#there’s a chance I missed some information but this is should be the majority | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chimcess · 4 months ago

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Bittersweet || myg (1)

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Other Tags: Grad Student!Yoongi, Undergrad!Reader, Grad Student!Hoseok, Uncle!Namjoon, Doctor!Namjoon, Grad Student!Jimin, Fuckboy!Jungkook, GradStudent!Jungkook, Boss!Seokjin, Yoongi POV Genre: College!AU, Strangers to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, kinda Student/Teacher but not really, Older!Yoongi, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut Word Count: 19.9k+ Summary: When a cynical graduate student meets an overly enthusiastic undergraduate, the air crackles with tension—though not all of it is good. Warnings: Mean!Yoongi, he's extremely rude, like extremely so, prank gone wrong, bitter grad student to the max, strong language, Jimin is a snitch, possible wrong science information (i'm sorry i'm not perfect), sexual tension, reader faints at the sight of blood, unfunny pranks, Yoongi is jaded, he's a softie once you get to know him, hospital visit, non-descriptive male masterbation, reader has a stutter when nervous, Yoongi just being in denial for almost 20k words, kissing at work, almost caught, Jealous!Yoongi, i'm sorry but this JK is kind of a slime ball, Reader knows what she's doing, they're adorable, lots of bickering, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: Another old draft I found buried in my Google Docs! I didn't need to change too much, and it's very loosely edited, so please forgive any grammar or spelling mistakes. This was rather long (and I don't know why I never posted it), so it had to be split into two parts because of Tumblr's new rules. Thanks for reading!

Subject: Undergrad Mentoring From: Seokjin Kim, seokjinkim(at)fhcrc(.)org Sent: Friday, January 14, 2024, 6:18 AM To: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu

Yoongi,

I’m forwarding an email from a brilliant undergraduate. Have you thought about mentoring a student? I really think you should.

— Jin

---

From: ynyln(at)u(.)washington(.)edu Sent: Friday, January 14, 2024, 2:08 AM To: Seokjin Kim, seokjinkim(at)fhcrc(.)org Subject: Undergraduate Research

Dear Professor Kim,

My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I’m a junior in the School of Arts and Sciences, majoring in microbiology. I’m incredibly interested in undergraduate research, particularly in your fascinating work on Helicobacter pylori and its connection to stomach cancer.

Although I don’t have prior research experience, I’m hardworking and responsible, and I would appreciate the chance to join your team. Please let me know if you have space available in your lab.

Attached are my CV and transcript.

Thank you!

Y/N Y/L/N

---

Dr. Seokjin Kim Member, Division of Basic Sciences Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center 1100 Fairview Avenue North Seattle, WA 98109-1024

I stared at Jin's email, the words bouncing around in my head. No previous research experience? Oh great! Just fucking great!

As the clock hit noon, I trudged into the break room, where the fluorescent lights buzzed like a swarm of angry bees. It was my little escape, my sanctuary from the suffocating hallways of academia. Hoseok, the only graduate student I considered a friend, was already inhaling his lunch.

I plopped my Tupperware into the microwave, the day’s weight pressing down on me like a thick fog. “Jin wants me to take on an undergrad,” I grumbled, feeling the words stick in my throat.

“Seriously?” Hoseok asked, mouth half-full. He didn’t even bother to swallow before adding, “Have them do the dishes.”

“Oh man, this is going to suck,” I muttered, stirring my mac and cheese with the enthusiasm of a person headed to their execution. “I have to train her, and she has zero lab experience. I don’t have time for this crap.”

The microwave beeped, its harsh sound grating against my nerves. I pulled out my steaming food, the steam rising ominously. “I tried to get out of it, but Jin insisted it’s ‘all part of the training.’” I mimicked his voice, nasal and overdramatic. Hoseok chuckled, nearly choking on his food.

I dug into my lunch, my mind racing. “She’s probably some pre-med trying to pad her CV. Calling our research ‘fascinating’ like she even knows what we do here—just another cookie-cutter student firing off a hundred emails.”

“Maybe she’s cute?” Hoseok waggled his eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes, ignoring him. My single status was a constant source of irritation for him. He meant well, but his attempts at matchmaking were like trying to fix a flat tire with a spoon.

“I already did my required TA-ing last year, and it nearly gave me an ulcer. I thought I was done with whiny undergrads! This really sucks!” The words burst out, hot and angry. The idea of babysitting a clueless student gnawed at me like a persistent itch.

I focused on my research, hoping it would be my ticket out of this academic purgatory. Mentoring an undergrad was the last thing I needed—a distraction threatening to derail my meticulously planned escape.

After lunch, I headed to the incubator to check on my cultures, the familiar hum a small comfort amidst the chaos. Then I settled at my desk, drafting a reluctant email to the undergrad, my words dripping with begrudging obligation.

From: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu Sent: Friday, January 14, 2024, 1:05 PM To: ynyln(at)u(.)washington(.)edu

Come to the lab on Monday between 8 AM and 7 PM. Bring your schedule.

Yoongi Min PhD Candidate Kim Lab Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center 1100 Fairview Avenue North Seattle, WA 98109-1024

This was going to suck.

“Hi, I’m looking for Yoongi Min?” A stranger’s voice cut through the quiet of the lab, and I felt my focus waver. I was knee-deep in DNA sequencing data, desperately searching for a start codon when the interruption struck like nails on a chalkboard.

“That’s him over there,” Jimin, my lab mate, replied. I didn’t need to look up; I knew he was pointing at me.

“CTT ATC GTG ACT…” I murmured; eyes glued to the screen. The code demanded my attention.

A shadow crept closer, invading my peripheral vision. I ignored it, hyper-fixated on the screen.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” the shadow solidified into the undergrad I’d been dreading. I continued to stare at the screen, unwilling to break my concentration.

“Did you bring your schedule?” My voice was clipped, an attempt to maintain my rhythm.

CGC CTC CGT ATG… There it was! I highlighted the start codon, feeling a small sense of victory amidst the irritation. Finally, I turned to face her. She held a crumpled piece of paper in trembling hands.

The crackling noise of the paper grated on my nerves, and I snatched it from her. A quick scan revealed she had a limited availability. Tuesdays and Thursdays it was.

“Do you want one or two credits?” I asked, filling out her form with practiced efficiency.

“Oh… um… t-two,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Oh great, a stammerer. I disliked her already. My frustration bubbled beneath the surface.

“That’s ten hours a week,” I said, scribbling on the form. “Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, maybe some Wednesday mornings.” I thrust the completed form back at her and turned back to my computer.

“See you tomorrow,” I dismissed her with a wave, eager to end the interaction. Her stammering was already wearing on my patience.

When I returned from lunch, she was perched at my bench. A laugh escaped me at the sight of her attire.

“What the hell is that?” I pointed at her lab coat, which was covered in hand-drawn bacteria.

She jumped, eyes wide. “My la-la-lab coat?” she stuttered.

Oh great, she’s a fucking idiot.

I took a deep breath, scanning her outfit for safety violations. At least she wore closed shoes and jeans, but her long hair hung loose.

“You should tie your hair up. You’ll be working near the flame.”

She pulled a hairband from her wrist and started tying her hair back. As I walked past, I noticed the back of her lab coat had “Bacteria Rule” scrawled in huge letters.

Bacteria Rule? Is she serious? I wanted to stab my eyes out with the pen in my hand. Who wastes time drawing on a lab coat? Nobody in their right mind, that’s for sure.

Something was off about her—I was certain of it. Concerned about her competence, I decided she couldn’t be trusted with any real work. Instead, I assigned her mundane chores, the kind even a high schooler could handle. It might not have been what Jin envisioned, but it was the only way.

God, I’m already dreading this. Can it be Friday already?

Hoseok and I lounged in the break room, our feet propped up on the coffee table, Tupperwares in our laps. The lack of a proper dining table didn’t bother us; it still beat eating at our desks.

“How’s it going with the undergrad?” Hoseok asked, mouth full.

“I’m pretty sure there’s something wrong with her,” I said, dead serious.

Hoseok laughed, even though I wasn’t joking.

“All she does is nod at what I say,” I elaborated. “Like one of those bobblehead dolls.” I stretched my neck and bobbed my head for effect. “Except she has bangs flopping all over her face when she nods frantically at everything I say.”

Hoseok snorted but kept eating.

“And she stutters! Well, when she speaks, that is. She doesn’t speak much. I kind of like that about her.”

Hoseok chuckled. “Sounds like you’re in love, bro.”

“Fuck you, Hoseok,” I shot back, uninterested. I already knew where this was heading.

“Is she cute?” Hoseok asked, glancing at me with a smirk.

“She’s a baby.”

“Is she a cute baby?”

“Hoseok, she’s… she’s a zygote.”

“Well, maybe with this zygote, you’ll learn how to be human again.” He turned his attention back to his food.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Come on. You’re not exactly social, bro. All you do is lab stuff and occasionally hang out with me and Serena.”

“What are you talking about? I am social.” My tone came out whiny, betraying my disbelief.

“Oh, really?” Hoseok raised an eyebrow, gesturing to my Tupperware. “So social that you prefer to eat alone in the lab over joining us in the break room?”

“Do you even hear yourself? You’re such a dork. I eat in here because the lab is a mess, not because I’m antisocial.” I shrugged, trying to hide the embarrassment creeping into my cheeks.

“Whatever you say, Yoongi,” he laughed, clearly unconvinced.

I shook my head. I didn’t want to think about this right now. Instead, I grabbed my backpack, bracing myself for the next round of research duties.

After a few weeks of working together, I had to admit—albeit grudgingly—that the undergrad was following instructions better than I’d expected. If I could just ignore her ridiculous lab coat and the way those bangs flopped annoyingly over her forehead, she wouldn’t be half bad. The real annoyance, though, was her constant presence invading my space. But honestly, it could be worse; at least she wasn’t stammering nonstop. Most of the time, she barely spoke, and mercifully, she didn’t ask a ton of questions.

As I walked back from lunch with Hoseok, I was surprised to realize I didn’t dread the thought of the undergrad being in the lab when I arrived. Maybe having her shadow me wouldn’t be the end of the world after all.

Of course, the moment that thought crossed my mind, I jinxed myself. Stepping into the lab, I found her cleaning my bench, and a wave of irritation crashed over me.

“What the heck are you doing?” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended.

She flinched, turning slowly to face me, her gloved hands still gripping an ethanol squeeze bottle. “I-I just thought I’d clean up a bit,” she stammered.

“Did you touch my samples?” I shot back, a surge of panic coursing through me.

“Which samples?”

“Those!” I pointed at the upside-down tubes that had been perfectly positioned when I left, now carelessly shoved to the side.

“I-I just mov—”

“Did you touch my RNA samples?” Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air—an annoyingly stupid fish. “Do you know how labile RNA is?”

“L-la-labile?”

“Yes! Unstable—easily degradable. The main point here: you don’t touch my RNA samples!”

“I-I used gloves… I’m sorry,” she mumbled, tears shimmering in her eyes.

If she started crying, I was really going to lose it.

I took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of my nose to calm the storm brewing inside me. Slipping on my own gloves, I gently set my samples back in their rightful place, praying I hadn’t lost a week’s worth of work.

I could hear her sniffling next to me, and I groaned out loud. “Why don’t you and your la-la-lab coat coat go find something useful to do?”

I listened as she shuffled away, clearly eager to escape my sight. I should have known better than to think this arrangement would work out.

From: Seokjin Kim, seokjinkim(at)fhcrc(.)org Sent: Monday, February 14, 2024, 6:27 AM To: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu

Yoongi,

Part of the undergrad training involves more than just doing chores. Cleaning dishes, stacking pipette tips, and capping tubes do not count as experiments.

I expect your undergrad to have enough experimental data to give a presentation at the end of the semester.

Jin

What the hell? Did she tell him I’m only having her do chores?

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

Jin was right, though. All she’d done these past few weeks were chores. Aside from that little incident with my RNA samples, she hadn’t completely messed up yet. Maybe I should cut her some slack and give her a real project. She might learn something—or at the very least, realize how frustrating science could be and decide to give up on it sooner rather than later.

Oh God, how was she going to give a presentation if she couldn’t even say one coherent sentence without stuttering?

This would be an embarrassment, not just for her but for me too. If she messed up, she’d make me look bad.

Decision made. I needed to lighten up a bit and actually try to teach her something.

On Thursday, the undergrad was busy with her chores when I approached her, project sheet in hand.

She looked at it, her eyebrows raised. “What is this?”

“Your project for the next few weeks.”

Her face lit up with excitement.

“You didn’t have to go crying to Jin. I was going to give you a project anyway.”

Her smile faltered into a frown. “W-What are you talking about?” She gazed up at me, bewildered, but I waved her off, unwilling to explain further.

“Enough chattering. Those tubes aren’t going to wash themselves.”

Gotcha, undergrad. Your puppy dog eyes don’t work on me.

It was the first week of real work for the undergrad, and I felt a knot of anxiety twisting in my stomach. My palms were clammy, and my heart raced uncomfortably.

Am I excited about this? Nah… I’m probably just hungry.

“Do you know what PCR is?”

She nodded eagerly, pulling out her notepad, ready to take notes.

I explained how I wanted her to amplify two toxin genes from a set of H. pylori samples that had just arrived that morning from the hospital. Naturally, I only gave her a small subset of the total samples. It was a manageable number—enough for her to play around with, but not so many that I’d be ready to murder her if she messed up.

As usual, the undergrad took notes on everything I said, jotting down even where I pointed out the locations of various equipment. For all I knew, she was sketching a detailed map of the lab in that notepad of hers.

The undergrad sat at the bench, PCR tubes lined up in front of her, the protocol to her left, pipettes to her right, and a rack of reagents looming in the back. I watched her as she stared at everything, nervously picking at the edges of her gloves.

She was going to drive me insane.

“Do you know how to use the pipettes?”

She looked up at me, shaking her head timidly.

“Why didn’t you say so?” My voice came out louder than intended, and she flinched.

We were never going to get anywhere like this.

I took a deep breath and tried again, grabbing one of the micropipettes. “You set the volume here.” I pointed to the rings. “Clockwise to increase, counterclockwise to decrease.”

I demonstrated, twisting the rings as I explained the display window and where to discard the disposable tips when she was done.

After a few trials, the undergrad carefully pipetted into the PCR tubes, preparing the reaction with surprising precision.

She was focused, making sure not to contaminate anything. It was clear she was paying close attention to every detail.

Skilled hands, I noted, feeling a flicker of satisfaction.

Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as I thought.

I led the undergrad into the darkroom, where shadows clung to the walls like forgotten secrets, ready to ensnare us. The air was thick with a sharp, chemical tang, buzzing with anticipation as we approached the agarose gel. The PCR products shimmered faintly under the dim light, a hidden treasure waiting to be revealed. Surprisingly, a flicker of excitement sparked within me, a rare departure from my usual brooding.

“The ethidium bromide binds to the DNA,” I explained, my voice echoing softly in the sterile silence. “When we expose it to UV light, it fluoresces an orange color. You’ll see the PCR products light up on the gel.”

She walked beside me, clutching the gel like a sacred relic, her wide eyes absorbing every word. I could almost see the gears turning in her mind, likely wishing she had her notepad to document my brilliance, as if capturing my words would somehow validate her existence.

As we stepped into the darkroom, she hesitated, like a deer caught in headlights, before gingerly placing the gel inside the UV box. She moved carefully, avoiding the pitfalls of air bubbles that could ruin everything. Either she’d done this before, or she had the sense to read up on it.

Good. I liked a prepared undergrad.

Once she’d set the gel, I instructed her to turn off the lights. The room plunged into darkness, and I leaned in, my heart racing a little faster. Peering into the UV box, I couldn’t help but grin. “Well, look at that. All your reactions worked.”

“Really?” Her voice trembled from the back, laced with a quiver of hope.

“Yeah,” I called back, though the shadows played tricks on me. “Come closer so you can see.”

I waited, but she lingered in the gloom, frozen as if afraid to approach the light. “Come here, I don’t bite,” I coaxed, trying to keep my tone lighthearted.

Finally, she moved, her profile illuminated under the eerie purple glow. Her eyes widened, and a smile broke across her face like dawn piercing through a dark night. I snorted softly, amused by how easily undergrads were impressed.

After she soaked in the spectacle, I showed her how to take a photo of her gel, and we returned to the lab. She began dutifully filling in her lab notebook, and a glimmer of pride swelled within me. That was until I checked her progress later. The notebook was pristine—a meticulous record of her every move since day one. Hope flickered in my chest, only to sputter out when I turned to the last page. There it was, taped prominently: a picture of the gel with “All worked!” scrawled underneath, accompanied by a crude smiley face.

A fucking smiley face.

This undergrad, I thought, definitely had a screw loose.

“Is that what you’re wearing?”

“What’s wrong with it?” I glanced down at my sweater, a worn piece of fabric riddled with holes—just like my soul. It was what I had been wearing all day, and it sufficed.

“It has holes in it.”

��And?” I shot back, genuinely baffled. It was just clothing—a shield against the chill of the world.

“Are you making a fashion statement? You do know grunge was over twenty years ago? I know you live in Seattle and all, but I’m not digging the Kurt Cobain look… at all.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I muttered, irritation bubbling beneath my skin. “I’m starting to regret bringing you to this.”

“Relax, it’s just beers with Hobi and Serena,” she said, rolling her eyes like I was some petulant child.

I raked a hand through my hair, but it sprang back defiantly, so I slapped on a beanie to cover the chaos.

“You know, Yoongi, it wouldn’t hurt to wash your hair once in a while. How are you going to meet any cute girls?”

Here we go again.

“Yoonji, would you get off my case? I don’t want to meet anybody.”

Yoonji dropped in at least once a month, a whirlwind of concern and relentless nagging. She never believed me when I claimed to be fine over the phone.

It was endearing, in a way, but mostly a burden I didn’t need. My family was my anchor, yet their relentless need to take care of me felt like shackles.

“Okay, okay... let’s go then.”

“It’s just beers, for crying out loud.”

“I’m telling you to relax.”

In the car, I felt her eyes boring into me. “It’s just... I worry about you.” She brushed her hand along my arm, and I sighed.

“I’m fine,” I insisted, but I could see the disbelief flickering across her face. “Really. I’m just tired of school. I want to start real life already. I’ll be twenty-six this summer, and I’m still stuck in this academic limbo.”

“Hell, I’m twenty-seven!” Hoseok said when we arrived at the bar, lifting his pint in a mock salute. “And look at all the fuck I give!” He downed it with a flourish.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I shot back.

“Hey,” Serena interjected, her tone warning.

“It’s okay…” Hoseok waved dismissively. “He’s just got a bad case of graduate bitterness.”

Graduate bitterness... yes, that was exactly it. A malaise that settled in my bones like a persistent chill. I glanced around, my throat tightening as if the weight of my uncertainty was squeezing the life out of me.

I led the undergrad through the winding corridors of the building, our footsteps echoing like whispers in the shadows. She walked beside me in near silence, her gaze occasionally darting down to her notepad, scribbling furiously as if the ink might escape her. If only she spent as much time observing her surroundings as she did with her frantic notes, she wouldn’t need them to find her way back to the sequencing facility.

There was something peculiar about her. She avoided meeting my eyes, her demeanor skirting the edges of unease, a deep-seated shyness that pricked at my irritation. And Hoseok thinks I’m the antisocial one!

As we turned a corner, I pondered the unspoken rules of social behavior in the lab when we suddenly bumped into Jungkook Wand, another graduate student known for his knack for lurking around.

“Min,” he greeted, his gaze fixated on my undergrad, likely eyeing her in that ridiculous lab coat that looked like it had seen better days. Why she insisted on wearing that tattered garment was beyond me.

“We missed you at happy hour,” he added, his eyes still glued to her, ignoring me completely.

Every Friday, the department hosted a gathering that, while lame, at least offered beer. Last week, Yoonji was visiting, and I wouldn’t have dreamed of dragging her into that debacle.

“Yeah, my cousin was in town,” I managed, trying to shake off the feeling of being an afterthought.

Jungkook’s smile widened as he turned his attention to her. I should probably introduce them, but for the life of me, her name eluded me. Panic set in like a cold sweat.

“Hi,” Jungkook said, flashing a grin that felt a bit too eager.

Shit. What was her name again?

The girl glanced up at me, and a flash of annoyance crossed her features, as if she could read my mind. “I’m Y/N,” she said, her voice laced with indignation as she extended her hand. The scowl she shot me could peel paint off the walls.

Y/N. The name landed in my mind like a lead weight. How had I forgotten it?

Before I could muster an excuse, Jungkook was launching into conversation, his gaze lingering on her with a familiarity that irked me. I didn’t like Jungkook, nor the way he looked at my undergrad, so I steered her away from him, back toward the safety of the lab.

Now, what was her name again? Damn it.

The following week, I was knee-deep in sequence alignments at my cluttered desk when the fire alarm shrieked, slicing through the stillness like a knife. I turned to find my undergrad, her wide eyes betraying sheer panic.

She thought it was real. In that moment, a mischievous idea sparked in my mind.

“Run, Becca! Run!” I shouted, leaping from my chair.

“What?”

The color drained from her face, and I couldn't help but laugh as confusion and fear played out across her features— priceless. I doubled over, laughter bubbling out like soda from a shaken can.

The alarm blared on, drowning out her startled gasp as she clutched a rack of tubes, trembling. “It’s just a fire drill! Relax!” I finally managed to gasp.

She set the tubes down, took a deep breath, and shot me a glare, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “That was not funny,” she huffed, her voice laced with indignation. “And my name is Y/N!”

With that, she stormed off, leaving me with echoes of my laughter still ringing in my ears.

Oh, being social was unexpectedly entertaining!

The fire alarms continued to test my patience, ringing again and again. Each time, I chuckled at the memory of her startled expression. Now, standing outside for what felt like the fifth time, I glanced sideways at Y/N, who was shifting her weight from foot to foot, hands shoved into her pockets.

“Want to grab some coffee?” I asked, feeling an odd urge to make amends.

She blinked at me, surprise flickering across her face as if she couldn’t believe I was actually talking to her.

The cafeteria at the library was our destination, and we walked in silence, the clouds parting for a moment to let in the faintest hint of sunshine.

As we stood in line, I noticed her tense shoulders. Suddenly, she muttered a string of curses under her breath. Before I could react, her arm was around mine, grinning at me like a Cheshire cat.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked, bewildered.

She maintained her smile but released me, stepping in front. “Say something funny,” she ordered, her voice low and urgent.

“What?”

Then she erupted in laughter, leaving me standing there in utter confusion.

She pressed a hand against my chest, and I wasn’t sure whether to be amused or alarmed. Was this how lab partners acted in her world?

But just as quickly as the laughter came, it faded, and she stepped back, looking sheepish, as if the moment had been a strange dream.

I moved up in line to get my coffee. “Do you want anything?”

“No, thanks,” she replied, shaking her head. I decided to drop the subject entirely.

As we started heading back, she caught up to me, her expression suddenly earnest. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “There’s this guy, Jonah. He won’t take a hint. I thought if he saw me with someone…”

I tuned out her words, her rhythm a blur as I realized just how bizarre everything was.

Could undergrads get any weirder?

Sitting alone on a bench Wednesday afternoon, I savored the solitude when Jungkook appeared, looming over me like a vulture.

“Min,” he said, his tone dripping with false familiarity.

I glared at him, not in the mood for whatever nonsense he was about to spill.

“Where’s that cute little thing you were with?”

“Who?”

“You know, the one in the colorful lab coat.”

Colorful? I snorted, recalling the eyesore she wore.

“She’s not here,” I replied curtly.

“Got her number?”

“Why would I have her number? And why do you want it?”

He raised his eyebrows, a smirk spreading across his face. “You know… you and her…”

I cut him off, anger flaring in my chest. “Me and her what?”

“Is she up for grabs?”

I couldn’t believe he’d come to my lab just to ask about her.

“Jungkook, she’s an undergrad.”

He laughed, completely oblivious. “Dude, have you looked at her? She’s fine.”

“Yeah, and she’s crazy.”

“Even better!” His expression made my stomach churn.

“I don’t have her number, and if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you.”

With that, I shoved my earbuds in, blocking him out as he stormed off, his words echoing in my mind.

Fucking creep.

Even though it was Friday—one of those days Y/N usually avoided—the lab felt off-kilter, like an old, rickety house holding its breath. She hovered at my desk while I pulled up the sequencing results on my laptop. Last night, I’d sent her a simple email, expecting a casual response. But her reply had come back faster than a ghost in the night. She wanted to see the data today.

As we sat there, the silence between us thickened, almost palpable. Her face was a mask of concentration, but her expressions kept faltering, crumpling like old paper. Not that I cared too much; she had to learn that research was 90% disappointment wrapped in frustration.

“Why didn’t it work?” she asked, her voice tinged with sadness, as if she were mourning a lost hope.

“Maybe you made a mistake?” I suggested, trying to sound casual.

“I was very careful,” she shot back, defensive, her eyes narrowing like a predator ready to pounce.

How typical. Pre-med students always thought they were immune to failure, that the universe owed them success on a silver platter.

“It happens,” I shrugged, trying to dismiss the tension.

“I don’t understand,” she said, her brows knitting together.

“There's a reason it’s called research. If you only had to do it once, it would be called a search.”

“So, what do I do now?”

“You start over.”

“From the beginning?” Her voice trembled, disbelief flickering in her eyes.

“Yeah.”

A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she gazed at her notebook, defeated. Her eyes flitted to the calendar on the wall, and her pencil scratched furiously on the pad. “Can I come tomorrow? I want to have cells growing by Monday.”

