#but everywhere i turn its christianity

[cybrsan]

Miracle Of The Season — J.JK

STORY SUMMARY: Cast out of Heaven after a painful betrayal, you find yourself having to navigate the intricacies of human life without any guidance from the Creator or the family you have always known. Things only get worse as the holiday season reaches its peak, with reminders of the life you left behind everywhere you look. When a familiar face pops up, you aren’t sure whether to consider it a blessing or a curse.

PAIRING: Angel Jungkook x Fallen Angel F!Reader

RATING/GENRE: M ; angst, fluff, smut ; second chance romance, angel AU, soulmate AU

WORD COUNT: 17.2k

WARNINGS: Heavy themes of religious trauma, an initially negative view of Christianity transforming into a more neutral/respectful view of individual faiths, initial dismissal of other religions, difficult self-growth journey, homelessness, very brief mentions of murder and rape

OTHER/NSFW WARNINGS: Sharing one-bed trope (kinda), mistletoe trope (teehee), first time, fingering, cunnilingus, hand job, unprotected sex

A/N: This is a lot. The story definitely got away from me, but I think that's because there was so much I wanted to say. I definitely could have made this longer, and if I had time/wasn't such a slow writer, I probably would have. It's a heavy topic, but it's one that is near and dear to my heart and one that I think a lot of people can relate to. If you do, I hope this story feels a bit healing.

A/N 2: This is based on the vibes of his song "Standing Next To You" and the m/v for it.

LINKS: Part of the Jingle All The Way! collab with my talented, wonderful friends. Cross-posted on AO3 and (eventually) Wattpad. Banner made by the lovely @kithtaehyung.

"—let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!"

You take a deep, calming breath as you pass the carolers. Their cheerful voices grate on your nerves, but you keep your head down and continue walking. Lashing out at them won't do any good, even if it might give you a moment of satisfaction. It's not like they're the source of your irritation anyway; the crowded streets are abuzz with the unrelenting chaos of the Christmas season, and you have been on edge all morning. 

Turning a corner, you enter a street closer to the shelter you have been calling home for the past year and a half. Immediately, some of your tension dissipates, and you feel like you can breathe a bit easier. There are fewer lights here and less noise, but a few decorations still attract your attention, like a moth to a flame. A nativity scene is proudly displayed in someone's window, and you stop dead in your tracks.

"Freedom of religion, my ass," you mutter bitterly as you tear your gaze away. Why does everyone and their mother seem to celebrate this stupid holiday? 

You know that for many, Christmas isn’t necessarily a holy season. Some humans just use the holiday as an excuse to wear obnoxious sweaters, play the same song on repeat, and spoil one another with gifts. Yet reminders of the celestial realm, of the life you have been cast out from, are everywhere. The nativity, for one. Then there are the carolers singing their songs, and the cartoonish cherub decals that can be found on shop windows, holding banners that proclaim, “Buy one, get one 20% off!” Even the name of the holiday is marked by one of His monikers. Christmas. 

It makes you sick. 

The weather doesn't help, either. Drawing your coat more tightly around yourself, you try to ignore the relentless chill that settles deep in your bones. You’re definitely not dressed warmly enough, ill-prepared considering the sensation of being cold is something you’re still getting used to. It is yet another item you have added to your ever-growing list of "whys.” The question of why God created snow joins the ranks of "why did He make spiders?" and "why is He the most selfish being in existence?" 

You sniff. Perhaps you let your emotions get the best of you at times.  

Emotions. Another thing that’s somewhat new. As an angel, you didn’t really have those. The only thing you ever thought about was following orders and how better you could praise His name. Ugh. It’s hard to believe now that you were ever so single-minded. Though, towards the end, you suppose that wasn’t the case. It all went awry when you started this “list” of yours—when you started questioning things. 

The moment that doubt had first crept into your mind seems like a lifetime ago. Reaching the status of archangel was something you had been working toward for millennia. It was a position that allowed you to work more closely with humanity; you were able to actually guide their paths and alter their destiny. 

At first, it was everything you had ever wanted. The miracles that occurred because of your intervention made you feel like you were doing something worthwhile. But you quickly learned that not all of your missions would be quite as fulfilling. 

You will never forget the first time you were put in charge of administering a holy test. The man had done nothing wrong, yet your higher-ups still insisted that he needed to be "tried by fire." The divine reasons were beyond comprehension, or so you were told. But watching the man suffer as everything he loved was taken from him, seeing the desperation and despair in his eyes… It felt wrong. That feeling stayed with you even as you watched the man's faith remain unbroken. Somehow, that made it worse. 

And then there were those who committed sinful acts and escaped punishment. You saw murderers and rapists living their lives in peace while innocent souls suffered unjustly at their hands. The scales of justice seemed unfairly balanced, and you began to feel crushed by the weight of your guilt.

Thus, the degradation process began. For the longest time, you thought it was a myth, a scary story told to keep angels in line. If you doubt, if you disobey, you begin withering away into nothingness. You'll start to feel things, to lose your sense of purpose. It will be painful and overwhelming and, eventually, you'll cease to exist entirely. You were told that if it were to happen, you must report it to a superior at once. But you were terrified. 

There was only one person you trusted enough to share the way you were feeling—your other half, your celestial counterpart. The one who knew you like no other did. Your Astrom, Jungkook. 

There is an old celestial folk tale that documents the first creation of an Astrom pair. It is said God took one star and split it into two. Neither half could live without the other, nor would they want to. It is difficult to describe the way you felt for him, as angels are devoid of personal desires or emotions as humans experience them. It was simply as if being with him was as natural as breathing. He was the only being other than the Creator that you felt beholden to, that you admired. 

When you first revealed your doubts to him, he simply listened, displaying a level of patience that you found comforting. He answered your questions about morality, about justice as best he could, trying to reassure you that everything happened for a reason. Yet no matter how persuasively he argued, your doubts wouldn't go away. 

Eventually, you began to start contemplating letting yourself fall from grace. The thought was terrifying, but at the same time, there was a certain allure to it. To Fall meant to renounce your celestial responsibilities, and that included no longer having to inflict pain on innocent souls. 

When you confessed this dangerous thought to him, Jungkook gave you a look that you couldn't decipher. All you remember is what he said next: "If you Fall, I shall Fall with you."

His words had been unexpected, and you didn’t know whether to take comfort in them or not. You didn’t want him to share your fate, to bear the burden of your guilt. Could you live with yourself if he Fell too? The answer was an obvious no. But the mere thought of being alone in your struggle was something you couldn’t stomach either. So, you attempted to keep your dissent to a minimum and perform your duties as required. But it wasn’t long before everything fell apart regardless.

Eventually, you were discovered and brought before the celestial court. You were accused of blasphemy since questioning Him was an unforgivable sin and sentenced to Fall, to be cast out from the life you have always known. Yet, the real blow came when you found out who had betrayed you. 

Jungkook.

Your Astrom. 

The one you had trusted implicitly, the other half of your celestial star, had betrayed you in the name of divine loyalty. The pain of the Fall, the feeling of your grace ripped from your body, the scorching burn of your wings as they turned to ash—none of this could compete with the raw, gut-wrenching anguish of his betrayal. 

Even now, months later, remembering makes you feel as if you can't breathe, as if you might die. Every memory of him is like a punch to the gut, and the city, so full of noise and life, does nothing to drown out the agony. Some days, the pain is so vivid and unbearable that it feels as though you are Falling all over again.

A rough shove against your shoulder makes you stumble, and the man who ran into you barely grunts out an apology before continuing past. At least the disruption is a timely one, allowing you to pull yourself out of your thoughts before you spiral. There’s no point focusing on the past when there’s nothing you to do to change it, especially not when you have a myriad of new human concerns to deal with.  

Your job hunt was, once again, unsuccessful. You keep telling yourself that it’s because it’s so close to the holidays and you’ll have a better chance once the new year comes. In reality, you’re sure it’s because you have no experience, no schooling, and no useful knowledge.

At least you’re familiar enough with the city now that zoning out didn’t prevent you from getting to your destination. 

Lost Star Shelter.

The place you’ve been calling home. It’s certainly not perfect, but little on Earth ever is. You feel awful stepping past the crowd of people waiting outside its doors, knowing that they, like you, have nowhere else to go. You've been fortunate enough to secure your spot due to your volunteering efforts and the fact that the manager, Naomi, seems to have taken a liking to you. But not everyone is so lucky. 

You step inside, greeted by the familiar smells of disinfectant and something cooking in the kitchen. The place is buzzing with activity as usual—mothers trying to soothe crying children, elderly folks chatting away in groups, and a few lone souls quietly scrawling job applications. 

"Long day?" Naomi catches your gaze from behind the front desk, her warm smile a stark contrast to the weariness etched in the lines of her face. 

"Isn't it always?" You head over and pick up the clipboard she slides toward you, scanning your list of tasks for the day. As expected, it's long hours of mindless labor, but you don't mind. Not only do you need to earn your place here, but volunteering gives you a sense of purpose similar to your previous heavenly duties. And you have the satisfaction of knowing you're actually helping, not harming.

"First on the list," Naomi points to an item at the top of your clipboard, "is the donations room. We just had a big drop-off and could use some extra hands sorting through it all. But grab some dinner before you start, okay?"

You nod, her straightforward nature getting a slight smile out of you. "Yes, ma'am."

You navigate your way towards the crowded dining area, where a line of people has formed, waiting for their turn to get served. The cooks, all volunteers like yourself, are bustling about, serving portions of the day's meal which looks to be a thick stew accompanied by fresh bread. The food is simple but hearty, more than enough to keep you working through the evening. You make a mental note to slip into the kitchen later and thank them for their hard work.

You find an empty seat at one of the long tables that occupy the space, making yourself at home amongst the people who are engrossing themselves in their meals or with idle chatter. You even join in on a conversation with some older women across the table, who are engaged in a spirited debate about soap operas. Your knowledge of pop culture is sparse at best, but they seem delighted to fill you in on the latest drama, their laughter infectious. 

After your meal, you make your way towards the donations room. The sight of piled-up clothes, toys, blankets, and other items is both overwhelming and heartwarming. Naomi wasn't kidding when she said they'd received a large drop-off. It's a daunting task, but you roll up your sleeves and get to work. You start by sorting through the clutter, meticulously separating everything into various categories—men's clothes, women's clothes, children's clothes, etc., and items that need repairs or cleaning. Hours pass by unnoticed, the rhythm of work almost meditative.

Your thoughts inevitably wander back to Jungkook. A pang of longing shoots through you. He was the one who would always be by your side when you had to perform menial tasks like this in the celestial realm. You wonder what he would think of your new life. Does he look down on you from up high with pity or disdain, or does he simply not think of you at all? You aren't sure if you even want to know the answer. 

As time wears on, the room gradually becomes less cluttered and more organized. You're just about to take a break when Naomi appears at the doorway, her aging features softened by the warm glow of the hallway light behind her. She takes in your progress with an approving nod. 

"You've done well," she says, stepping into the room. 

You can't help but feel a sense of pride at her words. "Thank you, Naomi." 

She strolls around the room, her observant gaze sweeping over the sorted piles, her hands touching a few items here and there.

"It's amazing," she finally says, "how much kindness there is out there, even when it seems like everything is falling apart. No matter how rough things get, we can choose to be generous, choose to help others. That's what makes us human."

Her words resonate with you. You’ve seen the worst and best of humanity firsthand; the same species that wages wars also unite in times of crisis, offering support and showing kindness to total strangers. How much is influenced by higher powers and how much is purely human nature, you wouldn't presume to know. Your very existence has blurred the lines between supernatural influence and mortal will. 

