#and I understood this when i was like 12 bc it's not hard and it's a book for children

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 12 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, some angst, DESCRIPTIVE SMUT with maybe 1 pet name and 2 jokes, a bunch of reminiscing and relentless flirting (bc jungkook is dowwnnnn badddd), praise kink if you squint?, minors please don't interact

words: 7.6k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 12 ► fall into your eyes like a grave, bury me to the sound of your name

You and Jungkook were silent for a solid fifteen minutes after you let him into your hotel room. You were both sitting on the bed, but with so much distance between you that it felt like you were on two different floors.

After your phone on the bedside table lit up for the sixth time in the last fifteen minutes, Jungkook finally spoke up.

“Your phone keeps buzzing,” he pointed out helpfully.

“Yeah.” You sighed. Being silent with Jungkook oddly felt less draining than dealing with whatever was happening on your phone. “It’s Kai.”

Jungkook nodded, remembering your brother’s misadventures the last time you two talked. He was almost happy to use that as an excuse to dance around the elephant in the room a little longer.

“How is he?” he asked. “With his broken…”

“Leg, yeah,” you finished, leaning your head against the headboard. “He’s home. Mum’s grounded him. She’s turned off the router and taken his Xbox, so he’s texting me because he’s got nothing else to do.”

Remembering how angry you were when your brother got himself into trouble and upset your mum, Jungkook asked with a small smirk on his lips, “and you had nothing to do with the Xbox?”

You shook your head. “I don’t believe it’s an appropriate punishment to withhold things from your children. I think it makes them withdraw from their parents, especially when they’re seventeen like Kai. And it makes them annoy their siblings instead,” you paused. Then shrugged. “But I’m not a parent, so easy for me to say.”

Dignified, Jungkook cleared his throat.

“You’ve contributed greatly to raising your brother,” he said in a voice full of contempt for your family’s general tendency to use the nine-year age difference between you and your brother as an excuse to have you babysit for free.

Although your heartbeat increased at the sound of his confidence—and his almost reflexive habit of defending you from yourself—your outward appearance remained composed. It was easy to appear collected when you weren’t looking at him and he felt so far away.

“And look at him now,” you said, an ironic smile on your face. “A mess.”

Jungkook snickered. “He’s really not that bad.”

Sighing again, you ran a hand through your hair and felt your fingers get caught in the last strand, only adding to your frustration with your brother.

“Sure. He’s a good kid,” you said, looking up at Jungkook. “But he tries too hard.”

Jungkook saw the parallel, he felt it. You might as well have said that about him.

At last, it seemed like the time had come to address the real reason he’d come to your room. He knew that this casual chit-chat was only temporary anyway. But if he wasn’t careful, it would be the last time the two of you spoke to each other with such ease, such familiarity.

He cleared his throat and said, “this might be the hardest conversation we have.”

He didn’t need to elaborate, you understood. And still, you thought about his words for a moment and decided to disagree.

“Or the easiest,” you said. “I mean, everything important that we could have said, we’ve pretty much said already.”

He blinked, surprised at first. Then dizzy.

There were several things he wanted to say to you, but he expected to listen to you first. He knew you wouldn’t initiate a conversation about your feelings, but he’d hoped this was different, especially considering all that you’d said to each other on the street.

It wasn’t different. You sat across from him on the bed and you looked a little uncomfortable, but not particularly confounded.

He’d expected to find you grappling with questions, armoured with rightful accusations, but you appeared settled.

Maybe it’s because it’s been four years, he realised suddenly. He hadn’t been there to watch you build your defences. He hadn’t seen your walls grow.

He worried, suddenly, that nothing he’d say would mean anything to you. He worried that the only reason you let him into your room was to deliver the finishing blow—to tell him that you were done one more time.

He switched the arm he was leaning against the bed with; his right arm was slowly going numb. Actually, so was his left, and, if he was completely honest, his whole body felt a bit like it was floating away from him, but he tried to focus on the moment.

“Uh, w-we haven’t said everything,” he said.

You looked at him. “What else is there?”

“Two things.”

Inhaling sharply, you turned away. You did not really want to continue the discussion you’d had by the canal. In fact, you didn’t think there was anything to continue at all.

You’d walked away as soon as you realised that you’d come face-to-face with your break-up. And this was it. You’ve found the reason why this could never work. Why you and him together could never work. And it was truly simple: it’s because it hadn’t worked before. You already knew it, but you enjoyed the leisure of pretending that you didn’t.

All that you two had to do now, in your opinion, was reach a formal agreement that this would be it. You’ve explored each other’s boundaries enough during this tour. The time has come to stop. To go back to your normal lives, your regular jobs and duties.

However, now that he was here, there was hesitation behind your closed eyes. You had learned that the two of you had different ideas about why you broke up. And you’d spent four years boiling in them, convincing yourselves you’ve moved on from them, then facing them head-on when you really looked at each other again.

Perhaps there were a few more things you had to talk about, after all, before you could truly put this behind you.

Finally, you nodded your head once and told him, “okay. What’s the first thing?”

“The first thing,” he started, “is that I'm sorry.”

It was well known that “sorry” wasn’t always a heavy word. People threw it around like a pebble and watched it bounce off the surface of the water, rarely ever intending for it to sink, to reach the depths not visible to the naked eye. Jungkook had been one of those people many times in his life.

But the word he used here felt different.

It carried a weight that forced him to lower his head as he said it. As if all his thoughts had been poured into this sentence – this fateful “I’m sorry” – and the heaviness of it was difficult to bear. As if he’d assigned different meanings to each “sorry” in his head, and all these little pieces suddenly added up to one big word that took up the whole room.

“For not realising what I was doing back then,” he said, dissecting the apology, “and what it meant for our relationship.”

He figured there wasn’t much that you could say that would make it easier for him to breathe – the conversation by the canal, the bet, the apology, all of it was too significant to leave much room for oxygen in his lungs.

But you said, “I forgive you.”

And it felt a lot like you were performing emergency resuscitation and successfully maintaining his brain function.

He wasn’t certain if you’d said that because it was the right thing to say, or because you’d meant it. If it was the former, Jungkook would have rather suffocated.

“You do?” he asked, unsure if he was prepared for your explanation.

“Yeah,” you said. “I didn’t know that you weren’t—that you didn’t realise why—why we broke up the way we did. And it sucks that you didn’t, but…”

You faltered here and Jungkook was keenly aware how you’d said it sucks, but you’d really meant it hurt me. It hurt that he’d been dismissive, negligent, and heedless – and had the audacity not to realise it.

He closed his eyes while you finished, “it sucks more to know that, all this time, you thought I’d just walked away for no good reason.”

An apology was on the tip of your tongue, he could sense it. Although you had many reasons to be angry with him for being so impossibly stupid, you also felt guilty because all this time, he had thought you woke up one morning and suddenly decided you didn’t want to be with him anymore. Like it was your fault that he didn’t realise he’d been taking you for granted every day for months before you broke up.

You should have been angry with him. Instead, you thought you were responsible for not explaining your reasoning properly before you left.

He couldn’t even begin to describe the ache in his chest. He wanted you so much, but more and more he realised that he didn’t deserve you.

“I didn’t try to stop you,” he said before you could say anything else, because this was another element of his initial apology. One more thing he had to be sorry for.

You shrugged with one shoulder. Over the years, you’d come up with several reasons why he never fought for your relationship, not even considering that he might have assumed you had fallen out of love with him. At the end of every day, you simply thought he didn’t care anymore.

“I thought you were okay with it,” you said. “When I told you we were over, you just stood there. You didn’t ask why and I didn’t... answer.”

“I wasn’t okay with it,” he replied. “But I didn’t think there was anything I could do.”

With a thoughtful nod, you agreed, “there probably wasn’t.”

“Yeah, but I felt that way because I assumed that you—you didn’t want to be with me. That you didn’t care about me anymore. And you, uh,” he stopped here and waited for a long minute. Finally, he inhaled deeply. “You thought the opposite.”

You probably should have shouted at each other as you discussed this, you thought abruptly. That would have been appropriate. Maybe even healthy, all things considered.

But then, perhaps the realisation that you both had different views on why you broke up was precisely the thing that softened the impact. His hurt because you’d left him without an explanation, and your anger because he made you do it—they both took up outstanding amounts of space in your chests. They weighed you down. And they almost balanced each other out.

Perhaps you weren’t ready to shout just yet. Or not anymore.

Perhaps you’d left most of the shouting in the past four years ago. Now you were finally on the verge of closure.

That was the point, after all: the two of you boasted—really, there was no other word for it, you were both proud of it—that you’d never spoken to anyone about the details of your relationship.

That could have been admirable, of course, this utter devotion to each other and no one else. Except that, you didn’t talk about your relationship with each other, either.

“Do you think this is our own fault?” you asked. “We were good at talking about everything except… well, us.”

“I know,” Jungkook was quick to agree. You had both been like this from the very beginning—that’s likely why he was never fully aware of his behaviour. You’d always argued, but never about the things that really mattered. “I nearly threw up before I asked you to be my girlfriend.”

You did a double take, your mind racing to supply you with a memory that matched his words, but coming up short.

You squinted at him. “Did you actually ask?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but let it hang there, no words coming out for a good minute.

“You don't remember?!” he accused, his voice so high-pitched that it could almost shatter glass.

“I remember going on at least five dates before someone called you,” you explained, “and I heard you say into your phone, ‘sorry, I’m with my girlfriend.’ And that’s when I assumed that, huh. I guess I’m your girlfriend then.”

Jungkook could remember this exact moment. It was Sid who had called him because the two of them were working for Sid’s grandfather fixing his Camaro at the time. Jungkook had needed the money, while Sid simply enjoyed the ‘69 classic car.

The memory sent a shiver down his spine because he recalled turning Sid down. He had prioritised you over everything back then. What had happened to him later?

Regardless – in Jungkook’s mind, the timeline of your relationship was different.

“I vividly remember asking you on our second date,” he said.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you attempted to remember the very beginning of your relationship.

Your first date was the traditional movie and dinner—although it turned into a movie and the rain when you got stuck in the park. You recalled the whole day with near-perfect clarity.

Your second date was a week later, at the carnival in town. It took you three hours to get back to your dorms, because the event was held across the forest that separated the university campus from a small town nearby. Jungkook had insisted that you could walk home, he had claimed to know the way. And then he proceeded to get you lost within a few seconds of entering the forest.

All you could remember him asking you back then, was, ‘I know where I’m going, so trust me, okay?’ and that certainly did not include any terms that specified your relationship status.

Confused if you were remembering this wrong, you asked, “when we got lost on our way home from the carnival?”

“Before that!” he was even louder now, both of his hands in the air as he frantically explained, “on the Ferris wheel! I can’t believe you don’t remember!”

“On the Ferris—Jungkook, you had motion sickness the whole time we were on it,” you reminded him.

“I wasn’t sick,” he argued. “I was nervous.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “All you said to me during that entire ride was ‘please’ when we were at the very top.”

“That was me asking!”

“That was—” You laughed in surprise before you could finish the sentence. “Okay, well, you can see why I wouldn’t remember that, considering you didn’t use a lot of words to explain what you meant. I thought you were asking me to end the ride. Not that I could have ended it, but—”

“You said yes, though.”

You didn’t think you heard him right, his tone noticeably lower compared to the agitated screaming before. “Hm?”

“When I said, ‘please?’,” he spoke, “you said, ‘yes.’”

You watched him, considering it.

“I think I was asking,” you said and demonstrated, “yes?”

“No. You made a statement,” he disagreed, showing you, “yes.”

You pursed your lips, choosing to quit before this escalated into an argument.

“Alright, fine,” you said. “Maybe I read your mind, then.”

He scoffed, turning away. “And forgot about it…”

Nevermind taking the high road.

“Well, I didn't think it meant anything,” you argued, “you were—”

“I had a different plan. I was going to fully embrace The Notebook and dangle from someone else’s seat to ask you,” Jungkook said, “but for that to work, you would’ve had to go on the ride with someone else. And at that point, I couldn’t let you sit in that cabin with someone who wasn’t me.”

You could feel your cheeks stretching as an involuntary smile spread across your lips.

“That’s a little crazy,” you said gently.

“Please,” he replied, lowering himself on your bed until he was lying on his back. “It’s just crazy. I went on a binge-watching session of romantic films before our first few dates. I did my research.”

You knew him too well not to point out, “was it really only for research?”

“Alright, after the first few, I started to really enjoy them,” he admitted, earning a knowing nod from you. He smiled in response and continued, “but then I got to know you better, and I figured that if I serenaded you like Heath Ledger did in 10 Things I Hate About You, you’d break up with me immediately.”

Your laughter sounded so sincere and calming that Jungkook felt his smile widen as he turned his head to look at you from where he was lying on your bed.

“So I became a singer instead,” he said, encouraged by the lightness in your laugh. “You can’t break up with me if singing for you is my job.”

Your stomach performed an intricate Loop-the-Loop and then dropped, seemingly down ten floors, all the way to the lobby of the hotel.

Desperate, you tried, “you’re not—it’s not—”

Noticing you were about to downplay his words—either because you didn’t think he meant it, or because you didn’t feel comfortable knowing that he did—Jungkook changed the topic instead.

