#Not only do I have a crippling fear of bridges and oceans

[enderio]

If anyone’s looking to get anxiety so bad you can’t breathe then boy oh boy do I have the thing for you! Just play the caves and cliffs update for minecraft

if the utter isolation doesn’t get to you, then the fear that you might not be truly alone will!

#“Ender are you okay?” HAha! NO! #Not only do I have a crippling fear of bridges and oceans #Now caves terrify me too! #Fr tho I am not well #End’ times

[prof-peach]

if fans wanted to include peach in stuff they write, would that be okay? and how would they write peach's personality? aside from "FIGHT ME" anyway, i think that much is a given lol. i only really write the anime characters 'cause that's what i know, but it sounds like it'd be kinda fun to try making a version of ash that fits into this blog's universe! nerf'd Obviously, but i think she'd probably appreciate how hands-on he gets when training his pokemon!

Ok, I get a lot of these messages, and I often hear folks wanting to throw peach into their stories and comics and writings, and I will always simply ask that if it’s published online publicly, to be linked to it so I can snoop and enjoy the content too. If someone asks about her in your work, let them know about the blog I guess? But literally I love that people take this stuff, these characters and stories, and make new stuff with it. No ones making money off my work here? So where’s the issue? Go for it buddy, knock yourself out, I’m all for it.

For you, and all the others out there who want to add peach, and other characters to your world building, I will give you a detailed rundown of the main lot, and how they behave, what they do, how they function. You can use that, use bits, or use none of it, I do not mind at all. If you’re creating something, you’re in control, not me.

So, peach doesn’t actually fight people as much as you’d think. She’s very aware most cannot and do not want to do that, and so she likes to keep to herself with regards to that aspect of her life, she doesn’t ask to spar with people, or even bring it up at all, but people ask her all the time, even if they clearly would lose or become hurt should she miscalculate during the fight. She looks at people like they usually create problems, and often has a somewhat reserved nature to other humans. You have to work quite hard to get anything more than formalities out of her. She will dead-pan handle people with blunt and very to-the-point statements, aid whenever possible, but very quickly get back to handling the Pokemon she so carefully tends. Her focus is clear, she’s all about hard work, her very small select family, and the Pokemon.

Her brutal, loud and brash personality only comes out with friends, family, difficult humans, OR any Pokemon. She will joke and laugh and play with Pokemon, but clam up around humans, maintaining tight body language and generally will be a little cold by regular standards. She does however have some weaknesses in this emotionless shield she puts up. When peach was young she was always angry, which swung so fast to sadness, back and forth. Her teenage years it just got worse and worse, it was crippling at points. She is to this day, full of fire and rage, even sadness, but now she has learnt to control it, to use it. When she sees that in others, it’s familiar, and she is pushed to drop the front, and be very real with the person. Underdogs I suppose, people who get bad reps, but deserve the same as everyone else. She can’t ignore it.

Once you start to pry open her personality, you’ll find she’s a lot more laid back and fun than originally appeared, you just have to work hard to find that side of her. She will meme reference, can’t dance to save her life, loves her coffee, and can be caught in quiet contemplation while gardening. This hobby is her calmest, and often is why she can stay so level headed when her quiet rage boils up again. Without time outside she will become grouchy, a little snippy, and lethargic. Will not go in the ocean for any reason other than life or death, is fine with ponds and rivers, or water at wading height. Likes the rain.

With regards to her training others, they usually have to tolerate her somewhat strict nature. She is a little....unforgiving, holds a grudge if you make a lot of mistakes, and has no tolerance for ignorance in the age of information that we all live in. In previous posts I’ve mentioned she’s only recently selected two students, after many years of testing kids who want to learn from her. Hundred tried out, only two have ever been approved. How she teaches is very fast paced, be prepared to get some scrapes and bruises, she will test your physical and emotional tolerances with intense tasks, carefully watching students like a hawk. Bad posture in your stance? She’ll be the first to tell you to sort it out. Not hearing your Pokemon partner? Right, now you spend the day without using words trying to communicate, let’s see how you like not being listened to.

This is a woman who has spent her life saying very little, and watching everything, she watches Pokemon and can see an issue from a mile off, and in battles, her observations are why she can react fast, and chose effective strategy to avoid damage and achieve results. Don’t let her body fool you, her strongest asset is analysing, watching, planning. Those skills have over the years transferred to people too. As a student, mistakes don’t go unnoticed with this professor.

Her methods are harsh but fair, and should you prove yourself, she will protect you with her life.

Because of her disinterest in kids and lots of noise, she does pass the training of students on to the other staff members whenever possible. Grey takes on the lions share of battle lessons, he is far calmer, more open and friendly, with patience for people, and an empathy that peach sometimes struggles to have. When you go through a lot of harsh training, and difficult events, it’s hard to change how you feel or think, with peach, well, she’s been through it. Most do not come out the other end in one piece, but she did, and it made her strong. You may think I mean strong like buff and big, and yeah sure she is, but I mean it mentally more than anything. Peach will not quit. She has learnt to destroy the boundaries that stop people getting hurt, gone is the fear that freezes you in your tracks, that feeling that you’ll pass out if you go one more step. She’s learnt to ignore it.

This means she’s a little forgetful at how it is to be normal, to be vulnerable and soft and squishy like students so usually are.

She has her issues, but for the most part, visitors get a laugh, a smile, a calm assertive confidence, and facts. She will indulge those who have genuine interest, or show a connection with nature, an understanding of the balance that needs to be struck for everyone to live well together.

Despite her many flaws, she’s fiercely protective, and will go above and beyond to defend the island, it’s staff, the Pokemon and the visitors. Injustice is her biggest gripe, along with littering, and she doesn’t stand by quietly if something happens that seems unfair.

You will not see her without Valka, her vulpix, close by. That Pokemon doesn’t like to be touched by strangers, at all, and will run the second someone comes at her with that intent. Peach will scold you for pushing yourself onto her, should you persistently try to get close to pet Val. They are in sync, if peach is sad, Val is sad, if Val is stressed, peach is stressed, and so on. They are inherently connected, it’s just been that long, the psychic bridge between them has been built, and reinforced over the years.

The only other Pokemon who follows her so endlessly is Booker, a teddiursa who’s pretty rough looking. He quietly trots behind, grouchy and stoic, they fight closely together a lot. He lost his mom a long time ago to poachers, and peach took him in, and changed her whole life for him. Not many people know, but Booker was the reason she left the rangers, changed career, and got so strong. Will tolerate people petting him but isn’t keen at all, grumbles a lot and tries to move away.

You may also need to know about the others, for the sake of writing, she here a few more bits that may be important to you, or others wanting to do this.

Grey is very tall, very burly, composed, tells bad dad jokes, is a bit of a goof if allowed to be. If he sees a pun, he’ll say it. Can’t help himself. Very nice guy to work with, good at keeping people calm and grounded. Pokemon are drawn to him like a moth to a flame, he gives off warm energy, and has inhuman amounts of patience. If you wrong his family however, he will snap back.

He grew up in the city, loves to swim and hike and cycle, can snowboard, is really sporty. A total brain box with held items, and boosting stats. He will explore many paths, to make sure visitors and students get the information they need, in a way that can be remembered and retained for later. Is a huge guy, but will get on the floor to play with a tiny Pokemon. Treats big “meaner” looking species like babies, very good with all pokemon.

His free time is spent either tinkering, swimming, or trimming his bonsai trees. This guy stares at screens a lot, so appreciates time away from them. Peach built him his own little greenhouse for his trees and tools, which he keeps clean and loves dearly.

His methods as a teacher are built around fun and games, he makes hard work easier to do by distracting trainers from the difficult bits, and focusing in on something more interesting or compelling.

His most commonly seen Pokemon would be a houndoom, Saxon, old battle veteran, retired now to herding and being a good boy. Very gentle, loves a pet.

Pari, now a fully fledged nurse, often oversees the labs front desk and pokecentre features, such as healing pokemon, and informing trainers who come to visit. Her skills with eggs and hatchlings is high, she’s great with younger Pokemon, and hands out good advice to trainers a lot. She’s not a fighter, never was, but can find any file, any study, any book, and any refrence you may need. A true bookworm, loves her romance novels, chat shows and upbeat celebrity gossip mags. Will cry at a lot of stuff, be it sad or happy.

She’s got a seriously upbeat personality, but if caught off guard or shocked, she gets a little flustered. Too much chaos will overwhelm her, but usually she’s on top of things. The years spent on the island have made her better at maintaining composure in emergencies. With lots of siblings, she’s very competent with others, and has a good ability to disarm cagey people with her jolly nature. Because of this, she can sometimes gain information from trainers that some of the more harsh professors may not have access to. Charming is a word for it.

Her partners are an eevee, and a happiny. They are quite sweet and well adjusted, the eevee gets a bit bouncy if you get it too excited.

#if you dont want to use the refs #im really cool with it #just enjoy yourself buddy #pokemon #prof.peach #peach talks #prof.grey #pari #dotaku island #dotaku staff #PLEASE #just ask me if you dont know something #or feel i missed something in what i wrote

[theseshipsshallsail]

Chapter 1

The revelry from the bookstore leaves a heady buzz of la libertà flowing through their veins, and as the crescent moon climbs higher in a pin-pricked sky, Rome’s labyrinthine streets bear witness to the loss of their remaining inhibitions. Drunken kisses give way to drunken dancing - and unfortunate drunken vomiting - but the ancient cobbles are their compass on this ferragosto evening, steering them back to the complicit safety of their hotel. 

The stale scent of sex still lingers in the room, yet tempted as they are to add to it, the prospect of their imminent separation is a sobering force. Elio’s body is heavy with exhaustion. The oppressive tightness in his chest magnified by all that he’s trying to ignore. Their time is borrowed. Soon, all of this will be naught but memory. The man beside him nothing but a ghost. Haunting his every step with visions of a life denied. A future obfuscated by what-ifs and maybes.   

He refuses to sleep, however. Refuses to sacrifice a single minute to unconsciousness in spite of the grappa’s siren call. Absurd though it is, a part of him dreads waking up alone. That Oliver will disappear like a thief in the night - taking what’s left of his shattered heart with him. His guards are down - all his pretences stripped away - but here they are, stretched out on a too-small bed, solemn fingers caressing familiar skin. Worshipping each other by words, if not by the flesh. 

And it isn’t easy. Of course it isn’t. Elio’s an individuo reservato. A trait he’s uncomfortably aware of. But he can’t let that stop him from spilling his innermost thoughts. From divulging the things he wishes he’d done differently. Or not at all. In some aspects, he’s sure he’s repeating himself, but there’s just so much he needs Oliver to hear. Things he never dared tell him previously - never deemed vital - when the end of their summer idyll was a nebulous concept.  

Like how he’d leave the adjoining door open at night, hoping beyond hope that Oliver would walk through it. Or that afternoon at the tennis courts, when he’d recoiled from his massage for fear of leaning into the frisson of excitement. Needs him to understand his visceral reaction the morning after they first slept together. The crippling anxiety that twisted his intentions, necessitating a hasty - if short-lived - retreat. Wants to beg him not to forget. To remember everything. So that when next he tastes the salt-tang of the ocean upon his lips, the sweetness of apricot juice beneath a cloudless yonder, a piece of Elio - nevermind how fleeting - will slip into that parallel life, too.

All his secrets. 

All his worries. 

All he’s put off for later. 

A futile notion, admittedly, now that there is no later. 

No more chance for postponement. 

Thankfully, he isn’t the only one speaking, and Oliver lays his own regrets out like a hand of cards whenever he stumbles into a tongue-tied silence. His forearm is slung around his waist, their legs tangled at the knees, and Elio drowns in his eyes as he recalls the steely glares that once pierced him to the core, but which he now appreciates were a means of self-defence. An attempt to stave off the unavoidable.

“Did you mean it?” he whispers, twisting Oliver’s Star of David between his fingertips as he burrows into the sticky warmth of his neck. “When you said you’d been happy here?”

“How can you even ask me that?” 

“How can I not?” Elio replies, failing to control the tremor in his voice. “You tried to keep your distance when you arrived. It was me who sought you out. If I hadn’t pushed so hard -”

“I’d have probably spent ten more days kicking myself for my cowardice,” Oliver tells him, dropping kisses to his knuckles as though they’re something to be cherished. “Wearing holes in my espadrilles… trying to hide a semi each time you passed by in those swim trunks...”

Elio snorts. “The feeling’s mutual, mon ami.”

“So we’re both idiots, then?”

“Well… one of us was being purposefully difficult...”

“Goose,” Oliver growls, and Elio giggles despite himself when he’s tickled without mercy. “I’ll show you purposefully difficult.”

It soon devolves into a childish wrestling match, Elio’s wrists pinned above him as Oliver scrabbles along his sides, leaving him bow-taut and winded. “Tutto apposto! Enough!”

“You give?”

“I give,” he says, lungs heaving in his chest. “Dio… I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Nonsense.” Oliver rolls to the side, tipping his chin up to better meet his eyes. ”This is new to us both. It’s only natural to have doubts.”

Elio huffs. “Doubt is the father of inventions.”

“And may I ask what you’re inventing?”

An awkward shrug. “Nothing,” Elio says, afraid his misgivings will lead them down a destructive path. “And everything. You know how my brain works.”

“I do, yes.” Oliver brushes a thumb over his bottom lip. “Though for my sins, I’ve yet to find cause for complaint.”

“Déviant.” 

“Takes one to know one.”

Elio nips at the tormenting digit, not quite ready to let the subject go. “I want to hear it,” he murmurs, teeth scraping the nail. “I think I need to hear it.”

“Elio…”

“Just tell me,” he insists, and sighing, Oliver pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?” 

Impatience flares at the return of his evasiveness, and the remorse in Oliver’s gaze is immediate. “We never talked much about my family, did we?” he asks, and Elio shakes his head, shuffling closer as Oliver draws a shuddering breath. “My parents, they’re.... well. To describe them as traditional would be a kindness,” he continues. “Our relationship has been strained for years, but they have certain... expectations, I suppose. For my future, specifically. You know how it is.”

“Do I?” Elio asks, stiffening as I'm sure I'll pay for it somehow echoed from the not so distant past. 

The implication is clear, and maybe there are razor blades in his expression, because Oliver’s own turns instantly apologetic. “I guess not,” he says, sliding a conciliatory hand to his hip. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

Elio frowns. “In what way?”

“With your folks,” Oliver explains. “My father would cart me off to a correctional facility.” A beat. “He still might.” 

“Only if he finds out,” his traitorous mouth blurts before his alleged genius can catch up, and Elio’s heart sinks. “But he won’t, will he?”

It’s less a question, more a statement, and Oliver’s jaw clenches as he stares at him in silent concession. “I wish things could be different.”

“I know,” Elio says, the words braver than the sentiment behind them. “Me too.”  

But the universe isn’t that lenient. Like Icarus, they’ve flown too near to the sun, and the consequences of such defiance will see their wings clipped once they crash back down to earth. He’d cautioned himself on the journey south to prepare for the blow. Peered out the grimy window of the direttissimo, knowing that when he next stands on the platform he’ll be alone. That he’ll hate it. Those rehearsals, it seems, have done little to dull the pain of what’s to come, and latent superstition has left him fumbling in the dark, regardless.

“E’ la vita,” Elio says, resorting to self-preservation as he dredges up a smile - the over-bright, false one he’s perfected through years of dinner drudgery. “Why risk it all for a bit of fun, right?”

“Don’t do that.” Apparently Elio’s not the only one who can see through a facade. “You mean more to me than some fling, and you know it.”

“But -” 

“No. Hear me out.” Earnest, Oliver smooths the hair from Elio’s temple. “These past six weeks… I don’t know how to describe how important they were to me. The freedom. The acceptance.” His throat bobs in the grey strokes of dawn. “You.”

“Me?” 

“Us.” Oliver fidgets with a loose thread on Elio’s shirt. “I meant it,” he mutters at last, winding an errant curl around the index finger of his other hand. “I have been happy here. I’ve been happy with you.” He hesitates. A quick flash of indecision. “I’m not sure I was ever really happy before you.” 

“Please don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Per carità! That only makes it worse,” Elio says, whirling away to hide in Oliver’s collar. The sour musk of sweat is soaked into the material, and he inhales deeply, hoarding every piece of him while he still can. “You are the very best parts of me,” he confesses, lifting his head. “I don’t know what I’ll do when -”

“Hey…” Oliver’s grip tightens. “Didn’t we go over this? You’ll be -”

“Fine. You said.”

“Clearly it bears repeating.” 

Elio touches his face. Watches the ripples of emotion spread out like a pebble cast into the lake. “And you?” he returns, recollecting that night on the rock. His naivety in presuming Oliver’s ghost wouldn’t always be staring out at the horizon. Rodin’s Thinker clad in billowy cotton. “You’ll be okay?”

A breath. “I’ll be okay.”

Elio’s not sure which of them he’s trying to convince, so he kisses him gently in lieu of examining it further, his stomach flipping when Oliver pulls back with an air of exquisite softness. “What time do we need to be at the airport?” he asks, seeking sanctuary in distraction. “You have your passport, sì?”

“I do,” Oliver says, studying him carefully. “The plane leaves at noon. But don’t feel you have to -” He stops. Swallows. Tries again. “You don’t have to see me off. Not if you don’t want -”

“I want.”

“Elio -”

“Non essere ridicolo. I’m coming,” he tells him, fighting a shiver as the cool breeze from the window brings goosebumps to his skin. “Of course I’m coming.” 

The relentless tick of the clock rings loud in the sudden silence, and Elio raises up on his elbow, only for Oliver to cup his cheek before he can turn towards the wall. 

“Don’t look,” he whispers, sounding choked as he double checks the time on his watch. “It’s ten minutes fast at any rate.”

“Ten minutes?” Elio laughs. Slightly unhinged. “What difference does that make? Ten? Twenty? You still have to leave.”

He detests the unspoken word that hovers between them. The entire phrase a sullen admission of weakness: you still have to leave me.

“Don’t think of it like that,” Oliver murmurs, one hand stroking the base of his spine. ”We have a few hours yet.” 

Elio sniffs. “Not like they’ll matter tomorrow.”

“Maybe not. But they matter right now.” Oliver nudges their foreheads together. “Every second, Elio.” 

“Every second, Elio,” he echoes numbly, if only to call him by his name one last time.

He’s shaking, he realises, though in all honesty he doesn’t care that his vulnerabilities are on display. That Oliver can see how lost in him he really is. That the situation is gutting him, and he’s unable to stop the bleeding. His chest feels concave. The space below his ribs too small to contain the sheer need and protectiveness that washes through him. He wants to shelter Oliver from the storm that lies ahead. To house him beneath his breast where the burdens of this world cannot touch him. Encapsulate everything Oliver is within the confines of himself, meagre as those confines might be.

But what can he do? Implore him to stay? Ask him to give up his doctorate? His career? His responsibilities? And for what? A life in the shadows? Always looking over their shoulders. Always that sense of shame.

He thinks of the pink and yellow lilies that bloom in the giardino back in B. The delicate petals that unfurl for such a brief period of time. There’s something recherché, he knows, in such transitory beauty, yet Elio’s never lacked for stubbornness. Oliver may believe his story is already written - that their destiny is forged in stone - but no one’s ever survived a freefall by continuing to spiral. 

For something so tragically temporary, their bond has left a permanent mark. And Elio? He wants to beat his fists against this odious ending until they’re bloodied and raw.

#cmbyn #fanfic #elio x oliver #angst #last night in rome

[theskyeandsea]

A Fresh Start || Cutler & Skylar

Timing: February 20th, 2021

Location: Clarke’s Convenience

Tagging: @clarkesconvenience & @theskyeandsea

Description: Skylar goes to Cutler, hoping to make amends.

TW: Addiction, alcoholism, memory loss

Pulling her coat tighter around herself with her good hand, Skylar couldn’t help the way her feet dragged as she headed towards Clarke’s Convenience. She still didn’t know the full extent of the damage she’d caused, she didn’t know if she’d threatened him, if she’d hurt him, or if he’d ruined everything like she’d done to Nate’s store. But… she felt as though she owed it to Cutler. He was a stranger in all rights, but that just made what he’d done for her stand out all the more. He hadn’t needed to help her. He could have called the police-- he probably should have. But, he’d helped her. He’d bandaged her wounds. He’d talked to her. And in some way, it seemed as though he understood what she’d been through. With a sigh, Skylar forced herself to open the door of the shop and stepped inside, the bell overhead jangling faintly in the tinny reception of her hearing aids. “Hi… You’re Cutler, right?” She asked the man behind the counter, walking up to him hesitantly.

Cutler’s palm bounced off the side of the cash register, causing the change to rattle inside their plastic confines. No response. And then: the ch-ch-ch sound of a receipt printing from the top. A grin spread across his face as he imagined the cost of the repair fee he had avoided. “Hey, if it ain’t broke…” He trailed off as his focus was pulled from the customer in front of him by a familiar face stepping across the threshold. “Have a good one.” The words were flat and monotonous, pulled from a customer service script. His eyes never left the woman who was crossing the floor toward him.

“Skylar.” Recognition flickered across her face at the name. So it was her. Of course it was. She looked so different that for a moment he hadn’t been sure. It was as if the Skylar of a month ago’s face had been skinned over another. Except the eyes. When her eyes met his, they were the same as they had been that night; fierce and deep, like the ocean. “Hi. Yeah, that’s me.” He pushed the open cash tray closed, the ding ringing out into the heavy silence between them. “Are you-? I mean how are you feeling? You look much…” He searched for a word that would encapsulate the change in her. “...better.”

Skylar stepped out of the way as the person left the shop, ducking into one of the aisles of the store. As the door shut behind them, she made her way up to the counter, looking around the shop with curiosity mixed with regret. She had hoped that coming back here would grant her some kind of… revelation. That she would see the shop and remember what she’d done and so she could at least understand how much pain she’d caused. But, as she looked at the rows of shelves, the refrigerated cases along the back wall, nothing came to her. She’d never been here. Only that she had, she just couldn’t remember it. A sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach-- she’d never remember, would she? She’d never be able to get those days back.

As the man spoke up, Skylar grimaced slightly. “I’m,” Fine was the word that she would have said. Doing alright was another one. But both were lies. They’d been lies for a long time. And she was trying to… be honest with herself now. “I’m getting there.” She said with a slight shrug, the motion jerky and uncomfortable as the still healing skin of her side stretched. “You’re very kind.” She said, the words soft as she leaned against the counter, her bandaged fingers resting on the top. “I just wanted to come by and person to, um… To apologize. And to thank you for everything you did. I don’t-- I don’t really remember much from that night, but you didn’t need to help me.”

Cutler’s eyes followed hers around the shop, unconsciously checking for signs of their last encounter. The shelves were long since fixed, window panel replaced, produce restocked. The floors were whiter than they had been; the bleach had washed away more than just the blood. He nodded sympathetically, critical eye examining her clothing where he knew injuries lurked underneath. There was still tenderness and pain in her movements, an intensity withheld for fear of opening up old wounds. 

“Ah, I..anyone would’ve-it was nothing.” His hand waved in a dismissive motion at the compliment, as if brushing away the embarrassment. He focused his gaze on her fingers, finding comfort running the motions of potential treatments in his mind. “You don’t have to thank me. But I appreciate it. I know you weren’t yourself.” It struck him suddenly that he knew her, but she had no idea who he was. This was the rarest of opportunities: the second chance to make a first impression. “You want something to drink? We got coffee, juice, coconut water..” 

As he searched Skylar’s face, he saw something familiar in it. Something he had seen in himself, and turned away from. She didn’t need a friendly shopkeeper right now, she needed a friend. “Look, Skylar,” He scratched at the bridge of his nose, averting his eyes from the raw sensitivity in her features. It had not escaped him that his own coffee beside the register was, at this point, considerably more Kahlua than coffee. Devoid of the bright tones of customer service, his voice sounded tired. “It’s not easy, I get that. It’s fucking hard, and it’s not gonna get easier. But it is gonna get better.” 

The fingers of her left hand twitched slightly, one of the last remnants of the old Skylar, the nervous, anxious girl she’d been when she’d first come to this town. Glancing out the window of the store, she caught sight of her reflection staring back at her. The woman who stared back at her was someone she still didn’t recognize. When had she become so thin, when had her skin become mottled with cuts and bruises and scars? She didn’t know. She should, though. “No, it wasn’t nothing,” Skylar insisted, returning her attention to Cutler. “You could have called the police.” He probably should have called them. After all she’d done… it was a wonder she hadn’t been arrested. At his offer of something to drink, Skylar swallowed. “Ah… Coffee sounds nice.” She said with a nod. It was something to do, something to hold. And maybe the caffeine would take some of the edge off everything that she was feeling.

