#they divide each little section of the floor by ROW

[houseofwolvess]

wait. okay, folks who've been to a fall out boy show:

why do they divide the fuckin floor?? like, are people physically sectioned off in the venue and forced to stay in the same place or something?? do they divide up the line outside??? how does this even work???

[tastylemonbread]

At long last, Library's bio is here! A plain text version is available under the cut.

The next god to receive a bio is being voted on now here!

Image 1:

[This one is divided into sections, kinda like a newspaper. The specific formatting isn't really relevant, and it's pretty plain anyway.

Library, #17

Domain over data, memory, and organization.

AKA The Librarian, The Archivist, The Cryptkeeper

[Next to this first section of text is a neat black and white drawing of Library's sigil, a simple symbol comprised of a 2x4 grid of eight rectangles forming a square. The borderlines of the square extend a little past the corners, and an extra line lays horizontal at the bottom of the symbol.]

(next section of text)

PRIMARY:

As old as written word, Library has sought to archive all written works, but expands their purview to include new technologies as they are invented. Though many may assume Library to be meek and nerdy, They can be quite a powerful force if they want to be, possessing abilities such as teleportation, mind reading, and spatial manipulation. It's rare to see these powers used outside of the Grand Library. Being arguably the god of information, they have quite a good understanding of the human mind, and can effortlessly transmit and receive thoughts as long as they have physical contact with the person. Even gazing into Library's odd shelf face is enough to get the mind racing, overclocked with too much miscellaneous information to process. Despite all this, Library is pretty incompetent when it comes to social interaction.

(next section of text)

DOMAIN:

Library holds domain over every written word, work of art, video, audio recording, line of code, punch card, receipt, label, stone carving, and anything else that may be used to store precious precious data. Though Library considers each of these (and more) to be fall under the umbrella of their domain, they do not have control over these. Rather, Library can simply feel when something like that is created, and a copy is set into Library's mind.

(next section of text)

REALM:

Like many other realms, the Grand Library is located on a plane of existence  parallel from standard Earth. The Grand Library does not appear to have a floor, walls, or a ceiling, instead contained within a hazy white void filled with neat rows of bookshelves. Despite there being no visible floor, one can walk around as if on solid ground. The rows of shelves go on past what the eye can see, and the place is so large that finding another visitor is incredibly rare. The only entrance and exit to the Grand Library is a set of very large fine oak double doors which connect to the lobby of the Bureau of Divine Intervention, which is the realm of another god that I won't elaborate on here. There are other ways to access the Grand Library, but those doors are the only permanent fixtures. A reception desk is by the entrance inside the Grand Library, at which Library is typically stationed. Since the Grand Library is so inconceivably large, a guide is always needed to find a specific book, and that guide is Library. They can take your hand and instantly zip you to where you need to be. The process is very disorienting, especially for mortals and those who don't regularly visit. Library can always sense where you are, and can always hear you ask for help so long as you are in the Grand Library.

(next section of text)

Relations with other gods:

good: monument, arts, drama, machine, health, hive

bad: flame, sea, war, death, rot, fear

(end of the first image)

Image 2:

[Standing in the center of the image is a tall, slim figure with one hand behind their back and the other raised to wave awkwardly. They are wearing a plain yellow raincoat that conceals most of their body, and brown gloves and boots. Their neck is long, curved, and round, made up of a thick tube of wires with a metal zip-tie keeping them in place. Their head is a cubic bookshelf, with the open side of the bookshelf acting as their face. The multicolored books within the shelf head are arranged in a way that resembles the static color bars of an old CRT TV. There are two more doodles of their head from two different angles, which are described in upcoming text so I'll leave it out here. Around the figure are bits of text that kinda correspond to various physical features of the god.]

(these are the bits of text:)

When walking, their head bobs like a bird.

head is actually a bookshelf, with four little shelves at the bottom. Library's sigil in burned into either side. On the back of their head is a little computer with some wires connected running seamlessly into the shelf.

Big weird hands. Also wires?

Seemingly normal raincoat with a reflective stripe. Nobody's ever actually seen what's under it.

in comparison to other humanoid gods, library is very lanky, standing at 7'3" (222 cm).

Leaves no footprints?

(end of the second image)

Image 3:

[This one has sentences and paragraphs placed around without much purpose. There was some empty space, so I copy + pasted the same doodle of Library laying on their stomach with their feet in the air, but I stretched out the doodles to make em look sillier.]

MISCELLANEOUS BITS:

Prayers, summons, and ceremonies are often answered with very verbose personal letters expressing gratitude, and rarely result in actual face-to-face communication.

Library has been spotted reorganizing human libraries and archives on Earth. They admit that this is a guilty pleasure of theirs, as they usually try not to get involved in mortal affairs otherwise.

All publicly available books in the grand library have been translated into a "universal script" which can be understood by absolutely anybody who is able to read in at least one language. Library is eager to teach people how to write universal script, but lessons are so long and dry that Library is still the only one who knows how to write that way.

Though Library's life is known to be well documented, they have taken efforts to seize all record of their past and politely refuses to share these records publicly.

The largest book in Library's head is actually a binder filled with articles, notes, photos, and other information about each of the gods. Library doesn't actually need to consult the binder, but they like to update it often.

Like many other gods, Library's voice is heard from a listener's POV as if it's just a voice in their own head. Library's "voice" varies depending on who hears it, but consensus seems to be that they speak gently, eloquently, and with a vaguely African accent.

Pulling on their wires isn't a good idea.

Though they appreciate Order's efforts to document and regulate godly affairs, Library finds it too much of a headache to navigate the Bureau of Divine Intervention, and tries to stay away from anything to do with it.

Miscellaneous books and scraps are always seen floating around the Grand Library, sliding into and out of shelves.

(end of third image)

This is the most I've had to describe, but lucky me, most of the images are just comprised of text. If there's any unexpected issues with this plain text version, please let me know. Even if it's just nitpicks, I'd love to hear it.

Thank you for reading/listening to my silly thing :^)

[arcade-chaos]

Tongue Tied Valentine

Sun/Moon x reader (a bit sun centric, sorry sorry), they/them reader no use of Y/N.

Warnings: light self bondage, nothing overtly suggestive beyond a joke or two

Notes: late but still (technically) on time! Recycled drabble from a different idea, thank the aces for voting for fluff lmao. Enjoy!

Really they should’ve expected this hectic outcome. Valentine's day for children was nothing more than an excuse to eat as much candy as physically possible, maybe one or two trying to slip extra special spider man themed cards to their crushes only to run away screaming when that same crush came close. A time for chaos and lots of red confetti, but the attendants seemed to have gone a bit more… overboard than they had initially anticipated.

Sure, the kids had their little mailboxes set up made from tissue boxes and googly eyes, most of them had ended up dinosaur themed after one kid had an idea everyone wanted to copy. They littered the tables in little rows, surrounded by paper flowers, ribbons, confetti- it looked like they had both ignored charging in favor of stringing every inch of the place in reds and pinks.

“So so do you like it??” Sun bounced out from the chaos, spinning them around until the colors meshed together.

“It's very you Sunny-” They snorted, swaying as he held their shoulders upright.

“Good good good- Charline I said no slime in the ballpit!- I wish you had gotten to see it before they were ruined but-”

“Sunny it's okay, they look great!” His eyes darted over to one or two torn streamers about the room, before snagging on yet another rowdy child climbing into a slide.

“Timmy that’s not how we play on the slide!” He patted their arm in a soft apology before running over, not before the kid was flushed out by two more kids sliding down into him. The only one to seem particularly bothered by it was Sun, who was careful to check them all for bruises before letting them run off. They watched for a moment before wandering towards the tables, eyeing the piles of candy in each box as they passed by, more out of curiosity than anything.

They paused near one of the tables, where their box sat with the one Sun made, painted half blue and half yellow with a little divider section for each of them. There were one or two in their box, mostly from the kids whose parents seemed to enjoy chatting with them, but the attendants' boxes were nearly empty, save for a clearly recycled doll themed valentine someone had taken the candy from. It made sense, they supposed, most of the adults only counted the kids in the daycare for their purchasing, why buy candy or stickers for a robot. It still made them feel sad, they had worked so hard to decorate and make little cards for each of the children, it was clear they really loved this holiday. With a firmer step now they marched to the desk, settling down with a few sticky notes to sketch out some plans.

If I run to the drug store on my break I can probably get some stickers… Maybe one of those giant plushies or something- it would take the whole break but maybe if I get someone to cover put down for me- They shuffled the papers as Sun came back into view, carting one of the younger kids away from a particularly rowdy game of tag. He sat her down gently at the table and offered some crayons, sitting on the floor nearby to color with her as he watched the game progress. He paused while shifting, glancing down at the boxes in the center of the table with a strangely still expression. He was pulled out of that thought by the little girl waving a crayon at him, demanding his addition to her drawing. They sighed as he cooed over it, clearly he was disappointed. They both deserved something special, if only they had remembered in time.

As if sensing the momentary distraction from their caretakers the kids began to shout, two in need of help with a shelf, one climbing up the netting, and another yelling at them for doing so. Sun took off to pull the kid down while they distributed plastic food to the children, who immediately launched into playing El Chips, whining when the assistant tried to walk away to help another kid tie their shoes. There wasn’t a moment to sit let alone think, by the time the lights dimmed they had only managed to grab a small handful of glitter vials and a single pair of craft scissors, not even the pair they wanted.

“Alright little comets, gather up now.” Moon hummed, pulling them away from their games and the shadowy corners of the playground. It didn’t stop them from bouncing about, even trying to enforce the no candy until after lunch time rule had its breakers. “Settle, or you won't hear the very special story we have prepared! And to think I worked so hard on it…” The kids shouted in protest before being hushed, settling into a lump in the story area. Just when they thought they could slip away Moon’s arm was around their waist, pulling them over to a stack of puppets. “Just follow my lead.” He murmured, ignoring the oohs and awws of the children at the display. Moon was a natural at leading the show, leaving them to improv with their own puppets as his screamed in terror at the fierce dragon on display. As the moondrops kicked in and the kids got sleepy it drifted into a calmer romance, the kids clapping as the handsome knight kissed the dragon and they bowed into their happily ever after back on the pile.

“Nighty night.” He called, his fingers curling as the ones still awake echoed his words. They glanced at the clock and winced, at this rate they’d never be able to make it to any store, let alone one carrying last minute valentines. “You should eat something starlight.” Moon chided, pushing them towards the door gently. “I’ve got them.”

“Thanks Moonie. I’ll be back before lights on, okay?” They knew how lonesome he got, only allowed a few precious hours together. His grin widened, his head spinning around before swaying upside down.

“I look forward to it.”

The rest of the plex was faring no better. The area just outside the daycare pickup was flocked with parents and couples, flooding around specially themed displays of the glamrocks. The music pouring over the speakers was cute, if not a little goofy, of Freddy covering some song old enough to be cheap but not too old as to be irrelevant. After pushing past a couple hundred people they managed to get into one of the breakrooms, seldom staffed by people.

“Happy day before half off chocolate day.” Quinn joked, his jazz hands making their grin no wider.

“Why are there so many peopleeeeeeee??” They groaned, feeding a few quarters into the machine for a drink.

“Special concert, with bonus chocolates from your fav if they're willing to shill. And boy howdy are they shilling.”

“I don’t suppose they have any kind of plushie option huh?” Quinn eyed them, the corner of their mouth twitching into a smirk before being covered.

“I don’t think so but I can bother em. They’d probably be glam themed anyhow, none of your precious boys I’m afraid.” He snorted as they choked, both of them ending up coughing.

“Oh shush, it’s for them not about them!”

“Ohh? Finally making a move then-”

“NOT LIKE THAT!”

“No no, I’m sure it’s totally above board, no need to worry about little ol me.” They groaned, rifling through the snack supplies Coral usually restocked. Cheez-its are basically lunch right?... I just wont tell them. They glanced over as Quinns watch beeped, one of the Monty themed ones he always had, they were pretty sure those weren’t standard for mechanics but hey, what did they care.

“They said no generic plushies, most of them are over fivty bucks anyhow- what the FUCK”

“Christ-” They groaned, fighting the urge to recalculate their budgeting on a napkin. A hundred bucks would put them way under their needs anyways.

“You could always make em something, don’t your boys have crafts n shit there?”

“I’ve been trying but the kids are being well- kids- and I doubt they’ll get better after naptime.”

“Mm. Maybe try online? There’s probably a million broke or forgetful valentines going down the same rabbit hole.” They nodded, waving as Quinn quickly stood to walk out.

“What do you MEAN he got two??” Chica’s snickering through the watch was loud enough to hear even as he left them wallowing, scrolling through stolen pins for a glimpse of an idea. Most of the listicles had more time than they did, lots of paper crafts and yarn. Those that weren’t offering crafts had less Faz-bear approved recommendations, most of which sounded like a sensory hell and a sticky nightmare. Although…

---

“Moonie psst.”

“You don’t have to whisper.” Moon mumbled, trying his best to keep his folds straight and careful.

“Sorry sorry, but maybe there's more paper in our stash upstairs-”

“I checked upstairs sunshine, this is the last of it.” They really should’ve watched the stock before letting the kids go ham on their mailboxes, there was hardly any glitter left and most of the glue sticks had been dried out by neglect.

“Under the mattress too?”

“You used those for snowflakes, remember?” Sun whined inside their skull, Moon was sure if he was up front he’d be pulling at their face. “It’ll be alright, we just have to be careful with this paper.”

“But its already crinkled!! It needs to be perfect- did you see how upset they looked?? There was hardly anything in their box- and they worked so hard on it!!” Moon sighed, placing the paper down so he could pull his knees tighter.

“I thought I’d have more time. Maybe that play was a mistake.” Half of the kids had tried to wake up, most of them after one kid had a particularly sour nightmare about being hunted down by a hungry dragon.

“Hush, you did great!! It’s not your fault I should’ve watched the clock more- we can always take down some of the ribbons if we need more paper-”

“No no, you said it yourself, we have to make this one perfect.”

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

They really wished their luck would’ve held out, as though stuck by Apollo himself the rest of their day was spent chasing the kids as they switched between hide and seek and trying to tag each other with ‘cooties’- in this case just some kids making kissy noises. Better than a licked palm they supposed. The attendants seemed just as tired, racing around trying to distract them with calmer activities that were pushed away in favor of more games, even a movie couldn’t settle them down. By the time it had simmered down most of the kids were gone, the last usual wave of parents sneaking closer as they both tried to get a head start on cleaning. Luckily the last few were enraptured by a game of house vs house, with a storyline too convoluted to even try to follow. Sun seemed even more anxious by the moment, glancing up at the clock as though he didn’t have an internal time sensor, waiting for the parents to pick up their kids and their pounds of candy.

“Moooom!” One of them shouted, waving through the window as a few parents made their way past the departing crowd.

“Can you get them for me Sunny? I’ll clean up the crafts area for you.”

“Okie dokie!” They both perked up, Sun skipping off to greet them as they shifted and brushed crayons into the box. A roll of white ribbon sat partially unspooled, allowing them to roll it before slipping it into the apron pocket. They could’ve sworn there was a pink one, but white would be good enough.

“I’ll be over here cleaning the house! Feel free to relax, starlight!” They swallowed their nerves, watching as he disappeared around a corner.

“Can do!” Bingo. They were careful to duck behind the desk, carefully cutting strips of ribbon with the safety scissors as their face heated up. It would be fine, the two had been begging for a sleepover for a while now, surely the metaphorical “I’m your valentines gift” gesture could be translated to a friendly sleepover right? “Hey Sunny?”

“Y- Yes star??” They swallowed down their nerves, tiptoeing towards the hidden door leading up to their room.

“I have a surprise for you- if you want! Both of you? I mean-” They struggled, palming at the knob as they crept around the corner of the frame.

“Oh!! Us too- I mean we for you- I mean-”

“Oh! Cool! Um, is it okay if we meet in your room?”

“Yeah! Just give us a second, okay?”

“Mhm!” They practically leaped up the stairs, trailing their hands along the rail as they tried to keep the wonky bow intact. A lot of the sites for looking up knots weren’t allowed by the plex’s wifi, but as long as they weren’t strained it would be just fine.

“Starlight?” Sun called from beyond the tube, shifting around the opening.

“In here!”

“Oh good good. Could you close your eyes for me reaaal quick? I want this to be perfect.”

“Sure! Sure… Actually, we could both close our eyes and do it at the same time maybe?”

“Yes! Yes, perfect.” They tried not to shiver as he snuck inside, jingling as he nearly tripped over their mess. “Okay okay… On three?”

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three-”

“Happy valentines-” They both froze up. They were practically mirror images, Sun’s own ribbon in yellow making him hold his hands out in front of him. They swayed for a moment before breaking into a grin, both of them laughing as they struggled to stay standing.

“Looks like we both had the same idea, huh?” Sun giggled, settling on the cushion on the floor.

“I suppose so! I meant to make you a really good one, honest, but the day went so fast and… Well…”

“It’s alright Sunny, I blanked too.” They settled close, their cheeks burning as they shifted. “I um. I was going to offer to sleepover tonight- if you wanted-”

“Really?!” he jumped, his arms looping over them to trap them both in the ribbon. “Oh we would love that!! We can watch movies and play games- I just got a new one, a really really good one I promise!”

“Sounds good! Uh, Sunny?”

“Mhm?”

“I uh. I’m kinda stuck.” They glanced up as he straightened, his rays twitching for a moment as he thought.

“Starlight?”

“Ya?”

“I have no clue how to untie this.” They snorted, their forehead smacking into his chestplate. “Don’t laugh! Moonie tied them all weird!”

“Lemme see, maybe I can get you untied without the scissors.” They shifted, managing to wiggle out of their bonds before trailing their fingers along his arm. The repeated transition of silk to metal was soft against their touch, Sun’s chest whirring as he watched them slowly mull over the knots. If their eyes lingered for a bit too long, or took a bit more time than needed, he wasn’t complaining. Not while he had his valentine.

[mrfancyfoot]

Raphael x Evie (f!OC)

Fic Rating: E/Varied | Chapter 1: AO3 + Tumblr | Master List

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Chapter 13: Excel-exual "Raphael takes a peek into Evie’s precious journal."

< Previous Chapter: Ch. 12 Friendfiction | Next Chapter: Ch. 14 Scarlet >

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❤️ Thank-you for reading!! I adore all of you :3 ❤️

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Ch. Rating: M-ish / NSFW-ish Ch. Word Count: 4.5k Ch. Tags: POV Raphael; Haarlep; Character Analysis; Schemes; Unreliable Narrator; Raphael Approves

Ch. Warnings: Sexy, sexy spreadsheets; Mentions of Drug Use (medicinal, experimental [Do not try at home, never eat unknown mushrooms!]); Mentions of Alcohol and Dub-Con; Raphael’s Obsessed; Mental Health (Stress, Anxiety, ADHD Allusions, Fixations); Questionable Poetry

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Read under the cut or on AO3-

Loose pages threatened to flutter to the floor as Raphael carefully scanned the open spread of the fox’s journal with a burning curiosity.

It was brimming with notes, drawn maps, charts, musings, strategies, doodles…  Stuffed with found letters and scribbles from her travels.  Torn excerpts from books.  A deep look into the mind of the little fox sleeping away.

