Between dreams and reality

Hiatus. Daybreakstorm's writing blog for Bangtan, GOT7, EXO, and 100%. Shipping fics only, no idolxyou fics or scenarios. Requests are closed.

[exoauprompts]

phoenix!au where chanyeol was born with a phoenix inside him and in order to bring it out he has to find the light that will set his heart on fire

[mark-helsing]

If you're a writer and you see this post, stop what you're doing.

WHENEVER YOU SEE THIS POST ON YOUR DASH, STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND WRITE ONE SENTENCE FOR YOUR CURRENT PROJECT.

Just one sentence. Stop blogging for one minute and write a single sentence. It could be dialogue, it could be a nice description of scenery, it could be a metaphor, I don’t care. The point is, do it. Then, when you finish, you can get back to blogging.

If this gets viral, you might just have your novel finished by next Tuesday.

[yeahwrite]

NaNoWriMo boost! How’s everyone’s project going?

[tranquil-twilight]

45 rokbum ;)

This is. Literally. Years late. But I’m back!

45: Illusion

Sometimes, when Rokhyun thinks of Changbum, he’s not whollyconvinced it wasn’t all just a dream.

Looking at old photos, old videos, Rokhyun hesitates. Hisfingers run down against the image, brushing against his face, his smile. Evenwith this proof, he wonders. Was Changbum ever really with them? Or had he beendrifting away since the beginning, a brief pit stop with no intention of staying?

It’s a horrible feeling, to doubt like this. It taints everymemory, every recollection. He doesn’t want to doubt a friend. A brother. A…something. He doesn’t dare put a title to it. There’s no room for that in anidol’s life.

But maybe even that something was a fantasy too.

He tries not to linger on it too much. There are otherthings to worry about. Their comebacks, their training. There’s no time towaste on extraneous thoughts. But in the night, when there is nothing, just himand the too-cold blankets and the silence, Rokhyun finds himself wandering.

Changbum is there. Warmth. Skin against skin. Rokhyun doesn’tmove, sleepy, asleep, but Changbum does. He rises in the dead of night, getsdressed, gets packed. Rokhyun stays unmoving, and when Changbum is done, he padsback to the bed. He drops a kiss to Rokhyun’s forehead. “I’m sorry,” Changbumsays. A soft whisper, imaginary, real, Rokhyun doesn’t know. Maybe it’s onlywishful thinking. But it’s enough for Rokhyun to finally, finally move, tosurge up from the blankets and –

And Rokhyun wakes up, reaching for a figure that isn’tthere. A dream? Or a long-forgotten memory?

But in the end, it doesn’t matter which, does it?

Because right now, he’s not here.

Nothing but an illusion.

[yysera]

Who do you thinkin exo would be possesive or overprotective with their partner??

Lay, Xiumin or Chen…. Chen and Lay maybe even to the point of being quite controlling. 

[tranquil-twilight]

46. junghope/hopekook ♡I miss you and I hope you're doing well♡

OMG WE HAVENT TALKED IN WHAT FEELS LIKE FOREVER???? (also when did you change to Kas I used to call you smth different and I was so lost for a while lol) I miss you too! I’m doing ok, had a bad semester but things are looking up now so that’s good :D Also, I still owe you another fic, don’t I… Hmm. I should get back to work on that even though it’s like months late… 

ANYWAYS. Thanks so much! I’m putting them as father/son instead of a couple, if you wanted junghope as a couple let me know and I’ll write another one ^^;

*** 

Sometimes it hurts to look Jungkook in the eye.

It hurts to see the loneliness there, the pain, thepaper-thin wall of false bravado he presents to the world not enough to hidehis feelings. Hoseok knows his son better than anyone in the world, and he cansee when he’s hurting.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and watches Jungkook’s gaze falter.

“It’s nothing, Dad,” Jungkook replies, quiet, firm, andthere’s strength in those words, strength that shouldn’t be there in a ten-year-old’s voice, and Hoseok’s heart aches all over again.

Hoseok just looks at him, and Jungkook breaks eye contact. “It’snothing,” he insists again, unprompted, and Hoseok sighs.

“What did I miss this time?”

It’s a mark of how often this has happened that Jungkookdoesn’t even deny it after that. Jungkook swallows, stares at his feet. “Therewas a competition today,” he says, whispers, and Hoseok takes a deep,shuddering breath.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but both of them know things won’tchange. Can’t change. Hoseok is toobusy, now, trying to support himself and his son and his wife, with too littletime for anything, even his son.

The fact that Jungkook can look him in the eye and say “It’sok” with complete sincerity shows maturity that he should not have, not yet,and Hoseok is the one to look away this time. Jungkook should be a child still,unreasonable and selfish and yelling that his dad doesn’t love him if he missesa single dance recital, storming to his room and sulking for hours until Hoseokbrings him ice cream or something in apology. Hoseok had never wanted Jungkookto grow up so fast.

Jungkook heads to his room quietly after dinner. Hoseokstays at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in his hands, left untouched longafter it grows cold. He loses track of time, sitting there, remembering,mourning. Lamenting a past that he had taken for granted, a present that couldhave been so different, a future that would never come to pass.

He doesn’t know what time it is when Jungkook creeps backdown the stairs, but he knows it’s long past his bedtime. “Jungkook? Why areyou up? Go back to bed.”

“You go to bed,”Jungkook retorts, and Hoseok cracks a smile, because this – this is the banterhe imagines from a ten-year-old child. “Why are you still up, Dad?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” is all he says, and he stretches in hisseat, knocks over the forgotten tea. “Oops. I’ll just clean this up then we both go tobed, ok? I can’t take you to school tomorrow, I have work at 7.”

“Dad, it’s Saturday. I don’t have class.”

“Oh.” Hoseok considers this. When had the days blurredtogether so easily? “Sorry. Still have work, though.”

“Ok.” Jungkook doesn’t look surprised. A little sad, alittle disappointed, but not surprised in the least. “Hey, Dad?”

“Hmm? What’s up?”

“I can’t sleep either. Can we watch a movie or something?”

It’s Saturday, Hoseok remembers. Jungkook can afford this.And Hoseok isn’t going to sleep any time soon without some help. “Sure, kiddo.Anything you want?”

“Not a sappy love story,” Jungkook mutters, and Hoseoklaughs because the last time he’d played theNotebook and Jungkook had cried like a baby. Then he frowns, becauseJungkook shouldn’t have had any idea of the grief, the loss, shouldn’t havebeen so affected.