At his words, Skylar winced. It gets better. On some level, she knew that it was true. It’s what she’d told herself every time she’d been curled up in bed, crippled by the agony of not turning. It’s what she’d told herself when her mother had cut her off from the family, when she’d lost the only people who had ever loved her. She’d told herself that things would get better, only they didn’t. She’d tried and tried and failed. And now she was here. Maybe this was rock bottom, maybe this was the lowest she could be. And maybe Cutler was wrong. Maybe it wouldn’t get better. “I don’t know about that.” She said, voice hollow. “I want it to get better. But I’ve wanted that before. And I still ended up… here.”

Dots of cheap coffee splashed over the lip of the cup in front of him. Cutler slid squeaky styrofoam across the glass counter toward her, pressing the back of his hand into the rag hanging at his waist. When he flicked his eyes back up to meet hers it was with a steady confidence, his tone neutral and factual. “I know you can do it. You came back here, didn’t you? You didn’t have to do that.” He passed a few creamers and sugar packets over the rows of lotto tickets. “Is there anything I can do to help?” The sharp edge of the counter dug into his forearms as he pitched forward, full weight behind them. “You’ve already taken the first step, right?” 

The lights of the store were not kind to her; layers of discolouration and scarring jumped out from under her skin, accented by deep purple valleys in the hollows of her face. “Do you remember anything from that night?” Coffee and alcohol burned its way down his chest, settling hot in his stomach. “You kept saying people hurt you. And you almost-” A slight wince crossed his features, and he started again. “You could have hurt me, easily. But you chose not to, even in that state. You didn’t pass it on, Skylar. I think that says something. I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t.”

Nodding in thanks as he slid the coffee across the counter, Skylar lifted the cup to her lips and took a small sip. It was hot and it was something to hold, something to focus on besides this man who could have very well been another casualty of her mistakes. Just like the college students in the woods. The coffee tasted harsher against her tongue at the thought, more bitter than it already was. She needed to do something for the families, for the parents who’d lost their children. She had to make amends. “I did, though. It’s only right that I came back and tried to apologize.” She stuck her hand into the pocket of her jacket, pulling out an envelope. “I know you said that you had things covered, but please. You can help me by taking the money and doing something good for your shop.” She wanted to make things better because the money… it wasn’t good money. She’d been cleaning out her room, gathering the things she was preparing to sell, when she’d found the rolls of money tucked away behind her desk. She remembered her dealer pressing the money into her hands when she’d handed vials of her tears over, a greedy look on his face. “Please. Take it.”

Clutching the cup tighter, Skylar shook her head. “No. I don’t remember anything.” She said quietly, regret leaking into her tone. “Mmm.” Skylar hummed, thinking back to what Rio had told her she’d said. How she hated Hunters, how they’d done nothing but hurt her and fill her life with misery. “I can’t… say how I was feeling at that moment, I don’t remember any of what I said. But, I’m glad that I didn’t hurt you.” She said nodding her head. “I’ve hurt enough people. And I’m trying to make things better. If I can.” 

Cutler eyed the envelope on the table as she spoke. When he finally picked it up, it was with intentional apathy, as if she had asked for some change from the register or needed a recount. His thumb and forefinger pried the opening with a swift, practiced motion - usually these types of payments were given to him with swift glances under cover of darkness. But Skylar wasn’t a client. “I can’t accept this. I’m sure you need this more than I do.” He folded the top of the envelope back over with just a hint of regret, willing away thoughts of fresh paint and new shelving. It remained on the counter between them where he returned it, a quiet third participant in their conversation.

“I think it’s admirable what you’re doing. Making amends. It’s important.” His chin nodded toward the envelope. “What are you going to do now? Won’t you need that wherever you’re going?” The deep ridges of the counter lip stayed pressed into his forearms as he groaned his way back to an upright position, muscles screaming and stretching under several layers of wool and apron. “You’re still so young. You have your whole life ahead of you. It feels like the end of something, but maybe it’s the beginning of something else. That’s how I’m trying to look at it, anyway.” It was no longer entirely clear to him whether or not he was speaking for her or himself. Another sip from the cup. “Maybe I’m just sentimental.” 

Watching apprehensively as he thumbed through the envelope, Skylar watched his expression, hoping to see some hint of how he’d respond. But, he was a stone wall. There was no give and, as he slid it onto the counter, Skylar felt her stomach sink. “No-- Please. Please, take it.” She said. “Let me do this.” She said, an ounce of desperation slipping into her voice before she steadied herself. “Sorry. I just… I’ve done so much damage. And I want to fix things. As much as I can before I--” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “Just please take it.”

A bit taken aback by his question, Skylar blinked. “I, Mm.” She hummed. “I have money left over. It’s okay, really.” She said with a nod. She’d figure things out, she’d be okay. She knew what she had to do and this was part of it. She took another drink from her styrofoam cup while the man talked. The coffee wasn’t all that hot, she knew that, but after months of numbing herself to the pain of existence, it felt scalding against her lips. Still, she drank it, grateful for the sensation. It reminded her that she was still here. “It’s… both. An ending, mhm, but I’m hoping that it’ll be a start for something… better. I’ve never really had better.” She said, her voice quiet. “But I’d like to one day.”

Cutler had been where she was. Sure, he had taken a different route to get there, but he recognized the fragility in her movements. Lights brighter, sensations louder and more abrasive. At rock bottom, everything feels bruised and tender; breakable. “Gotta start somewhere.” His eyes glanced to the envelope and back to her. He sensed that this was important for her, the action more so than the money. “I can’t-it wouldn’t be right for me to take money from you.” 

A long pause. His eyes searched hers, looking for a spark underneath the deep sadness that hung around her. “But, uh, you could invest it. In the shop. I’ve been meaning to expand our fresh food offerings. Maybe with a greenhouse. Either way, it wouldn’t be going to my personal expenses, and it wouldn’t be as payment for anything you did. A fresh start. For the both of us.” It felt clumsy, what he was doing; like trying to put shattered glass back together with duct tape. It was all he could do. 

“You’re in the before right now. As in, uh, before things get better. But when-if you come back, you could be a part of it. It would be a volunteer project, so...there’s a place for you here, if you want it. An after.” He threw a cautionary smile in her direction, hoping to pull something positive out of her, previously unseen. “Just think about it. No pressure.”

Running her thumbnail along the cup, Skylar etched a small picture into the foam. A simple flower, with a bud that hadn’t yet blossomed. How long had it been since she’d done something as simple as doodled? Or read? Or done anything-- She couldn’t remember. Skylar watched him in dismay as he insisted that it wouldn’t be right to take her money. She needed it gone, needed to know that what she’d done… could be made even just the slightest bit better. But, as he continued to talk, Skylar met his gaze with a jolt of surprise. An investment. In the future of this place, to try and help it grow, and flourish, and bloom. She wanted that. She wanted to know that she could leave some kind of positive mark in the wake of the pain she’d caused.

“I-- yes. I’d love to help with that. If this, if the money can help make that a reality, please. Put it towards making a greenhouse.” Skylar said, stumbling over her words. A fresh start. “I can’t… stay here to see it through, but maybe one day. Maybe once things have changed.” Once she’d found a fresh start of her own, maybe she’d be able to face White Crest again. “Thank you, really. I-- I really appreciate,” She paused, “everything. You didn’t need to do any of this. You didn’t need to help me when I’d broken in here, you didn’t need to be so kind. You don’t even know me. But, thank you. Really, thank you.”

The envelope felt heavy with purpose as Cutler lifted it, curling the stack of bills around his forefinger. His other hand took one of the coffee cups off the stack behind him, rounded edges turning sharp as he pressed the money inside. “That’s the thing,” His hand wandered absentmindedly to the pocket on his apron, retrieving a pair of reading glasses. Through the square lenses, the details of the cup in front of him came into sharp focus; dirty, papery edges inside cheap patterned plastic leaped out at him. Wherever this money had been, it was nowhere clean. “Even when you’re gone, the things you do matter. You’ve touched a lot of people here, Skylar. People care about you. I hope you can come back. On your own terms, of course.” 

He looked over his glasses at her, eyebrows knitting together slightly. “No, thank you. This donation means a lot.” The junk drawer below the register clattered discordantly as he opened it and scanned the various odds and ends for--there it was. His hand emerged victorious, holding aloft a black sharpie with no small flourish. His mouth turned upward slightly at her, encouraging her to join in. This was her doing, after all. On the cup, he scribbled two words in barely legible doctor’s scrawl. Greenhouse Fund. “Everybody’s gotta start somewhere. This is as good a place as any.” 

The bell of the door dinged behind them, bringing him back to where he was. The store. Customers. Produce. Lotto tickets. Regular life, unchanging like the tides. When he returned his gaze to Skylar, something had ended between them. He knew then, that the moment they had shared would be their last and that it could be no other way. She needed to go, he needed to stay. There was nothing left for him to say except, “I wish you all the best.” And he meant it.

#p: afs #p: cutler clarke #wickedswriting #addiction tw #alcoholism tw #memory loss tw #//as always if youd like a tw free recap just let me know! #//this was a real treat to write

[mysmedrabbles]

RFA + V as Senior Citizens

requested: by anonymous

a/n: this is?? a super cute ask?? totally seems like the sequel to an old MC lmao

warnings: n/a

-young mod alex

Jumin

-distinguished gentleman through and through

-he’s the type of man that ages gracefully, i hc him to look kind of like eugenes dad (for anyone who watches the try guys)

-he’s faithful to his spouse until the day he dies, and provides the best care for his children, especially supporting them no matter what their passions are

-even though physically the age still has taken a toll on him, the crows feet and laugh lines only prove that he’s led a good life

-he doesn’t believe in “old people activities”

-would rather die than play bingo, he does however enjoy the odd game of mahjong, and even the occasional board game, but only when he’s playing with his kids (however he’s ruthless and doesn’t go easy on them)

-he teaches the kids how to play chess

-his sense of fashion never changes, always sporting a crisp suit and his classic striped dress shirt

-he starts collecting italian shoes as a hobby once he reaches 60, and he’s never been so proud of a collection

-resigns as CEO and passes on the company not to his children, but to the most qualified prospect, changing his ideas on nepotism, now wholeheartedly believing in hard work and working your way up

-you can see the change in him post marrying you, as more and more magazines claim he’s gone “soft” in his old age, but in reality he doesn’t fear the public eye and although sometimes he struggles with emotional blocks, with you by his side he can handle anything

Jaehee

-she’s the anime grandma that chases the troublemakin’ young’uns out of her shop with a broom

-very wholesome old lady, she never gives up her cafe, and although Jumin offers to help her expand her business, she refuses, insisting that she wants it to be family owned

-she teaches your guys’ kids and grandkids how to bake, and at first she seems like she has no patience, trying to discipline them, but you catch her smiling at your first grandchild, a 3 year old boy who's hands are covered with flour as he claps vigorously, childish wonder as flour poofs in a magical cloud

-she always continues to love and support zens work and shows, but her interests start to move on once she reaches her late forties

-she had to stop drinking coffee because her blood pressure got dangerously high, so she moves on to drinking tea

-having a little garden in your backyard where the two of you grow different flowers and herbs to make and experiment with new tea leaves

-she’s sweet, but also retains her businesslike formality and becomes a respected member of the World for Women Entrepreneurs Organization, which she puts down as the first members of the RFA party every year

-cute old lesbian couple, going to every pride parade together and holding hands on the street because, even though she may have aged, her judo skills haven't

Yoosung

-sweet old man, the kind that will be there for every single family reunion, holiday, birthday and will spoil the kids rotten

-he buys a rocking chair to put on the porch, first ironically but he’s quick to change his mind, buying another one in order for the two of you to sit outside together, watching from the porch as your kids play in the yard

-he never loses his passion for cooking, and all the neighborhood kids, even if they aren't your own, line up for Grandpa Kims cooking

-the two of you essentially adopt the whole street of kids

-he stops dying his hair blonde, letting the brown grow back in

-he loves telling the story of how the two of you met, to the point where your kids will groan whenever he starts talking

-never really stops playing video games, and of course teaches all your guys’ kids how to play, however he gets extremely disappointed when your youngest chooses books over games (in a joking way)

-he’s the kind elder that might never really have “wisdom” but he’ll always make you feel better if you have a problem

-by the time the two of you reach 70, your house has become a place for stray animals and kids, not wanting anyone to feel the loneliness that he had when he was younger

Seven

-he never really gets past his trauma, although living with it becomes easier

-saeyoung never loses his childish sense of humor and happiness, making his the strangest elder on the block

-he’s the one all the kids want to have ice cream with

-he retires fairly early compared to the rest, saying that he needed time to focus on his family and on his life for once

-he ages well, but makes the biggest deal out of it when his hairline starts receding

-because of stress, his hair starts greying early, and he refuses to leave the bunker for a week straight, you having to coax his dramatic ass out by hiding all the HBC

-has crippling back pain and has to start using a cane by his mid forties. of course, everyone in the rya makes fun of him for it, but he just waves it threateningly at yoosung, laughing along

-takes daily walks with you to the park, over the lake and bridge, around the cherry blossom tree and back home

-he strives to be there for his children and grandchildren, loving and supporting them in a way his parents never did

-continues to play pranks and crack jokes throughout his life

-every wedding anniversary he decorates the bunker like a space station and you dance to every frank sinatra song ever recorded

-on your 60th wedding anniversary you take him to KARI (Korean Aerospace Research Institute) to look around, inspect the models, check calculations and try the zero gravity machine, and he cries

Zen

-does this man age? not necessarily

-he never stops acting, continuing to rise as televisions most popular actor, but in the end he moves back to theatre, where his passion truly lies

-you quit as his manager at some point to go follow your dreams, and he lets you know that he’s with you every step of the way no matter what

-he doesn’t become more humble as he ages, and can often be seen telling his kids about his amazing adventures from when he was younger

-his laugh lines do get incredibly deep, which he struggles with for a while until you finally step up and tell him that all it means is that he lived well, that he had a good time on this godforsaken planet and that he had a few good laughs

-the energy is broken when you poke your finger in his laugh line, giggling to yourself

-he loosens up on the strict diet, letting himself eat more sweets and fatty foods, but his stance on exercising stays the same

-the storyteller of the family, always calling the grandkids out to the backyard to tell them incredible stories of monsters and knights in shining armor and the beautiful princess

-domesticity out the roof

-doesn’t actually officially retire, but leaves the industry while he’s ahead, getting to enjoy his last few decades surrounded by a family he chose to make

-surprisingly he takes up crochet, likes the meticulous design and patience needed for it, even though he has none, its a good way to teach himself to be more patient

-refuses a cane and or walker his whole life and would “never be caught dead in one”

-at some point he lets his hair grow out all the way, not leaving the rat tail, rather just having long hair

-because of his good genes and extreme self care, he doesn’t lose much of his hair, to which he is grateful to. those wrinkles though....

V

- V, starts losing his sight because of age: ah shit here we go again

-he’s kind, the type of senior that will always help someone out, and picks up trash off of the ground

-volunteers at the local garden, helping with the sunflowers in particular

-never stops painting, insisting that he must paint you and any possible children at every stage of yours and their lives

-the trauma of Rikas abuse left him scarred, but he copes with it, going to therapy until the day he eventually dies

-cute old married couple number two, its impossible to go anywhere without hearing “V and his spouse,” the two of you are a package deal, his life would never have been the same without you, and you would never want to be anywhere else except besides him

-as similar of age as you guys may be to the RFA, the two of you absolutely adopt them, and as all your families expand, V makes it his mission to invite everyone Jumin and his spouse, Jaehee with hers etc etc and their respective children and children spouses,, grandchildren,,,

-he doesn’t talk about his past much, but is always willing to listen to the younguns problems and impart his knowledge

-the older he gets, the more sweaters he owns. is also partial to wearing suspenders over said sweaters

-he begins to fall in love with the environment the older he gets, ultimately starting multiple foundations to save the bees, oceans and various endangered species

-becomes a UN ambassador for a good few years, but resigns due to wanting to get back to his family and passions

-after marrying you he becomes quite content with his life, and he doesnt majorly change in any way

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger headcannons #mystic messenger imagines #mystic messenger fanfic #rfa #rfa members #rfa reactions #jumin han #jumin #jumin x reader #mysme jumin #mystic messenger jumin #mm jumin #jaehee #jaehee kang #jaehee x mc #mysme jaehee #mm jaehee #mystic messenger jaehee #yoosung #mm yoosung #yoosung x reader #mystic messenger yoosung #yoosung kim #mysme yoosung #seven #seven x mc #seven x reader #msyme seven #saeyoung choi

[minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong]

Ebb Tide Chapter One

Description: Nothing ever happens on this island. That's what aspiring writer Jeon Jungkook thinks, at least. Endless scorching summer afternoons bleed into navy nights, and every day is the same routine. After years of helping his ailing grandmother run the only hotel for nautical miles, Jungkook is tired of watching guests come and go knowing he'll never join them. But when newcomer Kim Taehyung arrives, he shakes the whole island in his wake. What is he here for? How long will he stay? And why exactly is everyone drawn to him so magnetically? Jungkook doesn't know, but there's one thing he's certain of; there is something very different - and possibly dangerous - about Kim Taehyung.

On an island where nothing happens, Jeon Jungkook ends up entangled with forces of nature that are far beyond his mortal comprehension.

Forces of nature that may prove deadly.

Genre: Supernatural, Romance, Drama, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn

Pairing: Jungkook x Taehyung

Word Count: 9.0k

Tags: Non-Idol!Au, Supernatural!Au, Siren!Taehyung, Writer!Jungkook, Fisherman!Namjoon

Warnings: Infrequent swearing and mentions of alcohol

A/N: AHHHH here we are fellas! I’m SO pleased to get going with this new story. It’s member x member, so I get it if that’s not your thing, but I figured I’d give it a shot since I was reaching some creative blocks with this blog! Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it. I’m really enthused about it. Please don’t be shy and send feedback, critique, questions, theories, and comments my way. I’ll be sure to respond to all asks I receive within a day of receiving them!

And again, if you want to follow my Twitter, my username is @/plzpunchmebts. I’m super active over there and hopefully in the future I’ll do some livestreams/chats with you all!

- Mercury

Previous Chapter – Next Chapter

Masterlist

No official posting schedule due to graduate school applications!

Jungkook is drowning.

That’s all he knows for sure.

Saltwater traces up his nostrils and down his throat, burning as it slides through his esophagus. His hands flail, desperately seeking purchase. Of course, there’s none. No sea stacks to grab on to around the beach, just choppy water, whipping violent like a living thing. He screams, and only bubbles escape. Straining to keep his head above water, Jungkook gasps for air and chokes on water. The waves crash against his bobbing body, unforgiving.

He’s crying.

Or at least he thinks he is. It could be the rain spitting down from the curtain of clouds hanging in the sky so thick he can’t see any blue. That is, if he could open his eyes for more than a few seconds. But as the rain pelts from above and the water whips him around like a rag doll, Jungkook has the brief but chilling realization that he is, in fact, drowning.

He’s going to die.

That’s the second thing he knows for sure.

And at ten years old, Jungkook realizes it’s not death he’s scared of but dying. He’s starting to sink, more water than air, and as his body loses strength along with oxygen, he finds it harder and harder to summon the will to move his fingertips, his toes. In the pregnant darkness of stormy, endless ocean Jungkook’s last remaining breath escapes in an involuntary panic, a spasm of his lungs.

Fear cripples him and, pleading with the gods for mercy, Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut and braces himself for the inevitable inhale of water that will send him dying in earnest.

Please, he begs, don’t hurt.

And as he finally feels he can no longer resist inhaling, something tugs roughly on Jungkook’s small, cold, feeble wrist. His eyes open quick and the only thing he can see is a brief flash of gold, floating elegantly amongst the dark blue water. Like silk.

But even despite this force yanking him dizzyingly fast back toward the surface, Jungkook can’t seem to fight the lull of unconsciousness, beckoning him to succumb. And this is a feeling he can’t resist.

The last thing he hears is a clap of thunder, his grandmother’s distant shout, and a melody, loud enough to pierce through his foggy mind.

Breathy, haunting, darkly magnetic…

It’s the sound of someone singing.

“Jungkook?”

He jumps, turning with wide eyes toward the one who’d called to him. “Namjoon,” he breathes, gripping his nose bridge with a frown. “You know I hate it when you sneak up on me,” he says with a grumble.

Namjoon chuckles, clapping his friend on the shoulder, and hums. “Well, if you’d been paying attention you’d know I’ve been here for, like, three whole minutes already.”

Jungkook stiffens. Was that really the case? He turns to examine Namjoon properly. Tall, toned, and tan Namjoon stands nearly six feet tall with sea-swept hair and a perpetual dimpled smile. He crouches on the shoreline beside Jungkook, working his index finger beneath the sand presumably in search of crabs. His warm eyes are distant as he pokes around in the damp sand and, as usual, he smiles.

“Sorry,” Jungkook says after a long time thinking. He pulls his knees toward his chest, hooks both elbows around them and sighs at the expanse of ocean splayed out like a storybook before him. “Just thinking.”

“Weather’s no good,” remarks Namjoon, collapsing onto his bottom and mimicking Jungkook’s easy pose. The two boys stare out at the water, at the storm clouds gathering in a ring around the horizon, ready to close in on them and the island. “Wanna get outta here before the rain comes?” Namjoon asks, innocent.

But Jungkook knows better what his best friend means. He turns toward him with a soft smile and nods. “Yeah,” he says, sighing as he pushes himself onto his feet once more, patting the backs of his shorts, loosing a spray of sand. “Let’s go to yours.”

Namjoon chuckles. “Aren’t we always at mine?” he teases with a smirk, and Jungkook only rolls his eyes, giving Namjoon’s shoulder a hearty shove.

“Nan’s just being a nag lately,” Jungkook says with a sigh, stretching both arms above his head. “Why else would I be out here before a storm?”

“You’re all talk,” Namjoon remarks with a smirk as he leads the way up the beach toward the crooked wooden walkway above. “You worship that woman.”

“Don’t call her that woman,” Jungkook says with a disgusted grunt.

Namjoon gives him a look over his shoulder, cocking a brow, and without saying a single word Jungkook hears him loud and clear. Like I said. Jungkook chuckles and rubs the back of his sunburnt neck. Namjoon’s right anyway. As much as he begrudges all the labor, Jungkook would do just about anything for his grandmother.

The two emerge on the cracked, sun-bleached sidewalk as a clap of thunder rings out overhead. Jungkook can’t help but jump, his heart kicking up, and turn back toward the beach with wide eyes. Along the jagged cliffs ringing the sand, the gathering storm clouds have condensed, roiling together as they tumble full speed toward the shore. Is it just Jungkook’s eyes or have the clouds gotten faster?

Another boom of thunder shakes the sidewalk a little, and Jungkook doesn’t miss Namjoon taking a careful look at him over his shoulder. Quick to right himself, Jungkook clears his throat and jams his hands in his pockets, forcing his eyes away from the churning, near-black ocean and the violent waves. He can hear Namjoon sigh and sees his friend’s sandaled feet taking slower, shorter steps ahead.

As a flash of lightning illuminates the dark clouds by the cliffside, a roaring engine drowns out the accompanying thunder and Jungkook’s eyes snap up toward the road, hyperaware. Speeding down the street, kicking up dust in its wake, is a shiny black motorcycle. The thing rips along the road and several of the beachside vendors peek out their open windows to scowl after it.

Jungkook only catches sight of the driver for a split second, and his face is a blur of tanned skin and blonde hair, but Jungkook swears he sees the long-limbed motorcyclist’s teeth catch the sunlight as he smiles. No helmet, blasting music at top volume, the driver speeds away, swerving into the wrong lane to pass a car going too slow for him. The screech of rubber wheels and a powerful engine fight over one another in a cacophony of noise that, once too distant to hear, leaves a ringing in its absence.

“Asshole,” mumbles Namjoon as he turns over his shoulder to scan Jungkook.

The younger boy’s eyes are still glued to the plume of fine dust left behind, arms crossed over his chest, shaking his head with a scoff. “Probably compensating for a tiny d-,”

“Alrighty,” says Namjoon with a laugh, hooking an arm around Jungkook’s neck and guiding him back toward the middle of the sidewalk. “I don’t wanna think about his tiny anything.”

Jungkook sighs at his phone screen as he lies stomach down on Namjoon’s bed. He can hear Namjoon’s parents bickering over how best to cook the fish for dinner through the house’s thin walls, and under different circumstances perhaps he’d have found that uncomfortable. But he’s been here too much to be surprised by anything.

What disturbs him more, in fact, is the text message on his phone.

Nan: I’m not paying you to run around the island with the fisherman’s kid.