Her eagerness surprised me. I added “overachiever” to the growing list of quirks that made Y/N so peculiar.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” I teased, raising an eyebrow.

“I know that.”

“Don’t you have a frat party to attend?” I quipped, but her glare silenced me, a reprimand that cut through the lab's sterile air. “Fine, come tomorrow,” I relented, knowing I’d be here anyway. Weekends in the lab were the best; no distractions, just the hum of machinery and the click of keys.

“Awesomesauce!” she chirped, her smile lighting up the dim room. I rolled my eyes, annoyed yet impressed by her determination. Maybe, just maybe, she had what it took for grad school after all.

Saturdays were sacred—my little slice of peace amid the storm of classes and lab reports. After a killer morning workout, I made my way back to the lab, my damp hair fluttering in the cool breeze. Just as I settled into my zone, my phone buzzed with a message that snapped me back to reality.

“Mr. Graduate Student, I’m at the front of the building. Y/N.”

I chuckled, shaking my head at her cheesy attempt at humor. By the time I reached the entrance, I found her wrestling with her hair, tying it up into a high ponytail that looked like it could give anyone a headache just by looking at it. But when she caught sight of me, her face lit up with a grin that could brighten the cloudiest day.

“Very funny,” I replied dryly as I held the door open for her. “It’s Yoongi, remember?”

As we stepped inside, the silence stretched between us, thick and awkward. I considered tossing out a quip about her hairstyle or her lab coat, but then a mischievous prank began to brew in my mind—dark and delightful, like a noxious weed spreading through my thoughts.

“Start your experiment from scratch,” I said, forcing a serious tone. “Could be that my reagents were contaminated.”

Her eyes widened, and I could barely suppress a smirk. It was a complete lie, of course; the old autoclave in the corner was already wheezing like an ancient beast. But picturing her panic was too tempting.

Settling at my bench, I could barely contain my excitement. But instead of the expected rush of alarm, there was a loud crash—glass shattering like a million tiny dreams—and then silence.

What the hell was that?

I found her on the floor, surrounded by shards of glass that sparkled like lost hopes. The autoclave hissed and wheezed, steam curling around us like a ghost. I rushed to her side, trying to stem the leak with my hands.

“What happened?” I asked, crouching beside her. She looked like a wilted flower, her head buried in her knees, eyes squeezed shut.

“Are you okay?” I tried again, dread pooling in my stomach as I saw her trembling hands. Her breath came in quick bursts, and my heart raced.

She mumbled something I couldn’t catch, her palm pressed hard against her leg. “Let me see,” I urged, only to be hit with a wave of horror: a deep gash across her palm, crimson pooling onto the cold tiles.

Oh, no...

Panic surged as I scooped her up, her fragile body slumping against mine. “You’re okay,” I whispered, the words feeling hollow. “It’s okay.”

I hurried her to the sink, the cool water a sharp contrast to the rising heat in the lab. She buried her face in my chest, her panic palpable against my shirt.

“Is there still blood?” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“Mostly gone. But we need to get to the ER,” I insisted, urgency tightening my tone.

She groaned, eyes still shut tight, her composure slipping away.

“Please, open your eyes,” I pleaded, gently lifting her chin. I rubbed my thumb along her cheek, trying to anchor her to reality.

“Can you walk?”

She nodded weakly, but when she tried to stand, her legs buckled. I swept her back up, panic clawing at my throat.

What have I done? The air felt thick with dread, and I knew I had to get her out of there.

I carried her to my car, the world outside fading into a blur, as if the universe was holding its breath. Carefully, I placed her in the passenger seat, her eyes still shut like she was blocking out the horrors around us. I fastened her seatbelt, feeling the weight of the moment. "Please say something," I urged, glancing at her, desperate for any sign of life.

"I hate blood," she mumbled, voice fragile.

Relief washed over me—she was talking. It struck me as strange that a pre-med student would detest blood. "Are you still dizzy?"

She nodded, and my heart sank at her admission. The crease in her forehead deepened, and I wanted nothing more than to smooth it away.

"We’ll be at the hospital in ten minutes," I promised, focusing on the road ahead.

"Would you distract me, so I don’t think about the blood?"

"I don’t know how," I admitted sheepishly.

"Say something funny."

"Funny? Okay. It’s pretty funny that you want to go to med school and you faint at the sight of blood."

"Who says I'm pre-med?" she shot back, and I blinked in surprise.

"You're not?"

"No, and that really wasn’t funny. Talking about blood isn’t going to help me forget about it."

Frustration clawed at me as I struggled for something to say.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Don’t you know any jokes?" There was an edge of frustration in her voice.

"No."

"Everyone knows at least one joke, Yoongi." The way she said my name sent a jolt through me, tightening my stomach with something close to admiration.

Before I knew it, I blurted out the lamest joke I could remember from college. "Two hydrogen atoms walk into a bar," I began, watching her lips twitch upward. "One says, ‘I think I've lost an electron.’ The other asks, ‘Are you sure?’ The first replies, ‘Yes. I'm positive.’"

I cringed at how cheesy it was, but when her smile finally broke through, it felt like winning the lottery.

"That was lame," she said, but the glimmer of her smile gave me hope.

At a red light, I risked a glance at her. Her eyes were still closed, but the pale green tint to her skin had faded, replaced by a healthy glow. My heart swelled with relief.

The driver behind me honked impatiently, snapping me back to reality.

"Does it hurt?" I asked, noticing her fingers curling around her injured wrist.

She nodded, a pout forming on her lips that made my heart ache. I nearly missed a stop sign, cursing under my breath.

"God, I’m such a jerk," I muttered, guilt gnawing at me. I had messed up, all in the name of a stupid joke. I racked my brain for something else to say but came up empty.

"I don’t know any more jokes, but I was good at geeky pickup lines back in college," I offered, desperate to lift her spirits. Her smile returned, lighting up the car.

"This better be good," she warned teasingly.

"If I were an enzyme, I’d be DNA helicase, so I could unzip your genes."

"Oh my God," she snorted, and I laughed, relieved to see her react. "Did you use that on anybody?"

"Maybe," I hinted, my chest tightening with excitement.

"Did it work?"

"No," I admitted, but I was laughing now, and she was grinning, even with her eyes still closed. I was determined to keep her smiling.

"Oh! Do you like The Police?"

"The police?" She frowned, confusion crossing her features.

"Yeah…"

"As in the profession?"

"No, you dork. The band. Sting's band?"

"Oh, yeah. I guess." She shrugged.

And against my better judgment, I cleared my throat and began singing. "Every bond you break… Every electron you take…"

Finally, her eyes fluttered open, surprise and delight dancing across her face. I couldn’t help but wiggle my eyebrows, and her smile broadened, banishing the shadows of panic. "Oh, can’t you see, you’re covalently bonded to me…" I sang, pouring my energy into the ridiculousness of it. Nothing felt more beautiful than the light in her eyes.

How had I never noticed how amazing her smile was before?

We pulled into the University’s Medical Center in under ten minutes, just like I expected. I parked quickly and rushed around to help her out, but she stumbled out on her own, nearly losing her balance. I caught her just before she could face plant onto the pavement—or worse, land hard on her injured hand.

I could feel irritation bubbling up inside me. Did she really think I wouldn’t help? Sure, I was an idiot sometimes, but I still had a decent sense of gentlemanly instincts.

“Can you walk?” I asked, keeping my hand around her elbow as we approached the entrance.

“I think so,” she replied softly, but I kept my grip steady, guiding her into the emergency room.

Inside, a flicker of relief hit me—the place was nearly empty, and we should get seen fairly quickly. “Hello,” I said to the front desk lady, who was glued to her computer screen. She glanced up, her expression completely bored, and didn’t reply. Instant dislike.

“She cut her hand, and it looks deep,” I said, gesturing toward Y/N beside me.

“Name?” The front desk lady’s question hung in the air like a sword about to drop, and suddenly, I froze.

Goddammit…

She didn’t mean my name. My stomach twisted as I desperately searched my memory. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten her name again.

It starts with a B, doesn’t it? I racked my brain, stalling as the front desk lady’s eyebrows shot up impatiently.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” came the shaky voice next to me, cutting through my fog of embarrassment.

God, I was such an idiot! I wanted to punch myself for being so careless.

I looked at her—Y/N—and even though she shook her head, a grin crept onto the corner of her mouth. Maybe, just maybe, I was forgiven. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N… I repeated silently, determined that this time I would remember.

I was convinced that the “doctor” tending to Y/N wasn’t a real doctor—not yet, anyway. He claimed the cut wasn’t deep and that it hadn’t damaged any tendons or nerves. He even said it was clean enough to glue shut, which apparently was a thing now. But my gut twisted with doubt; something about him set off alarms in my head.

Y/N had her eyes squeezed shut, clutching my hand like it was a lifeline while this wannabe physician—Doogie Howser, I mentally dubbed him—cleaned her wound. She perched on the examination table, her injured hand resting on a tray beside her, as I stood behind her, anxiety tightening my chest. In the chaos of her injury and my desperate attempts to care for her, her ponytail had loosened, hanging low at the nape of her neck. A sudden curiosity gripped me: What would her hair look like, cascading down like a waterfall?

“Y/N,” I whispered, leaning closer, needing to say her name again, to engrain it into my memory. “Breathe through your mouth. It’ll help.”

I lingered near her neck, unable to pull away, drawn by something I couldn’t quite name. I tried to find the words to describe her scent—something fresh, like the morning air spilling through an open window—but words failed me. I’d caught a hint of it earlier when I held her close at the sink, but now, in the confined space of the ER, it enveloped me, bringing back echoes of happier times.

Y/N smelled good—no, different. Refreshing, like the world waking up after a long sleep. And I was trapped in this moment, lost in the intoxicating blend of her presence and the sterile smell of antiseptic.

Every time she flinched, my instinct was to lash out at Doogie. I wanted to punch him for every wince that slipped from her lips, but I knew that wouldn’t help; it might just make things worse. I fought against the urge to ask the nurse for someone else to help her, terrified to leave her side. So I stayed, fingers entwined with hers, trying to offer some measure of comfort in the storm of uncertainty.

When Doogie finished and began to bandage her hand, I felt a wave of relief wash over me as she released her grip. I stepped back, taking a breath that felt heavy in my chest. Tension still coiled inside me; I hated that she’d gotten hurt, but a part of me marveled at her resilience. Despite her aversion to blood, she had held herself together with a strength I hadn’t given her credit for. There was more to Y/N than I realized, and that realization struck me hard.

“Listen, I’m really sorry,” I said once we were back in the car, the weight of guilt pressing down on me.

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault I’m such a klutz.” She offered a radiant smile that twisted my insides with guilt all over again.

“So, what happened?” I asked tentatively, hoping against hope that this wasn’t really my fault.

“I was carrying a rack of test tubes when that thing started shooting vapor out. I freaked out. I thought it was going to explode! So I dropped the tubes and cut my hand trying to pick them up,” she admitted, embarrassment creeping into her voice as she stared down at her hands.

I should have known...

“Shit…” I thumped my head against the steering wheel, frustration bubbling up inside me.

“Hey, stop.” Her hand reached up to my shoulder, a gentle gesture that only deepened my self-loathing. “You couldn’t possibly have known that thing was going to start leaking, right?” I peeked at her, guilt etched on my face. She scrutinized me, her brow furrowing as realization dawned. “You did know, didn’t you?” Her hand dropped from my shoulder, and I felt the accusation hanging between us like a thick fog.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” I said earnestly, trying to convey the depth of my regret, how much I hated myself for her injury.

“You’re unbelievably cruel!” she shot back, eyebrows knitting together as she glared at me.

She was right, but I felt compelled to explain. “There wasn’t any risk of you getting hurt. The door just leaks a little vapor. I was going to close it after you got scared. It was a stupid joke, Y/N. You weren’t supposed to get hurt.”

“Well, excuse me for ruining your prank,” she snapped, rolling her eyes and turning away from me.

Sarcasm. Just lovely.

“I am truly sorry. Can you forgive me?” I asked, keeping my gaze on her even though she pointedly avoided me.

“Whatever, Yoongi.” She shrugged, irritation radiating from her as she stared out the window.

I wanted to tell her she was acting like a child, but I held my tongue, knowing that teasing her wouldn’t help my case. Instead, I focused on driving, ruminating on how to make this right again.

How the hell do I fix this?

“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” I said to Y/N, trying to sound calm even though a knot twisted in my stomach as I parked in front of the research building.

“This is really not necessary, Yoongi. I’m fine,” she replied, brushing off my concern.

“Y/N, can you please, just for once, not contradict me?” I shot back, frustration bubbling under the surface.

“I never contradict you!” she protested, eyes wide in disbelief.

I fixed her with a glare until the tension between us shifted, and a small smile broke through her pout as I climbed out of the car. Maybe I was getting through to her, even just a little.

I dashed into the lab to grab her bag, but was abruptly halted when I spotted Jimin hunched over her bench. An urge to warn Y/N about the mess brewing in the autoclave room hit me hard.

“Jimin?” I called, feeling an unusual tension in the air as he turned to me, eyes wide like I’d just spoken an alien dialect. We rarely exchanged more than necessary pleasantries. “There’s a big mess in the autoclave room. I’ll be right back to clean it up.”

“And you’re telling me this why?” he shot back, still looking as confused as a cat in a dog park.

“There’s a bunch of glass… I don’t know. My undergrad—she dropped the tubes. I—” The words tumbled out in a jumbled mess, and Jimin continued to stare at me like I’d just pulled a rabbit out of a hat. “Never mind,” I muttered, eager to escape the awkwardness.

“How’s that for a change? First, you have her doing your chores, and now you’re cleaning up after her,” he called after me.

I spun around to glare at him, irritation sparking. Sure, he was right, but I had bigger problems than petty lab gossip. I left him behind, shaking off the encounter.

When I climbed back into the car, Y/N was waiting for me, eyebrow raised, holding a CD case. My stomach dropped as I recognized it—my mom’s treasured Carpenters album.

“Really, Yoongi?” she asked, her smile widening. “The Carpenters? Okay, cool.” She casually tucked the CD case back into the glove box.

She was teasing me—smiling at me. That had to be a good sign, right? Maybe she had forgiven me after all.

I couldn’t help but let my gaze linger on her face, how her smile lit up the whole car. It was stunning; how had I never noticed it before? A pang of regret hit me for all the moments I had let slip by.

“Are you okay?” Y/N’s voice broke through my thoughts, pulling me back to reality.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just—uh, how’s your living situation?” I mumbled as I started the car and drove off, reminding myself to keep it together. She’s just an undergrad, I thought, shaking off the flutter in my stomach.

As I parked in front of her building, my chest tightened again. I was still angry—mostly at myself—for letting her get hurt. I wouldn’t feel at ease until she was safely tucked inside her apartment.

“Are you still dizzy?” I asked, unable to hide the concern in my voice.

“I think I’m all right now,” she replied, a small grin dancing on her lips.

Would it be weird if I walked her to her door? Did guys still do that? It had been ages since I’d been on a date. What was the protocol these days?

What the hell am I thinking? This isn’t a date.

But she didn’t look a hundred percent. Maybe carrying her bag would help. I climbed out of the car, and she shot me a bewildered look as I opened her door.

“I’ll feel better once I know you’re safe inside,” I insisted, my voice firm.

“I’m fine. You don’t hav—”

“Please, humor me,” I interrupted.

Y/N hesitated, then took my hand as she stumbled out of the car. I grabbed her backpack, and we walked inside together, a strange sense of connection warming the air between us.

At her door, she paused, her hand hovering over the doorknob. When she turned to look at me, her brown eyes sparkled with something I couldn’t quite pin down.

“I’ll see you Tuesday then,” I said, handing her the bag.

“Yes. Tuesday.” Her gaze flickered up through her long lashes, and I was momentarily mesmerized. “Not Monday.” A playful grin crept across her face, and I felt my breath catch at the sight of her eyes crinkling with delight. “You know why not Monday?”

I was still entranced by her smile and completely missed the point she was trying to make. “Because rainy days and Mondays always get me down,” she said, and heat rushed to my cheeks.

Great… she’s making fun of me.

I took a deep breath and snorted, forcing myself to look away from her lips. “You’re such a dork, Y/N. How long have you been waiting to say that?”

“Too long.” Her giggle sent my heart racing, a rhythm I couldn't ignore.

“Good night, Y/N,” I replied, managing a smile despite my racing heart.

As I walked back to my car, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window and was horrified to find myself grinning like a fool. I frowned and climbed inside, but before I could drive away, I pulled my mom’s CD from the glove box, popped it in, and began to hum along.

Why do birds suddenly appear… every time… you are near?

I slammed on the brakes and hit the eject button.

Holy shit, what the hell is wrong with me?

Thankfully, when I returned to the lab, Jimin was gone. I started cleaning up the autoclave room, picking up shards of glass and mopping away the blood from the floor. As I worked, I spotted Y/N’s lab coat next to the sink, and my heart sank. It didn’t look festive anymore; it resembled a tattered Halloween costume.

Shit… She loved that ridiculous thing, and now it was ruined.

Before I knew it, I found myself washing the lab coat. I tried everything, even bleach. When I was done, the blood stains had vanished, but so had the whimsical bacteria drawings she’d painstakingly decorated it with.

Fuck my life...

When Hoseok called, I told him the chances of me making it to Serena’s party were slim. “I’m stuck in the lab and still have a long way to go,” I said, leaving out the details of my time spent doodling on a lab coat that now looked like a toddler’s art project. I also didn’t mention that I was starting Y/N’s experiment along with my own.

After inspecting the now-ruined lab coat, I realized I couldn’t give it back to her. Tossing it felt wrong, though—I’d just spent hours on the damn thing. So, I wrapped it in a plastic bag and tucked it under my desk, trying to forget it existed.

I left the lab after two in the morning, exhausted but restless. My mind buzzed with thoughts, not about experiments this time, but about Y/N—how she had gotten hurt because of me, and yet she hadn’t unleashed her fury. Somehow, she felt bigger than this. Bigger than me.

God, I’ve been such an asshole.

Images of her haunted me throughout the night. The way she smiled at my lame jokes, how she laughed at my terrible rendition of “Every Breath You Take.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sung to someone, not since my mom had forced me to sing The Carpenters with her. I turned over in bed, a smile creeping onto my face at the memory.

I didn’t have to be a jerk to Y/N anymore. I didn’t want to be. It wasn’t her fault grad school was a pain. If anything, having her around made it bearable. Maybe I could lighten up a bit… or maybe we could both learn something from this. No, I wanted to be nicer to her. I wanted to see her smile.

I want to make her smile?

First The Carpenters, now this?

When did I turn into such a marshmallow?

Monday night in the dingy gym felt like a scene straight out of a bad movie. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a harsh, sterile glow that did nothing to uplift the atmosphere. Hoseok and I were at the bench press, trading off sets like two battered soldiers in a war that would never be chronicled. I stood behind him, bracing for the weight, but my gaze was pulled away, caught in the orbit of something infinitely more captivating.

There she was—Y/N—effortlessly gliding on the treadmill like she was born to run. Her ponytail swung rhythmically with each stride, a pendulum marking the time as she jogged. My breath hitched, a tightening in my chest as I let my eyes wander down her back, tracing the delicate curve of her spine. And then—oh God—those shorts. Tiny and black, they hugged her body in a way that made my heart race uncontrollably.

The fabric didn’t just cling; it cradled her curves, indenting just enough in the middle to draw the eye downwards. I could almost feel the heat radiating off her skin, my mind spiraling into places I really didn’t want it to go.

“Dude! Hold the bar, would ya?” Hoseok’s voice jolted me from my daze. I blinked hard, shaking off the spell as I refocused on the weights pressing down on him.

“Right, sorry,” I mumbled, fumbling with the bar as I lifted it off him.

Hoseok wiped the sweat from his brow, the glistening drops catching the unforgiving light. I tried desperately to keep my thoughts in check, to suppress the smirk that threatened to creep onto my face, but my eyes betrayed me, fixating once more on Y/N’s ass as it bounced with every determined step on the treadmill.

“What is it?” Hoseok shot me a sideways glance, amusement dancing in his eyes. He knew. Damn him. “You look like a kid in a candy store.”

“Nothing,” I shot back, the word cracking like ice beneath my weight. I raked a hand through my hair, feeling more like a deer caught in headlights than a man. “That’s... um... that’s my undergrad.”

“Your undergrad?” He nearly shouted, and I winced at the volume.

“Shut up!” I hissed, heat creeping up my neck.

“She’s your undergrad?” He lowered his voice, his tone conspiratorial, as if we were discussing some top-secret mission.

“Yes,” I said, willing myself to tear my gaze from Y/N and muster some semblance of composure. “I don’t know why she’s here. This is the first time I’ve seen her in this gym.”

“Are you kidding?” Hoseok replied, incredulous. “She’s here all the time! You’ve just never noticed because you’re practically blind.”

My eyes darted back to her. She was still running, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing behind me. Could Hoseok really be right? Had I been so wrapped up in my own world that I hadn’t seen her before?

But then again, I didn’t recognize anyone else in this place. I came here every day—every damn day—and not one face looked familiar. Blind. I was completely blind.

And yet, here I was, rooted to the spot, entranced by the hypnotic sway of her hips, the way her legs flexed with each determined stride. It was as if she had cast a spell over me, one I didn’t want to break. But I had to; I was standing there like a moron, the weight of Hoseok’s gaze a smirk stretched across his face as he shifted to take his place on the bench.

“Yoongi!” he called, pulling me from my daydream. “It’s your turn.”

I shook my head as if waking up from a fog and stepped to the bench, but my mind remained tangled in thoughts of what I’d just seen. Y/N’s form, bouncing like it was teasing me, was too much. Too distracting. My body was responding in ways I hadn’t felt in years, and it took every ounce of willpower to focus on lifting weights instead of ogling her.

Then, as if she sensed my eyes on her, Y/N turned her head slightly, her gaze locking with mine. For a brief moment, the world melted away—the gym, the weight, the noise—all faded into the background as our eyes met. She faltered on the treadmill, her grip tightening on the bars like a lifeline before she recovered just in time.

What was I doing? I didn’t realize I was moving until I stood beside her, the tension thick enough to slice through the air.

“Hi,” I managed, the word slipping out like a confession.

“Hi?” Her smile lit up the stale space between us, brightening everything. “Who are you and what did you do to my bitter grad student?”

“What?” I stammered, disbelief knotting my stomach. “You’ve seen me here before?”

*Her eyes rolled in a way that was both exasperating and endearing. “Yes.”

“Well, I’m saying hi now. So, hi.”

“Hi…” she giggled, and I felt a low groan bubble up from my chest. What was happening? I hated how she made me feel, how she toppled everything I thought I had under control.

“How’s your hand?” I asked, grasping for something to anchor myself in this whirlwind of emotions.

“It’s fine,” she said, lifting her bandaged hand like it was a trophy. But I was lost, mesmerized by the way her lips moved, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, and how the sweat glistened on her skin.

I needed to leave before my body betrayed me further. “Um, I should go,” I interrupted, offering a shaky goodbye as I fled, a whirlwind of confusion and unwanted desire crashing over me.

What the hell was happening to me?

I ran home, my legs pumping, heart racing, trying to outrun the chaotic thoughts swirling in my mind. It had been four years since Estelle, and the memory felt as distant as a long-forgotten dream. But Y/N was everywhere now, invading my thoughts—her freckles, her laugh, those bangs that had once annoyed me but now framed her face like a masterpiece.

I stormed through my apartment, shedding my sweat-soaked clothes, bewildered by this tempest of feelings. I couldn’t fathom why it had taken me so long to notice her, why she had pierced through the fog of my indifference and settled in my mind like an unwelcome guest.

In the shower, the warm water cascaded over me, soothing yet insufficient to wash away the turmoil. She was a kid, for Christ’s sake! Nineteen? Twenty? Too young, too innocent for someone like me. I banged my head against the tiled wall, cursing my own weakness.

And yet, even as I stood there, I could feel her presence lingering, like a ghost clinging to the edges of my consciousness—a haunting I couldn’t shake. Was I becoming one of those men who pursued young girls, crossing lines drawn in the sand, sliding down that slippery slope of desire? The universe had a wicked sense of humor.

God, I hoped I wouldn’t see her again at the gym. The very thought sent a chill down my spine—a mix of longing and guilt. But there I was, fantasizing about her hands instead of my own.

When did I become such a creep?

I’m in a foul mood. Not a glimmer of sunshine inside me, just the dense fog of irritability that seems to thicken the air around me. Maybe it’s the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders, or maybe it’s just Tuesday. Either way, I know I’ll probably regret having lunch with Hoseok today, but deep down, I’m still holding onto the hope that, by some miracle, he didn’t notice my bizarre behavior at the gym last night.

As I step into the lunchroom, Hoseok’s voice slices through the stillness. “What the heck happened to you yesterday?”

Well, so much for miracles.

“Nothing. Why?” I try to sound casual as I toss my food into the microwave, but my heart races in protest.

“Nothing? You nearly killed me, bolted off to talk to Y/N, and then stormed out. That seems normal to you?” He raises an eyebrow, a mischievous grin stretching across his face.

I shrug, feigning indifference, but my stomach twists.

“We were supposed to have drinks with Serena and her friend with the—” he gestures dramatically, “the big personality.”

“Listen, you and Serena need to stop setting me up with her friends.”

“Why? Did you take a vow of celibacy or something?”

“I’m just not in the mood for this today, Hoseok.” I plop down in a chair, my food forgotten.

“Is it because of Y/N?” he asks, cheeks bulging with half-chewed food.

“No,” I reply, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “And her name is Y/N, by the way.”