“Were you angry at me?” he asked. “For not chasing you after you left that time?”

Struggling to collect the remains of your thoughts, you spoke very slowly, “I... I was angry that you didn’t put in any effort while we were still together. After that, I thought you didn’t care anymore.”

“I did,” he said. Then, realising, he corrected himself, “I do. And I didn’t want to make the same mistake again today.”

Hesitantly, you asked, “how do you mean? Because I left today?”

He nodded. “I'm not going to wait another four years before we talk about us.”

“Jungkook...” you said, but the sound of his name on your lips caused your thoughts to jumble once more. Your words stuck to your throat as your heart threw itself against the walls of your chest. You hoped to divert the topic, “y-you said there were two things. What—what’s the second thing?”

“The second thing is that I love you,” he said in one quick breath. “I took everything we had for granted, and I’m sorry. But the truth is that even then I was—I-I’d never stopped loving you.”

A sense of déjà vu clouded your mind, while the rest of your body reacted as if this was the first time you’d heard him say this. As if the four years you hadn’t been together were long enough to start a new lifetime, and now you’ve met again, reincarnated into different people – Jungkook, the vocalist of a rock band, and you, the manager.

But, buried deep in your subconscious, locked away in a box that your brain dared not touch even in a dreaming state, was the memory of the first time he’d said these words to you.

It was spring. You’d been together for about five or six months at that point, and you’d skipped class together to go to the same park where you’d had your first date. You’d spent the whole day walking around hand-in-hand, reminiscing about the past, dreaming of the future, taking pictures of the freshly bloomed cherry blossoms, and picking up the pale pink leaves from the grass to throw them at each other.

During the car ride back home, you were so exhausted that you could hardly keep your eyes open. The two of you had been running around so much—his energy was infectious, you’d both acted like Golden Retrievers set loose—that your legs felt wobbly and unsteady.

After a few more minutes, you had lost the battle against yourself and settled more comfortably into the passenger seat, closing your eyes. Your mind was already beginning to fill with the bliss of sleep when Jungkook stopped the car at a red light.

He glanced at you, seemingly asleep on the seat beside him, and leaned in to press his lips to your forehead. When he pulled back, he noticed a pale cherry blossom in your hair and a soft smile on your lips.

It was nothing more than a whisper—“I love you so much”—that slipped from his lips because he thought you were asleep. Nothing more than an overwhelmed confession as his heart drowned in his feelings.

But, to this day, nothing has ever come close to making your heart beat nearly as fast as it had in that car when the light turned green and he drove back to your dorm, still thinking you were asleep. That first confession of love remained a secret between you, him, and the stray cherry blossom nestled in your hair.

Slowly, you opened your eyes as the memory tugged at each and every cell of your skin, bringing goosebumps to the surface. You looked around the hotel room before you dared to look at him again.

Contrary to what Jungkook believed, you didn’t appear collected because you were done. Or because you didn’t want to fight with yourself about wanting him anymore.

It was because you were tired of still wanting him so much in spite of everything.

You were tired of forcing yourself to let go. To move on. To be rational and responsible.

Tired of feeling happy about things that were probably inappropriate.

Tired of finding those things inappropriate.

But rationally, you knew that you had to leave this behind and return to your normal lives after this, regardless of what you wanted.

It’d be much harder—to an infinite extent—because this wasn’t how you’d imagined this conversation going.

Quietly, you broke the silence, “I’m sorry, too.”

“Why?” he asked, sitting up on the bed.

“We can’t...” the words trailed off before you could catch up. You tried again, “I can’t—we can't do this.”

He observed the battle behind your eyes and then spoke, very softly, almost inaudibly, “we’re not doing anything wrong.”

“We’re—"

“We’re the ones who put meaning to things,” he continued. Not to contradict you, but to reassure you. “If we say it doesn't mean anything, then it doesn't.”

You shook your head with a sad smile, the situation vaguely familiar.

“It’s never that simple,” you said. “There’s so much more than just you and me to consider.”

“It is simple,” he insisted. Then, just like back in your bunk on the tour bus, he asked, “do you want me to leave?”

Just like back then, you answered without hesitation, “no.”

“Then this can have as much or as little meaning as you want it to. I don’t give a fuck,” he said. “I’m yours. You are all I’m considering. And I’m staying.”

In less than a second, the determination in his voice made you realise that rational didn’t always mean reasonable.

Rationally, you knew you should have drawn the line. You should have left or told him to leave. Should have distanced yourself from him for the sake of your heart. Your job. For the sake of the atmosphere backstage.

You were aware of all the damage this could do. You were aware of the risk. Of the questions. Of the pain.

You were aware that you were having the very conversation that you’d stopped him from pursuing a few hours ago on the street. But your response to him was vastly different now.

Really, the situation felt different, too.

The second thing is that I love you.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—

You couldn’t imagine yourself leaving.

There was no place in the whole world that you would have rather been in right now. And no one else you would have wanted to share that place with.

It felt reasonable to stay. And wish for him to stay, too.

Jungkook had to scoot closer on the bed to reduce the distance between you two, and as soon as he did, he leaned in right away. He’d hesitated before, got scared, panicked and changed his mind. Tonight, he would do nothing of the sort.

His lips touched yours before you could formulate a single doubt and his kiss effectively silenced all the noises and echoes in your head.

Truthfully, he knew that there was a third thing he didn’t tell you, but when you kissed him back, less tentatively than the first time on the bus, he couldn’t imagine ever saying anything to you again. Speaking seemed like an immeasurable waste of time.

Instead, he pulled you closer, his lips locked on yours as one of his hands held the side of your face. His gentle fingertips contrasted with the coldness of his lip ring against your lips as he touched the skin of your cheek like he wasn’t sure, not even now, that it was really you he was holding. His other hand found its way around your waist and settled there—the gesture so intimate, so familiar.

He kissed you and it felt inevitable. Like everything you’d been doing up to this point was meant to lead you here – even the break-up four years ago.

As Jungkook felt your hands on his chest, careful and barely there, he mentally cursed himself for wearing this white shirt yet again—the fabric was too thick for him to properly feel you.

Still, he recognised the ghost of your touch as though he’d never been apart from you. As though you’d always stayed like this, locked in a desperate embrace in the tenth-floor room of a hotel in Amsterdam.

There were endless somethings bursting persistently in his chest as he tasted you, deepening the kiss by bringing his tongue over yours. Fireworks and flames and entire conflagrations all wreaked havoc on his heart.

This time, there were no promises of five minutes, and no curtains to separate you from everyone else. When you whimpered quietly, in response to him pulling you up until one of your legs was thrown over his and you were seated firmly on his thigh, he was the only one who heard it. The only one who felt your heavy breathing on his lips as he kissed you.

And if, by a lucky chance, there was any oxygen left in the room, neither of you needed it as your holds on each other grew tighter, hands grasping whatever materials they could reach and pulling—until he took your shirt off, until you took off his.

Every single one of your nerve endings was focused solely on him—his taste, his scent, his touch, his warmth, the roughness of his dark jeans underneath you, the softness of the skin on his chest. Your body instinctively drew closer, prompting him to clench his thigh as he wrapped his arms around you even more tightly.

His lips gently trailed kisses down your jawline and onto your neck, and it was as intoxicating as it was overwhelming. He remembered your body—how could he forget when it haunted his dreams almost every night?—but he yearned to create new memories, to trace the lines of your figure that he’d memorised and bring them to life in a new and different way.

You helped his eager hands find the edge of your sports bra and had to briefly pull away from him to slide it over your head. He pulled you back to him as soon as you did, needing to get lost in your touch, to feel your skin against his.

Your hotel room was filled with so much electricity, the two of you could have lit all of Amsterdam up.

“There’s so much I want to say to you. So much I have to say,” he breathed against your lips while his hands caressed your exposed sides, tracing the familiar maps on your skin.

You pulled him closer by gripping the back of his neck and exhaled, “show me instead.”

The meaningfulness, or rather, meaninglessness, of the moment seemed secondary. You wouldn’t analyse what this symbolised or where you stood.

Instead, you’d analyse how kissing him—touching him, feeling his skin, hearing his breathing—felt good. How it felt right. Like you’d been lying to yourself by doing everything else but this.

Sitting on his lap as he held you firmly in his arms—essentially trapping you in his grip, in his scent, in him—you could feel the rest of the world fade away into the recesses of your mind that you didn’t consider important at this given point.

Focusing on the feeling of his tongue against yours and the firmness underneath you, you allowed the scorching heat of the moment to take control of your movements as you instinctively moved your hips against his and forced him to suck in a shaky breath.

You undid the buckle of his belt and he had to pull back just a little, breaking the kiss. His head was spinning, overwhelmed by your closeness and the rapid beating of his heart. It wasn’t the first time you had been this close, but it had been so long, and he’d wanted this so much, that it felt like he’d never done this before.

Noticing your trembling hands, he helped you with his belt by loosening his grip on your waist. As soon as your fingers reached the zipper of his pants, he grabbed your forearms—successfully halting your progress in ridding him of his jeans—and swiftly flipped you over onto your back on the bed.

Your eyes met for a split second as he hovered over you, silently exchanging a conversation that neither of you dared to voice.

He leaned in to kiss you again and allowed you to get back to the previous task. Kissing him back, you finally managed to lower his jeans to his knees, and the simple feeling of your touch on the back of his thighs nearly made him see stars. Leaning his forehead against yours, he squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip to regain his composure.

He briefly sat up to kick off his jeans—as quickly as he could, because the room temperature fell a hundred degrees when he wasn’t touching you—and you took a moment to trace the patterns of ink on his arm with your eyes.

You were with him when he got his first tattoo.

He acted tough in the tattoo parlour, but once the artist took you both down to the basement, all of his bravery faded. It was rather chilly down there—Jungkook was pouting when he took his jacket off, revealing his shivering skin—and he’d chosen his knuckles as a place for his first tattoo. It was going to hurt.

He knew that, in theory. But the way he squeezed your hand and bit his lip when the needle pierced his skin for the first time still surprised you both. You weren’t sure who was in more pain by the end of the session—him, from the fresh ink on his hand, or you, from how hard he’d been squeezing your hand.

Now, he had a full sleeve. And you felt a pang of pain in your chest, because there were so many tattoos that you hadn’t seen him get.

You hadn’t been there when the needle pierced his skin again and again. You hadn’t seen the way he closed his eyes, clenched his jaw, and placed a hand on your knee—for support, for reassurance, for all-consuming love.

You hadn’t helped him apply lotion on the fresh ink, hadn’t teased him for being a baby, hadn’t been shut up with a kiss. You hadn’t traced the intricate lines on his skin with the tips of your fingers—careful, gentle, loving.

You hadn’t been there for four years.

But you were here now.

Just as your gaze reached his shoulder, your eyes locked on the patterns you’d never touched, Jungkook turned to you and caught you staring. The dazed look in your eyes before he had even done anything affected him in more ways than he could count.

With a wide, shameless grin and a raised eyebrow, he leaned into you again. You noticed right away that he was about to say something that would surely ruin the moment, but you pressed a hand to his chest, stopping him before he could.

“Don’t,” you warned. There was humour and light and excitement in your eyes.

Chuckling as if you’d read his mind, he pressed a kiss to your lips and mumbled, “wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Liar,” you exhaled against his mouth as he quickly slid your biker shorts and panties down your hips, your back barely leaving the bed.

“Honest,” he countered in a soft whisper, his lips hovering over your neck as his hands returned to your waist and he aligned your hips with his. “I have better things on my mind.”

It was hard to determine which one of you was to blame for ending this unnecessary bickering by inhaling too sharply – you, who reached the edge of his boxers and pulled them down, removing the last layer of clothing between you; or him, who gently caressed your thighs, drawing deliberately slow, teasing circles that inched closer to your core.

He managed to kick off his boxers without letting go of you—which was a talent that was difficult to advertise, but a talent nonetheless—and kissed you deeply. One of his fingers slid over your thighs and traced over your folds, causing your body to twitch in anticipation as you gripped his forearms for support.

His touch felt foreign and familiar at the same time – he knew how to find every single one of your nerve endings, but your body seemed to have forgotten that he knew.

It was almost frightening how he sensed exactly how to touch you to elicit a response—the pillows of his fingers effortlessly reached the bundle of nerves on your clit at just the right time to make your back arch off the bed involuntarily, seeking more friction. Your breathing grew louder every time he applied more pressure to his touch.

It really didn’t feel fair at all—the way he appeared to know your body better than you did, even after all these years.

A frustrated whimper escaped your lips when he added another finger, picking up the pace. He alternated between gentle rubs and teasing caresses, and his touch made your head spin, but you wanted more of him. All of him.

He only inserted a finger for a fraction of a second before lightly brushing it over your folds—the motion so sweet and then suddenly not enough. Your nails were about to draw blood from how tight you were gripping his arms.

“Don’t tease,” you exhaled, more a plea than a command. “Not now.”

There was a hint of promise here, and Jungkook smiled before nodding. He kissed your lips, but instead of pulling away, he increased his pace—toying with your clit with just enough pressure and at just the right angle that you could have cried out if you hadn’t been biting your lip so hard.

