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sassykattery · 2 years

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A Divine Triad, Pt. 4

Welcome to Part 4 of "A Divine Triad." I apologize for the update delay; I'm feeling much better now! Thank you for your patience.

CW: MC is poly. MC is afab and she/her pronouns are used. mild hurt against MC [no blood]. swearing/profane language. some light petting. some arguing

Themes: jealousy, DiavoloxMC, LuciferxMC, mushy gushy fluffy flirting

Characters: Diavolo, MC="You", Lucifer, Mephistopheles (oh boy howdy get ready for this one)

Minors and ageless blogs DNI

18+ only

Enjoy~

Masterlist

"Alright, my love, it's time for class," Diavolo purred to you. Both of you were leaning against the wall just outside your classroom door at RAD. It was the day before the ball that he invited you to, and he had been walking you to all of your classes that morning just to spend a little extra time with you.

You gave him a pouty lip, "Alright..." you said, awful sadly.

"Now, now, I promise I'll come see you right after it's over," he murmured, tucking a finger under your chin and smiling with half-lidded eyes.

"Okay," you replied, a bit more cheerfully. He placed a chaste kiss on your forehead and gently guided you to class with his hand on your back. Diavolo proceeded back to his office after seeing you find your seat. Unknowingly, you two were watched by a certain curious, or rather, nosy, demon.

As promised, when your class was over, Diavolo was waiting for you.

"My love, I'm afraid I have some things to attend to during lunch, but Lucifer said he would like to join you today," he informed you. "I am sorry, and I promise to make it up to you."

"That's alright, I understand, my dear," you replied sweetly. Taking his arm, he escorted you to the cafeteria at RAD. Lucifer perked up when he saw you rounding the corner. Diavolo patted your arm with a smile and walked away, leaving you with Lucifer.

"Having a good day, dove?" Lucifer murmured to you, lowering his head to you.

"I am, especially now that I get to see you," you chirped. He nodded, not changing his expression as students walked by, but his eyes glimmered at your words. Though he wasn't afraid to let others know you were a couple, he still wasn't entirely fond of PDA, especially at RAD when other students were around.

"Good. Why don't we go outside? It's rather nice out, and I know of a place for us to go," he said. Both of you got in line, quickly getting your food, and then you followed Lucifer out of the cafeteria. A particularly nosy demon was watching you two as you left the room, and after giving you a few seconds, he tailed not too far behind, but far enough that Lucifer didn't notice.

Lucifer led you to the gardens, satisfied to see no one else was around. He picked a spot next to some flower shrubs and sat on the grass, patting the spot next to him. "I thought maybe you and I could eat alone today," he stated.

"I like it here," you replied, smiling cutely, "And I like it when it's just us." He smirked and nodded.

Though, you two were a little distracted by each other, as you scooted closer to your boyfriend, leaning your head on his outer arm. Eventually, both of you abandoned your lunches in favor of light touches on the hands, arms, thighs. He planted soft kisses on your cheeks and forehead, caressing your jaw. As stated, he wasn't one for PDA, but when he had you alone, your entire body was fair game.

You hummed at his touches, and smiled against the skin of his cheek, savoring the flutters you felt within your body. "Lucifer," you murmured.

"Mm, say my name again," he said, his lips trailing down to your neck. He had pulled you into his lap, sitting you perpendicular to himself. His teeth lightly grazed your skin, teasing you.

"Lucifer," you called again, more sweetly, drawling it out.

"So perfect," he whispered against your neck. He started to place more kisses on your flesh before stilling. "I have to stop," he said more to himself than you; he didn't actually want to, but deep down he knew he couldn't keep you there all day.

"Please don't," you whimpered. He groaned in light frustration.

"Don't use that tone, dove. I won't be able to let you go if you keep talking to me that way," he stated in a low voice. His hand started to creep under your uniform jacket, and you giggled your dismay when you felt his gloved fingertips brush your stomach under your shirt.

"Lucifer, what if someone sees?" you asked, looking around.

"Mm, maybe you're right. I don't want anyone else to see what's mine," he murmured.

Your observer had definitely had enough of you two making out, so he stormed off back into RAD, and once he made it to a door, he furiously pounded at it.

"Enter," the voice called out from the other side.

The demon walked in with a fury in his step. The Demon Lord finally looked up from his desk.

"Ah, Mephistopheles, what can I do for you?" Diavolo asked.

"Lord Diavolo, it has come to my attention your little human has been traipsing around with a particular Avatar of Pride, are you aware of this?" Mephisto ground out between his teeth. This made the prince click his tongue in disapproval.

"That little human has a name, Mephistopheles," Diavolo said in a warning tone, "And I recommend you use it when speaking to me about her."

"Fine," Mephisto said in annoyance. "But were you aware of this little affair between MC and Lucifer?"

"It's not an affair. But what of it? Why do you care?" Diavolo asked, sitting back in his chair, arms crossed, and eyebrow raised.

"Because the aristocracy-" Mephisto started to say.

"Might I remind you, Mephisto, that you are in no favor with me or the aristocracy, and it would be wise to not speak on things you don't understand. Better yet, why don't you stop concerning yourself with things that don't involve you?" Diavolo interrupted. "And the noble demons should also be wise to consider what it is they do in their spare time before they worry about what it is I'm doing, let alone what MC is doing."

"But Lord Diavolo-"

"What?" he snapped.

Mephisto clicked his tongue this time. "Do not say I did not try to warn you. MC is an easy target for slander, and you would be wise to keep certain things in check when it comes to her."

This made the prince cock his head. "You do care," he observed.

Mephisto's eyes widened, and he flinched back in shock and disgust. "Me? Care about MC? A human? Most certainly not, my lord," he retorted.

"Ah, but I didn't say who, you just assumed I meant MC," Diavolo replied with a smile. "I simply meant you care about what the aristocrats think."

This flustered Mephisto, but he bristled, telling the truth. "MC has grown on me, but I will not sit here and say that I necessarily care that deeply for her," he replied to Diavolo. He was silent for a moment before asking, "So I am to assume she is dating you both? And you both are aware of the arrangement?"

"If I find you spreading falsities about it, you can say farewell to your place with the noble demons," Diavolo replied. "But yes."

Mephisto shuddered, internally, at least at the idea of being an outcast. "I see. Are we expecting her at the ball tomorrow?"

"Indeed."

"Then it should be an interesting evening, Lord Diavolo," Mephisto muttered. "That will be all, then," he said, promptly turning on his heel and excusing himself.

When he closed the door to Diavolo's office and turn to walk down the hallway, he was immediately met with the steely gaze of Lucifer, almost walking into the Avatar.

"Have a good lunch, Mephistopheles?" he asked cruelly, layering the sarcasm and displeasure. The purple-haired demon's eyes widened.

"Indeed, now if you'll excuse me," Mephisto said, trying to dodge Lucifer, but with no avail. The Avatar of Pride gave his most sadistic smile, baring his fangs while mirroring Mephisto's movements, trapping him in front of the door.

"Spying on me is one thing, Mephisto, it's flattering really," Lucifer said in a sickeningly sweet voice. But then his tone dropped with the next sentence, one of pure unadulterated rage. "But if I ever catch you spying on MC, I will make sure you suffer a fate worse than Prometheus."

Mephisto "tched" the demon, brushing past Lucifer with disgust. Lucifer then walked into Diavolo's office.

"What did he want?" Lucifer asked with disdain.

"To tell me about the very thing you were threatening him over just now," he replied, having heard their conversation. "Mephisto wanted to see if I knew about you and MC. He seems rather worried about what the aristocracy will think," Diavolo said, amused. Lucifer rolled his eyes. "How did you know he was spying?"

"A few things, actually. One, I noticed him leering outside of one of MC's classes yesterday. Two, he was getting food in the cafeteria, something he rarely does since he's usually too good to be seen there. Three, purple hair is rather distinct and noticeable against just about any surface, including green brush. Four, MC is rather intuitive, and she kept looking around, as if she knew she was being watched," Lucifer recounted.

Diavolo grinned, "My, my, Detective Lucifer, very good."

There was something to be said for how well Mephisto tried to keep himself scarce and out of Lucifer's watchful gaze, but Lucifer was far too observant for that. Mephisto only thought he was off of Lucifer's radar, but that was not the case.

Meanwhile, just as Mephistopheles rounded the corner, you two collided when you were on your way to Diavolo's office, knocking you clear to the floor and hitting your head.

"You fucking idiot," Mephisto swore loudly, not realizing who he knocked over. You fought back the tears from the impact and groaned from the pain. When he finally looked down, his eyes went wide. "Oh," he said softly, kneeling down to the floor. "I apologize MC, I didn't realize it was you. Are you hurt?"

He noted your face, how you were grimacing in pain and your hand shot to the back of your head. Carefully, he cradled your head and grabbed your chin with his other hand, tilting your head around to look. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" he murmured.

"Just my head," you whispered, tears falling.

"What can I do?" he asked genuinely. He looked rather upset that he did this to you.

"Help me up, please," you muttered. He nodded and wrapped his arms around you and held you against himself to get you to your feet.

He was still holding you when he looked down at you, "Are you alright?"

Just as you two were up, Diavolo and Lucifer came walking around the corner and saw Mephisto holding you, and your tearful state alerted them to a problem.

"Mephisto," Lucifer growled, instantly shifting to his demon form. Diavolo didn't look entirely pleased either but remained somewhat calm.

