My second (third of you include the SLBU Vex fan art I did) time drawing Vex and I think I did pretty good this round!

Obviously I used one of my favourite stills from the game as reference, but HNNNN I WANT TO PUNCH HIS SMUG AF FACE SO BAD-

Sketches and stuff lol

Guardian rewatch: Episode 9

This episode starts with Zhao Yunlan being a bloody good boss. I’ll talk about how the opinions of others must have affected this man’s perception of himself a little later on, but in this scene it is important to note that Zhao Yunlan is supportive, caring and loyal. Wang Zheng comes to him in tears, asking for permission to leave and see the home she had just remembered, and he not only supports her verbally, but drags his entire team on the trip with her the very next day. Sure, he has are ulterior motives, as he strongly suspects one of the Hallows must be around the same area, but I maintain that Zhao Yunlan would have insisted on going with Wang Zheng regardless.

There are complications to this trip; namely, Wang Zheng is a ghost energy being and can neither be in sunlight, nor leave the SID really. Thus, the plan to take her on the trip includes buying a doll. The implication is that Wang Zheng can be somehow placed inside it, and thus be able to move, but the details of how this is done are actually curiously hazy. I’m not sure if censorship is the reason for muddled writing, but there really is very little explanation for the ghost in a doll situation.

Guo Changcheng is tasked with securing a makeshift body for Wang Zheng, and the boy, eager to act fast, and without much to work with in terms of instructions, ends up buying this.

We can only thank the Universe for the role of Wang Zheng not being played by a blow-up doll for three episodes straight.

Zhao Yunlan instantly realises that being places inside this thing might be a little bit upsetting for his subordinate, and lashes out at Guo Changcheng with an excellent “Is the thing above your neck a urinal?” This snaps Zhu Hong out of her mirth, too; she rushes to her friend’s side to offer emotional support, and will remain there for the entire episode.

I love this blocking, in which Zhu Hong is the only one who feels comfortable approaching Wang Zheng in a situation where she is seemingly being mocked by her male colleagues, as Zhao Yunlan and Guo Changcheng look on, unable to offer a meaningful apology.

The evening prior to this Shen Wei is musing over ancient map of the region. His costume is arranged deliberately so you can see the Pendant of Pining hanging around his neck.

I am really wondering when this was shot, because it looks very out of place. The costume differs from Shen Wei’s usual attire, including chinos and an uncharacteristically ill fitting shirt. His hair looks so wrong I am wondering if this is styling, or a different haircut entirely. And, since we’re on this train of thought, his eye colour is so off I genuinely spent quite a bit of time examining the shots in order to figure out whether he’s wearing contacts. I don’t think he is, by the way, but the colour grading makes his warm syrupy-brown irises look almost olive green.

During the scene it is revealed Shen Wei’s only worry in regards to leaving the city and rushing into what could be trouble is a possibility of Zhao Yunlan encountering danger in his absence. It is easy to see that Shen Wei here firmly associates his own worth with his work as Hei Pao Shi, and his own needs with Yunlan being safe and sound. You could trace this thought process back to the mountainside conversation ten thousand years ago, and to years of loneliness and isolation that followed. While, frankly, equating self-worth with comfort of other it’s not necessarily so unusual, and neither is equating it with one’s work, Shen Wei’s disregard for his own life is still horribly upsetting.

The morning after, Zhao Yunlan with his team and Shen Wei with his students move out of Dragon City. Destination - North-west. I have to ask though, why is Shen Wei taking his students with him? I get that it’s a cover but also: he can totally just teleport where he needs to and do his stuff as Envoy, can he not? It’s fast, efficient, and can all be done during the night without arousing any suspicious.

As it happens, Shen Wei goes by car, which breaks, and causes him to instantly cross paths with Zhao Yunlan. What I like about this meeting is that we see it from an outsider perspective, as we drive into the scene with Lin Jing, Chu Shuzhi and Guo Changcheng.

“Is that Professor Shen? This must be their destiny. They keep meeting each other wherever they go.”

Zhao Yunlan confesses that he feels like Shen Wei bugged him and pops up everywhere he goes; Shen Wei counters by saying that in this case Zhao Yunlan who followed him. Zhao Yunlan can just laugh awkwardly. It’s kind of adorable how the two men just basically admit that they’re stalking each other, and are both kind of okay with that. Shen Wei then introduces the other man to his students as his good friend.

Zhao Yunlan, having already figured out that he is not likely to get any answers from Shem Wei, goes on a charm offensive with his students. I think this is the first time Shen Wei sees Zhao Yunlan using his jovial manipulation on others, and he is not particularly happy about what he is witnessing. Below are the series of facial expressions he wears every time it happens throughout the episode.

The way I read it, this could equally be jealousy, or the daunting - and incorrect - realisation that Zhao Yunlan is being like this with everything that moves. He could be even beating himself up for falling for this man’s charm now that he sees that Zhao Yunlan using the same wide smile as a tool to placate, gain trust and access information. In his mind, this is a further confirmation that he is not in any way special in Zhao Yunlan’s eyes. Again, Shen Wei’s supposition cannot be further from the truth. But you could imagine how he may have come to make to this conclusion.

In this particular case, Zhao Yunlan uses his charm to get some information out of Jiajia, and ends up hearing the direction of their expedition.

Shen Wei nervously adjusts glasses in the shot which is not even his close-up. It’s lovely, seeing how good of an actor Zhu Yilong is. Good actors don’t need to be directed to to most of the little things their characters would do, and don’t have to be told what their character quirks are.

Shen Wei very politely shuts Jiajia up when she starts talking about the earthquake, asking her to get out of the sun, despite this not being a hot day.

“Chief Zhao, you are really good at making people talk.”

As he is making this observation, he is offering Zhao Yunlan his water, because the man mentioned that he may be thirsty, and hydration is important. Should I once again be obsessing over how their fingers are touching here? Perhaps not. I am, once more, doing it anyway.

During the conversation that ensues here, Shen Wei reminds Zhao Yunlan that he was asked not to leave the city, and makes one more attempt at forcing them to part ways after the car fixing is done. Chief Zhao is having none of it. He reminds Shen Wei that no promises were given, and suggests they work together and protect each other instead. It’s interesting how their end goal is similar: they want to keep each other out of harm’s way. But for Zhao Yunlan, who works with a team, this implies sticking together. For Shen Wei, who has been alone for what could have been centuries (we are never given a timeline for when his magical coma ended), this implies being as far away from each other as possible. Many things about their relationship will change - but this one will never do.

Zhao Yunlan proceeds to charm his way into driving Shen Wei’s car. He is after all very good with people, and he’s not afraid to use this skill to keep himself near the Professor.

Next, we have intercut scenes depicting conversations in two separate cars.

Lin Jing is driving Zhu Hong, Guo Changcheng and Wang Zheng in the jeep. There, Guo Changcheng tries his darnedest to offer exceedingly moody Wang Zheng apologies and consolation, but his weak attempts to very little to lighten the young woman’s dark disposition. In the meanwhile, Zhu Hong is seething with resentment and jealousy. She notes discontentedly that Zhao Yunlan once again chose to go and spend time with Shen Wei, hypothesises on why Shen Wei is unmarried, and then goes into a long-winded rant about Zhao Yunlan being an uncaring person. Lin Jing reluctantly participates in this conversation, but he does not look very much like he cares for it.

I have mentioned in my previous recap that those around Zhao Yunlan comment on his crassness, and now I am wondering how much this creates a vicious circle for the man in question. He may have heard - from his father, from his previous romantic partners, from his colleagues - that he is a failure, a boorish, unloving and superficial man who only does things to chase clout and carnal pleasures. It is difficult to not internalise that, and Zhao Yunlan may have just grown to see this as an unshakeable truth about himself.

As for Zhu Hong’s part in this, it is easy to call someone not responding to your advances an uncaring jerk. It does not, however, necessarily make them one.

Curiously enough, the only person speaking up in defence of Zhao Yunlan here is Guo Changcheng. He notes that he considers Chief Zhao to be a nice person; despite only being with SID for a month, he is able to see good intensions behind the bristles. No doubt, this is another case of Xiao Guo being incredibly empathic.

In the other car, Zhao Yunlan is driving Shen Wei and his students. Here, we see the chief continue to crack jokes and use his bountiful charisma to find out more about their expedition. Presumably, this has been going for a while, and Shen Wei’s patience finally runs thin when Zhao Yunlan states that their research must be very important. “Thank you for the compliment”, states Shen Wei flatly, according to subtitles.

According to my dictionary however, what he actually says is, roughly, “Chef Zhao overpraised [us]” (“赵处长过奖了”), which even with my very basic comprehension of Mandarin, I can see as overly formal and clearly dismissive.

Zhao Yunlan seems to be taken aback, and a few seconds pass before he composes his features into one of the chuckles he uses as a mask: it is loud and wide, but does not quite reach his eyes, sliding off his face almost instantly. In the passenger seat, Shen Wei is slowly and deliberately readjusting his own mask.

We cut to Zhu Jiu trying to secure assistance of a whole bunch of Youchu he drags out of the cave. It goes even worse than his other plans do, with the beasts grumbling and effectively refusing to do any work whatsoever.

Zhu Jiu’s ineffectiveness is actually pretty sweet on rewatch, and I am starting to kind of appreciate Wan Naichao in this role. It’s not that I find his performance particularly good, but between the costume, the wig and the script, he does not have an awful lot to work with, and he nonetheless appears to have so much fun hamming it up to his heart’s content. He is not intimidating by any stretch of imagination, but he is surprisingly, albeit ironically, watchable. And, honestly, I would rather watch an actor being hammy and enjoying it than visibly longing for death on set.

After passing a checkpoint through a combination of Zhao Yunlan’s connections and ever-present charm, the now joint SID/DCU expedition shuffles around in cars once again. Despite their destination being allegedly twenty kilometres (or about 12.5 miles) out of town, it takes them a whole day to reach it. Who knows, maybe the Seastar’s measuring units are different.

This time, it is Lin Jing driving, with Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan having relocated to the back. We see that Zhao Yunlan has got a cold again - which could theoretically be from being so close to the hallows. He sneezes, and Shen Wei microexpressively overreacts.

Then, Zhao Yunlan unceremoniously arranges a pillow on Shen Wei’s shoulder and settles in for a nap. Does he remember napping on Shen Wei’s shoulder a few nights prior to that? Because he might do, considering how comfortable he feels with this casual close contact.

After a momentary panic, and a comment about flu meds, Shen Wei not only lets Zhao Yunlan do it, but also rearranges his pillow several times to make it more comfortable for the other man. I have no hot takes on this apart from just... those two. I love those two. How are they so adorable.

The car enters CGI fog, and promptly get stuck. To make matters worse, Lin Jing says he does not have a phone signal and asks Shen Wei to check his phone. “He does not have a mobile phone”, deadpans Zhao Yunlan before Shen Wei even opens his mouth.

Finally, Zhao Yunlan’s head vacates Shen Wei’s shoulder, and the professor leaves the car to scout the area. Jiajia tries to follow, but Zhao Yunlan dissuades her and goes after Shen Wei himself, catching up just as the other man is starting to scry the surroundings with his powers.

Zhao Yunlan enters the scene quoting poetry to highlight the beauty of their current location.

Shen Wei instantly tries to send him back: partly to continue using his dark energy, and partly, perhaps, out of genuine worry. In response Zhao Yunlan notes that Shen Wei is the only one who can order him around. This is not all done in cheek: it’s actually kind of true. Even before finding out that Shen Wei is powerful and ancient, and imposing, Zhao Yunlan is readily listening to him, and following his lead.

As a precursor to returning to the car, Zhao Yunlan takes his jacket off and drapes it over Shen Wei’s shoulders, despite the other man’s loud protestations. Again, Yunlan has got a cold, and he is visibly filling the chill air later in the scene. He has no way of knowing that this jacket will become a catalyst for his suspicions about Shen Wei’s alter ego, so there can’t be any other reason for him forcing his jacket onto the other man apart from a desire to make sure he is warm and comfortable.

Shen Wei stares at Zhao Yunlan in absolute wonder.

It is easy to believe that the idea of someone wanting to look after him is foreign no Shen Wei: we know from the text of the show that before Kunlun no one has shown him any consideration, and seeing Shen Wei now, it is not difficult to imagine, heartbreaking as it is, that no one has done it since.

Jiajia’s scream cuts through the air, interrupting the scene. As the two men take off in the direction of the sound, Shen Wei grabs Zhao Yunlan by the elbow as they run out of the shot.

When they rejoin Jiajia and Lin Jing, she girl stammers a few words about ghostly presence that she witnessed, and Lin Jing confirms her words, sharing his knowledge about ghosts seen in this area. Zhao Yunlan reprimands him for speeding feudalistic and superstitious concepts. Just remember that their HR manager literally is a semi-corporeal dead woman. This line is such a blatant and somewhat tongue-in-cheek appeasal of the censorship, that it sounds delightfully silly.

The group finally reach the remote village they were heading to. As everyone files out of the cars, they notice a strange looking crow nearby - clearly Ya Qing is checking in on them. Lin Jing proceeds to tease Xiao Guo, saying the young man in unlucky. Chu Shuzhi is looking disapprovingly at this comment, but it’s actually Zhu Hong who shuts it down. She does use this excuse to make an impolite jab at Shen Wei, noting that the misfortunes are someone else’s fault, while looking at her romantic rival from the corner of her eye.

Shen Wei graces the screen with another one of his “why does the snake woman hate me?” faces. 

It’s quite amusing that as the group starts walking towards the guesthouse, Zhao Yunlan sends his people off while he himself deliberately lingers in place, so he can walk with Shen Wei, sneaking a hand across the professor’s back. 

Just as the company enters the premises of the guesthouse, they find a human skull. Of course they do. But the reason I am including this here is to point out that Shen Wei’s reaction is to cover Jiajia’s eyes. Zhu Yilong does not do it in all of the takes used in the scene, which indicates to me that this is an in the moment acting choice. 

Shen Wei then leads his students away to give the SID a chance to investigate. While Lin Jing and Zhao Yunlan do just that, Wang Zheng sinks to her knees and starts praying to comfort spirits of her ancestors. Hilariously, this goes unnoticed for a while.

After completing some preliminary checks on the skull, Zhao Yunlan suggests they park the investigation for the night, citing that he does not want students and their teacher to get ill as the reason for doing so. Da Qing notes that this is more considerations than he shows his subordinates. I don’t think he means it, but it’s a lovely little jab at Zhao Yunlan’s unmistakable crush.

Inside the house, everyone settles in to hear Wang Zheng’s tale of the Hanga tribe. What follows is an massive exposition dump. She sets up as “some things she heard from rumours”, but considering how forlorn she is throughout this tale - and that she was praying earlier - it is pretty obvious that she is of the Hanga tribe herself.

Again, I love the blocking here. Zhu Hong is keeping her shoulder in front of Wang Zheng, protecting her from the strangers (and Shen Wei) that they are sharing the table with. Zhao Yunlan and Da Qing are watching from afar, and Chu Shizhu is perching above them on the stairs. The composition is easy on the eye, and implies that the SID men are ready to protect those at the table from all directions.

Soon, they are interrupted by a villager pretending to be a ghost, and a reluctant village head explains that the outsides may not be welcomed because there has been a murder here in the recent days. Zhao Yunlan and Zhu Hong leave to investigate the crime scene. As they do so, Zhao Yunlan catches the woman gazing upon him in adoration, and freezes uncomfortably, for a second before laughing it off.

He should really force himself to have an uncomfortable conversation with her, but he won’t do it until pushed.

In the meanwhile, Zhu Jiu is having more luck riling the actual ghosts up than he did with the Youchu. After some hesitation - and some baseless threats from our unfortunate villain - the Hanga tribesmen launch an attack against the guesthouse.

Just to note: their masks don’t look anything like the masks Wang Zheng drew. Considering that the guesthouse parts of the episode was likely to have been shot together, I don’t see any explanation for this as it pertains to production.

Chu Shuzhi and Xiao Guo leap into action to fight the ghosts - and the young man actually successfully fends one of them off. They are soon joined by Lin Jing, who leaves Shen Wei in charge of looking after the students and Wang Zheng inside the house. The ghost woman energy being asks to be let outside because she guesses correctly that the ghostly warriors are here for her, but Shen Wei refuses to let her go. The reason he states for denying her is that “Zhao Yunlan would never agree to it.” He knows that the other man would never put his crew in danger - and adopts the same attitude.

Shortly after, Zhu Hong and Zhao Yunlan arrive on the scene.

Here we see for the first time Zhao Yunlan’s painful flashback to his mother’s death, followed by him freezing with the gun in his hand. Zhu Hong does save the way by snatching the weapon away from him and firing it, but she also goes on full offensive afterwards, berating the man. Hers is not a kind response at all, and this type of a reaction is likely to be the reason Zhao Yunlan has not felt comfortable talking about his tragic past, perhaps even seeing it as something to be ashamed of.

After the ghosts disappear, Zhao Yunlan stays outside with his team, and uses the Dial in attempt to locate the other ancient item which he knows is somewhere close.

Shen Wei, on the other hand, tells Wang Zheng about the totem hidden in a cave, and asks her for any information on the matter.

His interrogation does not get him anywhere, but he does get suspicious enough to refrain him from drinking the drugged water she offers everyone present in the very next scene.

It is clear from this shot that after toasting with warm water, everyone goes to down their cups - apart from Wang Zheng and Shen Wei, who lock eyes over their cups for the second.

Having escaped her protectors in the night, Wang Zheng heard towards the cave in which Sang Zan’s spirit is kept, Zhu Jiu hot on her heals, and we witness the first of many flashbacks to her life and death.

Next up, Episode 10: Death By a Thousand Flashbacks.

—

Notes.

The next post here will actually be some thoughts on the Lost Tomb Reboot which I have spent this Easter Weekend binging. And if this post is more Zhu Yilong-centric than usual, this would also be why.

Inside My Mind [M]

➜ Words: 19.2k

➜ Genres: 50% Fluff, 50% Smut, High School!AU

➜ Summary: You're safe in the confines of your mind. Free to think whatever, free to fantasize to your heart's content. And your imagination tends to quite a wild turn when you’re dying from sheer boredom. But when some GUY IN YOUR CLASS CAN FUCKING READ MINDS - YOU'RE NOT SAFE ANYMORE! WHAT THE FUCKSKDKASDFGHJKL—

➜ Warnings: semi-public sex, attempts at dirty talk, consenting minors engaging in sexual actives with each other, first-time sex, brief depiction of tone-deaf sexual education that doesn’t do shit.