“Right,” he says, rapidly, shaking away the thought. Hepicks out a random Disney movie, pops it in. Should be safe enough to prevent tears tonight.

Neither of them are paying much attention to the screen, butit’s comfortable, the pair of them, leaning against each other on the couch. It’sbeen a while since they’ve been able to spend time like this, just relaxing with each other, and Hoseok lets himself enjoy it.

Hoseok falls asleep and dreams of his wife, his head in herlap, her hand in his hair, running through it lightly, rhythmically, soothingaway his worries and letting him sleep peacefully for the first time in months.

***

Jungkook stares down at his father’s face and counts thelines, the wrinkles. There are so many more there than there used to be. Thedusting of gray hair at his temples, too – that’s new. It wasn’t there a few months ago, and Jungkook swallows the lump in his throat.

Dad is getting old,and there’s nothing Jungkook can do to stop it, no matter how quickly he triesto grow up. It’s like the faster he tries to mature, the older Dad gets too, both of them stuck in a race against time that neither can win.

Dad’s fallen asleep, the old geezer. He always fell asleepthrough movies. Jungkook reaches out, hesitates.

He remembers, before – Mom would always run a hand throughDad’s hair when he was sleeping. “He sleeps better when you do it,” she saidwith a smile. “See? Doesn’t he look like he’s smiling?”

Hoseok doesn’t look like he’s smiled in months.

Carefully, Jungkook lets his hand brush against his father’sbangs, then his temple. Hesitantly, he starts to comb Hoseok’s hair, gentle,fleeting touches, scared of waking him.

Jungkook watches as the deep furrows in his father’s browseem to fade, smooth out, watches as Hoseok’s lips curve into a tiny, tinysmile.

Hoseok’s heart might hurt for his son, but Jungkook hasalways felt pained for his father too.

“Let’s visit her when you have time,” he says, softly. “We’lltalk to her again. It’ll be good for you to see her.”

Even if his mother wouldn’t remember her son, it would be worthit, as long as Dad could smile again.

[molliehooper-deactivated2014082]

SEND ME A SHIP AND A NUMBER AND I'LL WRITE A SHORT FIC

soulmates au

childhood best friends au

teacher/student au

teacher/single parent au

one night stand and falling pregnant au

meeting at a coffee shop au

fake relationship au

roommates au

meeting online au

high school popular kid/nerd au

partners in crime au

writer and editor au

co-stars au

lab partners au

meeting in the E.R/A&E au

brand new neighbours au

meeting at a party whilst drunk au

waking up with amnesia au

parents meeting when they take their kids to class au

dysfunctional relationship au

best friends sibling au 

two miserable people meeting at a wedding au

meeting on a train ride au

literally bumping into each other au

librarian/avid reader au

sitting on the same park bench au

meeting at a support group au

knocking on the wrong door au

going away to war au

tourist/knowledgeable local au

prostitute/client au

doctor/companion au

celebrity/fan au

meeting at a masquerade ball au

one of them trying to get the other one off of drugs au

living in a society where their love is taboo au

meeting in prison au

cop/person getting a speeding ticket au

long distance relationship au

exes meeting again after not speaking for years au

ghost/living person au

star-crossed lovers au

falling in love with their best friend’s partner au

one of them being diagnosed with a terminal illness au

pretending to hate each other au

nanny/single parent au

meeting at a festival au

meeting again at a high school reunion au

boss/intern au

going through a divorce au

[tranquil-twilight]

New Year's Resolution - Youngjae

For @iamashamedofmyfanfics - sorry it’s so late omg!

This is part of her Guardian Angels AU, please read it it’s great :D

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

***

Warnings: mentions of death, violence, no actual violence or death.

***

Youngjae glances out over the crowds, his brow furrowed. The place is ridiculously full, all the single people and party animals out for the holiday, determined not to end the year single. Youngjae can barely see his target through the throngs of people, but Youngjae is careful to keep an eye on him.

His current target is chatting up a chick at the bar, his wallet gone from his back pocket. Youngjae hadn’t had a hand in that, but he’s supposed to play a role in the discovery of the loss, and he sighs, heart heavy.

Youngjae’s expression grows darker, watching the pair. The girl is obviously interested, leaning in close, sipping seductively from her fruity drink. The guy is a little tipsy, a little too loud and boisterous, but sincere in his affections, so focused he hasn’t noticed when a thief had slipped the wallet from his pocket.

   Buy her another drink.    The guy spies the girl’s glass growing empty, gallantly offers to buy her another of the same. She giggles, nods, watches as he flags down the bartender.    He orders confidently, flashing her a smile, then reaches nonchalantly for his wallet when told the price.    But - it’s not there. He frowns. Pats his pockets, twists in his seat.    Was it stolen?    The guy kicks his seat back, swaying slightly. “Someone,” he slurs, loud, angry, “someone took my damn wallet!”    Another guy knocks into him. “Shut up man, you probably just dropped it somewhere. Get out of here and let me buy the lady a drink.”    He stole it.    “You shut up! You stole my wallet!” And the first punch is thrown, and the second, and the 10th, and the entire bar descends into a brawl, drunken arguments suddenly escalating too far. Bottles broken, glasses cracked, stools splintered, people lying groaning and flat out unconscious on the floor, and in the middle of it all one righteously-angry man in search of his wallet’s thief.

Plenty of chaos caused in one go. 

Except- Youngjae watches, watches as the glass of fruity cocktail grows emptier, watches as his opportunity grows closer, and doesn’t make his move. He can see the end result in his mind, can see the chaos he would bring, but he can’t bring himself to do it. 

Can’t make this man chase after a thief when Youngjae still remembers, still regrets. 

It would be easy. Youngjae hasn’t been doing so well lately, he needs the points, but- 

“What’re you thinking about?” Bambam asks, and Youngjae nearly jumps out of his skin. 

“Where the hell did you appear from???” He nearly yells, stumbling backwards. 

Bambam laughs, slinging an arm around Youngjae’s shoulders. “What else? My target’s in this bar. I gotta get him before the year ends, this is getting super annoying. He doesn’t even have a guardian angel! Literally what the heck.” 

“Maybe you’re his guardian demon?” Youngjae teases, laughing when Bambam squawks and immediately lets go of Youngjae to smack at him instead. 