How his grandmother knows he’s with Namjoon, Jungkook doesn’t bother wondering. Instead he simply flops one arm over the side of Namjoon’s unmade bed and lets the phone fall from his fingertips onto the uneven wood floor.

“Grandma?” asks Namjoon without looking up from his computer.

Jungkook grunts in response and shuts his eyes. “What do you wanna do tonight?”

He hears Namjoon laugh and opens one eye to peek at him. The tireless clouds outside eclipse the setting sun, so the messy room is dark and grey. Namjoon still shines as he tosses a smile over his shoulder at Jungkook.

“What do you mean? Aren’t you gonna go home?” he asks.

Jungkook sighs. “The hotel’s dead these days anyway. Nan can handle it on her own.”

Namjoon cocks a brow. “Are you two fighting?”

“No…”

Namjoon spins his chair around, crosses his arms, and offers a knowing smirk. He says nothing, but for Jungkook it’s enough. He can’t lie to save his life anyway.

He sighs and runs a hand through his windswept hair. “I may have mentioned my online classes.”

Namjoon eyes widen and he grins. He contains a laugh with his hand and immediately corrects himself, clearing his throat and nodding once, once again somber. “I see…”

Jungkook sits upright with a pout. “It’s not funny!” he protests, but Namjoon only smiles gently and shakes his head and Jungkook knows he’s been defeated. “I know,” he says with a sigh, rubbing his jaw. “You were right. There, I said it.”

Namjoon sighs, shutting his eyes, and nods. “That feels good,” he says before chuckling and crossing his legs, resting his chin in his hand. “I mean…you gotta admit not telling her to begin with was kinda dumb.”

“Well…,” he says softly. Having no rebuttal, Jungkook sighs, smooths his hands against his thighs, and pushes up onto his feet. “Let’s get drunk,” he says with a nod.

Namjoon keeps his eyes on Jungkook as the latter walks sternly toward the bedroom door, swinging it open and lingering with raised brows in the threshold. “You…you’re serious?” asks Namjoon.

Jungkook’s resolve crumbles a little and his shoulders fall. “I…I mean…well, when else am I gonna have the whole night off?”

Namjoon chuckles. “All the time,” he says with a smile. “You’re always skipping out on work.” Nonetheless, however, Namjoon stands and crosses his arms, examining his friend with incredulous eyes. “But are you sure? Last time we went out drinking…”

Images of that night come flooding back and Jungkook suppresses a cringe. He can remember the sting of climbing over the lighthouse fence only to stumble at the top and fall in a heap in the dead grass. What’s worse was when he started crying and couldn’t make it back over, forcing Namjoon to call the sheriff to bring the gate keys.

Jungkook shakes his head. “I won’t do anything dumb this time.”

“He says while sober,” Namjoon jokes, laughing as he grabs two coats from his closet, tossing one of them to Jungkook.

He catches it — barely — and slings the thing over his forearm with raised brows. “So that’s a yes?” he asks.

Namjoon turns to him with a smirk and pats his shoulder. “It’s a hell yes.”

Bora’s Bar, arguably the only place worth being on a Saturday night on the island. And while Jungkook usually busies himself with writing most nights, on evenings he feels prone to debauchery it’s not so bad to grab a group of friends and head on over for smokey air and eighties synth. Red and blue neon signs hang crooked on the dive bar’s peeling wallpaper and the bathroom stalls are riddled with graffiti: some of it more offensive than others. The bar takes up most of the space, with a separate billiards room featuring a pool table and a host of half-broken arcade games. The ceilings are low and they trap in the gritty music coming from fuzzy wall speakers.

Namjoon and Jungkook sit side by side at the bar, tipping back shots between halfhearted bites of undercooked tater tots. “Yeah, well, it’s for the best she rejected me anyway,” Namjoon protests, leaning against the back of his barstool, sweeping heavy lidded eyes across the bar toward Jungkook. He smiles, half-drunk. “Y’know she’s got two babies now.”

Jungkook laughs louder than normal, but then again he’s drunker than normal. He smoothes a hand through his damp hair and tosses his head back, smiling. “Dodged a bullet, huh?” he asks.

And for the first time in a while, he feels like a real grownup. Sitting beside an old friend in a hazy downtown bar, shooting the breeze, reminiscing. It’s not every day Jungkook feels this untethered. And maybe it’s the alcohol, but the adult freedom is intoxicating.

Suddenly serious, he turns toward his friend and grabs his shoulder, locking eyes, severe. “Listen here, Kim Namjoon,” he says, blinking slow. Namjoon smiles, like he always does, and gives a nod that shows he’s listening, like he always does. Jungkook inhales sharply and leans forward. “Someday, you’re gonna find yourself the best partner, alright? And they’re gonna think you’re a hunk and they’re not gonna reject you and you wanna know why?”

Namjoon laughs, inching forward to accommodate someone reaching behind him toward the bartender to grab their drink. “Why’s that?” he asks.

Jungkook smiles, patting Namjoon’s shoulder. “Because you’re the best goddamn guy on this whole stupid, boring island,” he says with a slow nod.

Namjoon rolls his eyes and shoos Jungkook’s hand away, resting an elbow on the bar. “You’re drunk,” he says.

Jungkook nods. “Be that as it may,” he begins, “I stand by what I said. I’m an honorable man.”

“Alright, Mr. Honorable. How about you slow down and take an honorable drink of water?” teases Namjoon, sliding a glass toward him.

Jungkook pouts, but obliges, gulping the water down. “Don’t patronize me,” he says between drinks. He slams the empty glass down on the bar and turns once more toward Namjoon, pointing at his chest this time. “But really, nothing happens here and you know it.”

Namjoon sighs, gripping his nose bridge, and leans away to take a sip of his whiskey. “Here we go again,” he says.

Jungkook shakes his head. “Tell me the most interesting thing that’s happened here in the last week, huh?” he counters with a lopsided smirk. “Try it.”

“Well,” says Namjoon, pursing his lips and examining the wall of alcohol behind the bartender’s bobbing head. “I guess…the lighthouse going out last night was pretty interesting. A freighter was trying to get into the harbor and couldn’t because of…you know…the…lighthouse…,” he says, words trailing into silence. His eyes fall to the bar.

“Precisely,” says Jungkook, tipping his head toward his friend and gesturing out at the bar patrons milling about around them. “You know how many of these people we went to high school with?” he asks, laughing. “I mean, between the two of us we probably know every single person on this island.”

“And?” asks Namjoon. “Is it a bad thing?”

Jungkook pauses only to sigh and return his attention to the bar where his cocktail sits collecting condensation. “I mean…it’s not very…inspiring, is it?”

Namjoon chuckles. “Good writers don’t need outside inspiration,” says Namjoon, pressing his index finger to his temple with a wink. “The brain is his only weapon.”

Jungkook groans, lolling his head back. “But I’m not a good writer yet! That’s the problem.”

“You’re a great writer, Kook,” says Namjoon with knit brows. “Just go easy on yourself, hm?”

Before Jungkook can respond, the bar door swings open to a crescendo of thunder outside, shaking the flimsy walls. The music falters a little along with the neon signs before returning to its retro rhythm once the door clicks shut. Startled, Jungkook glances toward the entering patron and sees with a start that it is, after all, a new face.

And a really handsome one at that…

Between shoulders and heads, Jungkook can just make out the stranger’s strong, beautiful features. His large eyes are even from a distance sultry and captivating, half-squinted as he shakes out his blonde hair, tanned skin glittering with rainwater. As he maneuvers around the patrons toward the bar, Jungkook gets a slightly better look at him through the smoke. He’s built well, lean like a swimmer. He’s dressed sharply with a simple black shirt and a checkered flannel, baggy black pants and…

“Is…is that a Gucci belt?” Jungkook whispers to Namjoon over his shoulder, not once looking away from the strange newcomer.

“I…I think so…,” says Namjoon, but there’s no way for either of the boys to be sure. Not just since he’s too far away and the air is too dense, but because neither of them has ever seen one.

The stranger has a straight nose, full lips that move languidly as he orders a drink, big hands with lots of rings that flash once or twice as he offers a bill to the bartender. To be sure, he’s likely the most interesting thing that’s happened on the island this week. And everyone in the bar knows it, if the way they steal glances at him is any indication.

“Handsome,” Namjoon remarks, and Jungkook can only nod.

Likely feeling Jungkook’s eyes boring holes into his face, the stranger glances quickly to the right, capturing Jungkook like a seized animal. He sits frozen, mouth agape, unable to so much as move as the stranger keeps him pinned with his serious eyes. Jungkook’s heart kicks up, pounding a little too fast, and his palms get a little too sweaty to blame on the humidity alone. He takes a shaky inhale, still locked in unwavering eye contact with the strange young man.

“He’s really staring,” Namjoon whispers, and Jungkook can hear from the way his words come out chopped that he’s trying his best not to get caught gossiping.

“What do I do?” Jungkook whispers back, barely moving his lips so as not to rouse the stranger’s suspicion.

“I dunno,” Namjoon says in response, leaning close to Jungkook’s ear. “Looks like he’s seeing through you.”

“Not helping,” says Jungkook with knit brows.

The stranger at long last breaks eye contact to retrieve his drink from the bartender with an easy smile and Jungkook feels like he can finally take a real breath. He looks down for a moment to collect himself, patting his chest a few times. He’d felt…suspended, like he couldn’t move or blink or even think. But like a rubber band snapping, the spell is broken when the stranger looks away.

But not for long.

“Oh shit,” says Namjoon.

Jungkook jumps, turning toward his friend with worried, round eyes. “Oh shit what, Joon?” he asks, worry coloring his tone.

Namjoon is gazing out over his shoulder. “He’s coming over.”

“Oh shit,” Jungkook breathes.

“Yeah…”

Jungkook straightens his back and his shirt, making absolutely sure the seams are aligned with his shoulders, but when he glances back at the stranger and sees again how well he’s dressed, the gap between them is just too staggering. Jungkook settles for a sharp inhale that he holds for a long while and an eventual, dragging sigh. He’s gotten himself into this anyway.

He feels a warm presence taking up the empty bar stool on his left side and freezes. Perhaps if he simply…doesn’t move, the stranger will go away. Or better yet, perhaps staying still will make him invisible. He catches Namjoon’s eye and frantically mimes his pleas for help. Talk to me, he mouths without moving his arms. Look busy!

But Namjoon quickly shakes his head and excuses himself, mumbling some excuse, leaving Jungkook to gape in his wake as he makes a beeline for the bathroom. He’s not going to be any help. Jungkook can feel the clock ticking, and the longer he ignores the stranger the larger his presence feels beside him, like an unacknowledged elephant in the room. He swallows hard, sucks in his breath again, and turns his chair to the left.

His bare knee brushes against the stranger’s thigh and he jumps a little, quick to adjust his chair so the two no longer touch. And, finally, he meets the stranger’s eyes once more only to find them already on his and glittering with mischievous intent. Up close he’s more devastating than Jungkook originally thought. With a sly smirk and practically no pores, the guy resembles marble. Jungkook is swept up in the little details: the many shades of brown in his eyes, the tiny braids emerging here and there from his still-wet golden hair, the rosy flush in his healthy skin…

And Jungkook is all alone with him…

He shakes his head. “Um…hello…,” he says, and it sounds obligatory, like forcing a hostage to read off a script.

But nonetheless, the stranger smiles, resting his elbow on the table and his cheek in his hand as he examines Jungkook. “Hello,” he responds. His voice is like honey: slow, drawling, sweet. But deep, rumbling low in his chest.

Jungkook feels out of his depth. “Are…you, uh…new to town?”

The stranger nods. “How’d you guess?” he asks with a smile, showing his perfect teeth.

Jungkook blinks. “Um…well…,” he begins, but the stranger chuckles and, uneasy, Jungkook joins him. “Ah, you were…joking…”

After a moment of silence, he hears the stranger inhale, sharp, accompanied by a clap of thunder that sent a chill up Jungkook’s spine. Quickly, he lifts his eyes to examine the young man, finding him resting his cheek in his hand, watching him carefully like a science project.

“Tell me your name,” he says, a smirk tipping his lips to the side. His eyes scan Jungkook’s face, and he cocks one brow.

Jungkook swallows hard and leans unconsciously away. “Um…it’s Jeon Jungkook,” he says, seeming to grow smaller under the young man’s intense, unwavering scrutiny.

His smirk widens, showing his canines, and he pauses to sip on his drink. “Shouldn’t have told me,” he says, eye contact faltering only briefly as he guides the straw into his mouth.

Jungkook’s back stiffens and he lowers his head to meet the stranger’s eyes again. “Wait, why?” he asks.

“Don’t you know not to give your name to strangers?” he asks, poking at an ice cube suspended in the dark of his drink. He flicks his eyes to the side to pin Jungkook once again and, still smiling, continues. “There’s a lot someone can do with a name.”

Jungkook pouts, frowning at his own drink. “Well…what’s yours then?” he asks. “That way we won’t be strangers.”

He chuckles, his long lashes dusting the apples of his cheeks. “How about you try to guess?” he suggests with a sigh. “Though I don’t think you’ll get it.”

There’s a peculiar tension in the way this young man is watching Jungkook, in the words he chooses. And Jungkook realizes with a start that he’s being flirted with. He furrows his brow, crossing his arms. “How am I supposed to guess?” he asks. “I don’t even know where to start.”

The stranger cocks his head to the side. “Hm…one hint then,” he says as his eyes fall to Jungkook’s hands clasped on the bar. “I’ll answer one question to help you narrow it down, but only one,” he says, smiling. He sips again on his drink.

“Any question?” Jungkook asks.

He chuckles, nodding once and running long ringed fingers through his hair, revealing the skin of his forehead. “Sure.”

“Alright,” Jungkook says, grabbing for the damp napkin beneath his glass and motioning for the bartender. The man approaches quickly in a jog and pauses in front of Jungkook, expectant. “Do you have a pen?”

He raises his brows. “Hm? Yeah,” he says, rifling around behind the bar.

As the bartender’s head dips below Jungkook’s line of sight, he feels a strange sensation, like being watched on stage, and turns to see the stranger watching him with a smile that seems amused. “What’re you up to?” he asks.

Jungkook purses his lips with a shrug and, before he can answer, the bartender pops up from behind the bar and slides his pen toward Jungkook’s waiting fingers. He returns his attention to the stranger and hands both napkin and pen over, raising his brows.

“What do you want me to do with this?” he asks with a laugh, and Jungkook doesn’t miss the way his heart stutters a little at the sound.

Jungkook crosses his arms. “My question,” he begins. “Are you ready for it?”

The stranger nods. “Mhm. Whenever you are.”

“Alright. How do you spell your name?” he asks.

The stranger pauses, right hand poised to write on the napkin, eyes round and lips parted. The two say nothing as the music drones on, bumping so loud Jungkook can feel it vibrating against the back of his barstool. He raises his brows, bolder now that he’s managed to catch the stranger off guard instead of the other way around.

And, without another word, the young man laughs from his chest, tossing his head back with it, and his eyes squeeze shut. He’s got a bright smile when he means it and Jungkook can’t help but watch as the young man pats his knee, shakes his head, flicks a piece of damp hair from his eye, and leans over the bar to write on the soggy napkin.

“You got me,” he says as he writes with some difficulty. Every stroke pulls against the delicate napkin, and the pen’s dry anyway. Jungkook is surprised the stranger is following through at all. A man of his word. “Pretty clever,” he says, sitting up straight once more with a soft smile, sliding the napkin across the bar toward Jungkook.

He reads it with squinted eyes, the alcohol catching up with him again, and hums. The script is beautiful, elegant, practiced. Figures, Jungkook thinks with a frown, a pretty guy like that would have pretty handwriting.

“Kim…Taehyung?” he says, speaking the name like a question, and raises his brows. He lifts his drink to his lips, still maintaining eye contact if for no other reason than fear of breaking first.

“Mhm,” the stranger says. Kim Taehyung. He smiles, resting his chin on his folded fingers. “So,” he continues, “why were you staring at me before?”

Jungkook sputters, eyes squeezing shut as alcohol dribbles down his chin. He coughs, feels like drowning, and shakes his head. Frantically, he grabs for the napkin and wipes off his face. Taehyung laughs brightly beside him and leans closer to examine Jungkook’s face. He feels hot, feverish, and can’t look him in the eye this close. Taehyung, still laughing, grabs for his own napkin and hands it to Jungkook.

“You got pen ink on your face,” he remarks, returning to his own drink. He chuckles as he takes a sip.

Jungkook, embarrassed, is quick to rub his face again, this time so forcefully that it leaves his skin hot. “Jesus,” he mumbles, mostly to himself.

Taehyung smiles. “Didn’t mean to startle you,” he says softly from beside him.

Jungkook shakes his head. “No, sorry…just…,” he begins, then waves his hands. “Forget it.”

“So why?” continues Taehyung, doggedly stubborn as he watches Jungkook out the corner of his eye.

“Well…you’re…you’re new,” he says.

“Hm…is that it?” Taehyung asks, sighing as he leans easily back against his chair. “That’s all it takes around here?”

Jungkook nods. “Not much happens here,” he says. “Don’t get lots of mainlanders.”

“How do you know I’m a mainlander?” asks Taehyung.

“I mean…,” he says, glancing down at Taehyung’s shiny belt buckle. Two twin Gs. With a laugh, he continues. “You’re definitely not an islander.”

Taehyung smirks. “Provincial,” he says with a sigh, sweeping his gaze out across the bar. “I guess some people like that.”

“Not me,” says Jungkook, pouting as he shakes his head with crossed arms.  He feels a little lightheaded, likely from drinking. After all, he’d never be so social sober. “It’s stifling.”

“Hm…,” Taehyung remarks. “You wanna get out?” he asks, like he’s studying Jungkook.

He wavers a moment before glancing away and nodding once. He grabs for his drink and tips it back. “Yeah,” he says.

Taehyung hums. “You don’t seem all that convinced,” he remarks before leaning toward Jungkook. That smirk is still there, and it’s unsettling. “Let me guess: small-town boy with big city dreams, grew up here. You want to get away but you’re scared once you leave the tiny pond and enter the big ocean you’ll get swept away.” He locks eyes with Jungkook and, for just a moment, Jungkook feels swept up in it. He feels his resistance falter. “Be honest,” Taehyung continues with a smirk.

It’s the same sensation he had when he was a kid, drowning in the ocean.

Powerlessness.

Jungkook’s face goes red. He feels exposed, read through, and suddenly Taehyung’s flirtations don’t seem so innocent. Like he was gathering data on him from the start, figuring out where to strike like a predator teasing his unwitting prey. Unsettled, Jungkook’s stomach begins to twist up in knots and he doesn’t feel so steady.

And in an instant, the enchanting, hazy spell he’s under evaporates like water on hot pavement.

Taehyung’s cocky smirk serves only to fuel Jungkook’s outrage as he stutters out a reply. “N-no! It’s not like that at all!” he protests, but even to Jungkook’s ears the excuse is painfully weak.

But nonetheless, the stranger’s brows arch and he leans away as if the response is surprising. Taehyung pokes further. “Hm,” he begins, scanning him. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” says Jungkook, frowning as he glances to the side to find Namjoon’s seat still empty. He sighs. “You don’t know a thing about me.”

“Then enlighten me,” says Taehyung, swirling his straw around in his drink once more. Again, he leers at Jungkook, almost expectant. Only this time, he’s quick to look away.

Jungkook locks his jaw, narrows his eyes, and leans back just a little. “I…I mean I did grow up on the island,” he begins, watching his hands as he fiddles with his fingers.

Taehyung smiles. “Hm…”

“But that doesn’t mean you got me right,” he continues, glancing out the corner of his eye at Taehyung. But he finds the handsome young man just sipping on his drink as if Jungkook’s words are of no consequence.

Maybe they are.

“I’m back,” says a voice from over his shoulder and Jungkook swells with relief.

Namjoon takes his seat at Jungkook’s right and the two share a loaded glance, Jungkook trying desperately to convey without words what had transpired in Namjoon’s absence. But Namjoon only furrows his brow, shoots a puzzled expression, and squints.

“And who is this?” asks Taehyung’s deep, slinking voice behind Jungkook.

He shivers and turns to face him. “Ah, this is Nam-,” he begins, then stops and crosses his arms and swivels toward Namjoon again. He cups a hand around his mouth and leans forward. “Don’t give him your name,” he whispers, but it seems Taehyung’s hearing is pretty keen as the young man lets out a booming laugh that sets Jungkook on edge once more.

“Three’s company anyway,” says Taehyung, clearing his throat and standing to his feet. He turns to stare down at Jungkook once more, drink half-finished on the bar, eyes half-closed as he offers a knowing smirk. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around, Jeon Jungkook.”

For a split second, Jungkook is suspended. The din of the bar is nearly silenced as frenetic, hyper charged energy passes between the two. This young man is unlike anyone Jungkook has ever met, and he wonders in the brief reprieve from the unrelenting synth if that’s such a good thing.

That sensation returns. That powerless, out of control sensation. Like he’s a piece of driftwood being tossed mercilessly against the rocky cliffside amongst the roiling waves. Looking into his dark eyes is like that. Like looking into choppy black water.

Like primal fear.

And Jungkook can’t seem to look away.

Namjoon coughs a little and claps Jungkook on the shoulder, effectively releasing him as he takes his first gasp of fragile bar air after a long time submerged. Jungkook pats his chest, eyes wide, heart feral, and turns to look at his friend, grateful.

“Nice to meet you then,” he says with a pleasant smile. But Jungkook notices tension in the way his eyes squeeze shut. It’s saccharine. He doesn’t mean it. Not for a second.

Which means Namjoon feels uneasy about this guy too…

Taehyung chuckles, bows his head, and turns on his heel. He swerves easily through the crowd, maneuvering around bodies pressed close and backs turned at haphazard angles. Jungkook maintains an unwavering view of him until he disappears into the navy night and spitting rain, the door swinging shut behind him. A spray of rainwater splatters onto the floor in his wake as the door clicks shut, and Jungkook is left with only an unfinished drink and a soggy napkin to prove Kim Taehyung was ever there at all…

Morning sunlight warms the exposed skin of Jungkook’s stomach as he lies draped sloppily across Namjoon’s bed. He squeezes his eyes shut against the light with a wince, but it’s too bright after yesterday’s storm. Jungkook slowly props himself up on his forearms and squints around the bedroom in search of Namjoon. Upon finding the untidy room empty, Jungkook furrows his brow and pushes himself up off the bed. He glances down at his messy shorts and the black shirt he’d worn yesterday now sliding off his shoulder. He peers at himself in the mirror, adjusts the sleeves of his shirt, and huffs. He looks about as rough as he feels.

Fluffy bed head hair a mess atop his head, halfway obscuring tired eyes and drool drying around the corners of his mouth. He shakes his head and turns on his heel, padding on bare feet into the hallway. Both narrow walls are adorned with countless family photographs: both old and new. Like a comprehensive timeline of the Kim family. Old black-and-white pictures morph in a slow gradient into yellowing sepia-toned shots and eventually toward nineties glamor shots. Jungkook takes particular pleasure in the photo of Namjoon and his parents dressed to the nines in glittery blazers and shoulder pads and a vignette border. Jungkook smirks at the shot and gives young Namjoon a poke with his fingertip before continuing into the kitchen.

But once he enters, he realizes with a start that he’s not alone in these early morning hours. And, further, the one to greet him isn’t Namjoon but his grandfather. He sits, bespectacled and grumpy, eyeing a newspaper with a cup of steaming coffee on the table beside his knuckles. With ailing health, one might expect wiry Grandpa Kim to be listless, cashing in his golden days after the better part of a century working. But he’s more energetic now than he’s ever been as far as Namjoon says. And Jungkook has to admit, the eighty-something-year-old man seems in that moment to be faring far better than he himself is.

“Morning, son,” says Grandpa Kim with a bare glance over his shoulder at Jungkook.

He smiles and takes a seat at the table, sighing as he watches the cerulean sky outside, unblemished by even a single wispy cloud. If he wasn’t horribly hungover, perhaps he’d go out for a run. But even thinking of the motion of a jog sends a jolt of nausea through Jungkook’s body and, without realizing it, he cringes.

Grandpa Kim slides his half-drunk coffee toward Jungkook without lifting his eyes from the paper. “Drink up,” he says and Jungkook swears he can see the man smirking. “You had a rough night.”

Jungkook groans a little but, feeling too lousy to protest, obliges after a moment of contemplation. He sips the hot coffee and, like he knew it would be, it’s too bitter for him. Wordlessly, Grandpa Kim slides the sugar container toward Jungkook as well, tapping the plastic lid with one stout finger. Jungkook clears his throat, but once again follows directions, adding a few spoons of sugar to his coffee and stirring it with his pinkie finger.

