#we keep googling pieces of information that are mentioned in class and finding out they are incorrect or misleading

[mantisgodiveblog]

Against all odds, we have survived. We're taking a university course now, because the government will pay us for it and we do need the money, but it has unfortunately been eroding at our sanity somewhat, and we are learning nothing that we don't already know. We are, however, getting money.

We have somewhat of a backlog on Discord at the moment, as it doesn't have a daily upload limit and also it's easier to stick things on while we are being told things that we already know by people who are phrasing in in ways we find significantly misleading or incorrect (note: we don't use apps for things the vast majority of the time and if we access Tumblr via browser it immediately fucks up our formatting on PC, which can last several months). We will, hopefully, be posting these soon, but all is dependant on if we can actually scare up the time between courses to conglomerate that and fix any formatting errors in thoughts and such.

If that will happen any time soon... good question! Every time that our work practicum teacher opens her mouth, we take points of physical damage, and we don't think she understands the fact that getting back after we walk to a place also involves walking. We've had a lot going on for a while now and very little of it has been good. We're on new meds, and if the gods prove merciful, we won't have to tolerate this particular clown show past March. If there is no mercy to be found, however, we might have to keep doing this until June, in which case you can probably expect the quality of this to take a sharp downturn as the short time we have already spent in this program is already having immediate and catastrophic effects on our mental health.

We do not recommend going to university in any circumstances, but we are unfortunately aware that it may be necessary to get such things as a fancy piece of paper saying you are employable. Additionally, we would tell you to calibrate your expectations for anyone with a degree lower, but apparently what we consider the basic level of knowledge you should know before saying anything on any topic is everyone else's "bachelor degree and a bit", so our estimations on what people think is a high degree of knowledge to have are probably also off.

Any donations go to the Fund To Compensate Us For Having To Correct A Teacher Multiple Times In A Lecture And Then Looking Up Her Sources Later And Discovering They Are Blatant Misinformation. We are very tired. Please do research on things before talking about them. Thank you.

[1kook]

new parent syndrome

— kim namjoon x (f) reader

SUMMARY You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.) WARNINGS dilf!joon, dreamy husband joon, loving parents au, jimin is also a dad, bathtub sexy times, exhibitionism 😳 kinda sorta, tiny praise kink, joon calls her wifey TT, fingering, cunninglingus, doggy style, it’s kinda cheesy n romantic /.\, unprotected sex, …. impreg kink RATINGS m (18+) WC 9.5k 

NOTES writing parent fics is harder than i thought :/ i had this idea last week n was like yes, lets write this fic that absolutely no one asked for... except me! <3 so here we are, fantasizing about dreamy dad joon.... as always i have to thank rumu ( @kigurumu​ ) who is kind enough to edit these n b like that don't make no sense -_- anyway lemme know what u think !! enjoy !!

No matter how hard you try, the letter f refuses to fit itself into Hyejoo’s phonemic understanding. She’s a growing toddler so it’s only normal that there are sounds she still can’t pronounce, words she doesn’t quite get. But her inability to say food or family or friends, which are undoubtedly the three most important things in her three year-old world right now, is definitely a setback you didn’t see coming. 

Your worrywart husband has taken matters into his own hands, using the power of Google and about twelve parenting books to create an extensive, one-hour-a-day, mini lesson to try and increase her pronunciation skills. Of course, Hyejoo already attends daycare in the mornings while you and Namjoon are off at work, and gets sufficient learning done there. So she can’t exactly sit through Joon’s lectures, no matter how pretty he tries to decorate her flashcards. She’s still tiny— she’s still your baby, and you want her to enjoy the last of her daycare years before you’re forced to submit her to the worst twelve years of her life (also known as compulsory education). 

But as you’ve mentioned before, Namjoon doesn’t quite feel the same way. 

“She can’t sound out the letter,” he mopes in bed that night. He’s laying down beside you, face smushed against your thigh. The lamp on your side of the bed is the only thing on, casting a faint golden hue on his cheeks.

This conversation has occurred a variety of times these past few weeks, and you’ve just about ran out of every comforting reassurance possible. You settle on stroking a hand through his hair. There are emails to respond to and clients to check in with, but there’s also a huffy husband in bed beside you who quite pitifully crawls up into your arms. 

It’s with his face between your boobs that he speaks again. “What if she’s getting made fun of at school? Or her teachers think she’s dumb?” You roll your eyes. “My baby is not dumb, __,” he says, as if you don’t know. “Her IQ came back above average when I took her to the development specialist that one time, remember?” You have half the mind to tell him an IQ test on a three year old isn’t exactly valid, but there’s already enough stacked on his plate. Finding out he wasted a hundred bucks for an invalid test would just be the cherry on top of all his worries. 

Water clings to the very tips of his hair, remnants of his bath with Hyejoo. Namjoon is getting older now, nothing like the dashing grad student you had met what feels like a lifetime ago. There’s bags under his eyes, bags that surpass any all-nighter-pulling college student’s, induced by none other than the sheer power of becoming a parent. And still, he retains his beauty, looks like a doll with his skin so dewy from his skincare routine, lips puffy and red and kissable. 

He looks up, and you take the opportunity to place a kiss on his lips, his familiar scent making you melt into his arms. When he pulls away, there’s still a subtle furrow between his brows. 

“Hyejoo is fine,” you reassure him, carding his brown hair out of his face. He leans into the touch, eyes falling shut. “Our girl is the smartest three year-old out there,” you huff, feeling the slightest bit annoyed that he could even insinuate otherwise. “And if she was having problems at school, you know I would be the first one in there, fighting all the other moms.” 

Namjoon relents, face falling back into its haven between your tits. “Okay,” he mumbles, muffled from the way his plush lips drag against the soft skin over your sternum. 

The subject of Namjoon’s worries is in the other room sound asleep, not the least bit concerned with measly letters and sounds. It’s really only Namjoon who is, his stack of letter flashcards glaring at you from on top of the dresser. “Your mother hen is showing,” you tease as he slips beneath the covers, leaning over you to flick off your lamp. Just like everything else in your house, his t-shirt smells like him. It’s a natural, woodsy scent that floods your nostrils and makes your toes curl when he comes so close. 

Namjoon snorts as he settles beside you, beefy arm pillowing your head as he pulls you close. “I’m not a mother hen,” he says, hand on your waist, the tantalizing expanse of his neck before your eyes. “I’m the rooster— the cock,” he snickers, and you reward his terrible attempt at a joke with a pinch to his side that has him retreating to the other end of the bed. 

Hyejoo’s best friend in the entire world— or, as she says, her best pren in the entire world —is none other than Park Yerin from daycare. As the universe would have it, Park Yerin is also the one and only daughter of your college philosophy seat neighbor, Park Jimin. 

Crossing paths with him later down the road was not something you could ever anticipate, especially when you and Jimin were never that close in college to begin with. It was the only class you had with him in all four years, one where you had quietly acknowledged his charisma and occasionally shared homework answers, before never speaking to him again. You could have greeted him on campus, as you often crossed paths. But Park Jimin was a walking friendship magnet who seemed to bring with him a parade of followers everywhere he went, and approaching him required three layers of strategic planning if you wanted to catch him alone. 

So bumping into him at the entrance of Hyejoo’s daycare six years later comes as a bit of a shock. You had never pegged him as the type to settle down so quickly— you don’t mean to label him, but there were certain college stereotypes that he fit like a glove —but there he was, carrying the tiny love of his life who’s currently dressed in a bright pink Minnie Mouse dress. 

Unsurprisingly, just like her father, Park Yerin has the same enthralling personality that makes everyone in the three to four year-old daycare class want to be her friend, and your sweet little Hyejoo is not exempt. 

Long story short, out of all the kids at Sunny Side Daycare, Yerin is Hyejoo’s favorite, and Hyejoo is Yerin’s favorite. 

So now it’s been a little over a year since the two girls have established their friendship, which means it’s been a little over a year of acquainting yourself with Jimin again. He’s a house husband, something you never expected, and he loves his daughter like no other. Some afternoons after daycare are spent with Jimin and Yerin at the nearest coffee shop, watching the girls haphazardly scribble over every piece of paper they can get their hands on while the two of you catch up. 

Overall, you’re happy Hyejoo can have a friend like Yerin, and secretly, you're also happy you can finally befriend a fellow parent as nice and put together as Jimin. On top of that, Namjoon’s liked him on the few occasions he’s met him; the two have even gone out for drinks. 

However, befriending Jimin and Yerin comes at a cost, and that cost is seeing your little girl grow up.  

It’s your turn to mope. 

“Yerin asked her to sleepover,” you groan, sadly patting in your skincare routine the next night. Namjoon is somewhere behind you, his naked back glaring at you through the reflection of your vanity mirror. He’s so broad and big, sleep shorts clinging to his waist as he lotions up his body post-shower. There’s a thin gold chain around his neck that glints everytime he moves around, biceps flexing and bulging in plain view until he finally slips his shirt on. There was a time in your life where his back could not go more than two days unscathed, your rabid (read: horny) claw marks painting rosy trails down his spine. These days, you can barely remember the last time he’s held your hand. 

“Who?” he asks once he’s settled beneath the covers with whatever book he’s reading now and his thick-rimmed reading glasses. 

“Who else,” you say, tugging your night robe closer to your chest as if it’ll prevent your heart from breaking anymore than it already was. “Hyejoo’s first sleepover,” you sigh. 

You take it harder than you imagined. In the back of your mind, you’ve always known your little girl was growing up— hello, you were literally watching her grow more and more inches every single day —but you had convinced yourself she would stay your baby for a little while longer. As much as you wanted her to see and learn about the world, you selfishly wanted to keep her home too. She was your baby, your only one at that.

At least Namjoon feels the same way. “Absolutely not,” he squawks, abruptly slamming his book shut. He’s usually really meticulous about lining up his fancy bookmark right on the line he left off on, so his sudden carelessness tells you all you need to know about how he feels. 

You sit down beside him, hand over his. “It’s Yerin’s birthday,” you inform him in what you hope is a comforting tone; unbeknownst to him, you’re trying to reassure yourself as well. “And Jimin said he and his wife are gonna be there the whole night.” You trust Jimin, you really do. If there’s anyone who’s more in love with their kid than you and Namjoon, it’s Jimin. He would never let anything happen to his Yerin, and by extension, he would never let anything happen to your Hyejoo. He’s a good dad. 

Namjoon rubs at his eyes. In the span of two minutes, he’s aged about five years. “No,” he sighs softly, squeezing your hand tightly. “Once she starts going to sleepovers she’ll start wearing makeup and getting into relationships and having her heart broken—“ 

A kiss is enough to silence him when he gets like this, his warm breath fanning across your bottom lip when you pull away. “She just wants to wear tutus and sing Baby Shark right now,” you murmur, hand creeping up over his chest. His heart is beating fast as hell beneath his t-shirt, feels like it’ll burst straight out of his chest if you don’t calm him down. 

He’s the bigger worrier out of the two of you, has a classic case of paranoid parent syndrome. 

It’s no secret that Namjoon has a big brain; he’s an educated man with a respectable job. For every problem he encounters, he can procure a variety of solutions with different approaches. He’s always prepared and part of you thinks he’s a huge reason you managed to survive those first few weeks as a mom. Unlike you, who had attended a whopping two mommy classes in preparation for your upcoming child, Namjoon had studied up on parenting. A lot. He had read books and reviewed scientific studies, had learned about development on the chemistry level and the social level, did all he could until he was confident in his own dad abilities. 

But, for every solution Namjoon can find, there are always twenty-eight other factors to worry about. 

“What if she has an allergic reaction and Jimin doesn’t know what to do,” he pales, death grip on your hand. His matching wedding band digs into your skin and you have to wrestle his hand away before he accidentally breaks your finger. He nearly broke your neck once when you were in college, had almost sent you to the ER mid-thrust because he had underestimated his own strength while trying to choke you.

“Hyejoo doesn’t have any allergies,” you remind him, giving up on your awkward half-seated position as you clamber over him. His thighs are full beneath you, tense up as you move over him and he manhandles you into his chest. 

He’s not done. “What if she asks Jimin for a fizzy drink and he can’t understand her?” His eyes are owlish beneath his glasses, covered in what you can only describe as a visible sheen of absolute terror. “What if he thinks she’s saying ‘pissy’ not ‘fizzy,’ __— what then?” It’s amazing, really, how a man who graduated cum laude can hypothesize this many disasters pertaining to a four year-old’s sleepover. 

In the other room, Hyejoo calls for you, so you gladly take the opportunity to remove yourself from Namjoon and his spiraling thoughts. “Look,” you say, tightening the sash of your robe as you get back up. “I’m gonna go tell her that she can go to Yerin’s sleepover tomorrow,” you tell him, giving him exactly three seconds to groan dramatically, before continuing, “and you figure out how to turn that big brain off by the time I come back.” 

Luckily, the cause of Hyejoo’s sudden wake up is a tiny bug bite she got from playing outside that just won’t stop itching. “Mommy, it hurts,” she whines, digging her nails into the tiny red mark by her knee. 

“Uh huh, lemme see,” you order, turning on her bedside lamp to illuminate the space. Her room is the prettiest shade of yellow, fitting for a ball of sunshine such as herself. “Were you playing by the flowerbeds?” You ask, running a finger over the mark a little too weird looking to simply be another mosquito bite. 

She knows she’s not supposed to play near the flowers— the bugs like her a little too much. It’s with a hesitant little nod that she confesses to it. You give her a pointed look. “You’re not supposed to play too close to the flowers,” you remind her, a tiny scolding for now. 

With a sniffle she responds, “not by the plowers.” 

A little bit of anti-itch cream has her settling, and by the time you return to your bedroom, Namjoon is out cold. 

“How old is Yerin turning?” Namjoon asks her at the door, heartbreak clearly painting his features as you help Hyejoo into her shoes. 

“Pour,” she beams, her tiny hand held up to show four stubby fingers. She has Namjoon’s pretty smile, an honest look in her eyes that makes you want to put her in your pocket and never let her go. Alas, Yerin’s sleepover party starts at five and Hyejoo has been trying to leave since noon. 

“Pour,” Namjoon repeats, shooting you a pointed look as if to say see. He had fought the decision up until the end, had even tried to tactically convince your daughter to stay home by getting a head start on preparing her favorite food. And well. She said no. So now the two of you are stuck having dinosaur chicken nuggets for dinner without her. 

She’s got her little travel bag on now, tiny feet stuffed into her ladybug rain boots because it had rained last night and she’s awfully addicted to jumping in muddy puddles. She’s absolutely adorable, your little girl, and you think Namjoon might’ve let out a tiny sob earlier. (Or maybe it was you.)

Namjoon joins you at the front door. “Be good,” he warns her. His eyes are suspiciously wet, but you don’t say anything because yours are too. You’re both crouched in front of her, her big eyes glancing back and forth between the two of you without a care in the world. Mixing your self-assured personality with Namjoon’s (mostly) composed attitude was quite possibly the worst genetic crossover to ever happen; Hyejoo doesn’t even seem remotely bothered by the fact she’s spending her first night away from home. Meanwhile, you and Namjoon are on the verge of a joint breakdown. 

Anyway, Namjoon gives in first. “Love you forever, princess,” he tells her, their ritual expression, and kisses her forehead. 

She accepts it and then, in an unexpected turn of events, surges forward to hug him around the neck. “Love you pporever, daddy,” she repeats, and your heart feels so painfully full at the sight, like you just unlocked a new life achievement from seeing your daughter and her father be so cute together. You don’t get to coo at them for long, because then she’s giving you a warm hug as well, the same phrase muttered in your ear. 

It’s the hardest thing about parenting. 

Seeing your kid slowly broaden their horizons, meeting new people and learning new things. Leaving home. (Granted, she’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon but even that feels like an eternity away to the dramatic parents you and Namjoon have become.) The second goodbye on Jimin’s doorstep isn’t any easier, especially when Hyejoo tugs on your arm and asks you to “say night to daddy please” for her, and your heart breaks just a little more. Jimin flashes you an understanding smile but all you want to do is punch him in the nose for ever telling Yerin what a sleepover is. 

You get home and Namjoon is in a calmer state by now, some old sitcom he hates playing on the TV. Usually, this time of day is reserved for his daily phonemic lessons with Hyejoo, drilling the f sound into her tiny brain, so you guess this is his preferred method of coping in its place: torturing himself with some boring television show. 

“Hey,” he says, and you crawl into his lap with a sad sniffle. “Shh,” he soothes, hand on the back of your head as he guides you into his chest. You’re actually crying now, which is super embarrassing in itself considering you scolded Namjoon for this exact behavior last night. He doesn’t mention it as he pats your back, stupid sitcom paused in favor of soothing you with the deep vibrations of his voice. “Hye’s gonna be back tomorrow, baby.”

“I want her back now,” you huff, vaguely aware of how childish and silly you sound. The tables have turned, and you find yourself wishing you had the same emotional fortitude as Namjoon now. All those parenting books have clearly amounted for something. Somehow, you will the feeling back into your body and pull away from his chest. You must look a mess because he doesn’t even try to hide the amusement on his face. “This is the worst day of my life.” 

Namjoon laughs, deep and hearty, with his eyes squeezing shut from the force. “Come on, wifey, those chicken nuggets aren’t gonna eat themselves.”

It’s quite possibly the most boring evening you’ve had in years. 

(The internet calls it new parent syndrome, where you’re so undeniably in love with your first child and the parenting experience that the rest of the world is put on pause.)

You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.)

Kids are prone to asking weirdly philosophical questions, a fact that had greatly delighted you when Hyejoo first started speaking. Who am I? What’s money? Why not? It could get annoying sometimes, trying to answer all of Hyejoo’s curiosities. But as you begin on your second batch of dinosaur chicken nuggets, all you can think about is how Jimin gets to answer them tonight. 

Anyway, seven rolls around and you and Namjoon are bored. You can only watch so many episodes of Seinfield before you get tired of feigning interest, so you retire from the living room for the night. “I’m gonna take a bath,” you tell him, but he’s as brain dead as you by now. 

A second later, “lemme join.” 

It’s been a while since the two of you have squeezed into the bathtub together, usually assigning each other days to individually join Hyejoo. So it’s really not either of your faults when you realize a second too late how small the space is. One on each end, feet bumping into each other with every movement, it’s like trying to squeeze two feet into one shoe. You try to readjust yourself, but the bath flooring is slippery and you nearly take away Namjoon’s procreative abilities with a mighty kick. 

To make a long story short, you end up pressed against his chest, Namjoon’s thick thighs framing you as you relax into the steaming water. Instinctively, he reaches for Hyejoo’s bottle of baby shampoo that sits on the tub’s ledge and only catches himself just as the first droplet is meeting his palm. “Oh, fuck,” he sighs, quickly closing the lid before he can waste any more precious product. “Shit, I’m so sad.”

You snort, sinking farther back into his chest. He’s warm and soft in all the right ways, the hot water making him slippery. “What did we even do before Hyejoo?” you ask, reaching into the deepest crevices of your mind for answers. Namjoon’s hand comes around, fingers sprawled out over your knee, the one you have propped up and breaking the water’s surface 

He makes a rather vague sound, something like I don’t know, as he lolls forward, forehead on your shoulder. “Go on dates,” he responds eventually. “Fuck like crazy.” 

You roll your eyes. “Besides that,” you chide, pinching the back of his palm. “Don’t we have any hobbies? Any interests?” He doesn’t answer, which is all the answer you need. Why didn’t you get into puzzle solving back when it was a trend? “Is this what our life has become? Crying in a bathtub at seven pm because our emotional support child isn’t here?”

“Our only child,” he corrects. Namjoon tries to placate your looming existential crisis with a kiss to your shoulder, lips against wet skin, that he trails up to your neck. “And what’s wrong with going on dates and fucking?” he murmurs, hands around your stomach. “That’s how we got here,” he teases, and you’re not sure if it’s the warm water or the way his voice is like melted chocolate dripping down your body, but you become all too aware of his presence at that moment. Particularly, of the plush lips mindlessly kissing your shoulder, the wet smack of their motions. 

Another kiss, this time right below your ear. It has your head rolling to the side, exposing more skin for him to kiss up on. There’s still that overwhelming cloud of worry in the back of your mind, but it’s gradually nudged away by Namjoon’s warm hands on your skin. Sensing your weakening resolve, Namjoon strikes again. A hand slips down over your stomach, brushes over your belly button and finds itself between your thighs. “You used to love date nights, baby,” he says, the pad of his pointer finger grazing your clit. 

It’s been so long since you and Namjoon have been alone like this, months since you’ve been able to touch him beyond a simple make out session, a halfhearted grope beneath the sheets. Your daughter, as much as you loved her, made intimacy impossible for the two of you. She was always around, always looking for one or the both of you, so there was never time to even think about getting frisky. 

Only now, with his finger circling your clit, do you realize the blessing in disguise that was your daughter’s first slumber party away from home. 

His finger nudges your clit, flicks it teasingly. “Why don’t you let me take care of you, hm?” he hums, the hand that had been soothingly stroking the inside of your thigh coming up to rub at your breasts. 

“Yes, please,” you whine. Resting your head on his shoulder leaves Namjoon with a clear view down your front, lips kissing and sucking along your neck. His huge hand palms your breast, massaging the sensitive skin. You hadn’t realized how sore you’d been until now, his nimble fingers pressing deliciously into the skin. If your nipples weren’t already hard before, they certainly were now. 

He traps one pearled nipple between two fingers, the sudden pinch making you hiss. “Easy, now,” he chuckles, his low tenor paired with his wandering hands making your eyes roll back. 

Namjoon liked to use a higher tone around the house. He read somewhere that children prefer lighter, sweeter tones, so the last few years have been spent listening to him lighten the tone of his voice for the sake of your daughter. The deeper, growlier voice that had first made you fall in love with him became a rarity in your household, reserved for quiet nights in the living room or long drives where Hyejoo was asleep in the backseat. Only then does he unleash the gravelly qualities of his voice. 

Then, and apparently, now. 

His doll-like lips press against your jaw, suck lightly enough to make your body tingle. “Do you remember how it was the first time?” he says suddenly, his hot breath against your neck. 

Namjoon’s got your clit trapped between two wandering fingers, has your pussy twitching with the vibrations of his voice alone. And for some reason, he’s trying to reminisce about your first time sleeping together. 

“N- Not really,” you confess, subtly reaching down. You cover his palm with yours, hoping your touch will encourage him to carry on with his actions. It doesn’t. It just leaves both your hands hovering over your pussy, your thighs instinctively closing in on them to keep him there. Namjoon responds to that, releasing the breast he had been gently massaging in order to pry your legs apart. He does it so easily, despite the way your legs feel tight as hell, and the fact makes you whimper. 

Once he’s got his hands back between your thighs— this time, he uses one hand to carefully part your quivering lips, the other one gingerly pressing down against your clit to draw the most heavenly sensations out of you —Namjoon feels the need to dive into a recap of your first fuck. “You were so cute,” he laughs, and you don’t know if you should take offense. Well, considering you're married and have a kid now, it’s probably too late to say anything anyway. His hand suddenly switches gears, three fingers joining together to begin caressing them over your throbbing clit. “Kept talking to me so politely, even when you were creaming my cock.”

You scoff, but it gets cancelled out by the moan he draws out of you. “D- Didn’t know you that well,” you remind him, your thighs twitching. You desperately want to buck forward into his giving hands, want to feel the true power of those long, pretty fingers on your cunt. 

Behind you, Namjoon’s cock grows thick, his breathing a slow and steady pace by your ear. You can already imagine how heavy he is, the vein that runs along the underside and throbs with each new bit of stimulus he receives. Normally you would reach back and try to offer him the same helping hand he gives you, but your thighs feel wobbly already. Your libido has been dormant for so long that even just the barest flick of his thumb has you dissolving into his arms like this is your first time. 

It’s as if Namjoon’s sensing your inner battle, a muffled laugh against the side of your neck. “This is about you,” he reminds you. As much as you want to protest, a sudden hard rub against your quivering lips has you gasping for breath. “Give me a kiss,” he commands softly, nudging his nose against the side of your face. It takes a second for you to ground yourself, draw yourself away from your building pleasure, to turn toward his waiting lips. 

Namjoon kisses you slowly, like he’s taking his time with you. For the first time in a long time, he truly can. He doesn’t have to worry about a certain someone waking up in the middle of the night or walking in or anything along those lines, lips molding against yours. Plush as always, the faint taste of dinosaur chicken nuggets clinging to his lips. It makes you laugh a little, drawing away with an airy giggle. Namjoon smiles at your reaction, murmuring a soft, “what is it?”

You shake your head, eyes fluttering shut as he continues his circular motions against your clit. “Nothing,” you pant, finally getting in your first thrust against his fingers. “I just really need you,” you say instead, pushing his hand harder down against you. 

You’re feeling a little antsy, having been deprived of this sensation for so long. Namjoon knows this, which is why he very purposely slows down. “There’s no rush,” he smirks, placing a kiss against your chin. “How do you want it, baby?”

The inside of your brain is a scrambled mess, filled with fantasies and ideas that have been plaguing you for months. There’s so much you want to do, want to try, but it’s like your brain completely blanks out when he asks. It’s just as you’re beginning to formulate a thought that you’re interrupted by the sound of your ringtone in the other room. Your husband’s arms tighten around you. “Don’t go,” he says quietly, the tip of his nose running along your neck. It’s so tempting to stay here, to let yourself go in his arms and chase the pleasure you’ve been craving for so long. 

But the endless possibilities of who exactly could be calling wins over. Was it work? Was it your parents? Jimin?

It is with a heavy sigh that you reach for Namjoon’s hand, slowly pushing him away from your cunt. “I’m sorry, honey,” you frown, standing up out of the tub. Your legs really do feel like jelly, and you nearly slip and crack your skull on the porcelain edge. Luckily, Namjoon is there to steady you with two secure hands on your waist. “I’ll make it quick,” you reassure him, dropping a kiss on his pouty lips as you fasten a towel around your body. 

The phone is just starting up its final ring when you reach it. It’s Jimin, and you’re torn between being thankful that you’re getting word on Hyejoo and full blown panic from the fact Jimin is calling you while Hyejoo is in his care. The unease has you accepting the call without a second more to waste. “Hello?” you say, hand tightening on the front of your towel. Stray water droplets trace ticklish trails down the backs of your thighs.