Her quill had been dropped between two pages, marking a thought interrupted when she had been summoned.  The Moonrise Towers.  A collection of found information and intelligence.  Their current strategy and goals for what they believed was upcoming.

He flipped to the beginning.

Entries began as daily reports and morphed into pages tracking various quests and wants and goals with reports moved to a set of pages carefully ruled into weekly sections.  Each page diligently numbered.

A pair of hand ruled calendars ticked off the days and tracked events.  Translations of dates, measurements, et cetera, between the Faerûn standard and her own.

She had a small, careful hand hidden by her admitted inexperience with a quill - it shed the shaky, uneven lines, blots, and strikes through the dated entries, gaining a smoothness with the repeated practice.  There was little flourish behind her pen, the writing appearing crisp and utilitarian in later areas.  Impeccable spelling and grammar, an advanced vocabulary - proof of the higher education he suspected despite her casual manner of speech.

The journal had seen better days and ink, dirt, and other unknown substances were smeared and spattered across nearly every page…  Some required peeling apart.  It smelled vaguely of Evie though mostly of a roil of scents from her travels.

A section was dedicated to inventory - the pages divided up into neat columns and rows with name and count meticulously tracked.  Items sorted by type with a wealth of other information noted.  When space ran out, new pages had been glued, bound, and folded onto the end.  Subsequent iterations showed changes over time, indicating what had been deemed important to her to track.  Food stores had their own section similarly formatted.  He recalled that Korrilla had made note in a report that Evie could be frequently seen taking stock of inventory.  Had she performed similar work in her past life?  This level of organisation spoke to experience he had not gathered from conversing with her…

According to her inventory, they held a few rare items of interest.  Perhaps she would be amenable to parting with them following the conclusion of this saga?

Pages here and there torn out.

Pages of recipe and document titles with-

Well, be still his infernal, bloody heart…she used reference and change codes.  From the number of them, she kept many separate, feasibly in some other journal or collection.  Noted page numbers called back to relevant inventories, reports, musings…and information she had compiled about various individuals.  What a trove!

Leading a claw down the document list, his eyes fell on one of interest: the copy of the first Soul-Sworn contract he had offered.  It was found folded at the back of the journal, as indicated, along with a few other documents that he set aside.

He knew she had made changes prior to stating her rejection but had never seen them.  A blue ink was stark against the black used for the copy.  The top right was dated and twice coded for the corresponding document number and change number.  She had struck through the signature lines at the bottom and written ‘REJECTED’ atop them.  Each strike, note, and change was initialed - EV.

He passingly pondered what the ‘V’ represented.  That could not be how she actually spelled her name…could it?  While he doubted, it was not a quirk he could put past the fox.  It was also possible that she lived by her initials.  They had gleaned no information on possible family ties through their efforts to verify her identity.

Thoughts were able to be plucked from all save the little fox.  Music.  All he and his warlock could ever hear was strange music that they had been unable to pierce through.  Some individuals were expected to have mental fortifications to protect against such intrusions, however, there was no reason to believe that Evie, who hailed from a plane where magic is foreign, would have had any such learned protections of that caliber.  An early annoyance he had to work around.  Was it a product of her tadpole?  He knew hers projected that music of her mind to those also infected - a frequent complaint within the group.  Was it attempting to transmit something else?

The more revealed of her, the more evident it became that she was abnormal in more ways than one.  An ever growing, ever morphing puzzle.

It was difficult to believe that this was the same fox who would routinely need to be reminded of the topic of discussion while they spoke if, by the Hells, anything happened to distract her.

Without her presence to distract and cloud his mind, his thoughts revisited her use.  Caging her away, while tempting, would be a waste of her skills.  It would serve well in both the Gate and his court once his takeover of the Hells was put into motion.  True talent that shared his love for order was so difficult to find!

Although…there was little need for one to leave the House for most administrative tasks, and for the ones that necessitated doing so…well, that was the job of a courier.

From this, he had to ask himself how much of the chaos surrounding the fox was of her own doing?  She had eccentricities aplenty, yet how would her group of blighted companions have fared without her reining them in and tracking all of this information?  Would they have lost their way or separated to the winds?  Would another have stepped up?  Perhaps this degree of detail was gratuitous relative to what was needed at the minimum, but she was flourishing in her role as their leader despite her flaws, as he knew she would.  Much was shouldered on this little fox.

He took up his own quill once more to add to the night’s notes, starting with her numerous contract complaints.

Finding the dossiers she kept on individuals, he scanned through them.  Much she had written was already known to him and she kept personal thoughts here to a minimum.  More reference numbers dotted the pages.  Karlach’s had notes about the infernal engine within her.  The Archdruid…the wizard…Lae’zel…Wyll…  To be expected, Astarion’s was more detailed than most.

‘Scars - written in Infernal per A.  Ask R?’

He grinned.  This gave him an edge.  They intended to ask him - for who else could she mean? - about Astarion’s scars.

His satisfaction then turned sour with disappointment and confusion.  The page reserved for himself was entirely blank.

He had almost flipped past it as the page was entitled with a sole ‘R,’ to which she had amusingly added horns.

Unlike others that she saw as outsiders and enemies to her group, there was no physical description.  Nothing to identify him explicitly as a devil.

Korrilla had more written about her.  He suspected the fox had known of his warlock’s presence well before official introductions and learning that she worked for him.  The very few references to him were marked with a simple ‘R’ and kept brief.

She referred to his House of Hope as simply ‘the House.’

Was she withholding writing down information about him?  An interesting notion.

Referring to him not even by full name anywhere - the only such individual treated so vaguely - led him to believe there was a purpose.

Haarlep, however - or ‘Harlep’ as she had spelled it - had been written about at length.  He felt a twinge of bitterness that he was able to read her thoughts on his incubus but not himself.  Her dislike of them was palpable even in ink, breaking the rule of other dossiers that were free of such biases.  Since their first tumultuous encounter, she had not cared to see the fiend again - which Haarlep had taken to moaning about around their attempts to steal glimpses and engage her in salacious conversation.

‘Won’t fucking take no for an answer.’

‘Charm effect with gaze?  Don’t think that affects me?  They’ve implied they have other means of control/coercion, though - avoid being near.  -Not touch -Effect or spell from kiss? (ew)  Maybe venom?’

‘Incubi feed off of sexual energy and probably souls.  Not keen on finding out what would happen if they got their way.  This one has some degree of transformative ability (R) - idk if all do.  They’re sparkly, so glamour?  When they have a form, that person can feel what they do (???).  How do they get the form?’

Spatters of ink dotted the page in what appeared to be areas where she had stabbed at the paper with her quill.  Her feelings towards the incubus stood out to him.  Her frustration was palpable and no other he found had earned animosity.

‘Mfker’s relentless.  Now being gross from the pool/boudoir.  Idk how they found out abt hearing.  [forceful scribbles]  Lucky guess?  R told them?  Something I did?  Refuse to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.  No reason to trust anything they say.  Hoping they just get bored and fuck off.  Or drop dead.’

‘Bastard’s lucky they get hot water ._. ’

‘What’s their purpose @ the House?  Not treated or behave like one of the servants & seem to get far more leeway.  Not like K, either?  Def some degree of antagony b/w Hr and R, though.  Contract terms?  Just a really annoying guard?’

Ah…Haarlep had discovered her heightened hearing, taking advantage of it by teasing her from afar with, no doubt, ‘inappropriate comments.’  How naughty.  The fox, however, made no mention of this behavior to him nor had he witnessed any indications of such distractions - yet it bothered her enough to write down. She was prone to distraction, however, so would he have been able to distinguish?  How would she look with lust and obscenities whispered in her ear?

Why not tattle on the incubus and tell him of her discomfort?  She had hesitated earlier in saying that her visits were relaxing - was this why?  Certain precautions had been taken due to that hearing of hers, but it was clear now that he had not gone far enough.  It appeared Haarlep had revealed part of their arrangement.  Perhaps she was simply too embarrassed to risk revealing what she had learned?

Though…there was a thread of envy here that he was sensing.  Was the little fox covetous of what she saw as special treatment afforded to the fiend?  A new light was cast on her resentment of them.  Perhaps in denial over her desires?  Was claiming his chair due rather to feeling…territorial?

Despite her earlier words, she may be more open to his newer thoughts on an arrangement than he was led to believe.

It would seem Haarlep had a use here, after all.

On a whim of inquisitiveness, Raphael flipped back to the page about Astarion.  Nowhere was it mentioned that he was a vampire spawn.  She had not physically described any of her companions.  And now that he was deliberately seeking, he noticed there was obvious information missing throughout many of her entries.  Even Astarion’s links to Cazador, and vice versa, had been muddied through a use of misleading references.  Cunning, little fox.

The journal was a wealth of information, but she had taken care not to reveal certain identities and information.  Feasibly in the event that it fell into another’s hands - such as now.  He understood Astarion, but to include him in such care meant a greater degree of sympathy than he had expected at this juncture.  Or perhaps she did not wish for another to know a devil reserved her time?

The last section of her journal was dedicated to her personal entries.  

Pages filled with doodles and affirmations.  Lines of poetry and song.  Scores of melodies.  Her thoughts and reminders on this and that.  Her voice was more casual here than in the rest of the journal.

.

‘I am Evie.

I am the beat of the butterfree’s wings.

I am the dandelion on the wind.

I am the howl of the storm.

I am the erosion of rain.

I am the flower blooming in concrete.

And I am magnificent.’

.

As quaint as she.  ‘Magnificent’...a lofty word.  One that spoke of a dazzling pride, unrelenting ambitions, feats of splendor, and realised dreams.  A word that played prettily on his tongue.

The magnificent little fox.

Were you truly, little fox?

He would look forward to her magnificence.

He took notice of her name written here - so the V was a separate initial…

‘Plan A: Yank It Out’

A diagram of an eye, where she believed the tadpole was, and the various detailed steps she would take to remove it.  Her thoughts on this sprawled across a full spread of pages.

‘I think DV is connected more to the slug than they have shared.  I don’t like that they are encouraging its use.  Why?  Protecting me/us from its influence - how?  Something is off about them but I can’t put my finger on what.  An uncanniness.'

An arrow was drawn from the word ���uncanniness’ to where she had written:  ‘Like the incubus!  Glamour/fake projection?  No sparkle bc dream?  But why?’

‘Why does mine project?  If not for the mash of music, would it be my thoughts?  Still does that force connection thing to other slugs sometimes - thoughts/memories/feelings - though the others have said mine are hazy (?).  Doesn’t seem to do anything else (for the others given powers, I can see why its use is tempting).  O said mine seems weaker than others, though.  Maybe not meant to be constantly broadcasting?  Has it weakened?  Or it came damaged?  Or it just isn’t compatible with my weird brain? lol’

‘DV visiting more often.  They said my slug is weak bc I don’t use it and removing it would kill me (X to doubt).  They don't like that I'm trying to get rid of it.  They don’t like my meetings with R.  They are def reading my thoughts.  G & R couldn’t manage that.  Via slug?  Doesn’t seem to be all the time.  Can’t trust something reading my thoughts.’

.

‘I don’t like things in my head,

I said.

I don’t like them red, white, purple, green.

I don’t like them when they come by dream.

I have my music, my radios of thought.

I have a crowd thinking I can be bought.

Power, protection, glory.

Trust me!

‘I can remove it!*’

Trust me.

Trust me.

I miss the quiet,

The safety of my maze.

Instead I’ve a riot,

And can’t focus for days.

It’s enough to scream,

‘Save me, o’ dextroamp-amphetamine!’

*For a fee.’

.

How insightful!  Her worries, her fears, and the meandering paths winding towards the truth.  He was quite satisfied to read of her distrust in their dream visitor.  His was the only voice she should be heeding.

She ‘missed the quiet’?  Was this in reference to her music or to another force invading her mind?  Or perhaps merely to a ‘riotous crowd’ of companions demanding so much of her attention that she had none left to focus on anything else?

The last line referred to what read as a chemical compound - an amphetamine stimulant of sorts.  No addictions and perhaps not illicit where she was from - by her words - but what of medicinal use?  Korrilla had reported that the fox drank an ‘alarming’ amount of kaeth, especially for someone who outwardly despised the taste.  Perhaps caffeine was a circumstantial substitution?  Another note to research…

‘Plan B: Wait ‘n See

Why be hasty?  It’s different and there for a reason.  I don’t think ceremorphosis is it.  Or why mutate/modify it?  Unless…Super Illithids!  Not the hero origin story I wanted…  XP’

‘Plan C: Dumb Luck

Maybe it’ll just…resolve on its own.’

Raphael scoffed.  ‘Plan: Accept the Devil’s Bargain’ was nowhere written - except coded within poetry.

What hubris.

Pages of thoughts and diagrams for inventions and innovations.  A list of ‘modern’ amenities she missed so much she would find them or a way to recreate them here.

‘Self-inking pens

Stretchy hair ties

Deodorant

Bug Repellant

Hoodies

~The Internet~

Computer

Digital Archive

Phones

Vibrator

Pizza

Pasta

Ramen

Vanilla Coke

Chocolate

My teeeeeea

Penicillin

Blood Bank

A gun’

She had spoken of her plans for the pen, and it seemed she was already crafting and testing parts.  A ‘communications and archival device’ commanded the most pages.  An advanced technology for which he could see numerous benefits…should she be successful.  She frequently alluded to a device in their talks that he presumed was much like this one.

Ideas for an energy source to power the device.  A battery created from crystals that could be recharged by the user’s energy.  

‘Sounds safer than me trying to 1. find, 2. fuck around w/ nickel, lithium, etc…’

Ideas for computational coding models.

‘Hybridized model - replace mag components where possible’

‘Build in encryption.  Per G, magic comms. signals can be intercepted easily. idk if that applies to radio freqs tho? - test’

She had more than simple passing knowledge of all these components - this was an ability to replicate and create.  An ability, if proven, significantly increased her value.  It did appear that she had an aversion to magic-based components, though no notes provided explanation as to why, and she was, at the very least, consulting the wizard…  Perhaps a simple preference for that which she was most comfortable?  A device for communications that could not be intercepted by magic would be highly sought after.

Her silly idea to go the path of manufacturing goods may deserve more consideration than he had initially allotted…

Innovation created technology, advanced efficiency and order.  In the right hands, technology was power.

His confidence grew, feeling increasingly vindicated in his choice to focus his efforts on her.

The final set of entries continued in a similar vein of oddity - not surprising in the least at this juncture.  An ongoing experiment.

‘Got hit by spores from weird blue mushroom in Underdark.  Made others act odd - energetic, snappy, restless.  Made me sleepy.’

‘Collected several specimen - took precautions.  Likes to grow along the river bank and damp areas.  Seems to stay small and low-growing.  Ventral side has dark violet gills - same color splotches appear on cap after harvested when it loses glow.  H not familiar.  See if O knows more?’

‘O said no known use yet and toxic (but not deadly to their knowledge) for many to eat - stomach issues, headaches, increased aggression, blurred vision, jitters, muscle cramps.  Would that occur with microdosing?  The others did complain of aches and upset for a bit after it wore off before but they were hit by more than I was.  Use for spores vs meat?  Fresh vs dried?  Maybe G will help me test :3’

Detailed pictures of this mushroom and a small map of where she had found them.  A grid where she had begun tracking exposure, amounts taken, side effects, dates...  

A list of observed growth conditions.

So keenly interested in this mushroom - for what cause?  He considered the side effects she observed in herself thus far - drowsy, calm, headache, alert, moody…  What was it that she sought?  There were many notes but no goal stated.

A sleep aid, perhaps?  Did the little fox have trouble sleeping?

Her words before of ‘missing the quiet’ came back to mind.  She did fall deeply asleep here while left alone.  He knew her camp to be rather undisciplined.  Was she unable to block out excessive noise with that hearing of hers?  He recalled in another report that the fox had started constructing her tent further from the others…

The rest of the pages were blank but as he paged back through the journal, a note scrawled on the inside of the cover caught his eye:

‘If you are reading this, you’ve found Evie’s journal.  She acknowledges that she left it somewhere stupid, again.  Please return it.’

A laugh seized him.

A common occurrence, dear fox?

.

.

Raphael didn’t look up as the incubus sauntered in, their nose in the air.  “Your office is beginning to smell of the fox.”  They draped themself over the back of his chair, running a claw down the ornate wood as they eyed his work from over his shoulder.  “Did she visit?  Is that what has you so worked up?  What did she do?  You have not even come to bed!”

He continued to ignore them.

“Ahh~”  Haarlep held up their fingers, pinching several strands of red fur with a grin.  “What evidence!  Now, I truly must know!  Perhaps you had her strip and touch herself here, hm?”  They loudly sniffed at the chair.  “Yet I smell nothing of her arousal,” they added with exaggerated disappointment.

Sliding a finger down his arm, they leaned closer to his ear.  “Or are you to tell me that the little vixen got a free pass to seat herself upon your chair?  She certainly made herself at home with all this fur left behind.  Or perhaps you disciplined her?  Laid her over your knee and-”

“Must you disturb me?” Raphael sneered, in no mood for their antics.  Exhaustion was closing in on him and yet he had work to complete before succumbing to its call.

They flicked away the fur and began unbuttoning his doublet.  “Must you torture me so by getting all hot and bothered and doing nothing about it?  From what I felt, she must have practically pranced around you naked!”  He shook off their wandering hands.  They gasped, “Was she naked when you summoned her?  Caught at an inopportune time?  Or may it have been…with purpose?  Is she a little seductress, after all?  Simply begging for you to take her!”

He knew it would be worse to admit that the fox had truly done nothing save place her trust in him with her vulnerability.  And he was not about to tell the incubus that she was tucked away in the House asleep.

“Just a few minutes with me and I’ll have her mewling like a kitten.  You desire her, don’t you?”  Not giving them the response they wanted, they unlatched themself from the back of his chair and rounded the desk to throw themself into the chair opposite.  “I do not understand this game you insist on playing with this one,” they whined.  “Why not just take her?  She has listened to an absurd amount of your prattling on about the history of Cormyr and Calimshan without falling asleep or begging you to stop to find it disagreeable.  I’ve seen that fluffy tail wag quite often - that means she is happy in your presence!  Flirty, even!” they pointed out as though he was unaware.

“The game is patience, Haarlep!  She is on a path towards completing the goals ahead of her.  That is the priority.  Should the opportunity for a contract present itself once more, I shall most eagerly take advantage,” he emphasized, pausing in the middle of his writing.  “Barring that, before the dust has settled after this saga, the curtain shall rise for the next.  Rest assured, the fox will be mine.”

They hopped to their feet and flung themself forward to rest their head on their elbows atop his desk, grinning ear to ear.  “Does this mean you are getting me a playmate?  You wouldn’t be going through all this effort if you intended her as just any silly little toy to break in and toss aside once you are satisfied with their image alone.”

Haarlep needn’t know that he had no intention of allowing them to have her in the way they most wanted.  “Toys have significantly less use once broken.  With the proper care taken, the fox will be tamed and under my control.  She would make a far less entertaining pet without that tongue and brain of hers.”  