You’re safe in the depths of your own mind.   No one knows what you’re thinking — they can’t tell when you have a constant poker face and the only change in your features is the way your brows furrow in concentration every so often.   But if the teacher and your classmates knew what was going inside your brain, they’d be aware that you were bored out of your goddamn mind.   “Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear. So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, as yonder lady o’er her fellows shows. What does this mean? Flip to the page fifty eight and the modern translation is her beauty is too good for this world; she’s too beautiful to die and be buried. She outshines the other women like a white dove in the middle of a flock of crows. Now with the critical analysis of this soliloquy, we can deduct—”   You’re drowsy. Sleepy. Your eyelids are heavy and you feel yourself losing consciousness, head beginning to dip slightly. Everyone else seems to be dulled from the lesson like you, but none are asleep and the last thing you want is to fall out of your chair and draw attention to yourself.   So you try jostling your leg. But after a moment, it doesn’t dispel the seduction of sleep. You resort to pinching yourself, but it doesn’t work either. So you go to your last resort, allowing your mind to wander, pulling yourself away from reality….   You imagine someone crawling underneath your desk. Their rough hand tapping up your thigh, shoving your skirt up before carefully pulling your underwear down. This faceless person’s hot breath would skim against your leaking cunt and you’d feel their soft lips right on your flesh.   “You like this?” They’d chuckle lowly, vibrations traveling through your skin. “Eating you out in the middle of class like this. What a bad girl. It’s disgusting. What if they see, hmm?”   You envision them beginning to eat you out, face pulled up on your slit. Their tongue would penetrate through your hole and you’d clench around them. You’d grab their hair, sinking your fingers through their strands, pushing them closer to you while throwing your own head back to moan.    These fantasies make you wide awake again and no one can even tell you’re not paying attention.   //   The lunch bell rings and you’re finally dismissed from class, freed from the horribly dull lesson.   You’re one of the last to leave the classroom, taking your time and humming while walking out by yourself. But your mind is still reeling from your most recent conjured up fantasy. You’re still thinking about the way this faceless person would lick you up, from the bottom of your slit all the way to your clit. Their tongue would swirl around your folds, eyes glancing up to look at your fucked out expression, their tiny chuckles that would vibrate through your body and make your core clench—   Wide eyes shock you back to reality.   You go crumbling back to the ground, head out of the clouds.   Someone’s stopped in the middle of the hallway, blocking your path.   They’ve whirled their head around.   The dark-haired boy in thick rimmed spectacles looks at you in unadulterated horror and mortification, brown eyes locked into yours. The pair of you stare at each other. Colour drains from his face, lips parted, jaw dropped. It’s almost as if you have said your thoughts out loud for him to hear…   “Namjoon!”   His friend calls out his name, breaking the private bubble between you two. He runs up to him and quickly takes a glimpse of you. You don’t waste a second to step aside, moving out of the way and walking by them.    “Who’s that?” Jinyoung asks, eyes following your backside.   Namjoon answers after a delayed beat. “Y/N.”   “Huh.” His friend frowns. “Never heard of her. Anyways, what did you think of—”   Kim Namjoon is a smart, quiet individual. You’ve known him since sixth grade, but you’ve only spoken a few sentences to him at best when you were forcibly paired up by teachers for group projects. You don’t remember much about him. Only enough to recognize his face.    He’s an outsider….much like you are.   People think you’re a pleasant, hardworking, studious girl who’s compliant and no-nonsense. At least that’s your exterior. The type to live a quiet life and die quietly without contributing much to society. And you like that image — it’s not too far from the truth. But more importantly, it protects the true thoughts brewing inside your head.   But as you walk away, you can’t help glancing behind, over your shoulder towards the boy.   He’s weird. And you can’t remember what you were even thinking about anymore.   //   Against your will, you begin to notice Kim Namjoon.   You share biology and health class together; he sits a few rows away from you by the wall. And your eyes can’t help but stray off to him constantly. It’s just strange. You can’t stop your fixation about the way he looked at you, brown eyes shocked and scandalized, cheeks coloured in pink embarrassment.   It’s suspicious.   The teacher drones on and on about how the myelin sheath deteriorates and the gears of your brain start turning in sheer boredom. You glance at Namjoon’s profile from meters away before you look over to the door, envisioning someone striding in, disregarding the teacher completely.   They’d march up to your desk and pull you up by your arm until you’re standing on your feet. You imagine being pulled in, your crotch pressed to theirs. Your mouth would be devoured by their probing tongue. You’d whine at the back of your throat, grabbing onto their shoulders until they’d grunt back, having enough of it and whirling you around.    You imagine being bent over your desk, underwear pushed aside and thick fingers mercilessly shoving into your cunt. They’d curl up their knuckles and you’d cry out, grabbing the edge of your desk, notebooks and pencil cases tumbling to the ground. They’d poke and prod, pulling their fingers out to plunge them back in again, collecting your slick between their fingertips.    “You like that? Look. You’re leaking all onto the floor.”   Your fantasies continue.   For the rest of class, you continue to daydream, head in the clouds without anyone noticing.   The bell eventually rings. The students are dismissed.   As you leave, your eyes stray off to Namjoon again. He’s still sitting in his desk, unmoving. And again, there’s that horrified expression on his face. He’s red from his chin to his forehead, refusing to meet your eye even when you’re blatantly staring. More importantly, there’s something weird poking out in his lap and as you pass, he covers it up with his backpack.   Weird.   There’s something not right about this and you’re sure you’re not imagining this.    You’ve made your observation. You’ve created a question. You’ve formed a hypothesis and as outrageous as it is, it’s the best educated guess you got. And for the rest of the week, you conduct your experiment and collect the data through examining him afterwards.   When Monday arrives, you waltz to biology class, stealing a seat directly behind the guy.   Class hasn’t started, each person is still getting settled down. You prop your elbow on the desk, cheek rested in your hand as you stare at the back of his head. The strands of his hair are poking in different directions — you wonder if it’s bed head — you also spot a few moles on the nape of his neck and your eyes trace them, drawing lines like you’re making constellations.   There’s no way, but there’s no other explanation.   With a deep breath, you test your theory.   Namjoon.   He turns around. “What?”   The corner of your mouth tugs into a discreet smirk. You weren’t wrong.    His eyes widen, nearly falling out of their sockets and his jaw goes slack. He knows you’ve caught him red-handed.   But you merely shake your head, going expressionless and you stare back at him. “I didn’t call you.”   You didn’t. You thought his name.   It shouldn’t be possible, but rather than being shocked or confused, you’re excited that your hypothesis was correct after all. It’s crazy and wild, but you were right!   “Y/N—”   “Alright, alright, kids. Settle down. We have a lot to get through today. Your midterms are in three weeks and we’re slightly behind the other class…” The teacher interrupts and he’s forced to turn back around and pay attention.   For the rest of class, you think of nothing, simply paying attention to the best of your abilities despite becoming more and more drowsy.   By the time everyone’s dismissed again, Kim Namjoon whirls himself around fast enough to get whiplash and he grabs your wrist before you can flee. “C-Can I talk to you?”   //   The two of you end up at the back of the school, standing on the dead grass beside the spray painted wall. It’s a place where love confessions happen or fights are scheduled. You’re pretty sure he’s going to do neither — no one has crushes on you and while the guy is taller and broader than you are, you doubt he would try to beat you to a pulp. Probably.   “H-how did you figure it out?”   Namjoon’s a nervous mess, pushing his dirty glasses up the slope of his nose. It slumps down again, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s sweating buckets, swallowing hard, panicked.   You shrug. “I just did.” You don’t want to talk about your fantasies out loud and how you caught the look on his face. You’re more interested in this skill of his, curiosity piqued. “So it’s true then? You can read minds?”   The boy’s trying his best to explain himself. “I-...I was born with this ability. It...it skips a generation in my family and I was the one to get it. I’ve always had it. D-don’t tell anyone. No one else knows and I don’t want to be part of an experiment.”   Like the one you did on him, except you imagine a proper experiment might be worse. NASA would probably strap him to a table and pull apart his brain to see what’s going on.   You get his fears and he seems to read your mind, becoming relieved at your thoughts. “Sorry for putting you through my experiment.” You step closer, invading his personal space without realizing. “But can you really do it? It’s just a bit hard for me to believe. What am I thinking about right now?”   He stumbles back a step, uncomfortable. “Me.”   It’s obvious, so you envision a string of numbers inside your head. “What number am I thinking about?”   “One thousand five hundred sixty four.”   Your mouth draws open. “What an—”   “Horses.”   “What—”   “Blue.”   “Shit!” You’re grinning, arms in the air, unable to contain how impressed and excited you are. “This is so cool! Why didn’t I know about this before?!”   A timid smile pulls onto his cheeks. “I mean we don’t really talk—”   “Oh my god.” Your expression washes over to a deadpan, lips pressing together. “Do you get good grades because you cheat on tests?”   “I mean...I try...not to…”   “God, this is so unfair, but also,” you eye him up and down while stepping back, “really invasive.”   The boy swallows hard, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as he redirects his vision downwards to his shoes. “Sorry about that.”   You grimace, muttering, “d-don’t expose my thoughts….”   Namjoon becomes red in the face, knowing exactly what you’re referring to. “I won’t. I don’t think I’d even be able to say the things you think out loud.”   You scoff, crossing your arms and defending yourself. “It’s normal, you know, for people our age to be a bit….hormonal.”   “Alright,” he answers, but you can hear the skeptical tone. You’re a freak — it’s true, but you didn’t want anyone to know, Namjoon is most definitely not an exception to that either.    “Don’t reveal my secret and I won’t reveal yours. Deal?” you offer it up, negotiating and he nods, promising not to.   It’s cool that Namjoon can read minds, but you’re not sure what to do with this new information. You guess you have mixed feelings with the idea that your thoughts and fantasies are no longer safe, but it’s not like you two interact with each other much or even talk. It’s still exciting, but doesn’t change much of anything.   The pair of you part ways, returning to the strangers that you are.