"True," you say, looking up at Naomi from where you're still seated on the floor surrounded by donations. "That’s a nice way to look at things."

Naomi's smile broadens at that, and she gives one last cursory glance around the room before saying, "Well, I'll let you get back to work. Don't stay up too late."

"Goodnight, Naomi," you call after her as she steps out into the hallway, half-waving at you as she goes.

A little over an hour later, you step back to admire your work. Each item has been categorized, ready to be cleaned and redistributed. You move on to your next set of responsibilities: cleaning up the common areas and helping close up for the night. 

The smell of cleaning supplies clings to your skin as you make your way back to your sleeping quarters—a small, shared room filled with single beds. Careful not to disturb anyone, you move towards your assigned bed, its familiar creaks and groans echoing softly under your weight as you settle into it. Exhaustion pulls at your muscles, but you need to wash up and change before you sleep. 

You grab your shower caddy, change of clothes, and quietly make your way to the women’s bathroom. The fluorescent white lights flicker to life as you enter, revealing a row of curtained shower cubicles. You choose one at the end and let the water heat up as you undress. The hot water cascades over your tired body, soothing your muscles and washing away the sweat and grime that has built up throughout the day. 

Shower done and teeth brushed, you pull on fresh clothes and make your way back to your bed. As you settle back down under the covers, you notice something strange on your bedsheet. A crisp scorch mark is visible against the fabric, and when you observe it more closely, you're shocked to realize that the shape almost looks like… fingers? Your heart hammers in your chest. 

"Impossible," you whisper to yourself. 

The sight of these burns is not unfamiliar to you; in fact, you have been the cause of such marks before. It is a common occurrence when celestial beings interact with the mortal world—remnants of their powerful energy left behind. But as you stare at them now, a sense of unease creeps over you. Could it be Jungkook? The thought flickers through your mind, but you quickly brush it aside. Why would he make himself known in this way and then vanish without even seeing you? You can't allow yourself to hope. 

Dismissing the thought, you force yourself to rationalize that it must have been an accident. Perhaps someone burned it while it was being ironed. It’s easy enough to convince yourself; after all, it’s only three and a half slender marks—it could be anything. But the unease remains as you lay down on the bed, your mind filled with questions. You eventually succumb to sleep from sheer exhaustion, your dreams filled with memories of Jungkook.

The next day passes in a blur—the usual routine of job applications, food preparation, and cleaning duties. The burn mark on your bedsheet remains a mystery. You track down the volunteer who did the laundry, and she swears she wouldn't be so careless as to burn someone’s belongings. Despite her assurances, it's the only explanation you are willing to believe. You return to your bed to find that the sheet has been replaced with a fresh one, the burn mark gone as if it never existed.

You spot an older man sitting on a bed in the corner; his mouth moves silently, and the rosary beads dangling from his fingers lead you to believe he’s praying. A small, faux Christmas tree, no larger than a water bottle, stands on a box next to him. The sight stirs something with you, an uncomfortable feeling once again settling in your gut. You don’t understand his faith. How can someone continue to pray to a God that has obviously forsaken him?

You wait until the man finishes and safely tucks the rosary beads into his shirt pocket, right above his heart, before you approach.

“Excuse me?”

He looks up at you with a smile, eyes crinkling around the edges. "What can I help you with, dear?" 

"I noticed you praying," you begin tentatively. Despite your personal qualms with religion, you don’t want to seem as if you are disrespecting him or his beliefs. "I hope you don't mind my asking, but how do you keep your faith? Under these circumstances?"

He doesn't seem bothered at all by your blunt question. Instead, he chuckles softly and pats the bed beside him, inviting you to sit down. You hesitate a moment before complying.

"Faith isn't about having all the answers," he starts, his voice a mere whisper in the quiet room. "It isn't about being rewarded for good deeds or punished for bad ones. It's about hope. It's about believing that things will get better."

“Hope? Still? Despite… despite being here? I mean, aren’t you upset with God?” Your voice is barely above a whisper as well, a mixture of curiosity and frustration seeping into your words.

He remains silent for a while, his gaze wandering towards the small Christmas tree on the box beside him. 

"No, I'm not upset with God," he finally replies. "Man is given free will, and it is man who chooses what to do with it. Crisis, poverty… God didn't create these. They're the consequences of human choices." His words are sincere, spoken with a calmness that only comes from years of contemplation. "God doesn't promise us that life will always be easy or free from hardships. But He does promise that He will be there in those times of trouble. You see, faith isn't about expecting God to fix our problems, but about having the strength to face them."

“I envy your strength,” you admit with a hint of admiration in your voice.

“Strength is born from struggle, dear. You’ll find your way soon enough.” 

“I hope you’re right.”

The conversation lingers in your mind long after the man's words have faded into silence. You sit on your bunk, staring at the ceiling, pondering them. His unshakable faith is both alien and inspiring to you. Even when you were an archangel, before any doubts seeped into your mind, your faith was nothing like his. It was a duty, an obligation, a resolute certainty that was less about personal beliefs and more about the world you were born into. 

His mention of hope sticks out to you the most. You look around the room again, taking note of the different symbols of faith scattered across the room—crosses, menorahs, and even a small prayer mat in one corner. Each person in this room believes in something larger than themselves, something that gives them hope. And you? You're not certain what you believe in anymore. But maybe, just maybe, some of your anger has been misplaced. 

As the daylight fades, you find yourself wandering outside, the crisp evening air bringing a kind of comfort you couldn't find inside. You walk aimlessly, your feet following the now-familiar sidewalks. You end up in a park, and you make a seat for yourself on a deserted bench.

Looking up into the sky, now painted with hues of orange and pink, you let yourself miss Heaven for just a minute. To miss Jungkook. Even the Creator. You can never go back to worshipping Him, nor do you want to, but you can't deny the connection that once was. As much as you wish everything never happened, you are grateful for how much you've grown since. 

Suddenly, you’re disoriented by a bright flash of light and a shrill, piercing sound that makes your entire body jolt. You shut your eyes and cover your ears, but it does nothing to dull the pain. It's as if the noise is coming from inside your mind. You half-crawl, half-fall off the bench, curling in on yourself, unable to think anything, do anything, until it finally comes to a stop. 

The world pauses around you; the birds stop chirping, the wind stops blowing, and people are frozen where they walk. A familiar feeling washes over you, and your breath catches in your throat. You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes. Even in this form, even as a human, his presence calls to your very soul. You hadn’t realized how incomplete you felt, how empty you were, without him by your side. He’s your other half, and he always will be. The realization makes you want to cry. You had hoped after the Fall, after you became human, that would cease to be true. You can’t stand the fact that you’re still irrevocably tied to him, even after all that he’s done. As always, fate is cruel.

“Y/N.”

He speaks your name with a quiet reverence as if he can hardly believe you’re there in front of him. The familiar, honeyed tone of his voice reignites your longing for him with full force, but you still stubbornly keep your eyes closed. You can’t look at him. You aren’t strong enough.

“I cannot believe you are alive.”

What?

His statement shocks you enough that your eyes fly open of their own accord, and for the first time in months, you're met with the sight of Jungkook. You're not sure if you perceive him differently now that you are mortal, but he's even more captivating than you remember. 

His dark hair curls softly atop his head and is tousled ever-so-perfectly. His skin is beautifully tanned, and the way his tall figure is silhouetted against the sun makes it seem like he's glowing. His wings are obsidian, gargantuan in size, seemingly consuming the entire park with their reach. He's magnificent, so beautiful it hurts.

But it is his eyes that have you frozen in your spot—those beautiful, brown doe eyes, filled with so much emotion that it takes your breath away. He's not supposed to be able to feel unless… unless he has begun the degradation process, as you had.   

“Y/N,” he repeats, his voice trembling. "I thought you were dead." 

“I don't understand,” you manage to choke out, trying to sound more composed than you feel. You pull yourself to your feet, grimacing at the pain radiating throughout your body. How much of it is physical and how much is emotional, you can't tell. 

He takes a step closer to you, his hands outstretched as if to ensure that you're real, but you recoil instinctively. He flinches at your reaction but still grabs your arms, grip unrelenting even as you attempt to pull away from him. 

“Protective markings have been burned onto your ribs.” Hurt flashes across his features. “Were you hiding from me?”

“What? No.” You manage to break free and back up a few steps, putting some distance between you. You feel exposed and vulnerable under his gaze, remembering how he always seemed to know what you were thinking even before you did. "I didn't even know I had them."

"I need you to explain everything," he demands. 

“You need me to explain?" You scoff and cross your arms over your chest defensively. "What about you?”

“Me?” He tilts his head slightly, his confusion obvious.

“Yes, you!" You take a step closer, anger simmering just beneath the surface. "After all, you’re how I ended up in this situation, right?” 

“What are you talking about?”

"You betrayed me!" you hiss. “I confided in you, and you told me you understood. That you were with me. And then you turned around and proclaimed me a blasphemer!” 

He doesn’t respond right away, and it’s as if you can see the cogs turning in his head as he pieces things together. “Y/N… I would never.” 

His admittance makes you pause. Angels aren’t supposed to lie, though you know not everyone abides by that law. However, Jungkook has always been one of the most dedicated to the commandments. 

“That’s not what Namsu told me.”

“Namsu? The Throne?” 

“Yes, the Throne. The one who exiled me on the orders of up high.”

His eyebrows furrow. “You… were exiled? You did not wither?”

"Wither?" you scoff. "That's a myth, Jungkook. A cover-up to hide the fact that when angels start to stand up for what they think is right, they get cast out. And it's thanks to you that I'm here now."

"I… no." The intensity behind the word takes you aback. "I just wanted to help you; I thought you were sick. I went to one of the Cherubim for guidance—I would have never turned you in for some kind of punishment." 

His words hang in the air, making your heart pound in your chest. He was trying to help you? The thought sends a flurry of conflicting emotions through you. 

"Help me?" You repeat his words, mocking him in your disbelief. "Your way of helping got me exiled! Cast down and made mortal."

"I did not—" He cuts himself off, his gaze dropping to the ground. "I never meant for any of this to happen."

"Yet it did!" you snap, crossing your arms tightly around yourself as if they could somehow shield you from the pain his presence brings. "And now I'm here, and nothing will ever be the same!"

"I am so sorry." His apology is whispered so softly that you almost don't catch it. But you do, and it hits you like a punch in the gut.

Your head feels as if it's about to implode. He didn't purposefully betray you—in fact, he was trying to save you. But even so, his actions have led to your downfall, and now you're stuck here on earth, far from the light of Heaven, vulnerable and mortal, while he remains immortal and untouchable. Perhaps that's the part that hurts the most. The fact that now you are separated not by betrayal but by the very nature of your beings. 

Your voice cracks as tears fill your eyes. "If all this is true, then why wouldn’t you have looked for me?”

“I looked everywhere at first, but I could not sense you anymore.” If it was possible, you think he would be crying too. “Namsu is the one who told me what happened. He said that you… that your doubt consumed you, and you did not survive.”

The information hits you like a ton of bricks. Your knees almost give out for a second time, but Jungkook reaches out and grabs you by the elbows, steadying you. 

"I… I had no idea." A bitter laugh escapes your lips as you look up at him. "You didn't know anything, and I presumed the worst of you." 

His fingers tighten around your arms in a reassuring squeeze. "We can always start over, Y/N." 

"Start over?" you echo, incredulous. "You make it sound so easy."

"And why would it not be? We were not the ones to blame for our separation. Come back with me."

"I'm human now. The only way I can come back is… is if I'm dead."