“Mm…  She said she liked your poetry, did she?” Haarlep teased.  “So disrespectful, though…  But I can help tame her!  How about starting with how one must always respectfully greet their betters?  And no pets on the furniture unless commanded?  Though she can sleep with me, of course, and I can ensure that she is always-”

“Cease your attempts to interfere.  Or has Mephistopheles instructed you to sabotage this, as well?” Raphael hissed in accusation, cutting off their spiral into fantasy.  He would not put it past his father to order his spy to get in the way of something else he desired.  

With a smirk, they gave a half-hearted shrug as they flicked away dirt from under their claws.  “It's not like he would care.  After all, what's more distracting than a brand new pet to break in?”  They fell against the desk dramatically as they continued whining, “I just want to play~  Such a stubborn little foxy.  She does remind me of-”

“Hold your tongue,” he demanded.

They chuckled and looked up at him.  “Oh, Master, it has been weeks since you’ve so much as mentioned the birdie in the dungeons.  All I hear now is how the fox has done this and done that and said~  Are you so afraid that she, too, may reje-”

“Should the stubborn little fox inform me that you continue to be a nuisance, I shall honor any desire of hers to have nothing to do with you,” he threatened.  He may be unable to do away with the incubus at present, but he could certainly withhold something they saw as desirable.  And the protection from or threat of Haarlep would be quite the carrot and stick for the fox should any behavioral adjustments be needed.

They jerked up with a pout.  “Then she would hardly be a playmate!”

“Then I suggest, Haarlep, that you be on your best behavior.”

“Properly seduce her and she’ll sign anything - they always do!” they attempted to argue.  Haarlep lacked the nuance and patience for long term plans, preferring to opt for whatever was most convenient to them regardless of the end result being less than optimal as long as it was good enough.  But he strove for nothing short of perfection!  “She strikes me as a ‘cutesy romantic dinner’ kind of woman.  Go take her to one of those plays first and then a walk beneath the stars!  Sit close and whisper sweet nothings as you feed her delicacies.  Ply her with a bit of wine and she’ll be all blushy and giggly when you whisk her away to our bed!”

“Yes, a fine date…,” he drawled, “for after her current work is complete.”

“But that’s taking so looong!”  He smacked away their claw shredding the corner of his paperwork.  “Tell her to hurry up!  I think we would both much rather a cute, little, fluffy foxy than a slimy squid.  Although…I have never been with that tentacled sort…”

The very notion filled him with disgust.  He was not about to arm Haarlep with such a body in their repertoire.  “Of that, we are in agreement.  Now, away with you!  I have work to complete.”

“Mm, what tedium.  There is forever work to complete,” they sighed as they turned and slipped from the room.

❤️ Thank-you for reading!! Please consider liking & reblogging.❤️

< Previous Chapter: Ch. 12 Friendfiction | Next Chapter: Ch. 14 Scarlet >

Coming up next: Evie has an interesting dream

[yesterdays-xkcd]

Well, for some value of 'actually work'.

The Glass Necklace [Explained]

Transcript

[There is only one large panel in this comic, but it is still divided up into 19 individual scenes, one following the other, but of very different size and details. In every scene, there is at least one word noted, mainly just stating what Cueball does. The first row has four scenes (1-4), the second row only two (5-6), the third row has three (7-9), the fourth four (10-13), the fifth five (14-18), and then the last scene takes up the middle of the sixth row (19).]

[Scene 1: Cueball is seen sitting behind a table facing out of the panel drawing on a paper with a cup next to him on the table. An arrow points down to the paper from above where the sketch he is drawing is shown on a zoom in on the paper. He has drawn a cylinder shown in the top left, next to it is a detailed diagram of the cylinder in a cross section down its length, showing that it is hollow, with electrical terminals on either end. The dimensions of the cylinders length, both inner and outer, are indicated on each side of this diagram. Below right is a cross section through circular section indicating the diameter. At the bottom left, there is an instruction showing that the cylinder can be opened in one end, and and an arrow with a label points into the open cylinder. The label can be read, but the dimensions are unreadable.] Draw Label: Sand

[Scene 2: Cueball is at a workbench making the device in a workshop. The main part of the cylinder can already be seen lying on the table, as Cueball works on another part. His sketch is also resting on the table leaning up against the rear part of the workbench where four rows with three small drawers in each row are closed, except the second row from the top, where there are only two drawers, the left of those two drawers standing open. On the edge of the table, two tools looking like hammers hang down. On the floor lie three small rectangular items.] Make Make

[Scene 3: Cueball kneels down on a beach and scoops up sand in a beaker. To the left, a fairly large wave (the surf) can be seen far down along the beach. Above the sea, there are a large cloud and a smaller one. To the right of the beach is a dense forest growing close to the surf. The tree trunks are visible, as are the leaves, but most trees and trunks are not possible to single out, except one large tree standing a little further out than the rest just behind Cueball. The trunk of this tree looks a little like a palm tree trunk, but it has a regular crown of normal leaves.] Scoop

[Scene 4: Cueball, sitting behind a table, pours the sand from the beaker into the cylinder. The lid of the cylinder lies on the table next to a full glass. It is not clear if it is full of water or just more sand. The beaker used to pour sand is not transparent like the glass on the table is.] Pour

[Scene 5: Cueball ties a spool of string to one end of the cylinder and ties a deflated weather balloon, lying on the ground to the right, to the other end. The spool lies on the ground to the left.] Tie

[Scene 6: The weather balloon is inflated, and Cueball raises it up into the clouds as thunder rumbles in the huge dark clouds to the right. The cylinder is clearly visible just below the balloon. To the left towards the horizon, there is something that may be a distant city, but there are some lines going away from it away from the horizon, the meaning of which is unclear, could be electrical wires in the air for transporting electricity.] Rumble

[Scene 7: Cueball has left after having tied the end of the string to a stake in the ground. The sky is completely covered with clouds, and the first lightning is flashing in the background, thunder following. The balloon hangs close to the clouds, the cylinder barely visible at this distance.] Boom

[Scene 8: Lightning hits the balloon and travels all the way down to the rod, which can just be seen at the bottom. There is a loud crack, and the incandescent balloon inside the lightning hisses.] Crack TSSS

[Scene 9: A slim image with a zoom-in just of the cylinder as the lightning hits, showing it attached to the wires going up and down from each of the two terminals. The lightning travels along the wire through the cylinder and out the other wire, fusing the sand contents within.] Fuse

[Scene 10: The clouds are disappearing to the left, and the sun is out again to the left. Two birds fly in the distance near the sun, and below them there is a hill in the horizon. Cueball, holding onto the string with one hand, follows the string to the cylinder lying on the ground. Above this scene, there is a frame with a caption:] Later Follow

[Scene 11: Cueball detaches the cylinder from the wire that goes to the remains of the burned out balloon lying on the ground to the right. The other part of the wire still hangs down from the cylinder's other end.] Detach

[Scene 12: Zoom in on Cueball as he opens the cylinder, letting a wisp of smoke out. The cylinder has clearly been exposed to some rough condition, its surface flaking off. Cueball's hands are clearly visible, which is an unusual style in xkcd.] Open

[Scene 13: Cueball puts his hands into the cylinder and removes a piece of glass with a zigzag shape. Leftover sand pouts out as he draws it out of the open cylinder.] Remove

[Scene 14: Back at his table (with only the surface shown), Cueball admires the piece of glass, holding it between both of his hands. The broken and open cylinder lies on the table, sand pouring out, while the lid lies to the left.] Admire

[Scene 15: Cueball is looking at White Hat (a jeweler) standing behind his desk under a large sign hanging from a string put over a peck in the wall above the desk. White Hat examines the glass, holding it up in his hand and looking at it with a magnifying glass he is holding up to his eye. A lamp is standing on the table.] Sign: Jeweler Examine

[Scene 16: White Hat, only, grinds the glass on a grindstone he has put on his desk, pieces of glass seeming to fly away from the stone. There are four indeterminate tools lying on the table.] Grind

[Scene 17: White Hat, only, sets the now-shining glass in a necklace, having cleared the table from any other items.] Set

[Scene 18: Cueball holds the glass necklace in both hands, looks at it, and approves the final result, while White Hat stands behind his desk with something small and rectangular in his hand, probably the money Cueball paid for his service.] Approve

[Scene 19: Cueball gives the glass necklace to Megan, almost touching it and her hands with an outstretched hand. Megan admires the shining piece of glass she now holds in her hands, the string hanging down from her hands.] Give

[kingsbridgelibraryteens]

Teen Throwback Thursday: Looking Back at The “Old” Kingsbridge Library!

Since we just celebrated another anniversary in our "new" building last week, I thought it might be a good time to share some pictures of our previous location at 280 W 231st Street, located right across the street from our current building. The Kingsbridge Library has been around for over 100 years, but it was located at 280 W 231st Street from 1959-2011.

The first picture in this set features our intrepid young adult librarian in her (much) younger days, in front of the YA biographies bookcase!

Next, here's a look at the layout of the top floor, in which you can see how crowded ... errrr ... COSY our space was!

In case you're wondering, I literally stood on a ladder in the YA section to take this picture. Some workers brought a ladder in to fix something, and I took advantage of it to get this birds-eye view!

Starting at the lower left and going clockwise, we have:

One of the YA Fiction paperback racks

Adult Nonfiction bookcases, with plastic paperback displays at the end of each row

Adult Reference, which before so much information was available through databases was ENORMOUS (it started on the wall under those windows, and then filled both sides of those bookcases along the back and right of the picture). It also included newspapers and magazines.

In the back corner, under that mirror, was a reference closet containing MORE newspapers and magazines (you can JUST see the top of the closet door). There was also a chair and a computer next to the closet that you could use to access CD-ROMs. Also, by that computer was the ONE electrical outlet, in case one of our patrons needed to plug something in! And yes, the number of available outlets is a BIG difference between 1959 designs and modern designs.

The most recent editions of our newspapers and magazines, standing up in red plastic binders

An open dictionary on top of a wooden stand containing reference atlases and maps

Book trucks, and a railing overlooking the main floor and the circulation desk

Our information desk, featuring two high rolling chairs, two terminals (running what looks like the Dynix system?), two printers, a screen magnifier (that beige boxy thing on our left), and a little bookcase right behind our chairs containing the Closed Shelf Reference collection.

Behind the Information desk was a spinning Romance paperback rack and a small wooden bookcase of Classics!

And in the middle of the room were ALL of our tables and chairs available for adults!

Also in the room but not visible were two tables with four chairs each that were right next to my ladder, which was the entire YA seating section. The Adult Fiction section was over on the left, along the wall. There were a few PCs off to the right for adults or teens to use. On the other side of those PCs was our foreign language section, and leaning on a wall in that section was A LONG WOODEN STICK WITH A HOOK ON THE END OF IT, and that’s what we used when we wanted to open or close those high windows. We also used that stick to open and close those vents that were just below our ceiling.

I know, right??? But back in 1959, that’s the kind of technology we were dealing with!

There was an elevator to go back and forth between our three floors, which unfortunately sometimes got stuck. ☹️ And between the railings and the mirror was a dumb waiter that we could fill up with books to transport them between floors. It was a good idea, but it also sometimes got stuck. ☹️

Now, let’s look at some TEEN-CENTRIC highlights! Here are pictures of some of our teen programs, which were all held in our Reading Room (our ONLY program space), which was divided from the rest of our Children’s Room by a not-at-all-soundproof accordion door! We’ll start with our Teen Advisory Group:

Here were some teens at one of our Teen Poetry Publication Parties:

And here was a spirited game of (VERY low-tech) Harry Potter Jeopardy!

Finally, here’s one of my favorite pictures of my teens, who were helping us staff our “Afterschool @ Your Library” table that was promoting our programs. This is one of the only pictures I ever took on our main floor, which means it’s the only picture I have of our WALL OF VIDEOCASSETTES!!!

I hope you enjoyed these pictures, and thanks for sharing this trip down memory lane with us!

If you’d like more information about and pictures of the old and new Kingsbridge Libraries, check out this page on our website and these pictures in NYPL's digital collections!

[pearlypairings]

A peek into: Meet Me at Our Spot

Chrissy Cunningham was on a mission.

Stepping through the tall wooden doors, she strode through the entrance lobby where travel brochures and local business advertisements littered the wall racks under a thick layer of dust. The main foyer opened into a field of busy patrons strolling about reading tables and whispering to each other.  

Chrissy slowed down near the center of the room to take stock of her surroundings. This was her church. The smell of worn pages and coffee from the librarian desk swirled together to greet her senses in a welcome flourish.

Every visit was another hour of worship, a new story to behold and cherish in its power. The power of escapism entranced her, beckoning to the buried desire for a new life far from Hawkins and the eyes that haunted her every move like predators to their weeping prey.

Hawkins Public Library is where she came to remove those very shackles that crippled her under the guise of studying. To her left, the nonfiction division displayed hefty texts with librarian-esque precision; strict rows ordered the biographies, general histories, and memoirs all the way to the special holding room for the Hawkins historical archives. Those shelves towered over her like soldiers awaiting commands from their absent leader, serious and imposing on her small frame.

Chrissy shuddered in the shadow of their overbearing presence; she avoided the nonfiction section like the plague. Autobiographies and world history might as well have been an extension of her parents and their insistence for her to be a better student. She turned her back on that thought and realigned herself with today's worship.

On the right side of the first floor, the fiction section scattered its books into confusing groupings based on genre. Years prior, it had been the mayor’s idea to promote childhood literacy—much to the dismay of the orderly librarians—by hosting a special contest for the elementary students.

Children submitted their designs for the shelving displays for the fiction department that would be divided by genre categories. The mayor picked the winners by choosing the most creative and entertaining shapes, leaving the disgruntled librarians to set up the sections with the children as little, rambunctious assistants.

The results were chaotic at worst and mildly entertaining at best when trying to find any fictional works in the youth-inspired sections, but Chrissy didn’t mind most of the time. She found the ideas obnoxiously cute in their unique innocence and hoped the project motivated some of the kids to engage more with library books.

Today, however, her enthusiasm for childhood creativity and literacy waned. She could not be caught dead hunting there by anyone. Deemed off limits by her mother, her favorite fictional genre had the most complex set-up anh the constraints of time today were especially tight.

Her eyes locked onto the book catalog on the table next to the Hawkins’ statue of the founders; it was her only saving grace to limit the amount of time she’d waste scouring through the fantasy section......

To keep reading:

[extremelyblackandwhite]

ascendance - 01

PAIRING: mob!bucky barnes x reader

WARNINGS: violence, dark themes, age gap (reader is 23, bucky is 37)

SUMMARY: she was at the wrong place at the wrong time and a misunderstanding dooms her to a life as an ascendance card under the watch of the executer.

A/N: i’m so excited to go back to my mob writing roots with this one. there’s a bit of a few twists and changes to the traditional mob writing i’ve done before and i am really excited to be sharing chapter one with you. hope you enjoy it xx

> NEXT CHAPTER 

The ambience was dark, badly lit by the yellow flickering lights in the halls with echoes of the buzzing of the hot old light bulbs. There was no sound but that buzz and the heavy sound of his boots hitting the rotting wood floor boards. The scent in the air was putrid, a mix of what seemed like life meeting its end stage, cheap cider and weed. It was definitely different and he didn’t trust it. 

At the end of the corridor there it was. 107. The 107th flat in purgatory with the door slightly opened. He pushed the door open, the smell getting more intense and his boots sticky with the liquor spilled on the floor. 

     - What did you do? - each word was punctuated with intense disbelief, as if this was all a nightmare. 

     - Bucky, help me!

PRESENT

The wind brushed and pulled her hair into different directions as she stepped off the train’s step. She rushed through the streets of New York, hair pin stuck in the middle of her teeth as she fought the winds to try and set her hair into an appropriate hair do while running down the street at the same time. The chattering people and the sun peaking through the clouds was hopeful as she grabbed her coffee from the same vendor off the side street as her eyes gazed upon the Metropolitan Opera House which had been gracing the New York landscape for longer than she had been on this earth and now she was part of it, she was a small speck in an almost 60 year long history. 

Her smiled widened as her sneakers hit the pavement, eyes gazing over the fountain and the flags of the production coming down from the opera house’s arches. The same production she was part off. Sure, she was a chorus girl but the mere thought of singing on that stage, of watching that public in those red velvet seats under the chandelier just made it all more exciting. She walked inside the theatre through the stage door, meeting the manager at the door. 

     - Hi. - she leaned her hands against the desk where the manager was surrounded by attendance and cast sheets as well as a big laptop shining a blue light onto her face. The woman didn’t even look up, instead putting up a board with the names of all people in the production in front of her. - Do you need to see my ID? 

     - Just sign in front of your name. 

Y/N giddily looked at the list of names, hers closer to the bottom but there, written in bold Arial font. She signed her name in front of her printed one with the barely working pen, before pinning it over the board and handing it over to the manager who pointed inside the opera theatre. She held onto her gym bag harshly, padding the sublime floors and looking around with such wonder one would believe she’d never been here. She’d been here before, she was here every month to watch a performance but now she was not guest, she was not just another person walking in with a ticket, she was part of it, she was part of the show. After years of doing community plays, workshops and failed auditions, she had gotten here and suddenly all those days spent in bed feeling miserable in bed after getting rejected yet again didn’t matter anymore she was here.

Her eyes glanced at every tiny little ornament in the opera house until she entered the theatre room. Her heart filled with joy and happy nostalgia as the red and golden tones of the room involved her. There wasn’t anyone in the theatre yet except for a few musicians from the instrumental pit and some cleaners so she was free to roam around. Her fingers traced the suede velvet of the red seats, finding a few missing binoculars on the grounds but not really caring. 

     - You! - she whipped her head towards the voice which came from a woman, probably in her mid 40s all dressed in black with a gold name tag slightly above her left breast. 

     - Hi. - Y/N smiled, extending her hand towards the woman. - I’m Y/N, I’m the new ...

    - I don’t care, we need silk ribbons, now. 

    - Oh, I ... I’m new, I don’t know where I’d get silk ribbons, m’am.

    - The costume room? Go, stop looking at me as if you were Bambi and go.

    - Oh, okay. 

She made her way hastily out of the theatre room wondering how she was going to find silk ribbons, where she was going to find them and why she had to find them. Maybe it was a hazing ritual for new people, after all, she had been into various hazings during her career, including downing a whole bottle of honey which she couldn’t even finish, only eating one fourth of it before becoming nauseous. 

She stopped in the middle of the hall, wondering where the costume room could be. It couldn’t be on the top floor, that was usually where the bars and common rooms were so if the building followed regular construction protocols for opera houses, it was probably on the underground section of the house where the dressing rooms used to be. Y/N ventured into the lift, pressing the lowest number on the number chart of the panel until she reached the underground floor. Y/N looked around, people running in and out yet no one stopped whenever she tried to question where the costume room was. She had managed to find the costume shop but no luck finding the costume room until she was pretty much pressed against a dark door with those exact words by the passing crowd. 

She twisted the knob of the costume room door, tumbling onto the dark room as a result. The room was filled to the brim with costumes on each side of the room, a plexiglass divider between the two sides which stopped every meter or so and also appeared to be divided onto female and male costumes with the ensemble costumes at the back. She padded across the concrete floors, looking through dresses and accessories for ribbons but no successful attempt. The ruffling from the other side of the room had her turning around, forehead furrowed as she walked towards the plexiglass divider. 

     - Hello? - she questioned, wondering if there was someone in this room who could help her find silk ribbons. Great, she had barely joined the company and was already screwing up. Great, Y/N. Way to go, Y/N. 