The demon holding you jumped and backed away, "Lord Diavolo, I-"

Diavolo held up his hand to stop Mephisto, approaching you and putting his hands on your shoulders. "MC, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine, it was an accident," you replied softly. "I wasn't watching where I was going and ran into Mephisto. He was helping me up."

Mephisto's eyebrows shot up. He was surprised with you making it not seem like it was his fault, but he remained quiet. The prince was satisfied with your answer, so he nodded and pulled you into his embrace.

"I see, very well then," he replied. He looked over at Lucifer who was boring holes into the purple-haired demon's skull through angered gaze alone. "MC, let me take you to my office," Diavolo said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you with him.

Once you two were gone, Lucifer stepped closer to Mephistopheles, still seething. "Watch yourself," he grunted.

"Now, listen here, Lucifer, you heard her, so why don't you take your jealous self over there and go comfort her, or are you not her boyfriend?" Mephisto finally snapped, having enough of being at the unfortunate end of Lucifer's anger.

The Avatar of Pride stepped even closer, almost nose-to-nose with Mephisto, but remained silent, gaging whether or not he wanted to press the issue.

"Lucifer," Mephisto tutted, clicking his tongue, "You genuinely think I would want your silly little human?"

"I know for a fact you do, given I've never seen you give a damn about anyone but yourself in the last century," Lucifer mused. "If anyone else were to walk into you, you'd have their head on a pike."

Mephisto smirked, crossing his arms and holding a finger up, "Don't tell me the Avatar of Pride is afraid someone else could swoop in and steal his favorite toy?"

This made Lucifer's eye twitch, and the urge to brawl with this pompous demon was strong, but he took a slow, deep breath through his nose and stepped back. Images of you in his mind helped to steer away the urge, remembering he was being a better demon for you.

"Goodbye, Mephisto," is all Lucifer said, side-stepping around the demon. He continued on to Diavolo's office to check on you.

He saw you laying on the sofa in the prince's office, facing the back of it.

"She has a nasty headache, so I told her to sleep," Diavolo said quietly from his desk, reading some papers.

"That's just as well," Lucifer replied, equally quiet to not disturb you. He walked over to your sleeping form, kneeling beside the sofa to look at you closely, then pressing a kiss onto your head. Satisfied, he stood again and sat in a chair in front of Diavolo's desk.

"She's nervous about the ball," Lucifer stated.

"Oh? Why is that?" the prince asked, both demons talking in hushed tones.

"She's worried about embarrassing us," Lucifer replied.

"Embarrassing us?" Diavolo mused.

Lucifer continued, "She's also worried about this being the first public event with both of us."

"Ah," the Demon Lord replied more quietly. "I can't say I mind that she's worried about her image as well as ours, given our positions, but I do hope she can somewhat enjoy herself tomorrow." His eyes flitted to where you were sleeping, taking in your form. You started to shift around, causing Lucifer to turn and look as well.

"I wish the same for her as well," Lucifer stated.

Thank you for reading~ <3

Post made by sassykattery. Do not repost. Reblogs and likes appreciated!

Masterlist

#obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me mc #obey me lucifer #obey me diavolo #obey me fanfic #diavolo x femreader #lucifer x female reader #love-eternal

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winxwannabe · 2 years

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Sparxshipping prompt 12 please. Have a safe flight!

Baltor prides himself on several things - spell execution, patience, the ability to differentiate wines by planet of origin. But above all else, and perhaps the most useful - strategic planning. A skill made up of many others (even the taste in wine) and easily the most difficult to master, yet by far the most rewarding. After years of training under the Ancient Witches he excels at it.

He’s sowed distrust of Andros by taking over its oceans and underwater rulers, helped install a new Solarian queen branded with his magic, and shut down one of the major magic schools, putting the center of the dimension on high alert. Destabilizing the world at large to make his takeover that much easier. He has always been good at planning.

“Oh Baltor. I’m bored, so why don’t you come out now.”

This wasn’t the plan.

A bookshelf six meters to his right explodes, raining hardcovers and burning pages around Cloud Tower’s library. Some of its contents are older than Baltor himself, surviving hundreds of years only to be reduced to ash now. He tenses, but stays bunkered behind an untouched shelf, refusing to give away his position unless he hears the fluttering of wings. Cloaking spells aren’t useful anymore - the Dragon Fire makes it too easy to track. The Trix are gone. Griffin’s spelled students are nowhere to be found. He is alone, abandoned to fight the monster he’s created. Poetic justice.

“Baltor,” Bloom whines again, and for a moment she sounds like she used to when he observed her through spells. A bright girl - bright as her red hair - who still believes in friendship conquering all and true love saving the day. “I don’t get it. I thought you wanted this.”

Well…yes. Broadly, yes, he’d wanted this. The plan had started perfectly enough - turn the boyfriend against her, make Alfea feel unsafe, get Faragonda out of the way. Isolation, Baltor had learned over the last seventeen years, could be a powerful motivator. It made you see things that weren’t there. It made you crave connection. And what better connection could there be, than the only other living person from your planet? A connection to the past where there had been none before. No hope. No being could resist running towards a flicker of light in a sea of darkness, regardless of what cast it. Not if they were lonely enough.

Back in the old days, before the Company of Light and the endless fighting, seducing politicians and nobility had been medial. Seducing a girl still full of childish naivete had been effortless. The flirting was meant to intrigue her, the promise of information was meant to bring her close, and the seduction itself was meant to make her forget why she’d been so afraid in the first place.

Baltor had executed such plans before. They worked flawlessly. It was supposed to work this time. It was meant to bring Bloom to her knees in front of him, ready and willing to do anything he desired. For one glorious night, she had.

But she was supposed to stay after that. The fear should have been dulled. She was not supposed to withdraw into that dark tunnel, afraid of herself and everyone around her, looking for something to even the playing field.

But the isolation. Motivator, indeed.

Baltor didn’t know Bloom had been overtaken by darkness twice before - from Lord Darkar, no less. Knowing would have altered his planning immensely. He would have been more careful, peppered his words with more sweetness instead of bite. Surviving it once was Arcadia’s fortune. Twice was the sign of a strong soul. To believe you could come back from such darkness a third time…you would have to be an idiot. Or full of childish naivete.

There’s a frustrated yell and another bookshelf explodes - closer this time. Baltor watches a book, now no more than a fiery ball of debris, soar through the air and land at his feet.

He has to get out of here.

Boy howdy anon you have no idea what you've done sending this in. So remember when I said there was one prompt I was seriously considering turning into a oneshot? It's this one! I don't know what switch got flipped in my brain to make me want to write again but you flipped it, anon! This is the first part of the oneshot, because it's taken me forever to put any of these out and you guys deserve something for dealing with me. And as for the rest of the story...I'll see you later this week.

#plane prompts #sparxshipping #length: ficlet #(FOR NOW!)#me reading this: oh cool so Baltor's like stalking Bloom somewhere...but what if it's reversed #and my brain just started RUNNING with it

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writingsofanobsessedwoman · 2 years

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Wrong Time, Right Place pt.2

Reader's thoughts

Your senses came back slowly. Before your eyes could even consider opening, you could hear the soft thud of hooves, and feel your body jarring along with the movement. You could also feel something warm and sturdy pressed up against your back. As you opened your eyes, you froze. You were on a horse, walking along to who knows where. How did I get here? you pondered. The man you'd come to know as 'John' noticed your conscience state. "We're taking you to our little camp," he said. Arthur, who now knew you'd returned to the world of the waking, asked you how you were feeling. "I- I don't know," you said, "scared, confused. I don't even know how to make sense of any of this." John seemed confused at your answer, but before he could even question it, you could hear a heavily accented voice call out a "Who's there?" "It's me and John," Arthur called out. You could feel his chest vibrate with each word. "And we've got a stray," he added. "I'll get Ms. Grimshaw," that other voice called. The three of you stopped at the outskirts of some huge camp. Arthur apparently has no idea what small means, you thought. There were several tents and wagons, with a large fire in the center of the camp. You could also make out a table with a few chairs. "I'll take your horse, Mr. Arthur." You snapped your head around to see a man standing there. He looked scrawny, his beard patchy and rough, hair unwashed, and eyes wide. He looked like a mangy dog. "Thanks Kieran," came Arthur's reply as he helped you down. 'Kieran' sent you a small smile, and a "Howdy Mr./Ms." Before you had the chance to say hi to him, and older woman accompanied by two men came marching up to you. "Just what have you brought us now, Arthur?," asked one of the men. The camp around you grew quiet, and as you looked up, all eyes were on you. "Me 'n' John found her/him up digging around on the mountain," Arthur said. "What was she/he doin up there?," asked the older men of the two. "I was looking for something," you told them, finding just enough courage to speak. "And that would be?" How can I tell them? I can't just say, 'I was digging up Arthur's body for research!!!!' They'd think I was crazy! Maybe I have gone crazy.... Maybe this is all a dream. "Well what's your name sweetheart?", the man with the mustache asked. "Y/N, Y/N L/N," you stuttered out. "My name is Dutch Van Der Linde, this is Hosea, and the woman with us is Ms. Grimshaw. She'll help you get settled in. And don't worry, we won't hurt you unless you give us a reason to." That last sentence made you uneasy. Unless I gave them a reason to? What exactly counted as a reason? Ms. Grimshaw called out "Girls!!!!" before your thoughts could go too far. "Find this young man/woman some clothes will you? And you boys need to set up a tent. Can't have him/her sleeping outside and getting sick!" Ms. Grimshaw grabbed your arm and began pulling you towards one of the tents, a woman you hadn't yet met passing you a dress/pair of pants and clean shirt. You were lightly pushed into the canvas tent, the opening being shut behind you. You changed into the clothes, and pushed out into the camp again, feeling a bit better with clean clothes. They were strange, and certainly not something you'd wear. You looked around, and Dutch seemed to notice you had changed. He came up to you and began talking. "So, (Y/N), where are you from?" "(Hometown.) in (homestate)." You answered truthfully, seeing no reason to lie to these people. "Hmmm. I've never heard of it. Regardless, I'm sure you'll fit in just fine." He began explaining the camp rules and chores. He also informed you of the shared occupation of all the camp members. Outlaws. Although, they seemed to have some sort of ethic code. How strange. Outlaws that only steal from the rich. Almost like Robin Hood.