That should be it.   You now know that he can read minds. He knows you’re a freak in disguise. A secret for a secret. There’s no reason for any more interaction or conversations to be exchanged. You both lead your own separate lives…   But while your mouth doesn’t physically make sounds towards him nor do your eyes stray onto him anymore, your mind travels far and wide.   In the middle of a school assembly, forced to stand there and listen to the principal speak, your brain begins to do what it does best — dreaming about fantasies that can’t be fulfilled in reality.   You imagine someone sneaking behind you, arms wrapping around your abdomen. They’d turn your head and force their tongue down your throat, claiming you as their own. Their hands would wander, from the skin of your stomach down to your navel and then past the band of your panties—   There’s a poke to your side, bringing you back to reality “Can you stop?” the person mutters out from the corner of their mouth in frustration.   You look over, finding Namjoon standing right beside you.   OH.   “It’s distracting,” he dips his head, whispering and trying to remain discreet, not drawing the attention of any teacher who would reprimand him for talking when he’s not supposed to.   You open your mouth to defend yourself, but then you remember he can hear your thoughts.   Get out of my head, Namjoon! Oh my god! What’s wrong with you?!   “I can’t,” he murmurs, looking straight forward to the principal who’s now talking about keeping the school as clean and environmentally friendly as possible. “You’re too close in my proximity.”   Luckily enough, most of your fantasies are of faceless people. Sometimes you fantasize about celebrities, but most often than not, you never discern a specific person, never dwelling on their facial details. But that still doesn’t make it any less mortifying.   When someone tells you to stop thinking about something, all you can do is think about it.   Falling onto the ground. Being pinned to the gymnasium floor. Being fucked roughly until screaming—   “Y/N.” Namjoon calls you louder this time, jabbing your side and several students turn around to see what’s going on. None of you move, looking straight ahead and they spin back around. After a moment of silence, he looks at you again. “Stop.”   I can’t! I can’t help it! I can’t contain it. I just...I’m too….horny.   “Oh my god.” Namjoon is flustered and he puts his hands into his pants pocket, shifting uncomfortably. “Can you please pay attention and listen or like...think about what you’re going to eat later for dinner?”   Fine. God. You’re annoying. You’re so annoying! Who told you to get into my head?! This is so embarrassing! I want to die. Oh my god. Get out of my brain! Get out! Get out!!   For the rest of the assembly, you’re insulting him and whining inside your mind, wishing the world would just swallow you whole or at least let you curl up into a ball of shame. It’s not your fault that you like to think about these things. It’s normal in fact. People act on their urges. At least you have enough self-restraint than them and you put on a better facade.   Why do you have to be punished for something out of your control?   //   It turns out you’re not safe anywhere.    Before all this, your fantasies would come occasionally when you were bored in class and your brain began wandering. But now that you knew your thoughts were exposed and you were trying your best not to think about it anymore, it’s inadvertently all you can think about.    It’s reverse psychology at its worst.   It especially becomes severe when Namjoon’s around, namely in biology and health class when you’re actively conscious of his presence. Even when he sits across the classroom from you, as far as he can physically get, every ten minutes, you see him turn in his seat to glare at you with bright pink cheeks.   “I can’t pay attention in class,” he mutters one day when he decides to sit next to you — apparently taking a seat here and far away makes zero difference to him.   “Look, my thoughts are my thoughts,” you harshly whisper, not letting anyone else eavesdrop lest their blood run cold as well. “Maybe you should try zoning me out instead. Didn’t you say you were born with...this? Shouldn’t you be good at ignoring people’s thoughts?”   You don’t understand. There were thirty kids around — you couldn’t be the only one bothering him.   “Yeah, but your thoughts are...different.” He’s frustrated, huffing out and pushing his glasses up. “Can’t you control your urges for an hour?”   For a moment, you forget he can read your mind.   When you remember again, you don’t say anything.   You think of your answer.   No.   But despite your annoyance and embarrassment, you try your best. And you do remain focused for the entire lesson, listening and taking diligent notes. When you get confused at a portion, frowning and erasing a few sentences, Namjoon leans over and passes you his notebook.    There’s a note in the corner that reads: he means protein, not lipids.   It clicks inside your brain and you pass it back to him, meeting his brown eyes. Thanks.   Namjoon smiles and you muse he isn’t such a bad guy….   It’s a thought that has his smile widening.   //   At the end of the day, you pack up your belongings, swinging the backpack over your shoulders to begin the trek home. It’s your usual routine, walking past the school gate, fiddling with your earbuds and listening to some music as you walk down the road. But the main difference of today is that you notice a certain someone is ahead of you, going in the same direction.   You rip out your headphones, quickening your pace to meet theirs. And the moment you get three meters away, he turns around, already hearing your thoughts.   What are you doing here?   “Taking the bus home,” Namjoon answers with a few blinks and when your next question appears, he elaborates, “I usually stay at school for a bit to finish some work.”   Oh. That makes sense. I never usually see you.   “Actually, I’ve seen you a few times...waiting for the bus….not on purpose. You just happen to be standing there.”   Huh. I guess I never noticed.   The boy syncs his steps into yours and he scratches the back of his neck, peeking at you quickly. “Y/N, c-can you talk out loud? It’s kind of weird to other people if I’m the only one talking to you and you’re saying nothing.”   “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” You nod, having gotten used to communicating through your mind. “Is it...weird to hear people’s thoughts all the time?”   “Yeah.” A tiny smile graces the boy’s lips, having never thought of encapsulating his ability in that one word that undermines yet explains everything he feels. “It’s weird. And really noisy.”   “Seems pretty cool though.”   “You’d think. But that’s until you know what’s going in people’s heads.” Namjoon releases a wistful sigh and steals a glance at you before shying away. You’re the only one who knows outside of his family and he seizes the moment to share a piece of his sadness, wanting someone to understand. He murmurs, “There’s a reason I’m not that close to anyone...”   You stare at him, not sure what to say. You never really thought about the repercussions — solely focusing on yourself and hating how he invaded your head. But for a split second, you see the pain etched onto his features. His ability might be more of a curse than a blessing.   “You’re not close to your family?” you ask. At this point, you’re sure there’s no such thing as boundaries or privacy between each other, no question or topic that’s off limits.   “Not really,” Namjoon admits casually and your heart aches for him, not knowing what to say. “I know what they really think of me.”   “Well a lot of people think things they don’t mean to say or do. Thoughts come and go. And we all get angry and upset sometimes. I’m sure your parents care about you. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t...be around, right?”   He smiles softly, knowing that you’re trying to comfort him. “Yeah, I guess. You’d be surprised though. A lot of people’s thoughts are bad and evil. Yours is just dirty.” Namjoon becomes shy, but he says it so bluntly almost like he doesn’t mind it so much anymore.   Your eyes immediately avert away from him, scoffing and trying not to burn up in shame.   The boy grins and he also looks ahead, down the road sparse of people. He continues, trying to ease the heaviness of the conversation, “Whelp, it’s not all that bad. I’m planning to go to MK National University, so…...yeah, I’ll be able to kind of get away for a while.”   “Oh. What do you want to do?”   “I don’t know yet. I’m thinking maybe their engineering program. I think I’m interested in civil engineering.” Namjoon nods and he seems more sure of himself than how he makes it out to be. It occurs to you how cute his awkwardness is, the way he’s kind of pure and sweet, how his uniform seems more stretched out than it’s supposed to be. But as fast as these thoughts flood into your system, you quickly nip them in the bud before he knows. “How about you?”   “I’ve actually been considering going to MKNU too. I think I want to go into a mathematics program.” You shrug. “But I have no idea what I’ll do with that degree yet. I just like math.”   Other clusters of kids around are talking about what they want to eat later, the latest hot gossip around school, what movies have come out, but here you and Namjoon are, being nerds. You’re sharing your love for math while talking about post secondary and the application process that most don’t even know about yet. It’s been a while since you’ve met someone as passionate about school as you are.   “That’s impressive. Doesn’t their mathematics program require an eighty five percent average?”   “Something like that. I don’t remember the exact number. Engineering’s not too far off, I think. But yeah, things would be okay if it wasn’t for biology dragging my entire mark down.” You exhale a lungful, lolling your head to one side while feeling death upon your shoulders. “I haven’t been really paying attention, so that doesn’t help. It’s just really boring to me.”   “Yeah. I can tell.” Namjoon laughs, a gentle sound that rings pleasantly into your ears. He refers to your distracting thoughts and before you can defend yourself, he says, “I can help you if you want. I get it. Mostly.”   You perk up, spine straightening, steps slowing as your eyes widen. “Really?”   “If you can help me with calculus,” he negotiates with a reserved smile. “There’s some differentiation questions that I’m kind of confused on.”   The boy already knows the answer before it’s come out of your mouth. It’s a deal of a lifetime after all and you’d jump oceans to take it. His smile widens yet again at your excitement.   Deal. “Deal! Sounds like a plan, Kim!”   //   The corner spot of the library is your usual place, chair and table positioned perfectly so you can see the entrance and you’ll be able to quickly look up and call him over when he comes. But for now, you pull out your textbook, notebooks and pencil case, flipping through the review book you printed out and seeing what questions you can answer on your own.   You become lost in your work, focused to the point of forgetting your surroundings, so you don’t see who’s approaching until they slide up right beside you.   “Hey. Seulgi, is it?”   Jung Hoseok has his elbows propped up on the table, cheek rested in his hand as he lazily smirks at you. His dark-hair is gelled back, small gold chain on top of his uniform that you’re sure is bought from ebay, top buttons of his shirt loose like his slacks. You are wholly unimpressed. “What? No.”   “Oh shit. Aren’t you in Mr. Jeon’s math class?”   “No.” You shake your head slowly, wondering why he’s talking to you. The guy doesn’t even know your name. He’s radiating off these sleazy vibes too that you don’t appreciate. You hope he leaves soon. “I’m in Mr. Min’s.”   “Shit.” He raises his hands, palms out like he’s being arrested. “My bad. Swore I’ve seen you before though.”   “Yeah. I go to school here,” you say in an exaggerated tone. You want to go back to work. He’s interrupted you rudely and you still don’t know what he wants with you. “Do you need something?”   “Did your class do those math worksheets?” He leans back. “I...uh...kinda forgot they were due today and was wondering if you could...help me out…”   You pause, annoyed beyond belief. But to outsiders, your meek exterior remains. People always think they can step on you, but it’s not like that at all. “Sorry. We didn’t get them,” you lie and fortunately, he can’t read your mind. Jung Hoseok doesn’t know that you got them two weeks ago, that you finished them a few days after and it’s sitting in your backpack right now.   “Oh, cool. But think you can help me—”   You stand abruptly.   A grin spreads into your face and you wave your arm towards the entrance, completely looking past the fuck boy that is Jung Hoseok.    “Namjoon!” Your shout is too loud for the silent space of the library, and a few turn around to stare. The librarian recognizes you and doesn’t mind the one time offense of being noisy.   The boy you’re signalling comes tottling over with his own smile, books in hand, backpack swinging on one shoulder, pushing his thick-rimmed glasses up the slope of his nose.    “I saved you a spot.” You motion across from you before glancing at Hoseok and shooing him away with an innocent question, “Are you moving?”   At the same time, someone weaves through the bookshelves. A tall, pretty female comes out and by her long black hair and shorter skirt; you recognize her as Krystal. She lolls her head to her shoulder. “Hey, Jay. Are we going or what?”   “Oh yeah. Hold up.” He gets up, tucks the chair in before the librarian yells at him. He throws an arm around the girl’s shoulder and as Namjoon gets settled down, the female looks at both you and him in equal disdain.   “Who did you talk to?” she murmurs, but you hear it loud and clear.   Hoseok shrugs, walking away. “Thought she was in my class.”   You and Namjoon are nobodies and while you don’t know how he feels about it or if he has an opinion at all, you personally like it that way. You enjoy being on the down low, living a discreet life and not drawing any unnecessary attention to yourself.   “Was he bothering you?” Namjoon pulls out his notebooks, stealing a peek at you.   A scoff is pulled out of your throat. “No. He just interrupted me in the middle of solving a question. Speaking of which, I don’t really get number nine. I’m really confused on the concept of trisomy and disomy and figuring out ploidy numbers. I don’t get how the answer can be b and not a.”   “Okay, wait.” He softly laughs, practically dumping his backpack out on the table in haste. “Let me get out the booklet first.”   The two of you study together, getting halfway through the booklet. Namjoon happily answers your questions and clears up any confusion you might have. While he waits for you to finish a question, he works on calculus homework that you’ve already completed and you help explain some things that he’s unsure about.   But as you continue working, the boringness of biology begins to submerge you. At some point, you become drowsier and your brain wanders against your will out of sheer boredom. You imagine being pushed against the bookshelves, uniform skirt pulled up, someone’s hand cupping over your mouth to muffle your sounds as they start to rub their crotch all over you, humping your ass—   “Y/N!” Namjoon shouts your name louder than he’s supposed to, shocked, and you come crashing down to reality. Some people turn around, startled, and they only return to their work when they realize nothing’s happening.   Sorry.   The boy sighs, red in the face. He shifts uncomfortably while you gingerly rub your thighs together beneath the table. A few seconds pass. He swallows hard, flipping through a few pages of his textbook and decides to speak his mind, whispers lowly, “Why...don’t you try porn?”   What? What do you mean? Like watching porn?   No one knows the private conversation that’s happening in the corner of the library. “Maybe that can...help with your situation, so you can feel less…..horny...all the time.”   Oh my god. Don’t say that word out loud!!! And you thought I haven’t tried?! I just...don’t like it. Most of the time, it goes too quickly and it’s too cringey and cliché and I’m not a fan of close ups of...genitalia. For your information, I’ve tried writing erotica too, but I couldn’t finish. I’ve tried, thank you very much.   You slump in your seat, cheeks warming as you admit these thoughts.   Namjoon nods, finding your arguments fair. He tries to search for a solution to your predicament. “Have you ever tried...you know….relieving yourself?”   Sometimes.   You remember those late nights after your parents have gone to bed. In the darkness of your bedroom, you like to put your soft pillow between your thighs and rock back and forth to release some tension in your body. You stifle the sounds with your blanket, but often times the pillow isn’t enough and your hands always go to your shorts, rubbing the spot that makes it feel good—   Namjoon’s hand suddenly propels forward, latching onto your wrist. He lowers his head until his forehead is practically pressed on the pages of his notebook, eyes unable to meet yours. “Can you please stop thinking about it?” he harshly whispers, begging you.   Immediately, you’re mortified.    You let the thoughts slip.   Namjoon knows how you get yourself off now.   I can’t help it!    You feel less like a teenager and more like a hyperactive rabbit in need of reproducing. These primitive urges overwhelm you and while you’ve restrained yourself in a physical manner, it’s difficult to get your thoughts in control as well. But you were supposed to be safe in your own head. Merely thinking and not acting was supposed to be good enough.    You think I’m not frustrated either?! I don’t need these distractions in my life, okay?! I’m just trying to get into uni. It’s your fault for reading my mind all the time. Can’t YOU just stop?!   “I can’t either,” he argues back, huffing with a frown.   It becomes silenced.   A grimace has permanently made its mark on your features. Your mechanical pencil digs roughly against the paper as you move to solve the next question and do the proper calculations. But it snaps with the force of your hand and you groan, pressing the end to bring out more lead.   You force yourself to focus and keep answering. But no matter what you do outwardly, Namjoon can still hear your internal self — he knows you’re angry with him, angry with yourself.   Five minutes pass before the boy can’t take it anymore. He lifts his chin and finds the furrow of your brows.    “Y/N.”   “What.” Your tone is short, curt, decorated with a slight pout. The corner of his mouth tickles, threatening to tug a bit.   Namjoon takes a deep breath to prepare himself. Unlike him, you can’t hear the thoughts in his mind. He has to physically say out the words. “What if I helped you?”   You raise your chin, locking your gaze with his, befuddled. “What?”   The boy in the gawky glasses, awkward movements and oversized uniform moves closer, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, whispering lowly in a rumbling timbre, “I mean….what if we get it done and over with. You know...get over our primitive needs. Then none of us need to ever think about it again.”   It’s like the pair of you are exchanging secrets under a blanket after building a secret fort together. You’re leaning over the table, nearly bent over and he’s moved his torso on top of the surface as well. But you still don’t get it, eyes blinking at him. “What are you talking about?”   “You know—” Namjoon doesn’t want to say it out loud. “—that one word. Three letters. Starts with an S. Ends with an X.”   Sex?! Your mind goes completely blank for a full three seconds. You. You want to have sex with me?   “No-...yes….I mean…” He’s embarrassed that you thought about it so bluntly. If only the passing librarian knew that the two studious students in her library were talking about having sexual intercourse and not biology or mathematics, she’d faint. “I think about it too sometimes and...a lot a-actually...yeah...it doesn’t have to be a big deal, is what I’m saying. I mean we can get it done and over with. Do it once and get it out of our system….”   You’re aware Namjoon isn’t acquainted with many girls. So this is a mutually beneficial agreement. A win-win.   It doesn’t sound like a terrible idea. Don’t you want to wait for someone special though?   “I-It doesn’t really matter to me,” he murmurs, stuttering and he’s fumbling with his words in a way you’ve never seen before. Somehow eloquent Namjoon has been reduced to the word ‘I mean’, repeating them over and over again as he shrivels up in shame. “And I mean...we’re friends. I mean, unless...unless y-you want to wait for someone special.”   I don’t think I have time to be with someone special. Of all the fantasies you have, you honestly can’t imagine getting into a relationship. You have your priorities and the idea of going on dates is kind of cringey and awkward. But what strikes you in his offer is that— We’re friends?   Namjoon’s face has gone red from his chin to his hairline. It’s endearing. And your thought makes the colour of his flushing skin deepen in hue. “I thought we were.”   No...we are. But you’re about to become friends with benefits instead of normal platonic friends.   “Do it once and get it out of your system?” you verbalize your words, making sure that you have it right.   “Yeah, what do you think?” Namjoon searches your expression carefully.   It’s not a bad proposition. Very realistic and maybe even responsible of you. Do it once and you can set your mind straight. You’ll be able to focus on what really matters and no longer have these futile delusions. Considering he has no experience like you, it’ll probably suck and that’s not such a bad thing either — your fantasies can stop after you’ve gotten a taste of reality.   You don’t think of anything. You don’t say anything either.   You simply nod. Agreeing.   //   The house is silent — for the most part. There are noises of thumping from above, footsteps thundering on the carpet that interrupt the otherwise quiet study session. Paper, notebooks, textbooks and worksheets are sprawled all over the table with pencils and erasers. You’re working hard on memorizing diagrams while the person across from you is pressing chains of numbers into their calculator.   No sooner does your mom come prancing down the stairs, bag slung over her shoulder. “Y/N? I’m going to wor—...who is this?” She stops mid-step despite being late, eyes growing wide at the strange boy sitting at her dinner table.   “Hmm?” You lift your head from your notes, playing it off nonchalantly. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. But, this is Namjoon. He’s a classmate. We’re just doing some biology review together since there’s a midterm coming up.”   “Hello.” Namjoon gives a polite smile like a picture perfect son. “Nice to meet you.”   “Kim Namjoon?” she questions, tipping her head to the side.    Your brows raise. “You know him?”   “Yes! I used to be close to your mother when you were in sixth grade and there was that school bake sale with Y/N and a whole bunch of other kids.” Her stern and defensive expression melts into a soft look, smile adorning her face. “I almost didn’t recognize you! My goodness, you’ve grown up so much! I remember when you were only this tall.” Her hand comes up to about her waist.    “You always wore this blue Mickey Mouse hoodie around and you loved dinosaurs. I haven’t spoken to your mom in so long. Is she doing well?”   “Yeah, she’s good.” He smiles, happy that his eleven-year old self made such a lasting impression.   “Mom, aren’t you late for work?” You twist yourself all the way around, trying to get her to leave. She was embarrassing you and Namjoon knows — it makes him grin.   Your mother is reminded and she whips her neck around to the clock then quickly moves to the foyer, grabbing her car keys and slipping on her shoes. In her rushing circumstances, she doesn’t even take a moment to consider the repercussions of leaving a teenage boy inside her house alone with her daughter. After all, he’s sweetheart Namjoon — what could he possibly do to you?   “Right! I should get going. Your dad’s home in a few hours! If you get hungry, there’s food in the fridge and pizza in the freezer! Go heat some up for Namjoon. It’s not everyday that we have guests, so we shouldn’t leave them hungry!”   “Got it. Bye!”   The door slams shut and you turn back around with a sigh. “Sorry about that.”   “It’s okay.” He returns to his work, finishing up with a question.   There’s an extended pause, the sounds of pencil scratching the paper filling the silence before you ask, “What does she think?” You’re curious, wondering if she suspects anything at all.   “She thinks I’m sweet.” Namjoon grins and you realize he has slight dimples in his cheeks when he does so. “And she’s glad you have a friend.”   You scoff. Too bad your mom doesn’t know that this sweet boy she remembers as a sixth grader is about to fuck her daughter. The thought has Namjoon choking on air, sputtering on his spit, but neither of you say anything out loud, focusing on finishing up instead.   In the next twenty minutes, you shut your textbook. Done.   There’s only one thing left to do before he’s on his way.   “Should we—….”   “Yeah, I think we should…”   It’s time to learn some real biology.   “Okay.” You stand, showing him to your bedroom and he picks up his backpack along the way. “You got the goods?”   “I got some goods that’ll help, I think. When’s your dad coming back by the way? I really...don’t want to be killed.”   “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. We got like...three hours. But I doubt it’ll take that long.” More like three minutes.   “Hey.” He gives you a look, pouting.   You’re sheepish. Sorry.   Namjoon enters your room while you apologize for it being so messy. You had actually cleaned it up and one read of your brain, he knows you tried hard and tells you it’s fine with a smile. He takes in the space of your bedroom, realizing it smells like you and he lingers awkwardly, not sure what protocol is. The only female bedroom he’s ever been in was his older sister’s and this was definitely not the same.   He ends up following your lead, sitting beside you on your bed, right at the edge of your mattress. “So…”   “What first?”   “I don’t know.”   It’s terribly, terribly awkward. You begin to second guess everything in your life that led up to this point, but you quickly calm your nerves and after some discussion, Namjoon ends up leaning against the headboard and you’re sitting in his lap stiffly, hovering over his thighs.   “You can sit down properly. You won’t crush me or anything, so don’t worry about it.”   “Okay.” But you’re still tense in his lap.    Namjoon keeps his hands to himself, arms right by his side. He gulps and clears his throat. “We should probably kiss...right?”   “Right. Um...have you kissed anyone before?”   “No. You?”   “Once,” you answer. “I think in Kindergarten while lining up for the water fountain, this kid turned around and our mouths kind of...hit each other.”   “So no then.” He laughs and the sound eases your nerves a little. He swallows a mouthful of spit and his eyes flicker down to your lips for a second before going back into your eyes. “You wanna?”   “I guess.” You shrug. “If we’re going to do it, might as well kiss. C-can I take this off though?”   Namjoon nods and you carefully slide his thick-rimmed glasses off his face, leaning over to set them on the nightstand by your lamp. With a deep breath, you settle yourself back down onto his thighs, psyching yourself up. Okay, okay. You can do this. You can do this. It’s not a big deal.    “You don’t have to be nervous,” he whispers and you nod. “Is it okay if we….”   “Yeah. Just do it.”   “Well...y-you should close your eyes.”   “S-sounds good.” You shut your eyes tight, hands curled into fists and breath hitching in your nose. When it takes too long, you begin to move forward. Unbeknownst to you, Namjoon is stealing a moment to stare at you, your features, lashes, lips, how your face is cutely scrunched up. He smiles and subdues his own nervousness, fluttering his eyes closed, leaning forward.   The boy tilts his head slightly to the left and he misses. Namjoon ends up at the corner of your mouth, near your cheek and when he realizes, he positions himself and finally, your lips graze.   You keep your mouth sealed tight like a toddler who doesn’t want to be fed carrots. He presses against your lips lightly and you muse how plush it feels.   Namjoon moves away after three seconds and you exhale, lids opening. “Like that?”   “I think so. M-maybe...more though.”   “More like how?” He frowns, not understanding and you stutter, unable to speak.   “U-Umm…” Longer? Maybe open our mouths? Don’t they french kiss in the movies? Aren’t tongues supposed to touch or something? Or is that gross? I don’t know.   Luckily for you, nothing needs to be said. Namjoon can read your chaotic thoughts and he goes ahead, trying one more time. He goes slowly enough that it gives you enough time to close your eyes again and he presses against your mouth, a bit harder and for longer. This time, it’s not just a graze.    His nose bumps into yours and you help him by tilting your own head. It’s soft, Namjoon landing multiple pecks on your lips as if he’s trying to kiss a boo-boo away. It tastes like moisturizing chapstick, waxy and a hint of vanilla.   You finally breathe once you can’t hold your breath any longer. In the meanwhile, his hands come up to gingerly hold your cheeks, palms cupping your skin, keeping you in place. You feel your body begin to relax, muscles no longer seizing and you settle more into his lap, feeling something weird poke at you from underneath.   You’re unable to pinpoint it when he pulls away. “Better?”   “Y-Yeah…..that was better. I think….we should try again…just to make sure we got it right.”   “Yeah...okay...alright.”   It’s more intimate than you expected. You never imagined being this close to Namjoon to the point where you can feel his own body heat, have his warm breath tickle your skin, count his lashes, see the crevices of his dimples. But you don’t get to dwell at how awkward this all is when he goes in for a third round.   This time, your lips are parted and his are too. It’s less tense and uncomfortable and the boy has gained more confidence, tiling his head at a better angle. He kisses you, locking your mouths together and as you exhale, he inhales. You don’t realize your hands have lifted to the back of his neck and how he’s pulled you closer onto his lap.    Namjoon pushes harder. It’s sloppy, but also eager and more curious. His tongue prods at the seams of your lips and it draws a noise at the back of your throat. He hums back, vibrations pleasant. It’s warm, slobbery and wet with spit. With the two of you inexperienced, you’re sure this isn’t exactly right. It’s weird.   But also not bad.   He breaks away after a minute or so and you use the back of your hand to wipe your mouth that’s wet with his saliva. Namjoon takes one look at you, reads your thoughts and smiles, glad that it wasn’t too atrocious.   “W-what now?”   “I mean….do you wanna take off your clothes?”   “Uhhh…..”   “We don’t have to. I mean….we only need to take off our pants and underwear. I’m fine with anything if you’re fine with anything. W-we can stop if you want. N-no pressure.”   “Um….I’m fine with taking off our pants.” And our underwear.   “Got it.” Namjoon stands, fumbling with his pants, hands trembling, and you look away, slipping off your own before deciding to just go for it and taking off your panties with it. You’re surprisingly slick, crotch area of your underwear ruined and you push it off your bed to deal with later. “I got some stuff.”   He digs into his backpack, coming out with three condoms and a bottle of aloe vera gel. You eye it and he explains, “It’s supposed to be a lubricant...so you don’t get hurt…”   “Can that go up my….coochie?” The last thing you want is to get an infection because of some boy or worse, go to the ER. You wouldn’t know how to explain that to your parents.   “Don’t worry. I googled it.”   “You’re prepared, Kim,” you banter, making for a more light-hearted atmosphere. He grins and you keep your eyes trained on his, refusing to look down to his pants-less legs and crotch area.   But he knows what you’re doing and becomes insecure by your refusal to look, cheeks becoming warm. “You don’t have to be scared. It won’t hurt you or anything. Do...you want to try touching it?”   For fear of creating a misunderstanding, you brace yourself and look down. Namjoon’s cock is completely hard, red and somewhat curved, a clear liquid oozing from the tip. It looks like a deformed sausage for lack of a better term, but also not so much. While it’s not the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen, it’s an intimidating, good five inches. “S-sure.”   Your hand reaches out, circling around his member lightly. It’s not as hard as you thought it would be, skin kind of soft and fleshy. He laughs, asking you what you imagined it to be like and you shrug. Curious, you try giving it a squeeze and immediately, Namjoon tenses. You look up at him, gauging his reaction. “Does that feel good?”   “Uh-huh.” He nods, releasing a held breath.   Suddenly, you feel a surge of power ricocheting through your veins. His prized possession was in your hands. You have the ability to bring him to pleasure or make him suffer. The ideas swirling inside your head makes him swat your hand away, a bit scared. You grin at him, stifling back a laugh without knowing just how you were riling him up. Namjoon tries to calm himself down before he busts all over his legs, standing in the middle of your room.   Luckily, his dick is not as obscene as other dicks are in porn videos. And you don’t feel disgusted, per say. You just don’t know how that’s supposed to go inside of you. There’s no way.   “It’s not that big. Average actually. It’ll probably fit,” he reassures you. “Ummm….you can lay back if you want.”   “Okay.” You feel comfortable enough around Namjoon to get on your back, head plopping down on your pillow and your hands gathered at your stomach like you’re about to be lowered into your grave — something you’re pretty sure is not off the mark.   Namjoon makes no comment on your metaphor, grabbing the bottle and condoms and climbing onto your bed, sitting back on his knees. “D-do you want me to….do o-oral on you?”   The thought of his mouth on your private parts makes you flinch, worried about a hundred different things, if you smell bad, if you’ll taste bad. The onslaught of concerns makes him blink hard, caught off guard. “I don’t have to. I don’t mind...about anything, so you don’t have to worry.”   “Maybe later,” you mutter and he nods.   “Then should we…?”   “Yeah. Go for it.”   This was unlike all your fantasies — this was very real.   You were beginning to get super nervous, more so than before. And Namjoon doesn’t seem as composed as he makes himself out to be. He nearly drops the bottle of aloe vera, but manages to get it open and squeezes a generous amount on his hands. “Can I—”   “Sure. Go ahead. You’re going to have to eventually touch it, right?” you laugh stiffly, trying to play it off and he nods. Namjoon shuffles forward, swallowing hard. His other hand gently touches your propped up leg and slowly, he spreads your thighs.    He seems to stop for a moment, staring at your pussy and you feel an urge to cover your face up with your hands. The boy says nothing and simply begins to rub the lubricant all over your folds. You jolt at the foreign sensation, of someone’s hands on your body, and he instantly stops.    “It’s cold.”   “Oh. Umm..”   “It’s fine. Just keep going.”   “Yeah, okay.” Namjoon squeezes the bottle again, getting a handful and he rubs his cock up and down, body shivering as he does so. He halts after two strokes and returns to dumping half of the aloe vera into his hands.    You shiver as his fingers touch against your slit, how he rubs up and down, everywhere he can get his hands to. It makes you feel hot inside and out. But he puts so much on that it’s beginning to feel more like he’s trying to frost a cake than touch you. “That’s...a lot, Namjoon.”   “I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he insists in concern and makes sure to get the aloe all over your pussy to the point where you don’t even need your own slickness, pink slit covered with a thick layer of transparent gel. “Okay, I think that’s good.”   “Wait. Don’t you need to put on your condom?”   “R-right, almost forgot about that.”   “That’s a really important step,” you giggle and watch as he fumbles with the condom package.    Ten seconds and he still can’t rip it open. It’s excruciating, so you prop yourself up by your elbows, taking it from him. “Sorry. It’s the aloe. It made my hands really sticky.”   “It’s okay.” You hold yourself back from laughing, but it spills past and he begins laughing too, running a hand through his hair and accidentally getting gel in it. It makes you laugh harder and you finally get the package open. “Wait, aren’t we supposed to roll it on?”   “I think so.”   “Do you know how to put on a condom?”   “No. Do you?”   “How would I know?”   “Well, I don’t.” You try to help him roll the condom onto his cock. With Namjoon’s sticky hands and your inexperience, it’s an absolute mess. The pair of you are gathered together, fumbling with his dick, trying to get it on like you’re attempting to make balloon animals. “Wait, let me pinch it. I don’t want you to accidentally pinch my foreskin!”   You burst out into laughter and he laughs too. “Oh my god! I’m not going to pinch your foreskin!”   “We never know what could happen!” he argues back lightheartedly and manages. “There.” But before Namjoon crawls over, he dumps the rest of the bottle of aloe onto his condom, dousing it from the tip to where his hair is like it’s free fondue.    Lo and behold, after twenty minutes of poorly attempted foreplay and a lot of lubricant-applying, he’s finally between your thighs, positioning himself….or at least trying to.   You lift your head slightly to look at him. “Maybe we should stop and go watch a tutorial.”   “No, it’s fine. It’s just...a lot lower than I expected.”   “Where did you think it was going to be?”   “I don’t know. Higher up. Here, I think I got it.”   “Wrong hole, Namjoon!” you shriek and he stops, apologizing a thousand times. This was going horrifically, but also extremely hilariously. You have mixed feelings in general, but your thoughts begin to quiet down when he finds your hole, spreading your folds enough that his single finger can enter. You shiver, feeling weirded out by it.    It was more like an examination than anything sexual, but you don’t dwell.   “Okay….I think I got the tip in place. Ready?”   You nod. “Go for it.”   It’s slippery, so much lubricant that you his cock brushes back and forth until it finds its place and you barely feel any rough intrusion. Instead, it slides in smoothly and you inhale a sharp breath, flinching upwards. It’s a strange discomfort in your gut. It burns and feels like someone stuck a medical instrument into your intestines. Huh.   Namjoon, on the other hand, is having a very different experience.   He’s shaking above you, eyes shut tight, unable to read your mind when he’s beginning to break into a sweat. He stops halfway and forces himself to look at you. “D-does it hurt?”   “N-not really. Kind of uncomfortable.”   “Want me to stop?”   “No, it’s okay. You can keep going.”   “F-fuck,” he curses and obliges, moving all the way in until he’s balls deep and your knees are bent, thighs parted by his sticky hands. It’s weird, but you’re glad he’s having a good time. “I don’t think I’m going to last long. You’re so warm and t-tight…”   “It’s okay. Knock yourself out.”   “You sure it doesn’t hurt?”   “I’m good. You dumped that bottle on me, so...yeah…”   Namjoon nods, unable to get anything out but a groan when you squeeze around him. He chokes on air and at your approval, goes in for a thrust. He moves his hips back and then yanks forward, eager and excited. It burns and you flinch, not sure if it hurts or doesn’t. This isn’t as amazing as you thought it would be — quite un-life changing actually. If anything, you were more turned on by how much Namjoon was turned on.   You just wish he kissed you again. You liked that.   The second the thought crosses your brain, Namjoon leans forward, seizing your lips with his own and fulfilling your desire. You moan against his mouth, tongue taken by his in a sloppy yet earnest matter that has your belly tickling and fluttering, chest warming up. It feels nice, you decide. And your core clenches, lower stomach tightening.   Namjoon chases after the way your warm pussy tightly hugs around his covered cock, thrusting once and he cums without warning. He merely groans against your mouth and you hug him close to your body, feeling the way he breathes heavily, the way he moans lowly. It takes a good five seconds and then he’s slumping over your body, weight heavy but comforting like a blanket.   “S-sorry…” Namjoon apologizes the second he comes to his senses.   His breath tickles your neck and you smile, running your hand through his hair. “It’s okay. I’m glad you had a good time. It wasn’t too bad for me.”   Namjoon rolls over, slipping out of you. But before you can get up or he can clean up the mess he made, his hand lowers to your swollen cunt and he slides his pointer and middle finger in the pool of gel. He strokes up your slit a few times and then he slips himself into your tight hole, feeling against your velvet walls.   “N-Namjoon,” you choke out his name and he smiles, getting to his knees. He curls his fingers against your walls, a bit carelessly and clumsy, but with enough enthusiasm and observational skills to gauge what your spots may be. You moan, withering against the sheets. “W-wait…”   His other hand lifts and goes a bit higher than your slit. “Is it here…?” he asks for confirmation, recalling the diagrams he’s filled out before and watching your expression carefully.   Your fingers latch onto his wrist and you shift him into the correct position, right where your clitoris should be. Namjoon hums in acknowledgment and begins to fiddle with his fingers, rubbing circles, pressing hard, twisting his wrist while his other fingers curl inside your vagina.   You sob his name, back arching, and he muses how pretty you look like this. Unfortunately with his hands on your clit and the way he’s carelessly rubbing, he’s unable to admire the view for long. Your toes curl and a burst of electricity runs its way through your body, making you seize, left leg kicking out slightly. You cry, spots coming into your vision. It’s warm from your feet to your head, every part of your body.   When you come to, Namjoon’s excitedly grinning at you. “How was that?”   Not bad. That last bit was better, to be honest.   “Was it all you had fantasies about?”   No. It wasn’t terrible though. Kind of meh.   He nods, laying flat on your bed and staring at the ceiling. You also take a moment to process everything that just happened. Though before you can doze off, Namjoon looks at you. “Should we try one more time? Just….just to see if it could be better or not. I mean...might as well since we’re both here.”   It’s not a bad offer especially considering that this is supposed to be a one time thing to get it out of the system. He was right — you were here, so was he. There was never going to be an opportunity like this again. You should make the most out of it.   You smile, eyes glimmering in mischief. “I don’t mind, but can you go for another round? You really tired yourself out there.”   Namjoon scoffs and rolls on top of you, pinning you to your mattress. “We’ll see about that.”

