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#i work hard on giving female muses extra time too bc i know that life can be shite lmfao

banschivs · 2 years

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Since for me this blog has been feeling like a massive flop and more like a prop lately, and given my worsening health making me extra bitter just in general, I think I'm gonna need to hit a soft refresh here. I'm not moving because I lack the commitment to do that, but I will be dropping, probably a few threads that have unfortunately been left behind context-wise. Gonna start fresh as Nix is newly pregnant, the arc is done, and there's nothing really else I can think of to spark motivation. So refresh it is. I do still want to write with people, and if our thread was a little left behind in Nix's canon, you'll likely get a meme or two sent from me when I next see you rb one.

#i'm kind of like... just tired #i've had a few good tries doing something important for nix's development and it always ends in like nothing #largely probs bc i'm a garbage fire but leave that alone lads aight aight #i think just honing my focus on where she is /right now/ and moving with that might help #tbd #overall a very bleh sense on here rn #and in life so it couuuuld just be a reflection #i'm gonna try and go meditate in the wild today to do a soft reset on my brain too #after a big bout of blood tests nothing could go wrong #yes its raining i live in the north #thats perfect weather #but yeah i really do want to keep interactions going even if i have to leave a few threads #i work hard on giving female muses extra time too bc i know that life can be shite lmfao #so please in general dont take my lack of reply as an insult #i will be haunting your inbox or starter/plotting calls #and youre more than welcome to haunt mine when given the opportunity too #:)#me... on the floor... exhausted and in pain tears streaming down my face: good vibes only we're good vibes only #working on it

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disslve · 4 years

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𝐲𝐞𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐰 & 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐝𝐲 ! this is nai and my cowboy ass is here to throw roxy @ u and also tell u bad jokes and cry over life is strange 2 because i’m still not over this game and I NEED TO TALK ABOUT IT. just a heads up, i came up with roxy on a whim because this rp just looked so good, so if it seems like i don’t know what i’m talking about ... it’s most likely the case whoops . ( this is an excuse for me bringing shitty muses ). anyway, my fake cowboy ass loves to ramble so if you’re interested in plotting feel free to LIKE this post or hmu. i forgot to mention that i’m also a fake grandma so idk anything about discord at all and i still need to set it up which will happen in the next few days dsdnsdsdn.

ps: wanted connections/plots can be find in my wanted tag ( a link is on my blog ) and i’ll also list some below !

EDIT: discord name is nai #7158

* [ kristine froseth + cis-female + she/her ] —— have you met roxanne ‘roxy’ bailey ? they are a twenty-two year old junior currently studying romance languages and literatures. they live on decker house and word around campus is that this scorpio is compassionate + dedicated, as well as impatient + dishonest. i wonder if they’ll make it out alive.

basics.

full name: roxanne elise bailey

nicknames: roxy, rox

sexual orientation: bisexual

birth place: valencia, spain ( but only lived there for five years )

history.

one could say that roxy had lived an easy life, though her parents weren’t distinguished by their social status, it didn’t mean they lacked money which was enough to support their daughter in whatever she wanted to do.

truth to be told, roxy was indeed a little spoiled, the type of kids who would try all kind of things on the expenses of their parents only to quit a new ‘hobby’ again. she could barely stick to anything. she was some twisted kind of golden child, good at many things but never had the patience to continue something for long enough to cultivate it.

skipping over the part where she almost tried everything from arts, music etc. she finally found her passion ( and even roxy herself was surprised ). figure skating. she didn’t know what drew her in, she couldn’t explain it, she tried it and it felt right. roxy always describes the feeling as finding a soulmate if she feels extra dramatic that day.

unsurprisingly, she was good at it. not that kind of good at something she was at all the other things she tried before, but that being good at which stemmed from genuine interest. maybe, that is why she managed to get so far. and it didn’t take too long that people even started to call her a figure skating prodigy.

at this point at her life, she had it all, spinning the stars on her fingertips ( or warning bad pun ahead: spinning on the ice ). until, well, her parents company was in some crisis and they had to cut corners in the meantime. also oh so ‘conveniently’ roxy lived at the arse end of nowhere and getting to her practices was now even more difficult because as mentioned before they had to save their money for more necessary things. of course, there were more things , small and big, which totally threw her off ( which i am too lazy to list rn).

roxy tried to work part time, but a) the money wasn’t enough b) she didn’t want to cut more hours of training she managed to get. AND well, here comes the turning point and roxy thinking she was oh-so-smart without realizing that it would cost her career. oh-so-smart roxy came up with the idea to , well, just steal some stuff. after all, she trained with many other wealthy peers and she could just sell off their stuff or something.

at the beginning she only did it to afford certain things she needed, but soon it somehow became an addiction. she felt in control when everyone else in her life was an utter mess. however, the more she took things away from others the more she felt comfortable, doing it more often and sometimes taking things which weren’t even worth that much. it was only a matter of time until she was caught. and as if she was lucky for too long, the person who caught her pressured her into either giving them a hefty sum of money (which she didn’t have) or to quit figure skating. she decided for the latter.

well, here she was and her sudden departure was quite a shock. but she had no choice and stated it was for personal reasons.

skipping over her being devastated over it, etc. her parents managed to save their company (whatever this company is) but at this point it was already too late and roxy was accepted into holloway.

right now she actually wants to pick up her figure skating career again, however, she’s too afraid that the blackmailer is going to expose her and also she doesn’t really know who they are (lets pretend they wrote her letters, txt messages >??) and also she’s kind of afraid due to the lack of practice she had .

personality.

okay i’ll keep this short bcs i wrote way too much for her background story. but to sum it up, roxy kind of has that perfect girl facade. considering how many friends roxy has and how social she appears to be it is odd that no one seems to be able to describe her. roxy doesn’t want people to know who she truly is, and she keeps her distance as she actively avoids conflicts that might cause her to say something wrong and exposes herself.

she shields her feelings by only presenting polished version of herself, the facade of the perfect girl: kind, hard-working and polite. someone whose life is easy and someone who looks like she doesn’t have any worries. it doesn’t mean she isn’t anything of that, but it’s not as if her kindness has no bounds or that she doesn’t need to put effort into the things she does. nevertheless, she believes that she must be perfect in order to make people like her. and while, she is pretty good at masking her emotions and smile along, as soon as someone threatens to see past the illusion, she will become defensive and won’t hesitate to lie in order to preserve it.

plots.

best friends: although roxy pretty much keeps her distance from everyone else, this person had always stood by her side. maybe they knew about roxy’s sudden wannabe-thief phase ( which she is still in ) and well tried to talk her out of it ( which obviously didn’t work ). also adding some drama here and maybe they had a big argument over it and distanced from each othr because of it. however, my angst ass doesn’t want to ruin it and they’ll rekindle their friendship. they might meet again at holloway and it’s awkward at first, maybe they even have some arguments but they’ll get over it because everyone loves a good rekindled friendship story.

annoyance: someone who gets under roxy’s skin.seeing past the perfect girl face and constantly calling her out on it. maybe they just have fun annoying her and want to see what she really likes or they just don’t like roxy , thinking that beneath all of this act, she is a really unpleasant person. perhaps, they’re even doing it with good intentions and want to show her that she doesn’t need to hide who she is. whatever it is, they’re determined to expose to the world who she really is.

pen pal ??: muse a and roxy had been friends for a very long time, yet the funny thing is that they’ve never met each other nor do they know what the other look like. all they know is their name ( or maybe they only know each other by their usernames ) and their deepest secrets. maybe they already have crossed paths many times and perhaps even know each other but don’t like each other irl. or they never had noticed the other.

blackmailer: BECAUSE WHY NOT??? the person who forced roxy to give up on figure skating. maybe, they were a rival or just didn’t like her, or any other reason. they might as well, have noticed that roxy is secretly training again and might be back at their shit again.

exes: GIVE ME THE ANGST, maybe muse a and roxy used to be in a serious relationship and as naive they were back then both of them thought this love would last forever. however, at some point roxy started to distance herself from muse a, constantly cancelling their dates because of their busy schedule. at first muse a tried to be understanding towards her, but as time passed things only got worse. roxy hating any kind of conflict just decided to ignore the problem instead about talking about it and eventually stopped replying to muse a messages. muse a never really got to know the real reason behind their break up and was left with unanswered questions. but anything works

unrequited love: (this is just me throwing in my favourite way to make myself suffer) It doesn’t matter who is the one with the the one sided love because i just want some good angst.a) muse a has a crush on roxy, yet they never told her about it. yet, muse a can’t hide it and it doesn’t take too long until roxy notices it. but instead of trying to talk to muse a about it, roxy just ignores it acting as she usually does and perhaps even give them false hope that she might like them back. maybe muse a even confessed to her and because roxy didn’t want to hurt them she told muse a she’d think about it.

b) roxy has a crush on muse a but doesn’t admit it. she doesn’t want to show their vunerable side and just plays it down. maybe they’re friends and roxy doesn’t want to lose another friend. but one day she confesses to muse a on accident, making everything awkward between them.

someone she stole from: idk i thought this would be fun ? maybe she confessed to them about it or maybe they caught her but decided to not confront her about it.

fan: someone who used to watch her perfomances on their tv and is still not over the fact that she quit.

i also have a connection page on my blog if these are too specific or none of these work

i’m too tired to come up with more dsdsdnjsd but gimme everything !! THE ANGST, FLUFF, DRAMA PLS!!!

#did i use a special font just to highlight the yeehaw ?? yes #holloway.intro #this got so long djssdsdn

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btxtreads · 4 years

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ANOTHER TAG ASHJHJASD

extra long tag game (aka a tmi that no one particularly cares for)

tagged by @txthearteu

tagging @markhyucknorenminchenji @qtsoobin @beomberry @txtdiaries and other people who wanna do it idk

ONE

tell me the first song that made you stan your current fave group and why did your faves attract you so much?

of course, none other than king943 hSJADJSAJHAS. He’s a little secret I’ll let you all in on: the first person I actually noticed in TXT was,,,,,,, Kang Taehyun hSDHJAHJSDAHSA but he wasn’t my bias. I just thought he was cute (also amused me bc my BTS bias was Taehyung and I found a guy named Taehyun cute), but I didn’t stan them then. I started stanning when I saw ONE DREAM.TXT where they talked to BTS and found them really cute and endearing. Looking into them, they were wild, and chaotic and so fun and also i got rEAAAALLY attached to Soobin. So here I am. There u go, my stanning story.

TWO

rule: answer the ten questions and write your own!

what’s your unrealistic goal for life?

becoming a famous actress or singer hJSHADJSA

if you had known that we would be in a global pandemic, what’s one thing that you would’ve done before things shut down (if they have for you)?

Went to a theme park. I miss going to theme parks 🥺

what’s an unconventional thing that you carry around with you when you go out?

hmmm most of the time i just go out with just my phone and money unless I need to bring a bag due to safety concerns/more items needed. So I’d say nothing unconventional.

favourite type of plushies and why?

God do I seem boring hsahsajjsa but i wasn’t too big on plushies. I had a gigantic teddy bear named Justin when I was a kid (it’s a bear with shades that my brother gave me) and I used to buy plushies whenever I’m in disneyland, it’s all in my sister’s reading lounge. The only plushie in my room now is a Mollang doll wearing like a blue shirt/dress, it’s my favorite rn It’s squishyyyy

favourite song right now?

right now, it’s Work It by Sabrina Carpenter.

something that you’ve always wanted to learn?

Dancing (i literally suck. i have no idea how. no joke), Vocal Lessons (had some lessons briefly for like a year but i stopped and want to take some again), music production, acting, hosting

tell a funny story about yourself (or just something that you’ve witnessed)

ok okok so one time in our class groupchat we were talking about class elections for officers. There were muse votes and some people were saying they want me to be the muse but i didnt want to bc i was busy with work. Then they started saying that they want me to be the muse and this guy that i rejected be the escort. while this is happening, i was simping hard for soobin in another chat. anyways, i got everything mixed up and accidentally sent the soobin simp stuff to the class chat and everyone thought i was simping for the classmate i rejected i was so asHAMED.

headphones or speakers? why?

speakers! idk i just like blastic the music loud.

craving any food right now? what are you craving?

anything with cheese

which music streaming platform do you prefer? why?

spotify since its free for me askjjksad someone pays for my subscription lmaooo

😌✌️

questions from cj to me:

android or apple? why?

APPLE because im loyal 😌 and i guess im just used to it so its easier to use for me + all my gadgets at home are mac

words of affirmation or physical affection? why?

I think there should be a good balance of both. The words will have the ability to give you this sense of comfort and satisfaction and you know just overall a peace of mind when you hear the right words??? and physical affection bc sometimes it’s just better to get a hug or a kiss isntead of talking yk? actions speak louder than words sometimes

bean bag or rocking chair? why?

Honestly, this would depend. If I’m reading a book and feeling very vintage with a hot cup of coffee, definitely a rocking chair. If I’m watching TV and basically just chilling I’d go for Bean Bag. I like maintaining the atmosphere.

do you view a half-filled glass as half-full or half-empty or an in-between? why? (go as deep as you can)

I view it as in-between, because there’s always room for improvement. There’s always things to change, and consider, and make better. There’s no such thing as perfect.

If someone were to grant your wish right now, what would it be and why?

Please stop corona right now and let everyone go back to their daily lives and please let me attend a TXT concert bls im begging on my kNEES

if someone were to give you anything you want right now, what would it be and why? (something that can be held)

Give me Soobin I just want to give him a hug. this is valid i can hold him

favorite season and why

Winter! Even if I’ve never experienced snow or winter before, the whole idea of snow is just really fun and endearing to me. One of my bucketlists is to see snow in real life. I think it has to do with the fact that I’ve always been this person to prefer the cold over heat.

what made you enter tumblr?

I’ve always been here! Just not in kpop tumblr. I’ve since deleted my old accounts and shame but i came back to write. It’s always been so stress-relieving to me, to write without any expectations on my back because I’m thinking about grades or a competition. Also Soobin simping is a daily thing and I gotta release it somewhere man

are you happy with where you are in life right now? why or why not?

Yes. I may not be the richest or the prettiest, or smartest or whatever, but I have a good family that loves me. I have good friends that support me and I have TXT and BTS to help me cope when things get overwhelming. I have a job that gives me a little bit of income (it’s not too common for college students here to get jobs like in the US, most of them just focus on acads) and all the means to continue my education amidst the pandemic. So really, I’m grateful for where I am now.

to see the boys in real life but for it to happen only once in your lifetime, or to meet the boys via online fan meeting as many times as you can in your lifetime? why?

Why do you have to do me dirty cj,,,,, prolly online. I may not get to hug them or anything but I get to talk to them still. As may times as I want to. And as a girl whose sanity literally just depends on Soobin giggles rn it’ll be very therapeutic to me to see them and talk to them as much as I could, even just through a screen.

QUESTIONS FROM ME TO YOU:

Cinema or Netflix? Why?

Fire or Rain? Why?

What’s the worst experience you’ve had as a KPOP stan?

How do you handle stress?

Favorite Disney Princess and why?

Which fictional character do you say you relate the most to?

How did you get into KPOP?

What kind of merch you got 👀

Would you date a KPOP idol? What would you do if you do date one? (doesnt have to be your bias, just wanna see what y’all would do)

Would you rather be with someone you love but doesn’t love you back or be with someone that loves yu but you don’t love them back? (Or, as the Filipinos would say, Mahal ko o Mahal Ako)

THREE

rule: bold the statements that apply to you, italicize your aspirations, then tag nine people.

