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her-satanic-wiles · 8 months

Text

October 16th

Public Sex, Papa Emeritus II x Reader

Masterlist

Words: 3.3k

Warnings: Public sex; cheating; exhibitionism; power play; abuse of power; forced cucking (so, dubcon); fingering; piv; vaginal sex; unprotected sex; public masturbation; degradation; finger sucking; cum eating?; breeding kink; creampie;

Taglist: @sodoswitchimage @enchantedbunny @bitchywitchygardener @thew0man @sodomiser @the-did-i-ask @copias-sewer-rat @gehrmansbignaturals

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this is dark fiction, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my rating. Thank you.

I went a bit feral with this... please enjoy the depravity.

Papa Emeritus II was, for lack of a better term, a menace to the Ministry. He had always been a bit of a ladies’ man, but upon taking over Papacy from his older brother, he became a pure, unadulterated nightmare. For the most part, he never abused his power. He never threw his title around and stomped his feet every time he couldn’t get something his way. He would always sit back, contemplate, and form a solution even if it wasn’t the ideal outcome. However, he hated most of the Clergy members. Most of the Cardinals that surrounded him, the Bishops, just most of the people who decided that they would try and brown nose their way to Secondo’s position. Or at least into becoming his right-hand man.

The thing about Secondo was, he never had right-hand men. Knew all he needed to know about men given that he was one and, quite frankly, he couldn’t stand them. No, no, Secondo had right-hand women and enbies. Career-driven, powerful women, and enbies that had tempers and formidable demeanours rivalling that of Mt. Vesuvius. To be perfectly honest, his previous right-hand would have made Vesuvius shake to the size of the Viminal Hill in Roma.

Secondo would never sleep with his right-hand and personal team, of course not! And how dare you suggest such a thing? That would be a breach of his power, a total imbalance of the Force. No, no. He would never sleep with them. He would, of course, provide pleasure should they ask for it, though. The man was an open book many had read. A beautiful person teary-eyed and complaining that their spouse wasn’t pleasing them right? Ugh, a plague on their house. As leader of the Satanic Church, where the vulva’s orgasm was the utmost of their priorities by order of the Dark Lord and father, Lucifer, it was his right - no! His duty as Papa to make sure that this person felt loved and appreciated, and so overstimulated they could hardly walk. But that was neither here nor there. It was only his duty after all.

So, needless to say, when sweet, young, distraught you walked into his office in tears, he was beside himself. His favourite Sibling is struggling? No, this can’t happen - not on his watch. You didn’t want to tell him at first for fear of being unprofessional, but Papa was insistent you unburdened yourself. When you explained that you’d caught your partner in bed with another Sibling and he didn’t feel in any way remorseful for what he’d done, Secondo almost hit the roof. He was only able to keep himself calm for your sake. However, once he was no longer seeing red, devising a plan was as simple and easy as taking candy from a baby. Your partner was a piece of shit to you, but he was also just a general piece of shit. He was one of those brown-nosers who was after a higher position in the Ministry. He practically sold you into Secondo’s employment so you could put in a good word with Papa. But you were the kindest, sweetest, most angelic in the Ministry, and Secondo couldn’t quite bring himself to hate or be wary of you. And so now he was hatching his own plan for revenge on your behalf.

There were plenty of things he could have done, but only one thing he wanted to do. One thing that would really send a message. You. And with your consent he did just that. Papa was, unsurprisingly, the best you’d ever had. And every time you two slept together you were reminded of just how awful your partner was and how much you’d been screwed over. And so by welcoming Papa into your bed you were actively disrespecting your partner in a private way. And while it was good enough the first three times, your partner was none the wiser and was certainly not being shamed for it. Revenge is best served cold, but yours had only just entered the fridge.

You didn’t have a plan so much as a spontaneous idea stemming from the perfect situation. The Clergy had a twice-yearly dinner that all the higher members and their partners would attend. Meaning you would be there with him. And you were just as stunning as usual. You chose an emerald, sequin ensemble that made you look divine and flattered your body in such a way all eyes were on you. And this clearly frustrated your partner as when Secondo found you in one of the alcoves you were sobbing again. “He was fucking her in one of the rooms. Sister Imperator informed me. Now she knows, everyone else will.”

Secondo wrapped you into a warm hug and allowed you to cry into his robes. He was a bitter, miserable old man to most, but to those closest to him he was insanely kind and thoughtful. Ruthless and intimidating, but wonderful. “I want to embarrass him.” Secondo told you. “I want to humiliate him the most. Sathanas, if I could, I’d spread you on the dinner table and have my way with you in front of him, and watch him try to keep his cool head in front of the entire Clergy.”

You didn’t know what came over you. You didn’t know why you said what you said, but you looked him in the eye, wiped a tear away and said, “Do it.”

Secondo was clearly taken aback because he asked for clarification.

“I want him to hurt. I want him to suffer. I want you to let everyone know how much of a piece of shit he is. Ostracise him.”

Secondo gulped and looked at you with wide eyes and his hands tightened their grip on your waist. He let out an involuntary groan at the thought and before either of you could change your minds, he took you by the hand and led you back to the dining hall. He waited a second longer just so that you could make sure you looked presentable and like you hadn’t been affected by your partner’s infidelity and you entered the room, disappointed to see he still wasn’t back yet. Secondo had a plan, though, kissed your hand and told you to sit in your seat until your partner came back. Secondo would go back to his.

The power he exuded just walking back to his high backed seat had your thighs rubbing together to relieve the pressure that was building in your core. He sat down, tilted slightly to the right and resting his whole body on the arm rest, with his knees spread apart and anger in his eyes. He was intimidating, almost emanating a black smoke that subtly alerted people to his foul mood and warned them to steer clear. Your eyes were so fixed onto his, you didn’t notice your partner had walked back through the door with his own lover following moments after, until you watched Secondo’s eyes trained onto him and glowering as he came over and placed a chaste kiss to your temple. As subtly as he wanted, Secondo patted his thigh while making eye contact with you, inviting you to come over to your Papa. And you did just that, making excuses to your partner and walking over to Secondo, butterflies fluttering in your stomach in fear but mostly excitement.

Secondo took hold of your hand once more and placed a kiss to the back of it, chivalrously greeting you and welcoming you back into his presence. He decided against making a speech, believing that in this instance actions speak louder than words, and so he delicately grabbed you by the waist and guided you to sit atop his lap, the backs of your knees hooked over the armrest he was leaning on before. Now his hand rested on your thigh, and his thumb was stroking the sequined material there while his eyes gazed up at you. He sat up, stretching his back all the way up so his lips could reach your neck and attached them to your most sensitive spot. He chuckled when your eyes fluttered closed and a breathy moan escaped you. “Straddle me.” He ordered, loud enough for only you to hear.

You obeyed, hiking your outfit to it’s most comfortable position and allowing you to sit comfortably on his lap. People had begun to take notice now, but conversations were still being had. He cupped your face and pulled you down for a kiss, wasting absolutely no time in making it as filthy as he possibly could. Never had Secondo been so brazen as take a Clergy member’s wife into his lap and treat her like a common whore in front of the whole Clergy. The thought alone excited him more than he could possibly say.

His gloved hands came down your hips and grasped onto your ass cheeks, pulling your body closer to him and giving them a rough squeeze. Into his mouth, you moaned, loud enough now for more to start taking notice and conversations to begin dwindling. You barely heard the hushed whispers of people discussing how scandalous it was. But the whispers didn’t stop Secondo from taking one of his hands to his lips and spitting on it. Nor was he deterred from pulling your clothes to give him better access to your core. The only face and voice he was focussed on was yours as his middle finger made contact with your now sensitive clit. The only reaction he gave was when he watched your mouth hang open with the pleasure from the leather. Your face alone was almost enough to make him cum in his robes, but he did everything he could to make sure that the only place he’d cum tonight was inside you.

When you had gotten used to the feeling of his finger on your clit, he once again spat on his finger and used that one to breach your walls, tapping up just as you liked and making you let out a much louder moan. Whoever’s attention you didn’t get, you had now. Your hips began to move on their own in a grinding motion so you could wriggle his fingers deeper into your desperate hole. When he added a second finger, your loud moan was coupled by your back arching and your head falling backwards, allowing you to open your eyes briefly to see the entire Clergy staring back at you. Most had amused faces or disappointed looks, but your eyes flickered over to your partner to witness the look of sheer fury on his beet-red face. There was his spouse, in the lap of Papa Emeritus II, getting her pussy pleasured by him in front of the whole Ministry. You felt your nipples growing hard beneath your clothes at the thought of his embarrassment, and just how much he wanted to stop this but had no authority or power. No one did. Secondo was head of the Satanic church now - he could do what he liked. Which is how you’d both been allowed to go on for as long as you had.

“Papa!” You screamed as he hit a particularly great spot inside of you.

Secondo chuckled. “There?”

“There!”

“Cum for everyone here, principessa. Show them how pretty you look when you cum on Papa’s fingers.”

And oh boy, did you. Secondo’s fingers were playing you like an instrument he’d been playing for years. It was like he knew every single one of your quirks and desires and used them against you while he touched you. The combined eyes of the upper-Clergy and your irate partner’s expression caused you to tip quickly over the edge and cry out as you did so, toes curling and eyes shutting.

Once you’d come down, Secondo guided you to the table where he gently sat you upon it, situating himself in between your open, yet tired, legs. Secondo’s voice sounded again, “Ripple!” He called.

One of his Ghouls came forth instantly and waited for his master’s instructions. “Yes, Papa?”

Secondo’s eyes moved towards your partner and he grinned slightly. “Make sure all the paperwork for Mx. ______’s divorce is prepared. I want her free from that cheating scumbag as quickly as possible.”

“Of course, Papa. Right away.”

Ripple turned and made his exit, and when you watched him go, your eyes locked onto a particular Cardinal whose sinful smirk had caught your attention: Cardinal Terzo Emeritus. He stood, clearly not comfortable seeing what was about to come next, but he shot you a casual salute before picking up his glass of wine and pulling his own squeeze for the night, and his personal Ghoul with him as he walked away. Of course Terzo appreciated this display, it was probably something he’d do himself if he was given the opportunity. Rumours of his own infamous orgies spread like wildfire after every single one - this would normally be right up his alley.

Secondo, still looking at your partner and once your cunt was exposed to Secondo and only him, proceeded to press himself inside you. This animalistic display of dominance was almost too much for you - you were about to go feral over Secondo and the way he was silently daring your partner to do something as you were willingly defiled in front of everyone. The gasps other people made as Secondo was sinking himself into you set your body on fire, and you fell backwards onto the table allowing Papa to see you entirely.

“Are you ready, principessa?” Secondo asked looking down at you.

“Yes! Please fuck me, Papa!”

He gripped onto your soft waist for leverage as he started his movements, snapping in and out of you over and over again and making you scream with each hit. You were, perhaps, going a little overboard with some of the noises you made, but the majority of them were completely involuntary. Secondo’s cock was the best you’d had, and his attention to your body made him an expert in you. He knew you liked it rougher, filthier than most of his previous partners. And now he could add exhibitionism to the list. The way you clenched around him every time you locked eyes with someone new made his own grunts and groans appear.

“Does that feel good, principessa?” Secondo asked, his eyes locked onto your body as it jiggled with the force of his thrusts. “Do you like the Clergy watching your Papa fuck you?”

“Yes!”

“Do you like watching the Clergy touch themselves while your Papa fucks you?”

“Oh fuck!”

Secondo wasn’t lying, there were numerous Cardinals and Archbishops present, rubbing their very obviously hard cocks over their robes as they watched Secondo bury himself deep inside you over and over again. And fuck did it turn you on to see that. Quite a few people had left for reasons you couldn’t ascertain, meaning the people that were left either wanted to remember this whole scene for later, or enjoy it while it was still live. You had noticed that the remainder of Papa’s Ghouls were ushering people out as well, no doubt to give you as much privacy as possible under the strange circumstances.

Your cunt tightened, however, when you locked eyes with your partner once more, laughing deliriously at the look on his face. He couldn’t look away from you whoring yourself out to Papa - like this! While you still looked at him, you let out a loud, obnoxious moan, and set your hands to work. One pinched your nipple and played with it while it was still under the fabric of your outfit, the other moved down to your clitoris and rubbed it matching Secondo’s pace. This earned you an appreciative grunt from him.

While your eyes were still locked onto your partner’s, Secondo spoke again. “Tell me, whose cock is better? Mine or his?”

“Satan! Your c-cock is so much better, Papa!”

“Why, principessa?”

“You’re b-bigger! And you reach deep inside of me. Oh fuck! Papa, you feel so good! You always touch me in places he can’t reach!”

“Poor baby. Did he always leave you unsatisfied?”

“Yes!”

“Could he make you cum?”

“No! E-every time he fucked me I was disappointed!”

“How many times have I had you, principessa?” When you couldn’t answer, Secondo grew impatient. He landed a particularly hard thrust against your cervix that had you screaming. “How many times?”

“Four!”

“How many times have you cum around my cock?”

“Fuck, Papa! I don’t remember.”

“Try harder for me. How many?”

“Maybe - fuck, Papa! T-ten times? Papa, you’re gonna split me in half!”

“Where did we fuck the first time, principessa?”

“On his desk! I’m so close, Papa, please!”

“You’re mine now, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes, Papa!”

“Say it.”

“I’m yours, Papa! I belong to only you now. I’m gonna fucking cum!”

“Cum for me. Show him what he’s been missing out on all this time. Remind him how much of a waste of space he is.”

With one final flick of your wrist, you came undone on Secondo’s cock, your body tensing and locking as you rose off the table. Your breath escaped you and your eyes widened. You couldn’t breathe or see. All you could do was feel. Feel your fingers still working at your clit while Papa continued to ride you in front of the Clergy members that were left behind. He was still going as you came down from your second orgasm. His gloved fingers wrapped around your hands and brought yours to his lips. His tongue flicked out as he took each individual finger into his mouth, sucking off your cum from them and moaning as he did.

“Papa!” You called up to him weakly. “I want you to cum deep in my cunt!”

He took your fingers out of his mouth and grunted in agreement. “You want Papa’s cum?”

“Yes! I want you to fill me up. I want you to fuck me full of your cum and show everyone who I belong to. Remind everyone I’m yours.”

“Knock you up,” he grunted, “do what your failure of a spouse couldn’t.”

“Please, Papa! Cum inside me!”

“Be a good girl for Papa and take it all, won’t you?”

“Yes, Papa!”

“Take it, principessa. Take every fucking drop.”

And with that, it was Papa’s turn to topple over the edge. He stilled inside you and let out a gutteral groan, releasing his seed and filling you just as you asked him to. You’d won. Your partner was completely humiliated, but the cruel beast inside you wanted to take it one extra step. Once Secondo had pulled himself out of you, you sat up and swivelled round on the table, resting your back against him. Papa took this opportunity to kiss your neck and move up to bite your ear, hanging over you protectively and dominant just to further stake his claim to you. You spread your legs once more, and showed your partner exactly what had just transpired. You shot him a smug look as you spread your cunt apart and Secondo’s cum began to drip out of you and onto the table. All of the orgasms Secondo had given you were exquisite, but watching your partner walk out of the dining hall a smaller person than before came as a close second.

Just before he left, Secondo shot him a middle finger that only you were really paying attention to, and it made you giggle. It made Secondo giggle, too. This whole ordeal had been about revenge but it also brought you closer to Secondo - and right now, even though you were still in front of a few people, the whole moment felt very intimate and private. That was when you realised you were falling for him.

Previous Day ⛧ Next Day

355 notes · View notes

amazinglyegg · 7 months

Note

hi!! i want to say i love ur blog sm. its amazing and one of my fav blogs.

i have a hc where sole picks up children’s toys, teddy bears, jangles the moon monkey, and giddy up buttercups while walking thru the wasteland looking for shaun. could u write a react for fo4 companions asking why they pick up “that junk” vs their reactions after finding out the reason why?