That should be it.   You know Namjoon can read minds. He knows you’re a closeted freak. A secret for a secret. The two of you have had sex too, shared your first times together. You’ve gotten all urges out of your systems, diminished your whacky libido. There’s no reason for any more interaction or conversations to be exchanged. You can both lead your own separate lives, pursuing after your long-term educational goals of going to university…   But you’re weak.   Only now do you realize you can’t get over your primitive needs. To your dismay and contrasting to the way you project yourself, you aren’t an emotionless robot who can simply flip off the switch.   That single experience, the second and third as well, are enough to make you even more needy than before and now your fantasies have truly come to life. No longer are they groundless delusions created from your inexperienced mind. One taste of the forbidden fruit and you can’t stop.    Sitting on the side of health class, your brain begins to take a walk. You recall that third time when Namjoon was curious, experimenting, and pushed you on all fours. Your shirt and bra were discarded beside you, your hands crumpling your wrinkled sheets and his fingertips pressed the small of your back until you were arching for him.   He hummed and you were nervous, talking too much about things you don’t remember now and the boy simply laid down and got into place. He slid himself right underneath you and his hands held your waist, lowering your sex right onto his open mouth like he’s trying to eat a massive taco — inexperienced, odd, but not horrendous.   You were scared of suffocating him, of having to call the police and having ambulances parked right outside your house for all the neighbors to see; and have news spread around that you accidentally killed a high school boy by sitting on his face. But Namjoon was a freak in disguise too and welcomed it. You sat on him and he mumbled something along the lines of it not being too bad either.   You grabbed onto the headboard to steady yourself, legs already shaking as he licked into you, tip of his tongue pushing past your slit and folds, his nose at your bud. His tongue unskilled, technique clumsy. He went too fast, too hard, too much of everything. It drove whines and broken sobs of his name out of you. But while Namjoon was greedy and impatient, he was also excited and eager to please.   He’s naturally observant and perceptive, bringing it into the bedroom as well. You remember the strands of his hair tickling the skin of your thighs, the way you cried out his name, how it felt so good that it was better than having actual penetrative sex. And you remember how he began rushing, afraid of your dad coming home and catching the pair of you in this compromised position.   The memory almost makes you giggle in the middle of class, but you contain yourself and squeeze your thighs together, feeling your panties becoming wet and sticky. You wonder what it would be like if he ate you out here, in class, maybe on the teacher’s desk. He’d kneel on the ground and kiss his way up your legs.   N-Namjoon, you’d choke out his name, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling the glasses away from his face.   Yeah?   Hurry, please.   Why? I wanna go slower. You taste good.   You’re good at controlling your expressions, of wearing a poker face, but unbeknownst to you, there’s a smile tugging on your lips. An outsider might think you particularly enjoy today’s class content. Others who know you better might consider that you’re in a good mood, perhaps daydreaming about something sweet. But there’s someone who really knows what’s going on.   Namjoon is sitting across the room and he turns his body slightly. His eyes are half-lidded, lips parted, chest rising and falling, glasses slipping down his nose. The boy is uncomfortable, beginning to sweat at his hairline. He glares. And your smile grows a bit wider.   He knows you’re thinking about you and him and you eye his slacks, noticing the tent growing in his pants.   Namjoon remains wholly unimpressed by your antics.   “The boy’s bathroom, really?” Your eyebrows are lifted and this time, you’re the one unimpressed with him. Luckily the hallways are empty, but he still tugs you in quickly before anyone can see. Are we fulfilling one of your fantasies now?   “No, we’re not. And if you want someone to blame, then blame yourself.” Namjoon shoves you into the farthest bathroom stall without remorse. If you were caught together with him in the boy’s washroom, you’re not even sure how to explain yourself. No one would believe it. “Who told you to go remembering all of that and thinking about us?”   He turns around and locks the stall. It’s terribly cramped. On one side, there’s toilet rolls and the other is a wall with pencil graffiti. The toilet doesn’t have a cover and it’s dirty. But at this point, the two of you are reckless and desperate enough not to care. “Well am I supposed to forget?”   “You’re supposed to not fantasize in the middle of class, Y/N,” he complains and turns you around, pushing his crotch to your ass. Your hands lift to press against the cubicle walls, keeping yourself steady. “Look at the problem you caused me.”   You can feel his erect cock right on the crack of your ass and you swallow hard, feeling his breath becoming rougher. Namjoon presses you close to him like it might be enough to get him off. “‘M sorry, I can’t help it, you know that.”   “Jinyoung almost saw. I had to cover my lap up with my textbook.” He’s mad and you can hear it in his voice. His hand comes down, fingers pressing on your underwear, rubbing back and forth ruthlessly. “And look, you’re already wet.”   “Namjoon,” you moan his name, grabbing his wrist and not sure if you want him to slow down or go faster. “L-Less talking. We should hurry before they wonder where we are.”   “No one’s going to wonder.” It’s true no one would second guess the two empty desks in the classroom. The pair of you went out at different times — you supposedly to the counselor and him to go make a phone call at the office.   As if to appease you, Namjoon holds the back of your neck and turns your head around. His thick-rimmed, smudged glasses knock against your face but he still kisses your cheek. You don’t know if he missed your mouth or not, if it was an accident, but it’s surprisingly soft and gentle.    It sends butterflies to your tummy.   The eager boy is hugging you from behind, one arm around your waist. He pulls your shirt out being tucked into your skirt and his hand goes underneath it, shoving your bra up and getting a handful of your breast. His thumb flicks onto your nipple, letting the soft bud pebble underneath his tender touch. You keen into him with a whine and he holds you straight, humming.   “You’re so warm and soft. I keep forgetting to tell you that.”   “You’re not going to cum just from touching my boobs, are you?”   He scoffs and rubs two fingers against your nipples harder, almost pinching. And you jump in his arms with a yelp. Namjoon smiles. “I’m not some amateur.”   “Actually, yes, you are.” Your hot breaths are heavy, panting out and your palms press harder against the cubicle wall, searching for some leverage. “If it helps, I am too.”   “Psh. I’m gonna fuck you well, don’t worry.”   You could roll your eyes to the back of your skull. “That’s a really high bar to set— N-Namjoon!”   He’s pressing hard on your clit through your soaked panties, shoving your skirt up. “Pardon?”   “N-nothing.” You turn your head around, trying to speed things up. Sneaking out to the boy’s bathroom in the middle of the classroom is not an optimum time to drag out foreplay. “You have a condom, right?”   “I’m always prepared.” Namjoon smirks playfully and lets go of you, stepping back to dig into his back pocket. You realize how cold it is without his body heat against you, but thankfully he wastes no time, taking out a condom between his index and middle fingers, flashing it to you like it’s a winning card in a poker game or this is the middle of a Yugioh episode.    He does the stupidest things like this that makes you laugh the hardest. “Why are you such a dork?”   “Please, you like it.”   You watch him rip it open. “Need help?”   “I got it.”    It’s quicker and easier than the first time, and the second, and the third. He lets his pants drop, rolling the latex on his cock and then helps you take off your panties, stuffing them in his uniform blazer’s pocket. Namjoon takes a hold of your hips and positions you correctly. He moves the tip of his thick cock back and forth on your slit, spreading your slick everywhere and you feel yourself getting wetter.    “A-are you going to last longer this time?”   Namjoon’s offended and he pouts without you seeing. “I’m getting better. Ready?”   “Yeah.” The head of his cock intrudes your velvet walls, penetrating deep and he releases a shaky exhale. It burns less and feels good, filling a space inside you that you didn’t know was empty.    The first time, it wasn’t bad. The second time hurt a lot and you both had to stop. No one orgasmed then. But the third time was much better and now, there was not even a mild discomfort. It didn’t hurt at all — he’s stretched you out well enough to take his cock. And he can last a lot longer than three strokes too.    “N-Namjo..oon.”   “Everything good?”   “Yeah…” You weakly nod. He’s holding you, humping from behind, drawing as far back as he can before his hips jut forward, trusting in and you try your best to meet him halfway. The two of you are making a mess, fluids running down your legs, uniforms all wrinkled up. “C-Can you kiss me?”   You don’t need to ask twice.   He stops and turns your head around, catching your lips as best as he can in this awkward position. You begin to squirm, rocking yourself back onto him. One thing was certain — the kisses have definitely improved. The way he kisses you is enough to leave you breathless and dizzy.   You pull away and Namjoon continues to pound from behind you. The obscene sounds echo throughout the washroom, leaking out into the hallway; clapping sounds created when his pelvis meets your ass cheeks. Anyone walking past would know what was going on.    It’s also musty, the smell of sweat and sex filling the air. But there’s also the scent of Namjoon surrounding you and it’s nice. You’re not sure what deodorant he uses, or maybe it’s cologne. You can’t exactly pinpoint it.   “H-hey…” The boy slows down the pace, remembering something.   “What?”   “Can you stop envisioning my voice and imagining what I’d say? It’s awkward to hear what my voice sounds like to you in your head.”   He rolls his hips slowly, going deeper with the languid speed and it has you crumbling. “N-Nam...joon...s-stop talking. F-faster.”   “Why? I wanna go slower. You taste so good,” he whispers, making fun of you and recalling the cheesy dialogue you came up with in your daydream.   “F-fuck you.”   He laughs, sound gentle and tinkling. Namjoon kisses the back of your neck, right on the nape and he licks his thumb before tenderly rubbing at your clit. Against your will, loud noises spill from your throat and it has him shushing you. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, entire body jostling with how he goes faster. You’re scared of someone coming in — but the risk is exciting at the same time.   Namjoon can read your thoughts and he gets off on your fantasies too.   You imagine what it would be like if the bell rang, if a bunch of kinds came in, pissing in the urinals, washing their hands at the sink, talking and goofing off. They wouldn’t know what was going on behind the thin wall of the cubical except that there were two pairs of feet right by each other.   “Nam...too-...too much...” He’s rubbing too hard at your clit, forgetting to measure his strength, overexcited with your imagination and it’s too late. The tension in your lower stomach finally tightens and snaps. Your toes curl and you sob his name louder.   He cups your mouth with his hand, muffling your shriek. Your eyes shut tight and you clench around him. The boy groans lowly, sound vibrating and you hear mumbles of your name. His chin is propped on your shoulder and he thrusts twice, sloppy, milking your orgasm and he cums too.   Namjoon is still hugging you close as you both catch your breath.   Eventually he slips himself out and lets go.   You turn around. “That was….better than last time.”   He grins, dimples marking his cheek, strands of his hair sweaty. He slips off his condom. “Next time will be even better.”   Next time?   You’re fixing your bra and shirt, pulling your skirt down again, but the thought in your head is loud and clear. Namjoon doesn’t say anything. Maybe he pretends not to know and you don’t comment either, afraid of questioning how many more times this will happen, afraid of defining what exactly this arrangement is.    “We should get back before they actually start wondering where we are.”   “Yeah.” You flatten down your messy hair, getting your panties back from him despite them being soiled. As you put them back on with a grimace, you watch Namjoon throw the used condom in the toilet. You don’t think twice as he tugs up his slacks. But then it hits you. “W-wait, don’t flush it down the—”   The toilet whirls down automatically. “Shit, too late!”   The pair of you are frozen, watching the destruction happen right in front of your eyes. It doesn’t flush all the way down and seems to burp back. The water runs without once stopping. It starts to overflow.   “Oh my god.”   There’s no choice, but to run.   //   The chain of things that occur after your little rendezvous with Namjoon would be cause for embarrassment, if only you weren’t so shameless now. It may be because you’ve gotten comfortable enough with him, with sex acts, and because you know he’s equally responsible for everything that happens. As long as nobody else knows and it’s just between you and him, there’s no need to be ashamed.   It’s a secret that the two of you share.   “Everyone, listen up.” The health teacher, Mr. Bang, claps his hands at the front of class, quieting down the conversations of students. “On Friday afternoon, there was an incident here at this school.”   “What happened?” There’s a sea of murmurs that ripples throughout the room and your ears perk, picking up on the girls next to you.   “Didn’t you hear? Someone flushed down a used condom in the boys washroom by the science hall that clogged the toilet. It flooded the entire washroom and they had to shut it down for the rest of the day.”   “Ew, gross.”   “Wait, does that mean someone had sex in the washroom? Ugh!”   “Quiet down, quiet down.” The teacher slaps a stack of papers on the desk, gathering the attention back. “There will be consequences for students who engage in anything inappropriate at school. Okay? I just want to make that clear. It’s completely inappropriate and there’s possibility for suspension. We already know who these people are, alright?”    For a moment, he eyes Hoseok and Krystal sitting at the side, near the middle rows.   Some glance at them too in disdain and disgust. Hoseok finally looks up, snapping back to attention. “Wait, what?”   Mr. Bang clears his throat and moves on. “In light of what happened, the superintendent wanted me to review some things we learnt earlier in this course.”    There’s a collective groan, but he shuts it down by saying this is what happens when something like that at school occurs. He begins to write it on the board, marker squeaking on the smooth surface. He’s returning back to the sex-ed unit.   “Look, I get it, alright? You’re at that age where you went to begin getting closer to people and you want to start experimenting with things. But if you don’t want to get pregnant and birth out a baby that you have to take care of for the next eighteen years, do not have sex.”   The students roll their eyes, leaning back on their seat. Few are still alert, most zoning and tuning out. It’s the same thing over and over again, teachers parroting each other, as afraid of kids becoming sexually active as they are of ghosts. “If you don’t want any horrible STIs to follow you around for the rest of your life, do not have sexual intercourse. You don’t know if any of these people have gotten tested! They could have anything. Protection like condoms and birth control are not one hundred percent effective. There’s always a chance it could happen. The best protection is to not do it at all. Don’t risk disease—”   You’re one of the many that have stopped paying attention. Actually, your awareness of the classroom has long been removed. The words going in one ear and out the other. Instead, you’re busy sitting next to Namjoon, stealing peeks at him. You’re thinking about getting on the floor, crawling under his desk, fumbling with his pants.    What are you doing?   Making you feel good.   You envision unzipping his trousers, pulling out his cock excitedly, spitting in your palm to stroke him. He’d become harder in your hand, redder, and you’d lean close to kiss the top, relishing in it when you feel him shiver. Namjoon would tangle his fingers in your hair and tug you closer. You wouldn’t know what to do, how to do it, but he’d teach you, guiding your mouth on him. You’d try your best to take him as far as you can go, salivating and slobbering all over his dick. It would hurt your jaw and you’d gag, choke, but the effort would be worth it when he praises you.   You glance over at Namjoon in reality, finding him shifting uncomfortably, ears bright pink.   A smirk pulls into your cheek. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Namjoon?   He turns his head towards you, expression impassive. But you catch his Adam’s apple bobbing and he doesn’t say anything, simply nodding.   He no longer protests your active imagination. While it’s still a massive distraction to his concentration, he reads your mind promptly and willingly. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger and you love every second of it.   “Excuse me, Mr. Bang?” You approach the health teacher with Namjoon behind you, backpacks on your shoulders, stack of textbooks in your arms.   The older man lifts his chin. “Oh! Y/N, Namjoon! What can I do for you?”   “We finished filling out the diagrams.” You hand in the sheets of paper of the vagina and penis, perfectly labeled with a small description underneath them. Apparently, this is what the school system thinks is sexual education. “We were wondering if we could go to the library to study for the upcoming physics test.”   He nods. “Did you finish everything else for this class?”   “Yes.” You smile. “We both did.”   The teacher returns your smile. “Go ahead then, just make sure you’ve double-checked everything.”   “Thank you.”   The two of you leave the classroom quietly, the other students still causing a ruckus for him. The door shuts and you happily skip down the hall while Namjoon trails after you, laughing. The teachers think you’re both very responsible, studious students — goody two shoes and maybe academic friends at best. No one would ever suspect and that makes it all the more fun to break the rules.   But while you’re happy keeping these secrets between the pair of you, it’s a shame that no one else knows how attractive Namjoon is. It’s one secret you don’t want to keep to yourself. You wish more people saw what you did. How his awkwardness is actually sweetness and makes him all the more authentic, how his clumsiness is cute, how smart and warm-hearted he is.   As he shadows your steps, your thoughts have Namjoon blushing in a deeper shade. He stares at the back of your head, feeling tingles in his chest, unable to resist a grin when you think about how you at least get him all to yourself.   The librarian welcomes you, busy stacking and registering new shipment of books in the back closet. This early in the morning, there aren’t any students. You’re free to pick and choose wherever you want to go, but without hesitation you walk to the farthest table hidden behind multiple bookshelves. You both drop off your belongings there and scatter off to the corner. He takes your hand and leads you forward, weaving through the maze of shelves in the back where no one else can see.   It’s deathly quiet, enough to hear pins dropping. But in this small space, the noise of soft smacking disrupts the peace. Namjoon kisses you roughly and desperately like he’s trying to get himself off with just this. His tongue is down your throat, his spit entering your mouth. It makes you hot and bothered, Namjoon trying to make you as aroused as you’ve made him. You’ve gotten him riled up after all. It’s revenge.   The boy’s glasses knock against your face, but neither of you care enough. His kisses have made you dizzy. “N-Namjoon,” you gasp, pushed against the corner where the shelf meets the smooth wall.   He lifts one of your legs, palm pressed against the meat of your thigh. It’s done with urgency, less playful, less talking and more serious and intimate than before. Your eyes stray off, peeking through the shelves and gaps between the books, finding no one watching.   Suddenly, he pushes deeper into you, silencing your brain until you think of him and only him.   You’re surrounded in his scent, deodorant, cologne, natural sweat. His hands are all over you, tender touches and eager groping with attempted restraint that fails. His broad body shields you away from any potential prying eyes, covering you from head to toe. He tastes like chapstick and you relish in the gentle sounds drawing out of him, grunts and moans, caught in a trance. Namjoon kisses you closer, deeper until you’re overwhelmed.   He only pulls away when you whimper. A thin line of saliva catches between your lips, glistening in the light. But you don’t notice when he’s gazing at you in such a way, endeared. You swallow hard, feeling small under his intense eyes.   It’s only in reading these thoughts that Namjoon ends up turning away. “We should…”   Wait. What? You’re confused and impulsively, you grab onto him, tugging his sleeve. “Are we not going to….?”   He grins, dimples creasing on either side of his cheek before he pushes his glasses up casually. “We almost got caught last time.”   “No.” The syllable draws out into an unintentional whine. “It’s because you flushed it down the toilet. Who told you to do that?”   He laughs, sound tinkling in your ears pleasantly. “You’re so needy.”    But Namjoon returns anyhow, holding you and pushing your panties to the side. His fingers play at your slit, tapping gently like he’s fiddling with piano keys. It makes you jolt and he nuzzles into you, knocking his head down, forehead pressed against your shoulder.   “C-Can you blame me?”   It feels too good. You wish he could touch you all the time.    Namjoon reads your mind and smiles softly without you knowing. He mumbles into your shirt, “You’re so cute.”   Such a wholesome comment shouldn’t be spoken when the tips of his fingers are spreading your folds and he’s entering you. With two digits, he sinks deep into your leaking cunt until he’s knuckle deep. Namjoon has the audacity to laugh as you choke on air and in retaliation, you weakly hit your fist against his shoulder. He’s amused at how sensitive you still are even after doing it so many times, to the point where you’ve both lost count.   “We’re in the library, so keep it down will you?”   “Then stop doing that.���   “Doing what?” He curls his fingers against your velvet walls, hitting a spot that has you sobbing and pathetically trying to hold back. “You mean that?”   He’s being a sly shit, gained too much confidence touching you — but you don’t hate it. He scissors you, thrusting his fingers in and out, twisting his wrist. You knock your head back. If the librarian finds Namjoon fondling you like this with his hand shoved up your skirt, your panties moved to the side, she would be mortified, maybe even getting a heart attack.   “You really like thinking about people catching us, huh?”   “N-no….” Your objection is weak and he grins. “D-do you want me to...blow you?”   He hums, considering it, but the way the member in his pants stir and how he swallows hard is unmistakable. “N-no, I’m good.” His rejection surprises you. You thought any horny teenage boy would jump at the chance. Your fantasies seemed to make him riled up too. “Maybe later, in my room, if you’re okay with that,” he clarifies your confusion as he pets your velvet walls, feeling around like he’s searching for something. It makes your legs tremble.   You nod and decide to tease, “You think you’re not gonna last if we do it here?”   Namjoon scoffs. “No. It’s gonna take a long time to teach you.”   “I’m a fast learner,” you counter.   “I know. But I kind of...want you to sit on my face again….if you want….” He’s nervous for the first time in a long while.   You piece it together, brows lifting. You want me to blow you while sitting on your face? So like sixty nine?   He becomes red in the face, fingers inside of you halting. “Is that bad?”   No. Just predictable.   Namjoon lightly scoffs, but if you were frank, the plans made you enthusiastic and he knows it too. The boy kisses you, squeezing a handful of your breasts over your uniform blouse, becoming more patient. But you make him pick up the speed and he gets out his condom that he seems to have on hand now twenty-four seven. Both your legs end up wrapping around his waist and while you’re scared of falling or snapping him in half, he holds your weight well while you’re leaning against the wall.   He continues to rut against you, thrusting as fast as he can manage. With his thick girth stretching you out so nicely, you squeeze around him, enjoying it when you can make him sputter. After the third time, he’s had enough of your antics and kisses you, deeper, muffling your noises. Books knock against the shelf, several almost falling. Your wetness might just drip down and stain the carpet, leaving your mark with Namjoon’s.   The two of you are sweaty against each other, getting closer to your release.   “H-Hey….”   “Hmm?”   “Keep your eyes on me.”   You nod, trying your best. But Namjoon can’t hold you up anymore. As his strokes become sloppier, one of your left leg falls when you’re not ready. Your knees buckle and he slips out of you, but luckily, Namjoon catches you in his arms and the both of you burst out laughing.   You lean against the wall, he gets himself back in you and you both return to what you were doing before. Namjoon stares at your expression and you lock your eyes into his. He fucks you like he likes you.   Finally, his hand moves to rub your clit with his thumb. It’s enough for you to be pushed over the edge and you stifle your sounds against his shoulder, slobbering on his uniform blazer. You clench, hot walls of velvet like a vice grip, clenching around his length. He groans and moves twice before cumming.    After a moment of hugging you, he pulls himself out and pushes your panties back to hold in the mess you made.   “Don’t throw the condom in the corner,” you chide.   Namjoon breathlessly laughs. “What? I was going to put my kids in between the dictionaries for someone to find later.”   You weakly hit him, giggling together.