“__?” comes Jimin’s sweet voice. It’s normally soothing, but right now it has every hair on your body standing on end. Before you can even respond, Jimin is jumping headfirst into a whirlwind of a conversation. “Sorry for calling so late, but I just wanted to check in on you, babe. I know you were really panicked about Hye’s first night away from home, but don’t worry! Me and the missus are doing everything we can to make sure she’s fine.”

His confidence reassures you, lessens the weight that had been sitting on your chest all afternoon. But at the same time, you find yourself wanting to throttle him. 

Your gorgeous, sexy hunk of a husband is sitting in the other room, cock at full mast and ready to pleasure you to the moon and back, and here you are listening to Jimin brag about how good of a caretaker he is. You were definitely going to make Jimin pay for this. 

Deep breaths, you tell yourself, toying with a stray thread on your towel. “Really,” you drawl, and you can practically see Jimin’s ego swell over the line. 

“Yup,” Jimin agrees, and by the sounds of it, doesn’t seem like he’s hoping to end this call anytime soon. You want to shoulder part of the blame; you had been extra sad and mopey when you dropped your daughter off. On top of being a good dad, Jimin was also a good friend. It was only naturally he wanted to reassure you when he could. 

Still, the memory of Namjoon’s wet chest was calling out to you. 

“The girls are playing princess in the living room with the missus right now,” Jimin chats on. “New dresses and everything— the Yerin Birthday Special —and they asked me to be their handsome prince!” You sincerely cannot wait for the day you get to introduce Jimin to your right fist. 

“That’s great,” you offer, not that he’s really listening. He’s too busy talking about Yerin (and making sure to include Hyejoo in for your sake) and how amazing it is to watch your kids grow up before your very eyes. And while you agree with the sentiment, you really wish he had called you and told you this earlier, when you were at the peak of your motherly meltdown. Not now with Namjoon waiting for you in the bathtub. Was the water even warm anymore? 

The mind blowing orgasm practically slips from your fingertips the longer Jimin talks. “Anyway! Enough about them. I’m thinking of trying out that blueberry bread recipe that aired on TV last night. You know, the one they had that actress make.”

You’ve just about resigned yourself to listening to Jimin talk about his love for pastries for the next thirty minutes when something brushes up behind you. “What the fu—“

He’s so tall and broad, practically covers your entire frame when he stands so close. And his smile is so pretty when he aims it your way. “Sh,” Namjoon murmurs, gesturing towards your phone.  

“__?” Jimin calls. “Everything alright?” 

Namjoon nods eagerly, the hands on your waist properly positioning you in front of him. It’s with a shudder running down your spine that you respond. “I’m fine,” you tell Jimin, letting go of the front of your towel when Namjoon abruptly pushes you over. The white comforter infused with both of your scents comes all too close, your elbow barely managing to reach out in time to catch you.  

Wide eyed, you turn to throw Namjoon a scandalized look over your shoulder. He meets you with a close-mouthed smile, the dimples in his cheeks making themselves known. His chest is drier now, the smooth planes covered in a thin dewy glow and a spattering of droplets he missed. There’s a towel around his waist that’s barely doing its job, especially when you catch sight of the erection tenting beneath it. 

“As I was saying,” Jimin rambles on. Namjoon nods towards the device, refusing to move again until you finally turn back around to finish your conversation with Jimin. “That actress fucked it up so bad. They really give anyone with a pretty face screen time these days, huh? At least I know how to properly preheat an oven.”

You nod. “You do make the best cookies in town,” you respond, a ball of anticipation building in your throat from the mere fact Namjoon is standing behind you. 

It’s completely warranted once you feel two cold fingers trail up the back of your thigh, your towel gradually pushed up to drape around your waist. The air in your room is a little chilly, and the goosebumps that raise on your skin are partly due to that, as well as the ghostlike touch of Namjoon’s fingers. “Pretty,” he murmurs, so deep and gravelly it has you shuddering.  

Two fingers dance along your skin, and you subconsciously jolt away when they meet the tender skin around your pussy. By your ear, Jimin says, “if I completely fuck it up, we’ll just pretend this conversation never happened. Deal?”

Using your own body against you, Namjoon lets one finger dip just the smallest bit into your quivering hole. You clench up, thighs trembling when he eventually pulls it back out and traces your own wetness over your folds. “Perfect,” you bite out, clutching at the sheets beneath you as Namjoon reaches for your forgotten clit. It’s still so sensitive from your little fun in the bath, and it takes every ounce of strength in you to hold back the whiny gasp in your throat. 

Behind you, Namjoon suddenly presses in close. One hand on your hip, he gently encourages you onto the bed. Your knees sink into the mattress, one less strain on your legs. “Good girl,” he praises quietly, rewarding your behavior with a finger sinking into your cunt. 

“Joo—“ you almost slip, burying your face into the sheets just in time. 

A devastatingly slow pace, his finger just barely moving in and out of you. The bulk of your pleasure is coming from that bundle of nerves towards your front, but the teasing gesture isn’t appreciated anyway. When he leans over you, breath against your neck, you feel the length of his cock against your thigh. “He’s asking you a question,” Namjoon whispers, “answer him, baby.”

You nod, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he presses himself closer. Jimin hasn’t even noticed your lack of participation, mindlessly humming a song. The sounds of a running sink highlight his vocals. “Oh, absolutely,” you babble. “I wouldn’t tell a soul.” 

“Ha!” Jimin scoffs. “I knew I could always count on you, Miss __,” he snarks playfully. 

The hand toying with your clit comes around your waist, fingers stroking against your folds from this new angle. A silent moan has you writhing forward, unconsciously away from him as Jimin babbles on the other end of the line. He’s none the wiser to the lewd acts happening on the line, listening to the sound of his own voice. Namjoon lands a mean little bite against your shoulder, plunging his finger deeper inside of your clenching hole. 

Paired with his teasing fingers, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your moans, biting your lip until it stings. “Fuck, fuck,” you whimper against the sheets, holding your phone as far away as possible from your mouth as a litany of curse words spill from your lips. Namjoon chuckles at your dramatics, not like he has his fingers deep inside of you right now or anything. 

“So cute,” he hums, removing his hand from your clit to snatch your towel away. It gives way too easily, messily thrown over the edge of the bed. With your back completely exposed now, Namjoon wastes no time trailing a line of kisses up your spine, finishing off with an especially wet and hard one behind your ear. “Hang up now.”

His permission sets your body on edge, drawing your phone close again. Jimin is talking about dinner or something, you don’t even know. Not an ounce of remorse fills you when you clear your throat and hurriedly announce, “I have to—“ Namjoon’s cock, finally uncovered by his towel, presses against your folds and you nearly lose it. “—I have to go now, Jimin,” you say, leveling your breathing as best as you can. 

“Wait, what the fuck?” Jimin says, thrown off by your sudden departure. 

The mushroom tip of his cock kisses your clit. “Fuck— I really have to go.” And you hang up, chucking the phone off to the side hastily. With your hands both freed, you scramble onto your back, meeting the amused gaze of your husband behind you. “Fuck me, now.”

Namjoon laughs, reaching for the towel barely clinging onto his waist. One suave swoop later and it joins yours on the floor. “You did good,” he praises, lowering himself between your spread thighs. You roll your eyes, grabby hands reaching for his hips until he’s sitting snugly against you, cock resting over your throbbing cunt. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you snap, the tight feeling in your tummy growing with every second that passes. Namjoon isn’t as unaffected as he pretends to be, a pearly bead of cum appearing at the tip of his engorged cock. “Just fuck me now.”

He raises a brow. “Missionary?” As if it’s the first time. 

“Is there something wrong with it?” you ask anyway, self-consciously reaching an arm over yourself to cover your naked breasts. They’ve pebbled over just from his stare alone. 

Namjoon hesitates, the hand on your hip drawing slow circles with his thumb. Eventually, he responds with a halfhearted shrug. “It’s not the best.” This is news to you, and you find yourself sitting up at the sudden bomb he’s dropped. 

He’s still hard as rock between you, his dick laying almost artfully against your slit. You really just want to throw aside all reservations and begin grinding against him, penetration be damned, but now Namjoon’s got that thoughtful quirk to his lips. The one that usually accompanies any big brained idea, so you settle down, nudging him with your thigh until he’s looking at you again. “Penny for your thoughts?” What you really want to say is please fuck me like I’m just another cum rag of yours and make it hurt, but alas. 

Namjoon sits back on his haunches. “I read somewhere that on your hands and knees is the best way to get pregnant.” You choke on your own tongue, face ablaze from his forward statement. Meanwhile, Namjoon is looking as relaxed as ever. 

You hadn’t really discussed children after Hyejoo. The wordless agreement had been that sure, you were both down for another kid sometime in the future. But the exact date had sort of been murky. Hyejoo is three now, and you heard from another mom that it’s difficult for children with wide age gaps to get along. You don’t want her growing up being far removed from another sibling. 

But also, now?

It’s like Namjoon knows your thoughts before you even do. “Alright, wifey, say no more,” he says, leaning down to place a kiss against your lips. “I’ll get the condom, alright?”

And then he’s stepping off the bed, every muscle of his toned body flexing as he swaggers over towards the dresser. He’s a walking dream, the physical embodiment of all your crazy sex fantasies, and he wants to fuck a baby into you. Your pussy says yes, but your rationality is still on the fence. 

You roll onto your side, head propped into your open palm. “You want another baby?” you ask tentatively. Namjoon shrugs, carefully opening the new box of condoms you had bought half a year ago. 

“It wouldn’t hurt to have another kid,” he answers, procuring a tiny foil packet from the box and returning to his spot between your legs. It’s like staring at a marble statue from this angle, the defined planes of his chest and abdomen, the gorgeous slope of his nose, the sharp angles of his face. You really lucked out. 

Your decision comes just as he’s easing the rubber over the tip of his cock, the swollen head just barely enveloped. You place a hand against his wrist, earning his attention. “Take it off,” you mumble, and you swear on your entire life he swells another inch. 

“Oh, baby,” he groans, hastily throwing the condom somewhere across the room. He rolls over you, bulging arms sweeping you up into his embrace, lips capturing yours in a sloppy kiss. You whimper, letting his tongue push itself past your lips. When he pulls away, it’s with a wet pop and glistening lips. They’re so puffy now, flushed a nice rosy color, that makes him look even more handsome when he smiles down at you. “Gonna look so pretty all pregnant,” he beams, placing a chaste kiss against you one last time before he’s hurriedly rolling you onto your stomach. 

You hide your bashful expression against the sheets, suddenly feeling very shy before him. But then Namjoon’s cock is running along your lips and you’re left a shivering mess. “Please just fuck me,” you beg hoarsely, and Namjoon obeys. 

“Whatever you want, wifey,” he teases, and before you can call him out for his cheesiness, he’s pressing his thumb into your aching hole once more. “Is this okay?” he asks, somberly for the first time in what seems like forever. 

“I’m okay,” you confess, a little shyly now that you know his true motives.  

Namjoon chuckles, quickly removing his finger from inside of you to give your ass one soothing pat. “Going in,” he warns you, and finally, you’re rewarded for all your struggles. It’s only as his mushroom head squeezes in that you realize you could have done with a bit more stretching, but that thought fades away the more and more he pushes in. “Fuck,” he groans, the low intonation of his voice making your toes curl.

If it’s not his voice, it’s the sheer length of his cock inside of you. The girth makes your spine tingle, has you muffling a pitiful whimper into the comforter beneath you. “Relax for me,” he directs, and then suddenly he’s placing a palm against your back, pushing you further down. “Hips up.” 

You groan. The normally soft fabric of the blanket feels like hell on your sensitive breasts. “I’m trying,” you whine, pushing back onto him in an effort to familiarize yourself with his cock again. It’s been so long since he’s been inside of you like this, since he’s filled you so well, that your body acts a little stupid now. He hasn’t even begun thrusting and you already feel like you’ll cum just from this.  

The angle is different than your usual style, has him moving along every inch of you as he sinks in. Two big hands grab at your waist, manhandling you closer to him until you’re just like he wants you to be. “There we go,” he sighs, and with him motionless, you finally relax. It’s about a two second pause before he begins to draw himself back out. “How do you want it?” he grunts, but it’s lost beneath the moan that escapes you. It’s the same question he asked you in the tub, right before Jimin called, except this time you have an answer. 

“Fast,” you gasp, the pain from the stretch finally, finally, melting away as your body grows accustomed to his presence inside of you. “Do it fast, please.”

Namjoon does as he’s told, waiting until he’s pulled out until the tip to satisfy your requests. And then he’s off. 

Your body isn’t as young as it once was, left a little worn from the entire child-bearing process. Sometimes you wonder how exactly you and Namjoon would fuck until sunrise before, how your sex drive was so high that it allowed such a thing to happen. Admittedly, there’s currently a stiffness inside of you that has been there for a while now, and you barely remember how you got rid of it before. Apparently, this is how.

Namjoon’s hard cock rams into you once, makes you release the most embarrassingly loud moan at the sudden intrusion, and it’s like all those months of tension that built up in your body are melted away. His cock pushes past your folds, creating a lewd squelching sound that would otherwise leave you mortified to learn it came from your body. You shudder, desperately pushing your ass back against him in a feeble attempt to feel it again. 

“Still so fucking tight for me,” he growls, snapping his hips forwards. His skin slaps against yours, leaves you feeling tender from the brutal movements of his body. But at the same time, it feels absolutely terrific. 

Your lips are still coated in your own wetness, have him noisily moving in and out. “J- Joon,” you whimper softly, but you doubt he hears it over the sound of his own labored breathing. “More.”

He responds with a sudden piston inside of you that has the tip of his cock nearly kissing your cervix. “More?” he huffs, the hand on your back pressing down until you fear you’ll become one with the mattress. “You want more?” You nod hurriedly, somehow managing to stretch a hand down between you to toy with your clit. The brush of your own fingers has you bucking back onto him in surprise.

Wordlessly, he speeds up his pace, thrusting his hips into your velvety walls at a faster speed than before. It’s a weird sensation, a sort of ticklish feeling m that makes you tremble with each roll forward. You can’t say the two of you have done it in this position a lot, always preferring the more romantic missionary position to anything else, but this experience was quickly making you an avid believer of its validity as a top tier sex position. 

You swirl your pointer finger around your clit, trying to sync up your shaky touch with his steady thrusts. It’s useless, because every time you feel like you’ve gotten into the same groove, Namjoon one ups you by hauling you back against him. “Oh, f- fuck,” you sob, clawing at the sheets beneath you. 

Namjoon groans, momentarily pausing his rapid thrusts to roll his buried cock against you. “Come on, baby,” he husks, the hilt of his cock kissing your folds. 

There’s a lot of built up sexual tension inside of you, months on top of months of nothingness. Not to mention that little scene in the bathtub just now. So you’re not really surprised that your orgasm rears its head so early, curling up tightly in your stomach the longer Namjoon fucks you. He’s back to thrusting now, shallow little movements that make you see stars every time his cock glides inside of you. “Joon, I'm gonna...” you rasp out pitifully, grinding back against him. 

“Whenever you want,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press a kiss against your shoulder. It’s sweet, but on top of that, it has him pushing in further than before, finally pressed against that sensitive spot inside of you that makes your entire body lock up. You sob, thighs quivering when he reaches an arm around you. It’s almost romantic how your hands meet, his fingers covering yours as he guides them over your clit slowly. “Give it to me, baby,” he croons, lips pressed securely against your neck. He leaves soft kisses there, smooches really, that make you melt. 

Another shallow buck of his hips forward and you’re cumming, breaths picking up until they accumulate into a choked wail against the sheets. “Fuck— oh, fuck,” you cry, your thighs spasming from the force of your first satisfying orgasm in months. Namjoon holds you through it, slowly thrusting inside of you until he’s drawn out your entire orgasm.

The new added pleasure makes his movements sound even wetter, dirtier even. “That’s it,” he purrs, pushing himself back up to his full height behind you. You feel absolutely boneless beneath him, laying limply against the mattress as Namjoon repositions your hips for himself. “Can I finish like this, sweetheart?” he asks anyway, thumbs drawing a soothing pattern along your hip. 

You can barely catch your breath, so you settle on a halfhearted nod that has him huffing out a laugh. 

For some reason, Namjoon fucks you harder once he knows you’ve had your fill. Like he’s trying to draw another orgasm out of you, but is also the least bit concerned with you. Honestly, it works. He moves fast and hard, like he has no regard for your pleasure, and for some reason that turns you on more than it should. It’s this weird fantasy of yours, to be mistreated by a man as respectful as Namjoon, and you find yourself weirdly fulfilling it now as he fucks his cock into you. 

His fingers dig into your skin, wildly bucking into you as he chases his own high, and it’s embarrassing how quickly a second one builds up for you. You moan at one particular thrust, body sensitive all over. “Oh,” you whimper, “Namjoon.”

He grunts, your cries fueling him on as he continues his mad race to the end. “Gonna cum with me again?” he pants, his quick pace rocking you forward. You nod, using your killer grip on the sheets to ground yourself as you weakly attempt to meet his thrusts. “Aren’t you the sweetest,” he hums, and doesn’t let you respond as he continues to jackhammer his way into your pussy at a bruising pace. 

It takes a few more thrusts, and one whiny cry of his name— “come on, Joonie,” you whimper, turning to throw him a teary-eyed gaze over your shoulder; he shudders at the sight —until Namjoon is finally tipped over the edge, shooting his pleasure deep into you on the next thrust. It’s warm, paints your walls and threatens to spill out when he finally pulls out. 

But Namjoon has read up, using those big strong arms of his to keep you from collapsing onto your tummy as he scrambles around for something to keep your hips up. “It sticks better this way,” he says, a sheen of sweat against his temples when he flops down beside you. 

“What sticks better,” you groan, the achy feeling of just having your world rocked quickly settling into your bones. 

Namjoon leans forward and places a kiss against your lips, as if saying here, for all your hard work. “You know... it,” he shrugs, hands behind his head as he prepares himself to supervise your post-sex nap, just to make sure you don’t accidentally move around and let his cum leak out. “You did good, wifey,” he praises with another smooch. “Maybe we should let Hyejoo sleep over at Jimin’s more.”

Hyejoo’s return is the highlight of the year. 

You pick her up around noon, and your heart nearly grows ten sizes when you see her come running down Jimin’s front steps and into your arms. “Hi, mommy,” she beams, the same smile as Namjoon. And just like Namjoon, you can’t stop yourself from covering her face in tiny kisses. She says they tickle and squirms and squeals in your embrace. 

Jimin’s at the door with this weirdly blank look on his face. “Hey, Jimin,” you call out, helping Hyejoo load her bag into the backseat.

“Hey…” he greets, just as Hyejoo frantically begins calling for you to buckle her in. “Um, __,” Jimin says, but you’re a little busy securing the tiny love of your life into her booster seat, so you just throw him a quick glance to let him know you’re listening. Kinda. “There’s something I have to tell you—“

“I wanna see daddy!” Hyejoo babbles from the backseat, wildly waving her hands around as you finally close the door on her. With it shut, her loud voice is drowned out and you’re left raising a brow at Jimin as you round the front of the car. 

“What’s up?” you ask. 

Jimin comes down the steps, awkwardly hovering by the front of your car. “Um, when we were on the phone—“ Hyejoo knocks her tiny hands against the window, gesturing for you to hurry up. You flash Jimin an apologetic frown at the interruption. “Well, you see. She kinda heard us— well, me—” 

Another flurry of knocks, and you can’t wait to relay to Namjoon how excited your daughter had been to see him again. It’ll boost his ego, not that he really needs it to be any bigger. “That’s fine,” you tell Jimin, swinging your door open. Immediately, Hyejoo’s high-pitched voice fills the space between you and Jimin. “You know I don’t mind talking to the missus,” you joke, nudging his side. “She’s my friend too, ya know.”

“Gotta show daddy something!” Hyejoo shouts from the backseat, has this big smile on her face that makes you smile as well. 

Beside you, Jimin is quickly falling apart. “No, well—” you drop down into your seat “it wasn’t her who heard—“ You shut the door, lowering the window to thank Jimin one more time. Hyejoo beats you to it.

“Bye, Mr. Jimin!” she says, tiny legs kicking around all wildly in her excitement. You shake your head with a grin, waving goodbye to Jimin one last time as you pull out of his driveway. 

“Daddy!” Hyejoo shrieks upon entering your home. Her tiny overnight bag is tossed down at the entryway, ladybug rain boots haphazardly kicked towards the general direction of the shoe closet. Namjoon had been upstairs in his study when you left, but he now comes bounding down the steps at the sound of your daughter’s voice. He cries out a dopey, “princess”, as he scoops her up in his big arms. He does a twirl and everything, so dramatic. But it makes Hyejoo giggle like crazy. 

She allows one big fat kiss against her chubby cheeks before she’s shushing him with the news of her announcement. “Daddy, look,” she beams, holding his face between her tiny hands. “I can say the f sound now!”

Namjoon has been avidly working towards this ability for months now. Namjoon, who has spent nights reading every page of every child development book possible, who has spent hours decorating pretty flashcards for her, who has sectioned off time from his busy schedule everyday just to go over lessons with her. Well, Namjoon looks over the goddamn moon at the news. 

“Let’s hear it, honey,” you urge, stepping in when his happiness renders him incapable of speech. So he just nods along, looks like a bobblehead doll beside you. 

And with both of her proud, sometimes overprotective, parents standing before her, Hyejoo puts on a big grin and says, “fuck.”

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[flufflepuffle296]

Heathers au: Beautiful Songfic

This is more centred around Veronica/Marinette so not really any mentions of Heather/Heather/Heather. Sorry if someone’s done this before I apologise I just got into Heathers like two days ago. Also I changed some lyrics and took others out to make it more “realistic”. Sorry I suck at endings, it’s 5:30am rn and this is my first fic so be nice please! (I’m on mobile so I can’t add the keep reading tag so sorry if you don’t like this) xxx

I brushed down my dress: I couldn’t give them anything to criticise me over. Everything had to be perfect. I had to be perfect. Chloé sat next to me, my beautiful fiancée, slipping on her kitten heels. She may be 3 months pregnant but no Bourgeois woman would be seen wearing flats. I was in a red floor length a line dress — I grew out of my childish pink years ago, before it even went out of fashion! My hair was twisted into two plaits that were knotted together into a stylish bun at the back. Chloé meanwhile had stuck to her white and gold aesthetic, currently in a slim fitting white dress, showing off her small baby bump, decorated with gold jewellery. I rummaged through my drawers, trying to find a lipstick, when a thin book toppled out. I picked it up, and laughed fondly when I saw what it was.

My old Collège and Lycée diary.

I flipped through it, landing on the page that stuck most clearly in my mind. It was the day my class reminded me of my current reality at that time, shocking me out of a bubble that had surrounded me during the summer holidays that year.

September 1st, 1989.

Dear Diary: I believe I'm a good person. You know, I think that there's good in everyone, but—here we are! First day of senior year!

And uh... I look around at these kids that I've known all my life and I ask myself—what happened?

I bit my lip. What happened? I knew darn well what happened. Lila Rossi. She came in, flaunting her friendships and connections, a new disability every other week to cry about, another rumour about me coming out every 3 days.

Alya ended our friendship, Adrien continued to cry about Lila’s feelings. Lila just kept doing what she did best. The class gave up on changing my mind and instead decided that calling me names would be better. Because logic?!

“Freak!” “Slut!” “Burnout!” “Bug-eyes!” “Poser!” “Lard-ass!” Were the insults they liked to yell daily. Yeah, they weren’t the most creative...

We were so tiny, happy and shiny. Playing tag and getting chased. Singing and clapping, laughing and napping. Baking cookies, eating paste.

Nino and Kim used to come over to the bakery when we were kids, where we’d gorge ourselves on sweets, before celebrating our sugar rushes by chasing each other in the park and then crashing on my sofa, cuddled in blankets and laying on top of each other.

Then we got bigger, that was the trigger. Like the Huns invading Rome. Welcome to my school, this ain't no high school: This is the Thunderdome. Hold your breath and count the days, we're graduating soon. College will be paradise, if I'm not dead by June!

But I know, I know, life can be beautiful. I pray, I pray for a better way. If we changed back then, we could change again. We can be beautiful...Just not today.

I scoffed at my optimism back then. Them changing? They never did, I don’t know why I bothered trying at that point. I should’ve moved on but hey! We all make mistakes. It’s just that sometimes you make 11 friendships worth of mistakes.

“Freak!” “Slut!” “Cripple!” “Homo!” “Homo!” “Homo!”

I cringed as I read their old “insults”. They would write homophobic messages across my locker, getting Alix to spray paint a few slurs across my work after I came out as bisexual.

Things will get better soon as my letter comes from Harvard, Duke, or Brown. Wake from this coma, take my diploma. Then I can blow this town. Dream of ivy-covered walls, no smoky French cafés. Fight the urge to strike a match and set this dump ablaze!

I had purposefully sent out applications to universities far away from these people, from Paris. All three schools accepted me, something I can’t say about my classmates, most of whom were rejected for essays on false information (sourced by Lila) and a quick scan over the Ladyblog meant not a single newspaper would even consider my ex-best friend. Gabriel Agreste, as I later found out through my internship in America, had to bribe several schools with double tuition to get even one to accept Adrien, after he got exposed as sexual harasser and disgraced hero “Chat Noir”. I turned back to my diary, having to peel off rock hard gum from the page that someone had smeared in “revenge”.

Le Chiên Kim. Third year as linebacker and eighth year of smacking lunch trays and being a huge dick.

“What did you say to me, skank?” He would yell, his fist raised in the hallway.

“Aah, nothing!” I then cowered. I may be Ladybug, but he was 150lbs of pure rage. No one can compete with that!

But I know, I know... Life can be beautiful. I pray, I pray, For a better way. We can be beautiful...

“Marinette! Wide load! Honnnnnk!”

He was the smartest guy on the football team. Which is kind of like being the tallest dwarf.

“Hey! Pick that up! Right now!”

“I’m sorry, are you actually talking to me?” He used to snarl, his hands covered in sauce from knocking my tray.

I stood my ground, I had been practising for this moment. “Yes, I am. I wanna know what gives you the right to pick on me. You're a high school has-been waiting to happen. A future gas station attendant.”