Thank you so much!! And this is the most adorable headcanon ever, I love it <3<3<3 I can only imagine how hard it'd be for Sole to constantly see all the toys they was planning to get Shaun for Christmas all broken down and rusted. Plus not even knowing if he's alive or if he would like any of them anymore... augh my heart </3

Companions react: Sole who collects toys for Shaun

Ada

She doesn't even bat an eye when Sole goes around picking up every toy they see

Sole probably only tells her the truth once they overhear Ada calling it scrap

After that Ada will make very sure she doesn't scrap any toys she finds and instead leaves them in a nice pile for Sole to sort through and keep any they want

Might even find it hard to scrap the toys Sole doesn't want (because they're too broken or unsalvagable)

She definitely gets wanting to keep something to remember someone by, and seeing Sole do this might just convince her to keep a transitional object that reminds her of Jackson

Cait

Cait immediately feels like crap for complaining so much

Not only because she kept complaining about Sole's habit, but she had definitely made comments on how dumb and boring the toys are in the past

She doesn't really get it since she's not a parent (and never wants to be), but she still feels like she should have realized it sooner

It also hits a bit close to home for her because she never really had many toys as a kid, so realizing Sole cares about Shaun so much they're constantly looking for trinkets for him is almost unreal to her

She'll probably not say much about it for that reason, too awkward and vaguely in disbelief that parents actually do that for their kids for her to make any comments

Codsworth

Oh he is SO supportive of Sole

Even before Sole tells him they're for Shaun he's pointing out how much Shaun would love them

Probably has Sole's Christmas list for Shaun still stored in his memory (because let's be honest Sole was definitely obsessing over their baby's first Christmas back in October) so he'll point out whenever they find a toy that was on the list

He'll probably go out of his way to grab any toys he sees for Shaun as well

Shaun's bedroom is going to be PACKED with toys before he even gets out of the Institute

Curie

Definitely more curious than frusturated with Sole picking up toys

Might push Sole too hard for an answer at first, but realizes her mistake and apologizes when Sole tells her the truth

I can imagine her having wildly different reactions on it, especially while she's getting used to emotions

One day she's going "but Shaun already has three blankets, no?" and the next day she's crying at the sight of a broken teddy bear

Grief is such a big emotion for Curie and she's so empathetic she's 100% going to be more weepy than Sole is a lot of the time

Danse

Sort of stuck when Sole tells him why they collect toys

On one hand it's his job to tell Sole to drop down the unnecessary stuff and travel light... but on the other hand... they're grieving

So as much as he wants to complain, he probably won't

He gets this is Sole's way of coping and whatnot but he's never been too good at empathy in general, so he won't really know what to say

He definitely won't bother Sole about it, but he will also just kinda ignore it

If him and Sole are close he might (rarely) bring them a toy in good condition he found (he's a scavenger at heart, of course he'll be looking for those things)

Deacon

Probably one of the most initially annoyed companions in this list

He hates kids and everything to do with them so before finding out he'd make plenty of half-jokes half-complaining jabs at how much the kids toys suck

Every time Sole picked up another toy Deacon's saying "Why did they have to make that face so weird?" "Did kids really play with this crap?" "If Santa got me THAT as a gift Christmas would be ruined forever!"

But once Sole tells him the truth he feels like a major asshole

He's another emotionally stunted man who won't know what to say!

He'll mostly ignore it and look the other way, but he'll also sometimes offer to carry the toys for Sole if their pack is too full

It's the least he can do after being so rude to them

Father

He definitely felt Something when Sole told him that fact (sympathy?? Longing?? Who knows)

The fact that he never left Sole's thoughts even while they were struggling to survive in the wastes means a lot to him (he has parent issues okay?)

Gets a bit weirded out if they still insist on gathering toys and giving them to synth Shaun

Like... he's a robot... he doesn't play with toys... why are you grieving me when I'm right here (he's also very emotionally stunted. Unsurprisingly)

Generally not too empathetic about it, and will definitely comment on it if Sole tries bringing dirty/broken toys into the Institute

Gage

Least likely to back down and apologize like the other companions after Sole admits the truth

Probably takes the realist approach of "There's toys everywhere... why can't you just wait until you actually find Shaun and then bring him to an old toy store or something?"

Will be a lot easier on them once he knows the truth though

It's just weird when they're surrounded by toys everywhere. They're literally in an amusement park. Can't Sole just bring Shaun there once they get him??

He's also a bit worried about Sole seeming like a softie, or trying to leave Nuka World once they get their kid back

A toy car or a deck of cards is fine, but you are NOT parading a five foot tall teddy bear around Nuka World. Gage will put his foot down for that one

Hancock

He'll probably only get annoyed with Sole's collection if it manages to get in the way of their work

He has always found childrens toys creepy... he's pretty thankful not many kids wander around Goodneighbor for that reason

Once he finds out the truth his demeanor will change from mild annoyance to "you know what? You do you"

He'll probably find an old tire or something and go "You think Shaun would like this??"

He doesn't know what kids like!! Especially old world kids. When he was a kid he would have been entertained for HOURS with just a stick... why wouldn't Shaun??

Either way, he lets Sole go do whatever they want to do. He won't judge as long as he doesn't have to look at Jangles for any longer than necessary

Maccready

Feels like a complete asshole for not connecting it together sooner

Childrens toys, missing child... how did he not SEE that

Hell, HE grabs little toys for Duncan every once in a while. Obviously he can't judge

He might be a tiny bit salty though

He's had to teach himself to not pick up every toy he thinks Duncan would want because he simply can't send them all to him, so seeing Sole constantly fawn over plushies and trinkets... just kinda hurts knowing he can't do the same at the moment

That being said if he finds something he wants to give to Duncan but can't, he'll give it to Sole instead

Ends up being a pretty good system for them both

Nick Valentine

Out of all of the companions he'd be best at emotional support

He'll sincerely apologizes for bugging Sole about the "junk" they've been lugging around and will reassure them that Shaun would love it

He still remembers which toys were popular at the time and will talk to Sole about it whenever they find one

Catch him and Sole repeating commercial jingles back and forth

He gives them a lot of space to grieve and never complains about all the toys once he finds out who they're for

He doesn't shy away from gently putting his foot down if Sole gets a bit ridiculous, but he does so very, very gently

Like "Hey, that teddy is in tatters. How about we find one that's a bit more... huggable?" or "Shaun doesn't need two Giddyup Buttercups, but if you're okay for it I know a little girl in Diamond City who's been begging for one all year"

Old Longfellow

Aw hell, why not?

Definitely empathizes with them

He feels bad for Sole once he learns the truth so he's perfectly happy to just shut up and let Sole do whatever they need to do to grieve

He's also not really a toy person so he doesn't get it

Like "you think your kid would like THAT??"

But whatever. Sole knows their own kid better than he knows them. If Shaun gets traumatized by seeing Jangles the moon monkey, that's Sole's fault

Piper

Likely to take an "aww, that's sweet" approach to things

Similar to Hancock in that she... doesn't really get it??

Like who needs all these old toys most people don't know how to play with?? Nat played with a rock and a loose piece of string when she was little and she was just fine

Tries to show enthusiasm but ends up going wayy off the mark

She grabs a Barbie doll and says "wouldn't Shaun like this?? He can... I don't know... brush her hair??"

"Shaun would love this!" "Piper that's a mechanical keyboard... with no computer" "Well maybe Shaun would like pretending to write stories!"

Preston

Straight up apologizes for being so harsh to Sole

He didn't need to be so rude about Sole picking up toys. It's their backpack, they can fill it with whatever they want

Appreciates what Sole's doing and will make sure the kids in any settlements don't touch Shaun's toys

He's pretty curious what a lot of toys actually do. He'll ask Sole things like "so do kids... just... sit on the Giddyup Buttercup? And do nothing else??"

Will offer to carry some toys or have caravans bring them back to settlements if they're too much for Sole to carry

X6-88

(assuming Sole's either keeping the toys for themself or wants to give them to synth!Shaun)

Doesn't get it

Father is right there?? Why are you grieving his childhood and focusing on a synth instead of being proud of his achievements??

Going into headcanon territory here but I assume the Institute probably makes toys for (the scientist's) kids to play with already

Not to mention the Institute is pretty anti-clutter, and Shaun doesn't "need" toys to begin with

He just can't wrap his head around why Sole feels the need to hoard a bunch of old broken toys when good ones are in the Institute already

If Sole just insists on keeping the toys in the old nursery he'll be a bit annoyed but won't show it (gotta respect the future director and all)

225 notes · View notes

pinkacademiaprincess · 9 months

Note

Hi! I’m about to start uni in October (law)

Can you give me a list of to-dos to mentally and physically prepare for this new journey? Like, things to bring, items to buy, notebooks etc 🥹💘

Operation Straight-A Student: A Comprehensive Guide to Prepping for a Successful Uni Experience 🎀📚💗✏️

ty for the ask! i'm not a law student, so this is gonna be more general uni advice that i hope can apply for you. best of luck in your journey, you're gonna do amazing things!!

step no. 1: plan, plan, plan!

for me, being organized & prepping ahead of time has been so helpful. even if things get a bit hectic or tough, having a routine to fall back on is key. here's how i do it!

google calendar

as soon as i have my class schedule, i input all my class meeting times on google calendar. then, based on whatever free space is left over, i allocate time for schoolwork and studying. here's the schedule i designed for this upcoming term:

make sure your study/ classwork time accounts for whatever online courses you're taking too. you should also include blocks for work, club meetings, etc. if they're recurring. i have google calendar linked to my phone so i get notifs for each time block.

planner

i recommend having a good planner. whether this is online or physical, depending on your preference, a weekly planner of your own is helpful for staying on top of work & having peace of mind.

the planner i use is the moleskine weekly planner. here is what it looks like inside:

on the left side i write all the tasks i have on each weekday (similar to the google calendar). on the right side, i list all the tasks i have to complete during that given week - i open the syllabi for all my classes and input whatever hw, assignments, projects, etc. are upcoming. i write them down in a checklist along with the date they're due. then, during my study blocks, i can check this page & decide what to work on!

note-taking & classwork

you should also have supplies for note-taking. some ppl prefer to take digital notes, so this means using your laptop or a tablet & stylus. personally, i like to take handwritten notes, so i bring loose-leaf lined paper & pencils to my lectures. i write the class name & date as the header for each page. when i'm done taking notes, i write the key topics in the top left-hand corner of the pager (in "no-man's land") so i can easily find the notes on specific topics when i'm flipping through them.

in terms of classwork, i recommend having a folder for each of your classes where you can store notes, assignments, tests, etc. i know some people use one big binder for all classes, but if you have a separate folder for each, you don't have to carry them all around on days when you only have two or three classes. i like the brand five star bc the folders are very durable and i've had the same ones all throughout uni!

for me, i've never been a huge notebook person b/c i like to keep my subjects separate so i rarely fill up an entire notebook. you can buy one to start with, and see once school starts if you think you need more!

other supplies

in terms of supplies, i'm honestly pretty minimalistic. the necessities for me are my planner, a folder & loose-leaf paper, and a pencil pouch with plenty of pens & pencils. i also bring my laptop & charger with me to school bc i use that for my online classes.

i do enjoy having cute supplies! i have a cute pink pencil pouch, glittery mechanical pencils, and fun pens. i also put stickers all over my laptop to give it a personal touch. i did a bit of embroidery on my backpack as well. you don't need to spend tons of money on aesthetic supplies, especially if it's something you won't have for long. but, finding simple ways to add a personal touch to your items can be fun & motivating!

step no. 2: make an action plan

i feel like it's easy to tell yourself you wanna do certain things or be a certain person during school. for example, i always want to be super studious, outgoing, & involved, but i used to struggle sm to actually do that. instead of only thinking of how you want to be, create actual steps/ tasks for yourself. here are my action items for inspo:

sit in the front row of every class - this can be daunting, but in my uni experience, wherever you sit in the first week becomes your (un)official assigned seat. get to class early, take a deep breath, and sit yourself down at the front! you'll be forcing yourself to stay at the front, but i promise it's fine! i really prefer this b/c if you & the prof get to class early you can chat a bit. also, when i wanna participate, i can speak at my regular volume & they'll hear me (rather than if i'm in the back row and had to scream). if nothing else, you'll become a familiar face!

attend office hours for each class at least once - i sometimes felt nervous/ anxious to go to office hours and talk to the professors & ta. but when you do it once, you realize they truly just want to help! getting to know the ppl who grade your assignments can be super useful. they might give you advice or info you don't get in lectures. plus, they are super knowledgeable!

raise your hand once per week - this forces you to be engaged with the content. i used to have such horrible social anxiety & the thought of speaking up in class & getting an answer wrong was my worst nightmare. and when i set this rule & began forcing myself to participate, i did make mistakes. but guess what... everyone moves on immediately. you might feel like the world is ending. it haunted me for weeks after 😢 but no one else cares! in the end, ppl will only remember that you were confident enough to raise your hand & speak up, not what you said. pls don't let your education suffer just b/c you're afraid some classmates might judge you! if raising your hand to answer problems is too daunting, start with asking clarifying questions & slowly build up to whatever you're able to do.

start a conversation with a classmate - having classmates that you're friendly with is so important. if you miss a lecture, need help on a concept, etc. you'll have someone you can turn to. and that's the least of it - you can end up making long-lasting friends! yes, it's scary to talk to a stranger. so, force yourself to do it as early as possible in the semester. an easy one - if you see someone sitting by an empty seat, ask if that seat is taken. if not, yay! it's go time 😊 sit by them and find something else to talk about - give them a (genuine & non-creepy) compliment, ask them if they've seen the syllabus, ask if they know the prof, etc. just something to get the convo started!! figure out their name, major, and other stuff too. once you've talked with them long enough to feel like you're getting along (whether that's after one class or multiple) ask for their number/ discord/ whatever so you can keep in touch! if they share your major, you should keep in contact with them b/c you might have other classes together in the future. but, again, in the best-case scenario, you have a new friend!

wear a cute outfit once per week - sometimes i would get a bit embarrassed or self-conscious to dress up for class. i forced myself to do it once per week, starting the first week of class, to set a precedent for myself. slowly i eased my way into wearing cute, fun outfits every day! no one is judging you as much as you are judging yourself, so have fun & be true to you.

step no. 3: study smarter, not harder

attending class is one thing, but you've got to put in the effort to study if you truly want to succeed. but, not all study methods will work for every single person. figure out how to study so you don't waste time with methods that don't work for you.

determine your learning style(s)

there are a few widely accepted learning styles. you've probably tried all of them throughout your time at school, so think back on which learning experiences have been most and least successful for you. then, connect them back to these learning styles to figure out ways you can most effectively study.

visual: if you learn by seeing info visually, such as with maps, graphs, diagrams, charts, etc.

auditory: if you learn by getting info in auditory form, aka when it's heard or spoken

kinesthetic: aka hands-on, if you learn by doing & applying

reading/writing: if you learn info best when it’s in words, aka by writing it down or reading it

you might find that multiple of these learning styles are effective for you, maybe there's one that sticks out as the most similar to your style of learning, or maybe one that just doesn't work for you. now, you don't need to assign yourself one and forego the rest, but you can adjust the time you spend on various study methods based on how well they work for you.

for me, i've realized over time that i am NOT a reading learner. in high school i would diligently read all the textbook assignments, spending hours getting through the chapters, only to retain none of it & do poorly on assignments & tests.

on the other hand, i respond really well to kinesthetic learning - when applying concepts hands-on, such as with practice problems, i have a much better understanding of concepts & retention.

fast forward to college - i spend very little time on assigned readings. in fact, sometimes i skip them all together 🫢 b/c if i spend an hour reading the textbook but retain none of it, that's an hour wasted. especially if the content from the textbook is going to line up with the lecture, i'm much better off paying attention & taking good notes in class, and then spending my study time doing practice problems. if i really do need to read the textbook, i have to make it interactive for myself - i answer the questions at the end of the chapter, take notes, quiz myself, etc.

now, my advice here isn't to skip textbook readings!! that's not something i recommend b/c for so many people, it IS effective and helpful! when it comes to studying, play on your strengths. don't try to force yourself to learn in a way that doesn't work for your brain. make modifications & prioritize your learning! here is an awesome guide to different methods that work for the various learning styles.

find your ideal study environment

you can also maximize the effectiveness of your studying based on the environment you're in. if you can decide what factors help or hinder your studying abilities, it will help you decide where you should make your go-to study spot!

at home or in public? sometimes, studying in a public place can be unproductive. it might make you feel more stressed (like the sensation of having your teacher look over your shoulder during a test 🫣) or distracted. for me, studying in public is actually useful b/c i'm less likely to get disctracted. if i'm in my room i might get tempted to open up tumblr or pinterest, but in public i feel like ppl might see me get off topic which deters me LOL. however, studying at home is nice b/c you're in the comfort of your own personal space - you can change into pjs, cuddle your pet, grab a snack, etc. i do a mix of studying in public & at home b/c i feel like they both have their benefits

quiet or noisy? do you study better in a silent environment, or do you like some sound/ white noise? personally, i cannot deal with ANY noise when i'm trying to study, it totally breaks my focus 😭but some people like the ambient/ white noise of a coffee shop

music or silence? similar to the last one, does having music help you stay focused, or distract you? i know ppl will swear by different things - classical music, upbeat music, songs in different languages, etc. again, i personally cannot handle any sounds 😅 but if music keeps you alert, plan accordingly - have earbuds or go to a coffee shop that has a playlist going

nature or indoors? maybe you find it stuffy to be indoors all day & studying out in the open air helps you stay grounded and calm. on the flipside, being exposed to the elements might just make you more distracted. if you like studying outdoors, try public parks with benches, and also see if your campus has outdoor seating areas. some libraries do too. for a happy medium, you can study someplace with large windows/ nice view.

independent or collaborative? do you study better on your own or in groups? you can join a study group or go to office hours to get a sense of studying in a group setting vs. alone. group studying can help hold you accountable, make it more interactive, and keep you focused. that being said, i def prefer studying independently. i like to go at my own pace, and tbh i get easily distracted w/ others and will begin to just chit chat

based on how you answer those questions, you can decide what your ideal study environment is & pick a go-to place! for me, based on my preferences, my most effective study environment going to the library alone or studying in my room.

that's all for this post! i feel it got very long but i had so many tips to share. there's no "one size fits all" guide to navigating uni life. but i think everyone can benefit from prepping in advance & being mentally prepared. knowing your own strengths + having a plan of attack will guide you in stressful/ uncertain times!

overall, take the time to get to know yourself & figure out how you can be at your very best. apply whichever bits of advice resonate, and ignore anything that's not gonna serve you. this is YOUR journey!

and remember, even with all the planning in the world, things can go unexpectedly. you are more than equipped to deal with whatever life throws your way! when you are faced with unexpected things - pause & think, assess the situation, & determine your best course of action. above all, YOU'VE GOT THIS! 💗

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jut-and-dae-enthusiast · 8 months

Text

Spoiling the Birthday Boy

Bangchan x gn!reader (I think?)