His grip loosens, his face paling at your words. "I did not mean to suggest… Of course, I do not want you to die," he hastily corrects himself, glancing down at the ground. His wings flutter uneasily behind him, betraying his discomfort. "There must be another way."

"If there was, would it even be safe? I mean, why would Namsu do this?" you ask, staring at him. You're not sure if you're asking him or simply musing aloud. Even so, the question hangs heavily in the silence between you.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Jungkook speaks again. His voice is barely above a whisper when he says, "I wish I had the answers you seek, but I don't. All I know is that I will do everything in my power to rectify this situation." He turns away from you, scanning the horizon as if searching for something. "I need to return and confront Namsu. He must account for his actions."

"No, it's too dangerous. What if he forces you to Fall, too? You can't risk it, Jungkook." 

He looks back at you, his expression hardening. "I will not let him get away with this, Y/N," he says resolutely. "Deception is not a virtue of a Throne, especially not in such grave matters."

"And you won't let him, but you need to go about this carefully. Going to him directly won't work—he's too powerful."

Jungkook tilts his head, regarding you skeptically. "It almost sounds as if you are asking me to be deceitful." 

"Not deceitful, just… stealthy?" 

He doesn’t respond immediately, his brow furrowed as he mulls over your words. After a moment, he exhales slowly, pulling back from you to pace the grass in thought. "Stealthy," he repeats slowly, his voice distant. "That would require careful planning. Secret meetings. Misdirection."

"Yes," you agree, watching him closely. "All of that."

He stops suddenly, turning to look at you. "Very well. I will do whatever it takes to get to the bottom of this."

Your chest tightens, and you gnaw at your bottom lip. His resolve both comforts and worries you. You don't want him to risk himself for you, but part of you is happy that he is willing.

"However,” Jungkook breaks your train of thought. "It sounds like I may need to be a little bit more human to pull this off. After all, none of this comes easily to angels, but mortals lie all the time."

You raise an eyebrow. "And how are you going to achieve that?"

"You will have to teach me, of course." He says this as if doing so will be the easiest thing in the world. “The degradation process has already started for me, as I am sure you are aware. It should be easy.”

"You're serious?" 

Jungkook had always been so straight-laced, the epitome of angelic perfection. The idea of him playing at being human is almost laughable.

"Completely," he responds, his intense gaze never wavering. "I am willing to do whatever it takes to bring Namsu to justice and try to fix this. Fix us. If that requires adopting some mortal habits, then so be it."

"Alright," you finally concede, shaking your head in amusement. "Time for a crash course in 'how to be a human' 101."

He smiles faintly at that, the corners of his mouth tipping upwards just so. It's a small thing, barely noticeable amidst the tension still hanging heavily in the air between you two, but it's enough. Enough to remind you that the way you felt about him in Heaven, despite not being able to feel, was some kind of love. You don't know where that leaves you now or what you're going to do about it, but procrastination is another human skill you have come to love. Maybe you'll teach him that eventually.

"Lesson one," you start, pointing a finger at him in mock sternness. "Humans don't always speak so formally or in such grandiose phrases. ‘I am going to bring Namsu to justice' sounds archaic or like something a two-bit superhero would say."

His lips quirk upward into a more genuine smile this time. "I see," he replies, his voice deliberately casual. "So how would a human say it?"

"Well, for starters, you could use slang," you suggest. 

Jungkook’s brows furrow, an almost comical look of concentration on his face. “Slang,” he repeats, testing the word on his tongue.

“Yes, slang. Humans don’t always pronounce every single word, and they often come up with new, shorter words to replace certain phrases. You could say something like, 'Namsu’s gonna get what he deserves.'”

He nods, repeating your words slowly. “Namsu... is going to get what he deserves.”

You burst out laughing at his attempt. The prim, stoic angel fumbling his way through human speech? It is truly a sight to behold. 

"Laughing at my expense?" He feigns hurt, but there's a playful twinkle in his eyes that gives him away. "I guess that's lesson two then: humans are full of mirth and mockery."

"You're catching on quickly," you reply, still giggling slightly. “And yes, we like to laugh.”

He observes you a moment longer before finally allowing a soft chuckle to escape his lips. It's a deep, rich sound, but it feels tentative like he's not quite sure if he's doing it right.

“Laughing…" he murmurs, puzzling over the concept. “Such a peculiar expression of joy. But I like it." 

"As you should," you reply, a grin still playing across your face. "It's one of the best parts about being human."

Jungkook studies you for a moment, a smile tugging at his lips. "It suits you."

"Hm? What does?"

"Being human."

"I’m not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.” 

"There is a certain spontaneity in humans. A vibrancy that angels lack." Jungkook’s gaze intensifies, his voice lowering to almost a whisper as he steps closer. "It makes you shine more brightly. Like the sun."

He's so close to you now that you can make out the subtle flecks of gold in his eyes. Your heart pounds in your chest as his words wash over you, warming you from the inside out. 

"That—" You clear your throat, trying to steady your shaking voice. "That sounds like a compliment."

"It is," he confirms, his gaze flickering down to your lips for a brief second before rising back to meet your eyes. "But it is also an observation. A fact."

You want to kiss him. The thought shocks you—you've never kissed someone before, let alone wanted to. It must be a human impulse. You can't help but imagine what it might feel like, the warmth of his lips against yours, his skin beneath your fingertips. You want to feel his hand on your cheek, his fingers tangling in your hair. But the danger of your respective positions impedes that thought, and you push it down. He's an angel. You're not. Him being your Astrom, the connection you had before your Fall, none of it matters now.

"Okay," you manage to squeak out, trying to ignore the electricity that seems to be sparking between your too-close bodies. "Human lesson number three: we're big on personal space."

"Oh?" Jungkook raises an eyebrow but doesn't step away. "Is this too close?"

You swallow hard. "A bit."

You swear you see a hint of mischievousness cross his features before he complies, stepping back just enough to leave a sliver of space between you. "Better?" 

"Now you're just teasing me," you retort, though there's a soft smile playing on your lips.

"Is that frowned upon?" 

"No," you admit. "In fact, it's quite human of you. Now, it’s time for a real challenge." He looks at you quizzically. "We have to convince Naomi to let you stay at the shelter." 

"Ah," he nods, understanding dawning on him. "I see. Another part of being human—negotiation."

"Exactly."

"Then lead the way." With a snap of his fingers, time resumes for the two of you and his wings have disappeared, making him appear fully human, and you head back to Lost Star.

"Naomi, please," you beg, giving your boss the best puppy eyes you can muster. "He needs a place to stay." 

Naomi crosses her arms over her chest and drags her gaze over Jungkook in a way that suggests she's scrutinizing every cell of his being, from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes. "There's no extra beds, hun. I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do." 

"Then he can stay with me!"

"You and him, sharing that tiny little twin bed?" She scoffs. "I'd like to see you try."

"We'll make it work!"

"It's still against the rules. One body to one bed." 

"I know it's not ideal, but just for a few days until we figure out something else," you urge her. "I wouldn't be asking you this if it wasn't important." 

Jungkook steps forward, interjecting smoothly, "I will respect the rules, and if you feel my presence is harmful or disruptive in any way, I will leave immediately." 

Naomi looks between you and Jungkook, and then she sighs, throwing her hands up in defeat. 

"Fine, but only for a little while. And you can't sleep in the main room. Take my office—the couch is a pull-out."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You pull her into a hug that she returns with a loving exasperation. 

"If there's even a whiff of trouble, both of you are gone, understand?" 

"Yes, ma'am! I wouldn't expect anything less." 

You grab Jungkook’s hand, dragging him along behind you as you lead him through the shelter. You pass through some of the busier living areas, and it's as if everyone can’t help but stare at him. You can only assume that, despite his wings being hidden, he still emits some sort of otherworldly aura that draws people in. Plus, by human standards, you suppose he's quite attractive. 

Jungkook seems unbothered by the attention, too focused on his surroundings and curiously taking in every detail.

"All these people live here?" he asks, incredulous. "This place is quite small." 

"Shh! Lesson four: lower your voice when you're talking about other people. The last thing we need is for someone to overhear and think you're judging them." 

"Apologies," Jungkook replies, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But my previous comment was not meant to be judgmental. I’m just… surprised. I thought humans usually lived in family units, but everyone here doesn't seem to be related." 

I’m. Doesn’t. He’s already using contractions—you must either be a good teacher or he’s a quick learner.

"You're right," you agree, and as you glance around, your heart aches a little. "Not everyone is fortunate enough to have that. This place is for those who have lost their families or homes." 

"Lost their homes? Like in a fire?" 

"Sometimes. Or maybe they didn't have enough money to pay their taxes." 

"I don't understand. Are there not enough homes for everyone? Why do you need to pay for such a basic need?"

You pause, the innocence of his question hitting you surprisingly hard. Of course he wouldn't understand the complexities of human society, of money and social class, of poverty and wealth disparity. You didn't either; at least, not until you Fell and were forced to figure it out. 

"That is a complicated issue," you admit, running a hand through your hair. "And not all humans agree on how to solve it. Some people think everyone should have a home, regardless of whether or not they can pay for it. Others think that if you can't afford it, you don't deserve one."

He looks so confused that you would be tempted to laugh if the tone of the conversation wasn't so serious. "That doesn't seem fair. In heaven, everyone has a place."

"Yes, well, Earth isn't heaven." There's a bitterness to your words that you hadn't intended. "And why our Creator chooses to leave things like this is a mystery to me. I mean, why not use some of His power to help?"

"The ways of the Almighty are impossible for us to understand," Jungkook quietly replies. "And it's not for us to question."

You snort in response, crossing your arms over your chest. "Well, aren't you a dutiful little angel?" 

Jungkook frowns, clearly not understanding your sarcasm. You sigh and shake your head.

"I'm sorry, Jungkook. It's just hard to wrap my head around sometimes. It's why my so-called degradation process started in the first place. Look at them—" You gesture to the people huddled together around the small television in the corner of the room, others sharing a meal or helping to care for the younger children. "They're good people. Why do they deserve to suffer?" 

Silence lingers between you for a moment. When he responds, he doesn’t answer your question. “Their heavenly rewards shall be plentiful as long as they keep to their faith.” 

“Does that make all of this okay?" You scoff. "Why are they being tested like this? In fact, why do they even need to believe at all to be given a home in the celestial realm? If a person is good-hearted, why isn’t that enough?”

Jungkook looks away from you. "I don't like these questions."

“You don’t like them? Or you don’t like how uncomfortable they make you feel?” 

Before he can even bother replying, you let go of his hand and open the door to Naomi's office, hurrying inside, eager to get some space. It's small and cramped, filled with stacks of paper, an old wooden desk strewn with an old computer and various office supplies, and a well-worn couch wedged against the wall.

"It's not much," you say. "But it's home for now, I guess."

"Home," Jungkook repeats softly, eyes scanning the room. He zeroes in the billboard behind Naomi's desk, filled with photos of smiling people, letters from those that she has helped. A smile tugs at his lips. "It's nice."

"You say that now. Just wait until you're trying to sleep and a couch spring is digging into your back." 

"I don't actually need to sleep," he reminds you. 

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "Right, I forgot. At least we won't be fighting for the blanket."

"I can pretend to," Jungkook offers, a spark of amusement in his eyes. "The idea of laying next to you is not unwelcome." 

You blush, taken aback. "W-what… you…" You take a deep breath. "No, that won't be necessary. And lesson five: don't flirt with people unless you mean it." 

"What is 'flirt’?”

"Flirting," you explain, trying to keep your blush under control, "is when people say or do things that suggest they're attracted to each other."