She saw someone all dressed in black just like the women before, yet there seemed to be something which didn’t match up; black jeans, black shirt and black leathe jacket as well as a pair of also black boots, scruffed and probably entirely too old to still be holding up together. Her eyes caught his which despite the low almost non existent light of the costume room, were light, a sort of greyish blue like the calm sea before of storm. His gaze pulled hers in, like gravity and she couldn’t help but clutch the jacket next to her as a bad feeling along with something she’d never felt before settled in her stomach. 

His hair was mostly pushed back yet the ones which framed his face fell like dominos. She moved along the side where she was to one of the plexiglass gaps and he did the same still maintaining eye contact with her, until the two reached the gap. She didn’t notice she was holding her breathe in until she breathed out.

    - Hi. - her own hand gripped her wrist, shoe grinding against the floors. - Uhm, I’m new here and this lady sent me down to find some silk ribbons but I can’t find any. Do you ...

    - I... uh ... I don’t know where they are. - he faltered for a few seconds before regaining his posture.

    - Oh, I thought since you were here, you might be one of the stage managers. 

    - I’m not. - his tone was monotonous, almost as if he had the answer to her question before she even made it. 

    - Oh ... - she rubbed her neck. - Are you also looking for silk ribbons?

    - I’m looking for the dressing rooms, actually.

    - They’re down the hall. -  she pointed at the door as if it was the “down the hall”. - Hum ... Are you new here too?

    - Yeah. Thanks. - he walked towards the door, opening it and stepping out before catching her gaze once again. 

Y/N remained in the middle of the room as if she were in a transe and maybe she was. It felt like she was falling yet she was firm on her feet and she did not like that feeling. She did not like that feeling of falling, it wasn’t feeling, it was hopeless falling and she wondered why looking at a man who looked like an 80′s glam rock reject made her feel like that, so lost. Maybe it was the respect he appeared to command by merely looking at her or maybe it was the nerves about being new and not being able to find some goddamn silk ribbons. Damn it. 

    - Call for 30 minutes before dress rehearsal. - the voice came from the intercom and immediately her mind dropped the idea of finding silk ribbons and moved to finding the ensemble dressing room and get dressed and ready. Damn it, this was going well. 

She rushed down the hall, bag almost slipping off her shoulder until she saw the door with the ensemble plaque on it. The young woman peaked inside the room where pretty much everyone with a role on the ensemble were already sat down. She shyly walked in the middle row until she found her own little corner, her name written on a sticker on the mirror along with photos of how the makeup should be done as well as how to get the costume in correctly. The same goofy smile returned as she sat down and saw her name above her. It was fine, she was here, she was part of a company.

    - Hey you’re new. - the girl next to her twirled her chair to face her. She already had her makeup on and hair pinned curled up and ready to put a wig cap on. - I’m Elliot but people call me Elle.

    - Y/N, I’m the new chorus girl. First day. 

    - Aw, welcome. - she had a bright smile, inviting and almost as exciting as the whole experience of being there. - Do you want help pincurling your hair? I can get it done while you do your makeup. 

    - Yes, please. - she pulled out a big box from her bag which had all her makeup and pins. 

Elle started pin curling her hair up while she put an inappropriate amount of blush on which was just appropriate to get on stage under the bright yellow lights. Turns out half the practice for opera is learning to do your makeup under bright yellow lights and then learning to sing. 10 minutes to rehearsal start, she was along with Elle going down and up to the main stage where most dancers were warming up. Elle left her to do so, leaving Y/N once again to just stand there, looking around like a little sheep in the middle of wolves. 

    - I’ve never seen you around. - her shoulders almost went up as he turned to see one of the principal sopranos, if not the principal soprano. She had seen all of her shows ever since she was a teenager and she had even wrote an essay for university on her for a module. Catherine Vargas, the best New York could offer, if not the best the world could offer. - I didn’t know they were still casting dancers.

    - Oh, I’m a chorus girl, Mrs Vargas. 

    - A chorus girl? - she furrowed her brows at her, looking her up and down. - What type?

    - The type who ... is in the back with the ensemble. - her voice lowered at least a few volumes down, back curved as if she were bowing. 

    - I know what chorus girls do. I asked what vocal type. 

    - Lyric soprano, m’am.

    - A lyric soprano in the chorus. Interesting. Where did you train?

    - Julliard, m’am.

    - Julliard? - she looked her up and down again. - That is a great school. What is a Julliard graduate doing in the chorus line?

    - Everyone starts somewhere. - she laughed nervously, scratching her arm as she did so.

    - Not a lyric soprano from Julliard. Composers sure do love an ingenue, don’t they? Don’t worry, a few months with me and you’ll be supporting. 

    - That’s ... that’s really kind, Mrs. Vargas. Thank you.

    - Don’t thank me. Could you get me some honey from my dressing room? I’m feeling a bit strained. 

    - It’s 5 minutes until rehearsal starts.

    - It’s okay, chorus normally doesn’t do much during rehearsal. Can you get it?

    - Yeah, I think so.

She straightened her crinkled skirt, looking behind her back before going down the stairs which led down to the dressing rooms. This was good, right? Getting into one of the main star’s good graces besides she was right, the chorus didn’t really get much attention during rehearsals, at least not as much as the main characters. It’s easier to get away with screwing up in the back than in the front, her teacher would tell her which would always earn a few laughs from her colleagues. Yet, Y/N hated to make any mistakes. She would stay up all night in front of a cheap piano she had bought from a charity shop, playing and singing the same 5 note progression until her flatmate yelled at her to shut up. For her, if it wasn’t perfect and if she didn’t get any criticism while performing it, she hadn’t done it right. It didn’t matter at the end of the day but what did matter was to climb up the ladder. She didn’t want to be a star, all she wanted was to be able to be on that stage forever with the spotlight shining on her and she knew there was only one way to climb up. Actually there were two, extreme luck and connections. Now, she didn’t have the best of luck so her major choice was to make connections and reach that status. 

She made her way into the principal dressing room. It was probably one of the biggest she had ever seen, with expensive decor and various flowers covering it. She wondered how many flowers she received on opening nights if that was the number she had on regular days. Y/N made her way to the desk, opening drawers and more drawers to find honey until she found it on the lowest drawn. She went down on her knees to grab it, mindless and careless to everything that was happening until she felt a sharp pain on the side of her her.

Then everything went dark. 

TAGLIST: @lookiamtrying @buckyswillows @blossomslibrary @juliesland @iloveshawnieboi @unmagically​ 

[becomewings]

BTS Universe Timeline

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TIMELINE GUIDE

Content warning: contains references to death, suicide, suicidal ideation, child abuse, domestic violence, blood, homicide, depression, trauma, PTSD

This guide contains major spoilers from all BU media

Revisions and additions will be made as necessary, so please visit the original post for the most up-to-date version (update log is included at bottom of post)

All names are provided as fully as known

Bracketed dates are inferred or calculated from references in the text

While the timeline is presented here as objectively as possible, I acknowledge that there is a level of subjectivity in choosing which information is significant enough for inclusion and in certain connections drawn between entries

Please inform me of any suspected errors; I will investigate and correct them

Do not repost, copy, or quote without permission

School Years: Together & Apart

    - March Year 19 through 10 April Year 22 -

2 March Year 19 Notes 1 (SJ)

Ten days after returning from the U.S., SeokJin and his father visit the principal’s office at his new school. SeokJin learns that he will start one grade lower due to the different education systems. SeokJin’s father grips his shoulder while the principal explains that school is a “dangerous place” that needs to be “tightly controlled.” He asks: “You know you have to keep me informed, right? You’ll be a good student, right?” SeokJin squeezes out a “yes” and his father lets go. Both ChangJun and the principal laugh. SeokJin looks down at their shining shoes, wondering from where the light is coming.

Note: SeokJin’s 25 June Year 19 entry in Notes 1 specifies that his father attended the same high school. JiMin’s 23 July Year 22 entry in Notes 2 reveals that, according to a comment he finds on an online news article, ChangJun and the principal were in school at the same time and fought with each other “as if it would only end when one of them dropped dead,” but they appeared to get along later due to politics.

3 March Year 19 BTS Universe Story: The Boy on the Threshold, ep.1

On the first day of school at Songju Jeil High School, the Dean of Students berates the six latecomers lined up outside: SeokJin, NamJoon, HoSeok, JiMin, TaeHyung, and JungKook. YoonGi arrives even later. The Dean assigns them one month of community service as punishment. When he notices SeokJin, he clears his throat and says he is letting them off because it’s the first day: they must all assemble after classes to clean the annex, a classroom turned into a storage room. This room becomes their meeting place and hideout even after their punishment is finished.

Note: Their punishment for being late is referenced in JiMin’s 12 March Year 19 entry in Notes 1, when he escapes to the old classroom again and finds the others already there. He observes that it feels as though they’ve been “hanging out together forever.” The punishment scene is also similar to a moment in the BTS Begins Middle Scene VCR. Although it includes a few extra students and cannot be confirmed as BU content, it does mirror the canonical detail of YoonGi arriving last.

28 May Year 19 Notes: Answer

In the classroom hideout, JungKook asks everyone what their dreams are because he has to write a paper about future hopes. SeokJin wants to become a good person, and YoonGi says it’s okay to have no dream. TaeHyung poses on a chair and says he’s going to be a superhero. HoSeok scolds him and adds that he wants to find his mom and live happily. JiMin asks him if he is unhappy now, and HoSeok pulls an exaggeratedly worried expression. “Is that how it works?” JiMin is flustered when HoSeok asks what his dream is and remembers that when he was in preschool he wanted to be president, but didn’t know what he wanted after that. Everyone looks at NamJoon, who shrugs and confesses that while he wants to say something nice, he doesn’t have a dream either and just wishes that his part-time job pays more. JungKook looks down at his assignment, divided into sections for “student” and “parent,” and wonders what he hopes to become. He can’t think of anything to write.

12 June Year 19 — The Sea Notes 1

YoonGi’s entry:

All seven boys cut school and decide to go to the sea. They have little money between them, so they must walk to the train station. As they leave, YoonGi almost bumps into JiMin and realizes that he is standing frozen with a trembling face. JiMin stares at a sign that reads “2.1km to Grass Flower Arboretum.” YoonGi flatly tells him that it’s too hot to go to the arboretum. He has an “instinctive feeling” that they should avoid it. He observes that JiMin walks away like a little kid, head bent and shoulders hunched.

JungKook’s entry:

The boys arrive at the beach. They hang around under a torn parasol until HoSeok holds up a discovery on his phone: a large rock that is supposed to grant your dream if you stand atop it and shout your dream out to the sea. TaeHyung encourages them to go. While they grumble in the heat on the long trek, JungKook reflects on how he had recently asked the others what their dreams were. (See 28 May Year 19.) None of them really have a dream to pursue.

YoonGi tells JungKook to stop biting his nails or else they’ll become like his. Then he asks JungKook what his dream is. Having never thought about it, JungKook doesn’t know. He hesitates and then asks what a dream is. HoSeok rattles off a few definitions from his phone. YoonGi questions, “How can something that you want to achieve most in your life and something that is unlikely to come true both be called a dream? … Don’t ever try to have a dream.” JungKook asks why. At his glance, YoonGi stops biting his nails and puts his hands in his pockets. “Because it’s tough having one.” JungKook is curious about why YoonGi bites his nails but doesn’t ask. He recalls that it has been a habit since his childhood to hurt himself. He remembers cutting his finger on a knife badly enough that his mom took him to the hospital, but she didn’t take care of him after they went home. His wound healed slowly because he kept pressing it; the pain helped him feel awake. Even now, he sometimes feels hollow.

TaeHyung asks how much longer they have to walk. HoSeok is puzzled, saying they should be close. They gaze around the empty, pebbled beach. JiMin sighs and reads aloud from an article on his phone. A resort will be built on this beach, and the construction company blew up the rock. They notice the cordoned off construction zone. They try to reassure each other to remain positive, but they all feel the disappointment of walking all that way for nothing. JungKook notices YoonGi biting his nails again and tries to stop him, but he is interrupted by a loud drilling noise. JungKook looks past him at the sea and all that remains of the dream-granting rock, the pebbles under their feet. “Is the world tough for you, too?” he asks, but YoonGi can’t hear him. JungKook screams again. “Do you want to give up on this world, too?” HoSeok and TaeHyung laugh at their mimed conversation. They all look out to the sea and shout their dreams. The drilling is so loud that they can’t hear each other. JungKook cannot even hear his own dream. When the noise stops, they cut off abruptly and laugh. SeokJin suggests that they take a photo. He sets the timer and runs to join their row, the sea behind them. They walk back to the train station. JungKook asks if he can keep the photo. SeokJin writes “June 12” on the back and gives it to him, telling him that his dream will come true. JungKook asks if SeokJin knows what he shouted to the sea, and SeokJin merely taps his shoulder and strides ahead.

BTS Universe Story : The Boy on the Threshold, ep.3

JungKook’s memory of the beach trip follows a similar structure to the scene in Notes 1, plus a notable addition. After they fail to find the dream-granting boulder, JungKook climbs up on the pier railing. He thinks: “I’ve always liked walking on the edge of walls or on top of lines. Focusing on centering my gravity means that I don’t really think of anything else, and the boundary—not quite a part of either place—always felt like where I should be.” Someone grabs his arm while he precariously balances. YoonGi tells him not to do that, and JungKook assures him that he won’t fall.

“YoonGi would often grab my arm when I walked on railings. The others would look after me, too, after seeing him do that. I liked their helping hands. It felt like they were telling me that I should go to them. That this wasn’t my place. Maybe their hands were why I walked on the railings.”

25 June Year 19 Notes 1 (SJ)

Alone in the classroom hideout, SeokJin finds a plant by the window. He takes pictures with his phone but doesn’t think they capture what the human eye sees. He notices that “HoSeok’s plant” is scribbled on the floor beneath the pot and then realizes that the window sills, walls, and ceiling are covered with graffiti and drawings, messages left behind by the students who once passed through that room. He wonders if there were past teachers who used violence and endless tests or students like him who ratted out their friends to the principal. Since his father also attended that high school, SeokJin looks for his name on the walls and finds it with a phrase written underneath: “Everything started from here.”

Note: TaeHyung, JiMin, NamJoon, and YoonGi discover several other familiar names near Kim ChangJun (SeokJin’s father) on the classroom wall in TaeHyung’s 23 July Year 22 entry from 7’s album Notes and the extended version in Notes 2.

30 August Year 19 Notes: Her

JiMin plays in HoSeok’s shadow while he is on the phone, reflecting on how HoSeok has accompanied him on the two-hour walk home since the beginning of the school semester. JiMin eventually realized that HoSeok didn’t live in the same direction but never questioned him, simply hoping that their time walking together would stretch the day out a little longer. HoSeok finishes on the phone and chases after him while the cicadas sing and their ice creams melt. Suddenly, JiMin is afraid, wondering how many of these days are left.

20 March Year 20 Notes 1 (TH)

TaeHyung sneaks up on NamJoon in the hallway by their classroom hideout. He stops when he hears SeokJin’s voice inside, apparently informing the principal about how TaeHyung and YoonGi had ditched school and got in a fight over the past few days. SeokJin throws open the door, phone in hand, and looks flustered to see NamJoon standing there. TaeHyung hides in a corner and is shocked to hear NamJoon assure him, “It’s OK. There must’ve been a good reason.” HoSeok and JiMin find TaeHyung in the hallway, and HoSeok pulls him into the classroom. NamJoon beams at TaeHyung as though nothing strange has happened. Believing that NamJoon “must have his reasons” because he is more intelligent and mature, TaeHyung decides not to tell anyone about the conversation he overheard.

15 May Year 20 Notes 1 (NJ)

NamJoon visits the classroom hideout on his last day of school. Two weeks prior, his family decided that they needed to move due to complications with his father’s health and their overdue rent. NamJoon tries to write a message on a piece of paper. He scribbles “I must survive” before the pencil lead snaps. He crumples the paper and writes in the dust on the window instead.

“No farewell message would be enough to let the others know how I felt. At the same time, no farewell message was needed to make myself understood. ‘See you again.’ It was a wish, rather than a promise.”

Note: “I must survive” is a recurring message tied to NamJoon in the BU MVs. See also 17 December Year 21.

7 June Year 20 Notes: Persona

TaeHyung’s two month old puppy Dubu slips out of the leash and disappears while he is distracted on his phone. TaeHyung runs around the neighborhood looking for him, first angry at the puppy and then blaming himself. When Dubu returns on his own, TaeHyung is filled with the unfamiliar feeling that he is someone who can be relied on.

11 June Year 20 BTS Universe Story: The Boy on the Threshold, ep.5 Everyone’s Place

In the classroom hideout, JungKook listens to YoonGi playing the piano. The sound of the music makes him feel as if YoonGi understands how he feels and is trying to console him. The Dean of Students forces the door open, demanding why they are there. He berates and slaps JungKook, knocking him to the floor. YoonGi steps between them and shoves the teacher’s shoulder. The dean warns him that he had better be prepared for the consequences of putting his hands on a teacher and then leaves. Despite his throbbing cheek, JungKook smiles because it is the first time someone has protected him, and the feeling of getting closer to YoonGi makes him giddy. For the next two weeks, YoonGi does not come to school.

25 June Year 20 Notes 1

JungKook’s entry:

JungKook tries to play the piano in the classroom hideout, unable to make it sound like YoonGi did. He reflects on the rumor that YoonGi was expelled after the events of 11 June and wonders if YoonGi would still be here playing the piano if JungKook had not been there that day when the teacher appeared.

YoonGi’s entry:

Breathing hard, YoonGi arrives at his bedroom, removes a half-burned piano key from an envelope in his desk drawer, and throws it into the trash can. He remembers a day four years ago when he returned to their burned down home and found a skeleton of the piano where his mother’s room used to stand. He noticed several piano keys on the ground and took one of them, wondering what note it was and how many times her fingers touched it. In the present, YoonGi thinks how unbearable living under his father’s rule is and recalls what happened that day: he is officially expelled from school. He picks up the piano key again and hurls it out the window.

“I couldn’t hear the piano key hit the ground. Now I’d never know what note it made. It’d never make a sound again. I’d never play the piano again.”

17 July Year 20 Notes 1 (SJ)

At the end of the last school day before summer vacation, SeokJin tries to leave quickly but is hailed by HoSeok and JiMin. No one knows that he was pressured by the principal and revealed their hideout, which led to JungKook and YoonGi being discovered (11 June) and the latter’s expulsion (25 June). HoSeok wishes SeokJin a good vacation and to keep in touch, but he can’t reply.

“My first day at this school crossed my mind as I passed through the school gate. We were all late and got punished. But we were together, so we could laugh together. I had ruined all those memories we shared.”

Note: Variations of the sentiment “we can laugh when we’re together” recur throughout BU.

15 September Year 20 Notes 1 (HS)

In the hospital emergency room, HoSeok wants to explain how JiMin had a seizure at the bus stop to his mother, Sim SeonMi. When the doctors wheel JiMin’s bed out, HoSeok begins to follow until SeonMi thanks him and touches his shoulder. He feels like she has drawn a line between them that he cannot cross. He falls to the floor, and when he looks up, JiMin’s bed is gone.