“Fuck,” was all you could respond with as your eyes rolled back from the intense sensation. “Jungkook—”

This time his name was encouraging. It was begging. It made him groan as he leaned in, already almost painfully hard as he rubbed your clit, spreading your wetness with his fingers.

“Hmm.” He touched your neck with his lips in a sloppy, wet kiss that sent shivers down your spine. “You look so beautiful.”

“Fuck,” you repeated, the relentless ministrations of his fingers rendering you incapable of a more coherent sentence. “Fuck.”

And just when you felt the pressure in your stomach building, he pulled away abruptly.

The loss of contact made you exhale with enough agitation for it to resemble a whine. This earned you a smirk from him as he pulled back slightly, convinced he was just doing what you’d asked because he did indeed stop teasing.

To be fair, it was for his benefit, too. Your body, your warmth, your heavy breaths—he knew it all teased him more than he could ever tease you.

Struggling to maintain his composure, he bit his lip and reached for his length, giving it a few languid strokes.

The first glimpses of concern started to creep in when he realised he had no protection, but he saw you nod at the pile of suitcases by your bed. Confused initially, he rolled off of you and approached what appeared to be a welcome basket on top of the pile.

“Don’t tell me…” he mumbled in disbelief as he picked up the wicker basket—decorated with an appropriate white bow.

“Yeah,” you confirmed his thoughts and sure enough, among complimentary bottles of shampoo and tubes of toothpaste, he found a box of condoms.

Under different circumstances, he would have embraced his inner teenager and dropped everything to giggle at this, but he tried to stay composed. That is, until he looked at you and saw that you were biting your lip in an obvious attempt to hold back laughter.

“Well, this is quite convenient,” he remarked, encouraged by your amusement, as he climbed back on the bed. “Almost meant to be, no?”

“Don’t spoil the moment,” you warned, pressing your lips together to conceal your smile. “Just hurry.”

“Say that again for me?” he teased. “I love it when you beg.”

Undeterred by the punch on his shoulder that he received in response, Jungkook laughed and ripped the bag open. He unrolled the condom onto his length with relative ease despite the slight shake in his hands.

You reached out to help him, and he realised he might actually pass out when he felt you touch him. The tips of your fingers were on the tip of his length as he brought it closer to your entrance.

He shook his head and warned breathlessly, all of his previous confidence gone, “I’m not—not going to last long.”

He could tell as much even before he entered you, but after you nodded—giving him voiceless permission—and, slowly, almost agonisingly, he slid inside, he realised he may have miscalculated.

He might not last at all.

Lowering his head as he paused, not even halfway in, he bit his lip in concentration and closed his eyes. He couldn’t get himself together when you looked like that under him—almost too lost in the feeling of him, in the pleasant stretch, in the way you couldn’t help but clench around him as your walls anticipated fitting all of him in.

“Fuck,” he exhaled shakily as you tightened around him. He really needed to get a grip. More sternly, he repeated, “fuck,” and, with a more forceful thrust of his hips, he fully bottomed out.

You threw your head back at the sudden motion, needing a second to adjust to the stretch. This was helped greatly by one of his hands as he caressed your hips, your waist, your breasts while he gave you as much time as you needed. Hė toyed with your nipple between his fingers and the gentle touch and the utmost admiration in his dark eyes sent sparks straight to your core.

After you quietly urged him to move, it still took him a whole minute before he felt confident enough to pull almost all the way out and then push back in, testing both of your limits. He looked at you—because he couldn’t not look at you underneath him, not even if it meant he’d lose himself right away—and the expression on your face was so dreamy that he didn’t even realise he shuddered in exhilaration.

Your head was still thrown back as you held your lower lip in a tight grip between your teeth. When you slowly opened your eyes, your gaze met his right away. And there was barely anything—fuck it, there was nothing—that he could have done to prepare for it.

He thought he may as well have died then and there because nothing in his life would ever compare to the colour of your eyes when you looked at him.

Swallowing the groan in the back of his throat, he leaned in to press his lips to yours as he began to move. It was slow at first, then his hips gradually gained more speed as he felt your warm walls pulling him in. Your fingers found their way to his hair, getting tangled in the dark strands as his hips pressed into yours harder—not just faster, but with more force, too, each brush of his length igniting a new fire inside of you.

He made it impossible for you to catch your breath as he kissed you with as much fervour as before, not once slowing down the pace of his hips. Everything he did was in response to you—the way you arched your back, your whimpers in between the messy, open-mouthed kisses, the way you pulled his hair, the way you held onto his shoulders.

He knew that if he lost concentration, he’d unravel immediately. It’s been so long, too long. He’s wasted far too many nights in foreign beds, chasing highs that had always felt forced and artificial. He wasn’t prepared for the real thing. He wasn’t prepared for you.

“Fuck. I’d missed you, my love,” he whispered hazily between kisses, each word accompanied by a thrust of his hips, “so fucking much.”

You felt shivers run down your spine again. If you could have formed a sentence—let alone voiced it—you would have reciprocated.

You would have told him that you missed him too. And you would have told him how much it scared you, the way this feeling was so intense that you seemed to disregard everything else.

But you couldn’t focus.

His length stroked your walls with an exemplary balance of force and tenderness. His tongue was in your mouth, the kiss hot, heavy, messy. His hands were all over your skin, warm, eager, relentless.

He filled your head with stars.

You could not speak, you could not say anything that wasn’t a breathless whisper of his name every time he pulled away to give you both a chance to inhale.

He understood you without words, however. And the response you had to him was about to tip him over the edge. His movements became too fast to be precise, his thrusts grew sloppy, his breathing got heavier, his groans louder.

The knot in your stomach formed much faster than you would have liked. You wanted this to last longer, but all of it felt reckless—dangerous and outrageous—and so good—too­ good—that you broke the kiss, a strangled cry of his name passing your lips as a warning that you were close.

“Yeah?” he whispered, kissing your jaw as he pressed his thumb on your clit. The rubbing motion matched the speed of his hips and the intensified pleasure caught you so unexpectedly that you could no longer control how loud you were.

Your heavy breaths mixed with curses and broken fragments of his name—he knew these sounds would echo around his mind for every waking moment—as your back arched off the bed and into him.

And when he heard you cry out, when he felt your grip on his arms tighten as your body jerked forwards, your hips meeting his, then lowering again in uncontrollable muscle spasms, when he felt your walls clench around him so much that they nearly stopped his movements, he almost whined, sensing his own high, brought on by the feeling of yours.

There were curses spilling from your lips as you came and you held onto him so tightly that he knew he’d have bruises on his arms tomorrow morning. Already, he couldn’t wait to look at them. He couldn’t wait to do this again.

His hips drove into yours—sloppily, accompanied by loud sounds of skin slapping on skin—until he fell over the edge, groaning loudly as he spilled himself into the condom. His body twitched as he pushed into you—one final stroke of your soft, sensitive walls—then he stilled completely.

His face was inches from yours, and you were the one who reached out to connect your lips, turning his groan into a dangerous whimper. Your kiss burned through him like electricity and, impossibly, seemed to prolong his climax.

He kissed you back like it was the first time, still powerless from his high, still feeling like he was floating, unable to come down, to pull out, to stop kissing you.

Breathless, you whined against his mouth and felt him stir inside of you, sparking a sudden new fire in your stomach before the previous one could fully go out.

He wanted you, needed you still—maybe he’d never stop. But it was the way you responded to him, the way he felt you need him as much as he needed you, that made him growl into the kiss as his hands reached for the parts of you that he'd touched hundreds of times tonight already.

It was almost desperate, the way you were still clinging to one another—like you’d never touched each other before and never would again.

Finally, you pulled away to inhale. And to, hopefully, recover.

“Fuck,” Jungkook whispered, summarising all that you were about to say.

You both chuckled, giddy, excited, almost euphoric.

He rested his forehead against yours and pressed another soft kiss to your lips before slowly pulling out, and stepping back to discard the condom.

In no more than three seconds, he was back on the bed next to you, pulling you to his side and kissing you once more.

It was three seconds then, he decided, that he could survive away from you.

For a good minute after that, the two of you just watched each other, your chests rising and falling as your bodies tried to fathom something that your minds failed to grasp.

Suddenly, you shook your head.

“What?” he asked. His lips were stretched into what felt like a permanent smile.

“Nothing, I just… it would be very difficult to explain where we were if someone noticed us missing,” you said—your words humorous, but the meaning behind them serious.

Even though you smiled as you spoke, Jungkook swallowed and nodded, solemn all of a sudden.

“I know,” he said. “And I don’t care if anyone knows. I only care that we do.”

You ran your tongue over your swollen lips, preparing to say something that he knew he wouldn’t like. But he was paralysed as he watched you. He swore your lips were the colour of his dreams, and he had to clench his jaw so he wouldn’t lean over and kiss you again.

He forced himself to roll onto his back and spoke up before you could, making sure his voice was as nonchalant as possible, given the hurricane inside his chest, “can we—can we not talk about that right now? Can I just stay here instead?”

You looked at him—which was incredibly easy when he wasn’t looking back at you—and forgot, for a moment, that you had to reply.

He looked almost ethereal like this, with his head resting on the pillows next to you, his hair tousled, stray curls sticking to the droplets of sweat on his forehead, his lips pursed slightly as he stared ahead. A part of you wished to take a picture, to hold onto this moment forever. But a different part of you didn’t want anyone else to witness him like this, not even the lens of your phone camera.

He suddenly turned his head to look at you and you blinked, averting your eyes as you remembered that you hadn’t spoken.

“Hmm. Yes,” you said, the word scratchy as it caught in your dry throat. You cleared it and tried again, “okay.”

Jungkook hummed somehow ambiguously and looked away.

“What?” you asked, confused by the look on his face.

“I thought you’d still tell me to leave,” he admitted.

You sighed. “You should. But I want you to stay. I’m fine with doing what I want tonight, however stupid that might turn out to be.”

He ignored the doubt in your voice—he was getting good at that—and looked at you again. He knew you probably couldn’t even begin to imagine the sort of fire your words ignited inside of him, and just how far the sparks travelled on his skin.

“Then I hope you know,” he said, “that I’m fine with only getting ten minutes of sleep tonight.”

Quietly, you replied, “I think I’m fine, too.”

“Yeah?” he asked, briskly turning to his side and propping himself up on his elbow with renewed excitement.

His abrupt jump made you chuckle despite your best attempts to remain serious, and his grin widened as he brought his hand to the side of your face and leaned in to kiss you once more. Then, twice more. Then three more times—in perpetuity, he hoped.

He knew that he was blessed to have experienced a lot of happiness in his life. But nothing came close to the feeling of your lips on his as the two of you played around in your hotel bed in Amsterdam, two nights before his band’s inaugural performance in The Netherlands during their first European tour.

This was a dream, it had to be.

And he was determined to do everything to make sure he never woke up from it.

chapter title credits: sleep token, “like that”

prev ○ next

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook x you #jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook fanfiction #jungkook au #jeon jungkook x reader #bts fanfiction #bts au #bts x reader #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #bts rockstar au #jungkook rockstar au

[yourpsicodelicbitch]

short asteroid observations

nhidi

*whole sign + tropical

Cupido (763) 9H says you are attracted to someone you can learn a lot from, someone foreign, not necessarily in an obvious way but when’s about different perspective/mindset. also you could not fall easily? They have to look/think “different”. you could like dorks. you want to be understood, to debate.

Aphrodite (1388) 8H have this desire of being taken care of, to everyone be obsessed with them and they are but people it’s too scared and intimidated by their strong and mysterious aura, so they’re likely to be the goddess who seems unapproachable/too good to be true. they could feel lonely bc of these and they LOVE the power and influence they have on others.

Luda (1158) at 12° (pisces degree)/trine neptune are recognized by being artsy, in their own world, kind of hippie or full of creativity/imagination and with other world perspectives. I have these placement + aspect and EVERY TIME, people from every age recognize/identify me as the characteristics I mentioned. They have asked me if my family it’s full of artists bc I have that “vibe”. Asteroid “Luda” means “love of the people”, and being love by people could be interpreted as recognized -my interpretation-.

Narcissus (37117) conjunct Mercury could mean being too self absorbed about your mindset and opinions, “thinking your way of thinking is too good to be true”. I don’t really think narcissus have this effect permanently-duh😝-, it shows how at some point you are like this. you could have difficulties listening to others perspectives that can help you. you could have serious problems of trying to understand others, in this life you’ll have to learn no one thinks like you, even though your you from a moment ago, I don’t think they’ll think the same or etc., so don’t explode your mind trying so hard to have an answer on why others aren’t/think like you bc they won’t. also, your mindset it’s not correct or perfect so don’t frustrate about stuff you can’t control.

Bellona (28) trine ascendant, again, can tell people thought you were a total bitch -when they didn’t know you-, if they get in your way you’ll fuck them up without a doubt. I’m proud to say it’s not only appearance or supposition, once they know you they’ll still say you’ll fuck them up equally. Bellona is about someone who isn’t afraid of standing up for what they believe.