“Be careful out there today,” says Grandpa Kim as he finally turns his attention away from the paper. He gazes out the window beside him, fresh sunlight streaming in in golden shafts all around. He locks his jaw and grunts before, seemingly against his will, he tears his eyes away from the sun and sea outside.

Jungkook raises his brows. “Hm? Weather seems great,” he remarks, resting his cheek in his hand as he watches an early-morning jogger make her way across the shore.

Grandpa Kim only grumbles something unintelligible and pushes himself up from the table, folding his paper underneath his arm. He says nothing as he waves a hand, dismissive, and turns on his heel toward the hallway from which Jungkook had come. Jungkook watches his figure disappear into the darkness of the hall with a sigh and takes another sip of coffee.

“Don’t pay too much attention to him,” says Namjoon from behind Jungkook’s shoulder. Jungkook startles, jumping as he whips around to face his sleepy friend. Namjoon offers a tired smile, rubbing his neck. “I never do,” he continued as he collapses onto the creaky wooden chair in front of Jungkook.

“What’re you doing up?” Jungkook asks, placing the coffee on the table for fear of spilling it. He takes a moment to compose himself, letting his eyes wander toward the window once more, toward the calm ocean. “Pretty early after a night out.”

“Could ask you the same thing,” Namjoon says, kicking off his sandals with a belabored sigh. He lolls his head back, eyes slipping shut. “I promised Dad I’d go out on the boat with him today, but he didn’t cover it before the storm so the whole deck’s flooded. Gotta wait for it to dry out. Dad says the water feels off today anyway.”

Jungkook stiffens, turning toward Namjoon with raised brows. “Does that mean he’s not gonna be able to get out on the water today? Won’t he lose money?”

“Yup,” says Namjoon with a shrug, eyes still shut. He heaves a sigh. “Nothing we can do about it though. Nobody anticipated the weather turning yesterday.”

“Huh…,” Jungkook remarks, resting his chin in his palm. “I guess it was pretty sudden.”

“Yeah. Dad talked to Mr. Jung and he said that even the mainland freights weren’t expecting it,” Namjoon says, but he’s quick to wave his hand, like his grandfather waving away the thought before it can develop. “Anyway, gonna be a slow day around the house. You may as well go home.”

Jungkook swallows hard and glances down at his drink, swirling it a little. “Um…no, that’s alright. I can just hang…around here…”

Namjoon chuckles and leans forward to level his eyes with Jungkook’s. “You can’t avoid her forever.”

Jungkook’s shoulders bunch. “I mean technically-,”

“Jungkook,” Namjoon interrupts with a stern look. He backs away. “Your grandma will understand once she hears why you started taking writing courses.” Namjoon pauses when he notices Jungkook’s expression going sour. He sighs and pats his shoulder. “But you have to give her the chance.”

Jungkook slowly raises his eyes, tentative, and sighs. “You were right to begin with, so you’re probably right about this too,” he says, pushing up from the table as his chair scrapes loudly against the uneven floorboards.

Namjoon laughs, claps him on the shoulder, and guides him toward the front door. “And try to drink some water, alright? Your hangover’s so obvious Nan might even notice it through her cataracts.”

Jungkook shoves Namjoon away by the chest with a gape. “Nan doesn’t have cataracts!” he shouts, but even raising his voice makes his head pound. Quickly, he rights himself and steps out onto the crooked sidewalk. He turns to Namjoon with arms crossed over his chest. “Thanks for, you know…being a good friend or whatever.”

Namjoon laughs, leaning against the doorframe with one hand hooked over the top of the thin door. He smiles, dimpled, and waves his free hand as Jungkook steps down the street backwards. “Take care of yourself, huh?”

Jungkook nods, waves a hand, and turns on his heel, starting toward the hotel.

The hotel is quaint, like most everything on the island, and spans the entirety of the westernmost cliffside. Overlooking the surf and the town below, the place is prime real estate. Plenty of businessmen have tried sweeping the land out from under Nan’s nose, but she’s too quick to fall for it. She’s been running Hotel Noeul since she was a teen and her parents passed it down to her, and the owner is just about the only thing that’s changed since the place began in the twenties. The buildings are even older; Jungkook knows that from the draft in the winter and the scorching heat in the summer. It was all Jungkook could do to convince Nan to finally get internet. Traditional sloped roofs, stone pathways and gardens for strolling, ornate sliding doors, the works. As gorgeous as it is backed up against the cliff with trees and greenery and ocean and endless sky, Jungkook tries not to spend his free time here.

“Oh excuse me,” says a young foreigner with a hopeful smile as Jungkook makes his way toward the office building.

Jungkook stiffens and turns toward her. He’s quick to force a smile — too many scoldings from Nan about maintaining a friendly affect has instilled fear in his heart — and bows his head. “Yes?” he asks.

The blonde-haired girl glances skittishly around the garden, pointing at one of the private rooms and stuttering in broken Korean, “Uh…lock-lock…um…can’t get in.”

Jungkook raises his brows. “You’re locked out?” he asks, then curses himself. Of course she won’t know what he said. Instead of continuing, he simply smiles and nods, gesturing toward the office. “This way,” he says.

The girl sighs, relieved, and nods, quick to follow Jungkook up the wood steps and past the open sliding door. He emerges in the front office to find Nan sitting in her usual chair behind the register, reading Wuthering Heights again, her readers slipping down the narrow bridge of her nose. Her long near-white hair is restrained just barely in a bun at the nape of her neck and her hands tremble almost invisibly as she turns the page in her book.

“Nan,” Jungkook says, waving a hand in front of her face.

She lifts only her eyes to greet Jungkook before continuing her reading. “Good to see my grandson has made time to do his job.”

Jungkook sighs, rubbing his temples. “Nan, this guest is locked outta her room,” he says, pointing to the foreigner behind him. “Her Korean sucks,” he continues. The girl waves with a big smile, oblivious, and Jungkook smiles at her.

Nan nods. “Well, sounds like a problem for our maintenance department, doesn’t it?” she asks, still reading.

Jungkook slumps his shoulders. “Nan, I’m the maintenance department,” he says.

“Huh, that’s right,” she says, and Jungkook catches the slight smirk on her lips.

He rubs his forehead. “I can’t even talk to her properly,” he says, groaning.

“Don’t need to talk when you’re fixing a lock,” she says. “And stop complaining in front of our guest.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, crossing his arms, and glances at the foreigner, now scrolling through her phone. “Not like she knows the difference,” he mumbles as he breezes past her toward the toolkit hanging on the wall beside the window. He slings it around his waist and leads the way out into the garden once more.

The girl trots behind him, saying nothing but still smiling as her footsteps crunch on the footpath. “This one?” Jungkook asks once they approach the door she’d pointed to before.

The girl stiffens and nods once, grinning still. Jungkook smiles, but the girl is making him feel unsettled. He crouches in front of the door. “Who comes to a remote Korean island and doesn’t speak Korean?” Jungkook mumbles to himself as he begins working on the lock. He jangles it around a little, jiggling the flimsy door, and sighs. “Always this door,” he says under his breath, pausing to smile and offer the girl a thumbs up.

She returns it before placing both hands into the front pockets of her baggy shorts. “Thank you,” she says slowly, laboring over every syllable.

Jungkook nods and fishes around his tool belt for the WD40. Once finding it, he yanks it out and begins flash spraying the inside of the lock, but since it’s so ancient the thing is hard to maneuver in. He continues his work, furrowing his brow as the midmorning sun beats down against the back of his neck. Sweat beads along his hairline, lingering still from the walk to the hotel.

“If I’d gone to college, maybe I’d speak her language,” he whispers with a sigh as he shakes the door once more, hoping to dislodge whatever is blocking the sensitive keyhole.

He turns to the girl and holds his hands out, beckoning for the key, and it takes her a few puzzled moments to understand his request. When she does, laughing, she drops the brass key into his palm. Jungkook bows his head in thanks and slides the key into the lock, waiting with bated breath for the definitive clink of success. After a few frustrating moments of struggle, the door clicks open and Jungkook, grinning, slides it open and stands to his feet once more.

The girl bows deeply at the waist and Jungkook returns it, but the motion makes his head spin and he feels a wave of nausea overtake him. He stiffens once more as bile rises in his stomach and, horrified at the thought of spewing in front of this guest, forces a tight-lipped smile and rushes back across the garden to a chorus of repeated thank you’s following behind him. Clutching his stomach, he rushes toward the office, hoping to find some of Nan’s anti-nausea pills or if nothing else just a bottle of water, but he stops right in his tracks as he nears the open door.

The hum of Nan’s old electric fan does little to muffle the sound of that deep, unmistakable voice.

His voice.

“Well, can’t we arrange an extended stay? Just this once?”

And suddenly, Jungkook’s nausea isn’t his most pressing issue. Because, standing with his broad back to him, chatting easily with his smiling grandmother, is that guy from the bar the night before. Jungkook fishes around in his pockets frantically, mouth dry and cottony and head throbbing, summer sun forcing the sweat along his hairline to slide down his forehead. He yanks the old napkin from the depths of his pocket and stares at it with wide eyes. Kim Taehyung.

Part of him had hoped he’d imagined the whole encounter in his drunken stupor. Like maybe he’d seen too many dramas featuring a handsome bad boy and a hapless love interest. Like maybe he’d concocted it.

But there he stands, as beautiful as before as the sunlight plays with the golden ends of the curling ends of his hair at the nape of his tanned neck. Jungkook swallows hard, scanning him. He seems taller…

“Certainly not,” says Nan with a laugh, rolling her eyes. “I’m not weak to pretty young men anymore.”

“Ah,” says Taehyung, and Jungkook can practically feel him smirking. “You say that like you’re past your prime.”

Nan laughs again, tossing her head back. “Flattery will get you everywhere, kid,” she says with a sigh. “Well, let’s call it an extended stay then. But no longer than a few weeks! Summer’s the busy season around here,” she continues, holding up her index finger with a stern set of her jaw.

Taehyung leans down and presses the pad of his own index finger to Nan’s, tilting his head to the side. His button-down shirt strains against his shoulders. “You got it,” he says with a smile in his voice.

Jungkook suppresses a shiver. His nausea has returned…

Nan’s laughter stops suddenly when she catches sight of Jungkook lingering in the doorway and her smile slips from her face. She rolls her eyes, leaning back against her chair once more and grabbing for her book, once more listless.

“Here’s my no-good grandson,” she says, turning a page and kicking the plastic fan beside her as it stutters. “He’s been out all night with the fisherman’s kid,” she continues, then smirks and gives Taehyung a look out the corner of her eye. “Also no-good.”

Taehyung turns to look at Jungkook and, once seeing him, his bright eyes go round and his lips part in a startled gape. “You…?” he begins, blinking. “G-Grandson?” he asks, and Jungkook can swear he sees him go a little paler.

With a racing heart, Jungkook sighs, crossing his arms, and rests a hip against the doorframe, fervently avoiding Taehyung’s eyes. He furrows his brow. “Nan, aren’t you sick of the whole apathetic act?” he asks. “You love the Kims.”

Nan shrugs as she pushes her glasses up her nose. “And I love you. They say your sense of judgement gets worse with old age,” she says with an easy sigh.

Jungkook can’t help but chuckle, watching the finished wood floor below his feet. “Well I’m here now,” Jungkook says, still careful not to lift his eyes too high and snag Taehyung’s gaze by mistake.

“And just in time,” she says, waving her hand toward Taehyung. “We just got a new guest staying in Room 102. Show him to it.”

Jungkook stiffens and his eyes go wide. “I-I have to show him?” he asks, pointing to his chest.

Taehyung lets out a puff of laughter and conceals it with his hand. Nan raises her brows. “Well, I’m certainly not gonna do it,” she says, cocking her head to the side. “Hop on it.”

Jungkook swallows his nerves and turns toward Taehyung who is — and he assumes has been — looking right at him with a knowing smirk and narrowed eyes, crossed arms. Despite the incessant pounding of his heart and the unrelated pounding of his head, Jungkook takes another look at Nan with furrowed brows. She’s always like this. Plucky. But…today feels a little worse than usual. And Jungkook is sure he knows why.

You have to give her the chance.

He pauses a moment, wavering in uncertainty, and eventually succumbs to a defeated sigh. Quietly, he approaches the front desk and leans down closer to Nan’s face. “Hey, uh…can we talk later? You know…about…the classes?” he asks, voice low and quiet, timid, like a child. He begrudges himself for showing such a weak expression to Taehyung.

Nan slides only her eyes toward Jungkook and, without uttering a single word, tilts her head down in a barely-there nod. Jungkook returns it and pushes off from the front desk, sauntering over to Taehyung’s side. He stands, tall, glowing, still smiling like he knows something, twirling his room key around one slender ringed finger.

“Show me around, bellboy,” Taehyung says with a teasing lilt in his voice.

Jungkook feels his face go hot and he fights a snappy retort. He’s on thin ice with Nan as it is. He clears his throat and leads the way out onto the wraparound porch. “Garden,” he says, swinging one arm out toward the lush garden in the center of all the buildings. He hears Taehyung laugh behind him. “Office,” he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder down the walkway from which they’d come. “Your room,” he says, stopping in front of the delicate sliding door. He crosses his arms and looks Taehyung in the eye.

The young man suppresses a giggle, but it’s clear in his tight smile that he wants to laugh. “Mm,” he manages before breaking, covering his mouth once more. “What a…lucky twist of fate, hm?” he says between laughs.

Jungkook is less amused, standing with one brow raised. Between his wicked hangover, his crappy night’s sleep, his strange evening out, and the stress of fighting with Nan, this twist of fate feels anything but lucky.

Nonetheless, Jungkook forces a smile and nods. “Mhm,” he says. “If you need anything, go to Nan.” And with that, he turns on his heel, ready to leave, but Taehyung’s warm hand on his forearm forces him to stop.

His hand is soft, and his grip is light. If he really wants to, Jungkook can easily slip out of it. But instead and against his better judgement, he turns halfway to meet Taehyung’s eyes, finding them alight with playfulness. He’s smiling, too bright to look at too long. And his shirt reveals too much of his chest.

“Where’s your room?” Taehyung asks, smiling.

Jungkook’s face is hot and his heart is hammering in his ears. He stiffens, instinctively glancing up the hill from the garden toward the guest house where he stays. Something tells him he shouldn’t tell this guy that information, however. “Um…I don’t…live on the property,” he says, but the lie is flimsy even to Jungkook’s undiscerning ears. He curses himself with a cringe.

Taehyung’s lips part and he nods, smiling. “Ah,” he says, staring at the guest house. “So it’s up there?”

Jungkook shakes his arm free and takes a half-step down the walkway. “Anyway, d-don’t come to me if you run out of toilet paper or something, okay?”

Taehyung laughs, crossing his arms and leaning gently against the external wall beside his door. He tilts his head back on the wall, looking down on Jungkook with a smile. “Hm…what if I’m too cold to sleep tonight? Can I come to you for that?”

Jungkook’s heart lurches and he stumbled back down the step into the garden, flushed. “Hotel’s old,” he begins, blinking rapidly. “D-Drafty. Nothing I can do about it.”

Again, Taehyung lets out a melodic laugh and nods. “Well, that’s a shame,” he says.

Jungkook bows his head toward Taehyung and turns on his heel. He’s rushing headlong down the path through the garden when he hears Taehyung whistle over his shoulder, calling from outside his room, “I’ll see you around, Jeon Jungkook!”

And Jungkook remarks with a shiver that Taehyung remembers his name.

He crosses his arms and picks up his pace.

#taekook #taekook fanfic #taekook fanfiction #taekook fluff #taekook angst #taekook series #taekook au #siren au #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #bts angst #bts series #bts #taehyung #jungkook

[alexandrasavior]

Interview: Alexandra Savior’s new record is a triumph over anxiety, depression, and misogyny

The Archer sounds like a phantom-like call from the past, but all the pain in it is now.

Sleepy and melancholy, Alexandra Savior is awake at nine in the morning. “I got my coffee already” she says huskily, slowly, musing on her new record The Archer a full four hours before she usually rises.

Despite the time, it is with a magnetic personality that I converse eight hours away in dusty L.A.. Like The Archer - and its predecessor Belladonna of Sadness - Savior is enigmatic, despondent, exhausted. From beyond the ocean and a phone line, the musician and visual artist nevertheless leaves a sure impression as a figure of relatability and mystery. She’s quiet and measured, shy and pessimistic. Her responses are slow-burning, her attitude self-deprecating.

Of the subject of our discussion, The Archer, it’s hard to imagine that she’s proud. “I don’t like a lot of what I make,” she smiles down the line, “I have bursts of inspiration and if I focus on getting into a trance within that, then it’s easy to not think about how much I hate everything that I do.”

The half-an-hour LP dropped this morning (10 January). It’s a smart and brooding sepia landscape of haunted keys, cinematic guitars and precious vocals that whisper and swell with the agonies of loving, being loved and suffering manipulation. Like its predecessor, it's an imprint of an inventive lyricist and emotive musician. Still, it becomes clear - when combined with a self-professed pessimistic personality - why Savior might be so tentative about her output.

“My label lost interest and I ended up getting dropped,” she says slowly, narrating the bridge that she walked between her first and second records, “nobody was responding to me, and my manager quit.”

Fearful that the opportunity to be a musician had departed forever, Savior went to school to study Psychology and Literature. “I started nannying and trying to scheme up what else I could do with my life,” she says of that time. Within a fortnight, she had been picked back up on the back of demos for The Archer, but still now she fears: “my career is over.”

It’s hard to see how it could be. Her output is consistent, painting angry pictures from shades of a soul intrigued by the beautiful, the damned, and how the two intersect.

“I’m really interested in manipulation tactics and relationships that are psychologically abusive,” she says of the distinctive, stirring lyrics she writes. “You bit my head right off with your tiny little mouth, and I licked the blood from your lips” she sings on title track ‘The Archer’, which she wrote on Christmas Eve for her then-boyfriend: “I thought it was a love song…and then I realized it was about how terrible the relationship was.” She laughs, quietly, shyly. That painfully thin line between love and manipulation became the theme of the record.

Savior’s songs and their videos also spring from a fascination with the twenties, thirties, sixties, and in general, “things that are old.” As a result, Savior’s songs sound as though they’re calling ahead, phantom-like, through time. But much of that pain and storytelling comes directly from Savior herself, an old soul though she is only twenty-four.

The Archer is Alexandra Savior’s second record, but the first that she feels belongs to her - in the public consciousness at least. 2017’s Belladonna of Sadness was written alongside Alex Turner, a detail that brought much attention to her first full-length effort, but also, she tells me, plenty of misconceptions.

“I know what my experience was with the last record… but as a woman, your experience is always shadowed by societal expectations” she says, referring to suggestions that Turner was mostly responsible for the direction - and overall success - of Belladonna of Sadness. On The Archer, she says, “there’s still been this assumption that a man did it for me.”

Her perseverance is hard not to admire. Carving out time between episodes of crippling insecurity and overcoming periods of anxiety and depression, Savior ultimately bears succulent fruit. In addition to her languorous, painterly lyrics, Savior wrote all of the guitar lines you hear - "except on 'The Phantom’”.

She also directed the visuals for singles which now amount to a small clutch of beguiling short films. In the visuals for “Howl”, Savior accurately captures the empty debilitation of anxiety and depression by lying, curled or prone in various places, as if caught by its beam mid-movement. “That’s how I feel every time I go into public” she offers.

Though it translates impeccably into gorgeous, evocative and relatable art, Savior struggles in the studio - another reason why the making of The Archer is such a gift. "Usually the first day I’m in the studio I have an emotional breakdown and cry in front of everybody," she smiles sadly down the phone, "it’s really scary showing people songs that you’ve kept to yourself and introducing them to professional musicians with their own tastes..."

But she did it, and here is the art to prove it. As she considers when I ask how she overcomes the bullshit - both external and self-generated - "there’s a reason you keep doing it."

The Archer is out now.

#alexandra savior #interview #gigwise #2020 #* #my sensitive darling i love her sm

[tayegi]

New Rules Ch 11.

Word Count: 8,364

"Hmm?" he says, clearly distracted by your damp clothing… and the way it clings to your form. "Don't you need a shower too? I don't want you to catch a cold."

"Ah, in a bit," you impatiently brush him off, perfectly aware that your courage may flee you at any moment. And if you don't get this out now, you might never be able to. "I just really need to say something to you."

"Okay," he says, eyebrows raising with curiosity, "Go ahead."

You suck in a deep breath through your teeth, unsure how to approach him on this. And his half-naked form, spread out across your bed in just a towel, is doing nothing to help your concentration. The breath whooshes out from your lungs in one long stream, "Damn it, Jungkook can you put on some clothes first?!"

He frowns at that, "My clothes are still wet."

"I still have some of your clothes from the last time we—from the last time," you correct yourself, face heating at the reminder of the night you spent in his bed, "You can wear those."

"Nah. It's warm in here. I'm good like this."

You risk one glance in his direction, and the sight of his smooth, tawny skin stretched across bulging muscle makes you duck your head away with a loud curse, "Goddamn it, Jeon. Why can't you make yourself fucking decent?!"

You don't have to look at him again to know that a shit-eating grin has stretched across his mouth, "Why?" he teases, "Are you getting distracted by something…?"

You curse again and pinch the bridge of your nose as you dive towards your dresser, hastily scrambling for the sweats you had borrowed off of him months ago. But before you can fling them at him, he suddenly sidles up to you and grabs you from behind.

"Hmm you're shivering," he says as he sifts his nose through the sensitive hairs at the nape of your neck, "We should've just conserved water and showered together…"

"I'm not having sex with you in my communal bathroom where anyone could walk in on us," you growl as you resist another shiver from the feeling of his hot mouth planting kisses along your jaw.

"Why is everything about sex with you?" he chortles as he nips your earlobe.

You bite back a moan in the nick of time, "Remember what happened the last time we showered together?" you heatedly remind him.

He groans at that, "Oh god, yes. Don't remind me… I thought you wanted to talk, not fuck, so don't get me worked up now."

"Can you not think with just your dick for once?" you lightly berate him as you twist around in his grip to face him.

He grins in response, "Of course. You're the perverted one for thinking of those things. All I want to do is hold you a bit… and kiss you."

Then, without any warning, he suddenly dips down to capture your lips with his. Unlike the desperate, passionate way he kissed you in the ocean, this time he's unexpectedly sweet, kissing you with no fire, and only the tenderest affection. As though he's trying to savor your taste. You are helpless but to melt in his embrace, lips instantly parting to accommodate him better.

When he finally pulls away, neither of you say anything for a few seconds, too caught up in the moment. He's smiling at you, happiness permanently etched on his face like you've given him the best present in the world with just that simple kiss. Warmth builds in your chest, and for a moment, you forget that you're soaking wet in salty, water-damaged clothing. Intoxicated off his kisses, you feel light enough to float off your feet. And as a result, you don't have the inhibitions left to hold back the confession that suddenly blurts out of your mouth—

"I like you."

Jungkook's eyes widen in shock, making fear cripple your heart. Oh god… what have you done? But before you can make a run for it, he suddenly tightens his arms around your waist hard enough to hurt, "I like you, too."

His statement hits you like a shot of pure adrenaline to the heart. The happiness that suddenly explodes across your chest is almost painful. You're probably grinning like an idiot at him, but you don't care. Because nothing matters except the fact that Jeon Jungkook likes you. That he actually returns your shameful feelings.

You exhale deeply as you return his hug, burying your face in his chest to hide the embarrassing grin stretching from ear-to-ear on your face, "Jungkook," you murmur in his ear, "What should we do for our first date then?"

"Huh?" he stiffens a bit—which should've been your first hint, but you're too drunk on happiness to pick up on the clues. "What do you mean, ___?" he asks with an awkward laugh.

You pull back to playfully flick his nose in response, "As my boyfriend, shouldn't it be your duty to take me out?"

To your surprise, he doesn't laugh at that. In fact, he does something much more worrisome… "___... Please don't tell me you think we're in a relationship or something now."

The smile slides right off your face, as fear suddenly overtakes the once-overflowing happiness in your chest. With your heart pounding in your chest, you stumble back a step, "J-jungkook…" you stammer, "What are you talking about? Y-you said that you liked me…" For a moment, you pray that this is just some kind of sick joke, and you offer him a forced smile, hoping against hope that he'll break into laughter with a "gotcha!"

But you're shit out of luck. It feels like your heart sinks down your chest, into the very pit of your stomach as a sour grimace crosses his face like he's just bitten into a lemon, "But not in the way that you do, apparently."

The contempt in his voice has you gasping for breath. You've never seen him look at you like that before—as though you were an unwanted pest clinging to his sleeve, "Jungkook… what you're saying is… so you don't want to be with me?" you wince at how pathetic your words sound, but it's too late and the damage has been done.