Note: The name of JiMin’s mother is specified in his BTS Universe Story arc, Stopped Time. JiMin’s 11 May Year 22 entry in Notes 1 reflects that he blacked out at the bus stop after seeing the window of the Grass Flower Arboretum shuttle bus open. His 12 August Year 22 entry in Notes 2 reveals the real cause of JiMin’s seizure at the bus stop: he sees the boy that he left behind at the arboretum warehouse on 6 April Year 11. Though the boy’s empty eyes no longer speak to JiMin, this chance encounter awakens his memories of that day.

28 September Year 20 Notes: Her and Smeraldo Books Twitter

JiMin, heavily medicated, has lost track of how long he has been back in the hospital. But he considers this a special day because he lies to the doctor for the first time about not remembering anything.

Note: He is lying about not remembering what triggered his seizure at the bus stop on 15 September and/or what happened at the Grass Flower Arboretum when he was a kid (see Notes 2 comments above). This lie is also referenced in his 11 May Year 22 entry in Notes 1.

30 September Year 20 Notes 1 (JK)

A teacher hits JungKook with an attendance book when he refuses to admit that he still visits the classroom hideout, reminding him of when YoonGi was beaten. Later, JungKook stands outside the room and imagines that the others are waiting for him on the other side. He opens the door to only find HoSeok, clearing out what remains of their belongings. HoSeok walks him out, and JungKook realizes that those days are gone and will never come again.

25 February Year 21 Notes: Her (HS)

HoSeok watches himself dance in the mirror. He has danced since he was around twelve and discovered an ecstasy that came from inside himself. Outside of the mirror, HoSeok is a person who collapses everywhere and takes medicine he doesn’t need, who smiles even when he hates it and isn’t happy. But when he dances, he truly becomes himself, casting away all that weighs him down and feeling that he can become happy.

2 May Year 21 Notes: Persona (JK)

Biking along the Yangjicheon riverbank, JungKook thinks about how his friends left him one by one and that no one at home or in the world smiles at him anymore. He stops in the shadows under a bridge. Nobody comes to this kind of ruined place, and maybe that is the reason no one comes to him either. He feels most comfortable alone in the complete darkness where no one will look for him and wants the moment to never end.

9 August Year 21 Notes: Persona (SJ)

SeokJin walks along a Los Angeles beach and photographs the ocean. It has been a year since he fled Songju and moved to his mother’s family’s home, where he grew up as a child. He doesn’t photograph people anymore and didn’t bring any photos from high school with him, afraid to remember who he was at that time or to wonder about how his friends are doing and whether they still think of him.

17 December Year 21 Notes 1 (NJ)

This lengthy entry details events that transpired since the autumn of Year 20 when NamJoon’s family moved to the village, framed by moments on 17 December itself as NamJoon leaves on his own. His family chooses this village because it has a nearby hospital for his ailing father and employers who will hire someone without a high school diploma. NamJoon serves as a delivery boy for an eatery, competing for work with the other local boys. They grow a strange sense of solidarity, and he privately dubs one of them “TaeHyung,” even though the boy’s discontent, outward behavior is more akin to YoonGi’s. (Quotation marks added to the name here for clarity.) Competition slackens when snow falls in winter. NamJoon and “TaeHyung” are the only ones poor enough to risk the road up to the mountain town’s rest area when orders are phoned to the village below. On an afternoon forecast to have heavy snowfall, the restaurant owner dismisses “TaeHyung” due to his bruised face and gives the deliveries to NamJoon. The old delivery scooter fishtails on NamJoon’s third trip down the mountain, throwing him off. More anxious about the scratched scooter than his cut ankle and aching body, NamJoon finally gets it to restart and returns to the eatery. “TaeHyung,” who has been hanging around this whole time, approaches and asks for a favor. Before he can answer, NamJoon receives a call from his mother relaying that his father went outside alone and fell, requiring a trip to the hospital. NamJoon understands that his father was only trying to keep his dignity but is still frustrated because he can’t earn any more much-needed money this day. He hands “TaeHyung” the keys and leaves to take his father to the hospital.

The next day, NamJoon learns that “TaeHyung” was in a fatal accident during one of the deliveries up the mountain. The police officer blames him for being a poor driver and not wearing a helmet. NamJoon does not speak up that he has never seen the helmet the owner now has placed out on the counter. He visits the scene of the accident, thinking that the white outline on the road could be his if he was the one to make the next delivery���just as it could be his family mourning in the village instead of “TaeHyung’s” mother. On a later trip carrying his father home from the bus stop, NamJoon pretends not to hear his father’s frail voice over the noise of barking dogs. A week after that, NamJoon is making steady deliveries up the mountain. During what is ultimately his last delivery, he speaks with a stranger at the rest area, who cautions him to take care. “Do you know what’s really dangerous? Calcium chloride and wet leaves, not the snow itself,” the stranger blurts as NamJoon departs. NamJoon drives carefully back, not looking at the scene of the accident. This is not out of safety, as he tries to convince himself, but guilt: guilt for surviving, for his relief of being the one alive, for not defending “TaeHyung’s” driving skills. He also wonders if he is “a hypocrite pretending to have a guilty conscience.” Because he scattered wet leaves and sprinkled calcium chloride to prevent the road from icing over where he fell that afternoon, believing that he would be making the next delivery. If he did not do both those things, would “TaeHyung” be alive?

Mind and body numb, NamJoon makes it home from the delivery detached from the world around him. The barking dogs snap him out of the daze, and he remembers his father’s words that he pretended not to hear and dwelled on daily despite trying not to think about them: “Go, NamJoon. You must survive.” The next morning (17 December), NamJoon sneaks away to the bus stop. He is running away from his family’s misfortunes, from his own resignation to his fate, from poverty. The bus is scheduled to arrive in Songju in a few hours—the city he left with no notice and is returning to once more with the same. NamJoon wonders if his old friends still live there and how they are doing. On the frosted window, he writes with his finger: “I must survive.”

Note: The village boy’s real name is JongHun according to NamJoon’s 12 June Year 22 entry in Notes 2, which also reveals that he visited JongHun’s home to give his condolences before he left town.

1 February Year 22 Notes: 7 (SJ)

Summoned by his father without explanation, SeokJin flies back to Korea from Los Angeles. Although he has addresses in both LA and Songju, neither place feels like his home.

———————————————————

Update Log

Posted May 5, 2021

Do not repost.

[brywrites]

Lock and Key I

Summary: In which Spencer Reid stumbles upon a GED class at Millburn and feels something like hope for the first time in weeks.

[Series Masterlist]

....

The prison library is a haven, for the few minutes he’s allowed to visit twice a week. It’s quiet, secluded, and full of his favorite things – books. The selection is nowhere near as nice as his personal collection at home, or the public library, but it’s better than nothing. Without words, he’d go mad. He needs stories to keep him sane, to give him a route he can escape by.

Today though, he’s startled to walk into the small space and find twelve other prisoners inside – accompanied by a face he’s never seen before. A woman. What’s even more surprising is that she doesn’t wear the uniform of a guard or an employee. Instead she’s in Converse sneakers and a lavender polka-dotted dress. It’s been so long since he saw that color – any bright color, really. But it’s his favorite and it isn’t until that moment that the realizes how much he’s missed the simplest of things. The sight of his favorite color. Bright images in dull spaces. Things that look hopeful.

Reid isn’t sure what’s going on, but the other prisoners seem to be too absorbed in the books to notice him. Just as he’s thinking he can back away quietly and return tomorrow, she turns around, smiling at the sight of him.

“Well hello there!” she says. “Are you Luis?”

Reid tilts his head, confused. How does this stranger know his friend? “Uh, no, no I’m not. I’m sorry, who are you?”

Her smile drops, though she doesn’t seem annoyed. Merely disappointed. “Oh. They told me Luis would be joining us today, but he never showed up. I’m Y/N. I’m one of the teachers here.”

This is the first he’s heard of such a thing. “You teach?”

She nods. “That’s right! I teach a couple of different groups – a few college classes here and there, a resume workshop. This is my GED class. We’re starting a unit on British Literature so they’ve all come to pick out a novel. You must be new here,” she notes, looking him over. He can feel himself flush under her gaze. It’s been a while since someone looked at him just to see him and not to evaluate his potential as a threat or a tool. “If you’d like, you can join the class. I’ve got plenty of open seats.”

“Oh no, I don’t need a GED.”

“It’s never too late to graduate,” she says. Then, considering him, “But that’s not what you meant is it?”

The way she’s studying him makes him nervous, though he’s certain it’s the same way he’s studied suspects and victims, trying to see beyond the obvious and understand what lies beneath. How strange, to be on the other side of that stare. “I’ve graduated high school already,” he informs her, hoping he doesn’t sound aloof. “And college. Actually, I hold three PhDs.”

“In what?”

“Mathematics, chemistry, and engineering.”

Y/N holds his gaze, taking this in. It’s as though she’s trying to decide whether or not to believe him. He figures in this environment, perhaps it’s not unusual to be told blatant lies by some prisoners. Delusion and paranoia aren’t uncommon. To teach in a place like this, she would have to be insightful and observant. For whatever reason, she must decide to trust him, because she smiles again.

“Well that’s rather impressive. You’re more qualified than I am. Just a Master’s for me.”

Reid decides against commenting in the irony of the situation, that despite his qualifications he’s nothing but a prisoner here. The same category as every drug-dealer, murderer, petty thief, and gangbanger. No better. But the way she looks at him, it at least makes him feel normal again. She looks at him like he’s a human being, with no disdain or disgust in her gaze, and no air of superiority in her voice.

“What did you study?” he asks her.

“English literature in college, education in grad school. I specialized in literature and languages, though I’m not too shabby when it comes to history. If it’s the STEM field you’ll be wanting though, you’ll have to check in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, my colleague teaches those classes.”

Glancing down at her watch, her eyes widen. “Goodness, we’re almost out of time.” She turns to the other inmates and instructs them to make their choices before she has to dismiss class for the day. To him, she adds, “It was nice to meet you – um…”

“Doct-” he begins, before stopping himself. This isn’t a normal introduction. Here, he holds no title, no position of importance. “Er, Spencer. My name is Spencer.”

“Well, Doc –” He tries not to smile at her casual acknowledgment – “if you ever change your mind, we meet Mondays and Wednesdays in room W15 during the afternoon rec slot.”

Despite having no need to attend a GED class, and for reasons he cannot quite explain, he finds himself slipping into that very room on Wednesday afternoon. Y/N glances up from the whiteboard she writes on, faltering for only a brief moment when she catches sight of him slipping into an empty seat in the back row, but she carries on. They’re talking about common themes in Brit Lit, and she’s explaining the Canterbury Tales, which they’ll be reading parts of. From what Reid gathers, there aren’t enough copies of books for them to all read the same novel, but she’s printed out large sections of the Tales for them to read together. It’s familiar, and for someone whose life has largely revolved in academia, it’s soothing to be in an environment where learning is taking place and discussion is happening. Even though he sits silently in the back row, observing.

The other inmates have all picked out books to read on their own and report on, from King Lear to Brave New World. A few have even selected Bronte and Austen novels, which Y/N applauds them for. When she divides them into groups to read and discuss “The Knight’s Tale,” she slips over to join Reid in the back of the room.

“I didn’t think you’d make it, Doc,” she tells him.

He shrugs. “I – I’ve kind of missed the classroom. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to sit in. If you don’t mind, of course!”

“Not at all.” She smiles, dismissing his worry with a wave of her hand. “The more the merrier. Besides, it’s rare that I have students with such an extensive education beforehand.  You’ll need to file an enrollment slip though, just for official records.”

She hands him a piece of paper and a commissary pen. While he doesn’t need the credit, he could use the normalcy. Discussions about books with other people in a space that feels a little safer – even if it doesn’t look like the classrooms he’s used to. The walls are stark white and bare save for three posters of famous writers and scientists. The two windows have thick bars on them. The desks are bolted to the floor. Every man in the room wears prison issued blues. But there is a whiteboard and a bookshelf and a clock. And Y/N, in a bright blue turtleneck. It makes him think of the sky, which he only gets a glimpse of for a few hours each week. Suddenly, she’s become the most vivid connection to the outside world.

“How long have you been teaching here?” he asks as he writes down answers to the form’s printed questions.

“Almost three years now. It started with just GED classes, but some volunteer programs have helped us bring new opportunities to the guys. It took me a while to convince the warden, but they’ve been a huge success. So are you coming from another facility? I know we had some transfers last week.”

He shakes his head. “I uh, I haven’t been sentenced yet. But there was overcrowding at the jail so they sent me here.” Reid pauses. “I assumed you would’ve known that.” The inmate records are publicly available. All she’d have to do is search his name or the number on his clothing and everything she needed to know would be right there – his charges, his admission date, his identifying information and that ID photo from his first day.

But she just shrugs. “I make a point not to look up what my students have been convicted of. I let them volunteer that information if they choose to, but I respect their privacy. Besides, I’d like to believe all of us are more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”

He’s struck by her words. After all, for the last decade his job has been to see people precisely as the worst thing they’ve ever done. To delve deep into those actions and develop a profile of a person on that alone. He has an impulse to dismiss her statement as naïve, but it reminds him of Garcia, of her boundless optimism and her ability to see the best in the world even after looking at the worst of it. That memory and the smile Y/N looks at him with softens the heart he’s been carefully hardening since he arrived here. And so rather than dampen her spirit he asks, “Does it matter if I’ve read all of the books you’re discussing already?”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly with surprise. “All of them?”

“My mother was a literature professor,” he says. “And I just really like books.”

“Well, typically I’d encourage you to take the courses we offer for college credit but they’re full. Since you already have your GED, I suppose we could treat it like you’re auditing. It might help some of the guys to have someone with a little more academic experience…” She trails off and then gasps. “Oh wait! How would you feel about being the TA for the class? It’s been so long since I had one for the GED classes.”

“Like… grade papers and things?”

“No, not like that,” she says. “There are strict rules about who sees what here. Being a TA for me would be less typical TA duties and more of mentoring the other students, helping me clean up after class, re-shelving books, things like that. It’s not an official job so there’s no pay, but you would get good time credit.”

Though he doesn’t know what his sentence here will be, if he’s sentenced at all, he knows that any good time credit he can obtain to reduce the length of it is worth it. And so he says, “Okay.”

Y/N’s eyes light up. Her smile is the prettiest thing he’s seen since he got here. “Perfect! Oh, this is so exciting. I’m glad you joined us.” When he finishes the paperwork, she leads him to an empty seat at a group of tables.

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong, Porkchop. It’s a love story,” one of the men is saying to another.

“Come on now, Xavier, you know the rules,” Y/N interrupts. “Nicknames stay outside the classroom. We use first names here.”

“Sorry, Teach,” Xavier says. He tries again. “It’s a love story, Carl.”

“That’s more like it. Carl, I can’t wait to hear your response. But first, I’m going to have Spencer join your group, alright? He’s our newest student and our TA for the class. He’s read a lot of these books so if you’re having a hard time or want to talk to someone about the material outside of class time, he’s a great person to ask.”

The group welcomes him – Xavier, Carl, Richie, and Luis. Reid is grateful to be with Luis, the one person he knows he can consider a friend inside. They talk about Chaucer and “The Franklin’s Tale,” and he’s surprised by the critiques and connections his peers make. Their debate is certainly different than the conversation he’d expect to find at a university class, but their ideas are still insightful and interesting. They make connections to their own lives, to the sacrifices they have made and the power of love they have witnessed firsthand. Mothers who never stop fighting for their appeal cases. Friends who send money so they can afford commissary. The difficulty of skipping commissary so they can send money home to their own families outside.

When their discussion finally winds down, Reid asks, “What’s the rule with nicknames about?”

“It’s Miss Y/N’s way of humanizing people,” Xavier says. “She says when we use first names like that, we’re all equals. But it’s different outside of class. We stick to nicknames because that’s what you do, y’know?” Reid shakes his head. Xavier chuckles. “You’re fresh meat, huh. First time you been down? In here, COs turn you into just a number or a last name. So nicknames inside are a way to hold on to some of your identity. Beyond that, there’s some guys in here you don’t want knowing your name, you feel me?”

“Nicknames gotta be given to you by someone else. Can’t make your own. Course, that means they’re usually a little insulting. They call me Porkchop,” Carl says. “Xavier’s Hammerhead. Richie is Spiders. And Luis, he been christened Slim Jim yesterday at chow. But don’t worry, we’ll find one for you soon.” Reid isn’t sure how to feel about the assurance. He doesn’t want to belong here, doesn’t want to fit in or get comfortable. On the other hand, he may be here for a while. Maybe laying low and finding allies wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

He knows one thing for sure – as he walks out of class, Y/N flashes that bright smile at him again. And for some reason, it makes him feel hopeful. More hopeful than any session with lawyers or judges has made him feel. Monday can’t come soon enough.

[Next]

..

Tags: @calm-and-doctor​ @averyhotchner​

[some-dr-writings]

Gundham x shy reader who asks for kisses

·       Gundham always found himself enjoying his time with you, you were by far one of his greatest companions in this life. With how shy and meek you seemed to be when you first met, he never thought someone like you would become his partner, he always imagined that if he were to find one they’d be more outwardly bold, yet he fell for you.

·       Time and time again he had seen you try to approach others only to back out, running away in the end. It seemed you might have had a social anxiety of sorts, there had been several times where he had happened upon you after running, leaning against a wall breathing heavily, telling yourself that everything was alright. It was a rather pitiful state to find a person in, Mikan for as… flighty as she was could at least stammer out a few words to people if they talked to her, you on the other hand ended up just blabbering nonsense.

·       Well he thought what you spoke was gibberish till one day he found a little tablet on his desk. Curiously he turned on the device and was met with a box of text. “In a fairy tale kingdom far, far away peoples anxieties exist as monsters who follow them around. Tired of their monsters getting in the way of making friendships a shepherd and riddle solver devise a plan to meet without their anxieties. A river divides their lands and in that great river, a single, small island. There they would meet. First they would capture their anxieties and meet on the island in case they escaped to still be away from them. The shepherd successfully captured his monsters but the riddle solver failed, and more monsters were born of the failure, the riddle solver now having “hopelessness”. Can you get the shepherd and the riddle solver to the island? There are several conditions to this however. 1, no monsters can be with the shepherd and the riddle solver on the island, 2, with every trip the boat makes across the river another monster will find the riddle solver, the shepherd’s monsters will find him every other turn, 3, if the shepherd or the riddle solver are with 5 of their monsters they will be consumed and it’s game over, 4, if the shepherd or riddle solver are left with their monsters for three turns they will be consumed by anxiety and it’s game over, 5, the boat needs two people to row it they can be human, monster or both, but the river is too powerful for only one to move the boat”

·       Tapping the screen he was greeted to a picture on a person on each side of a river, one of them with a black creatures beside them as well as a boat, and island in the middle of the river. There were also buttons at the top labeled “rules and “hints” and such. The style seemed to be like a picture book. After some tapping around he learned the controls and intrigued by whatever this exactly was he played along. Eventually he found a way for them to meet, but it took much trial and error, and was certainly not helped by the fact he refused to check the hints. In the end when he did beat it he was instructed to leave the tablet in between specific books in the library.

·       The next day on his desk he found that tablet again, this time with a new game in it and once beaten, instructed him to hide it in the library once more. Over and over this went on.