I was wondering why lately I’ve been so obsessed with this guy, then I checked my composite chart with him and saw Lovelock (51663) 12H. So practically it could signify this is a past life situation and I can’t fucking let go. I’m so tired 😭 idgaf if he’s obsessed with me, I want action and he’s not giving it and I’m afraid to be the one starting it -it’s different with guys and bc of him? idk 😒-. I feel stuck. HELP. also is conjunct Chiron so I have to learn about it? DONT. Chiron give me a break, no, I’m joking, I’m saying nothing. 12H means it’s gonna hit in a subconscious level…and it’s gonna be a secret?😭 -I don’t want to believe this-, so neither of us is gonna do something? FUCK

(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*૮꒰ྀི⸝⸝> . <⸝⸝꒱ྀིა ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ૮₍˶ •. • ⑅₎ა ♡ (づ๑•ᴗ•๑)づ♡

♡ Based on personal experience and I’ve analyzed in my surroundings.

♡ English is not my first language.

♡ I’m not a profesional astrologer.

Thank youu. baibaiii🫣🫶🏼💋

Do not copy. Please give me credits.

#astrology #astro observations #pinterest #astro posts #astro placements #astro notes #asteroids #asteroid astrology #birth chart #asteroid cupido #aphrodite #asteroid luda #narcissus #asteroid bellona #asteroid lovelock #mercury #neptune #ascendant #aspects

[thepersonnamedsam]

carlos‘ song - cs55

pairing: carlos sainz x fem!reader

summary: you wrote a song about carlos

word count: 1.2k

warnings: angst, mentions of death, anxiety, sad stuff

note: i have been obsessed with carlo‘s song lately and i just had to write something for carlos, bc obv carlo‘s - carlos

masterlist / taglist

Standing on the rooftop of this bar in Madrid, your short hair blew in the cold air. Apparently it’s not just any bar, the bar is placed on a fire tower.

The sun was just about to set and you tried to keep your hair under control. „You know, I liked it more when it was long.“ Carlos looked at you with his big brown round eyes and it reminded you of a deer caught in a headlight.

„Oh really?“, you grinned. When you two first met you were only 12 years old, little best friend of Isa. You never taught you would one day stay on this roof top with her brother.

„Yeah, do you remember drinking in the parking lot? By the trail head? Yeah, I liked your hair that day.“

You felt heat rush to your head, you blamed it on the cold. „Okay, I can grow it out long, if you’d like that?“

You only just moved back to Madrid. Ida was supposed to pick you up from the airport but instead there stood a bright red Ferrari with not Isa but her brother Carlos instead. And he didn’t take you to his sisters, no he treated you to a drink on the fire tower.

Only the good die young was playing on the speakers.

„You know, I never understood what Billy Joel meant with those lyrics“, you thought out loud. „Didn’t you just study english literature?“ - „Yeah, and?“ Your eyebrows raised at him, silently questioning his thoughts.

„Like, aren’t you just supposed to know what he meant with his lyrics?“

„I mean, I have my own meaning, but it’s ridiculous.“ - „No, please tell me, because I always laugh at the lyrics“, Carlos said.

„I mean, obviously in the first verse he wants to have sex with virgin catholic girls. And ‚only the good die young‘ you can argue about that - young people who die didn’t deserve it, therefore they were good. Or old people aren’t good anymore, or many more.“

„Not ridiculous“, he smiled. „Huh?“ - „Your meaning of the song isn’t ridiculous, not in the slightest.“

You smiled, hard. Carlos was an interesting man and you wondered what more grew under that perfect skin of his.

„I think we are going to be good friends, Carlos“, you told him. „You think so?“, was his answer. You nodded and grinned at him.

Over the time you grew closer together, Carlos showed you parts of Madrid you only remembered vaguely from your childhood. But the distance of his job hurt more and more. You knew what a relationship with him meant. You knew only too good, heard Isa over the phone crying over missing her brother.

But the days he spent in between were the best you ever experienced.

„I want a big house out in the open. Where the sun always shines and all the light gets into the house!“, Carlos gushed. You were laying on the couch together and planned how your future would look like if money didn’t matter - not that it did anyway.

„Whys that?“, you asked him. „I don’t like the way my skin feels when it’s not shown on by the sun. I like the warmth, never liked the cold, brrr“, his arms snaked around your upper body and shook it like you were freezing.

Your laugh was heard throughout the apartment. Carlos grinned at you, his skin warming with the sound of your happiness.

„Why don’t you like the way your skin feels without the sun?“

„It makes me feel like I need to escape my own body. Like I don’t belong, it just feels wrong.“

„Well I hope you can escape your skin with me“, you smiled at the man you were falling more and more in love with.

But you still never went to a grand prix with him. And when he asked you why, you came up with a new excuse as not to.

You started to pick up more work, started to work over the weekends. You had less and less time to call Carlos over the weekend, making him question your feelings for him.

Until it happened. It happened on a Saturday at FP2. It was quickly over. You only heard about the incident the next day, as you wondered why Carlos didn’t start.

Isa called you. 48 seconds. That’s how long the phone call lasted. The news shattered your heart. Broken into millions of pieces. You couldn’t believe it, no, Isa was definitely playing pranks with you.

You fell, you fell deep into a hole. A hole you never knew you sighed it yourself. Deeper and deeper. Until Isa visited you. She brought you his clothes he still had at home. She brought his necklace that he was about to gift you. His initials graved into the back of the pendant.

But still, everyone who started talking about him being gone, you shut out. You shut them right out, because in your mind he was still alive, he was still racking and he was winning.

But the reality was none of that. And reality hit you, it hit you hard. His memorial was held at the end of the season. And Isa asked you to talk about him. You had to admit he was dead.

„I can’t do it, Isa.“ - „Please, you were his everything, he talked so much about you! Did you know he had been crushing on you since he was 16?“

„Did you set us up? The day you didn’t pick me up from the airport and instead sent him?“

Isa looked at you, just like Carlos had when he was caught doing something he shouldn’t have. This big brown eyes. Glistening with mischief - it was something that all of the Sainz family possessed.

„You caught me“, she shamelessly shrugged with her shoulders and smirked at you. „It was time? He was pining on you for so long, but you were away studying and he was so sad, I had to do it, it was his only chance!“

His memorial was beautiful, the whole grid present. Charles and Frédéric spoke about his time at Ferrari, Lando held a speech about their friendship and Isa sung a beautiful song. She still tried to convince you to speak, but you just couldn’t.

Isa and you still regularly talked to each other. She was doing good, better than her anyway. You almost never talked about Carlos. You weren’t bringing him up, neither did she.

The one thing Isa told you was: „Grief is just love letting go. It’s okay to let go.“

You almost cried - how could she say that like it was just spilled milk?

„Look at yourself, when’s the last time you cut your hair? You always kept it short, but now?“

You did visit him at his grave. Brought flowers and letters for him to read. Eventually you wrote a song. A song to remember him - Carlos‘ Song.

And one day you stood on a stage, at the bar they had their first date at and sung Carlos‘ Song.

Isa was there, smiling up at you and filming the whole thing. „I’m going to show it to my parents“, she smiled.

And you knew Carlos was smiling down on you and kept you alive.

°°°

@ironmaiden1313 , @topguncultleader , @biglittlesecret , @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23 , @copper-boom , @love4lando , @champomiel , @serenityleah , @iloveyou3000morgan , @angelwithoutmywings , @elleeeee21 , @youkissedareaderinthedark , @mikauraur , @thybulleric , @lpab , @fdl305 , @mellowarcadefun , @teti-menchon0604 , @vildetry06 , @bibissparkles , @aurora-maria , @lunnnix , @sya-skies , @Buckywifeyy , @dakotali , @rechtrecht , @noncannonships , @1eclerc16 , @pitlanebabe , @sopheeg , @avengersheart , @thatsadsmallchild , @peachiicherries , @idkiwantchocolatee , @callsign-scully , @mehrmonga , @badbatch-simp24 , @lissyontour , @din0nugs , @elliegrey2803 , @gay-for-victoria-de-angelis , @10vely-yutazen , @daggersquadphantom , @azriel-the-shadowsinger , @i-love-scott-mccall , @darleneslane , @mikauraur , @heartmetaphor , @darleneslane , @ellswilliams , @thxtmarvelchick , @nataliambc , @dontjudgeabookbythecover , @hockeyboysarehot , @thehistoryone

#f1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz angst #carlos sainz fanfic #formula one #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #Spotify

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Aita for splitting on my boyfriend?

I've been dating my boyfriend C for 2 years now. And this past month has been ROUGH. It started with him working extra late shifts for almost 2 weeks, the first week wasn't bad he was tired and I understood but quickly he became distant. And he never wanted to tell me when he was working. And suddenly it seemed like the 8 hours 12 to 8 or 2 to 11 pm shifts turned into 9 am shifts with the lack of contact from him. I'd tell him I'm worried about him, ask if he's okay, if I upset him and that's why he seeks to avoid me before and after work and he'd brush me off and say "I'm fine babe, I'm avoiding you, I'm sorry I made you feel that way" and he'd stop and be attentive to me for a few hours. And then the 2nd week came and it got worse and he became even less active and I'd ask him what's up, and tell him that my feelings were starting to get hurt more because now it feels like he's just avoiding me, same thing would be said "I'm sorry babe, I didn't mean to make you feel that way" and then he'd turn around and lag on me for hours. This was a pattern for the rest of week two and each day I told him how I felt, it seemed like he ignored me harder. And for context I have bpd, and it gets triggered when I feel ignored and shut out. And I had been managing it for those 2 weeks but all those feelings built up and Friday night, it popped. He did the same thing to me. From 9 am that day to 8 pm, he only texted me 4 times. And then I just snapped at him. I told him I felt ignored and shut out, and I needed space so I removed him from my socials online. I told him that I felt like he was doing this to me on purpose and I expected different from him but that was done bc no matter how much I told him I was hurt, it seemed like it drove him to ignore me more. Lo and behold after this splitting episode, he ignored me more. This time I didn't blame him. So I texted him again and told him I didn't want to break up but I still stood by what I said I loved him and wanted to work things out in a few days. Got ignored again, I texted him 2 days later asking to meet. Ignored again, I texted him the next day asking to meet again that same day, ignored again.

Sunday rolls around and I text him that I'm worried about him and asked if he could at least text me if he's okay. And he said he's fine and just didn't want to talk to me at the moment, I understood, I fucked up, so I apologized to him and told him I loved and then he told me he "had work". this isn't true before he ignored me he told me he ONLY had 1 day off which was that Sunday, they can't force him to work 7 days straight. But I didn't call him out in it and just wished him a good day. Ignored again

The Monday after I had gotten a package in the mail for him, before all of this I bought him somebody and skin and hair care stuff. I went through the stuff to make sure everything was right. I wrote up and good and proper apology to him and explained why I snapped and again, told him how sorry I was and that I loved him, and pasted it into Google notes and I shared it with him. Then I had my mother drop it off to him. I texted him once again to tell him that the stuff was waiting outside for him and that I loved him and to at least bare minimum communication-wise to let me know if he at least got the package and it was safe. But once again, I got ignored hard.

It's been 9 days since the splitting episode and I've tried to apologize many times and I've given him space after the Google note thing but he's still ignoring me hard. So I'm wondering, am I really that much of an asshole to deserve this treatment?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[oh-saints]

PLEASEE PLease PLEASE more ruben fics i need more so im just gonna leave a request where — ruben and a shy reader?? like she doesnt really opens up to anyone unless they're close🙏

what the hell, anon??? do we share the same brain bcs i literally just thought of it when my bf was watching harold and kumar (i know, incomprehensive taste) beside me and there's an elevator scene that inspires me to go about my favourite this trope!!!

open

you really shouldn't judge the book by its cover, rúben learnt from her, and should instead try to open the first page. for you never know what the next page might bring.

rúben dias x neighbor!reader

word count: 2.9k

tw: speech impairment

note: hi, i'm back! beside the harold & kumar's elevator scene, this is also mildly inspired by blackpink's hard to love and katy perry's unconditional teheee but this time, i happen to write during work so ofc this is not beta-read.

today had been one hell of a day for rúben dias. nothing worked in his favour; his SUV broke down before he departed for training, resulting him arriving late and therefore scolded by pep. his team lost in the mini match, he had to stay late for the rehab because his physio-in-charge had a stomach bug.

he sighed, and anyone within distance would’ve recognised the heavy weight on the breath he let out.

he just wanted to lay down as soon as possible, to be honest. he didn’t even think of dining anymore, and that was saying something because he was known—and he stood by his principle—for being a straight-A athlete. he lives and breathes football and he intends to stick by his commitment as long as life allows him to.

just before the elevator doors closed, a hand dived in between the doors’ gap. precise movement, as fast as a ninja cut, but halting his final destination, nonetheless. why couldn’t whoever-it-was catch the next train?

but as the door opened once more, a woman walked in, heads down. ah, there she is, rúben only realised the current time had reached 7 p.m. because this particular, intriguing woman would always come up at this hour without a miss. and she’d always have her head down, not glancing anyone else in the elevator, let alone the usual neighbour greetings.

he wasn’t supposed to notice her; she looked like she’d rather blend herself to the wall. but he did. her paleness contrasted the bright modern layout of the posh apartment’s elevator, along with the lives the capsule brought up and down.

the footballer pressed for her floor before she could reach the button, as usual.

she’d look up to him in wonder—with her set of the clearest eyes rúben had ever seen yet he never knew what lied beneath the surface, and only the depths of the mediterranian sea reminded him of it—as he did so, as usual.