It’s a sunny day, the weather nice and pleasant, warm enough that you don’t need a jacket. With your stomach full of food, you couldn’t be any happier. And your joy is found in the way your steps have a slight skip to them.   Namjoon smiles, watching you and matching his walking pace with yours.   The pair of you had grabbed a meal together at a fast food restaurant. A reward for doing so well on your biology midterm. While the teacher didn’t announce who did the best, she read the top two marks out loud and they happened to be you and him. You got ninety-five percent while Namjoon scored ninety. The fact that you miraculously did better than him in a subject that you despise has you even more bubbly.   The food wasn’t much, but you liked it. Actually, what you really like is being around Namjoon, even if it’s not for sex, even if it’s to do whatever.   These thoughts have him grinning. But you don’t notice.   “—wanted to die, oh my god.”   “I didn’t know she would be there!” he argues back, but the two of you aren’t fighting. It’s humorous banter, created from mortification and disbelief.   “What if she found me, some random chick, in her kitchen giving her son a blowjob?! Oh my god.”   “You’re not some ‘random chick’. She knows who you are.” He shrugs. “Plus, you like people watching so…”   “I do not!”   “You know I can read your mind, right?”   “Stop!” You hate it. “Get out!”   Namjoon laughs. “What I’m saying is that it’s fine. She didn’t find us like that. And if it helps, she actually likes you.”   “Well, I hope it was worth it, because now she probably thinks I’m your girlfriend.” The entire time, you ended up talking to Namjoon’s mom and answering her numerous questions like it was a job interview instead of doing the deed.   The boy smiles. “I don’t mind.”   “What? That I didn’t get to blow you or that your mom thinks we’re together?”   “Did you end up looking at what university you wanted to go to yet?”   “Oh yeah. I was looking into the admission requirements.” The topic is switched so drastically, but you don’t even notice when it comes to your studies. You and Namjoon made a pact to help each other get into university and it was comforting to have someone help along the way. “Apparently, the math program at MK National isn’t bad. I’ve already done some research onto some profs to take and what GPA boosters there are.”   Namjoon laughs. “Wow, so prepared.”   “Of course,” you hum back before remembering something, “Don’t take economics, by the way. It’s not as easy as people make it out to be apparently.”   “Noted.” The corners of his mouth quirk.   “Haseul’s thinking about going into nursing..” She’s one of the few friends that you have. “...so that’s more incentive to me.” Plus, he’s there too.   Namjoon reads your mind and grins to himself, downcast head facing his feet shyly. “So you’ve decided on MK National then?”   “I don’t know. I’m aiming for it, I guess, but if I don’t get in then I don’t.”   “You’ll get in,” the boy reassures. “You’re smarter than I am.”   His confidence in you draws a sheepish smile on your face.   The two of you are strolling to the bus stop together and while you’ll have to get onto different buses, it’s still nice to traipse around with him like this. At least, that’s what you’re mulling until your daydream is broken by the back of his hand grazing against yours.   You glance down before looking away. For the first time in a long time, you’re nervous again. There’s an urge within you to hold his hand, an instinct that tells you that’s the only right way to walk alongside Namjoon. But that’s kind of weird — you don’t know if you should, if that would make things awkward. In fact, you don’t even know what the limits are when you’re unsure of what your relationship with Namjoon is in the first place, friends with benefits or—   You’re thinking about it for too long. You’re making Namjoon get a headache.   So gingerly, he reaches over while nonchalantly looking ahead, deciding for you. His fingers find your wrist and he moves his hand down, tangling your fingers together, palms clasping, gingerly holding your hand. None of you speak.   You don’t like how he can read your mind.   But this is one of the few times you appreciate it.   His hand squeezes yours — your chest feels warm.   //   “Are you alright?”   Why? I’m fine.   Namjoon knows that you overthink. You like to consider every decision that you make, calculating the benefits and the consequences, making plans for your future. Everything is logical to you. The only reason he’s with you now is because of your rare impulse, emotions that you couldn’t handle or control on your own. He’s with you because of your fantasies and lustful daydreams stowed at the back of your brain for no one else to know of.    If you controlled your urges, he wouldn’t be a part of your life right now.    The realization makes him a bit uncomfortable. He was never a part of your plan, a part of what you envision for your future. For once, he’s thankful for his ability — it’s given him the opportunity to get to know you. But at the same time, he’s disheartened to know that you’ve only kept him around for a few purposes.   Aside from that, you like to lie a lot too.   He can read your mind. He knows your thoughts are a chaotic train on fire heading straight for hell. Yet, you like to act like it’s all fine. Like nothing’s wrong. But he knows you better than that. He can read you better than that. He knows you better than you know yourself. And Namjoon knows that despite what you might think, he’s just not just a temporary person in your life.    “Namjoon!” You’re making a ruckus without being aware of it, standing on the tips of your toes, waving your arm over your head. A stupid smile pulls onto his face and he waves back. People’s heads turn. Your friends are confused and so are his. But you don’t seem to care, happier to see him than being mindful of your surroundings.   He can see the way your eyes always light up when you find him in the crowd.    He notices the way you like to ramble about your day to him. “—finished my paper. But I can’t believe she assigned me to edit Hoseok’s paper. He only had one paragraph done. And I couldn’t even read it! His writing doesn’t even look like chicken scratch. It’s like he wrote it while on the toilet using his toes.”   Laughter bubbles up his throat. “Well, not everyone is Miss. Prepared like you are. Did he at least edit your paper?”   “No.” You pout. “He gave it back and told me it was perfect.”   His gaze on you softens. “It probably was.”   Namjoon catches on before you even know yourself.   You don’t need to say anything. He already knows how you feel about him — and this knowledge makes him more giddy than he’d ever like to admit.   //   For the most part, you aren’t deprived anymore.   A certain someone keeps you satisfied enough to pay attention in class, tires you out enough to make you sleep well at night, placate your endless desires. But still, there are times when you’re bored or sleepy in class and you actively begin to daydream to keep yourself awake.    It’s in social studies that your mind begins to wander without restraint, Namjoon not here to turn around and glare or later scold you for making him lose his concentration.   You envision a faceless stranger waltzing into the classroom, boots tapping against the floor. This person would stride towards the teacher’s desk in the corner. They’d plop down on the swivel chair, lean back, spread their legs comfortably, eyes sweeping the room. You imagine their gaze would stop on you and the corner of their mouth would tug, hand motioning you to come.   He’d guide you to sit on his lap, right on top of his thighs. Your hands would find purchase on his broad shoulders. After you’re settled, he would hum in satisfaction and his rough hands would be placed on the dips of your waist, plush lips skimming down your neck, kissing lightly. He’d relish in the way you’d shiver.    You like that? The voice is familiar somehow, but you can’t pinpoint it.   Y-yes. Please hurry…   Why should I? Don’t you like it when people watch us? Look at all these kids looking. They don’t know you're such a dirty girl. Should we show them? Should we do a class demonstration and show them how it’s supposed to be done?   His fingers play with the hem of your skirt, tugging it up while he fumbles with his pants, lifting you slightly and pulling down the waistband enough to slip his hardening cock out of his briefs. The way his tip leaks has you swallowing hard, remembering the salty flavour.    I-I don’t like people looking, you’d protest weakly, meeting the man’s eyes.   He snorts, air rushing out of his nose. You know I can read your mind, right?   There’s a pause that lingers — you nearly shatter out of your daydream. What?   The person you’re straddling doesn’t answer, lips returning to the sweet spot between your shoulder and neck, hot tongue lapping at it and drawing shudders out of your body. Then he sucks hard, making you cry out. His arms are around you, letting you arch but not shuffle away, pushing you close. He ends up grabbing hold of his cock, squeezing the base and lining it up with your slit.   The boy doesn’t wait, shoving his hips upwards and making you sob, feeling your cunt stretch. He fucks into you raw with his red cock. He groans, thrusting upwards a few times before he holds your hips. Ride me, Y/N, he commands and forces you to sink down onto him until he’s balls deep inside of you. It’s enough to have your walls clenching around his girth, for you to moan and tremble.   C’mon, you can do it, baby, he coaxes and you nod several times, trying your best.   With as much strength as you can muster in your leg, you pull yourself up and drop down on him, swiveling your hips and doing what feels good. The boy helps you too, thrusts moving halfway, praises rolling off his tongue.   You’re so cute, he hums, thumb harshly rubbing your nipple back and forth, his hand underneath your shirt, shoved past your bra.   Pleasure takes hold, making your vision blurry, but you don’t focus on reaching an orgasm or pleasing him. Instead, something’s taken hold of your brain and while you ride him, you curl your hand into his hair, fingers tugging the strands. You pull his head back and he moans your name. His chin is lifted, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat and you narrow your eyes into his features.   Who are you?   The faceless person begins to morph under your touch. The fog lifts and you realize it’s not someone random, a mere placeholder of another body, in your fantasy. His hair is dark, matching the colour of his half-lidded eyes staring back at you, dimples marking into each side of his cheek. His glasses sit on his nose, framing his face, accentuating the jawline.   For the first time, your imagination’s found a face. It’s—   “Miss Y/N.”   You come crumbling back to reality, realizing where you are. Your fantasies disperse into thin air. The teacher’s right in front of you, clearing his throat. Everyone’s eyes are on you and the middle-aged man repeats his question, “I was asking you what the branches of government are.”   “Judicial, legislative and executive,” you say without missing a beat.   The teacher smiles, pleased that you were paying attention even though it seemed like you weren’t. He knows you would never be distracted like some of his other students. “Very good.” He spins around on his heel. “You ought to learn a thing or two from Miss. Y/N, Jung Hoseok.”   The student shoots you a glare that you wholeheartedly don’t even register.   You’ve lost your train of thought, but it felt really important.   For the rest of the day, you’re distracted, unable to focus on anything as you try to trace back to what your thoughts were, replaying what you last remembered. But it’s gone. You’re frustrated beyond belief, feeling out of your element, out of control. But no matter how upset you are at forgetting, there’s no point in moping over lost thoughts.   That is until you sleep.   It’s at night, laying in your bed, deep in slumber that it all returns. Except this time, your subconscious has conjured something that isn’t sexual in the least bit. You dream of calling out to someone, of watching them catch up to you, how you hold their hand, entwining your fingers together with them without hesitation. It’s oddly intimate.   You dream about a strappy, tall boy with gawky glasses and plaid flannels. You dream about soft touches, tender kisses, dimples and doting gazes.   In a shock, much like a nightmare — you jolt awake in the middle of the night.   You finally know who it is.   //   “Hey, can I come over today?” you ask in the hall, holding your books to your chest.   The tall boy with his gawky glasses takes one good look at you and smiles. “No. I’m hanging out with Jinyoung today.”   “Oh.” You turn away, only to steal another glance of him. “Can we….go to the library then?”   “Why?” The boy plays dumb, like he can’t read your mind in a split of a second.   “C-Cause….you know….” You’re not trying to play coy on purpose, but it’s cute.   Namjoon can’t help but be endeared by you. He’s known most people to act differently from their thoughts, people laughing with their friends and at the same time cursing them in their heads. He’s known people internally swearing at him before, teachers that secretly thought he was an idiot, his own parents angry enough at times to think that they didn’t want him as a son.   There’s evilness in everyone — dishonesty, backstabbing, two-faced — but when it comes to you, there’s only nastiness in the best sense possible. All you have are dirty thoughts.   He loves it.   “I don’t.”   “Namjoon,” you whine, “you know what I’m trying to say.”   He shrugs with another mischievous smile. “Don’t know till you tell me.”   The pout on your face does little to persuade him, so with a face lit on fire, you end up whispering, “I-I...want you t..to fuck me.”   “Oh.” He nods and pretends to consider it. “But I thought they were doing a presentation in the library today. It’s probably crowded.”   “Then how about the boy’s locker room?” you suggest, completely shameless.   “Hmmm…..that’s a good place. But I don’t really feel like it.”   “What?”   Namjoon shrugs. “I don’t feel like it.”   “Oh. Okay.” Your head turns to face forward, though the nonchalant act does little to cover up how embarrassed you really are. Still, you easily respect his decision with zero protests.   But for the next handful of times, Namjoon completely rejects your advances. He rolls it off his shoulders, purposely acting ignorant and depriving you of all physical contact. It’s confusing and you begin to trace back to what you did. Maybe he was doing this as petty revenge, but you can’t think of anything you did wrong. You don’t understand.   On a Tuesday afternoon, you catch him shifting his pants underneath his desk as you purposely daydream. You stare hard into the side of his face, catching on that he’s having a hard time with this sudden dry spell too, but he does nothing afterwards to satisfy either of you. It’s strange.    Maybe Namjoon’s just lost interest in you. That would make some logical sense. Maybe you’re boring now that he’s fucked you twenty times—   “Hey.”   You turn, interrupted in your contemplation. “What?”   One moment you’re upright and the next, he’s snaked his arms around you, pulling you into his body. You yelp, but the sound is suffocated against his mouth. Namjoon kisses you in the empty hallway, tongue down your throat. It’s risky. You don’t know why he’s doing this here. The bell’s about to ring. But your brain is silenced. All worries cease.   You shut your eyes after a delayed moment, reveling in him.   The sly boy takes his time in drinking in your expression. The passionate kiss sadly lasts for the shortest of seconds, only satisfying you for a mere moment.   He lets you go just as fast as he held you.   And you’re left breathless with swollen lips. The taste of chapstick lingers. “Wh-what was that?”   “Nothing.” Namjoon shrugs, back of his hand coming to wipe his mouth, taking your saliva off of his mouth.   Okay….   Maybe he didn’t lose interest in you after all.   You’re more befuddled than before and more frustrated as well. It doesn’t add up — you must be making him uncomfortable with your sexual frustrations. The thoughts have been swirling around in your brain twenty four seven, purposely at that. You conjure up your fantasies every second you’re in his proximity. Yet, it gains nothing. There is no reaction.   You even try touching yourself one night and while it does little to relieve your needs, you tell him through your thoughts the next day, conveying it with your brain waves. Again. Zero reaction.   Perhaps he’s lost his ability. Maybe you got too close to him and his brain exploded and he can’t read your thoughts anymore. That wouldn’t be such a horrible thing considering you’d get your privacy back…..but it’s also terrible. The one time you want him to know your needs and he doesn’t.   It takes three weeks, nearly a month of no sexual contact, for you to break. And you end up cornering Idiot Kim Namjoon on the way to the bus stop.   “W-what’s wrong, Y/N?”   Nervous laughter escapes him. You’ve literally cornered him in, metal fence digging into his back, mailbox to his left — there’s no escape. You’re near some poor old lady’s lawn, a bunch of high schoolers causing disturbances. But you don’t care how you look to outsiders. You can’t study at all. And when something begins to impair your academic abilities and your grades, you will stop at nothing to rid of it.    “You tell me what’s wrong!” Your foot stamps like that of a petulant child. “Why have you been holding out?”   “Holding out on what?”   “Sex!” you shriek aloud and those passing by look over with widening eyes.   “What?”   “You haven’t touched me since the third of this month! Today is the twenty fourth!”   “I...I just didn’t feel like it.”   “Really?” You eye him up and down, finding it hard to believe. “I get it okay. If you don’t want to. It’s not like I mind. But I feel like you’re hiding something from me, Namjoon. You’re not telling me the entire truth. Suddenly you just don’t want to anymore?”   “I kissed you...if that counts.”   “That was eight days ago!”   The corner of his mouth is shifted up in amusement. “You’ve been keeping count?”   “Yes!” You’re unabashed, but at the same time, you want to cry. It’s so confusing that it hurts your head. “It’s just….ugh! I hate you!”   “No, you don’t.”   “Yes, I do!” You point an accusatory finger at his face, childish. “It’s unfair how you can read my mind like that but I can’t tell what you’re thinking at all! I hate you!”   Namjoon smiles softly and it causes your anger to surge. “I just don’t want you to treat me like your sex toy.”   “What?” By his sudden statement, you’re left hurt. “When have I ever?”   “I need you to admit something to me. That’s why I’m….‘holding out’, okay?”    It’s puzzling. Befuddling. You look at him like he’s speaking another language. This game...this puzzle...it’s too difficult to solve. You don’t want to play. “Admit what?”   This time, it’s Namjoon who’s cornering you. He approaches, fast steps that end up pushing you against the fence. He looks down and wears a dorky, yet gentle smile. The boy leans down and his warm breath against your ear makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight—   “You like me, don’t you?”   There’s an extended pause.   Your breath is halted. You’re ten seconds away from combusting on spot, steam coming out of your ears, body shutting down from mortification. You don’t know if you want to choke him out or grab fistfuls of your hair. “Oh my god….Oh my god! Get out of my head, Namjoon! Get out! Get out! Stop reading my thoughts!”   But he grabs both of your wrists, not allowing you to cover your face up with your hands. Namjoon stares at you with the biggest shit-eating grin that you want to smack off. “Why are you embarrassed?”   “You’re not supposed to know I like you! How dare you expose me, asshole!” you’re shouting at the top of your lungs. The grandma in the house is about to walk out with her cane and spank you both off her lawn for making such a ruckus.    You’re not so discreet anymore, drawing attention from everyone. Though no one seems to particularly care, assuming that it’s just kids joking around with one another or it’s young love and just a minor lover’s spat.   His stupid smile is about to break his goddamn cheeks.   “So you like me?”   You’re trapped and he already knows the answer anyway. There’s no choice but to own up and at least try to scrape up whatever's left of your dignity when you say it. “O-of course I like you. How could anyone not like you?”   Namjoon’s heart is soaring in his chest. He giggles, sound bubbling out and gentle. It makes your cheeks grow warmer. “Well good. Because I like you too.”   “Y-you do?” Part of you isn’t surprised, maybe your subconscious already knew it. But the other half that was filled with doubts is finally satisfied. You’re relieved. It’s a huge weight off your shoulders.   “How could anyone not like you,” Namjoon repeats with another laugh, brushing a strand of your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. The soft movement has you stuttering, but he steps back soon after, giving you space.   “So...so what does this mean?”   Is he your boyfriend now? Or is this just a casual thing? What does ‘like’ even mean? Does he like-like you or just like you? Did he just acknowledge you enjoy each other's company? But that’s obvious, of course you enjoy each other’s company. Then...does this mean he wants to pursue some kind of long term relationship? Dating? But what does dating even mean? What do you have to do? What if this becomes awkward? What if you mess up?!   “I think….we should go on a date,” Namjoon suggests, calming you down before your brain goes completely haywire.   He takes your hand, squeezing lightly with a smile to match. Your thoughts compose itself.   “A date?” You blink, letting a few beats pass as everything that’s happened in the past five minutes sinks into you. It’s a lot to process. It’s overwhelming. But also— “That sounds... nice.”   He nods and hums a warm note. “And we can see what happens from there. Step by step. Date by date.”   It’s more than pleasant. You feel at ease in his company, in the way he knows your overthinking tendencies, how he so easily understands you.    But what you manage is a fake scoff. He already knows what you really think. “Who says I’m going on a second date with you? You’re going to have to earn that.”   “Please.” The pair of you are walking down the street again, hand in hand. “We both know you’re not going to leave my dick for someone else’s.”   “Namjoon!”   The clumsy boy laughs, squeezing your hand wrapped around his own.   //   You’re no longer safe in the depths of your own mind.   Namjoon knows what you’re thinking — he can tell your constant poker face is a facade and that every time your brows furrow, it’s not in concentration, but that you’re preoccupied in a daydream.   You’ve been invaded, thoughts exposed, but you don’t mind. He understands you better than yourself, helping you make sense of your occasional complicated ideas, appreciating your rather….strong imagination. He also quiets down your mind when it becomes too chaotic. He can stare at you and dive into your brain across the room, chuckling at what he finds.   His ability is what bound you and him together after all.   But these days, things are too busy to let your mind wander. And that’s okay too.   These days, there’s less of an urgency to have constant romps in the sack. These days, there’s less of a rush to spend time with one another. There’s no need to hurry along when you know Namjoon’s here to stay. There’s no need now that the pair of you are together.   “Namjoon!”   You shout from across the hall, springing up to him on this hectic morning. Yet, you don’t care about the way you draw attention, at how you’re making people stare, how you’re revealing your cover, no longer just the studious girl sitting on the side of class and blending into the wall.   You’re wearing a huge grin that is infectious to him. “What’s the matter?”   There’s an envelope in your hand. But you can’t spit the words out when you’re gasping, out of breath, having ran all the way here to find him. He’s the first person you wanted to tell. And luckily enough, you don’t even need to speak the words. One good look at you and he knows.   I got in.   All at once, his eyes widen. His lips part. Then they tug into his cheeks, dimples pressed on either side of his face. Without being able to resist, Namjoon picks you off the ground, tightly hugging you and spinning you around. You laugh into his shoulder, relishing in his embrace, celebrating.   It’s a moment between you and him in this busy hallway. No one else hears. No one knows.    It’s just a little secret that the two of you share.