“OH. MY. GOSH. It is! You’re totally crushing on her!” Hoseok leaps from his chair, fork aimed at me like a weapon. His eyes widen as if he’s just uncovered a major conspiracy.

“What? NO!”

“Dude, you remembered her name!” He plops back down beside me, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Hoseok, what does that—”

“Oh man. This is too good... like, really, really good.” His grin is the kind that makes me want to punch him—or maybe just smack some sense into him.

“Hoseok, please. Just for one day…” I rub my forehead, trying to ease the confusion tightening my temples. The last thing I need is Hoseok’s theories swirling around my mind like a chaotic storm.

“Okay, okay…” He continues to chew, stealing glances at me every few seconds. “So, when’s Yoonji coming?” he asks, smirking, and I shoot him a glare that could curdle milk.

So what if I remembered her name? It hardly means anything. I’ve been working with her for weeks now. I’m not some clueless idiot; I can remember a name. I don’t care what Hoseok or Yoonji think. This is nothing. This doesn’t mean anything.

Except it does. Because Y/N, not “the girl” or “the undergrad,” is going to be in the lab when I return. And I’m not just aware of it—I’m looking forward to it. I want to see her smile, to hear her laugh.

I want to hear her giggle? Jesus, I need to get a grip on myself.

My bad mood evaporates the moment I spot Y/N at my bench, scribbling away in her notepad. Her hair cascades over her shoulder, wild and free. It should bother me—should send alarm bells ringing—but it doesn’t. It looks soft and inviting, and suddenly, all I want is to run my fingers through it.

Okay… I’ve really lost it now.

And just like that, my bad mood crashes back in.

“I can’t find my lab coat,” she says, tying her hair up with an intensity that almost makes me envious.

I feel a spark of irritation at the safety rules that dictate her hair must be tied back. I find myself imagining the kinds of experiments that would allow her to leave it down, just so I could watch it flow freely.

“Do you know where it could be?” she asks, glancing up at me.

I’ve completely lost track of her words, staring at her blankly.

“My lab coat?” she repeats, tilting her head.

Right… the lab coat.

“Let me get you a new one. That one was all covered in blood.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll wash it.”

“We have lab coats here, Y/N—new ones. I’ll get you one,” I say, moving past her, determination pushing me forward.

She stops me, grabbing my elbow. “Please, can I have my old one back?” Her eyes are wide and earnest, as if I hold the key to some sacred treasure.

A flush of embarrassment rises in me, and instead of confessing, I lie. “I threw it away.”

“What? Why?” Her gaze pierces through my flimsy excuse.

“It was covered in blood!” I bark, frustration bubbling over.

“I could have washed it!” she snaps, defiance igniting her eyes.

“I’m getting you a new one.”

“I don’t want a new one. Is this some cruel joke? Because if it is, I’d really, really like my lab coat back. It means a lot to me.” The shift in her expression from anger to sadness tugs at something deep within me. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, like I’ve just crushed her puppy.

Realization washes over me like a cold wave: I’m making her cry. With a deep sigh, I relent. “Okay, I didn’t get rid of it.”

“Oh thank God,” she breathes, closing her eyes in relief.

“But… I tried to wash it, and the bloodstains wouldn’t come out. I thought it would be a good idea to use bleach. And it was. I mean, it got rid of the bloodstains, but it also erased your drawings.”

“Oh no…” Her eyes fly open, panic etching her features.

“I’m sorry. Can I please get you a new one?” I plead, hoping to smooth over this disaster before it spirals further.

“I would really prefer to have my old one back,” she insists, crossing her arms defiantly, her gaze unwavering.

Jesus! Why does she have to be so difficult?

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” I groan. She’s staring at me like she’s just won the lottery, and I can’t bring myself to back down. “Fine…” I reach under my desk for the bag containing her lab coat and hand it over, feeling like I’m offering her a corpse.

I should have burned the damn thing.

Her gasp as she pulls the coat from the bag makes my stomach drop.

“Oh my gosh!” She turns it around, inspecting the shapes I drew in a moment of misguided creativity. When she spots my pathetic attempt at rewriting “Bacteria Rule” on the back, she giggles, and I swear my heart stumbles.

How do I keep up with her?

One minute, she’s annoyed; the next, she’s crying; now, she’s laughing. It’s like watching a storm change directions on a whim.

“You… did you do this?” She glances up at me, her eyelashes still damp, and my chest tightens painfully.

“Yeah, it looks even more ridiculous now. Didn’t think that was possible. Would you please let me get you a new one?”

“Oh no. I’m wearing this one,” she chirps, slipping her arms into the sleeves like she’s donning a crown.

“Please say you’re kidding.”

“What? It’s perfect!” she beams, buttoning the coat closed, that radiant smile piercing through my irritation.

Even as she parades around in that god-awful coat, all I can think about is pulling her close and kissing her senseless. It’s ridiculous and utterly baffling, but I can’t shake it.

I really must have lost it now.

The morning air felt heavy, thick with a strange malaise that weighed on me like a thick blanket. "So, what's on the agenda for today, Boss?" Y/N chirped, her pen clicking in a cheerful rhythm as she flipped open her notebook, the sound almost irritatingly upbeat.

"Don’t call me Boss," I grumbled, trying to shake off the oppressive darkness that seemed to cling to me like damp fog.

"Okay, Grumpy. What are we doing today?" Her smile was a bright spark against the backdrop of my brooding mood.

I could tell she was trying to be funny, deliberately poking at my irritation. With an exasperated huff, I shoved the list of activities at her. "Try not to mess up this time, Becca."

She took the list with a theatrical pout, and I stifled a real smile beneath my carefully crafted mask of indifference—a skill I'd perfected over the years.

Her brow furrowed as she scanned the list. "I thought I was starting from scratch."

"You are," I replied, trying to keep my tone as casual as possible.

"But you did all these steps already." She pointed to the initial tasks, her voice laced with disbelief.

"I was bored Saturday," I said, as if boredom were an acceptable excuse for taking the initiative.

Her eyes darted between the list and mine, a spark of awe lighting up her face. "You started my experiment for me?"

The way she looked at me made my skin crawl—a mixture of discomfort and something warmer I didn’t want to acknowledge. I clamped down on my tongue, suppressing the urge to explain myself.

"You better get cracking, Y/L/N. There's a seminar at four I want to attend."

Her gaze lingered on me a moment longer before she shook it off, returning to her notebook. A sense of relief washed over me.

We worked in silence, but I could feel her stealing glances at me like a kid peeking into a haunted house. I knew—I just knew—I had crossed some invisible line. What I felt was tangled, a confusion I was desperate to untangle.

"What’s the seminar about?" she asked, her voice light with curiosity as we carried bottles of growth media to the incubators.

"I don’t know," I said, holding the door for her as we entered the incubator room.

"Then why are you going?" She squatted to stow the bottles inside, her dark hair falling around her face like a curtain.

"Free food." I shrugged, trying to sound indifferent.

"Seriously?" She looked up at me, disbelief written all over her features.

"Y/N… if you go to grad school, you’ll learn to appreciate the majesty of free food."

When she stood up, she released my hand with a huff, her pride surfacing. "When I go to grad school, I’ll enjoy the seminars, even without the free food."

"Right…" I turned away, shaking my head.

"So, can I come?" she asked shyly, her voice nearly drowned out by the hum of the incubators.

"You want to come to the seminar?" I shot her a skeptical glance.

"Hells to the yeah!"

I suppressed a snort, the surprise of her enthusiasm bubbling up inside me. "Why?"

"I might learn something."

"Okay, you can come, but the la-la-lab coat stays."

The thought of her actually being excited about attending a seminar with me sent a strange thrill through my chest, one that both excited and unnerved me.

As we made our way to the seminar, Y/N rattled on about her dreams for grad school, her voice bubbling over with energy. I struggled to interject, her words flowing like a vibrant stream, full of life.

When we reached the seminar room, she shook her head at my heaping plate of food. I settled into my seat, grateful for the chance to hide from the annoyed glances of the people behind us. Y/N plopped down beside me, her nervous energy radiating from her.

"That one with the sweater vest is Prof. Waylon," I said, nodding toward him. "He has a serious case of narcolepsy. Snores through the entire talk but wakes up right on cue to ask the hardest questions."

She giggled, and the sound pierced through the fog that had settled around me.

"And over there, with the red bow tie, is Dr. Amun-Kebi. Brilliant but completely bonkers—he discovered Quorum Sensing, yet can’t make eye contact because he’s too busy staring at the ceiling."

She snorted, laughter bubbling up as she covered her mouth, her joy infectious.

"Then there’s Jin," I continued, "who dresses like he’s going to a board meeting every day. Knows more adjectives than a thesaurus, but his favorite is definitely 'fascinating.'"

I mimicked Jin’s exaggerated tone, and Y/N laughed again, drawing some disapproving throat-clearing from the folks behind us.

"Main point is, Y/N," I said, "science makes you lose your mind. You’ve been warned."

"Oh, I think I can handle it," she replied, winking at me, and my heart twisted painfully in my chest.

As the speaker began, I couldn't help but chuckle when I noticed her furiously scribbling notes as if her life depended on it.

Once the seminar ended, we returned to the lab. Y/N still had work to catch up on after being away for an hour. I’d finished my tasks long ago, but I lingered, a shadow in the corner, unwilling to leave her alone in this sterile, fluorescent-lit space.

She closed her notebook with a satisfying smack and turned to me, her eyes bright. "This is so exciting! I can’t wait to see if it works this time."

"Yeah, you’ll get over it," I said, trying to keep my tone light.

"Have you always been such a grump? Or was there a time when you actually liked what you do?"

Her question hit me like a punch to the gut, catching me off guard. I could feel her gaze piercing through my defenses.

"I like what I do."

"Do you love it?"

Her question hung in the air like a dark cloud, and I found myself lost in a maze of memories, the joy of discovery overshadowed by the weight of expectations. Had there ever been a time when I shared her enthusiasm?

"I don’t really remember," I mumbled, avoiding the truth. "It’s getting late, Y/N. How are you getting home?"

"I’m walking."

"I’m walking too. Let’s go."

Did I used to love what I did? The memory felt elusive, slipping through my fingers like water.

As we walked, Y/N asked, "Why did you decide to go to grad school?"

"Why does anyone?" I shot back, a cryptic smirk teasing my lips.

"To make a difference? To revolutionize the field?"

"Very cute, Y/N."

"It’s not cute. It’s true."

"Is that why you want to go to grad school?"

"Yes. I’ve always wanted to help people. Since medical school is out of the question for me—"

"You’ll get over the smell of blood, Y/N."

"It’s not just that. I get too attached. I’d rather contribute silently from the lab." She smiled, her eyes sparkling. "Plus, where would medicine be without science? They’d still be pouring hot oil into wounds!"

I chuckled, a genuine laugh bubbling up like warmth breaking through winter’s chill. "You’re funny." The words slipped out before I could think better of it, and before I could process my thoughts, my fingers brushed against her arm, lingering over the fabric of her hoodie.

She halted, her cheeks tinged pink, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

I froze, my hand dropping to my side, panic racing through me. That had to be inappropriate.

"I’ve been called worse," she joked, her smile radiating a warmth that sent shivers down my spine.

We walked on in silence until we reached her building.

"Do you live on campus too?" she asked, fishing for her keys from her bag.

"No. I live in Portage Bay."

"Oh… we passed that already."

"I know."

Suspicion flared in her gaze as she pieced things together, and I felt the weight of my own guilt creeping up on me. She would realize I was that gross old grad student trying to woo the sweet, naive undergrad—the very person I had mocked in others. The thought made my stomach churn.

"I know what you’re doing," she accused, crossing her arms defensively.

Here it comes…

"You feel guilty because I got hurt," she said, her voice steady. "You feel responsible. But you don’t have to do this."

Is that really what she thought?

"You think I’m walking you home out of guilt?" My voice was harsher than I intended, anger bubbling up inside me.

"I know you are."

"You don’t know anything," I spat, turning away, desperate to escape the rising tide of emotions threatening to drown me.

"Yoongi, wait!" she called after me, dread washing over me.

Keep walking… don’t look back.

I couldn’t believe she thought I was being nice out of guilt. I had done nothing but act like a jerk for too long, and now I was about to lose the only flicker of light stupid, lonely world.

God, she had no clue.

Wednesday morning felt heavy with an unsettling quiet when Y/N arrived at the lab a little earlier than usual. I was already there, lurking like a shadow in the corner, unable to shake off the ghosts of a sleepless night. I busied myself with the equipment, clinging to the hope that keeping my distance would somehow quell the anger simmering beneath my skin.

It was confusing, really. I was furious with her—not just because of the injury that haunted my thoughts like a ghost, but because she had twisted my kindness into something it wasn’t. Sure, I felt like a hollow shell, the guilt gnawing at my insides like a rat in a rotting wall, but that didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy walking her home. Yesterday’s seminar had been a strange kind of fun—the first I’d experienced in what felt like ages.

As I returned to the lab, pretending to check something in my desk drawer, I caught her gaze from across the bench. The way her eyes followed me stirred something deep inside, a mix of frustration and longing I couldn’t quite place. I tried to slip away, but as I turned to leave, her fingers brushed against my elbow.

“Hey, I’m sorry about yesterday,” she said, her voice soft and sincere, those puppy-dog eyes piercing through my defenses. Warmth rushed through me, a strange blend of emotions swirling inside. “It was really nice of you to walk with me. Thank you.”

With a timid smile, she released my arm, leaving me reeling, torn between the urge to pull her back and the need to retreat. Just then, I caught sight of Jimin, his piercing blue eyes wide with suspicion from the shadows of the lab. What the hell?

“You’re welcome,” I muttered dryly to Y/N, my voice almost a growl, before storming away, seeking refuge from the chaos in my head.

In the media preparation room, I paced like a caged animal, cracking my knuckles repeatedly to chase away the madness. This was absurd. I was losing it over a girl—an undergrad—who seemed blissfully unaware of the tempest she stirred within me. Deep breaths. Focus. But I knew this strange obsession wasn’t going anywhere.

When I returned to the lab, I found Jungkook leaning casually against my bench, chatting with Y/N. She wore that timid smile again, twisting something inside me. My hands curled into fists, rage and jealousy flaring up like a wildfire.

“I’ll see you Friday,” Jungkook said, flashing a grin as he sauntered past me. Did he just ask her out? The urge to grab him by the ponytail and shove him to the floor was overwhelming. “What did he want?” I spat, unable to contain the fury boiling within.

“Nothing,” she replied innocently, her attention flitting back to her notebook as if she hadn’t just tossed gasoline on my fire.

“Y/N,” I hissed, slicing through the air with my words, demanding her attention. “What did he want?”

“Nothing important,” she clarified, but her eyes locked onto mine, searching. My resolve wavered. What the hell was wrong with me? The desire to pummel Jungkook quickly transformed into an intense longing to press my lips against that bottom lip she kept biting. The confusion swirled around us, thick and suffocating, and I felt trapped.

Just then, Jimin reentered the lab, breaking the spell that had ensnared us. I stepped back, the tension snapping like a brittle twig, and Y/N sighed, disappointment heavy in the air.

“Are you done?” I asked, my voice cold, each word laced with the weight of my internal turmoil. “I need to use the bench.”

Hurt flickered in her eyes before she masked it, and guilt settled in my stomach like a stone. I tried to focus on my work, but her presence lingered, a distraction gnawing at my concentration until she finally left for the day. This is ridiculous! Why did she affect me so much? I couldn’t keep living like this.

Thursday afternoon arrived, and I maneuvered around Y/N like a ghost. I didn’t want to be a jerk, but the thought of her and Jungkook had me seething. It felt like every nerve in my body was on fire, irritation coiling tighter with every passing second. I tried to stick to succinct answers and instructions, but the tension thickened around us like fog.

As we received her sequencing results, I could no longer pretend she didn’t exist. She pulled a chair next to me at my desk, her presence suffocatingly close. My fingers twitched on the mouse, nerves sparking as I avoided glancing her way. She tapped her pen rhythmically; each tap a countdown to my sanity.

“Please, stop that,” I groaned, frustration spilling over.

She halted instantly, a sigh escaping her lips, and my heart sank. I hated feeling this way—trapped between annoyance and an attraction that sent shivers down my spine. How was that even possible?

Finally, the software loaded, and I opened her file. Y/N gasped, and I held my breath as she leaned closer, the tension between us palpable.

“Sample 1. Ran well. Sample 2. Ran well… ran well, ran well, ran well…” All fifty samples had run flawlessly. Impressive. I couldn’t recall a time when every single sequencing reaction had succeeded; there was always a failure or two. Y/N was undeniably skilled.

As I turned to her, a smile crept onto my lips despite myself. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and before I could process it, she squeaked, throwing her arms around my neck. Her warmth enveloped me, her hair brushing against my face, and the world narrowed to just her, the scent of her shampoo intoxicating. My body responded in ways I couldn’t understand.

I shot up from my chair, breaking the spell. “Sorry,” she mumbled, her cheeks a deep crimson, laughter spilling from her lips. “I’m just so happy! They all worked!”

My heart raced, shock coursing through me as I struggled to regain composure. The pull I felt toward her was almost unbearable, thrumming like an electric wire, demanding release.

“Good job,” I managed, forcing my voice to remain steady. But as she smiled at me, her joy tearing through my carefully constructed barriers, I knew I was in deep trouble. I wanted to hold her again, to kiss her until the world faded away. God, I needed help.

As I turned to her, a smile crept onto my lips despite myself. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and before I could process it, she squeaked, throwing her arms around my neck, her warmth enveloping me, her hair brushing against my face. The world narrowed to just her, the scent of her shampoo intoxicating, my body responding in ways I couldn’t understand.

God, I needed help.

You know those days when nothing seems to go right? When you drag yourself out of bed, and it feels like the universe is playing tricks on you, pushing you back with every step forward? Yeah, today is one of those days. A downright miserable Friday, and I can’t help but feel that the promise of the weekend is just a hollow consolation.

This morning was a disaster. I tossed and turned all night, haunted by thoughts of Y/N. Her smile flickered in my mind like a candle caught in the wind—warm and inviting one moment, then snuffed out the next. The irony is, while I’m relieved I won’t have to face her today, the gnawing uncertainty of whether she’s out with Jungkook weighs heavily in my stomach. Anger simmers beneath my skin, bubbling over in waves I can’t seem to control.

As I step into the lunchroom, the emptiness greets me, broken only by the taunting hum of the microwave. I slam my fist against its cold metal side, frustrated when it refuses to cooperate. It beeps at me, a cruel mockery in the sterile silence. I slam the door shut again, and my temper flares.

“What did the microwave do to you?” A familiar voice cuts through my frustration. It’s Hoseok, ever the jester, his amusement practically radiating off him.

“It’s broken,” I mutter, fingers still mashing buttons like a madman.

“Step away from the microwave,” he orders, a playful yet firm tone in his voice. In two quick moves, he’s heating up my food. “What’s up your ass?”

“Nothing,” I groan, flopping down in a chair with a defeated sigh. “Just one of those days.”

“Why?”

“It’s just one of those days…” I can’t muster the energy to say more.

“Like, ‘Everything’s messed up and everyone sucks’?” He turns his baseball cap backward, bobbing his head as if ready to launch into a nu-metal anthem.

“Great, Hoseok. Quote Limp Bizkit. That’s really going to help.” I cut him off before he can get into full swing.

“Dude, you’re in a mood. What happened?” His eyes reflect genuine concern as he rummages through the fridge.

“Nothing,” I insist, rising to retrieve my Tupperware.

“Bullshit. I’ve known you for four years. This isn’t just a failed PCR kind of mood.” He crosses his arms, blocking my path.

Part of me wants to spill my guts, but the words feel lodged in my throat. Still, they tumble out. “If I tell you, can you at least try to be mature about it?”

“Mature is my middle name,” he grins, but I can’t help but scowl.

“Fine. It’s Y/N.”

“I knew it! I fucking knew it!”

I bury my face in my hands, feeling the weight of his excitement pressing down on me. “What happened?” he whispers, leaning in, all ears.

“She’s... I don’t know.”

“Come on, man. I’m serious.”

“Yeah, she’s out with Jungkook.”

“Jungkook?” Hoseok’s voice rises as if he’s just spotted a raccoon in the hall.

“Jesus, Hoseok!” I hiss. “Keep it down!”

“Sorry.” His whisper is tinged with amusement. “Jungkook fucking Jeon?”

“Yes.” I take a deep breath, frustration bubbling over. “And she’s my undergrad.”

“Puh-lease. Who cares?”

“I’m at least five years older than her,” I retort.

“The younger, the better.” He waggles his eyebrows, clearly enjoying this way too much.

“Disgusting.”

“Stop brooding, dude. Jeon’s got nothing on you. Go get your girl. She’s fine, and she was always checking you out at the gym—like I told you a thousand times.”

Y/N checking me out? No way. Hoseok’s just being delusional. I shake my head, dismissing his words. This fixation has to end. She’s just my undergrad. That’s all she’ll ever be—at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Happy Hour. The name is ironic, a pathetic excuse for mingling—if you can even call it that. It never lasts an hour, and “happy” is a stretch, but hey, there’s free beer, so here I am. Alone in the corner, I down red cups like they might wash away the grime of the day. By the time Hoseok and Serena finally stroll in, I’ve polished off four.

“You’re here before us. That’s weird,” Serena quips as they approach.

“Thanks for the observation, Captain Obvious.”

“What’s his problem?” Serena glares at Hoseok, arms crossed.

“He’s in a mood,” Hoseok replies, handing me another red cup that I chug.

“Why?” Her tone is whiny, as if I owe her an explanation.

“Lady problems,” Hoseok shoots back before I can stop him.

“Yoongi has lady problems?” Serena sounds incredulous, as if she’s just discovered a new planet.

“I’m standing right here!” My voice is louder than I intended, laced with irritation.

“So you like a girl, Yoongi. Not the end of the world. I mean, this self-imposed celibacy was bound to end someday. I just wish I knew who she is.” She twists the conversation back to herself, as always.

“It’s not just a girl. It’s his undergrad,” Hoseok interjects, unable to contain his enthusiasm.

“You old perv!” Serena playfully smacks my chest, and I can feel the heat rise in my cheeks.

“I’m going to get fired,” I murmur, tipping my cup back for the last drops of liquid courage.

“No, you won’t, drama queen.” She dismisses me with a wave, annoyance radiating off her.

“It happens all the time! PIs hit on post-docs, post-docs on grad students, grads on undergrads. What world do you live in?”

“It’s like a jungle,” Hoseok chuckles.

“Shut up, Hoseok,” Serena snaps. “Good news is, now that there’s this girl, you can stop with the emo bitterness. It’s getting old.”

“Fuck you, Serena.”

“Hey, hey now,” Hoseok says, grabbing my arm. “Let’s go get another round.”

When we return, my anger toward Serena simmers just beneath the surface, but I’m too tipsy to think straight. “For your information, Serena, this girl has a name. Her name is Becca. No, wait... it’s Y/N! Dammit!” My palm meets my forehead in a facepalm of pure embarrassment.

“Wow. She must be something special, Yoongi. You don’t even know her name.”

“Baby, stop. He’s drunk, and he’s having a shitty day.”

“Why?”

“Y/N is out with Jungkook,” Hoseok explains.

“Jeon?” Serena’s expression shifts to one of shock, and they dive into speculation, completely oblivious to my presence.

I shut them out, groaning into my cup as I gulp it down. It’s true. I know it. Jungkook is with Y/N tonight, probably taking her to dinner and drinks, sharing laughs while I’m stuck here. My mind spirals into a dark abyss—what if he kisses her? What if she invites him in? God, I’m sick just thinking about it.

Of all the undergrads in this department, Jungkook Jeon had to go after mine. I hope Y/N gets drunk and spills her drink all over him.

Worst. Hangover. Ever.

Well, maybe not the worst, but it’s definitely up there. My head pounds like a jackhammer, and my stomach feels like a chaotic whirlpool of regret as I stumble into the shower. The hot water cascades over me, a fleeting relief, but all I can think about is how tempting sleep sounds right now. But I have things to do in the lab. Don’t I always?

The apartment is a total disaster zone—a messy tribute to last night’s antics. Red cups are scattered across the coffee table like the remnants of a forgotten battle, and chip crumbs litter the floor like confetti from a party that had long overstayed its welcome. Hoseok and Serena wouldn’t leave me alone last night, terrified I’d do something reckless, so we ended up bringing Happy Hour back to my place. I was just the third wheel, watching them get lost in their own world of laughter and flirting. By the time I woke up on the couch, blanketed by a pile of crumpled chips, they were long gone.

I shuffle into the library, desperate for my usual caffeine fix on the way to the lab, but my stomach is rebelling. Still, I know I’ll need that coffee to survive the day.

Inside, the library feels like a claustrophobic hive of undergrads buzzing around like over-caffeinated bees. It’s overwhelming.

What a nightmare!

I hurry to the coffee line, pouring sugar into my mug like it’s a lifeline. Just as I catch my breath, I spot her—Y/N—sitting at a table surrounded by a fortress of books. Her hair falls like a curtain, hiding her face from view. I can’t help myself; I’m drawn to her, like a moth to a flame.

“Hello, Y/N,” I say, sliding into the chair across from her.

She looks up, surprise flickering across her features, and for a moment, my heart races.

“Oh, so I’m back to being Y/N?” There’s no hint of humor in her voice, only seriousness, and it feels like a punch to the gut.

What’s going on? Where’s the smile that usually lights up her face?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light as I settle in.

“What are you doing here?” she replies, her gaze cool and collected.

“Y/N, please go easy on me today. I’m not feeling great,” I admit, running a hand down my face, feeling every ache from the night before.