Kim then smirked, crouching down to eye level and pressing a finger to my forehead. “You have a zit right there...” he pointed out, causing the cafeteria to laugh at my expense.

I used to ask myself “Why... Why do they hate me?”

And hear Adrien whisper “Why don't I fight back?”

Watch as Max Googled “Why do I act like such a creep?”

Listen in on Lila stamping her feet in the bathroom asking “Why won't he date me?” Clearly frustrated.

Kim panicking as he wondered “Why did I hit him?”

And Chloé sob down the phone “Why do I cry myself to sleep?”

I would stay up late, screaming, begging. At my lowest points I would cry out “Somebody hug me! Somebody fix me! Somebody save me! Send me a sign, God! Give me some hope, here! Something to live for!”

I remember when I first met my real friends. The famed trio had gone into the bathroom and I followed after them, clearly my throat.

“Who are you?”

“Uh... Marinette Dupain Cheng. I crave a boon”

“What boon?” Chloé asked, filing her nails.

“Um. Let me sit at your table, at lunch. If our class think that you guys tolerate me, then they'll leave me alone...”

Chloé threw her nail file out and began circling around me, running her hands through my hair, commenting that “For a greasy little nobody, you do have good bone structure!” Before coming to a conclusion.

“And ya know, ya know, ya know? This could be beautiful. Mascara, maybe some lip gloss, and we're on our way. Get this girl some blush; and Kagami, I need your brush. Let's make her beautiful.” Sabrina and Kagami, chimed in, echoing her words.

“Let's make her beautiful...”

“Let’s make her beautiful...”

“Make her beautiful...Okay?” Chloé ordered, dragging me out with Kagami and Sabrina, driving me to her hotel. They sat me down, taking my hair out of its bunches and brushing it out. Kagami painted my nails a deep navy with surprising precision, manning my cuticles. Sabrina twirled my hair into a high bun, leaving a few pieces at the front to frame my face. Chloé came back from her wardrobe, throwing a blue blazer and grey skirt at me. I changed into my outfit for them, to which they clapped their hands in glee. They dragged me back to school, taking in everyone’s reactions to the new and improved me. This became my new daily outfit for the rest of the year — the class couldn’t find anything bad about it, and even if they did Chloé would threaten them with her father’s power.

I was happy with my squad. Kagami taught us Japanese and Chloé taught us American English that she’d picked up from her mother. I taught them self defence, under the guise of learning it from my mum, unknowingly training them for the day I would rip Chat Noir’s miraculous from him, before slamming it into Kagami’s palm. I needed help that day, so thrust them bee and the fox miraculous at Chloé and Sabrina respectively. They became permanent heroes, Kagami under the name “Noirette”, Chloé under the new guise of “Buttercup” and Sabrina “Renard Rouge”. Akuma attacks have never lasted more than 15 minutes since we got rid of that alley cat, and we’ve been closing in on Hawkmoth recently.

I shook my head, snapping the crude book shut, throwing the diary in the bin. Today was going to be the day I made peace with all that happened, our 10 year school reunion. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna make up with anyone, just that I will finally leave everything behind. I found my lipstick and smeared on the crimson lip, smacking my lips together. I grabbed my clutch and helped Chloé stand up, though she wobbled a little in her heels. I slid her miraculous into her updo, blowing a kiss at her as to not ruin her makeup.

We met up with Kagami and Sabrina in the hallway, Kagami in a wine red suit with gold jewellery, and Sabrina was in emerald green to compliment her red hair. We stepped into the limo awaiting us outside and set off, arriving at the school 10 minutes later. We walked up the steps, hitching up our dresses and arrived in the courtyard. It had been lit up with fairy lights, with stands of food and drinks scattered around the court. Our old classmates were huddled in small groups, whilst Mlle. Mendeleiev’s was in a large group, enjoying each other’s company after 10 years apart.

No one noticed us, until Rose pointed at me and whispered “Who’s that with Chloé?” The group turned to stare at us, trying to place my face. Adrien looked up from talking to Lila, who seemed to be flaunting a rather tacky Gabriel engagement ring, and whispered,

“Marinette?!”

The class began gossiping amongst themselves, “Marinette? Marinette? Marinette?!”

I ignored them, their childish ways were behind me, and walked up to Aurore and Mireille, fawning over their relationship. They turned Kagami, asking her about her life and squealing over her Olympic medal for fencing. I grinned as I watched my old class, happy that they had moved on from each other — well apart from Alya and Adrien, who were still hooked on Lila. I was finally, content! I thought back on my diary, one particular paragraph standing out to me at this time.

And you know, you know, you know, life can be beautiful. You hope, you dream, you pray, and you get your way! Ask me how it feels, lookin' like hell on wheels...My God, it's beautiful! I feel so beautiful... And when you're beautiful...It's a beautiful frickin' day!

Chloé boasted my achievements, my business, my awards, and the entire of Mendeleiev’s class started chanting “Marinette! Marinette! Marinette!”, much to my embarrassment. I boasted her’s in return, Sabrina revealed how far she’d come as a lawyer, Kagami swung her prized sword from side to side as she listened to us all catching up, laughing at the memories.

It really was a beautiful day.

[justatiredpotato]

Set Me Free | Chapter 5

Chapter List

Pairing: hybrid!Yoongi x human!reader

Genre: Angst, fluff, coffee shop AU, hybrid AU

Word Count: Chapter: 6,000~  Total: 40,000~

Updates daily at 10pm MST

Warnings: anxiety, panic attacks, violence (kinda?), mentions of abuse

Summary: Yoongi, a cat hybrid, has been hurt time and time again by a world that would have him believe he’s worthless. One day he finds himself in your protective care, and gets a new family to boot. But is it really that easy to escape the past and embrace a new beginning?

Author’s Note: In this fic the reader’s name is Yeoji

The next weekend you took Yoongi out to get a tag. Jungkook and Jimin took care of the cafe for the day, so you had the afternoon to take care of your errands. After extensive googling you found a shop on the other side of town that had a variety of choices, so that was your first stop. 

The store had lots of hybrid supplies, and after browsing around for a bit you found the tags. Most were obviously made for collars, but a small display on the bottom shelf held the new earring-style. Yoongi looked through them for several minutes before holding up one for you to consider. It was a simple metal hoop with a pendant spike that held the tag. 

The tag itself was just a small microchip that held all the ID information. You’d received Yoongi’s in the mail that morning. For several years the tags were actually used like pet microchips, placed under the skin. Thankfully that was deemed inhumane a decade ago, so tags were made wearable instead. The earring design made the little device far less noticeable, though some people still force hybrids to wear a collar. You thought it must be rather degrading, but Jimin liked to wear his on a choker.

Yoongi held the earring he’d selected up in the mirror and nodded approvingly. “This’ll work.”

“I like it!” you agreed. “It’s pretty.”

His face visibly reddened and you regretted your choice of words. You were about to correct yourself when you caught a trace of a smile as he turned toward the register. You followed him and purchased the earring. In the car, he used the mirror on the visor to replace his old earring with the new one. He tilted his head to assess the piece, then turned to show you.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t realize it’s a tag if I didn’t already know,” you said.

He shrugged, turning back to the mirror and nodding. “Yeah, it’s not bad.”

On your way home you stopped at the store to buy soju and restock on a few snacks that Yoongi had gone through rather quickly. Saturday was your usual movie night with your family. You’d skipped it the previous week, not sure if Yoongi was ready for a big social gathering yet. But the boys really wanted to have a welcome party for him. Jungkook in particular seemed excited, saying he had a surprise. Him and Yoongi bonded quickly over the previous two weeks, Jungkook even came over a few times after his classes so they could play music together.

That night was going to be the first time all of your boys were together since Yoongi came to stay with you. Despite your nerves, you knew they would make him feel at home. Yoongi was quiet on the drive home, but you could tell he was nervous. His leg bounced rapidly, hands clasped in his lap.

“You’ll like them,” you said abruptly. You reached over and took his hand. “And they’ll like you. I promised I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you, remember? This is my family, and that means they’re your family now too.” He nodded, meeting your eyes for a moment before turning to look out the window.

By the time you got back to your place you had about an hour before the boys arrived. Jimin and Jungkook were coming straight back after they closed the cafe. You tidied up and pulled out the take-out menus, then grabbed a couple of extra blankets for the couch and loveseat; Jimin and Jungkook liked to be warm. Yoongi puttered around after you, helping clean up and remaining more or less glued to your side until seven’o’clock rolled around.

A knock came at the door between the apartment and the cafe, and you hollered for them to come in. Two bunny ears peaked inside. The owner of said ears quickly followed as the smaller boy behind him pushed him through the door. Jungkook waved at Yoongi, who stood slightly behind you. Jimin smiled brightly. You flashed him a look; a reminder to keep it chill. He nodded understandingly and approached to pull you into a hug.

“How was your day, noona?” he asked, nuzzling into your jaw. 

He pulled away and you ruffled his hair. “Good! How was the cafe today?” You glanced behind him to Jungkook. “I hope it wasn’t too crazy.”

Jungkook shook his head. “Nah. It was busy, but nothing we couldn’t handle,” he said, placing an arm around Jimin’s shoulders. “Did you have a good time shopping, hyung?”

Yoongi glanced up at him and subconsciously fidgeted with the new earring. “Yeah, we found a tag that looks alright. So that’s good,” he finished awkwardly. He seemed so nervous, even with the addition of just one new person. You hoped it wasn’t too soon to be bringing everyone around. You didn’t have much time to worry as the doorbell rang. Yoongi trailed behind you as you went to answer it.

The rest of the guys stood on the step, holding what you assumed to be food.

“Jin-hyung and I grabbed takeout on the way,” Hoseok said, gesturing with two large bags with the logo of your favorite Thai restaurant on them. Jin held up a box containing even more takeout containers. 

“You’re the best, Hobi! I’m starving.” You took one of the bags from him and stepped aside to let him in.

“He’s the best? What about me?” Jin asked, indignant.

“You’re alright,” you said. He pouted and you wrapped an arm around him, grinning.

Namjoon and Tae followed you inside. Tae went to the table to set down a box before hurrying back to you. He wrapped you in a tight hug, even his tail curling around you to keep you close.

“I missed you, noona!” he said, nose buried in your hair.

You laughed and hugged him back. “I missed you too, Taetae.” You hadn’t seen him since the night you found Yoongi. The tiger hybrid made a rumbling cough-like noise in his chest, which you knew meant he was happy. 

After a moment, you turned to see Yoongi hovering awkwardly next to the kitchen island watching the whole exchange with his hands folded in front of him. Upon seeing everyone looking back at him, he quickly looked down to the floor and bowed politely.

“Welcome,” he said, directing his words toward the three human men standing around the kitchen. “Can I get you anything?” His voice was soft and polite, words oddly hollow. You hurried over to him, startled by the sudden shift in behavior. You wrapped an arm around his slight waist and waited for him to meet your eyes. He looked at you for a moment before seeming to come back to himself. He shuffled his feet, nervously and looked up at the guys again. 

“Thanks, Yoongi, but don’t worry about us. We can grab stuff if we need it,” Jin assured him, heading to the fridge to grab a beer to illustrate his point.

“Yeah, hyung. We basically live here,” Joon added, ruffling your hair before walking over and plopping down on the couch.

Hoseok threw Yoongi a sunshine-smile. “So, Yeoji-noona tells me you’re a musician? She said you’re incredibly talented.” You shifted awkwardly, but didn’t remove your arm from around Yoongi just yet.

“Yeah!” Jungkook said. The bunny bounded over, childlike excitement in his eyes as he scanned the room. His eyes landed on the kitchen table and he took Yoongi’s hand to pull him that way. “I’ve got something to show you, hyung!”

Yoongi followed, ears twitching curiously as he eyed the box on the table. Jimin came to join them, sitting cross-legged on a dining chair. Everyone else observed quietly, curious, but not wanting to crowd Yoongi.

“I’ve been wanting to give you this, and hyung said it’d be a nice welcome present!” Jungkook said, gesturing for the older boy to open the package.

“Present? This is for me?” Yoongi asked. He glanced at you, as if looking for permission. You smiled and gave the tiniest nod of reassurance. Yoongi pulled open the box and slid out a canvas bag. He glanced up at Jungkook one more time before unzipping it. Inside was an electric keyboard. You saw Yoongi’s jaw clench and he continued to stare blankly at the instrument. Jungkook shifted from foot to foot.

“I know it’s not brand new or anything, but Joonie-hyung got me a new one for my last birthday and he said I could sell the other one if I wanted. I thought maybe you’d like to use it. At least until you get a new one. If you don’t want it I can take it back…” the boy rambled nervously. 

Yoongi looked up sharply at those last words. “I- I can keep this?” he asked. 

Jungkook’s eyebrows rose. “Yeah. It’s a gift. You’re really talented, hyung. It’d be a shame if you were stuck without a keyboard.”

Yoongi looked from Jungkook, to the keyboard, then back again. Then he surprised you all by pulling the younger boy into a hug. Jungkook stiffened at first, clearly surprised. But then he returned the hug, a bunny smile creeping onto his face. 

“Thank you, Kookie. Seriously,” Yoongi said quietly. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

Namjoon appeared beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder. You blinked rapidly when you met his eyes; when had they started watering? Namjoon simply smiled before returning his attention to the men at the table. Jungkook spent a few minutes showing Yoongi some of the keyboard’s features while the rest of you set up the food on the coffee table in the living room. As much as you hated to interrupt, you had to call them away before the food got cold. Yoongi scanned the food on the table.

“I’ve never tried any of this stuff before,” he said.

“You’ve never had Thai food?” Taehyung asked, horrified. Yoongi shook his head. 

You filled a plate with things you thought he’d like and passed it to him. His eyes widened as he took in the precarious tower of food. You might’ve gotten a little too enthusiastic with your servings.

“Jeez, noona. Leave some for the rest of us!” Namjoon teased. The other boys snorted, but you ignored them.

“Try these. If there’s anything you don’t like you can give it to me,” you said. Yoongi cleared his plate in record time, even getting seconds upon your encouragement. His lack of pickiness when it came to food continued to impress you. After you cleared the plates away you settled into your favorite spot on the couch with Yoongi on one side with his arm around your shoulder, and Jungkook on the other. Jungkook laid his head on your lap so you could pet his ears. You smiled as Yoongi took your free hand and laced your fingers together, resting his cheek on your head.

A contented sigh escaped you and you looked over your mismatched little family, catching Namjoon and Jimin exchanging a look. Jimin turned to you and you raised an eyebrow at him questioningly, but he just smirked. You frowned, looking to Namjoon instead. He chuckled and turned his attention back to the movie. Jungkook had selected some b-movie he read about online. It featured mostly bad special effects, bad acting, and cheap jumpscares, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. 

You could feel Yoongi already dozing, his breathing deep and even against your hair. How he could sleep through the loud musical stings that seemed to happen every twenty seconds you couldn’t fathom. Despite the poor production quality, you got pretty into the movie. Your attention was split between trying to keep up with the convoluted plot, petting Jungkook, and drawing soft patterns on the back of Yoongi’s hand.

When the film ended you shifted, giving Yoongi’s hand a gentle squeeze to wake him up. He blinked at you, looking around as you sat up and started clearing glasses and drink cans away. He stretched before moving to help you.

“Why don’t you sit and chat with the guys for a bit?” you suggested.

“I’ll help you, noona,” Jungkook said. He, Jin, and Namjoon helped you clean up while the other boys visited.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Yoongi fidgeted nervously in his seat, uneasy without you next to him. Jimin sensed the discomfort and moved to sit next to him. Tae turned to face the other boys from his spot on the floor.

“So, how’s it been? Staying with Yeoji-noona, I mean,” Tae asked.

“Good. She’s really good to me. I owe her a lot,” Yoongi said.

“From what I hear she doesn’t feel you owe her anything. I think the last few weeks she’s been the happiest I’ve seen her in a long time,” Hoseok said. Yoongi blushed, but failed to hide his smile at the statement.

“It’s definitely the happiest I’ve ever been,” Yoongi said quietly.

“Well we’ve been dying to meet you,” Taehyung interjected. “Jimin won’t shut up about you.”

Jimin’s tail flicked. “It’s just been so long since I’ve had another kitty around.” Yoongi finched, tail wrapping protectively around his waist. Jimin continued, not noticing. “I mean, Tae is a cat. But you can’t exactly call a tiger a kitty. I miss purrs and snuggles from my other kitty friends. Tae doesn’t really purr. He makes this funny coughing sound instead.”

“It’s called ‘chuffing’ thank you very much,” Tae protested. Jimin’s tinkling laugh filled the room as the two bickered good-naturedly, but Yoongi’s mind was far away. A voice echoed through his mind, but not from anyone in the room. The man’s voice came from memories he’d pushed away and tried to forget. He curled in on himself, ears flattening as he tried to push the images of his past away.

The tone of the guys’ conversation shifted and he thought someone might be calling to him but their words sounded like he was hearing them through glass.

“Hey, hyung.” A hand came to rest on his shoulder and his body reacted before his mind could. He lashed out with a fist, and flinched away from the person’s touch, toppling off the couch in the process. A yelp of pain and surprise cleared a bit of the fog from his mind and he glanced at the faces surrounding him, pupils blown wide as adrenaline coursed through him. Rather than being comforted by the reality in that moment, he only felt dread in the pit of his stomach.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

You were laughing with Jungkook and Jin when you heard Namjoon’s shout of surprise. You whirled to see the boys suddenly quiet, startled expressions on their faces. You hurried into the living room just in time to see Yoongi getting off the ground and darting away into your bedroom.

“What happened?” you asked, turning to Namjoon for an answer. He held a hand to his cheek, the skin already bruising beneath it.

“I’m not sure. I came to check on them and Yoongi-hyung seemed… off. I must’ve scared him because he freaked out and hit me,” he said.

“We were just talking and then he got really quiet all of the sudden. Then when Joon-hyung touched him he just-” Taehyung trailed off with a shrug.

“Is he okay?” Jimin asked. He looked up at you with wide, concerned eyes.

“I’m sure he’s okay, Chim. I’m gonna go take care of him,” you ruffled the boy's hair. “Jin, can you get Joon some ice?”

Jin nodded and led the younger man back to the kitchen while you hurried after Yoongi. You pushed open the door gently. He hadn’t even bothered to turn the lights on.

“Yoongi?” you called softly. You scanned the room, but didn’t see him. “Sweetheart where are you? What happened?”

Your eyes fell on the door of your closet, which was slightly ajar. A sliver of sock-clad toe poked out. You approached quietly, not exactly sure what was going on, and opened the door. Yoongi sat on the floor, half buried in a pile of sweaters you hadn’t bothered to hang up after wearing them once.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. You crouched in front of him, leaning close to hear better. He flinched away as you drew closer and your heart broke.

“What?” you asked.

“Please…” he whimpered.

“Sweetheart, I don’t understand. What happened? Please what?”

“I messed up. I was bad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please don’t make me leave. Please,” he repeated over and over like a mantra. His ears were flat against his head. His whole body trembled.

“Oh, Yoongi,” you cooed, reaching out for him. He shrank away again, but you didn’t give up. “Yoon, it’s me. Please, can you come out?” He finally met your eyes, scanning your face for anger before carefully crawling out of his hiding place. When he finally accepted your outstretched hand you didn’t hesitate to pull him into your arms.

“I’m so sorry, noona. I’m so sorry. I was bad. I know I’m in trouble but please don’t get rid of me.”

“Sweetheart, I would never get rid of you.” You pulled him close, nuzzling into his hair as he tucked his face into your neck. “This is your home. And you aren’t in trouble. No one is mad at you.”

You sat quietly for a moment, just stroking his hair as he took deep shaking breaths, struggling to slow his breathing. When he seemed to have calmed down a bit you spoke again.

“Do you think you can tell me what happened?” you asked gently.

“T-that name. It just made me think of my old master,” he said the last word with venom in his voice. “Kitty, that’s what he called me and- and I just felt like I was there again. Back with him, at the club. And I- I couldn’t- It-” the panic seemed to be returning and you held him tighter, shushing him, trying to shield him from the rush of painful memories before they could overwhelm him again.

“Hey, hey. Slow down. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. You’re here, with me. I’ve got you.”

He nodded against your shoulder, clinging to you as if you were the only thing keeping him from drowning.

“Let’s get you off the floor, yeah?” you said, coaxing him to his feet and guiding him over to the bed. You tucked him in, pulling an extra blanket up from the foot to tuck around his shoulders and placing a soft kiss in his hair. 

“I probably should go check on the boys,” you said, glancing toward the living room. You could hear them murmuring, discussing quietly.

“Wait.” He looked anxious at the prospect of you leaving his side. “Can’t you...” He couldn’t seem to get out what he wanted to ask.

“Okay,” you said. The idea of being away for him at that moment tore at your heart more than you’d admit. You crawled under the covers and snuggled up to him. He tucked his face into your neck; that seemed to be his favorite spot. What you weren’t aware of was that your scent was such a comfort to him, it was the only thing that could push the shadows from his mind in moments like this. You slipped your phone out of your back pocket.

You put your phone on its charger and wrapped your arm around Yoongi again.

“Are they mad?” he asked suddenly.

“What? No, of course not.”

You felt him sigh, breath warm against your collarbone. “What are you going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

He pulled away from you to look you in the eye. “I know I’m in trouble. You have to punish me. I hurt your brother. And I could hear Jimin. I made him cry. So what are you going to do?” He averted his eyes, clearly expecting you to hurt him somehow.

You placed a gentle hand on his cheek to make him look at you. “Yoongi, you are not in trouble. Namjoon is not mad at you. He understands, in fact he was actually worried about you. And Jimin was only crying because he hurt you. He didn’t mean to say something that would upset you. He understands what it’s like to have things you’d rather forget,” you said sadly.

“Is-Is he still here?” Yoongi asked.

“I think so.”

“Could I-? I’d like to apologize,” he said. “To him and Namjoon.”

Your eyebrows shot up as you studied him. “Are you sure? You could talk to him after your shift tomorrow. You don’t have to do this now.”

“I don’t want them to worry.”

You scanned his face, but he seemed certain. You sat up, tucking a blanket tighter around his shoulders before calling, “Jimin, Joonie, can you come here for a second?”

Yoongi fidgeted with his fingers beside you, and you reached over and wrapped his hand in yours. There was quiet shuffling outside your door before a shock of pink hair and white ears appeared through the door.

“Hyung?” Jimin’s voice was even softer than usual, barely audible to your ears. He slipped through the door, Namjoon following cautiously behind him.

Yoongi cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, guys. I’m so sorry I hit you Namjoon. That was bad of me-”

Namjoon stopped him. “You have nothing to apologize for, hyung. It’s not your fault that other people hurt you. I’m sorry I scared you, even accidentally.”

Yoongi nodded his gratitude, thinking for a moment before turning to Jimin.

“And Jimin, I’m sorry I reacted like that. I didn’t mean to upset you...” He stopped short when he realized there were tears streaming down the younger man’s face. “Oh s***. Did I make it worse?” Yoongi said. He turned to you confused and concerned.

“No, hyung. I’m just so sorry. I-” Jimin sniffled and wiped at his face with his sleeves. “Can I hug you?” 

Yoongi looked startled, but he nodded. Jimin practically ran over and sat next to Yoongi, hugging him tightly and burying his face in his chest. After a moment’s hesitation, Yoongi wrapped his arms around him. There was a beat of silence before a soft, melodic purr started to fill the quiet.

“I know what it’s like to have… bad things happen. And I’m so sorry I made you remember.” Jimin’s grip on the back of Yoongi’s sweater tightened. “If you need to talk about it, you can talk to me, hyung. Anytime.”

Yoongi nodded again, a purr started to echo from his chest as well as he tried to keep himself together.

Namjoon and Jimin left a few minutes later, and Yoongi settled back in with you. He fell asleep quickly after all the guys left. You snuck away as quietly as you could to wash your face and change into pajamas, but found yourself rushing to return to his side.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Over the following months you tried to get Yoongi out of the house more. As the winter warmed into spring he went and performed in the plaza some days. One particularly sunny afternoon you had to go see your supplier since there was an issue with your latest order. 

The two of you strolled casually down the street toward the restaurant supply company, window shopping as you went since your appointment wasn’t for another twenty minutes. Yoongi pointed out a couple of items in shop windows, and you filed away his preferences for later. He finished paying you back for the things you bought him a few weeks before, so you looked for any and every opportunity to spoil him. Not because you thought he needed it, but any time you were responsible for that gummy smile blossoming on his face it warmed your heart like nothing else.

You passed a shop on the corner a block from your destination and paused when you noticed him lingering by the window.

“Yoon? What are you looking at?” You turned and joined him at the window. It turned out to be a salon, not a shop. You looked Yoongi over. His hair had grown since he’d come to stay with you, to the point that he tied it up with one of your hair-ties when he was working on something.

 “Do you want to get your hair cut?” you asked.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I should, huh? I actually like this.” He pointed at a poster in the window. The man in the picture had kind of a mullet going on. You couldn’t tell what color it was since the picture was black and white, but it was clearly a lighter color.

“This one?” You pointed at the picture, confirming. The cut wasn’t really your style. But if Yoongi liked it, that didn’t matter. He’d be adorable in any style. “Yeah,” you said encouragingly. “I think your hair is long enough.”

“What? No, I meant the color. I’d be cool to have lighter hair.”

“You wanna dye it?” you asked, surprised. You hadn’t expected him to be interested in something like that.

He nodded. “Do you think it’d look weird?” He suddenly seemed unsure, turning slightly away from the window, ears turning down slightly.

“No! I think you’d look cute in any color!” In your haste to reassure him you entirely missed the pretty blush that appeared on his cheeks. “You should try it,” you said.

He looked back up at the picture, contemplating. “Would that be okay?”

“Of course, sweetheart. It’s your hair.” You laughed and ruffled his soft black locks with your fingers. “Do you want to do it today? If they have an appointment you can do it while I go to my meeting.”

His tail swished behind him, ears perked forward. “Really?”

“Of course! Let’s see if they have any openings.”

You entered the salon, the bell chiming cheerfully above you. “Welcome to Worldwide Handsome Salon! How can I make your day more beautiful?” the girl at the reception desk greeted you. You turned to Yoongi, waiting for him to speak.