"I see." He pauses for just a moment before asking, "And how do I know if I'm attracted to someone?"

You sigh exasperatedly. Who knew teaching an angel to be human could be so tiring? 

"It's… well, it's kind of hard to explain. Especially because, as an angel, you don't really feel, at least not until the degradation process is nearing its end. But basically, it's like you have an inexplicable urge to be around this person a lot. You think about them often, their happiness makes you happy, and you want to be closer to them, maybe even touch them or hold them. Some people also might feel their heart beat faster, or a fluttering in their stomach." 

As you speak, Jungkook’s eyes never leave yours. They gleam with curiosity and understanding, drinking in every word you say. He seems to be processing the concept, and then he suddenly smiles. "So, like how I feel about you." 

Caught off-guard, you blink at him, speechless for a moment. And then the panic seeps in. 

"No, Jungkook, that's not correct," you insist, your words tumbling out in haste and denial. "You can't… we can't… you're an angel. I'm—" Fallen, you want to say. Human, you need to say. But you don't. 

"Why not?" he asks simply, his gaze steady. 

"Because!" You scramble for an explanation, desperate to avoid the truth of your own feelings stirring within you. "Because angels aren't supposed to feel that way."

"But I am no longer a pure angel," Jungkook counters. "The degradation process has begun. We discussed this already."

"But that doesn't matter! The whole reason we are doing this is so you can learn the skills you need to figure out a way to stop Namsu from forcing anyone else to Fall. Once you do, you'll be able to stay in Heaven because withering isn't real." Before he can say anything else, you open the door. "I'm gonna grab my stuff from my bed. I'll… I'll be back in a second." 

You slam the door behind you, leaving Jungkook alone in the room. It's a struggle to keep your composure as you head towards your bed. All you can think of is his words, the nonchalance with which he said them. You can feel your traitorous heart yearning for him, but you can't let it sway you. Whether it was an accident or not, his betrayal led to your Fall. Led to you being human. And he's an angel. No matter what you feel or what he thinks he feels, nothing can happen between you now. 

As you gather your meager belongings, the man you spoke with earlier approaches you with a sympathetic expression. "You alright, dear? You didn't get evicted, did you? I'll give Naomi a piece of mind if that's the case." 

"No, no," you quickly reassure him with a forced smile. "My… my friend needs a place to stay for awhile, and there's a one body to one bed policy. Naomi was kind enough to let us use the couch in her office for a few days until we figure something else out."

"Your friend, hm?" His eyes twinkle mischievously. "That fellow you walked in with? Can't say I blame you. He's quite a looker."

"It's not like that," you blush, hurriedly stuffing the rest of your belongings into your bag. "Anyway, don't worry. You'll still see me around." 

The man grins and gives you a friendly pat on the shoulder. "I'm glad to hear it. This place would be much drearier without you."

You bid him goodbye with a wave and make your way back to Naomi's office, feeling like you're walking towards the edge of a cliff. As you open the door, you find Jungkook staring out the window. The streetlight spills in through the gap in the curtains, bathing him in a soft glow. He turns as you enter. 

"Gathered your belongings?" he asks, his voice calm as if the previous conversation never happened. For a moment, you feel robbed—does he not understand the gravity of what he said? But you suppose it's better this way. Easier, at least. 

"Yes," you respond, a bit more brusquely than intended, setting your bag down on the floor. He's still staring at you, and you flush under his gaze. "I'm just going to set up the couch. And stop staring at me so intently. Humans get nervous about stuff like that."

"Another lesson," he remarks. "Understood." Jungkook watches you for a moment longer, then turns back to the window without a word. 

You get to work, unfolding the couch and covering it with your bedding. The silence between you is thick; you can feel the tension radiating off of Jungkook despite his apparent calm. Your heart pounds in your ears as you busy yourself with smoothing out some wrinkles in the sheets, a futile distraction. 

With a deep breath, you break the silence. "Alright, I'm done." 

Jungkook turns to look, and his eyes scan the makeshift bed you've prepared. "You've made it look inviting." 

"Should be okay for a few nights," you reply curtly, avoiding his gaze. "I'm, uh, gonna go ready for bed. I know you don't sleep, but feel free to sit at her desk or something. Make yourself comfortable." 

You exit the room and head down the hallway to the bathroom, leaving Jungkook alone with his thoughts. You can’t shake off his confession and your own rush to deny him. The truth of your feelings, or rather the depth of them, is something you aren't ready to face.

After getting ready for bed, you hesitantly return to Naomi's office. The door creaks upon opening, and Jungkook turns from where he's seated at Naomi's desk, looking up at you with his intense gaze.

"Goodnight," you say softly, trying not to let your voice betray how uneasy you feel.

Jungkook nods. "Goodnight," he replies, and his voice is gentle, concerned. You feel a pang of guilt at the distance you've created between the two of you but say nothing more, falling into a fitful sleep.

Sometime during the night, Jungkook figured out how to work Naomi's dinosaur of a computer and discovered the wonderful thing that is the internet. When you wake, he flocks to your side like an excited child, eager to share everything he has learned about humans, their emotions, and their behavior.

"Slow down, Jungkook," you chuckle, holding up a hand to halt his barrage of words. "I can't absorb all of that at once."

"Oh," he says, blinking in surprise. "I forget that human minds process information more slowly. Should I take this as another lesson?"

You shrug, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Sure, go for it."

Despite the tension last night and everything unsaid between the two of you, you find yourself falling into an easy rhythm with him. He's eager to learn and keen on understanding humanity—your humanity. Throughout the day, he continues his studies, glued to the computer screen as you complete your daily volunteering. He takes breaks every once in a while to come find you and ask questions.

"I've come across some terms that are perplexing," he says, leaning on the front desk as you catalog some information. "'Memes' and 'emojis' appear prominently in human interactions online, but I don’t really know what they are or how they’re used.”

You answer question after question until you realize you aren’t getting work done, so you have to come up with a plan B. Leading him back to Naomi’s office, you pull up Netflix on the computer. Jungkook watches the screen in fascination as you explain streaming and scroll through all the shows. 

"Let's try Friends," you say, clicking on the thumbnail. 

You leave him to watch as you finish up your tasks for the day, checking occasionally to see that he’s still engrossed in the show. Instead of constantly badgering you with questions, he writes them on a notepad you provided and waits until the end of the day to go over them with you. You answer each one as best you can, completely endeared by him. 

It's during one of the show's more depressing moments that he asks you about lying and betrayal, echoing the heavy undertones from the other day. His question takes you by surprise, his gaze focused intensely on your face as he waits for an answer.

"Lying is a tough one," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "Sometimes it's out of fear or selfishness. Sometimes people lie because they're trying to protect themselves."

"And betrayal?" Jungkook asks, his voice unnaturally calm.

You sigh, looking down at your hands. "Betrayal… it's when someone breaks your trust. It hurts, Jungkook. It hurts a lot."

He watches you for several long moments before finally speaking again. "I see," he says softly. "And that's what you thought I did to you?"

You swallow hard, feeling the knot in your chest tighten. "Jungkook," you start, but falter, not knowing how to put your feelings into words. 

"I did not mean to betray you," Jungkook continues. "I realize that my actions may have led you to believe that I deceived you, but it was not my intention. I'm sorry."

"I know." You believe him completely, but the wound is still so fresh that you can’t bring yourself to fully trust him again. Not yet. "I know you didn't mean to, but an apology doesn't fix everything. Consider it another lesson—trust, once broken, isn't so easily mended." 

Jungkook plays with the skin around his nails, an anxious habit he seems to be developing the more human-like he becomes. After a moment, he says, "I understand. I will try harder."

"Try harder doing what?" 

"To understand you better. To understand all humans more, their emotions and their beliefs. Maybe understanding what trust really is will teach me how to earn it back and make up for my mistakes." He's so earnest, so genuine, it almost brings tears to your eyes. "I think I want this as much as I want Namsu to answer for his crimes, if not more. And maybe that makes little sense, but maybe… maybe that's quite human of me." 

"And maybe that's progress," you say softly, looking at Jungkook with newfound hope. 

Your new normal is spending your days with your time split between performing your volunteering duties and teaching Jungkook all about human life. 

Christmas is only a week away now, and everyone around you seems to be buzzing with excitement. At this point, even the inside of the shelter has been decorated. The hallways are lined with lights and garlands, and the common areas even have a few trees set up with donated presents underneath. And, as much as you have dreaded the holiday, you can't deny that watching Jungkook experience it for the first time makes you hate it a little less.

Despite the initial stiffness that comes with being an angel unfamiliar with human life, he has quickly adapted to life at the shelter. He's kind and patient, and he’s always eager to help out where he can. The children, in particular, have taken a liking to him. He's become their favorite storyteller and always has the kids hanging onto his every word. 

One afternoon, you find him sitting with them, singing a song in an ancient celestial language. Everyone will assume it’s some gibberish language he’s made up for one of his stories, but it reminds you of home. His voice is beautiful, melodic and soothing, with a honeyed quality to it that would make anyone stop and listen. 

You stand in the doorway and watch, a smile tugging at your lips. He catches your eye and winks, the action so human and unexpected that it startles a laugh out of you. The children turn to see what's so funny, but you just shake your head, telling them to continue listening.

He comes to you when he finishes, smiling brightly. "Did you enjoy the song as well?" 

"I did," you reply truthfully, your heart fluttering at his attention. The feelings you have been trying to resist are becoming increasingly persistent the more time you spend with him. 

"That's good to hear.”

Suddenly, the kids clamor over to you both, giggling and pointing at something above you. You look up, and all the color drains from your face. Mistletoe. Who the hell put it here?

Jungkook looks between you and the mistletoe, obviously confused. “Why are you angry with that plant? It’s quite beautiful.”

“It’s a tradition, of sorts.” You say the word with disdain. “When a couple—not that we are one—walks under the mistletoe, they’re supposed to kiss.”

“Kiss?”

“We don’t have to, it’s stupid—” 

“No, let’s do it. It's a part of the human experience, right? Let's consider it another lesson."

Heat rushes to your face, and you stutter incoherently, looking around the room for a way to escape. But the children are watching expectantly, their eyes wide and eager. You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Alright… close your eyes," you tell him.

He listens obediently, his eyes fluttering closed. You had never noticed just how long and pretty his eyelashes were until now. Bracing yourself, you take a deep breath and lean in, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. When you pull back, you're greeted with a perplexed expression as he opens his eyes.

"That was nice," he says after a brief pause. "But that’s really what a kiss is? In the show, they did it a bit more like—"

He leans in to demonstrate what he means, his lips brushing against yours. It's soft and a bit awkward at first, but he quickly gets the hang of it, pulling you closer. Against your better judgment, you let him, allowing yourself to get lost in the moment. His lips are softer than you would have expected. His fingers lightly squeeze your waist, sending a jolt of electricity through your body, and it's not until you hear some of the children giggling that you are reminded you have an audience.

You quickly pull away, breathless and flushed with embarrassment. Jungkook, however, is grinning from ear to ear. "That," he says. "That is how they did it."  

"Again! Again!" one of the kids shouts, pulling at your arm. 

Jungkook chuckles at his enthusiasm. "I think we should get back to our story," he says, ruffling the boy’s hair lovingly. Then, turning back to you, he murmurs, "Thank you. For the lesson." 

You can barely speak coherently, but you manage to squeak out a small “you’re welcome” before rushing out of the room. How on Earth are you supposed to get your tasks done now? It's impossible to focus, your mind running in circles over his touch, the feel of his lips against yours.