“Oh... what’s wrong?” Her stoic facade starts to crumble, replaced by genuine concern, and it warms me a bit.

“Too much beer,” I confess, and the word makes my stomach churn at the memory of my poor choices.

“I see... does that explain this?” She pulls out her phone and turns it toward me.

Grumpy: Becca, you’ve just revealed yourself to have absolutely no taste.

“Who the hell is Grumpy, and why does he call you Becca?” I blurt out, anger bubbling up before I can stop it.

Her eyes widen in disbelief. “You’re the only Grumpy I know.”

“Are you saying I sent you that text?”

“Yes,” she says, sighing as her eyes drift away like leaves in the wind.

I pull my phone from my pocket, my heart sinking as I check my sent texts.

Well, great…

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, rubbing my eyes, wishing I could take back last night’s mistakes.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean either. No taste in what? Music? Food? Men?”

“Men?” I let out a dry laugh. “Jungkook is not a man. He’s a tool.”

“So this is about Jungkook?” she says, gesturing to her phone.

“Yes.” My brain feels sluggish, like I’m moving through molasses.

“Why do you care?”

“I’m uncomfortable with you dating my classmate,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to appear nonchalant.

“He’s not your classmate, and we’re not dating.”

“We both started our PhDs at the same time in the same program. That makes him my classmate… Wait… you’re not dating?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. We went out for coffee, talked, he asked me out again, and I kindly declined. I’m focused on my studies right now, Yoongi, and I really don’t have room for anything more.”

“Oh…” Relief floods through me, even as my hangover rages on. I might even be smiling.

“Yes, oh indeed. Which brings me back to why you’re sitting here distracting me from my study session.”

“What are you studying?” I ask softly, a smile creeping onto my face, hoping to steer the conversation away from Jungkook.

“I have an organic chemistry exam on Monday.”

“Oh, I see…” I hesitate, but the temptation of spending time with her outweighs my growing pile of work in the lab. “Well, it might just be your lucky day, Y/L/N, because I happen to be an expert in all things organic chemistry.”

“You are?” Her lips curl into a small grin, and I feel a surge of relief wash over me. She’s back.

“I am…” I smile at her. “So, do you want some help?”

“I could use some help.”

Help… yeah… that’s what I’m here for… help.

For the next two hours, I guide Y/N through her organic reaction problem sets, all while ignoring my cooling coffee. She’s a quick study, soaking up the information, and I’m confident she’ll ace her test on Monday.

I keep my hands clasped between my knees—except when I need to draw reactions for her—wanting to hide how my fingers twitch every time she brushes her hair behind her ear.

Y/N is focused on her notebook, but the third time I yawn, she looks up at me.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Tell me about it… On average, I get about four hours a night.”

“Four hours? If I don’t get at least six, I get grumpy.”

“Grumpier than this?” she says, waving a hand at me, a smile teasing at her lips.

“This,” I gesture to my chest, “this is the five-hours-of-sleep me.” I stretch, feeling my muscles pull, and I notice her eyes trace down my torso before I quickly pull my shirt down.

Was Y/N checking me out?

“Anyway…” I scramble for a distraction. “It’s healthy to sleep eight hours. I’m all about being healthy.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re an old man.”

“Hey… I’m only twenty-five!”

She laughs, and before I can ask how old she is, her gaze shifts behind me, and I can sense her tension.

“Shit…” she whispers.

“What?”

“Remember that guy I told you about, Jonah Rodgers, the stalker?” Her voice drops to a near whisper, laced with panic.

I wrack my brain, trying to recall. Y/N had a stalker? She looks at me, and it’s clear she knows I’m lost.

“Just play along, please,” she whispers, scooting her chair closer to me. Her hand brushes my knee, and I’m startled by the tentative touch.

A vague memory flickers in my mind—her acting strange around me one day, but it’s obscured by the haze of regret and longing.

Y/N’s gaze is intense, making it hard to focus on anything else. She smiles shyly, then looks down before peeking at me through her thick lashes.

God, what is she doing to me?

I know she’s faking it, pretending for someone else—but I can’t help how my body reacts, how hyper-aware I am of her presence. My hand moves to her cheek, my thumb tracing her soft skin. She blushes, biting her lip, and it sends a jolt through me, a deep ache to pull her closer—bring her lips to mine.

Her hand slides from my knee, brushing my thigh, and I can feel a warmth stirring inside me.

This isn’t real… it can’t be.

She’s still staring at me, and I’m lost in her gaze, wondering what she’s thinking, if she feels it too.

But then, all too soon, her attention darts behind me again.

“He’s gone,” she breathes, relief washing over her. Her hand rubs my thigh one last time before she withdraws. “Thank you.”

I know I should let go, but I can’t. My hand remains on her face, my thumb tracing her cheek while my fingers tangle in the nape of her neck. Her expression shifts, confusion knitting her brow. She reaches for my hand, her fingers enveloping my wrist—her thumb brushing the top of my hand, once, twice—and then she smiles.

But she’s not looking at me seductively anymore. She’s looking at me like she doesn’t understand why I haven’t let go. And honestly? Neither do I.

I drop my hand from her face and stand abruptly.

“I better get to the lab,” I say, running a hand through my disheveled hair. “Good luck on your test.” Her eyes linger on me, confusion clouding her expression as I turn to leave.

I guess the show is over…

I spent the rest of the weekend in the lab, mostly because I had nothing better to do. It felt easier to throw myself into my work than to face the nagging thoughts of Y/N swirling around in my head. Pining after her felt wrong—she was just a kid, my intern, and whatever was brewing inside me needed to stop. I had to keep my distance.

When Y/N walked in on Tuesday, she looked a bit worn out. I wanted to ask her about the test, but I bit my tongue, forcing myself to act indifferent.

As the day wound down, she asked for my help, and I followed her into the dark room. She needed to cut different bands from an agarose gel to purify the DNA. Even though she knew how to use the UV light box, I guided her through the excising process.

Once inside the dimly lit room, Y/N flipped on the UV box and switched off the lights. I stood behind her, watching as her shaky hand hovered nervously over the gel, clutching the blade.

"I think it’s safe to say that not going to medical school was the right choice for you," I teased, trying to keep the mood light despite the tension. "With those shaky hands, I wouldn't want you holding a scalpel near me."

"I had too much coffee today," she shot back, her tone sharp but playful.

"Right," I snorted, a grin breaking free.

"Shut up. You're making me nervous." I could almost hear her smile through her words.

"Here," I said, inching closer. I covered her hand with mine, steadying her fingers over the blade. "Relax," I suggested, hoping it would ease both our nerves.

Her proximity felt electric, as if the air around us vibrated with tension. The scent of her hair—fresh and unplaceable—danced under my nose, making my heart race. Y/N's hand trembled beneath mine as she turned to glance up at me. In the faint blue glow of the UV light, her features looked even more striking.

"This is making it worse," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

I felt her warm breath against my neck, and everything inside me screamed that we were too close. I should step back. I needed to step back. But God, I wanted to kiss her. Nothing else mattered in that moment.

Her bewildered expression shifted as her eyes drifted from my gaze to my lips. My heart thundered in my chest as I watched her tongue trace the edge of her bottom lip before she began to nibble on it nervously.

Then, without thinking, I closed the distance and pressed my lips against hers.

I inhaled deeply through my nose, intoxicated by her sweet scent as my mouth enveloped her bottom lip. Y/N whimpered softly against me, turning her body to face mine. My hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

What was I doing?

I felt lost, unsure of how to proceed or how to stop. Reluctantly, I released her neck and gripped the bench for support, struggling against the rising tide of desire. All I wanted was to wrap my arms around her and pull her onto the counter, to lose myself in her warmth.

No, stop! This is wrong!

I broke the kiss, panting heavily. "Y/N…" I gasped. "Shit, I'm so sorry." I stepped back, needing space. She was breathing hard too. "I-I didn’t mean to do that. I shouldn’t have… Shit." My hands raked through my hair, searching for words that eluded me.

Then, with a single determined step, Y/N closed the distance. She grabbed my t-shirt and pulled me down to her level. Her lips collided with mine once more, and I felt her inhale sharply.

I was too tall, or she was too short; either way, I hunched over her as her legs wrapped around my hips, lifting her onto the countertop beside the UV box.

Her hands tangled in my hair, tugging in a way that made me groan into her mouth, while my own hands hovered uncertainly over her body, torn between desire and restraint.

Loud, insistent knocking on the door shattered the moment.

Y/N gasped, and her legs slipped from my sides.

"I need to look at a gel, Yoongi. What’s taking so long?" Jimin's voice rang out.

Jimin… shit…

I groaned against Y/N's shoulder, gripping her thighs to steady myself. Her fingers remained tangled in my hair, and I felt dangerously close to losing it.

"We're cutting a gel, Jimin," I called out, taking a reluctant step away from Y/N. "Give me a fucking break," I muttered under my breath.

I heard Jimin huff through the door, and Y/N’s voice came low and tense. "What do we do?"

I didn't know about her, but I needed to get out of there. I was uncomfortable and desperately needed to regain control. I moved to the UV box, which was still glowing. Y/N jumped down from the bench as I grabbed the blade, cutting around the bands on the gel. I found it ironic that my hands were now shaking, yet I managed to do a decent job.

Once finished, I shut off the UV light and flicked the room lights back on. Y/N jumped a little, and though I was sure she was staring at me, I couldn’t meet her gaze—I wouldn’t.

I ran a hand through my hair and took a deep breath. "Take each piece of gel and put it in a single epi tube," I instructed, forcing myself to focus on anything but her. "You can follow the rest of the protocol at the bench."

"Yoongi," she whispered, urgency lacing her voice.

"I’ll be back in a bit," I said, my hand on the doorknob. I didn’t risk a glance at her, fearing that a single look would draw me back in. I opened the door and stormed out, nearly colliding with Jimin, who stood there with his arms crossed.

What the hell just happened?

A few moments later, I was outside the building. Rain hammered down, but I didn’t care. I wished I smoked, drank, or had any vice to help me calm down. I tried deep breaths to steady myself, but the rain only added to the chaos swirling inside me. I made it to the tree line behind the parking lot, leaning against a trunk with one hand while the other pressed against my chest, where my heart threatened to pound its way out. I was panting, sweating, and completely unraveling.

What the hell had I been thinking?

Well, clearly, I hadn’t been thinking at all.

God, I could still taste her on my lips.

I swallowed hard.

Y/N had the sweetest lips I’d ever kissed.

I was doomed.

This could ruin everything. I couldn’t let myself be distracted by Y/N like this. I had lost all control, and I didn’t know what would have happened if Jimin hadn’t knocked. Or worse, what if Y/N had opened the door without knocking? Thank God the light was off, and the “IN USE” sign was outside.

No one could know about this, especially not Jimin—he was Jin’s puppy! If Jin ever found out…

God, this was all so messed up!

I had to make it clear to Y/N—this had to stay between us. We had to pretend it never happened.

It would never happen again.

I could never have my lips on hers again—just the thought of it made my chest ache.

I had known kissing her would be good. She had the most beautiful lips I’d ever seen. They didn’t disappoint. Her kiss exceeded any expectation I had dared to dream. How could I endure not kissing her again, knowing how sweet she tasted?

If I thought it was torture to be around her before, now it was going to be hell.

And she had kissed me back. She had. It wasn’t just me. She wanted this too. Didn’t she know it was wrong? I needed to talk to her, to explain that this couldn’t happen again. We had to keep things professional, to work together without awkwardness. We had to manage that. I needed to manage that.

I wouldn’t look at her lips, or her smile, if that’s what it took. Maybe I could lie and say we needed to wear mouth masks for the rest of the project…

With a groan, I stepped away from the tree. I fisted my hair, realizing I was getting drenched, and walked back into the building. I shook my head to rid myself of some of the water, but I was still soaked when I climbed the stairs.

When I entered the lab, Y/N pretended not to see me, but I knew better. Her posture shifted, her back straightened, and the foot she had been tapping on the floor stilled.

I noticed Jimin was in the lab, standing at his bench across from Y/N, staring at her. It became clear to me that Y/N was putting on a show for him.

I sighed, feeling a little relief wash over me.

Y/N wouldn’t tell anyone—at least that much was clear.

But I still needed to talk to her. What happened was wrong and completely inappropriate. I couldn’t let her get the wrong idea.

I buried myself in my computer for a while, pretending to work by aimlessly scrolling and clicking, but my attention was entirely on Y/N. She seemed to move through the purification protocol without a hitch. What was going through her head?

Y/N strolled into the lab on Thursday, her smile cutting through the sterile, fluorescent gloom like a ray of sunlight. I gave her a nod—polite, detached—but that didn’t stop my heart from racing at the flicker of warmth in her gaze. As I turned back to my work, she let out a sigh that lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her glancing at Jimin's empty bench, and the reminder of his absence hung like a storm cloud between us.

"Okay," she began, hands planted defiantly on her hips. "Should we talk about this?"

I forced myself to meet her gaze, focusing on those deep, captivating eyes while battling the temptation to let my gaze wander to her lips, which seemed to whisper promises that drove me mad with longing.

"There’s nothing to talk about, Y/N."

"Well, are you going to go back to being mean to me?"

"I was never mean to you."

Her eyebrows shot up in disbelief, and heat crept into my cheeks as I remembered all the stunts I’d pulled—the pranks that had hurt her, the lab coat I’d ruined...

"I won't be mean to you again," I muttered, letting out a heavy sigh and looking at the floor.

"Yoongi..." Her voice was soft, almost melodic, and it tugged at my heart.

When I met her gaze again, it was a mistake—her lip caught between her teeth was a distraction I didn’t need. My hands clenched into fists, seeking refuge in my pockets as her eyes searched mine, wary but hopeful, like a deer caught in the headlights.

"It won't be awkward, all right? I promise."

That smile of hers struck me like a bolt of lightning, forcing a groan deep within my chest. I could see the words dancing on her lips, ready to spill out, but they vanished like smoke when Jimin walked back into the lab. Taking advantage of the reprieve, I buried myself in my work, fighting to act normal.

But normalcy felt like a distant memory whenever Y/N was near. She moved through the lab with quiet grace, while I stood like a rock in a river of uncertainty, drowning in my thoughts.

As the day wore on and shadows lengthened, I noticed her gathering her things. Instinct kicked in—I pretended to be engrossed in my computer, watching her shuffle and fidget until she finally took a step toward me.

"Hey, Yoongi?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes?" I turned to face her, masking the turmoil inside.

"Um, I was wondering... I know I’m just an undergrad here, and there’s really no room for me to... I-I mean, I know it’s really not my place to ask, but..." Her words faltered, and the crimson blush creeping up her cheeks sent my heart racing.

"Y/N, would you get on with it? I don’t have all day." My frustration boiled over, the energy it took to be normal around her fraying my patience.

Her frown was instant, a storm brewing in those beautiful eyes.

Shit, that was uncalled for...

"Never mind…" she sighed, disappointment echoing in the air.

"Wait." I took a breath, willing myself to soften. "I’m sorry. Please, Y/N, tell me."

She sighed again, a deep, resigned breath. "I know there’s that recruitment party this Saturday. It’s for prospective students to meet the current students in the department. And I know, I’m just the undergrad, but I think it would be great if I could meet them. You know? Hopefully, in a year, I’ll be going through recruitment myself." Her fingers twisted anxiously in front of her, a sight that both amused and strained my patience.

"Is there a question you wanted to ask?" I barked, the irritation bubbling to the surface.

"Yes…" she snapped back, indignation rising. "My question is: do you mind if I’m there?" She crossed her arms, defiance written all over her.

Why would I care if she came? I hadn’t even planned on attending that stupid party. But suddenly, the thought twisted in my gut, a knot tightening as a realization hit me.

I shot up from my chair, startling her. "Who told you about the party?"

Her eyes dropped, a sigh escaping her lips, and just like that, the truth hit me like a freight train. I fucking knew it.

"You’re going with Jungkook, aren’t you?" I took a step closer, looming over her.

"No, I’m not going with Jungkook." Her voice was steady, but her gaze flickered to meet mine. "But I’m going."

"Well, I guess I’ll see you there, then."

"Okay," she said with a nonchalant shrug, but the smile that graced her lips made my stomach twist. She turned to leave, and I felt something unravel within me—my hands instinctively reached out, fingers curling into frustrated fists. I didn’t know if I wanted to strangle her or pull her into a desperate embrace. All I knew was that I was left staring helplessly as she walked away.

I didn’t need her to say it; I knew Jungkook was behind this. She might not be going with him, but the thought of him lurking at that party made my blood boil. For the first time in a long while, I felt the gnawing sensation of jealousy eat away at my insides.

Fucking Jungkook Jeon.

I couldn’t believe I was even considering this.

Why did it matter if Y/N went to the recruitment party? It shouldn’t. Yet here I was, battling an angry tide rising in my chest, all because of that idiot Jungkook. If she were going with someone more acceptable—someone who didn’t make my skin crawl—I’d be okay with it. I should be okay with it. The rational part of my brain knew that, but the irritation overshadowed everything else.

What did she even see in Jungkook? The guy barely scraped by on his Qual after taking it twice and hadn’t published a single paper. He was working with fruit flies for crying out loud! And his personality? A brick wall. I couldn’t trust him. I didn’t like him. I couldn’t stand him.

I had to go to this party.

At lunch, against my better judgment, I decided to bring it up with Hoseok.

"Hey, where’s the recruitment party this year?" I asked, trying to sound casual as I stabbed my fork into the mac and cheese.

"You’re going to the recruitment party?" Hoseok dropped his fork, suspicion etched across his face like a roadmap to his thoughts.

"Yes," I groaned, already regretting bringing it up. Of course, he’d make a fuss.

"To our department’s recruitment party?" He pressed a finger to his chest as if I’d committed a heinous crime.

"Why is that so hard to believe?" I shrugged, pushing the macaroni around in my bowl.

"Let me think… maybe because I’ve organized every single one since I got here, and you’ve never attended."

"Will you just answer my question?" I snapped, frustration boiling over.

"It’s at the South Campus Center, bro." Even though he finally answered, his gaze lingered, scrutinizing me like I was a specimen under his microscope.

"Great, thanks." I tried to keep my tone light, rolling my eyes at his obvious scrutiny.

"I can’t believe you’re going." A knowing smile danced at the corners of his lips, and I loathed it.

I pretended not to care, shrugging off the comment as he took a seat next to me.

"If only I had known all it would take was an undergrad to get through you."

"This has nothing to do with Y/N," I spat, defensiveness creeping in, my irritation sharpening with each word. Her name was Y/N, not ‘the undergrad.’

"Right, so it’s just a coincidence… this is just the year you happen to decide to attend this thing."

"Yes."

"Is she going?" His eyebrow arched, mischief glinting in his eyes.

I groaned and turned away, pretending to be absorbed in my food.

"Dude, I can see it. How she’s affected you. It’s kind of obvious. You can talk to me, you know? It might help."

The breath I took was deep and shaky, every nerve ending igniting with frustration. But before I could stop myself, the words came pouring out. "She drives me crazy, Hoseok. I can’t stand it. I lose all control when I’m around her. I kissed her… I kissed her, and she said she doesn’t want to jeopardize her work in the lab. And it makes sense for her to think that. But the worst part is now I can’t stop seeing her everywhere. She’s in the lab, at the gym, at the freaking library where I get my coffee—she’s everywhere! I need to go back to not seeing her, because I can’t handle this." I stared down at my lunch, the food suddenly unappetizing, a lifeless pile of carbs.

"So you don’t want to see her?" Hoseok asked, surprisingly calm, like he was dissecting a specimen on his lab bench.

"Exactly."

"You don’t want to kiss her again?" He pushed, an amused grin creeping across his face.

"I don’t know what I want!" I barked, irritation flaring.

"Sounds to me like you want to go to the party, see her, and kiss her again. The question is, how are you going to deal with Jungkook?"

My shoulders tightened at the mention of his name, a cold shiver running down my spine. "I don’t care about him."

"I don’t know, man. It’s weird. The vibes are strange. You’re talking about her with a lot of… emotion."

"Emotion?" I snapped, but deep down, I felt the truth behind his words. I was at the mercy of my own feelings, a trembling wreck in the face of Y/N’s smile. I hated it. I wanted to turn it off. I couldn’t afford to feel anything.

"Fine," I muttered, sinking back into my chair, wishing to be swallowed by it.

"You’re going to have to confront those feelings eventually, Yoongi."

I grunted in response, refusing to admit he was right. I didn’t want to think about Y/N, and I definitely didn’t want to deal with Jungkook. All I wanted was to escape this mess, but deep down, I knew I was already trapped.

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veranavera · 10 months ago

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PSA: most trans people on hormones don’t pass after a year. I think the prevalence of “passing at 11 months!!!” type stories has given a lot of people the impression that somewhere around there is when people start to look like what they want. And like yeah, some people do, and fucking great for them, but you don’t see nearly as many people talking about how they don’t pass at that point because a) people share those things online less often and b) those posts get less traction because they’re heavier

Me? I passed for the first time at 7 months. I passed for the second time at 19 months. That fucking sucked. I felt like I had been given exactly what I wanted and watched it get taken away from me, and the idea that I should be passing more regularly in the months following really ate away at me and made me feel like I “failed” in my transition - I legit thought that I would never pass

It certainly didn’t help that, in addition to overwhelmingly seeing narratives online of passing early in one’s transition, every piece of medical information that was presented to me said that most changes would happen over the first two years. Maybe I was deluding myself, but baby trans me thought “oh that means I have two years to transition or else I fail because hormones won’t do anything past that”. And that ate away at me more than the not passing, cause I felt like I was “missing my chance” at having the body I wanted

And boy was I wrong, in the last year (my third year on hormones), I feel like I’ve seen more changes than I saw in my first year. My boobs are filling themselves out, my body hair is getting even lighter, my skin is noticeably softer even though I stopped moisturizing/doing most of my previous skincare routine. Hell, even my hips and ass have gotten wider. And this was *all* during an era that the medical information I was presented with gave me the impression that any changes that did occur would be minor

To show you what I mean, compare one of my first trans-flag photos, taken at 11 months on e, verses a semi-recreation I did earlier today at 33 months on e (same clothes and roughly the same pose/lighting, different mountains)

Notice a difference? I sure do - and to prove to you that this happened in the third year, here's a similar photo of me in between these two at 23 months on e:

I’m usually not one for transition timelines, mainly because my whole project is kind of a transition timeline, and if you wanna look through and see more of what I'm taking about feel free to either scroll a few posts down on my blog, or check out my google drive with all the photos from my projects. The difference doesn't look *too* dramatic to me, but some people I know irl have expressed that it is

Regardless, the point I'm trying to make here is that my experience on hormones was *not* passing at one year - and that's the experience of the vast majority of people I know who've been on hormones. Puberty takes many years, and yeah, that can suck to hear when you're expecting it to take two, but trust me, it's a healthier mindset to think of yourself as continuously moving in the direction you want, rather than waiting to arrive at a particular destination

If you've started hormones in the last year, be sure to give your body the time it needs to make the changes you want - transitioning is a marathon, not a sprint

#vera posts #queer #trans #transgender #transfemme #trans women #trans timeline

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hunters-vigil · 3 months ago

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The Archon's Baby - Chapter 4 - Reunion

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

request from ao3: Make one where they have a child but the female character doesn't tell Mavuika that she is expecting a child and distances herself from Mavuika please 🙏🙏

warnings/mentions of: pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms, talks about hypothetical major character death.

Fic under the cut, don't repost my stuff on other platforms, i have ao3. Reader is not the traveller. Reader's adoptive sisters are Chasca and Chuychu.

"Mavuika?" you whispered, hearing her hum, clinging to her clothes as you buried your face in her neck. A sob escaped your mouth before you stop it, your lover holding you a little tighter as her ears picked up on the noise.

"I'm here, my darling," your achon cooed, pressing her lips to the crown of your head as you held onto her desperately.

"I've missed you." The words wouldn't escape your mouth without some force, your emotions getting the better of you thanks to your hormones, but Mavuika didn't know that.

"I've missed you too," she whispered, gently pulling you back so she could look you in the eye, as tears streamed down your face, "I'm sorry I've been so busy that you felt like you couldn't approach me."

Your heart fluttered, closing your eyes to lean into her touch as she cupped your face, "the Pilgrimage and the Night Warden Wars are more important..." you began, but Mavuika didn't respond. "Natlan needs you." Burying your face back into her neck after your archon wiped away your tears.

"You needed me, and still need me." Mavuika argued, but she knew deep down that you were right. She was the Pyro Archon... Natlan's people are her priority, but that includes you.

She could remember when she first met you, approaching the Scions of the Canopy to look for information on her family. Ancient names may have documented those warriors, but many people didn't receive them, yet still should be remembered.

"If you're looking for history from 500 years ago... your best chance is Chasca and Chuychu's younger sister. A wingless, but the drive to dig up as much history as possible has found many tribes a lot that was thought to be lost." Your Uncle Wayna advised the Pyro Archon, who thanked him for his help.

"Any idea where she could be found? Chasca is a peacekeeper, and Chuychu is a doctor, but..."

"Despite the sisters arguing against it, she moved out into her own place, plus... she's better with an outlander wing glider than with a qucusaur." Wayna explained, letting out a sigh, "there were rumours of her not even being from Natlan, but... she doesn't remember anything from before she was found and taken in by Chuychu's parents."

"I see..."

Mavuika kept this in mind as she approached you, spotting the intrigue but also sadness in your eyes when you caught sight of her. It was like you saw right through her walls, helping all you could to dig up information on her parents and younger sister.