His face twists into an expression that you can only describe as immense disgust. "No. Are you serious? Of course not."

You stumble back another step, only to realize that you've run out of room, leaving you trapped against the dresser, "But I… but I thought—"

"I've told you since day one that I'm not that kind of guy. God, can you even imagine me in a relationship?" he says with a derisive snort that feels like a punch to your stomach, "Did you honestly think that you could trap me into one with sex, ___? Or with a kiss? Come on. Get real."

This feels like the time he had crushed you outside on the pavement outside of the sorority house after his date with Hyejin. But a million times worse. Because unlike last time when you had been able to laugh it off as a joke, there's no misinterpreting your words or taking them back now. You've let yourself be vulnerable for the first time since Seokjin, wearing your heart on your sleeve for Jungkook. And he has brutally ripped it off without a second thought, not even bothering to hide the disgust twisting his handsome features.

You feel worthless. You feel less than human, less than the dirt beneath his feet as he continues to glower at you with such contempt. "I… I'm sorry, Jungkook. I just… I thought that you liked me."

"I do!" he exclaims with exasperation, "And we had such a good thing going on, too. Why did you have to catch feelings and ruin everything?! Ugh, god, ___. I expected more from you at least!"

He looks genuinely upset, like you having feelings for him is the weakest, most pathetic thing you could've possibly done. You stare determinedly at the ground, hands scrunched up to fists and nails digging into the tender flesh of your palms to keep from crying. "I'm sorry."

From the corner of your eye, you catch him running his fingers through his wet hair with frustration, "How long do you think it'll take for you to get over this?"

You glance up with confusion, "What?"

"Maybe a few weeks or something? You think you'll be over it by then and we can continue things as usual?"

The way he's talking about it… It's like you're suffering from a disgusting, physically mutilating disease that he wants no part of until you're cured. You've never felt uglier in your own skin. You drop your gaze again, "I don't know," you admit in a small voice.

He sighs deeply, "Let's take a break, okay? I'll call you in a few weeks or something… But in the meantime, it's probably best that we stay away from each other."

It's like he's genuinely concerned that you're contagious and might infect him as well with your unsavory illness. You've never wished to disappear as much as this very moment. "Okay," you say quietly.

Jungkook sighs again as he hunts down his abandoned clothing and tugs them on, clearly in a rush to escape. "I hope you get over this soon, ___," he tells you in a sincere tone, "So we can get back to the way things were."

You don't say anything in response, eyes fixated on the ground as you will the tears away. You can't cry now. Not in front of him. Your ego's been irreversibly ripped to shreds, yet you'll cling onto the last tatters.

Luckily, you manage to hold the tears back until he disappears out of your room, leaving without a word of farewell. You stand there for a moment, alone with your own thoughts. Your wet clothes cling uncomfortably to your figure and your palm is bleeding from where you have dug your nails into your skin. But you can't process anything other than the gaping hole in your chest.

So you're good enough to fuck, but not to be his girlfriend? Once again, you are just an object to a man… And you'll never forget the look of utter disgust on Jungkook's face at the very mention of a relationship.

He doesn't love you. He'll never love you. No man has ever loved you before, and how could you have possibly thought that someone like Jeon Jungkook could've ever returned your feelings?

You are an idiot. You are so unbelievably stupid to believe that you were good enough for Jungkook. He's the star striker of the championship soccer team, and the most desirable guy in the entire school. And in return, you are…. What are you, actually? Besides another noisy girl who doesn't know her place.

Numbly, you peel off your wet clothes and crawl into bed, pulling the sheets over your head to hide from the world. You're all alone now. Brutally, undeniably alone. The way you were always meant to be. 

Well, at least you've learned your lesson now.

***

The next morning, you can't get yourself out of bed. It feels like every limb has been weighed down by lead. You can't move even if you wanted to, and your eyes have been swollen shut by tears.

You're devastated—absolutely crushed by his cold, remorseless rejection. But most of all, you are embarrassed. You've never been so utterly humiliated in your entire life. This was a mistake, and you'd take it all back in a heartbeat if you could. But it's too late and you've committed the gravest mistake of your life. And now everyone's going to know about how the annoying social justice warrior nerd next door actually thought she had a chance with Jeon Jungkook.

You whimper softly as you pull the covers over your head. Now, all you can do is lie in bed and lick your wounds. And sleep until the end of time—or however long it takes for the pain in your chest to lessen.

***

You don't leave your room for three days, except for the bathroom and when Mijoo drags you out for meals. She'd be more concerned about your sudden isolation from the world, but when you lie and pretend that you've come down with a nasty bout of the flu, she easily eats it up. It's easy enough to believe with how haggard and deathlike your appearance has become.

And it's not until news about your favorite underclassman's emotional breakdown reaches you that you finally emerge from your cocoon of isolation.

***

"What the fuck?!" Mijoo's exclamation is as loud as a gunshot in the tiny bedroom. Both you and Yerin wince. "You can't be serious!"

The younger girl sniffs, "I-it's true though… I said that I liked him… That I wanted to be more than friends. And Yoongi… h-he said he d-didn't…" she's suddenly so choked by tears that she can't continue any further.

Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. This makes no sense. Your own rejection, you can understand. You're nothing. But your precious angelic friend who you love more than life itself? This is utterly incomprehensible. You're too bewildered to even speak until Mijoo suddenly collects the devastated younger girl in her arms.

"Shh, it's okay, baby," she coos, with a tight squeeze, "I know it hurts. Just let it all out."

This makes Yerin turn to bury her face in Mijoo's neck as a fresh wave of sobs wracks her slender body. She looks so painfully fragile that tears spring into your eyes, and for a frightening moment, you can envision yourself revealing your dirty, shameful secret and breaking down in front of your best friends. You can imagine yourself wrapping your arms tightly around Yerin's waist and allowing Mijoo to rub soothing circles on your back…

But you're supposed to be the strong one. The tough, badass tomboy who would never let a stupid boy crush her heart to pulp. You're the voice of reason; the role model. How can you explain to this girl you love more dearly than an actual sister that you've fallen prey to what you've warned her against for the past year? It's beyond shameful. You'd never be able to show your face around campus again if word got out… Oh, how the mighty have fallen…

And besides…

You swallow the hard lump in your throat as you take in Yerin's broken appearance. She's hunched over and trembling from the force of her tears. Like a wilted flower.

This isn't about you right now. As good as it might feel to break down in front of your best friends and revel in their comfort, you would never allow yourself to be so selfish. Not when one of the people who you love most on this planet earth is in such pain. So you choke your tears back and crouch down by Yerin to hold her small hand tightly in both of your own.

"I'm here for you."

***

It takes a full hour before Yerin finally tires herself out from crying, and curls up in your bed, exhausted enough to sleep the rest of the day away. As soon as the younger girl knocks out, Mijoo yanks on her coat to dash for the store, mumbling something about wine and chocolate. You numbly watch her leave, still too dumbfounded by Yerin's unexpected rejection to give your roommate's actions much attention.

Once she leaves, you're left alone in the room to stand guard over the younger girl and watch the steady rise and fall of her chest with acute attention. In her sleep, with her brow smoothed free of any deep frowns, and her limbs sprawled out in all directions, she looks peaceful and almost content. As though her brutal heartbreak had never happened. But you know perfectly well that when she wakes up and the memories of the past few hours come rushing back, she'll wilt again.

More than anything in the world, you wish you could take her pain. It's bad enough that you yourself are feeling so ugly and unwanted, but you can't bear to see it happening to your dearest friend. It's so unfair.

How could Yoongi do this to her?

Suddenly, white-hot anger replaces the anguish in your heart, making you grit your teeth with a scowl. Who the fuck does Min Yoongi think he is? You didn't think he was good enough for your angel to begin with, and then he goes and breaks her heart? And he's been leading her on for months as well… much like someone else you—

You shake your head of those dangerous thoughts, nails digging into your palm to distract yourself with pain. It doesn't work, and soon you're trembling from the force of your fury. Fuck this shit. Did that son of a bitch really think he could pull something like this and get away with it? He must have grossly underestimated you.

You're gonna give Min Yoongi a piece of your fucking mind.

And with that, you snatch your jacket off the back of a chair and storm out the door.

***

"Yah, Min Yoongi!" you shout as you pound on his front door barely fifteen minutes later. You plowed through groups of touring high schoolers, and broke numerous traffic laws with your reckless jay-walking, but you were a woman on a mission. When you don't receive a response, you bang your fists on the door harder, "I know you're in there!" You yell through the wood, "I'm not fucking leaving until you let me in!"

At that, the door abruptly swings open, making you nearly fall over with surprise. Yoongi scowls back at you, dressed in pajamas and clearly displeased to see you, "Just get in before you wake up the neighbors," he grunts.

You cross your arms over your chest with a huff, but nevertheless obey as you follow him through the apartment. "Is Hoseok home?" you ask as you watch him lock the door behind you.

"Nope," he simply says as he plops down on the sofa, "So whatever you need to say, hurry and say it."

You weren't expecting him to go along with this without a struggle, and you feel a bit lost and awkward as you take a seat next to him. In your mind, he was supposed to act defensive and haughty while you screamed insults at him. But you should've known that Yoongi would be nothing but mature. "Well… um… There's something really important we need to discuss…"

"This is about Yerin, isn't it?" he asks, bluntly cutting to the chase.

You gulp in response and rub your damp palms on your jeans. Then you bravely turn to stare him in the eye, "Yes, it is. You're a real asshole, Min Yoongi."

To your surprise, instead of denying it, he sighs deeply and leans forward to bury his face in his hands, "Yeah. I know."

This is not going how you expected whatsoever, and you can only sit there, stunned, "You… you know?"

At that, he abruptly rises to his feet with a groan, "I need a drink. Do you want anything?"

"Yes, please," you say, grateful for the offer. You're going to need a shit ton of alcohol to get through this impending conversation.

As though reading your mind, Yoongi comes back with an entire bottle of whisky and two glasses. And without needing to ask, he fills both glasses with a generous serving of the rich amber liquid. Neither of you speak until you've had a sip.

Yoongi hisses softly through his teeth from the burn and crashes his head against the back of the couch, "Would you believe me if I said I never meant to hurt her?"

The astringent liquid that warms your belly gives you the courage to call him out, "I have a hard time believing that, Yoongi," you say in an icy tone, "Why would you bother leading her on all these months if you had no intention of actually dating her?"

The older man runs his hands through his hair in frustration, "It really wasn't like that, I swear. I had no idea that she had feelings for me."

"Oh yeah right. Why else would a starry-eyed freshman girl follow you around like that? And why would you let her if you really felt nothing?"

"Because I thought we were friends," Yoongi explains in an aggravated tone, taking another large gulp of his whisky to keep his cool, "Is it really that hard to believe?"

You narrow your eyes in suspicion, "Friends, really? From you, Yoongi? You don't like anybody. So why would you tolerate a fanciful freshman girl? Unless…" your eyes widen as a new thought suddenly occurs to you, "Oh my god…" you whisper, "Did you have sex with her?!"

The silver-haired man looks just as shocked by your accusation, "What?! Do you seriously think that I could—"

"You guys hung out alone enough! I heard that you've even been in her dorm room! Who knows what kind of moves you pulled on her?!"

Yoongi rubs his aching temples, "___, are you kidding me? I—"

"And you knew she was still a virgin!" you blurt out, unable to stop even if you wanted to, "I mean, I know it's a made-up concept, but it mattered to her!" You sound hysterical, even to your own ears, but you can't help yourself when it comes to Yerin. "She was looking for love and respect, not for a creepy older guy to take advantage of her vulnerabilities then throw her away like trash once he was done with her!"

"It seriously was not like that!" He exclaims, his normally placid temper firing up, "I never laid a single hand on her!"

"Yeah right!" you snap, so enraged that you've lost all logic, "How can I believe anything that comes out of your filthy mouth?!"

"Because it was—I just… Trust me when I say that it would be entirely impossible with me," he tries to convince you, so frustrated that he drags his hands through his hair.

But you've been fucked over one too many times by a lying man to believe him, "Just admit that you're a disgusting fuckboy, and accept the consequences."

"Honest to god, I did not have sex with her."

You snort in response, "Why should I believe you?"

"Just because!" he exclaims, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"Why, Yoongi?!"

His face twists into a scowl, the pressure building up higher and higher until he finally explodes—

"Because I'm gay!"

The silent tension that ensues after his unexpected confession is thick enough to cut with a knife. You open and close your mouth multiple times, but can't find the words to say. On the other side of the couch, Yoongi looks equally as stricken by his confession. His face blanches of all color and he shakily brings his glass of whisky to his lips to calm his nerves.

"Yoongi," you whisper in a quiet voice, breaking the prolonged silence, "Are you… are you serious?"

He says nothing until he knocks back his drink, "Fuck," he curses as he pours himself another one. "I should not have told you that…"

"Wait a minute…," you murmur, brow furrowed deeply in concentration as you try to recall any mention of the older man's sexuality, "Then why did I always think that you were straight?"

"Because I pretended to be," he says with a humorless chuckle, "It's good to know that I was able to fool people."

Your frown deepens. A thousand thoughts and questions flash through your mind at lightspeed, but only one stands out, "We need to tell Yerin."

But he leaps forward to grab you by the wrist before you can reach for your phone in your back pocket, "No."

You blink at him in confusion, "Why not? She deserves to know! You have no idea how badly she's beating herself over this, thinking that she's unattractive and undeserving of love. I'm afraid that she might actually go down a depressive spiral, and this would make her realize that it's not because of her. That it's not personal!"

But Yoongi refuses to budge, "I said 'no,' ___."

You stare at him with wide eyes, surprised by the venom in his tone, "It's the twenty-first century, Yoongi," you inform him in a quiet voice, "And everyone's an open-minded millennial. No one's going to judge you—look at Taehyung and how open he is about his sexuality."

"That's not it," Yoongi says in exasperation, "I don't care what you guys think, I just can't afford to have the rumors spread."

"What do you mean by this?"

He loosens his grip on your arm when it becomes apparent that you won't try anything, and reaches for his glass again for a bit of liquid courage, "I know that you are very progressive and you fight for minority rights, ___," he slowly begins, "But please understand that not everyone is like that."

You scowl at that, "Yeah, there are a boatload of homophobes out there. But so what? You don't need those narrow-minded assholes in your life."

"What if they were my parents?" he asks in a quiet voice, "My siblings? My community back home? The people I love most in this world? What would you have me do then?"

That shuts you up. You twist your fingers in the fabric of your t-shirt, feeling inexplicably helpless, "Yoongi…"

"You're very lucky," he continues in a soft, whisper-like voice, "You have a strong community of like-minded people who would accept you for the way you are… Who wouldn't disown you on the spot if you came out of the closet… But unfortunately, I'm not so privileged."

"Oh, Yoongi," you sigh, heart tightening with sympathy. On a whim, you reach out to grab his hand. He flinches for a moment, but to your surprise, he does not shake you off.

"I've been taught since birth that homosexuality is a sin," he continues, eyes trained on the floor, "And I've seen people cut out of my community with no remorse whatsoever for coming out of the closet… Neighbors, church peers, hell, even my own cousin," he says with a humorless bark of laughter.

You wince at the empty sound and lower your gaze to the glass of whisky in your lap, "I'm truly sorry, Yoongi."

He shrugs in response, "I don't expect you to agree with my actions. But at least you can try to understand me?"

You pause for a moment, searching for the right words to say. And when you speak again, your voice is uncharacteristically soft, "You're right, Yoongi. It might be difficult for me to agree with your decisions. I am rather… forceful. And I've never had the relationship you must have with your family, so it's never mattered to me what they thought… But this isn't my decision to make, and I completely understand that your situation is different than mine. You care about these people, and you want to stay in their lives, and that's totally valid."

Yoongi clearly is not used to sharing his emotions in this way, and his pale cheeks flush with color, "Thanks," he mumbles, turning away with embarrassment.

But you hold on tight to his hand, not willing to let him go, "Whatever you decide, I just want to let you know that I support you, Yoongi."

He groans softly at that, his face reddening even further, "Okay, okay, I get it. You're a good friend. Can we please stop this touchy feely shit now?"

You laugh, "Give me a hug first."

"No way in hell."

"Yoongi!" you whine, holding out your arms for him.

"I'd rather die."

"Yoongi!"

"Fine!" he groans as he awkwardly reaches over to pat your back.

You burst into delighted laughter as you happily throw your arms around his neck and squeeze him tightly to your chest. Yoongi allows you to do so for exactly ten seconds before he wiggles out of your grip, "Okay, okay, that's enough," he grumbles.

You sigh as you reluctantly let him go, "I also wanted to apologize for pressuring you to tell Yerin… She's in a low place right now and I just wanted to make her feel better. I must've been triggered, because I know firsthand how bad it feels to be rejected, after all," you say with a little chuckle.

But that piques Yoongi's attention, "You do?" he asks with a raised brow, "How do you know?"

Your eyes widen as you realize your mistake, but it's too late. Nothing gets past Yoongi's sharp senses. For a moment, you contemplate making up a fake story to dispel his suspicions. But you can't do this to him. Not when he's shared his biggest secret with you. So you lay your ego on the line and tell him the truth:

"I confessed to Jungkook last week… And he turned me down."

Yoongi's brow furrows in confusion, "What?"

All you want to do in that moment is dive for cover. This is beyond humiliating and you'd like nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow you whole. Even now, the memory is so fresh that pain stabs at your chest from the very mention of his name, "Yeah… I told him that I wanted to be with him… and he told me to get my shit together and snap out of it…"

"That little fucker…" Yoongi curses under his breath.

You can see his anger in the way his teeth grit and his hands curl to fists, so you hurriedly intervene, "It's not like that," you say with a rushed, off-pitch laugh, "He's been telling me this since day one. It's my own fault for reading too much into it and catching feelings. I have no one to blame but myself."

But Yoongi turns to you with an incredulous look, "You can't be serious. Anyone with eyes could tell that Kook is completely whipped for you. Where is this coming from?"

You simply shrug in response, "I guess we were all wrong… But I guess what I'm trying to say is that I can empathize with Yerin. If Jungkook told me that he didn't want to be with me because he was gay, it'd feel like less of a personal insult. And it wouldn't hurt so much."

But Yoongi adamantly shakes his head, a deep scowl etched into his face, "No way. There's nothing similar between these two situations at all."

"What? I don't understand what you're talking about."

"I just don't think you can compare us at all."

"Why not?" you ask with a raised brow, "I mean, it's unlikely that Jungkook is gay or anything, but…"

"There is zero chance that he's gay," Yoongi firmly interrupts.

You smile wryly at that, "Is your gaydar that powerful, Yoongi?" you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

But the older man doesn't budge one inch, "That's not it. It's not about his sexuality… It's just that there's something weird about his story. Something doesn't feel right… And I really don't think you can compare us."

You fall silent for a moment, trying to process his cryptic words. In a way, you can kind of understand where he's coming from. Deep down inside, you had always felt that there was something off with the way Jungkook had responded to your confession… But you had been too inundated with shame to even process these feelings. Yet now…

What does it mean that both you and Yoongi have picked up on this strange unease?

"You can't tell anyone about this, by the way," the silver-haired man says, interrupting you from your thoughts.

You turn to look at him, and are surprised to find him already staring at you. "Yes," you say at once, "I won't."

"Do you promise?" he asks, strange desperation lighting up his eyes before he forces it back.

But you know him well enough to read the signs of anxiety in his normally lax posture and his white-knuckled grip on his drink. You nod once, "I promise."

And only with that does he finally relax. All the stress leaves his body as he visibly deflates, slumping over on the couch, boneless, "Okay," he says with a sigh. Then his eyes dart down to the empty glass in his hand, "Do you want another one?"

You're already reaching for the crystal bottle on the table, "More than you can imagine."

***

When you finally get back home that evening, you're a bit tipsy off the whisky and disoriented from the conversation with Yoongi. It takes a bit of effort to sneak up the stairs with your alcohol-addled senses, but somehow you manage to make it back to your room with no incidence. And once you close the door behind you, you're not surprised to find Yerin and Mijoo curled up in your bed together, dead asleep.

You take a few minutes to just watch them, heart growing heavy from the enduring sight of your two best friends intertwined like this, as though reaching out for each other even in their subconscious.

Both of them look as beautiful and pure as slumbering angels. For a moment, you're so overwhelmed with affection that you might cry. You don't know what you've done in a previous life to deserve friends like this, but you thank god every day for this blessing. These are sisters you would die for, and their happiness means more to you than even your own. But although Mijoo has finally reached a state of contentment and acceptance, Yerin is clearly still struggling… And this event with Yoongi was just another thorn in the side.

Your chest constricts as you watch her thin, almost sickly puffs of breath. You wish you could tell her the truth and alleviate her pain. She deserves to know that this wasn't personal. That it wasn't due to her, but to an inevitable fact of nature. And in a way… you hate to admit it, but you're jealous of her. You wish you could have as clean-cut of an explanation as that from Jungkook.

But instead, you're left in the dark, wondering what's wrong with you.

Something doesn't feel right…

Yoongi's cryptic statement comes back to you at that moment, making you frown. But what does that mean? You can't put your finger on what is off. And it bothers you beyond belief.

Frustrated, you slump down on Mijoo's bed across the room and rub your weary eyes. You don't know how to make heads or tails out of this. But the one thing you're certain of is that you need to speak to Jungkook. Immediately.

Still a bit fuzzy from too much whisky, you clumsily pull out your phone and scroll to his contact. You wince at the previous, cringeworthy flirty text exchange between the two of you that pops up across your screen. It feels as long as a lifetime ago that you were able to tease and flirt with him without a thought in your mind. Before the bitter regret can come creeping back in, you force yourself to type out a message. Your fine motor skills have been impacted by the alcohol and it takes twice as long to fix all the typos, but finally you manage:

Hey, Jeon. Would you be free to talk anytime this week?

Your heart is thumping in your chest at a thousand beats a minute when you send off that text. Do you sound desperate? Is he laughing at you? Why can't you take "no" as an answer and just leave him alone? You suddenly feel so nauseous that you might puke.

Luckily, Jungkook replies very quickly… But his answer isn't the one you had hoped for…

Hey ___. Maybe it'd be best to wait and cool off for a bit?

It takes you three attempts before the meaning behind his words finally sinks in.

Jungkook… I think it's important that we talk soon. You word your response as carefully as possible, trying not to scare him off. Your heart is firmly lodged in your throat as you wait for him to set up a time. You have no idea what you're going to say to him, and you're scared shitless, but all you know is that you have to see him. And soon.

But of course, Jungkook never responds…

***

When you wake up the next morning, you feel uncommonly warm. It takes a few seconds of groggy shuffling to realize that you're not in your own bed. Sometime last night, you must have fallen asleep on Mijoo's bed. And the girls must have wrapped you up, fully dressed, in her blankets while you were knocked out. You glance around the room to thank them, but they must have already left. And sure enough, the clock on the nightstand informs you that it's nearly noon. Which means that…

You nearly jump out of your skin in your haste to grab your phone. Your pulse instantly surges and you flail around in the blankets trying to break free. But the moment you make contact with the slender device, your excitement dies.

No new messages.

You swallow tightly. Jungkook has not responded to your text. Slowly, your phone slips from between your fingers as you consider your next steps. But you're at a complete loss as to what to do.

***

No matter how many times you call and text him over the next week, Jungkook never responds. Not only is it beyond aggravating, but you feel your already nonexistent self-esteem crumbling to bits with his prolonged avoidance. And the only thing that spurs you on, rejection after rejection, is that small voice in the back of your head that tells you that something is wrong. That you need to get to the bottom of this, or you'll never get over it.

So you muster all of your courage, and head down to the soccer field when you know he has practice two Saturdays after the night at the beach, determined to confront him once and for all. But of course, things never go according to plan.

The moment they finish up with practice in the late afternoon, you run down from the bleachers to intercept the members.

"Jungkook!" You cry out before he can retreat into the locker rooms to wash up.

Startled by the sounds of his name, Jungkook whips his head around to find the source of the voice. And the moment his eyes meet yours, your heart turns to stone. It's the first time you've seen him since that fateful night in his bedroom. And it hurts more than you could've imagined to see him again.

For a moment, you're stricken with fear. Is he annoyed to see you? Does he think that you're an obsessed stalker? How crazy must you look following him all the way to his soccer practice?

But to your surprise, something very unexpected happens at that moment.

Jungkook looks you straight in the eyes, and then, as though by instinct, his mouth curves upwards. His smile stretches from ear to ear, so wide that his cheeks expand and his eyes scrunch up to little crescent moods. But just as quickly as it appears, his smile abruptly slides off his face, replaced by a mask of irritation.

"___, what are you doing here?" he asks in a gruff voice, self-consciously glancing over his shoulder at his teammates who watch the two of you with curiosity.