AIR ༉⋆͙̈

i have small hands / i love the night sky / i watch animals and birds when i pass them by / i drink herbal tea / i wake to see the dawn / the smell of dust is comforting / i’m valued for being wise / i prefer books to music / i meditate / i find joy in learning new truths from the world around me

FIRE ༉⋆͙̈

i don’t have straight hair / i like to wear ripped jeans and overalls / i play an organized sport / i love dogs / i am not afraid of adventure / i love to talk to strangers / i always try new foods / i enjoy road trips / summer is my favorite season / my radio is always playing

WATER ༉⋆͙̈

i wear bracelets on my wrists / i love the bustle of the city / i have more than one set of piercings / i read poetry / i love the sound of a thunderstorm / i want to travel the world / i sleep past midday most days / i love simply lit dinners and fluorescent signs / i rewatch kids shows out of nostalgia / i see emotions in colors not words

EARTH ༉⋆͙̈

i wear glasses or contacts / i enjoy doing the laundry / i am a vegetarian or vegan / i have an excellent sense of time / my humor is very cheerful / i am a valued advisor to my friends / i believe in true love / i love this chill of mountain air / i’m always listening to music / i am highly trusted by the people in my life

AETHER ༉⋆͙̈

i go without makeup in my daily life / i make my own artwork / i keep on track of my tasks and time / i always know true north / i see beauty in everything / i can always smell flowers / i smile at everyone i pass by / i always fear history repeating itself / i have recovered from a mental disorder / i can love unconditionally

FOUR

PERSONAL

name: -

nickname: rina

birthday: -

zodiac: gemini

nationality: filipino

languages: english, filipino

gender: female

sexuality: straight

height: 5′2 like 2 years ago, i probably grew like an inch or two

BLOG STUFF

inspiration for muse: --

meaning behind my url: bts and txt fanfics to read hasjhsahj

blog established: ,,,,, i cant remember askjjksdjkdsa but the blog is only a few months old!

followers: 384!!! love yall

FAVORITES

favourite animals: b u n n y y y y y

favourite books: CAMP HALF BLOOD SERIES BY RICK RIORDAN IM ZEUS’ DAUGHTER YALL

favourite colour: black, blue, purple

favourite fictional characters: Percy Jackson, Jaron from Ascendance Trilogy, Chimmy!!! hihi

favourite flower: white roses

favourite scent: coffee

favourite season: winter

RANDOM

average hours of sleep: 3-5 or 8-10.

cats or dogs: dogs because cats scare me

coffee, tea or hot chocolate: coffee!!! especially if it’s iced and sweet

current time: 12:21 AM

dream trip: California. Look I have the visa, pls miss rona. just leave so cali can just let me IN

dream job: actress or singer

hobbies: writing, reading, watching crackvids

hogwarts house: gryffindor

last movie watched: Work It (bc it has sabrina carpenter ahshsahsa i have low standards when we talk about Sabrina)

last song listened to: Helpless - Hamilton OBC

no. of blankets you sleep with: 1

random fact(s): if given the chance again, I would go on a date in high school. Also try to exert more effort in my appearance back then i looked like an honest to god M E S S (tbh i still do but now i have eyebrow liner on) hsajhsajhh

FIVE

10 things I can’t stop listening to (at the moment)

Run Away - TXT

Work It - Sabrina Carpenter

Euphoria - BTS

Song Cry - Yeonjun

Helpless - Hamilton OBC

Satisfied - Hamilton OBC

Journey to the past - Anastasia OBC

Lost in the Woods - Frozen OST

Perfect Song - Sabrina Carpenter

Friends - BTS

#tags #tagging #tagged yet again #sadjkjksdajad #what a mess #im so basic wtf

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cinnaminsvga · 5 years

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fox rain | three

→ summary: When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

→ pairing: bts x reader (feat. namjoon) → genre: college!au, crack, fluff, angst → warnings: none unless you count overly graphic descriptions of how stupid namjoon is (oh and like... ant gambling rings??) → words: 15.7K → a/n: this is late by a month and my whole life is a joke. i hope this makes you laugh bc i made namjoon extra dumb for y’all (for no extra charge. suck it, chipotle.) also: check bio for other chapter links for now!

— • masterlist | prev | three | next • —

“This can’t be my fucking life. Can it?” you say to your own reflection, curtains of despair dripping from every inch of your visage. Your reflection stares back, the same dead eyes twitching imperceptibly from the lack of caffeine in your system. At this point, you wouldn’t be sane enough to be surprised if your parallel self would reply, perhaps with some scathing remark about how you were slowly losing your grip on your life. Not that it would be unwarranted, anyway.

After Hoseok’s explosion the other day, your weekend doesn’t exactly feel as exciting as it usually is. Of course, your mood is still a vast improvement from last week when you were out of commission for most it after your mental breakdown. Although, it doesn’t erase the fact that you’re still knee deep in shit and that you have no idea how you’re going to face Hoseok and Jimin the following Monday.

Damn. You could really use some coffee.

The day seems to be in much better spirits than you, and it would be a waste not to let the universe’s good mood try to make you feel better as well. There is a coffee shop just a block away, and maybe you could take a walk in the sunshine afterwards to help relax the dread consistently knocking at the back of your mind. It’s a little bit optimistic, but it’ll have to do.

Shrugging on a thin cardigan over some other semi-decent clothes, you step out of your stuffy apartment with a spring in your step. You didn’t bother with any of your usual morning ritual, seeing as how you don’t plan on meeting with anyone you know from university anyway. So what if your landlady Mrs. Park sees the bird’s nest on top of your head? Who is she going to tell? Her gang of old auntie friends all hate you already for wearing a “TRANS RIGHTS” shirt in front of them, so it’s not like you’re vying for their acceptance.

Other than your less than friendly neighborhood aunties, there are better old people to hang around anyway. Nearby the coffee shop, there is a senior home where you used to volunteer during your spare time until your other commitments forced you to give up your spot to some other benevolent soul. Since you have been meaning to visit the grandmas and grandpas there when you got some free time, you suppose it would be nice to talk to kind ol’ Ms. Kim today and listen to her recount her many youthful adventures (which is, more often than not, a euphemism for her various sexcapades in the 70s.)

The senior home is closer to your home than the coffee shop, so you choose to stop and gaze at the plain-looking white building with its neatly trimmed bushes and white picket fence. It looks out of place in the neighborhood, with its very suburban and Americana design, but you know it is only because the owner of the establishment had gotten her inspiration from Forrest Gump. She has a crush on young Tom Hanks, and you honestly can’t blame her for it; that man… he is a Man, with a capital M.

You’re in the middle of debating whether you should buy your coffee first before visiting the seniors when you hear a distant shout coming from within the house. Alarmed, you take a step back, almost falling on your ass and onto the sidewalk. You pause, tilting your head to try and peak over the fence and through the large windows that showed the reception area within. You recognize Hana, the receptionist, sitting by her desk in her usual green scrubs, her head bowed over a book as if the sound had not fazed her in the slightest.

“Am I crazy? Am I starting to hear things?” You wonder aloud, still staring at the innocent-looking home. Has the universe had enough with your lacklustre existence that it has caused you to hear nonsense? Is this only the beginning of your slow descent into madness?

You don’t have to fret over your sanity for too long because moments later, the shout repeats itself. Like the previous one, this one sounds just as pained and anguished, though you aren’t sure if it was a male or female who had screamed. For all you knew, the person might have either stubbed their toe or gotten a knife stabbed through their chest; it’s not like you spend time distinguishing the subtle nuances of tormented screams. However, you are more certain now that it had come from within the home, even though Hana has yet to react to the chilling noise. She flips to the next page, tired eyes squinting at the small text.

You are stuck at an impasse: do you go inside the home despite the possible danger of entering a secret cannabilist society of which your acquaintance has been initiated to, or do you turn around and go home where it is 100% more likely for you to survive the next 24 hours?

The choice becomes apparent to you, however, when a tall, lanky boy bursts out of one of the doors behind the receptionist, with his arms piled to the ceiling with dinner plates on the cusp of making their way to the floor. Even through the window and behind a fence, you can tell that he is in dire need of help, which Hana does not seem likely to extend. The mess of legs makes a beautiful display of himself, his lower limbs flapping about aimlessly as his body contorts to try and keep himself and the plates balanced.

Finally, after what feels like hours of torture watching the poor volunteer make a fool of himself, he manages to steady himself, his legs crossed together like he’s trying to hold in his piss. Carefully, he squats down, placing the plates on the floor in front of the receptionist desk. For a moment, you feel as though you should be applauding, for whatever reason.

Now without dishes obscuring his face, you can make out the identity of the flailing giraffe man. He turns, fingers combing through his distinctly colored hair––

Oh god. It’s him. You gotta get out of there, fast, before he recognizes you. Maybe if you run quickly enough, then maybe he won’t notice you when he looks out the window around.

“Ha,” the universe laughs, clapping their asscheeks to the rhythm of Ludacris’ Move Bitch Get Out Da Way™️ with a smirk. “Cute of you to think your life isn’t basically a 20-year long trainwreck in motion.”

Inevitably he turns around, his eyes immediately locking on your face despite being half-concealed by the fence. He looks confused for a moment, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish until he lights up, recognition flooding his features. Even though you cannot hear him clearly, you just know that he said something stupid, judging by the way Hana has finally looked up from her book to stare at him weirdly.

Please don’t come out and greet me. Please just let me wave at you awkwardly and for you to stay where you are. Please don’t go out and talk to me––

Your prayers go unanswered once more as he sidesteps the wall of plates, his hip just barely grazing it and almost causing it to tumble down. The pile sways precariously from left to right, miraculously staying put as he rushes out to greet you. You can only imagine the mess he’d have to clean up if it did, shards of cheap porcelain left behind in his awkward, fumbling wake.

Luckily (or unluckily for you), he makes it out of the senior home in one piece. He crosses the short path to the fence in two inhumanly long strides, slamming the fence door open with a wide swing. It smacks loudly against the railing, the hinges making a pained groan as it looks to be at the inch of its life––literally. You vaguely remember replacing the screws on it just before you left over six months ago… Surely you hadn’t done such a shoddy job? Although, you know that simply can’t be true. After all, you’re dealing with none other than destruction incarnate himself, Kim––

“Y/N!” Namjoon greets happily, his dimples deeper than you remember. You swallow heavily, trying your best not to sweat under his overly enthusiastic gaze. God, you should’ve gone straight to the coffee shop when you had the chance.

Nothing like facing disaster head-on, as they say. “Hey,” you reply half-heartedly, though the walking inflatable tube man doesn’t seem to mind your lacklustre mood. He grasps your hands for a shake, swinging your entire body up and down with the care of a man who does not know his own strength. You, his unfortunate victim, are left to suffer through his artery-bursting grip.

“Oh god, you have no idea how glad I am to see you! Not that I’m not normally happy to see you at university, but––” He speaks so quickly that it’s hard to keep track of the specific contents of his sentences, so you can only hope that your unenthused nods will be enough to placate the bumbling buffoon. You resign yourself to a fate similar to the bobbleheads on the dashboards of those white suburban soccer moms.

“Wait, hold on.” What on earth..? You are full on gaping at the piece of work on top of his head, not even pretending to be polite as you try to process what is in front of you. “What the hell happened to your hair?”

You know from old Facebook photos that Namjoon has natural black locks, though you can’t say that his wacky hairstyles were also inborn. Ever since you have known him, he has always dyed his hair a sandy brown color, complimenting his tan skin. Now, however…

“You mean the weird blue streaks?” Namjoon says, rubbing a few strands thoughtfully. His hair is a walking disaster, and this is coming from someone who has seen what Kim Seokjin has done to his clients. (There’s a reason his Yelp reviews are terrible… He deserves negative stars, if you’re being honest.)

“Did you lose a dare or something?”

“Uh… Kind of?” He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I had meant to change my hair color to something more exciting, so I asked the kids at the daycare and they suggested blue. Problem is, the seniors said they preferred my brown hair but I already promised the kids so… Here we fucking are,” he says in one breath, appearing as though what he said was obvious.

“So your solution was to compromise… by coloring half your hair blue, like some botched version of Death the Kid?”

“Exactly!” He beams, glad that you understand him perfectly.

Oh my god… He’s… No words are coming to you right now, but you get the picture.

The thing about Kim Namjoon is… he’s not… bad. Or dumb, for that matter.

Okay, not the best compliment out there, but it’s true. You’ve known for as long as you’ve been a university student, and your first meeting is certainly one for the books. You wouldn’t exactly consider him a “friend,” and an acquaintance is a bit of a stretch on most days, but he’s a nice guy. He’s eccentric in the most positive way, and not at all in the same chaotic and evil way that Seokjin is (for which you are thankful for.) It has always been a bit tricky to get close with him, as his head is always so far up in his work that it almost feels like he’s being reclusive on purpose.

If you ignore the fact that he has that odd propensity to volunteer himself in any job on the face of the earth (with him being unqualified 9 times out of 10), it is easy to see why people think so highly of him.

He is a scholarship student with a 4.0 GPA, is the youngest candidate to ever receive the university president’s yearly public commendation, and has already released two reputable mixtapes with high praise from critics nationwide. He’s nothing if not a prodigy, and he’s amassed a hefty following for his accomplishments. As a music major yourself, it’s hard not to be a little starstruck with him if you’re being honest.

Most of all, you remember the first song that you had ever heard from him: Moonchild. You still can’t quite believe he let you hear one of his many masterpieces when the two of you had just been total strangers. The lyrics had been so heartfelt, so intimate, that you felt as if you were intruding on his personal space or something. But he had let you listen, let you take a peek at what goes on inside that nebulous brain of his. When he does things like that, it makes it easy to understand why people might think your love poem might be about him. He’s just so… easy to admire.

The poem isn’t about him, but. It could have been, in some other life. (Or maybe it is.)

(Was.)

(Will?)

Regardless, you still have to convince him otherwise. You just simply aren’t ready for that type of development, much less with him. Despite all his good sides.

Thus, Kim Namjoon leaves you at a standstill. Why do you feel so fucking weird about harboring this idol crush on him? How can he be so dumb and so smart at the same time? He has blue fucking hair for crying out loud! He’s causing you cognitive dissonance just by existing, and it’s giving your meagre amount of brain cells a workout.

Oh shit, have you been ignoring him? You were totally zoning out this entire time, haven’t you?

Somewhere around the time you were having your mini mental breakdown, Namjoon’s mouth had stopped moving, giving you an expectant look. Oh shit. He probably asked you something. Embarrassed and unwilling to give away that you had not processed even a single word out of his mouth, you nod and give him an approximation of what you assume is a friendly smile.

For a second, you think that you might have gotten away with it when Namjoon’s face breaks out into an enormous grin. He grabs you by the shoulder and envelops you in an chokehold-like embrace. You let out a wheeze, clawing at his biceps with your remaining strength to try and prevent your untimely death due to asphyxiation. “Namjoon..?”

He lets out a shriek at a higher octave than you thought a man of his size was capable of. Somewhere out there, a dog probably perks up at the supersonic sound. “Y/N, I knew I could count on you! Thank you so much for agreeing to help me with the elders for Zombie Tea Time!”

Now that caught your attention. You pause in your squirming to fix him with a confused expression. “I’m… I’m sorry? What did you say?”

His smile never falters. He presses his cheek against yours, rubbing it happily with a hum. In any other scenario, you might have fainted from how adorable he was being, but seeing as how all your blood is still trapped in your upper extremities from his vice hug, it is difficult enough trying to remember how to stay alive.

“Every Saturday, the senior home hosts this event called Zombie Tea Time where the old people all get to have their faces painted with fake blood and all the volunteers have to pretend to be innocent civilians trying to get away from them!”

The more Namjoon speaks, the more you feel your sanity dripping out of your ass like diarrhea. “Ex. Excuse me? Say that again?”

“Yeah, it’s a new thing the volunteers are trying out this month,” Namjoon says, finally (finally) releasing you from his hug. You don’t know if your flushed cheeks are from embarrassment or a stroke. “Like I said, we’re a bit shorthanded today, so I’ve had to wash the plates from breakfast AND pretend to get eaten by senile zombies. It’s… a lot.”

“Oh, I can tell.” You grimace, patting him on the shoulder empathetically. You freeze. “Wait. So that’s why you were screaming a while ago?”

“Huh?” Namjoon pauses, before his face does something funny where it looks like he’s either going to sneeze or take a shit. Thankfully he does neither, but instead reaches his hand around his back like he has an itch he needs to scratch. He makes a pained yelp, plucking something out from his asscheeks and pulling out what appears to be––

You stare at the object in his palm. “Are those… dentures?”

“Hmm…” Namjoon stares at it, too tired to be disgusted. He just nods his head sagely. “Must’ve been when I was too slow to dodge Mister Lee’s lunge. I was beginning to wonder why my ass felt like it was being eaten out.”

“Please, never say that sentence to me ever again.”

“Yea,” he agrees, sighing faintly. He pockets the teeth much to your horror, patting it gently like he hadn’t just placed a pair of dentures in his fucking scrubs. He dusts off his hands, his lips pursed so that his dimples stand prominently on display. You barely contain yourself from sinking your finger right into their hypnotizing abysses.

He looks at you hopefully. “So… Uh. You said you’ll help me?”

Oh right. You fucking said you’d help him fend off a hoard of virulent old people in face paint.

You look to the right, where the coffee shop is just within sight. Sweet, sweet caffeine, tantalizing you with its saccharine presence, dangling its wretchedly addictive power over your head. If you breathe deeply enough, you think you can smell the coffee beans from here.

You turn back to Namjoon, and you can physically feel the weight of his hopeful gaze on your shoulders. Your defenses have never crumbled so quickly in your life. Fuck him and his stupidly handsome ass.