Also, this is late IM SORRY but I had to write something for our baby best leader Channie Hyung <3 enjoy my delusion love u so much

Warning: slightly suggestive there for a sec.

“What do you want for your birthday, Channie?” You asked softly as the two of you were snuggled up together on the couch in the late hours of the night.

“Hmm… Maybe for you to just forget about it?” He asked and flashed you his cutie pie smile, hands gently kneading your waste. You made your expression deadpan and frowned. “Baby, you know how I feel about all of it.” He sighed and pulled you close, kissing the top of your head gently.

“Okay, then we won’t celebrate my birthday either.” You state matter-o-factly, patting his arm gently. He sits back dramatically, eyes wide.

“Uh, no. That’s my favorite day of the year. You can’t take that from me.” He pouted his lip and shook his head.

“That’s how I feel about your birthday, love.” You said softly, a hand resting on his cheek with a thumb caressing it gently. “Just let me do something nice. It’ll be lowkey I promise.” He sighs and you can see his resolve dropping.

“Alright, fine. Just- no party please. Only me and you, yeah?”

The evening of October 2nd, you had tasked Changbin with making sure Chan came home at a decent hour (a feat in itself) and Minho with snatching Chan’s phone so no one could bother him the entire night or morning.

You were putting the final touches on the first of his birthday surprises when you heard the door open. Trying to contain your excitement, you quickly make your way over to greet him with a smile.

“Hey birthday boy.” You giggled and wrapped your arms around his torso.

“I mean, it’s technically not even my birthday yet-“ you cut him off with a shake of your head, a finger to his lips.

“Ah, not allowed. Just relax and trust me.” You kiss him softly, holding him close. “Did you eat yet?” You ask softly, pulling away from the kiss. He nodded.

“Yeah, the boys took me out for dinner.” You already knew that, but he didn’t know that you knew.

“Okay, good. Then we can get in to the first surprise.” You grab his hand and pull him into the bathroom where you have a hot bath ready to go with soft candle lighting and the gentle sound of his favorite songs playing. You feel his arms wrap around you, face nuzzling into your neck.

“Is this for me, hm?” You can hear his smile, his hug squeezing a bit tighter for emphasis.

“Should we get in?” You ask, turning to look at his face with a smile.

Once you both are within the warmth of the tub, you facing him in his lap, you reach for some shampoo right behind his shoulder. He looks at you lovingly, his hands mindlessly grazing your skin with a small smile resting on his face. As you massage the shampoo into his hair, scratching his scalp gently as you work it in, a small groan escapes his lips. His hands begin to wander, grasping at the flesh on your thighs while biting his lip.

“Ah, be good.” You gently reprimand, a small smirk on your face. “There will be plenty of time for that later.” You lean in and kiss his neck softly before resuming washing his hair.

“Alright alright.” He concedes, bracing his hands on either side of the tub.

After the bath was face masks, painting each others nails (something Chan loved doing but would never admit to anyone but you), and finally snuggling up in bed.

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” You hum against his jawline, looking up at him.

“I would say no but I know for a fact you have more planned for tomorrow.” He giggles and shakes his head. “I do really appreciate it though, baby. I needed a relaxing night.”

“And my next gift is that you can sleep as late as you want tomorrow.” You smile and kiss his cheek. He thinks for a second before looking at you with furrowed brows.

“Are you the reason my phone has suddenly disappeared?” You sit in silence, hoping that if you’re quiet long enough, he’ll just forget. He does not. In fact, his fingers dig into your ribs, causing squeals and giggles to fill the once quiet room.

Happy birthday best leader, Channie. October 3rd is the best day because it’s the day the world received you. What a happy occasion. <3

#stray kids #skz fluff #skz #stray kids fluff #skz drabbles #skz bangchan #bang chan #bang chan drabbles #happy birthday channie #best leader bang chan #christopher bang #bang christopher chan #hbd channie #channie <3 #skz channie

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daechwitatamic · 1 year

Text

IV. Something Has to Change

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love.

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

Your friendship with Taehyung starts to show its cracks.

Section Warnings: language

WC: 7.5k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

Saturday October 20th

You text Taehyung before going to sleep just to confirm he didn’t die in a ditch, but it’s radio silence from him until almost three o’clock the next afternoon. When he does finally answer you - “alive but at what cost?” - you roll your eyes and turn your phone over, screen down. You’re sitting in the living room, two author anthologies open on the coffee table, bookends to your open notebook.

Apparently he’s displeased with your silence, because your phone buzzes again a few minutes later - the longer buzz, indicating a call of some kind. With a huff of aggravation, you flip it over to see it’s a video call, his preferred method of communication. You slide the button to accept the call, but let him stare at your ceiling.

“What?” you demand. “I can’t talk, I have to go call off my search parties.”

“I was asleep,” he defends himself. “I texted you as soon as I woke up!”

“Didn’t sleep last night, huh?” you joke, but the sting is there. Just a little.

He avoids the question. “What are we doing tonight?”

You laugh at the audacity of his whole existence. Admitting to your face that he’d been up all night with a girl, and then calling you first thing upon waking like he knows you’ll just be there, waiting for him. What would happen if you weren’t?

Not to mention asking what the Saturday night plan is thirty seconds after waking up with a hangover.

“I’m assuming you won’t want to go out?” you ask.

He hums, runs a hand through his messy hair. “Depends. I could be persuaded, maybe. Wouldn’t mind just hanging out, though. What about a movie? We have that one we’ve been saving?”

We.

You’re not sure why, today, it’s bothering you so much. The truth is, Taehyung’s acting and speaking the same as always. So what’s different?

You don’t want to examine the answer to that, so you focus on the plan instead. “I like the sound of a movie,” you agree. “Wanna see if anyone else is interested?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says. “I’ll text everyone.”

“Sounds good. See you around eight?”

“Should we order dinner before that?” he asks.

Something in your stomach turns. You don’t want to. You don’t want to keep getting your heart stepped on. You don’t want his metaphorical scent on all of your clothes, so that you can’t go anywhere or do anything without him lingering on you.

And at the same time, he’s your best friend. He’s your family. You love him, in multiple ways.

It feels like being tugged in opposite directions. It feels like lose/lose. It feels like there’s no right answer, nowhere to turn, no option that doesn’t hurt.

“Not tonight,” you hear yourself say. “I have too much homework.”

“Okay,” he says easily. “See you around eight, then. I’ll let you know if anyone else is coming with me.”

You try to return to homework after you hang up, but your focus is shot. You lean onto the cushy back of the couch, closing your eyes. You’re still sitting like that when you hear the front door open. Namjoon hadn’t been home when you got up, had been out the whole time.

“Hey,” you say, eyes still closed.

He gives a chuckle. “Everything okay?”

“I think my brain is broken,” you tell him. “Can Edna write about something besides death?”

He huffs out a laugh, and you hear him drop his keys onto the counter. “I think she does,” he says, coming closer and peering at the anthology you still have open on the table in front of you. “Nature. Rebellion. Men. Women. Love. Sex.”

Your cheeks burn, like you’re thirteen damn years old, just from hearing the word sex in his low, steady voice.

Get a grip, you scold yourself silently.

“I guess so,” you admit. “But today everything I read is about grief.”

“Take a break,” he suggests, moving into the kitchen. You hear a cabinet open and the sink run, and then he comes in carrying a glass of water. He sits down a few feet away from you on the couch and copies your pose, leaning back against the cushions.

It occurs to you that you’ve never sat on the couch at the same time as him before. In fact, your Uber ride last night was the closest your bodies had ever been.

“We’re gonna watch a movie tonight,” you find yourself telling him. “That new one with what’s-his-face, Raven’s Prophecy? Around eight. If you want to join.”

“Yeah,” he says right away, surprising you. “Sounds good.”

–

The movie’s good - really good. You’re all crowded around the living room - Namjoon on one end of the couch, Yoongi on the other, you and Taehyung and Jimin on the floor. The coffee table has been pushed to the side to make room for you, the lights turned down. Taehyung is sitting with his back against the couch, legs extended in front of him, and you have a throw-pillow leaning against his knees, laying perpendicular to him. Jimin sits next to Taehyung, one of his legs resting lazily over top of yours.

It feels normal, and it feels nice, and everything weird from earlier seems to float away. Maybe you had just been tired.

“That’s totally foreshadowing,” you pipe up, raising a hand to point at the screen. “Because when he-.”

“Hey,” Taehyung says loudly, reaching over to flick the back of your arm. “No nerd talk. Just enjoy the movie. No one asked for a literary analysis.”

“But, look -.”

“No,” he repeats firmly, and Jimin giggles, used to this exact squabble. “This is fun, not school.”

“Foreshadowing is fun!” you protest, laughing, but you let it go.

A second later, your phone buzzes in your hand.

[9:37 PM] Namjoon: 🤯

You bite back a smile, turning off your screen before the light can catch anyone’s attention, and then you cast your gaze up at the couch to find Namjoon looking right at you, a sheepish smile creeping up on one side of his face.

You’re thankful for the dark of the room, the light shifting and changing with the scene on the tv screen, as you feel yourself blush.

God, you think to yourself. Get it together. Two days ago, it hadn’t been like this, where every met glance cues up a shy smile, and each tiny smile elicits a flush. You don’t know who this girl is but she is un-fucking-recognizable.

You wait a minute or two, then turn your brightness down and send back, “but am i wrong?”. Then you glance back up to watch Namjoon read the text. He gives a laugh, one shake of his shoulders as he sees it, and then he meets your gaze. That same half-smile on his face, he shakes his head imperceptibly.

Behind you, beneath you, Taehyung shifts and you turn back to the tv quickly, feeling something akin to guilt simmer in your gut. You don’t see his eyes bounce back and forth between you and Namjoon, curious.

Monday October 22nd

Monday brings bright sunshine despite the chilly air, morning light illuminating the deep reds and oranges of the trees down the block.

Namjoon finds you in the kitchen, staring listlessly into an untouched cup of coffee.

“Good morning?” he greets you, a question.

You startle. “Shit!” you yelp and then laugh, heart pounding. “I didn’t even hear you getting ready in there. ”

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says apologetically. “I’m heading to campus in a bit… how about you?”

“Yeah,” you say glumly. “I have work and class.”

“Same,” he says, moving around you to rummage for some breakfast. “Class first, and then I’m TA-ing all afternoon.”

You give him a little smile. “I don’t think I’ll be needing your services today.”

“No?” he asks mildly. “Last few submissions went well?”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume I’ve written anything worth submitting.”

He laughs, his back to you, and then settles against the kitchen counter. “I can help you brainstorm, too, if you’re stuck.”

You bite back the prideful I don’t need your help that rises to your tongue. He’s being nice. Instead, you say, “Hopefully I’ll make some progress on my own. Have fun, though. You still have that office to yourself? If I had that, I’d be so productive. Nothing to distract me.”

Namjoon shakes his head, smiling ruefully. “I find ways. I still have my phone. And a window.”

You laugh at this, and then rise, draining half of your mug of coffee in one go. “I need to head in. Are you leaving now, too? Or, later?”

“I can make now work,” he says, something warm in his tone. “Let me just go grab my bag.”

Out front, you blink against the sudden brightness, holding up a hand to shield your eyes as they adjust. Namjoon locks the front door and comes down the steps at a light jog, stopping next to you.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you tell him, and you start off towards campus in silence, the only noise around you the calls of birds and the hum of car engines from nearby traffic.

You stop at an intersection, watching the orange hand tell you to wait. “So,” you say, glancing up at him as the cars whiz by, “what’s your book about?”

He looks at you completely blankly, like he has no idea what you’re talking about.

“For the grad program,” you clarify. “You said you were in fiction, right?”

“Oh,” he says, as if he forgot. “Yeah. Um, I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

“Try,” you say dryly.

“It’s a coming-of-age, I guess,” he says, rubbing his chin as he thinks. He’s wearing his glasses today, and you have half a mind to tease him that he’s just trying to look like one of the professors so they don’t kick him out of his hijacked office. “And a bit of an unrequited love story.”

“The good kind or the bad kind?” you ask, a little absently. When he doesn’t answer, you look at him to determine why, and he’s looking at you like you’ve asked the most ridiculous question in the world.

You huff out a sigh. “Like - unrequited because the other person doesn’t know, or because they don’t return the feelings?”

“One of those is the good kind?” he asks, raising a brow.

“The first one,” you say, as if it’s obvious. “It’s… it always exists only as the idea of love, it’s untarnished, it can remain a beautiful and pure thing. It never gets messed up.”

“But you’re alone,” Namjoon counters.

“You still love someone,” you insist. “The meaning of life, and all that shit.”

Namjoon shakes his head as the stoplight above you changes from green to yellow, and then to red. “It’s not the same as loving someone and having them love you back, building it together and working to sustain it,” he says firmly. “That’s real love.” And then he heads for the crosswalk, his long legs carrying him swiftly away.

You hurry to catch up, feet following his without question.

–

The first leaf falls, a warning. Now the rest will follow. I watched them sway all summer. Autumn leaves me hollow.

There’s a promise in the air, I turn towards the icy bite. If autumn can’t make me happy, I wonder if winter might.

Aren’t those frozen days so dark? Isn’t catching snowflakes strange? Perhaps this could be something. Perhaps something has to change.

You frown at the page. Half of you is tempted to take Namjoon up on his offer to workshop during his TA hours, but you’ve got a good reason not to let him see this one.

“Y/N?” Kris calls from the register at the front of the store. “Did I leave my phone back there?”

Their voice brings you back to reality, pulling your focus from the page of your notebook open on your lap. You’re hiding in the stockroom, sitting on an unpacked box of what you hope are books, trying to cram in some coursework.

Kris’s phone is indeed on a table behind you, where you sling your bookbag when you come in to start a shift. You rise, slipping your notebook back into said bag and grabbing the phone, walking it out to them.

You’re alarmed when both phones buzz in your hands, a long, repeating pattern that you aren’t accustomed to.

“What the fuck?” you utter, even though if your boss heard you cursing on the floor you’d get a written reprimand for the first time in your life.

“Storm alert,” Kris says, reaching one grabby hand out for their phone. You pass it over and press your thumb to your own screen. Sure enough, it’s a severe weather alert.

You groan. “Great. I walked here.” You try to pull up the radar, but your shitty service takes too long to load it so you switch over to the hour-by-hour.

“See if your knight in shining armor will give you a ride,” Kris says with a twisted chuckle.

For a second, you aren’t sure if they mean Taehyung or Namjoon, and that fact is startling. Obviously they mean Taehyung, they know a lot of your history with him and they don't know anything about what’s happening with Namjoon. Nothing is happening with Namjoon, you correct yourself sternly. You had a weird desire to scoot closer while drunk in an Uber and had one sort of deep conversation. It’s not a thing.

And, actually, texting Taehyung for a ride is a pretty good idea. Outside, it’s not even raining yet, but the clouds hang low and the leaves that have managed to cling to their branches this late into autumn are flipping and shimmying in the harsh wind.