"I hate that you'll never truly get to live. You ended your life early 500 years ago to be here, and then you'll sacrifice yourself for Natlan again if you need to... you'll never get to grow old, find love, have children and watch them grow up... you're so selfless, Mavuika. Natlan would get to live, but you wouldn't. You're so determined to save Natlan, but you don't want anyone to try save you." you confessed after many nights helping Mavuika with her plans.

She hadn't wanted to let you in, you weren't a warrior, (despite the training she had heard about from your sisters) or an ancient name bearer... You'd figured out too much just from your research, putting together the pieces to realise her sacrifices. Past, and future.

Maybe it was a moment of weakness, a moment of selfishness, that first kiss, that first touch, but Mavuika couldn't resist. She held back, hesistating as you frowned, realising why she had stopped.

"It's okay. I want to, not because you're Haborym, or Kiongozi... but Mavuika, so please..." that was all it took for Mavuika's restraint to be gone, leaning in to finally let her lips meet yours.

She could never have thought that that moment would have led to this. You, exhausted, crying in her arms as she held you close, wishing she had more time with you than less than a year.

"Please, don't go. I just... need to feel you a little longer," you began to beg as she shifted slightly, pulling you on top of her, until a squeak of pain escaped your lips.

"Did I-"

"No, no. It wasn't you, I'm just..." you hesitated, realising that you hadn't told her, "tender. I'll be fine..."

"Tender?" Mavuika's voice laced with confusion, her hands lingering at the hem of your shirt. However, she decided against asking to remove the cloth, instead resting her hands on your waist after you settled your head on her chest. "Are you injured?"

"I'll be okay, I'm not hurt. But, can we stay like this, just a little longer? I know you're really busy but..." Mavuika shushed you, holding you closer, as hands lingered under your shirt, drawing patterns on your skin.

Meanwhile, one of your hands lingered close to your belly, trying to be surreptitious but it helped you to self-soothe. Your other hand was a lot less calm however, holding onto Mavuika for dear life, like she would slip away any moment.

"I'm not going just yet. Even Archons need to sleep, my love." Pressing her lips to the crown of your head, her hand shifted, moving to hover over the hand on your stomach, causing a question to flicker in her mind.

Did you go to Chuychu about your sickness? If you did, what did your sister have to say? You seemed better, but the exhaustion, and the look Atea had on her face when she turned up at the People of the Springs, having just witnessed you and Mualani just leave...

Unfortunately, Mavuika couldn't ask you about it, hearing your breathing even out as sleep got its hold of you once again. A quiet sigh escaped her lips, appreciating your warmth as she closed her eyes and let sleep consume her too.

#mavuika x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #chasca x sister!reader #chuychu x sister!reader #requested fic #turned into a series

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talkfastwalkfaster · 11 months ago

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Moonglade ~ AOTC!Anakin Skywalker

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A/N: this took me way too long to write & i'm not completely happy with how the beginning turned out but. also, this quickly became a purely self-indulgent fic, especially during the end portion. but i hope u guys enjoy this as much as i ended up doing ♡ WC: 2,035 Warnings: fluff, making out

˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊

You glanced around the temple halls — despite knowing that the chances of you two getting caught after hours were slim, you still wanted to be careful. “Are you sure we should be doing this out in the open? Anyone could walk past and see us, Ani,” you whispered, wondering why you agreed to meet him behind a column instead of in one of your quarters.

Anakin chuckled softly before leaning in and kissing you. “You worry too much, angel. What’s the point of sneaking out if there’s no excitement to it? We’re not even truly doing anything. Besides, I missed you.”

Your heart fluttered at the sentiment. Since the war started, you hadn’t seen much of each other lately — with Anakin co-commanding the 212th with his master and you the 104th with yours. You supposed that he was right. The two of you had done worse when sneaking out — from taking a speeder and exploring Coruscant to hiding on top of the temple, this seemed insignificant compared to them.

You smiled and unconsciously leaned closer to him, wanting nothing more than to be intertwined with him so you would never have to be apart again. “I missed you too. I’m sorry for missing your comm yesterday. Master Koon was very insistent on having no distractions during training.”

Anakin had returned from a mission yesterday and craved to see you again after being apart for the better of two weeks. Despite having possessed this longing, he waved off your apology, knowing that he only commed to inform you that he was back, nothing too important. “It’s alright, I understand. We all get busy.”

You shook your head, feeling guilty that you weren’t able to welcome him back as soon as you would have liked. “Still, I should’ve at least sent a message, even if it was a small one.”

Anakin gave a soft shrug, his blue eyes glanced over to you before looking up at the murals — he didn't really mind that you hadn't messaged him, though he found it sweet that you felt bad about not being able to do so. He let out a soft laugh as his eyes wandered back to you. “You really gotta cut yourself some slack, angel. You're always getting stressed over the little stuff," He said softly, his hands slipping from his robe’s pockets to rest on his hips.

While it may not seem like a major thing to anyone else, it was important to you. You took your relationships very seriously, always ensuring that you were not purposely ignoring someone and always attempting to ensure everything went smoothly. You supposed that was why you were a Consular — you consistently made sure that issues were arbitrated and were more than ready to be the mediator if needed.

You scrunched your nose, not liking how dismissive he was. You knew that if the roles were reversed, he would be doing the same thing you were attempting. “I’m trying to apologize here,” you argued adamantly, wanting him to understand this was meaningful to you, despite him waving it off as nothing.

Anakin understood why you were being pushy about this, he knew you didn’t enjoy avoiding people, regardless of it being your intent or not. Truthfully, he hadn’t expected you to answer in the first place — he understood that your life was getting hectic now, especially with your trials coming up soon.

He snickered softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Oh, that was an apology?" He said with a grin as he nudged you playfully. He couldn't resist teasing you, having already forgiven you before you even attempted to make amends with him — despite there not being a reason for you to apologize.

You nodded, unwilling to give in. “Mhm, I apologized, and now you’re supposed to accept it and forgive me. That’s how this works.”

His eyebrows raised slightly as he shook his head — you could be the most difficult person sometimes. He couldn’t complain about it though, it was one of the qualities he loved most about you and something that drove him to you. “Is that how it's supposed to work? Because it sounds like you're being a bit pushy." He taunted.

You crossed your arms and leaned back on the pillar, investing in the banter. “I’m not being pushy; you’re just not cooperating.” You weren’t truly attempting to force your apology down his throat — you knew there was no need. But you did enjoy this type of conversation with Anakin; it allowed you to detach from the turbulence that was becoming extremely common in your life.

Anakin gave a low chuckle as he looked down at you. “Has anyone ever told you how stubborn you are," He teased, leaning closer to you while his mouth curved into a playful smile.

You shrugged, “Once or twice.”

You both knew that you were the most determined person he had ever met, and he adored you for it. Anakin laughed softly before lowering his voice and leaning even closer to you, his sapphire eyes shining in the darkness.

“Let me rephrase that — do you realize how insanely stubborn you are?"

You scrunched your nose and attempted to hide your growing smile, “So I’ve been told.”

Anakin chuckled, leaning his forehead against yours as he spoke softly, “Mhm, you're a stubborn girl who doesn't easily yield."

You smiled tenderly, loving the closeness between the two of you. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

Anakin's cheeks heated at the proximity, glancing down at you with those twinkling blue eyes that made you want to dive in and be engulfed in him forever. “I actually think it’s quite an endearing trait.” His voice was soft as he spoke in a whisper, as though he was telling you his greatest secret.

You tilted your head up to look into his eyes — you knew you would never be tired of looking into them — they were one of your favorite features of his. They were like a siren’s call, pulling you in until you could no longer have any thoughts that didn’t involve Anakin. Before you got too lost in his eyes you quickly remembered he had spoken to you and murmured back, “Is that so?”

Anakin nodded softly as he smiled at you — his heart raced at your admiring gaze, and he couldn’t help the soft blush that spread across his cheeks. “Oh, most definitely.” His voice was low and gentle as he lowered his head a little closer so that his nose was hovering just above yours.

You leaned up and kissed him tenderly, a reflection of the love you hold for him. His breath hitched at the sudden but pleasant contact of your lips. One of his arms wrapped around your waist while the other found its way to the back of your head as he gently pulled you closer, his lips pressing firmly against yours.

The feeling of your body pressed against his made his heart rate skyrocket as he kissed you back with equal passion and fervor.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. You wanted to be encased in his hold forever — to simply be with him and never have to worry about anything else. The soft proclamations of love that came from both of your lips said everything the kiss did not: how much you ached for each other while he was gone, the unspoken promise of spending as much time as you could before one of you was shipped off onto another mission.

Anakin panted lightly as he pulled away from you — his need for air overcoming the urge to kiss you for all eternity. He slowly brought the hand that was behind your head to cup your cheek, softly caressing your skin with his thumb and looking at you as if you hung the stars. His eyes roamed your face taking in every freckle and scar, wanting to burn you into his memory in hopes that you would haunt his dreams when he was unable to see you physically.

He dipped his head to quickly kiss you again before gently murmuring, “Let’s get married.” He had fantasized about this for ages now — never having enough courage to reveal his deepest desire to you, but now seemed like a better time than any.

“What?” You whispered incredulously, not quite believing the words that came out of his mouth.

Anakin laughed softly and lowered his voice, “You heard me. We should get married.”

You moved your hands to his shoulders, lightly gripping them, “Is this your way of proposing to me?”

His eyes twinkled with amusement, his gaze never breaking yours. “Maybe,” His voice was soft and soothing as he lowered his head once more to briefly press his lips against yours. “Yes.”

You thought about it for a moment — secretly dating is one thing, but getting married would mean you were fully going against the Code, something you could never come back from. However, a part of you rationalized that you had already done that, and if you had already broken it, what was the harm in going one step further?

“Okay, let’s get married,” Your face broke out into a grin and you giggled softly, not quite believing this was truly happening, but you wouldn’t oppose it if it meant you were wholly committing to your love for Anakin.

Anakin felt as though his heart would burst out of his chest as a smile spread across his face and his eyes lit up with excitement. His mind was quickly filled with thoughts of being tied to you forever, of never having to worry about losing you to someone else. He couldn’t contain himself and brought his other hand to your face to cup both of your cheeks while he smothered you with kisses all over your face.

His voice was soft as he pulled back slightly, “You’re completely okay with this?” Despite your agreement, he wanted to ask again to ensure you were completely on board with the idea. He knew you wouldn’t lie to him or say yes just to make him happy, but he wanted to be reassured that you were committed to going through with this.

You nodded and brought your hands up to cover his, unable to contain your smile. “I’m sure. I want to be with you, Ani, forever.”

Anakin laced his fingers with yours and squeezed them gently; a warm, fuzzy feeling spread throughout his body — he was overjoyed with your answer. It was difficult for him to believe how he got so lucky with you; he liked everything about you — your smile, the way you spoke, the way you carried yourself… You were simply perfect in his eyes and he was grateful that you were willing to spend the rest of your life with him.

The thought immediately made his heart sing — he was going to marry you; he would have you all to himself and soon be able to call you ‘his wife.’ “I love you, angel,” He spoke softly, his voice full of love and joy. He buried his face into the crook of your neck and gently kissed where it met your shoulder.

His actions made your heart melt — you cherished every moment with him. You kissed the side of his head and lifted a hand to cup the back of it while you murmured, “I love you too, Ani.”

A small, content sigh escaped his lips and he squeezed you tighter against him, enjoying your soft, comforting embrace.

You ran a hand through his hair and whispered, “We should head back to one of our quarters before we’re out here too long.”

Anakin hummed softly in response before lifting his head from your neck and giving you one last kiss. He took your hand and interlaced his fingers with yours as he started to lead you out of the temple’s halls and toward his room.

You leaned against him and lightly squeezed his hand as he guided you. The walk to his room was filled with silent bliss, and you knew that despite the chaos happening throughout the galaxy, you would always be able to rely on Anakin.

#nat's tales #⋆anakin⋆#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you

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bruhhhh-huhhhhh · 1 year ago

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yooo is there any chance I can request parent headcanons for the safehouse crew (cod: bocw)??? been replaying the bo2 campaign and the Adler is Graves' father theory has a grip on me esp recently now that that mf is coming back

I imagine that Adler is a pretty distant parent, what with work in the CIA taking up most of his time and probably isn't able to see his kid much to begin with after the divorce, no doubt his ex wife has full custody of any of the children they had during that marriage. he's the kind of dad to buy his teenage kid expensive gifts to make up for the times he couldn't be there, usually related to something they were mildly interested in when they were like 7. And that thing is probably one of the only things he knows about them because they ranted about it to him when they were really young and naive. Russ is not as good as vocalizing his affection, but he's observant, and would zero in on any information and likes that his kid has when they express it... It's just that the usually don't with the distance between them. I think he does genuinely care about his child and still wants to show that they appreciate them, but just doesn't know how to properly connect with them on an emotional level, and usually doesn't even have the time. I don't think he'd treat his kid much differently based on their gender, he's still an emotionally-supressed mostly absentee father that his child would kind of just grow to resent as they get older. Adler is the 'he tried' dad. (I hc that Graves his kid is also the most likely to have a wild rebellious teens phase, and he'd kind of just let it happen so long as they aren't getting into any legal trouble because at that point their relationship would be so strained and he's just kinda apathetic about it. I think he's the type that would come home late to catch his kid smoking, and the only thing he'd do is ask why they started and if they know the consequences of it, then promptly asks for one and never brings it up again.)

Hudson, on the contrary, would be the perfect dad. Girl dad 100%, this man has a wife and two daughters (I think, might need to double check this one, but point still stands because I think he'd be good with girls). This man deserves a bo burnham 1985 edit. I think that he's really the type of guy who tries to squeeze in as much quality time with his family even with his work, and is the type to frequently show affection and pride for his children. Jason is completely soft for his wife and children, in contrast to how much of a no-nonsense hardass he is on the job. I am utterly convinced that this is the man who would always play along with his daughter's tea parties when he has tine and would never miss any of his son's games (he'd ask Jenny to record it for him if he's knows he's gonna be on a mission for a long time). I imagine that he really goes the extra mile to be the best role model for his kids, being both responsible and loving even with the limited presence he has because of his job. Hudson is the father figure some us needed in life ngl.

I don't think Mason would be an abusive dad contrary to what most people would take away from the one interaction we see with him and a very young David. I definitely think he'd have some major anger issues though, no doubt that trauma from The Numbers™️ and all the shit he's gone through as soldier and later CIA op would have an impact on him. He would never lay a hand on his own kid, but he's definitely shouted at them pretty frequently and has likely broken objects around them when he's angry. Much more so after his wife's death and being left as a single dad who barely has any idea what he's doing, and the only other person who can rein him in from it is Frank. I think he's more affectionate and less emotionally distant than Adler, but still just not as close as he should be to his child. He'd apologize for his outbursts and all but, being raised with traditional values from the 30s-40s, he isn't really the type to have those heartfelt talks about feelings because men are supposed to be strong and being emotional makes you weak and all that crap. Would be tougher with a son, and stricter with a daughter. Alex would become a lot more understanding and open over time when his kid grows older, and mellow out as an old man and just be proud of how they turned out despite how he was. The anger issues never really dissipates, but he learns to control it and be better for his kid for the remainder of his life. Mason is the dad you'd resent and have so much anxiety over in your teens and twenties but eventually make up with and get closure by your late thirties or so.

Woods would definitely be more of a fun uncle than a dad. More of the tough love type, but will always remind his kid that they're appreciated at the end of the day. But I also imagine he's a lot more reckless snd clumsy, specially as a first-time father. May not be perfect, has his own shortcomings in a lot of places, but he's really trying his best. I imagine that he probably tiptoed a lot when it came to raising David, trying not to yell at him too much and tried to be his anchor as much as he can after he was tricked into killing Alex (and then promptly going off on him when he shows face again after thirty years). Frank would be considerate and very vocal about his appreciation for his kid despite . Woods is the lovable old man that you'd have a lot of funny memories to look back on, and cussing you out is just his own way of saying he loves you.

I don't have as much thoughts on them but I think Park would be very overprotective, especially if she had a daughter. Would shelter her child and be very strict with them, making sure she knows how and where her kid is all the time, who her kid is with, and how safe they are. Would make her child wear a tracker watch and tell her all and any people they meet or see. Madam Shell's betrayal and her brother's death have definitely left a mark on her, and she would excessively worry about them at all times, to the point of it being suffocating and very invasive Lazar is the balance to this, more lenient and lets his kid have a right to privacy and freedom. Sure, he still worries a lot, but he has enough faith in his child to let then go off on their own when they're at an appropriate age. I also imagine that he gives the best best hugs. Sims would be somewhere in between, albeit more leaning on the stricter side.

AHHHH THIS TOOK ME SO LONG TO ANSWER I'M SORRY

bUuuuT

i love this idea so I'm gonna do silly little headcannons for it

How the Safehouse Crew treat their kid

Russell Adler

He's absolutely an absent dad

It's not that he does it on purpose, it's just what happens with his job

Russell tries so hard. So hard to be there, but a lot of the time he just can't because of work

If his kid does any sports, you can bet your ass that he's gonna be at any games he can

Now, that's not a lot, but still

Adler absolutely cheers the loudest anytime that his kid does anything

He'll also argue with the refs or umpires about dumb calls

Has been kicked out multiple times

Russell also buys his kid anything that they want

Christmas with him is like out of a damn movie

Presents are practically stacked to the roof and each one is more extravagant than the last

Is definitely the type of parent to dump a bunch of money on his kid for whatever they want

It's his way of making up for barely being around

Has missed his visitation days a lot

Every time he does, Adler sends money and presents as an apology

One time, his kid was staying over at his house because they got into an argument with their mom

He came home late and was met with the sight of his only child smoking cigarettes in the living room

"You know what those do to your lungs?"

The kid just stared for a second before nodding in shock

"Good. Don't be surprised when you get lung cancer. Lord knows I'm already getting close to that. Give me one."

The kid hands over the whole pack, and Adler takes one, lights it, and hands it back. "Don't tell your mother."

On the times that he actually has off and has the kid, he tries to make a whole day out of spending time together

Adler takes them to an amusement park or something, and its just plain awkward the whole time

But, by the end of the day, they're just a little closer

Mainly because they had a heart to heart on the car ride home

They even hugged!

Yay!

And then nothing changed

Boo >:(

Jason Hudson

Girl dad 100%

He's the dad that everyone needs

So supportive, no matter what

Jason does, in fact, have two girls. And, if I remember right, he loves them more than anything

This man absolutely has been caught playing princesses and knights with his daughters by his wife

His favorite thing is to sit at the tiny tables and have a tea party

Loves his kids so much

If he had a son, Hudson would teach him how to throw a football

Definitely would push him to join a sport

If he does, Hudson goes to every game

Just like Adler, he cheers the loudest

If his girls get boyfriends, you can bet your ass that he's going to let them know that he has multiple guns and absolutely knows how to use it

#WillThreatenToKillThem

Jason has to be told by his wife to leave them alone

He only does because he loves his wife so so much and he'd kill for her

Lots of physical affection

Hugs and all that good stuff

His kids definitely won't be touch starved

Is absolutely who they go to first whenever something happens and they need help/support

If he ever catches his kid doing something that they shouldn't, like smoking, he has to try really hard not to yell at them. He pretty much has to walk away to cool off before he can approach the conversation in a way that he wants to

Hudson and his kid are going to have a long talk that ends in a hug and a promise not to do it again

Overall his kids are well behaved and he's a good dad

Alex Mason

My poor boy

I love him so much, anger issues and all

Any time that he screams and breaks things in front of his kid, he calls Woods to come and pick them up so he can take care of things

He always feels horrible after he yells. Alex never wanted to hurt anyone. Quite the opposite, actually. He just doesn't know how to control his anger

Throughout the kids developmental years, he tries his best not to yell or get angry, but a lot of the time he can't stop himself in time

In comes one Frank Woods, who ends up coming over and taking the kid out for ice cream or to the park or just for a drive

He ends up being that cool uncle that the kid goes to when something happens

When he gets discharged (Honorably) from the military, Mason ends up going to therapy

And anger management classes

Only reason he does is because his kid ends up yelling back when he gets angry

And he realizes that he fucked up :(

So that helps him mellow out for his kids later years

Definitely apologizes to his kid for how they were raised

Alex won't over explain or get all mushy, but it'll come up as a simple "I'm sorry for how you were raised," and leave it at that

Will express his feelings through gifts or spending quality time with his kid

If he gets grandkids, Alex will take that as the time to make up for his kids shitty childhood

Best granddad for real

When he's older, he won't mind as much when it comes to telling his kid that he's proud of them

Lots of praise

Frank Woods

HE'S SO BABY GIRL I CAN'T

LOOK AT THIS GIF

Anyway

Definitely the type of dad to pretend that his kid is in trouble and then it turns out to be a prank

He would absolutely do it just like he did in the scene of the gif

Frank wouldn't yell at his kid, more just yell in general

He'll scream over football games, tv shows, dropping something, anything

He does not care

His kid would be used to loud noises by double digits

Woods would absolutely not know that his kid was sneaking out until Alex caught them

He doesn't particularly care, but he's a little disappointed that they didn't ask him if they could go

Instead of yelling, he would sit them down and have a serious discussion

Lots of "You could have just asked," and, "How many times have you done it?"

Basically he'd get his kid to quit because he knows it's a bad habit

I can't remember if he's a smoker or not, but if he is he would go through the process of quitting with said kid

Helen Park

She's kind of a shitty mom, ngl

Park can be good at it when she wants to, but she's got her own shit that he's going through

She can't handle a kid

In the early years, she's a little neglectful and absent

Then she does a full 180 and goes full over-protective mom mode

Trackers, constant phone calls, reassuring messages

The whole nine yards

She'll try her best to stop if her kid says something, but her anxiety is way too high to stop fully

Definitely the kind of mom to apologize through gifts

One fond memory that her kid would have of their younger years is her sneaking into their room and climbing into bed with them

She just sat there and held them, silently telling them how much she loved them

Helen thought their kid was asleep, not awake and hearing everything she was saying

Park definitely let her kid sneak into her bed when they had nightmares or got sick

She secretly loves it and is sad when they stop doing it

Okay that's all I got-

I didn't mean for this to take so long to make

#bean writes #cod cold war x reader #cod cold war #cod bocw #russell adler #russell adler x reader #helen park x reader #helen park #frank woods x reader #frank woods #alex mason x reader #alex mason #jason hudson x reader #jason hudson

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genderqueerdykes · 28 days ago

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Do you have like, some nice words?

Like I’m just so tired of how constant tme/tma speak is on my dash. Posts about how transfems should leave friend groups of “tmes” because they will inevitably be bigots

Why are half the popular transfems on this site horribly transphobic in their own right the moment a transmasc dares exist in their vicinity

Sorry I’m basically just venting in your inbox, thank you for being a breath of fresh air

i'm sorry you're dealing with this. it's natural to be worn down by this behavior, it's literal transphobia and intersexism and people just don't seem to care.

the tme/tma (transmisogyny exempt/transmisogyny affected) binary doesn't work. the issue is that in real life, most queerphobes you come across are assuming you are a trans woman. the average person associates the concept of transness with transfemininity on average, unless they personally know some transmascs or trans men, or are one. it's very rare to find a stranger who gets it. every time i come out to a stranger, they immediately switch to she/her pronouns, call me ma'am/miss/girl/etc., and ask what my "real" name is. it's really weird

transmasculine invisibility is a genuine issue offline. certain pockets of the internet are obsessed with hating trans men but that doesn't mean that the vast majority of people in the offline world know a damn thing about any of this. i do not ever have anyone understand that i mean i'm transmasculine when i say im trans. as i'm transmasc and transfem i don't really challenge it, but it sucks that people have one assumption and one only.

it happens with other queers. i moved in with a bunch of perisex trans femmes and was dating one for a while and flirting with a few others. my other roommate was a perisex cis gay man. i was the only intersex person who was there at the time, and i think a very small handful of others were around regularly, so there was a high chance that people should've been pretty informed about the existence of intersex identities. i know some people who came around pretty often were intersex, at least from my memory

the second people found out about my physical anatomy, they switched how they treated me. everyone thought i had a penis for some reason? and were made wildly uncomfortable upon finding out about it. when i revealed that i'm intersex & genderqueer, and that i'm bigender: a trans man, and a trans woman all hell broke loose suddenly nobody knew what to think or feel or anything.

people honest to god just defaulted to misgendering me.

and treating me like i was stupid as fuck.

this was the hardest part. i was being treated like i was dumb as HELL and it frustrated me to no end.

my emotions were "too much". i kept getting told i was too needy or whiny or possessive or that i needed too much of sometimes time or that i was touching the wrong things around the house. i kept being criticized for moving objects that impacted an environment i was allowed to work at. i was criticized for organizing a bookshelf i was asked to organize. i was ridiculed and insulted. my roommate and a girl who was flirting with me questioned my dissociative identity disorder, which i have plenty of medical records spanning back to 2017 from various doctors in various states and hospitals showing my diagnostic history with dissociation and dissociative disorders, and he also questioned my schizophrenia when i have records dating back to 2015 showing my history with severe psychotic episodes and the development of schizoaffective disorder, bipolar type

i was no longer the arbiter of my own lived experience because everyone found out i didn't have a penis. i'm a vagina haver so i'm stupid. i'm dumb. i'm a cis woman. i'm faking. i'm not actually a man. well i am a man. i'm evil.

i'm breaking this silence on this garbage. it's time stop treating trans men and mascs this way. we're real people. we have real experiences. we are also being talked over. it really is possible to speak over us. it's happening right now. it doesn't need to. trans men talking about how we don't need to be seen this way isn't hurting trans women. we're being misgendered. we're being hurt by transandrophobic and misogynstic behavior. one does not need to hurt trans men in order to heal from one's own trauma with manhood. it won't help. it doesn't do anything

this is such a goddamn long ask but i wanted to thank you for this because your honesty and bluntness is what's needed right now. thank you to every trans man and transmasc speaking up about this right now. please feel free to send your own experiences with this because it's over. i'm not humoring it. i'm going to keep talking about it until people calm down and understand that conversations have multiple participants

i now more than ever want to actually focus on uplifting transmasculinity and trans men. i have been forcing myself to try to focus on a broader range of topics to avoid backlash but let's not start 2025 thinking we have to do this anymore. we literally don't. it's over. trans women are allowed to talk about the struggles we face. always and forever. but a trans man talking about their own experience is not an attack on you. and sometimes a trans man will give you criticism. and sometimes... you have to take it.

sometimes you have to take a trans man's criticism.

you really, really do.

and it's not the end of the world.

if a trans man tells you you're talking over them, you really should actually stop and step backwards and reassess what you said to them. you may have done it on accident. actually listen before you keep talking. if a trans man tells you they have a health condition, listen. don't participate in this behavior. there's literally no reason to think that trans men and mascs are too stupid to articulate our own experiences. it's ridiculous. that's how society treats women- you don't want to be treated that way! please don't do it to other people, especially people you view as women...

anyway i hope that this helps in any way. i'm just tired of this shit. i'm happy to start 2025 by completely and totally breaking the silence on transmasculine and trans male erasure. join me. we're not doing this shit anymore. we're starting this year off being more compassionate. we're starting off this year accepting that manhood isn't what has traumatized any of us, it's toxic masculinity, it's patriarchy, it's specific men. let's ditch this shit

#asks #answers #transmasc #transmasculine #transphobia #transandophobia

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charminglygrouped · 1 month ago

Text

The Search for Mrs. Bingley

By now many Austen fans are familiar with a letter the author wrote to her sister Cassandra, claiming to have discovered Mrs. Jane Bingley's exact likeness in an exhibition of portraits:

Monday, May 24, 1813 [...] Henry & I went to the exhibition in Spring Gardens. It is not thought a good collection, but I was very well pleased—particularly (pray tell Fanny) with a small portrait of Mrs. Bingley, excessively like her. I went in hopes of seeing one of her Sister, but there was no Mrs. Darcy;—perhaps however, I may find her in the Great Exhibition which we shall go to, if we have time;—I have no chance of her in the collection of Sir Joshua Reynolds’s Paintings which is now showing in Pall Mall, & which we are also to visit.—Mrs. Bingley’s is exactly herself, size, shaped face, features & sweetness; there never was a greater likeness. She is dressed in a white gown, with green ornaments, which convinces me of what I had always supposed, that green was a favourite colour with her.* I dare say Mrs. D. will be in Yellow. […] —Monday even—We have been both to the Exhibition & Sir J. Reynolds’,—and I am disappointed, for there was nothing like Mrs. D. at either.—I can only imagine that Mr. D. prizes any Picture of her too much to like it should be exposed to the public eye.—I can imagine he wd have that sort [of ommitted] feeling—that mixture of Love, Pride & Delicacy. Setting aside this disappointment, I had great amusement among the Pictures; & the Driving about, the Carriage been open, [sic] was very pleasant (Le Faye, pp. 212-3).