You sigh, resigning your fate to eternally being whipped for a pair of pretty long legs and size B man titties. “Let’s fucking do this, I guess.” Easier said than done, but you already have one foot in elephant shit, so might as well submerge your whole body as well.

You follow Namjoon closely, having to take two extra steps for every one step that he takes. He crosses the reception area quickly, sending energetic finger guns at Hana which unsurprisingly goes unrequited. You take the more inconspicuous route and wave shyly at her, intimidated by her even after you have long since stopped working here. She levels you with one of her infamous hundred yard stares, lips turned downwards as she appraises you.

“You’ve decided to come back?” she asks, leaning back on her chair with a huff.

Namjoon is in the midst of trying to once again carry all the plates in his Play-Doh arms, so you’re a bit distracted when you shake your head in response. “Uh. N-no, Namjoon just asked me to help with the dishes, that’s all.”

“That’s a shame,” Hana says, no trace of disappointment in her voice whatsoever. She returns to her book, buzzing open the double doors to let the two of you pass. She flicks her hand lazily at the commotion happening behind her. “Better hurry back in there. The seniors are getting antsy.”

The doors open automatically, and you almost topple over when you are immediately bombarded with the terrifying symphony of old people hollering obscenities at frantic volunteers trying desperately to get away from their gnarled clutches. The hoard hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, and you fear to wonder what type of horrors that you will have to face once you step through those doors. You absolutely refuse to die on this hill, not when you haven’t even had your first kiss yet.

“I don’t think we’ll die,” Namjoon says, as if he can read your mind. You look at him skeptically.

“You think?”

He clears his throat. “I can’t promise we’ll come out of this unscathed, though.”

He takes a tentative step forward, the pile of dishes wobbling dangerously on their perch. You are quick to steady the leaning tower of Disa(ster), managing to transfer half of it into your own arms. You grunt, adjusting your stance so that you do not accidentally lose your grip. “Dude. How the hell did you get all those plates out here in the first place?”

Namjoon stands up straighter, the weight significantly easier for him to manage now. He smiles cherubically back at you, eyes crinkling cutely. “Oh, I was literally on survival mode and trying to stop lil Mrs. Sun from gnawing my leg off. The elders can smell fear you see, so they were definitely going to climb on top of me like World War Z and probably kill me.” He pauses, deep in thought. “Although, I think I dropped a plate or two while I was escaping, so watch your step!”

He says all of that with the same eagerness as man who is about to do something crazy, like jump out of a plane or walk a tightrope over a 100 ft canyon. Though, you have to admit that this entire scenario feels like it is on the same calibre.

“Is it me, or are the old people here 10 times crazier than I remember when I volunteered here?”

“You used to work here?” Namjoon says, amazed. “Oh, I didn’t know that! I only started a week ago when some other person resigned due to mental health issues or something.”

“You sure that this place isn’t the cause of their mental decline?” You say it like a joke, though you mean it seriously. Maybe the universe had been looking out for you when decided to get out of this place.

“Hmm… Maybe. Although, we only received this shipment of old people fairly recently.”

Pause. Rewind. “S-shipment?” you repeat, staring at him wildly.

Like the lovable airhead that he is, Namjoon fails to notice your astonishment and instead takes the first brave step forward through the double doors. He tilts his head towards the hallway, gesturing for you to follow him. The plates rattle dangerously from his movements. “C’mon, we gotta get these plates cleaned before the lunch crew comes to take over their shifts!”

Walking to the kitchen is easier than you thought, especially after you take into account the fact that all the old people completely ignored you and chose to only attack Namjoon, for whatever reason. You like to think that it is because the seniors still remember you back when you were still volunteering here and that they hold some semblance of endearment for you, but Namjoon begs to differ. In fact, he screams out his hypothesis as to why you have been left unharmed, all while two older women climb his back like demented crabs.

“Y/N! I think they can’t attack you because you’re in civilian clothes! They only attack scrubs!” Namjoon says, swatting away one of the women off his back with a surprisingly coordinated headbutt. She shrieks as she falls, landing on all four legs like a cat would do. She hisses lowly at you, before scuttling off to somewhere unseen.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” you wince, watching Namjoon unsuccessfully trying to spin quick enough to dislodge the remaining senior.

Namjoon perks up when he catches a glimpse of his attacker’s face, giggling and appearing as if he isn’t currently being assailed by a senior citizen. “Oh, Ms. Kim! I didn’t see you there. I love the zombie make-up you got going. Who helped you?” He looks at you, as if imploring you to compliment her as well.

“Uh. Yes. You’re looking very… yellow.”

Ms. Kim snarls, baring her teeth. “It’s the jaundice,” she says.

Not wanting to stand in that hallway any longer, you carefully place the plates back on the floor before you gently unclamp the old lady’s talons from Namjoon’s poor biceps. You wince, feeling the length of her nails and knowing that Namjoon is going to have some nasty scars.

You tell him so, but he only shakes his head. “Nah? I think they’d be pretty neat! Battle scars are cool right?”

You grimace at him. “If that’s… what you think, then sure.”

After grabbing your plates and hurrying after him before the elders make note of Namjoon’s survival, the two of you share a sigh of relief as you both slowly start piling them into the dishwasher. The task is menial and repetitive, and despite what Namjoon’s earlier chattiness might have suggested, he is quiet while he works. The silence is not as awkward as you feared, and honestly the peace is a welcome respite after all the chaos that you had to endure in such a short period of time. Although, silence has never been a good friend to your overworked mind, as it allowed you to stew inside your own head for much too long––and you have found in your 20 years of existence that it is probably for the best that you are not left without external stimulation for too long.

But here you are, forced to do exactly that. You would have engaged in some conversation with Namjoon to stop yourself from getting in over your head, but you are afraid of what sort of embarrassing topics might spew out of your mouth if you do. Heaven forbid that you start geeking out on him about your unhealthy obsession of collecting miniature glass horse figurines––that is a secret best kept between yourself and the tentacle monster under your bed.

You begin reflecting on the events from the past two weeks, replaying them second by agonizing second and ruminating on the state that your pitiful young adult life has become. The more you allow these memories to simmer, the more you slowly realize the weight of the accumulated stress that has long since made you hunch over like a goblin.

Hoseok and Jimin’s argument comes to the forefront of your mind, the unexpected heat coming from both of them confusing you to no end. You still don’t know the source of their ire towards one another, but what baffles you the most is how you could have missed it in the first place. Sure, you had thought they were at least more than acquaintances; one does not simply challenge a near stranger to a dance off in the middle of a library three times a week, for more than two months and counting. Friends might have been a stretch, though you can’t say you’re familiar with how their schedules look like outside your tutoring sessions together.

The question is though… should you interfere? Normally, you would have stayed far away from anyone else’s drama––you just aren’t the type of person to stick their noses in other people’s business. Yet somehow, you feel as if your poem was the catalyst to this violent chain reaction, that you have inadvertently caused the foundation of a precarious building to explode and bring the whole thing crashing down. To think that your silly love poem for a boy who hardly knows that you exist has become the center of so many people’s lives… the entire thing is giving you a headache.

Speaking of headaches… you should probably confront Namjoon about the poem as well. It is probably best that you plan your approach better this time, seeing as how your two previous attempts have been anything but stellar. Namjoon can’t be that difficult to convince, right? And even if he does see right through you, he doesn’t seem like the type of person who would laugh cruelly at you in the event that he figures out that you are the author. Not like Seokjin, at least. Luckily no one is like Seokjin, the fucking rat bastard that he is.

(In the distance, Seokjin has the sudden animalistic urge to slip anthrax in your milk tea the next time he sees you.)

You glance at Namjoon from the corner of your eye, definitely not ogling the way his arms flex as he loads the final couple of plates. The breath catches in your throat when you realize that some time while you were busy swimming in your junkyard of a brain, he had rolled up his sleeves up to his forearms, displaying his god-like veins for the eyes of the deplorable (you) to feast upon.

Your mouth feels dry, even though other parts of you feel more moist than you remember. Oh god, now is not the time to remember how hot this fucking nerd is.

Despite the fact that your biological clock is screaming “HORNY HOUR” at your monkey brain, Namjoon continues to be thankfully unaware of your internal panic. He closes the dishwasher door shut, clicking it on with a relieved sigh. He gives you a megawatt smile and makes your heart leap into a somersault, probably knocking around some vital organs along the way.

“Thanks so much for the help, Y/N! Couldn’t have done it without you!” he cheers, clapping you roughly on the shoulder. You wheeze under the impact, waving away his concern despite feeling like your lungs have probably slipped out of your asshole.

“It’s no problem, Namjoon…” you sigh, gazing sadly as Namjoon begins to do a final sweep of the kitchen before inevitably going to sign off for the day. You know your window of opportunity has already closed, and if you had not spent so much time staring at his beautiful man tiddies, you are sure you could have been a little more productive with him. Curse him and his damn chest.

But now, at least you’ll have more time to think of how to approach him and bring up the poem when you aren’t, like, seriously decaffeinated and on the cusp of a heart attack. You are about to bid him farewell with your tail between your legs when his hands cup your cheeks, catching you off guard.

You splutter incomprehensibly, arms flapping about like a fish out of water. “Wha––?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention! After my hours here at the senior home, I have the afternoon shift at the daycare center near our university and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?”

If Namjoon’s cool, large hands holding your face like a delicate flower had caught you off guard, then his sudden invitation only exacerbated the furious blush blooming across your neck like a rash.

So what do you say?

“Meep,” is what you say, like the verbose poet that you are. Y/N, renowned campus poet, has the vocabulary of a five year old.

“Is that a yes?” Namjoon smiles, letting go off you in favor of looping his gangly arms around your waist. Another unflattering noise escapes your throat at his proximity and his firmness. “That’s so great! The kids love seeing new faces, and I bet they’d love to have a pretty girl around instead of plain ol’ me all the time!”

You gape at him. Did he just say…

“P-pretty?”

“Yea, sure!” Namjoon says, his stupid grin still on his stupidly handsome face. He does not appear to be embarrassed at all by his brazenness, which is starting to make you think he is either a well-seasoned flirt or just plain oblivious to the implications of his own words. Knowing him, you wouldn’t put it past him that the latter might be the reason.

Compliments and unintentional flirting aside, you really did not feel up to another harrowing experience with Namjoon at one of his other volunteering stunts. You are but a woman in clown shoes, and even the most seasoned clowns must have their rest.

“Listen, Namjoon… I don’t think I can go with you. I have to go, uh,” you pause, your hamster brain working a mile a minute. “Water… my dog? No, I mean… feed my plant.” You cringe, mentally slapping yourself.

Namjoon, the sneaky bastard, hits you with his strongest and most potent puppy dog eyes in his arsenal. It was super effective! “Please, Y/N? I won’t take too much of your time! Just play with the kids for two hours and I promise to leave you alone!”

C’mon, Y/N. Focus. Are you the type of woman to break down her defenses for the wilful fancies of any man? You’re made of stronger stuff than this. Surely you can look him in the eye and tell him straight to his face that you would prefer to go home and rest on this beautiful Saturday than go frolicking with a bunch of snot-nosed children––

“Oh, sure. Why the hell not?” you say, like the dumb fucking idiot that you are.

Namjoon’s dimples deepen even further. You glare menacingly at them, knowing full well that they were entirely the cause of your weakness.

“Thank you so much, Y/N! The kids will really appreciate your presence! C’mon, we haven’t got time to lose!”

Namjoon does not even give you the time to fully comprehend your own pitiful existence before he nearly tugs your arm out of its socket as he maneuvers you to the local daycare just a few minutes away from the senior home. You don’t get to say your farewells to any of the seniors or your old work colleagues, but it might be for the best… You will need all the sanity left in your body to survive the rest of the day with Namjoon.

On the bright side, that means you’ll have the chance to talk to him about the poem, though you’re still hesitant to do so with how badly your previous stunts had ended up. But then again, when else would you get another good opportunity to talk to your crush acquaintance about this? You suppose you’ll just have to wait and see what happens next, and hope for the best.

You have been at the daycare for almost three hours now, and there are still no signs of you ever bringing up the poem. You might as well sign your last will and testament with the macaroni art supplies currently decorating your body, making you look like a morbid pasta dish monster from hell. You hope to god that the sticky stuff all over your skin is just cheese… White, rubbery scented cheese…

“Ain’t this fun?” Namjoon calls out from somewhere, presumably under the mass of ten or so toddlers all climbing him like a tree. You are caught in a state of déjà vu as the children start feasting upon any exposed areas of skin that their kid-sized incisors can find.

You just wanted to talk about the fucking poem for fuck’s sake! Instead, you have to deal with thirty 2-foot children and one 6-foot manchild during one of your only free days in a week.

A miniature demon tugs your sleeve, forcing you to tear your eyes away from Namjoon’s slow demise. You bend down to the little gremlin’s height, mouth twitching upwards in what you hope is a somewhat decent smile. Judging by the kid’s unimpressed face, you doubt it.

“Yes?”

“Miss Y/N? Can you tell your boyfriend that Jake peed in the ballpit again? Aera slipped on the puddle and now she’s crying and disturbing the younger kids.”

Record scratch, freeze frame. Now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that. Out of all the things the kid had said, you are sure that his implication that you were Namjoon’s girlfriend should not have been on the top of your list of priorities, and yet here you are, your cheeks as flushed as a baboon’s ass.

“He’s not––We’re not––” you stammer, waving your hands as you try to explain to this unenthused six year old that what she said was entirely impossible. “Namjoon is just a friend!”

You turn to look for the man in question, desperate for him to back you up when you realize he is no longer there. Confused, you leave the huffing child in search for him. You leave the main playroom and search the nearby nurseries, the kitchen, the bathroom… all of them with no Namjoon in sight. Just so you can cover all your bases, you decide to check one of the supply closets too, not really expecting to find anything except––

“Namjoon? What the fu––fudge?” You quickly correct yourself, noticing that not only is Kim Namjoon inside the cramped broom closet, but he is also surrounded by five other children huddled around what appears to be a series of tupperwares connected together by plastic straws.

Namjoon hastens a glance at you, before refocusing his attention back onto what he deems to be more important. He nudges his shoulder against the smallest of the bunch, stage whispering into her ear. “Jihyo, did you bet the three lollipops on Ant #3?”

Jihyo shakes her head, looking mildly offended. “Oppa, do you think I’m dumb? I bet all of my chocolate bars on Ant #6.”

Namjoon whistles lowly, impressed. “All-in? You’re one smart lady.”

You clear your throat. “Namjoon.”

Namjoon has the audacity to hold a finger up to silence you. “Give me a sec… Okay, Seungcheol. You said ten hard candies for Ant #2?”

“Namjoon. Are you seriously running a gambling ring in a daycare?”

He peers up at you, smiling sheepishly. “I’m, uh… Teaching them about capitalism.” He deposits the candy bets into his pocket before starting the timer on his phone. The children begin to cheer raucously, little fists pumping up as they watch their bets race towards a slice of cake.

“I can’t believe this,” you groan, wanting nothing more than the earth to swallow you whole.

Eventually, Namjoon exits the closet, gently closing the door. The shouts of the children become muted immediately. When you gaze inquisitively at him, all he does is shrug his shoulders. “What? Secret clubs allow people to explore their interests.”

At this point, you don’t really want to argue anymore. And so, the hectic day goes by, full of running after the children and occasionally having to reel Namjoon in when he does something bordering on negligence. The parents slowly start filtering in by five in the afternoon, most of whom pat Namjoon affectionately on the back and thanking him for his stellar daycare service.

“Oh, Namjoon! My little Jihyo absolutely adores you! She hardly wants to leave whenever I come to pick her up.” Jihyo’s mother smiles, slipping a small tip into Namjoon’s waiting palm. The little shit pockets it, bowing graciously at her.

“All in a day’s work, madame. I just love children, you know?” he says, sighing dramatically.

From behind her mother, Jihyo gorges herself on her prize winnings, shoving a whole packet of M&M’s into her mouth. She swallows them quickly when her mother turns to bring her home.

“I hate this,” you say to yourself, smiling through the pain.

“Oh, before I forget!” Jihyo’s mother dashes back inside, startling you. She approaches you, grasping your hands in hers and shaking it wildly until you can hear your joints pop out of their sockets. “Your name is Y/N right? Thank you for taking care of Namjoon, too. It’s so nice to see that he’s finally snagged a girl as pretty as you.”

It is a testament to how dead inside you truly are by how nonplussed you are by their unfounded accusation. At this point, they could congratulate you on your recent engagement to Namjoon and you probably wouldn’t bat an eye.

“Thanks.” All in a day’s work of being a madman’s little bitch for the day.

After the last child is taken away, your Saturday finally ends. There had been no poem discussion and no progress made; only your respect from one of your long-time crushes being whittled away like the soaps on those ASMR channels until you are left with useless cubes of Irish Spring scented granules.