There’s a long line of students waiting to check out - probably grabbing last minute snacks and drinks before the rain starts, so they don’t have to go out later - so you slide next to Kris at the second register and swipe your access card. You work like this for at least an hour, the rain starting a pace outside the windows as steady as the flow of students trying to get what they need and hurry back to their dorms.

When you catch a minute, you send a text, holding your phone down under the counter and typing with one hand, as if it isn’t painfully obvious what you’re doing. When the answer comes in, you tap the screen quickly.

[4:22 PM] You: are you still on campus?

[4:31 PM] Namjoon: just finished work. can’t wait to walk back in this…

You giggle and Kris looks at you out of the corner of their eyes.

“That him?” they ask. They mean Taehyung, and you’re too damn aware of the lie as you answer, “Mhm.”

[4:34 PM] You: i’m done in 25 min if you want to suffer together

[4:36 PM] Namjoon: yeah sounds good you can make sure i dont drown lol

An “lol”? Oh, goodness.

[4:37 PM] Namjoon: you’re at the bookstore right? i’ll come there and wait for you

Oh, lord, Kris is going to have a field day with this. You don’t have time to focus on this, as your boss finally sweeps out of her adjoining office, announcing that you need to shut down the second register and finish everything in the back room before your shift ends. She’ll be the one to close the store tonight, as she does on Mondays.

When you emerge from the back room at 4:59 on the dot, your backpack on your back, Namjoon is loitering near the registers, and Kris is shooting you looks that are somehow mischievous, delighted, and wounded. You have a feeling you’ll be interrogated during your shift on Wednesday.

Outside, the rain isn’t that bad, but it is steady. The wind blowing makes it look like it’s raining left to right, in sheets.

“We’re gonna be drenched,” you groan. You follow Namjoon out of the bookstore, waving a goodbye at a still-disgruntled Kris, stopping at the glass doors that lead outside.

“It’s not that bad,” Namjoon tells you, voice a little fond, like he thinks your complaining is cute. “We’ll just go quick. I’m mostly worried about my laptop.”

“Ugh, same,” you lament. “We’d better be fast, I fully cannot afford a new one.”

“Let’s go,” he tells you, and leads you outside. Just like that morning, your feet follow his, like it’s natural. You walk in silence almost halfway home, the pace too clipped to really carry on any kind of conversation.

You’re practically panting for breath when you hit the major crosswalk, stopping to wait for the signal to walk. The rain seems worse when you’re stopped - sticking your hair to your head where it lands, raising the hairs on your arms as your body gives one dramatic shiver against the chill. Namjoon looks down at you.

“We’re almost there,” he says, reassuring.

“Mhm,” you manage, rubbing your hands over your arms to fight off the goosebumps. The light changes and you start across, following Namjoon and his naturally long stride. You keep your eyes on the ground, dodging puddles, watching the white stripes pass beneath you.

You’re just across, stepping up the curb onto the sidewalk, when it happens.

The sky opens.

One second it’s raining hard enough to be a nuisance, the next second it feels like someone dumped a bucket of water over your head. The sound goes from a soft patter to a sudden roar, like the rain is alive and it is pissed. You splutter, actually blowing water away from your lips, reaching up to wipe your eyes.

“Fucking shit,” Namjoon swears, and then he grabs your hand and tugs. “Come on!”

He’s not running that fast but there’s still a few seconds where you feel uneven, your gait awkward, trying to match his. Eventually your feet settle into the rhythm and you run just behind him. His hand, so large in yours it's almost swallowing it, is warm and solid and sure. His grip is tight - like he means it. He doesn’t look back as he runs, just squeezes your hand in his and trusts you to keep up.

When you round the corner of your block, together, you try to pull back, try to slow down. Your lungs hurt, your legs are burning, and you just want to admit defeat and walk the block letting the rain know it won.

Namjoon doesn’t let you. He slows his pace to more of a race-walk, gives your arm another playful tug. Not for a single second does he loosen his grip on your hand.

“You can make it,” he tells you over his shoulder. His hair is flattened from the rain, his face a little flushed from the run, but his dimples wink at you through the deluge.

When he reaches the front of the apartment, he finally drops your hand and takes the steps at a clip. At the top, under the safety of the awning, he turns to see why you haven’t followed him.

You can’t help it - it’s all so ridiculous you have to laugh. Your hair sticks to your face like cooked spaghetti, your shirt clings to your arms, your backpack is dripping water like there’s a faucet in there, and even your socks are wet, making each step you take squelch like mud. Still cackling at the absurdity of this moment, of having been completely defeated by the season, of running all the way home and still ending up half-drowned, you look up at the sky. The rain slides down the sides of your face and you let it cool the heat that’s there from either running, or Namjoon’s touch.

You feel a little drunk from it.

“Y/N!” Namjoon scolds from the top of the stairs, but he’s smiling that same fond little smile he’d had on movie night a few days ago. “Come inside! You’re going to get pneumonia.”

You look back at him, the rain still assaulting you from above. There’s a second where you feel something. Something like… you’re half-drowned and chilled to the bone, but you feel warm with his affectionate gaze on you. Like you don’t want him to look away and leave you cold again. Like the rain was penance and now you’re all paid up.

Like for at least this moment, right now, the rain has washed away your histories and left you clean and empty, a blank page waiting for a new story to tell - where before, your pages were full of scribbles and scrawls that held such heavy meaning there was no room for anything new.

You’re thinking too much.

You’re standing in the rain, Namjoon is looking at you like you’re nuts, and you’re thinking too much.

Watching your feet, you head up the stairs, going through the front door that he’s holding open for you.

You squish your way upstairs, neither of you talking. Inside the apartment, Namjoon flicks on a few lamps.

“I’m going to grab a shower,” he tells you, voice quiet. “You should, too.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “That was my plan.”

You stand beneath the spray of hot water, tapping on the faucet to work it hotter by degrees, not wanting the temperature to jump and scald you. You feel drained, like your limbs are noodles. You lean your forehead against the tile wall, closing your eyes and just breathing.

“What the fuck…” you whisper to no one, “is going on?”

You wish you had a friend to talk it out with. Kris would go overboard, exploding with glee. Lin isn’t a talk about boys kind of person, or even a talk about your feelings kind. That leaves Taehyung, and the idea of trying to talk to him about your burgeoning feelings for Namjoon makes you laugh out loud, the single syllable echoing off the shower walls, echoing back to mock you.

When you finally make it back into the living room, hair blow-dried and wearing your fuzziest joggers and a hoodie, Namjoon is tucked away in his own room, the door open that familiar four inches.

You get settled on the couch and pull out your phone and realize practically with a gasp - you hadn’t even tried to text Taehyung to drive you, nice and dry, back from campus. Your brain had thought but I walked here with Namjoon and the option of “dry” went right out the window.

You cover your face with your hands, sliding down on the couch a little bit. What is the matter with you?

You feel right now like it’s all happening too much, too fast. What even is “it”? Do you like Namjoon? Despite barely knowing him? Despite having to live with him?

Despite the years and years of experience you have with loving Taehyung, and Taehyung alone, out of everyone in the whole wide world?

Luckily, Namjoon stays in his room for the rest of the evening, sparing you from any more self-reflection, any more soul-searching.

You still kind of wish he’d come out.

Tuesday October 23rd

One of the steady things that you and Namjoon share, that works for you as roommates, is that neither of you cooks. A whole kitchen of pots and pans just to heat up water for tea and ramen and to occasionally cook an egg.

So when you get home from class on Tuesday so late that it’s already pretty dark out and you hear the clanging and banging from the kitchen that indicates a meal being made, you genuinely wonder if you’re at the wrong door.

As you push the door open, the noise only gets louder. You round the corner and see the kitchen in chaos - two unmanned pans on the stove, bowls and whisks and colanders and cutting boards all over the counterspace. Namjoon has his back to you, a large kitchen knife in hand.

You ease around him, not wanting to startle him until the knife is set down. He spots you anyway, and gives you a sheepish grin.

“What… exactly… is happening here?” you inquire.

“It depends on the scope of your question,” Namjoon answers, because of course he can’t just fucking answer you like a normal person. “If you’re referring to the stove, I am burning some sauce on the left and burning some meat on the right. If you’re referring to the cutting board, I am -.”

“The stove is on fire!” you shriek, pointing, your spare hand flying to cover your mouth in horror. Flames crawl from underneath the pan of meat, over the top, devouring what’s in the pan and leaping into the air. Namjoon drops the knife with a clatter and whirls around, eyes wide.

“What do I do?” he cries, hands in the air like he’s going to swat the flames like gnats.

“Turn off the burner and smother it!” you cry, not willing to enter the kitchen and get closer to the danger.

“Smother it?” he repeats, the words a little wild as he screams them. Smoke has filled the kitchen, blurring your view of him, and the smoke alarm over the front door begins to blare.

“The lid!” you scream, trying to be louder than the alarm. “Turn off the burner and put the lid on the pan! Be careful!”

You add this last part in a shriek as Namjoon follows your directions, reaching towards the flame to twist the burner and then slam the lid over the top of the pan, hissing a little as he does.

The flames vanish almost instantly, but the smoke remains and the alarm keeps screaming. Namjoon looks at the pan, then his hand, then at you.

“Go run cool water on that,” you tell him firmly, and you cross the apartment to open the windows and turn on the fans.

You return to the kitchen to find Namjoon running the sink over his knuckles, brows furrowed.

“Is it bad?” you ask loudly - again, to be heard over the smoke alarm - as you open a drawer and get a kitchen towel, moving to stand in the kitchen’s doorway flapping away, trying to send the smoke towards the open windows.

“No,” he tells you, pulling his hand out of the stream of water to examine it more closely. “It’s just a little red.”

“Keep it there for a little bit,” you tell him, still flapping away. “I might have burn cream in my bathroom, I’ll check in a second.”

Eventually the alarm quiets and you both heave a sigh of relief. The cold air coming from the open windows chills you down to your toes, but smoke still clings to the room, blurring your vision just enough to wonder if you’re imagining it.

You find the burn cream in your medicine cabinet and return to the living room. Namjoon is looking at the ruined remains of his dinner with something like heartbreak on his face.

“Come here,” you tell him, sitting at the breakfast bar, ointment in your hand. “Come sit so I can do this.”

“I can do it,” he protests, but he heads your way.

“Sit,” you repeat, pulling out the stool next to you.

He does, silently and obediently, sliding his hand over to you. You can see the redness over his knuckles, middle and index the most. You uncap the tube and squeeze a little onto your fingers, then take his hand in your spare one to hold it steady. Gently you press the cream into his skin, making sure to cover each bit of redness. Namjoon watches you solemnly, wincing a little when your fingers touch his middle knuckle.

“See if that helps,” you tell him, his hand still resting on yours. “Want help cleaning up?”

He sighs heavily, and you both look at the kitchen in defeat at the mess of pans and bowls to wash.

“Do you ever just… miss your mom?” he asks plaintively, not looking at you.

The thing about grief - long-term grief, lifetime grief - is that you can go days, maybe even weeks at a time without noticing it. It’s kind of like a bruise in a hard to reach spot. It just takes one bump in exactly the right place, and it hurts just as bad as day one all over again. Namjoon’s words pierce you, and you take a slow breath. You were just caught off-guard, that’s all. You can be fine. You can be normal.

“Sure,” you say, trying to sound casual. Failing.

He narrows his eyes at you in suspicion. “Why’d you get weird?” he asks. “Do you have a bad relationship with your mom or something? I didn’t mean to -.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, but you rise and head for the kitchen, starting to pick things up just to do something with your hands. “It’s just… I don’t have my mom anymore. She passed when I was little. My dad too.” Might as well get it all out there. It felt weird to let someone only know half.

It’s easier to handle this moment with Namjoon in another room. You don’t have to watch him react, don’t have to translate his silence and his body language. You slide all the chopped onion onto a plate just in case Namjoon still wants to use it, and turn to rinse off the cutting board in the sink.

He appears behind you, silently lingering in the doorway. “Y/N,” he says softly.

“It’s fine, Namjoon,” you tell him, scrubbing at the cutting board vigorously. You don’t turn to face him.

“I wouldn’t have been so blase about it if I’d known,” he says apologetically.

“I know,” you say. You turn - away from the doorway - to put the cutting board aside to dry. You grab the pan with sauce in it - all congealed and unappetizing now - and move to scrape it into the garbage can.

He comes up beside you; his fingers touch your elbow, feather-light, like he’s afraid he’ll spook you.

“Y/N,” he implores. “Look at me.”

You do, glancing sideways up at him, the pan heavy in your hand. “I’m not upset,” you assure him. “People just get so weird when they find out. I hate… navigating that, over and over again, with new people.”

He gives you a guilty smile, but there’s relief in it as well. “I will stop being weird immediately,” he promises. “I just felt like I stepped in it, you know?”

You shrug. “It happens to the best of us. It really is fine. It’s been a long time.”

You arm tingles where he’d touched you, but he stays put when you move back to the sink, running the water hot enough to steam before you put the pan under it. Then, wordlessly, he moves next to you, grabbing a cloth and starting to dry the cutting board you’d washed.

You carry on that like that, a perfectly synchronized dance, in silence until the countertop is empty. All that remains is the pan that had been alight about half an hour ago.

“Can I ask you something personal?” he asks, leaning against the counter as you scrape the remains of the charred meat into the garbage with a grimace. “I’m just curious. You can tell me to fuck off.”

“It’s so jarring when you swear,” you tell him.

He grins at you. “Hobi says my surprising potty-mouth is one of my best charms.”

You laugh at this. “I can see that,” you agree. “It is surprising.”

“Not charming?” he teases.

You shrug, feeling that blush rise up again. “No comment. Anyway - what did you want to ask?”

He lets you get away with evading the flirtation. “If you were little… who raised you?”

“Oh,” you say. You aren’t sure what you thought he’d ask, but it wasn’t that. “My grandma, until she couldn’t. Then my Aunt Lin took over, but she’s more like a big sister than anything.”

Namjoon nods. Then he asks, carefully, “Did Taehyung know your parents?”

The question makes you smile at the memories it pulls up - you and Taehyung as kids together, goofing off around your house, back when it had been filled with people.

“Yeah,” you say softly. It doesn’t occur to you to wonder why he’d ask that. It doesn’t occur to you to mask the tiny smile, that it might jostle his feelings even a little bit.

You look over at him when you realize he’s gone quiet. “Are you close with your family?” you ask, genuinely curious.

He nods, eyes on the pan lid that he’s drying. “Very. I was a lost soul when I first moved to campus. I couldn’t do anything.”

“You burned dinner tonight,” you point out.

“I can do laundry now,” he retorts, smiling at you as you put the last of the dishes away. “I’ve come a long way.”

“Still room to grow,” you tease, reaching out to give his arm a playful nudge.

You’re giving playful touches now. That’s a thing that’s happening.

You ache, again, to have someone to tell.

Wednesday October 24th

You both love and hate Wednesdays - on one hand, you have your thesis double-feature, and you actually enjoy it. On the other hand, you go straight from double-class to closing shift at the campus store, and you don’t get home until dark. The day is long, and you’d rather be home. For several reasons.

Your morning goes as you expect - you make it through the lecture part of class, updating Professor Jemisen on how your research segment is going. During the break, you eat some leftovers you’d thrown in your backpack, and talk with Gloria and the other girls. After the break, your group helps you workshop your latest poem, the one about the season changing, and you do the same for them.

The season changing is happening in real life, all around you. Fall fades quickly, the days darkening, the chills lasting longer, becoming more pronounced. Gone are the autumn days that change their mood and become summer again for hours at a time.

You normally go straight to the campus store after class, but this week you’re hungry - the leftovers you packed weren’t enough to keep you until you get home. Instead of heading down the main paved path to the student center, where you work, you head for a large academic building you pass on the way there. You know there’s a little sandwich station on the lowest floor, tucked away past the mailroom like a well-kept secret.

You take a hallway off to the side, passing some open classrooms on your way to the staircase. You’re walking mindlessly, head thinking only about the sandwich you’re going to order. You slow your steps when you hear a familiar voice, low and calm.

“All I’m saying,” a girl is saying, and you stop in the doorway, listening, “is that while the idea of going to live alone in the woods is actually extremely appealing, Thoreau as a whole kind of sucks.”

“I might agree with you, but you need to frame that more academically,” Namjoon corrects gently.

A circle of students - freshmen, if you had to guess, maybe eight of them, are sitting at desks, their bags all forgotten on the floor by their chairs. Namjoon perches on the edge of the teacher’s desk at the front of the room, legs casually stretched out before him. He’s listening intently as the students debate.

“We have to specify the problem,” someone else in the group points out. “I’m all for metaphorically dragging down statues of the patriarchy and everything, but we need a solid argument.”