“I’m trying ok!!! Besides - hey, aren’t you supposed to start a fight? My target’s supposed to slip on some whiskey and land on the broken bottle. Not the best way to go, but his fault for not dying in the nice neat car accidents I set up for him…” 

 Bambam rambles on, but Youngjae’s smile slips from his lips at the reminder of his job. The girl is two sips away from finishing her drink. Even without his prompting, the guy is going to go for his wallet. The question is what he’s going to do with the knowledge that it’s gone. 

“Youngjae? Are you ok?” Yugyeom asks quietly, and Youngjae shrieks again, jumping nearly out of his skin. 

“What is with you two and sneaking up on people?” He yells, glaring at the reaper. Yugyeom laughs, perching his elbow on Youngjae’s shoulder. Bambam, smirking, comes back and slings his arm back around Youngjae’s shoulders, and Youngjae nearly falls under their combined weight. He hates being the shortest. 

“Get off of me!” He whines, trying to shrug them off, but they’re immovable. 

“Nah, I’m good here. You two are waiting for your targets?” Yugyeom asks, peering into the crowd. “Bar fights are always a good source of chaos.” 

“Yup! My target’s going to die this year, for sure,” Bambam proclaims, and Youngjae falls silent. 

Yugyeom notices, of course. The reaper sees a lot more than he lets on from under that hood of his, and Youngjae hates it sometimes. “Youngjae? You’re probably supposed to stir up some trouble, right?” 

“Chaos demon here,” Youngjae murmurs, staring resolutely over the crowd. “It’s what I do.” 

Yugyeom hums, tilts his head onto Youngjae’s. “I don’t know about that. Chaos can occur through good deeds too, no?” 

Across the floor, Youngjae’s target kicks back his seat. “Where’s my wallet?” He roars, and Youngjae starts towards him, finally slipping free of Yugyeom and Bambam’s hold. 

Yugyeom quickly grabs hold of his wrist, keeps him in place. “Wait,” he says, soft. “Just wait.” 

One guy yells drunkenly, “Sit down, you probably just dropped it,” but someone else stands at the other end of the bar. 

“It’s ok,” he yells, a brilliant goofy smile on his lips. “It’s New Year’s, everyone! Let’s just be happy. Drinks on me, guys!” 

The entire club cheers, ragged and drunk and exuberant. Youngjae watches in awe as chaos erupts, people flooding to the bar, some tripping, but others helping them up. The bartenders mix drinks, get them wrong, get a few yells of discontent, but free drinks are free drinks and most just take what they can get. 

Nobody is fighting, nobody is angry, but the only way Youngjae can describe the scene is… well, chaos. 

“Somehow, I don’t think this is what Hell means when they want me to create chaos,” Youngjae murmurs, staring in amazement. “Do you think they’ll let me get away with it?” 

“Probably not,” Bambam says with a grin, “but it’s New Year’s, maybe they’ll let it go.” 

Belatedly, Youngjae remembers - “Hey, Bambam, isn’t your target supposed to die?” 

Bambam waves it off. “Nah, it’s fine. He can live until next year. A day or two won’t make much of a difference to me, but it’ll make a difference to him.” 

A moment of silence, watching the harmonious chaos in the club, and then Bambam mutters, “Besides, the amount of alcohol he’ll have to pay tonight for is going to be astronomical. He’ll go bankrupt before he dies - imagine the negative emotion you can harness from that!” 

Snorting, Youngjae turns back, lets out a small sigh of happiness. The countdown is starting. The ravers are chanting, loud, uncoordinated, in and out of phase as people speed up, slow down, yell conflicting numbers just to screw with everyone else. Chaos, even here. 

Sure, this isn’t the chaos he’s supposed to be causing, but it’s a lot nicer than what he was supposed to do. And besides, it is New Year’s, and he can probably afford to take this hit to his credit. 

“5!” 

Youngjae reaches out, holds tight to Yugyeom and Bambam’s hands. 

“4!” 

He remembers, before, New Year’s spent huddled around a fire, hands linked, family holding onto family. 

“3!” 

Youngjae swallows, glances to both sides, thinking of his old friends, looking at his new ones. 

“2!” 

Yugyeom squeezes his hand reassuringly. Bambam sends him a smile. 

“1!” 

Youngjae takes a deep breath and faces forwards, ready to take on the new year. 

“Happy New Year’s!” 

Cheers erupt once again, and Youngjae smiles. He can see his target, lipocked with the girl he was trying to pick up earlier. He can see Bambam’s target too, the guy spotting the entire bar for the night, still downing alcohol without a care in the world. 

“Thanks,” he says, soft, watching the revelers, and Yugyeom pats his shoulder, Bambam rests his chin on the other side. “Thanks, guys.” 

“Happy New Year’s,” they chorus back, and Youngjae laughs, happy to have spent the time with his friends. 

*** 

Jinyoung groans, long and loud. He can’t believe Mark didn’t even need to be here for his target to live - damn Youngjae for not starting the fight the way he was supposed to. Sighing, Jinyoung slips out of the bar, wondering if his target is drunk enough to walk out in front of a taxi for him. 

*** 

Mark grins to himself, sending a wink to Yugyeom across the bar. Yugyeom waves at him subtly, and Mark slips out of the bar, whistling cheerfully as he follows Jinyoung. He has a car accident to stop. 

*** 

Under his hood, Yugyeom’s lips curve into a smirk. He’d finally made up for that time he’d crashed all those cars - his record is back to mostly neutral. And, he’d managed to make Youngjae’s New Year’s. Pretty good, if he did say so himself. 

*** 

“But I’m a demon by birth! You can’t fire me!” “A demon that’s failed their assignment consistently. It’s a new year, and your target’s still alive.” “I - I know! Give me one more chance, please? I can do it, I swear!” “…one more. That’s it.” “Thank you! I promise I’ll be able to do it.” As Bambam scarpered out of the office, he made a promise to himself. No more good deeds…

*** 

Youngjae stares at his target. It’s back to business, and his target hasn’t changed. He’s still asleep after spending a night with his newfound sweetheart, and Youngjae sighs. 

Quietly, he brushes against the girl’s head, whispers, “I should leave before he kicks me out.” She slides out of bed, takes a last longing glance at her one night stand, then leaves, silent, unseen. 