On your way home, you pass by Seokjin sitting languidly on the bench outside the coffee shop that you had originally intended to go to this morning. The closed sign greets you impetuously, and your wounds are salted further by the sheer presence of the most annoying man on the planet.

Seokjin sips on his venti iced Americano, Gucci sunglasses tipped downward on his nose. An odd, high pitched windshield wiper sound escapes his lips, and you belatedly realize that he must be his version of laughter. “Y/N. So nice to see you. I’m guessing that you just came out of a… fishy affair?”

You grind your teeth, flexing forward with the intent of hitting the rat bastard. Fish crackers fall out of your hair in clumps from your movement. “I’ll eat your toes if you say another word about this.”

You say that, but you know that there will be photos of you out on Facebook by the time your head meets your pillow for the night, as you hear the telltale sound of a camera shutter go off as you limp sadly back home.

The following Monday, you resolve to talk to Namjoon during your History of Music class together.

Now normally, you would never subject yourself to sitting near Namjoon in class. No, it is not because of your debilitating crush, nor his eccentric personality, nor something unexpected like insanely toxic body odor (which he does not have, by the way. He always smells alarmingly like cotton candy.) In fact, nobody likes to sit near Namjoon, made apparent by the two row radius of empty chairs around him. As much as everyone adores and idolizes him for his talent, no one can stand his propensity to overachieve like the infuriating know-it-all that he is. His hand is perpetually up in the air, begging to be picked for recitation, always with something profound to say.

“Sir, I don’t think your notes are correct. From my research, that type of music would not have existed until the 1600s––”

“Namjoon,” your professor seethes, Powerpoint clicker clutched tightly in his fists. His left eyebrow twitches concerningly as he tries to calm his breathing. “I would prefer it greatly if you do not question the actual expert in this area, is that okay with you?”

Yeah. He is definitely not someone you’d want to sit beside.

Though, he really makes it hard not to want to be around him. Despite all the imperfect parts of his personality, Namjoon always looks like the cover model of what a perfect college boyfriend should dress like. Terrible dyejob aside, his hair is slicked back in a fashionable way, revealing his beautiful forehead for all of humanity to behold. He is wearing a fitted graphic tee under a denim jacket, with loose brown slacks that look good on his endlessly long legs. To top it off, his signature wire-frame glasses sit daintily on his nose, making him appear as smart as he is.

You are suddenly reminded of the true scale of your crush on him as sweat begins to build on your neck and down your backside. How the hell are you going to approach him now that you are perfectly aware of how good he looks? It is people like Kim Namjoon that remind you of this universal truth: attractive people only exist to cause the less fortunate to forget how to use their basic motor skills.

Focus. Remember how much of a crackhead he was last Saturday? Okay, retain that information. Remember how fucking stupid he is, and this will be much easier on your heart and your loins.

Taking a deep breath, you make your way to where he is seated, right at the front of the class. It is a long way down the auditorium to where he is, and you can feel the stares of a few of your classmates as you make the treacherous journey right into the proverbial lion’s maw. You do your best to ignore them, quietly sliding up next to him and waiting for him to notice your presence.

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he is jotting something frantically on a notebook, a mess of words in more languages than you can speak decorating every available space on the smooth white pages. At the top of the paper, you can see what might be a tentative title for a song, perhaps? You can’t be too entirely sure, as Namjoon is part of so many clubs and organizations that he might as well be writing next week’s lunch menu for the cafeteria.

(Highly doubtful as Namjoon has a reputation for allowing inflammable things to catch on fire, but you wouldn’t put it past him to at least try and apply for a culinary position.)

It seems that Namjoon is too immersed in his writing to greet you himself, so you have to be the one to steel yourself and strike a conversation with him instead.

“Uh. Hey… Namjoon?” Smooth like butter. Seokjin would be proud.

Namjoon doesn’t reply. He keeps scribbling along, humming something indistinct under his breath.

You clear your throat. “Namjoon?”

No response. Again, “Hello?” You wave a hand in front of his face. His blinking slows for a second, but he continues to ignore you.

Starting to get pissed off, you huff quietly to yourself before bringing your palm backwards and slapping him upside the head. “HEY PANINI HEAD! YOU FUCKING IN THERE OR WHAT?”

That manages to bring him out of his headspace, thankfully. “Huzzat?” Namjoon jumps, cradling the back of his neck gingerly as he stares at you, confused. Recognition filters through his eyes as he realizes belatedly what had just happened. He blushes slightly. “Oops.”

“Oops is right. Were you really going to ignore me for the rest of the class if I hadn’t slapped you?”

Namjoon shrugs, grinning in that cute goofy way that he does. “Sorry. ‘M not used to people sitting beside me, is all. Glad to have a friend in this class though! Have you always been in this class?”

“Yea, but I usually sit in the back.”

Namjoon nods, turning back to his notebook. “Sorry for ignoring you. I really didn’t mean it. When I’m in the middle of writing, it’s kind of hard to get me out of my own brain. Plus, this draft is due in two weeks and I’ve scrapped three pages worth of lyrics already… I’m kind of in a panic right now.”

You peek over his arm, trying your best to decipher some of his words. Your interest is piqued, always having wanted to see his draft notebook ever since that first time he showed you Moonchild almost a year ago. “Lungs have capsized… I am drowning in my own body… Wow, those are some dark stuff.”

“You think so?” Namjoon squints at his own messy handwriting. “I got inspired by the fish in the aquarium I volunteer in. I’m actually excited to go back there, because I want to play it for the fish and see if they like it.”

“Isn’t it better to play it at the daycare of senior home so you can actually get… human feedback?”

Namjoon gasps, hand to his heart, offended. “How dare you assume that fish can’t give quality feedback!”

“Right,” you cough, raising your hands in defeat. How dare you, indeed. “Sorry.”

Namjoon sniffs, closing his notebook just as the professor walks in to start the class. “You better be. The fishies get really offended when people say stuff like that.”

The professor begins the moment he sets down his things, so you know you won’t have time to bring up the poem, not when Namjoon is already starting to fall into his overachieving know-it-all student persona. You tap him lightly on the shoulder, gaining his attention.

“Hey, I have to ask you something later after class. Will you stay behind for a few moments?”

“Sure,” Namjoon replies cheerily, flipping on his laptop to start taking down notes. He stops in his tracks before gazing warily at you. “Hold on. If this is about the fishies again…”

You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes, so you sigh instead. “No, Namjoon. This isn’t about the fishies.”

Appeased, Namjoon returns to listening attentively to the professor drone on about dead musicians and their impact on musical culture. You hardly take any notes, still nervous about talking to Namjoon about the poem. What would be the best way to approach the subject, you wonder? Your previous attempts with Seokjin and Hoseok had featured a lot of yelling and arguing, and you would prefer not to leave a bad impression on Namjoon of all people. Additionally, you don’t want to know what arguing with Namjoon would entail, because you have a strong feeling that any debate with him will only leave you second guessing your entire existence with how good he is at flipping the subject. Or, you could always kick him in the knees, but that would be like overpowering a baby––you’d be a monster for taking advantage of him.

The short one hour lecture flies by quicker than you would like. To your surprise, Namjoon only interrupts the professor twice, so you suppose that’s a win for everyone else.

“Alright class. Please remember that the research paper regarding 17th century music is due on the Friday before your break,” your professor says. He points a stern look at all of you, and maybe you’re imagining it, but somehow you feel like he pauses just a second longer when he passes his gaze over you. “And please, try not to send your paper to the entire student body to air your secret little crushes like a bunch of lovestruck idiots.”

Your ears turn an unflattering shade of red as most of the students chuckle at his little joke, all of them probably not knowing that the lovestruck idiot was just a few seats away.

“C’mon, Namjoon.” You sigh, shrugging on your backpack as you wait for him to finish packing up. Namjoon watches you curiously, brows furrowed.

“You seem dejected. Are you having trouble with class? Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“N-not… not really,” you say, shaking your head. “Can we talk about this outside? People for the next class are starting to come in.”

Namjoon follows you dutifully from behind, and you can hear him bid his farewells to a few giggling freshmen as the two of you exit the lecture hall. They coo openly in his presence, with one of them bold enough to compliment his fairly generous bosom, her fingers twitching as if she is only one push away from grabbing them by the fistful.

You walk towards the small cafe near the entrance of the building, grabbing one of the empty chairs and gesturing for Namjoon to sit across from you. He does as you say, confusion still gracing his handsome features.

“So, will you tell me why you’ve called me out here now?” Namjoon asks. Before you can respond, however, he reaches into his backpack and pulls out a half squished sandwich. He offers you the less crushed half, like the gentleman that he is, but you find it hard to accept when you feel like your stomach is turning inside out with nerves.

“Umm… How do I say this…” You groan, leg bouncing so incessantly that the poor table begins to shake. Namjoon doesn’t even try to stop his other sandwich half from sliding over, instead giving you a concerned glance.

Fuck it. Better to rip the band-aid off in one swoop, right?

“Y/N––?”

“Namjoon, are you aware that people think someone wrote a stupid love poem about you?”

His previously open mouth clamps shut, then. He stares at you in confusion, a dollop of mayonnaise hanging off his jutting chin. “What?”

Panicking slightly, you’re quick to continue your train of thought, probably to your own detriment. “NOT that the poem is about you, by the way. Well, it could be? No? I DIDN’T WRITE IT!” Pause for heavy breathing. “A-anyway, that’s not the point… I just wanted to ask if you were… umm… aware of it. Yeah. That’s it.”

Ohhhh my god. You stupid idiot. Fuck fuck fuck fuck you fucking stupid piece of shit ass tit fuck what other swear words are there oh yeah FUCK!!!

In the midst of your personal mental beatdown, you fail to see Namjoon’s genuine look of confusion, his head tilted to the side as he watches your face turn red. He chews on his sandwich thoughtfully. “Uh? No? I’m not aware? I really have no idea what you are talking about, Y/N.”

You finally stop swearing at yourself. “Wait, really?”

Namjoon nods his head. “Really. What poem are you talking about?”

“Please tell me you’re joking. I don’t really like being teased; I get enough of that from Seokjin.”

“No, I’m serious!” Namjoon raises his hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t joke about something that is clearly giving you distress.”

“It’s not causing me distress!” You screech back, voice cracking from your tone going up a pitch. You clear your throat. “Um. Wait. So that means you haven’t heard about the huge rumor going around about a love poem being about you?”

He shrugs his shoulders, lips pursed. “Not a clue. Am I supposed to?”

Huh. You stare at the imbecile before you, his previously handsome looks starting to look less appealing by the minute. Is this shithead for real? Did you really spend hours worrying over how you would approach him about the poem, only to find out that he has no clue what you’re talking about? Like, how is it even possible for him not to know? You can’t even spend a minute doing anything without someone bringing up that stupid mistake of a poem. How the hell did you ever have a crush on him?

“Pardon? Did you say crush something?”

“Oh shit,” you curse, slapping a palm to your mouth. Did you fucking say that out loud?

“Sorry,” Namjoon swallows thickly, a large bite of his sandwich visibly going down his gullet. “I was chewing too loudly so I didn’t hear you properly.”

You heave a sigh of relief. Okay, maybe being an idiot has its benefits.

“It’s fine. It wasn’t anything important,” you say, already arranging your things to get up and leave. If Namjoon is oblivious to all the poem shenanigans that have been circling campus, then who are you to inform him? All you can hope now is that he remains ignorant of the poem at all, and chalk it up as a success in your book. It’s not like he’s going to be curious to find out more anyway––

“Wait! Don’t go! You’ve piqued my interest now. I wanna know what you were talking about,” Namjoon pipes up, leaning his lanky body sidewards so as to block you from leaving. You halt in your movements, surprised by his sudden inquiry.

Sweat starts to form in the middle of your back at his earnest curiosity. “I––it’s nothing, Namjoon. I was just messing with you. Don’t worry about it.” You laugh nervously.

“I don’t think you were?” Namjoon rubs his chin thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t have been so adamant to call me out here just to be joking.”

“Listen, I really have to go. I have another class soon and I wanna grab lunch before I––”

“You said something about a poem.” He remains undeterred, pulling out his phone. “And it’s about me? Well, not about me, if that’s what you’re saying…”

“Hold up!” You snatch his phone out of his hands, holding it behind you to keep it from his reach. Even though you know his inquisitiveness is not his fault, it doesn’t stop you from wanting to punch him square in his cute little nose. Hell, you don’t recall wanting to fight anyone as much as you do right now.

(Seokjin sneezes somewhere in the distance, feeling offended for whatever reason. “Y/N should only be punching me,” he thinks to himself as he dumps way too much purple dye on this poor lady’s head.)

“Why are you being so weird right now? Give me back my phone!” He pouts at you, not at all knowing that your resolve is already quickly crumbling before him.

“I…” You gulp, foot tapping restlessly as you try to think of what to do. “Okay. Fine, I’ll show you the poem. Just… don’t read too deeply into it, okay? It’s just a stupid thing that got too many people excited over nothing.”

“Sure,” Namjoon nods his head, acquiescing quickly. “I don’t really like paying attention to much of the rumors and trends that happen on campus. I just want to see what this poem is all about.”

“Just… don’t let it get to your head,” you mutter, returning his phone to him. You direct him to the university confessions group page, watching as his fingers fumbled with his keyboard. Eventually, he gets to the post (pinned to the top, forever mocking you for your stupidity) and reads the short piece in record time.

There is a pause where neither of you speak. You know he has finished reading it from the way he has started to scroll down to the comments, though he quickly jumps back to the top when you glare at him to stop. He leans back into his chair, closing his phone and stares at you expressionlessly.

You click your nails across the coffee shop table as you observe him suspiciously, his lack of response making you more nervous. “Well?”

The left side of his mouth quirks up––but not in a way that might suggest glee or satisfaction––and he stays frozen like that for a bit. You have the sudden urge to wave your hand in front of him to check if he’s fine, and being the type of person to submit to your urges, you do as you please.

Thankfully, he snaps out of it, blinking quickly as if he’s forgotten that you were there. He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Oh, yeah. The poem, uh… How do I put it…”

“What?” What on earth could he have a problem with? Does he genuinely think the poem might be about him? “If you’re starting to think that the poem may be about you––”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Namjoon opens his phone again, peering at the poem questioningly. “I was just going to say that this poem is a lot less impressive than you were hyping it up to be.”

Excuse me??????? He did not fucking just say that.

“You did not just fucking say that,” you verbalize, glowering at him. You can feel the fumes start to steam out of your ears, but Namjoon remains oblivious (as per usual) to your emotions. He just hums, shrugging his shoulders with his nose upturned in the air, as if he had just smelled something horrible.

“It’s just… the meter is all messed up… Like, I’m all about free verse or whatever, but I can tell the author is trying waaaay too hard to keep whatever rhythm they had going on in the first verse.” He scrolls through the poem some more, before stopping somewhere in the middle. He shows you one of your favorite verses with a look of something akin to disdain. “And what’s up with all the moon references? That theme is so overused.”

“YOUR MIXTAPE LITERALLY HAS A SONG CALLED MOONCHILD! THAT’S WHY PEOPLE THINK THE POEM IS ABOUT YOU!” You explode, spittle flying everywhere from the force of your shout. A group of freshmen sitting nearby jump up in surprise, though most of the older, more dead-eyed college students do not even bat an eye at your spectacle. This university is full of cuckoos, is what they are probably thinking.

The biggest cuckoo of them all looks at you defensively, frowning somewhat irritably. Namjoon continues, “Yeah, but I used the moon in my song in a classy way! I would be offended if someone would write this poem for me after being inspired by my song.”

Is it possible for blood to boil inside your veins? Because you’re really starting to feel heat trail up your back up to your neck, causing you to see nothing but red and the tantalizing vision of your hands around his neck. Easy, Y/N. You can’t afford anger management therapy; you have a tuition to pay.

In all seriousness though, you cannot take this any longer. You have suffered long enough while having to follow Namjoon around like a bitch for two days, and if karma still wants to use the strap on you, then she’s going to have to do it some other day because you cannot physically stand being around Namjoon for another ten seconds if you can help it. And this is coming from someone who is around Kim Seokjin at least twice a week, so it is obvious that your patience and sanity is truly at its limit.

“I’m done.” You are barely able to keep yourself from slamming your head against the table. Instead, you stand up hastily, chair legs screeching against the tiled floor. You shoulder your bag quickly, waving at him without even turning to face him. The sooner you get away from him, the better. “You can think what you want. Just live your life, man. I’m done.”

