whine as Robbe followed the blond, not ready for the kiss to end.