If My Life Is Mine

Here’s a fic set in a vague future, inspired by: the Pearl episode of the official Steven Universe podcast, 'Your Mother and Mine' and 'Pool Hopping', wishful thinking, rewatching the final season of Star Trek: DS9. A bit of a “what would you want to be the next big step we see of Pearl’s character arc” sort of thing. All very much in the contemplative reflective Pearl vein of Love On A Wire. Blatant pandering for the occasion of @dr-jekyl's recent birthday and hopefully well-tailored to her tastes and interests.

Summary: Garnet leads the Crystal Gems on Earth, but help for the fledgling new rebellion is needed out in space and on the ground in the heart of Homeworld. So Pearl takes off, adjusts, listens, counsels, bolsters, takes responsibility, and leads - or does her very best to, anyway. Pearl-centric, featuring Garnet and Bismuth, guest appearances by everyone under the sun. Some Mystery Pearl, some Bispearl, some Pearlnet, some (past) Pearlrose, though of course the true main ship is Pearl/Happiness and Agency and Self-actualisation and all that good stuff. No special warnings. ~6000 words.

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If My Life Is Mine

They need her, they say.

Pearl argues immediately, of course. They need someone who knows Homeworld - but she hasn’t been to Homeworld proper in thousands of years. They need someone who knows pearls - but she hasn’t seen another pearl in just as long, and hasn’t acted in a way befitting a pearl in, well… not until those sad attempts in front of Holly Blue. They need someone who will be able to understand the technological aspects of it all - but everything she’s been working with is horribly outdated - often rather ingenious, if she does say so herself, but still terribly makeshift. They need someone who knows rebellion, who understands how to properly plan it, how to prioritise, how to-

She turns to Garnet (of course), even as she knows that Garnet won’t leave what she so fondly calls her planet, especially not with a fleet of white ships looming on the horizon. Garnet doesn’t respond in any noticeable way, calmly seated on the couch in the crowded living room-turned-makeshift-rebellion-headquarters and Pearl meets her own gaze reflected in that ever-daunting visor.

Of all people it’s the permanently sour-looking yellow pearl, for quite a while now (secretly) formerly of Yellow Diamond’s court, who cuts off that entire avenue of thought via scratchy transmission from deep space.

“Garnet is needed on Earth. We need you to come stay and help out here.” In her Diamond’s convenient absence, she’s seated on a chair - yellow, to match the rest of her surroundings, and quite throne-like - that dwarfs her in a way that would seem amusing were her bearing not so insistently imperious, even though for the moment she sounds unusually humble. “We need the experience. We need long-term strategy. We need a leader. Someone to make the calls and guide us in the field. We don’t know how to do this- this entire operation alone - not yet. And you did it once already.”

Pearl half-opens her mouth to say something in denial, but… she did. She did do it. Certainly she could tick off, on a list, many of the required skills and competences. And she can do it again, she can do it even better. Learning and growth, wasn’t it, after all? And experience. Along with a unique perspective, as well as a certain reputation-

“And, well, you’re the infamous Renegade Pearl, aren’t you?” Yellow Pearl pipes up from the tiny screen, and Pearl preens just a tiny bit at the idea of that old, old title still persisting.

They need her.

-

Pearl adjusts.

The plan was well-made, but some things can’t be accounted for in advance. Issues such as being fed incorrect information - doubtless there is suspicion by now about their mole in Blue Diamond’s court, who has hopefully not yet been discovered (an extraction mission rises to the top of Pearl’s priorities either way). This shipyard ambush, however, simply can’t take place with the distribution of forces as it is. The losses for their relatively nascent little movement would be absolutely unacceptable-

“What do we do, General?” the ruby crouched at her left asks gruffly, jarring her out of her thoughts.

“General?” Pearl half expects to turn to see who was being addressed and catch a glimpse of pink. But there is none. “M-me?”

The ruby is insistent, and a soldier through and through. “The plan. Situation on the ground is different. What do we do?”

“There’s so many of them,” Rhodonite pipes up nervously, with a wail rising in her voice. “There wasn’t supposed to be. They tricked us!”

An elbow is nudging at her midriff then, annoyingly insistent and oddly reassuring. “I’m sure P- sorry, General P’s got an idea or two. She’s real good at those.”

“Amethyst, please.” But it’s a half-hearted protest, out of habit more than anything else. Pearl’s already coming up with and discarding scenarios, focusing on the placement, the distribution, the direction of movement-

“We can...” they’re all looking at her- looking to her. She doesn’t have Garnet’s Future Vision to help in angling for the best possible outcome, or her internal support structure in case the outcome is far from best. She doesn’t have Bismuth’s presence and easy charm. She doesn’t have anything Rose had, anything that made Gems stop and listen to her, and follow. All she has is... herself.

But that is something, too. A quick mind, a quick hand, and the will to use both. And then, perhaps, somewhat newer and still a bit… spotty, on occasion: the ability to summon up enough confidence, enough respect for her own judgement to take on the responsibility of picking the plan and making the call. Herself. Not in anyone else’s name. Not relaying orders. Not following, not just offering ideas and counsel for others to use or discard as they see fit, and certainly not obeying.

“We’ll go around the back and sabotage their fuel lines - that should be enough to delay progress at the colony. Avoid open combat for as long as possible. And we’ll need a distraction.” She scans their surroundings, glances over her companions, from the Rutile twins to the two peridots hanging on to her every word, and finally meets Bismuth’s eyes. “Those pillars over there-”

“On it,” Bismuth is already rising, one hand flashing into a mallet. “Whoever carved those did one of the shoddiest jobs I’ve ever seen. They’ll go down easy.”

Doubt spikes hot in her mind. “Oh no, Bismuth, you don’t have to-” Pearl tenses to get up and go after her, but a large, eternally work-roughened hand at her shoulder stops her.

Bismuth is smiling at her, an odd mix of encouragement and anticipation on her face. “Hey, it’s okay, I got this. I’m exactly the right Gem for the job - ‘s why you picked me. And you got that,” she inclines her head towards the others, all gearing up to make a break for the back of the docks, “General.”

Pearl smiles through her own highly annoying intermittent flaring nervousness, and nudges her shoulder playfully. “The right Gem for that job?”

“I know you know it.”

-

Pearl intervenes when she has to.

It’s not just planning out the combat maneuvers and timing engagements and picking which destabiliser production line to hit, or coordinating with a fearsome crew of bona fide space pirates. There is so much more to it, during the downtimes, she almost- almost finds herself overwhelmed. She is quite proud of how she’s so far managed to handle that “almost”.

Talking and listening, and taking into account. It helps when she can frame it as teaching- that, she’s always been terrific at. Steven helps there, too, whenever he visits, with his eternal patience and open hand and open ear for any Gem who might need it, and anyone who might be struggling with having just chosen a side.

And then, then there are the pearls.

Many of the ones active in the rebellion, sent their way by the ever-industrious Yellow Pearl, take on roles of subterfuge and infiltration. Making good use of all the expectations placed on them as much as the disregard they are subject to, they become excellent sources of a wealth of invaluable information. There are some who choose to fight, and Pearl can’t help but take them under her wing, so to speak. She isn’t playing favourites, of course not, but it’s hard not to feel something when faced with them, with their keen eyes and oddly demanding and expectant gazes. She can tell exactly who belongs into that daunting category of having heard of her.

But there are many that end up with them almost by accident - pearls belonging to important Gems the rebellion needed to take out, or pearls who merely found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time during a sabotage operation or a factory raid - and suddenly found themselves ownerless, for all intents and purposes. Unwanted, cast-away pearls seeking refuge.

Some of them miss their old lives. Some of them rejoice at the opportunities before them and refuse to look back. Pearl’s head spins as she bounces from extreme to extreme.

She spends a good chunk of a morning comforting a light green pearl who clings to her and cries into her shoulder and sobs-rambles about how nice her Emerald has always been, and how much she just wants to go back home where she belongs. Then, almost immediately afterwards, a plum-coloured pearl who’s only been with them a day regales Pearl with the tale of her dramatic escape, including how she stabbed the Gem who dared consider herself her owner with a decorative cape brooch and clambered over an eight-foot wall.

The latter does put something of a spring in Pearl’s step- until she comes upon one of the latest Gems to join them, seated at the edge of a docking station causeway, long legs dangling to brush against the limits of the artificial atmosphere bubble. A burgundy pearl, the short mess of curly hair a fluffy halo around her bowed head, gem exposed at the small of her back, shoulders shaking, altogether the very picture of inconsolable.

Pearl sighs, and sits down next to her in what she hopes is companionable silence.

“I’m not supposed to be here alone,” the pearl mumbles through her tears after a little while, but doesn’t acknowledge Pearl’s presence in any other way. “It’s all so wrong.”