“Okay? Well, have a nice day, Y/N!” Namjoon calls out a cheery goodbye, though his tone obviously still sounds confused even as you walk further and further away from him, a trainwreck of a human being. You resolve to yourself to call Hana the next morning to ask her to slip some opened sweets into his jean pocket so the ants at the daycare might climb out of their shelter to bite him in the balls.

How did you ever have a crush on that bastard? I guess that mystery will have to remain… unsolved.

Unluckily, your mood does not improve after lunch, nor do you calm down after your next class either. In fact, you are still steaming when you arrive to your tutoring session with Hoseok, so much so that you have completely forgotten to be worried about him after the events of last Friday.

(Record scratch, freeze frame. Pause. What the hell happened last Friday again? Your overworked brain cells can only handle one stressful event at a time, so you suppose that problem with Hoseok and Jimin will have to be solved another day.)

Hoseok, the caring boy that he is, also forgets to retain his moodiness from Friday’s argument when he spots you looking like you were about to pop a blood vessel at any moment.

Hoseok sits hesitantly in front of you, even placing his textbooks gently onto the table as if any sudden sounds might cause you to self-combust and splatter your guts all over the library floor. The only thing really keeping you from doing exactly that is because you wouldn’t want poor Jungkook the library assistant to have to clean up your mess.

“Umm… Hey, Y/N. You okay? You look kind of… red.” Hoseok says carefully, smile twitching on his face.

The suddenness at which you slam your hands on the table causes not only Hoseok, but also Jungkook who is three whole bookshelves away, to jump up in surprise. The former makes a terrified scream to accompany his leap into the air, staring at your frantically with his fists held up in defense.

“AHH? Y/N, what’s going on––”

“SHUT UP!” You point a finger menacingly at him, making him shriek once more. Your jaw is clenched, teeth grinding audibly. “YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT, HOSEOK? I’LL WRITE THE NICEST POEM IN THE ENTIRE WORLD FOR YOU, OKAY? YOU DESERVE IT! FUCK WHAT ANYONE ELSE THINKS! I’M A GOOD WRITER AND NOTHING KIM NAMJOON SAYS WILL CHANGE THAT!”

Hoseok’s mouth opens, agape. He doesn’t know how to respond, not quite understanding what you were saying in the first place. A lot of angry words spilled from your lips in such a short amount of time, and Hoseok was more impressed with your flow than anything. Were you a rapper, by any chance?

Unaware of Hoseok’s musings, you huff loudly to yourself, slamming open your lecture notes and shoving them aggressively towards him. “ALSO, I TOOK THE LIBERTY OF WRITING A REVIEWER FOR YOUR MIDTERM! PLEASE READ THROUGH THEM IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS!”

“Umm… Thanks?” Hoseok says, not really sure which part of your loud declarations he is specifically thanking you for. He sneaks a glance at the front desk, thankful that it is only meek little Jungkook in charge today and not the cranky older librarian who already has a personal vendetta against you and your tutoring group for being public nuisances (not that she was unjustly pointing fingers, of course).

Your mental collapse aside, the rest of his tutoring session goes smoothly, with Hoseok still walking on eggshells around you just in case you might feel like exploding again. You know, for fun or something. Although, he does end up asking if he can leave a few minutes early, saying something about a paper due at the end of the week. The excuse doesn’t make you bat an eye until Jimin arrives for his own session, his grin faltering when he sees his hyung not there to greet him with their usual dance battle in the library.

“Ah… Guess Hoseok-hyung really is still mad over what happened…” Jimin sighs, slumping into his chair. He thumbs his textbook thoughtfully, tongue sticking out like a puppy.

“I’m sure it’ll blow over soon,” you say hopefully, though your heart isn’t quite in it either. Coughing awkwardly, you pluck his textbook out of his hands, desperate to talk about something else other than your crumbling interpersonal relationships. You pause at the page, however, before staring incredulously back at Jimin.

“Jimin.”

“Hmm?” Jimin is still listless, head pillowed by his arms on the table. “What?”

“This is a book on differential calculus. I’m supposed to teach you about writing academic essays.”

“Oh yeah,” Jimin sighs, closing his eyes. “I stole that book from some freshman on the way here. The English textbook I usually bring is with Taehyung right now.”

You pause. Actually, now that you think about it… “Jimin, do you actually even go to this university? What the hell is your major, even?”

“Wha-?” Jimin yawns, fanning his mouth with his hand. He blinks sleepily at you with a big, doofy grin. “Sorry, I played MapleStory for hours last night and I haven’t gotten much sleep. Can I just sleep during this session? I’ll still pay you or whatever…” he trails off, stretching like a cat under a patch of sunlight. Before you know it, the soft sound of Jimin’s snoring fills the silence.

Thankfully, Monday ends without much more commotion. You may have come out of this experience a little bit more broken inside, but hey! That’s what character development is all about, babey. You are just glad that Tuesdays are usually your quietest days, as you only have two classes to worry about. It is also one of the days when you have Creative Writing with Sera, who usually manages to rope you in to get greasy fast food after class. Despite the traumatic experience that particular class has indirectly inflicted upon you, your usual zeal and excitement does not diminish in the slightest. After all, writing will always be your first love, so there isn’t any way some silly poem mishap will make you detest it.

Hopefully nothing else will go wrong, because you aren’t so sure your sanity can take much more of a pounding.

(Fwip. Do you hear that? That’s the sound of karma putting on her strap.)

“Alright class, see you guys on Thursday. Don’t forget that we have a quiz at the beginning of class on Thursday, so please don’t be late.” Professor Puth says, his eyelids blinking out of sync. You hate to be someone who assumes what other people do during their off days as it is none of your business, though the perpetual cloud of marijuana that clings around him can only do so much to mask what his recreational activities might be.

“Dude, I think Prof Puth is finding Nirvana soon,” Sera says loudly, earning the giggles of a few classmates nearby.

“I’d be surprised if he could even find the exit of this building,” you snort, just as the man in question trips over air and nearly faceplants on the ground. Like the model students that you are, you both pretend to be busy doing something else, leaving some other poor soul to help your professor.

Two girls that you vaguely remember from somewhere approach Professor Puth. They are quick to help him straighten up, if his groaning and gasping are anything to go by. He thanks them gruffly and waves them off, but the girls seem adamant to stay put.

“Professor, I have a question…” One of the girls asks, nervously tugging on her ponytail. Her friend giggles surreptitiously beside her, urging her to continue. Their odd demeanor causes signals to go off in your brain, telling you to stop and listen. You tug on Sera’s hand, halting her from leaving.

“Wait. I wanna hear what they’re gonna ask,” you mutter, ignoring Sera’s complaints about being hungry. She can wait for her McNuggets for another five minutes, no matter how much she pretends that she’s starving. You had seen her eat two whole burritos before coming into class today.

Professor Puth raises his brow. “Yes? What do you need?”

“We were just wondering if you could… tell us anything about the identity of the author from that poem?” The girl manages to get all of it out in a rush, cheeks flushed as her friend nods fervently beside her.

“Yea, Prof! We’ve been dying to know! The suspense is killing us, knowing that the mystery author is in one of your classes!” The other girl continues, glittery excitement practically exuding out of her in waves.

Professor Puth sighs, leaning heavily on his desk. He appears about as done as you feel. “Listen… You can badger me all you want, but there’s no way I can tell you. Privacy laws prevent us from sharing information like that without prior consent, even though that student in question might have accidentally sent her assignment to the entire school.” You might be imagining it, but you think Professor Puth points you with a knowing look. You gulp, hastily bowing your head and pretending to fiddle with your phone.

“Aww, Prof! It’s been days and the university hasn’t shut up about it! Surely one of the theories on who the author and muse are must be true, right? You can tell us that, at least.”

You can’t bear to keep listening any longer, though Sera has started to become more interested in the conversation as it progressed. “Wait, wait… I wanna hear the Prof’s opinion,” she says, grinning despite your nails digging crescents into her arm as you try to pull her away.

“No can do! Remember, I have your freshman Halloween pictures saved on a harddrive, and you wouldn’t want me to accidentally send that to the entire student body as well, would you?”

That manages to snap her out of it. Quickly, the two of you leave the lecture hall and away from possible discovery by your poem-frenzied classmates. You are also relieved to be able to breathe in fresh air once more, after being stuck in that class surrounded by liberal art students for two hours. You always do feel a little bit more relaxed after class with Puth, although that might just be from all the secondhand drug use.

Perhaps the fumes really did dull your reflexes, as it takes a while before you realize that Sera has been nudging your shoulder.

When you finally glanced at her, there is a sneaky grin on her face: never a good sign. “So,” she begins, a singsong quality in her voice

After having been her friend for long enough, you have become adept at telling what Sera is going to say next. Call it intuition or whatever, but you like to think of it is a self-defense mechanism. As much as she is your friend, she does love digging into your personal life like it is the cover story of some shitty tabloid. You have to prepare yourself to be interrogated.

“You’re going to ask about the poem, aren’t you?”

Sera rolls her eyes, like you shouldn’t have even asked. “Duh, of course I am. What else would I want to talk about?”

You shrug your shoulders, pretending to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you could have asked ‘Hey, Y/N! How’s your mom been? Have you been eating and drinking well?’ You know, like a normal person.”

“Well, firstable, your mom is literally my friend on Facebook and I saw her go out to that bougie high tea place with Jennie’s mom the other day, so I know she’s fine,” Sera says as the two of you round a corner, heading closer to the parking lot where her car is. “And secondable, you don’t fucking drink water, because you like pretending to be a dehydrated piece of jerky.”

“I just like drinking apple juice, okay? Water is weird,” you say defensively, kicking a pebble as you walk.

“Nah, you’re weird,” Sera counters, ever the creative debater. She remains undeterred, however. “So. Any updates on the poem situation or am I going to have tickle the details out of you?”

You groan, pushing her away from your sensitive sides. “Please don’t… I have no upper body strength and I won’t be able to push you off!”

“That’s the point.” Sera laughs, pinching your cheek. She snatches her hand away, only narrowly escapes getting bitten by you. “Why don’t we skip my torture methods then and go straight to the juicy bits? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you!”

“What if nothing has happened since I last saw you?” You grumble, miffed that she really isn’t letting it go. You just want to have one relaxing day, is that too much to ask?

Apparently, it is. Relaxation is a rare commodity these days. Sera snorts, patting you condescendingly on the back. “Nonsense. You’ve got that post-mental breakdown glow around you. You look absolutely radiant with stress!”

The conversations pauses for a bit when you make it to the parking lot. You don’t have to walk too far, as her car is parked relatively close to the exit, which is just another display of how lucky Sera often is in comparison to you. While your unfortunate plebeian ass is busy drowning in shit, Sera is off somewhere aboard a yacht, getting a massage from some Instagram thot.

She hops into the driver’s seat, waiting for you to put your seatbelt on before backing out with one hand on the wheel. “McDonalds?” she asks, though it is pretty much a given that is where you are going. The last time you both tried diverging from your usual hang out spot, you got intense food poisoning from eating at Chipotle. Sera came out completely fine though, that lucky bitch.

She continues her questions on the drive there, and you relent by telling her most of what has happened to you over the past few days. You gloss over the argument between Hoseok and Jimin, not really wanting their spat to suddenly go viral on Facebook as well. Everything else, however––

“Wait, so you talked to Kim Namjoon? The Kim Namjoon? The Namjoon that you had an embarrassing crush on during our first year?” Sera laughs maniacally, almost driving off into the wrong lane. Luckily, you are quick to latch onto the wheel, saving the two of you from becoming roadkill.

“Watch where you’re going!”

“No, but Y/N! That’s literally so fucking funny!” Sera’s laughter has simmered to a giggle, despite the fact that she is still trying (and failing) to furtively glance your way when you hit a stoplight. “Is he like how you remember? God, do you remember how you were after you first met him? All starstruck because your senpai showed you a draft of his single? ‘Oh, Sera! He has the most amaaaazing flow! I’m going to suck his di––’”

“Shut up!” You whine, slapping her in embarrassment. “Believe me, that crush has died, along with any respect I may have had for him. Men are scum, and I’m going to only date girls from now on.”

“Fine by me! More dick to suck for me, I guess.” Sera teases, whistling innocently. Bold of her to assume that there is any innocent or pure bone in her body; you’ve seen her thirst tweets and no amount of holy water can cure the disease that your vision must have sustained.

“I just want the rumors to die down… It would make my life way more bearable.” You murmur to yourself, sliding down your seat.

Sera is silent for a while. The McDonalds is just within sight, so Sera waits until she has finished parking before she turns to face you fully, uncanny sincerity in her expression. It unnerves you how serious she is, not when you know that this is the same girl who would snort sugar packets if you bet her $5. She places her hands on your shoulder, fixing you with a meaningful look.

“Listen, Y/N. I know all of this is tough right now, but I’m sure it’s going to be alright, okay? The rumor is going to die down soon enough, and everything will be back to normal. Stay strong for now.” Her voice is soothing, sympathy dripping from every word. As mortifying as it is to admit, the tears flow down your cheek effortlessly; perhaps it is the consequence of having to bear this burden on your own for so long without anyone actually telling you that it’s going to be alright.

“Thanks… I think I needed that,” you say after a while, sniffling just a bit. Sera grins fondly at you, wiping your tears.

“No need to thank me. I may be a chaotic shithead, but I’m also your friend.” She unbuckles her seatbelt, gesturing for you to do the same. “C’mon, let’s go in. I’ll even share my nuggets with you.”

Despite her best efforts at comfort, you still feel a little bummed. You allow yourself to wallow in your self-pity for a bit, as McDonalds is a prime location to feel shitty about your life choices anyway. The heart attack inducing food, the barely hygienic facilities, the minimum wage high school employees… Nothing else screamed “I’d rather be dead but it could also be worse” quite like Mickey D’s often did.

You wait by one of the booths while Sera goes off to order for the both of you, leaving you with her phone and other belongings. She promises to let you eat four out of the twenty nugget pieces, which is asking a lot considering who you are dealing with. Sera could probably eat sixty nuggets if she so desired, but only stops herself so she can be physically well enough to continue being a thot. Chasing men all day requires physical fitness, or so she says.

When you go to place her things on the other side of the booth, you notice that Sera had accidentally left her phone unlocked. You can see that she had been previously looking at one of those popular forum sites for your university, where most of her repertoire of gossip is usually sourced from. You aren’t usually the type to frequent those types of pages, with good reason too. That exact forum is the reason of your current stress, where your most private thoughts and feelings were revealed for all to see. Any sort of positive opinion you might have had for that site was immediately dashed the moment that cursed poem was released into the wild.

It kind of pisses you off that Sera still uses that forum despite knowing how much anxiety it has caused you, but then again, there is only so much you can expect from her. Her appetite for drama and chaos is her way of life, her only other hobby aside from writing. You also vaguely recall her saying that she gathers inspiration for her short stories from some of the more outrageous posts made by your fellow schoolmates.

In the end, curiosity gets the best of you as you stare at the open webpage, tantalizing despite the murkiness that lies within. Oh, lighten up. It’s just a confessions page… Besides, you also kind of want to see what people are saying about your poem, and whether the commotion might have died even slightly over time. (Unlikely, but you remain hopeful.)

“Let’s see,” you murmur to yourself, sneaking glances at the counter to see if Sera is close to ordering. She appears to still be next in line to order, so that might give you enough time to read a few of the comments on the post. It doesn’t take you long to find the original post either, since Sera seems to have been perusing the same thing just beforehand.

“Typical Sera... Sympathetic in the streets, a nosey bitch in the sheets.” You snort, scrolling quickly through the comment section. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, except for a few overenthusiastic responses from a couple of people who have bombarded the forum so much that it takes you a few moments to navigate past their thread. You catch a few words here and there, mostly the names of the seven possible muses and not so much the names of any of the possible authors. Honestly, you are more than happy with these turn of events, perfectly content as long as your identity never sees the day where it becomes associated with that disaster piece.

You sort the comments by popularity, wanting to know what everyone’s biggest guesses are. You want to remain hopeful, but as the results start to load, the wave of nausea that suddenly hits you may have been the first warning signal that you should probably stop before you read something that you will regret.

posted by u/SeokjinGod [3d ago]:

[+103, -4] i’m really hoping that kim seokjin is the muse of the poem!! has anyone seen the ads for the new play he’s staring in? he totally looks like the lead actor in a romantic comedy ^^

➾ [+54, -69] psh. that idiot, the muse? PLEASE anyone who has ever worked for kim seokjin KNOWS that it’s physically impossible to form a human connection with that man

➾ [+2, -1] lol seconded

posted by u/namuwuchild [1d ago]:

[+88, -3] WAIT why am i not seeing kim namjoon’s name more often T_T he deserves more love!! stream moonchild or else i’ll bite your ankles

➾ [+1, -6] lol i miss when namjoon used to do actual hiphop… fucking hippie dippie go fuck a tree and some crabs while you’re at it

You sneak a look over your shoulder. Sera is at the front of the line, reciting her orders while the harried employee has to quickly punch in the inordinate amount of food items. Okay… While no one’s looking, time to downvote a couple of these and maybe report some of these assholes… No way in hell are you letting anyone think Moonlight Sonata is about either of those Kim idiots. You would honestly rather out yourself than let anyone think they are worthy of such public displays of love and humiliation.