Dutch also introduced you to the other members of the camp, or at least the ones present. Séan was a fiery little Irishman, who told you his entire life story as Dutch led you around, following the pair of you like a puppy. Javier was a heavy flirt, as you'd been warned by Arthur. Bill was simply too drunk to really care about your existence. Charles seemed nice. He'd introduced himself, and held kind eyes and words for you. When Dutch introduced you to the girls, it was like having a bunch of golden retrievers jumping on you. They all had questions to ask before Ms. Grimshaw yelled at them to get back to work. But when Dutch introduced you to Micah? You got a bad feeling. Everything about the man, from his appearance to his slimy eyes made you want to curl up far, far away from the man. Thankfully, Arthur saved you. It seemed the tent was done, and you now had a place to rest your head. It was starting to get late, and you did feel rather tired. Arthur seemed to notice, and as soon as you hit the edge of the tent, he told you goodnight, and he hoped you slept well. You fell onto the cot, and sleep overtook you.

Taglist: @soupiepoopie

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #red dead 2 #dutch van der linde #fanfic #bill williamson #kieran duffy #im bad at writing #john marston

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luckyshotwrites · 1 year

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same anon as the fav character description anon

if each one of the main-cast characters of WIDFALI had to teach a class what would it be and what kind of teacher would they be?

I'm sorry, this is the meme that popped into my head when I read that you were the same anon! xD But Howdy! You're coming back at me again with another sick question!

If each one of the main-cast characters of WIDFALI had to teach a class what would it be and what kind of teacher would they be?

(This post is long so I did a keep reading for you guys)

(First I wanna say, this really makes me want to do a second person AU where they are teachers at a college and hijinks ensue, vore/not vore related. I might have votes for the parts, who knows. It'd be something funny to do and you know me and ridiculous stuff).

Lynette: I either see her doing elementary school math, she'd be a mother hen to them and I can see her really trying to pump these kids up to learn, using treats, funny voices, the likes. Math is her best subject, she's not that great at science, history, or the likes. OR I can see her, not as a teacher per say, but a high school/ maybe college counselor. She'd try to listen and be there for them, and help get them help if its needed. (She might have went into one these careers, if she had more confidence. Fun fact, Lynette didn't pass high school and got her GED rather "late" so she doesn't think she could ever do any of this. Another reason why this is her best option to settle the disappoint, she thinks her family has in her).

Alexander: He's hilarious to think about in this scenario. I don't think he has the patience to teach anything that's not physical. So, a gym coach, most definitely. Not that he's not good at other subjects, but I think he'd get fired real quick. xD I can imagine him either doing this in high school, or college. He might prefer college since they are the most determined for those scholarships, so he could push them to the limit.

Drake: He's a weird one to think about. He's pretty well rounded, but most definitely a language (any) teacher. His classes would probably be calm for the most part, informative, and he'd be the hardest teacher to get a reaction from even if the kids, in high school, wanted to get one from him. He's very studious when learning new languages. It hasn't come up yet, but he knows a lot from Yexodele even though he has never been there, and videogames/movies that he's enjoyed. He has an appreciation and like for the sounds and writing for them.

Lev: This man should not be teaching. xD But, social studies/history. WEIRD right? I know. He actually has a vast knowledge of history, and given his sleep schedule, he has much more time to study it. Though, he likes competition, I can see him wanting to compete heavily with people, SO in college, he'd do business courses or law, he'd love to be able to sway court rooms, or beat someone at their own haggling game. Again, Lev has a plethora of knowledge. He likes to keep himself busy whether it be watching, reading, or DOING something. He'd be wicked at teaching it but it'd be a challenge to pass his class.

Claudia: You guessed it, SCIENCE. The humans magic. Lol. She actually loves it and has been trying to understand it but her Fae brain's like, "we could use magic to do this better though." If she stayed and focused on it, she would definitely be that crazy science teacher. She'd want to come up with some of the most out there but safe experiments for those she teaches. At least to make their class life a little more exciting.

Zilla: Oh boy- I'd say Psychology. I can see her really getting into it to find out what makes others tick, and how she can get them to follow along. (Makes her sound really manipulative, eh?) She'd like using it as a way to understand people better. As a teacher, she'd be strict but very open to debate and discuss topics. I feel like handling or keeping a classroom together wouldn't be a challenge for her, she'd use tactics based on their types to keep them in line.

(I don't think Viola counts as a main cast, as she's...a little different).

THANK YOU FOR THE ASK, HOMIE! These are so fun to think about. AND HAVE A NONNEGOTIABLE SWEET DAY!

#widfali ask #luckyshotwrites #this do be good. xD #I'm really debating doing that second person thing #I think I'd be fun with the scenarios you could run into.#IF I somehow sprout with time as i still have other things to finish i will do it.

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leam1983 · 4 months

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"The Nature of Love" - Thoughts

My uncle Roger (fictitious name, as always), is someone whom I'll stick with a long-deceased movie critic's first name as retirement's brought about a kind of informal career development. Namely, after working for the Feds up Quebec for several decades, he's turned into the type who emails us every single year's best movies, according to him.

Roger and his girlfriend Martha aren't exactly blockbuster types, except in a few rare instances. Most of everything they gush over's been selected at Cannes - and this year included Monia Chokri's The Nature of Love.

We follow Sophia (Magalie Lépine-Blondeau), a Postgrad lecturer in Philosophy who's the exact type I came to know all-too well, during my time at my old alma mater: a thesaurus on two legs, her head stuffed with theories on anything and everything, with a pseudo-informed opinion all packaged up and ready for five-to-seven dinners with colleagues that devolve into inebriated pontification. We realize that she's unhappy with her current partner, another Postgrad lecturer by the name of Xavier (Francis-William Rhéaume) with whom she loves geeking out, of course - but for whom she no longer manifests any sexual attraction.

Enters Sylvain Tremblay, played by Pierre-Yves Cardinal, the handyman Sophia and Xavier hire for sprucing up their lakeside cabin. Sylvain's pretty much every woodsy contractor you've ever met: he wears flannel, has a constant five o'clock shadow, drives a Ford F-150 and has family up in Buck Country, where it isn't uncommon to see even bigger Fords with rigged-up support bars, typically decorated by the antlers of the last buck they killed. Sylvain's brash, honest, stomps away and screams when his feelings get the better of him - and has a bit of a jealous streak. Sophia obviously falls for him, with the movie taking pains to ensure we see that Sophia and Sylvain make for a terriffic pair in bed.

Very early on, I was annoyed by the framing device of Sophia's lectures, seeing as she was seemingly spending an entire semester discussing love. She spends the movie flip-flopping between a man she has intellectual compatibility but no sex drive, and another man with whom her sex drive is turned up to eleven - at the expense of nearly everything else. Similarly, we see her addressing Plato's definition of love as opposed to Schopenhauer's, then followed by other contemporary philosophers - and the movie dovetails exactly the way I expected it to.

Sophia feels slighted by Sylvain's poorly-timed proposal and for his offering of an entry-level all-inclusive package in a resort, drops her newly-received engagement ring in his glove box, and is left on the roadside.

All the while, Walt gave me looks. He noted that halfway through the movie, I took five to go get my mouthguard. I grind my teeth when I'm annoyed and oh boy howdy, was I annoyed...

See, Quebec as a cultural basin has a thing that I've noticed, a yen for a particular archetype, as far as fictitious characters go: that of the Pretentiously Soul-Searching Intellectual. From Denys Arcand's earlier work and onwards, we've sort of gotten stuck on the idea that people can spend decades stuffing themselves with knowledge, without ever finding enough time to figure out what makes them happy. The end-result is that you have simpler, more self-accepting characters like Sylvain, with his Ford and his humbly scrounged-for Puerto Vallarta getaway, who actually have a sense of Self - and then there's characters like Sophia, or like Alexandre Landry's Pierre-Paul Daoust, in 2018's The Fall of the American Empire, who idolize intellectualism to an extreme, but who also end up with a critical dearth of happiness and of self-assertion, as a result.

I ended The Nature of Love thinking that Sophia (with her very ironic name, come to think of it) would be better served if she abandoned her dreams of tenure, booked herself with a therapist and maybe took a year or so to find herself whilst on a backpacking trip across Asia.

In a sense, she reminded me of myself. In my Postgrad years, I was surrrounded with man and woman-children who were set for the narrow, unforgiving and extremely limiting ranges of Academia, and who attended Thesis lectures in pajamas, stained tee-shirts and unkempt beards - and who took calls related to their fucking laundry being done by their parents whilst attempting to come across as snooty enough to maybe shoot for a doctorate in ten years or so. I've left a world where most of the people I interacted with could shit out memoirs on the Post-Democratic anxieties of our Post-Post-9/11 world while not knowing enough to screw a lightbulb on their own - and I entered a world where people have arguably far less lofty aspirations.