“I’d like to have my hair cut and colored,” he said quietly.

The girl glanced from him to you. “Of course, we happen to have an opening in 15 minutes if you were looking to have it done today.”

Yoongi nodded.

“Great!” the girl chirped. “I’ll go grab one of our stylists for a consult.” She hurried off to do so. You and Yoongi took a seat in the waiting area.

“That works out perfectly! I’ll come pick you up after my meeting. Is that okay?” You didn’t say what you were actually asking, though you knew he understood what you meant. ‘Will you be okay without me?’

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Good.” You took his hand, bouncing it happily on your lap. “I can’t wait to see what you do!”

The stylist emerged from between the rows of chairs and counters, greeting you with a big smile. He wasn’t very tall, but he still managed to be imposing. The lean muscle in his arms stretched the sleeves of his t-shirt, and he carried himself with more confidence and power than you would’ve expected from him. His hair was a shockingly pure platinum, and he pushed it back from his face as he approached to greet you.

“Hey! I’m Jackson.” He reached out to shake your hand, shaking Yoongi’s as well.

“He’s our best hybrid stylist,” the girl chimed in from beside him.

“I thought I was the best period, Irene,” Jackson teased. The receptionist, Irene, giggled and turned away.

“That too.” She bowed to you and Yoongi. “Let me know if you need anything else.” She returned to her place behind the front desk.

“I assume we’re doing something for you today?” He inclined his head toward Yoongi with a small smile. “Alright, what are we thinking?” He directed the question at you. You frowned at him before turning to Yoongi, again waiting for him to speak up.

“I want it cut and colored,” he said. 

Again, Jackson glanced at you expectantly. “Do you know what style you want exactly?” he asked politely.

“Don’t ask me, it’s his hair,” you said, getting a little irritated. Yoongi, sensing this, took your hand and leaned closer to you, tail wrapping soothingly around your leg.

Jackson’s eyebrows rose, apparently surprised. “Sorry. You have to excuse me. Most people who bring their hybrids in don’t give a damn what they want.” He smiled awkwardly. “Alright man, what are we doing today?” He addressed Yoongi this time, giving him a genuine smile and seeming almost relieved.

“I was thinki-”

“Wait!” You interrupted him, pulling your hand free so you could cover your ears. Both men looked at you, startled. “I want it to be a surprise.”

Yoongi grinned and nodded, happily agreeing to your plan.

“Text me when you’re finished, and I’ll come pick you up. You have your phone and your card?” Yoongi nodded. You got him a debit card once he started earning wages at the shop so he wouldn’t have to carry everything in cash. The account was technically under your name, since hybrids couldn’t have their own, but shopping was a lot easier for him with a debit card.

“Alright, call me if you need me.” You leaned up and pecked him on the cheek. “Have fun!” you called as you left the salon.

Jackon observed how Yoongi watched you leave, brows raised.

“What?” Yoongi asked when he caught the other man’s expression.

“Nothing,” Jackson said casually. He smiled and glanced after you. “It’s just nice to see. You guys seem happy together.”

Yoongi colored, but couldn’t hide the grin that appeared on his face.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

After your meeting, you went to the coffee shop next to the Worldwide Handsome Salon. You tried to busy yourself reading over the documents your supplier had given you, but it was hard to focus when you could hardly wait to see what Yoongi had done. You hopped out of your chair a little too energetically when he finally texted, drawing an irritated look from fellow patrons you’d startled. You bowed apologetically, dropped your dirty dishes in the bus bin, and hurried next door.

Irene greeted you when you entered. “Hi! They’re just finishing up. I’ll let them know you’re here.” She got up and disappeared into the maze of mirrors and counters. A moment later she returned, Jackson in tow. He flashed you a proud grin.

“You know, I think this might be some of my best work.”

Irene nudged him with her elbow and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, it has nothing to do with him being handsome to start with.”

Jackson waved Yoongi over and he peeked out from behind a mirror. Your eyes widened as you took in his slightly curly honey-blond hair. Yoongi measured your reaction, black ears twitching nervously as he stood before you.

“What?” he asked when you didn’t say anything. “Do you not like it?”

You broke into a smile and finally couldn’t hold back a delighted squeal.

“Oh my god I love it!” You stepped closer to him. “Can I?” You made grabby hands at him and he leaned his head down so you could reach better. Somehow, the light color and soft waves made his hair look even softer. Upon feeling it you found it was, in fact, extremely soft. 

“Agh!” You made an exasperated sound, overwhelmed with affection for the soft boy before you. “You look so cute!” you cooed.

Yoongi pouted a little. “Jackson and Irene said I look handsome,” he protested.

“And handsome.” You nodded in agreement, scratching the base of his ears. He purred and leaned into your hand. “My handsome honey boy.”

Yoongi’s eyes opened quickly and you wondered if he disliked the nickname. But his gummy smile quickly reassured you before he wrapped you in a hug, burying his face in your neck. His purrs rumbled through his chest and into yours, tail swishing happily behind him. You chuckled, continuing to stroke his hair.

“It looks great,” you said, placing a soft kiss in his hair. You glanced up at Jackson and Irene. She was watching the exchange with her head resting on Jackson’s shoulder, starry-eyed. You blinked, coming back to yourself and stepping away from Yoongi.

“Thank you so much for taking good care of him,” you said.

“Anytime,” Jackson answered. “Please come again. We do women’s hair too, you know.”

Jackson took his leave as Irene walked you to the counter to pay. Yoongi swiped his card with a bit of pride, though you winced at the hit his funds were taking. You were happy for him, since you knew independence was important to him. But you still wished he’d let you take care of him a little more.

Irene smiled as she watched the two of you, Yoongi’s free hand firmly clasping yours. “You two are really cute together,” she said. “You don’t see a lot of human-hybrid relationships like yours. It’s refreshing.”

You looked at her dumbly for a second before realizing what she meant. “Oh! We aren’t a couple,” you said. Yoongi flinched beside you and released your hand to put in his pin number. Irene frowned, not convinced.

“What about you and him?” You nodded to the direction where Jackson had gone. 

Irene blushed and stammered, effectively redirecting the conversation. “Jackson? We aren’t, like, official or anything. Just coworkers. And friends. He’s technically my boss, too.” She laughed awkwardly, busying herself getting Yoongi’s receipt. You let the subject drop, heart beating oddly fast. Were you seriously that worked up by the suggestion of you and Yoongi being together. 

You glanced over at him. The muscles in his jaw were tight as he focused determinedly on reading the ingredients of a shampoo bottle he had picked up. You hoped the statement hadn’t made him too uncomfortable. One of your greatest fears was Yoongi feeling like he owed you that. From what little he’d told you of his background, he wasn’t used to having a choice. You’d never want him to be with you out of some ingrained sense of obligation.

Yoongi interrupted your thoughts when he spoke. “Thank you,” he said again, bowing politely. Then he took his receipt and quickly turned to leave. Irene gave him a sad smile as you hurried after him. What was that about?

“Yoongi, wait up!” you jogged after him. When you caught up you looped your arm through his. You examined his face, but his expression was totally neutral. You tugged on his arm to get his attention. “What should we do for dinner?” He gave a noncommittal grunt. “What do you feel like eating, honey boy?” His stoic expression cracked a little, even as he turned his face to hide it. You laughed triumphantly.

“How about meat? Hanwoo?” you suggested, knowing his weakness all too well.

His eyes sparkled at the mention of the dish, which the two of you reserved as a treat for special occasions. He nodded, finally rewarding you with a small smile. You tugged on his arm playfully and dragged him toward the alley housing your favorite barbeque restaurant, happy that any tension seemed to have faded.

[alixanonymous]

How A Demon Commissions An Angel ~ A Daminette FanFic ~ Chapter 4: A Plan In Progress

From: DoWhatISay@email.com

To: Marinette.D.C.@email.com

Date: November 3, 2021 5:00 P.M.

Subject: I Accept Your Terms

Dear Ms. Dupain-Cheng,

I do not delude myself into thinking we will be able to magically solve each other’s problems but it does seem as though we both lack certain qualities the other does not. If you’re offering the chance for me to stay where I am, I would be a fool not to take it and I am not a fool. If I can also help fix your unfortunate situation, I will do so. 

Let me know where we go from here.

- Damian W.

From the phone of Marinette Dupain-Cheng:

The Ladyblog 

A Retraction Of An Earlier Article Nov 4 2021 

I’ve decided to take down an earlier article entitled “MDC Stole My Best Friend’s Designs!” following contact from the legal team of Jagged Stone. It was wrong of me to make accusations without proof and I will endeavor to provide evidence to back any claims I make on this blog in the future.

- Alya Cesaire, Creator of the Ladyblog

Chat Name: Aunt Penny

Aunt Penny: Are you sure you don’t want us to pursue any further action Marinette? That statement hardly seemed sincere and was not nearly sufficient considering all she’s claimed. We can help you know.

Me: It’s fine Aunt Penny. Anything else wouldn’t be worth the trouble. It’s not her fault anyway.

Aunt Penny: You know I don’t agree with that but okay, if you’re sure. Just remember the lawsuits have already been drafted.

Aunt Penny: By the way, Jagged’s suit was a real hit at the charity dinner. Not that we ever had a doubt. Have you been thinking about creating a new website?

Me: That’s great to hear. I’ll think about it, okay?

Aunt Penny: That’s good.

Chat Name: Alya

Alya: Girl, I know what you’re thinking but just because I had to post that statement doesn’t mean Lila’s lying. She just can’t release any proof because she wants to do the right thing and keep MDC’s identity a secret. She’s being the bigger person!

Me: She always is.

Alya: Don’t be like that! Please Marinette. Stop letting your jealousy cloud your judgement.

Chat Name: Uncle Jagged

Uncle Jagged: Pens told me that you dont want to sue i get it, lawsuits are totally not rock n’ roll but feeding that liar and her friends to fang is always an option!!!

Me: No, Uncle Jagged.

Uncle Jagged: fine…

Uncle Jagged: i got so much applause for your suit at the stuffy dinner btw.

Uncle Jagged: of course I told them all that my talented young niece made it.

Uncle Jagged: even had a billionaire’s son begging for a referral but dont worry i turned him down for you 

Me: What?! Why?!

Uncle Jagged: trust me, Mari, he was totally not rock n’ roll. not rock n’ roll at all! just rude

Chat Name: Adrien

Adrien: Hey Marinette, did you see the apology on the Ladyblog?

Me: You mean the retraction?

Adrien: Well, yes. 

Adrien: Look, Marinette, you’re not going to do anything else right? She took it down.

Me: She took it down because “she had no proof” not because she knows Lila lied. She’s still convinced even after Jagged’s legal team got involved although we both know the truth.

Adrien: I'm sorry.

Adrien: Even my father feels bad, he knows how much rumors like that could damage an artist’s reputation especially without proof.

Adrien: But he’s still convinced Lila’s someone I need to associate with and if you try to expose her again it’s going to be like every other time and I don’t want things to get worse for you.

Adrien: I’m sorry Mari.

Adrien: I just can’t help you while my father’s still on her side.

Google Search History: 

Gotham Charity Dinner 2021 Photos

Patricide but for uncles

What is it called when someone kills their uncle?

How to know if a friendship is toxic

From:Marinette.D.C.@email.com

To:DoWhatISay@email.com

Date:November 5, 2021  5:05 P.M.

Subject: The Plan

Hey Damian!

Sorry for the delay in responding. I don’t know if you saw but MDC had a bit of a problem to deal with yesterday. So here’s how I see it. Our plan has two parts: the commission for your brothers and then us trying to help each other out with our people problems.

For the commission: You already gave me the measurements which I’m trusting are up to standard since I’m not flying to America any time soon. Next I need to know exactly what you want me to make for each of your brothers: Grayson, Todd, and Drake, the measurements say are their names right? Then I need to know who you think wants a sweater and who wants a jacket and your ideas for the design. I’ll draw up some designs based on the information and send them to you for approval with an estimate of the cost. (Normally I’d also send a non-disclosure agreement beforehand too but considering how this all started I’m guessing you’re not going to give me your real name for the paperwork, are you?) After they’re approved I’ll need you to deposit half the sum in my account (Information attached) and I’ll use it to buy the materials.

If I can get all of this done in the next week or so, it should leave me about a month to finish the pieces before sending them out (An address will not be optional fyi). Sounds good??

For the other part of our plan: the way I could see it going is when one of us has a problem we could use the other person for sort of a different perspective. It’s like in those cartoons when the character has those two little people on their shoulders, do you know what I’m talking about? One’s good, the other’s bad and they’re both telling the person to do different things. Not that you’re bad I mean and not that I just assumed that of the two of us you’d be the bad one…  I’m not saying any of this right. I just mean it like I said before, I could learn a thing or time from someone who isn’t too concerned with pleasing everybody. (I didn’t mean that as an insult by the way. I actually find it kind of admirable.)

So, here’s an example of a situation I could use your opinion on: today I started to wonder if one of my friendships is no longer healthy anymore. I have this friend who is the only other person in our class that knows Lila’s lying. At first he convinced me that her lies weren’t hurting anybody and that as long as we both knew the truth then it didn’t matter what anybody else thought. Eventually, we both realized that that was no longer the case when she almost got me expelled, but by then she had convinced his father that I was a bad influence on him. So now he’s forced to play nice and keep her happy to please his father.

It’s hard because even though I know he knows she’s lying, he can’t tell anyone else so no one believes me when I try to tell them. Now she’s made good on her promise to turn everyone against me and so I have to deal with all her antics by myself while she stands by his side with the rest of the class. I know he’s in a bad position but it still doesn’t make me feel better when he texts me asking if I’m okay after  something happens while at the same time whenever we’re with other people, he keeps his distance so she doesn’t report him to his father.

I guess I’m just tired of trying to make him feel better all the time. However, whenever I think about ending our friendship, I feel guilty because it’s really not his fault. His father wouldn’t hesitate to pull him from school and then we couldn’t be friends anyway. I feel like a good friend would stick by his side. I don’t know. What do you think, Damian? 

I guess that’s just how I see this going then. I rant about whatever I’m having to deal with and you tell me if you agree with how I’m handling it and vice versa. You mention some type of incident with a classmate right? Do you want an outside opinion of that or has your family’s sufficed? Or is there anything else you could use some advice on? I guess we’re just making this up as we go. I mean I suppose there aren’t any rules about relationships that started with one person trying to blackmail the other, right? :P

Hope to hear from you soon! Love,

Marinette

P.S. If this is going to work, you can’t just ignore me when I call you out on being (for lack of a better word) snobbish, Mr. Postscript.

Hello, it’s me again. I just spent like an hour working on chapter nine so my headache’s making itself know again but I wanted to at least post a chapter today. Thank you to anyone who’s been reblogging, liking, or replying to these! It makes the unenjoyable task of reposting worth it! More chapters soon!

Master List

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

20. Sink

Word Count: 3989 Trigger warnings for religion and mentions of child pornography

Previous

Lord, if it’s you,” (Simon) Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.” “Come,” he said. Then (Simon) Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!”

Matthew 14:28-30

Simon had never been very religious. Scratch that… Simon had never been very mystical about religion. Whenever he was younger, his family went to church and he was quite studious and learned a lot in that time period. His father still believed in God and country or whatever and his grandmother, he imagined was praying over his mom every single day. But, he had never really known what it felt like to have that kind of faith in anyone or anything… until he was given Grace. It wasn’t lost on him the religious implications of being a boy named Simon (like Simon Peter, aka The Apostle Peter - huge name in the Bible world) being granted a savior, being blessed with Grace after a terrible sin, whether intentional or not, of killing Hope… His mind was in a daze right now. 

It was the fourth religious dream he had since that interview, and in this one, he was Simon Peter, calling to his Savior in the storm. Grace was just across the water. All he had to do was get to her and she would rescue him from all of this, just like she always used to. But, he looked at the impending storm, instead. He had Grace, but he was focused on the storm, and he sank… He jumped up from his sleep and literally felt like he had been drowning. Ugh. 10 years of church and 4 years of private school could definitely mess with one’s mind. Then again, so could 6 years of Grace and 5 years without it… her… 

He had begun to try to stop rationalizing that she wasn’t human. Unfortunately for him, before he considered her the void, she hadn’t been human for him either, then. She had been a deity. He worshipped her. She had been a vessel to save him, to help him, to comfort him. She had been what he built his faith system upon, his religion, his Apex, his lifestyle… Then, she was gone and he tried to continue without her. He tried to rebuild in his own image, in his own name. He tried to walk on water, as he had seen her do, now all he was doing was sinking…

In the aftermath of the interview, Simon noted that his faithful followers went on one of their ravenous attacks in Shana’s comment sections. She could even just post a photo of herself in the newsroom at Spelman as an inspirational post and they appeared in her comments to berate her for speaking about inspiration when she would attack an abuse survivor and have his abuser on her show, trying to make her sympathetic. Shana seemed entertained for some of the comments, replying things like a simple “K” or “Lol” and never addressing the person again, even if they supplied a melee of character attacks at her.

But, on the video link, whenever people started also attacking Grace’s fakeness and the fact that she still gets to abuse Simon indirectly by doing things like this, Shana had enough. She let them know that she had no regrets about the interview with Grace, no regrets about anything that she said about Simon, and none about all of her opinions of him. “Even if he’s a different person today, considering that he never got any backlash for the sex tape from high school, which i firmly STILL believe that he should be held accountable for, which I am convinced that he leaked, and I think that if he’s truly changed, he would have wanted to make that right at some point and free Grace from the uninvited attacks for that CRIME AGAINST HER, committed by him.”

There was an explosion of mixed reactions. Everything from, “This is the first that I’m hearing of this” to “Simon would never have done anything like that to Grace” to “WHERE CAN I FIND A SEX TAPE OF SIMON AND GRACE???” Many people were blocked. Many people were rocked, as Shana went live to address the massive amount of comments coming from her spilling that tea.

She made mention of the facts that while the statute of limitations of revenge porn had been exceeded, they didn’t exist for child porn. “And in case anybody is confused, yes, I am including links to inform you about how what he did is in fact child pornography creation, possession, and distribution, AND what the law says concerning them.” After replying to many of the comments, mostly in an amused fashion, she got bored. 

“Listen, I’m getting ready to go chill with my lady and get ready for class tomorrow, but I’ll just say this one more thing, “I’m not taking my foot off of Simon Laurent’s neck. As long as Grace has had to suffer in silence, because she’s no longer the vengeful type or whatever, she’s on right now in her journey, the journalist in me and the enraged victim in me will always come for Simon and the way he used the privilege that he did have - not to say that he didn’t lack in certain areas like money and common decency, but the ones he DID have - his race, his gender, his orientation, his proximity to education, etc, in order to vilify and humble this girl with false accusations of crimes, and get away with unconfessed crimes. Yeah, this IS about my Sassy Strawberry keychain, Simon you bitch! I know you watching. To those of you who can’t be bothered to use your Googles, I don’t know what to tell you, kinfolk. Shady Shana has said all that she needs to say for now. Tata, from the perfect place for shade.”

Then her accusations, the search for the information of said accusations and the buzz from back then resurfacing went even more viral than the things that he had said about Grace whenever he reached notoriety from the stories. Now that the Internet and social media were even bigger and just kept growing with time, Grace still being a huge public persona, despite the few short years that she wasn’t online and the time she had been inside, she made an explosive comeback at least as an Internet personality, and Simon was never as frequent online as he was a short time in the eye of the public to get himself established, but several professors had used his story for various seminars and lectures, his books did pretty well, and he was a very established young mind in his academic circles… So, he was a big deal in his world, but on the grand scale becoming infamous for this new attention. 

Shana and Grace’s worlds were very large, and both of those were combining to infiltrate his world with these not necessarily new pieces of information, but things that he thought would have been forgotten or left alone. He had not even considered that Shana would ever… Like… why was SHE so damn upset? Because of a small scuffle? Because of somebody else’s alleged injustice? Somebody that she didn’t even LIKE for most of her life? “Journalist” she was a shit-stirrer! All of her muckraking was making things complicated for simple Simon. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like dreaming about Grace as his savior. He didn’t like the idea of reaching out to her to get her to grab her dog. He didn’t like that he was suffering from nights more sleepless than usual and beginning to become counterproductive in his work.

Worrying about ramifications of the words “child pornography” and “sexual predator” being tossed about in conversations with his name led to nightmares, paranoia, guilt, intrusive thoughts, and mistakes in class and at work. One of them turned out big…

Amelia came up to him in her lab, with her arms folded and her face stern, “Is there anything you think we should discuss, Mr. Laurent?” He frowned and glanced her way, still working on the formula for the next tests in the prosthetics serum they were spending time discussing as one of his potential next big things. She raised her eyebrows and asked, “Not even an acknowledgment of what I’m speaking of?”

“I know what you’re speaking of and I decided that no, we don’t need to discuss it. It’s a personal matter.”

“A personal matter? Simon, you are supposed to be seeing a counsellor once a week, and now I find out that not only did he recommend that you see him twice a week, but that you haven’t seen him in several weeks! It is part of your ability to stay here, and I don’t appreciate that you’ve ducked out on this requirement, especially considering the personal matter you’re referring to.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows and set down his supplies. “This is about the shrink? I haven’t been able to see the guy, because I’ve been working on the new formula nonstop. I need a breakthrough, and if I can get the formula right for enhancing the prosthetics, I’ll be famous for that. I’ll be closer to the goal of enriching artificial organs, maybe even organic ones!”

“I know what this work would mean if successful. That isn’t the point. The point is that you are not allowed to be here without the help that you need and you agreed to. I’m going to have to speak to the committee, now that I know you haven’t been…” She turned and he caught her wrist really hard. The woman jerked away. She was stronger than he thought.

“Amelia… Please. I need this. People are out to get me. Out to destroy everything that I’ve built for myself, without parents, without love, without an inheritance. I got here on my own merit, my own mind! I can’t have it be the thing that gets me sent away.”

“You needed to consider that after we gave you another chance! We can’t keep going back and forth with you while you refuse to take the help that you need in order to get to your next rung!” She was loud. He felt like she was yelling at him. He didn’t like people yelling at him, especially women, especially older ones… It made him extremely angry and he yelled right back at her, only to find that she either hadn’t been yelling or she had an even louder yelling setting.

“I’M DOING MY GODDAMN BEST!”

“MAYBE YOUR BEST ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH!”

And in addition to the yelling, the thing yelled was extremely hurtful. But, Simon was an angry hurt type. So, he was hurt, but it manifested in anger, “LIKE YOURS WASN’T! YOU HATE ME BECAUSE I CAN BE A BETTER YOU!” She laughed. That made him even angrier. “ADMIT IT! YOU’RE SO HARD ON ME BECAUSE I AM BETTER THAN YOU!”

“Simon, you’re a child. A foolish, often incorrect child. There are many things that I credit as better than me. You aren’t one of them.” He was breathing hard and clenching his fists. “I advise you to immediately set an appointment with your therapist and I demand that you leave the lab at once. At the very least, you need to take a break. At worse… you broke our agreement, Simon.” She began to touch his research, to put everything away, as he stormed out, trying not to let her see him cry and trying not to explode in the lab and further mess things up for himself. He didn’t get far before there was a different explosion in there. Not an extremely loud one, but loud enough that he turned around as others rushed in. 

Simon got on the phone, calling the last counselor that he had spoken to as everyone else scurried about trying to get help and rushing in various directions. “She was just arguing with Laurent, he rushed out and then this happened,” he heard someone say and he watched the three students who had been talking stop and look right at him.  “Are you calling 911?” One of them asked. He shook his head, because he hadn’t been. Once again, it wasn’t his first thought when he witnessed an emergency. One of them grabbed their phone out, presumably to do so and he… left. He probably should have stayed, but he couldn’t breathe and needed some space and needed to rage.

.

It didn’t take others long to start whispering. Simon had found a dumpster to kick for a while before returning to the scene and seeing them rushing Amelia into an ambulance. Police were there and wanted to talk with him. He knew that people would talk. They had been talking. He also knew that sometimes he imagined that people were talking more than they actually were and he hoped that perhaps, this would be one of those times that he imagined the criticism. It was not.

On top of the internet’s allegations of child pornography, learning that the state of California might be investigating these allegations, for the Monroe Estate, and being questioned about his chemical engineering “mistake” with the formula that became unstable as Professor Hughes attempted to put it away… 

Simon was whatever the opposite of numb was. He felt all things, everything, anything, all at once and at a peak. He hadn’t felt this way in a really long time and the only times he had, he had Grace to think of and settle him. After that, he had his own greatness to reflect upon… but that was slipping away from him and Grace had slipped away… No… He had shoved her away, and he needed her so much right now. Because he didn’t know if he could pull himself up from sinking. “Lord save me!” He heard himself yelling from the water in the storm… But Grace couldn’t hear him. She was too far away, and she wasn’t his savior anymore. He looked up for something to latch onto, but all there was, was the Void.

Its big black, form, with an aura of fluid black smoke, and hovered over him and charged at him, its face stopping just short of his own and he looked up to see it. It was nothing but a pale mask, much like one of the ones that Grace used to wear. Maybe… Maybe she was still inside of the void somewhere. Maybe she would rescue him after all. “Grace?” he called, “Is that you?” It had nothing in it’s face. No feeling, no warmth. There was no way that Grace was there. It had no reply. He blinked it away and looked at the police. They had just released him… so… something had saved him… for now. Probably just dumb luck, or lack of evidence. There had to be a lack of evidence, because he knew that he had done nothing wrong.

Despite having done nothing wrong, he had apparently made some type of mistake with the formula, but he figured it was more likely that Amelia had made some mistake in putting it away. It was too soon to voice that opinion. Students were upset, like she was some lovable figure. She was a bitch. He didn’t feel bad at all that she was hurt and he hoped that nobody expected him to act like he did. But, they were talking again. He felt like whenever he was a freshman at the academy and the staff and students didn’t appreciate him because they hadn’t seen his value yet… but these people knew him. He was important! He was significant now! He had done everything to become valuable and honored, including giving up Grace when she was holding him back! 

“Simon, it sounds like you’re just blaming everyone else for your problems again.”

“I’m only saying what happened. I matter, and they treat me like I don’t. They look at me like I’m a criminal. They’re handling me like I haven’t done great things! Like they haven’t heard of me or something! Who do they think they are?”