You are just about to close Sera’s phone and vow never to set foot on social media ever again when the next post catches your eye––the first one where you actually see your name. In fact, your name is generously sprinkled a number of times in this one specific thread.

“Wait a second…” You squint at the top of the thread, reading out the username of the original poster. Is that… Is that your name?!

“User Y/NKook… Oh my god!” You shriek loudly, almost dropping the phone from your sweaty palms. It must be the same person who had organized that merchandise booth in the cafeteria the other week! The number of upvotes on the post isn’t making you feel any better.

posted by u/Y/NKook [3h ago]:

[+98, -5] idk why you noobs are even trying… intellectuals KNOW that y/nkook is real and i won’t take no for an answer… give me my childhood friends to lovers fic RIGHT NOW because this slowburn has been going on for years now and i can’t stand it!!!

➾ [+11, -0] omg op do you know them personally?? how’d you know that they were childhood friends?? i go to the same drama class as y/n and jungkook but they never sit together… are you sure it’s them??

➾ [+20, -1] of course!! they’re even neighbors… besides, haven’t you heard what his nickname is? his friends call him moon eyes for a reason! they say that y/n is the one who gave him that name ^^

You feel your eye twitch, disbelief flooding your senses. Why is this weirdo shipping you with Jungkook? You guys haven’t even spoken properly since elementary school… How does this dude know who you are? Are you being stalked? You whirl your head around, scanning the restaurant for any suspicious people who may or may not be following you. Is this what celebrities feel like when they get shipped with their friends? You feel a sudden surge of respect for them, unable to grasp the situation that you are in. God, you really hope Jungkook hasn’t read any of these.

You go to switch Sera’s phone off, feeling less accomplished than ever before. Maybe it is best to save yourself the anxiety of seeing your world fall apart and try to delude yourself into thinking that the past two weeks have never happened at all. However, there is a certain appeal to reading things that you know you should not, like watching a car crash and unable to look away. The urge to keep scrolling and gaze upon your own personal hell is hard to stop when you have already gained momentum.

“One last post, then I’m done…” You are hard set on that promise, not wanting your apprehension to destroy your peaceful afternoon completely. The next post on the forum greets you with a high upvote number, sending a lick of fear to run down your spine at what you might find. Please don’t be about Y/NKook, you pray helplessly. Little did you know, there are worse things to worry about other than being shipped with your friends.

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [1h ago]:

[+154, -5] hey guys i’m back again with another update! so i’ve managed to shorten the list a bit since last time i posted, and i’m 100% certain that kim seokjin is not the muse! sorry, gamers… our prince is in another castle it seems. worry not, though! that only helps our search better and shortens the list. on the other hand, the authors list has also been edited! turns out that neither jodi nor melody is the author, as they both submitted poems about something else. if you are interested to see the updated lists for both muse and author, please head to my profile and look for the original post titled “Mystery Moon Author & Their Mystery Muse” :-)

You have never clicked on a profile as quickly as you did in that moment. Not even a notification from UberEats could make you move that fast.

Lo and behold, the post that started it all is right at the top of the user’s profile, with the significantly shorter list that they had promised. Sweat begins to build on your temples when you realize that the authors list has decreased to seven names, with your name still obstinately sitting at the end of the lines. When will your suffering end?

There is still something that doesn’t sit right with you, however. As you peruse this user’s profile some more, you feel as if there is something weird about it that you can’t quite place. You never did like using this forum, so maybe you are just not used to the layout of the website? What is it about this user’s profile that is making your stomach coil with nerves?

Wait a second… Why is there an edit button beside their profile picture?

“Y/N! I’m back! Sorry for taking so long; I think I ordered too much again. You’re fine with BBQ sauce on your nuggs, right? That’s all I asked for––” Sera had been happily chirping away, sliding into the bench across from you before finally noticing your stoney face. She pats her face, rubbing her cheeks in confusion. “What? Do I have something on me?”

“How fucking dare you!” You hiss, slamming her phone on the table. Unfortunately, you had accidentally locked the phone in your anger, showing only a black screen.

Sera flinches backwards, bewildered. Her eyes flick to the screen and then to you. “Huh? I thought you liked BBQ sauce on your nuggs? I mean, I can ask for sweet and sour sauce if you want…”

“Unlock your phone right now and explain to me why you have triceratops’ profile logged in.”

Your words begin to click in Sera’s mind. Her face grows pale, her body unconsciously sliding further into the booth to hide from your glare. “U-uh… Haha, what on earth are you talking about..?”

“Don’t even try to lie, Sera. I saw everything, and I honestly don’t know if I’m madder that you betrayed me or that I was stupid enough to believe that you were my friend.”

Sera splutters incomprehensibly at first, waving her arms in panic as she tries to save her ass. “I––! You––! It wasn’t like I––”

You lean forward, peering at her coldly. “Oh yeah? What wasn’t it like? It wasn’t like we were friends?”

“No, of course not! I mean,” she backtracks, tongue-tied. “We are friends! It’s just… I made that post before I knew you were the author and I originally sent the poem to just a couple of people because I was so impressed, and I just wanted to––”

“Hold on,” you interrupt, holding up a finger. She squeaks, staring at you fearfully as you slowly get up to your feet. You cry out, “You were also the one who released my fucking poem to the world?!”

“Anna ou––” Sera whimpers, slapping her palm to her mouth. She lowers it, whispering ruefully. “I… didn’t mean to say that…”

“Oh, so you were meaning to lie to me even more?” You seethe, ready to burst into flames.

The poor McDonalds employee who had come to deliver your order to your table seems too frightened to approach the two of you, her arms shaking both with fear and the weight of five orders of 20 piece chicken nuggets. “Uh, is this a bad time?” The girl asks, eyes darting away from your heated glare.

Instead of answering, you grab the tray from her hands and dump the contents on the table. Sera squawks pitifully when a few of the nuggets fall to the ground, though she absolutely yells when you start chucking them at her head like tiny oily cannonballs.

“What the fuck––Dude stop!” Sera has her arms up in defense, shielding her face from your fiery attack. The sound of you ripping open a BBQ sauce packet has her straightening up, however. “No, not the BBQ sauce! Anything but that!”

“Give me one reason why I should show you mercy.” Your hand is poised to pour the sticky sauce all over her white Valentino bag, ready at a moment’s notice.

“Please, Y/N! I’m really sorry!” Sera jumps out of the booth, and goes on her knees. She clasps her hands together, shaking them frantically. “I really didn’t know it was you at first!”

“Well then, why didn’t you fucking take the post down the moment you did know it was me? I thought you were my friend!” You clench your fist around the BBQ sauce packet, causing some of it to spill onto her bag. She makes a desperate noise.

“I just… I like the attention?” She knows this is the wrong answer, judging by your unimpressed expression. She sighs heavily, head bowed in shame. “Look, I’ll fix this, alright? I genuinely didn’t do this wanting to hurt you… I just got so caught up in the clout that I didn’t really think about what would happen if you found out!”

“‘If’ I found out, huh…” You echo, more disappointed than angry now. You slump back into your chair, taking care to grab the napkins and cleaning the sticky mess on your skin as best as you can. “You really were going to continue doing this for as long as it took, huh?”

“I’m really sorry, Y/N.” Her voice is soft, repentant. It doesn’t do much for your sympathy, however.

“Fuck you, honestly. If you really are sorry, you’ll fix this mess as soon as possible.”

You reach for your bag, your movements jostling a few more nuggets to tumble to the floor. You don’t bother saying goodbye, not wanting to see if Sera is doing her Crying Face Emoji impression to try and soften you up. Not this time. This time… you don’t think your feelings can recover after this.

You have read enough stories about heartbreak and longing, but you don’t think any of them top the experience of losing a friend you realize you never even had.

The next morning, there is a new post on the forum from user triceratops.

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [0s ago]:

[+0, -0] Hello, friends. I think I’ve found the author.

It’s Lee Sera.

398 notes · View notes

fairygrdn · 4 years

Text

𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴 : #F41R13 // STATS » magnolia kim, ( two hundred & five ) twenty three, cis female, she/her, matchmaker. ATTRIBUTES » enchanting, impish, persuasive, deceptive. SEEN » seeping teabags for too long, trading secrets in whispers, dotting every i and j with a heart. DO NOT MISTAKE FOR » yooa ( shiah yoo ).

hello qts ! im xan and im late as usual but that’s just the way the cookie crumbles … 😔 im 22 , from the est timezone & i go by she / her pronouns ! i truly … never know what im doing with intros they just turn out super long & messy so aha … are u ready for this ? zimzalabim ! 😋

━ ˙ ˖ ☆ QUICK STATS !

full name : magnolia marie kim

nickname(s) : maggie , lia , mags

zodiac : libra sun , cancer moon ( click ! )

sexuality : bisexual .

occupation : self proclaimed matchmaker .

birthplace : undisclosed magical forest .

current residence : lunehaven , oregon .

pinterest : ( tba ! )

━ ˙ ˖ ☆ BACKSTORY !

born more than 200 years ago to a family often referred to as fae royalty , magnolia was the youngest of four girls . her parents were well respected animal fairies in the fae community , and because they were so efficient at wildlife conservation , magnolia and her family were never in one place for too long , always moving wherever her parent’s services were needed .

although her parents had little interest in the business of humans or other supernatural beings , that wasn’t the case for maggie and her sisters. the four of them were fascinated with everything outside the fae world , often neglecting their responsibilities for a chance to stick their noses into situations they really had no business meddling in .

as the youngest of the family , as well as the only weather fairy of the bunch , maggie often felt like an outsider or like she had to try extra hard to fit in and prove herself . her sisters eventually gave up their childish games in favor of following the family business and starting serious pursuits as animal fairies , which only left magnolia feeling more frustrated.

when her parents retire and settle down in schiltach , germany for a quiet existence , maggie tries to grow up . at a little over a 100 years old , a more experienced weather fairy tries their best to get her to take life more seriously and accept the fact that her abilities won’t ever line up with the rest of her family’s , teaching her the value in what she can do for plant life in her environment . and for a while she’s satisfied , but there’s a part of her that’s still interested in the lives of humans and other supernatural creatures , something she’d been advised against seeing as fairies often had bad luck trying to help anyone that wasn’t also a fairy .

like any stubborn teenager , though , magnolia swore she was different . she’d discovered a passion that had nothing to do with her fairy duties , and that was matchmaking . something about love had always just fascinated her , and she thought it would be a disservice to hide her gift from the world . in a small town like schiltach , maggie knew everyone , which meant she knew everyone’s relationship statuses . at first her meddling was innocent . setting two single people up on a date , mailing anonymous love letters only to whisper to the receiver that someone else sent them . the more she thought she was helping , the more confident she got that all the warnings she’d been given were overreactions .

things take a turn when she tries setting up a married woman with a man that wasn’t her husband . maggie really didn’t see the big deal , she thought her match was much better than the woman’s current partner but what she failed to realize was that there were real consequences to infidelity in long term committed human relationships . it became the scandal of the town , and all fingers pointed to magnolia . her parent’s were furious with her , disappointed that she hadn’t given up her childish pursuits and fascination with all things outside the fae world . not really knowing how to handle the repercussions , she decided it was time to experience life on her own for a few years .

mostly going places were her ability as a weather fairy were needed , magnolia spent the next 100 years of her life balancing her responsibilities as a fairy with her passion for love games . she expanded her services to other supernatural beings as well , which is how she ended up learning about lunehaven , eventually relocating . while her success rate in matchmaking may be shadowed by a trail of sticky situations and all around flops , maggie still wholeheartedly believes she’s helping more than she’s hurting . it doesn’t help that she’s awfully good at convincing people to give her a shot ( even when it might be in their better interest to run the other way ) .

━ ˙ ˖ ☆ PERSONALITY + TIDBITS !

oh boy oh man ... i won’t lie to u she’s kind of a handful 😳🙈 think chaotic youngest sibling vibe . probably the most irresponsible person ( fairy ? creature ? SDSDKWDNKW ) u will ever meet ... has never truly been held accountable for her actions before so she’s never learned how to own up to her mistakes which means if u tell her she did something wrong she will ignore u and maybe make it drizzle if she knows u don’t have an umbrella .

big im baby vibes ! thinks she can 🥺 her way through life bc it’s worked for the past 215 years so clearly that’s all the proof she needs she’s too old to change her ways </3 mischievous and way too nosy curious for her own good u can tell her to mind her business but she literally won’t . much like miss tinkerbell she needs attention to survive if she doesn’t get it or doesn’t feel like she’s getting enough she does act out ... that complex is high key because she misses her parents though /:

on the reverse of all that she’s an extremely sociable and friendly girl ! she’s generally easy to approach and befriend and she’s a big sweet talker . she loves love 😌 but she also doesn’t really understand it that well or at least she finds it hard to be objective when she’s matchmaking for others . oftentimes she’s considering her own preferences when setting people up but her intentions are almost always good SDJWDJWDW

she’s crazy loyal to friends and the people she cares about . would never hesitate to be there when you need her to be , and she’s really big on showing affection whether it’s through gifts or physically or mushy texts you probably did not ask for but better not complain about . can be a little dramatic and sensitive at times , and yes maybe she overreacts to criticism and negative situations , but she also knows how to have fun and get people to let go ! very good at bringing out the eternal child in u <3

despite her sometimes successful attempts at matchmaking , maggie’s own love life ? a big fat mess ! she’s still scared of serious relationships for herself so most of the time she finds a way to mess things up before it gets that deep . she’s also a huge flirt so settling down is a difficult concept to swallow SDJBWJDBWJ also ... still has those lingering childhood feelings of being different and needing to prove herself so perhaps she feels a little unworthy of true love ... that’s fine </3

she has the biggest sweet tooth in the world . she’s probably always hanging around the bakery munching on pastries . will eat dessert before dinner every time u can’t stop her

always always surrounded by freshly picked flowers and she likes to give them away to people , however she’s got a bad habit of telling people the flowers came from their admirer ( whose identity only she knows , of course )

has probably tried to set everyone’s muses up at least once

accidentally makes it rain when she’s extremely upset , although it’s rarer now that she’s had more experience with her abilities

still has a huge soft spot for animals even if she can’t communicate with them the way an animal fairy can

is on tinder ... get her some help pls </3

unironically throws tea parties in her woodland cottage. if she invites u and u don’t show up she’s going to hold that grudge until the day she dies ...