Youngjae knows, the sadness, uncertainty that his target will experience, that’s enough negative emotion to fulfill his quota. But… 

Carefully, Youngjae finds a scrap piece of paper, scribbles a name, a number. It’s not hard to find that information when you’re a demon. This is his retribution, he thinks, staring down at the distant relation of a thief he once… knew. This is his gift to someone he stole everything from. 

“Happy New Year’s,” he whispers, and slips out the door, silent, unseen.

[tranquil-twilight]

2015 Fic Meme!

Total Word Count: 63,336 words, not including tagfics and tweetfics.

Fandoms Written In: EXO, BTS, GOT7

(the rest of this meme under the cut)

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you'd predicted? Actually, I ended up writing more. Sure, it’s not a lot compared to some (most) people, but for me, this is a lot of fic. What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January? OK NO SERIOUSLY EXO WHY. (On a more serious note, I didn’t think I would write namseok. Even when I was writing the story I didn’t think it would be namseok. It wasn’t until like a few weeks before the fic was due that it became namseok lmfao) What's your own favorite story of the year? Damn. Um. Honestly? Oh there’s so many to choose from. Gah. But I’m going to say Crowbar. I thought I did well with it (other than the crappy ending). Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them? I wrote a lot of longer fics this year, and joined some fic fests and just wrote more actual stories instead of tagfics in general. Honestly, I didn’t stray very far from my usual writing style, still always going for flashbacks and present tense 3rd person, but I think I had a good range of AUs this year compared to previous years of writing. It’s given me a look at world building and building characters too. Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year? I said this before, but basically trying to branch out from the style/genre that I’ve been stuck in for a while, and just attempting to do some new things. And, of course, trying to finish more longfics, the bane of my writing existence. Even my longest longfic right now is shorter than some oneshots. What am I doing with my life.

*** 

From my past year of writing, what was…

My best story of this year: Probably Close Your Eyes. My most popular story of this year: By subscribers on AFF: Still Close Your Eyes. By notes on tumblr: Swings (though this is likely influenced by the blog it was posted on).  Most fun story to write: Oooh. Probably the age-reversal Yoonmin.

Story with the single sexiest moment: I JUST REALIZED I HAVENT WRITTEN ANY LEGITIMATE SMUT THIS YEAR WTF. The thing that comes closest would be Imperfect Puzzle/Codependency. Most "holy crap, that's wrong, even for you" story: Imperfect Puzzle/Codependency. I turned Namjoon from the wronged groom abandoned at the altar to an abusive manipulative boyfriend. Honestly. Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters: Probably How Are You. Writing Hoseok like that was... strange, for me. I usually write him as a more upbeat character. Hardest story to write: How Are You. It turned too personal too quickly, and I tried to do too much with it with time I didn’t have. Biggest surprise: Well. Also How Are You. Because the original draft for this story was entirely different from the fic that I turned in.  Most unintentionally telling story: See I would say How Are You, but no. That story was intentionally telling. Probably See You Around. Or, actually, I’m Sorry I Love You, but that’s a yoonhwan and nobody read that even alex lolrip *** Favorite Opening Lines / Introductions: Yoongi hates his job. Yoongi hates people, hates interaction, hates greasy oily food and greasy oily people and he wonders what exactly made him decide to work in a damn family restaurant that’s open 24/7. Oh, right. Rent’s due soon, and I’m down to my last $28.34. - untitled yoonseok prompt fill “Just do it, come on, Yoongi, he’s like right there just go for it you wuss.” “Shut up Jungkook you little shit – and call me hyung you brat I’m still two years older than you.” “And I’m still like half a head taller than you now go out and just talk to him oh my god.” “I can still kick your ass any day Jeon Jungkook now stop shoving me-” “Yeah, well at least I had the guts to confess when I had a crush on someone. Just go, Yoongi-hyung.” - untitled yoonmin prompt fill

(I can’t believe I had to search so hard for these damn I gotta work on my openings it seems) Favorite Closing Lines: “How are you?” Namjoon asks, quietly, against his lips, and Hoseok smiles. “I’m good.” Really good. - How Are You

“You should have been the writer,” Luhan tells Yixing, flat, emotionless. Of course Yixing would understand. “And you should have been the photographer,” Yixing replies, gentle, apologetic. “Maybe then we would both have been truthful with each other.” - A Picture’s Worth (A Thousand Lies)

(Oh look weak endings too what am I doing as a writer tbh) Favorite 5 Line(s) from Anywhere: He wants to answer, wants to spill his thoughts in words the way he always had before. Brown, soft, that coat was the heaviest thing either of us owned but he was always cold regardless, sneaking his hands into my pockets and lacing his fingers with mine. Red, scratchy, it was soft when I gave it to him but the washing machine messed it up, he wore it anyways and gave himself a terrible rash, redder than the scarf ever was, White, pale, when he was sleep-deprived and on the verge of sick I told him his skin was getting whiter than the sheets, he would pretend to be annoyed but still refuse to stop working, refuse to stop until his images were on the page the way he envisioned them. - A Picture’s Worth (A Thousand Lies) 

He’s crumpled against the door, his leg aching (he can’t even cry in peace any more, fuck) and he knows he’s useless, knows he’s pathetic. Knows it, but isn’t willing to do anything to change it. He curls in on himself and wonders what it would be like to just go to sleep and never wake up again. - How Are You 

“我想你.” “You already said that one, ge.” “I know.” - Sunrise

Stupid, really, that Jongdae had always boasted of his skills in a zombie apocalypse, and yet had been the first to die. Stupid, too, that Yixing, blank, dumb, stupidly, ignorantly kind Yixing, is the last to go. - Crowbar

It isn’t. He had worked hard for it, the same way he had worked hard for his dancing, doing the most difficult parts over and over and over again until they seemed easy for anyone observing. It was never easy, but it made other people think it was effortless, and that was what performing was about.  - How Are You Top 5 Scenes from Anywhere You Would Choose to Have Illustrated: Yixing’s small, bittersweet smile when he faces Luhan at last in A Picture’s Worth (A Thousand Words)

The final fight scene/escape in Breaker, with all of their powers in use.

Jongdae’s sacrifice scene in Crowbar, especially Tao laughing through his tears

Yixing standing outside Luhan’s door, so close yet so far, knowing but not wanting to know in  Close Your Eyes. 