“Or,” a different girl says, voice just barely loud enough for you to hear from the hallway, “maybe instead of giving more attention to ‘classics’ we see as undeserving, maybe instead we should focus just on the underprivileged voices that we prefer to be amplified?”

“You mean pick a lesser-known author and shed light on their work instead?” Namjoon clarifies, and the girl nods.

The group begins to debate this passionately, and Namjoon lets them fight it out, taking a second to glance at his phone. You become aware of the fact that you’re just standing in the hallway staring. You’re about to move on when Namjoon notices you. He looks away quickly at first, and then it registers that it was you standing in the doorway like a weirdo, and his gaze flies back to you.

Caught, you have no choice but to lean into it. You give him a tiny smile, raising a hand in a guilty wave. He smiles back, just barely. You stay there another minute, smiling at each other, while the freshmen continue to argue. Then your feet spur you on, and you give him a little nod before heading down the hall. But the stupid fucking butterflies stay in your stomach the whole time you wait in line for your sandwich.

When you get to the bookshop, you toss your backpack behind the counter and slump onto a low stool that’s stashed back there. You lean your head on the counter next to the currently unmanned register and let out some unhappy grumbles.

Kris comes out from the stockroom - you can tell it’s them by their footsteps.

“What is happening here,” they say flatly, not exactly a question.

“Kriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis,” you whine, not looking up. “I think I need to talk about… my roommate.”

“Bitch!” they utter indignantly. “He has a name! What grade are we in right now?”

You stomp your feet lightly, needing to display your crankiness. “I am feeling very confused and conflicted and I need you to be nice to me about it,” you say petulantly, finally picking your head up so you can pout better.

“Okay,” Kris says easily, leaning against the wall. The shop is devoid of customers, so you don’t bother to lower your voice. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” you continue to whine. “It’s just how I feel.”

Kris gives you a level stare. “I need the whining to stop, like, yesterday. If you feel conflicted, there’s a reason. So, figure out what it is.”

“I already said I don’t know,” you tell them, still pouty, but sitting up straight now.

“Dig deep,” Kris deadpans. “Do it for the dimples.”

“Oh my GOD,” you say, unable to even make eye contact. “Never mind, conversation over.”

They shake their head, not letting you off the hook. “What’s the problem, Square?” It’s a nickname they gave you last year when you wouldn’t go partying - because… apparently you’re a square.

“You know the problem,” you grumble quietly, making them lean closer to hear you.

They lean back, something knowing in their eyes. “Ah. It’s the Taehyung factor.”

“Shh,” you scold, glancing around the empty store like someone might have materialized without you noticing. When you return your gaze to them, Kris is just staring at you plainly, waiting for you to elaborate.

“I don’t know,” you say, and then more emphatically, “I don’t know! If I… start something else… does that mean giving Taehyung up? Because I can’t say I want to do that. Not if I’m being honest.”

Kris nods silently, letting you work it out. You meet their eyes, suddenly feeling the squeeze of anxiety around your chest, like your lungs have something heavy they have to push every time you inhale.

“If I lose him,” you say in practically a whisper, “I will quite literally die.”

Kris scowls at you. “You will not.”

“I will,” you retort.

Kris gives you an eyeroll. “So dramatic,” they scold.

“He’s my family, Kris,” you try to explain. “In a lot of ways he’s my only family.” Your voice breaks as you ask, “What if I lose him?”

Now Kris softens, lips pulling together into something like a very pursed frown. “Maybe you should talk to him,” they suggest quietly.

You hate that idea a lot. “Maybe,” you say loudly, slapping your hand on the counter and standing as the bell over the door chimes and a group of lacrosse guys (the sticks are a give-away) enter the store with a burst of noisy chatter, “I should never talk about any of this ever again.”

Kris sighs heavily, practically doubling over. Now who’s dramatic? “You’re so self-destructive,” they complain.

“Don’t be mean,” you say, going back to pouting.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kris waves a hand at you. “Go write a poem about it.”

“And what if I do?” you demand, but you’re both laughing now, unlocking the registers as the lacrosse dudes line up to pay for their snacks and drinks.

–

Taehyung texts you near the end of your shift - “we haven’t hung out in five billion years :(“.

You roll your eyes at his dramatics and text back, “come get me from the bookstore then and hang out for a little”.

You’re pleased when he agrees. He shows up a little bit before closing, knocking on the already locked glass doors. You hurry to let him in, ignoring Kris staring knives into your back.

“Hi,” you say happily as he slips into the store, and you lock the door again behind him. “I’ll be done in about four minutes.”

“‘Kay,” he says easily, striding over to the checkout counter and leaning against it.

“Taehyung,” Kris greets him, nodding their head as they lock the register. “How’s it going?”

He sighs dramatically. “The usual. Classes. Parties. Trying to figure out why Y/N doesn’t love me anymore.”

You freeze halfway to the stockroom, your eyes wide, air catching in your throat.

Luckily, Kris is and always has been way more slick than you. They cock their head quizzically, letting a playfully concerned frown settle over their features.

“Y/N doesn’t love you anymore?” they echo, the poor baby pronounced in their tone. “What on earth do you mean?”

Taehyung shoots you a mischievous look; luckily, you’ve gotten your act together since he said those words.

“I had to beg for her attention tonight,” he says, clearly loving this bit. “I’m beginning to think she has a secret boyfriend she’s not telling me about.”

He’s teasing and you know it, but after a lifetime of friendship with Taehyung, you know this too: there’s a little sliver of him that must be hurt, or at least bothered, or he wouldn’t tease at all.

You feel both caught - despite not having a secret boyfriend or anything like it - and guilty.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I just got busy with my thesis and everything. I promise I’m not out with other people and not you. Even Kris only sees me at work these days.”

“And Namjoon,” Taehyung adds plaintively, and your blood runs cold.

“Namjoon?” you echo, not sure you can form a different word.

Taehyung’s pouting now, which means he’s not too serious. “Yeah, he has no choice, you’re in his living room every day.”

“Oh,” you say, relief flooding through you. “Yeah.”

You don’t see the point in telling Taehyung that there’s a teeny, tiny something starting with Namjoon. Not when it’s so… unformed, insubstantial, uncertain. You don’t know which word fits best. It’s a maybe at best, and it just doesn’t seem worth rocking the boat over it.

What would happen if things started for real? Would you tell him? It shouldn’t have to be a secret… it shouldn’t stay a secret, not if you mean it. What would happen?

You’re afraid to know the answers.

You finish up in the store and you all head to the parking lot together. You tell Kris goodbye and drop down into Taehyung’s passenger seat.

“You’re gonna stay at the apartment for a little?” you ask.

“Mhm,” he says, fiddling with the heat until he gets it how he wants it. “Can I work on homework with you?”

“Definitely,” you agree. “I have so much shit to do. I wasn’t kidding when I said school is eating my life. Senior year sucks.”

Taehyung isn’t looking at you - he’s watching the road as he waits for an opening in traffic so he can pull out of the parking lot. But something crosses his face - relief, maybe. Something softens, anyway. Maybe he really had been hurt that you hadn’t been hanging out as much.

When you return to the apartment, Namjoon isn’t home - his door hangs open, his bedroom completely dark.

You and Taehyung settle in the living room, dragging out your laptops. It’s nice, hanging out like this again. You hadn’t realized how long it had been - over a week - since it had been just the two of you, like old times. Everything falls right into place. You swap snacks, hands brushing as you both reach into crinkling chip bags. You reach over and type nonsense into his paper when he isn’t paying attention, letting out peals of laughter when he figures it out and starts spluttering at you in outrage. You tell him about the customer at the store who argued with you over - of all the stupid things - a used copy of The Odyssey.

When he hugs you goodbye at the end of the night, swaying you playfully back and forth like he might drop you, both of you giggling wildly, you’re reminded of just what the stakes are. You’re reminded of just how much you have to lose.

<- Prev || Next ->

ahhhhh what do we think??!! there was hand holding!!!! are we clutching our pearls??!!!

as always thank you all so so so much for being here, i appreciate every one of you so extremely much!!!

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petshopbibliography · 10 months

Text

Hate: Neil Tennant on the power of negative thinking. Select Magazine, October 1992.

Text of the essay below the cut:

If not for hatred, I wouldn’t be doing what I do now. I became a pop star because I hated football at school. I hated that whole attitude of being one of the crowd. Becoming a pop star was my revenge. Revenge for being bad at football. For not being athletic. For being mocked.

That’s the thing about negative energy, about hatred. It can be positive. It throws into relief all the things you know you like. It tells you, by elimination, what you’re about. Sometimes you can only define yourself by what you hate. Hatred becomes an inspiration; it makes you think, “What I’m doing now I totally believe in, and I don’t care what other people say.” Guided by hatred, you don’t have to follow the herd.

I hate the way people all like the same things at the same time. I’ve never understood it. When people are told about Coke – “It’s the real thing” – they should think, “No, it’s a hideous soft drink that is fantastically unhealthy to drink, full of sugar that turns into glucose that turns into fat.” They should look around America and think, “God, there are so many fat people here! Why? Because they all eat hamburgers and drink cola.” And they should hate the people who represent that. They should hate Michael Jackson for trying to foist Pepsi onto them, to make them fat victims of their own society. They should hate more. Hate Pepsi, hate Coca-Cola, hate Michael Jackson. Hate George Bush. And think about the alternatives. That’s another good thing about hatred. It makes you think about the alternatives.

Of course, these days it’s more fashionable to be positive. I hate positivity. The problem with positivity is that it’s an attitude that’s decidedly about lying back, getting screwed, and accepting it. Happily. It’s totally apolitical. It’s very, very personal and one-on-one. It’s not about changing society, it’s about caring about yourself. In fact, it’s totally about ignoring one’s economic role in society, and so it works in favor of the system. Just look at work years of personal consciousness theories have given us: those icons of the status quo, George Bush and John Major.

Positivity is fundamentally middle-class. It’s about having the time, the space and the money to sort out where your head is at. Therapy is just another side of positivity. It’s a leisure activity, a luxury for people who don’t have any real cares. It’s new age selfishness, the new way of saying that charity begins at home.

And positivity makes the world stay the same. Hatred is the force that moves society along, for better or for worse. People aren’t driven by saying, “Oh wow, I’m at peace with myself.” They’re driven by their hatred of injustice, hatred of unfairness, of how power is used. That’s as true for pop music as it is for politics. I always feel the reason so much music comes out of Britain is because there’s so much hatred. You see or hear something and grow envious. Whereas if your positive reaction is, “Wow, that’s great,” you just sit back and think how great it is and you don’t do anything. You relax.

Luckily, I’ve never been a very relaxed person. When I look at pop music, I immediately hate things. I look at singers who say they are taking two years off to work for charity when, in fact, they’ll spend two years working on their album, and I hate them. Right now I really hate performers who make a big deal out of playing benefits and donating the proceeds from the sales of their records to charities. They could give plenty of money to charities and not tell anyone, but instead, they cash in on the fact. That’s not charity, it’s marketing. It’s about selling albums under the guise of a moral imperative. They say they’re trying to raise consciousness, as if being a celebrity gives them power and endows them with the answers to the world’s problems. But really they just want to be seen as heroes. I think it’s breathtakingly cynical and I hate it.

Another thing I hate, and another inspiration for what the Pet Shop Boys do, is the way people misunderstand pop culture. It annoys me that after more than twenty-five years, Top of the Pops, Britain’s most important pop-music TV program, changed the rules so that you have to sing live. Why? Because the people in control are the kind of conservatives who think that in the ‘60s, everything was much more talented than they are now. It’s all about Rolling Stone rock culture, which is essentially a fear of the new. Rolling Stone’s idea of a musician is Jerry Garcia, from the 60s. Look at all the ‘new’ artists – Curtis Stigers, Michael Bolton, Lenny Kravitz – all of them living in the past. I think you have to live in the future. Or at least in the present.

The Pet Shop Boys have always hated most of the prevailing attitudes and tried to do the opposite. Our hatred of what other people do has always helped us redefine our actions. To hate a lot of things is tantamount to really caring about others. If you like everything, you deal with nothing. When people hear Chris and me talking, they’re sometimes shocked by how negative we are. We’re constantly critical of everything, including ourselves. But I come from a generation that liked its artists to say what was wrong with our lives. I retain the old-fashioned belief that pop music is meant to be a challenge to society as well as an affirmation of it. And so I consider it my duty to hate things.

#pet shop boys #neil #haterade #magazine

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letstalkassassinscreed · 9 months

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Book Review - Assassin's Creed Daughter of No One

In this spoiler-free written review, co-host Declan gives his thoughts on the new Assassin's Creed novel Daughter of No One, written by Maria Lewis:

Before I start this spoiler-free review, I want to thank Aconyte Books and NetGalley for allowing me to read the book's review copy. Daughter of No One is due to be published around November 7th 2023, plenty of time to finish Mirage before you dive into this essential piece of reading.

Daughter of No One is an intriguing story filled with love, loss and deceit; your typical Assassin's Creed formula. However, continuing the recent trend of transmedia published by Aconyte Books, this story has enough new flair and take on the formula that it can draw you in and keep you invested from start to finish. This isn't an exaggeration. The start of the book throws you right into the deep end, and throughout the first chapter the author has managed to paint a vivid picture of the world that Roshan lives in.

The book is also unique in the fact that it not only wants to give the reader a deeper understanding of all the trials and tribulations Roshan has faced, but also the current dilemma that has drawn her into the hidden conflict of the Hidden Ones. The way the author manages this was very clever. Instead of creating a single narrative that runs from 824CE, there is a second narrative that exists through a jump back in time to 819CE. The chapters flit between 819 and 824. What is interesting is that each time the author jumps back in time she also moves the past narrative forward, so that this past narrative from 819 to 824 ends just before the main narrative set in 824 begins in chapter 1, creating a very satisfying loop. By doing the story this way she can push the main 824 stories ahead with small callbacks to the past. To me this gave the author more room to play around with the main narrative without any worries that they had missed any details that would flesh out Roshan's past. I did enjoy this style of story as each time skip back dragged me more into Roshan's story and life, and I started to feel I understood the character on a deeper level. I am curious how this early read will impact how I see Roshan when Mirage launches in October.

The story we see in 824 is an odd Assassin's Creed story as it presents the idea that the Hidden Ones need something and they enlist Roshan's help, but that's where they stop. There are only 2 Hidden Ones mentioned, but after a few chapters they are no longer involved in the plot which was interesting because when I reached the end I started to get bad feelings about how this type of Brotherhood operates and it made me wonder if they have good intentions at heart. But even with the Hidden Ones missing from the later narrative Roshan makes up for it. She is a natural-born assassin with an inherited ability to see things that can't be seen by others, and her tenacious and hard-working nature has turned her into the perfect assassin, who is not only skilled in combat but also in movement. There were also a good few moments where we see Roshan's mental reflection on what Philo says of the Assassin's enemies and it sets up the idea that Roshan makes the perfect assassin.

Overall Daughter of No One is an essential read for all fans of Mirage, it felt more like a DLC story than a companion novel. and upon finding the book I had a lot of respect and admiration for her character and I hope we see her feature in more works. I was expecting it to be a little longer as there was a few things I would have liked to see but I do feel its pace and ending were great and made for a read that I just couldn't put down. I also like how Daughter of No One is the latest Aconyte book that not only creates a fun tie-in to the games but also helps reshape the transmedia into a world that Ubisoft should expand. I would love to see Daughter of No One and The Engines of History translated into a live-action mini-series or even animated.

#ubisoft #assassin's creed #roshan #basim #ac mirage #assassin's creed mirage #podcast

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cxyotl · 2 years

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//grooming

this shit with dream. honestly, i got a few thoughts about it. i’ve spent the last day or so reviewing the evidence and checking both sides. this might be a long post bear with me. also read the whole thing, or at least read my conclusion, before commenting.

-initial allegations:

i have decided to respect the alleged victim(s), and as dream’s only statement as of today, October 14, 2022 (MST 19:08), has been a whiney priv twitter thread, i’ve elected to place that dream has not made any real statements regarding the allegations. i will further explore his defense when he gets home and takes this seriously. i’m honestly disgusted by his initial response. if he makes no genuine response, i will assume he doesn’t take these matters seriously and that will be evidence enough for me to quit respecting him.

-faked or inefficient evidence:

i have seen plenty of evidence so far against the provided proof of the first victim, but at the same time i have seen other evidence in support or her proof. for example, her having the same story about this for two years. the bigger problem here is inefficient evidence. dream has not come out yet with any proof whether or not they did have communication. theres too little here for us to know definitively. the next part will continue.