“12, right?”

she gave a tight smile that rúben somehow understood as her silent thank you and a nod, before going as far away as sparing the 3-feet distance between them. as usual.

sometimes he wondered why she cut off their interaction as cold as the iceberg ended the lives onboard on titanic. was she nervous? was it that hard for her to answer him? was he that hard to approach?

was she a criminal of some sort that was busy hiding in order for the police to not catch her?

he’d watched in one of those real-life cold-cases documentaries he loves to use as a lullaby that coldness, aloofness, detachment or anything in line could be an indicator. whether they felt guilty after committing their crime, whether they wanted to hide away their worldly sins, whether they’re pure psychotic that they’d do a random killing spree one night for fun.

rúben badly wanted to convince himself that she wasn’t of his last depiction but he remembered what happened to ted bundy’s victim—may they rest in peace. he’d have to search for a good opportunity after calling a private investigator or something.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

another evening, another elevator ride with the same neighbour of his.

another day of him pressing for her floor, another day of her giving him a curt nod before backing herself up against the corner.

it was supposed to be another day for them, and rúben was more than ready to hit the sack. but life truly had its way for a plot twist even a blockbuster movie didn’t see coming.

being a footballer that had to stay alert of possibly everything, rúben opened his eyes as he heard a heavy intake of breath from somewhere on his right. a sound he never heard of, a sound he was most certainly had to have a double take to make sure his hearing wasn’t damaged.

he watched as she opened her mouth for a second before closing them again, certainly wanting to say something. then she took a moment of silent, possibly to rearrange what she was about to say. once she was done—or what he though was done, anyway—her mouth started to form a small O before slamming shut after five seconds. her head was shaking following another cancelled thought, and rúben swore he could practically feel the frustration she was exuding.

it reminded him of his old self, before the whole PR team back in benefica took over the wheel and taught him what and how to say things. so instead of being annoyed at her, rúben gave her space and time until she was ready. thank god he was towering the woman, who wasn’t small in general but still small compared to him, so she couldn’t see his repressed smile because weirdly enough, he found her endearing instead of infuriating like anyone else he was frustrated with.

“c-c-c-can you help me w-w-w-with something?”

the words slurred out of her voice box before her eyes could find the man that was all familiar to her but a stranger altogether. when she realised he’d been staring at her—at her disorganised self, that was pretty obvious—her head snapped back lightly in mild surprise. who wasn’t, when a beautiful man of that calibre had been staring at you?

but it actually wasn’t why rúben couldn’t keep his eyes off her. stunned would also be an understatement to describe what was happening underneath his skin.

yes, he was astounded by the fact that the neighbour that had been spiking his interest was finally talking to him. no more reserved, small smile she used to throw at him every other chance they’d been interacting. and she was finally looking up at him instead of darting her attention elsewhere whenever they shared the small confinement of an elevator.

but he was more surprised at the fact that he recognised she wasn’t simply nervous around him. he’d been around too many people to be able to spot on nerves shooting up one’s legs. what he sensed around her was a completely different, entirely new altogether.

and above all, the question that remained hanging on top of his head was; why now?

why did it take her a long while to finally muster up all the courage to spare him a glance, moreover to strike up a conversation first?

rúben couldn’t help his initial reaction of raising his brows, as if he was sceptical to the reality he was undergoing, instead of replying back. his response was met with her flashing what he recognised as regret before she looked away and shut her mouth again. and he knew he fucked up; she’d thought he was challenging her, speak one more time and you’re dead.

it wasn’t what he intended to come of as. he was simply tired of constantly fighting for his place at training, and the shock in his system hadn’t washed off since she’d dared herself to indulge him in the luxury of a conversation.

“yes, i’d like to help,” rúben spoke up before any misunderstanding took place between them, eyes were still zeroed on the woman. only then he took on her overall appearance, for they’d never been this close, and by god was she beautiful. “what do you need my help for?”

the woman looked up again to him, hopeful this time and no longer distressed, before biting her lips in a little bit of hesitance. not because of nervousness, he realised, but it was simply because she didn’t know where to start again.

and again, rúben waited for her patiently. hell, he’d waited on her far too long—even for something as simple as this—so he could certainly wait for some more.

he watched her as she opened and closed her mouth several times again—this time rúben was positive she was trying to rearrange whatever it was she wanted to say to him—before casting another glance up to him. and this time, nervousness was palpable in her face. weariness, too, and rúben couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the sight.

(although he tried to hypnosis himself that he smiled to ease off her jitters.)

this seemed to relax the tensed shoulders of hers. “i-i-i-i need help t-t-t-to change my lamp.”

bingo.

every of his remaining suspicion was now struck down, only leaving him with the answers to all of his silent question.

he’d guess on she wasn’t mute. if she was, she’d have to suffer from deafness, too, or at least hearing impairment, and she wouldn’t be able to interact with people without her hearing aid. of which, was non-existent as far as rúben’s peripheral vision might go.

he’d guess on she was a selective mute, this much was also spot on. what his shot strayed on was how she chose to be mum not because she’d killed someone, but because she was unable to.

all the sudden, rúben got reminded of one particular kid he’d gotten fortunate enough to meet during city’s annual christmas hospital visit. it was like yesterday when the kid said thank you endlessly that day before the day ended, for listening attentively without rushing the kid to speak clearly and fluently. at first rúben was surprised how that was enough of a reason for the abundance of gratitude thrown at him, but later he realised that everyone else had reached their boiling point while waiting for the kid to finish his broken sentences.

only then did he realise his mysterious neighbour was only doing whatever best under her limited condition to survive without hindering anyone else’s life.

she must’ve practiced silence for such a long time now, and for reasons such as survival mode in this cruel world where her condition is deemed a shame. where people would rather not hear her kind to speak because they were slow at it, and would rather belittle something she surely didn’t ask for when she was born.

how wrong of him to assume she was a criminal on a runaway.

“sure, have you bought the light bulb already?”

she nodded, lips still pursed tightly, before rolling her eyeballs up towards the ceiling. upstairs, he’d gathered.

“excellent,” this time, admiration and respect was the reason behind his enormous smile. “lead the way.”

he really should stop watching too many crime documentaries on netflix.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

as soon as she was done showing her neighbour his temporary place of work, she dashed for the fridge. she was perched, for lack of words, because it’d been a long while since the last time she had to wreck her brain for a simple, humane interaction.

ironic because it was imprinted in every human’s brain that they are a social figure, thus needing to interact with other people. ironic because her line of work required her to interact with people on a daily basis, even though she was hidden behind the magic screen of a computer.

she hadn’t realised up until now how much grateful she was to the silver screen, for she didn’t have to disclose the one thing she detested about herself. for it hid her from the harsh reality she was bound to have due to her condition. for it saved her from the judgemental looks people would throw at her.

she was sure she was content with her life, bar the defect in her DNA, so why did she decide, of all day today, that she needed his help for such a simple task?

right, because she didn’t have a ladder and forgot to buy one on her way back home.

but she could’ve gone back outside to the store on the corner of the street instead of asking the one neighbour she had always seen after a long day of working. she could’ve asked anyone else but him. the security guard, the firefighter—anyone else that was in the line of work to help people, not him.

especially not him, when it meant she would bare herself open to someone she barely knew outside the fact that he was tall and smelled so damn fresh like he just washed himself after a long day of swimming in the sea water. especially not him, when it meant her old disease of stuttering would come back haunting her every time she was nervous.

and god, was she nervous. how could she not when he looked like the closest thing to adonis if such figure descended mount olympus?

but still, despite all, why did she still choose to uncover the grounds she was content on burying herself with?

was it his eyes? was it because she grew accustomed to his silent presence in the elevator? was it because she recognised no hint of judgement exuding from him when she let out the secret she least loved to reveal?

“it’s done,” the man was seriously done with work, by the way he was back donning his brick red coats. a lovely colour to his skin, she realised. another point plus, she also noted, for a man to know well how to dress. “is there anything else you need help with?”

her apartment was fairly large, especially when she only lived here on her own, but with him in the room, it felt small all the sudden. but not the suffocating kind of small, just that the space turned to be full with his presence. but instead of feeling intimidated, she felt welcomed.

weird because this was her house, her abode, her home. yet she was the one who felt welcomed instead of the other way around.

“um—n-n-no. i’m sorry again if i disturb your time, being busy and all,” it surprised her that it only took a grand total of 30 minutes of interaction for her—physically and mentally, she noted—to feel ease around him, which was apparent by the lack of stutters and was now replaced by the signature ummm everyone likes to have at the beginning of her sentences. “but i was hoping if i—um—can repay you after doing me a favour?”

“you really don’t need—”

the man shook his head as he shifted his weight to his other leg. the movement felt so natural, like he belonged here, and it dizzied her head because this was starting to feel unrealistic. there was no way she could warm up so easily to a good-looking guy that dressed well and smelled excellent and acted like those boyfriends you only see on novel books.

and for the love of god, did she love the smell lingering in the air from his perfume. it was intoxicating, as if he himself in flesh and blood didn’t stir headaches for anyone with vagina walking down the street. yet she craved for more, making her not wanting him to leave the perimeter of her house. like he’d permeated the space and marked it no longer hers.

funny how the concept of being close had a different meaning now to her, literally and figuratively. she really shouldn’t have opened the door to her home.

it honestly caught her off guard when he showed his initial reaction. she’d mastered the art of being rejected by people who i) think she’s a freak, ii) think she’s useless, iii) think she’s a hassle, iv) think she’s frustrating as she can’t get words straight to the point, and/or v) all of the above. the better part of her condition was also double-edged sword; when people think of her as a charity case, for it was only then when people understood her limitation.

being unfazed with her disability—there, that’s the word—was definitely something rare in her world.

must be the eyes, she convinced herself, because she knew deep down it didn’t take einstein to deduct the real reason behind her unpredictable habit of opening up to this man—whose name she still hadn’t figured out—was her very last justification.

after days of observation, she somehow managed to conclude he wasn’t the type to blabber his mouth somewhere else about the embarrassing neighbour that sounded ridiculous whenever she spoke. he was the type to keep everything to himself, unless he was allowed to or unless the government made him to. for that alone, it was enough of a reason for her to come out of the shell she’d been hiding under, no matter how insane it sounded because they didn’t know each other’s name.

for she knew she could be herself and he wouldn’t mind at all.

“p-p-please,” another breather because goddamn, this is a lot to take in. “i—um—i insist.”

“okay, if you say so,” his head tipped lightly at her admission, lips slowly tugging a smirk out of its hiding place. satisfaction plastered on his face and she swore she could’ve been melting on the floor if she wasn’t holding the edge of the kitchen counter. and still, strangely enough, she wouldn’t mind him seeing her turning into a puddle. “i’m allowed to take you out for a dinner then.”

of all things he could say to reply her goodwill request, a dinner wasn’t in the list of her prediction.

“w-w-why?”

it didn’t take a genius to know it was the multi-million loaded question; why me?

and this was precisely why rúben asked her out in the first place because in rúben’s defence, why not?

why not her? was there anything wrong with her?

did she believe something’s wrong with her when he found her perfectly interesting?

“because i like you and i’d like to know you better,” her eyes shot up so fast at his admission, indescribable disbelief glazed over the set of orbs rúben for sure would like to stare all night long if he had the chance. “if you’ll let me, that is, of course.”

who was she to deny when he asked to come in to her home so nicely like that?

#one of my fave works #anon asks #oh-saints answers #oh-saints writes #ruben dias #rúben dias #ruben dias blurb #ruben dias blurbs #ruben dias imagine #ruben dias imagines #ruben dias one shot #ruben dias oneshot #ruben dias fic #ruben dias fics #ruben dias fanfic #ruben dias fanfics #ruben dias fanfiction #ruben dias fluff #ruben dias x y/n #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias x you #ruben dias smut

[verdart]

So far i have watched httyd in 6 languages (3 that i can speak fluently and understand w/o subtitles)

And its always funny how the change the names

Funny cuz so far Astrid always stays Astrid.

Turkish is one of the few that decided to change Stoick’s name

While French is just being French and even they kept Stoick!

But nope toothless is asking too much ig

So here are some of my personal favorites

Balıkayak (Fishlegs) it is turkish for fishFEET budget fishlegs

Snotlout is okay he gets the name Südüklü südük means snot -lü as suffix is someone or something with the main word so he is snotty but just changing the pronunciation a tinny tiny bit it becomes Sidikli which is pissy and i love that for him anyways because Südük is not as commonly used bc usually we use sümük for snot as a kid my mind constantly went to sidik which is urine and is used much more in the form sidikli (for kids who wet themselves after a certain age its a shitty nickname so its used much more)

Tersceviz and Sertceviz (Ruff and Tuff respectively) ceviz is basically nut more specifically walnut Tuff has the luxury to keep some meaning cuz Sert means Tough/durable while Ters means upsidedown. Cudos to the translaters tho cuz sert and ters basically are just 4 letters rearranged twice so it rimes nicely

Now my favorite

Zebella even I had to check the spelling cuz omg its ridiculous but it makes sense. Yeah so Zebella is Stoick :) Zebella is a word play on Zebellah which means someone with grand stature to a point its intimidating. I watched this movie when i was 6 i understood this at age 12 lmaoo i saw it in a book and was like wtf isnt that hiccups dad so i continue and its guven in context and i go damn my life was a lie i thought it was a name!