Chenlay spooning in Sunrise . New year's resolutions: LONGFICS. LOOOOOOOOONGFICS. And changing genres. And working on endings and beginnings and also having better imagery??? how come I have no scenes I want illustrated???????? I should work on this. (Also. Working on diversifying my writing. Why is everything in here exo???) *** Word Count Totals: → total finished, posted fic: 63,336 words, 25 fics → longest posted fic: Close Your Eyes (16k) → percentage of fics started and completed in 2015: I can’t actually calculate, but I’m relatively certain I finished over 50% of the fics I actually started. Of the fics I just planned out this year... let’s not go there. Characters (posted fic only): → most common narrator: Yixing (6 fics, though I switch narrator often in fics) → most common character: Yixing (8 fics as a main character) → most common pairing: Xingdae (7 fics... is anyone surprised...) list of completed stories: (not including 100 word drabbles and some ask prompts) Imperfect Puzzle/Codependency - NamJin Coffee - Unnamed pairing Promise - Xingdae Close Your Eyes - Layhan, Krishan, Xingdae See You Around - SugaMonster I’m Sorry (I Love You) - YoonHwan Unnamed prompt fill - Jikook You’re the One - Xingdae Unnamed prompt fill - Yoonseok Unnamed prompt fill - Xingdae Unnamed prompt fill - Yoonmin Unnamed prompt fill - Sukai Crowbar - implied Kray Swings - Sexing Unnamed prompt fill - Yugbam Sunrise - Xingdae BTS Prologue Interpretation 1 How Are You? - Namseok Breaker - Jimin EXO Sing For You Interpretation 1 A Picture’s Worth (A Thousand Lies) - Layhan Christmas Truce - Xingdae

Tagging any writers who want to do this and haven’t yet!

[tae-hopeful]

“We should make a promise or something about these unwritten fics.”

“i was thinking about that a lot, to be honest. I had a dream once where, for one reason or another, I was dying and the entire time I was mourning all my stories that nobody would ever read.”

“Isn’t that how Edgar Allen Poe basically lived?”

Keep reading

[tranquil-twilight]

Go check out tae-hopeful’s writing blog at @hopelessbubbles for BTS fics!

[tranquil-twilight]

Christmas Truce - ChenLay

A/N: Merry Christmas, everyone! Here, have some angst. 2k words. Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, unresolved ending, implied long-distance relationship/taking a break from a relationship. Liberties are taken with their promotions and activities and current living conditions, as well as any other details about their private lives.

*** 

It’s cold.

Yixing takes a deep breath and instantly regrets it, the freezing air stinging his lungs and sending him into a coughing fit. He’s been on the verge of sick for weeks now, never quite getting to the point where he’s bedridden, but also never quite recovering fully, leaving him always worried that he’ll keel over with a fever without warning. Just in case, he’s always armed with extra coats, thick handwarmers and scarves and any accessories he can think of to keep warm, thermos full of warm tea on hand and vitamin C tablets downed with every meal. One can never be too careful.

Even in the cold weather, Yixing is as busy as ever – busier, even, and he throws himself into his activities. When he’s working, he doesn’t have as much time to think about things, to reminisce, to yearn.

But tonight – tonight is a holiday, Christmas Eve, and nobody’s working. Yixing is left to himself and his thoughts and this is exactly what he’s been trying to avoid for several months now.

It’s cold – he should probably do something about the heater – but instead of covering his nose he takes another deep breath, lets the sting reduce him to his coughs and tries to curl in on himself in the bed.

Just a year ago – one short year, he thinks despairingly – a year ago, he would be spending this time with his members, warm, happy, safe, surrounded by people who love him and are loved in turn and knowing that he isn’t alone. He would be going to bed in the living room more likely than not, everyone bringing out their pillows and blankets for a giant sleepover. Nobody gets any sleep on nights like those, but they like to pretend anyways, everyone dressing appropriately for bed and cuddling up in their blankets, some members shushing the others intermittently as though they would actually be able to get some rest.

Yixing would have a place laid out for him, a place among his members, and he wouldn’t be afraid of them, afraid of their judgement, as he laid his head down beside them. He would join in the conversations, laughing, offering his own opinions at times, and at others content to listen to his members avidly discuss mundane topics.

Instead, he’s here, alone in China, feeling lost even though he’s home.

There’s no clock in the room, but Yixing’s phone tells him the moment the clock changes to 11pm. The screen lights up, Christmas wishes from all his colleagues and friends in Korea flooding his phone, the way idols are wont to do. He wonders, a little cynically, if people keep a list of “friends” that they should message on major holidays, if only to keep that networking connection alive.

Regardless, he smiles at every one, quickly opens his chatting systems to send messages back. It’s an hour early here, of course, but he should think of the others in Korea. Responding an hour late would be rude.

There’s one chat room he doesn’t open, though notifications pop up from it intermittently as he responds to other messages. Only when the giant influx of Christmas well-wishes has stopped does he dare look at the group chat, his group chat, and the messages within.

Joonmyeon, the ever-diligent leader, sends his message at 12 on the dot. Chanyeol, with his eager excitement, is next, followed by several lines of emoticons expressing his disappointment at not being first. Kyungsoo tells Chanyeol to stop spamming, then sends a succinct Merry Christmas. He hasn’t seen any of the other messages – Yixing suspects Kyungsoo muted the chat room after saying what he wanted, as he was wont to do when things got hectic.

The rest of the chat continues in a similar line, people popping in to say Merry Christmas and exchanging banter, and Yixing can nearly imagine the scene. They’re probably all sitting together, texting on their phones while right beside each other. Chanyeol and Baekhyun bickering, both in text and in person, losing track of which conversation is spoken and which is written – it would certainly explain the disjointed messages Yixing is seeing. Kyungsoo giving his input over Jongin’s shoulder, having reprimanded everyone else for being glued to their phones but unable to stay away from the electronic conversation for long, leading to the oddly dual-toned nature of Jongin’s responses.

Yixing can see it all, and it aches deep inside him, worse than any cold could be, and he takes another deep breath, letting the cold air sting his lungs again. Any pain is better than this, this longing that can’t be resolved.

Forcing a smile on his face – even though he’s just texting, Yixing lives by the creed that smiling will make you sound happy – Yixing sends them an emoticon-filled message, along with well-wishes and hoping that everyone is safe and warm and he hopes that everyone is enjoying Christmas together.