When you return to Naomi’s office later that night, you’re relieved to see that Jungkook isn't there yet. You take a moment to sit on the edge of the bed and process your thoughts, your fingers tracing absentmindedly over your lips. A shiver passes through your body, a heat blooming in the pit of your stomach. You drop your hand, clenching it into a fist to stop the trembling.

"Nervous?" a voice asks, startling you out of your thoughts. Jungkook is standing in the doorway, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"I… no," you say. 

"Don't lie," he chides gently, sitting next to you on the bed. “I can tell when you do that now, you know.” He keeps to a respectful distance, but he turns his gaze to you. “I think I'm starting to really understand this human thing. Emotions and all that.”

"Is that so?" 

"Yes. They can be painful sometimes but also quite beautiful." 

You watch as he turns his gaze back towards the room, and silence stretches between you again. However, it’s different now from how it used to be; it's not awkward or unsettling, but comfortable. His vulnerability makes you want to be honest, to admit to the way you feel.  

Just as you’re about to say something, he continues, "But now it's time for me to learn about something else. I need to start strategizing for the coming confrontation."

"Right, Namsu," you say. You almost forgot about Jungkook’s original intentions. You clap your hands and get up, heading to the computer. "Alright. Let's research."

With Jungkook sufficiently prepared, the time soon comes for him to return to the celestial realm. However, he insists on leaving at night, so he can spend the day with you. He referred to it as "a date," and you practically tripped over your own feet, much to his enjoyment. He has certainly developed a penchant for teasing you.

You decide to take him into the heart of the city, so he can observe people in their natural element. There seem to be even more decorations than you remember, and people are bustling about to finish their last-minute shopping. However, you find yourself handling the chaos a lot better with Jungkook by your side. 

He hasn't let go of your hand since you stepped out of the shelter, his thumb lightly rubbing circles over your knuckles. Every once in a while, he squeezes it lightly, a silent assurance that he’s there. Whether he notices your nerves and is doing it to comfort you or is doing it because he wants to, you're grateful for it.

His doe eyes dart this way and that, eagerly drinking in the scenery. You try to explain what everything is—the office buildings, luxury apartments, and tiny shops buried in alleyways—but he's more interested in the people. It isn't until you stop in front of a Hindu temple that his attention is finally captured by a building. He cocks his head to the side, eyes wide in wonder as he takes in the sight of it. The temple is a beautiful structure, with elaborate carvings and statues lining its walls. 

"What is this place?" he asks, his voice full of awe.

"It's a place of worship for those that practice Hinduism," you explain.

His eyes sparkle with interest as he takes a step closer to the building. "Can we go inside?"

You glance at him, surprised by his request. But something in his earnest gaze breaks down your hesitation. "Sure," you say softly, leading him inside.

The inside of the temple is even more impressive than the outside. There are vibrant murals depicting different gods and an intoxicating scent of incense that fills the air. You gesture to the bell at the entrance. “Would you like to ring it?”

“What’s it for?” he asks, picking it up gently. 

“It’s supposed to be a way to announce your arrival to the deities.” 

Jungkook shakes it, the twinkling of the bell echoing in the large room. “Pretty,” he remarks as he places it back where it belongs.

He then follows your lead as you move towards the main shrine, your heart pounding in your chest as you realize what you're about to do. An angel of the Christian God at the altar of a different one? You're almost afraid you'll be struck down where you stand. 

He takes in the offerings with a small smile. "It's all quite beautiful," he remarks. "It's a shame that their gods aren't real." 

You know Jungkook means no harm and that it is what he has been conditioned to think for thousands of years, but you still bristle at his easy dismissal of their beliefs. “We’re real. Our God is real. Who’s to say the gods of their religion are not?”

"There is one God. That is what we were taught."

"Yes, it is. But we were also led to believe the withering was real. Just because it is said does not mean that it is true.”

Jungkook is silent for a moment, eyes still fixed on the offerings. Then he turns to you. "You truly believe that?" 

"I don't know," you confess, feeling a little exposed. “I don't know what I believe anymore. I'm just… questioning. It's complicated." 

"You have given me a lot to think about," he admits, his tone quiet. “For all I know, you might be right. I shouldn't have dismissed their beliefs so easily. I apologize.”

You stare at him in surprise; you hadn't expected him to back down so easily. "It's okay," you reassure him. "I'd say being open-minded is another lesson, but unfortunately, not all humans are."

You continue to walk around the city, introducing Jungkook to as many things as possible. Everything he does fills you with affection, whether it be him trying hot dogs from a street vendor and declaring them divine, or joining some kids who were playing soccer in a park. At one point, he kicks the ball so hard that it lands in a tree branch, and you can’t help but laugh as he clumsily climbs up to retrieve it.

When night falls, you end up at the pier, watching the shimmering water beneath the stars. Jungkook is oddly quiet, looking out at the horizon with a distant expression. The silence isn't uncomfortable, but it does leave you feeling a little uneasy. You reach for his hand, and he startles slightly before turning to look at you. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" you ask.

He smiles slightly. “I’m guessing that’s some sort of human expression, and you’re not actually going to give me a penny.”

“You would be correct.”

“I’m thinking about a lot of things.” He exhales as if letting out a breath he has been holding. "You, for one. But I'm always thinking of you so that much isn't a surprise." You blush and swat at his arm. "But I’m also thinking about my beliefs."

"What about them?"

He takes a moment to get his thoughts in order, grabbing your hand more tightly as if you're his anchor in a stormy sea. He answers your question with another. "What if everything we have been taught is wrong? I mean, we have never spoken with the Almighty directly. Angels, apostles, they can all take His words and twist them for their own purposes. We've seen it in action with Namsu, and with how the Bible has been changed to promote hatred." 

You're taken aback by his frankness, the depth of his vulnerability. You have no answers for him, but you can relate to him and offer what little understanding you have come to have.

"So maybe it is wrong, and things have gotten taken out of context or changed as the years have gone on. Like you said, we cannot talk to Him, so we can’t ask for the truth. Or, maybe it is all part of a bigger plan, and unwavering faith is the answer.” You pause, steeling your resolve, before continuing, “But it isn’t for me. I can’t live that way. But how you decide to live is your choice. Who you are is your choice. I cannot decide that for you, and neither can He.” 

He frowns. "I don't know how to make that choice. Who even am I? What am I without my purpose? Without Him?"

"Perhaps we're not defined by a single purpose we've been given," you answer quietly. "Maybe we're more than that."

"More than our purpose?" 

"Yeah," you say, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "Maybe we don't need a purpose. Maybe it's okay to just exist." 

Jungkook’s gaze turns thoughtful, considering your words as if they are the most precious thing in the world. "Just exist," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. After a moment, he stands up, looking at you with a newfound fire blazing in his eyes. "I need to return. I will talk to some of my confidants, gather information, and then confront Namsu." 

You knew it was coming, but your stomach still drops. You're scared for him, for what will happen when he leaves. But you see the determination in his eyes, the steel in his gaze. You know better than to try and stop him now.

"You'll be careful, right?" you ask, your voice shaking slightly.

"I will."

He pulls you up and envelops you in his arms. His embrace is comforting, protective, and for a brief moment, it makes you forget about all your worries.

"Promise me," you whisper into his chest. 

"I promise," he says, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back. He pulls away after a moment, but not before brushing his lips against your temple. "I will return. For you."

His words weigh heavy in the air as he pulls away fully, breaking the physical contact between you two. His gaze lingers on you for another moment before he turns away and disappears into the night. You're left standing on the pier alone, the cold wind making you shiver. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you head back to Lost Star, where you have nothing to do but wait.

It’s Christmas Eve before you know it. The holiday you have been dreading feels even worse with Jungkook’s absence, and frankly, you don’t know how to handle it. You plaster a smile on your face for the sake of the children, playing along with their excitement over what presents they are going to get and stories of Santa Claus. But every time someone brings Jungkook up, wondering where he is, you feel tempted to run to Naomi’s office and hide.

Speaking of Naomi, she has been keeping a close watch over you, mothering you as per usual. You know she can tell that something has happened. Once you step away from the festivities to do some of your work, she pulls you aside.

“Honey, what’s going on? These days you seem so out of it; you’re just flitting around room to room, acting like a ghost.” When you don’t answer, she frowns. “It’s because of that boy, isn’t it?”

"He… he needed to go home. He had some things he needed to figure out," you manage to say. It's not a lie, just an oversimplification of the truth.

She wraps an arm around you. "He's going to come back. I saw the way he looked at you, and you at him. And if he doesn't, well, screw him."

"Naomi!" 

"Sorry, sorry. He was sweet and all, but you're my girl. I'll always have your back." Naomi declares, patting you on the back. 

You accept her comfort, fighting back your tears. If only she knew your fear didn’t revolve around him coming back—of course, part of you is scared that something will happen to him, but the rational part of your brain, the part that knows his strength, has no doubts he'll be alright. In actuality, your biggest fear is that he won't be able to stay with you, and you’ll have to go through the pain of losing him all over again.

He's an angel. You're human. There's no future there. Your traitorous heart made you fall harder and harder for him without sparing that a moment's thought, and now you have to will yourself to accept that you'll always be in love with someone you cannot have.

The rest of the day passes in a blur, nothing but forced cheer and mindless chatter. Naomi sticks by your side as much as she can, making sure to redirect everyone who asks you questions about Jungkook. You're grateful for her presence, her constant support, and now more than ever, you realize how lucky you truly are to have her in your life.

As soon as everyone is in bed and your tasks for the day are done, you seek out the solitude of the pier once again. You've been coming here daily since he left. A sentimental thing, mostly, since it was the last place you saw him. But you also hope each night will be the night he returns.

The wind is strong tonight, the kind that chills you down to your bones, and the stars are hidden behind the clouds. You wrap your scarf more tightly around yourself, gazing aimlessly at the turbulent water. Suddenly, there's a bright light and a shrill noise. You aren't scared this time, and it's not nearly as overwhelming as it was. He must have tempered it somehow, made it less painful for you.

The light fades, leaving behind a figure that is unmistakably Jungkook. The sight of him fills you with such relief and happiness that you rush forward, throwing your arms around him. He envelops you in his arms, his wings folding around you, a sigh of contentment escaping his lips as he buries his face in your hair.

"I missed you very much," he says, breathing deeply.

"I missed you too," you whisper, tears prickling at your eyes. "I knew you'd come back."

"I said I would, didn't I?" he teases, pulling away just enough to look at you. "And I have news."

"What happened?" 

You stay locked in his embrace as he speaks, bringing one of your hands to his face to stroke his cheek, to follow the line of his jaw with your fingers. He lets you, as eager to feel your touch as you are to feel his.

"I confronted Namsu," he begins. "But I wasn't alone. There were other angels who had started the 'degradation' process, those who were too fearful of retribution to say anything. I told them everything, and we confronted the other Thrones about Namsu and everything he had done. They didn’t approve of his actions, and they punished him for it." 

"Really?" You ask, eyes wide with surprise. "Just like that? They believed you?"

A soft laugh bubbles up from him. "It wasn't quite that simple. There was plenty of arguing, plenty of disbelief. I’d never seen anything like it. But in the end, Namsu was banished from the celestial realm."

Relief washes over you at his words, the tension you hadn't even realized you were carrying leaving your body. "That's incredible.” 

Jungkook shrugs slightly, but there’s an unmistakable look of pride in his eyes. "I’m just glad he has gotten what he deserves. Now you have justice." He places a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"And what about the others? The ones who have started to degrade?" Your heart clenches at the thought of them being punished for something beyond their control.