To ease the curiosity i may have build up

Hiccup is Hıçkıdık which is a slightly altered version (i think for easier pronunciation for kids in the books and the movies) hıçkırık meaning hiccup

Toothless stays Toothless in turkish no fun there Dişsiz diş is tooth and suffix -siz is like none/lacking of the main word so yeah basically can be -less but not exactly the same.

Now French being well french kills the fun like omgg

Harold HAROLD ! Vraiment un nome effrayant ill give him that the line about scaring trolls and gnomes is still there so yeah apparently Harold is a hideous name

Stoick is lucky he gets to be Stoïk so that o is pronounced separately from the i so yeah sounds same written different (still not even close to being Snapes name being changed completely in hp books for pronunciations sake so ill give them that)(also side note Gibber in french is amazing not the name its not too bad the meaning is the somewhat same i mean his voice acting i just love it)

Time for true offenders the dragonriders

Fishlegs > Varek

Snotlout> Rustik

Tuff> Kranedur

Ruff> Kognedur

Actually writing it down the word play on twins is kinda nice so lemme explain

I think Varek is a play on Varech which is basically algues/seaweed by the shore.

Rustik is a play on rustique rustic in french as you may have guessed. As well as being a real pretty architectural style it also a synonym for simple resistant and strong in french so i think it adds up for

Krandur is a play on crâne and dur basically thick skull

Krognedur was harder for me to actually understand and im sill not that sure but a little research on the french forums for the fandom i had a victory it comes from the verb cogner and dur, kick some ass ungently, my queens name is kicking someones ass real hard i love that for her

Toothless was also a cuite nice discovery for me honestly Krokmou kinda sounded stupid on my first watch (also my french wasnt that good back then) but it makes so much sens its a play on words croc (meaning fang or tooth usually fang tho) and mou (meaning soft)

His name is soft fangs thats so precious im sorry but i mean sans-dents would be fun to bc sans and dents is pronounced almost the same idk how to explain it just put it in translate or pronounce and it would mean without teeth but at least his name is not édenté which gives much less toothless and more like rendered toothless bc of the é at the end. Like toothlessed does that make sense?

Anyways sorry for the rant its one am i need to sleep

#httyd #httyd rant #tired ramblings #i really should sleep

[jklovesfandoms]

Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg was no stranger to pain, we as a fandom know this, bc we make her feel it. So, here's me projecting pain onto her :) please enjoy!

Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg is very used to a lot of things. Having pain for days on end, she was used to that. Pain meds weren't something she knew very well.

That is, until she met the Blackwood family, not just Constance. Mrs Blackwood, who insisted on being called by her first name Perrine, was a caretaker unlike what Ocean had known her entire life.

Despite being friends since forever, it was when Ocean was 7 that her true friendship with pain was questioned by Constance and the rest of the Blackwoods, when they were having a playdate at the apartment above the cafe.

"Girls, there's some freshly made chocolate chip cookies calling your name!" Perrine yelled up the stairs. The two girls came sprinting down the stairs, because everyone knew how precious those Blackwood cookies were. However, when 8 year old Constance jumped down the final step, 7 year old Ocean followed suit, and that was the biggest mistake of her life so far.

When Ocean jumped down the final step, her foot landed... Odd. She couldn't quite understand what happened, besides the pain that came rushing up her leg, and that throbbed in her ankle. She also understood, that she was on the floor, almost on the verge of tears from pain.

"Ocean, dear are you alright?" Constance's father, Laurence, asked the red faced redhead.

"Yes, I'm alright, Mr Blackwood! I must've tripped over my feet." Ocean said, picking herself up from the floor of the cafe. As she did so, she realized that it hurt to put weight on her right foot. But she's dealt with pain... She can deal with this, until it heals itself!

"If you're sure, Ocean. Let us know if you need some pain medicine, or an ice pack. That looked like a nasty fall." Perrine checked. She had set down the tray of cookies, and was wiping her hands off on her apron as she asked.

"I'm fine, Mrs Blackwood! Don't worry, a little fall couldn't keep me from your amazing cookies!" Ocean began to walk towards the tray of cookies, trying her hardest to not limp while also not putting herself in more pain. She somehow succeeded, but little did she know, this wouldn't just disappear, like everything else had.

Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg was 9 years old, and the 2 year old injury still throbbed. Not always, not constantly, but enough.

Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg was 12 years old when her pe class first had to run the mile. And everything became worse.

"Mrs Bryson, do I have to run the mile today?" Ocean asked. It was hard to walk without having a limp today, the same way it had been for the past week. All she wanted to do was sit, and put no weight on her right foot.

"Rosenberg, you either run the mile, or you take the F." Mrs Bryson responded coldly. Ocean knew that getting an F, even on something as simple as running the mile could and would destroy her perfectly planned future of how to get out of this horrible town. Ocean sighed, and slowly walked her way to the track line with the rest of her class. Except for sweet Ricky Potts, who was in physical therapy today, and couldn't run if he wanted to, because of his crutches. Ocean was actually jealous of him today.

Not that she'd ever admit that, of course.

The whistle blew, and the small class of 7th graders started running. At different places, of course, but Ocean refused to fail. Even as her right ankle throbbed in pain during the first lap out of 4, she kept going. Her steady pace should, in theory give her a decent enough time.

By the time she passed the starting line for the second time, to start her second lap, her ankle was no longer throbbing. It was stabbing, it was shocks of pain coming up and down her right leg and foot. But she persisted, like Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg always does.

She got to the third lap, and she was already considering taking the F. Screw how much it would mess up her future, her future was not worth this much pain. Ocean was no longer just running on nails on her right foot, but her left leg and foot were beginning to throb.

Finally, her final lap came around, and she wanted to collapse. Ocean felt like she couldn't breathe, and she was so lightheaded, she almost swore that she could float. Even worse, anytime she hit the track with either of her feet, Ocean got a stab of pain, making her fall with almost every step.

At long last, she has gotten to the finish line, and her time was called out. If she had been paying attention to it, Ocean would've noticed that she was the second to finish, and got a 12:16 mile, but the only thing she realized was the feeling of knives in her ankles with every second, and the sound of her heartbeat in her ears.

Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg was 15 when she formed the Saint Cassian Chamber Choir. And she was 16 when they grew from their 4 person choir to a 5 (or was it 6? She couldn't remember that detail) and they finally competed in their first competition.

Her ankle pain hasn't faded in 4 years. But she was used to it. She was used to dancing on stage, and singing her heart out, and ignoring the pain that vibrated through her with every step she took.

Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg was 17 when she got onto the Cyclone at the Uranium City traveling Fall Fair.

Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg was 17 when her plans since forever were shattered.

Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg was 17 when she died in a horrible accident. And she was no longer Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg, she was one of the six victims, lumped into a group. She was no longer Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg, she was one of "Our Six Saints"

Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg jumped from a falling rollercoaster to her own personal hell of an afterlife.

And her pain was exploding.

While the rest of the choir stood standing, holding each other, Ocean collapsed in Constance's arms.

"Ocean! Are you okay?" Constance exclaimed. She wasn't.

"I'm fine... I'm fine." Ocean almost whispered. She was quickly surprised that the other members of the choir had rushed forward to help her. As they shockingly helped her to her feet, she realized that she'd never seen this place before. "Where are we?"

Ricky Potts, still on his crutches, and mute for longer than Ocean had been in pain for, muttered "The Twilight zone." in an amazed voice.

Everyone gasped, and let go of the seemingly steady Ocean. She immediately plummeted to her knees again, the pain in her ankles making it impossible to hold herself up.

She almost swore as she hit the ground, as the vibrations of her landing caused waves of pain to rush through her feet.

As the f word tried to rip through her mouth, just as pain has ripped through her senses for the past 10 years, she slams her hand against her mouth.

"Ocean!" Noel Gruber, the guy who fought Ocean's preconceived notions about gay guys being fun to be around, the one she could always argue with, rushed to her side. "Ocean, are you okay? What's going on?"

And at that, the near void they existed in was suddenly brighter, as if a stage on opening night. Ocean wanted desperately to listen, but her pain was only growing more intense, and against her best efforts, she couldn't ignore the pain the same way she had for the past decade. She couldn't listen over the desire to scream.

"Why is Ocean hurt? What has she done to deserve this?" Mischa demanded from the thing that was keeping the choir here. Wherever here was.

"Ocean is only hurt as much now as she was hurt in life. She shouldn't be feeling any excess pain from after death." the... thing? responded.

Through her pain, Ocean managed to mutter "at least in life, I was able to ignore it!" And with that, the choir whipped their heads to look at her.

"Ocean, what do you mean, you were able to ignore it?" Noel asked.

"Have you been in pain this whole time?" Constance followed up, concerned.

"YES!" Ocean almost screamed out, in tears. "Yes, I've been in this much pain for a while. I just.... Ignored it, it would've faded eventually." She knew it wouldn't have faded forever.

"Ocean, how long have you been hurting?" Ricky asked.

Ocean thought back, on her life. 10 years. She's been hurting with no help for 10 years.

"10 YEARS?" she hadn't realized that she'd said that out loud until Mischa started yelling. "You've been hurting for 10 years, and you've not gotten help?"

Ocean was 7 years old, and after basically limping home, asked her parents for something to relieve the pain in her ankle. They offered her the weed they were smoking. She went to bed with pain throbbing in her foot.

Ocean was 9 years old when she stole an ice pack from the Gruber freezer. She didn't want to steal, but it was too hot, and her foot hurt too much to live without something. She sat in the bathroom, holding the icepack to her ankle until both her foot and her fingers were numb. She quickly returned the pack, hoping no one noticed.

Ocean was 12 years old, and she was crying by the time she finished walking home from school. She ran the hottest bath her old taps could muster, and it numbed the pain with more, at least for a few minutes.

Ocean was 15 years old, and she had finally formed the choir that she's always wanted to do. Even if the movement makes her consider chopping off her feet. Maybe that would be less painful.

Ocean was 16 years old when she considers just becoming like her parents for just a moment of relief. But she reconsiders. How can she become the first democratically elected female prime minister of Canada if she does drugs? She continues to be in pain.

Ocean is 17 years old, and will be for the rest of her life. She's collapsed on herself in a warehouse in the afterlife, and in pain.

But she's finally being heard, and that first is good enough for her.

#ride the cyclone #rtc #ride the cyclone musical #ocean oconnell rosenberg #ocean o'connell rosenberg #ocean rtc #ocean ride the cyclone #constance blackwood #constance rtc #constance blackwood rtc #ricky potts #ricky rtc #ricky potts rtc #mischa bachinski #mischa rtc #mischa bachinski rtc #noel gruber #noel rtc #noel gruber rtc #haha im giving ocean my chronic ankle pain #for funsies

[crybaby-bkg]

every once in a while I think about when I watched prison school when I was like…….12 and didn’t understand that part when Hana froze bc she thought she felt a mushroom on her butt when Kiyoshi was pressed against her. and when I rewatched when I was like 19 I finally UNDERSTOOD and it makes me ugly laugh so hard

#I was like ??? #where’s the correlation to him being pressed against her and her thinking he has mushrooms in his pants???? #LOL I fucking love that anime aksjdkdjd #whenever I get really sad or bored I just rewatch it and become obsessed with it again #I knew I had an inkling of a p*ss kink when I watched that and was rooting for hana to piss on him #and was DISAPPOINTED when she never did skdjdkdj #sicko I fear #—in store chit chat! 🍫

[cubbyyyy]

Ohmnanon/Patpran

I’m staying off twitter these days for my mentality and peace (it’s still really hard) so i need to vent here.

I’M SO DAMN AFRAID OF THE OURSKYY 2 SPECIAL EPISODE HELP. 

I’ve never loved a bl as much as I love bad buddy; I’ve been obsessed with it for a year now (and when I mean obsessed, I mean OBSESSED, I still have to force myself to watch other shows; never enjoy a show even a tiny bit as much as bbs; ergo I’m still down bad). So bad buddy is very dear to me and if it gets ruined i’ll cry. more than that probably. I’m always naturally afraid of 2nd seasons/special episodes bc of that. I trust P’Aof  but I feel like I’ve been send back to the week I spent between episode 11 and 12. IT’S SO HARD TO NOT BE AFRAID. 

And now with all the twitter beef in the greenred fandom help.

I can’t even begin to talk about my inappropriate obsession with ONs friendship (I know I shouldn’t have invested myself as much as i did, I’m working on never doing that again and losing the unhealhty aspect of it all). So the past few months been hard on that front. Greenreds being divided into solo stans still feels so surreal (and I’ll still never pick a side; I love them both but the stans always arguing and creating so damn much hate on both boys bc of that really hunts me). It’s been rough and maybe that’s why ON frienship suffered. Or maybe not. Maybe it’s something completely different but i don’t care; It’s their private life and they are allowed to choose their friends and if they weren’t meant to be that’s it. And it’s okay. And they don’t own us anything. 