My bigger concern used to be whether or not the three pedants in my promotion would shit down my defending the idea that Lovecraft could've been a repressed gay man before it was a trendy theory, and Walt's is whether or not Honda Canada is going to sanction the new promotions the Sales Directors cooked up for dealerships surrounded by whistling pines and miles of empty highway.

I've left a world that keeps searching for love in the pages of men and women who are never seen as offering a simple and honest exhortation to get out there and love someone - and I've done just that. I don't give a shit if all S.T. Joshi is for Walt is a funny name on some of my old thesis notes - I've left that kind of pedantry behind.

#thoughts #movie #the nature of love #quebec movies #life post

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nickgerlich · 11 months

Text

May I Take Your Order?

If Time Magazine were to determine their Person Of The Year honoree right now, I am pretty sure it would be a non-human entity we all know as AI. After all, AI has been in the news practically every day this year, and even though it first hit the mainstream last November with the release of ChatGPT, it was not until 2023 that it found its stride.

Now it is everywhere, this human-like force that has no body, no pulse, no organs other than a brain. And boy howdy, is it ever smart. Not perfect, but very, very smart.

A month ago I noticed a new feature had been added to my Spotify app, DJ “X.” Basically, it’s an AI DJ, which talks to me, calls me by name, and serves up three or four songs at a time based on “What you were listening to in the summer of 2019” or “I think you’ll like these.” I am an audience of one, and its playlist and presentation is entirely created with AI.

It’s not perfect, as I said above. He pronounces classic rock band REO Speedwagon as “Rio Speedwagon,” which is somewhat understandable given that DJ “X” isn’t really a human and wasn’t around in the 1970s like I was. And sometimes it tosses out a little speed metal, but probably only because I had never hit the Skip button once or twice in the past when I let their suggestion engine run freely.

Otherwise, though, DJ “X” is a frequent companion on my walks, especially once I have listened to all my podcast episodes of the week. Sure, I could listen to my own playlists, but I have worn those out completely. It’s nice to have a fresh perspective on what is more or less music I like.

Turns out that my buddy “X” is moonlighting at fast food drive-thrus now, and he couldn’t have come at a better time. Between rising wages and labor shortages, AI is filling an important gap in fast food sales. And, as I have said many times in recent years, automated workers never show up late, don’t get sick, don’t complain, and don’t form unions.

Who could ask for anything more?

The AI drive-thru is the perfect deployment of this technology, because it can address customers as soon as they arrive at the ordering kiosk, as opposed to dealing with humans whom are often juggling multiple tasks. They can upsell better than any humans, because they can think on the fly, offering additional items or meal deals that perfectly complement the original order. And I am sure the tech exists whereby a customer could login to an app or have a QR on their phone scanned so that loyalty points can be accrued.

This is all just the tip of the iceberg. Chatbots have quickly morphed into term paper-writing assistants, DJs, and now order takers. But can you begin to imagine where else we might see this soon? I am betting that Amazon’s Alexa will soon be packed with far more AI than it currently has, as will other household assistants. It will likely pre-populate my shopping list, because it knows what I buy, specifically certain brands as well as broader categories. And, it should offer recipes based on those things I consume frequently.

Google Maps and Apple Maps will learn ever more of our habits, and begin making suggestions without our having to query them. I am sure that by now Google already knows my love of Thai food and craft beer. I shouldn’t have to ask it; it should be volunteering this information. We’re getting close already, though, because Apple Maps knows my comings and goings, and as soon as I fire up the van at 9am, it tells me that traffic is light and I will drive at work in nine minutes. The same goes for the return trip. It’s so good that it recognizes my transient residences, meaning an overnight at an out-of-town hotel. If I go out for dinner, it tells me how long it will take to get back to my temporary home base, and, oh, here’s the route.

I could go on. AI is truly the Person Of The Year, and whether you find it just a bit creepy or not, it’s here to stay. It can be male. It can be female. Or it can be ambigenderous (I made that up). But it is much more than just an alter ego, it is “Other Me,” as it seeks to simplify my life.

I just hope it doesn’t go on a shopping spree or craft beer binge without my consent. That could be dangerous. Would you like fries with that sandwich?

Dr “Hold The Mayo, Please” Gerlich

Audio Blog

#marketing #AI #drive-thru #fast food

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jkhstuff · 1 year

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easter.

a few thoughts on the Super Bowl and (not) being dead.

Easter is hard. All of it, front to back.

A few years ago, a co-worker at my then-job excitedly informed me that Easter was “like the Super Bowl for Christians!” He himself was one such, and didn’t know I was… something in the vicinity.

But I always found that funny.

First and foremost, likening what believers consider the most cosmically significant event in all of history to something like the Super Bowl is… boy howdy, there’s a lot to riff on there. If I start, I might never stop.

I also found it funny — in a bitter, ironic sort of way — because I have never cared about the Super Bowl.

As a midwesterner, that certainly puts me in the minority. We love us our Big Game.

It can be very uncomfortable to find yourself surrounded by energetic and excited people, only to look at yourself and find you feel nothing at all. It’s never a pleasant experience, an enjoyable environment.

When I feel nothing at all about a football game, I don’t hate myself for it. I feel a little sheepish, maybe, but my apathy towards it doesn’t really bother me.

When I feel nothing at all for the days that commemorate what matters most in my faith — what ostensibly matters most to me, or at least should matter the most to me; maybe what would matter to me if my faith were genuine? is that it? —, I hate myself for it. And then I start to spiral.

Why don’t I feel this? Why can’t I feel this, be a part of this? What does that say about me? What does it mean for me? What’s wrong with me?

It turns this three day weekend into an emotional slog — feeling all kinds of shame and judgments for how “not feeling” I am.

I grew up in the church. I went through Christian schools and extracurriculars. And yet, at nearly thirty years old, I find myself feeling as though I don’t know a damn thing at all about God or God’s love or any of it.

And more often than not, I find myself feeling nothing at all — and wondering what to do with that; what that means for me.

The whole thing hurts. It’s exhausting.

I know I’m not alone in that. I know other people who feel the exact way I do.

But contrary to popular belief and pop-psych optimism, knowing you aren’t alone doesn’t ACTUALLY make the thing that hurts stopping hurting. Not entirely — if at all.

But the reason I’m writing this is because I know I’m not alone in feeling this way, and maybe somebody else needs to read that this weekend. There’s some futility to that (isn’t there always?), since not-being-alone doesn’t make pain just disappear.

But it’s worth being said: you’re not the only one who feels that way this weekend.

Now, this next part is going to feel a little out-of-left-field, but I hope you’ll bear with me.

The way I’m getting through this weekend —

— and maybe it’s denial, or self-delusion, or a failing of effort or character; maybe there’s more I should be doing, though I wouldn’t know what —

— is to look at myself, in all my numbness and apathy and frustration, all my self-hate and spiritual angst, and remind myself that the entire point of Easter is that deadness means nothing.

Easter is showing us — literally, metaphorically, metaphysically, and emphatically — that coldness and death are immaterial. And that no being understands or is better equipped to handle what is dead than the person of Christ.

It’s hard to write that. Those words feel empty and forced. It almost feels like I’m lying to you. That’s how much I’m struggling to connect with it right now.

But the thing is, I’m not pitching you on what I believe. My faith, such as it is, is in shambles. I am in no position to preach or evangelize or anything like that.

I’m just looking at the text, the story of Easter, and doing some very rudimentary reading comprehension exercises. Anyone with half a brain can look at the story and extrapolate this basic theme from the Easter narrative — that deadness and coldness are smaller than we believe them to be.

A nice idea, right? Just a nice idea. A cold comfort, maybe. And knowing you aren’t alone is also a cold comfort. Maybe cold comfort is all we have to deal in — at least, for the moment.

Easter is hard. I’m not feeling much at all. But the whole idea here is that numbness and deadness and coldness are not immutable. And maybe one day, things will feel — will BE — different.

Much love.

— Jake

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criscura · 2 years

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What if in the hitman AU Genos is kidnaped by some mob? Because 1)he's been digging in their business too much 2)he actually has a lot of information about other gangs. Also they later learn that he's related to that infamous hitman and they decide to use him to lure Saitama and get rid of him. But Saitama is basically in John Wick mode and well, did they seriously think they had enough men to stop him? Especially after taking Genos away?

i have been thinking about this since i saw it, and i like....... so i can't give my for-real answer because i have something I've been wanting to write that's vaguely similar, and also in that world it's pretty established that you just don't fuck around with Saitama. He'll turn down jobs if it seems like they're gonna be too much drama too, because.....he is lazy XD He does what he's paid to do and that's it. Essentially don't poke the bear ;;; Only idiots or beginners try to go after him, and they immediately lose their chance to learn any better. HOWEVER (under the cut)

you do see a little bit of what would happen in the fic, when they were T-boned and Saitama ripped a guy to actual pieces 'cause he felt like it was a targeted attack when Genos was in the car with him (followed by him railing Gen the second they were home because he was terrified he almost lost him XD). He's a strong boy with attachment issues and a on/off switch that's more of a big red button than anything ;;;

If something like that did happen..... Man. I don't really know how they'd handle it. Like Saitama would be blind raging his way through, but he's not invulnerable like he is canonically, so he'd fuck himself up a lot getting there. Genos too would be..... I can't imagine a scenario like that where it wouldn't leave permanent scars physically, mentally, and emotionally, and I think he'd be really messed up for a while after. I also don't know if, deep down, he'd feel like he deserved it, and what living through it would change in him. I don't think he'd stop, but I think he'd definitely get.....cagier. Not less confident but WAY quicker to bite. And both of them seeing the repercussions of their closeness that they have yet to fully acknowledge?