He doesn’t say, I hope you guys are all warm because I’m certainly not. I hope you guys are all together, because I wish I was with you too. I hope you are all happy, because I haven’t been in a long time.

The chat room fills with messages again – I hope you’re warm and happy too, hyung! Hope everything’s going ok! Keep your head up! And Yixing thanks them all, feeling warmth bloom in his chest. It’s not the same, but it’s nice knowing that they still like him, still think well of him.

There’s one person’s messages conspicuously missing, though – or maybe it’s just Yixing is looking too hard for them, and he lets out a soft sigh, the smile slipping from his lips. Faking happiness can only get so far in the end.

Disappointment settles somewhere deep in his chest, weighing him down, and Yixing swallows hard, rolling over, curling up again. It’s cold. So cold. His phone is heating up in his hands, almost too warm, but it’s too cold here in China all alone.

And then –

KJD: Ge?

And Yixing’s heart jumps, stutters, stops for a few long moments and then starts up again, hammering in his chest at the contact name at the top of the screen.

It’s been months since he and Jongdae have talked now. Yixing’s last message says I’m sorry and was read and left unanswered. But now, out of the blue, the chat room is revived, and Yixing is quick to type a reply.

ZYX: Yes?

KJD: will you pick up if I call?

ZYX is typing…

ZYX: yes

And after a long, long minute of waiting, Yixing’s phone vibrates, and after a few long moments of hesitation, he answers.

“Hey, Jongdae.”

“Yixing-ge.”

Yixing takes a deep, deep breath, swallowing hard. It’s been a long time since he’s heard his name, spoken like this, a hint of a Korean accent. Jongdae’s voice is soft, a little shaky, but so familiar, and Yixing shuts his eyes.

“Jongdae, what’s wrong?”

“Ge. I. It’s just – it’s Christmas.”

Yixing is silent, waiting. Jongdae’s low sigh is audible through the phone, and he says, carefully – “Truce?”

And Yixing is reminded – there have been tales, legends almost, about truces that have been held on Christmas, wars that stopped for just a brief night. He hardly thinks this fight between him and Jongdae is a war, but it certainly feels as cold as one.

And that Jongdae asked for a truce says so much, Yixing thinks, even as his grip tightens around his phone. It means Jongdae is still upset, not willing to accept Yixing’s apologies yet, but it also means Jongdae still cares, still wants to talk to Yixing, still wants to keep him in his life. “Of course,” he chokes out, his voice thick with unshed tears. “Of course, Jongdae.”

Jongdae breathes a sigh of relief, as though he had been worried. He takes a few minutes to breathe, and then, like he can’t hold back any more – “Ge, are you ok? We don’t hear from you as often any more.”

And oh, it feels good to realize that Jongdae’s been noticing, that he’s been paying attention to details like this even while they’re apart, even while they’re upset, and Yixing feels the first tear fall, even as his smile grows wider. “I’m… ok. It’s cold here, without you guys.”

Without you, Yixing means, and Jongdae knows it. “Make sure you layer up then, ge, and drink tea! You should be able to get good tea in China, right? Are you going to bring any back for us? I want to try your favourites.”

And just like that, it’s so easy. It’s so easy to fall back into the familiar patterns, to put their argument aside, to pretend they’re ok and nothing is wrong. Yixing laughs, reassures Jongdae he’ll have plenty of tea to sample, promises to stay as warm as he can without Jongdae there to help. He shares stories of his acting, his shows, talks about how weird it is to write music and sing without him, how strange it is to be surrounded by Chinese all the time after being immersed in Korean for so long.

Jongdae, in turn, tells Yixing about everything he’s missed, and in the background Yixing can hear the muffled clamor of the other members – Jongdae must have gone off on his own to make this call, and it only makes Yixing’s heart ache more. Jongdae whines about the members being busier, tells Yixing about their most recent stages (Yixing had watched, and he wonders what his costume might have been like, what his Santa outfit might have been), and laughs with Yixing about the members’ antics on V app.

It’s like Yixing never left, like he’s just a car ride away instead of a plane ride overseas, and for a moment, he lets himself imagine – that he’ll be back with them soon, that he’ll be by Jongdae’s side again.

But their charade can only last so long, and the moment breaks when someone – Minseok, Yixing thinks, trying to hear the voice clearly – pokes their head into the room Jongdae is in. “Jongdae, we’re about to go to bed, you joining us?”

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a sec,” Jongdae says, and Yixing hears the door close, hears the silence that follows. The intrusion, no matter how well meaning, has broken the moment, broken their tentative truce, and reality crashes back upon them.

And then, in the silence, Jongdae quietly, quietly whispers, “Ge.” And Yixing hears it, the way Jongdae’s voice breaks. “Ge, I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Yixing barely whispers the words out. “I missed you so, so much. And I’m so sorry, you know, I’m so sorry that I haven’t been there, and I’m sorry that I can’t change it, won’t change it, but I’m still sorry-”

“I know,” Jongdae bursts out, raw, “and I wouldn’t want you to change it either I know what this means to you – what it would mean to me – but I’m still upset, ge, I’m sorry, I know, but just – I still.”

“I know,” Yixing says, and his heart is full to bursting, overflowing, he understands, he knows, but he also knows that the reason Jongdae is so upset is because he cares too much, not because he doesn’t care enough. “I’m so sorry. I love you.”

“I love you too, ge. I’m still waiting,” Jongdae says, and just like that, the phone call ends.

Yixing stares at the phone for a few long moments, lets it fall back to the bed. Their truce is over. Tomorrow, Yixing will go back to work, speeding through scenes faster than ever in order to make up for the holiday, in temperatures even colder as December marches on. Tomorrow, Jongdae will go on to performances, practices, promoting as part of Exo and ignoring Yixing’s presence, as they are wont to do.

But for tonight, Yixing thinks of Jongdae’s smile, his laughter, the way he had said “I’m still waiting,” and he closes his eyes, lets himself smile.

Merry Christmas, he says silently, to someone who can’t hear, to someone he knows understands, even if he still won’t be forgiven. And thank you.

Thank you.

[tranquil-twilight]

A Picture’s Worth (A Thousand Lies) - LayHan

A/n: this is intentionally vague in places. One day I might write the full story, for which this is a prologue, so there’s probably a lot of things that don’t make sense yet, but hopefully this is interesting enough that people would want to read more! Inspired by Luhan’s Medals MV.