·       Once more he had solved the mystery of the new game, however he found the library was about to close. Not wanting to have to wait another day for another fun game he and his devas raced for the library. Though everyone was being ushered out Gundham charged through, bolting straight for the appointed section, the crossroads between mathematics and history. There he spotted you, pulling out a book then looking in between books, sliding them over, a tablet exactly like the one Gundham held in hand tucked under your arm. “… Excuse me-” A high pitched squeak sound escaped you as you flipped around, looking to the Dark Overlord, dropping your tablet in the process. “A-ah, oh, uh, h-hi- uh ummm, hamster squeaking, lost, find the-” Then you ran, leaving behind your tablet. Turning it on Gundham found the new mystery had to do with a woman dying and her sister getting her pet hamsters but the person who was to deliver the hamsters to her lost them in a pet store, and though the sister never saw the hamsters before, she could recognize them by their squeaks always hearing them in the background of her video calls with her sister, and the mystery was to figure out which hamsters made which squeaks in the giant group of them.

·       “Hmm, so the hiding soul speaks riddles…”

·       After the encounter Gundham did research on you, he didn’t know your name or talent, but since Hope’s Peak attendees were always a hot topic on the internet he was sure he could find something on you and that he did, Y/N the Super High School Level Enigmatologist.

·       “Hint.” “AH! Oh, uh, huh?” Before you could panic you were consumed in confusion seeing the dark brooding man before you, holding your latest puzzle before you. It was on the hint page, strange since he had never used the hints before. “Your words fall on deaf ears. Extract the meaning of this!” “… uh… n-new hint? Okay.” And so you began mumbling to yourself about the puzzle, while trying to not give away the answer till you came up with a new hint. Then after Gundham had solve it and was given a new puzzle to solve, he insisted that you give him a new hint again, then again with the next puzzle. Every time there after he came to you, asking for a new hint.

·       Gundham was rather intrigued by you, who found comfort in puzzle solving, getting lost in finding solutions to strange problems. He was willing to help meet you half way across the river, secluded on an island with you, away from the monsters that consumed you anywhere else, he wanted to get to know you without them in the way.

·       He rather liked so much about you, how passionate you were about your craft, going on rants about it for hours, your willingness and even enthusiasm to learn about his passions, how despite your anxieties you always tried your damnest to become a better person and push through them, how you never were confused by his words, always understanding him, how that even extended to his body language and understanding his boundaries on touch.

·       You were a rather logical sort even if your emotions of fears tended to get the best of you. It was only natural since you always were working on puzzles. Even emotions to an extent were logical to you. You saw everything, even yourself as a puzzle to be solved, and so often times the solution to aches and pains was affection. Usually you’d ask Gundham what he thought of you, knowing you’d only receive honesty which was mostly praise. Eventually after a long time you would get to hold hands or hug.

·       It was a rather lazy, sleepy day, it was just so peaceful, before Gundham knew it the day had already passed and it was past dinner time. “Hmm? Y/N?” Usually you’d have come to see him by dinner, but it seemed you never showed up. Did something happen? Sitting up from his desk he found his devas before him. “Ah, so you know where my mate hides?” He slowly got up following him companions.

·       “… the closet?” They simply sniffed at the door, and cautiously he opened it. “Ah!” You sat on the floor, curled up in a ball, cowering in the corner silently. It… had been a very long time since Gundham had last seen you in such a state, it had taken him aback for a moment and there he stood, his mind blank. “G-gundham… affection ple-please.” Your voice cracked and wavered, your breathing ragged. And hearing it almost brought tears to the Ice Lord’s eyes. Did… did you have a panic attack, and he never noticed? Why else would you sound so wreaked?

·       He slinked into the closet, closing the door behind himself before sitting beside you. Taking a deep breath, he took one of your hands into both of his own, squeezing it tightly. “Of course my Emperor, one who unravels the world, who reveals the truth behind veils of deceit. How could I not? You who takes my heart each and every moment, you who I cherish so dearly, you who is so cunning, what possible words could I have other than praise and love?” He felt how tight you squeezed his hand, how you trembled. He was not sure this would be enough this time, he had failed to be by our side when you needed it most.

·       “… My Emperor. Would you be so kind as to unravel my next words?” “… a riddle?” “Yes. Would you solve my riddle?” “o-okay.” “I… I, uh…” Preferably Gundham wanted to come up with a good riddle, one that you would have to think on for a long time, but he doubted he could come up with one. You had asked for affection so maybe… “I am… I am one action that can only ever be shared by two at a time. I am a way to show love. I am… uh… I am-” “A hug?” “…” Slowly Gundham wrapped his arms around you. “I am… something Gundham has never shared with you before.” “Huh? Something……… a kiss?”

·       Damn it. Gundham thought the darkness would make this easier but it only made him more anxious. Placing his hands on your shoulders, he clutched them in a tight grip. Okay! He could do this! He could hug you, and this was less contact than a hug, so he could do this!

·       “of course… someone as brilliant as you could solve my twisted words.” Leaning into you, he felt as if his heart were trembling. Even in darkness he closed his eyes. He tenderly pressed his lips to your forehead for a few moments before somehow managing to loosen the grip on our shoulders, though his fingers were still tense. Slowly he traced them up your neck as he pressed his lips on the bridge of your nose. Finally his hands stopped, cradling your head in them, allowing him to easily kiss your cheeks.

·       “P-perhaps… we can… prepare a meal for ourselves and by the time we’re finished I’ll have come up with an even more confounding riddle for you.”

[cloverque]

monochrome (miya atsumu)

黑白 (宮 侑)

your life is like the black and white panels in a manga, until a certain someone dyed his vivid colours into yours

5190 words

past highschool, present post timeskip, nostalgic themes(?), tiny enemies to lovers trope, theme revolves around unconfessed love until years later

a reuploded request from an anon-then-now-my-friend! <3 not edited

Monochrome. Your life was like the black and white pages in a manga; dull and neutral. There was nothing special about you, for the most part, you were ordinary.

At some point, almost every girl would like a colourful romance. One with blooming roses, scintillating sparkles and handsome young men. Topped off with promises of abiding love and vibrant days filled with never ending mirth.

However, you never pursued it, nor did it find you, and that was alright. Besides, what was the point of heart throbbing ardour if it were all to come to an inevitable end?

With a few clicks, your computer was turned off. You began clearing your desk, sorting out your folders and files when your colleague spun around in their chair.

“Hey, (l/n)-san. Did you hear?” The mousey woman enquired. A small smile was etched across her makeup coated face as she continued. “There’s going to be a dinner function! It’ll be held in the fancy hotel across the building.”

Your coworker across your table stood up to peer pass the desk divider. She chimed in with avidity, “I’m soooo going tonight! I heard the other divisions has a ton of hotties. No way in hell I’m gonna turn down a chance to meet ‘em!”

“Geez, you’re always thinking about men...” The lady beside you sighed, before returning her gaze back to you. “So, wanna go together?”

You shook your head, “Count me out. I already have plans tonight.” As you got up and shifted your handbag, you smiled apologetically. “Let me know if anything interesting happens, though.”

“Oh, okay... See you tomorrow,” she bid you farewell, albeit disappointedly. You nodded and bid the duo the same.

When your back was turned to them, the lady across the divider whispered to the one beside you. You knew what they were prattling about: that you were plain and boring. Wordlessly, you left the room, your heels clacking against the tiles as you made your way to the elevator.

As the double digits on the digital screen changed to singular ones, you closed your eyes.

Truthfully, it would be a lie to say that your life was completely monochrome. It was once colourful, after all, despite being for a short period.

Those days had involved a boy named Miya Atsumu, and he was the one who had brought colour into your high school days.

It all began in a manga shop.

You were in your second year of high school then, and would frequent a manga shop on the way home. It was sandwiched between a decently sized Lawson and an antique shop, on a quieter side of town.

The shop was abundant with not only manga, but also multifarious classics and second hand books. With its reserved location, not many knew of its existence, thus it went unnoticed by hordes of rambunctious manga fanatics.

It was perfect for you; your little safe place. However, you didn’t know that it was also frequented by a particular faux blonde.

You had wandered in with a specific title in mind, looking forward to getting your hands on it the whole day. Meanwhile, the boy’s brain was so preoccupied with volleyball and upcoming matches that he didn’t notice you, in an identical school uniform, lingering in the same section.

And like a sick cliche, your fingers bumped into his.

Withdrawing your hand, you snuck a side glance, only to see a broad chest in your line of sight. You slowly tilted your head to meet his steely gaze. Flinching, you practically whipped around when you realised the boy was towering over you.

“Um, sorry...” You mumbled out whilst backing away.

Atsumu’s brows were scrunched together as he took in your form. He half expected you to latch onto him with your eyes, but you were looking away, at anywhere but him.

Maybe once you got a good look at him, you’d react like all the oestrogen in his life. Squealing his name, asking for his number, all thirsty for his attention.

However, all you did was stand awkwardly, without uttering a single word. The oddity took him aback slightly. Thus, he decided to play with you a bit.

The teen perked his brows slightly before pointing at the manga’s spine. “Don’t cha want this?” He gestured, making you nod. A cruel smirk sneaked up to his handsome face.

You thought he was going to pass it to you. Instead, he slipped it out of the shelf and sauntered away. He slapped a few notes onto the cashier’s counter, making the store owner jump at his boldness. The boy with the undercut swiftly shuffled towards the entrance, his book bag slung over his back with the manga dangling from his long fingers.

Gawking, you watched as the automatic sliding doors opened for him. You wanted to call him back, to demand him to return it to you. But you knew it was impossible. The manga wasn’t yours, after all.

The blonde cocked his back to catch a glimpse of you. Noticing your conflicted expression, a mischievous grin spread across his face. He stuck out his tongue at you, cackling as your eyes widened and your face flushed. Then he left as soon as he came.

Your entire body trembled with embarrassment and humiliation. What just happened...!?

To make your day worst, you later learnt that the manga was the last one in stock. The rest of your day was spent stabbing your food and antagonising your pillow.

The next day, you found him again in the manga shop, but with grey hair. You almost dropped your book bag as you stomped towards him, fuming and ready to pounce on him.

The ash grey haired teen glanced at you with a deadpanned expression as you stopped beside him, shaking with infuriation.

“How could you do that to me yesterday!? You took the last one! The! Last! One!” Your nostrils flared as you exhaled. “Now I have no wait an entire week– And why’s your hair grey now–!?”

Despite your confrontation, the boy remained unfazed as he cocked a dark brow. It took him a few seconds to realise. He glanced up at the ceiling then back at you.

“Sorry, I think you’re mistaken,” he began politely, maintaining a neutral expression. “But the person you’re talking about is probably my obnoxious twin.”

This encounter had ended with a deep bow and a deluge of apologies. Nodding, the more reserved twin gave you a cold ‘ok’ before ambling away.

Since then, you realised that there were two twins in your school: the Miya brothers. The asshole was Atsumu, and the quieter one was Osamu. Or at least, they had seemed that way to you, on account of your personal experiences.

You wondered how you had never noticed them until now, especially when they stood out during assemblies due to their dyed hair. Not to mention their questionable popularity with the girls.

Maybe Osamu was reasonable, but who in the right mind would fall for someone like that blonde jackass Atsumu!?

On one occasion, you were shuffling past the gymnasium for a nurse’s errand when you saw a glimpse of the volleyball club. Bright blonde hair swished past the doors, and you remembered your meeting with the haughty male.

“Nice kill!” A deep voice hollered, followed by the high pitched squeaks of shoes against polished floor. You peeked past the doors, eyes shining with curiosity, when the twins you had met suddenly jumped into the air.

Your eyes were set on Atsumu as he deftly set a volleyball for his brother, who spiked the ball without delay. Sweat glimmered down the faux blonde’s forehead, tracing his jawline before dripping onto the floor. The slap he gave Osamu’s hand reverberated in the gym as they shared matching grins.

Seeing them together really highlighted the fact that they were carbon copies of each other. Your train of thoughts were derailed when a member with dark hair and narrowed eyes pointed in your direction.

Atsumu glanced at you, his smile turned upside down whilst you jolted up. With confident strides, he was in your face in an instant. He gave you a once over before grimacing.

“Get lost.”

Then he slammed the door shut in your face. As you stood frozen in place, unable to register what had happened, Osamu pressed his lips together in a thin line.

“‘Tsumu, that’s no way to treat a lady.”

His golden haired twin simply snorted in response.

Your next encounter with Atsumu took place at the manga shop again. A fight had broken out between the two of you, both unwilling to relent. Gripping the limited edition copy tightly in your hand, you refused to budge.

There were extras, but you had arrived first before the haughty boy and both of you had touched the same copy. Consequently, warring with each other.

Both of you shared exasperated expressions, tugging and pulling desperately for the manga. Neither wanted to throw in the towel. Atsumu was much stronger than you, clearly, his biceps flexing as he clenched his teeth and tried to pry the book from you.

Meanwhile, your two feet were planted firmly in the ground, all your strength poured into rooting yourself into the tiles or risk falling backwards if he were to let go.

However, he would not in a long time.

“Let go, you brat!” He chided, grunting with exasperation. Tugging it back harshly, you almost stumbled.

Growling animalistically, you retorted, “Never!” Then you lunged forward to bite his hand.

The blonde released the manga with a yelp, shoving your face off his hand brutishly. You stumbled back in response, tripping and landing on your bum. A string of saliva dribbled down your lips as you stared up at him, grinning victoriously.

Atsumu glowered, holding his bitten fist with his other hand. A row of teeth had punctured his skin, and you realised there was a little blood. “What the hell is wrong with you!?”

As you stood up and brushed your school skirt, you adjusted your book bag and gripped the manga to your chest. Trembling with anger, you were giddy with pride and sheepishness.

“You slammed a door in my face, asshole!”

Then you rushed past him to pay for your purchase. Atsumu turned to watch you leave, your loafers tapping against the floor softly as you ran off. But when you hopped out of the outlet, you gave him a side glance and stuck out your tongue.

Atsumu recognised the gesture; he pointed a middle finger in return.

Days and weeks went by like that, with Atsumu and you contending against each other to buy the weekly Jump, the first copies of mangas or limited edition prints. It was childish, for two seventeen year olds to tousle with each other.

Atsumu would ruthlessly tug on your hair, screaming bloody murder of your existence and stubbornness. Meanwhile, you resorted to calling him all sorts of colourful words, which would result in the shop owner throwing the two of you out. There was even a time when you both were banned from stepping in until you made up.

It happened eventually, and the two of you would at least communicate with less insults and more civilly. Your peace treaty with him didn’t mean letting him snag first copies of new arrivals, though. But Atsumu and you settled it through more human means, instead of ripping out each other’s hair.

There was one moment in which Atsumu had made your heart beat a little faster, too. It had happened like this: you were found beside the school’s vending machine, crying because you had dropped your shoujo manga in a muddy puddle. It would never have happened if it weren’t for a group of girls that bumped into you on purpose.

Your emotional breakdown ended when Atsumu found you in that pitiful state, squatting by a murky ditch with a floating black and white book. He had stumbled upon you by coincidence, as he was buying a Pocari Sweat.

He recognised your (h/c) locks and your figure even from afar, and when he realised you were crying, he was stumped. Sure, you would cry when he tugged at your hair during fights, but for him to see your tear stained face outside arguments felt weird.

Atsumu remained silent, standing near you as you sniffled. You knew he was standing behind you, you could tell him from the hairdo in the shadow looming over you.

Instead of asking what had happened, his eyes scanned the scene and realised that a limited edition manga was floating in the dark brown puddle. Probably yours, he had thought. He connected the dots instantly. Atsumu may be childish at times, but he wasn’t an imbecile.

The blonde setter knew how much you loved your manga, how brightly you would beam whenever you got your hands on them. For you to ruin it must have felt like a heartbreak, or worse.

“Was that the one we bought two days ago?” He mumbled, and you nodded meekly.

With a soft sigh, he approached the vending machine. After slotting his coins in and pressing a button, a drink dropped to the bottom. He bent down to scoop it out, mumbling as he did so.

“You can borrow mine, if ya want.”

At that moment, your mind went blank. This immature boy was going to lend you his? It wouldn’t be such a big deal if this was anyone else, but this was Miya Atsumu you were talking about.

An insolent big shot who refused to let you win. Someone whose mental age degraded when he fumbled with words to support why he deserved to get the first copy. A selfish guy who never wanted to share.

You glanced up at the teen silently, tears still streaming down your face. He flinched as you croaked, “Miya-kun... Are you sick or something?”

“...Never mind. I think I’ll retract my offer!” He huffed, spinning on his heels as he shuffled away.

Scrambling to your feet, you blurted out, “W-Wait! I was joking, I swear!”

You chased after him, and although he couldn’t hear it, you wished Atsumu wouldn’t be able to hear your heart pounding in your chest.

Inevitably, the blonde twin and you grew closer. Sometimes, you would walk with him to school, though it was more like you were third wheeling with him and his brother. The two of them would converse about volleyball, homework, and even little things like bentos and nonsensical topics.

You grew used to their frivolous antics, and Osamu eventually opened up to you as well. The two of them even let you call them by their first names, especially since referring to both of them as ‘Miya’ was confusing.

Atsumu only learnt of your name when you both exchanged it, and when you told him he could call you by your first name, he chaffed you for the overfamiliarity.

There were days when the blonde and you would visit the manga store together. And in time to come, the teenager grew fond of your ebullient nature towards comics. He would poke fun of you for reading ‘unfeminine’ genres, such as horror and sci-fi. Whenever he found you peeking at boy love books, you never heard the end of it.

At the same time, you began to appreciate him, despite his snide remarks and snarky attitude. There were times when his jokes crossed the line you, making you pout and sometimes cry, but he would apologise through his actions, like gifting you the new arrival of your favourite manga.

It was almost impossible to get him to apologise, due to his pride, but he always made up with you in his own way. And for that, you were grateful.

As months passed and you both became close friends, Atsumu began hanging out with you during school hours. On one occasion, the both of you hid in the rooftop to eat lunch. Osamu wasn’t present due to a cold, so it was just the two of you.

Picking up an octopus shaped wiener, you gave it a half hearted glance before popping it into your mouth. Atsumu was rambling about morning practice, blathering on how pissed he was that his brother wasn’t around to spike his perfect sets.

Suddenly, without thinking, you interrupted. “You know, you’re not a bad guy, Atsumu.”

Your eyes were fixated on his when you blurted out. His cheeks were stuffed with rice as he turned to you, surprised. With a perked brow, he gawked at you like you had grown a second head.

“Wait, are you falling for me already, (y/n)?” His deep, buttery voice was muffled by the contents in his mouth.

You grinned and waggled your brows. “No way, your personality is like sewage water.”

With a giggle, you leaned in to take away the small grain lingering by his lips. Your soft knuckles brushed against the corners of his lips and he swore he had stopped breathing.

Atsumu’s cheeks were dusted pink at your kind yet intimate gesture. Nobody had done that to him before, and he was unsure of what to feel.

Taking notice of his sudden silence, you raised your brows. “Atsumu, are you okay?”

“Haaaah–?! What are you talking about, I’m perfectly fine!” He scrunched his brows together, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Then he turned away, his back facing you as he scarfed down the remains of his lunch.