In the fun version nothing really traumatic happens to Genos and Saitama just fuckin. Y'know, V-for-Vendetta-s that shit until he saves Gen and they go to his apartment to boink for days XD What I think would really happen though...

It would be Bad ;;; Saitama's pretty justified in his fear that something's gonna happen to Genos, same way Genos is justified in worrying he'll live to see the day that Saitama never answers his phone again. They have commitment issues, but you can't really say they're wrong. And if Genos was stolen away and hurt to get to Saitama, there isn't a way to turn back time to make it not a cataclysmic event. They'd just be messed up T-T

((although so it's not so sad--the image of ground-zero Saitama bloody with Genos in one hand and a pointed gun in the other is E X T R E M E L Y hot and boy HOWDY have I also thought a lot about it XD))

#risky business #hitman!au #but like #i do have something for this that I've wanted to write for a bit #but i just don't want Genos needing that much saving

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bop-pipeguy · 2 years

Text

GunCon 2022 After Action Report

Day 3

First I want to apologize for not getting this up sooner, was kind of a wild week.

The final day of GunCon 2022 was pretty informative. The vendors from range day all set up tables in a section of Brownell’s warehouse and without the distraction of being able to shoot I was able to talk with a number of the vendors about their offerings. Getting hands on these products and listening to representatives without having to filter out gunfire allowed me to get a much better understanding on how these worked or what was special about them. Suffice to say it was a very interesting time. I won’t go into loads of detail because I already hit the big points with the last post.

I also took some time to wander the retail floor again and while I wanted to snatch up several guns, including the discontinued BRN-10B and BRN-1911, my budget simply did not allow it. So I decided to get branded items that aren’t found on the website. Added a shot glass to my collection as well as a coffee mug. My wife would have you think I have a problem with compulsively buying coffee mugs, but I assure you I have it all figured out.

@kurt_the_gunsmith @gunsmithbeard and myself at The Last Round

After dropping my purchases in the car I made my way around to the front of the building for some lunch, catered by Moe Cason Barbeque. Unfortunately I missed out on the brisket, but boy howdy the pulled pork and smoked chicken was some of the best I’ve ever had. If you’re ever in Des Moines be sure to hit up Moe’s.

Moe’s award winning Barbeque

Now, for the main event. The panel discussion. Admittedly, I’d never heard of about half of the panelists, or had heard the name but not seen their content. None the less the discussion was very interesting. The videos can be found on four different YouTube channels, TheGunCollective, We Like Shooting, Guns & Gadgets and Firearms Radio Network. The audience was invited to ask questions of the panel and some good questions concerning the state of the second amendment were asked. Alas, I couldn’t think of anything to ask.

After the discussion the party moved to The Last Round tent outside and I found my way back to that wonderful Cherry Bomb hard cider. There were a great many laughs and stories told, as well as some networking. I got to see several new Bureau of Propaganda field agents “patched in” and scored myself an invitation to another event, but we’ll keep that as a surprise for later.

Overall GunCon 2022 was an absolute blast. I can’t thank the gang at Brownell’s enough for inviting me, and The Gun Collective for putting it on. Someday I think it’d be pretty cool to be on the panel, but for now I’d be more than happy just attending again. 2023 should be even better and I highly encourage anyone interested to keep an eye out for the post on Brownell’s and The Gun Collective’s Instagram pages next May to see when tickets will be availible, they sold out in a half hour or something like that this year so you’d need to act fast, hence the obnoxiously long heads up I’m giving you.

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dandeebakes · 2 years

Text

Okay, I’m dropping a bit of the first fic I HAVE EVER written! It’s the first scene from a 5+1.

Five Times Rose Crimm Asks for a Puppy and One Time Ted Asks

I’m fully in the ‘Trent Crimm is a dog person’ camp, but single fatherhood and a demanding job is not the best sitch for puppy raising…but a lot can change when you no longer have said job and possibly(??) a second parent in the picture….

“Well, looky here, if it isn’t Trent Crimm of The Independent, admiring one of London’s most adoptable shelter pups.”

“Hello, Coach Lasso.”

“I didn’t know you were coverin’ this event; I woulda tossed ya a little inside scoop. Like which puppies gotta be kept in separate kennels, due to conflicting personalities and what not.”

“That would have been very generous of you, Ted,” Trent says, suddenly looking advantageous, “but I’m not here in a professional capacity. Not officially anyhow.”

Ted thinks he is being played when he hears a tiny, unseen voice.

“Daddy, I want this puppy.”

Ted looks down and notices a toddler crouched at Trent’s feet, peering into the kennel of a small terrier mix.

“Darling,” Trent says, picking up the tiny dark-haired toddler, rocking a long, impressive french braid. “We discussed this, remember? We agreed on a kitten. We can talk about a puppy again in a few years, when you’re a bit older.”

Ted’s not sure how to process this new information. Trent Crimm has a child. A child that he apparently talks to like a tiny adult. Up until this moment, Ted has known absolutely nothing about the man's personal life. He suddenly feels extraordinarily privileged to have this new knowledge. Trent Crimm, The Independent, is also Trent Crimm, The Dad of a Little Girl. Two, possibly three years old? And she is cute. Big green eyes and a similar mane of long dark hair.

“Trent Crimm, I didn’t know you had a little girl! And boy howdy is she cute.”

“Thank you, Ted, I agree. And no I can’t imagine you would have known, considering I’ve never mentioned it before. But since we are here, Coach Lasso this is Rosie. Rosie would you like to say hello Coach Lasso”

“Hello, Coach”, Rosie says timidly, her head resting on Trent's shoulder.

Ted notices she's toying with a lock of his at his shoulder. It reminds him of Henry. He used to do the same thing to Michelle, when he was tired or nervous.

“Hello there, Miss Rosie'', Ted says with a little wave. “I’m pleased as punch to meet ya. And don't worry about all that Coach Lasso stuff. You can call me Ted or Teddy. Did I hear y’all are in the market for a kitten today?”

“Mmm,” Trent hums in agreement. “Rose has a birthday coming up—”

“I’m going to be three next week!” Rosie is beaming now, holding out three fingers to Ted.

“THREE!” Ted shouts, feigning surprise. “ You’ve gotta kitten me. I was sure you were gonna say 16.”

“No,” Rosie giggles, “I’m only little.”

“Well, you coulda fooled me. But, hey, a kitten sure does sound like a swell birthday present.”

“Yes,” Trent agrees. “Much better than her initial request for a pony, which was immediately overruled. Then, of course, it was a puppy. Finally we finally agreed on a cat. The wisest choice for a three year old who adores animals, but is unfortunate enough to have a single father who works unconventional hours.

“Sure, I get that. You need a self sufficient pet. One who takes themselves to the loo, if you catch my drift.”

“I do.”

“Daddy, kittens!”

“Right, kittens. We’d better be going, before all the friendly ones are spoken for.”

Right, yeah, you don’t wanna get stuck with one of those aloof floofs, that have no interest in laps. Little advice, hang back and let the right one choose you.

“Of course,” Trent says with a chuckle, “Thank you, Ted”

“It sure was great to meet you, Rosie. And hey, I’ll send your dad home with a few of Teddy’s famous homemade biscuits next week, as a little birthday treat.”

“Biscuits?!”

“Heck yeah, little cutie!”

“Ted, that’s really not necessary. Please, don’t go to any trouble-”

“Nah, it’s no trouble at all.” Ted says, with a wave of his hand. “I make ‘em for Rebecca anyhow. There for our weekly ‘Biscuits with the Boss’ chats. Plus-” Ted leans in towards Trent in mock whisper, “She’s already heard me, so it’s too late to say no now. I can’t disappoint the birthday girl. Trust me, you’ll both love ‘em. It was a real pleasure to meet ya, Rosie. Happy purr-thday!”

“That’s very kind of you, Ted. She’ll be delighted. Say goodbye to Coach La—uh Ted, Rose.”

“Bye, Coach Teddy Biscuits!”

#I’ll post more if y’all seem interested #maybe I’ll post to ao3 if I don’t pass out from anxiety #ted lasso/trent crimm #Trent crimm #ted x trent #this might be part a large series with in this universe if I don’t chicken out #I’m shaking as I post this #I’m practicing dialogue these days and I really want to nail Trent’s voice but he makes me nervous #I need a ‘Trent crimm’s daughter’ tag

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zodiyack · 3 years

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Platform 9¾

Requested by anon: howdy, how are you? can you please do a story that follows the wizard theme? so tommy and the reader have a daughter and she has magic like her mother. she has a wand and can do spells and make potions and has spells books. and especially how tommy would react to it? Since he is a muggle and probably has never seen magic except when his wife does it. have a nice day. 💕

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x female!reader, Thomas Shelby & Female!Reader + daughter

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, soft!Tommy

Words: 1,148

Summary: (See Request)

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @jenepleurepasbaby, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @stuckysslag, @marquelapage, @captivatedbycillianmurphy, @psychkunox, @i-love-superhero, @stydia-4-ever, @peakyxtommy, @babylooneytoonz

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist | Cillian Murphy Masterlist

His little girl was eleven years old. Eleven fucking years old and on her way to the train station where she would be sent off to a school for people like her. At first, Tommy was hesitant to the idea. Not seeing his daughter, minus breaks, until summer? However, seeing the excitement on her face, as well as eavesdropping on his wife telling her stories about her time in the school, Tommy decided he would not be the one to hold his daughter back from it. Besides, being with people who were like her would make her feel normal, and that’s all he wanted for his daughter.