“To not value you? Maybe they’re just strangers, Simon. You’ve spoken to me a few times, and I don’t know you, either. That doesn’t take away from anything that you might have done, but it doesn’t give me the insight that you have of yourself. The same can be said about any of the people here,” the counsellor said. Simon resumed his meetings, but it was too little too late, as he was called back to the committee.

.

Grace was really just trying to enjoy her life. She only did the interview with Shana because Shana had REALLY come through in finding Hazel for her. She explained to the people keeping Hazel how she knew her and how she found her (not mentioning Shana’s name, but that she “hired an investigator”) mainly because she just wanted to see how Hazel was doing. The short answer was “not great,” but the long answer was Grace hated the fact that everyone that she talked to about Hazel didn’t seem to really know her or how to deal with her. That made her afraid that Hazel would continue to get bounced around, and eventually be lost to her again. After being approved as someone who could visit and spend time with Hazel (a longer process than she would have liked, and one that she knew could have been shortened if she just went crawling back to her parents), but one that was worth the work, because not only was she able to see Hazel and talk to her, but she also got her a phone, in case they were separated again and Hazel needed to reach out to her. 

The last thing that Grace wanted to do was be dragged into Simon’s situation. So, whenever people asked her about him, sent her messages, intruded into her comments, @ her in posts… she declined from responding. She made a statement on her linked social media accounts, reminding everyone that 1. She doesn’t speak about Simon. 2. She said everything that she intended to say to people outside of the situation to Shana in the interview. 3. She is not responsible for Shana’s feelings about the incident in question (the recording and sharing of the recording) 4. She has never spoken to anyone but Simon about the incident in question and doesn’t plan on going much more in depth with anybody about it any time soon. 

Whenever asked about the recording, since she did say in the statement that she had spoken with Simon about it, and it was presumed that meant that maybe they had made it together and it got leaked, as those things tend to do, she confirmed that she didn’t know anything about the recording until after everyone else had seen it, that she doesn’t like to think about it or that time in her life because it was one of her most embarrassing and painful experiences and she doesn’t want to have to relive it simply because people are curious about these details that don’t affect them one way or another…

People were relentless and dedicated to being in other people’s business. What about Simon? It affects Simon! Why aren’t you helping clear Simon’s name? Why are you still hurting Simon? What about affecting Simon? She’d punch every last one of these people in the mouth, just like she did Simon when she found out, if they were in front of her. Even, now, being  someone trying very hard to be peaceful and patient… “Simon already knows everything about that time that I would be able to say, so telling anyone else anything wouldn’t help him or me. If I was silent about it whenever it might have actually changed my trajectory in a favorable way, I’m certainly not going to begin going off about it now that I’ve been given another chance at a positive life, despite the things that caused me pain. Simon knows more than I do and more than you. Perhaps you should ask him, if you want someone who doesn’t seem to mind speaking about these subjects.”

That was what did it. Simon watched in a panic as former Apex members, arose to defend Grace and admit that during the time, Simon was open with certain people about having orchestrated the recording and using it to oust Grace from her throne. “We were mean kids, and I don’t know if we thought far ahead enough to really see what something like that could do to somebody. We all found it either funny or scary and weren’t brave enough to stand up for her back then, but Grace did nothing wrong and people should let her live her life instead of bringing this back up and hurting her again.” They basically all said some variation of that.

He became immediately notorious as #GraceDidNothingWrong began trending and multiple Apex members, former nonessentials, declared nulls, and actual victims of some of Simon’s direct attacks come forward, opening up about their experiences with Simon’s Apex, the Apex in general, including anecdotes, quotes, confessions, etc to further prove Simon’s guilt. To top it off Simon was put on academic probation as everything unfolded including the way he had been handling his psychiatric deal with the committee being unmet and the negligence that led to Professor Hughes’ accident. When he began losing various deals, gets major backlash for the accident, on top of the allegations of child pornography being investigated, he began to spiral as he considered possible charges from CA to MA. He deleted all of his social media accounts and shadow cyberstalked Grace, only to see that she really wasn’t participating in all of this.

He was SO CLOSE to his first Master’s degree. He couldn’t let all of this throw away his future! He was young and stupid and maybe he was wrong, but he wasn’t going to say that and he definitely didn’t feel like he deserved to be punished for it right now! 

He had been trying not to think about that interview, but the more he tried not to think about it, the more he obsessed over it - over her wondering how he was doing, over the potential for her to actually still care. It was so stupid. It was foolish. There was no way that she really felt like that, but all of his distraction had caused him to possibly make some type of stupid mistake. The police were investigating, but he was the main one working in the lab, so whatever happened was most likely due to some type of misstep on his part. He certainly had not rigged anything to explode in Professor Hughes’ face, like some seemed to be trying to suggest! 

The fact that they did not get along wasn’t very helpful to him. The argument right before it happened made it even more suspicious, and where they should have been able to speak with his psychiatrist to ensure that he was doing fine… he hadn’t been consistent with any long enough for them to know that he was doing fine… which brought attention back on him from the committee, which he guessed felt like he was jumping through loopholes in their deal. He saw the Void again, it's voice like a chorus of succubi singing, “I’ve come to take everything from you. It’s what you deserve.”

He rushed to the airport. He didn’t even have a place to stay. He rushed to the Monroe’s, snuck into their gate and beat on the door. It was 2 am, but he couldn’t wait. The Void was after him, and he NEEDED his Grace.

Next

[alex-wrtng]

How I Describe Characters: I don't.

This is where the "show not tell" demon comes to bite eveyone in the ass. Most of the time, characters are introduced and described within the same parragraph (unless it's some sort of pen pal situation, or they are a ghost/invisible, or the MC is blind, etc.).

Most amateur writers will try to infodump all those quirky characteristics they've been working on so hard and then their introduction ends up looking like a grocery list of random attributes that vaguely resemble a real human and not an anime character.

I usually don't describe my characters unless there's a striking feature I need to point out like a scar, a tattoo, dyed hair, etc. and if it doesn't fit in my narration then I use dialogue or action to fill in the blanks left behind by my need to keep descriptions short and simple.

Work with negative space: less is more.

No description means "default characteristics" which can change depending the setting, your character's name, socioeconomic background, etc. This is where stereotypes come in handy (oof). Stereotypes exist whether we like them or not and we writers need to take advantage of them by using them in our favor.

The average person has: brown eyes (approximately 79% of the world's population has brown eyes), brown hair, under 6 feet tall (you can look what the average height by country is here), no scars (unless your book setting is wilder than average then go off and give everyone scars), no facial hair, short hair (men), shoulder length hair (women), etc. Skin color depends on other factors, but readers are more likely to guess that the character has a light skin tone than a darker one.

No description means the reader will probably imagine what I just described.

We can work with stereotypes in a small setting (say your story is set somewhere in small German village. What do most German people look like?) or in a more general setting (an international space station or simply a big city with a diverse population where one's ethnic background is hardly going to be the same as everyone else's). When it comes to wider settings the "default" changes a lot so go do your research if you are using real locations.

Names

Your character's name will paint a picture way faster than an entire parragraph.

Examples: Karen Miller, Ricardo Martinez, Fitzwilliam Wickham, Tyrone Williams, Wang Xiuying, Pierre Dubois, etc.

I didn't need to say a word for you to draw a basic picture of what they look like. Do what you must with this information.

Professions

Now that we have a name and we know what a default human looks like, we can start with clothes. Uniforms are easy because you don't need to do anything special with their description. Eveyone knows what a cop looks like and same goes for a bunch of other professionals. A quick Google search should be enough to let you know exactly what you need to know, but remember that a few words are more than enough. One adjective and one or two nouns should do the work.

Examples: Bloody scrubs, pristine suit, tactical gear, ragged jeans and a random hoodie, leather jacket and washed out jeans, etc.

On the other hand we can simply NOT mention any piece of clothing and simply go "David the doctor" and depending on the setting the reader will imagine a white lab coat, a stethoscope, either scrubs or a button up shirt, a pen in their pocket, a pager in their belt, and whatever else their brain can come up with before you throw in some action. If your character doesn't have a profession (too young or unemployed), you can describe the climate instead (what do people usually wear when it snows?) or the setting (could be a fancy party or a beach in the coast of France) or the activity your chatacter is doing (gym, class, visiting grandma, murdering the governor), etc.

Skin tones

Don't look for synonyms unless you want to super romantic (or super annoying). If you aren't like me and you have an inclination for poetic descriptions then go ahead and describe how the sun makes their skin shine or whatever, but if you aren't then here's a very basic chart:

If that's not enough for you then go to a makeup websites/blog and look up tones vs undertone.

Again, you may NOT need to describe your character's skin tone if their name or setting was enough to deal with that. Most of the time the reader will simply guess your character is white and that's it.

Body proportions

Here's where it gets tricky. There's the basic descriptions of "tall vs short" and "fat vs thin". The reader will automatically choose a medium for these two (unless it's a male main character in which case they will always choose tall unless he is some sort of loser or a child) so you may not need to describe this either. Height is highly irrelevant unless the character is much smaller/shorter than the MC or if this new character is a romantic interest then "taller" and "shorter" should be enough of a description unless you want to get creative or your MC is the type to wax poetics about such a thing or your MC is the exact opposite and has the ability to guess their exact height (like a Sherlock or Spock type of smart character).

You can soften the "fat" adjective with words like "soft", "chuby", "curvy", "thick", or you may go for the kill and describe the character as "morbidly obese" if you feel like it. I don't make the rules, you do.

Objectification

No one needs to read a description about a female character's boobs.

If you reeeeeeally want to go there you can mention how character A can't stop looking at Character B's chest or you can bring up the subject with dialogue or you can indirectly mention it by describing their clothes (be creative, bitch).

One thing most men don't know is that women (straight or otherwise) notice when other women have above average breasts, but most of time it's just "oh wow those are big" and "oh wow those are much bigger than mine" which may or may not be out of curiosity, jealousy, or attraction. I mean... women have eyes too, people. There's a third option which is "that can't be comfortable" which is 100% real. Big boobs can cause health problems, but this isn't a post for that.

MEN can also be objectified, but it's more subtle and less problematic as the mention of "marked abs" and "big muscles" is exactly what makes it to the cover of Men's Health magazine and superhero movies. Just like huge perfect boobs with small waists aren't realistic (but they exist), perfectly chiseled bodies aren't very realistic, but you do you. Find a balance and look up what's needed to have someone look the way you want them to (diet, exercise, good genes, demon deals, plastic surgery, etc).

Have fun NOT describing your characters and follow me for more tips. 💖

Bonus notes: Your chosen POV style will affect your descriptions. In 1st person POV, your MC's personality must color how they view people and what words they use to describe them, but you must keep in mind that most people don't stop to think about what a person looks like for more than a few seconds unless there's something special about them or the situation.

[yournewfavoritethings]

Y’all we gotta do something about the education system

I’m not just talking about the American school system, I’m talking about every one. I saw this post and it just tRigGEreD me to the core:

YALL WE GOTTA STEP IT THE F*** UP. CLAP YOUR HANDS IF YOU LIKE SCHOOL. HEAR THAT? NO YA DONT. literally everyone hates school and why?

We aren’t passionate abt what we’re learning

Information is forced upon us in an unhealthy process

The work is unreasonable and most likely things we won’t ever use again

Lastly, it teaches us to fit into little cut out spaces and fill roles that society expects from us.

Let’s dive deeper, shall we

Passion:

We’ve all heard this before, and yet none of us have taken a stand in any way that makes a difference. Listen, I know we all need basic math skills, and probably should read that Shakespeare book, and I agree. However, it doesn’t make sense that every year it’s MATH, HISTORY, SCIENCE, ENGLISH, and a sport or something. Like, how much do you think I’m gonna remember guys?

And none of us are into it. Personally, I love English. I could read and write and depict novels all day. On the other hand, I hate science with a passion. It does not make sense. Many students are like this, better at other subjects and maybe not as good at something else. Why is that so bad? I find myself dozing off in class bc it’s so boring. The way we’re learning isn’t learning at all. It’s being damn good at memorizing and cramming things last minute. THAT ISNT LEARNING which leads me into my next point

How we learn

First off, I’ve had 5 good teachers in my life. 5. I’m a sophomore in high school. The only reason I know weird things about how geometry works is bc of my 6th grade math teacher. The only reason I get human geography is bc of my AP human teacher. You wonder why I don’t understand biology? WE TAKE NOTES FROM OUR TEACHERS PAGES AND LISTEN TO HER READ OFF THE SCREEN. You wonder why my homework is excellent and my tests are failures? BECAUSE THEY ARENT TEACHING AT ALL, THEYRE EXPECTING US TO KNOW BC WE STUDY, AND THEREFORE ARENT DOING THEIR JOBS.

Secondly, students don’t learn the same. There’s this art piece of a monkey, a fish, and an insect or something and they’re all asked to climb a tree. This is the education system. Sometimes, people can learn easily bc they get it. For others, it’s impossible bc it’s not who they are.

And it’s unhealthy

get up at 6. Get off at 4. Have 3 hours of homework. Go to sleep at 9. Repeat. Do you know how unhealthy that is for teenagers? I play a sport and I have to go to practice at least two school nights a week. And on the weekend, teachers pile on everythingggggg. You wonder why we procrastinate? Cause we are unmotivated, tired, and physically unable. I take all AP classes bc it’s fun to learn, if you think about it. I’d love to know about the ecosystem and the planets. I think science is fun! I soak up facts about our ancestors and how our world came to be. I think history is fun! But the busy work, the stress, the never ending due-dates, finals, and homework make it unbareable.

Y’all have heard this before: we won’t use the work in the future.

No we won’t. The only thing I’d need it for is helping my kids with their homework, because the education system doesn’t change despite how awful it is. Honestly, it just keeps getting worse. Ted talks and posts about this are endless, so I won’t go into detail, you get the just.

Societal Roles

School is meant to enhance our creativity and our uniqueness, but it does the exact opposite. It discourages our individuality by making us take tests and work for meaningless grades. Think of the billionaires who didn’t go to college. Think of the successful people who are mathematicians or scientists. Everyone that comes to mind when I think of someone successful, probably didn’t use any of their prior high school knowledge to achieve their dreams. I’m tired of being anxious all the time. Even as the school year nears I feel myself becoming depressed, scared, and stressed already. What a shame.

Solution:

My first solution is that we have Fridays as half days, and start school at at least 9, but 10 would be better. The school day should still end at 4.

Why?

This will decrease stress dramatically and allow students proper time to rest. Having that delay will allow students to have healthier sleeping schedules and more time to do homework. While this does decrease time for actual learning, I believe schools can make it work. Having A/B schedules where students have half their classes on A day and the other half on B day should suffice nicely. As for Friday’s, the school should get out at 12 and be kept open until 3 for students to come in for tutoring. Teachers will then have to work until 4 bc we need our grades in and this allows them up to 4 hours to sort everything out.

Next solution, from Kinder through 8th grade, the four main subjects should be enforced as they are just basic means of education (but kept the same as they already are). High school should allow students to have 3 years of each, so that they can pick which classes they want to take that year.

This allows more room for endorsements and sports throughout your high school years. Personally, high school is already a drag for me and if they’re gonna continue the work load, then they’ve gotta cut the time we have to endure it. Everyone I know is so anxious all the time, they’ve turned to drugs and alcohol and juuls. Honestly, I think it’s bc it gives them an escape, but I wouldn’t know. On top of that, everyone’s depressed. I can blame about 70% of this on education alone. Imagine having the freedom to grow into a person you want to be. With this schedule, I really think we can. We have more time to figure out who we are and what our passion is through picking classes that suit us instead of the main 4. Plus, teachers will benefit as well. They get to teach those who want to learn their subject and will strive for it.

Last solution, work load needs to be fixed.

I’m not just talking homework, I’m talking busy work, projects, and tests. I’d rather learn than do that crap, bc, what a shocker! It doesn’t help. Tests should be once every two months, with quizzes enforced every two weeks. Quizzes should be no longer than 20 questions, and tests no longer than 40. Half the amount of homework we already receive should become optional, and a study resource more than a grade. I get about 5 pages a week in math alone, not to mention the amount I get from other classes. Let’s cut that to about 15 questions and have 3 pages of optional study work that help you understand the subject.

And for busy work, let’s make that a thing once every week, and for a short amount of time. The rest should be practicing with the teacher or optional station work.

Projects, on the other hand, should be given once every month. They shouldn’t be huge projects, but just simple ones to cover the unit. Nor should they be useless. I’m not gonna go design a topographic map at home and waste my money on poster paper or connect a baseball game to a mathematical equation. Give me a few key materials to research and a few options on how I want to complete it such as, google site, video, presentation, or creative side like drawing. Whatever benefits the student.

See how I’ve included every students needs and ways of processing the material, along with setting realistic expectations to uphold them to? Not that hard.

Please feel free to add more! I’d love to hear y’alls opinion on school and what you think of my solution! I’ll probably make a legit paper on this bc I kinda just threw this post together lol

[kaylinpak]

The ArtCenter Files

I was accepted for the Fall 2020 Illustration program at ArtCenter College of Design. Just like with the post I made after being accepted to Ringling, this one will also be a list of tips I gathered during my application process. This is not a guarantee of your acceptance, but just something to help inform those looking into ArtCenter, primarily for Illustration. (You can skip to number 3 if you just want help on your portfolio.)

1.) BEFORE WORKING ON THE APPLICATION:

Please schedule either an in-person or online meeting with an Admissions counselor first. This is important as no one knows the programs and curriculum better than they do. Just by talking to a counselor about my interests, she was able to help narrow down what major would be a good fit for me, as well as give insight as to what the coursework would look like. (Not to mention portfolio help!)

ArtCenter also has different terms: Fall, Spring, and Summer. You’d have to look for the exact starting dates to determine which term would work best for you, or speak to the counselor. You can schedule a meeting with a counselor by going to ArtCenter’s website; under the Admissions tab, you will see “Schedule an appointment.” If you can’t find it, there’s also the option to either email or call the Admissions desk (both contacts on their website.) 

If you or your parents are at a loss on what to ask the counselor, consider these: Scholarships and how to get them, tuition + costs, terms, curriculum details, what the major is like, show examples of your work + get feedback, and how well-connected the school is (ie internship opportunities).

2.) WORKING ON THE APPLICATION:

If you decided ArtCenter is a good fit, make sure you don’t immediately jump into the portfolio. The Application is equally important; personally I prefer to complete it first. Under the Admissions tab, you will find the link to the Application Requirements page, which lays out all the steps like a checklist. Either bookmark it or write them down so you can keep track what of you’ve completed!

3.) (ILLUSTRATION) PORTFOLIO HELP:

You will be uploading your pieces to ArtCenter’s SlideRoom. There’s a page on ArtCenter’s website that details what the portfolio requires, but I’ll copy and paste it so I can refer to it for the rest of my post. I’m writing this in 2020, so please check the site yourself in case there are changes. 

“Submit 10 to 15 figure drawings from a live model that include both gestural and more developed pieces. Other observational drawings from life are also required such as self-portraits or portraits of others, sketches of animals and scenes from nature and cityscapes. Include imaginative drawings that demonstrate your passion for and understanding of illustration in both color and black and white.

Submit three or more pieces that highlight drawing or painting skills, and show the development of a story or concept. Sketchbooks that display a range of interests and skills are welcome and we recommend a limit of 10 to 15 sketchbook pages submitted as one PDF.”

What if you don’t have any pieces that fit into this? Here are some of my ideas: 

Figure Drawing: If you can, sign up for figure drawing classes. Speaking as someone who has some art school experience, please don’t just search up nude figures and draw those for your portfolio, especially if you’ve never drawn figures before, unless you have absolutely no choice. That’s what I had done in high school, but taking actual figure drawing classes in college made me realize that having a teacher to give you advice and look for your mistakes helps you so much more. Not to mention, you will be training yourself how to quickly capture the human figure, sometimes in 1 minute or less.

Life Drawings/Observations: These are basically “cafe sketches” or observational drawings. Still lives count as long as they are polished. Googling pictures for you to draw for your portfolio should be a last resort! You don’t have to visit any where fancy to make a good portfolio piece; with practice, you can make an interesting drawing out of any subject. Start locally, and then try working out of your comfort zone if needed. First draw your friends, family, pets, rooms, or garden. Then you can move onto parks, zoos, and other public places. 

Sketchbook Pages: You can include less-polished life drawing sketches from your sketchbook in your portfolio. I also recommend sketching out your story ideas, any character designs, story boards, or comics. Be sure to include some color! Even if you think an idea is silly or dumb, sketch it anyways. You’ll then have a larger pool of sketches to choose for your portfolio.

Story Illustrations: Your illustrations do not all have to be paintings, but if you forgo the painting aspect, it should be a really strong drawing (ie with good line work and details.) Despite “illustration” being a broad term, what they are asking for aligns more with illustrations for books, and concept work for movies and games. To get inspiration, search up concept art for movies by Disney, Dreamworks, BlueSky, etc. Remember, don’t get caught too much in the scenery of your piece, your characters and their interactions in your illustration should be the main focus. Be sure to thumbnail your ideas (a rough drawing) and experiment with different composition, angles, and lighting before working on your final piece. If you are still not sure if your idea fits what ArtCenter wants, you can email an admissions counselor your work and ask for their feedback.

Tips I got from an admissions counselor: 

- Slideroom only allows 10-15 upload spaces, but there is a way to work around this if you have more than 15 pieces. You can upload PDF files; SlideRoom acts as though 1 PDF is the same as uploading one “artwork,” therefore only taking up 1 submission space even if your PDF has 10 slides on it. (Great for your figures and sketchbook! Either organize your pieces on Google Slides or PowerPoint, then save it as a PDF file.)

- You should have a mixture of traditional and digital work.

- Your sketchbook pages should feature some color even if they aren’t polished drawings.

- Aside from your illustrations, not everything in your portfolio has to be a finished drawing or “polished.” In fact, if your sketchbook has sketches of animals, landscapes, interior environments etc. that counts as a life drawing submission. 

- The presentation and order of your pieces on SlideRoom are important. Don’t have some random order like “sketchbook, paintings, animals, illustrations.” I don’t know if this is widely accepted at ArtCenter, but for my portfolio, I was told to order it like: Still life paintings, Illustrations, Sketchbook pages, Observation drawings, Figures. The only logic I gleaned from that was it was a gradual shift from the most polished work to the least. Ask a counselor if they have a preferred order.

-  Despite the minimum requirement for story illustrations being three, I was actually asked to do 4, as they felt it would make my portfolio stronger. 

4.) PORTFOLIO VIDEO ESSAY HELP:

Honestly, the site’s description couldn’t have said it any clearer. There is an entire page dedicated to its instructions, but I do have extra tips for this. SlideRoom will have its own page for you to directly upload your video file, but if the file is too big, the best solution is to upload your video essay to YouTube. Instead of submitting the video file directly, what I did was upload a PDF with the YouTube link to my video. (I made a Google Docs, copy and pasted the link, then saved it as a PDF. Yes it is allowed.) Just make sure your video is published publicly. If I can overcome my embarrassment, so can you.

5.) FINAL TIPS:

- Don’t try to study examples of accepted portfolios, as it may cause you to emulate their style or pieces in hopes of getting a higher chance of acceptance. Trust me when I say the reviewers can tell if your work lacks passion or your own creative input. 

- Find out which medium works best for you; some new passion may be discovered just from experimentation. For example, I struggled with figure drawing until I tried using Prismacolor colored pencils, which then became my go-to medium for figures. If you’re feeling bored or uninspired with one medium, go and try something new.

- PLEASE always email the admissions team for help if you’re stuck. You can even send an email asking if there were steps you missed preventing them from reviewing your application. I did, and it saved my butt. Furthermore, keeping in contact with the school in this manner helps to attach a face to an application, and may demonstrate to them that you’re really passionate about getting into the school.

I hope this was helpful, but don’t be afraid to message me with more questions! <3

[rosedavid]

83 on the ways to say ily

sure! thank you for the request! :)

83. “Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”

Also they are aged up to high school in this one, but still tw for underage drinking and also death

…

The harsh blue light from Cyrus’s phone combined with the incessant vibrating is enough to rouse him from sleep in the middle of the night. At first, he tries to ignore it, weariness urging him back to sleep; however, as the vibrating continues, he’s unable to ignore it any longer. Rubbing his eyes, Cyrus reaches clumsily for his phone. He squints at the brightness of the screen, just able to make out the blurry contact name. 

It’s TJ. TJ is calling him at nearly 2 AM, not to mention he’s obviously called more than once. Any sleepiness present before has now rapidly left, replaced with such excessive amounts of worrying that Cyrus didn’t even know he had the energy for. He answers with no hesitation. The first thing he hears on the other line is harsh breathing amongst what sounds like EDM playing in the distance. 

“Teej?” Cyrus prompts. “Are you okay?”

Another heavy breath, this time coupled with a sniffle. “Think I messed up, Cy.”

Immediately, Cyrus is on his feet, phone clutched expertly between his shoulder and ear. He starts getting dressed in the first thing he can find, stumbling about his room in a panic while also trying to get more information out of TJ. 

“Hey, it’s okay. Just tell me what happened,” Cyrus soothes. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard TJ this distraught before. 

It takes a few more sniffles and beats of music before TJ finally speaks again. “I-I didn’t mean, I swear…I jus’, I was so upset, didn’t know what else…”

An overwhelming sense of dread washes over Cyrus. The jumbled, slurred words, over emotionality, pulsing music in the background…TJ must be at a party, and it sounds like he’s drunk. Cyrus wracks his brain, trying to think of if he heard of any parties happening tonight. Suddenly, he remembers one of the more popular people talking before his chemistry class about some party happening at someone’s house…Brendon? Blake? 

“TJ, where are you?” Cyrus asks, hoping he’s at least aware enough to answer that question. 

“I swear I didn’ mean to,” he blubbers. 

“I know you didn’t,” Cyrus shushes, “but I really need to know where you are.”

“…B-br…Brad’s house.”

Brad. Brad from the basketball team. Buffy has his address because they had to do a group project once. He remembers because she never stopped complaining about it. 

“Stay there. I’m coming to get you,” Cyrus instructs, firm yet gentle. 

“Thanks, under...underdog.”