"They're safe," Jungkook assures you quickly. "The Thrones have promised to take care of it all. They're going to convene with Him, to see if the Heavenly teachings can be altered. Things are changing up there; I think it's all going to be alright." 

You're overwhelmed with emotion, both relief and dread tugging at you simultaneously. It is good to know that things will be changing, but what is done to you has been done. And now, Jungkook has no reason to stay with you. You take a step back from him. 

"What about you?" you ask quietly, barely daring to meet his gaze.

"What about me?" 

"You have no reason to stay anymore. You can return to your normal duties. You did what was right, and everything is fixed."

"I did what was right, yes, and I'm sure things will be much better from now on," Jungkook agrees. But he steps forward, taking your hands in his and looking deep into your eyes. "But now, I need to do what's right for me." 

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, my star." Your heart stutters at the endearment. "I'm not going anywhere. I want to be with you."

"But… you can only do that if you're—"

"Human, yes," he interrupts. 

"Jungkook! You can't! You can't Fall for me," you half-shout, half-whisper. "You're a good angel, you—"

"Y/N." The force behind his voice stops you. "Even before you showed me the beauty of being human, before I knew how to feel, before I even knew what love was, I would have done anything for you.” His confession takes your breath away, and you wobble on your feet, moving a few steps back from him in your shock. “If you had simply asked it of me, I would have stood with you in the fires of hell for all eternity and still been grateful for each moment spent at your side." 

The tears you were holding back begin to fall. "You would have?" 

“I would. I can. I will.” He moves closer to you with each beat between words until he stands directly in front of you, only a hair's breadth away. Gently, hesitantly—as if for the first time—he takes your hand and presses it to his chest right above where a human heart would be. “Just say the words, and I will fall for you. I will forsake myself and turn my back on Heaven. The pain of losing my wings will be inconsequential compared to the pain of having to be without you.”

"W-what words?"

He smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges. "You know what I want to hear. Be honest. Even better, be selfish, like a human. Tell me what you really want, and I will oblige."

You hesitate. You have been fighting your feelings this entire time, so sure of the fact that Jungkook would choose to continue his life as an angel. You never wanted him to Fall for you, to be torn away from the life he has always known the way you were. But he deserves to make the choice himself. If he wants your honesty, you will give it to him. 

"Speak, Y/N," Jungkook urges, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I want…" You begin slowly, your voice barely a whisper. "I want you. I want you to stay with me." He grins, relief clear in his eyes. "Then I will."

"But you shouldn't have to Fall!" 

"Fall or not, it won't change anything," he assures you. "I chose this path before even knowing there was a choice. I chose you from the second we were created.”

"Even if that means giving up everything?" you ask.

Jungkook’s expression softens. He reaches up and tucks a wayward lock of hair behind your ear. "Does it seem like I’m giving up everything?" he muses aloud, his eyes never leaving yours. "Because from where I stand, it seems like I’m gaining everything.”

"Smooth-talker,” you laugh, a tear slipping down your cheek. He brushes it off with his thumb, his gaze softening even further.

For a moment, you just stand there, looking at each other. It's quiet except for your breathing and the sound of waves crashing against the pier. You have been so afraid of asking him to make this choice, and yet he seems so certain about it, as if it was what he wanted all along.

"Are you sure about this?" you ask him one more time, seeking reassurance. "Once done, there's no going back."

His answer is immediate, "I've never been more sure about anything in my life."

"This will change everything," you say again.

"I know," he replies simply. 

"Come find me when it's over," you whisper, placing a gentle kiss to his lips. "I'll be at the shelter." 

As you go to leave, you can't help but glance back over your shoulder at Jungkook, taking in the appearance of him and his wings one last time. He's still standing there, watching you go with love evident in his gaze. It quells some of your worries. And then you blink, and he’s gone.

The hours that creep by feel like days. You busy yourself with meaningless tasks, cleaning the office, flipping through an old book left on the table, scrolling TikTok. None of it does anything to dull your anxiety, and you're weighing the pros and cons of tearing your hair out before you finally hear a knock on the door. You shoot up to your feet, heart pounding in your chest. Slowly, you open the door, and there he stands. "I'm here," he says simply. "As I promised."

You pull him into a hug once again, burying your head into his chest. You can hear the beat of his human heart and, unable to stop yourself, you burst into tears. You know the pain he just went through, can remember experiencing it yourself like it was yesterday, and you can hardly believe he went through something so awful to be with you. 

"I'm sorry," you whisper, tightening your hold on him. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he coos, gently stroking your hair. "This was my choice."

You swallow hard and pull back from him so you can look into his eyes, searching for any sign of regret. You find none.

"Are you okay?" You ask anyway, your heart aching at the thought of what he has given up.

"I am," he assures, his voice full of conviction. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss against your lips, and when he pulls away, he's smiling. "I wondered if doing that would feel different now that I'm fully human." 

"And does it?" you ask, smiling back up at him.

"Yes," he admits, tracing an invisible line down your cheek, your neck, your collarbone. You shiver at his touch. "It feels more real. Stronger somehow. It's like you're the break of dawn after a long night." 

Your breath catches in your throat. "Being human certainly hasn't changed the fact that you have a way with words." 

"Only when it comes to you," he replies, his fingers never ceasing their journey across your skin. They make their way back to your waist, where he plays with the hem of your shirt. "There's one lesson we never covered, you know." 

"A-and what would that be?" you squeak as his fingers caress the smooth skin of your stomach.

His voice drops lower, and he tugs you closer by your belt loops. "Human intimacy."

You flush at his audacity but don't pull away. "And what would be the best way for me to teach you about that?" 

"Hm…" He leans down so that his lips hover over yours, and you can feel his warm breath with each word he speaks. "I think I would respond well to some hands-on practice."

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears as his lips press against yours in a slow, searing kiss that turns your knees to jelly. He takes his time exploring your mouth, his lips moving delicately against yours. His hands are warm on your skin, trailing up and down your back as he pulls you closer. 

"Then I suppose we should get started," you manage to whisper when you finally break apart, breathless.

Jungkook moves into the room, closing the door behind him, and sits down on the edge of the pull-out bed. He stares up at you, his once-innocent doe eyes now dark and hooded with desire. You float towards him as if being pulled by a magnet, and he pulls you down so that you’re straddling his lap. Your hands rest on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your touch. 

"I think I should warn you," he says, hands sliding down to rest right above the curve of your ass, "I might be a slow learner."

You roll your eyes, a short, playful chuckle escaping from your lips. "I think I can handle that."

The room fills with an easy silence as you continue to explore each other, experiencing sensations new for the both of you. His hands trace every curve and dip of your body, his touch curious yet surprisingly confident. Your fingers trace the lines of his face, his jaw, his chest, and then find their way under his shirt to the newly-formed scars on his back. They are rough against your fingertips, a stark contrast to the rest of his smooth skin. 

"You aren't in pain?” 

“No,” he assures you, his hands sliding to a similar position on your own back. "Were you for long after?"

"No, but I'm still worried," you smile sheepishly.

He laughs and kisses your nose. "Don't be. Don't feel like you have to be gentle with me. I won't break." 

You laugh in return, your eyes twinkling with delight and a touch of mischief. "Is that a challenge, Jungkook?" 

He hums in response, his gaze never leaving yours. "Maybe." 

His teasing reply only spurs you on. Rising to the bait, you lean in to kiss him, this time with a boldness that leaves him momentarily stunned. But he recovers quickly, matching your fervor and deepening the kiss. Your hands weave into his hair, pulling him closer, and his hips jut up against you almost involuntarily. You moan at the sensation, and he stills.

"What was that?" he asks.

"That," you breathe out, "is what human intimacy sounds like." 

"I want to hear it again." 

His lips find yours again and this time it's deep and demanding, all teeth and tongue and the promise of what’s to come. His hands grab your waist, forcing you to grind down against him as he once again lifts his hips up to meet your core. Another moan escapes your lips, the sound quickly swallowed by his hungry mouth. He tugs at the hem of your shirt, his fingertips skimming against the skin of your lower back. Eagerly, you lift your arms, and he pulls it off over your head.

"Jungkook…" you whimper, clutching at his shoulders. He responds by nuzzling into your neck, his hot breath making you shiver with pleasure. 

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against the curve of your neck, his lips tracing the column of your throat, down to your chest. 

He places a gentle kiss above each breast before descending lower still, sucking one into his mouth. His lips and tongue move expertly, drawing gasps from you as your nerves ignite with pleasure. His hands are firm on your waist, holding you securely against him as he devotes himself entirely to exploring the new terrain, and you grind against him wantonly. You can feel that your panties are soaked with the proof of your desire. 

"Jungkook," you say again, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. His name is a plea, a prayer. "I need more."

He pulls back, his lips swollen from his ministrations. "And so I'll give it to you." 

You eagerly crawl off of him, shimmying out of your jeans, before settling with your back against the pillows. You grab at the air, beckoning him closer. He does the same, now only in his boxers, and slots himself on top of you, his bare skin against yours intensifying the burning desire coursing through your veins. His hard length presses against your core, and you whine.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he admits in a low voice, his hot breath fanning against your face as his eyes search yours for assurance.

You reach up, caressing his cheek. "It's okay," you soothe him, your hands then trailing down his back to rest on his hips, encouraging him closer. "We'll figure it out together."

His lips find your neck as his hands explore every inch of you, his rough fingers exploring the softness of your flesh. He slides one down over your stomach and lower still, feather-light touches teasing you until you're gasping beneath him. His fingers trace the edge of your panties before sliding the fabric down. You lift your hips, aiding him in removing the last barrier between you. He tosses them aside before returning his attention to you, his fingers skimming along your trembling thighs. His fingers move gradually, inching steadily upward until he's touching you where you're most sensitive. You let out a soft gasp, gripping the sheets.

"Is this okay?" he asks. You nod eagerly, unable to get the words out, and he chuckles, placing a gentle kiss at the base of your throat. "Good."

Always the over-achiever, he slides down your body until his face is level with your core, focusing intently on his work. His fingers move with a slow, calculated rhythm that quickly has you dripping for him. Eventually, he slips one of his fingers inside of you. Your breath hitches, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support.

"Am I doing this right?" he asks, uncertainty creeping into his voice as he looks up at you from between your thighs. 

"You must be," you gasp out, encouraging him with a roll of your hips. "Don't stop."

Grinning, he adds a second finger, working you open until you're panting and squirming beneath him. Your back arches off the bed as his fingers work their magic, curling in just the right way that has you seeing stars. Praise tumbles from your lips, but you're sure that it just sounds like nonsense, your thoughts too muddled to form coherent words. 

"You're so wet," he murmurs in a low, gravelly voice that only adds fuel to your desire. 

Without warning, he lowers his mouth to your core, his lips and tongue joining his exploring fingers. The sensation is electric; your breath hitches, and an animalistic moan escapes you. He takes it as a sign of encouragement, doubling his efforts. Your fingers find their way to his hair, threading into the dark strands, seeking purchase. You can't help but pull, and he moans against you, the vibrations only furthering your pleasure. 

"Jungkook," you warn, "I'm—" 

A coil of white heat tightens within you before snapping. His name slips from your lips as you climax, sparks dancing behind your eyelids as he continues to pleasure you, eagerly lapping up your release. He doesn't stop, not until you physically pull him away from you, body shaking with overstimulation. He climbs back up your body, his lips finding yours in a gentle kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. 

His pupils are blown out with desire, his hair slicked back with sweat, and he's so attractive that just the sight of him has you clenching your thighs together. 

You nod, cupping his face in your hands. "More than okay," you assure him. "That was amazing. Now," you slide your fingers down his chest, sliding over the waistband of his boxers. "Let's see what we can do about you."