*** 

The exhibition is a relatively small one, only a few rooms, mostly smaller photographs lining the walls. Despite the small size, the opening is packed, fans and paparazzi alike flocking to see the photography that a formerly prolific author had produced, his first work and public appearance in years.

There’s no clear theme to the images at first glance. An ocean sunset, portrayed in vivid, vibrant, violent colour, next to a sunrise taken in the same spot in peaceful black and white. A notebook, left open to an unfinished page, the ink still wet, a picture of a pen lying forgotten beside it. Colour beside black-and-white, chaos beside order. No rhyme, no reason, just raw, unfiltered feelings, bleeding through the ink. Not a professional’s work for sure, but somehow, the slightly unpracticed hand lends the pictures something, makes them seem more real, unscripted, like in the heat of the moment they had to be taken to express feeling.

Luhan walks around the gallery mindlessly, looking at the pictures but not really seeing them. He doesn’t have to. He’d seen them thousands of times before, had them imprinted in the back of his mind for months, years, haunting his dreams. He knows these images all too well.

Most people don’t seem to know who he is. As an author, Luhan had rarely shown his face, never putting it in book jackets or in magazine interviews. Even so, the paparazzi are good at their jobs, and he finds microphones in his face throughout the evening, fans quick to follow behind. He’d usually at least try to be civil, but when he’s surrounded by his mind laid bare for all to see, he can’t really find it in himself to smile.

“What do the pictures mean?”

Luhan nearly laughs at that one, a mirthless huff escaping his lips. “The titles say all that I would tell you,” he answers them, nodding towards the small plaques beneath each picture. Most of the titles are single words, sometimes two, epithets, odd phrases. The sunset is titled Goodbye, the sunrise Nostalgia. The notebook, oddly, titled Photographs, the pen beside it Camera. Luhan doesn’t explain more, letting people interpret them as they will. He knows what they mean. That’s enough for him.

His black and white photos seem to be garnering the most attention. There’s a few people staring at Duality, a photo Luhan had taken years ago, right after he’d stopped writing. A single carnation, pale, lying on a dark wooden table, a cup stain still visible beside it.

“I wonder what colour the flower really was?” Someone murmurs, and Luhan stares at the photo for a long time. Funny thing, memory - he can remember flowers of pink and yellow both, lying on his table; the question is, which one was the one in the photo he took?

Does it matter? he wants to ask them. Wants to ask him. In the end, the meaning was the same. You didn’t stay.

But Luhan doesn’t remember the flower’s colour, doesn’t remember its meaning, and so he’d called it Duality, for the unclear colour, for the unclear meaning, for what it had actually meant instead of what it was supposed to mean.

He turns away. He’d lost enough sleep over that flower, years ago. He doesn’t need to be reminded of it.

The centerpiece of this room is black and white too, just as unclear. Missing. A coat, a scarf, darker colours stark against a pale bed, sheets rumpled like someone was just there minutes ago, like they’re just missing from the frame.

It looks odd in black and white, the colours too close, not enough contrast to be a good black and white photo. “What were the colours here? Why black and white?” Luhan hears, and he swallows.

He wants to answer, wants to spill his thoughts in words the way he always had before. Brown, soft, that coat was the heaviest thing either of us owned but he was always cold regardless, sneaking his hands into my pockets and lacing his fingers with mine. Red, scratchy, it was soft when I gave it to him but the washing machine messed it up, he wore it anyways and gave himself a terrible rash, redder than the scarf ever was, White, pale, when he was sleep-deprived and on the verge of sick I told him his skin was getting whiter than the sheets, he would pretend to be annoyed but still refuse to stop working, refuse to stop until his images were on the page the way he envisioned them.

In the end though, Luhan says nothing, just swallows his words and stares at the picture. It was always supposed to be black and white, the colour visibly missing, just like the person missing from the image, like he had dragged the life out of everything when he left.

If only he had taken the memories, the feelings, as easily as he’d left himself. Luhan’s lips purse tight, and he’s glad that there’s nobody pestering him now, because he wouldn’t be able to respond to them civilly.

He turns, strides quickly to the largest room, goes to the piece on a pedestal in the center. This is where masterpiece would go normally, the greatest work that the artist has to show. For Luhan, the photo placed there is the reason this gallery exists.

The oldest photo he’s taken, a small photo, of the standard size, tiny compared to most of the prints. A pair of hands, belonging to different people, fingers laced together. Not a creative photo, nor a recent work, nor technically sound. In colour, the image is slightly blurry, the hues just the slightest bit oversaturated, developed by an amateur.

Luhan steps closer, staring at the way the hands meet, perfectly in balance, intertwined but not locked, gentle but insistent. He remembers, the way it felt, smooth skin, cold fingertips, a soft smile. You want this to be your first photo, Lulu? I’m touched.

“And what’s this piece called?” And the voice from behind Luhan is familiar, too familiar, and Luhan’s heart stops for a long, long moment before starting again.

The title is right below the picture, a golden plaque winking at them with A thousand words engraved on it, but Luhan shuts his eyes and answers, “Lies.”

And Yixing laughs, soft, bitter, quiet, stepping closer so he’s standing beside Luhan as he reads the plaque. “A picture is worth a thousand words, all of them left unsaid, all of them lies,” he murmurs, a crooked smile twisting his lips.

“You should have been the writer,” Luhan tells Yixing, flat, emotionless. Of course Yixing would understand.

“And you should have been the photographer,” Yixing replies, gentle, apologetic. “Maybe then we would both have been truthful with each other.”

[tranquil-twilight]

Reblog if you are a fanfiction author and would like your readers to put one of your fic titles in your ask + questions about it

1: What inspired you to write the fic this way?

2: What scene did you first put down?

3: What's your favorite line of narration?

4: What's your favorite line of dialogue?

5: What part was hardest to write?

6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?

7: Where did the title come from?

8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?

11: What do you like best about this fic?

12: What do you like least about this fic?

13: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn't listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?

15: What did you learn from writing this fic?

[tranquil-twilight]

MV interpretations - Sing For You (1)

Sehun’s meeting with the blue whale is a warning. Specifically to him, about what could happen, would happen, if he disappeared. 

***

Sehun opens his eyes and he’s in space. Floating free, untethered, unbound. Completely and utterly alone, for the very first time in his life.

For the first time in his life, he feels free.