Underdog. Cyrus hasn’t heard that nickname in quite a while, and it brings back all sorts of memories. He’s not sure why TJ stopped calling him that. Maybe it’s because it felt childlike to him, and after they started dating it seemed obscure. Cyrus never really thought about it until now, but hearing it again makes him miss it. It also makes him even more anxious to get to TJ. 

After hanging up with TJ, Cyrus texts Buffy as fast as possible, hoping that her screwed up sleeping times won’t fail him now. Luckily, she responds almost immediately with an address and a message that says, “take care of him.”

Cyrus yanks on a pair of shoes while simultaneously trying to type in the address to google maps. After finding it, he makes his way downstairs in a hurry, not even bothering to try and be quiet. Of course, this alerts his mother, who leaves her room just as Cyrus is grabbing the keys to his car. 

“Cyrus, honey? Where do you think you’re going so late?” she belittles. 

“I-I have to go, mom, please,” he begs. “TJ…he’s in trouble, I think, and I’m really worried about him.”

His mother’s eyes soften. She’s always liked TJ, and she knows just how close the two of them are. She cares about him as if he’s one of her own. Finally, she sighs, rubbing her temples with worry. 

“Please be careful, Cyrus. If you’re not back in half an hour…” she trails off in warning. 

“I will be! We’ll come straight back,” he assures her, because of course he would never leave TJ alone, not in this state.

“Okay then.”

Cyrus thinks that it’s the end of the conversation, but before he can leave, his mother adds, “Keep him safe, Cyrus.”

“I will.”

…

Ten minutes later, Cyrus is at the source of the raging party. The house looks like a complete disaster, even from the outside. Litter is everywhere, mostly plastic cups and food. There’s people passed out on the lawn, and others chatting wildly. Inside, music and lights pulse vibrantly. It’s so loud that Cyrus can here it from inside his car across the street. He can see the shadows of the people partying inside. He gulps, preparing himself to face it, as TJ doesn’t appear to be outside. 

The party is even worse indoors. There are so many people crammed into such a tiny, little space. As Cyrus walks through the crowd, people constantly bump into him, not paying any mind as they dance and shout, drinks sloshing in their hands. Cyrus swallows back his anxiety and focuses on finding TJ. He doesn’t see anyone he recognizes, so there’s no way he could ask someone if they’ve seen him. But then he gets lucky. 

“–yeah, he’s been in there forever, sounds real upset, too,” someone says in the crowd. 

“Is he drunk?” the other person replies. 

“Think so, yeah. Never seen him like that on the team before–”

Cyrus assumes it has to be TJ. He doesn’t wait to hear anymore information before he buts into the conversation. “Excuse me, are you talking about TJ Kippen?”

The two boys who were talking glare at him, obviously not too pleased about being eavesdropped on. Still, the first one decides to answer him. “Yeah, he’s been in the bathroom upstairs for a while. Locked himself in.”

Cyrus abruptly leaves, ignoring the shouts at his back. He hurries up the stairs, weaving around everyone as quickly as he can. Finally, he arrives upstairs, and immediately hears TJ’s voice mumbling to himself. He knocks on the door loudly. 

“TJ! It’s Cyrus, open up,” he calls out. 

“Cy?” TJ says in confusion. It takes a few seconds for him to stand to unlock and open the door, but those few seconds didn’t nearly prepare Cyrus enough. 

TJ looked horrible. Bags sit under his red rimmed eyes, hand shaking. An empty cup sits on the counter, but Cyrus assumes based on his state that he’s hand more. His hair is mused, probably from continuously running his hands through it as he often does when he’s nervous. 

“Y-You came,” he whispers, practically falling into his arms with relief. Cyrus squeezes him back tightly, overwhelmed with relief that TJ’s ok…at least, okay enough.

“Of course I came,” Cyrus whispers into his ear. “But we got to get you out of here.”

“No…can’t…can’t go home,” he stutters, “My parents…”

“Don’t worry, I’m taking you back to mine.”

With that, TJ finally agrees with a nod. Cyrus leads him down the stairs, holding his hand the whole way to help him maneuver his way through without falling flat on his face. He ignores the stares, making his way straight out the front door with TJ in tow. Although TJ seems aware of what’s going on, he also seems to remain in a sort of daze. Cyrus wonders what could have possibly made him do something so brash like this. Although he knows TJ can be impulsive sometimes, Cyrus would never have expected him to do this. 

They make it back to Cyrus’s car in one piece. TJ attempts to do the buckle himself, but his hands shake too much. Cyrus ends up buckling him in. As they start driving, TJ is much quieter than he was before. Maybe it’s the affects of the alcohol wearing off, but he still seems quieter than usual. 

“What happened, TJ?” Cyrus asks, unable to hold it back any longer. “Why…why would you drink?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“There has to be a reason, TJ,” he replies. “I just want to help you.”

TJ snaps, “You can’t help!” Suddenly, he softens. The hum of the car separates his words. “You can’t bring her back.”

His words register to Cyrus all at once. He remembers how TJ had been feeling a bit down because he couldn’t visit his grandmother this weekend, but he had no idea why he was so upset about it. She must have been sick. She must have died. The woman that TJ was so close to.

“Oh, Teej,” Cyrus whispers. They feel so far apart suddenly, even though they’re just separated by the station between the car seats. Cyrus reaches his hand over until he find’s TJ’s fingers to intertwine with his own. “I’m so sorry.”

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” he whispers, sniffling again. “I-I didn’t mean to…”

“I know. I know how hard it is,” Cyrus winces, “but you know that alcohol wasn’t the right option.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Are you mad at me?”

Cyrus bites his lip. He doesn’t know how to feel. He’s upset that TJ’s upset, but he’s also upset that TJ resorted to something so drastic instead of talking with someone. But, he understands how deep the ache in TJ must be right now. He understands perfectly well how it feels like that ache will never go away. Maybe TJ was being stupid, but he can’t stay mad at him. 

“No, TJ. I wish you wouldn’t have done this, but you called me, and that’s all that matters.”

“I’m sorry.”

TJ seems to be apologizing a lot. It’s strange to hear those words coming from his mouth so often, especially considering their first encounter at the swing. Cyrus remembers how he never really could apologize, and he even struggled with it later. Now, though, it seems like it’s all he can do. Cyrus wonders how long he’s been bottling all of this up for. 

By the time they arrive home, Cyrus’s mother is of course still awake. She sits on the sofa, appearing to be reading a book but Cyrus knows she probably is just staring at it. When he comes in the door with TJ, an audible sigh of relief escapes her lips. 

“Hi honey,” she says to TJ, obviously aware right away about what’s going on. “You’re welcome to stay here tonight, okay? I set up the mattress in Cyrus’s room.”

“T-thank you,” he whispers. “I…I didn’t…”

“I know, TJ. Just get some sleep.”

Sure enough, an air mattress is already set up in Cyrus’s room. He helps TJ onto it, although TJ seems to already be feeling a bit more aware. There’s a cup of water on his nightstand, and he hands the glass to TJ who drinks it slowly. 

“You need to get some rest,” Cyrus repeats from what his mother said.

“Yeah,” TJ agrees softly. “I just…you don’t hate me now, do you Cy?”

“I could never hate you even if I tried, Teej. We’ll talk more in the morning, ok?”

Before Cyrus can make a move to leave, TJ clutches his wrist. “Stay until I fall asleep? Please?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” Cyrus settles onto the floor, hand reaching up to run through TJ’s locks. His eyes flutter shut, and he curls in on himself. It only takes a few minutes before he’s fast asleep. 

Cyrus sighs, reaching down to take off his shoes carefully without waking him. He then pulls the covers up higher on TJ and makes sure his head is elevated before heading back downstairs to explain to his mom what happened. Before he leaves the room, though, he takes one last look at his boyfriend sleeping peacefully, taking in the fact that he’s safe. 

[lehillwrites]

Virtual Visit: Vaux-le-Vicomte

Last spring I wrote a series of posts about virtually visiting fandom filming locations for a Travel Writing class, and since November 16th is considered "International Versailles Day" within the Versailles fandom (to commemorate the first episode airing in 2015), I thought I would re-create the post here. This virtual tour, as well as a few others, will be a part of my Capstone project to be completed next year. Enjoy!

The Chateau Vaux-le-Vicomte has been used in many period pieces, but the one I am focusing on for this post is the television series Versailles. The show ran for three glorious seasons (2015-2018) and in my opinion could have gone for another three no problem. Life in Louis XIV’s Court was filled with enough intrigue and decadence to put a modern day soap opera to shame. While the show takes some liberties, as they all do, much of what you see as the drama plays out on the screen is true. I fell down the research well after discovering the show and I think sometimes the writers actually hold back when portraying the utterly elegant madness of the time of Louis XIV’s Versailles.

Vaux itself is never mentioned by name in the show, but it stood in for many scenes that were supposed to take place within the real palace of Versailles. In the header picture it is doubling for Saint-Cloud, the royal residence of Philippe d'Orleans (1640-1701), the only brother of King Louis XIV (1638-1715). The actual Saint-Cloud no longer exists, but it is said that the beauty of Philippe's chateau rivaled Versailles' in the opinion of many visitors at the time. A fact that did not please the King.

A quick history lesson

You cannot talk about Vaux-le-Vicomte without also looking at Nicholas Fouquet (1615-1680) from whose mind the chateau sprung. Though less like Athena from Zeus because it took 20 years for Fouquet’s dream to come to fruition.

In 1641 he acquired the land and proceeded to demolish the existing chateau and cleared the village of Vaux and two adjacent hamlets. The three men who were behind the stunning beauty of the chateau and gardens were the architect Louis Le Vau (1612-1670), gardener André Le Nôtre (1613-1700), and painter and decorator Charles Le Brun (1619-1690). Thanks to the support of Fouquet, each of these men, already respected in their fields, would create an architectural, artistic and design legacy that would influence all of Europe.

Le Veu designed a chateau that worked with the gardens to enhance their beauty equally. Le Nôtre used new techniques in gardening along with his own unique designs to create the original French formal garden. Le Brun was the genius behind the lavish artwork inside the chateau, filled with mythology and allegorical figures that were characteristic of the 17th century.

Later, all three of these men would work under the direction of Louis XIV as he created his own masterpiece, Versailles, which was influenced heavily by Vaux. You see, when Nicholas Fouquet, then the Minister of Finance, held the first grand party in 1661 to showcase the completed chateau for the king, that’s when it all fell apart. He had apparently gone too far, and dreamed too big.

The writer Voltaire wrote, “On 17 August, at 6 o’clock in the evening, Fouquet was king of France; at 2 o’clock in the morning, he was nothing.” It didn’t happen quite that fast, but three weeks later Fouquet was arrested by d’Artagnan, of the King’s Musketeers, and accused of embezzling from the Crown. In reality, it had been the Cardinal Mazarin who had depleted the royal coffers, but it didn’t matter. Fouquet was sent to prison in Pignerol, where he died in 1680.

The King claimed much of the chateau's assets and auctioned off the rest. Madame Fouquet left the chateau and gardens to her son, but the domain was sold to the Marshal of Villars in 1805 after the son’s death. It was briefly renamed Vaux-Villars until after the Marshal's death when his son sold it to the Duke of Praslin. The chateau was a place of pride for the Duke, and while six generations of his family called Vaux home, maintaining the chateau and gardens simply became too expensive.

For 30 years Vaux-le-Vicomte was left empty and neglected until 1875 when Alfred Sommier purchased it at auction and began to bring the masterpiece back to life. Today, the chateau and gardens are managed by Jean-Charles and Alexander Vogué, the fifth generation in the family to do so.

What it means to me

I wish it could be possible for every film or television show to be filmed on-location, but time, space and money are always a factor. In the case of using Vaux-le-Vicomte for many scenes to represent the palace of Versailles it was not just because Versailles is only closed to the public on Mondays but also because the interior of the palace has changed drastically since the time of Louis XIV, unlike Vaux-le-Vicomte.

And so many iconic scenes were filmed here, such as when Louis XIV (George Blagdon) feverishly dances in the Grand Salon to the shock of the nobles watching, and the horror of his valet Bontemps (Stuart Bowman) who quickly has the windows and doors closed against prying eyes.

The love Bontemps feels for his King is perfectly portrayed, while the scene also shows how untouchable the King is. No one dares approach the King, not even his guards, when it is obvious there is something wrong. The nobles might be titillated by the odd display, but they keep safely outside of the salon and just watch. Only Bontemps is allowed to take control of the situation.

Historically, the fever that brought him close to death, and made the possibility of his brother (portrayed by Alexander Vlahos in the show) taking the throne, happened before the work on Versailles had begun, but it fits well within the Versailles season one plotline.

I loved that Saint-Cloud was represented, the facade at least, by Vaux-le-Vicomte because, as I mentioned, the original chateau was destroyed. In the show, the brother of the King does not have an easy time of it, similar to what we know of his life historically. That the chateau Philippe loved so dearly and put a lifetime of work into was destroyed just seems a tragic loss for history and for the man who is known as the grandfather of Europe. After all, it is his progeny who lived to become royalty in nearly all of Europe even to today, and not King Louis XIV's.

Best way to virtually visit

We are very lucky that Vaux-le-Vicomte partnered with Google to create a virtual tour experience of many rooms in the chateau as well as the formal gardens. For the long way around, go to:

Vaux-le-Vicomte website (you have the option to choose from several languages)

Scroll down and click “Multimedia”

Click “Virtual Tour”

Click “Google Street View” to go directly to the virtual tour options

Scroll down to see the two icons for the chateau or Gardens

Pick your choice

Or just use this link for the Google Arts & Culture page, scroll down and find the Virtual Tour icons.

I listed the longer way first because the Vaux website has so much wonderful information to explore before or after taking the virtual tour that it’s worth taking the long way around.

The Chateau option starts off in the Grand Salon. From there you can move around using the arrows or go directly into different rooms using the thumbnails at the bottom of the screen.

The Garden option drops you outside of the chateau. While you cannot move straight down the wide path, you can move left or right to continue forward along the side paths. The cool thing about this virtual tour? You can “walk” from the chateau all the way up the hill to the Hercules statue and look back down. (Note: The current Hercules statue is actually a 19th century copy of the original.)

I think this tour has made me want to visit in-person in ways few other virtual tours have, and at this point I have explored quite a few! I want to walk every inch of those garden paths even if my feet complain! And I want to take a guided tour of the chateau to hear about the incredible history and maybe get a few details only someone familiar with the history can reveal!

Thank you Vaux-le-Vicomte and Google!

You can watch all three seasons of Versailles on Netflix.

Source for the historical background of Vaux: the Vaux-le-Vicomte website

Other Sources: Personal screenshots, Google Earth, Wikipedia

Posted: November 16, 2020

[nazariolahela]

Something Domestic: Chapter 3

A/N: Hey y'all! This is a new TRR AU I’ve been working on. This story is told in first-person narrative, from Riley’s (MC) POV. There will likely be smidges of canon in this, but not too much. Thanks for reading, and please leave feedback, and/or if you would like to be tagged.

Catch up here

Series Tags: @burnsoslow​ @aworldoffandoms​ @dcbbw​ @ladyangel70​ @texaskitten30​ @sunandlemons​ @jlynn12273​ @indiacater​ @jared2612​ @rainbowsinthestorm​ @drakesensworld​ @badchoicesposts​

Synopsis: When Riley Brooks takes a new job as a nanny for the affluent Rhys family in New York’s Upper East Side, she assumes she’s just going to care for the children of the couple who hired her. But instead of just school pick-ups and afternoon snacks, she also finds herself spending time with Liam, the handsome divorced dad. Can Riley control her feelings for Liam while still performing the job she was hired for?

All characters are the property of Pixelberry Studios. Thanks for allowing me to borrow them.

Chapter Summary: Riley and Hana discuss the new changes in their lives.

As the cab pulls up outside of Nomade, I spot Hana leaning up against the side of the building. She’s dressed in black leggings and a denim jacket over a purple A-Line tunic. Her brown hair is twisted in a side braid that rests on her left shoulder. Tendrils fall across her face as she taps on her phone screen. Looking at the door to the restaurant, I notice there’s no line. That’s good for a Friday afternoon, considering people line up around the block to eat here.

Hana and I prefer the lunch menu because it’s cheaper and less crowded. The one time we came here for dinner, we had to wait two and a half hours for a table, and our tab was almost $300. I tip the driver and exit the cab, bounding across the sidewalk to my roommate and best friend. She giggles as she sees me and scoops me into a bone-crushing hug. 

“Hey, girl! You’ll never guess who just emailed me!”

“Who?” I ask. Her parents Xinghai and Lorelai are well-known in the New York social scene, so it could literally be anyone.

“I’ll tell you when we get inside,” she says and links her arm through mine as we make our way into the restaurant. Typical Hana. Always keeping people in suspense. When we reach the host station, her phone buzzes. She quickly pulls it out of her purse and glances at it, rolls her eyes, then shoves it back in her purse.

“What was that all about?” I eye her.

She sighs. “Oh, just some weirdo my parents are trying to set me up with. Neville Vancoeur or something,” she waves her hand dismissively. “My mother gave me her famous ‘When are you going to settle down, Hana? You’re not getting any younger and I want grandchildren,’ spiel last week, so now they’re aggressively playing matchmaker.”

Hana and I met freshman year at NYU Steinhardt. With both of us being education majors, we ended up having a lot of classes together and spent way too many late nights cramming during our study sessions in the library. After graduation, we both realized rent in this city is impossible to afford if you’re not a Rockefeller, so we rented an apartment together and have been roomies ever since. Hana got a job student-teaching music at Stormholt Middle School, and she also gives piano lessons one Saturday a month to a rich family in the city.

Her parents are something else. I’ve only met them once, but they make me glad I don’t have much of a relationship with mine. They feel she’s better suited to be a wife and a mother than an educator. It makes me angry for her because she’s so much more than that. She doesn’t need to marry some stuffy guy who probably skated his way through business school on daddy’s money and pop out his crotch goblins to do something meaningful with her life. She’s also mentioned to me many times that she’s into girls, so all this effort to set her up with some preppy trust-fund douche from East Hampton is a waste. Jokes on you Mom and Dad Lee.

I giggle as the hostess arrives from seating another customer. “Good afternoon, ladies. Table for two?”

We answer and she grabs two menus before motioning for us to follow her. When we arrive at our table, she informs us our server will be with us shortly and walks away. 

“Okay, so tell me who emailed you,” I say to her as I unroll my napkin and place it in my lap. She looks up at me, her eyes beaming. 

“Do you remember that benefit dinner we went to a few months ago? You know, the one for New York educators, where we drank our weight in Lemon Drop martinis?”

I smirk recalling that evening. The bits and pieces I remember, Hana lost one of her shoes and spent the better part of the evening showing everyone on the dancefloor the “proper way” to perform a pirouette.

“Well, I do remember you taking over the dance floor and me going home with that cute bartender. What was his name again? Daniel?”

“Oh my god!” she replies, laughing and slapping my forearm. “I can’t believe you don’t remember his name!”

We giggle as our server approaches our table to take our drink orders. I order a glass of white wine and Hana orders a Sangria. When the server leaves, we resume our conversation.

“So anyway,” she continues, “that night, I was talking to one of the ladies who works in the music department at Valtoria High School, and apparently there were rumors their music teacher was planning to retire. So, after we exchanged information, she passed it along to the school board, and they just emailed me asking me if I was interested in a job!”

My eyebrows shoot up to my forehead. “And?”

“And...I think I’m going to take it!”

I jump up from my seat and move around the table to wrap her in a hug. “Oh my God, Hana! That’s amazing!”  She laughs as I give her a congratulatory squeeze. Hana has been trying to get a position with Valtoria High since we graduated. It has one of the top music programs in the city, and the waitlist is insanely long. Most of the teachers there have tenure, so not many positions open up unless someone quits, retires, or dies. Hana securing a position on the teaching staff will not only get her parents off her back but also open up so many doors for her. Her dream is to eventually start her own music school where she can teach music to kids of all social and economic statuses. 

We return to our seats as our drinks arrive and the waitress takes our lunch order. After she leaves, Hana turns to me. “So, enough about me. Tell me about the new nanny job.”

I smile. “The interview went really well. I met the family I’ll be working for. They seem really nice and I’m excited to get the opportunity to work with them. My first day with them is Monday. The pay is pretty great, plus, the children seem very well-behaved. Nothing like the last family I worked for. The mother comes off a bit cold, but she seems pretty easy to work for. At least I don’t have to worry about her micromanaging everything I do.”

“Uh-huh. And what about the father?” 

I whip out my phone and google “Liam Rhys” to show her a picture of him. After scrolling past links to his company and click-baity articles from the local tabloids, I pull up a photo of him and his older brother from a few years ago. I hand the phone to her. She glances at it, her eyes wide.

“Oh wow...Riley… That’s Liam Rhys,” she says, warily.

“Yeah. What about it?”

She shakes her head and hands the phone back to me. “Nothing, it’s just his family is very well known throughout the city, as well as in the tabloids. Not to mention, he’s extremely attractive, so you need to be careful.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “What are you trying to say, Hana?”

Her face turns serious. “You’re a wonderful person, Riley. I read those tabloids, and I see what they say about the nannies of public figures like him. I don’t want your name dragged through the mud because you were photographed staring too hard at Liam.”

“It will be fine, Hana. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I remember what happened with Ben Affleck’s nanny. And Gavin Rossdale’s nanny. And Jude Law’s nanny”

“Those men were also sleeping with their nannies while they were still married. Even if it gets that far, he’s getting divorced. We wouldn’t be doing anything wrong.”

“The public won’t see it that way. They’ll blame you for the split. Just be careful.”

I nod, taking her words seriously. Our waitress returns with our meals and we dig in. We spend the rest of the meal gossiping about our friends from college; who’s working where, who’s getting married, who got arrested, and so forth. After the check arrives, we pay our tabs and gather our things to head out. As we exited the restaurant, Hana turns to me and grabs my arm turning my body toward hers.

“Hey. I just wanted to let you know that I’m here if you need anything. Please don’t forget that.” 

I smiled and wrap her in a hug. “I know. Don’t think that I won’t take your words to heart. I know what I’m getting myself into with the Rhys family, and I appreciate you looking out for me.”

“Of course, that’s what besties do.” Her phone chimes inside her purse. She releases me and reaches into her purse to retrieve it. She frowns then slides it back into her purse. “I’d ask you if you wanted to head over to The Double Tappe for a drink, but my mom wants me to come over. I’ll see you back at the apartment?”

“You bet. I think I’m going to head over to the Northbridge Mall and buy some new outfits for my new job.”

She laughs and wraps me up in another hug. “‘Kay. Call me later,” she says before turning and walking down the sidewalk. I wave goodbye and take off in the opposite direction. As I stroll down the street, I walk past a magazine stand. There on the rack is the latest issue of Trend the receptionist was reading earlier. I pull a $5 from my purse, and set it on the counter, before picking up a copy of the magazine. After thanking the cashier, I slip the magazine in my bag and continue walking until I reach the bus stop on the corner. When the bus arrives, I step on, flash my Transit Pass, and take a seat near the front. I settle in and pull the magazine out to read up on my new employers.  

The article shows pictures of Liam, Madeleine, and the kids at the park. The kids look adorable playing with their father and each other. Madeleine is sitting on a bench, her nose in her phone, wearing her usual resting bitch face. I swear, that woman never smiles. Then, there’s Liam. The butterflies in my stomach start fluttering at the sight of him playing with his children. The cutlines on the photos mention how happy he looks to be spending the day away from work with his kids, but I don’t need to read it. I can see it in his face. 

Despite his notoriety here in New York, he’s still a man that is devoted to his family. It’s a shame his soon-to-be ex-wife, couldn’t see that. Stop it, Riley. Their relationship is none of your business. But it is, though. Now that I’m working for their family, their business is my business. Which means I have to keep my mouth shut about what happens behind closed doors. I’d hate to lose my job because I told someone something, who told someone else, who leaked it to the press.

I read on and catch myself staring at the pictures of him. It’s unfair how good looking he is. The fact that he is a doting dad makes him that much sexier. My cheeks flush as I imagine sitting at the park with him and the children. In my fantasy, I’m sitting on a picnic blanket, a wicker basket full of snacks and drinks, while he chases Philip and Charlotte around the grass. After they tire themselves out, they wander over and I pass out juice boxes and crackers. Liam comes up behind them, smiling. When he reaches me, he kneels on the blanket, takes me in his arms, and presses the most sensual kiss to my lips. 

The squealing of the bus’s breaks rips me from my little daydream and I shove the magazine in my purse. Nope. Not going there. I exhale loudly and stare out the window as the bus continues down the street. Oh man, I’m in big trouble.

[misssamericanaaa]

My “Analysis”/Headcanons on Chaddick’s Family

Note before I begin - I typed this up in my drafts and it was a very long, unorganized, and rambling post and when I pasted it into Google Docs to edit it, it was three full pages! So this is still long but hopefully more organized and not as rambling!

Just a warning this does have some spoilers for Quests for Glory and The Crystal of Time so if you maybe haven’t read them yet but are interested in the series maybe don’t read this! 

Ok, so I’m aware I’ve only been on this blog a solid 7 hours but I was off work today and my classes for the semester don’t start until next week so I had absolutely nothing to do today, and I ended up spending about 4 of those 7 hours going through various SGE tags here (tl;dr - I’ve read a lot of analysis and headcanons today) and I’m still processing most of it but there was one thing in particular in A Crystal of Time that really blew me away and I actually haven’t seen any thoughts on it here (I may just be missing them) so I thought I’d share my own!

Mistress Gremlaine

So can we talk about Mistress Gremlaine? The lady who works at the Foxwood School for Boys and briefly talked to Hort and Nicola before they ran past her to find Dean Brunhilde and is, so obviously to me, Chaddick’s mother? Which also makes Lady Gremlaine Chaddick’s aunt but I’ll get to that in a hot minute.