You're relieved that Hoseok has already graduated, and isn't here to witness your embarrassment. You glance at the group of athletes whispering amongst themselves, your face heating at what they might be saying about you, before you refocus your attention on Jungkook, "We need to talk."

He winces in response, "Not now."

You cross your arms over your chest, "I'm serious, Jungkook. You can't keep putting this off. We need to talk."

"Well, I don't want to talk to you right now," And with that, he turns on his heel to rejoin his teammates without a second glance.

His cold rejection is like a slap in the face. For a moment, it hurts so much that you can't even react. You can only watch him walk away from you with your eyes as wide as saucers and your hand held over your chest to hold yourself together.

But before you can fall to pieces, a new thought slips into your mind…

The way Jungkook had smiled when he first recognized you… It seemed like an automatic, knee-jerk reaction before logic kicked in and he quickly controlled himself. But the way he smiled… That doesn't seem to be the way someone would look at a person who meant nothing to them, does it? If he really had nothing but platonic feelings for you, why did his face light up like a Christmas tree at the sight of you? Is it really all in your head? Or could it be something else…?

You're so overwhelmed by these thoughts that you have to take a seat on the abandoned field to think. You're unsure how long you sit there on the muddy grass, but it's only when the first raindrop falls from the sky to hit you directly on the nose that you finally react. You stare up at the sky for a moment, marveling at the dark gray storm clouds that have suddenly crowded the horizon. More raindrops come falling down, one after another. With your face upturned, they mercilessly pelt your tender skin and drip down your cheeks like tears.

Slowly, shakily, you rise to your feet as the scattered drops turn to a full-on storm, soaking you to the bone. Then you turn to make your way to Jungkook's frat house.

The sorority house is closer to the field than the frat house, but you don't dare stop for a moment, not to even take ten minutes to change out of your soaked clothing as you run forward through the rain. You must look like a complete lunatic, drenched to the bone without even an umbrella or a hood to keep you dry, and you draw enough attention from concerned bystanders, but you're a woman on a mission… and you know that if you stop now, you'll never have the courage to try again.

So you sprint through the storm, resisting the urge to shiver when the icy rain pelts your body and the sinister thunder rumbles from the horizon. This unexpected thunder storm in the middle of the afternoon feels like a chilling omen—a sign that you need to just give up and get your ass home. But you choke down your fears and barrel forward.

When you finally arrive on the doorstep of the BTS frat house, your clothes are ruined beyond repair. Your t-shirt and jeans are molded to your form and your shoes are soggy with mud and rainwater. You must resemble some kind of sewer rat washed up on their door mat. And your hand trembles from the cold and crippling anxiety as you reach up to ring the doorbell.

When a frat brother you don't recognize comes to answer the door, he stops for a good half a minute to gawk at your unkempt appearance. And before he can formulate a coherent sentence, you impatiently push him aside and enter the house in search of one particular person.

"Hey, wait a minute! You can't just come in!" he calls after you, wincing at the sound of your shoes splattering mud on the clean floors with every step.

You ignore him as you slosh your way into the house, with only one goal in mind. But with just ten steps inside, you freeze, mid-step, as you notice a group of frat brothers in the living room for the first time. Jungkook, who sits on the edge of the couch with a beer in hand, starts at the sight of you.

"___?!"

A wave of nausea flows through you at the sight of him. He was clearly in the midst of watching a sports game on TV with a handful of his fraternity brothers when you marched your way in. You'd been hoping against hope that he would've been alone, in his bedroom or something. So that the two of you could have this conversation in private. But you should know by now that you have the worst fucking luck of all time.

You take a second to close your eyes and inhale deeply through your nose. Your heart is racing a thousand beats a minute, each thump smashing against your skull in a way that makes you feel ill. It's like you're onstage again for the date auction, throwing peanuts at people and receiving the most horrified, judgmental stares. Only this time, you care about what they think. Or at least, one of them in particular…

Slowly, slowly, you release your held breath. Then you turn to look Jungkook straight in the eye and say, "You're a fucking coward."

Your comment is so unexpected that no one can speak for a few minutes. They all gape at you with identical looks of mutual horror. But you only have eyes for one man.

Jungkook opens and closes his mouth many times, like a fish gaping for breath. But the situation is so bewildering that he can't find the right words to say. "What?"

The flustered frat brother who let you in earlier quickly rushes forward to try to remedy his mistake, "Sorry, guys. I accidentally let this person in. Excuse me, Miss, but you can't—"

"You heard me," you brusquely interrupt, "You're a fucking coward, Jeon Jungkook."

That incites something other than utter bewilderment from the soccer player for the first time. His brow furrows into a scowl, "What the fuck are you talking about, ___? I said I didn't want to talk right now, so can't you just—"

"There you go, trying to run away again. Why are you so afraid of me?"

His anger flares at that, making him rise to his feet, "Afraid? Are you kidding me? I just can't deal with your clinginess right now."

That statement feels like a blade sliding into your ribcage, "Clinginess…?" you repeat in a small voice, "You think I'm being clingy?"

Jungkook glances behind him at the whispering spectators all around him and sighs deeply when he realizes that there's no way to avoid having this conversation in front of an audience. "I told you that I didn't want any strings attached," he hisses at you in a low whisper, but of course, his frat brothers pick up on every detail, "You're the one who caught feelings and messed this all up. And I'm sorry if you're upset. But I'm not that type of guy."

"Bullshit."

That makes him blink. "Excuse me?"

"Bull. Shit," you repeat, emphasizing every syllable, "You've been trying to gaslight me this whole time. And you've been doing a good job, too. I almost believed you for a minute. But you've forgotten one important detail, Jungkook."

His eyes narrow, "And what's that?"

"That I'm not an idiot," you deadpan. "I know this isn't all in my head. You're trying to make me seem like a fanciful little girl making up all these ridiculous romantic ideals in my mind. But that's a lie. I’m not crazy. I'm not the only one who's caught feelings. You like me too."

At that bold statement, the room erupts into snickers, and your blood boils at the condescending looks on their faces. It's like you're a bug they'd like to squash. Out of spite, you dig your shoes into the clean wooden floor, leaving an ugly brown footprint.

Jungkook looks embarrassed beyond belief as he glances back and forth between you and his amused frat brothers, "Oh, come on, ___. Let's be real, I'm not—"

"Not the relationship type? Not the type to want to go on dates and hold hands and fall asleep together? Yeah right. Do you really believe this bullshit coming out of your mouth? You fucking love this shit."

This makes one member howl with laughter, and Jungkook quickly glances at him, his face turning an alarming shade of fuchsia. "You should really leave, ___."

But you simply cross your arms over your chest and stand your ground, "Why? You embarrassed, Jungkook? Because you see emotions as something embarrassing, isn’t that right? Love is weakness, huh?" you scoff, "Well, that's completely fucking juvenile. All of you are fucking children, clinging onto your toxic masculinity like it's the truth," you burst out, turning to address all of them in the room.

A few guys mockingly "ooh" with feigned dismay, while the rest just sneer at you. And Jungkook just continues to stand there with a look of extreme discomfort on his face, "___..."

"Grow up, Jungkook," you growl at him, "All of you need to grow the fuck up. I'm sorry your mothers didn't raise you right. But that's not my job," you say, holding your hands up, "I'm done." And with that, you spin around to march out the door.

Someone catcalls after you, while the rest just laugh amongst themselves, but Jungkook actually makes an attempt to follow you to the door, "___, wait—"

But you yank your rain-soaked sleeve out of his hand when he tries to pull you back inside of the house. "I'm glad you finally revealed your true colors, Jeon. And I sincerely thank you for that," you tell him in a quiet voice from the doorstep, careless even as the storm raging outside mercilessly whips against your bare, frozen skin.

"Because it'll be so easy getting over you."

Jungkook's frown deepens at that, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip with agitation. But he doesn't say anything or make another move to urge you back indoors.

So you turn on your heel to walk off into the storm, all by yourself. 

***

A/N: Sorry this took so long! But please don’t ask me about updates! Thank you!

#new rules #bts scenarios #bts scenario #jungkook scenarios #jungkook scenario #jungkook smut #sweet summer child

[waitingtobeimpressed]

The Silent Serpent Part 2

Chapter 2 - “Absolute Bloody Asshole!”

Sweetpea x OC

Warnings: Sweet peas Attempts at flirting with Mae. (Trust me it was painful to write)

Word count: 1344

The picture is mine and I did, in fact, create it. And umm if you didn’t notice it can kind of only be used for my story because it has the title of the book and my name in it Sooooooo……

I also did not create Riverdale but some people get salty about not making that clear. However, I did create the character of Maeble Mikaelson/ Forgarty and all the relationships she forms. So. Yeh.

Yes her name is Maeble Mikaelson. For a bit of context, her mothers maiden name is Mary Mikaelson and her Fathers name was Fish Forgarty  (It’s complicated), She prefers to use Forgarty as her last name because to put it lightly she hates her mother with a passion…

She doesn’t remember her father because he was given life in prison when she was still a baby. We might see more of him in the future though…

I’m still new to the whole Tumblr thing so just give a chance and hopefully, I will figure it out.

History for Mae had always been intriguing, whether it was learning about the impact Egyptian Gods had on the common people of the time to recounting the events of Nazi Germany and the truly horrific influence one human being could push upon a whole nation. Mae loved nothing more than to be taught the victories of wars long ago to the mistakes that crippled the planet, because without disaster there could be no change, and without change, humanity would cease to develop and adapt, Not allowing ourselves to be the best we could be.

However, Mae also clearly understood that all histories have a dark side, that all opinions in some way are completely biased, that we are never really in control.

This fact terrified Maeble. It kept her awake a night with thoughts of what if? How different life would be without all of the evil in the world. Because with the absence of evil would all the good deeds remain? 

Mae held tightly onto the pen in her right hand. Her knuckles going white with irritation. Irritation caused by no one other than Sweet Pea, Head Serpent of South Side High. At this moment in time Sweets was rhythmically kicking the front leg of Mae’s chair going in time with the music that was blasting into his ears from his white headphones. Getting harder and harder with each impact, leaving her on the verge of insanity. The class had only started 15 minutes ago and she wondered how long it would take before she lost it, before she snapped.

Every once and a while Pea would look up at her face through his long eyelashes, smiling and he watched her copy down everything the teacher said, save for a few curse words directed at the class. He Hadn’t moved from straddling his seat but had moved closer to the desk so he could lean forward on the back of the chair, Allowing himself to yet again be the nuisance that Maeble hated with a passion. He knew she hated him and he loved that. He wasn’t sure why though. It was a complete mystery to him. Maybe it was because even if it was negative he craved her full attention.

And without being able to control herself, Mae always surrendered it to him. Always bending to his will before eventually Snapping in two,

“Can you not?, you absolute bloody asshole, I’m trying to work.” Mae finally spat in a hushed tone, forcing pea to tear his big brown orbs up to meet her icy blue ones. He smirked, getting the exact reaction he was looking for. Mae, on the other hand, silently cursed herself, she had given in too easily and now she was going to have to deal with him for the next 42 minutes.

“Ah princess, how I have longed to hear the stunning English accent of yours” he smirked once again. making Goosebumps crawl their way up Mae’s spine, stopping at the nape of her neck.

Mae sighed and looked back at her book, underlining relevant information she thought would be handy since she hadn’t quite heard what the teacher was saying. “ fuck me, I fucking hate you, fuck!” She whispered.

Sweets smirked like it was the only facial expression he knew how to make. 

“ How could you possibly hate a face as good looking as this?” Mae glared at him so hard she thought her head might explode or at least get a killer headache. “ And about fucking you it would be my honour, just name the time and the place, princess”

Mae pretended to think about it before looking him dead in the eye, ” Does ‘Not a chance in Hell even when it freezes over’ work for you?”

“Ouch, Pea you okay buddy?” Toni laughed out as she turned to face them as well, crossing her short legs in their direction.

“Its none of your business Topaz…” Sweetpea sneered as he half turned around in his chair.

“Oh, that heartbreaking rejection reminds me, Mae are you coming down to the Quarry after school, a few of the Serpents said they were going to bring kegs and stuff, and this is the last time we can all go swimming there before it becomes too cold. What do you think?” Toni Suggests as she closes her untouched History book, already deciding the was enough for the day. Mae’s hearts drop into her stomach. She couldn’t go swimming, not in that water, not in any water. Water was Maes biggest fear as stupid as that sounds. She couldn’t stand the thought of jumping in even if she was surrounded by all of her closest friends. She couldn’t stand not knowing what she was swimming above or how peaceful the Lakes and Oceans looked before they became nasty.

“How the hell does that remind you my rejection?” Sweets cuts in before Mae has time to muster up an excuse. He glanced back at her, meeting her gaze until she shied away from it. He is the only one aware of her gut-wrenching fear, he knew this because he is the one who saved her when some jerk thought it would be funny to push her and a couple of other people, including SP, over the bridge and into Sweet Water river after a particularly bad fight between the Serpents and the Ghoulies. As soon as he plunged into the icy cold water his thoughts went to Mae, did she get pushed as well or did fangs manage to get her in time. He shot up, gasping for air. His eyes scanning from each of the people until he settled on a girl, thrashing her arms about, choking on the water. Sweets swam so fast it physically pained him but he didn’t even think about stopping until his arms grasped her waist and pulled him flush against him. Mae was crying, her blue eyes bloodshot. She was trembling with fear until she just stopped moving completely. She had fainted in his arms either due to the cold but most likely because she was petrified. Sweets swam her to the shore to where fangs and Toni were and carried her bridal style to them where they proceeded to wrap her in blankets. Sweetpea made up some story that she had hit her head on the way down, so no one knew the real reason. Mae had just woken up to hear him before he walked away to get cleaned up himself. She would never forget that night as it still plagued her dreams.

“ Because sweet pea, I had ‘rejected‘ the idea until I saw Mae was back in town, and for good for this time. right?” Tomi eagerly smiled, tapping her pen on her closed book.

“Hopefully, unless I get kicked out again” Mae mumbled, looking down at her book until her attention was ripped away from it.

“So is that a yes?” Toni pushed on, going to get the answer she wanted even if it killed her.

“I haven’t gone swimming since I was like ten, Toni, I have nothing to wear even if I did want to go. I’ll just watch” That was a lie which caused Sweets to turn and face her again. He knew that she had never gone swimming and she knew that he knew. Mae raised her eyebrows at him a silently begged him to keep his big mouth shut about it. “ ill keep the kegs company.” Mae said with a forced smile and sweet pea knew was bullshit.

“Okay if that’s what you want to do, hey maybe sweets will keep you and the kegs company, he never swims with us anyway” Toni pouts and turns back into her seat. “ oh and sweets can you give her a lift, I’m going home first and I think fangs’ has an after-school detention again” she grins, knowing exactly what she was doing.

Sweetpea just looks at me and nods his head, smirking that god damn lopsided smirk” Anything for my princess”

#sweet pea #sweet pea riverdale #sweet pea imagine #sweetpea x reader #sweetpea x oc #riverdale #riverdale imagines #toni topaz #fangs fogarty #fanfic

[youkeptmyhoodie]

Here’s your note

2/3/19

I told you about Don’t Take the Money. The whole history, my nightmares, the pain that crippled me. I told you how now, with you, the song gives me hope again, after all of that pain. For a song that brought me so much pain, that played while I got shot in my dreams, that made me seize in silent screams on my bed, that had me standing in the middle of a concert with barely the strength to stand as tears streamed down my face, to not hurt again was monumental for me. It was so important. And then the next day, as we drove up the parkway, right after your parents basically told you they were going to put down your cat, Don’t Take the Money came on. As my car rounded a bend and the song launched into the pre-chorus, the sun hit my side view mirror, reflecting on to you, covering your face and hands. And in your high, between your dancing and laughing, I don’t think you ever noticed the way my breathing hitched in that one perfect moment. But the golden hour light hit you and bathed you and my stomach dropped and my heart fluttered and if I didn’t love you before, I knew I loved you then. I knew I loved you then. I saw your face and hands covered in sun and then, I think I understand, oh I understand.

2/5/19

We drove down to Ocean City as soon as Nadira’s class ended and I got off work. We tried and failed to beat the sunset to 30th Street, so with Taylor Swift blasting in the background, we watched it sink below the horizon from the OC bridge. I remember dramatically throwing your arm around me as you drove along to Fearless lyrics, expecting you to take it back as the song moved forward, but you didn’t. Instead we drove the rest of the way there and back like that, with my head resting on your seat, your arm over my shoulders, our hands lazily holding to one another. The wind through your hair, your reckless laugh, the fading light softly grazing your skin; I’ve never lived in a moment quite like I lived in that one. Despite the papers I had due in the coming hours, events I’d have to lead that night, the running around and all-nighter I had coming for me, nothing seemed to matter. If I failed, it was worth it, even just for that single moment. That single moment, of the drive, of the sunset, of the music, of you and me- it was everything I had ever dreamed of. Capture it, remember it.

2/6/19

I got out of class early and knew you’d be coming back to campus for the next class module. I knew your class was in G wing so I waited on the couches near it, waiting for you to walk past. As soon as I saw you, I picked my stuff up and walked up to your side, reaching for your hand. You jumped a bit; with your headphones on, you didn’t notice me come up. But when you looked up, you immediately relaxed and let your hand slip into mine. We stood against the blue chairs right outside of G wing for a few minutes before you went into class, where you asked me if I had been waiting for you, trying to figure out how I snuck up on you. When I said yes, your face lit up in the sweetest combination of shock and love that I could not have even imagined. I love you so. I don’t want to stop doing those little things, I don’t want you to stop loving them. I want to be in love with you in the softest, sweetest, purest way. I only want to do good for you. If you’re feeling small, I will love your shadow.

2/23/19

You called last night. To say goodnight. I didn’t ask you to, but I was also curled up in a ball on my bed desperately trying to bring the pieces of my memory together to recreate the sound of your voice. There‘s little things like this that you do that I’m sure you don’t even think about, probably because they’re just as much for you as they are for me, that always leave me wondering how. How I got so lucky to find someone who wants and needs everything I willingly give, who willingly gives everything I want and need, to the point where we don’t have to ask, because the other just does, on their own volition. One day I woke up and saw you and everything was perfect and since then everything and nothing has changed. I keep waiting for the bubble to pop, that eventually it’ll even out and I won’t be so happy all the time, but I’m beginning to think that maybe it’s possible to be this happy. Maybe this is how it was all always supposed to feel. And for once I don’t think I’m scared of that. I woke up just in time, now I wake up by your side.

2/24/19

Pancakes and chocolate milk while in full suits. I don’t know if there’s words besides that. At times it seemed like I was living out a night in a life I could’ve had, a Princeton scholar and his too-good-for-him girl, spending days in a court room, managing one crisis after another. The perfect couple. I knew I didn’t want that life, but sometimes it seemed like a life I’d be happy with, a life I could’ve achieved had I tried a little harder, maybe even a life I had deserved but gave up, settling for less. So it was nice to pretend for a few hours as we walked around town like royalty. It wasn’t until later in the night, when I returned to sweatpants and a hoodie while you showered that I realized my night was actually exactly what I wanted. I wanted the moments we ruled the earth and the moments we were two normal people, eating breakfast at eight at night in a run-down diner. With her I had them. I had the best of both the lives I desired- the scholar and the peasant, and they were mixed together and I also had everything in between. I had nothing and everything and she- well, she was everything. She gave me everything I ever dreamed of without knowing or thinking about it. I never want to let her go. Your hand forever’s all I want.

3/21/19

So I guess this was Don’t Take the Money, wasn’t it? The desperation of driving at 110 down the parkway in the pouring rain to chase you down after I spent the whole day pushing you away. Running down the parkway as fast as I could, doing everything I could to prevent tears from streaming down my face, thinking this would be it, but only for you to open the door, wrap me in your arms, and tell me that you love me. Even when I did my best to push you away, you treated me with a kindness I hadn’t experienced. I waited for your soft spots to harden, but they never seemed to. You were solid and secure and loving, always. I didn’t even know what to do with that. Stuck in the storm we were born to ignore and all I’ve got is a chance to just say, “I’m in love and you got me, runaway”.

4/2/19

Delicate. She was always so delicate. The curves of her skin that I traced with my fingers, the bright color in her eyes when she smiled, the way the light hit her skin in the morning as we moved around in white sheets. A delicate, perfect escape where nothing else mattered. Where I could be anything I wanted, where I could say and do just about anything without consequence, as there was no world in which I’d do anything to hurt her, and she wouldn’t care about anything I did otherwise. I could close my eyes and sleep without fear or stress or panic creeping in. Time with her felt like a blur or a dream, where everything was fuzzy and soft at the edges and nothing else existed in the world. Gender wasn’t real, my mom wasn’t telling me I’m “fucking rude ignorant and childish”, and there wasn’t a hole in my chest where I was supposed to feel confidence and pride. I wasn’t falling down a desperate spiral into the lake of depression, anxiety, and self-pity I’d eventually drown in. A safe haven, but only for me.

4/15/19

I think we almost broke up. I couldn’t stop myself from shaking and my heart ached and my breathing was anywhere but in my control. I stuttered through finding my words, trying to give you the window to leave it felt like you were searching for. We laid in the dark and I felt like every breath I took was a silent scream for help you just weren’t hearing, the two of us trying to figure out what it was the other wanted or what it was they were struggling to explain and then there were tears streaming down your face as you sat in silence and everything about the situation we found ourselves in felt as tense as my voice tended to become when reading a run-on sentence. Desperate. Begging for air but coming up empty. The room felt inescapable; my anxiety begged me to go outside to take a few deep breaths, my head told me the door was a few feet away, but my heart knew walking out, even just for air, was the end, and every bit of me knew to prioritize that piece of information above any other. Don’t leave. Don’t walk out that door, don’t move an inch of your body. Stop letting the fear rule your life and fight for her. // So I did. A gear in me shifted or a switch was flipped and suddenly everything that was so murky and dark became clear, the same way the water looked reflecting the sunlight as we drove across the Ocean City bridge earlier that day. I found your eyes again and everything went comfortably silent in my head. Clear. Then it was all over, you were back in my arms and we stood resolute in what we knew- I would be yours, you would be mine, and the world would be ours. We would figure it out. We were too smart not to. // Later that night, when you’d spill water all over the counter and floor trying to refill my cup, we’d laid on the floor together, too weak with laughter to get back up. There was something a bit more tired in that moment than in similar moments from the past, but the small sense of exhaustion seemed to bring with it a new sturdiness. Despite the fear and trembling and loss of control of an hour before, we were stronger now. Or, maybe not despite it, but because of it. Because of the fear and trembling and loss of control of an hour before, we were stronger now. Solid. I wouldn’t leave. You refused to either. It was you and me and a puddle of water on the floor and nothing else mattered. Nothing else ever would. I remember that fight, 2:30 AM, everything was slipping right out of our hands; I ran out crying but you followed me out in lot the street. Braced myself for the goodbye because it’s all I’ve ever known, but you took me by surprise, you said “ I’ll never leave you alone.”

4/21/19

It’s 12/49 Am and I’m fucking trashed in a handicap stall at Harrah’s. I can hardly type but I promise you you’re the one. You’re it. You are everything. I will marry you. I promise. It’s you. You’re it. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted and could ever want. I’m going to marry you. I swear. No matter how drunk I am and no matter how loud the music is, my mind can not escape you. I want you to be mine forever. and I want to marry you. More than anything in this world.

4/22/19

You looked me in the eyes and saw me. You told me you knew that I was trying. You told me to close my eyes and sleep, that you’d see me in the morning. Because you’d be there. You’d be by my side. You’d hold me close every time I needed it. You saw me, and it was the first time I’ve ever really felt seen.

5/13/19

Tonight you fell asleep on the phone. I kept myself muted and your volume low so I could watch SNL clips, but eventually I turned down the volume of SNL, turned up the volume of my phone and listened to your breathing. I listened intently, until my breathing fell in time with yours. I know you haven’t slept much recently, and for all I know you’re still awake, but listening to you breathing is the most calm I’ve felt in as long as I can remember. When I closed my eyes you were in my arms, your head against my chest and I listened to your breathing until I fell asleep myself. I love you so much. I love how calm you make me. I love your smile. I love your presence. I love being around you. You’re everything to me.