-definition of grooming:

based on the released messages of the original poster, i see no real instances of grooming. i am seeing that he is being cringey with an overuse of heart eyed emojis. there is no coercion, no threats, and no power play going on in the provided proof. that being said, things like this can be one-sided and uncomfortable to experience. i would not define this as grooming, rather, a misreading of boundaries. this is still a problem, for a content creator and fan to have this misunderstanding, but it is not equivalent to grooming. historically, dream has had issues with understanding other people’s boundaries. the “16 is legal in the uk” joke thats going around is proof of that. thats an uncomfortable joke, and tommy obviously didnt like it, but its not solid proof of pedophilia. i’ve always believed, and will continue to believe, that he needs to work on this moving forward.

-racism, antiblackness, and antisemitism

with this being talked about, im seeing a lot of people talk about other things dream has done. i can only really speak on his comments about mexicans, but recognize that hes been in the wrong before by blocking people educating him on antiblackness, collaborating with notch, etc etc. personally i believe it is unfair for him and especially for the victims for this to be turned into a “look at All the shit hes done!” thing. the conversation should be focused on the stories of the victims right now. i encourage these callouts on him, especially with his lacking apologies, but now is not the time. i say this as a victim of sexual assault and grooming.

-“dream in these stories acts out of character”

you do not know him. parasocial relationships, although they are a joke now, are still serious as hell. i’ve watched dream since 2020 and i’ll admit, some of these things don’t add up to what we know about him. the biggest thing, being that he face revealed to this fan. that does not track with what we have seen about him. with that said, *we don’t know this guy*. the only people who will confirm if these actions are out of character are his friends, and that’s it. we cannot do that.

-conclusion

“believe victims always” and “believe victims first” are two different sayings, and neither should be the first thing to come to mind. always take things with a grain of salt. that being said, express empathy and RESPECT to the victims coming forward. to dream stans: do NOT jump to the conclusion now that dream is innocent, and do NOT say shitty things to or about the victims coming out. to antis: stop celebrating this shit. it’s disrespectful as fuck, strays the conversations, and makes it harder to find the evidence if its all buried under your shitty memes about it. i am choosing to not make any conclusions until it is confirmed OR denied by further evidence.

i have no problem unsubbing from dream if this is true— understand that i have basically abandoned his content out of boredom and literally not watched a single stream or video of his since like 2021 (aside from the face reveal). im by no means a dream stan. i watch and engage with dream smp content, and thats the extent to what i do concerning dream. i also don’t hate him. thats why i’m hoping this post is portrayed as neutral as possible.

if you are overwhelmed by this, i am also supporting you. my support and empathy does not end with the alleged victims. take care of yourself, stay off twitter, and know my dms are always open.

#dream discourse #discourse #dreamwastaken #dreamwastaken discourse

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christine-ye · 3 months

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Normally I don't share a lot of serious posts for characters I love (they're funny shitposts most of the time) but because the 2024 PreCure Twitter Hall of Fame started running yesterday (go vote here if you haven't), I have already campaigned myself for the title of #1 Cure Melody fan, which I already won during the first Hall of Fame back in October 2023 (and also campaigned for). And I have the certificate below to prove it lol

As part of my mini-campaign for the current Hall of Fame (which is just for fun and not an actual competition btw), I decided to write an essay about how much Cure Melody meant to me and wanted to share it here (copied and pasted straight from the Notes app on my phone). If you get the chance to read it (under the cut), I would really appreciate it. 💗

Why you should vote me for #1 Cure Melody fan, an essay (sorta)

During the summer of 2020, I started getting into PreCure when Healin' Good returned from its hiatus and was added to Crunchyroll. After watching a few more of their available seasons like Futari wa and Kira Kira, I decided to branch out and try out other (unfortunately not legally available yet) PreCure seasons, and I started both Star Twinkle and Suite on September 1, 2020. You might be wondering, "why mention an exact date for Suite specifically?" And boy, do I have a lot to tell you.

Suite was one of the seasons that caught my eye at that time, and Hibiki Hojo, otherwise known as Cure Melody, caught my attention for plenty of reasons. One of which being me previously knowing her VA, Ami Koshimizu, for voicing Sailor Jupiter (my favorite Inner Senshi) in Sailor Moon Crystal, given that I was (and still am) a huge Sailor Moon fan. Another reason was also me branching out to other magical girl media during the pandemic. I was already familiar with shows like Powerpuff Girls Z (my first magical girl show) and Madoka Magica up until 2020, and decided to try out PreCure for a bit despite my initial skepticism and refusal to try anything new.

On September 1, 2020, around the same time I was starting my last year of high school, I finally started watching Suite and while I knew Hibiki was going to be my favorite in the show I didn't expect myself to love her way more than I thought I would, not even knowing she would actually become one of my favorite characters of all time. She's a lot of fun every time she appears onscreen, her design rocks, and also did connect with me a lot on a personal level. As someone who has experienced separation anxiety as a kid (and still sometimes do now), I related with Hibiki's loneliness from when her mom was often busy on tour, much like how my parents would sometimes spend a lot of time away from home for work, from weeks to even months. To add to that, I even felt burdened by others' expectations of how and what I did as I got older, similar to how Hibiki felt pressured when she had to perform at the piano recital only to end up feeling hurt by her dad's words to the point where she (temporarily) gave up her passion for music. Through her character growth, I remembered two important things: people who love and support you will always be there for you no matter what and never give up on what you want to pursue despite the hurdles you encounter in life that try to put you down or even turn you against your passions.

I literally almost teared a bit having to write all this and if you made it to the end, thank you for reading :') And of course, vote me for #1 Cure Melody fan since she has meant a lot to me for almost 4 years now 💗

#christine's ramblings of the day #precure #pretty cure #suite precure #suite pretty cure #hibiki hojo #hojo hibiki #cure melody

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that-coffee-in-huesca · 8 months

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231021

When Joris Lechêne posted, around the 9th of October, about the context of the Hamas attacks, concluding that these acts can never be justified, but surely, at least in part, explained by the brutal occupation that has lasted over 70 years and made Gaza practically unlivable*, a lot of people were outraged. They commented that NO kind of violent history could possibly give reason for something so horrific and inhumane. Even if someone kills your family or tortures your friends, killing innocent civilians is an absurd response. This is in no way a weird position to take. In fact, it is the only sane position on this issue; of course it is an absurd response that should disgust anyone with a heart and brain. However, what is strange, is that the same logic seems to have completely disappeared in the conversation on the Israeli attacks on Gaza. Why are random Palestinian activists, in each and every interview, asked to condemn the death of 1000 Israelis, before they are allowed to make further points, while Israeli officials (people actually representing the IDF, the very institution wielding the violence on Gaza) are not asked to condemn the death of 4000 Palestinians? For the 4000 Palestinians, context all of a sudden seems very important, and plenty of excuses apparently do exist for the unlawful murder of civilians. The most plain explanation is of course racism. The western world has come so far in dehumanizing Muslims (which is of course how we understand Palestinians, even though many of them are Christian or belong to other religions) that their lives are literally worth less in the mathematical equation of counting casualties. Add to this a very odd relationship with the state of Israel, where many Western states carry some sort of twisted reverence for its military operations while at the same time refusing to challenge their own issues of antisemitism. The West has normalized this idea of Israel as a Western-built island of peace and democracy in an ocean of death, hate and misery. Murder in Israel is wrong and horrendous. Murder in Palestine is just… business as usual (I honestly believe that a lot of Westerners truly believe that people from war-torn, “orientalised”, non-Western countries experience loss differently, as if they are more “used to it” and hence it is not as bad. We saw a lot of this kind of commentary when Russia invaded Ukraine). Israelis indoctrinated and trained to kill Palestinians are explained with militarized rhetoric of democracy and defense, while Palestinians doing the same thing is disregarded as hate-fueled terrorists. Another reason, which also has deeply colonial roots, is the outlook on the violence itself. A lot of us seem to see low-tech violence (like an attack with a machete or a gun to your face) as far more brutal and scary than high-tech violence (sophisticated weaponry maneuvered by someone in a uniform), as if a civilian shot to death would somehow be more dead than one crushed (or slowly suffocated) under a building. This of course all connects to the logic explained above. Seemingly random attacks, targeting people at a music festival, are far more ‘real’ to Westerners. This could happen to any of us. Terrorist attacks from above, however, targeting civilians from the sky in Western-made airplanes dropping Western-made bombs? No, that kind of death is reserved for people living in dusty, beige countries with brutalist buildings. Of course a Westerner relates to the man in the uniform speaking fluent English, talking about self-defense over a dusty stranger crying out to God in front of the house that just collapsed over his family. The latter of these men has come to represent the destruction of European civilisation (this is not a crazy statement these days, just ask the average alt-righter that exists in almost every European parliament and they’ll tell you). The other man represents the West** and all the West stands for, and this is not strange at all, because make no mistake, it is the West that is currently bombing Gaza.

*When we say Gaza is unlivable, we are not only referring to the unlawful killing of civilians, and the outbursts of extreme violence that occurs every now and then, but the lack of resources, the overpopulation and the closed border. Having to sit and watch family members die as they are denied traveling permits to visit hospitals in the West Bank, the constant sound of drones over your house, the electricity only working for a couple of hours a day, the lack of clean water. It has surprised me to know how little many Israeli citizens know about this situation. I distinctly remember a conversation I had some years ago, when an Israeli student described the security reason and why the border to Gaza must remain closed. When I asked him why Israel is patrolling the sea as well, and not letting anyone leave in the opposite direction, he just looked at me and asked: “What? They can’t leave?”.

**Yes, he does. You can talk all you want about how Jewish people are not Western, and I hear you. We should be outraged about how the West seemingly accepts Jewish people when they are constructed as the Western wielders of violence on other exposed and oppressed groups, while carrying on their antisemitic every-day life whenever it is about ANY OTHER issue. The West doesn’t care about Jewish people, they care about having an outpost in the Middle East and arming it to the teeth. Palestinians and Israelis have, and have always had, the same enemy: The colonial white supremasists that are playing them both.

#gaza #free palestine #palestine #israel #free gaza #gaza under attack

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storiesofsvu · 1 year

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Heavy Hearts Ch 4

Casey Novak x reader Warnings: language, some toxic family dynamics. Here we go, a little more background into yn's family and upbringing. Also, being the Canadian dumbass that I am, while I was originally writing this, I completely forgot that US Thanksgiving is in November, not October like it is up here. So if things seem weird timeline wise/how long these two have known each other or been together... that's why. I didn't catch it until I was editing LOL. oops.

After your first night together you were incredibly thankful that things weren’t that awkward, there were plenty of morning cuddles and shared smiles as you started to wake up, watching some mindless television as you stayed tangled in your sheets. Finally, Casey was very reluctantly forced to leave your bed, needing to go pick up one of her friends from the night prior who hadn’t made it back to the dorms. She left a very tender kiss on your lips and assured you that this wasn’t a one time thing.

A few days later while neither of you couldn’t stop thinking about each other you realized this was definitely going to be something that was more than just friends with benefits. You shared a lot of the same beliefs, perspectives, and always had each other’s backs when it came to helping each other out with school, studying, projects and the like. You weren’t totally sure, but you felt like you were good enough about reading her body language and the way she would blush around you, so you asked if she would like to get dinner the following week. Casey let out a small giggle, ducking her gaze as she said she would love to and both of you spent the rest of the day fretting over your real first date. Thankfully, things went splendid and you ended up back in your dorm with a bottle of cheap wine, laughing over a movie together before you very happily fell asleep in each other’s arms. You were basically attached at the hip from the first project you’d worked on and when a mutual friend asked if you were girlfriends that was all it took for you to solidify the title.

The weather got colder, a chill clinging to the air so heavily you could see your breath walking to morning classes, the days were shorter, your evenings usually spent curled up with Casey under thick fluffy blankets. Your activities always varying, most days were studying or working on papers while other nights were spent laughing and telling stories, or the more intimate nights where you explored each other’s bodies for hours on end.

Fall break came and went, celebrating with your group of friends so no one had to take time away from school. Everyone pitched in, bringing various food items, snacks, side dishes, far too much wine and beer and a few staples to eat while relaxing from the stress of studying. Once the long weekend was over it was time to focus on studying for exams, working on research papers and practically the only thoughts on your brains were of the law. You spent the night in the library with your group of friends going over old assignments and swapping ideas and theories before the conversation started to dwindle away from school work to the upcoming holiday season. You did your best to ignore it, burying yourself into your text book until Casey nudged at you and you realized everyone was packing up to leave for the night.

You gathered your things, linking your fingers with hers as you all said good night and the two of you began the walk back to your dorm. It was one of those balmy winter nights, where it was just warm enough to be comfortable, that you could enjoy being outside as the fluffy flakes of snow drifted down from the sky.

“You going home for Christmas?” Casey asked, glancing towards you and you let out a heavy sigh.

“Don’t want to.”

“Are they really that bad?”

“Do you follow politics at all Case?” You asked with a laugh and she shrugged.

“Not unless I have to.”

“Well you should start, would help your career.” You let out a little huff, only continuing when she squeezed at your hand.

“So? Your dad’s a senator?”

“A republican senator.” You rolled your eyes, “and my mom is no better. She had a full fledged career as a journalist when they first met, she had dreams, goals, and she dropped everything to be the perfect little trophy wife. I like to hope that she didn’t agree with all of his views when they first met, maybe give me some kind of pull but they’re both so fucking…. Conditioned? I don’t even think that’s the right word.” You shook your head, feeling the build up of frustration rocking through your body “they don’t get the whole human rights thing. I’m honestly surprised I wasn’t kicked out and cut off when I came out to them. I think their only saving grace was that I identified as bi and they thought they could thrust a man on me and I’d fall head over heels and forget about how much better women are.” You rolled your eyes, letting out a groan as you stalled in your step, turning to face her, your free hand reaching up to cup her cheek tenderly, “I would absolutely adore getting to take you home to meet them, getting to shove it in their faces that they’re wrong, that I’m not going to be some white picket fence wife…”

“But…?.” Casey raised a brow and you sighed once again.

“I’ve been barred from ever bringing a girl home if I want to hang onto my trust fund. I know, pretentious. But I don’t exactly have much time to work around school hours, I dunno how you managed to do it.”

“They’re really that homophobic?”

“My brother isn’t.” You shrugged, “and I honestly don’t think they are, they could be, but they’re so fucking worried about appearances. Dad’s always deep into passing the bills and laws that prohibit rights to people like us that I think he’s scared about having someone as close as I am opposing them, especially as I start to work in the law community. I think he’s worried about me bringing a girl home and like paparazzi catching us together and causing a whole like, controversy.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah… so no, I don’t exactly plan on going home for Christmas.” You let out a little sigh as you finally returned to the dormitory, turning to Casey, “what about you? Your parents are in New York, right?”

“Yeah.” Casey smiled softly, waiting for you to unlock the door and do the quick check that your roommate was indeed gone, before she spoke again considering the later hour. “I know it sounds super cheesy but we love to do the whole tourist type thing at Christmas. Markets, Times Square, Rockefeller Center”—

“Rockettes!?” You turned to her with an adorably very excited expression on your face and she chuckled softly, pausing to steal a kiss.

“Yes.” Her bag and coat found a home in a spare chair, “and if we’re up to it we do the whole ball drop on New Year’s. If not, it’s off to the Hamptons house for a couple of days.”

“You own a Hamptons house?” You raised a brow, stripping out of your coat and chucking it to the laundry pile.

“Yeah.” She laughed.

“And you called me little miss rich pants.” You teased with a scoff, starting to pull off your clothing to replace them with cozy sleep options, tossing Casey her usual preferred garments as she did that same.

“Oh, okay.” She laughed, “so a Hamptons house equals rich nowadays?”

“Well it doesn’t exactly mean you’re struggling to make rent.”

“Remind me again, how big was that house you grew up in?” She smirked as you turned back to her.

“Like, eight bedrooms?” You practically winced as you turned back to her and she laughed.

“Didn’t you have a pool and an entire guest house?”

“Pool yes, guest house was demolished when I was in high school to make more space for the fancy gardens my mom wanted.”

“And how many housekeepers?” Casey asked with a laugh and you let out a half annoyed huff, dropping down onto your bed as you tossed the blankets back, slipping underneath them.

“Too many to count.” You grumbled, “to cut to the chase, we’re really fucking rich, okay Case? But that doesn’t mean I like it. That doesn’t mean I want that lifestyle, that life, I’d much rather just be happy and with the people that I actually truly care about.” You missed the way Casey’s expression softened, the bright grin breaking out on her cheeks as she tugged on the hoodie before dropping down onto the bed beside you, her hands grabbing at you, cupping your cheeks and pulling you to her.

“You really care about little old me, hey?” She asked before kissing you and you let out a small laugh.