What first clued me in was the two boys who came out of the school and talked to their mother, the older one saying that his younger brother started crying in his history class because they were discussing Camelot’s knights “and well, you know”. That line was the kicker, in addition to their named being Caleb and Cedric, following the “C” naming scheme. Going back to Quest for Glory, when the obituary Lady Gremlaine showed Tedros said that Chaddick was survived by his parents and his brothers, aged 17 and 12 (which is what Hort and Nicola approximated their ages to be when they saw them). The older brother took his younger brother to the park to comfort him, and Mistress Gremlaine paid the gardener to keep an eye on them in the park, who said he didn’t blame her for doing so. I’ll be honest, it struck a chord with me. She’s already lost one son, and even though their kingdom is supposedly under Rhian’s protection, who could blame her for wanting to keep her remaining children safe?

I will say, however, that I am a little surprised that neither Hort nor Nicola picked up on this very obvious clue, especially seeing as Hort went to school with Chaddick for three years and even though Nicola didn’t know him, she was with the group when they found his body in Avalon and seems to be very sharp and picks up clues easily. Considering the older brother was only one year older than Chaddick (16 at the time of death), I’d assume there would be some familial resemblance, even with the younger brother as well. That paired with the interaction about Camelot’s knights makes me think that one of them would have figured it out. They’re both smart and I feel as though they tend to pick up on clues such as that. Then again, maybe they were preoccupied with not being caught and finding Dean Brunhilde.

Who Told His Family?

I also have some thoughts about his family in general, particularly with how they found out about his death. I seem to remember in QfG that his death was reported to the Camelot Courier by one of the mongooses (mongeese?) that killed the snakes inside the castle in Avalon. That isn’t necessarily important here though, more just me trying to remember a book I reread only last week.

So who told Chaddick’s family? Are they even aware of how he died? That he was killed by the Snake while on his quest as Tedros’ knight? I have three main theories, all of which are somewhat plausible.

Professor Dovey

Could it have been Dovey? I know she was dealing with some side stuff with her crystal ball but could she have taken a trip to Foxwood to inform his family about his death in person? I remember her being very upset about his death (rightfully so), and I do like the idea of Dovey honoring Chaddick by telling his family in person how their son died.

Lady Gremlaine

As much as I love that headcanon, another more likely possibility is that Lady Gremlaine informed them as soon as she got the news herself. Chaddickw as her nephew after all, and I would understand her wanting to tell his family herself, because she’s also family.

The One That Makes Me Really Sad

Ok the last, most heartbreaking, possibility is that they found out on their own, by reading his obituary in his newspaper. I remember that Dovey was upset it had been printed in the paper without her consent, meaning she may have had the intention of informing his family herself and never got the chance. My heart breaks at the idea of his mother or father reading the newspaper in the morning and suddenly coming across an obituary for their own son. Their own son that they presumably hadn’t seen in 3-4 years and is supposed to be off on a magical quest and now he’s dead and they don’t even know how.

Or it was one of his brothers, flipping through the paper looking for news of Camelot and then there’s their brother, except it’s his obituary and he’s dead. Their own brother, who they grew up playing and talking with and loving, who’s supposed to be a knight for the most legendary kingdom, the king of Camelot’s liege, and he’s dead.

Or they don’t even know and someone mentions it in passing, or asks for more information and ends up breaking the news to them.

(I did not know I had this many feelings about this topic, but whoops here we are.)

“Aunt Grisella”

Ok now it’s time to talk about Lady Gremlaine as Chaddick’s aunt, because that really came out of the blue for me. For a hot second, I was pretty horrified that Rhian and Japeth were his cousins but I suppose we dodged that bullet, although Evelyn Sader as their mother just feels random but that’s for another day.

She’s obviously his aunt because a) Chaddick’s mother is Mistress “Gremlaine” and b) Chaddick’s brothers referring to their “Aunt Grisella”. That’s said and done.

It also connected a scene from earlier that seemed a bit random to me, when Agatha, Sophie, and Tedros found the crystal of Chaddick with Lady Gremlaine before leaving for his quest. That just seemed off to me, so that’s somewhat cleared up. Tedros also mentioned that Lady Gremlaine had taken a liking to Chaddick, unlike Tedros and Agatha. Which brights us to our next point…

Was Chaddick aware she was his aunt? I would initially assume he knew, as his brothers knew Lady Gremlaine as their aunt, but it seems odd to me that he wouldn’t say anything to Tedros that his new steward just so happens to be Chaddick’s aunt. Tedros and Chaddick were supposed to be best friends, and Tedros is now his king, so it’s weird to me that he wouldn’t mention anything. There’s something off there and I really can’t put my finger on it, and probably won’t be able to unless there’s more information released in One True King.

Also, just me thinking out loud, if Chaddick knew Lady Gremlaine as his aunt, was he aware of her being King Arthur’s steward before he was born/when he was young? I’ll go out on a limb and assume that Lady Gremlaine was very private about her time at Camelot.

I’m also feeling that there was some mystery between her and Chaddick, because she was the one that told Tedros of his death and nothing came up in that time about being related to him. That may not have been something to mention at the time, but if Chaddick was aware she was his aunt I feel like it’s really odd that Tedros didn’t know. Also, that has to suck big time for Lady Gremlaine to learn of her nephew being murdered and then having to break the news to his king and supposed best friend and comfort Tedros, all while mourning herself.

I really feel like I’m missing a major piece of the puzzle with Lady Gremlaine being related to Chaddick but I feel like I’ve picked apart all of the relevant information we have at the time...I guess that’ll be something to hope for clarification in OTK!

I think that’s about all I have to say on this right now, but I also just want to say that I already been knew what I’m about to say but writing this post made me think of it a bit differently. Chaddick was killed way too soon. His death was a mere plot device and didn’t fit his character (well, what little we knew about him anyway). There was such great potential for character development and so many ‘what-ifs” in terms of being a part of The Camelot Years while being alive...he was done dirty. I wouldn’t say I mourn the character mainly (although I definitely still do), but I mourn what could have been and what a great character he would have made to the story. But that’s a topic that’s been covered very well by many people and also not the main point! I’m really just starting out on here and I just wanted to put my thoughts out there and in one place! :)

[oscar-piastri]

lost soul [ben hardy x reader]

title: lost soul

pairing: ben hardy x reader

summary: ben helps the reader to move on after she got her heart broken. ben and reader are like 23 in this

words: 3.7k

taglist: @styles-charli

notes:  This has been in my drafts for a month. It’s very messy, but this is what happens in my head. Writing this is helping me to feel better and as I wrote that, I decided to throw away some stuff that reminded me of my crush, after he left me on read for the 29282 times. Every time I have a crush on someone new, I have all the memories hitting me in the face of how dumb I was and how heartbroken I still am after years.

masterlist

Feelings, memories, you wished it could all disappear as your eyes landed on a small piece of paper. It was lost in a box, almost torn but you knew what it was, as you remembered clearly what’s the story behind it.

It was a simple note, just the kind of notes you write to your classmate in class to communicate in a discreet way so your teacher wouldn’t see what was happening. You should throw it away, it was a useless thing to keep. But you heart and your mind couldn’t accept that, and you knew you’d keep it forever, only because he wrote it, more than 5 years ago.

He was your classmate and the closest friend you ever had. You fell in love pretty quickly, and you drowned even more in your feelings when he acted protective with you. For months you tried to tell yourself he was just your best friend, nothing more, but everytime he smiled, you knew it was love that you were feeling. And what broke you is that he never felt the same way. You moved away and you took that opportunity to forget about him; but it never worked.

Your phone rang, making you leave this state of nostalgia. The name of your best friend could be seen on the screen, making your curse when you remembered you were supposed to see her and some of her friends. Ever since you told her about this, she established a little tradition; going out once a week with her friends because “you need to move on”.

For a moment you thought it would be a great idea, but as weeks passed you realised it was useless. Your friend made her best to make it work, she introduced you to a friend of her boyfriend; Ben. Let’s say it, Ben is handsome, with beautiful vibrant eyes, he’s smart and funny, but it was just reminding you of your past and how your hopes got your heart to shatter.

God, if you weren’t obsessing over that stupid heartbreak, you’d probably be dating Ben by now. But everytime you think of more than just talking with Ben, you just think of your high school’s crush and just lose any confidence.

The sun was shining and meeting your friend at a park was a great idea, somehow the brightness provided by the sun made you better and happier. While your friend and her boyfriend Joe went for a walk just the two of them, around the park, you found yourself sitting alone with Ben. You felt good in his company but couldn’t help but hold back your feelings, sensing some doubts in your mind.

You felt Ben looking at you and you looked up from your phone to gently smile at him. You noticed he was about to speak and you put down your phone, so your whole attention was on the young man. “Y/N, uh… We’ve been hanging out together for months, and I’m starting to really like you. So.. Maybe instead of seeing each other with Joe and your friend. Maybe we could go on a date? Just the two of us?” Ben asked you, hesitantly. You blinked quite a few times, repeating his words in your head before you found the ability to speak.

To be fairly honest, you didn’t know what to say. “I don’t think I’m ready to see someone. It’s… Complicated” Complicated was the right words; you could be starting a new chapter with what seemed to be the perfect man, but you were still tied to the past, scared to believe in something that could never happen.

“Oh” Ben simply replied, and you could feel that he was disappointed. His cheeks were still rosy from his revelation and you couldn’t help but feel guilty about this situation, doing something that happened to you and fucked you up, this is not fair.

“It’s not you! It’s me… It’s really me! I have some love issues I’m trying to fix” you justified yourself right away. But it didn’t seem to make Ben feel any better.

“Never heard that one before” Ben mumbled, and you couldn’t help but have a flashback of the moment you found out the guy you liked had a girlfriend. You bit your lips, asking yourself whether you should give a better explanation to Ben.

“Do you remember your first love, Ben?” You finally asked, but you didn’t wait for him to answer “Because I remember mine. It’s a painful memory, but sadly, after 5 years, the memories are still haunting me, and I feel like I’m being stabbed in the heart all over again but I keep thinking about him. He was my best friend and to follow the cliché, I fell in love with him.” You told Ben the story, how you met him on the first day of school, how you became friends pretty quickly. Just telling his name; Luke to Ben made you feel a knife in your heart.

Of course, you couldn’t forget to mention that you used to share your lunch with him because his parents didn’t give him enough money, that you used to talk via notes during French class because he was always giving you great advices. On top of that, you ranted about how he was protecting you all the time; one you got hit by a water bottle someone threw and he got so mad he yelled at everyone. You didn’t leave the part where he was the shoulder you always cried on when you were on edge of breaking, because your parents and yourself were always fighting.

“He even played footsie with me, in class!” You continued, almost yelling. “No wonder why I got the wrong idea” you grunted, enraged at your own self. “He made me hope! He was flirty and my dumb ass thought he wanted to be with me! But I was wrong, he showed up with his new girlfriend and I realised I played myself” you couldn’t help be talking. At first you just wanted to explain the situation to Ben, but the more you talked, the more it brought back memories and the more you needed to let out everything. “I loved him and I thought he did too. In the end, he didn’t realise I was in love with him. What a dumb boy, everyone knew I loved him, it was so obvious”

Ben stayed silent the whole time, but he was staring at you and you knew he heard every word you said, he did exactly what you wanted him to do; just listening to you. But then, you looked at Ben and for a second, you didn’t see him, but instead you saw your old crush. You felt your heart beating way faster than usual. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you all of that. It was a mistake” you apologized, feeling the tears in your eyes that were ready to roll down your cheeks. You grabbed your bag and left in a hurry, not bothering to look at Ben one last time, as you let him alone in the park, totally unaware of what was happening.

When you got to your place, you threw your stuff on the ground and wandered towards the couch. You let yourself fall back on it, watching the ceiling and mentally cursing. You took your phone to text your friend, to let her know that you were back to your place, but unconsciously you opened the messenger app and scroll down until you found the conversation you had with Luke about two years ago. You remembered staying up until 3 am just talking, trying to help him choosing the right school for him but as you reread the text, you realised he only replied to be nice, clearly bothered by you messaging him.

Without realising it, you were now stalking his facebook page, trying to find him on instagram, and googling his name to have more information. Your heart dropped when you saw that he was dating someone. and you couldn’t stop the tears that were about to roll down your face. It shouldn’t be hurting you that much, but it does and there’s nothing you can do about it. You were relieved when someone knocked on your door, giving you the chance to move on from that just for a few minutes. You hurried to get up from the couch, and wiped the tears away before you opened the door, thinking you’d find your friend but you couldn’t hide the surprise when you noticed Ben was standing right in front of you.

“It looks like you weren’t expecting me, darling” he joked, putting a small smile on your face.

“N-no, I thought… I mean… How do you know I live here?” you asked, moving to the side so you could let Ben come inside. To be a polite host, you asked if he wanted to drink or eat anything but he declined and you moved to the living room.

“You left in such a hurry, I was worried about you. I texted your friend to get your address” he explained, sitting next to you on the couch.

“Thanks, that’s really sweet of you” you shyly replied, hiding your phone under some pillow to hide the fact that just two minutes ago, you were feeling miserable because of a dumb post on some social medias. But you weren’t great at getting rid of every evidence of your recent feelings, as Ben noticed your teary eyes

“Are you sure you’re okay Y/N?” Ben asked, placing his hands on yours, that were anxiously resting on your laps. “You seem...”

“I feel like I’m going crazy, Ben!” You sobbed, cutting him mid-sentence. Ben was quick to react, as he wrapped his arms around you in order to hug you.“ I want the pain to go away” you cried against his shoulder. “I want to erase those memories, but I can’t! I can’t stop my brain from thinking about him every time I feel lonely” you continued, your lips quivering. “I shouldn’t be thinking about him… I should be thinking of you… I really like you Ben” you confessed, nuzzling your face deeper in his shoulders.

“Y/N….” He whispered against your hair, his hands gently rubbing your back. He wanted to smile at the fact that you liked him, but you were feeling terrible, vulnerable and it made every inch of happiness in him fade away.

“I’m really sorry about earlier Ben” you muttered as he unwrapped his arms. “I know it’s dumb but I’m just scared to fall in love again, I don’t want to feel this pain again. I’m aware that you won’t necessarily hurt me, but I’m just scared of getting my heart broken. I still haven’t healed….” you confessed, feeling a sense of relief running through your veins. You did felt better, letting your emotions out.

You asked Ben to hang out a little bit longer. He texted your friend to let her know that you were feeling better, and he agreed to stay a few more hours, mostly because he wasn’t feeling like leaving you alone in your state. You ordered some food and watched dumb shows on the tv, but it all helped to cheer you up. It was only 9pm but you kept yawning, and even though it made Ben laugh, he decided to leave so you could have some rest. You escorted him to the door, where he gave you a small kiss on the forehead. “Call me if you need help”, he said and you nodded with a weak smile before he left. You went back to the couch, too tired to find your way back to bed, and collapsed on the pillows, falling asleep right away.

A few weeks happened since that day, and to be quite honest, spending time with Ben now that he was aware of your little issues, was easier than before and it made you believe you were in the right direction to finally move on from the past. You were taking things slow, hanging out as friends as long as you weren’t ready to try for more. You were doing great, counting the days where you didn’t go emotional about Luke, you were now able to see his profile picture on messenger without grunting or crying.

But a phone call from your sister crushed your hopes of doing better, when she announced that she randomly saw Luke and his girlfriend somewhere. You said nice words about him being happy while you felt your eyes watering. As soon as you hung up, you ran to your room and opened the box that contained your high school yearbook, where Luke wrote some notes inside.

You looked at his pictures and back at the notes, then back at the notes. You were completely zoning out after minutes, thinking of the day Luke told you he liked your hair down for the picture. And you listened and spent the following day with your hair down.

The loud knocks on your door made you come back to reality. You checked your phone to see a few texts from Ben, but also to realise that you completely lost track of time and wasted one hour. You mentally cursed when you realised that Ben was at your door, probably worried because you were late to movie night.

“It’s open” you announced, raising your voice so Ben could come inside. When he got in, he saw you sitting on the couch, a box of tissues next to you and the yearbook on your laps.

Ben’s eyes were wide open as he was quite surprised to find you like that. “Y/N, what are you doing?” He questioned a little bit worried.

“I don’t know what to do…. I know what I’m doing is toxic, holding on to those memories, it’s destroying me little by little… But I can’t control that” you replied, holding the book against your chest like your life was depending on it. “My dumb heart is controlling my mind and he makes sure that Luke is in my head non stop. But I swear I wanna forget about him, I just…. He’s no good for me, I’m well aware of that! I just wanna move on, but every time I take a step in the right direction, something is pushing me back and I’m stuck all over again.” you mumbled, your voice getting lower as the words come out of your mouth.

“It’s okay, love. I’m here” Ben said, offering once again his shoulder for you to cry on. He was sitting right next to you, and you were looking at him with puffy eyes, on the edge of crying again, but you bit your lips to make the tears go away, not wanting to show Ben how miserable you are. But what was making it more painful, was that the more time you spent with Ben, you realised he was the man of your dreams and that because of your obsession with Luke, you were gonna let an amazing relationship break, before it even happened. You shouldn’t let Ben put his love life on hold, waiting for you, when you know deep down that you’ll never get over the past, he deserved to be happy too, not wait years for something that might never happen.  

“You’re wasting your time with me! Waiting for me to get better, when you should be out dating other girls, who are ready to start a relationship” you blurred out, tightly squeezing the yearbook in your hands, making your knuckles go white from the strength you put in your act.

“No, I’m not” Ben replied right away, determined to put this dumb idea out of your head. “And I will wait as long as it takes, not because I wanna go on that date, but because you deserve to be free of the memories and let yourself move on” he continued, placing his hands on yours. Your grip soften at his touch and you eventually let go of the yearbook, dropping it back on your laps. Ben grabbed it and threw it on the ground, far away from your view, making you laugh, letting a smile appear on your face.

The two of you stayed silent for a few minutes, just looking at each other while you’re trying to make the sadness go away. But after minutes, Ben finally broke the silence that was weighting in the room. “This might sound stupid, because you already know that, but Y/N, you have to get rid of everything you own that reminds you of him.” He said, and you wished for a second that he never talked. You knew he was right, but it was still hard to hear. “The thought of him keeps dragging you down and you don’t deserve that. Let go, let go of the memories and allow yourself to find happiness and love, because you deserve to find love with the right person”

You listened to what he was saying, his last sentence echoing in your brain. Ben noticed you were chewing on your bottom lip, thinking about what he just said. He knew you might not listen to him, but it was important for him to try and help you, the best he could.

“I know we missed the screening, but we can still go out?” Ben suggested and you timidly nodded

“Some fresh air won’t hurt me” you concluded, before excusing yourself to get ready.

When you came home later that night, it was impossible for you to find some sleep. You kept tossing around in your bed, wondering if you were strong enough to get rid of everything. You didn’t know what to do: you wanted to destroy everything that reminded you of him but you also wanted to hold on to some of them, because it helped you feel better somehow. You finally decided to grab your phone at 3am, unlocking your phone and going straight to the facebook application.

You finally managed to sleep for like two hours. As soon as you woke up, you texted Ben, asking if you could meet for lunch. He didn’t reply right away, you were expecting that since it was just 7am and that he was probably gonna have a busy day. You went on with your day, checking your phone every minutes to see if he answered. You were over the moon when you saw his text, telling you to meet him after his rugby practice.

Sitting in the bleachers from the stadium where he was practising, you were waiting for him to leave the locker room so you could grab something to eat.

“I’m sorry you had to wait” Ben apologizing as he jogged towards you.

“I’m not the one who’s waiting for someone the most” you replied, giving him an apologizing look. Ben shut you off right away by telling you again that he was fine with waiting.

“By the way, I have another practice in half an hour, I don’t think we’ll have enough time to eat outside, so… I got us those” he explained, taking snacks out of his sport bag. “Vending machine didn’t had much choice, but I hope you’ll like some of those”

You both were eating, as Ben told you about his practice but you had to ask him to explain rugby because you were just a big stranger to this sport. But you knew it was an important thing in his life, and you felt like it was the right thing to know more about it. When it was your turn to talk about what you did this morning, you couldn’t help to feel excited.

“I deleted him from facebook!” you almost shouted because you couldn’t control how happy you were about this achievement. “I mean… I know it’s not something big, but I’m so fucking proud of myself”

“It’s okay Y/N, baby steps are still important” he reassured you. “And I am so proud of you” he continued before pulling you in a tight hug. You giggled when you felt his hair ticking your neck. For once in your life, you felt that things were finally moving for you and in the good way. And just like Ben said, baby steps are important.

You found yourself a few times wanting to see Luke pictures but instead, you always ended up on Ben’s facebook page. Things were going great with you, you loved every minutes you ever spent with him, and you knew for sure, that you’d never want Ben to be out of your life.

“What’s inside?” Ben asked as he walked inside your apartment, using his fingers to point the box you put on the table. You closed the door behind him and quickly followed him.

“Memories. I put pretty much everything I owned that reminded me of Luke: pictures, playlists, notes and stuff” you enumerated. “I’m ready to throw all of that away. I might just need help, like a mental support” you admitted, looking at Ben.

“You can count on me” he affirmed. “Hey, let’s do it now!” he suggested. He did not wait for you answer, he already grabbed the box and was halfway through the doorway. You hurried to grab your stuff and followed him.

Ben stopped at the nearest dumpster and when he found one, he gave you back the box.

“Do it when you’re ready” he reminded you, not wanting you to feel pressured to do it right now.

You actually waited a few minutes, you took this time to remember the happy moments you had with Luke. When you felt like you were finally ready, you threw the box in the trash, leaving your past and your memories behind. You were now more ready to move on and give a chance to Ben. You’ve never felt like this before, and you loved this feeling of being reborn, finally free of that terrible obsession and influence.

“Luke is my past, but you, you’re my future” you whispered, but Ben heard you and he interlocked your fingers with his before kissing your head softly.

[comfortmarvelimagines]

how does it feel, to have a family?

found the beginning of this in my google drive, so decided to finish it ! we love irondad also peter being The Best friend/brother :) i should be studying rn but im so overwhelmed with everything and writing is truly escapism at its finest

Tony already felt like he knew y/n.

Somewhere, in between Peter’s ramblings of what he ate for breakfast and the latest corner-store robbery, little pieces of them found their way in. That they helped Peter on his english essay and got him an A. Or that they dyed their hair last week, and Peter thought it was super cool that they had the confidence to do something different. Even down to what they talked about over lunch. For the most part, Tony just accepted this like he accepted Peter’s nerdy puns and Star Wars theories, a part of him that just was. Like Ned and MJ, y/n was a support. A friend. That was good, right? Teenagers needed friends, god knows Pete could use more of them outside of the suit. So y/n became a constant, background hum in the anecdotal existence of Peter Parker.

This went on for months. Peter’s trio of friends became four and everything seemed fine. Normal. Until Peter let tidbits of information that set off alarm bells for Tony, the first of which came after a long weekend in the labs. Tag-team parenting was harder than anticipated, he ruminated after realising Peter was not in the car when he should’ve been.

“Peter, why are you making another sandwich? You’ve already got lunch and we’ve got to leave if you’re gonna get to school on time. May’ll have my head if you’re late again.”

“Y/n hasn’t had lunch at all last week and I haven’t seen them eat anything at all since Thursday, I thought I’d try to help,” Peter mumbled, jamming the lid back on the peanut butter jar.

“Yeah, cool, okay, whatever, just get your spider butt down to the car.” That was strange, but it could mean anything. They could’ve forgotten to eat, or simply eaten when Peter wasn’t around- it’s not like they were together 24/7. Regardless, it was really none of Tony’s business what Peter’s friends did, or didn’t do. What was Tony’s business, was getting his spiderling to his education. “Underoos, let’s go!”

***

The second time was when Peter left his school bag dumped on the floor of the lab, chemistry textbooks and loose papers sprawled out under the workbench. Tony only realised this as he tripped on the strap, bracing himself against the desktop to stop him falling and knocking over a piece of machinery in the process. Grumbling, he knelt down to replace the contents back of the bag, preparing a lecture for Peter about the importance of lab safety and keeping track of his belongings, when he noticed a sheet of paper crumpled into a ball. Curious, he unfolded it, reading its contents under his breath. “Midtown School of Science and Technology… Parents Evening… huh. Wonder if he remembered to show May this.” Shaking his head at the unreliability and overall disorganised-ness of the teen, he set off to go find him.

“Pete, no wonder you’ve lost so many backpacks if you can’t even remember to take it to your room when you get here! How many times do I have to tell you, just because you can just stick yourself to the ceiling doesn’t mean that the rest of us want a concussion-”

“Sorry Mr Stark.”

“Oh, right, so when you’re in trouble it’s back to formalities? ‘Mr Stark’ still almost broke his wrist regardless of what you call me… What are you doing?”

“Texting”

“Texting who? Adult’s talking, doesn’t mean the kid gets to zone out.”

“Y/n”

The softness in Peter’s voice suddenly jerked Tony back to the previous time y/n had come up. He remembered it’d had something to do with a sandwich, of worry and not eating. It suddenly struck him that they’d hardly been mentioned at all since; something gone relatively unnoticed in the constant stream of babble from Peter, but was in retrospect was decidedly odd.  He decided to play nice.

“Are they okay?” Tony paused for a second. “I haven’t heard you mention them in a while.”

He regretted it immediately, because Peter shut down. “Yeah, they’re fine. I’m sorry, I won’t leave my bag in the lab again.” He walked out, grabbing the backpack from Tony’s hand on the way out, leaving the older man too stunned to even respond. Something had struck a nerve, and if it was hitting his kid that hard he was determined to find out.

***

The third time was when Tony went digging.

The phone call had started with no intention of mentioning y/n; he simply wanted to talk to May and ask her about the flyer from Peter’s school. He had meant to bring it up earlier when he confronted him about the backpack, but after the dramatic ‘storm out and sulk somewhere else’ sequence that Peter had pulled, Tony had thought better of it and left the kid to his own devices for the night. Instead, he went straight to May, to at the very least make sure she knew about the flyer and that she was going. She picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, is everything okay?” May sounded, exhausted, like she’d been woken up by her phone. Ignoring the fact, Tony proceeded.

“Did you get the flyer about the parent information evening?”

“No, what parent evening? Pete hasn’t mentioned anything, if that’s what your getting at”. In her apartment, May shifted her quilt and propped herself up on her elbow, intrigued.  

“It’s on the, uh, 6th. Sorry, it’s kind of hard to read since your nephew shoved it down the bottom of his school bag.”