As we’ve seen, Sehun can be quiet at times. He’s probably someone that needs time alone, but it’s hard to get that while being a public figure, while promoting with a bunch of group members constantly beside him. Sometimes, he craves loneliness, wonders what it would be like to just be completely alone.

Out here, the most he can meet is that blue whale from that one story, and Sehun smiles, having finally found the peace he’s wanted. He doesn’t even have a way of going back - not that he wants to. He floats, alone, eyes wide with wonder, with joy - and is suddenly hit with memories - visions - of his members, everyone all together, laughing.

Kyungsoo, Jongdae, Baekhyun, Yixing in a car. Minseok playing basketball with Jongdae and Yixing and others. Pretty much everyone together in a bar, laughing, drinking, playing together.

Sehun is alone in space but all he sees are the times when he was never alone.

And then, people start to fade from the images, and Sehun sees what happens to the people that are left behind. 

Kyungsoo, alone, screaming and crying in his car. Baekhyun, slumped at an empty bar, devoid of the liveliness he’s always had. Jongin, walking out into the snow with nothing more than a thin blanket against the elements, one that he soon discards.

Chanyeol and Joonmyeon, fighting, no holds barred, even though it looks more like they just want to hold on to each other and never let go.

Sehun, in space, sees what happens when everyone leaves, goes their separate ways. Maybe these are different futures - in one, Kyungsoo is the only one left, and Baekhyun and the others have all disappeared. In another, it’s Baekhyun left to watch as everyone else leaves.

Regardless, they all have something in common - Sehun is nowhere to be seen.

And Sehun, alone in space, finally having found the peace he’s craved, realizes - this isn’t what he wanted, this was never what he wanted, he needs to go back, needs to find everyone and stop this from happening - 

Joonmyeon disappears, and that’s the last straw. Sehun screams, and everything changes.

Minseok reaches out to Jongin, who reaches out to Kyungsoo in turn. A blue whale - the blue whale - floats by Sehun, blinking one giant eye slowly. Baekhyun reappears, as though he was never gone, still laughing. Yixing returns midair, the basketball flying from his hands cleanly. The car is full again, the bar is full again, the courts are full again. 

And Sehun isn’t alone, but he doesn’t need it any more. He stares down the whale, the symbol of everything that he could have if he left, and says, I don’t need you.

And he wakes up, and everyone’s together, and Sehun promises himself he’ll keep it that way.

*** 

No, I don’t think SM believes that Sehun would be the next to go. But he’s a safe scapegoat, one that could be used in this story without a giant uproar being started. Imagine, if Yixing was the main character of this MV - what would people think? That he was the one in space, floating away from everyone, alone? Everyone would probably be jumping on that imagery, saying that he’s slotted to leave Exo, maybe be a member in name but not in promotions, maybe he’s coming out with more solo activities, maybe he’s ditching Exo after all. 

Sehun, being one of the people least likely to leave Exo, or at least one of the people at least believed to be least likely to leave, is a safe person to use.

Do I think this MV is directed at the members that left? Absolutely. The members disappearing, one by one, the blue whale appearing before Sehun, grand, majestic, alone. A threat, perhaps. Or a temptation. Is this the grand future you dreamed of, Sehun? Great, famous, and alone?

The blue whale represents the future that SM has painted for the members that leave. The image of the members left behind, broken, betrayed - that too, is what SM wants us to remember. 

This MV is a reminder, that the people most affected are the ones left behind. While you’re off chasing your dreams, the people left alone are crying, mourning for you, for the relationship you once had.

They want to remind us, and the members, that leaving is a betrayal, and that it will always be remembered as such.

[bwihob]

you were all i ever wanted; but not like this

[fyeah-chanyeol]

real__pcy 151127 Instagram Update: 히히 끝나기전에 호잇!!

[leadersehun]

In a recent interview luhan said he screams in his sleep and at first I laughed because it sounded ridiculous. But….now it’s kind of sad… What does he see? What sort of trauma did he have that caused this? Chen also said he heard luhan before too.. :(

[sofboys-deactivated20201222]

I also wondered. You don’t scream just because. Talking is one thing, screaming is another.

[leadersehun]

This is so sad because I’m just imagining little luhan when he was younger having night terrors. What happened….????

[sofboys-deactivated20201222]

I don’t know…

[tranquil-twilight]

For Suho, I think it would have been better if he'd been put into ravenclaw. The foresight to look into each house, learn about them, and overthink his placement would be best suited towards that house, seeing as to how there really wasn't any reason i could see for putting him in hufflepuff.

I strongly considered ravenclaw for suho too! My reasoning for hufflepuff was actually this: hufflepuff is the house for the loyal and hardworking, and also for the people that “don’t fit in anywhere else” (As Hufflepuff takes them all and ‘treat them just the same’.)The way I see it, there’s two types of people that are sorted into a House: People that have an abundance of the associated trait, and people who greatly value the associated trait. (And the people who specifically choose the House they want, but they’re a class all their own.) Above all else, I see suho as hard-working. He is smart, yes, but knowledge is not his focus, nor his real desire. Perhaps I overdid his overthinking; I wanted to portray that he embodied the aspects of all the houses, and thus suited most to the House that would accept him as he was: Hufflepuff.

This is mostly based too on his canon personality. Someone who perseveres for 7 years, training at something that he isn’t guaranteed a future in, especially when he had a clear, easier path in something else (cough academics) - I can only see him as a Hufflepuff, to be honest.I’ll try to reword his Sorting, then, since it appears that I’ve gone off the track. His research was meant to show how hard-working he was, that he would read up on even something like this to try and prepare himself. I also tried to point towards the fact that he fit all houses, not just Ravenclaw. Because he values bravery, and cunning, and intelligence, he wouldn’t pick just one value to foster. Thus, the Hat placed him in Hufflepuff, where he would be allowed to flourish the way he wanted, through his own hard work and effort.Joonmyeon is one person that I’m unlikely to Sort into a different House, though, because his role in the story revolves around him over committing to too many projects at once. This is where his true Hufflepuff nature shows through: he rarely rejects someone when they ask for help, and will do his utmost to aid someone else, even at the expense of his own health and, yes, academic well-being (which perhaps a Ravenclaw might not be willing to sacrifice). 

Loyal and hard-working to a fault, I think that he probably fits Hufflepuff the most out of the three that I’ve sorted into that House.

Thank you for commenting!