━ ˙ ˖ ☆ WANTED CONNECTIONS ! ( all open to all genders )

my brain is quite literally all rot rn im just gonna list stuff with minimal elaboration please vibe with me …

people she's done matchmaking for <3 pls give me all the plots where maggie keeps setting ur muses up on dates that don’t work out but she refuses to give up and ur muse keeps letting it happen for whatever reason ... OR maybe someone she tried to set up once and it didn’t work out and they never let her play matchmaker again and maybe they reset her for what happened and she feels guilty about it but doesn’t know how to deal with that so she just decides she’s gonna resent them back ... OR mayhaps a success story o:

ex infatuations that ended tragically lets get that angst (:<

a best friend PLEASE ...

she’s pretty upbeat so maybe an unlikely friendship with someone darker / quieter where at first they were annoyed by her but slowly through charm and time she grew on them much like mold might 😋

please give me a ridiculous enemies plot just someone who thinks she’s an absolute brat and she does everything to reaffirm that thought since the loathing is mutual and half the time they don’t even know what they’re fighting about they’re just always fighting

current hookups we love to see it there’s so many directions to go in maybe its purely a casual thing , maybe it’s casual for magnolia but not for them , or maybe she’s the one like worm maybe i would like more than sex , maybe it’s like a we only hookup when we’re partying thing , maybe it’s a we only get along naked thing , there r choices

older sibling relationships ! she also high key misses her sisters and being babied so i would love for her to have friendships that mirror that

someone she can be in cahoots with … go absolutely bonkers with knowing they won’t judge her and she won’t judge them

a we’re just friends ... unless ? plot

maybe someone who tries to get her to b more responsible and she’s just like UGH i will throw up if u dont stop but low key she appreciates the guidance

ppl whose places she’s always crashing at when she wants to be in town and not in the damn woods

i wont lie to u this got longer than i thought it would 😭😭😭 im sosososo sorry for the length … also i feel like my charas always change a lil once i actually start plotting & writing so sorry again if u see me finally writing as magnolia on the dash and ur like literally who is that … JSDBWJBDWBDJ PLEASE come message me on discord to plot ! if u prefer im’s that’s perfectly ok im just warning u now it’s gonna be a much slower process so if u want speedier replies ... u can message me @ glo lovecore ʕ´• ᴥ•̥`ʔ#8172 maybe … give this a like if u wanna … plot hehehe thank u for reading all this ur so brave for that stay sexy x

#╰ ♡ . 𝒏𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒚 ── ooc ! ┘#luneintro #did not proof read a single word of this .... lets see if that was a mistake #JWDBWJBDJWDW

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eloqvents · 4 years

Text

♡ ◟ ° › lucy boynton, female, she/her, twenty three ⋯ ❛ thank you for applying to SEX AND THE TITTY, ELODIE MONET ! before we start this job interview, i would just like to go over a few questions. you said your best attribute was DEBONAIR, right ? well, word around town is that some people find you to be a bit more GUARDED… but, nevermind that. i’m actually more curious about whether you were actually caught DRUNKENLY SERENADING OUTSIDE OF YOUR EX’S HOUSE AT 3 AM last year ? oh, you were ? that’s unfortunate. on the bright side, i heard that you excel at COOKING …. so that’s cool ! now, one more question … your last manager said that you’re hiding THAT YOU PRETENDED TO GO TO REHAB TWO YEARS AGO BECAUSE YOU WERE PREGNANT, is that true ? — haha , just kidding ! they didn’t say that, i just read that about you online . anyway , you got the job ! ❜ 】 eri, pst, she/her.

hello all ! it’s eri once again with another muse bc we just can’t get enough. anyway, please excuse how shitty this intro is going to be bc i am lacking sleep.

ok to start off, her parents are loaded so she’s very wealthy. original from la, her father was a well-known producer and her mother a stay at home mom. long story short, their marriage was a far cry from a happily ever after. growing up watching their parents fall apart, elodie and her brother latched onto each other and he remained her wall. it was painfully obvious however that their father favored the other, whether it be because he was the only son, or how musically and theatrically inclined he was... and she found herself thrown off to the side much like her mother, except a lot stricter rules set in place that she found herself easily breaking. curfew? forget it. no boys? she was sneaking them in all too often.... but even more easily having her girl “friends” over for sleepovers with no questions asked. she began resenting her father early on and it only grew the more rules, until finally she threw all caution to the wind and fell off the expected monet route.

by 15 she was known as the party girl. she did her school work most of the time, kept good enough grades to keep her parents off at least that aspect of her life. going out every weekend, never coming home on time or just refusing to answer her phone. she was a hellion, with no cares in the world, and she simply lived with no worries and absolutely no care or respect toward her parent's wishes. they virtually gave up on controlling their daughter by the time she was 17, clearly making her own choices and took no bother in chastising her as they knew their efforts would get them nowhere.

despite the dysfunction of the family, they did vacation to stone harbor every summer which had become some of elodie’s favorite memories of her younger years ( i would love any plot referencing her coming back every year and what not ok )

at 18 she had a choice. college, or follow her heart. new york was calling, as much fun as she had in la... it just wasn’t quite it. and new york was so exciting. the following summer she found herself back in stone harbor, unable to resist the tradition but instead opting to stay the summer..... except she never left. with all the fond memories she held in the place, and finally being far away from her family, she felt like she’d found herself. or at least the closest to home she’d ever had.

we gonna skip ahead to her getting pregnant three years ago, which is something she told no one (not even the potential father). the day she found out she was packing her bags and leaving stone harbor with no word, instead of leaving a note for her roommate ( plot wanted ) at the time, and sending out a group text explaining she had decided to go to rehab. it seemed like a good excuse, not a complete lie considering she did not touch any alcohol or substance during her pregnancy. she instead went and stayed with her aunt and uncle in london.

she went back and forth on what she wanted to do, spending her days swaying back and forth between keeping the baby and starting a fresh life or putting it up for adoption. but after a particularly painful depressive episode, she decided for the safety of both of them she had to give her baby girl up. this is when her aunt and uncle said they would take the baby in, not wanting to separate family, and it is a secret she’s kept in to this day.

coming back from rehab, she had changed. at first cold, extremely depressed, and she wanted to stay away from her prior addictions but within a few weeks she was right back into it. drinking nearly daily, taking whatever pills or drugs were offered, although she was much more cautious when it came to sex. becoming quite a bit pickier when it comes to men, however her love for women only seemed to grow.. likely due to the fact she could not get pregnant that way.

she’s had her ups and downs, about six months ago she came back from a few months at rehab once again after an especially harsh bender that landed her in the hospital. sobriety has continuously and still continues to be a struggle for her. she swore up and down that she wanted the help after begging her parents to pay ( not wanting to dip into her own hefty inheritance ) for her to go back, although within a month she found herself dabbling in other substances, occasionally taking a little too many of her medications at once, and having a drink, or two, or three....

while she was staying with her aunt in france, she spent a lot of time cooking with the elder woman and it became the most therapeutic thing to her... at least without getting high.. it’s become one of the only things that can genuinely distract her, although she does become a master chef when you add a little pot to the mix, but she hardly counts that against sobriety anyway.

personality-wise elodie doesn’t really hold back her opinion, and although she won’t go out of her way to avoid stepping on toes, she will try to make things as least confrontational as possible. in her opinion, life has shoved her around enough and she prefers to not allow anyone the excuse to do it too. but........ in those cases she will probably show her temper and make sure people know she isn’t going to be walked all over. she’s very upbeat, tries her hardest to be excited for life each day ( or pops an extra xanny if it’s a particularly hard day ). however.. her bad days are bad. if she’s down enough its nearly impossible to get her out of bed for anything other than a shower. some are harder than others, especially nearing the birthdate of her daughter delaney ( 2 currently ).

a few more facts bc this is long uh: she writes a letter every day to her daughter and saves it in a special box kept secret in her room. she dabbles in poems and other types of prose, and has a goal of one day writing and illustrating her own childrens book in dedication to her daughter. she has a lot of money and could technically afford to not work, however she took a bartending job at sex and the titty for side cash and to send a monthly check to help support her daughter. and laaaaastly, she is kind of a hopeless romantic and loves romcoms way too much. she is 100% the type that believes very strongly in love but just ... sucks at it. she’s scared to commit herself but she’s also not afraid to shout from the rooftops ??? rn she’s trying to work on herself so

oh and here is a playlist and pinterest for her even tho she wasn’t here for the task:)))

connection ideas ( plots page currently in progress )

an ex who she serenaded drunk at 3 am bc that rumor is definitely real

possible baby daddy

her old roommate that she bailed on, can be positive or negative

a best friend, like the blair and serena type ( minus all the fighting ... or not ) that can tell each other and count on the other for anything

exes in general, good, bad, ugly, any and all.

slow burn ??? or the one that got away ??? or maybe they just keep missing each other ???

maybe an enemy or someone she had a falling out with in the past

ANYONE SHE USD TO HANG OUT WITH IN THE SUMMER BEFORE ACTUALLY LIVING THERE. gimme them long term friendships / relationships

a good influence // the person who tries to help her not keep fucking her life up

alternatively .. the bad influence that encourages and participates in a lot of not so good activities with her

tbh i just want anything and everything so throw any ideas at me bc i’ll probably be in

listen i know i forgot like 239523852 things and rambled on too much but i just love her and could go on forever.

#stone:intro #uh hi i am so sorry for how long this is pls dont hate me #if you dont wanna read it just lemme know and i can paraphrase the important stuff ok

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gotatext · 5 years

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yo, im not gonna lie guys, im super drunk, so this bio is like.... completely ocpy and pasted but;.... pls plot with me..... im so excited to bring this baby here.... i feel it is the perfect place to write her and i hven’t had the chance to in so long ..... love me..... and greta........ please im so excited this is back, last time i played jack..... n willow??? i think....... maybe archie too...... dont even remember...... who i fuckin played..... but i was here...... and queer..... loud..... and proud..... god this dumb bitch needs to sleep.....

GRETA O'DRISCOLL

20. born in marfa, texas. luvs wearing gingham print dresses and cowboy boots. vert into art and pornography, and particularly the combination of the two. wants to do a PHD on gender studies and female autonomy in porn.

( kristine froseth | she / her | cisfemale ) hey, you hear ( young lady, you’re scaring me by ron gallo ) playing over on the ( rv lot ) ? that’s where ( greta o'driscoll ) lives! i heard they moved in from ( marfa, texas ) exactly ( four months ) ago. they’re very ( zealous ) but also pretty ( erratic ). maybe that’s why davie keeps calling them the ( libertine ). starlit is full of people, but this ( 20 ) year old is really going to liven things up around here! ( nora | 23 | she / her | gmt )

personality: easy-going, deceptive, manipulative, self-reliant, profound, amiable, nihilistic, self-serving, laid back, independent unmotivated, self-corrupting, charming, lazy, impulsive, alluring.

likes: art, music, philosophy, DC comics, arcade games, candyfloss, fish and chips on the beach, deep red lipstick, marijuana, dogs, Kate Moss, late-night strolls, chemistry, suspenders, cigarettes, herbal tea, gallows humour, cold coffee, long showers, brown eyes, tchaikovsky, dr. seuss, DJ sets, magnolias.

dislikes: bananas, coffee, mental mathematics, children, misogyny, the imaginary future, literature, Wes Anderson films

muse tag

aesthetics: a bubble of pink gum on chapped lips, mom jeans, a beaten up pair of adidas, strawberry laces, knee-highs, chapped lips, split knuckles, bruises you try to cover with concealer, stick and poke tattoos, sleep caught in your eyes on a lazy afternoon, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, the red string of a thong peaking out purposely from jeans, a rucksack permanently packed for the move, a streak of red across your lips, roller blades, cut knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

cliffsnotes on biography

- she’s called greta (under witness protection), and she’s a serial dater. she’s incredibly restless and doesn’t settle. before she came to seattle, she’d lived in 8 different cities in 3 years. born into a single-parent house with two older sisters so always surrounded by women and as a teenager she often let boys walk all over her bc she just craved male attention - every place she goes, she becomes a new character, someone who’s a figment of her imagination, as if each city is repertory theatre and she’s a character actress, so as a result everyone from her past views her as a completely different person depending on when she met them. - she’s been involved in a series of destructive relationships because when people discover she’s not who she pretends to be she often gets explosive and defensive. - (tw gun) she’s now under witness protection and moved to connecticut because she shot a previous boyfriend in self-defence and his family are trying to have her done for murder, but she got tired of being moitored so is now even on the run from the police / her faked identity. - easy to get along with (provided you don’t anger, provoke or question her too much) because she WANTS your character to be entralled by her and will do whatever it takes to win them over. she wants everyone to love her - big into sports. big into gender politics. big into art. does a lot of art installation pieces to do with female and queer bodies. massive feminist. low key quite scared of powerful men bcos of her ex. wants to start a female only lesbian commune. big fan of the honey bee.

full biography

trigger warnings: drugs, domestic abuse, gun.

you never meant for it to happen. you’d heard the stories, of girls who let their man walk all over them, and thought to yourself “i’ll never be one of those girls…” the kind that eat low-fat yoghurt and drink slim fast to shred a few extra pounds because he said she was getting round in the tummy, or the ones who spent their evenings tied to a kitchen sink drinking wine while him and the boys played poker, wishing god, if only I could get out of here. not you, not you raised by strong women, four bright shining beacons. single mother with her hard-as-nails attitude and her stony glares, elder sisters (twins) one ginger, one blonde, one doctor, one lawyer, both determined to take a bullet to the brain and a hammer to the patriarchy before they let a man touch them without asking. you were always so inferior, so insecure and small, like a bird (like a sparrow) with blonde plaits down your back sucking tropicana whilst your bosom buds sucked dick, their lips permanently ripe with stories of their sexual exploits, fake tan and glittered nails whilst you sat in the unbroken egg of virginity wondering what it was like to be loved. one day you found out.

lily milligan’s parents gone and a free house for the night, bottles of ouzo and tequila swiped from your mother’s liquor cabinet thinking she wouldn’t know (she always knew) your legs, hardened from pep squad, slut dropping on a kitchen table because the boys thought it would be fun to get the quiet girl drunk. you’d never had a sip before that night. band t-shirts, denim shorts and the split soles of rotten converse that you refuse to let go of, you still clutched with both hands to your youth, but in a tube top now (borrowed from alice carmichael who had a sister in college) and a short tennis skirt, your feet not in trainers but in thigh-high boots. uncomfy as hell but lily said you needed to look sexy. you didn’t know if you wanted to be sexy. you didn’t know what kind of girl you were, if you were even a girl at all. but robbie looked at you like he knew exactly who you were, like he knew you better than you knew yourself, and his lips had the pink cupid’s bow of a movie star, and his hair was dark locks, curling like a mane. his hands were soft, and suddenly on your waist, and after three more shots his lips were on yours and his name was the only sound in your head and on your lips as you lost it in lily’s college sister’s bedroom beneath the glare of a T-Pain poster. you bled for what seemed like hours, his hand still in yours, kissing on the sofa as truth tellers and daredevils continued to spin a bottle of unprecedented youth. you thought it was love. robbie was the one. he loved you, you knew it, how else could someone be so soft? but soon he grew bored, scrunched up your paper heart and set it alight. then came the tears, the hatred, the ‘fuck robbie, in fact, fuck all boys.’ and that you did.

you were known for being easy. any boy could be yours for a night, as long as he promised to love you for those few short breaths and pants before you cried yourself to sleep. you felt poisoned, but poisonous as well, as if by ensnaring these young boys you were gaining power over them, and not the other way around. soon it started to work. they’d want more, but you’d deny them it, sick of sucking off silly schoolboys, they’d call you a tease, a vixen. maybe you were, but you couldn’t help but want older men. you got the history teacher first time, him bending you over his desk to sneak a hand up your tennis skirt as the after-school clubs carried on next door, unawares. love didn’t exist, not for you. it was nothing but a game for pretty young girls to play, bubble gum in their canines and a hand tugging at the hem of their cheer skirt.

there was so much anger inside of your small body, ‘beware of boys and their hook-like words’. hockey helped. there was something formidable about the feeling of a stick like a weapon in your hands and the thwack it made against thighs in the heat of a scrum - “slipped, sorry!” - you’d utter with a snakeskin smile, millicent quinn knowing that you’d hit her on purpose because she shagged robbie at that party last week. she couldn’t prove it, cobbled acne on her forehead turning green with disgust. ben came into your life like a car crash. two years your senior, with a baseball jacket and shoulders like a god. he became your personal hero. on the pitch, he was lethal. together, you could bring anyone to their ruin. each day after last period he’d be waiting in his car. you’d leap into his arms like a girl-half starved, love me, love me, love me, your heated kisses the envy of every junior girl. he was yours for three blissful years, utterly yours, and you were his, his star-spangled girl, and he was your knight - you were both the same, playing games, always difficult to predict. it was a shock to all when he proposed, high-school sweethearts find love in south dakota.

the engagement was a bittersweet affair; three months – you barely out of your gingham print skirts and into a graduation gown, him, a surly quarterback towering above your sisters, cigarette at his lips and a scowl like a fart in a lift. they hated him. so did you. but you were eighteen and in love, and he fitted the cookie cutter mould. everyone wanted him, and you had him. you had him and you were happy, happy, happy, and he loved you. he said he’d give you the world, anything you wanted hand-picked and given to you. instead, he gave you a jack russell terrier and a flat you couldn’t swing a cat in, wallpaper peeling like the rotten bits inside of you, the bits that only he knew. and you got tireder and tireder of the sad excuse of a life he’d picked out for you, him out doing god knows what to pay the bills, and you dancing on tables to pave your way to stardom, and this was love, this was real, until the shine wore off and your fresh-faced, dimple-cheeked cheerleader facade faded and the ugliness started to reveal itself, the whining, the petulance, the sharp-tempered cruelty, the mind games, the need to always win, win, win. he was dull, he was boring, he was nothing like the boy the girls had said he was and no chiselled six-pack could hide his lack of anything remotely interesting, your patience wearing thin until it snapped like rubber, a rucksack on your back, running shoes on your feet and the joint bank account emptied into your eighth grade birthday wallet.

you built your small fortunes working the casinos of sioux falls, a crimson dress and an attitude to match. bookish archie with his little dipper freckles was fun for a month before he became just as dull and dreary as the rest. a three-hour bus and you were in minneapolis, bright eyed and bushy tailed, fresh meat ready for the pickings. a hostel here, a friendly co-worker’s sofa there as you made what you could by taking off your clothes and shaking your ass like you were back in pep squad, doing what you did best. you met your fair share of creeps, and soon it was back on the road to escape a wide-eyed stalker and a restless itch for more. milwaukee, chicago, you made the roads your own. log cabins and lodgings, and the occasional motel, a beaten up pick up truck purchased at a scrap merchants – you got a few miles out of it before it bit the dust, and when you finally set it alight after nights spent lounging across the driver’s seat, a parka tucked over you as a duvet, you were sad to see it go. you’re nomadic by fault, never attaching to place, people or things, creating a new personality in every place you go like a character actress; each town is a different repertory theatre, and you’re the star. a compulsive liar, you even fib about your own name, to some you’re ellen, nineteen, bookish, a law student who likes smoking and cosmos. to someone else you’re rita, you’re twenty-five and look young for your age, like smoking, comics and fucking in public places.

in the bright lights of michigan, you found charlie, sweet charlie, too good for you, though you let him spoil you while he thought you were the small town girl of his dreams. next came abigail, who was fun until the jealously kicked in, and then luke, gorgeous luke, dangerous, exciting, who despite his temper, despite the fights, despite bruises down your spine and your teeth marks on his arms, loved you with the strength of a wildfire. there was destruction in your wishbones, a savageness from the field, from the pitch and now somehow in his arms, you were godly. he was cruel, he was careless, and he refused to fall at your feet like so many other boys had, which only you made you want him all the more. you were rage incarnate. you hated him so fiercely you thought you might kill him, so he played the only card you wouldn’t predict; proposed.

the house you shared was a backstreet flat in detroit, you make your name as a downtown singer while he foots the bill with pills. they have a drug for anything these days, to dull the senses, to pick them up, to drive you to insanity or pull you out of the madness hole. the two of you live like criminals on the run (you never told him that you were, living out your days as the enigma he wanted you to be), you with your voice like caramel and fishnet legs. you were his and his alone until his hand was at your throat and the gun was in your hands screaming at him to stop, stop, stop, until a bullet stoppered his brain, crimson staining linoleum as you cast yourself out like lucifer. self-defence was decreed the moment they saw your violet neck, black tears and headlight eyes and mind screaming red, red, red like the pom-poms you shook so willingly in school and the insides of his skull. you were gone, and “you” was born, renamed “greta”, boxed, shipped-out, and next-day delivered to vegas where under witness protection you were a student, blank slate, fresh-faced in a place where no one knew your name, doing what you always did and starting again.