“Shit,” May whispered under her breath. “I’m working a double shift that day. I won’t be finished work until 10, there’s no way I’d be able to make it. No wonder he didn’t say anyth-”

“I’ll go.”

In all honesty, Tony really didn’t know why he said that. Not in doubt of his love for his kid, but in fear of overstepping boundaries. Were they there yet? What would Peter think? He hadn’t asked, maybe he wasn’t comfortable with Tony just showing up to a school function. Too late now.

“Tony, are you still there?”

“What, yeah, May, just multitasking.” “I said, if you’re going to go, there’s something you should know about. You’ll have to talk to Peter about it though, it’s not really my place to say. Just... ask him about y/n, his friend.”

Huh. Y/n. Again. Interesting. “Okay, thanks May. I’ll talk to you again later, have a good night.” “You too Tony, maybe try and sleep at some point.”

“Will do. FRIDAY, end call.” Tony rubbed his hand over his face. There was something going on, but if Peter wasn’t going to talk then he’d never figure it out. “FRIDAY, where is Pete?”

“Mr Parker is currently in his room. Would you like me to alert him to your imminent arrival?”

“Sure, FRI.” Tony hurried to the elevator. He needed to somehow get to the bottom of whatever was going on. There were several possibilities. Y/n and Peter could have had some sort of falling out, a fight. There could’ve been a relationship thrown into the mix, teenage angst and hormones jarring their friendship. Or, as Tony feared, something had happened to y/n, something Peter was trying to fix but, for whatever reason, couldn’t. Before they could get to that, though, he was going to have to talk about the parent night.

***

Of course, these things never go quite as planned.

“Pete?”

No answer.

“Pete, please let me in”

Really, it didn’t matter either way. Tony had every intention of overriding the code.

A sniffle sounded from just behind the door. “I’m fine, Mr Stark.”

“Yeah, and I’m the queen of England.” Tony realised he was handling the situation in the exact opposite way he’d wanted to. “Look, kid, I just wanted to talk about the parent evening at school.”

“I already know May can’t go, it’s fine.” Peter’s voice was barely audible, choked.

“No, see, here’s the thing, I talked with her earlier and we were thinking maybe I could go in her place,” he slid down the door to sit, knees up, shoulder pressed to the doorframe. “I completely understand if that’s too much, or if it’s overstepping the boundaries of what this,” he gestured even though Peter couldn’t see, “Is.” There was a tense, almost awkward, moment of silence, before the door slowly shifted inwards. Tony accepted the olive branch, pulled himself standing and went inside. Looking around, he realised Peter had balled himself up behind the door, head buried in his knees. Tony had never been more thankful that the kid wasn’t looking at him; he was pretty sure he’d done a terrible job of hiding his reaction to the uncharacteristic sight.  

The door was pushed closed with a soft click. Mindful to keep distance, Tony settled himself on the carpet a metre or so away.

The sob that followed broke his heart in two.

“Hey, buddy, hey, can you look at me for a sec?”

Peter’s puppy-brown eyes blinked over his folded forearms. Suddenly, he seemed worlds younger than 15.

“Did you want me to go to the parent night?”

Slow nod.

“Okay. That’s good, great! Can’t wait to hear all about how great my genius kid is…” he realised he was getting off track again when Peter’s face dipped back out of sight.

“You don’t have to, but did you wanna tell me what’s got you so upset? I know something was up earlier…” That was as close as Tony was going to get to apologising for not being softer, sooner. Something must’ve struck the same nerve as earlier in the lab, because Peter’s breathing hitched.

“It’s y/n.”

“I know I asked earlier, but is everything okay between you two?”

As if knocking down a dam wall, Peter launched into a rambled explanation. “May usually goes to both our classes because their parents don’t go. And lately they haven’t had any food to eat at school and they’re getting really skinny and I don’t know what’s goin’ on but I’m worried, ya know? Like I wanna save them like I save people when I’m Spider-Man but I can’t help and I don’t know what to do. May said we can only do what we can but I dunno what that means either, Mr Stark, like do I just deliver groceries to their house as Spider-Man or somethin?”

Taking mental note of how hysterically high Peter’s voice was, Tony made sure to keep his level, barely above a whisper. “Peter, do you think they’re being hurt at home?”

***

“H-heyyyy, y/n,” Peter stuttered as you swung open your locker. He was leaning against the wall, obviously trying to act casual and making his strange behaviour even more pronounced. You just raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to drop the charade.

“Okay, okay, yeah uh so are you doin’ anything on Friday?”

“Interesting question, but no. You do realise that today is Friday, unless you’re talking about next week, which I’m free too. You know I don’t do anything on Fridays,” you turned to grab your AP psych textbook out of the top shelf of your locker, not realising the bottom of your shirt rode up to the base of your ribcage. When you turned back around, Peter’s eyes were practically bulging out of his head. “What?”

“Oh, uh, nothing. I just… Mr Stark asked if I wanted to have a friend over to the compound for the weekend, since we don’t really have much to work on… and Ned’s busy… and it’d be really super cool there’s a whole theatre room and a bunch of Lego sets and some of the avengers might be there…” Peter trailed off.

“What are you saying?”

“Did you wanna come to the compound for the weekend?”

You laughed. “Peter, it sounds cool and all but I don’t have any clothes or anything on me for a whole weekend. Unless you or Mr Stark knows how to sew jeans from my textbook, than I’m super unprepared.”

“Wait… Aren’t you a similar clothes size as me? I have a bunch of clothes there, you can just borrow mine. Or we could get Happy to swing past your hou-”

“NO. I mean, I, uhm, don’t have a key? So I can’t get into my apartment? So I can’t get my clothes? I guess I left my keys at home?” You trailed off into an awkward laugh, scuffing your sneakers into the cheap linoleum.  

“Okay, cool cool cool. Uh, do you mind wearing your jeans twice? My clothes would just be a little oversized on you, but like does it matter if you have a clean top and something to sleep in?”

“Guess not. Are you sure you want me there?”

“Dude, are you serious? Of course I do! You’re my friend,” Peter hesitated, noticing your hands fumbling with the sleeves of your hoodie. A nervous habit. “It’ll be fun, I promise. I’ll see you after class, yeah?”

“Yeah.”  

***

“Hey kid. Hey, kid’s friend,” Happy’s greeting was curt, delivered with a glance up at the rear-view mirror as you and Peter a slid across the back seat of the car.

“Hey Happy,” Peter responded. You said nothing, eyes down, practically radiating anxiety. At Happy’s enquiring glance, he shook his head; now was not the time or the place to be asking questions. That’d come later, if it got to that point. Peter wanted to try and make you as comfortable as possible, not freak you out.  

The rest of the car ride was silent. You weren’t asked to speak, and so didn’t; and it almost felt like there was an unspoken agreement between Happy and Peter to just wait. Nothing much happened after, either. You followed Peter to his room, and sat cross-legged on the soft carpet to construct a Lego set. Eight pm rolled around and Tony poked his head round the door. “Hey, Pete, and y/n, yeah? You guys hungry?”

Peter looked at you and you shook your head. You’d already accepted a granola bar off MJ and the banana from Ned’s lunch, you honestly didn’t think you could stomach much more. You weren’t sure if it were even medically possible, but you were pretty certain your stomach had shrunk in the last few months. In staring steadfastly at the lego in your hands, you missed yet another knowing glance over your head; unbeknownst to you, both Peter and Tony’s concern for you had just increased tenfold.  

“Okay, well, we’re ordering pizza anyways, so what do ya want?”

“Uh, I’ll grab a meat-lover's and they’re vegetarian, so I guess a margherita?”

“Cool. Avengers are in the living room, if you wanna hang out there for a bit,” Tony turned and left, asking FRIDAY if she “got all that” as he walked. Peter let the silence hang, almost awkwardly, before asking if you wanted to take Tony’s offer of moving to the living room. You shrugged.

“I don’t mind, whatever’s easiest- whatever you want, I don’t know.”

“I promise you they’re super nice.”

You moved to unfurl you legs, shaking out the numbness as you stood. Your friend moved to follow, albeit in a significantly more athletic fashion, taking the lead as you waited for him to walk slightly ahead before you followed him down the hall. Sure, this wasn’t exactly what you’d expected, but then again could you really expect anything in this place?

***

The one expectation that was realised was that the Avengers were loud. Arguing over the TV playing something no one was watching, what felt like three conversations going simultaneously. But they were nice, and after a while you felt almost a part of this sitcom-esque, hodgepodge family of heroes. If it were anyone else, it would have felt almost painfully domestic; the mario kart competition, the playful insults around mouthfuls of garlic bread, the throwing of cushions countered by almost subconscious brushes of apology. The unspoken need for safety, for calm, for them to have this escape, was all too obvious. You felt that need, you filled that need with Peter and Ned and MJ and sometimes, it was enough. But this… This was different.

The fun and games went on for a few hours, replaced later in the night with movies and yawns and collapsed bodies under blankets. The quiet was nice, the casual gestures of affection between them all taking you by surprise. Despite giving in to expecting the unexpected, you were still caught off guard when the one-and-only Tony Stark came and took a seat next to you on the floor.  

“So,” he looked at you hard, scrutinising. An involuntary shiver wracked your spine.

“I was talking to Pete. And May. About Midtown’s parent-teacher night,” the pause was anticipatory, waiting for a reaction. The only one he got was you staring even harder at your socked feet, head bowed.

“Kid.”

No reaction.

“Hey, look at me. You’re not in trouble, I just think I can help with something.”

This elicited a tilt of your head, a glance through your peripheral. The same trick that worked on Peter worked on you, to some extent.

“I guess Peter already told you May can’t go, and so he wouldn’t be going”

Nod.

“And I was talking to May, and we agreed that if you were comfortable, I’d be more than happy to act as your parent as well as Peter’s,” at the mention of his name, Peter sidled over to join the conversation.

“Y/n, ya know, I know your home family isn’t the best, but you’re my family. And that- that means my family is your family too. You know May loves you. I love you, Ned and MJ love you. Everyone here loves you too. You don’t even really need to talk for people to see you’re amazing. You deserve all the family in the world.”

You moved your hand to rest on his, a silent thanks that meant more than you could ever put into words.  

“Will you let us be your family?”

“Pete can vouch, I’m amazing at being a humiliating parental figure,” Tony received a playful slap on the arm from Peter in response.

“Shut up, you’re a great da- mentor”

“Huh.” Tony shifted to lean back against the sofa. “I don’t mean this as a one off, either. You need something, you gotta tell someone, kid. Tell Peter, Ned, May, I don’t care who. But if what Peter’s saying is right, and you’re not… Not being treated right, we wanna help. We can help.”

“He’s right. Y/n, none of our families are conventional. I don’t have parents anymore, but I do have May and this whole deal. Tony didn’t have the best relationship with his parents, but he’s made his own family with Pepper and Rhodey and Happy and me.”

You heard a sob, and it took a few seconds for it to sink in that it was you. Peter pulled you into his side and you clung, thanking him and Tony over and over and over again because it was so nice. Too nice. It was unfathomable how any human beings could seem to genuinely care and want to do something and it wasn’t just empty promises it was real-

You weren’t alone. You were with family.

And you knew that you weren’t completely on your own before, of course you did. You went to school every day and saw your friends and it was okay, kinda. But keeping that secret and being okay and making out like the shit at home didn’t affect you? That was hard. But maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t have to do that anymore.   

After what felt like a year of wet, messy crying into Peter’s shirt, Tony stood up, back cracking.

“Alright, that’s enough feelings for tonight. Children need to sleep- spider or otherwise,” he directed at Peter before he could even breathe in protest. He bent down to your level, lowering his voice.

“Y/n, we’ll sort all this out tomorrow, yeah? We can make sure you’re getting enough food, schedule so you’re not at your house too much if you don’t want to be, figure out a system so we know if you’re not safe. It’ll be okay, kiddo. We got ya.”

And for the first time in your life, you felt like you were home.

[johnroycomic]

Entirely Free Comedy Class - Revised Edition

Hey all, my Entirely Free Comedy Class is now over five years old, and looking back, it could be clearer and better, and more detailed.  So I’m revising it.  And the first week is ready.  Here it is!

WEEK ONE

In every major city, someone is teaching a stand-up comedy class, often charging hundreds of dollars for the effort. While I know some professional comics who have benefited from these classes, the majority consensus among my fellow comedians is that they are of dubious value.

They may help a little to build courage and comfort on stage, but they will not replace any of the many hours you will have to spend in Open Mics if you want to tell jokes for a living.

There is only one way to get good at stand-up comedy, and that is to do stand-up comedy. There is no short cut.  There is no homework.  You can practice your jokes in your room until they are tight and polished.  You can practice them on the very stage you are going to tell them on.  You still won't know if they are funny they are until they encounter a live audience.  You can't know anything about a joke until an audience of everyday people, who expect to laugh, reacts to it.  

A comedy class is an artificially supportive environment.  You can't get the honest reactions you need to build an act from fellow students and a teacher who wants a good Yelp review.  Only performing stand-up in real “game time” conditions will do.  Not only do you need to learn on the job, you can only learn on the job.  For the comedy beginner, there is no substitute for the open mic.

I am not saying stand-up instruction is impossible.  I'm not saying all you can tell a new  comic is to go out, plow through their sets with no game plan, and hope for the best.  I did that.  It was a nightmare.

I would love to have had some kind of road map to help me know what to focus on.  I got important advice later in my career that I would have loved to have had access to at the start.  Many aspects of this art form took me years of wrong turns to figure out.  I would love to spare the next generation some of that confusion.  They might get better quicker if I could tell them what they needed to know right when they needed know it.

This is my twelve week class on stand-up comedy.  It's everything I've learned about writing and performing comedy. This book is the textbook.  Your city's open mics are the classroom. And through the magic of Youtube, the best comedians of all time will be your guest speakers.  

Read one chapter a week.  Watch the featured video clips and answer the study questions.  Then put the instructions into practice at your local Open Mics.  After you have gone up at least three times practicing the lessons of that week, read the next chapter. Repeat for twelve weeks.

There are two goals of the class. One is for you to have a five minute set you can do at any comedy showcase with confidence.  The second, more important goal is give you an effective process for improving your act that you can use as long as you do stand-up comedy.  It's the  

process I use every week to this day.

I focus on basic fundamentals. I don’t tell you what to write or talk about. Previous books about stand-up presented a “right way” to write jokes.  As the sheer variety of modern comedians shows, there isn't one.  My process can help you with any style you might choose. As long as the essential elements of comedy are present, you can make people laugh any way you like.  

Assignment One:

Find out where the comedy open mics in your area are.  Maybe they are on a web site that lists all the comedy shows in your city.  Maybe they are listed with the music shows of the week.  Maybe you can find them listed among the offerings of local theater companies.  Googling your city's name and “comedy open mic” is as good a way to start as any.  Find out how many you can go to this week.  

Find out what you need to do to perform on them.  Sign up if necessary.

If at all possible, go to open mics that are listed as specifically for comedy.  This class was designed with those in mind.  

It may be hard to find comedy open mics in some areas.  If this is the case, all is not lost.  Many music open mics will let you do stand-up as well, but you'll want to check with the host and venue first.  If you don't know who to talk to at a venue, ask the bartender.  They always know.  

Music open mics will be a tougher audience to crack.  You will have the added challenge of getting the audience to stop talking and focus. Music acts generally do not require an audience's undivided attention the way comedians do.  That will be something you have to earn.  If you can grab them and make them laugh on a night that's not conducive to comedy, that's a win you can be proud of.

Assignment Two:

Write five minutes of material.  

What sort of material? This is up to you.

I know this is a vague assignment that doesn't give the student much guidance.  Even the word “material” is vague.  It seems specifically chosen to describe as little as possible.  It just means “something that exists.”  It doesn't get any clearer when you look at the other words comedians use to describe what

makes up their act.  “Stuff.” “Chunks.” “Bits.”  Bits of what?

Well, bits of whatever you can think of that might make someone laugh. You'll need all of it.  Those skewed insights on life you've had over the years?  Those things in the world everyone thinks are normal but you can prove are actually insane? Remember your analogy that made your  friend say “I never thought of it that way”    You finally have a place for all that stuff.   And they give you a microphone!  

As a famous comedian once said, “You should write whatever you can't stop thinking about.”

Still stuck?  Don't worry.  It's understandable.  You haven't had any practice.  Somehow, for all the millions of different writing assignments you get in school, “Write something funny” never comes up.

Try this.

  Think of something you said that made your friends laugh. What additional information would strangers need to have to laugh at that?  What words could quickly explain the situation and context just enough that the funny part made sense?  Add those words in before the part you said to your friends.  Your punch line now has a setup line.  You now have a joke.

I've written many jokes this way.

Once a brutish guy came up to me after my act and said “it’s weird you’re hanging out after the show. Most comedians won't hang out after the show.”   He said “comedians” like a snotty kid would if they were going, “Ooh... look at the big comedian.”

I didn't respond to the tone in his voice.  I was nice. “That’s weird, we always hang out after the show,”  I said. We do.

The guy ignores it.  He says, “Fucking queers don’t want to drink with me.”  Oh, he's a bigoted asshole, I thought.  No wonder no one wants to drink with him.

I whispered to my friend Adam, under my breath, “Now I get it.”   He laughed.

In real life, I only said “Now I get it,” and Adam laughed.  I didn't need to describe the guy.  Adam was looking right at him.  I didn't need to tell Adam we were at a comedy show.  He was with me the whole time.  All Adam needed was “Now I get it,” and it was funny.  An audience of strangers needs more.

When I related the story in my act, I began, “I go all over doing comedy. Sometimes you meet cool people. Sometimes you don’t.” I described the guy's initial question, and how I was confused because comedians always hang out after the show.  Then I did his asshole voice going “Fucking queers don't want to drink with me,” followed by, “and I was like, “Now I get it.”   I got a laugh in the same place as I got it from Adam that night.  

With those modifications, something I said that made my friend laugh became a joke I could do on stage.

Incidentally, Adam doesn't appear in the joke at all.  His presence at the scene is not essential to why it's funny.  The joke is about me and the guy, not Adam.  That night, Adam was the audience.  In a comedy show, I have a real audience.  Telling them that Adam was there is just needless words that don't serve my purpose, which is to get a laugh when I say, “Now I get it.”  You only need to include what the crowd absolutely needs to know to get the joke.  Everything else should go.  

Don’t spend more than five hours writing your material.

It's not a novel, it's five minutes of comedy.  

The important thing is to get up on that stage as soon as possible. Don’t put off that first performance.   I know it can be scary.  It may be nerve-wracking when you picture yourself up there, but prolonging the wait only makes it scarier.  Best to rip the band-aid off as quickly as possible.  Your fear will diminish once the experience is no longer a scary unknown.

Some people wait months and months trying to hone the perfect material before they do their first set.  This is pointless.  There is no way to anticipate the reaction your jokes will get before you tell them. Further hours of editing are a waste of time.  Get your ideas in front of an audience as soon as possible.  You will have all the time in the world to re-write it later, when you actually know what worked.

Some of you may be asking, “Wait! What if I don’t want to write ‘jokes?’ What if I want to do characters or tell stories or just talk to the crowd? Why can’t I get laughs that way?”

You can! You can do anything you want as long as you can get them to laugh after you do it.

Stories and character monologues work a lot like “jokes.”  If one of these is your thing, for every sentence in this book that mentions “jokes,” just replace “joke” with “character monologue line” or “story beat” and the principles are the same.  

Keep in mind that a stand-up story has to have laughs peppered throughout the entire piece.  It can’t just pay off at the end. No matter what approach you take, you are still going to have to make the audience laugh at the rate they are accustomed to, which is roughly between two and four laughs a minute.  You can make them wait longer here and there to build tension, but the longer they have to wait, the bigger that payoff is going to need to be as well.  Stand-up is both the widest and the most narrow form of performance there is. You can do anything you want…. as long as the audience does one specific thing over and over again.  

Improv and talking to the crowd are a little tougher to teach than jokes. They rely on you being funny in the moment. They are a product of your pure comedy instincts and the amount of practice you’ve had expressing them.  The only way to improve is to start racking up stage time doing improv and crowd work,the way an athlete must practice being in the moment to perform better in those moments. Week Nine of this class is devoted to doing just that.

For now, follow the joke writing exercises and develop written material anyway. It is the best way to learn what makes a series of words funny. Think of it as practicing improv in slow motion.  Besides, improvisers and crowd workers like Rory Scovel and Jeff Ross still need something to do on TV sets where they don’t let you wing it.  Even in your live act, it can help to have some surefire lines.  While improv can light up a crowd like nothing else in comedy, it misses sometimes.  It's unavoidable.  You will appreciate having tested jokes to fall back on when the riffing doesn't work.

Write your new five minutes in a dedicated space for this class.  It can be a notebook.  It can be a computer file.  But it should have no other writing in it.  I find a small notebook is the best because you can carry it anywhere.  If you prefer to just type your bits into your phone that works too, but I feel that writing words out long-hand helps commit them to memory.  

I advise writing your jokes out in full sentences, but if you can remember:

“I gotta get healthier. I can’t have one more day go by where the BEST thing I can say about myself is that the pot I smoked made me too lazy to eat Carl’s Jr. TWICE.”

from:

“Gotta Get healthier/best thing I can say/too lazy from pot to eat Carl’s Jr. 2x”

…then I am not going to make you write it all out just because I think you should. But the MINUTE you find yourself staring at “Candy Crush/Slot Machine guy WTF?” in your own handwriting with no idea what it means, it's complete sentences from now on. A forgotten bit could be the Netflix Special closer that now you’ll never have.

Assignment Three

Once your five minutes is written down, it's time to memorize it. Don't freak out from the “m” word.  You don't necessarily have to know it word for word.  But some level of memorization is necessary.  You don’t want to be in actual danger of forgetting the point of what you’re talking about.

Some people like the certainty of knowing the words by heart. It's one less thing to worry about, and besides, they’re proud of that wording so why not make sure to show it off?

Others find memorization a source of stress and would rather not have another thing hanging over their head they have to remember not to screw up. For them, a loose idea they can sort of “jam on” is better.

Whichever sounds best to you is how you should do it, as starting out in stand-up is all about increasing your comfort level as you do something that provokes intense anxiety.

However you choose, I have found that whether a joke was written out verbatim the minute the idea appeared or whether it took ten tries through informal riffing, a “right way” based on brevity and the strongest, most colorful word choices begins to suggest itself. By the time a joke is ready to be recorded, even the “jazziest” comics tell it pretty similarly from night to night.

There are advantages and drawbacks to both approaches. A memorized joke sounds polished and can be delivered with confidence, each syllable emphasized for maximum

power. You may discover interesting language sitting down and writing that your onstage riffing brain would never have landed on in the moment.

On the flip side, there is a directness and energy to an improvised wording that a memorized bit can lack. It sounds like you're just hanging out with the audience and that's powerful.  

When you script a bit out verbatim, there can be a tendency to think of it as “set in stone.”  You deliver the lines like an actor and only those lines.  You can forget that there is always room to add things because you are not talking “in the moment.”

Personally, I go up with at least one written-out punchline for each new bit that I intend to work on. On a fresh page, I write down all the punchlines and premises in a list before I go up. The Carl’s Jr. bit from above might be listed as “Lazy/Pot/Carl’s Jr.”

My set list might look like this:

Lazy/Pot/Carl's Jr.

Comedians don't hang out/Now I get it

40/Green Day

40/Close Bar/Bulls

Favorite Gay Bar/Ke$ha

After it's all written out, I take the list up with me and riff.  No matter what, I always make sure I hit at least one prepared punchline for each subject I bring up.  That way, bomb or crush, the audience will know I had a purpose to each bit. You will test their patience if they feel you are just meandering around with no payoff.  They will check out.  I feel I owe it to them to reward their attention with at least one thought-out comedic idea for each of my premises.  They should know I respected them enough to at least have a point to each of my ramblings, even if the jokes don't all land.

If they happen to really like one of those punchlines, I will keep talking, in case I find something else funny. They seem to like where this is going, so let’s find out what else is there.  This has lead to great stuff, but if it’s a dead end, at least they got a solid joke they liked before I went exploring.

Over time, as the repetition and trial and error process continues, I find my jokes inevitably find their way into a series of words that changes little from night to night.  It's the best way I have found to get that idea out, and I know it by heart.

Assignment Four

Do your five new minutes at an open mic.  Then do this same five minutes at two more open mics.  Write down what worked and what didn't, but don't adjust anything yet.  Perform the same jokes in the same order.

With the amount of people trying to do comedy now, some open mics give you just four, three, and sometimes even two and a half minutes to do your act.  If this happens, do as much of your material as you are able to get out in the time allotted, but don't rush.  Tell your jokes the way you think they work best.  Don't try to jam them all in just to say you did it. Get to what you can and give those jokes the best chance they have to succeed.

Assignment Five

After your week of performances, or however long it takes to do a set at three open mics, look over your notes.

Write down your answers to the following questions.   In the back of this book, you can find them on the easy to copy “Set Questions” Worksheet.

Set Questions

Which of your jokes got a laugh?

Which jokes didn’t?

Why do you think the jokes that did work worked?

Why do you think the jokes that didn’t work didn’t?

What could you change about the ones that didn’t work to maybe make them work?

Could changing jokes that worked make them work even better?

Keep this info handy for next week.  We will get into it in depth.

Assignment Six:

When you've done your three performances, and you've written down your initial thoughts about your jokes, search the internet for the late, great Greg Giraldo's special “Midlife Vices.”  It is currently view-able on Youtube.

Watch the special.

Answer the following questions.  They are also printed out on an easy-to-copy Worksheet in the back of this book.  It's the one that says “Video Questions.”  Every week there will be comedians to watch and you will answer these same questions every time, so making a bunch of copies of this one might be a good idea.

Video Questions

How would you describe the comic's stage character, that is to say, the personality they present in their act?

Were the jokes presented as true stories from life?  Or clearly false “jokes?”

What made you laugh in their act? Why?

What didn’t work for you? Why? Why do you think it may have worked for others?

How did the comic use their body to get laughs?

How did the comic use their face to get laughs?

How did the comic use their voice to get laughs?

What did you notice that made their act unique?

How did the comic structure the jokes that they wrote?

You will find answers at the beginning of next week's lesson.

That's it!  That’s week one. Get started and I'll see you again next week. Kill 'em!