It sounds like another case of homesickness and of attachment to her former mistress. Pearl tries to project gentle understanding and thinks back to what’s worked well in such cases before. “Tell me about her. What is she like?”

“She was one of Yellow Diamond’s citrine guards. The lieutenant of her sector, in fact - and so magnificent. You should have seen her in her dress uniform, oh! What a sight. My Spinel could only wish she were half as amazing as her.”

The other pearl’s voice is a soft, almost dreamy sigh. It is a bit odd to hear that tone, that voice - her voice, almost, and sounding so very… familiar. But before she can respond in any way, the other pearl continues, now a bit more hesitant, halting.

“But, you know, that wasn’t what… that wasn’t why…”

And then it clicks into place, along with the incongruous little details like the pearl’s noticeably non-yellow colouration, the mention of a (clearly disliked) spinel, that look of naked longing in her eyes...

“Why you loved her?” Pearl prompts softly.

The other pearl’s cheeks darken with a deep red blush, and her hands drop to fidget in her lap, long fingers tugging on the elaborate ribbons decorating her waist.

“Yes. She… she was always so kind, and so careful. When she talked to me, asked me things. And she’d always sneak off after coming back from a mission, bringing me little souvenirs. Look,” she pulls on a bit of string tied around her neck, with a red crystalline microstructure unfamiliar to Pearl hanging from it, “she got me this. She said the surface of the last moon she’d been sent to was covered with it, and that it was beautiful because- because it made her think of me, when sunlight caught my hair, a-and...”

The words dry up, and the tears well back up again. Pearl hesitates for a moment, then puts an arm around the other pearl’s shoulders, bare save for a transparent shawl, making sure to telegraph every movement well in advance.

A sincere smile, a look that was more than that unpleasant mix of covetous and shallowly appreciative and appraising, a gift of a trinket to call your own, a modicum of respect. After thousands of years away from the stranglehold of the Homeworld system, that bar seems so very, very low, but Pearl remembers very well how world-changing the smallest of things felt, once. Like being allowed completely private access to a comms terminal. Or not being berated for expressing interest in inappropriate fields, such as engineering. Being given a chance to hold a sword, not for anyone else’s convenience, but for her own use.

“We promised to run away together,” the pearl continues, voice rising in a tremor again. “But she- they got her when we were making for the docks, where I managed to have a ship waiting for us, and she- she said she’d hold them off, told me to run, and I listened to her… why did I listen?”

Pearl looks away, gaze skimming along the scorch-marks left by their most recent skirmish here. It’s an odd little attempt to offer some privacy to the most naked parts of grief.

“I, um.” Pearl clears her throat again, awkwardly. “I lost someone too, not so long ago. Someone very important to me.”

Laughably recently, for a Gem. And it’s all such an oversimplification of thousands of years of fraught history, but if it can help in any way…

What these two had undertaken together might pale in sheer scale and far-reaching impact to starting a war over an entire planet, and everything that came... afterwards. But it is no less monumental for being restricted to the personal, Pearl finds.

There is no response for a while. The pearl turns a bit and allows her head to rest on Pearl’s shoulder. “Does it ever go away?”

Pearl restrains a wince at the way the pearl’s hand clenches over her chest, but pushes herself to disregard platitudes and stick to the truth she’s so painstakingly cobbled together over the years.

“Not really, no,” she replies, voice almost a whisper, smaller than anything she’s used since leaving Earth. “But it does get easier.”

They sit together as the station makes another half-trip around the moon it’s orbiting. Pearl studies its face, idly wonders about labelling its craters, and ponders the fate of the pearl pressed against her side.

“Listen,” Pearl begins once her companion has seemingly calmed somewhat and sat back up, “since you made it all the way here... you can join us, if you want. It’s dangerous, and bound to only get more so, and I can’t promise you much. But whatever you choose to do with yourself, I promise you can stay here with us as long as you want or need. Okay?”

The pearl meets her eyes for the first time. “I wanted to be here. We both did. But I don’t think I can do this, especially not… alone. I’m nothing like you.”

Pearl wants to argue the part about being alone while surrounded by an ever-growing number of Gems, but she remembers all too well how it feels, that ragged-edged void torn open in you, and that veil between you and the rest of the world. So she argues that last bit instead.

“I’m nothing special. Any pearl can do what I do, if she wants to.”

“But-”

Pearl is quick to cut off any protest in this particular matter. “No, no, no, listen, this is very important. All I ever got was a chance, and all I did was decide to take it. What we’re doing here now is trying to give that chance to everyone else. To you as well. Do you understand?”

The pearl’s tear-stained face scrunches up in thought. “I think so. But I- it’s hard to believe that a pearl could… do all these things...” her soft voice trails off again.

“Oh, so many find that hard to believe,” it’s so much easier to find words now, being allowed to preen and gloat and boast and put on a show - one of the great joys of the entire people-seem-to-like-calling-me-General arrangement, in Pearl’s view. “And let me tell you, there is nothing quite like the satisfaction of seeing the looks on their faces when they realise they’ve been beaten, outmanoeuvred, and outsmarted by the very pearl they were laughing at and offering to assist in returning home mere moments ago.”

There is an actual hint of a tiny smile on the pearl’s face, and Pearl feels herself beam with pride. The old thrill is still there, unchanged - the delicious awareness of rule-breaking, when the rules are so utterly terrible and suffocating, the inimitable spark of rebellion. Deliberately being so far removed from all the things they made her to be, everything they tried to instill in her. It is a delight Pearl can’t ever see herself growing tired of, and one she is eternally grateful she has managed to recapture.

“You’d think,” Pearl grins, “after so many thousands of years, they’d learn not to underestimate us. But noooo. Well, all I’ll say is... makes it all the easier for us to keep pulling it off, right?”

The pearl ducks her head. “You really think I could-?”

Escape a dozen quartz guards? Steal and fly a spaceship?

Lead a band of intergalactic rebels?

Pearl lets her smile soften. “Absolutely. Whatever you want. And I’ll gladly help.”

-

Pearl takes responsibility.

Failure is a reality, and the possibility of defeat is a cloud constantly looming over them, outnumbered and faced with such an overwhelmingly powerful opponent. And miscalculations happen, and good Gems are lost - hopefully merely imprisoned, though there is nothing mere about Homeworld imprisonment.

“I’m sorry,” Pearl tells the only ruby that managed to escape back to their hideout, hidden away in a nook of an abandoned and thankfully mural-free Diamond base. “I should never have sent you in there without some scouting first. I got carried away thanks to our recent victories, overreached, and you paid the price.”

The ruby shakes her head. “They knew the risks. We all do. But we chose to be here.”

She’s fiery and passionate and ever so insistent, and reminds Pearl of another Gem she knows and holds very dear. Pearl’s best attempt at a determined, reassuring smile, even if it’s for the moment just an unpleasantly forced stretching of the lips, is the least she deserves. “We’ll mount a rescue as soon as we have the chance. You’ll be a great help.”

“Thank you. They, uh-” Ruby trails off, voice suddenly wavering, and looks down, scuffing her foot on the uneven ground of their most recent temporary base. “They mean a lot to me.”

Pearl nods, but doesn’t quite know what to say, not when it counts - it’s never exactly been her strong suit, for all her tendency towards outright rebellious loquaciousness. Then there are the intrusive, poisonous thoughts, grasping at her, always doing their very best to pull her down no matter how high she manages to climb - Who’s ever heard of a pearl leading? Who let a pearl give orders and make decisions, let alone important ones? Of course it all went wrong, what pathetic game of pretend are you trying to play? You’re not fit to pick out the colour of your dress. You know all you’re good for is standing pretty in that little display corner, you’re not fooling anyone and you never have.

They are something she suspects she will never be entirely rid of, those stinging little whispers. But she takes a deep, grounding breath, and lets them roll off her as best as she can - and her best now is certainly better than her best even just a few quick human years ago.

Everyone makes mistakes, no matter who they are - herself just as much as Garnet, or even- or even Rose. There. It isn’t even all that hard to admit that anymore, is it?

By now she’s analysed the outcome of the mission, pinpointed the flaws in her original plan, and come up with several options for improvements in the future. Dwelling on it, wallowing, beating herself up over not seeing the obvious and slipping into that familiar self-deprecating place of always ruining everything would be the opposite of helpful right now. Even if Pearl has always been so very, very good at dwelling.

Pearl puts a hand on Ruby’s shoulder instead, and thinks back to the asteroid belt patrol route layout a disgruntled citrine slipped them. “We’ll get them back, and I know exactly where to start.”

-

Pearl cooperates and co-conspires.

The holo-screen takes several tries to properly turn on and the transmitter sputters to life reluctantly, worn and overheating from the strain of Pearl’s extremely long-distance and carefully frequency-masked subspace conferences with Garnet, the hours of building plans together, ironing out strategies and syncing up short-term goals. Fighting on two fronts is incredibly difficult, even without heavy communication constraints. But Earth’s defense is in Garnet’s capable hands, and Pearl’s well-oiled little strike team buys them time with sabotage and interference whenever they need it, and provides an endless stream of new recruits and fresh turncoats.

“How are things back home?” The words slip out at the tail end of her latest report before Pearl can fully register their implications, and she pauses. Bathed in the lights of some of her oldest haunts, she didn’t ask about Earth, about the Solar System, about Beach City, or the Temple, or about Steven or Connie, thankfully highly regular in their visits. She asked about home.

When did that shift even happen? If we win, we can never go home and that meaningful clasping of hands was thousands and thousands of years ago. And now here she is, hidden in the very heart of the home she renounced then, surrounded by echoes of things she’s for so very long feared both never and ever seeing again.

There are many places she wouldn’t mind calling home, she thinks - perhaps at the same time, which also has its charms. A true citizen of the stars, she’d style herself, and oh, the places she’d go - the places she will go, the things she will show others, once… once all this is done. But there is always something to be said for that odd little planet, teeming with life, and encouraging all sorts of wildly inappropriate behaviour. Perhaps her slip isn’t so strange after all.

By the time she tunes back in fully, Garnet has covered Amethyst's return with her entire extended family, their slowly building plans for the relocation of the space station housing the zoo humans, and all their updated planetary defense-related arrangements with the humans in the region.

“Nice work at the shipyards - Amethyst has been recapping the fight to everyone within earshot. Sounds like you’ve got things well in hand over there.”

“Well, you know me,” Pearl laughs awkwardly, “always full of surprises!”

“Not surprising at all,” Garnet cuts in, suddenly far more serious. “I knew you could do it.”

Half of Pearl wants to puff out her chest and soak in the praise and build herself on the foundation of it, and the other half wants to give a self-deprecating little laugh and say Well, that makes one of us! and call her every accomplishment a happy accident. But she stops herself before she can do either, as neither is a road she much wants to go down again.

“Would you believe,” she starts up instead, voice carefully casual, “the other day I had to break up a fight over some utterly minor nonsense between a carnelian, a peridot, and a dioptase, of all Gems, and listen to endless arguments about who started it. I have no idea how you did it Garnet, any of it, with Amethyst and myself- we must have driven you to distraction!”

“You did.” Even through the low resolution of the transmission, Garnet’s dry amusement is palpable.

Pearl clears her throat and tries not to ruin the mood by giving the (really, mostly correct) impression the next thing she says is some kind of settling of old scores, of putting things to rest and making them right, just in case something were to happen to either of them while they’re apart like this, and she never got the chance to try again.

She wishes it weren’t by laggy, grainy long-distance transmission, but she forges on all the same. “I’ve been wanting to tell you for… for a while now that… I’m sorry. We put so much on you, when Rose left, and you’d never asked for any of it in the first place, or wanted it, and… I’m so sorry, Garnet. You didn’t deserve that entire mess just dumped on you like that.”

Garnet pauses long enough to remove her visor, a gesture that, although more common in recent years, still comes laden with meaning and a sense of trust - that most precious and vulnerable of things that Pearl hasn’t always been kind to. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Technically, of course, that particular thing indeed wasn’t, and isn’t, and there is a lot there, wrapped up in that stinging, thorny bundle of Rose always did what she wanted that they are still only starting to unpack.

“Right, maybe I had no way of... affecting that decision. But I should have been there for you. And for Amethyst, too. I should have helped, and all I did was make everything worse.”

Garnet looks away briefly, and allows herself a sigh. “It was a bad time for all of us. But it’s in the past. We made it through, Pearl, and look at us now.”

“Yes,” Pearl acquiesces softly, “look at us now.”

The transmitter beeps a warning in the stretch of silence, and Pearl nudges it absent-mindedly.

“I suppose what I really wanted to say is… thank you. I want you to know appreciate all you’ve done for us. And all you’re still doing.”

“You’re welcome. We’re doing it together now.”

Garnet’s smile is small and soft and sincere, and Pearl is delighted to meet all three of her gentle eyes with what briefly feels like no barrier, even with entire galaxies between them.

“We are.”

She reaches a hand for the tiny screen, and Garnet reaches back. It’s not the contact they’d both like, light years away, but it’s something.

“I should go,” Pearl says finally, regretfully, and Garnet merely nods, until she’s startled by the way Pearl rapidly switches gears. “Oh! I almost forgot... you’re making sure Steven has the appropriate amount of vegetables with his meals? No offense to Amethyst, and not to add to your, well, overflowing list of concerns, but I do not trust her with matters related to nutrition-”

“Steven’s doing fine, Pearl,” Garnet interrupts, efficiently mollifying in a way Pearl still finds few Gems to be.

“I know. Of course he is- and he’s been such a help here! I’ll need him back soon.” Pearl meets Garnet’s smile. “And not just because I miss him already.”

“Connie says she’s coming over as soon as she’s done with school. You’ll see both of them soon.”

“Stevonnie will want a mission then, won’t they? Luckily, I know just the thing, excellently suited to their talents and highly educational. Oh, they’re going to love it!”

Pearl’s enthusiasm is cut off by the display sputtering in and out of static, and breaking into a comms unit production facility crawls up on her ever-growing to-do list. The signal stabilises again, but the message is clear.

“Well, looks like it’s really time for me to go. I’ll send you a quick report when we come back from the asteroid mines tonight.”

Garnet puts her visor back on, and gives a quick wave. “Good luck. Look after yourself. And everyone else.”

“I’ll do my best. You too, of course. And-”

Pearl blushes, her best approximation of ‘newly-minted confident rebel leader’ mellowing into something softer and more bashfully hesitant.

“And say, um,” she clears her throat, and Garnet grins and lets her squirm. “Tell Sheena I said... hello?”

“I will. But I’m sure you want me to tell her something more than that.”

It’s a tad hard to think clearly and come up with charming retorts when her mind so eagerly floods with sweet recollections of being suddenly held back from boarding an off-planet bound ship at the very last minute - for the admittedly very agreeable purpose of ‘goodbye kisses’.

Oh, but that’s it! “A kiss!”

“A kiss.”

“Yes, tell her that, while it’s true that I am regrettably far away, I’m sending her a kiss! And that I’ll certainly call her as soon as I am able.”

“One kiss from a dashing space rebel, got it. She’ll love it.”

Pearl drums her fingers against her lower lip nervously, and frowns. “You think she will? I think she will. Ohhhh, but what if she thinks it’s too, I don’t know… silly?”

“Pearl.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t need Future Vision for this. She’s going to love it.”

Pearl’s face is still bright blue when she returns to the hub, but she feels lighter than she has in days.

-

Pearl leads.

Others follow, to her eternal surprise. Or- well. Maybe not eternal. They’re- she’s... working on it. She’s earned the respect, surely, or it wouldn’t be there in such noticeable amounts. Right?

The battles she can handle easily, such as they are - mostly ambushes and quick stings and brief skirmishes anyway. Planning out troop movements on holographic chessboards is something she’s an old hand at. But the aftermath, when the dust settles, and they have made their escape, safe as can be, and she finds herself surrounded by Gems who look to her, that is new.

They want to listen to her. So many Gems, from all possible walks of life, eager to hear what she has to say, to take into account what she thinks, often when making their own choices, and not just in the heat of battle. It’s… an odd feeling. One Pearl is not sure she is altogether fond of. Guilt and blame are not pretty things, and the pitfalls here are rife with the potential for both, and are plentiful and not always obvious save in hindsight.

It was always easy to make a lightning-quick decision when it was just her own gem on the line. Easy to throw herself into battle, easy to throw herself in the way of swords and maces and javelins. Infinitely harder to expect someone else to do it. Without even the veneer of just doing what someone else would have wanted, acting in someone else’s name. And most of these Gems have never met Rose Quartz, have never followed her or fought against her or anything at all. She is, at most, a bogeyman to them, a figure from a cautionary tale. And while they’ve all heard other tales now, too, it’s incredibly odd to realise that beyond some vague notion of important legacy she doesn’t really mean all that much to them. But Pearl, Pearl they all know, and Pearl is real to them, and Pearl is right there, and they, for whatever incomprehensible reason, seem to trust her, even with their lives.

She’s developed something of a distaste for secrets in recent years (and is still working on her Lion tolerance levels- well, no offense or blame to the feline personally, and 'Earth mammal drawn into Rose’s orbit and inexorably changed' was hardly a narrow category - no offense to Greg, either, who’s been a stellar reminiscing companion, but facts were just that). Oh, she works hard not to burden the Gems under her leadership - her Gems, what an idea! - with her fears and anxieties, while still keeping them aware of important concerns. But the balance is difficult to strike, and the whole ‘protecting’ issue required quite a lot of thought, and Pearl isn’t sure she’s reached a satisfactory conclusion there yet.

She is distracted, very briefly, as a particularly colourful comet flies overhead. Their current hideout comes with an observatory dome that Pearl is determined to make good use of, and where she spends most of her (admittedly meagre) downtime.

And then, it isn’t the number of orders given or plans made that makes her important. Yes, perhaps on a strategic level, but…

What gives her worth? (Oh, asking the real questions now - and there, another comet, this one with a less pronounced dust tail, but still wonderful.) Not what she meant to Rose, or what she means to someone now. Worth is something she herself has, utterly intrinsic, without anyone else entering into it - it’s an odd equation. What she can do, and what she chooses to do. What she knows, what she believes. And even without that, just the fact that she is. A living thing. Thinking, feeling, being.

Rose had made many speeches on the topic. There was an entire manifesto to consider. Pearl has had plenty of time to expound upon it on her own, and pass it on to others. She does her very best to believe it herself, of herself… but it’s easier said than done, a lot of the time. Still, let it never be said she doesn’t try.

Even if Rose were here, and she isn’t, she isn’t, she isn’t- but even if she were, her glance, her word, her touch, her kiss, the way she beamed at Pearl standing at her side and carrying her banner, and all the secrets in the universe, whether entrusted to her, or forced upon her… that wasn’t what made Pearl Pearl. Oh it… informed it, certainly, but so did many other things, and many other people, but most of all it was Pearl who did the final sculpting, in the finest of pale, iridescent nacre. No matter who she’d claimed to do it for, she was the one doing it, in the end, and that has to count for something, doesn’t it?

While the others rest, Pearl ponders essential existential questions and has deep, introspective moments while stargazing at constellations she never thought she’d see again. That much she allows herself, with a gentleness aimed at herself that she’s had to painstakingly cultivate - she wouldn’t be Pearl, after all, without getting stuck in her own head now and again.

-

The rebellion continues. And persists.

-

Pearl gazes, exhausted, across a newly liberated colony-formerly-in-the-making, and feels relief, and feels pride. Pride in the Gems fighting alongside her, in their cause, and in herself. To have come so very, very far…

Her reverie is interrupted by the sound of someone walking up the hill on her left, and she turns to see Bismuth, hands held conspicuously behind her back.

“I was thinking…” Bismuth begins, rehearsed, as soon as she’s by Pearl’s side on the summit. “I wanted to commemorate our first big victory. So I made you this.”