Of course Austen scholars have searched for this portrait. The first resource to check is of course the catalogue of this exhibition, which was The Exhibition of the Society of Painters in Oil and Water Colours at The Great Room, Spring Gardens in London.

In 1986, Lance Bertelson used this catalogue to narrow down the possibilities, as he saw them, to 5:

Huet-Villiers, "Portrait of Mrs. Crompton" (catalogue no. 3)

Huet-Villiers, "Portrait of a Lady" (no. 27)

C. J. Robertson, "Portrait of Lady Anderson" (no. 15)

C. J. Robertson, "Portrait of Mrs. Clarke, of Weston [listed as such in the catalogue: but it should be 'Welton'] Place" (no. 116)

C. J. Robertson, "Portrait of Lady Nelthorpe" (no. 246).

He writes, however, that his "inquiries to major public collections in Britain and the USA have failed to turn up any of the above paintings"; but they may still exist in private collections. He says we know the portrait of Lady Nelthorpe to have been in Mrs. C. B. Prowse's private collection as of 1929. It was described by Basil Long thusly:

It is on ivory, about 7 3/4 in. x 5 3/4 in., and is signed at the back C. J. Robertson, pinxit / Apr: 1813. It is a 3/4 length portrait of a lady seated on a rustic bench in a landscape, with her hat on her lap... The face is shaded with brown and gray.

Two years later, in 1988, Martha Rainbolt has more success: she writes that "[b]y searching through the art libraries in London and this country [the USA], I have found some of the portraits and information about some of the other ones" (very annoyingly, she does not say where). She lists out 11 possibilities for the painting of Jane Bennet Bingley—everything in the catalogue claiming to feature a "girl," "Miss," "Mrs.," or "Lady":

"Girl in a Wood," Thomas Uwins (sometimes spelled Unwins)

"Girl decorating her Hair with Hops," Thomas Uwins

"Girl Reading a Ballad," Thomas Uwins

"Portrait of a Lady in the Character of Hebe," Jean Francois Marie Huet-Villiers

"Portrait of Lady Nelthorpe," Charles John Robertson

"Portrait of Lady Anderson," Charles John Robertson

"Portrait of Mrs. Crompton," Jean Huet-Villiers

"Portrait of Miss Smirnove," James Stephanoff

"Portrait of a Young Lady," James Hewlett

"Portrait of Mrs. Clarke, of Weston [sic] Place," Charles John Robertson

"Portrait of a Lady," Jean Huet-Villiers

According to Rainbolt, paintings 1 and 2 can be eliminated because they are of children. Painting 3 "is a work in the Italian style, rather grand and quite romanticized. This woman with her dark hair and sentimental look could not be the likeness of Jane Bingley" (I can't say I understand why Rainbolt thinks that Jane mustn't have dark hair). Painting 4 is of "a bare bosomed, very voluptuous lady sharing the canvas with an eagle who is hovering over her cup," and Rainbolt feels that this, too, can be eliminated.

Painting 5 is a possibility which Bertelson also mentioned. However, Rainbolt points out that it is a miniature, and Austen described the picture of Mrs. Bingley as a "small portrait"; and that Lady Nelthorpe would have been middle-aged at this time, and so not a good candidate for 23-year-old Mrs. Bingley. Of painting 6, Rainbolt says that the subject would also be too old (as she had been middle-aged as of the late 1780s).

This leaves paintings 7 through 11. Rainbolt was only able to locate information about one of them: #11, Jean Huet-Villiers' "Portrait of a Lady."

We don't still have this portrait. We don't know whether it still exists, and we don't have any photographs taken of it. What we do have is what is likely a copy of the portrait, in the form of a tinted engraving by William Blake:

The title of the engraving ("Mrs. Q," referring to Harriet Quentin, mistress of the Prince of Wales) is different from what the exhibition catalogue lists as the title of the Huet-Villiers portrait, but Rainbolt doesn't see this as problematic: the title had likely been changed in the exhibition to maintain the subject's anonymity, as was common practice at the time.

Rainbolt felt that the colour of the gown and ornament, and the "sweetness" of the face depicted, made it very likely that this was the portrait in question—though she notes that "It would be helpful if the portraits of Mrs. Crompton, Miss Smirnove, Hewlett's 'Young Lady,' and Mrs. Clarke would surface to be examined."

There was also a small problem, in the fact that Austen wrote green ornaments, while this gown only has one: but Rainbolt thinks that "This discrepancy might be explained by the circumstances: Jane Austen was writing an informal letter to her sister recalling the exhibition; she did not have the portrait in front of her when she wrote."

Deirdre Le Faye, writing in 1997, feels the question to still be an open one:

[...] [T]he three miniatures by Charles John Robertson in the same exhibition, of Lady Nelthorpe (No. 246) and her sisters-in-law Lady Anderson (No. 15), and Mrs. Clark of Welton [not Weston] Place (No. 116), cannot be completely ruled out as alternatives. (Footnote 4, pp. 416-7)

However, in the years since Le Faye wrote, and apparently without anyone noticing (?), that first miniature has appeared on auction site Christie's:

I think we can rule out this portrait as a possibility, due to the lack of any green ornamentation to the gown.

Bibliography

The Exhibition of the Society of Painters in Oil and Water-Colours. The Ninth. (London, 1813), p. 3.

Lance Bertelson, "A Portrait of Mrs. Bingley." Persuasions no. 8, 1986, 37-8.

Martha Rainbolt, "The Likeness of Austen's Jane Bennet: Huet-Villiers' 'Portrait of Mrs. Q'." English Language Notes, Dec. 1988, 35-43.

Jane Austen's Letters, Deirdre Le Faye ed. 3rd ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997.

Portrait of Harriet Quentin, half-length, turned to left, with Eton College in the background; after Huet Villiers. 1820 Hand-coloured stipple. British Museum asset no. 1613230005.

"Portrait of Lady Nelthorpe," Charles John Robertson (b. c. 1779). Christie's. Lot no. 3103729. 2001.

#Jane Austen #Jane Bennet #Jane Bingley #Pride and Prejudice #art #portrait of Mrs. Bingley

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ambiguous-avery · 22 days ago

Text

Chasing Shadows, Part 3

Dean Winchester x OC fem!Touched!Reader/You | WC: 6647

Summary: She’s never been afraid of the dark, not really. She’s more concerned about getting lost in it. He’s haunted by every dark deed he’s ever done. It’s constantly nipping at his heels like a hell hound. He’s her light in the dark, and she’s the one bit of darkness he’s willing to embrace.

Tags/Warnings: No use of Y/N, canon-typical violence, eventual romance, eventual smut, fluff and angst, POV alternating (sometimes a little all over the place), no beta we die like men

Disclaimer: The base concept of Touched comes from @aylacavebear and is used with permission. I’ve taken creative liberties with it.

A/N: Well my silly little brain realized I made a slight mistake when copying and pasting stuff over to Tumblr for my previous chapter, and I missed an entire paragraph. Just in case, double check the very end of chapter two. There should be an additional paragraph between MC’s statement, “I need to find my place in the world, and I know it’s not here.” and Dean’s response. I hope you guys know how absolutely amazing it is to see familiar usernames pop into my notifications and knowing that you’re following along. Thank you so, so much! Chasing Shadows Series Masterlist

You hadn’t really thought this all through before you acted. The realization that the hunt was complete and that the boys would likely leave soon had been so jarring that you just went with your knee jerk reaction and demanded to go along with them. If you were being entirely honest with yourself, you hadn’t expected them to let you. Dean and Sam seemed like they had a system, and there was a zero percent chance that you weren’t mucking with it. But you needed answers. Your curiosity demanded it. When they had agreed, you had quickly packed together a duffel bag of clothes, naively underestimating just what you had asked for.

When Sam explained it all in full, you balked. Their home base wasn’t local, and they spent a majority of their time on the road.

But it didn’t deter you. You had marched your happy ass back upstairs, – intending to pack a full suitcase – taken one step into your room, remembered that there was a dead vampire body in there, and turned right back around to let the boys take care of it. You didn’t let yourself think too much into how they were going to deal with it and instead spent the time downstairs compiling a list of things you would need to take with you. Watching them drive off with the body had been incredibly difficult. There was literally nothing stopping them from leaving for good, your request to go with them be damned.

You had trusted Sam and Dean with your life the night prior. Surely this was something less drastic to trust them about. Even so, you had checked the window in the front room for the Impala in between packing. They stayed true to their word and came back for you. So there you were. Two hours into a thirteen hour road trip with two absolute strangers with nothing but what would fit into a suitcase. And you were thrilled.

“So does everything in lore and mythology actually exist?” You asked excitedly. You were seated in the back seat of the Impala, your suitcase on the bench beside you, though you had spent most of the trip leaning forward as far as the seat belt would allow and peppering the boys with question after question.

“I wouldn’t say everything. But we’ve definitely seen our fair share of creatures.” Sam had humored you most of the trip so far. The man was practically a walking textbook, and you were a sponge for information.

“Ooh, you said that demons are real. Does that mean angels are too?” You had pieced together generic mental images of some of the creatures Sam had talked about. Most of them were cartoonish in nature, and you wondered if angels were the mass of eyes and wings that you had seen renditions of in various art pieces. Sam nodded.

“You know,” Dean chimed in, “we got an angel buddy we can call on. I’ll bet’cha he’ll have an answer for you.” You saw him glance at you in the rear view mirror, and the lap belt securing you creaked as you drew closer to him.

“Wait, really? It could be that easy?” A grin split across your face. “Then what?”

“What do you mean ‘then what’? Then you have your answer. And you do whatever you’re gonna do with it,” Dean said with a shrug. Your smile faltered. Why did that possibility disappoint you? You had spent countless years searching for an answer, and now that it was potentially so close, it didn’t have the same luster as before. Getting an answer directly from an angel seemed so… anticlimactic. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

If you were being entirely honest with yourself, you weren’t wholly sure why it wasn’t as appealing. There was something about the mystery of it. The search for the answer seemed more thrilling than actually having it. Your abilities have made you feel special, unique. Something that made you stand out from the crowd, a trait that all the heroes in fantasy stories you grew up reading had. What if the angel took one look at you and told you he had seen countless others like you, and you were just another run-of-the-mill creature the Winchesters hadn’t named yet? Doctors misdiagnosed all the time. Who was to say experienced hunters didn’t misidentify? You chose to hold onto the glimmer of hope that maybe you were something special.

“I just… I don’t know. I feel like it's cheating, just having someone tell me who or what I am.” You knit your brows together, leaning back in your seat. Sam turned as best as he could in his seat, having easily picked up on the change in your demeanor.

“He’s not always available. Besides, we don’t have to ask him. If you really feel like you have to work for it, we have an entire library of knowledge you can dig through," Dean said. That lifted your spirits. A library full of information about supernatural creatures once thought to only live in stories. You were going to have a field day there.

When Dean glanced in the rearview mirror some three hours after you and Sam had momentarily stopped nerding out over the subtle differences between a strigoi and a garden variety vampire, he found that you had fallen asleep in the back seat. You had slumped over the comically overstuffed suitcase you had shoved your life into before throwing caution to the wind and hopping on the road with them. Your keys were in your hand, the LED light attached to them flashing through its colors. The sight pulled a half-smile from him.

Saving people was a natural part of the family business. He had done it time and time again, oftentimes without the victim ever knowing they had been in danger in the first place. Even when the victim knew, a ‘thank you’ was all that the Winchesters would ever ask for. But you? When he had watched you step out from the shadows, tears streaking down your face, you had looked at him with something he had never seen directed his way. He’d seen appreciative looks meant for him before, and a woman’s fancying gaze was nothing new. But the look in your wide eyes had been something more akin to the look a damsel in distress would give to the main character as he saved her in one of the old Western movies Dean had watched before. Being regarded as a hero was new.

He knew that the things he and Sam did technically classified them both as the good guys, but Dean wouldn’t delude himself into believing that he was a good guy. There was far too much blood on his hands to be the one who wore the white hat. Dean had accepted that fact long ago, ingrained it into his very being. What was the saying? Something something, take nothing and leave only footprints? It would have to do for Dean. Take nothing from the world and leave fleeting memories of him in the minds of others.

He should’ve been upset. You had absolutely no idea what you were asking to be involved in. Hunting wasn’t something people just decided to get into. The 401k and dental benefits were severely lacking, and that wasn’t even considering all the occupational hazards that went along with it. More than anything, he should’ve been angrier with himself. Saying yes and allowing you to tag along was absolutely asinine in retrospect, but the feeling of your lips against his the night prior flashed to the forefront of his mind every time he thought about saying ‘no’ and taking back the decision. Dean was no stranger to kissing people, but he was used to fast, desperate kisses that led to wrinkled bed sheets and sweet nothings gasped into existence. Even though he could clearly see that you were into him – you were awful at hiding your lingering glances – there hadn’t been any of that push for more behind your actions. Kissing had always been a means to an end, but without the promise of sex, it became a destination in and of itself. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had kissed him without the expectation of being shown a good time.

By the fourth or fifth time Dean had glanced at you in the mirror, he caught a glimpse of Sam watching him from the passenger side. He quickly reigned his thoughts in and met Sam’s gaze, letting nonchalance smooth over his features.

“What’s up, Sammy?” he asked, trying to sound more upbeat than he actually felt. Sam’s expression told Dean that he wasn’t buying it. Working so closely with Sam for as long as he had was a double edged sword. No one in the world knew him as well as Sam did. While that meant he and Sam were like extensions of each other when on a hunt, it also meant that he could read Dean like a book. Dean pretended he couldn’t.

“You said yes.” There was an edge in Sam’s voice, and Dean recognized the ‘I’m about to call you out on your bullshit’ tone.

“I say yes to a lot of things. Burgers, beer, pie... pretty women.”

“Except you wouldn’t say yes to a pretty woman asking to become a hunter. Yet here we are.”

“She didn’t ask to be a hunter, Sam. She wanted answers. Big difference. One puts you face to face with some ugly sons of bitches. The most dangerous thing about a book is a paper cut. Or dying of boredom… but I can think of a few ways to keep that from happening.” Dean quirked his eyebrows suggestively. Sam grimaced.

“Gross.”

“You’re the one who went digging for the answers.”

“You know that’s not what I was getting at.” Dean didn’t respond, so Sam veered off into a slightly safer conversation route. “Okay, fine. Any thoughts about what she is?”

It was an obvious out, and Dean was all too happy to take it.

“Well she passed the big three, so that rules out a lot. There were family photos all over the house, and a crucifix hanging above the front door.” Dean took another glance in the rearview mirror, making sure you were still passed out. He dropped his voice. “Cas can give us better clarity later. She can hunt down her answer all she wants, but I’ll feel better knowing she’s not something Cas says we need to worry about.”

“Yeah, whatever you say, Dean,” Sam said, shaking his head with a disbelieving half-smile on his face. He knew Sam wasn’t buying it, but Dean was stubborn enough that, if he dug his heels in deep, Sam would eventually let it go.

You woke with one hell of a crick in your neck. Falling asleep on your suitcase had been a terrible mistake, and now you were going to pay for it for the next day, at least. You sat up and rolled your shoulders, working out the stiffness as best as you could.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.” You met Dean’s gaze in the rear view mirror, and you could see him grinning. You smiled back.

“Good morning,” you responded, taking a look out the window. You were no longer on the highway. Instead, it looked as though you guys were traveling through a small town, not unlike the one you grew up in. “Where are we?”

“Bumfuck nowhere, Kansas,” Dean said, “Sam might have found another case, and it’s on our way. Figured it couldn’t hurt to stop by and see if it’s something down our alley.” Your next breath was sharp.

“What are we hunting?” you asked quietly, all traces of drowsiness wiped clear from your system. Dean’s grin fell.

“We,” he motioned from himself to Sam, “are hunting a possible ghost. You are staying at the motel room we’re about to get.”

To make his point, Dean turned off the main road, pulling into the parking lot of a motel that sat across the street from a small diner and a pawn shop. You frowned.

“What do you mean? I can’t come with you guys?”

“Look,” Dean said your name and slung an arm across the back of the front bench of the car, twisting to look at you fully. “Sam and I have done this hundreds of times. You haven’t even been with us for a full 24 hours, and I’m not going to put you back in the middle of a case. You asked to come along so you could get answers. This doesn’t have anything to do with answers you’re looking for.” His tone held an air of finality that reminded you of the way your dad used to sound when he had made up his mind about something. You crossed your arms, likely looking as much like a kid as you felt at the moment. When you didn’t argue back, he got out of the car and went into the office.

You turned to Sam.

“Can’t you say something to him?” you asked, motioning to Dean’s retreating back. Sam shook his head, his long hair flopping a bit with the movement. Your frown deepened.

“He’s right. There’s too much that can go wrong even when it’s him and me on a case. You’ve seen firsthand that what we do is dangerous.”

“But wouldn’t it be better to have an extra set of eyes and ears on things? What if you interview people and you miss something they say? Or what if it’s a whole pack of vampires? Wouldn’t having more people be beneficial in that scenario?”

“Can you tell me the difference between a poltergeist and a banshee?” The sudden shift in the conversation caught you off guard, and your scowl quickly gave way to a confused look.

“What?”

“How do you get rid of a vengeful spirit? What can you do to slow it down?” Sam hit you with question after question, asking another before you could even begin to say ‘I don’t know.’ “You don’t know,” he said for you. “And that’s okay. We don’t expect you to. But on a case, there are things you need to know otherwise you put everyone at risk, including yourself.” As Sam explained his reasoning, he methodically stripped away every ounce of fight you had in your system until all you could do was nod dumbly in agreement with him. You didn’t like it, but it was a sound explanation.

The three of you settled down into the motel room rather unceremoniously. You could see it in the way that they moved that they had a routine figured out. Dean tossed a duffel bag onto the bed Sam was sitting on, and you hadn’t missed the fact that there were only two beds in the room. On one hand, it would make the most sense for the two of them to share a bed and leave the other one for yourself. On the other, though, there was a solid part of you that was sure they were going to relegate you to the loveseat by the door. Both Winchesters were tall, and there was no way either of them were going to be able to get a good night’s rest on it.

“Scoot over, Sammy. We’re back to sharing,” Dean grunted as he collapsed on the mattress next to the bag he had just thrown. Annoyance flashed across Sam’s face, and you saw him glance from Dean to you then back to Dean.

It would be a lie if you said you were only a little disappointed this hadn’t been a full on ‘only one bed and two of us’ cliche moment. You were fairly confident that Dean had some interest in you. The few times you had caught him looking at you in the car, he had met your gaze fearlessly and flashed that toothy smile that caused your stomach to flip. Every time. This wasn’t some Hallmark movie where a traveller came through and swept a small town girl off her feet. That sort of thing didn’t happen in real life. You had barely set your suitcase down beside the bed that had been unofficially dubbed yours before the boys were back on their feet.

“We’re gonna go do some investigating. Shouldn’t take us too long. We should be back around dinner time, and we can hit up that diner across the way,” Dean unzipped the bag he had set on the bed and passed a handgun over to you.

“You have both of our numbers, right?” Sam asked, double checking that his own phone was safely tucked away in his pocket. You nodded and took the firearm, noting that it was the same one you had been given before.

“When we leave, you lock the deadbolt and stay here. You don’t let anyone in that isn’t me or Sam, and if you aren’t sure, you call. Got it?”

“What do you mean if I’m not sure?” You paused for a second. “Wait, nevermind. You’re talking about shapeshifters, aren’t you?”

The boys had left three hours ago, and you were running out of things to keep yourself occupied. The TV in the motel room didn’t have many channels, and the only thing worth watching on any of them were reruns of old sitcoms. There were only so many mind-numbing episodes of sitcoms you could stomach, and three hours of them were pushing it. You had dug through all the drawers in the room and had a notepad and golf pencil to show for your efforts. By hour four, you had had enough. The room was stifling, and you were sure that if you had spent any more time pacing, you were going to wear through the thin carpet. Between the lack of anything engaging in the room and the gnawing concern that maybe something bad had happened to Sam or Dean, you were ready to rip your hair out. You needed something to serve as a distraction.

The pawn shop’s neon ‘open’ sign across the way drew your eye when you peeked out the window. Sure, you had been told to stay put, but really, how much trouble could you get into going across the way? You tucked the handgun beneath the pillow of your assigned bed, took three steps towards the door, then stopped. How much danger did a ghost pose? Did it stick to one place? Or did it choose the people it latched onto or lashed out at? What were you even thinking? If it was a ghost, then you were in no more danger across the street than you were in the motel room. You wouldn’t be far, and it wouldn’t be for long. You were a big girl who could make her own decisions. You made sure to grab the room key on your way out.

The pawn shop was small and dingy, and the bars on the windows made it feel prison-like. There was a bell above the door that jingled when you walked in. The girl sitting behind the counter didn’t even bother looking up from the book she was reading, only making a small noise of acknowledgement as you walked by her. She was dressed from head to toe in black with several face piercings that you were sure would’ve been a bitch and a half to get. Honestly, she looked as bored as you felt. The shop was dead with only the two of you in it. There were only a handful of aisles in the shop which subsequently meant that you had meandered your way through them in no time. You went through for a second look, taking any chance you could get at spending time away from the motel room. The amount of junk that people pawned off was astounding. There were several power tools that looked like they would need a prayer to start working and far too many VHS players that people had likely gotten rid of with the advent of DVDs.

“Hey,” a voice caused you to freeze midway through reaching for a closed toolbox. You looked up to see the gal from behind the counter standing at the end of the aisle.

“Uh... yeah?” you responded, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“There’s something you might like over here,” she said, her tone deadpan. You stayed rooted to where you were standing for a moment. Something felt... off, but you couldn’t quite place your fingers on what might have been causing the feeling. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, and you briefly reprimanded yourself for leaving the gun back in the motel room. This was weird, too weird for your comfort. But despite it all feeling strange, it didn’t necessarily feel wrong. It would be easy to leave and book it across the way back to the room. Dean and Sam would never have any idea that you had left, and things would be fine. The worker’s face poked from around the shelf after a moment, expression still impassive. “Come on. I don’t bite, I promise.”

And that’s what did it, your honor. That’s what had you running across the parking lot and barricading yourself in the motel room, crappy wooden chair braced against the door knob and you huddling in the shower, gun in hand. You absolutely weren’t going to be another vampire’s meal, and the ghost wasn’t going to possess you without a fight. Could ghosts even possess people? Sam was right earlier. You really had no idea about anything in the realm of the supernatural. It was officially your new goal to learn anything and everything about every supernatural creature that you could. By the time you were done with the library they had promised you, you were going to be a goddamn encyclopedia. You lost track of how long you spent in the bathroom, ears straining for any hint that the girl across the way had followed after you. When you finally deemed it safe enough to step out from the shower, you brandished the gun, eyes sweeping across the room warily. Nothing seemed out of place. The chair was still tucked against the door, and the only sound in the room was the blood rushing in your ears.