You hook your thumbs around the fabric and pull them downwards, and he does the rest of the work, kicking them off. You reach down, your fingers tentatively wrapping around his cock. He gasps, his head falling forward against your chest as you begin to stroke him with a slow, measured rhythm. 

He nearly whines, his grip tightening on your hips. "That feels… I can't…" His words dissolve into soft, broken moans as you continue to work him over.

Suddenly overtaken with need, you stop, pulling him in for another searing kiss. "I need you inside of me, Jungkook," you gasp against his lips, "Please." 

Your hand guides him back to your core, and his breath hitches. “Are you ready?”

Nodding, you lift your hips to meet him. He pushes into you carefully, slowly, each inch an intense sensation for both of you. Your body clenches around him as if welcoming him home, a strangled moan escaping your lips. One of his hands clasps yours, bringing it to rest on the side of your head while he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his heavy breaths fanning your skin. He's shaking against you, and you feel just as overwhelmed. 

You squeeze the hand that's holding yours, urging him on. "You're okay," you whisper, "I'm okay. Move."

He nods, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back inside of you. Your body jolts at the sensation, gasping his name over and over. 

"You feel incredible," he breathes out, the statement more for himself than for you. “So perfect.” Your fingers thread through his hair once more, pulling him down to meet your lips.

His hips set a steady rhythm, filling the room with soft sounds of skin on skin and heavy panting. He lets out a low groan as he adjusts his angle, hitting a spot inside of you that has you crying out and grabbing at him wherever you can reach. You wrap your legs around his waist, throwing your head back against the pillows.

"That's it," you whine, "Right there. It feels so good—" 

Your words cut off into a choked moan as he thrusts into you at that exact spot again and again, his movements becoming more erratic. He's close—you can tell by the way his body tenses and how he gasps desperately into your mouth. 

"I'm… I'm—" he stammers out, breath hitching between each word.

"I know," you gasp out, meeting him thrust for thrust. "Me too." 

You pull him as close as possible, holding him to you as you both chase your release. Your eyes squeeze shut, and your nails dig into his skin as a wave of pleasure crashes over you, even more intense than the last. You moan his name as you come, shuddering beneath him. He moans into your neck as he follows you over the edge, his hips bucking uncontrollably as he buries himself deep inside you. 

He collapses on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his heavy breathing tickling your skin. He stays there, nestled inside of you, his heart pounding against your chest, matching the rapid rhythm of your own. You feel dizzy, your senses overwhelmed by him—his scent, his taste, the feel of him on top of you and within you. You caress his back, slowly tracing the contours of his scars with gentle strokes, the action soothing for both of you. 

Eventually, he shifts, carefully pulling himself out of you and collapsing onto his back next to you. His hand searches blindly for yours, lacing your fingers together once he finds it. He brings your joined hands up to his lips and places a soft kiss on your knuckles.

"Is… are you…" He lifts his head to meet your eyes, unable to form words. 

"I'm more than okay," you assure him softly, brushing a stray lock of hair off his forehead.

"Good," he whispers, a contented sigh escaping him. 

His eyes roam over your face once more before closing, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. Together, you lay there under the sheets, and the silence goes on for so long that you almost think he fell asleep. 

Then suddenly, you hear him say, voice barely above a whisper, "I love you." You look over to see him staring up at you with adoration in his gaze and a soft smile on his lips. "I know I don't have to say it since surely there can be no doubt that everything I have done for you is out of love. But I want to say it anyway. I want to continue saying it for the rest of my life. I have loved you since before I even had the capacity to feel it, and I will continue to love you until time ceases to exist."

His confession leaves you breathless, and you can do little but turn on your side, grab his face, and place a gentle kiss on his lips. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks.

"I love you too, Jungkook," you whisper against his lips, "So very, very much." 

He lets out an audible sigh of relief as if he had been holding his breath, waiting for your response. His free hand reaches out to caress your cheek, wiping away a tear that had managed to escape. "I knew you would say so, but I'm happy to hear it all the same."

The two of you get ready for bed, and, for the first time since commandeering Naomi’s office, you fall asleep together in each other's arms.

The day you have been dreading has arrived—Christmas. Despite your initial hatred, however, you find yourself actually participating in the festivities around the shelter. Just like as many others do, you aren't going to consider it a holy day. You're going to use it as an excuse to be happy and spend time with your loved ones. 

You join the group of children who sit by the pile of gifts, their excitement palpable as they eagerly wait for Naomi to declare it time to open them. Small hands tug at Jungkook’s sleeve, pulling him down to their level as they bombard him with questions about where he's been. He settles down amongst them, answering their questions as honestly as he can. His eyes meet yours over the sea of eager faces, and he stretches out a hand towards you, inviting you to join him. You sit right on his lap, making some of the kids giggle.

"Alright, everyone, it's time!" Naomi's voice echoes through the shelter, immediately quieting the children down. 

As each name is called out and the kids scramble to collect their gifts, you can't help but smile. The pure delight on their faces is infectious. Noticing your happiness, Jungkook pulls you back so that you’re leaning against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist. 

He places a gentle kiss on your neck, murmuring, "You seem happy."

"I am," you say, placing your hands over his. "The holidays aren't so bad with you around."

"I'm glad." He turns your head so he can place a quick kiss on your lips, one that is light and soft and sweet, full of love. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Jungkook," you echo, smiling brightly. 

Later, Naomi corners the two of you, pulling you aside. "I've been thinking about what to give you," she says. "I—"

"Naomi, you don't have to give me anything!"

"Don't interrupt me," she scolds, but there's no bite behind it. "Like I was saying, I was thinking it over, and I realized that the best gift I could offer is not anything material. From tomorrow on, you will officially be a supervisor. A paid supervisor." 

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you glance at Jungkook, who is beaming at you with pride. You turn back to Naomi, stuttering out a response.

"B-but Naomi, I couldn't possibly—"

"Yes, you can," she interrupts, her tone firm. "From the day you arrived here, you have been working as hard as any of us. You deserve this." Before you can argue any further, she thrusts a small envelope into your hands. "Consider it an early Christmas gift and your first paycheck. And my office? It's yours."

"Thank you, Naomi," you manage, your voice choked with emotion. You pull her into a hug, hoping it can express everything you don't know how to say. 

She pats your back, chuckling. "If anything, it's an excuse for me to take some time off. I'm getting old and need to start sharing the burden. Don't expect it to be a walk in the park!"

You pull away, wiping a stray tear from your eye. "Of course not. I'm ready to be worked to the bone, ma'am." 

"That's what I like to hear," she comments, her voice carrying an undertone of pride. She turns to Jungkook, her gaze soft but words sharp. "Take care of her, will you?"

"Always," he replies without a moment's hesitation, which earns him a small nod from Naomi.

Eventually, the celebrations wind down and people start to retreat to their beds until only you and Jungkook remain. Instead of doing the same, you decide to return to the pier and watch the water for a bit, not ready for the day to end. The two of you walk in comfortable silence, hands linked tightly as if promising not to let go. 

Sitting at the edge of the pier, Jungkook wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. His body heat seeps into your skin, fighting away the cold, and you rest your head on his chest, letting his strong, steady heartbeat lull you into contentment. 

"Who would've thought we would end up here?" you reflect, staring out at the ocean. 

Jungkook laughs softly, his chest rumbling beneath your ear. "I don't think either of us could have predicted this."

"I never thought I would be happy that any of this happened, but I am. Are you?"

His gaze softens as he takes in the sight of you. "More than I could possibly put into words," he admits. 

"Will you miss it, though? Heaven?"

"I thought I would," he says, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "But Earth has its own kind of heaven. You're here. Naomi is here. The children are here. I have so much more yet to discover, to experience." His gaze returns to you, eyes soft and full of love. "How could I miss anything when I have all of this?”

Your heart swells at his words, his declaration warming you like nothing else could. You reach up to cup his face, your fingers lightly brushing his lips. His eyes flutter shut for a moment at your touch before opening again to hold your gaze.

"You're right," you whisper, your voice barely carrying over the sound of the waves. "This is our heaven. Here, with each other. And who knows, maybe we'll end up back there someday."

"You think?" Jungkook asks, raising an eyebrow. "I must say, I'm a little surprised hearing that from you. I didn't think you had faith anymore or wanted it for that matter."

You shrug. "Honestly, I don't know. I don't have my original beliefs anymore, that's for sure, but I don't resent it all like I once did, either. I think I've just found a new kind of faith. A faith in myself, in people, in goodness, and in love. There are so many different kinds of religions out there, and at their core, they're all about trying to understand the world around us, trying to find ways to cope and move forward. I think that's what I'm doing now, in my own way."

"That's beautiful," Jungkook says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Somehow both simple and complex. Just like life itself, I suppose."

"And what about you, Jungkook?” you ask, pecking him on the lips. How will you move forward?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure, either. But I think I'm happy to find out, as long as it's with you." 

You hold each other close, each hoping your touch can express what no words could possibly convey. Love. Gratitude. Hope. The promise of a shared journey. What more could you possibly ask for?

TAGLIST: @yessa-vie

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook angst #jeon jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #bts au #jungkook au #my fic #collab

[leclsrc]

hi, could you please do the five confessions prompt with charles?

proving my devotion – cl16

genre: fluff, sry charles is a pining yearning mess, title from this

send for five times the receiver almost says ‘i love you’ and the one time they do.

The plates clack against each other, dissonant in the otherwise still evening. Charles stacks one atop the other, awaits his mother’s nosy questioning—the inevitable gamble, every time he brings a girl home—but she’s quiet, humming a song under her breath, the one she always sings when she’s doing the dishes. Something’s different tonight, a slight change he can’t name.

“So,” he starts, because she won’t and the curiosity kills him. His eyes find you, with the ease he’s adopted in the months of knowing you, dancing with Lorenzo on the patio to a Luther Vandross song. “Thoughts?”

“Hmm. Tu es fouineur.” She teases, a glint in her eye. How the tables have turned, she seems to say.

Silently, over the dirty dishes, they both recount the day gone: the lunch moved from noon to half-past-three because Arthur burned the turkey, the dropped bottle of wine you’d gifted because one of Charles’ uncles accidentally let it slip from his hand (you said it was okay, it was just a hundred euros when it was closer to one grand), the guitar performance from Charles.

The way the sun had drowned in a sea of Monaco orange, and with it the stories of weddings, Jules, and Hervé, and the affair moved outside to the patio so Lorenzo could boast his brand new speaker that was so worth the many zeroes on the price tag, maman! And you had quickly found out Charles’ inability to dance was, in fact, genetic.

It’s a new sensation for Charles, a thrilling one, a frightening one even. He squeezes the sponge and watches soap filter through his fingers. He turns, lets his green eyes meet your soft ones. It’s an exhausting effort but he says it anyway, wrenches it out quietly: “I think… I think I…”

“I know,” Pascale says. She presses a kiss to his shoulder. “I see it.”

—

You’d taken home a frayed copy of The Little Prince you bought at a garage sale.

It’s so old, its pages have long yellowed and there’s evidence of past ownership all over it. Most notable of them is a name on the front page, along with a number that’s probably unused now. Isn’t it so quaint—and the words, babe, you’d said with conviction when he questioned your purchase, the words are in French!

You’ve been trying your luck with the language for a good few weeks, but it’s a brick wall—mur de briques, if you go by the textbook on your bedside table. You huff when you can’t translate the last lines of the passage you’re reading, tossing the book onto the empty space beside you that is quickly occupied by Charles’ bulky figure.