You tilted your head, unsure of what had happened, but resumed eating too. Truthfully, he was a little abashed. Ever since then, his heart would beat a little faster for you too.

Atsumu’s presence in your previously dull life meant new found colours. Days went by in a blur, with jokes, nonsense and memorable memories. He had snuck into your life when you least expected it, and so did you in his.

You began watching the volleyball team‘s matches. Sitting in the back row, you would cheer for Atsumu in your own special way: inwardly.

You didn’t understand much about the game, but you knew that your blonde friend loved it more than anything else, even his manga. So it must have meant something strongly to him, and as a friend, you had to support him.

The game was moving quickly, a bit too quickly for your taste. You didn’t comprehend what was happening, but at least Inarizaki was winning. The intimidating black screen beside the court flashed with a new digit, eliciting an eruption of cheers from the cheer squad.

“Isn’t he cute? He’s kinda dreamy,” a girl in front of you sighed to her friend, and you perked up instantly. Unconsciously, you began eavesdropping. “I wonder if Atsumu-kun has a girlfriend...”

“Are you kidding? Men that hot are either gay or taken!” Her peer bubbled with conceited giggles.

You wrinkled your nose at the insensitive response, but you mulled over her words. You had never seen Atsumu with a girl before. However, there were instances when you stumbled upon him during a confession. You would hide in a bush or behind a wall, listening curiously as the girl rambled on about how much she loved or admired him.

Without fail, his words would be laced with distaste while turning them down. Usually with harsh responses like ‘you don’t even know me’ or ‘I betcha say that to every guy’. He would even go as far as ripping a love letter to shreds.

They were total knock outs to the girls’ feelings. And as they ran away in tears, you couldn’t help but feel devastated for them. Atsumu sure was a prick at times.

“Him? Having a girlfriend? Never in a million years,” you mumbled under your breath.

Strangely, your chest had tightened a little with the thought.

The game finished shortly and the volleyball team gathered together to thank the watching spectators. Atsumu’s eyes bore holes into the black banner hung over the wall when suddenly, he glanced in your direction.

You flinched under his discerning gaze, stiffening nervously. He didn’t know that you were here until now.

His eyes narrowed a bit before a smirk settled on his sweat stained face. Your face burned, a little too hotly for your liking, and you looked down at your shoes to hide it. Why was he staring at you like that?

The girls in front of your row squealed that he was looking in their direction, but when they called out to him, he looked away. His cold attitude almost made you snigger.

Now that the match was over, you decided it was time to head home. You were ready to descend a flight of stairs when a familiar voice called your name. Spinning around, you came face to face with the handsome blonde, who was wearing a shit-eating grin.

“Didn’t know you came,” he breathed, arms akimbo as you cocked your head.

“Yeah, I wanted to cheer for Osamu.” You gave him a cheeky, lidded eye smile. An irk mark formed on his temple as he chopped your head with his hand.

The two of you went off after that: you teasing him on his missed serve and how his brother had to pick up his slack. Atsumu bared his fangs and fired empty threats and curses, all the while you pulled your bottom eyelid and blew a raspberry mockingly.

A dark haired teen in a jersey with the number ten stood idly by his teammates. Leaning on a railing, he hummed. “Who’s that, Osamu?”

The mentioned twin watched his brother and you with a softened expression. As the two of you fought like cats and dogs, he chuckled. “Someone who can stand Atsumu more than me.”

“Huh... If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they’re in love.”

The Inarizaki volleyball club watched as Atsumu pinched your cheeks and spread them ruthlessly, earning a high pitched whine from you. You resorted to clawing his face and Osamu had to put an end to both of your antics–

The voice on the intercom derailed your train of thought. Getting up, you stumbled out of the train in a daze.

You had unwittingly gone down memory lane, a bit too much. As your heels tapped against the concrete sidewalk, you glanced up at the dark sky twinkling with a streak of stars. Clouds rolled by leisurely, and waning luna peeked from her wispy blanket.

The rest of your high school had gone by in a blur, most of it involving Miya Atsumu. There was one time when you went to an anime and manga convention with him.

You smiled fondly at the distant memory: Atsumu was teary eyed as he shook hands with his favourite mangaka, who was a hunched over man. Out of respect for him, he knelt down, to be the same height, and took a photo with him in that state. You had never imagined a day would come when he would kowtow to someone.

Taking out your phone, you searched up for his social media and tapped on his Twitter account. There were posts after posts of his activity in the MSBY Black Jackals.

A silly selfie with a dog filter made you titter aloud. The comment section was overwhelmed with questions of his next match, his day, relationship status and the like.

Atsumu was an even bigger shot now. He also moved nearer to his volleyball team’s hometown, just to be able to practice longer hours there. He had left his hometown a while ago, and the both of you hadn’t contacted each other for years.

You once had his phone number, until a sneaky crow took off with your old mobile phone. No clue as to why that had happened.

Sighing at the thought, you stepped foot into your destination: a manga shop. The same one you had first met him. It never really changed; faded beige walls and oak wood shelves with blanched posters. Walking back in here only reminded you of how colourful your life had once been.

“Welcome back, (l/n)-san!” greeted the young boy behind the counter. He was the grandson of the shop owner, whose knees had deteriorated over the years.

You glanced in his direction. “How’s business been, kid?” He gave you an ‘ok’ sign and your expression softened. “Hope it’s okay if I take a bit. I finally found some time to shop.”

“Store’s closing in ten. Don’t take too long!” He waved back earnestly and you nodded.

Making your way past the familiar shelves, the clacking of your heels resounded in the almost empty store. Your hair bounced behind you as you tread past the sports manga section, past a tall, blonde.

You had failed to notice the old friend behind the mask. The blonde man glanced up the moment you passed, and his eyes widened in shock.

Without hesitation, you picked up the latest issue of Jump. It had been a while since you read manga, as everyday was swamped with work. Flipping through the black and white pages, your mind drifted to the reality in the panels.

You were oblivious to the male strutting towards you. As he approached, he took in your more adultly figure and attire. You were dressed in a white button up which clung to your chest, and a black pencil skirt that hugged your waist and hips.

You looked ravishing, to say the least, and Atsumu had to swallow the lump in his throat. There was no mistake, the beautiful woman in front of him was you.

He stopped behind you, hands jammed into his jean pockets before pulling down the white mask. The man with a dark cap atop his fluffy blonde locks peered past your smaller form to take in the manga in your hands. With a soft hum, he spoke up.

“Something’s never change, huh?”

You jolted up in surprise and whipped around, only to come face to face with an intimidatingly tall man. He was almost 190cm, perhaps, and was built with muscles that even his clothes couldn’t hide. His broad chest was in your face, and you had to tilt your head back to meet him in the eye.

With a lopsided grin, the man took off his cap. His tousled blonde locks sprang out of their cage, and your eyes widened in recognition while he smirked, “Sup, (y/n). How are ya?”

“Atsumu?!” You gasped, the Jump going slack in your hands as you dropped it. It flopped onto a pile of similar copies whilst said blonde placed a finger over his lips.

“Shh, I’m here on my day off!” He teasingly hushed, and you instantly clamped a hand over your mouth to silence your confused screaming.

Was this for real? How could the boy, who had painted your monochrome life full of colour, be standing right in front of you? Right now and right here?

Your eyes flitted from the pooling chocolate brown in his eyes to his larger stature. Raking his figure with your wide eyes, you came to a conclusion: Atsumu had changed.

You knew that he was more built from his self-centred topless selfies, but seeing him upclose was a whole different experience. He has grown taller too, though he had always loomed over you either way, but it was still a little frightening how much he could grow even after puberty. Meanwhile, his undercut was relatively the same, except his bangs were not pushed back, unlike before when they were swept to the right.

The only thing that had remained unchanged was the playful glint in his orbs and the smug smile tugging on his lips.

“I...Is it really you, ‘Tsumu?” You murmured, albeit teary eyes as you removed your hand from your mouth.

Running his fingers through his golden mane, he chuckled, “Do ya know anyone with these good looks?”

Your eyes narrowed playfully and you pinched his cheeks. Huffing, you told him off, “Stop trying to be so suave, weirdo!”

“Geh– But seriously, I thought you died or something! Ya never responded to my texts,” He spluttered out as you pulled his cheeks harder, and he managed to add, “But lucky me, you’re still kickin’!”

“Wait, you what?” Your lashes fluttered in confusion. You hadn’t gotten a word he had said since the beginning.

“I tried contacting you once in a while, but you never replied.” He blinked, and you looked down at the ground, suddenly embarrassed.

“Ah... My phone was stolen by a crow. And I lost your number...”

“Wait, for real? That sounds like something straight outta a manga!” He chortled as a sheepish smile snuck on your flushed face.

When Atsumu had calmed down, he placed his hands over yours, detaching them from his cheeks. Holding your hands gently, he wore a mask of calm. You were a bit confused by his sudden, gentle gesture. You gave him a questioning look, although your heart was starting to pound uncontrollably behind your ribs.

Squeezing your hand lightly, he began quietly. “(y/n), I know it’s been a long time and all... But I never forgot the times we had together. And, well, I know it’s kinda late, but I liked you.”

A blush crept up on both of your faces as he continued clumsily. “I kinda still do, so, well... If you’d like, we should–“

“Shop’s closing!” Atsumu and you jumped up in surprise. The boy was standing at the end of the section, a look of genuine surprise on his baby face. Glowering, the blonde barked fiercely.

“You ruined it, ya moron!”

The teen flinched before scuttling away. You burst into giggles as the upset athlete scowled. Whipping his head back to you, he scrunched his brows together, exasperated.

“What’s so funny?” He enquired, still wearing a frown.

Breathing shakily, you wiped away a tear in your eye. “You never really changed, Atsumu!” With a lidded eye smile, you grinned at him innocently, heart swelling with nostalgia.

His glare softened at your expression. Shooting a quick glance at the returned boy, who was peeking from the shelves anxiously, he clicked his tongue.

“Let’s ditch this place,” he grunted, taking your hand in his again as he dragged you out of the shop. You stumbled but eventually matched his pace.

With an apologetic glance at the young boy standing in the shop, you turned back to Atsumu. “Still as mean and pushy as always, aren’t cha?”

The faux blonde gave you a side glance, still pulling you along. Eye rolling, he slapped back on his cap and looked ahead, “Shut up.”

Neither Atsumu nor you couldn’t deny that both of your hearts were pounding. The two of you ended up taking a long stroll in your hometown, catching up on the pass few years and more. The night also had ended on a high note.

Once again, Miya Atsumu’s vibrant colours had seeped back into the monochrome panels of your life. Perhaps, this time, a romance would bloom between the two of you.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　fin.

[liibrii]

𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒔

A/N: soft hours only; page divider by @firefly-graphics​

Akagi– takes you to a museum and you're surprised when he shows up looking very smart wearing a shirt and a tie. at the museum he starts acting as your tour guide and makes up outrageous facts about exponats presented. some unsuspecting visitors start following you around and he enthusiastically answers all their questions while you're trying not to cry from laughter.

Aran– was planning on taking you to movies but forgot he already agreed to babysit his younger brother. invites you over anyway, you cook dinner and make a mess of the kitchen. his brother starts craving something sweet so each of you tries to come up with a new dessert. when Aran wipes some whipped cream off your lips his brother pretends to be scandalised at how disgusting the two of you are being.after proclaiming the winner of dessert competition (you) you clean up and play boardgames till late night hours.

Kita– makes all your favourite snacks and takes you on a picnic somewhere quiet, a secluded part of a park or a clearing in the forest not many people know about. you talk and laugh and he lays his head on your lap, happy to have you all to himself.

Omimi– takes you to the zoo where he tells you a fun fact about every species of animals you look at and you make a litle game – if you find an animal he doesn't have a fun fact on he'll buy you a plushie of said animal. the place is quite crowded that day but that's a good excuse to hold your hand.

Atsumu – you go to an open house tour, all dressed up, pretending to be an ultra-rich couple, putting on fake accents and commenting how 4 bathrooms are not nearly enough. it's not long before the realtor sees through you and kicks you out. you laugh your asses off and go get a cheap lunch after.

Komori– you've planned a study date but Komori just found an old and dusty book of poems while cleaning the attic. He starts dramatically reading them out loud and acting like he's on the stage but when he stumbles upon a romantic poem that touches his heart he takes your hand and reads it to you, meaning every word. he tears up a little at the end.  

Hoshiumi– you joked once he has no sense of rhytm and he took it personally. Enrolls into dance lessons and drags you along every week, spinnig you around the dance floor and dipping you for a kiss at every opportunity.  Seeing his enthusiaism makes your heart melt and when you return home your every muscle hurts; from dancing and from laughing.

Tendou – doesn't really plan your dates. he takes you to the shopping mall on a whim. you do some window shopping and he takes note of things you like. the two of you end up in the clothing section trying on ridiculous outfits and taking selfies he sends in team's group chat.

Yamagata - takes you to the amusement park and bee-lines for the haunted house. if you're a horror enthusiast he'll try to get a few scares in, and if you're not he'll hold your hand and let you hide behind him. after he tries to win you a prize by the shooting stands. you have to drag him away from getting on a roller-coaster 6 times in a row.

Hinata – a water gun fight! what could be more fun than running outside spraying each other, screaming and laughing. once Natsu joins in with water baloons you gang up on him.

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Something to Uplift Us

Ao3,  MasterPost

Relationships:  Romantic DLAMPR (Roman-centric, kinda Remus-centric), platonic Creativitwins!!!

Do I like this??? Meh. Is it something that I wrote? Yes. I will heal myself from SVS-R with Fluff.

Warnings: Remus Typical Nonsense, swearing, mentions of being in Quarantine, all sympathetic sides, non-sexual Pole Dancing

Word Count: 2,667 

Roman was the essence of romance and it showed. For his entire existence, he'd been well acquainted with the hypothetical. If he were his own person, if he had a prince of his own, if he had the chance at a romantic relationship, he knew what he would do. Roman knew relationships, he always had, and it had tortured him to know that he'd never have one.

Which was why it frustrated him to no end that he hadn’t been the one to ask out his fellow sides. He’d honestly never thought that it would be an option. When he first developed his feelings for the others- Virgil, Patton, Logan, Janus, in that order- he had felt nothing more than excitement. He was giddy, he was light-headed, just to know that he could feel that way. He would spend hours daydreaming, just musing over the way they made his heart stop, but he never hoped for anything to come of it. He wasn’t sad, or mournful, or pining per se- just so caught up in the joy of feelings that he forgot that he could do something with them. 

So he thought about it a lot, suffice to say. And all he had now was time to think; it was nearly month three of quarantine. Roman had wrung his brain out like a sponge for anything new to think about- The Imagination was practically turning gray! He tried to tend to it, truly he did, but it was getting harder every day. Creativity's fellow sides had all busied themselves taking up new hobbies- Virgil was teaching Patton to draw, Janus had learnt embroidery, Logan took up knitting, Remus made trash sculptures… They all seemed to be having their own little renaissance (complete with plague), and what was Roman doing? Wasting valuable free time!

  In a fit of desperation, the artistic trait dived under his large canopy bed, rummaging around until his hand caught on the lip of a cardboard box. With no small amount of effort, he pulled the enormous container out from under his bed so that it could be properly examined. There, piled high in the box, were dozens of notebooks and sketchbooks- all of which filled to the brim with writing, drawings, and poetry. Having no clue what he was specifically looking for, Roman upended the box and watched the contents crash to the floor. Something in here would surely spark his mind! Perhaps some old work would catch his eye and inspire some redraws!

The side hadn't needed to search for long. Right at the top of the pile- bright pink, its cover dotted with puffy heart stickers- sat a large, spiral-bound sketchbook. You could almost see the light bulb pop up over Roman’s head as he squealed and snatched up the sketchbook. Flopping down onto his bed, he flipped it open in one hand and placed the other against his chest. 

“Ooh, some of my best,” he cooed to no one in particular, gaze turned to the dozens of love poems surrounded by little doodles of hearts that filled the pages. This was the journal he’d confided in before the sides had all officially begun their relationship, filled with flowery prose about anything from Janus’ scales to Patton’s smile; from Logan’s laugh to Virgil’s freckles (a rare sight, usually hidden by make-up). Roman was so lost in nostalgia that when the ideas hit him, he nearly fell out of bed in excitement at his own thoughts.

Of course! He could take all of these old writings and compose them together, into one eloquent amalgam that would illustrate perfectly all those things that he’d been unable to articulate in the beginning! And it seemed only fitting that such a soliloquy be delivered in The Imagination- in the most gorgeous scenario he could fabricate! Somewhere open to a starry sky, for his left-brained loves- but it had to have ornate architecture, of course, and it had to be cozy. Oh, it was all coming together now.

Roman leapt out of bed, posing with his hand above his head and sinking deeper into The Mindscape extravagantly. He didn’t waste time looking around at the depressing half-formed scenery, sweeping his arms up and erasing the entirety of his half of The Imagination. Time to get to work.

Remus was stretched across the Commons couch, his head in Janus’ lap and feet in Logan’s. The TV hummed with whatever show they’d thrown on as background noise, and a few feet away at the counter, Patton and Virgil were hovering over some sort of scrapbook.  Nobody had the energy for conversation; nobody had the energy for anything. 

It was magnificently boring. The Duke already filled up an entire sketchbook, written half a dozen shamelessly smutty self-insert fanfictions, constructed and subsequently destroyed eldritch beings in his room, and bothered his boyfriends. So, all that was left to do was doze.

It didn’t help Remus’ tired state that Janus was running his fingers through his hair. The monotonous waking world was finally slipping away. Maybe there was something buried in his dreams that could hold his attention.

But just before sleep took hold, a white-hot energy ran through the trait’s body, jolting him so suddenly that he tumbled off of the couch and onto the floor. His arms and legs were all pins-and-needles as he looked up at his very concerned partners.

“There’s fuckery afoot!” Remus announced, wide-eyed. He pulled himself up and grinned, “You guys stay here!” 

Without so much as a good-bye, Remus threw himself into the ground, saving himself the time of sinking out properly. After a moment’s silence, Janus resumed working on his embroidery. 

“Should we go see what that was about?” Patton asked tentatively. 

“Meh,” the three other sides responded in unison. After a moment, Janus added, “It is Remus, after all.”

Roman’s structure was coming together beautifully! Wide marble columns rose up and held aloft the glimmering silver ceiling, the middle of which was a sky-light open to thousands of stars and a brilliant full moon. Surrounding the opening was a spiral of stone roof- through the gaps of which even more astronomically accurate stars shone!

The inside of the building consisted of an immense mahogany stage, currently cloaked by thick velvet curtains and overlooking plenty of seats. Rather than traditional theater rows, Roman had arranged the seating like lovely cafe tables, all of which were given generous space from each other (Except for two at the very front, of course). Lanterns hung from the walls, casting the space in warm lighting. Creativity currently stood at the very back, thinking that it could use just a little more of something. With a smirk, the side snapped his fingers and the wall of the room was pushed backwards several yards. With a few more flicks of the wrist and dividing columns, a little lobby was formed. 

He’d given the theater room maroon carpeting and rich gray walls, but the new back section needed brighter lighting and a more cream-canary color scheme. Now he could just finish the decor!

Or he would have, if not for the fact that at that moment someone crashed into his ribs with all the grace of a flaming motorbike. 