Now, on the car ride to London’s station, he felt a new feeling grip his gut like it were clinging for dear life. Y/n noticed his uneasiness and reached for his hand, offering her husband a warm smile when he turned his head slightly in response. Are you alright? She asked with her eyes.

He responded with sharp inhale. I’m fine.

Y/n dropped the topic, switching her attention to her daughter but not letting go of Thomas’ hand. “You’re going to love it there.”

“But I won’t be able to see you or daddy!”

Tommy’s heart ached at the panic in his daughter’s voice. She too would miss him greatly. That reassurance should’ve made him feel better, but it made the tugging feeling in his stomach worsen. His eyes even began to sting- not that he’d admit it.

“We’ll write to you, love.” His low voice quavered for a second, hinting that he was close to tears. Of course, Lavinia was too young to catch onto the voice crack’s true meaning, but the way his wife look at him, he knew she heard it.

“Your father is correct, my dear Lavinia. We’ll be sure to send you an owl whenever possible! Photos too.”

A happy gasp cued the glow of her eyes, the little Shelby witch already envisioning her opening letters during breakfast, then writing back in class whilst she listens for anything she should be taking note on. Her mother had already informed her of the letters, howlers, owls, everything. Her imagination was swarming with what she thought Hogwarts would be like.

Tommy couldn’t help but smile, his daughter’s joy spreading to himself. It was like an infection, spreading from his ears and eyes to his heart, but instead of curing the worry forming within him, it only brought more strength to the punch it packed. His smile slipped slightly, but nevertheless, he pushed through.

“Moving ones? Like the ones on your desk in your room?”

“Mhm!” Y/n nodded.

He thought about the photos Lavinia referenced. Moving photos, almost like they were in the exact moment once more, like the pictures, or also known as films, but in a photoframe. And magic.

They were minutes away from the station, and Tommy swore the pain in his abdomen had never nagged more than it did now. He’d nervously bite his lip, twiddle his thumb, glance over at Lavinia, a majority of his tells giving away the fact that he was most certainly not giving the road the attention he should’ve been.

“Thomas!” Y/n yelped as she gripped ahold of the wheel, leaning over and controlling the car with one arm until her husband was brought back down to earth with panic.

“Fuck!”

“Mummy, daddy said a bad word.” Lavinia dawned wide eyes. She’d heard him say many of the grown-up words before, but each time she still flashed back to the first time she’d said one and was given a lecture by her great-aunt Polly.

“Well, lovebug, you’ll just have to excuse your father this once. He did a silly.” Y/n gave her husband a side-glare as she sat properly in her seat again. “And no, that does not mean you can swear when you do a silly.”

“Unless you have good reason for it.” Tommy muttered with a chuckle. He only earned himself a small nudge from Y/n, which brought a teasing smirk to his lips.

The talk on the rest of the way was pretty small, only bits and pieces worth remembering...in the girls’ eyes. To Tommy, every moment with his girls were worth remembering. In fact, this very moment was one he wished never to forget.

He could quote their conversation word for word if asked to.

Lavinia looked both ways before frowning at her mother. “Mummy, there is no platform nine and three quarters.”

“That’s what the muggles see, lovie. But what we see...” She pointed at the brick wall that separated platforms nine and ten. “is right through that wall right there.”

A little smile crawled onto the lips of Lavinia and her mother, a knowing flick of her eyes and the sudden tight grip on her cart cued the preparation Lavinia held. She readied herself before squeezing her eyes shut and running for the wall.

Tommy’s eyes doubled in size. Sure, he’d seen magic before, after all, he was married to a witch, but seeing his daughter walk right through a wall as though it were nothing brought a race to his heart. He walked over, feeling the surface. Yep, indeed, it was brick.

He barely moved in time before Lavinia came hurdling back into the muggle world, a large grin on her face. “Did you see me daddy? Did you see me!?”

“I did, Lavi. It was quite impressive!” He swept her up into his arms, like he did when she was little, and pressed kiss after kiss on her cheeks, the baby-fat still evident in the way they squished with each peck.

“Mummy, help! It tickles!”

Despite her cries for assistance, she only received more attack kisses. Giggles filled their ears, and a harsh tug ripped at Tommy. He thought it oughta be gone by now, but he was incorrect.

Y/n stopped to look at her husband more closely. “Tommy, are you alright?” Concern traced her features.

“Yeah, I’m afraid I’m a bit...sad to see little Lavi go. Seems just yesterday she was playing with uncle Finn and Isiah, they were so little too.”

“But now I’m big, daddy! And I’m going to school so I can do magic like mummy!” Lavinia gave her father a toothy grin.

“I thought mummy said you can’t do magic out of school?”

“Not until she’s of age. Then we can do all the magic we want, isn’t that right Lavi?”

An equally as mischievous look made the mother-daughter duo look even more similar than reality. Tommy chuckled. Although Y/n had to keep him out of trouble, he’d be doing some protecting himself, and not just keeping boys- or girls, he doesn’t judge- away from his little Lavinia. She was going to school, she was going to become a properly trained witch. And just like her mummy, she was going to amaze him.

Or something like that.

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fantastic beasts au #harry potter au #magic au #x reader #imagine #zodiyack #reader insert #tommy shelby reader insert #platform 9 3/4 #platform 9¾

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taeescript · 3 years

Text

IX. Script of the Angel (m)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 >> This is the story of three very different people. A successful novelist, a blossoming artist and a dedicated cop. They seem to have nothing in common. Yet, they are continually drawn to each other. It is as if their fates have been intertwined. Written. That they must meet.

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 >> ft. jungkook and jimin primarily.

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 >> policeman!jimin, author!jungkook, painter!freader, serialkiller!XXX; a classic game of cat and mouse

𝔴/𝔠 >> 4.8k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 >> mature themes depicted. due to the explicit nature of the topic (serial killers, murders, violence, sexual content, infidelity etc.) this is rated 18+. to spare storytelling: please consider yourself warned. chapter warning: mentions of self-harm and infidelity; depictions of blood and murder.

𝔞/𝔫 >> topics discussed in this chapter may be brief, but they are serious. please take the warnings mentioned above seriously. if at any point this makes you uncomfortable, please stop reading.

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Jimin pulls up to the house, and his GPS beeps to tell him that he has arrived at location. He observes the scene from his spot in his car. He then steps out, walks to the door and rings the doorbell.

“Did you forget something?” Liza’s mother opens the door with the question. “Oh!”

Jimin gives an apologetic smile. “Sorry to bother you ma’am, but could I ask you a few questions? S.F.P.D.” He flashes his badge.

A few days ago, he had discovered that a vehicle had been rented out under the name Jeon Jungkook. Consequently, he had put in a request to his friends at the station to inform him of any and all movements of this vehicle. His friends had laughed at him, sending him quickly away as they did not have time to do this for him. Jimin thoroughly pleaded his case and had been given a simple tracking program in which he had used to follow Jungkook around today.

Liza’s mother steps out of the house and quickly closes the door behind her. However, she is not fast enough to hide Liza peering out from Jimin’s observant eyes.

“Your daughter?” he asks.

She becomes flustered. “I…You…Yes. Sorry, who did you say you were?”

He holds out his badge again. “S.F.P.D.”

“R-Right. I see your identification.”

The badge is put away.

“It’s just that we don’t usually have policemen coming to our doors and well, I didn’t want to scare Liza, my daughter,” her mother continues.

“It’s not a problem, ma’am, and I’m very sorry to have to interrupt your day like this.”

Shaking her head, she waves his concern away.

“Would you be available to answer a few questions right now? It won’t take much of your time,” he tells her.

She nods.

“Did you have any visitors at your house today?” he starts.

“Visitors? Well…” she rambles off a few names and then stops. He hopefully looks on and exhales only when she speaks again. “There was also a man who stopped by. A few minutes before you actually.”

Finally, he is getting somewhere.

“I see. This man you speak about. Have you seen him before?”

“No. That was my first time. I think he worked for an insurance company? He wasn’t even supposed to be at our house; he was looking for a Mrs. Fallon perhaps down the street,” she tells him. A sudden thought dawns upon and she gasps, horror splashing ugly across her face. “He’s not some criminal, is he? Heavens! He seemed like such a nice man as well!”

He places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “There’s nothing to worry about. Could you tell me a little more about him? You said he worked for an insurance company?”

The woman is extremely nervous. He can read it off her body language as she continues to tug at the hem of her shirt. His previous words had not been any consolation to her at all. He appeals one more time.

“Truth be told, I’m here investigating claims about a group assuming fake identities to sell illegal goods to occupants in this area.”

“You don’t think….!” she holds a hand over her mouth.

He shrugs. “We’re not too sure yet. However, if you help answer some of these questions, we’d be able to track down this group quicker.”

“O-Of course! The man showed me some papers. I couldn’t get a real good look, but I think I saw a logo on there. That one with the giant “L” and the twigs that stick out on the side. I can’t remember the name of the company, however…” her voice trails off.

She doesn’t need to explain further as Jimin recognizes the logo.

“Not a problem. Well, that’s all for today. Thank you so much for your time, ma’am,” he nods and begins to leave.

“That’s all? I haven’t even given you the name!” she calls after him.

“You’ve been very helpful!” he shouts behind him, “Have a good day and stay safe!”