“Yeah…” you felt your cheeks heat, “I really do.” You smiled into the next kiss she stole, “I never thought I’d meet someone at school who made my world complete, but it turns out I did and I don’t care what my family thinks because I know they’re wrong, you’re all I need.”

“God you’re so fucking adorable.” She kissed you once again, “and I don’t give a fuck about where you came from, or what kind of bullshit your family is, all I want is you.”

“I adore you.” You replied with a dopey grin, wrapping an arm around her as the two of you nestled into the pillows, burrowing into the blankets before falling into a very happy sleep in each other’s arm’s.

The next morning Casey called her parents, happily checking in and catching up for nearly an hour before the upcoming holiday came up. She’d already told them about you and they were more than excited to know that you were still going strong and cared about each other so the obvious answer was yes when she asked about bringing you home for Christmas. You were expected the regular slew of push back, being reminded that you would be sleeping in a guest room, or a hint of distaste because you were a woman, but the phone was put on speaker only a moment later. The Novak’s immediately asking if you had any allergies, what your favourite food and drink options were, if you’d been to New York before and what were the must do’s that they would schedule for the four of you. Casey’s mom began to excitedly chatter about getting Casey’s room set up, saying she would make sure there were lots of extra blankets and pillows for the two of you and you cast Casey a surprised glance that she laughed off, leaning in to kiss your cheek before continuing the conversation.

You on the other hand, waited until Casey had disappeared to the gym to call your own parents, knowing that the conversation wasn’t going to go as smoothly. You opted to call the house landline, figuring that maybe you would get away with just leaving a message either on the machine or with one of the housekeepers. You paced through your room while the line rang, letting out a low breath when your mom answered.

“Vanderbilt residence, Caroline speaking.”

“Hey, it’s me.” Your pacing stopped but you dropped down onto the bed, fingers toying with the phone cord nervously.

“Oh sweetheart, it’s so good to finally hear from you! We missed you at Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah, didn’t really have enough time to come home with all the studying and stuff.”

“Well I’m glad exams will be done soon; I’ll have Larissa start setting up your room.”

“Uh… there isn’t any need for that…”

“Oh come on now, I know you’re focussed on school but you can’t stay there all by yourself over Christmas! If you don’t want to deal with the airport crowds I’m sure the Lexington’s wouldn’t mind us using the jet.”

“Mom!” You groaned, having to cut her off, “I won’t be alone, and I won’t be staying in Cambridge, I wanna go to New York.”

“Hold on, your father just got home.” She didn’t even hear what you’d said, and you let out another frustrated groan, collapsing back onto the bed behind you as you heard her say something to your dad before the line beeped and you knew you were on speaker.

“Well hey there chickadee, what a nice surprise this is.” His voice rang through the line and you grimaced at the nickname he still stuck with.

“Hi dad.”

“Now what were you saying? You want to go to New York over the break?” Your mom asked and you quickly veered from your original plan while still staying on topic.

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve always wanted to spend a Christmas there and it doesn’t hurt to start to make connections in the legal community out there now, be a step ahead of everyone else when we graduate, right?”

“That’s my smart girl.” Your dad beamed, “I’ll email you information for my contacts out there, maybe even get you set up interning at a defence firm out there over summer.”

“Yeah, that’d be great but I don’t want to work defence.”

“What on earth do you mean?” Your mom asked and you let out a sigh, rolling your eyes.

“Firm experience is fine but I want to help people not support criminals, you should know this already.”

“I really think that’s going in the wrong direction there chickadee, but you’ve still got two years left, there’s more than enough time to change your mind.”

“Sure.” You surrendered, “I am still only a semester in. So is it okay that I’m missing Christmas this year?”

“Well who are you going with?” Your mom asked, “Ethan said you started dating someone?” For fucks sake, your brother just couldn’t keep his mouth shut, could he? “You know, he and Sarah are getting pretty serious.”

“Yes mom, I know.” You knew she would end up on way too much of a tangent if you didn’t cut her off.

“We just need to know who you’re staying with.” Your dad cut in, “I don’t see any hotel charges on your credit card?”

“I’ll be staying with the Novak’s.” You let out a huff, “Benjamin and Grace if you feel the need to do a full search.” You rolled your eyes, knowing just how your parents were, you knew it was technically for your safety but they were just a little too invasive, and always had been.

“Benjamin Novak, why does that sound familiar?” Your dad asked and you could practically hear the wheels turning through the phone, “was he military?”

“Yes.”

“Wait… I remember meeting them at a few parties.” Your mom interrupted.

“Yes, Caroline you’re right. But they only had a daughter.” There was an awkward pause where you knew you parents were doing their best to have a silent conversation, “chickadee, are you trying to tell us you’re dating this Novak girl?”

“Well the point of this phone call was to ask if I could go to New York for Christmas, but now I guess it’s this. So yeah, I am.”

“Well I guess you can, because you know the rules, she can’t come here. And chickadee you better watch out, there’s lots of paparazzi in the city, you better behave yourselves and not be all over each other, I don’t want the tabloids blowing up with anything.”

“Preston.” Your mom scolded, “she knows, you don’t need to remind her.”

“Thank you.” You muttered though you were sure she didn’t hear it, there were sounds of hushed arguing on the other side of the phone before it beeped again and you knew your dad had stormed off and you were off speakerphone.

“Is this girl at Harvard with you?”

“Yes. Here for law, same year as me.”

“And I suppose if the Novak’s were at a party we were they’re a respectable family?”

“Yes. Got a house out in the Hampton’s and everything.”

“As long as you’re safe out there and you’re happy I suppose that’s all that matters. We will miss you at Christmas though.”

“Thank you mom.”

“Shame though, those Lexington boys… Archer just got married, I think Brock was hoping to spend some time with you over the holiday, we’ll have to wait for summer.”

“Did we not just talk about me interning in New York over the summer?” She didn’t hear you, or at least she pretended not to, continuing to ramble on.

“Maybe Brock would want to go out to New York with you! I mean, I’m sure this thing with this Novak girl is just a college phase, you’ll grow out of it, you’re just lonely.”

“I’m hanging up.” You deadpanned, dropping the receiver down and you let out a loud groan, running a hand over your face.

It had always been like this. Your dad would completely ignore it and pretend it wasn’t happening, warning you to not damage his or your own reputation, though that applied to more than just dating girls. You weren’t allowed to drink in excess, you’d gotten strict warnings about never doing drugs, if you were to ever be in the spotlight or papers it was to be in a positive light only. You’d been doing charity work since you were fourteen, but only if there were cameras around, you had to be at every gala and fundraiser possible. And thanks to your dad’s rules you were either to appear alone, or with a male chaperone, your parents seemed to have picked out Brock Lexington for that and still weren’t giving it up all these years later.

Your head rolled towards the door at the sound of it opening, a dreamy smile taking over your cheeks as Casey entered the room, flashing you a dazzling grin.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” You pushed yourself up to sitting while she tucked her gym bag into the closet before joining you on the bed.

“You get the go ahead for Christmas?”

“I did. We are all good.”

“Amazing.” She beamed, “it’s gonna be so great.” She paused for a moment, her brow furrowing as she took in the way your shoulders were slumped over, the slight feel of defeat hanging thick in the air, “what?”

“Nothing.” You shook your head, smiling across at her, “I’m just really glad I met you.”

“Me too.” She smiled back at you, figuring if something was wrong, you didn’t want to talk about it right now and she wasn’t going to push it, you’d say something when you were ready. Instead she simply leant in, kissing you tenderly, letting out a happy hum at the feeling of your lips curving up into a smile against hers. You were happy with her, and that was all that mattered.

_______________

@bisexualcrowley @red1culous @imlike-so-gaydude @wannabe-fic-reader @altsvu @disneyfan624 @svulife-rl @svushots @whimsicallymad @mysticfalls01 @swimmingstudentchaos891 @naturalxselection @cmmndrwidw @bumblebear30 @wosoimagines @solemnnova @infernumlilith @australiancarisi @cerberus-spectre @emskisworld @thestarrynightslover @lawandorderuswnt @ex-uallyactive @hbkpop @samwithnoplan @multifandomlesbianic @drduckthief @narvaldetierra @dxtery @poisonedcrowns @anlin2058 @a-little-bit-of-this-and-that @yesterdaysgone @clarawatson @mickey-gomez @borg-queer @momlifebehard @softgamerking @yeeterthek33per @brooklynmhm @summergeezburr @alexxavicry @anya-casablanca @daddy-heather-dunbar @evilregal2002 @alcabots @7thavenger @augustvandyne @msvenablesbitch @kdaghay

#casey novak #casey novak x reader #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #heavy hearts #svu

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leatherbelt1295 · 1 year

Text

Your Daily Smile #2617

@ehan281

This should have been posted yesterday, but I didn't really get a chance to. I spent the previous 2.5 days with EHAN irl, and man they were just so wonderful... I'm so grateful we got to hang out again and do more than we did last time. Went during this time for a multitude of reasons since things lined up perfectly, but most importantly it was like a birthday present to him (5/29) and myself (6/3). We haven't seen each other since October 2017, so naturally I really missed him so much. ;w; That's way too long!!

We got to eat yummy food each day, got to meet his adorable doggy Sparky, met his folks, go through a mirror maze, played a laser busting game?, watch him do little runs of SpongeBob Battle for Bikini Bottom, watch the new Spidey on opening night with his brother, and went to a convention together and even cosplayed which was super fun! I went as Peppino Spaghetti from Pizza Tower (so if by chance you were there on Friday and saw Peppino, it might've been me!) and he was an excellent Cameron from Ferris Bueller Day Off. It was cool how often we were recognized, heheh. Really nice to see people's faces light up like that. Of course, we saw a lot of great cosplays too! Here's a few I saw myself that I got pics of, really nice stuff!

We got to play my favorite beat-em-up The Simpsons by Konami, and I'm glad EHAN and his brother really enjoyed it too! Really cool stuff all around, found plenty of gifts for my folks at home but also a couple things for me. Oh and Petra stuff and even comm'd a Petra for EHAN. :]

I haven't been to a con in 7 years, so being back at such a fun one was something I absolutely needed and appreciate immensely. Good times all around! I'm happy he and his brother enjoyed themselves too.

Here's my loot, though only the Jolteon and black shirt are for me.

We headed to Red Robin later on, and that was nice too! At least for me and his brother. :)

I went with the intention of recreating a certain Bocchi the Rock comic to EHAN. :))

And it worked. :)))

And the waitress didn't believe him when he said it was my birthday too. :))))

Ended the night with some 3 player Mario Party 2 on Pirate Land. We lost to the CPU DK because of usually MP shenanigans lol. Still fun!

And followed that up with me and EHAN rewatching Space Patrol Luluco as we do every June 5th, but a little early this time so it could be irl. A wonderful time as it is every year, but made more special being together and having fun irl! I'll be taking about that more on tomorrow's YDS though. :)

Wrapped up the visit with another good breakfast and visiting a lovely park, I really enjoyed that too.

Again, overall, I totally needed this trip and I'm eternally grateful for being able to do so. I really miss him though. ;w;

And I suppose I should mention a bit how my birthday was yesterday aside about half the day being with EHAN. I received gift art from friends through the day, including right at midnight and even today... Y'all really didn't have to... ;; But thank you so much... And to those who I know may read this and wanted to draw me something or whatever the case may be, but couldn't for any reason, just know it's more than okay and the fact that you even thought of me in the first place means a lot to me already. Wishing me hbd means a lot too... 🥺 So thank you guys too!

Even had a big surprise on the flight back home before departure. Someone close to me with connections actually informed the crew on board that it was my birthday, and if they could deliver a message to me for them, which they absolutely did... Even gave me free snacks and water, and invited me to sit in the pilot's seat which was !!!!!?? It was so cool what the heck... I'm grateful for that... 😭

Nice time spent at home with family, always nice to see them. It ain't a birthday without being with em, I'd say. Nice lil gifts too, they shouldn't have... ;; I do wanna show this Hank Hill in particular, gave me a good laugh and I love it, heheh. The Bocchi doodle too!

But yeah, I just wanted to dedicate this YDS to thanking @ehan281 and his brother for a wonderful time and express my gratitude of a happy birthday too. Hoping the next time we meet won't be so long! ^^

#EHAN #toskihero #your daily smile

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emerald-emerlad · 8 months

Text

Statement of Gertrude Robinson, regarding her childhood encounter with an Entity, given October 5th, 2007.

TMAtober Day 5: Childhood

Whumptober Day 5: Pinned Down/Debris

Word Count:

Warnings/Tags: Horror, Typical Buried content, Death, Cult-activity, Claustrophobia

[CLICK]

GERTRUDE: This was Elias's suggestion, for reference. I doubt he would be able to do anything about it if I decided not to record this, but perhaps it may help. It's been a while since I... went back.

A sigh. Paper rustles in the background.

GERTRUDE: Ah, but no need to be dramatic. I suppose this would happen eventually, and better to get it over with. Ahem, statement of Gertrude Robinson, regarding her childhood encounter with an Entity, given October 5th, 2007. Statement begins.

She clears her throat.

GERTRUDE: It may be a shock to hear I was a child once. Sometimes that surprises me as well, to think I was once as innocent as a lamb before slaughter, blissfully unaware of what was really happening in the world. Normally I don't see any point in reminiscing about the past, but what I wouldn’t give to have that same curious energy again.

I wasn't a sheltered child- quite the opposite, in fact. My family was... unreliable, so I spent plenty of time outside my crowded home, running through the bustling streets of my hometown and talking my way into places I wouldn't normally be allowed into.

She chuckles, her voice thoughtful.

GERTRUDE: I used to have a lot of friends, back when I was younger. I made plenty, and earned myself a good reputation. There was a boy named George, I think. Another named Jamey. And a girl who called herself Brook.

Her voice lifts, as if she's unsure.

GERTRUDE: You would've thought we were inseparable, following each other around and constantly getting ourselves in trouble. We ended up in tough situations more than once, but stood up for each other no matter what. And yet... it didn't take much to pull us apart.

A pause, then another sigh.

GERTRUDE: It was George's fault, really. I still haven't quite forgiven him. He was never the brightest type, normally requiring our help more than we needed his. Not that we didn't love having him around- he was the face of our little group. Always cracking jokes and giving us things to do on rainy days. It's... not fair that he was the first. But I should count myself lucky, shouldn’t I?

A sharp intake of breath. She clears her throat again.

GERTRUDE: It started off as the four of us. George, Jamey, Brook, and me. My hometown was quite religious and had an abundance of churches scattered about- and a handful of those had been scheduled for demolition or reconstruction. It was our little thing, to sneak our way inside and chase each other through the dusty yet beautiful halls. I was never a religious girl, yet I still found something enchanting about the concept of God. To think there was a man who could make people feel so loved and lost at the same time… it was incredible to me.

On one of our later expeditions, the church was dark enough that it was hard to navigate without a light, and George suggested we play hide and seek. We said yes, obviously, and I was given the role of ‘IT’. We thought it was only us playing.

I counted for 60 seconds. Then, I turned, and ran down the hall. I caused quite a racket, throwing each door open, raising my flashlight across the room, then slamming it shut and continuing forward.

I couldn’t find any of them within the first few minutes. That should’ve warned me that something was wrong, because I had become adept at this sort of thing. You see, the more you get to know someone, the more slight details you learn about them. Jamey enjoyed spaces that were clean and dust-free. Brook liked smaller spaces she could squeeze into and cover it up. George… he needed space. A lot of it. Compact areas terrified him, and more then once I’ve seen him panic and get himself stuck. Looking back… it was obvious. So, so obvious.

A long pause. She sniffs, then clears her throat.

GERTRUDE: Around 5 minutes later, I grew frustrated. Young Gertrude was used to being ahead of everyone, and giving up was never a strong suit of mine. It was nearly midnight. At the 10 minute mark, I was ready to forfeit. Perhaps I should’ve.

I was at the organ on the second floor when I heard the noise. A soft, quiet chanting, almost enthralling with its rhythm. I had brushed it off as a trick of the mind earlier, but up there it was impossible to ignore. But I wasn’t scared, not at all. I was always eager, ready to jump headfirst into danger or adventure. A fatal flaw, nowadays.

So I followed the noise. I followed it to the balcony, where a dim light was filling the room. I hid near the benches, and peeked down. Unfortunately I… I will never forget what I saw.

The pews were filled with people, the source of the noise. They were wearing casual clothes, looking extremely out of place in the church, like they had just been going on a regular day before coming here late at night. They were all facing the front, where a pit was dug where the pedestal would normally be. The hole was pitch black, with the soil crumbling away at the edges and a hissing noise from below it.