“BRO!!!”

“ACK-!” was all Roman managed, as all the wind was knocked out of him. He glared up at his brother, who was sitting on his chest. 

“I knew you were up to something! You wiped half of the whole fucking Imagination! What is this!?” 

Roman wheezed, pushed Remus off of his chest, and finally pulled himself off the ground to catch his breath. His brother was spinning around the room already, eyes sparkling as he took in the building.

“I had to blank it, I needed my full focus,” Roman explained, back to work and filling the back wall with tall bookshelves, “and it’s a surprise, so don’t tell the others.”

“Oh, I won’t. Provided you let me in on whatever this is,” Remus had an ear-to-ear grin, bouncing on the balls of his feet. After a moment’s consideration, Roman hummed.

“I’m doing something nice for our boyfriends. I think we all could use a little pick-me-up, so do not ruin this!”

“I wanna do something nice for them! Lemme help!” 

“You don’t even know what it’s for! Plus, it’s personal!”

“I already asked what it was for, Stupid.”

Roman huffed.

“I wrote them something. Hence the stage.”

“So, what, you’re gonna bring them all into your fancy library-opera for your poetry orgy and I sit in a corner somewhere and be quiet?”

“Ideally.”

“Not a chance, Whore!” Remus swung himself up onto the concession stand that Roman had just created, tearing into a box of candy (food made in The Imagination always tasted weirder than food or ingredients they conjured elsewhere in the Mindscape, but he didn’t particularly mind). 

“Fine. What do you want to do?” Roman challenged, hands on his hips.

“I. Want. To. Help.”

Roman raised his eyebrows doubtfully. Grumbling, his twin started gesturing around the room as he spoke.

“The stars are too bright, they take the focus away from the stage instead of accenting it. The color of the curtains are too similar to the carpet. You’ve got Corinthian shit in there and bookstore lobby vibes in here, which is garbage and inconsistent.”

Roman blinked, his eyes following along with Remus’ criticism. 

“Hm. You have a point.”

“I’m Creativity too, you know. I have some taste.” The Duke said, gnawing on the cardboard box that had contained Imagination Candy moments before. 

“You’re wearing crocs and jorts, simultaneously.”

Remus waved his hand dismissively, hopping off the counter and rushing across the room.

“Whatever. Come on, I’ve got an idea how I can accompany your performance, too.”

“Oh, goody.”

Hours had past and little had changed in the Mindscape living room- Virgil and Patton had finished up their scrapbooking and were curled up together in an armchair, so Logan was sitting at the counter space previously occupied by the two and clacking away on his laptop, and Janus hadn’t moved. The muddled energy of the room had remained pervasive.

That was, until the door to the imagination slammed open, the doorknob cracking against the wall. Four heads shot up to see Remus and Roman, standing side-by-side (quite looking the part of identical twins, matching smiles and all). 

“Oh god,” Janus groaned instinctively, carefully setting his embroidery on a side table, “What did you two do?”

“Yeah, I don’t trust that look,” Virgil said.

The twins scoffed in mock-offense, continuing their odd coordination.

“We try to do something nice,” exclaimed Remus.

“And not so much as a ‘thank you,’” added Roman solemnly. Eyes were rolled, but Patton perked up considerably (just as planned). 

“Ooo, what are you talking about?” 

“It’s a surprise!” Said The Duke, bouncing up and down. Creativity Prime gave a sweeping motion to indicate the still-open door to the Imagination, which had been steadily seeping into the common room with a bright new energy that it had been lacking for days. 

“Follow us,” he instructed, disappearing through the door once more with Remus at his back. Patton bounced after them immediately, grinning. 

The three left-brained sides exchanged glances, shrugged, and followed suit. 

The twins were backstage in an instant, trusting their partners to figure out where their seats were on their own. Roman began pacing around as soon as they finished warming up. 

“Are you sure you can do this? I’m still not sure if your performance is well-suited to acoustic guitar-”

He was cut off by Remus groaning exaggeratedly.

“I can work with anything, bitch.” 

“Right, right,” There was a beat. “You’re sure you’re ready?”

“I’ve been ready. What’s going on with you?”

Rather than responding, Roman did another lap around the stage. 

“C’mon! Stop pacing before I take a bonesaw to your legs!”

“Okay! Alright! I’m ready!”

Before Remus could come up with any more gruesome threats, Roman snapped his fingers and the curtains began to rise. He took his place half-sitting on a stool up front, a guitar in his arms. Behind him, Remus stood between two sturdy metal poles that rose from the stage and into the ceiling. You can already see where this is going.

When the stage was fully revealed, the lights above the audience dimmed. Figuring that the show would be rather awkward if said audience consisted of four people, the Creativities had The Imagination render dozens of prop-people. They moved and acted like a crowd of humans, but each individual was too vague to focus on for long. Thus it was made very clear where their fellow sides were, sitting right up front with a wide array of expressions from amazed to amused to bewildered.

Roman took a moment to steel himself and then began playing. Originally, he’d planned on spoken-word for his loves, but traditionally there is music involved in pole-dancing, so he’d made a few adjustments in order for Remus to be able to contribute. 

Roman started singing, melting as the gazes of the real audience members turned awestruck (and also very flushed, likely from whatever surprisingly impressive poses his brother was pulling behind him). He liked to think that he poured his heart out into every performance, but for this one it felt quite literal. 

Roman’s voice picked up gradually, and he could vaguely hear metal clanging behind him. It went on like that for a good few minutes- because if there was one thing the Twins weren’t, it was brief- before the show finally concluded. Roman stalled for a moment as both the imaginary and real components of the audience applauded uproariously. Remus swung down from the pole and hopped over to him.

“We bow now, Dumbass,” he hissed, noticeably out of breath.

“Oh- right.”

They took hands and took a couple bows as the clapping died down, standing back up with wide grins and red faces. 

As soon as the auditorium was relatively silent, Patton rushed the stage. He outstretched his arms and hopped up and down excitedly.

“Lemme up!” 

Roman grabbed his hands and pulled him on stage while Remus was still attempting to catch his breath. Morality leaned down to give The Prince a brief kiss, and then bounced over to the much more exhausted half of the act to give him the same treatment. He was grinning so wide that it looked painful, his face a bright pink. The Duke wore a matching expression, but the smile was much more unnatural in that preferred way of his.

“So you liked it?”

Rather than verbally responding, Patton grabbed the hands of both Creativities and made a cheerful ribbiting sound.

“It was wonderful,” Logan supplied, climbing the stairs on the side of the stage to meet them, Virgil and Janus right behind him. He was much less outwardly enthusiastic as the other spectacled side, but no less appreciative.

“Yeah, did you guys put all this together today?” Virgil asked, throwing an arm around Roman’s shoulders. 

“What else did we have to do?” Remus answered with a shrug. 

“Good point.”

Janus cleared his throat lightly, immediately drawing everyone’s attention. His eyes were noticeably rimmed with redness, a small smile on his face as he outstretched all of his arms.

“Here, all of you, now.”

Patton cooed.

“Group hug!” 

Fitting six people into one hug may seem awkward, but it always seemed to work out for the sides. At least, Roman thought so. Virgil would fake exasperation at the affection, but they could all tell he loved it. Logan would try to maintain his dignity and fail miserably. Patton was a ball of warmth and energy that seeped into the rest of them. Janus was by far the best at giving hugs, though it could be considered cheating to have extra limbs.

At that moment it hit Roman that, perhaps he hadn’t started this relationship, but he was still a part of it. And that was all he could ever want.

These    Performances    inspired Remus’. They are oddly calming to watch, and super impressive!

@shrimp-crockpot

[chilling-seavey]

Heartbreak Hotel (d.s.) - Chapter Ten

A/N Winter break means more time to write. Let’s see how many days in a row I can post a chapter 🥰

Daniel was elbows deep in the living room sofa when Christian came downstairs the following morning, a small pile of loose change already on the coffee table.

“Good morning, little brother.” Christian said, startling Daniel as he swung around like a deer in headlights.

“Hey.” Daniel replied, pulling out a shiny quarter from the couch cushions before diving his arm back in.

“What are you doing?”

“I need quarters.” Daniel answered, smushing his face against the couch to reach in farther, fishing around for a few more coins.

“What for?” Christian asked.

“Something.” Daniel snapped. He sighed, finally getting to his feet and he pushed the cushion back into place. “I’m gong to eat breakfast at the diner if Mum asks. I’ll see you later.” Daniel said, scooping up his pile of coins from the coffee table and headed down the hallway.

Christian narrowed his eyes in the direction of his little brother as he shut the front door behind him.

Daniel nearly floored it to Sherry’s, the wheels of the Thunderbird leaving skid marks on the street as he pulled quickly into the parking spot and jumped right out. It was barely 7:30am and he knocked impatiently on the locked restaurant door.

Jack came rushing over to let him in and then locked the door behind him again, “You owe us one. We had the closing shift and we voluntarily took the opening shift for this.”

“I know, I know. I literally owe you both my life.” Daniel said, dumping his pile of change on the front counter of the silent and empty diner.

“What’s the code to the register, Jack?” Zach asked with a tired sigh.

“0204.” Jack answered, joining him behind the counter as the register drawer opened with a loud ‘ding’.

Zach pulled out all of the quarters in the slot and Jack traded it for a few dollar bills to make up for what they were taking.

“Aren’t you gonna get in trouble for that?” Daniel asked.

“No. Still the same amount.” Jack smirked, finishing putting the bills away and then closed the drawer. Zach tossed the dozens of quarters onto the counter with Daniel’s pile and they divided the collection into three equal sections.

“We start calling at 7:45. Give it two rings and if they don’t answer then just hang up and call again until one of us gets through.” Jack instructed, checking his watch. “We have a few minutes to spare so listen up. We all have younger sisters who are all insane about this guy so we’ve gotta know some facts, right?”

“Too many facts.” Daniel nodded. “Anna’s gonna murder me if she knows I have tickets and didn’t take her.”

“Reese is kinda young, but I know the songs.” Zach said.

“We should be alright.” Jack rubbed his hands together. “My sister Ava said they’ve been asking three questions and you need to get them all correct to win the tickets; trying to see who is his ‘biggest fan’ or whatever.”

“And this is the last contest.” Daniel confirmed.

“Yep.” Jack nodded, “This is your only shot.”

“But no pressure.” Zach added.

Daniel only scoffed.

“Come on. Let’s get set up.” Jack jumped over the counter and grabbed one of the small tables from the middle of the restaurant and carried it to the back where the line of four payphones were set up against the wall. Daniel brought over the handfuls of quarters to set on the table and Zach turned on the kitchen radio so they knew when the contest was to start. The song that was playing filled the diner although it didn’t make their nervous energy any calmer, even with Daniel singing softly under his breath.

“That was Good Golly Miss Molly by Little Richard. Only good rhythm here on 96.3 to start off your morning. It’s quarter to eight and time for our final contest for your chance to win a pair of tickets to Elvis Presley’s private show in August at the Paramount Sound Stage-“

Zach shut off the radio and jumped off the counter, “Go, go, go!”

The three of them each got themselves in front of a phone and slid in the first of many quarters. They stuck to their routine, staggering their calls so one of them was always on the call while the others hung up after two rings and pushed in another quarter.

“Come on, come on.” Daniel mumbled, jamming another quarter into the pay phone and dialed the radio station like it was a number he had memorized his whole life.

“Yes!” Zach shouted almost too loudly into his receiver and looked over at his two friends. “I’m through!”

He shoved the phone at Daniel who had no choice but to grab it from him, “Hello?”

“You’re on the air with 96.3, what’s your name?”

“Daniel.”

“Well, Daniel, do you think you have what it takes to win these once-in-a-lifetime tickets?”

“Y-yeah.” Daniel said as excitedly as he could.

Jack and Zach gathered around him and they pressed their ears around the receiver to try and hear what the radio announcer was saying.

“We’ll get right to your questions then. Where was Elvis born?”

“Where was- oh! Mississippi.” Daniel answered like it was second nature.

Anna always wanted to travel to Mississippi for family vacations for the sole purpose of it being the state where her idol was born.

“That’s correct! Next question: Elvis recently bought a mansion in Tennessee. What is the name of this property?”

“Uh…” Daniel’s eyes scrunched closed in thought. “G-Graceland.”

Anna’s middle name as the name of Elvis’ property had his sister screaming about it for weeks. He’d be dumb to forget that.

“That’s correct! Last question for you, Daniel. It’s all riding on this one. What was the song that Elvis sang that is inspired about a local suicide?”

Daniel couldn’t bite back his smile as he glanced over at his two best friends who were staring at him with hopeful wide eyes. His sister went on about how Elvis had such a kind heart to sing about such things and she played that record loudly after receiving it for Christmas.

“Heartbreak Hotel.” Daniel answered coolly.

“Well, my golly, you got them all! Congratulations, Daniel! You’re going to see Elvis live at Paramount Studio Stage in August!”

[straykats]

Hi, I'd like to request a scenario with Hyunjin where the reader is also an idol who's very famous for her dancing talent, they bump into each other backstage at an awards show and the reader compliment him a lot, praises him and asks for a private lesson from him cause she really admires him... His reaction is up to you... 😊

I’m not really sure how award ceremonies run behind the scene, so I based this off my experiences when I was in music ensembles..? I had like.. three different openings for this typed out, but I think this was the best one i could work with lol sorry if it’s kinda iffy jcdknd

-----------

“30 minutes until the opening ceremony!”

As the staff pops back out of your dressing room, your make-up artist does the final touch ups. “Okay, y/n, you’re all done! Be sure to wink a few times - I didn't spend all that time on your eyes for no reason!”

You laugh and thank your stylists and makeup artists before leaving the room… Well, it wasn’t really a room. All the female artists had been grouped into one massive hall, divided into smaller sections by pin-up boards. You had heard that all the male artists were in another massive main hall. On your way out, you pass many signs of well known groups, your mind rushing with names. Politely greeting everyone you pass, you make your way out into the hall.

As a fairly new artist, this was your first award show. You weren’t completely oblivious of how things ran, but sometimes you wished you were part of a group, not a soloist. While being a soloist had its pros, it was often at times lonely, as you remember now, standing in front of the elevator doors. 

“... late, Channie-hyung’s gonna scold you, and Minho-hyung’s gonna make you practice way more. See you soon, hyung!”

You look up to see a tall guy walking towards you, dressed in a blue suit. He was looking at the ground, his hair covering his face. As he got closer, you greet him.

He looks up, and your heart jumps - you recognised him. Hell, you looked up to him.

You were sure a lot of people did. He was rather tall.

“Ah, hello-” He greets you back, and stops next to you. “You’re y/n, right?”

“Oh!” You nod your head. “Yes, I’m surprised you know me.”

“You’re surprised?” Hyunjin lets out a laugh. “You’re one of the most looked forward to rookie this year. Or, like… For me, anyways.” He blinks a few times, frowning, before rephrasing himself. “I mean, I look forward to a lot of your performances. You’re a very good performer. I wish I was like that when I debuted… Ah, I’m Stray Kids’ Hyunjin-”

“Hyunjin-sunbaenim, yeah, I know-” The elevator pings, door opening. You both step inside. “What floor are you going to?”

It turns out that he was going to the same floor as you - that is, you were both on your way to the main stage. While you were going just to get ready to be seated, he was going to prep for some MC-ing. 

“You’re an amazing dancer, you know, and being able to sing like that, while dancing? I never understand how my members can do it,” Hyunjin says.

“Oh, I’m- I’m nothing compared to you. You’re control is so much better than mine, and you’re ability to synchronise all the different movements! I was such a fan-”

“Was?” 

“Oh, no- i didn’t mean-”

Hyunjin starts laughing, and you laugh too. You had always wondered what would happen if you met the idols that had inspired you, but you never would have thought they would be teasing you in an elevator.

“You were one of my idols,” You confess. “I looked up to you a lot as a trainee… and even now. I really hope I can perform like you one day!”

Hyunjin seems a little taken aback. “I- Wow, thank you, y/n. I guess i’m not a rookie anymore, but I haven’t been in the industry for too long, so to hear something like this…”

The tips of his ears are red, and you turn away. The elevator doors open, and you both step out. 

“Anyways, I’ll- I’ll see you around, yeah? Fighting, y/n!”

You nod and bow.

The awards ceremony goes smoothly. You’re sitting two rows in front of Hyunjin, and in any other circumstances, you would probably find yourself turning around to look at him. It still seemed a little unreal to you that you had talked to him so soon after your debut. 

You watch Hyunjin MC during some of the small breaks, reading out live comments and praising the performances in the first half of the show. Stray Kids perform as well, and you watch earnestly, your eyes scanning the members for Hyunjin. He had changed into a red jacket for this stage, the outfit complementing all the other members outfits, black and red and white. 

The intermission comes after their performance, and you wish you could find the boys and praise their performance, but you were performing the opening stage for the second half. You make your way out of the sitting area and find your way back at the dressing rooms… You had only twenty minutes to change and get all your makeup touched up. It took just over fifteen minutes, everyone rushing and double checking.

You’re getting mic’d up backstage when you hear someone call your name. You look around, seeing a person clad in red diverging from a larger group. 

“You’re performing next, right?” 

You nod, feeling a little guilty that you couldn’t face Hyunjin directly due to the staff securing your mic.

“Good luck! I’ll be cheering for you, y/n!”

“Thank you…! And good job, your performance was amazing!”

You can finally turn around to face him, and how does he still look so good after such a powerful performance?

“Well, I should let you go. You only have a few minutes, and I need to get changed too…”

He starts walking off, but you call out his name again.

“I- I don’t know if this is out of place or wrong of me to ask, so I fully understand if you deny-”

“Y/n, quickly!”

Your head snaps around at the staff member’s voice, adrenaline filling your veins at the idea of performing in front of such a large crowd. You take a deep breath. “I would really appreciate if you could… teach me, someday? Dancing, that is.”

He’s blinking at you, his tongue between his teeth. You weren’t sure if this was a good or bad reaction. 

“I’ll talk to my manager about it! But go, y/n! Rip the stage apart for me, yeah?” He pats your shoulder and gives you a charming smile. You can only bow your head as he hurries off.

“Y/n, we’re live in a few seconds!”

“Sorry, coming!”

The performance goes alright, to say the least. Nerves got the better of you at the beginning, and you start a beat late, but you manage to recover. By the end of the first verse, you’re calmer. When the dance break comes, you’re feeling fierce, and the adrenaline in your was converted to energy which you showed brilliantly in your performance.

You’re sweating by the end of your stage, and you make your way backstage to the staff handing you towels and bottles of water. In less than half an hour, you’re ready to return to your seat.

You catch Hyunjin’s eye as you walk to your seat and he throws you a thumbs up.

-

The van ride back after the awards show lulls you to sleep, and you try to focus on the passing lights to stay awake. You’re pretty much on the verge of sleep when you feel your phone vibrate. Pulling it out, you see a message from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: hey, y/n! This is Hyunjin, we talked a few times tonight. You’re performances were very good tonight! I talked to my manager, and I should be able to meet up with you for a few dance practices at the following address. I’ll be looking forward to a reply :)

A location is sent, directing you to a dance studio between both yours and Hyunjin’s company. You try to get your manager’s attention to talk to them about this meet-up, but you’re asleep before you can formulate a sentence. Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow, you will reply.