He enters his car quickly to prevent her from calling out at him again. The logo she had explained is one he is familiar with. It is one he’s seen often at the building two blocks away from the station, and he knows for a fact that Jungkook does not work for that company.

All Jungkook had done was talk to the woman. They had barely exchanged enough words for her to even remember who he was. However, he was also clearly not there to sell any type of insurance.

If so, what had Jeon Jungkook been doing at that house then?

…................

“Excuse me, would you be able to tell me where I can find this gentleman?” she slides the wallet sized photo of herself and said man to the receptionist.

The pretty lady on the other side faintly smiles upon seeing it. “Your husband?” she asks.

Krystal blushes. “Oh no. He’s my boyfriend. I was hoping that maybe you can locate him.”

The lady’s eyebrows furrow upon her words. “Is he missing? I can direct you to the Missing Person’s Unit.”

“No!” Krystal immediately blurts, “Sorry. I mean, he’s not missing. He had told me previously that the station had called him in for an interview? He’s not involved in any crime. They only wanted to ask him some questions.”

Her fingers fly across the keyboard while chewing on her pen. After a few moments, the receptionist looks back up at Krystal for a brief moment. “What did you say his name was?”

“Jeon Jungkook.”

More typing. “Ah, yes. He came in quite some time ago. I have him signed in to visit the Homicide Unit with Lieutenant Wang.”

“Ah, would you be able to direct me to the Lieutenant?”

“Well, I can’t just have you going in…” the receptionist bites her lips in thought. She scratches something down on her notepad before her head snaps up again.

…...............

Namjoon and Jimin had returned from their lunch break. Jimin had only been planning to go down for a quick sandwich at the cafeteria but he had been dragged along by Namjoon to go to the nearby Thai restaurant. It all started when Jimin had observed that Namjoon had an unopened lunch bag on his desk.

“Youngji made lunch for me,” Namjoon had said.

Perhaps this is the opportunity to bring up his suspicions on Jungkook; he hadn’t spoken of the matter to Namjoon for a while now. In fact, he hadn’t even told his supervisor about the vehicle tracking he did a few days ago.

“Oh? What did she make you?” Jimin had innocently asked. How he regretted the decision.

The entire time they were out, Namjoon had complained about his wife’s cooking – especially her renewed passion for cooking green foods (for a brief time, Youngji had stopped). His complaints had paused while they were physically partaking in their lunch meal, and Jimin had thought Namjoon forgot about it, but on their walk back to the station, Namjoon began ranting again. He hadn’t even had the chance to bring up Jungkook’s name let alone his recent observations.

“I don’t even like green beans. I try to tell her, but she insists on making them because they’re healthy,” Namjoon groans, “How does one tell their wife to stop cooking for them?”

Jimin sighs. “Maybe simply saying ‘Please stop cooking for me’.”

That causes Namjoon to roll his eyes. “This is why you’ll never get married. You can’t just tell your wife that her food sucks. I have thick skin when it comes to speaking up to anybody else, but her… I’d rather just down it.”

“You didn’t though. You threw it out and we went out for Thai instead.”

Namjoon does not seem to hear what Jimin has said; as they are walking into the station, he harshly jabs Jimin in the ribs.

“Namjoon what – ” Jimin glares at his friend.

Namjoon nods his head in the direction. “Hot girl, alert. Like 10/10.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “You’d better not let Youngji catch you saying that…” his sentence trails off when he notices the girl who stands at the receptionist’s desk.

She is immensely pretty. Her light brown hair hangs in waves down her back and her smooth, long legs are accentuated under the black skirt she is sporting. She is also wearing a body-hugging turtleneck that wraps around her athletic body, naturally drawing attention to her flushed curves.

“Damn,” Namjoon whistles lightly under his breath, “Do you think she’s a good cook?”

This time, Jimin fails and the laughter bursts out. The sudden sound draws both the receptionist and the beautiful woman’s attention towards the two of them.

“Lieutenant!” the receptionist calls over.

The two men shuffle over like shy school boys.

Now that they are standing closer and that they could see her face, they are even more impressed by her natural beauty. Her make up is light and makes her skin appear soft and dewy. Her bright eyes greet theirs and she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, an unconscious seductive gesture in their minds. When they finally reach her, she beams them a smile of perfectly aligned white teeth.

“Howdy,” Namjoon goofily says. He clears his throat once and tries again. “Um, hello. I’m Lieutenant Kim Namjoon.” He extends a hand.

Krystal shakes it.

“Detective Park Jimin,” Jimin introduces himself sequentially.

She takes his hand as well. He notes how warm yet strong her grip is.

“They’ll be able to help you better,” the receptionist smiles.

“Oh?” Jimin tilts his head at the question.

Krystal opens her mouth to explain the reason she is at the station when Namjoon interrupts before she can speak.

“It’s rude to make a lady wait and stand here. Perhaps I’d be able to invite you to his office so the two of you can talk comfortably there?”

“His office? Are you not the Lieutenant?” Krystal asks, slightly confused.

Namjoon laughs. “Yeah I am. But uh… I just remembered that I, um, have some business to take care of for the other… thing. I mean, case. I have to take care of a meeting to see a case.”

Jimin glares at Namjoon.

“You’ll be left in capable hands though. Detective Park is the best in our unit,” Namjoon says. He gives them a quick wave and the wiggle of his brows towards Jimin before leaving the station despite having just returned to it.

Jimin wants to hit Namjoon, but he really could not leave the mysterious stranger standing by herself. He turns to Krystal again.

She is regarding him with a slight grin. “He’s a strange one, isn’t he?” she comments.

“You can’t even begin to imagine,” he returns with a roll of his eyes, “This way.” He leads her towards the elevators up to his floor.

“I’m really sorry to be a bother,” she says while they wait. She waits until he has pressed the button before continuing, “It’s really nothing much. I’m just looking for somebody.”

“If you’re looking for somebody, shouldn’t you be speaking to the MPU?”

“MPU?”

“Sorry, slip of the tongue. Missing Person’s Unit.”

She scrunches her nose. “He’s not missing… He’s somewhere here. The last time we spoke he told me he had been called in here, so I thought to try my luck. Perhaps you’ve seen him?”

Her words are confusing to Jimin. They don’t make sense.

The lights above head start to slowly flash as the elevator comes down to meet them.

“I’m sorry, this is probably really bizarre right now; I haven’t even introduced myself formally. I’m Krystal,” she extends her hand again. It awkwardly hangs there for a quick second before she retracts it a second time, remembering that they had already exchanged handshakes.

Jimin gives her a warm smile. She was nervous, for some strange reason. “Not to worry, Krystal. Do you have a name?”

“Jeon Jungkook,” she says.

“No, he isn’t,” Jimin mumbles. “At least for now,” he keeps that part to himself. He turns back to Krystal. “I saw him. He came in to do an interview for me.”

He is not fast enough to conceal his disgust at the mention of the man’s name.

Krystal catches the brief microexpression, however. “Please don’t tell me that he’s in trouble.”

“Oh! So you did see him! Would you be able to tell me where he is staying currently? I tried to call him earlier but he was busy…”

“I could. But first you are his…”

“Girlfriend.”

Ah. So this was the woman Jungkook had mentioned. Again, he is relives the bitter taste in his mouth from when Jungkook had told him that he had been out with another woman. Jimin tightens his fist when a thought crosses his mind.

“Girlfriend, you say?” he repeats. Perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone.

She nods, animatedly. Krystal is excited that she had been able to bump into the handsome detective. He seemed to know about Jungkook’s whereabouts in this foreign city.

“He’s staying with a friend of mine. I could give you her address, if you’d like,” Jimin tells her.

She takes his bait. “Her…?” she repeats silently to herself.

“Is something the matter?” Jimin asks.

Krystal looks back up at him with a smile. “Nothing!” she says, “I’d appreciate that a lot, Detective Tuan.”

Jimin nods. He writes out your address on a piece of paper and hands it to her. “I hope you find him,” he encourages her.

The elevator doors before them open and wait for its passengers.

“Mhmm,” Krystal says. The initial excitement her voice held is audibly dampened. She thanks him and walks away.

Jimin enters the elevator alone. There is a knowing smile on his face. Perhaps this lady would finally be able to get Jungkook out of your life once and for all.

…...............

We all have that thing, don’t we? That one thing we know we should not do, yet we succumb into its temptation each and every time because it’s so good. Despite it destroying our body, the thought of not being able to yield torments the passing thoughts in our mind and coaxes us to believe that it is okay.

Let us listen to it this one last time. Just this one last time and we promise ourselves that we will never do it again. Just this one last time and we will then walk away. That is the argument we have and boy.

We’ve lost.

The feeling of absolute bliss washes over your body as you stand in the shower, allowing the hot water to run across every inch of skin. It feels like a large warm hand that massages your shoulders, calves, back – each muscle on your body. You are aware that the temperature is too high but it feels too good for you to turn it down.

After avoiding the studio for so long, you had finally brought yourself around to go back to it. Min had been ecstatic when you walked in. You had not seen each other in a little over two weeks and with you not responding to any of her nor mutual friends’ calls, she had thought something had happened to you.

Min is your best friend. There is no doubt about it. The two of you shared everything so Min had been slightly disappointed when you failed to tell her why you had suddenly disappeared.

You had taken out the large canvas from your bag instead after the initial hug ended. You rolled out the painting and asked Min for her opinion.

“It’s a little… sporadic,” was all Min could say.

“Sporadic… that’s one way to put it,” you grimaced, “I don’t like it. But it’s nearly complete, and I don’t have time to make a new one.”