#starlit:intro #starlit:ooc #pls plot w me im going 2 sleep but.... will reply tomorrow #spam me with ideas i LIVE for that shit x #⥂ greta o'driscoll. ╱ musings.

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wclfclaws · 6 years

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➰ ( CHLOE BENNET, CIS FEMALE, SHE/HER ) *✧.:°░｡ —- is that LILY PARK?! you know them, right? they are the TWENTY EIGHT year old WEREWOLF !! they’re known for being CUNNING & WAYWARD - but i’d be careful if i were you because they’re also RUTHLESS & ALOOF. ( kevin, twenty five, gmt )

hello, hello, hello!! i’m kevin, welcome to my ted talk. this is my daughter lily, she’s a brand new muse but i’m super excited to get writing her because i love the tmi universe tbh like at least casserole clare gave us a good universe to play in ayyyy!! anyway i’m gonna keep this short and sweet bc i wanna leave some stuff up for character development also i joined this rpg like last month with noah fairstone, he was a charlie hunnam face claim but i never got him off the ground bc shit came up irl so i just wanna apologise for that from the get go

INFORMATION

Name: Lily Park Age: Twenty-Eight Gender: Female Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Date of Birth: May 24th Place of Birth: Chicago, Illinois

BIOGRAPHY

X When Lily was fourteen years old her parents were killed by shadowhunters for breaking the accords, leaving her an orphan and a ward to the clave!! The crime they committed is still a mystery to Lily, one she is desperately seeking answers for as she believes her parents were wrongfully murdered. Instead of leaving with the shadowhunters who slaughtered her parents to have the clave choose her fate, she fought them off as best as she could ( she was only fourteen years old after all ) and ran as fast and hard as she could. Lily would have rather been homeless, left to fend herself than trust the clave or anybody else with her life.

X Scrounging together what she could in a hurry by means of pick-pocketing, Lily hopped a bus to New York with only the clothes on her back and what she could stuff into her back-pack after returning to her home once she was certain the shadowhunters where no longer running surveillance on the house she grew up in.

X Once she arrived in New York, Lily did what she could to survive — which usually meant pick-pocketing people on the street, stealing food from street vendors and when she felt that the shadowhunters were getting too close to home and catching on to her tricks, she would pack up and move to another district of the city.

X When Lily was fifteen years old she happened to run into another werewolf boy by the name of Ben, another orphan werewolf who had no friends or family. She fell for him fast and hard, she depended on him more than anybody since her parents had been murdered and it finally felt good to share the burden with somebody else. Lily spent three years on the streets of New York with Ben, stealing to survive until she was eighteen years old and their crimes attracted the attention of New York’s Shadowhunters!!

X For the last ten years Lily has bounced around the country, never sticking around one place for too long because of shadowhunters always interfering in her business. While Lily has always stole to survive, she now steals for the benefit of others!! If a warlock’s magic is being blocked and they need a magic artefact, Lily is the girl to call. A vampire in need of some blood bags? Lily’s the girl who will hit up a blood bank for you. She’ll even work for a mundane for the right price, but when it comes to other downworlders she tends to trade in information rather than money ( okay, sometimes both ) as she’s desperate to find out why her parents were really murdered.

X Her search has brought her to Los Angeles, with no clue that the boy she left to face a group of shadowhunters alone was now in a position of power amongst the werewolf pack.

PERSONALITY

X Lily doesn’t trust shadowhunters, she tries to avoid them to the best of her ability and when ever she gets a whiff of their angelic blood she hot tails it out of there with no intention of sticking around long enough to come face to face with those who murdered her family. When it comes to Shadowhunters, Lily’s sense of fight or flight goes haywire — most of the time she runs for self preservation, but sometimes her impulsive and reckless nature gets the best of her and before she knows it she’s started a bar fight with a group of Shadowhunters.

X Lily is quite easy to get on with, despite the fact that she’s naturally guarded and walks around with a ten foot wall surrounding her, she hasn’t just made enemies over the last ten years. She considers New York her home and would love to return one day, she loves the pizza and pasta there ( girl is a foodie ok )

X Lily is a survivalist at heart, she won’t hesitate to screw your character over if it furthers her best interest or ensures her survival. Sometimes this comes as easy as breathing to her, while other times she struggles to come to terms with that she does and feels genuine remorse for hurting other people. But she knows she has to remain ruthless in a world where Shadowhunters can murder your parents and only give you a half assed explanation as to why they never faced a trial in front of their peers.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

To be added!!

EXTRAS

X You can find Lily’s pinterest board here!!

#wilshire:intro

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oxfordeliterp · 7 years

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CONGRATULATIONS, JEN!

You have been accepted to play the role of CORDELIA MCQUEEN with the faceclaim of ALEXANDRA PARK. Please create your account and send it to the main in the next 24 hours. Another difficult decision that I had to sadly make between two applications with edge, that showed the same amount of potential and skill as well as two different sides of the same pale cheek, both leaving me open-mouthed. Yet, I believe that your dedication and your connection with Cordelia are one of a kind. It is remarkable how you can know and understand so much about a character you haven’t even played yet, and I want to thank you for your loyalty to the biography, as well as the creative input. What I have always loved about Cordelia is her transparency, even wearing opaque black, and you managed to show her fickleness and loneliness at once. Incredible work!

OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION

Name and pronouns: Jen, she/her

Age: I’m feeling 22

Time-zone: GMT

Activity level: I was working as a waitress, technically still do which is why my completion of this app has taken so long when I did 50 hours a week. But by the time this roleplay hits its acceptance date I’ll have worked my last shift and I’ll be going into an admin job which is set hours and in theory that should allow me enough time to get on around once a day. I feel like I’ve rambled but I felt like I needed to explain a little, sorry XD

Triggers: removed for privacy

IN CHARACTER INFORMATION

Desired character: Cordelia McQueen. As you know, my interest was grabbed by Cordelia right away from the little snipet I saw of her in Victoria’s connection and my affection has only grown for her to incredible amounts having read her bio and stalked the tag you so kindly shared with us. I was going to wait until all the bios were released (a couple of others had my attention too, and while I know currently all the bios are out at the time I started working on this that wasn’t the case. I’m just slow as the perfectionist kicks in) but my heart is now fully set on Cordelia and I just hope I can do justice to this beautiful, sad girl. Upon my first reading of her bio, my heart broken for her several times throughout it as the depth of her sadness became clearer and clearer. She’s a girl from a fractured family who never quite fit in with her parent’s expectations completely that had the one person who accepted her as she was taken from her too. But she’s so much more than just that and every time I reread her bio I see something new and what writer doesn’t want to get the chance to play someone who is full of layers? Cordelia is a bit of a deviation from muses I usually play and I would be honoured if I could be the one to bring her to life, knowing that I’d be pushing myself and challenging myself and that on it’s own is enough for me to keep diving into her character and getting further under her skin. One of the biggest draws to her is how she fits into the group as an individual when she is so aloof and holds herself above everyone else. For me, one of the most rewarding things about her will be watching her interact with everyone else and seeing who brings out little nuances of emotion or even just something of an opinion when she does her best to remain silent or neutral. Of course, another aspect of this is where her loyalties will end up lying when it comes to the conflict between members of the Quarrel Club and the Riot Club and of course with the main arc of the roleplay and whether she thinks that Marc did it or not. I feel like there’s so many directions she could go in when she’s possibly the most neutral muse from all the bios I’ve read and one way or another it’ll be telling which side she picks- if she picks at all- and I would love to be the one exploring all of those posibilities.

Gender and pronouns of the character: Female, she/her

Changes: I think she’s completely perfect just the way she is.

Traits: Cordelia is above all extremely resilient despite having resigned herself to a life of feeling almost empty she refuses to give up completely on life. She’s aloof and difficult to get close to but if you ever manage to get past the distance she makes sure exists between her and the rest of the world, there’s still some softness there hidden in her tired soul. There’s a recognition that she’s different from everyone else, even her own family but she sticks to her guns and refuses to change, even though deep down I feel like she does crave affection- but more than that it’s acceptance that she wants from people. To just be enough for someone like she was for her uncle even if now she’s a little more hollow than she was then.

While so much of her mannerisms are just who she is, the decision to hold herself above everyone is a conscious one as much as it’s just the way she is. After losing the most important person to her I feel like she’s put walls up as much as she’s embraced the emotionless-ness that life created when it hollowed out everything she loved. She chooses to live in her own head because there’s a familiarness to it

Spending all her time in her own head is another of her coping mechanisms. It leaves her above the pressure of having to please people or at the mercy of worrying what they think about her and that is how she’s able to cope with all her sadness and the instability of her life when herself has been her only constant. It lets her go through life in her own way without letting herself and how she’s feeling depend on other people- she’s entirely at her own mercy at there’s a certain power in that that allows her to be assured enough to continue on the path she’s on.

While she may come across as cold and uncaring, it’s really more of a neutrality that causes her to be so disinterested in people. Cordelia very makes a firm decision about anyone and on those rare occasions that she does it’s never something that she would vocalise. She’s someone who would always leave you guessing about herself, happy to hear you talk her ear off about yourself if it meant that she never had to admit anything personal about herself.

Extras: Having thought long and hard about it and trawled through the Oxford courses page, I finally settled on the first course that jumped out at me for Cordelia and that was Fine Art. I feel as though she has the same creative talent as her uncle, even if she is slightly less vocal about it and it’s something she tends to keep to herself when it makes people point out similarities and differences between them. It’s the one form of expression that she allows herself now that she’s stopped dancing. I’ve gone into her feelings about it a little more in her para sample but I feel like it’s the degree that makes the most sense for her.

Anything else I’ve managed to put together for her you’ll be able to find here which there is currently more than one page of and I’ll maybe add to as I think of more (also number one reason why this app took me so long bc I am a perfectionist when it comes to graphics)

PARA SAMPLE

I ended up doing two because I couldn’t get the two of them to flow into each other smoothly although it could be argued that one happens in the afternoon and the other in the evening.

Her nose crinkles slightly in an uncharacteristic show of emotion as her eyes trail over the canvas in front of her with nothing but criticism and disappointment echoing faintly in their depths. The image that she’d seen so clearly in her mind had yet to transfer itself into a physical copy and there was a faint sense of frustration building that despite her brushstrokes being as precise and delicate as her dancing had been, they had yet to accomplish what she wanted from them. With a smooth movement she’s placing her paintbrush down to take a step back from what she’s trying to create to see if that gives her a better perspective of where she was going wrong.

The critical glint in her eyes doesn’t fade and once again she becomes her own worst nightmare as she tortures herself some more with memories of her uncle and the vivid designs his deft fingers used to leave on paper. It came so naturally to him and there hadn’t been a day spent with him that she hadn’t been transfixed by watching him work. The designs had been her favourite but seeing them come to life was almost as enchanting when she’d always envied how he could bring them to life with an ease that she never seemed to manage.

Logically she could acknowledge that it was never totally easy for him when all artists seemed to struggle with their work at one time or another but her mind never failed to drive a wedge between her and the family member she’d always classed herself as closest to at times like these. More often than not comparisons drawn were favourable but this time, as with everytime that she painted, it only made her want to give up for the day when there seemed little point torturing herself over it.

So Cordelia washed her hands and removed her apron, with it removing all flashes of colour from her form. It’s too telling, she’d decided in her first year, to leave paint smudges all over her clothes and skin when she’d always preferred to give so little about herself away. There was no chance of anyone finding her lack or damaged that way or discovering the depth of the sadness that had made its home in her bones long ago and was as much a part of her as her lips or hands. It was unshakable and by now it was the one constant in her life that she was quite convinced that without its weight she’d feel too unbalanced to cope.

Satisfied that she’s scrubbed enough of the paint flecks from herself, she paints her lips back on with a flash of red before switching her comfortable flats for the red-soled high heels that complete the look she knows that she’s known for on the campus. Thankfully it all came naturally to her, an innate knack for picking the very best for herself and piecing an outfit together to not only get the best out of her features but the clothes themselves.. Though she can’t help but supposed that even if she weren’t able to carry the look she favoured so well, she’d still be just as hollow inside for it not to mean a thing to her.

More solemness rests in her eyes than usual as she takes in her surroundings, flute of champagne balanced gracefully between delicate fingers. A sigh is hiding behind her lips, weariness for the evening that was before her already creeping in before she reminds herself that it was her choice to attend and put herself in that position. There was no hostility felt towards the others that surrounded her, just a marked difference that had followed her through life. It was something she’d found a resigned acceptance in, not being able to bring herself to care enough to make any changes to the way she was in order to fit into the group that surrounded her more smoothly.

Instead she stood on the fringes of the party, fulfilling the role of the perfect lady that she had started to embody, shoulders gracefully back and posture that held the type of perfection only a dancer could achieve. With a measured but fluid move of her arm Cordelia raises her glass to take a sip of the sparkling drink in her hand knowing that the bubbles in it won’t have any success in making her lighter when she’s so happy staying in the shadows.

Still, it isn’t her intention to wile the evening away lurking in the corner sipping champagne like some sad loner when she knew plenty of other attendees at the little gathering. It was all just a question of who would handle her company the best out of all those in the room. While she could manage to get on well enough with the likes of Windsor, Arkwright, Armstrong and Bellefonte when she wanted to - her poker face was without match after all- she wasn’t quite fancying the energy it would take to interact with one of them. Casting her eyes around once again they inevitably found the form of her stepbrother, as always never far from that pretty, polished Hastings.

A familiar spark that shatters all her shadows and brings back memories of that one lapse that she’d allowed them. That brush of lips against her that she’d retreated from as quickly as her thoughts came back to her because those few heartbeats of contact had made her feel more than all her countless one night stands with nameless men had. He was wholly too enticing and intoxicating, a danger to the uneven equilibrium she clung to and called sanity. With him, what was now her world was in jeopardy and no matter how what was left of her heart sung and cried out for him, Cordelia had never quite managed to let herself surrender to what was between them when it meant entirely too much risk.

So she decides against her stepbrother, choosing to leave him with his pretty, perfect little blonde girlfriend while trying her best to ignore that faint echoing pang of envy, and adjust her course towards the Zerilli siblings, having always found them somewhat refreshing in a social group that had the potential to be confining if you didn’t know how to play your part right.

#cordelia mcqueen #accepted

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