This was fine.

Everything was fine.

You took several deep breaths, centering yourself back in the moment. Okay. The question then became ‘how to tell the boys you might have found a lead without revealing that you left the room.’ You had the very distinct feeling that telling them you left wasn’t going to fly very well. Was there a lie that would sound believable enough? God, what if there wasn’t even anything going on with that girl, and she was just weird? Was this all just one big case of apophenia? Dean and Sam said they were hunting a ghost; what were the chances that you just happened to come across the thing? Logically, it didn’t make sense. But still, there was something about the place that you couldn’t shake. And your curiosity was clawing at you.

By the time the boys had come back to the room and shared their findings, you had devised the perfect plan to lead them to the possible ghost without ever letting on that you had ever stepped out of the room. To your dismay, they came back triumphant, talking about how the spirit had latched onto some ancient heirloom that was passed down in a family. When the last family member had died and given the heirloom to someone of a different bloodline, the spirit that stuck around to protect the initial family hadn’t been happy and instead killed whoever had the heirloom. It was a cut and dry case. They had destroyed the heirloom, and without it, the ghost had nothing to tether it to this realm. Your foot tapped impatiently as they spoke, pushing around the last few of your fries on your plate. You interspersed questions about ghosts here and there, slowly honing in on your theory. Only powerful ghosts could possess people, and it was very rare that a ghost possessing someone had good intentions. Could there be more than one ghost in the same town? It wasn’t impossible. Improbable, maybe. But still within the realm of possibilities. You weren’t willing to let your hunch go to waste so quickly.

“Can we go into the pawn shop next door?” you asked when the bill came around. Dean raised an eyebrow at you.

“Doubt they have anything good,” he said with a shrug as he tossed several bills onto the table.

“Please? I’ve been cooped up in the hotel room all day. I’m dying to spend some time outside of it,” you pressed, putting on your best puppy dog pout. Sam laughed.

“You two can go. After getting tossed around like a ragdoll, I need a hot shower and some sleep.” Sam brushed his hair out of his face and moved to stand up from the booth. Dean followed suit.

“Just what I need… someone else in my life who has puppy dog eyes as a weapon.” He snatched one of the fries you had left behind on your plate. “Let’s go see what kind of junk they have next door.”

As much as you had wanted Dean to walk into the pawn shop first, he kindly held the door for you and made a dramatic gesture of bowing as you walked past. “After you, princess.” You laughed and tamped down your nerves enough to place your hand on his head, briefly noting how deceptively soft his hair was, and pushed, forcing his bow to deepen.

“A real bow to royalty would expose your neck. It shows reverence,” you teased. He chuckled and turned his head enough to look at you.

“I always associated reverence with religion. I’m not a religious man, but I’d worship you if you asked.” You were pretty sure your eyes had doubled in size because wow that was a line if you had ever heard one. But also, how the hell he had delivered it in a way that didn’t make you cringe was truly a mystery. You didn’t have a response for him and instead continued into the pawn shop, warmed by the blush Dean had managed to color your cheeks with.

The same woman with piercings from earlier was seated behind the cash register again. She glanced up from her book, and you froze in place. The two of you made eye contact, but you didn’t see a hint of recognition in her eyes before she went back to the book she was reading. Despite that, you still felt on edge. Something about this place just didn’t feel... normal. Just like before, you couldn’t quite say that things felt wrong.

“Does this place feel weird to you at all?” you asked quietly as Dean stepped into the shop behind you.

“It’s a little musty, but you can’t really have high expectations for a small place like this,” he responded. He made a move to wander down an aisle, but you grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and tugged him in the opposite direction.

“Can... can we look over here?” you urged, pointing towards the glass jewelry case just to the right of the cashier. Maybe he just needed to get closer and his hunter senses would tingle. That was a thing, right? Definitely how those worked.

“Yeah, go for it, sweetheart. I’m gonna look over here,” he jut his thumb in the opposite direction you were hoping for. You had to suppress the frown that threatened to tug the corners of your mouth downwards. Of course he wouldn’t make this easy on you.

You approached the jewelry case carefully, keeping the cashier in your peripheral vision. She seemed thoroughly engrossed in her book, though you weren’t ready to fully believe that she wasn’t secretly tracking you just above the pages. The jewelry case was only half full of various rings and necklaces neatly laid out for viewing. There were several commemorative coins and badges and a few knives in the case as well. Surprisingly though, none of the glittering pieces caught your eye. Instead, your gaze gravitated to a single dark pendant. You scooted closer to the side of the display case where the pendant hung. The thoughts of what the cashier might have been up to suddenly slipped from your mind as the necklace drew all of your attention to itself.

Realistically, it wasn’t anything fancy and probably didn’t belong in the same case as the diamonds that sat next to it. It was a simple crescent moon shaped pendant that was a little smaller than a silver dollar. Silver wire was wrapped around it haphazardly, and it hung from a black, braided cord. The most interesting thing about it was that it appeared to have been chipped out from a solid piece of obsidian. You vaguely remember seeing someone at a museum forever and a day ago chipping away flakes of obsidian from a larger chunk to shape an arrowhead. This looked the same, right down to the edges that you were confident were sharp enough to leave a nasty cut if you grabbed it the wrong way.

“Can I look at this?” you asked, momentarily forgetting all about your concerns of a possibly possessed cashier. Big mistake.

The cashier was already looking at you when you glanced at her to ask for the necklace in the case. There was a flicker of acknowledgement in her eyes, and a smile that looked entirely out of place on her crept over her features. Your hackles rose, and you spared the briefest moment of attention towards where Dean was hidden behind several shelves. If you screamed, surely he would get to you in time. You saw him tuck the handgun into the inside pocket of his jacket before dinner, so you weren’t entirely caught flatfooted. Well, he wasn’t. You, on the other hand, only had the silver pocket knife Dean had insisted you cut yourself with before he let you into the Impala. While it was better than nothing, you weren’t sure you wanted to get close enough to stab a ghost or whoever it might have possessed.

The sound of the pendant clattering onto the glass case drew you from your thoughts.

“This is what you were talking about, right?” the cashier asked in the same deadpan tone from earlier. You gave a single curt nod but didn’t move to touch the necklace. As if she had sensed your hesitation, the cashier took a step back, back pressed against the wall behind her. You moved slowly, half expecting her to lunge at you or screech or whatever it was that ghosts did to scare people. She didn’t budge, and as your fingertips brushed against the stone pendant, you were surprised to find that it was warm. Touching it immediately soothed your nerves, and while you were still consciously wary of your surroundings, the little voice in the back of your head that told you to run as far away as possible went quiet. Your shoulders relaxed, the tension falling away from them in large chunks the longer you held onto the moon.

“How much for it?” you asked, and when you looked at the cashier again, it seemed as though the stone’s calming effect extended to her as well. The strange smile that had split her face before was more serene and human-like.

“Five bucks and we’ll call it even,” she said simply. You nodded, still unsettled by the entire situation. But if it were a bad situation, then Dean would’ve noticed it, right? Speaking of, you were about to turn and call out for him, wanting to know where he had gotten off to. There weren’t many places to hide in this small shop.

“What’d you find?” Dean popped up behind you, and you just about tossed the necklace into the air. You turned around to glare at him.

“Where did you go?”

“Wanted to see if they had any guns I was interested in. What have you got there?” He motioned to your hand, and you held it out to show him the necklace. Dean gave a small nod of acknowledgement, and you paid for the necklace, running a finger along the smooth surface of the moon all the while. You saw it when the cashier handed you the receipt for your purchase. Her movements, which up to that point had seemed almost stilted and awkward, evened out, and as you watched her grab her book and take a seat on the stool again, it looked like the most natural thing of all. She had gone back to ignoring you and Dean. It was fucking weird.

You stepped out of the pawn shop with Dean in tow, and you slipped your newly acquired necklace over your head. The pendant, which was still inexplicably warm, sat against your skin as you tucked it beneath your shirt. As soon as it was settled, the pendant suddenly hummed to life, vibrating gently for a few endless seconds before going quiet.

“Dean, di–” Your vision went dark.

The Void was a familiar place to you. You didn’t know all of its intricacies, but deep down, you knew it like it was an extension of yourself. It wasn’t quite a friend, but it wasn’t an enemy either. The Void was just that – a void. A mass expanse of nothing that existed for reasons you couldn’t possibly fathom. And there was nothing there. Besides you.

And whatever that was.

Ahead of you was something you couldn’t find the words for. The Void was dark, lacking all light, but whatever you were looking at was somehow darker. If the Void was a shadow, then the thing was a negative space within the darkness. It had a vaguely humanoid shape, but the longer you stared and tried to make out a definitive shape, the more the edges of the nothingness shifted, eluding you. You swallowed hard. You hadn’t Walked into the shadows, and the only time you ever slipped into the Void by mistake was when you were sleeping and had a nightmare. Although you couldn’t make out an actual shape of whatever was in front of you, it lifted its head as though it had been hunched over with its back towards you.

It turned around, and although this other side of it was still as featureless as the first, you swore you could feel eyes on you. Its gaze pierced through you, seeing every building block that had put you together piece by piece. In that moment, you had the very distinct feeling that whatever this thing was could unmake you with little more than a thought. And it was a terrifying realization.

“Well, well, well... you aren’t supposed to be here.” The words resonated in your head. They were a whisper against your cheek. They were a song in your heart. They were everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. But most importantly, the Void didn’t eat them. The words were spoken in a voice you didn’t recognize, but it was distinctly feminine in nature. You couldn’t explain it, but you watched as the figure raised a finger to their lips. “Shh... we’re both breaking rules by being here.”

“Who are you?” Your voice sounded foreign, and you realized this was the first time you could hear in the Void.

“That’s not the question you want to ask.” The voice’s tone was gentle but firm, like a teacher nudging a student in the direction of the correct answer.

“What are you?”

“Hmm... almost there but not quite. Give it one more try, won’t you, my dear?”

“What am I?” The words left your lips before you realized you had even thought them.

The figure was suddenly right in front of you, invisible fingers pulling the crescent moon from beneath your shirt and unseen lips pressed against your forehead. You looked up, finding more nothingness in front of you but feeling the warm embrace of one arm wrapped around you.

“You are my Touched, and I bestow my blessing upon you.” The Void exploded, leaving you floating in a sea of stars that glittered like distant coins. It was a cloudless night, and you found yourself reaching out towards the only dark spot in the sky shaped like the crescent you wore around your neck.

“Hey, sweetheart? You in there?” Dean was snapping his fingers in front of your face. You jolted back into reality with a start, finding yourself standing just outside of the pawn shop. “You alright? Where’d you go?” Dean asked, and you watched as his eyes searched your face for any sign of... something. You weren’t sure what he was looking for.

“Yeah... sorry. Uh...” You tried running what had just happened through your head, but the harder you focused on it, the more it slipped away from you. “I wasn’t sure if I turned off the stove before I left home.” Dean laughed, your words placating him.

“I’m pretty sure you checked everything about three times over before we left. I think it’s a safe bet that you’re okay.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

The motel room was dark when Dean pushed the door open, and when he flicked the light on, he let out a low, exasperated groan.

“Oh come on!” When you stepped inside, you saw exactly what had drawn that kind of reaction from him. Sam had followed through on his plan for the evening. You could hear the bathroom fan still humming across the room, and Sam was collapsed in a heap on top of the blankets of the bed he and Dean were sharing. Supposed to be sharing. Sam had fallen asleep right in the middle of the bed. Whether that was on purpose or not was a different question, though.

You wet your lips. Maybe there was a god and he had heard your unsaid prayers from earlier. With a heavy sigh, Dean grabbed his duffel bag from the bed and moved it to the small wooden chair in the room.

“Do you want help moving him?” you asked. Sam was tall and decently built – if the T-shirt clinging to his back muscles was anything to go by – but his height meant that his weight was likely more spread out. You certainly wouldn’t be able to lift him, but you were confident you could probably drag him a bit with Dean’s help.

“Nah, he took the brunt of the ghosts’s attention today. He deserves it. Just toss me one of the extra pillows; I’ll make do on the couch.” Even though his tone was nonchalant, there was a hint of something more beneath it. You remembered him mentioning that he was the older brother at some point during the car ride, and while you hadn’t ever had siblings growing up, you had friends that were practically family over the years. You would’ve given up the bed for them too if it meant they got to be comfortable.

A beat passed between you two as you grabbed a pillow from the second bed.

“There’s room in my bed,” you said before you could let your nerves get the better of you. “If you want,” you added hastily. Green eyes met yours, and your fingers unconsciously found the shape of the pendant beneath your shirt. It thrummed against your skin, and you felt your nervousness melt away as Dean spoke, his million-dollar smile lighting up the room more than the overhead lamp.

“You didn’t have to conspire with Sammy just to get me in your bed. All you had to do was ask, sweetheart.”

It felt good being God’s favorite.

---

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Taglist: @wendichester

Want to join the taglist? Ask away!

Part 2 --- Part 4

#dean fanfiction #dean x you #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural x reader #supernatural fanfic series #canon typical violence #jensen ackles characters #x reader #reader insert #spn #supernatural #jsensen ackles #Chasing Shadows

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rq-producerperson · 6 months ago

Note

Hello!

Basic question: any tips for getting into a career involved with creative stuff? (Anything, but specifically audio design and writing.)

Additional information about my specific situation I suppose: I'm heading into my second year of college, and have been working towards getting my degree in anthropology with the hope of going into artifact preservation/restoration. However that's kind of always been a... Second priority, I suppose, as I've always wanted to make a living off of my writing, but assumed that even if that was really possible, I should get a degree in something else.

Last year at school I was working as a stage tech for the college of the arts there (mainly for concerts, not theatre), and I loved it a ton and genuinely wouldn't mind a career in that vein.

The last three months I've been working a shitty assembly line job (9 hour days in a windowless room doing the same thing over and over and over and-). The only plus side to it is I've had plenty of time to listen to stuff, and I've gotten really into Magnus. The Q&A episodes and things like that made me realize that there are other things I could do (and love) in a creative vein than just writing. I'd also never considered that my enjoyment of doing tech for live stuff might translate outside of that, but I really genuinely think it would.

So next year I'm taking a bit of a jump and I'm going to be taking some of the introductory journalism courses at my school. (There's a film and media production emphasis under the major with plenty of room for more fiction-oriented work. And then grad school is something I've been seriously considering since I learned the word anthropology, so that's still very on the table if I choose to pursue this.)

This has been a really big switch for me, and quite frankly I'm terrified of getting stuck at a job like the one I currently have for the rest of my life, with a creative degree just rotting in the corner. (At least with anthropology there would probably be another five+ years of school after undergrad, so that was less of a looming issue.)

Just... Any advice on getting my foot in the door? Especially with hopes of eventually moving out of the states?

Sorry for such a long ask, I'm very bad at being brief. :p

Thank you!

Heya, thanks for the Ask. I’ve had this one sitting for a while thinking of the best way to answer, because the truth is that life is variable so I struggle to give what I feel is meaningful advice when the landscape is always shifting.

However, I’ll do my best with what I know.

The keys that I think are best are Patience, Perseverance, and People.

First, Patience.

I’ve mentioned this a few times but it’s important to remember, life changes quickly and the creative market is constantly shifting. Being able to pursue a job in the creative industry means having the patience to wait for the right wave to paddle to, the right gust to lift you up. But like with nature, there is never a guarantee that the winds or tides of fate will flow your way. There’s an element of chance to it.

You have to be prepared to change and take chances when you feel they are right for you. Shoot out before you’re comfortable and you’ll sink, wait too long and you’ll miss a great wave. I can’t give an answer to when is best to know your ready or what the right chance is to take. I CAN however advise that waiting, watching, and learning is the best chance to take that shot. So, learn as much as you can and stay curious and adaptable.

Second, Perseverance

When you have decided a path to trod, a wave to ride. You commit. Know how to move with the current and keep your focus. It’s easy to keep laying out options, but when you have found that Moment that’s right for you to act on your chosen course, you can go in half way.

Before RQ and during the first half of my employment here I was always working two jobs. I’ve done retail, freelance, post graduate work, office administration, accounting, entertainment hosting, you name it. I was an office assistant when I started at RQ but quickly knew that even though I couldn’t make money with it (it was still just Alex in a Yurt at that time), I wanted to commit to it, to make that job the best thing I could do, and I kept a simple day job to make ends meet. I got lucky, I found a mentor who taught me how to advocate for myself and that I had a creative voice after spending years being beaten down. But I also had the conviction and perseverance to know there was something worth building on.

And we did that together.

Which brings me to my last point, People.

You hear a lot in the creative industry that it’s “about Who you Know” and that’s true, but not entirely in the way you think. Learn about people, what their strengths are, how they compliment each other. Surround yourself with likeminded people that want to attain the same goal, have the same passions. Breaking through the creative industry cannot be done in a vacuum. Always make sure you have a support network of other passionate, skilled, and dedicated humans.

Don’t know how to meet people? I bet you do more than you think. Fandom was my in, not just from shooting my shot, but for teaching me how to work creatively with others. (I still try to do art companion work with fanfic writers when I can)

So yea, maybe it’s a standard answer or underwhelming, but the truth is there is no magic key. There’s Skill, Luck, Determination, and Community that make these kind of jobs possible.

#oops got on a soapbox #just me things #answered asks #my thoughts #content creator #jobseekers

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ramim · 1 year ago

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Of James and Severus; a testament of bullies:

Often in the fandom, it's brought up that James Potter was a bully and Severus Snape was the victim; nowadays it is a popular view. Which I agree and disagree to; so let's have some thoughts about who was the actual bully, who should we forgive and who was the victim! Have it in mind that my sources are books and I don't care about the movies, the fanfictions and the fandom's headcanons! Only book facts.

Here we go:

James Potter:

James Potter was a bully in his teenage years, there is no discussion in that; he often spelled and jinxed other students with no obvious reason whatsoever! We know James Potter was a bully not only from Snape's memory but also from Sirius's confirmation about it. So it's proven to all of us. But we also know that he had grown out of it in his six_seventh year in hogwarts. He then joined the order of phoenix and started fighting Voldemort (the biggest bully of all times). He fought Voldemort three times and he died the fourth time. James Potter died a hero.

These above were facts! Now:

James Potter was never a racist (in the concept of magical world, centaurs, werewolves and merpeople are race) , his friendship with Remus Lupin and his love for Lily Evans shows us that he never had any care for blood status or the nonsenses about werewolves; james potter was never mean toward anyone because who or what they were, he generally was mean, but also he was nice, since most people liked him!

James potter was not evil in any major way; he never tried to kill anyone, torture anyone, unreservedly hurt anyone or things like that.

When the time came and adulthood arrived, he became a responsible man; he never treated people the way he used to and the ones who remember him, remember him as a good man, brave and all.

His hatred for Severus Snape was always there, ever since the first year for two reason: 1) Lily's relationship with Severus; 2) Severus inclination toward dark magic...but are these to good reason to be a bully? No!

But was he a bully toward Severus in particular? My answer is...no! Because we have it as a fact that Severus as well missed no chance to spell or jinx James Potter! Bullying is not a two_sided relationship and if two people of opposite side are doing it, then it's not bullying, it's rivalry.

Have it in mind that I'm not saying james wasn't a bully! I'm saying he wasn't a bully to Severus Snape. Because they did it to eachother.

James potter never bullied again; he grew out of it. He fought for freedom and for people who was born from non-magical families. He did it even if it risked his own family.

James potter died a hero; it doesn't magically erase all the wrong he did, but he also did some good! So...

Severus Snape

Severus snape was also a bully! But from a very different background. He was the only son of a poor family which in he never saw or felt love and loved! He was a part of a racist group in school who all believe in blood supermacy, he himself only considered Lily Potter an exception; but had no qualms considering the rest of muggle-borns, mudbloods! afterwards even though Lily potter was his friend once, he joined Voldemort! The very person whose whole ideal world was based on oppression and murder against muggle-borns and those with impure blood. He then informed Voldemort of a prophecy which directly lead to the death of Lily and James Potter. Afterwards he regretted his actions and joined the order of phoenix, working for them as a spy. He saved harry's life in more than one occasion. And he died a hero.

These all above are facts; now:

Even though the fandom doesn't like to believe, Severus snape was a bully! He was in group of bullies at school who all joined Voldemort afterwards and he himself did the same.

Severus Snape was also a purist and a racist! He believed in blood supremacy untill it came back and bit him in the ass

He was also a very smart person with a brilliant mind, he was one of Voldemort trusted men and believed in the guy to the point that he informed the dark lord about the prophecy the moment he saw a treat to his lord's reign of terror!

He never cared about other people who might have gotten hurt because of his actions, he never cared untill someone he cared about got hurt because of his actions (which was foreseeable considering Lily was muggle-born)

Severus Snape never stopped being a bully. He later continued bullying children who were his students; he bullied Neville Longbottom nonstop and help the other Slytherins such as Malfoy bully the poor kid even further.

He often mocked and humiliate children like Hermione Granger with no regret and he would often side with the other bullies such as Malfoy!

After hearing the prophecy, he knew that Lord Voldemort will pursue the family who were going to be his demise! He knew that the boy in prophecy would be a one-year-old baby; but he informed Voldemort anyway! He didn't care that an innocent child would end up dead!

After realising the child in prophecy was harry potter and not Neville Longbottom, he only asked Voldemort to spare Lily's life (which Voldemort tried to do before trying to kill Harry, he gave Lily a chance to live, she didn't take it) but Severus never cared that how Lily would feel after losing her husband and child!

Severus Snape hatred toward Neville Longbottom was because it could be the Longbottoms and not Potters That were targeted by Voldemort! And that's...fucked up!

Severus Snape later risked his life to protect harry and ultimately kill Voldemort; was it because any higher cause? No! He felt guilty for his part in Lily's death and he wanted revenge against Voldemort.

He worked as a spy for the order, he then became Dumbledore trusted man and then he was killed by Voldemort so Voldemort could gain the ownership of the elder wand

Severus Snape was a bully, never stopped being a bully, never cared for anything out of his own feelings and his own regrets. He died a hero, but does it magically erase all the thing he did? No!

Severus Snape was not a good person, he was a gray character. Yes he was played by Alan Rickman, a very good actor who I loved but just because he was played by a loveable actor, doesn't mean he was good and nice and oh such a sweet innocent baby!

It is a simple matter.

Between a teenage bully who later grew out of it and started fighting for a good cause and teenage bully who later became a part of a terrorist organisation and then became a grown adult who liked to bully children and never actually cared for the life of others; the choice is obvious.

James Potter had always been a better man.

And it is a fact.

P.s: To all the angry people, I said what I said and I meant it😂 not gonna answer anything because it's obvious, the rest is up to you.

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fbs-fc-ur-mommy · 2 years ago

Text

! Tomioka Giyuu! x! yamada sagiri reader! Short ch

Warnings :mentions of bullying, manga spoilers (demon slayer) major character death, angst.

________________/////////___________________

-Nobody knew that you we're together until Mitsuri became suspicious when she saw you two so close, and Giyuu smiling around you which was an rare sight.

-spy you 24/7

-When she confirms it she couldn't wait but to share her unexpected news to Obanai.

-He was shocked. Literally jaw dropping. Who thought an loser like him could pull women. If he do it, he should do it with Mitsuri too.

-Obanai shared this information to Sanemi, Sanemi to Uzui, Uzui to Shinobu and Shinobu to Renkogu.

-Sanemi keeps asking you how you could get together with someone like Giyuu.

-Shinobu started calling you miss Tomioka.

-Giyuu situation was worse

-Sanemi keep threatening him

-Shinobu teasing got worse, until it becomes annoying than before.

-Distances from Shinobu

-Uzui wanted to tell giyuu methods of more "beautiful sexual experience"

-Obanai like Sanemi, always when they meet, he smash his shoulder on Giyuu s.

-For you it was like your fellow hashira approved and support you. For Giyuu it became pure hell.

-"We need to break out"

-"HUH"? You couldn't believe what you heard, what you're seeing. It's this man, before you, looking at you coldly like, you are some demon, the man you loved before? The man who cried in your lap, the one who-

-"Stay away from me and my estate, until you keep your dogs away from me we can give another chance "

-Furrowing your eyebrows you drew out your katana ready too attack. You couldn't handle the disrespect. Father, brother or lover everyone needs to respect you as long you do.

-"I'll let that slide, just imagine if I say what you just said about our fellow hashira you j-." as you said that you saw Giyuu right hand on his katana handle and before you knew you two started attacking each other.

-Deciding to attack him with your Ninth Form: Idaten Typhoon, that allows user to flip into the air and dash multiples powerful strong circular wind blows that destroy anything below.

-Your effort put in that attack was just countered by his 11 form. And with an hand of sand, trowing in your direction blinding you.

-Closing the eyes just for 1 sec and your katana is out of your hand, and you're on your back, breathing heavily, Giyuu above you on your stomach fully weighted on you and a katana at your neck, cutting the first layer of skin. Your stamina and resistance wasn't your thing.

-"Hah? You look beautiful above me, but I prefer below me" just as you said this an hand slapped you hard against the cheek, smiling sarcastically you couldn't help but laugh.

-"I will let this slide, just imagine if I say what you've just done to your fellow hashira? " getting up he put his katana back and turned to leave.