“Are you making it for a client?”

“No.”

Min was seen biting the inside of her cheek with all of your mysteries. You had felt bad so you told her, “Remember that guy I told you about? It’s for him.”

Her eyes seemed to light up now that you were speaking again. “Oh yeah! Jungkook! You had been working on it for quite a while, right?”

You nodded.

“Well, how about I go out and get us our favourite donuts from the bakery? I know good food always helps me get over artist’s block!” Min had offered. Before you could tell her otherwise, you were looking at the back of your petite friend rushing out the door into the autumn wind.

With not much of a choice, you had settled down at your usual corner. The studio was quiet. There were a few people here and there, but they were mainly minding their own business. They gave you a small smile as you walked around collecting your usual art utensils.

Once you were sitting in front of the painting again, staring at the blacks, navy, bruise-like purples, you started falling into darker thoughts - the same thoughts that are infesting you now that you are alone in the shower again.

You grab the shampoo and start lathering it into your hair.

Baekhyun… How many years has it been since that happened? Why was it that he continued to torment you like this despite the fact that he was gone? The most difficult moment had been the few weeks right after the incident. Every little thing you did, you were reminded of him. You couldn’t even go out without breaking down into tears; going out meant walking on the path to the studio that you had done so many times with him.

It had taken time, but slowly you thought your wounds had or were at least beginning to close. Yet, Jimin had opened them when you discovered he was still searching for Baekhyun. It wasn’t entirely Jimin’s fault. He was only doing what he thought was right. Still, he shouldn’t have hid it from you.

You blamed that for your moment of weakness. Seeing yourself physically wounded made you think of the wound that had been reopened in your heart. It made you think of the safe haven you used to have with the man you loved. They had been so close to saying their vows – till death do us apart – that was only supposed to be the case when they both grew old. It wasn’t supposed to be their truth so early on.

Baekhyun, am I allowed to fall in love again?

Turning the water off, you step out of the shower. The blast of cold air that hits you makes you tremble, and it is like a clear ring of water in your muddled pool of thoughts.

You shake your head, causing droplets of soapy water to fly everywhere.

You are not in love with Jungkook. There is absolutely no way that can be true. You are grateful to him for being there when you needed – and that is quite often lately. However, you could not find another reason for your speeding heart and dizziness you felt whenever he came home. Could he really be the one to blame for all the moments of breathlessness and chest aches?

Is it okay for me to have new feelings after losing you?

The mirror has been fogged up and you wipe away the condensation with a hand. Peering back at you is a tired girl with long, dark hair that is plastered to your cheeks. Your skin is flushed pink because of the heat and pressure of water. Your lips are flattened and slightly downturned. Your eyebrows are unkempt, and a pimple pushes it way at the side of your nose and all along your T-zone. Fingernails are too long because you have forgotten to cut them; still with chipped pink polish coating the pinky.

You let out a low chuckle. Who would love someone as broken as you? Your eyes dart to a pair of tweezers that sit on the shelf. You pick it up and observe how sharp the edge of the metal object is. You press your fingertip on it until they dig in and you feel the familiar lullaby sting of pain run from that sensitive area down your spine.

You didn’t need to actually draw blood to feel it. Your body is already messed up enough that this is where you momentarily pause.

The one person who had always been there as your supporting foundation is long gone. You had not found the strength to admit it, but you had been flailing in quicksand for a while now.

What’s a house without its foundation? It can only sink until it becomes no more.

You press harder, sending another chilling flash over your body. Your breath quickens and you feel that your lips are dry, although you have only stepped out of the shower.

Is this what others have felt? The addiction that comes the moment you start.

You close your eyes, forcing your body to continue when the sound of a door being slammed shut scares you.

The tweezers fall to the floor.

…................

Shit.

Jungkook thinks as he takes off his shoes. There are still dark brown spots on it despite him intensively scrubbing them for five minutes straight in the car with a cloth. He contemplates on throwing his jacket on the ground, but seeing the state of shoes, he needs to be careful. Bending down, he picks them up and decides then that he must burn them.

He is so engrossed in his thoughts he doesn’t notice that he is not the only one home.

Looking around the floor, he finds the closest source of water and strides to it. He lets the water from the kitchen tap run until steam rises from it in which he then proceeds to take off his clothing. He throws in both the jacket and his stained white shirt. He then presses them down until the scalding water hits his own skin.

He hated acting out like this without a plan. He hated it with such a passion, but he hated even more the reason he went out and did it. His kills were always methodically thought out and never without reason. That homeless man in the alleyway shouldn’t have said anything when Jungkook walked by. He should have stayed mute, crammed in that dark corner, and harassed the next person that walked by. Not him. No. That decision only resulted in him lying lifeless in his own bloodied mound of dirt.

How could he have let somebody into his car? How was it even possible that he had allowed someone to monitor him to this extent? To have somebody take this much control of his life.

Each stab, a way to release the frustration he felt to his unknown attacker.

He is reminded of the knife at that moment. He should dispose of that as well. It was likely not possible that they would be able to trace the kill back to him – many people died out in the streets each night – but he needed to be careful, nonetheless.

He drains the water and watches the red-brown liquid swirl down the drain. Lifting his white shirt, he sees that the stain is still there. With a clenched jaw, he throws the heavy cloth against the wall, creating a loud smack.

The kill should have calmed him down. He should be feeling much better, but he doesn’t. Instead, he feels worse than before because now he has lost a perfectly good shirt and a jacket along with his pride.

With one hand braced against the counter of the kitchen, he takes out the bloodied knife from his pocket. He fumbles to flip it open but cannot due to the temporary paralysis on his fingers from drowning them in the hot water. Bracing the bulk of the item against his side, he forcefully digs into it with his fingertips. It slips and nicks his bare skin on the side.

…...............

You had had to sit down on the floor after your scare from Jungkook slamming the door shut. The unused tweezers had lain beside you for a while before you could pick it back up and return it to its spot. You busied yourself with getting dressed and going out to greet him.

As you throw the long-sleeved t-shirt over your head, you let out a bitter laugh. You were too weak to even do something like inflict pain on yourself. Jungkook’s perfect timing of returning home had stopped you.

You are twisting your damp hair into a bun when you hear a loud yell from the kitchen area.

“Fuck,” Jungkook snarls. It is deeper than it should have been. He had been aware how much force he had been trying to use to snap the knife out. The self-inflicted wound above his hip continues to ooze, mocking him red in his anger.

“Jungkook?!” You run towards him. You turn the corner and see him shirtless in the middle of the kitchen, one hand holding his side with a reddish liquid running between his fingers. “Oh my god! What happened?”

He feels the drape of your wet hair against his chest before anything. You are immediately by his side, putting your hand over his to place pressure on the wound. Not bothering to ask why he is standing without a shirt, you look up at him concerned.

“My hands slipped while I was trying to take out the knife,” he explains to you.

Again without questions, you lead him to the couch and order him to sit down. He obeys and you leave momentarily to get the first aid kit. When you return, you start to dress his wound. Everything is starting to resolve until Jungkook suddenly chuckles, wincing when it causes his wound to slightly tear.

“Jeon Jungkook!” You reprimand.

He grips the couch while you pour medical alcohol over it. “How ironic,” he says, voice laced with fatigue.

You had thought your heart had fallen out of your chest when you found him bleeding. All the worst possible scenarios had suddenly flown across your mind, and you thought that you were going to watch him die before you.

Not again, your heart has screamed before you could stop it.

Even now, as you were faced before the relatively small but deep wound, you could not stop the racing sensation you felt both mentally and physically.

“What are you talking about?” you say.

He hears the tremble in your voice. How strange.

Lilacs. That is what he is smelling from your shampoo.

“I’m usually the one to patch you up when you’re hurt. Now it’s the other way around,” he sighs.

“You haven’t even begun to explain what you were doing, trying to take out a knife while standing shirtless in our kitchen.”

“Our…” he laughs again.

You had fully been meaning to smack him for making it harder for you to clean the wound until it registers in your mind what he had said. What you let slip.

“You said ‘our kitchen’. I thought I was only a tenant here,” he says.

“Well you’ve… I mean… Y-You are…” you stutter.

Jungkook rests his head back, feeling an extreme form of tiredness on his body. Everything that had happened that day comes crashing down, knocking his breath out completely. It is as if somebody had thrown consecutive punches and he is now feeling its after effects. His stalker, the random kill, this self-inflicted wound.

You mumble something.

“What was that?” He is knocked out of his thoughts. He looks down at the top of your head. The wound has been covered but your fingers linger on his body, and he feels their coldness on his heated skin.

You mumble again.

He is tired, but you have been kind enough to help him with any questions. He can at least humour this by being patient towards you.

You don’t know what has come over you. You hadn’t meant to say it, but Jungkook’s words had flustered you. You let a single word slip out and it had acted like a key to unlock the next ones that tumble out.

“I like…” you whisper, your voice still buried beneath the veil your hair creates. You don’t even know if you truly mean what you are about to say.

You feel his fingers slip beneath your chin and tilt your head up to him. He stares at you with an unwavering type of patience and attention.

“It won’t help if you keep whispering what it is you want me to hear to my chest. Talk to me like this,” he says slowly, holding your eyes with his. There is an intense fire blazing when you meet them.

Your palms prick as they start to sweat. You gulp and wet your lips.

“I like you!” you blurt, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks immediately after, “I know it doesn’t make sense but – ”

He silences you with his lips.

...................

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 (open): @yoonchrisgull

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