6/20/19

You kissed the crown on my wrist. I told you the only way I knew how to handle things was anger and revenge and you didn’t just tell me to change, but you kissed the symbol of that I permanently inked onto me. You took it back. You reclaimed it. And I’m drunk and I don’t think you know what that means to me, but it’s everything. In one swift motion you took everything back, you changed everything. And then I went to pee and you were texting me even though we were still only 10 feet apart and suddenly i was crying, tears streaming down my face as I sat here. You are so much to me. You will never know. I’m so sorry

7/22/19

I watched a little kid on the beach today. Couldn’t have been more than two. They waddled down to the waterline and filled a Tupperware container with water and clumsily ran as fast as they could back to their dad, sitting 10 feet away behind a sand castle. It was a whole moment. Suddenly it was a little redhead, dragging my hand rushing me to the water, pointing excitedly at the water, letting go of my hand at the when their feet reached the water, trying to pick up one of the tiny ripples left over from a wave and watching it flow through their fingers. They splashed around before turning around and running back. I turned to watch them run back into the sand before my eyes settled on you. You. Sunbathing in a beach chair, smirking with that tinge of happiness that turned it into a smile you just didn’t want to show beneath your oversized sunglasses while watching us. Proud, happy, and so in love. I looked back at you the same way, just for a moment, before you stood to appease our little redhead and join us. I blinked and it was the random guy with his kid again.

8/18/19

I miss you. My heart aches.

8/18/19

I’m sorry I don’t know how to tell you I need you. I hear your voice and you’re happy and drunk and how am I supposed to bring you down from that? I love you. I’m sorry I’m not okay.

Quotes

“You’re honest, straight-forward, you’re not fake nice and you don’t beat around the bush. Your heart is tender so you protect it from people but sometimes you tear down a wall and it’s incredible. You’re doing the best you can considering your asshole parents.” - BoJack Horseman

“Good memories don’t normally come”

Things Florie Likes

Tequila

Movie popcorn

B&BW Flannel scent

York peppermint patties

McDonald’s Sweet and Sour sauce

Sour Patch Kids

TB Triple Layer Nachos

TB Double Decker Taco Supreme

TB Cinnamon Twists

30th Street Ocean City Beach

Manco and Manco pizza w red pepper flakes and oregano

French fries

Roman Holiday - Halsey

Pickles (pickle juice)

Pineapple (choc. covered too)

Blueberries/blueberry pancakes

Woke Up In a Car - Something Corporate

1. Lemonade Girl Scout Cookies

2. Thin Mint Girl Scout Cookies

3. Peanut Butter Sandwiches Girl Scout Cookies

Bruised - Jack’s Mannequin (2nd favorite off Everything in Transit)

*Salad- romaine (sometimes a little spinach), breaded chicken, shredded carrots, cucumbers, and grape tomatoes w/a little ranch

Cinnamon raisin bagels and English muffins

Strawberry milk

Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food

Egg Rolls

PDQ Tenders (ranch & honey mustard)

PDQ Lemonade

FroYo (but only for the fruit toppings?)

YOGO Strawberry, Vanilla, Marshmallow with cookie dough, chocolate covered pretzels, hot fudge

Sweet and Sour from McDonald’s and Wendy’s

Buffalo and ranch or Chick-fil-A sauce at chick

Peonies (flowers)

Hydrangeas

Sunflowers

VS 32D, med.

Numbers 9 and 11 (9 is lucky)

Pasta Fagioli

Vegetable Soup

Never creamy soups

Citrus, beach, or flannel candles

Allergic to sulfa - gets hives

Chocolate covered Oreos, crispy marshmallows (like rice crispies)

wonton soup when sick

Ring finger size 5.5

Middle finger size 6

Dream travel destination: Rome, Bora Bora

Our Things

I’m here with you

Kickass partner in crime

Gladiator/White Hat/Olivia Pope

Greater than or equal to/equal to or greater than

Always; forever

Don’t take the money; stay stay stay

God damm dumbass

Into a black hole and back

#in my head i do everything right #god damn dumbass

[ohthatbunnygirl]

An Anon requested Reylo Burlesque Drabble (song is You Know What I mean by Cults https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UXeLGCxJwhw)

                                           _________

It’s not enough that Kylo made partner six months ago.

It’s not enough that he can’t remember the last weekend he had off.

Apparently, it’s not even enough that Kylo’s personally logged in over twenty hours this week on this client. No, obviously, none of that commitment matters because he’s been requested to provide the night’s entertainment for Mr. Snoke, to act like a first-year lemming. To sacrifice and serve as a powerful man’s personal concierge in a city that Kylo knows little to nothing about since he’s always laboring while so rarely enjoying any sort of fruiting.

Wedged under anybody else’s thumb was a position that didn’t suit Kylo Ren one bit, and he jerked his earpiece off with a groan.

Cursing under his breath, he yanked his tie loose to alleviate the pressure tightening around his jugular, but it was no good. It wasn’t his neck that he longed to lay his hands on, and so Kylo directed his fingers back through his hair. Messing up the perfectly gelled dark strands until a few hung over his brow, and even that upset him. No matter what he did, there wasn’t enough of him to pick and pull out that would calm the annoyance of being unable to even comfort himself by slamming down a phone after the order he’d received from Snoke’s assistant.

Why are phones too damn expensive to throw around these days?

Aggressively pressing down the intercom button on his desk, Kylo waited. Fingers tapping to time how many seconds it took his assistant Poe to respond as he craved an excuse to yell at anyone, but before he could get to two seconds the buzz came back. “Yes, sir.”

“Damn it,” Kylo growled under his breath.

“Sir?”

“Two questions.”

“Shoot,” his capable assistant answered back.

“How much does it cost for an old-fashioned work phone?”

“Are you asking because you’re angry again that you can’t slam your cell?”

“No,” Kylo indifferently disputed, but the half second pause gave him away. Leaning back in his chair, he positively glared at his ocean view outside as he heard a faint snicker on the end of the line.

“It’s only twenty bucks.”

“Good, buy one-”

“And your second question.”

“I was getting to that!” Kylo lashed out loud enough to throb a vein in his forehead.  After a twelve-hour day, the man’s patience for his assistant’s frequent case of impertinence clocked in at nonexistent. Leaning in closer to the intercom, Kylo schooled his tone back to professionally crisp, ”Where do I take somebody out for a fun night who’s old enough to refer to Eisenhower’s years in office as ‘The Good Old Days’?”

The longest beat passed before Poe whispered back, “Is this for pervy Snoke?”

“Yes,” Kylo snapped before he blanched in fear. “Shit! No, he’s- don’t call him that. Are you out of your mind? Did anybody hear you? Do you want to get fired?”

“Easy boss,” Poe’s far too chipperly answered back. ”Don’t start planning out my grisly torture so soon. Nobody was around, and since I’m about to make your night it’s probably best to tear me apart me later-“

"Poe,” Kylo warned.

“For your particular client, I recommend the Alexandria Hotel ballroom on the second floor at ten sharp. During the hotel’s prime, it hosted President Taft, Roosevelt, Wilson, and Charlie Chaplin hung out there. Also, Rudolph Valentino’s ghost hangs out on the twelfth floor if Mr. Snoke is into hanging out with shadowy ghost dudes.”

Releasing his finger off of the intercom, Kylo leaned back into his chair. Pinching the bridge of his nose as he let out the faintest chuckle. “He might be.”

                                     __________________

Seated at a table near a small stage, Kylo sipped on a dirty martini. Pure wasn’t his style, and a little head haze certainly helped block out most of his client’s gravelly insinuations. Unfortunately, Mr. Snoke was in rare form that night, and so Kylo was already three drinks in.

“I love Los Angeles,” Mr. Snoke croaked, licking the end of a cigar as his gummy smile grew. “Proud little prude city has an ordinance that tells me that I can’t smoke inside. It’s right in the books, but two hundred dollar bills slipped to that oaf manager, and look at me go,” he chuckled, lighting the end before gesturing to a redhead in the corner.” And look at that girl over there- she’s barely nineteen, and I bet she got in because she’s on some Disney show. I love it. Hot damn, do I love a city that’s light on integrity.”

Of course, that’s what you’d appreciate about it.

Not the perfect weather, or the opportunities, but the ability to pay enough for people to tolerate you.

Thankfully, before Kylo could do something foolish like speak his mind, the lights dimmed. Pale stars flickered along the low hanging ceiling as the audience clapped their hands, and every holler echoed since only the fans above were going. In the stuffy speakeasy, anticipation buzzed all around while Mr. Snoke casually puffed away on his cigar. Spoiling the air around them as a spotlight shined, and Kylo fidgeted with his cufflinks. Curious for whatever was about to begin, but even more eager for Mr. Snoke’s eventual call for his car to pick him up after his heartburn kicked in.

“Ladies and gentleman,” an emcee’s voice boomed out from the back. Parting the crowds with charm to spare, he strolled to the front. Flashing his million dollar smile as he crooned, “I am Finn, and you are infinitely lucky.”

“Tonight,” the handsome man continued, extending his hand towards the curtains behind him. “You will witness magic, hear music that’ll force the hotel’s famous ghosts to clap, and you will see gorgeous women who’ll make you long for a golden age of glamor. We will thrill you, we will fulfill you…enough, and what better way to start the sinning than with our sweetest desert rose. Please give a warm welcome to Miss-A-Rey.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.  

Some girl’s going to pull a bunny out of her hat and then Snoke’s going to pull my account out from under me.

As he sunk into his seat, Kylo’s panicked eyes darted towards the exit, all his famous bravado and confidence fleeing his system as he began organizing his lists of apologies for his client. Already abandoning a plan B or C for some groveling that would cost him more, he anticipated a brutal earful after they left. Knowing Mr. Snoke, the opportunistic bastard would gloat his way into a business discount while Kylo was left to blame his eagerness to get through the night for his lapse in reason. Less than an hour in, the night had already gone to hell, and Kylo’s lower lip pinched between his teeth. Nearly drawing blood as he internally kicked himself for not reading over at least one review about the night’s sure to be lame entertainment.

Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have trusted Poe’s judgment.

He wore a suit with polka dots once! What was I thinking?

Playing out every worse case imaginable, Kylo dropped his gaze to the bottom of his glass. Imagining diving in, or at least choking on the olive. Wringing his hands under the table, he barely kept from following through on his briny death plan as the cherry from Snoke’s cigar continued to flare in Kylo’s peripheral vision.

“Better be good,” Snoke’s thin laugh hissed.

Great. Great.

You’re nothing if not thorough, Ren. So I guess this just means you’re nothing tonight.

Crippling doubt wasn’t Kylo’s natural state, but he cycled from ticked off to worried to pissed off as the first performer sauntered up to the stage. Her features were lost in the shadows as she tipped her chin down, but something fluttered along the floor as she stood in place. A slow back and forth rustling that Kylo couldn’t place until the spotlight landed on her, and he sucked in a breath.

Stars above…

A timeless song played out over the speakers, and Kylo suddenly froze in the sweltering room. Everywhere you looked, the rowdy crowd stared in stunned awe along with him as the large wings attached to the performer’s back flared out. Hundreds of snowy white feathers moved in time to the finger snaps in the song, and loose bits of fluff drifted to the floor as light haloed above.

Everything about her otherworldly, ethereal.

Out of reach and tempting.

���I, I can’t take things slowly,” the singer drawled through the speakers. “Come let away, that’s what they all do. Help me, cause I’m feeling shaky. Tell me what’s wrong with my brain. Cause I seem to have lost it.”

Trailing a gloved hand along her chin, the woman slowly tipped her face up. Little by little revealing an angelic face with contrasting sinful red lips that parted suggestively as she swayed her hips along to the music. Playing up innocence as everything below her shoulders promised more.

“Cause I am afraid of the light. Yeah, you know what I mean. And I can’t sleep alone at night. Yeah, you know what I mean.”

Not in a million years would Kylo have knowingly dragged his most important client to a burlesque show, but he couldn’t spare a thought for business decorum when ivory silk wrappings hung off the slender woman’s frame. Gossamer strands all along her body practically begged to be unwrapped, and his lips twitched at the corner. In all her glory, she was the prettiest present he’d ever seen, and when her gaze landed on Kylo, she smiled. Trading a sly knowing look as though they’d met before, and then she was spinning. Unwinding from her bondage bit by bit until nothing but a long glove remained on one arm. Biting the satin between her luscious lips took care of that, and her free hand guided down the front of her bared corset as the melancholy singer’s voice tantalized them all.

“Lonely, that’s not quite my problem. I have all I need, haven’t quite lost it. I try so hard to be happy. Cause something goes wrong once again.”  

Every wing beat carried away Kylo’s breath, and the spellbound businessman leaned in. Unable to take his eyes off of her, unable to do anything beyond feeling his fingers splay across his knees. Tips to knuckles longed to reach out for a touch of the forbidden as the sensual dancer continued to glide around the stage, and awareness of her every move slammed into Kylo. Instead of a steamy bump and grind routine, she moved as smooth as liquid that he longed to taste.The next time her glove flung across the stage, his now obsidian eyes followed the path. Missing nothing, aroused completely by something simple that made his pulse wildly struggle against his throat to get closer to her. All of him lured in by her beguiling charms as she had every unclaimed soul eating out of the palm of her hand, and she knew it too.

“Please, please come and save me. Tell me what’s wrong with my brain. Cause I seem to have lost it.”

Spinning on her toe tips, she gracefully shed layers. Baring honeyed skin with every motion, but along her curves were thin strands of crystals and stars. Metal and moonlight spilling over her body. Delicate beads dangling from a laced bodice that offered up her pert breasts, but all those glittery rhinestones catching the light had nothing on her luminous eyes. This fallen angel who threaded her fingers through her pinned-up hair. This minx warring with herself as her fingers flexed, battling with tugging the strands loose. Pouting through her exaggerated torture before the pins dropped and she cooed in pleasure while leisurely looking up. Flirting her perky ass off as her free curls tumbled down her back, and she had the nerve to giggle as she slid into the splits.

“Fuck,” Kylo whispered, wetting his lips.

Brushing her fingertips up her shin, she then stared over one winged shoulder. Batting the feathers faster and faster. As lovely as she was fierce as the chorus picked up in volume,

“Cause I am afraid of the light. Yeah, you know what I mean. And I can’t sleep alone at night. Yeah, you know what I mean.”

Arching up into a backbend, the dancer ripped at the front of her bodice. Feverishly popping pearls into the crowd, losing control and shattering hearts as the song finished in a frenzy.  Passionately writhing around on the ground, she ended up on all fours. Crawling forward to tempt them all to hell as she tore off the flimsy skirt, and Kylo’s pupils flared. Wanting her, desiring the broken angel who provocatively touched herself as her hair swung. Lusting over the little devil unleashed as Kylo never wanted her to leave the dark side.

Although she was the one on her knees, every inch of this Rey girl seemed made for him to please. Without even closing his eyes, Kylo could envision how gorgeous she’d look when staring down at him. How beautifully her mouth would part for a moan as her dainty fingers scratched along his scalp while he feasted on her.

Of course, Kylo knew it was wrong to crave such a thing.

Her dance wasn’t about enticing him into her bed.

Her dance wasn’t about being exploitive.

Every last shimmy and shake was about taking control, and oh how he longed to give it to her.

Snapping her head up as if she’d read his mind, the dancer locked eyes with Kylo. All her attention fixed on the handsome man up front with plush lips she found downright kissable. Gripping the front of her sparkled bra, she gave her perfect stranger a wink before the last of her modesty was set free. Her breasts bared, her wings shed to the ground, and her smile beaming as she swung silver tassels.

“Cause I am afraid of the light. Yeah, you know what I mean. And I can’t sleep alone at night. Yeah, you know what I mean.”

At the last note, the crowd roared in response before she scampered off stage.

Seconds later everything was returning to normal as if a seismic shift hadn’t cut through the room to leave him ripped to shreds, but Kylo couldn’t wait for the next performer. As the rest of the whooping audience settled in for another treat, he leaned over. Rapidly explaining to Mr. Snoke in a strained voice, ”I’ll be back.”

Before his client could make demands on him, Kylo was cutting through the audience. Back turned on everything he didn’t want as he sought out all that he needed. Putting his wants first until he found her lingering at the edge of the backstage as though she’d known he’d follow. Waiting for him, holding out her hand as she invited herself back to his place so she could misplace her halo behind his bed.

#reylo #drabble #burlesque drabble #thanks for the fun drabble request #i do burlesque and it was shockingly hilarious to try to describe what i kept wanting to show #you pinch your stocking between your toe but it is sexy hahaha

[trumptonica]

#America1st: simply means from the point of view of Our President; it is We The American People who he represents first and above all others.

A transcript of President Trump’s first speech to the nation is as follows.

“Chief Justice Roberts, President Carter, President Clinton, President Bush, President Obama, fellow Americans and people of the world, thank you.

We, the citizens of America, are now joined in a great national effort to rebuild our country and restore its promise for all of our people.

Together, we will determine the course of America and the world for many, many years to come. We will face challenges. We will confront hardships. But we will get the job done.

Every four years we gather on these steps to carry out the orderly and peaceful transfer of power.

And we are grateful to President Obama and first lady Michelle Obama for their gracious aid throughout this transition.

They have been magnificent.

Thank you.

Today’s ceremony, however, has a very special meaning because today we are not merely transferring power from one administration to another or from one party to another, but we are transferring power from Washington, D.C., and giving it back to you, the people.

For too long, a small group in our nation’s capital has reaped the rewards of government while the people have bore the cost. Washington flourished, but the people did not share in its wealth. Politicians prospered but the jobs left and the factories closed.

The establishment protected itself, but not the citizens of our country. Their victories have not been your victories. Their triumphs have not been your triumphs. And while they celebrated in our nation’s capital, there was little to celebrate for struggling families all across our land.

That all changes starting right here and right now, because this moment is your moment.

It belongs to you.

It belongs to everyone gathered here today and everyone watching all across America.

This is your day.

This is your celebration.

And this, the United States of America, is your country.

What truly matters is not which party controls our government, but whether our government is controlled by the people.

January 20th, 2017, will be remembered as the day the people became the rulers of this nation again.

The forgotten men and women of our country will be forgotten no longer. Everyone is listening to you now. You came by the tens of millions to become part of a historic movement, the likes of which the world has never seen before.

At the center of this movement is a crucial conviction that a nation exists to serve its citizens. Americans want great schools for their children, safe neighborhoods for their families and good jobs for themselves.

These are just and reasonable demands of righteous people and a righteous public.

But for too many of our citizens, a different reality exists.

Mothers and children trapped in poverty in our inner cities, rusted out factories scattered like tombstones across the landscape of our nation.

An education system flush with cash but which leaves our young and beautiful students deprived of all knowledge.

And the crime and the gangs and the drugs that have stolen too many lives and robbed our country of so much unrealized potential. This American carnage stops right here and stops right now.

We are one nation, and their pain is our pain.

Their dreams are our dreams, and their success will be our success. We share one heart, one home and one glorious destiny.

The oath of office I take today is an oath of allegiance to all Americans.

For many decades we’ve enriched foreign industry at the expense of American industry, subsidized the armies of other countries while allowing for the very sad depletion of our military.

We’ve defended other nations’ borders while refusing to defend our own. And we’ve spent trillions and trillions of dollars overseas while America’s infrastructure has fallen into disrepair and decay.

We’ve made other countries rich while the wealth, strength and confidence of our country has dissipated over the horizon.

One by one, the factories shuttered and left our shores with not even a thought about the millions and millions of American workers that were left behind.

The wealth of our middle class has been ripped from their homes and then redistributed all across the world. But that is the past, and now we are looking only to the future.

We assembled here today are issuing a new decree to be heard in every city, in every foreign capital and in every hall of power. From this day forward, a new vision will govern our land.

From this day forward, it’s going to be only America first, America first. Every decision on trade, on taxes, on immigration, on foreign affairs will be made to benefit American workers and American families. We must protect our borders from the ravages of other countries making our product, stealing our companies and destroying our jobs.

Protection will lead to great prosperity and strength. I will fight for you with every breath in my body, and I will never ever let you down.

America will start winning again, winning like never before.

We will bring back our jobs.

We will bring back our borders.

We will bring back our wealth, and we will bring back our dreams.

We will build new roads and highways and bridges and airports and tunnels and railways all across our wonderful nation.

We will get our people off of welfare and back to work, rebuilding our country with American hands and American labor.

We will follow two simple rules: Buy American and hire American.

We will seek friendship and goodwill with the nations of the world, but we do so with the understanding that it is the right of all nations to put their own interests first.

We do not seek to impose our way of life on anyone, but rather to let it shine as an example.

We will shine for everyone to follow.

We will re-enforce old alliances and form new ones and unite the civilized world against radical Islamic terrorism, which we will eradicate completely from the face of the earth.

At the bedrock of our politics will be a total allegiance to the United States of America, and through our loyalty to our country we will rediscover our loyalty to each other.

When you open your heart to patriotism, there is no room for prejudice.

The Bible tells us how good and pleasant it is when God’s people live together in unity. We must speak our minds openly, debate our disagreements honestly, but always pursue solidarity. When America is united, America is totally unstoppable. There should be no fear. We are protected and we will always be protected. We will be protected by the great men and women of our military and law enforcement. And most importantly, we will be protected by God.

Finally, we must think big and dream even bigger. In America, we understand that a nation is only living as long as it is striving. We will no longer accept politicians who are all talk and no action, constantly complaining but never doing anything about it.

The time for empty talk is over. Now arrives the hour of action.

Do not allow anyone to tell you that it cannot be done. No challenge can match the heart and fight and spirit of America. We will not fail. Our country will thrive and prosper again.

We stand at the birth of a new millennium, ready to unlock the mysteries of space, to free the earth from the miseries of disease, and to harness the energies, industries and technologies of tomorrow.

A new national pride will stir ourselves, lift our sights and heal our divisions. It’s time to remember that old wisdom our soldiers will never forget, that whether we are black or brown or white, we all bleed the same red blood of patriots.

We all enjoy the same glorious freedoms and we all salute the same great American flag.

And whether a child is born in the urban sprawl of Detroit or the windswept plains of Nebraska, they look up at the same night sky, they fill their heart with the same dreams and they are infused with the breath of life by the same almighty creator.

So to all Americans in every city near and far, small and large, from mountain to mountain, from ocean to ocean, hear these words: You will never be ignored again. Your voice, your hopes and your dreams will define our American destiny. And your courage and goodness and love will forever guide us along the way.

Together we will make America strong again, we will make America wealthy again, we will make America proud again, we will make America safe again.

And, yes, together we will make America great again.

Thank you.

God bless you.

And God bless America.”

Great Again: How to Fix Our Crippled America

[newstfionline]

Headlines

A Tenth of the World Could Go Hungry While Crops Rot in Fields (Bloomberg) The world is hurtling toward an unprecedented hunger crisis. As many as 132 million more people than previously projected could go hungry in 2020, and this year’s gain may be more than triple any increase this century. The pandemic is upending food supply chains, crippling economies and eroding consumer purchasing power. Some projections show that by the end of the year, Covid-19 will cause more people to die each day from hunger than from virus infections. What makes the situation unmatched: The massive spike is happening at a time of enormous global food surpluses. And it’s happening in every part of the world, with new levels of food insecurity forecast for countries that used to have relative stability. In Queens, New York, the lines snaking around a food bank are eight hours long as people wait for a box of supplies that might last them a week, while farmers in California are plowing over lettuce and fruit is rotting on trees in Washington. In Uganda, bananas and tomatoes are piling up in open-air markets, and even nearly give-away prices aren’t low enough for out-of-work buyers. Supplies of rice and meat were left floating at ports earlier this year after logistical jams in the Philippines, China and Nigeria. And in South America, Venezuela is teetering on the brink of famine. By the end of the year, as many as 12,000 people could die a day from hunger linked to Covid-19, potentially more than those perishing from the virus itself, charity Oxfam International estimates.

Real Estate Is Now About Location, Location, Isolation (WSJ) Real-estate searches are looking a lot different lately. For years, home values have been greatly influenced not only by finished square footage and acreage, but also by walk scores and community. The pandemic is turning those factors on their head—at least for now. Airbnb says some of the fastest-growing locations for long-term stays are now Western Maine and Whitefish, Mont.—a town with less than 8,000 residents, according to 2018 U.S. Census data. Meanwhile, a recent Zillow survey found remote workers could be compelled to move if a home offered them things like dedicated office space or a less dense area with fewer neighbors. Zillow’s data shows home values have held up better in suburban than urban areas in recent months. Those who paid up before the pandemic to live within walking distance of society are bitter at best. One New York dweller paying a premium to live near theaters, bars and restaurants suggested her rent be adjusted down to reflect the fact that everything has closed.

New focus for campaign: Will Biden or Trump keep you safer? (AP) The battle over who can keep Americans safe after recent deadly protests has emerged as the sharpest dividing line for the presidential campaign’s final weeks, with Joe Biden on Monday condemning the violence and President Donald Trump defending a supporter accused of fatally shooting two men. While the president blamed Biden, his Democratic foe, for siding with “anarchists,” Biden, in his most direct attacks yet, accused Trump of causing the divisions that have ignited the violence.