BUT JESUS FUCKING CHRIST IF THE MOOD THEY HAVE TOWARDS EACH OTHER JUST BARELY TOUCHES MY PATPRAN I WON’T SURVIVE. I believe they are good actors, of course they are, and I know the script of Bad buddy was amazing in itself BUT a lot of Bad buddys charm was the improvs of ON; Ohmnanon really did a lot of them and a lot of moments craved off their natural chemistry with one another. They understood each other and what they wnated to bring across perfectly. I think their friendship kinda seeped through their characters and it was lovely while it lasted AND NOW OURSKYY 2 HAS TO BE FILMED WHILE THE MOOD IS SO DAMN OFF IN RL THAT I JUST WANT TO TELL SOMEONE TO STOP FILMING IT. LIke I had so many hopes for OurSkyy 2 ( i really wanted a proposal and a new patpran kiss and cuddly fluffy happy time with them being domestic..) and now.. i don’t know. I can just wait. And hope. And pray. And give my first born. 

#just needed to rant #let it out #not too serious #i can't see in the future #maybe I'm just dramatic #probably #nothing is official even #maybe while i ranted here ON were having a cup of coffee and everythings fine #we can just wait anyways #but it helped to let it out #bad buddy series #bbs #ohmnanon #greenreds #fandom #badbuddyseries #justfriend #nanon korapat #Ohm pawat #Ohm and Nanon

[microsuedemouse]

~ 15 questions & 15 friends ~

tagged by my much beloved @czarcaustic <3

1. Are you named after anyone?

My grandfather!! Courtney was his middle name. (That spelling was originally the masculine form of the name, though it's pretty rare to see it used as such these days.) My middle name is also a family name :)

2. When was the last time you cried?

Uhh... oh it was a couple nights ago, when talking with my parents about my Nana. I still miss her a lot

3. Do you have kids?

Nope. At this stage of my life I can't say it feels super likely ever to happen, though I'd be lying if I said I don't feel a twinge of Something when I meet babies at work lol.

4. What sports do you play/have you played?

lmao I have never played any. I am extremely unathletic by nature, and also always struggled to get my brain around the rules of pretty much any of them when I was like, a kid in gym class

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Sure, but not a lot? Probably an average amount I figure

6. What is the first thing you notice about people?

Man, I dunno - probably their faces or their clothes, depending on context?

7. What's your eye color?

Brown!

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Big big fan of both! I'm not a big sad endings guy, though. Even when it feels right for the story, it's usually not my jam. (I guess sometimes sad endings can be good for scary movies, but that's like... sort of its own thing? because it's about The Horror.)

9. Any talents?

This is always a hard question for me to answer, bc I feel like most of the things I'm good at are more skills than talents - they're things I've practiced and developed over time, like with my writing and art. Although I guess it'd be fair, if unusual maybe, to say I've got a couple naturally strong interpersonal skills. I'm very good at communication, including figuring out what other people are trying to say, and I'm also pretty good at making people feel comfortable and understood.

10. Where were you born?

In southern Ontario, in the city where both of my parents did most of their growing up :)

11. What are your hobbies?

Writing (fiction prose, mostly) and the many kinds of thinking that go with it (worldbuilding, character development, etc). Arts and crafts (of many kinds; I'm often bouncing from one thing to another. Currently I'm having lots of fun learning to crochet). Taking in stories (reading books and comics, watching movies and TV, playing games, listening to podcasts - I love stories in all their forms). Goofing off with my family, especially my younger siblings.

12. Do you have any pets?

We have three cats - Neverland, Louie, and Smudge :)

13. How tall are you?

Uhh my ID says 165 cm, so that's... 5'5"-ish? I'm genuinely so incapable of remembering that on my own, for some reason.

14. Favorite subject in school?

It was usually English and art, growing up. In university it was always my courses that delved into genre fiction - science fiction, children's lit, the fairy tale... also that graphic novel seminar I took

15. Dream job?

Iiii. [sweats] I wanna be a novelist, but also, that's hard in its own way, and I think it's gonna take me a while yet to really Get There in terms of my own skills, disregarding the challenges of publishing. Beyond that... is something I've been struggling a lot with lately, because it's hard for me to imagine myself in a job where I'm both content and competent, let alone able to support myself. I've been wondering a lot again about library sciences, lately, but I just don't know. It's tough out here!

I definitely don't have 15 people to tag, but. @izupie @werewolfin @serenabeanie @womanaction @mana-sputachu perhaps, if you're feelin' it?

#survey #ty KC ily <333

[abyssalpriest]

Consciousness studies 22/12/23

Lucidity in dreams practice w. Shiva

Woke up in a dream, went to a kitchen. My mother in the dream was talking about how we used to live next to a pub and how it was easier to go visit it when friends are around or a match was on when that was the case. Cohesive conversation, I could follow the logic of it. The house in the dream, now I'm awake, seems to be based off one of my childhood homes mixed with my Astral house.

I realised in the dream that I didn't feel like my consciousness was all there, that it felt like, at least in line with my worldview (so others may rightfully see it differently), I am a totality of a bunch of switches, most of which were flicked off and my conscious mind was the totality of those flicked on. Not groundbreaking there, that's the underlying idea of most off my spiritual work, but the fact that I understood and was on-the-fly perceiving in in a dream is new for me.

Effectively though, I was operating with most of my consciousness rendered inert. I was wondering whether I needed to attempt to magnetise my consciousness to me, or treat it like switches and attempt to flick them. I woke up outside of the dream, and interestingly I felt the same out of it regarding the fact that I still felt like I was a small set of flicked switches - I was not fully in reality nor fully awake. I felt like I was existing elsewhere and I was, part of me was still in the dream presumably making tea and puzzling this out. I think that was because my Astral body was asleep still?

Not going to fully go back to sleep, but I'm going to meditate and let myself fall into sleep again.

-

Meditating:

I was trying to flick the inert switches up as in working with that expression as a symbol, but they seemed to just keep falling down. I wasn't sure if I was experiencing the weird mental thing I experience where in my imagination I just can't fucking do anything (trying to walk around a room but I'm spinning, trying to sit still but I'm.. spinning. trying to walk but I'm falling over etc) bc that has a very distinct similar feeling to this, so I crafted a temporary mindspace expression of these switches

It seems they do fall at max. a few seconds after you switch them. There's a few to the left that stay on, maybe 12 or so, and when you click others it's like flicking parts in a a rope upwards, there's this strange gravitational pull downwards. However, there's tension in it. The less switches there are remaining up, the harder it is for this gravitational downwards pull to pull the switches...? It seems there's not a hard limit but a magnetic limit to how few you can have down/inert at the same time, which I guess makes sense. It's a very sharp drop-off though as much as it is definitely a curve, it gets harder to flick them extremely fast

There's obviously, outside of the visual switch metaphor, a field within which is consciousness in various states. Sort of like air where there's molecules of all types all through it mixed relatively evenly, except this cloud filled with consciousness types isn't molecular it's something else. It's definitely going to be a case of working with this haze to raise consciousness to the point of lucidity

--

A while ago (in-between above writing and now), Lev let me know that he was doing the same sort of thing he did while we were on the ocean in the Astral the other day: suppressing. Specifically, I commented on how I never seem to be able to do what's needed which is magnetically flip the... oppressive magnetic force that's in play when he teaches me this stuff.

I remember the time he showed this with the sky in the Mental where there was this area that just dragged me down into dreaming consciousness, and a lot of the time in dreams where I start getting lucid but it's so much force and effort to stay conscious - that second example, I'm pretty sure, is not enforced by his conscious mind but it is, like all consciousness, still Shiva - and so on, I always struggle against this magnetic pull.

L: The fact you're aware of this pull, though, is a step above dreaming consciousness. It will give you a stronger foundation in consciousness studies than me purely throwing you into lucid dreams when you want them.

D: Oh I presumed, I guess I'm just not getting what to do, though yeah, as you're saying, you'll teach me.

---

L: The next step after this is not rewriting these switches' orientations, but increasing the size of the bubble you have around you of -

--

D: I'm in the Astral right now, bilocating. Just overheard Lev calling my newest name (Vahana) which he's come to me with a few times - that's to say he's been getting my attention with it - but this time when i answered I could tell he was asleep calling it. Weirdly when I try to trace back his consciousness I feel like I'm following him into blue skies over water, but actually, walking through his dreaming space, I'm walking through dense forest vegetation thick with either hanging branches or long draping moss-like flowers or... moss. It's hard to tell, because the visuals are distorted, I don't see the forest I just know I'm travelling through it. Really, it feels (intuitively) like I'm travelling through his hair draped down in the form of abstracted leaves.... yeah. There he is in the heart of things, the kind-eyed symbolic art form of Shiva looking down. I feel like we're in an orrery like that in Oblivion, because I see the expanse of space around him but it's partly illusory. More so... It's like thick gel around him within which space is shown, or accessed, or both.

His eyes are following me as I move, but he has no pupils, just slightly off-white light emanating outwards. The usual two at least; when I go to look at his third eye it's closed in a way but within it is a spiralling black hole that is more orange than I'm used to seeing. There feels like three sets of eyelids/eyes there, one open, one half open, one closed... and another fourth option I can't put into words.

The whole thing feels like tides rushing back into sea, where before I was under the oppressive weight of the ocean this is a gentle, magnetic ebbing back to breathing and open air.

What's the difference between consciousness outside (say, in the body that writes this) and inside (here in dreamspace)? Dreamspace feels like more of a play, though when I exit I'm aware of how reality feels like that too, just to a lesser degree and in a different way. Dreamspace feels like I'm setting up a theatre stage, though he's dragging me away from this thought.

The backwards ebb of this ocean is pulling me through where he was standing, which makes his appearance as Shiva fade or warp into an open river, specifically a wide one clearly about to descend down into a waterfall. Below, the water vapour makes clouds, it feels... Really fresh and realistic. Vesica piscis comes to mind again, seems that's the mood. He wants me to shut off connection with this body, prompting me to fall into this lucid place and allow him to take over my body until I'm done.

--

I went, I was travelling through sparse, sunlit forests with streams of water, overlaid by glacial heights and streams, and waterfalls. Was told partway through to channel from dreamspace to reality a response to someone who messaged while I was gone, which broke my concentration (or specifically I guess the blissful lucid dreaming state in his mind) but it was necessary. After a while he woke me up officially into my Astral body, and told me that before I went back to dreaming I needed to wake up fully and not let myself drift back.

#ramblings // #Channellings // #Maheshvara //

[bagheerita]

Thanks for the tag @girlscience! I think I've done this one before, but I'll give it another go. :D

1. Are you named after anyone? My middle name is a family name but the first name, no.

2. When was the last time you cried? Earlier today I think? fuck the government.

3. Do you have kids? No thank you. Raising foster kittens is enough pressure.

4. What sport do you play/have played? None that I wasn't forcibly conscripted to engage in by a gym class. ...I did used to do horseback riding when I was a kid, which was fun.

5. Do you use sarcasm? Wow, is that really the question you're asking?

6. What's the first thing you notice about people? Usually their energy. We get some weird people that come into my work, and I don't like the really intense dudes, they give me anxiety.

7. What's your eye color? Blue

8. Scary movies or happy endings? This is a false dichotomy, but I will say I have never understood the overwhelming appeal of horror movies. In general I find them really contrived; without really being able to engage with the characters I just don't get the point. Suspense movies are usually better, but I don't usually seek them out.

9. Any talents? Procrastinating, and organizing.

10. Where were you born? Ypsilanti

11. What are your hobbies? Reading. Writing fic. Cross stitching and misc painting crafts when I have time. Watching youtube when my brain power is all sapped out.

12. Do you have any pets? My cranky old man, Amun, known as Bug. I also have foster cats to keep him company. He hates it.

13. How tall are you? Exactly average for my demographic

14. Favorite subject in school? English class, bc I liked reading and writing, though not necessarily about the topics that school required

15. Dream job? @girlscience mentioned dragon rider, which gets a hard second from me! In that vein, mystical librarian would be pretty awesome- I'm all about hoarding knowledge to share with people who want access to it. More realistically, my current job is fine and even in dream world I would not mind continuing in a service job of some kind as long as I didn't have to stress about paying bills.

#tag game #personal #it's been a weird week i can't think of anyone to tag. but if you do it tag me so i can see you answers!!! #lol i'm over here ragging on horror movies. guess what the tag is on the story i'm about to post 🤣

[seekingthestars]

tagged by @koalammas!! thank youuu 💞

buckle up ladies and gents time for some rambles okay go

1. Are you named after anyone?

nope lol my middle name was going to be Rose after my great-grandma on my mom's side, but my parents didn't want to offend either side of the family by using a name from the other side of the family so they ended up opting for completely random names for me and my brother hahaha

2. When was the last time you cried?

around april 21 (friend's funeral, her brother was speaking during it and i did not keep it together)

3. Do you have kids?

nope! only my cat, who i love and adore with my entire heart, she is my sweet lil angel muffin

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

kinda depends i guess? sometimes?