A note from the Archivist: This was quite obviously a failed attempt at a ritual of the Buried. Now, I’ve already tried follow-ups and don’t see any point in delving deeper, because I’ve reached my fair share of dead ends. What’s in the past stays in the past. End note.

GERTRUDE: George was standing above it, his head raised and his eyes half-closed. He looked… calm, despite the people watching him with uncanny intensity. He looked around, seemingly unsure of what he should do but content with whatever might happen.

I managed to get his eye contact, trying to gesture for him to leave or fight back. But his eyes seared into my brain, and my chest tightened, unable to pull my gaze away.

I didn’t know what to do, frozen with fear and curiosity at the same time. We stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, but then he nodded - thoughtfully, almost. The other… observers turned their heads all at once, looking up at me. They didn’t move, didn’t try to stop me. George nodded at me, his mouth pulled into a bittersweet smile. I… I should’ve stopped him. Because then he jumped.

Her voice cracks, which she quickly tries to cover up with a cough.

GERTRUDE: But there was no chance. I stood up in shock, watching his body fall into the pit like prey being thrown to an animal. I didn’t stick around to hear the thump of his body hitting the ground- perhaps there wasn’t even a bottom in it. I tried to flee, and that’s when the church began to crumble around me.

I hid under the organ bench, trying to stop myself from screaming. I watched as the people in the pews welcomed the debris with open arms, even as it crushed them into a bloody mess. Looking back, whatever ‘ascension’ I’m sure they were planning, it was obvious that they would never find it in the state they were left in.

The ceiling had crumbled around, trapping me and pinning me down. I remember the… well, helplessness I felt, unable to even flex my fingers or twitch a limb. Though I wasn’t severely injured, it was nearly impossible to get out of. It was pitch black, and I knew there was a chance I could run out of oxygen if there was that much debris.

A lesson I’ve learned many times is that panic never helps a situation. Either it goes your way, or it doesn’t. And when it’s the latter, you make it work for you no matter what. Everything must be bent in your favor, so you’re the one who comes out alive. I apologize in advance, Elias.

So that’s what I did. It required a quite painful dislocation of my shoulder to roll back under the organ bench, then painstakingly pulling the debris with my broken nails under the bench until I could see a glimmer of light, then bruising as I pushed myself through the small exit.

I spent too long searching for George. Brook and Jamey were nowhere to be found, and their bodies would not be pulled out of the wreckage for some time.

A stifled cough. She takes a deep breath.

GERTRUDE: As for the cultists, I would assume they were attempting a draft of the ‘Sunken Sky’. Obviously it failed. As for why, I’m not quite sure, but I do not wish to visit that town again. I left for a reason, and there is no chance I will be returning.

She sighs loudly.

GERTRUDE: If it wasn’t obvious, afterwards I managed to get away and move to London a few years later. When I learned of a research center that could possibly explain what had happened when I was younger, I went there immediately. I mean no offense, but we were extremely unorganized and weren’t much help. It was very easy to get hired and sort this place out.

Papers shuffle.

GERTRUDE: Elias, I hope you’re happy. Statement ends.

[CLICK]

#tmatober #tmatober 2023 #magtober #magtober 2023 #whumptober 2023 #no.5 #debris #pinned down #themagnusarchives #fic #whumptober #gertrude robinson #tma statement #statement fic #i need to do more ahhhh #ao3 #emerald's stuff

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zoroara · 7 months

Text

OCtober challenge Day 30 - Worm

The longer the wait more the anticipation from both parties grew. Tyr had made sure to keep an eye on the brat as he trained. After all, just because he was hoping this kid would be able to beat him. Didn't mean he was going to lie down and let him take this win.

No, he was going to make him go through a living hell that he had to barely worm his way to victory if he could. Teach him the hell that exists even if you're skilled that you'll nearly die against some opponents, and hopefully, that even if you're a seemingly invincible monster. That the opponent being somewhat inexperienced doesn't mean you can't be taken down by them.

When the battle finally happened, Tyr was more than ready. He was surprised how well Squalo kept up with him, occasionally mimicking moves that Tyr had used and then trying to throw him off with it. It was exciting, he had never fought himself, his own sword style, so having that mixed in as well as the brat learning quickly as they fought made this battle exhilarating.

Blow for blow, swords crossed, blocked, parried, a dangerous dance that went on almost endlessly neither could even think for a second about the fact it had been two days and a whole night since they started. They didn't have time, they needed to ignore the hunger and thirst they had as they continued to clash, bleeding out more and more. It was no longer a battle of pure skill but endurance, and Tyr being a bigger target, meant it was easier for Squalo to eek in more damages.

But Tyr was always inhuman with his limitations, charging the kid he goes to stab him but blocked again, though Tyr could tell he was weakening much faster. He could see an intense fear flash in Squalo's eyes, that he was forcing to become excitement and enjoyment of this battle so that he wouldn't falter. But that only made what happened next make sense. Squalo when Tyr had been pulling his sword back from the block ran at him wildly swinging his sword in what was clearly unthinking desperation. A move only someone who was still new would even attempt.

These were the final blows needed, tearing apart Tyr's chest and leaving him with lethal wounds. He laughed, falling to the ground. He weakly says to Squalo.

"Heeeeey... Welcome ta the Varia brat... You know, the victim's supposed ta choose how they die... So can ya take my head off fer me with my sword? I think that'd be fittin'."

He was glad that Squalo didn't hesitate. Whatever was the reason it was that he listened seeing his own heavy blade lifted over his head, the last sight that many of his own victims had seen, made him elated. Shame he couldn't experience the full drop as his life was removed as it slammed into his neck, decapitating him.

And one chapter closes, that doesn't mean I won't write about him other times for before this time. But it felt a fitting end in the terms of this month.

It should be noted that yes, Tyr's signature way of killing people is kicking them over and decapitating them. Which is why he thought it'd be fitting that his life was ended that way too. But this fight gives Squalo plenty of reasons that he never fucking talks about this to the point that the only person who even mentions this battle is Dino.

Also yes, that was Scontro di Squalo, as it was said this was the final move that Squalo created and what was that killed Tyr. Which I had been thinking about a lot. We probably only see a more refined version of it, and interestingly a move we only see succeed against other sword masters as every battle that it's used, even Yamamoto's version of it fails against non-swordmasters or people who aren't playing by normal sword play rules like genkishi.

It is a move that would only theoretically work against someone expecting mastery, and is extremely hard to deflect or counter just due to the sheer amount of sword swings coming your way. But if they don't do that and go around it, then you're kind of fucked.

#khr oc #OCtober #my art #my oc #tyr #blood #gore mention

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haus-seeblick · 2 years

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Suptober Day 1! "We Should Talk, Dean"

Rating: Gen

Ship: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Tags: Corn Maze, Feelings, Fluff & Humor, Kid Jack Kline, The World's Vaguest Declaration of Love

Summary: Dean finds himself alone with Cas in a corn maze. Will he be able to avoid talking about his feelings? Or will he finally make it through the maze of his own brain and drop those three little words?

Read under the cut, or on ao3 here!

“What’s a corn maze?” Jack pipes up from the backseat as Dean speeds down what feels like the thousandth mile of monotonous midwest highway. There’s only so much golden grass you can look at before it starts to make you itchy, and Dean’s more than ready to get back to the peace and quiet of his room at the Bunker.

Sam twists around from the passenger seat to face Jack. “It’s when farmers cut a maze into a field of corn stalks. The stalks are usually taller than humans, so people can walk through the paths and try to find their way out.”

Jack bounces on his booster seat — Dean cringes as he hears it dig into the leather. “Can we walk through one?”

“I don’t see why not,” Sam says, looking at Dean with raised eyebrows. “There’s plenty of them around here, and we could use a stretch break.”

“We can stretch at home,” Dean says. “We’re just a state away at this point, no one’s gonna die.”

Sam leans into his space. “It would be a great human moment, ” he hisses pointedly into Dean’s ear, even though the occupants of the backseat possess superpowered angelic hearing.

“We don’t have to, it’s okay,” Jack’s voice is small this time. Dean glances into the rearview mirror and sees the kid hunched back in his seat, looking dejectedly out the window. Something pangs deep and sharp in Dean’s chest at the way-too-familiar posture. He shifts his eyes over an inch to meet Cas’ in the mirror. Of course Cas is already looking.

“What do you think, Cas?” Dean asks.

“I think it would be an enriching experience,” Castiel replies. “There was a sign a few miles ago that advertised pie at the next farm, in case that sways your verdict.”

Sam sighs, dragging a hand through his mop of hair. “Dean doesn’t have a verdict. This is a democracy. Who votes for corn maze?” He raises his hand.

“Ooh, me!” Jack perks up instantly, his grubby kid fingers rubbing on the car ceiling as he stretches his arm up.

Dean and Castiel make eye contact in the mirror again, and Castiel shrugs with a small smile as he lifts his hand, too.

“Well, joke’s on all of you, because I was gonna say yes, anyway,” Dean says, raising his hand and flipping the blinker to pull Baby over at the next big Corn Maze This Way! sign. Jack whoops with glee and shakes his fist at Cas, angling for a fist bump. Cas chuckles and obliges, and if Dean’s cheeks feel very warm as he watches that exchange, he studiously ignores it.

The farm they pull up at is pretty cute, for a farm, Dean figures. There’s a red barn and wagons with hay bales, a pumpkin patch (though Dean thinks that’s a tad excessive — it’s just the first of October), and a stand selling hot cider and (Cas was right) apple pie.

“Nice place,” Sam remarks as they make their way from the parking lot over to the marked corn maze entrance. “We’ll have to grab some pie before we head out.”

Jack’s bouncing along next to Cas, holding his hand but only loosely, since he rarely stays still enough for that. De-aging the young God gave him all the energy and attitude of the seven-year-old he resembles, and Dean sometimes finds himself missing the teenage Jack. At least his godly power’s stored somewhere safe off-world with Amara until the kid’s lived some of his human life. Dealing with a second-grade nephilim is quite enough.

Dean shells out some cash for their maze tickets and they stop in front of the entrance path. A few families pass in and out next to them, and Dean notes that the kids coming out look significantly more cranky than the ones going in. He hastily strategizes how he can make this go as quickly as possible.

“All right, let’s choose teams,” he announces.

“Teams?” Castiel tilts his head.

“Might as well make it interesting,” Dean says. “Split into two teams. Losers have to do the Bunker laundry for a week.”

Sam laughs. “Oh, you are on. I’m great at mazes.”

“I call Cas!” Jack shouts.

“Hmm, I think we need to split up the angels,” Sam says thoughtfully. “Cas has enough of his grace left to give him an advantage.”

“Pfft. The Winchester bros could totally go up against a couple of angels,” Dean scoffs, elbowing Cas in the ribs.

Cas just squints at him. “We would clobber you, Dean,” he says evenly.

“I’d rather not risk it,” Sam adds, even as Dean splutters. “Let’s do me and Jack, and Cas and Dean.”

“Why do you get the full-power angel?” Dean demands.

“Because I want to win, and I hate washing your sheets,” Sam responds smugly. “What, you don’t think you and Cas can take us?”

Jack gets in the spirit, planting himself next to Sam with his arms crossed, narrowing his eyes at Dean and Cas. Dean pulls a face at him.

“Dean and I are an excellent team, and will not be doing laundry this week,” Castiel says. He grips Dean’s arm, and, in an unfair display of strength, tugs him into the entrance of the maze. “First ones at the exit win!” he calls over his shoulder, and Sam and Jack jog to catch up.

At the first fork in the path, the teams nod at one another, then branch off. Dean hears Jack chattering away at Sam for a solid minute after they part ways, and is suddenly very glad he ended up with Cas.

It’s totally the only reason he’s glad.

The towering corn stalks muffle the enclosed path, the rustling of their dry leaves and the soft thuds of Dean and Cas’ footfalls filling the silence.

Dean’s suddenly painfully aware that they’re very alone — not something that happens often, since they have a kid-kid now, on top of still taking hunts here and there. When they do find themselves alone for a few moments, Dean usually concocts some sort of excuse to get out of there as quickly as possible. He knows Cas has picked up on it, but the guy never says anything, just watches him go with inscrutable eyes.

It’s just that Dean’s not sure what to say. Or, more accurately, he knows exactly what he wants to say, but he’s a huge coward and doesn’t have the balls to march up to his best friend and tell him “Hey, by the way, I love you too, but losing you was the worst damn thing in the world, and it made me hit the rockiest rock bottom I’ve ever hit, and the thought of that happening again is almost unbearable.”

So he does what he’s always done best — he stretches out his arm as far as it’ll go and keeps that possibility firmly at the end of it.

At least Cas doesn’t push him about it.

“We should talk, Dean,” Cas says into the muted air between them.

Dean blinks.

Well.

“About our strategy? Yeah,” he says. “We gotta go north, I checked that shitty crayon map at the ticket desk.”

“About what I said back then,” Castiel says gently.

“So to go north, we gotta ideally keep the sun at our right shoulder.”

“Dean, it’s not something we can ignore forever.”

“We can start working our way left, and correct with slight rights.”

Dean rounds a corner, and Castiel reaches out, planting a broad palm on Dean’s shoulder. Dean huffs out a breath and faces him. “C’mon man, we’re in a race here.”

“We also need to talk about your prayers,” Cas says.

Dean’s brain all but record-scratches. He stares at Cas, at those blue eyes, maze forgotten. “Wait. What?”

A sunbeam filters through the cornstalks and dapples Cas’ face. “Recently, I— I’ve found that I can pick up on prayers again. Not everyone’s.” He drops his eyes, scuffs a shoe in the dirt. “Just yours.”

“Well, okay, buddy, that’s cool, but I haven’t been praying, so I don’t know what you think you’re pickin’ up on.”

“You might not be praying consciously,” Cas says, quietly, still not looking at him. “But I hear your conflicting thoughts. What you want to say to me. What’s holding you back. It’s like your mind is reaching out to me, knowing you yourself can’t.”

One part of Dean’s brain is running through the symptoms of a heart attack, because he’s pretty sure he’s having one, another part is static-blank, and a third part is idly watching the sun play in Castiel’s unruly hair.

What comes out of his mouth is, “Uh.”

“Breathe, Dean,” Cas reminds him mildly. “I’m right here.”

A lungful of hay-sweet air. Just on the crisp side today, a nip of autumn setting in.

Cas is right here.

“I—” Dean starts, and Cas moves closer, tentatively, with a questioning crook of the eyebrow. Dean nods, because it’s all he can do, and Cas simply steps right up against him and pulls him into a hug.

“You don’t need to say anything,” he murmurs against Dean’s hair. “Please just remember that I won’t leave. Not willfully. Not ever again.”

And something in the vicinity of Dean’s sternum, or maybe his stomach, or his entire chest, shakes loose and sends him tumbling forward, wrapping his arms as tight around Cas’ waist as he can manage, as if he might float off if he lets go.

“I wanna say it,” he whispers. “Just maybe— maybe not today.”

“I’m patient,” Castiel replies. His voice rumbles through Dean’s chest.

Dean pulls back first, though he holds onto Cas’ arms for a long moment. “I’ve, uh.” He clears his throat. “I’ve missed you, man. Missed just hanging out.”

Cas’ eyes crinkle gently with his smile. “Let’s see if we can buy ourselves some extra hanging-out time by earning a laundry break.”

“Oh, shit!” Dean jolts and quickly checks the sun. “Left, we gotta go left.”

They hurry through the maze, and the air that felt close and stifling earlier feels fresh and invigorating now, and Dean can hardly believe how tall he’s walking, how bright the sky is, now that Cas has lifted his burden and tossed it away.

There’s just one more thing nagging at him.

“Hey, Cas,” he says as they waver at a crossroads before diving right, “Um. So you’re listenin’ in on my head now? How many of my thoughts we talking, here?”

There’s a pause. “Only the ones directly about me,” Cas answers, far too neutrally.

Dean cringes. “Like, uh, any time of day?”

“I’m not sleeping much, so… yes.”

Heat creeps rapidly back into Dean’s cheeks, but before he can formulate a diversion, Castiel says, “I would be amenable to making some of those thoughts manifest. Sometime.”

Dean definitely doesn’t trip over his own feet. He does, however, choke on air and cough so heartily that Cas has to slap his back.

“Cool,” he croaks.

It’s only thanks to Castiel’s heightened senses that they make it to the maze exit at all.

They do not win.

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

Jack brags about his and Sam’s victory all the way home. Dean just cranks the radio, breathes in the sweet smell of the fresh apple pies on the backseat, and occasionally glances at the rearview mirror just to see blue eyes looking right back.

A week of laundry is worth it.

#suptober22 #destiel fanfic #dadstiel #wooh suptober is back!#posted my very first fic one year ago today :')#thanks suptober #suptober day 1

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