She’s holding out an elegant rapier, glittering silvery in the oddly coloured dusk. It’s a stunning show of craftsmanship - the fine metal has little constellations worked into it, stars winding around the elaborate hilt and the blade both. Pearl feels her eyes welling up before she’s even dared to reach out and touch it.

“Oh… oh, Bismuth, it’s beautiful,” her fingers lightly brush against the grip, and Bismuth nudges it towards her until she finally grasps it. “You’ve truly outdone yourself.”

“You say that every time,” Bismuth scoffs playfully.

Pearl, however, is utterly serious and insistent. “That’s because it’s true every time!” She turns in a huff, and gives the sword a trial flick, and a few swings. It cuts through the air like quicksilver. “Oh-! Oh, the length, the balance- how did you get it to be so perfect?”

Bismuth grins. “Easy! I know you. And I happen to know we’re both real good at what we do. So it all works out.”

Work.

Pearl pauses halfway through a quick, spontaneous swordfighting form, and heaves a deep sigh. “There’s still so much to do.”

“Sure is! I was in such a rush to get this to you, I still haven’t even started on a scabbard for it. But I can’t help it - the promise of finally getting to see you use it, even just a bit? Worth it.”

“Bismuth, you know that’s not what I meant.”

There’s that wonderful, indomitable grin again, and Bismuth nudges a shoulder against her gently. “I know. But look, we’ve made some big steps here, and we aren’t about to stop, and they aren’t about to stop us, either.”

“No,” Pearl agrees, looking back towards the horizon littered with jagged half-finished spires, “no, we are certainly not stopping.”

Bismuth throws an arm around her shoulders and Pearl presses into her side gratefully, sword held tightly to her chest, and sniffles only a bit.

Author’s Commentary: Wilted Roses - Dealing with Trolls/Flames

Annoyedchapterreader: This story is boring and nauseating. Fuck Romy. She[’]s like another boring white witch using daddy[’]s money to havr[sic] fun. She[’]s a shitbag and poorely[sic] written.

I got my first flame! I feel like I’ve really made it as a fic writer now. lol. I feel like this should be an unlocked achievement for fanfiction writers.

To start, I’m sorry Annoyedchapterreader for whatever you’re going through. I know this time of year can be really tough and it’s easy to feel like you’ve gained some sort of semblance of power by leaving a flame. The internet is probably your only venue to lash out safely and with no consequence, your real life is probably filled with impotent rage as you are helpless to change whatever frustrating situation you find yourself in. So, I forgive your unhelpful comment that served no purpose.

Or you’re just the run of the mill dick. Either way, I know it’s not actually about my story. lol

On a more serious note, I think this is a good time to show writers that comments like these should not deter anyone from writing the story they want to write. Not every story is for everyone. A story is first and foremost, written for the writer and not the readers. So, if someone personally doesn’t like a character, feel free to ignore it if the character is written in such a way to further your story. I’m confident in my writing skills and I write with purpose, so Romy is the way she is for a reason.

That is not to say to ignore every critical comment as a flame or brush someone off as being a hater. If the reviewer had actually given a well thought out review, I would totally take it to heart. But that’s not what happened here. Wilted Roses is only one chapter in and they are making a lot of assumptions that cannot be inferred by what I’ve written. Romy’s race has not been mentioned, calling her a “white girl” is premature. I haven’t even mentioned her looks whatsoever. We don’t know her hair colour, eye colour, skin tone, or any other racial identifier. It’s been hundreds of years since the Salem Witch Trials, so plenty of miscegenation could have happened between then and now.

“[U]sing daddy[’] money to hav[e] fun” shows a lack of critical thinking. AHS-Coven/Apocalypse has clearly shown that the Coven is a female dominated culture, and I’ve mentioned it plenty in the chapter. So, it wouldn’t be “daddy’s money” it would be “mommy’s money.” And yes, Romy is wealthy. Not every character is going to come from poverty (or some other ultra-horrible situation) and have their je ne sais quoi carry them through the story. Having a tragic or difficult back story is not a replacement for a personality or character traits. I think there are plenty of those out there. There are also plenty of wealthy people too, and that’s the route I’m going. I think Witch Culture lends itself more to most members being wealthy. We see this in all the haute couture the witches wear, specially Myrtle Snow. Romy’s wealth is actually a plot point. Also, while she may have money, she clearly didn’t want to use it and leave a trail. There were plenty of instances where she was being sly and trying not to use the credit cards. So, this review of Romy is factually wrong.

I want to highlight that we’re only one-chapter in. The fact the reviewer has completely disregarded Romy (and making aspersions with very little to go off of) just one chapter in, makes me think they weren’t reading and reviewing to be helpful, but saw an easy scapegoat and target to vent for their unhappy life. Romy literally hasn’t done anything yet, the first chapter as I’ve written it is to follow the show and have her inserted in a seamless way. I don’t want Romy to make such a difference to the storyline that it’s already AU, I want it subtler. She’s an observer. So yes, I think it’s fair to say the first chapter may be boring because we’ve basically already seen it. It’s essentially the end of Could It Be…Satan? and the beginning of Boy Wonder. But given the way the comment was written, I do not think that’s what they were talking about. It seemed, to me, they were trying to say the story was boring and nauseating because they wrongly see Romy as a shallow rich girl.

So, another thing a writer needs to figure out with a comment: does it use critical thinking or is it just mean to be mean? I think it’s clear this particular review is the latter. If we were several more chapters in, with Romy’s character more fleshed out then I would take it into consideration. I would probably also need more than one person to make that observation, a one off I may still ignore. And it’s also assuming I’m not purposefully writing Romy to be shallow.

I don’t know any story where a character is completely fleshed out and can be given a fair review just one-chapter in (at least not in such absolute terms the review used). Also, not every character is going to be universally likeable. So, I’m OK with people not being totally in love with Romy, or any other character, from the first chapter. I’m not even worried about her being a loved character by the end of the story. I’m more interested in writing believable dynamics between the characters and their developments.

I think it’s totally fair to disregard any review that serves no purpose and it’s just the rantings of an unhappy individual, the only people who would take time out of their day to leave nasty comments (as opposed to critical reviews). I’m going to delete this review and hope the person doesn’t make it their personal vendetta to keep bothering me with flames.

Hopefully they have better things to do with their time but given that they did it in the first place makes me think they don’t.

May I suggest writing fanfiction?

Freedom

Pairing: Deviant!Ashley x Reader

Requested by: Anonymous

Request: Imagine the Deviant being released from FEAR and coming home to meet your son for the first time

Ashley watched as they escorted Andy away, this was it, they lost. F.E.A.R. won. He’d be executed after. The unspoken agreement between the five of them that he would be the next leader if something happened to the Prophet.

“Ash…” He turned to glare at Jinxx, they never called each other by name, their loved ones could easily be found out if that happened.

“What?” He questioned, leaning again the back wall of his cell, picking at his nails. F.E.A.R. had stripped them of their leather, attempted to remove their tattoos to no success. He felt naked not having his leather on him, he was starting to hate the colour white. So plain and ‘pure’ he rolled his eyes at the notion that white was the symbol of purity and love.

“Were you able to see them before they got us?” Jinxx asked quietly.

“No, they got me when I was on my way to the medical tent.” Ashely frowned, his love had gone into labour when he was scouting, he was notified by a Legion member and without taking the proper precautions and having someone take over his position he quickly ran off to not miss the birth of his child. He blamed himself for their capture. If he hadn’t have left his post he would've noticed the guards and taking the proper measures to keep camp hidden.

“I know you blame yourself Dev.” Jake spoke up, using a shortened version of Ashley’s Wild One title, Ashley had a quiet enough life before joining the Wild Ones and changed his appearance enough that he was still the only one that F.E.A.R. hadn’t found the true identity for yet and he was grateful for that.

“I left my post, I didn't get a proper replacement. I disregarded the protocols I designed.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“You think they’ve done it yet.” CC spoke up, saying what was on all their minds, wondering if their beloved leader and brother had left the world yet.

“The lights would've flickered if they did it, the chair takes a significant amount of power.” Jinxx said, snapping his fingers and watching a small flame dance on his thumb.

The 4 of them looked up when they heard the door to their cell block open and Andy walk in, out of his shackles.

“Proph, what the hell?” CC asked in shock.

“Hacker did it.” Andy smirked, “the citizens are free and we’re free as well, let’s get out of here.”

“Please.” Ashley begged, wanting to get out of the cell and prison garb as soon as possible.

The rest of the Wild Ones were quickly released from their cells by guards and lead to where their personal possessions were held. They all quickly changed back into their leather. Ashely grinning as he slid his vest back on and combed his hair to the side, tying a bandana around his head and pulling on his cowboy boots.

“Looking good Dev.” Jake laughed seeing that Ashley was the quickest to change, out of the five of them he was clearly the one who hated the prison uniform the most.

“Feeling good Mor.” Ashely smirked at him.

The Wild Ones were escorted into the middle of the desert by guards before telling them to let them off, they could walk the rest of the way. Despite the population being freed from F.E.A.R.s control they still didn't trust it entirely.

Ashely was the head of the five of them as they started the hike to their second base camp. “Ready to see your child Ash?” Andy questioned, keeping pace with the very determined father.

“More then ready.” He breathed, “And y/n, fuck I’ve missed her.” He sighed, pulling at his arm wrap. “I feel like shit leaving her to raise them by herself.”

“You can’t really call getting captured your fault Ash.” Jinxx said, having to jog to keep pace with Andy and Ashely.

“Still, I promised her I’d be there to help her.” Ashely rolled his eyes, mind going to y/n. Legally they were just dating, but he remembered the small wedding ceremony that the Legion had performed for y/n and him, they didn't have rings. They couldn't have any indication that they were so much more than a dating couple. Ashley was one of F.E.A.R.s most wanted, they couldn't know he had a partner that he’d do anything for.

“Don’t feel too guilt Ash, I’m pretty sure the Legion helped her, wouldn't want the Deviant’s wife to suffer.” Jake said.

“They wouldn't help her just because she’s with me. She’s first and foremost a member of the Legion, they’re her family and that’s why they’ll help her.” Ashley said, remembering when he first met y/n. One of the most vocal and passionate members of the Legion, the most caring for other members who lost loved ones and friends during raids and battles. That’s what he loved about her, she understood that she was in a weird position being a partner to one of their leaders but also a member of the Legion, she made sure no one treated her differently in the Legion, and that Ashley didn't grant her favouritism, or treat her any differently than other Legion member during battle planning and during raids. He only became more protective when she told him of her pregnancy. He couldn't risk the life of his child, he hated making her stay back and help with the medical team as she was always on the front lines and one of their toughest warriors, but she understood. For the sake of the life she was carrying, she took a back seat from the fighting and started learning new skills from the medical team.

“THEY’RE BACK!!” He was drawn from his thoughts when he heard shouts. Looking up he saw members of the Legion running up to greet him and the guys. He smiled seeing them, and more behind them, even in their absence the Legion kept the fight alive and kept bringing in new members so support the cause.

“How’s y/n and the baby?” He questioned immediately.

“Both doing really well. They’re in the main structure.” One of their lead medics informed Ashley.

“Thank you.” He smiled gratefully starting to make his way to the centre of camp and entering the small rotting, but reenforced structure that he and the guys lived in since they were the heads of the Legion.

“Y/n?” He called out softly, not wanting to risk waking his child if they were down of a nap.

“Oh my god Ashely!” He was instantly greeting with a hug, y/n clinging onto him, he responded the same way, wrapping his arms around her and burring his face in her hair, breathing in her scent.

“I’m back, and they’re never going to get me again.” He said, promising her that.

“I was so fucking scared, I knew you guys had a plan to destroy F.E.A.R. from the inside but Andy was literally seconds away from dying, I saw it being broadcasted.” She said face still in his chest.

“We did it, that’s all that matters.” Ashely said, running his fingers through her hair and kissing her forehead.

“How’s the little one?” he asked softly, he still had no ideal whether he had a son or a daughter.

“He’s doing amazing, but he can’t wait to meet his daddy.” y/n smiled, kissing Ashely with force and passion, Ashely responded the same way, having craved her lips for months, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close.

“I can’t wait to meet him too.” Ashely spoke softly as he pulled away from the kiss. She grinned, grabbing his hand and leading him to the back of his two room space, where a small crib was set up. Ashley’s heart melted the instant he saw his son. It was real, he was a father, and his son was beautiful, already a full head of dark brown hair, pale skin that was almost see through on some places in his body.

“He’s beautiful.” Ashely breathed staring down as his son.

“His name is Dustin, English origin. It means warrior.” y/n smiled, she was so relieved now that Ashely was back and he got to meet their son. She was terrified when she was notified after she gave birth that Ashley and the rest of the Wild Ones had been captured, even more terrified when Andy’s execution was announced because she knew that because Ashley was Andy’s second in command, he’d be the next in the chair.

“Perfect for him.” Ashely grinned. Ashely’s happiness quickly erased her dark thoughts, she had him back now, their family was whole again and they could continue on their fight to rid the world of F.E.A.R.

It was at this time Dustin decided to wake up, his chocolate brown eyes opening and staring up at Ashely, the small infant obviously confused by this new stranger. Y/n winced, knowing Dustin was horrible to new people, even if they were the medical staff present at his birth, he was a fussy baby and very particular about who held him.

“Hi baby boy.” Ashely’s voice was soft and kind, and had an edge to it that y/n had never heard before.

“I’m so happy to finally meet you.” He continued to coo his son, gently lifting him out of the crib and holding him close. “I’ve waited so long to see you, I bet mommy’s been taking good care of you, but daddy’s now here to help and I promise I’m never going to let anything happen to you or your mommy okay?” He asked his son who just gurgled in response. Y/n couldn't help but smile seeing father and son interact, their little family was finally complete, and nothing would tear them apart again.

She was torn from her thoughts when the rest of the guys barged in, wanting to meet their nephew, all crowding Ashley and Dustin. Y/n rolled her eyes with a smile, Dustin was going to grow up being the most protected child in the Legion and she couldn't complain about that.

Kabakovs #1

As I said in a post the other day, going to use tumblr for stuff that is too attenuated or not worked enough for a blog, and won’t really go anywhere else (my twitter game is awful), but which i’d like to record in a place that isn’t just gathering dust on my hard drive.

the following posts take quotes from the current Ilya and Emilia Kabakov exhibition 'Not Everyone Will Be Taken Into the Future’ at the Tate Modern.

Objects of his Life (2005)

Including hundreds of personal items arranged in display cases or suspended on wires, this installation imagines a fictional character reduced to the things he owns. These are presented and labelled like artefacts in an archaeological museum. As with the earlier painting Sobakin [...] the Kabakovs ask whether the complexity of any individual’s existence and personal experiences can be adequately reflected in material objects or institutional records.

A lack of a sense of permanence has caused me more and more anxiety as I get older. I’m sure this is in part a fear of death, but in the main I feel ‘what have I got to show for myself?’ I spend the money I earn. I read books, the memory of which quickly becomes foggy. I have always had an indifference to material objects and this is bad not good. Things fall into disrepair and do not get repaired, and I am poor at maintaining the condition of things. I feel this extends to the physical object that is myself, my body, and that I will die from disrepair and carelessness. The state of my bike, and my poor bike maintenance skills (ie i have never made the effort to lean them properly) feels more salutary than it perhaps warrants.

So these are my anxieties.

I’ve embarked on therapy recently as part of a crisis in the middle of last year. As part of that I’ve been forced to approach my anxieties in a more constructive way than i’ve managed in the past. As fits the first paragraph - I’m horribly self-aware of my failings (I think!) not so horribly good at doing anything about them (self-repair, debugging, see therapy as a form of rubber ducking, maybe?).

There is, I think it’s in Gershom Scholem’s Story of a Friendship, a description Walter Benjamin’s love of specific objects. Reading it felt like a reproach. I admire Benjamin. In my mind this love and fascination with objects goes with an approach to the world that is not abstract, that is located in the concrete or der konkret, to get Hegelian. It is interested in structures and material presence. It is not dogmatic, not trying to fit the world to abstract theories, but will develop interest around specific things, and enable connections and discussions between them.

I have a capacity for unifying theories and I despise it. I locate that capacity in my congenital disregard for material objects.

I decided to start buying one object a month not for its utility but for its aesthetic value. I have a terrible eye in junk shops, but this is the sort of approach I wanted to take. I bought a mid-20th century German vase and try to put flowers in it weekly. In the florists I will ask the names of the flowers. More specific objects.

I’ve decided on this process in order to start creating a stable material world, that is mine. That the expression of my personality does not just live in the puffs of vocalised air that come out of my mouth, the impermanence of unfixed thoughts. It’s a start.

So I was interested in this particular section of the Kabakov exhibition. I looked at the items, keys, bits of rubber sealant, a torn piece of card. They were the sort of things that you find in boxes you haven’t emptied out, drawers with string in them. 

I remembered the scientific principle that waste is the material remnant of expended energy.

This in turn reminded me of the uneven book C by the desperately uneven writer Tom McCarthy (Remainder - excellent, C - uneven, the first chapter is a masterpiece i think, Satin Island - abysmal). One of the chief achievements of C is the argument for a world where the persistence of life after death is a material persistence rather than an immaterial one. Humans deteriorate into a tenebrae activae – the dark sludge at the bottom of the mystical chain of being – to be materially reconfigured into new existence. (this iirc is something more than the processing of simple composting).

In the main installation, a room, with the detritus of a life, there were cast-off clothes, clutter on a desk, and items, objects hanging from strings.

Tied to the strings with the objects on them were fragments of mundane conversation, argument, emotional outpouring. In his accompanying text Ilya Kabakov says that these objects may persist with the memories with which they were associated.

I was uncertain about the extent to which the memories matter in this equation. A loved one may cry over a piece of clothing they remember you wearing, but to what extent is a person who never knew you capable of reconstructing you from the detritus? To what extent must we select our material world, curate it, if you must, in order to leave an impression of who we were.

To what extent must expending energy go towards a material presence that is deliberately constructed, into which thought and emotion has gone? Art, if you like? But also craft.

The expending of energy with only waste to show for it seems a bad conversion.

In the book Hotel by Joanna Walsh, she writes:

Home work is work done behind closed doors. Unlike cutting a board to make a bed, it leaves no evidence. Time is undone each time the bed is made up. Home work – cleaning, ironing, washing – is undoing.

This is also repair. Repairing our environment. Caring for material objects. Caring for ourselves. The expending of energy to keep things the same. 

The cost of standing still.

In a bad not good story I tried to write about 15 years ago, i proposed a technology capable of associating the entire material traces of a human (travel records, credit and banking records, receipts, photos, online presence) to reconstruct that human, in a purely abstract sense, to allow murder victims to be witnesses at their own trials. Inevitably this technology got applied to the nostalgia industry, with light sculptures of loved ones being applied as a wrapper round the central technology of retrieving the complete character and mental map of a person’s life. Central to that story was the question. These figures were capable of replicating everything they had done in their life - Van Gogh could paint the sunflowers again - but were incapable of inspiration - new thoughts, but also with its connotations of breath.

There is a persistently under construction post in my head about the depiction of ‘Lazarus’ characters in fiction and poetry.

In later rooms, but earlier pictures, scraps of memories, pictures of an idealised soviet republic, vie with scraps of newer images or much older classical images, all done in the same, slightly totalitarian, simplified, brightly coloured realism (as opposed to abstraction). Here, the relative transparency of the material object (the scraps of paper and imagery), is overwhelmed by the image of the memories, perhaps themselves a waste product of sorts.

Here is a good song originally by The Groundhogs about it all. Yes it’s by The Fall what did you expect ffs. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=InZfX-iQvN0