-Your an loser! I have millions of explanations ! Do you think that you can turn me off with that statement?! Think about your words more carefully son of a b!" as you let finnaly let your tears out you watched him leave without an care." I will leave you the same as you did to me! " you thought, getting up to your estate.

-He couldn't get her out of his head for the next 6 months. Her long brown hair, her eyes everything was perfect. She had the looks of an ordinary girl, not like mitsuri or shinobu but her beauty was elegant and simple. His type.

-You two didn't talk to each other for 1 year. You heard that he saved some boy with his sister. You didn't have an fuck to go to the meeting. Your mom funeral was more important .

-Months passed away and this boy was like some upper moon talisman. Lucky or unlucky you didn't know, but you refused two times to go with him. You didn't want to lose something like Uzui. After this they planned to have an "training". You aggred having the spot as "stealth" being after Uzui training.

-You've left to meet your fellow teacher. You we're just an tsuguko 4 years ago but now you are an hashira. You thought if Sanemi could see you more as an ex tsuguko. As you saw Sanemi fighting with giyuu you didn't intervene. Being boring to wait you decided to walk a bit around. As you walked, an door suddenly appeared under your feet, devouring you in..

________----__-_--_--_--_-_-_--__-_-_--__-_-_

Shinobu pov.

As I walked through this castel, I opened the door, first thing I saw was an back then they turned to me. I immediately regonized the demon. The one who killed my sister. He was having an arm in his mouth, and as i turned my focus on the corpse he was eating. It was Sagiri. Laying there in her blood her left hand still griping her katana. Her eyes where closed and she was looking like she was sleeping. An big slash to her neck was visible, right where her scar was. I pulled my katana out. Ready to fight. 1.2.3 set. Go!

_________________________________________

I dont love overrated reader srry if I make sagiri to weak I watched just one ep of hell paradise

#demon slayer x y/n #giyuu x reader #tomioka giyuu smut #giyuu tomioka #kny oc #kny x reader #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi #mitsuri #manga spoilers #hell paradise

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thedepthsoffandomminds · 1 year ago

Text

The Subtleties of the Force - Part two

You are from this world, but at a convetion you stumble into the world between worlds, eventually falling into the Star Wars galaxy. Slow burn Anakinxreader content due to reader trying to keep the timeline straight.This is a long one, as I had put all chapters below so strap in. Begins at the start of AOTCFem reader, I hope you enjoy. Part one here

To read chapterly updatesclick here

It had been three years since you had been stabbed by Count Dooku and in those years you had watched the galaxy change. Though you had managed to recall at least some of the major events, helping to bring down several separatists along the way. Upon the council’s wishes Obi-Wan had taken you on as a student, though you refused the title Padawan or joining the Jedi order they had agreed it was in your best interest to learn how to wield the power you had. You had also convinced the council that some of their rules had become all but obsolete. Explaining to them that love was not a thing that should be shunned, but utilised.

Ki-Adi Mundi had to agree with you, his marriages had proven not only fruitful to his species but to his own mental health. It helped that almost all of the children exhibited force sensitivity. To this the council agreed and love was now part of the code. Giving Anakin the chance to live with his wife in the open.

Your relationship with Anakin had dwindled, attempting to keep your own heart protected you had kept yourself away from him, only interacting if your missions involved each other. Every time you saw him, he would try to speak to you, catch you alone in some way but each time you would silently turn away from him. It stung his pride of course it did, but it was necessary.

You had kept him away from the Chancellor at least. Having him promise that any thoughts or fears he might have he would go to Yoda with. How could he refuse you?

Turning around from your place at the dining table you see Shaak Ti walking toward you.

“Your information is invaluable y/n. We have managed to finally remove the inhibitor chips from every clone and stopped the production of them. The council owes you a great debt.”

You smiled and thanked the Master Jedi for her words. There is a commotion behind her and you both move to look at what was happening. Anakin and Ahsoka stood with a crowd around them, each Jedi cheering them for their great feats. You rolled your eyes.

“Excuse me, Shakk Ti, I am needed elsewhere.” You excuse yourself and head for the door on the opposite side of the room, heading out to the hallway. Your whole body wants to run to your friend and wrap your arms around him, you had missed the opportunity to get to know Ahsoka in order to stay away from him. Though you had ensured she would not get the blame for the explosion when it happened. Your mind was so focused on your memories that you walked straight into Mace Windu and Obi-Wan.

“Ah, excellent, we were just looking for you. Will you come with us?” You nod to the two older men and follow them along the hall.

“What happens if we send them?” Mace asks. You aren’t sure if you should say, your eyes glance up at Obi-Wan who nods.

“We have intelligence that the Chancellor has been taken hostage by Count Dooku and General Grievous on a starship.” you halt at Windu’s words.

“No. Do not do it. Don’t send anyone, especially not Anakin. This is it, this is where it begins.” your words are quiet but it makes both men turn to look at you.

"I don't think we need to. It is time, I think, for me to tell you all what is happening. Could you call the council?" You ask them. Obi-Wan nods, placing his hand on your shoulder.

“In the story you send Obi-Wan and Anakin with a squadron. They take the ship, there are some casualties. Obi-Wan is knocked unconscious and Anakin…Dooku’s death is the beginning of the end for him. It could be different now, the Chancellor does not hold the same power over him as he did before. I just don’t think we should risk. Please send someone else.” you all but beg them at the end.

“You and I then, my young one.” Obi smiles at you. The confidence he has in you is possibly misplaced.

"Alright dear one. I will call for you when we are ready." You nod to your Master and quietly watch them walk away.

"You've been avoiding me again." Anakin's voice appears in your ear and you turn to see his face close to yours.

"No, I have been busy. There is a war on, if you haven't forgotten." There is an attempt to be funny and deflect his accusation.

"Please don't push me away. I've done everything you asked of me. All these years." It's the same plea each time he catches you.

"Master Skywalker, I heard of your promotion, I should have congratulated you earlier." You try to change the subject.

"Thank you. Can I, can I see you? Properly see you. I have so much to tell you."

"You should see your wife, she will.no doubt have some news for you."

He scoffed at your words.

"She has hardly spoken to me in the last year. Too busy with her many male visitors to worry about me."

"What do you mean?" You ask, dropping your disinterest.

"She has affairs, I don't blame her. I am not a husband that she can rely on. I tried, I really tried it, for you I tried but I couldn't do it, so I've taken every mission I could to stay away from her because…because I dream about you. I know you've grown close with Obi-Wan and I understand if you…if you love him."

Your hand resting on his forearm stops his words.

"Anakin, I'm so sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing. You were supposed to have children with her-"

"Well I haven't and it is has been nothing but torture. Every single day I question why you made me do this and you never give me answers as to why."

You take a step back from him.

"Anakin, you don't understand-"

"I do! It's me isn't it? The Great evil you are here to stop. I know it, from that day after Geonosis, the way you looked at me." He didn't approach you, but took his own step backward and slumped against the wall.

"I'm sorry, Anakin." In truth your heart was breaking. You had wanted to tell him everything you had seen and known but he had gone before you had a chance.

"I should've told you a long time ago. In the stories you fall to the darkside, seduced by the dreams you have of Padme's death. The ch, Darth Sidious uses your insecurities to warp your mind."

"The chancellor? That's why you didn't want me to see him? I've had no dreams of Padme's death." Anakin admitted.

"Maybe-"

"Only yours." His words cut through you.

"Mine? What do you see?" You ask.

Anakin takes in a long deep breath, his hand finding yours when he finally stands back to his full height.

"I see you, standing in front of a hooded man, then you are on the floor, bloody and crying. I can't get to you in time and before you. It's like when you first came here and you kept phasing out, but you don't come back." A single tear drops down his face.

You have no response that sounds remotely right so you simply stand there, holding his hand.

"I wish we could go back to then, when you first came here." Anakin spoke softly.

"So do I." You whisper back to him.

"Y/n?" Obi-Wan's voice called out to you through your mind.

"The council is ready for us, come on." You say to Anakin turning on your heel and all but marching through the halls. Over the years you had prided yourself on learning the layout of the temple, at least enough to always get you to your dormitory and the council chambers. The large doors still held as much fear as they did that first day. Your chest beat in your ears as you approached. Obi-Wan stepped out to you, taking your hands.

"You'll be okay, dear one. Just remember to breathe through it." Your eyes are held by his and the two of you appear to communicate through your minds. When you feel your thoughts clear enough to be coherent you nod to him and make your way inside.

"I have brought Master Skywalker with me, as he has a right to know all of this as well." You begin, "I'll jump straight to the chase. The eminent threat is the Chancellor. He is not who he has been pretending to be, rather he is the Sith Lord Darth Sidious. Apprentice to Darth Plagueis. He was planning order 66, which luckily should now be basically undoable with the inhibitor chips removed from the clones. Unfortunately he still has the droid army and the separatists on his side, not to mention the backing of almost the whole senate. There is evidence that we can get, including plans for a super ship that can destroy worlds called the death star." You stop thinking about what else you needed to say…"um there is a lightsaber in a statue in his office. He is strong though, and has force lightning." Your chest was starting to get right. "I don't…I can't, things are starting to get foggy. It's been a long time since I, um. He was going to turn Anakin, use the distrust you each had for him and his for you, cultivate it, but we changed that. Darth, Darth Maul is still alive, I don't-" you hold your hand to head. Somewhere behind you Anakin's voice echoes into your ears. Your body flickers. Visions of another world flash in front of you. No, not another world, your world, your real home. Where are you though? Not your apartment. A street, not a real street, a film set.

"Y/n?" Anakin places his hand on your shoulder and you're back in the council chambers.

"Anakin, I can't, I need…Obi-Wan." Your friend rises from his seat taking hold of your shoulders as you fall backward into him.

"What is happening, Master Kenobi?" Kit Fisto asked.

"I don't know." Obi-Wan answered, holding onto you.

Pain severed through your mind, making you grasp at your head. The Emperor's face lit up in front of you as he laughed. Count Dooku dead before him with Anakin standing beside him.

"He's in my head." You call out. One hand clutching to Obi-Wan as the other reaches out for Anakin. "Anakin, please. Stay away from the chancellor, don't go to him, don't let him-" you scream again and you feel memories being plucked from your mind. "Obi-Wan keep him safe, no matter what happens. You have to promise me, both of you!" You're crying but the tears are not water. Dark red stains your face. "In my room, my phone, it has more details. I wrote it all down before it died. Anakin, you're brilliant, you can make a way to charge the battery and get the information. Please I think

I'm losing it all." Bile rises up.in your throat and you can hear the cackling laugh of Palpatine inside your head. The Council had all stood, gathering around you as they watched your eyes slowly close. Your body cradled in Obi-Wan's lap.

"No, y/n don't go. We can't lose you." Obi-Wan openly wept as you slipped away.

************

Anakin smacked his hands against the wall as frustration overtook him once more.

"What is taking them so long?" He growled.

"It cannot be easy to convince an entire galaxy that the person they put in charge to keep them safe is the actual threat they were fearing." Shaak Ti reminded him.

"They've been in there for five hours." Anakin stated.

"Skywalker, you need to calm down, or leave."

He huffed at her before sitting on one of the cold benches.

Heavy footsteps walked up the hallway into his line of vision. A dishevelled Obi-Wan sat down beside his once Padawan.

"Anything?' He asked. Shaak Ti shook her head.

"Y/n?' Anakin asked, hopeful.

Obi-Wan shook his head.

"The healers will not allow me in. I have no news on her."

"They cannot allow her to die." Anakin said to no one in particular.

A door opens close by, Yoda walking out with his walking stick.

"Go we must, our way it is not going." He announced. "The time of the Jedi, over it is, for now." All three Jedi stood and followed Yoda out of the senatorial building.

"Into hiding we must go. To Anch-To we shall go. Gather everyone we must. Y/n you shall bring Kenobi."

"My wife?" Anakin asks.

"Sided with the senator she has. Behind she must stay." They all rush to the temple, where after a message was sent by Yoda on the way everyone was already making quick work of emptying the halls. Both Anakin and Obi-Wan ran to the halls of healing, where you had been placed into a Bacta tank in preparation to be moved. The healers acknowledge their arrival and work around them.

"Masters?" Ahsoka appeared behind them. "I stayed with her like you asked, Master Kenobi." She stated. Anakin rubbed her shoulder.

"You have done very well, young one. Are you ready to leave?" He asks gently.

"Yes Master."

Another woman steps up to them, introducing herself as Hani your personal healer for the trip.

"Come, we have transport this way." She gestures to a door in the back and the two men push the tank you are in. The hallways have been darkened and it is hard for them to see where they are going. Nervous energy building around them until they arrived at a hanger. Two garrisons of clone troopers with both Rex and Cody were waiting alongside Plo Koon.

"Come, we have little time before the droids arrive." Plo announced ushering everyone inside.

"What is happening?" Ahsoka asked as her hands shook.

"The senate have declared us war criminals and blame us for everything that is happening. We must all disappear for our own safety." Plo explained.

"What about the safety of the galaxy?" She squeaked.

"They will have to wait." He replied flatly and ended the conversation.

Obi-Wan is attaching your bacta tank to the walls in the communal area of the transport ship. Anakin watches him press his hand to the tank.

"Do you, are the two of you-?" He can't say the words but Obi-Wan understands him.

"Besides you y/n is the closest thing I have to family. I love her very dearly, but no, Anakin there is nothing between us. Perhaps once we may have come close, a wayward thought of mine. Her feelings have never wavered. She is yours, heart and soul." Obi hoped his words would sooth his friend. Anakin walked up to the tank, looking into your silent face, a mask covering your mouth and nose.

"I've missed her so much. Isn't it strange she's only been with us for three years?" Anakin said over his shoulder.

"It feels like a lifetime ago." Obi agreed.

Anakin stayed looking at you for many hours until Ahsoka finally persuaded him to get some sleep. The healer stood before you, a glint of a smile on her face.

"Well, looks like you were wrong and you won't save them. You've just brought their fate quicker." Pressing a few buttons on the panel she walked away, leaving you. Your body twitched in pain, writhing and wriggling against the liquid.

****************

Seventeen hours after the Jedi had left the known galaxy, and arrived at the first Jedi temple. Five days since your tank had been wheeled into the main temple inside the mountain. One hour since it had been broken and your body flung to the ground.

Shaking and alone you wake.

Your eyes shoot open as pain takes hold of your body once more. A whimper across the room alerts you to the healer's presence. She lifts herself off the ground, a shard of the tank glass lodged in her arm.

"They said you were powerful, but this is something else. There is no way you could have broken through that drug" she yanked the glass from her arm as she spoke.

"Drug?" You cough out, trying to lift your body from the ground.

"Come now, you think he didn't know what you were? Of course he knew, he is the Emperor." She towers above you and you slump back to the ground, bacta liquid splashed around your limbs.

"You may be able to survive the drug but can you survive being torn apart?" Her sadistic smile brought an acidic bile to your throat.

"Obi-Wan, Anakin." You whisper their names as the healer draws her sabre. Using what little strength you have in your arms you try to crawl back, dragging your useless legs behind you.

Hani used her abilities to lift you into the air, your body rising out the side of the temple and dangling over the cliff side. Below the other Jedi see this and come running. Obi and Anakin at the forefront.

"You ruined the Emperor's plans. He wanted Skywalker, but he knows a better way to get him. Your death will reset his plans." Hani cackled but it's cut short as Obi-Wan's sabre drives through her body. You begin to fall. Anakin leaps off the temple following you. Your eyes meet and you reach up your arms to him. His body crashes into yours, pulling you tight against him. Air rushed around you, whipping your hair around your faces. You were sure you would feel the hard ground or sting of the cold water any moment but it didn't come. With a slight bounce the two of you stop and hover above the crashing waves.

Ahsoka and three other younglings concentrate with their hands outstretched in front of them. Using the force to fly you both to the shore.

"Are you okay? Did she hurt you?" Anakin whispered in your ear. You shake your head, throat too sore to answer. Once back on the ground you cling to Anakin's robes as he carries you into one of the small stone huts. Ahsoka brings water for you to drink.

"I'm sorry this should never have happened." Anakin repeated. His arms surrounding you holding both his robe and a blanket around your cold body, still wet from the tank.

Being unable to talk you pressed your hand to his chest, feeling his heart beating. Silently asking for answers.

"I'll explain everything soon, my love. First let's get you healthy." He says into your hair.

The warmth of Anakin's body against you lulled you into a peaceful sleep. He is simply glad to finally have you in his arms, to have you against him. You were alive and by the way your hands still held him tightly, you needed him as much as he needed you.

You awake again sometime later, Anakin's head resting back against the wall. You open your mouth to speak but no voice comes out. Nothing but breath can escape your throat. Opting instead to lightly tap Anakin's face to wake him.

"What is it? Are you okay?" He asks, sleep still in his voice.

You press your fingers to your throat and shake your head. Anakin cups your face with one hand.

"They said this could happen, when you were, when it happened your throat was clamped by the force. We think it was Palpatine, choking you. Your vocal chords have been damaged." You nod in understanding, placing your head into his shoulder once more. Across the hut the door opens revealing Obi-Wan.

"We need you both in the temple." He crossed the room and crouched before you, running his fingers through your hair, "oh dear one, we should have been paying closer attention." He whispered. You pull away from Anakin and fall into Obi-Wan's arms. "Can you walk?" He asks. Unsure you allow them both to help you to stand. Your legs are weak and wobble below you. Both men hold onto an arm each helping you to walk back to the temple. The council were waiting for you each with a Solomon look on their face. It's explained that they questioned Hani, the healer. She was being controlled by the darkside, using her position to lace the bacta tank with a drug. The substance kept your mind hazy and your attachment to the force weak. Had she succeeded you may never have awoken. Unfortunately the tank malfunctioned, you had been able to wake enough that you'd burst the tank from the inside.

"We know you are unable to speak but we need any information you have not yet told us." Plo requests. You turn to look at Obi-Wan, confusion pulling your eyebrows down.

"I know nothing. I have no memory of my life before…before meeting you." You echo your voice into his mind. Obi-Wan reiterates your words to the council.

"That is unfortunate." Yadel sighs.

"Locked away perhaps your memories are. Time to heal you may still need." Yoda nodded his head in your direction and the others agreed. It was determined that Obi-Wan and Anakin would work with you to get your body strong again. At which time they would work on your mind.

As evening drew in you felt a new fear creeping toward you. The native residents showed you to your own hut, there was a bed and not much else. They lit a fire inside but it did little to quell your fears. Perching on the edge of the bed you called out to the two people who could keep you safe.

"I don't want to be alone." You explain to them once they have both arrived. Each man sets themselves up a cot in the Anakin right beside your own and Obi-Wan close to 5he door. You finally fall asleep to the sound of R2s recording of a Naboo lullaby, your hand held by Anakin.

****************

Padme stood alone in her apartment, everyone she knew was dead or part of the new empire. Clothed in a simple black tunic and breeches she waited for her fait.

JarJar, the secret apprentice to Dooku, appeared at the landing platform.

"Time to go, Mesa Senator." He spoke in a much lower tone than she had ever known before, his glowing yellow.

"I am sorry you have fallen so far my old friend." She approached him, looking over his shoulder to see commander Typho standing by the star ship.

"Only sorry you were caught." JarJar quipped back at her.

"perhaps old friend, but you should have known better than to believe I would ever bow to an Emperor." As she spoke Typho had moved in close behind the Gungan Shooting him with a stun blaster. Jar jar fell to the ground as Typho pulled the Senator to the ship.

"We do not have much time. We must get to the Jedi." He said to her as they began pulling away from the landing pad.

"You know where they've gone?" She asked, settling into the copilot seat.

"We think so. I had a communication from Rex some time ago. Hopefully the intel is still good."

"Let's go find my husband." Padme said.

—

Over the last four days you had slowly learnt how to walk unaided, though Obi-Wan or Anakin would be beside you at all times, holding your arm. Cody had also become more concerned about your safety, stationing a guard at your door at all times.

The day was unusually warm for Anch-To so you had chosen to sit outside, laying a blanket on the grass. Obi-Wan runs a training session with the younglings not too far away. His eyes would glance over to you every few seconds.

“Anything come back to you yet?” She asked. You shake your head.

"I'm alright." You spoke to his mind, still unable to speak. He would nod and return to the lessons.

Ahsoka plonked down beside you.

“All I remember is them, Obi-Wan and Anakin, there is nothing else.” You think at her. It was a feeling, like you had been pulled into a place you didn’t belong whilst finally finding the one place you were meant to be. Your only memories were those with Obi-Wan and Anakin.

“It must be really disorientating.” Ahsoka sympathised. You nod and sigh, turning your head to watch the younglings train with their short sabres. If you were honest you had enjoyed the last few days. The planet was quiet and with no memories so was your mind. The Jedi appeared to thrive on this planet, training in the most basic of places took away much of their recent distractions. The clone troopers had begun creating a new network of homes. Building structures around the transport ships and cruisers that had brought them all there. You wondered if you could all stay and live in peace and harmony forever, though you knew that wouldn��t happen. The Empire would eventually reach you all.

“Where is your Master?”

“He is coming, the council needed to talk to him.” Ahsoka answers you.

“I am going for a walk. Distract Obi-Wan if he notices.” You say getting up and walking away. The Island was not massive but big enough that you could hide yourself away on the opposite side. A small flock of Pougs wandered along by your feet

“Miss y/n? Sorry, we’ve been told not to let you be alone.” A trooper called Stirrup appeared a few steps behind you.

“Can you hear me?” you ask through your mind, unsure if the trooper would hear your voice. The commander lifted his hand to his head,

“Whow. Was that you?” he asks, you smile and nod.

“Do we know each other well?” you step closer to him.

“Yeah, I guess so. We’ve been fighting alongside each other for two and a half years. You really don’t remember, do you?” There is a twinge of sadness in his eyes that makes you feel bad. How could you have forgotten someone who clearly means a lot to you?

“I’m sorry. The Masters say my memory will return eventually.”

“Of course it will, it has too. The Emperor will want everything in that little head of yours.” Stirrup stepped closer to you, his hand grabbing onto your arm. “We’ve been waiting but it’s taking too long. Time to take you back to the Emperor” Stirrup’s head twitched as if he was fighting against mechanics in his neck. Trying to yank your arm out of his you feel his grip tighten, pressing into your flesh.

“What was this?” He asks you.

“Anakin!” You call out through the force, bringing your foot up to kick the trooper in his stomach. He drops your arm as he lurches back and you take the opportunity to run away. Trees and bushes whipped at your skin as you ran, blaster shots ringing past you. You know you can out run him, pushing against the ground with the force on your side. You're running blind though, not knowing where you are running. You run into something hard and warm. Anakin’s arm wraps around you and he uses the force to hold Stirrup in the air.

“Anaklin, let him down, you cannot succumb to anger.” you think at him. Anakin looks down at you and nods, dropping the clone to the ground as several more come running in and cuff him.

“Anakin, check the clones for anything that could be used to control them. The Emperor, he is trying to use me to get to you.”

“Do you think we could have one boring week?” He laughs and you smile up at him. As Stirrup is marched away Anakin takes your hand to lead you back to your hut.

“Y/n? Before all of this I was trying to tell you how I felt about you.” He crouched in front of you sitting on the bed. “When you arrived here it was like a dream had come true, then you started to change things, not just me but the Jedi, the code. The galaxy is at war but with your help we have saved thousands of people who would've died before. Your coming here was a miracle none of us knew we needed. I did what you asked me to, I tried to be with her, to do what you needed me to do but I don’t think the time has long passed when that fate would have been true and I…I don’t-” You cut him off by placing your fingers to his lips. His eyes finally look up into yours, a gentle smile gracing your lips. You brush the back of your hand across his chin, dipping them into the curls at the back of his head before leaning into him and pressing a kiss to his lips. Anakin melts into your touch, his fingers holding onto your knees.

“I love you.” He whispers when you pull away from him. You answer him by crashing your lips to his once more, the kiss is deeper, needer like you were breathing life back into him. Your mind swirled with nothing but him and his scent as he moved, bringing your bodies together and wrapping his arms around you. Anakin has wanted this for so long and so his body reacts to it almost instantly. His breath is shallow, and his hands wander your body, memorising your shape, each rise and fall of your flesh. It is all too intoxicating but you need to feel more of him against you and so you push at his robes, dropping the brown leather to the ground, discarding it along with his belt. His skin is hot and hard against your own, now far too clothed chest. It was Anakin’s turn to need more and he pulled back from you, silently asking for permission. You pull your top over your head, dropping it in the pile. Anakin swallowed the lump in his throat, as you took hold of his hand and brought it up to your chest. He runs his fingers over your breasts feeling the heat of your flesh under his palm before softly touching the scar on your stomach. Your fingers trace his own scare. Reminders of a day that broke both your hearts.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers.

“Only because I’m so in love.” You think.

“No it’s because I am so in love with you.”

“So love has blinded you?” The words feel familiar to you in some way, like a dream lost to waking. Anakin laughs, pulling you close to him once more.

“That's not what I meant.” He kisses you again

Outside the sun dropped below the horizon calling the night to take over. Stirrup lay on a bed in the medical centre they had created on one of the cruisers. The droid looked up at Obi-Wan.

“It would appear this clone still had his chip.” it explained. Obi-Wan pressed a hand over his mouth and hummed in response.

“We will need to check all the clones we have here. Commander Cody, Rex, have all the men report to you both, and keep them in quarters until we have had everyone checked.”

“Yes sir.” They replied in unison.

R2 beeped beside him.

“What is it?”

“If you don’t mind sir, R2 says there is an incoming transmission from Senator Amidala.” C3-PO translated.

Part three

. I hope you are enjoying the story so far and thank you for reading. Don't forget to like, comment and interact however you wish!

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