5. What is the first thing you notice about a person?

ohhh good question hmm i guess if i'm just seeing someone in passing, probably appearance? otherwise how they interact with and treat other people.

6. What’s your eye color?

brown, but leans a little hazel-ey some days.

7. Scary movie or happy ending?

agree that i like satisfying endings that are also hopefully happy! but between these two options, happy endings, i cannot do scary movies or tv shows or anything, i get freaked out and then can't sleep lol

8. Any special talents?

i genuinely don't know L O L i don't know what would constitute a special talent??? i can memorize song lyrics pretty quickly and then they sorta embed themselves into my brain forever, does that count??

9. Where were you born?

southern usa!

10. What are your hobbies?

video games, watching movies/dramas (though i do not always have the attention span for it lol), reading, crafting (i like physically making things with my hands since i just do design on my computer all day for work! i like trying lots of different things, recently been trying a little bit of hand embroidery. also painting little ceramic figures and stuff like that), cosplaying. i've been trying this year to build taking a walk into my daily routine, not sure if i count it as a hobby or not lol

11. Do you have any pets?

my sweet sweet rileycat!!!! i love cats!!!!

12. What sports do you/have you played?

am not a sports girlie LOL i did tap/ballet/jazz for six-ish years when i was younger! in high school i took theatre classes and was in the plays/musicals instead of sports.

13. How tall are you?

5'4" which is like 162.5cm??

14. Favourite subject in school?

oh i love english, i always loved english. and math! i actually really loved math up until i took calculus. my calculus teacher was horrible, he made you feel stupid for asking questions and he intentionally made the tests too long to finish in a class period and made them extra confusing, it left me in tears more than once. cried at school bc i failed a lot of those tests. anyway i got a 5 on my AP exam for calculus (highest score) so i understood the material, my teacher just sucked and made me hate math after i'd loved it my entire life so ✌️

also loved my theatre classes in high school ahhhh

15. Dream job?

i think something working with cats / big cats / red pandas would be really fun. not a vet necessarily, i don't think i could handle it lol, but like a cat rescue or animal sanctuary maybe??? idk honestly

but yeah mostly agree with the "something that won't drain me and actually leaves me with savings and a will to live" answer. i like my current job/workplace/coworkers a lot more than my last job, but i still don't know if i'd want to be in this field until i retire, that's so many more years and clients sometimes make me wanna bash my head into a wall lol

i have a hard time with the ~dream job~ question bc i've just never felt like i had a "calling" or any overwhelming grand idea with what i've wanted to do with my life, i'm just vibing my way through somehow

Bonus: any significance to your blog's name:

NOPE lol when i was making this blog uhhhh 12 years ago everything that i wanted at the time had been taken and this was the only thing i could think of that i liked that was available and it was just something random 😂 i've thought about changing it but idk it's been too long now LOL

#tag game #personal #i always end up rambling on these more than i should HAHA oopsie ;; #long post

[cocobunnii]

i hate feeling sad .. it’s annoying. i’ve never understood people who say “ i feel so alone , like no one gets me “ cause there’s 8 billion of us yet u think the way u feel is your unique one of a kind emotion. but yet i feel like that.. i have BPD right ?? ( borderline personality disorder ) & so bc of that it’s hard to express my “ personality “ / emotions. & i heard this one girl say this so imma repeat it. “ living w BPD is like having “ love goggles “ on 24/7. but rather than love its life. “ & it’s so right ! cause life w BPD is agony. like in relationships , i’ll see it going amazing & i’ll self aware-ly , self sabotage the whole thing.. it’s like i dissociate the whole thing , im third person view , just watching myself ruin everything i worked hard for. . & it’s a never ending cycle. & yk what sucks the MOST abt BPD ?? no one seems to understand that a person w BPD , at least in my case , needs support at random times w random mood swings. w high intensity mood swings. good & bad. i get scared of my good times. cause i can’t tell if i’m manic & everything just looks & seems good for the moment or if i’m actually having a good day or month. & what’s worse , is doctors don’t even know how to treat BPD properly. there’s no meds for it which is bittersweet. the ONLY treatment is therapy. & ad much as i love therapy. . it gets old telling the same ol story over & over again , getting no where. & sure maybe i just need a new therapist. but i’ve tried since i was 12 i’m 22 now .. i tear up every time i think of someone dying. wether it’s a stranger or a loved one. cause ik someone will miss that person , if not me. irony of that is i can’t feel that way abt myself .. & it saddens me i feel that way. cause i think back to when i was a kid & i wonder what she would think of me now yk .. like would she think i’m as cool was she wants to be ?? is she happy of my decisions .. ? i overthink & judge myself sm & i wish i didn’t.. we’re our best critics tho right ? i’ve always wondered how’d i’d end up tho i’m the end. how i’ll meet my husband , my career , how i’ll look .. we all do ofc. but i also wonder if i’ll get to that point. that “ fantasy “. sorry i’m so sad rn. i don’t mean to be a downer. i just needed to vent.

#bpd thoughts #bpd vent #bpd splitting #bpd problems #bpd mood #sad

[fateblood]

Sandman rambling by someone who was shaped by the comics growing up

I've been into the comics since I was a bullied, lonely 12 year old who was handed Endless Nights because someone didn't want it in their library anymore. I understood nothing. Yet, I devoured it in a few days and a few weeks later I had the first issue of the comic. Since then, it has been a major, if not the biggest, part of my fictional life. There's few characters that are as dear to me as Death and Morpheus, as Rose and Hob are to me. Sandman, to me, is my ultimate escapist medium. It's where I go to when everything else fails me.

Cut for Length. Bc I rambled.

The show I expected nothing from. I didn't like the casting at announcement, I didn't like the setting change into the 2020s (which to me has only been a hurtful, horrible decade with no style), and I definitely did not like that they did not give Morpheus his signature eyes.

I mellowed out as I watched my way through the show. The casting is good, really good. The only one I actively dislike is Jenna Coleman's Johanna but that might also be because I find her character to be flatly written and have never been a fan of hers (no offense to Jenna! She's great! I just didn't like her at this instance). The others - especially Mason Alexander Park I have to give special credit here - are doing a great job.

It's a slow show (my dad fell asleep multiple times through it), and it takes time. Which it should. This isn't the story of great action-rich battles, this is the story of someone who is millenia old, meeting humans who have less than a fraction of this time and being forced to change their ways. It's a beautiful looking show. It hits hard when it should, it has great acting performances. Especially John Dee, who has been greatly humanised (for better and for worse) and Roderick Burgess have been played with such grand epicness by two actors I personally enjoy.

Now to my downsides. Because over all, to me, this is a mixed bag. -> death's character design. I loved Kirby. What I didn't love is.... how basic she looked. I know, this is the death look, the iconic one, but it did not hit that hard when you're in the 2020s and a black tank top and black jeans are just... normal wear. I was robbed of Goth Icon Death and that I did not get her and Dream to look like they were attending a Cure concert. I know it's a "damned if you do, damned if you don't" situation (who would like to change her iconic look?!) but dang it, I really hope that IF we get a season 2, we get a Death in a more fancy outfit with some more nods to subculture fashion. (Egirl Death would be really funny to me tbh) -> I feel like a lot got sanitised. Non of the deep, gut wrenching punches of the comics (Constantine's girlfriend with the Sand, 24 hours as a whole...) felt... impactful. The show is rated 18 and yet I felt neither scared nor unsettled once while watching it. Hell, my mother who can't even stand Supernatural was nothing but fine with it. I guess, it's because this is not the time for gruesomeness on TV and maybe it is the wrong show, but I feel the 18 rating (in my country at least) was so not justified. Bad shit happened. I guess. It didn't feel like it was *that* bad, because, oh well, next episode the world is normal! Nothing ever happened. We never got the chaos that Dream's absence caused - and what his artefacts did - in the waking world, apart from being alluded to in 24/7 and like, the sleeping sickness?? -> What I call the "tumblrfication of the Corinthian". He's not scary. Hell, he's not even THAT creepy. If this was any other show he wouldn't even be that bad of a guy (considering shows like hannibal here). He's the bad guy because the plot needs him to be. How many people are happily excusing him being a literal walking nightmare because they are horny.... idk. I'm really happy for you (not sarcasm!). For me personally, I would have liked him to be genuinely, really scary. He's a waking nightmare. His comic version is one of the best villains I've ever seen and he's genuinely, bad pun, nightmare inducing. The humanisation of his - and John Dee's to an extend - character happens so you have more to write about. And so you can make your audience somewhat like them. I personally did not enjoy that at all.

Those are the three big ones. Lyta Hall's story being changed, I give them, fair. Though it again wasn't scary. "Being 8 months pregnant forever" vs "being in labor within a few days" just does not pack the same punch. I give them the gender-bending of Lucifer bc I love Gwendolyne Christie, but a comic accurate Lucifer ONCE would have been nice. At least, it's not Tom Ellis. The man gave me the creeps.

I'd be excited - IF there is a season 2 - to see more family members. Especially Delirium holds a place in my heart that's very dear to me. I want more of Despair, I want Destruction (even though I know Brief Lifes is definitely not season 2 material when there's Seasons of Mist and A Game of you and all that...) and I want awkward, stupid family diners.

So over all, I rate Sandman a solid 6.5/10 depressed Dreams. I had fun. It felt familiar. But it wasn't "show me your dreams and I'll show you horror in a handful of dust". But maybe, that's okay.

Tom Surridge speaks in black speech bubbles. I just have to mention that.

#faible blogs #the sandman #personal subjective opinion #this is not a discussion post this is my personal experience with the show that I wanted to write down somewhere #so please don't come to my inbox to scream at me about it #thanks.

[watsonmj]

2022 YEAR IN REVIEW

tagged: @abc2411 | @seek--rest | @bluepinstripes <3

1. number of stories posted to ao3

27 +/- 2 bc i updated 2 fics that i started last year buuuuuut i reached over 100 works on ao3 !!!! :D

2. word count posted for this year

101,410 (technically More bc i wrote ofic but that is obviously. not posted anywhere)

3. fandoms i wrote for

marvel, dc, pjo, the atlas series, soc, trc/tdt, hp, goncharov

4. pairings

petermj, petergwen, percabeth, libbynico, kanej, bluesey, blue/adam, clois, gonchandrey, jily

5. stories with the most

kudos: accidental heroism (the batman) 3,357 bookmarks: the jones-watson-parkers (spider-man) 844 but since that was posted last year it’s technically accidental heroism again w 640 comment threads: yet again… the jones-watson-parkers with 133 but it is still accidental heroism with 47

6. work i'm most proud of (and why)

ummmm idk actually the work im most proud of is my ofic theo and i cannot Show that to u anyway it’s bc i have never rly fully revised smth like. overhauled it n all that bc i finally Understood theo’s character and it was such a RUSH to work on her fr and ive produced some of my Best Writing To Date!!! for fic tho uh??!??!?!? im pretty proud of most fic ive written this year bc i have tried rly hard ok 😭 usually i can pinpoint a single fic but i think ive written consistently well ???

7. work i'm least proud of (and why)

a home for two (spidey) mostly because i did Not vibe writing it i was literally pulling teeth trying to finish it but ppl seem to like it idk

8. share or describe a favorite review you received

9. a time when writing was really, really hard

uh not for fic but i was tearing my hair out writing theo partially because of the content and partially because it is quite literally Difficult to write what’s perfect in your head and i haven’t even written theo to my own standards ngl

10. a scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

the entirety of final goodbye because. Well. who knew i would be writing goncharov fic actually who knew goncharov would even exist fr but in terms of spidey ... phantom bc. like. well i did not expect to write that At All and i didn't expect it to be That Long (relatively in my taste)

11. a favorite excerpt of your writing

Here’s the thing about loss: sometimes you grow up and around a person, fitting and stretching and expanding to add them to the patchwork of yourself, and when they leave, there’s a scar between both bodies. One here, one gone. An open wound. It’s surprising how much time you can spend with someone and still come out the other end empty-handed. (slip of reality | spidey)

12. how did you grow as a writer this year

oh i have learned to appreciate writing first person bc of theo <3 and writing a little longer things bc i am a serial 1-2k oneshotter and i have Exceeded that a bit

13. how do you hope to grow next year

perhaps i will Finally finish a multichapter fic jesus christ

14. who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer, beta, cheerleader, etc)

there needs to be an @fnh button or smth at this point

15. anything from your real life show up in your writing this year

none that i can point out at the top of my head ! well. except for theo 🧍🏻‍♀️ i gave her too many lysisms which is concerning considering everything wrong w her n her chronic patheticness

16: any new wisdom you can share with other writers

new wisdom??? god not rly but here is some OLD wisdom that i feel like other writers should always listen to… read MORE BOOKS!!!!!!!!!!

17: any projects you're looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year

working on the Novel™ n also attempting to finish all these wips i have left in the grave

18. tag some writers whose answers you'd like to read

LITERALLY ANY OF YOU. IF U SEE THIS UR TAGGED <3

#tag games #writing review #not marvel #text #tais toi lys #soz this took ages <3