Firefighters (Los Angeles Times) To contend with 1.4 million acres of fires California endured this year, and the millions of acres of fires that have become an annual recurrence, thousands of inmate firefighters are deployed to fight the flames. Despite the relevant, grueling experience they accumulate while incarcerated, those workers are unable to continue fighting fires when they get out of prison because their criminal records forbid them from doing so. Following years of effort, AB 2147 passed on Sunday in the California Assembly, which would allow former prisoners who worked in a fire camp to petition a judge to expunge their record and waive parole time, then allowing them to apply for the EMT license necessary to become a full-time, year-round firefighter in the state. The bill now goes to the desk of Gov. Gavin Newsom. By eliminating obstacles to gainful work, the bill also hopes to lower the recidivism rate in the state, which has stubbornly stuck around 50 percent.

Amazon wins FAA approval to deliver packages by drone (AP) Getting an Amazon package delivered from the sky is closer to becoming a reality. The Federal Aviation Administration said Monday it had granted Amazon approval to deliver packages by drones. Amazon said that the approval is an “important step,” but added that it is still testing and flying the drones. It did not say when it expected drones to make deliveries to shoppers.

Baltic states sanction Lukashenko (Foreign Policy) Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia have announced sanctions against Belarusian President Aleksandr Lukashenko and 29 other government officials over accusations of election-rigging in last month’s presidential election. The move is seen as a reflection of the Baltic countries’ growing impatience with the European Union’s slow response to the crisis engulfing Belarus. In August, EU foreign ministers met in an emergency session to prepare a list of Belarusian individuals to be sanctioned, but they have been slow to implement the measures in part due to the threat of Russian aggression. Russian President Vladimir Putin warned German Chancellor Angela Merkel against foreign powers getting involved in Belarus, and recently told Lukashenko that he was prepared to send in a reserve police force to support his government.

Virus or not, it’s time for class again across Europe (AP) Tugging on their masks or dashing to hug long-unseen friends, millions of children returned to school across Europe and beyond Tuesday in a mass experiment aimed at bridging inequalities and resuscitating economies—despite the coronavirus pandemic. The virus threat lurked as children kissed their parents goodbye in France, shyly greeted their teachers in Jordan and Israel, settled into spaced-out desks in England and raised their hands in Russia. While acknowledging “a bit of fear,” Jerome Continent brought his first-grader Baptiste to school Tuesday in the Paris suburb of Roissy-en-Brie, where the buzz of first-day excitement was even more intense than usual after the coronavirus outbreak upended the previous school year. “I know we are being careful,” he said. “The children also have to live.”

Russia’s virus cases exceed 1 million, globally 4th highest (AP) Russia’s tally of confirmed coronavirus cases surpassed 1 million on Tuesday as authorities reported 4,729 new cases. With a total of 1,000,048 reported cases, Russia has the fourth largest caseload in the world after the U.S., Brazil and India. Over 815,000 people have so far recovered, authorities said, and more than 17,000 have died.

‘Here We Go Again’: A Second Virus Wave Grips Spain (NYT) At midday on Sunday, there were 31 patients inside the main coronavirus treatment center in Málaga, the city with the fastest-rising infection rate in southern Spain. At 12:15 p.m., the 32nd arrived in an ambulance. Half an hour later came number 33. If Italy was the harbinger of the first wave of Europe’s coronavirus pandemic in February, Spain is the portent of its second. France is also surging, as are parts of Eastern Europe, and cases are ticking up in Germany, Greece, Italy and Belgium, too, but in the past week, Spain has recorded the most new cases on the continent by far—more than 53,000. With 114 new infections per 100,000 people in that time, the virus is spreading faster in Spain than in the United States, more than twice as fast as in France, about eight times the rate in Italy and Britain, and 10 times the pace in Germany. Spain was already one of the hardest-hit countries in Europe, and now has about 440,000 cases and more than 29,000 deaths. But after one of the world’s most stringent lockdowns, which did check the virus’s spread, it then enjoyed one of the most rapid reopenings. The return of nightlife and group activities—far faster than most of its European neighbors—has contributed to the epidemic’s resurgence.

Pentagon concerned by China’s nuclear ambitions, expects warheads to double (Reuters) China is expected to at least double the number of its nuclear warheads over the next decade from the low 200s now and is nearing the ability to launch nuclear strikes by land, air and sea, a capacity known as a triad, the Pentagon said on Tuesday. The revelations came as tensions rise between China and the United States and as Washington seeks to have Beijing join a flagship nuclear arms treaty between the United States and Russia. In its annual report to Congress on China’s military, the Pentagon said that China has nuclear warheads in the low 200s, the first time the U.S. military has disclosed this number. The Federation of American Scientists has estimated that China has about 320 nuclear warheads.

Powerful Typhoon Maysak brings 100 mph winds to Okinawa (Washington Post) Typhoon Maysak sideswiped the Japanese island of Okinawa on Monday, with wind gusts as high as 101 mph, and is forecast to intensify into the equivalent of a Category 4 storm as it moves toward eventual landfall in South Korea. Maysak is currently the equivalent of a strong Category 3 hurricane, and is traversing warm ocean waters in an environment that is favorable for further intensification, according to the Joint Typhoon Warning Center (JTWC). The storm is the second tropical system to head toward the Korean peninsula in a week, after Typhoon Bavi struck North Korea on Aug. 26. However, Maysak is expected to be more intense than Bavi was.

Unknown assassins in Afghanistan (Washington Post) The attacks aren’t planned to inflict mass casualties or grab international headlines. Instead, a wave of assassinations that has swept through the Afghan capital and elsewhere in the country is designed to silence and intimidate. The victims are mostly Afghan civilians working for peace—advocates, members of civil society and mid-ranking government officials—whose killings many say are even more unnerving than the once-common large-scale attacks that have dropped off since the signing of the U.S.-Taliban deal in February. “There are many of us now who believe our lives are in danger. It’s not like before,” said Abdul Fawad Shagiwal, 30, a civil society activist in Kabul whose mentor, a professor and Education Ministry official, was recently killed in a targeted attack. Shagiwal said fear in Kabul runs so deep that many activists are too shaken to attend funerals and burials after their friends and colleagues are gunned down. Most of the attacks have gone unclaimed, and in some cases, the Taliban has issued public statements denying involvement. But Afghan security officials say they believe militants with links to the Taliban are responsible. Over the past six months, 39 people have been slain in targeted killings, according to the Interior Ministry.

French leader marks Lebanon centennial ahead of gov’t talks (AP) French President Emmanuel Macron planted a cedar tree in a forest north of Beirut, marking Lebanon’s centenary on Tuesday, ahead of talks with officials on ways to help extract the country from an unprecedented economic and financial crisis and the aftermath of a massive blast that left thousands dead or wounded. Macron returned to Lebanon on Monday, his second visit since the devastating explosion last month ripped through Beirut—the most destructive single incident in Lebanon’s history. This time his visit, packed with events and political talks aimed at charting a way out of the crisis, also comes as Lebanon celebrates its 100th anniversary. The day before, Lebanon’s Ambassador to Germany Mustapha Adib was appointed by the president to form a new government after winning the backing of major political parties and leaders in Lebanon. But the 48-year-old diplomat, little known to the public before he emerged abruptly as a consensus candidate, faces a mammoth task and has been rejected by activists and a public demanding that long-ruling politicians stand down. France and the international community have said they will not provide financial assistance to Lebanon unless it implements reforms to fight widespread corruption and mismanagement that have brought the tiny nation to the brink of bankruptcy.

Sudan Signs Peace Deal With Rebel Alliance (NYT) Hoping to put an end to nearly two decades of bloodshed that has left hundreds of thousands dead and millions more displaced, the transitional government of Sudan signed a peace agreement with an alliance of rebel groups on Monday to end fighting in Darfur and the southern regions of South Kordofan and the Blue Nile. While observers cautioned that Monday’s deal needed to be followed with concrete reforms, it was widely viewed as a critical first step to a more enduring peace. More than 300,000 people have been killed in years of fighting in Darfur, according to the United Nations. Another 2.7 million were forced from their homes. Thousands more have died in fighting in South Kordofan and the Blue Nile since fighting first broke out in the region in 2011. Reasons for caution remain, observers said: At least two rebel factions did not join the peace talks, and previous accords, including in 2006 and 2011, have failed to end the killing.

#headlines #news

[beardlessnomad]

Release The Hounds...

A few years back I dated a girl from a small town called Tarapoto, in the North of Peru where the Andean Mountains meet the Amazon Rain forest. It was a small, humble town with a tropical climate, that offered fuck all to do. Most of the inhabitants lived close nit, working class lives, my girlfriend's family included, whom lived on the outskirts of the city. Her house was situated in a poor suburb with run down, dirt roads, that were littered with stray dogs. During the day, the stray dogs normally slept due to the humid, perpetual 30°C+ days. However, when the temperature dropped after sunset, they came out to play, when most people returned to their houses. 

The locals where used to the good-for-nothing mutts and showed little concern towards them. I'd been informed that if a dog displayed aggression, which wasn’t uncommon, it was advised to pick up one of the many rocks on the ground and pretend to hurl it at the face of problematic dog/s. It sounded good in theory and I’d even seen it work from time to time, though it also seemed that a complete lack of fear was also necessary. At the very least, the fundamental rule when dealing with aggressive dogs, was to remain calm, continue to walk by slowly and by under no circumstance should you ever try to run away.

For the duration of my one month stay in Tarapoto, most days were spent hanging out at my girlfriend’s house with her and her family until late at night, where I'd retreat back to my hotel. During the day I could take a moto taxi straight to her front door step, but come nightfall, no taxi's would pass through the dark streets of her suburb, since nobody was around. So instead, I would have to make the anxious ten minute walk to the main road to hail one. Every one of those walks I made was a complete sweat, constantly being on the alert for mischievous strays, that would became aggressive if you wandered into their territory.

At around 1AM one typical, nerve racking night, when I turned onto the final, long stretch of road I usually took, I noticed a heap of garbage bags up ahead, on one side. I could see three dogs rustling through the rubbish whom I wanted no business going anywhere near, but the alternative was to turn back and gamble on a different road, none of which were illuminated and likely had other dogs lurking in the shadows. I took a breathe and continued. 

When I got within eye sight of the pack, I turned on a fake confidence, to try to mask the utter fear that had overcome me. There was a good twenty metres between them and me when I passed on the opposite side of the road but a shot of adrenaline injected into my bloodstream when I got a better look at one of the dogs in particular, that was of a large terrier breed. With a jacked and shredded physique, the size of a Shetland pony and seemingly bred to kill, I wanted no part in a tango with the beast. The other two were smaller but I sensed that they weren't shy of an altercation either. I kept calm and remembered my training.

*Just walk slow. Don't even look at them...*, I thought to myself, reassuringly. But less than five paces later, I heard a subtle but deep bark from one of them. Instinctively I knew it was the enormous hound that had noticed me. Nervously, I looked over again to see that all three now had their heads craned curiously towards me. The large dog barked again, but this time in an obnoxious, troublesome manner. One of the others followed suit. In anticipation for a show down, I frantically scanned the road to see a smorgasbord of rock throwing options, just in case I became more appetizing to them than the trash. But when their barking increased and they began walking towards me, it became clear that I was at the point of no return.

"Fuck...", I uttered to myself in distress, my squinty eyes widening to that of a normal size.

I looked again to the rocks on the ground for much needed ammunition; then back at them, as they closed more distance, then back to the ground again...

*Alright Ryan, no backing down here, you gotta hold your ground. Remember what they told you...*, echoed a voice from the logical corner of my brain.

The large terrier transitioned it’s walk to a trot, it’s confusingly large, yolked deltoid muscles, which looked to have been carved from the hands of god himself, flexing with terror every step. A second adrenaline dump came as my heart pounded violently.

*Do not run....Do not, run....Do not ru-...*, all of a sudden the logical part of my brain became overridden by an impulse of cowardice, causing me to come out of the blocks like Usain Bolt in the one hundred.  

Within seconds I'm sprinting as fast as anyone wearing thongs can, with the eruptions of barking at my back, from the savage hounds hot on my tail. A panic-stricken glance over my shoulder saw that there were another three dogs who'd come out of the wood work to join in on the chase for the fresh game that had been presented to them.  The enormous hound at the front of the pack of now at least six strong, with his enormous strides, I could feel closing in on me, like Phar lap galloping the home stretch of the 1930 Melbourne Cup. With a cold but indifferent look in his eyes, it seemed he'd be taking no prisoners tonight.

At the top of my lungs, I let out an almighty, primal roar of, “Fwaaaarrrrkkk!!!...", loud enough to wake up the whole of Tarapoto, whilst fed another ocean of adrenaline, never having ran faster in my life.  With only the grim sight of bare, open road, I clearly wasn't going to out run six animals with twice the amount of legs as I, so I made a change of direction towards the footpath, which was to achieve God knows what. In an attempt to do so, the six inch deep ditch, between the road and footpath caused me to lose my footing and fall face first, with my body coming to an abrupt, crushing halt. My body had gone from full sprinting speed, to a sudden, stationary stop when the middle of my thigh caught the edge of a small footbridge. The foot bridge and my femur bone shared a brief kiss, resulting in a deep, excruciating cork. 

                                                Scene of the chase

The adrenaline was enough to fend off the pain, leaving only the feeling of dread of the thought of the dogs about to tear my body to shreds with their rabies infected fangs, whilst I helplessly lay crippled on my back. 

Thankfully however, when they caught up to me a few seconds later, they just stood over me whilst barking loudly, before dispersing, when several locals came out the front of their houses to witness the scene.

Vision blurred and in a state of panic, I got to one leg and limped up the street as if still amidst the thick of an on foot chase, desperately trying to escape the canines. I hobbled clumsily up the road, panting deeply, for another twenty metres or so, until I finally realised the chase was over.

Parked not much further up the road, a young driver of a rickshaw moto taxi, looked on as I approached. He asked if I was okay, trying to mask his amusement but failing to do so, after having witnessed the whole ridiculous spectacle. During the chase, one of my thongs had gone astray, so the guy agreed to drive me back down to where I fell, since I was too much of a wimp to walk back to where any of those blasted hounds may have been lingering.

Back at the scene, several of the dogs began barking loudly again, with little regard for the sleeping neighborhood, as I proceeded to scan the ditch where I had fallen. Meanwhile, the taxi guy informed the small crowd of civilians dressed in their pajamas, about what had happened.

"Fucking Gringo...", was the disgruntled expression on most of their faces, when I’d shamefully glance over between rummaging through vegetation.

After a few minutes, right as I retrieved my parted thong, all of a sudden, a large Peruvian man, donning only Crocs and a pair of bright red, speedo-cut underwear, emerged from outside the house where half a dozen people congregated. Standing at around 6′4″ and weighing almost 120 kg, he was visibly mad for having been yanked from a deep slumber and wanted vengeance - to my horror, the target being, the young, innocent and friendly taxi driver who'd only been there to help me. After attempting to explain all the commotion, the young lad desperately tried to plea with the enormous, Peruvian giant but his words fell on deaf ears as the ogre came for him. The kid weaved in and out of the standing folks, desperately evading the grips of the oaf whilst I looked on in despair. At that point my Spanish was far too basic to intervene and try to explain the absurd scene that I was solely responsible for. Nor did I particularly feel like having to break out any Jiu Jitsu on a dirt, rocky road against a semi sleep walking, irrational meat head. Fortunately, the giant's gut weighed him down enough for the taxi guy's agility to prevail.

Some of the civilians finally managed to calm the situation somewhat, which I took as an opportunity to slip away into the dead of the night, like a spineless coward. I slowly edged away from the crowd, unbeknownst to anyone and began limping my way up to the main road to hail a taxi.

Up on the main drag, I impatiently stood for a good fifteen minutes, bearing the agony of what felt like a blade being inserted through my thigh, down to the bone.

Finally, to my relief, a lone moto taxi appeared in the distance and pulled to the side of the road when it reached me. However, my elation turned to shock, when I recognized the face of, none other than, the young taxi driver who had come to my aid only moments ago, after having been dragged into a situation by some dumb Gringo and almost getting his ass kicked for it. On top of that, the cravenly Gringo didn't even have the decency to stick around and offer as much as an apology. His face said as much, exhibiting a look of utter contempt.

"Oh, was that you who just helped me? I'm so sorry man...", I said, in awfully broken Spanish, cringing with awkwardness.

His face didn't change as he maintained a look of disgust, without saying a word.

"Ah, Jungle Hotel, please?...", I asked sheepishly, causing him to turn his head forward, which I took as an indication to get in the rickshaw.

In between awkward meetings of eye contact in the rear view mirror, not another word was exchanged until we arrived to the front door of my hotel.

I made one more attempt at a sincere apology when handing him the money for the ride, but he didn't so much as break his sour, forward gaze. As soon as money was in hand, with me mid sentence, the disgruntled taxi driver hit the throttle, speeding off and bellowing smoke into my face as I watched the rickshaw shrink into the distance.  

I limped my sorry ass up the hotel stairs to my room, racked with an emotional cocktail of shame, guilt and anger, before collapsing on my bed.

"Fuckin' hounds...", I muttered to myself, before passing out...  

[thethagtochina-blog]

Digesting Blogs:

It’s strange what decides to bring people together. What twists and turns they have taken in life to bring them to this very moment. Inevitably we all have one outstanding connection here and it is our writing. The love for it, the loathing of it and our insatiable itch to just do it. Our blogs are diverse in the way we ourselves are but these little thematic similarities are there to remind us of perhaps a culture we are creating. It has all taken something for each of us to be here, and with each person’s unique bravery also comes their unique vulnerabilities. Being a creative of any kind requires you to place yourself in a situation to be scrutinised in some way shape or form. It is clear from each of the blogs that we are finding ways of expressing, overcoming and just embracing this feeling of being vulnerable.

In Matt’s China Tour Blog there is emphasis placed on moving past ‘inevitable’ differences and moving focus towards what we will be able to create ‘We will be striving together for something beautiful, and that is enough to bring us together. Or at least, that is all I can hope for.’ In Ella’s Salty Living and Salty Writing she too noticed the emergence of a theme of self doubt. ‘As writers, we approach vulnerability in a number of ways, many of which are unusual. At times we loathe to put ourselves out there.’

Taylah’s post entitled Reflections delineates the struggles we have of finding suitable content, how do we have the right to something we know nothing about? ‘How can I write an honest blog post about these things without having seen the city ((Guangzhou)) beforehand?’. Then not only content but truthfulness, authenticity, Kat discusses this thought in her blog ‘I sometimes get stuck. Am I writing the truth? I know something can be true to me that isn’t true for others’. Ashley’s Take Me Away further explores the position of being faced with another culture that is both inspiring and terrifying, and how exactly we should approach it. ‘The main issue: confusion. what to write about? how to write about a foreign country without seeming offensive?’. Our own sense of otherness is warped into a newfound vulnerability. We don’t want to, mustn’t offend.

However we need to remember to not only move past this sense of vulnerability, our hesitations, but to harness it, as regarding, and acknowledging our weakness will only solidify our strengths. Mentioned in Jacinta’s Ocean Crossing is how we each bring a flair forward that is solely our own ‘I was surprised to find that each of my classmates had injected their own personality into the aesthetics of their blog. This highlights that we each have something different to contribute to this process’. It is important to remember everyone feels this at some point. A hesitation, a pause, but it is something we must learn to ignore in order to move forward. Georgie’s Words/Pictures/Junk expresses that hesitation ‘I think a lot of my own life has been lived in fear of making an idiot out of myself. I have shied away from voicing my opinion and tend not to volunteer for opportunities that require me to put myself out there.’

Lets all start making idiots out of ourselves!

This is a collaborative process, one which would not work if we were to shrivel in self deprecating madness. As stated in Lauren’s Wandering ‘learning is about mentoring and friendship’.

Perhaps the truly special thing about these blogs is how they work as a cohesive whole. In Nat’s Transit she mentions the lingering self doubt when placing her blog comparatively against the class ‘I don’t feel confident in how my blog looks, how it feels to touch visually if that makes sense. It appears two dimensional at the moment, and everyone else’s seems four or even fifth dimensional’. We may need to cease viewing it in this manner. Perhaps none make sense on their own and we must bring them together as a whole to truly appreciate our work here.

As writers we accept a sense of isolation: These are my thoughts, my feelings and are my burden alone. This studio pushes us to move forward, not in a messy disarray of literary angst but as a solid unit that has the ability to work cohesively in order to create something truly magical.

Travis notes in his blog that ‘we all have different reasons for writing’. We may write to make sense of our world or our place within it. We may write simply for the enjoyment of it. Maybe we write because not writing is an intolerable alternative. Maybe writing keeps us sane.

When we collaborate we are forced to ask questions of each other. We are forced to offer small pieces of ourselves in the process. Writing is solitary, but the sharing of writing is not. Yes, there is the fear, the overwhelming, sometimes crippling, fear. As Jess B. remarks in her blog Leaving Footprints, often we question whether we have anything interesting to say. But even as many of us profess to be struggling with how we present ourselves and our writing, our blogs demonstrate a deep passion for our craft.

Inevitably, there are moments when we all write ourselves into a bleak headspace—or perhaps it is the inability to write that causes us distress. And yet, writing is also capable of elating and inspiring us. Writing is a task, like any other, and it can be alternately gruelling and stimulating. Lisa concluded her post about editing with the line: ‘reminding everyone ((myself)) that writing is fun most of the time.’ Sometimes as writers we need to be reminded of this because it is all too easy to simply put down the pen and walk away when it gets tough.

These blogs are a wonderful insight into the processes of our peers. Without even meaning to, we give away so much of ourselves in our posts about writing and our expectations about going to China. The way in which we weave elements of our own personalities and interests into our interpretation of what is happening around us is endlessly fascinating. Through our blogs we see the process of collaboration from so many diverse points of view.

For Shona, learning about Chinese culture has brought to mind the science-fiction film Arrival. For Jess Z., part of the process of preparing for the study tour is reading relevant literature such as Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress by Dai Sijie. Despite attending the same classes and doing the same tasks, we all absorb and react to this collaborative process in different ways. As Pallavi writes in her blog The Backpack Journal: ‘What kind of thoughts I have largely depends on the music I’m listening to’. All of us are influenced by what we read and watch and listen to, and this is apparent in our unique individual processes.

This collaborative program enables us to each bring our own special insights and skills together, and in doing so we are able to create something pretty darn great.

When perusing everyone’s blogs, I noted that many of us found the act of writing a blog post to be a moment of reflection, consolidation and meditation; a space offered as a blank canvas in which we can share our thoughts, feelings and anxieties. I think that the blogs have been important in this way as they work to cement our different experiences throughout this shared journey as well as something to look back on. They also reinforce a connection between not only our writing, but with each other. Connection seemed to be a buzzword that featured in a few posts including Pallavi’s post about culture shock. She stated that she ‘wanted to connect with people across the world looking past language barriers and the foreign’ to create a common understanding. Sophie suggested that authenticity played a big role in connecting with others. Perhaps this is something to remember when editing the works of our Chinese counterparts – to be authentic and to allow the authentic experience of the Chinese work to shine through. While yes, there are barriers, we must instead focus on overcoming those barriers – of language, of inexperience and of culture. But also the barriers that we create. Many mentioned how anxious they were in the lead up to this trip and, to reiterate Travis’ latest blog, we must ‘be brave, be honest and allow ourselves to be vulnerable.’ Another common thread was that of empathy: the ability to understand and share the feelings of another. Jess Z has written a whole post on empathy as an editor, with a focus on editing cross cultural work, which requires additional sensitivity. She says: ‘although empathy will not impart the practical knowledge of how the rules of grammar differ between cultures, or how their cultural ideologies, values and communication differ from our own, empathy will still give the incentive to the editor to feel. And when we feel, we will invest. And this means investing in how to work with the author and navigate the barriers between cultural differences.’ Jules, while she hasn’t spoken about it directly, employed empathy when communicating with her student, going ‘beyond the written’ as she says, exchanging emojis and images and using google translate.

A few others reflected upon Paula’s anecdote about her friend John and the interest, attention and listening skills he employs while overseas developing cross-cultural relationships. She says in her blog post that ‘a person’s disposition is critical, the inner stance we take – our attitudes, intentions and motivations, our hopes and expectations, our fears and prejudices – have a major impact on our experiences and interactions with others’. I think that this ties in with empathy and reinforces the fact that sensitivity to others, particularly in regards to helping our Chinese friends ‘save face’, will bridge the gaps between cultures.

We look forward to continuing to read everyone’s blogs as we move closer to our departure date and our very own cross-cultural experience. :) Thank you.

Authored by: Me (obviously this is my blog) Georgie Young- https://wordspicturesjunk.wordpress.com/ Jacinta Walsh- http://oceancrossingblog.tumblr.com/