“Stuck again?” He asks, opening the dog-eared pages to find where your bookmark is nestled. Under your palms, you groan and nod with frustration.

“Don’t try me,” you say, voice gravelly. “I can’t translate it.”

The rough pad of his index finger traces the yellowed page, and he smiles softly at your many annotations. Verb conjugation, words you found easy, words you still forget now.

His eyes flicker up, to your lying figure, the freckles on your arms, the mole on your hip he can only see because your shorts have ridden down low. His heart swells, seizes, his mind rampant with thoughts of you. Please tell her, he says to himself. Tell her everything. Tell her how you find her in all the passages, in all the French words, in all the books, in all the times she says your name. She’s everywhere, she’s everything. Tell her tell her tell her you lo—

But the realness of it all chokes him, and he says instead, placing a big palm on your abdomen, “I’ll read it for you.”

—

There are few sentences considered odd on a paddock. People say anything on it—driver gossip, car gossip, celebrity gossip, engineer gossip. Charles can guarantee he’s heard some of the weirdest statements and Freudian slips (the one time Christian Horner called Toto ‘dad’) on a paddock. 

“Carlos—pshhfhf—sprayed—pfffsh—whip cream—on my face!” …Okay, that’s. That’s different.

He turns, eyes wide. “What?!”

You stand in the doorway, frozen.

Your face is almost completely covered in white, and bits of your hair have fallen victim to the sweet spray of whip, too. You look frazzled and freaked. “I just got my hair blown out. I did my makeup. Dude. I look like a clown.”

“Oh, my God,” he says, already unable to contain his laughter. “I love you—!”

A millisecond passes him by like an hour. “—r uh, your new makeup hairdo, thing, a-ling. Thing-a-ling. Makeup. Your new makeup.” 

—

There is an angel in Charles’ bed. She leaves a lovebite on his neck.

“Good morning,” he says, gruff. I love— but it stops itself before he can even open his mouth.

—

You get into a minor fight about cooking music.

Charles waves the whisk in the air, claims he will die on the hill of cooking to French jazz. You call it pretentious and crank up the Stevie Wonder. Eventually you fall into a repeated pattern of songs that satisfy the both of you.

“I read somewhere that if you roll basil up,” you say, chewing on a rogue leaf of mint from your pre-dinner mojito and walking up to him, “and chop it, it saves time trying to cut it up by itself.”

“Does it?” Charles asks, entertaining you. You roll your eyes and shove him lightly. He raises the knife in his hand, mumbles careful, baby under his breath. You insist he try, so he rolls up two leaves. Unfortunately, you’re right.

“So now we get to have pesto in five minutes instead of five hours,” you tease, kissing him. It’s minty, there’s French jazz in the background, and you’ve taught him to chop basil in the most affectionate soft-spoken way possible. It’s sacred. He’s afraid, he’s always been, that he would never be able to say it, that it would always be a losing game of wrestling words out of his throat—but now he’s not. 

“I love you,” he mutters. It’s easy, unforced, natural. The words find solace, find home in the warm kitchen. He refuses to open his eyes because God knows what you’ll say then. Run away maybe? Throw all the basil to the ground? Down the entire cooler of mojito?

Your silence is deafening. “Did you hear me?” He opens his eyes.

A foolishly pretty smile greets him. “I got it the first five times.”

#f1 #charles leclerc #leclsrc2000 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader

[magnificentstrawberryomen]

Indisposed (Noah Sebastian fanfic)

18+

Autors note: hi, thank you sm for taking the time to read my story! please let me know what u think of it. also, english is not my first language so i'm sorry if there will be any grammar and/or spellings mistakes, im trying my best :)

Summary: Hailey Clark is Noah's dressing assistant, and has been working for him and the rest of Bad Omens for half an year now. Hailey and Noah have always been attracted to each other, making teasing and sometimes flirtatious jokes back and forth, and became very close and caring for each other since the start of Hailey working for them. They always waited for that one right moment to finally give in to their desire for each other, but there hasn't been one yet, also with the fear of others and their management. Until that one after party after a succesful show arrives and they simply cannot hide their feelings for oneanother anymore, with all its consequences...

CW/TW's throughout the story: Smut, sexual talk, mentioning religion, mention of ed and (bad) mental health/depression, bad relationship with parents/family, christian family history, alcohol use, smoking (cigarettes) [if i forgot something please let me know]

prologue

The sigh that escaped from my mouth wasn't as calm as I hoped to be. I have been looking everywhere for my just newly bought makeup brushes that I've just used for Jolly half an hour ago. How the hell did I already lose them? Lead singer Noah Sebastian-basically the star of the show-is the last band member left for makeup and dressing. Of course.

I've been their personal makeup and dressing assistant for half a year now. The job pays quite well, I was already very impressed by the band and their music before doing this and I can do something I love every day, so I've been feeling very thankful for being able to do this. Through the last six months I have built a very close bond and friendship with the band and the rest of the crew, something that has helped even more with doing this every day.

Tonight will be a pretty big show, so being stressed is an understatement right now. I am quite the perfectionist, so my makeup brushes suddenly missing now is just as chaotic in my head as how the dressing room currently is. `Goddamnit,´ I curse to myself. 

`Seems like someone is in need of some assistance,´ I hear Noah saying, so I turn around to look at him with hopeless eyes. A grin is appearing on his face as he walks over to me, and I have no energy right now to make a remark back to him. That's quite how our friendship has been built up to-make (sarcastic, playful or mostly from Noah's side, sassy) remarks to each other, teasing, or mess with each other. Sure, we can have some normal conversations as well, but we love to get to each other most of the time.

I can tell he freshly washed his mid-length hair as it is still a little damp, and it covers his eyes for a moment so he pushes it back with his hand. He wears a simple black shirt and short pants, with half-worn sneakers underneath and a bottle of water in his other hand where he has drinked out before. 

`You are the last member I need to style. I can't seem to find my damn brushes anywhere…´

`Relax, darling, you'll be fine. Maybe I can help you with your brush set?´ he says in a sort of playful way, and I quickly roll with my eyes, not in the mood to joke about it right now.

`Please, Noah, I'm trying not to freak out. You should know by now how important being organized and scheduled is to me. You guys have to go up on stage in like…´ I look at the watch on my right wrist, and my eyes grow wide. `An hour and a half. Oh shit.´

`Well, that's a lot of time darling, what's the rush?´ Noah answers, looking at his own watch himself, and then back to me. His face remains calm, and I know he is saying this and acting like this to keep me calm and focused myself. I know he can be a little control freak himself, but he has gotten pretty good at making sure I am more stable before him. He knows how my brain works by now, and I have always found it a sweet gesture that he cares more about my own sanity most of the time than his.

`Well, everything just has to go…´

´Perfectly. I know,´ he finishes my sentence before I can. Like I said, he knows me too well by now. 

`And it won't be without those brushes?´ Noah raises his eyebrows slightly with the corners of his mouth slightly curled. 

`Noah, think about the lighting. The different kinds of colors, the almost 2 hours you guys have to perform-no offense but, that sweat needs to be at least a little bit covered. And then there's your outfit…´ I ramble on, and I know that I might sound insane, but I don't care at this moment-I just want my makeup set to be complete, goddamnit.

He slightly chuckles, and says: `Fine, fine, let's go look for your brushes…´ 

He moves closer to me and puts my hand on my hip while doing so, a little amused smile now forming on his lips.

`Focus,´ I mumble, trying to ignore his touch. I must admit that sometimes, moments like these are hard to resist for me. We have not only built a great friendship in the last half year, but also a kind of mutual attraction to each other. There have been moments where we can be touchy, sometimes n79t even thinking much about it or realizing it-and no one has really reacted weird to it, not even the rest of the band or the crew. They have gotten used to it by now, and so have we. But, sometimes the touch can be or feel a little… intense. I can feel myself wishing for more, I can feel the tension in the air, I can see the twinkle and desire in his eyes… and I am sure I have looked at him the same way every time. We never really had a moment to act into it, or the confidence, I guess. We just let it happen and let it go after. Well, also because I want to at least try to keep our relationship still a little bit professional as well, since I love this job and I do not want to lose it.

Noah rolls his eyes and removes his hand from my hip, and just as he does that, he takes the warmth of his body with him, but he doesn't move away from me. `Yeah, yeah, I'm focused… lead the way,´he responds with a playful grin on his face, moving just a little closer to still feel his proximity. 

I tell him spots to look at, and at some point I am even looking through my own damn lunchbox, but I sigh out of relief when I find the brushes in a not well lit corner of the dressing room (are we surprised that their dressing rooms are mostly very dark?) underneath a pile of random clothes I tried on Jolly before. `I got them,´ I say with a relieved, tired smile. I'm surprised that they even got here, since I am usually very organized, but I think that I got them there out of a blur of stress-some shows just give me more stress than the others.

`There you go! See, you really didn't need to be all stressed out. How many times do I tell you that you are always more worked up than you actually have to be? Or is this an excuse to just spend some more time with me?´ he responds teasefully, and I roll with my eyes while holding back a smile. I can tell he is excited and looks forward to the show from tonight-which I do not blame him for, they will be performing for one of their biggest crowds.

`No Noah, I'm doing what I am getting paid for. Now sit,´ I demand him and pat the makeup chair.

`Do I get a say in this, or should I just comply from the get go?´ he asks me with a raised eyebrow, his smirk growing a bit wider as he slowly sits down on the chair.

`I think you should shut your ignorant mouth and let me do my thing,´ I jokingly said, but also really, really wanted to start now because time is ticking by.

Of course his smirk only grows bigger because of that comment, I should have known. `Yes ma'am…´ he says in a sarcastic way, moving his head closer to me with his eyes closed so I can finally start my work.

While I do so, I furrow my eyebrows in concentration like I always do, taking some sips of water in between, since this arena is not really cool with the warmth of outside to say the least. `Almost done,´ I let Noah know.

He sits perfectly still while he watches me, the silence only interrupted by the sound of the music from the opening act, coming from the main stage. I can notice him taking in the details of my face, something I sometimes catch him doing, and it makes me swallow while I try to focus on the finishing touches. 

`How much longer until you're done?´ he asks after a minute, I guess to get out of the silence a bit.

`Done,´ I say right after that, stepping back to look at him for the last time and then nod, to give reassurance to myself.

`And just like that she's done,´ he says while getting up from the makeup chair, and he smiles at me after. `You're always doing a good job at this, I hope you know that.´

I smile at him, needing to look up since he is taller than me. `Thank you Noah.´ I turn around and get out a rack with his clothes. `Now all that's left to do is to get you into your clothes.´

I can notice that Noah can't hide his own stress anymore, because he sighs and looks at the time on his phone.. `Yeah, let's do that.´ He walks toward the clothing rack to put his first outfit on, and while doing so he looks at me. `Will you be there by the side stage to watch us?´

`Yes, tonight I will be,´ I smile. `Can't miss one of you guys biggest shows.´

Noah looks at me with a thankful and kind of relieved face, nodding and when he starts putting his clothes on, I try not to get distracted by his torso, his biceps, his tattoos… like I said before, one night it's easier than the other. I can tell that he notices me struggling, because a smooth smirk is appearing from time to time on his face. Asshole.

He cracks his fingers and neck when he is fully dressed, something I always try not to cringe about because of the sound. He quickly looks at me in an apologizing manner, and then again at the time on his phone after. `Well… I should go to the other guys. Show is almost about to start.´

`Yes, good luck Noah,´ I say with a smile while leaning into him for a hug, something that has become a ritual every night for us by now. `You got this. You always do.´

He hugs me back tightly, his other hand moving and holding the back of my neck as well. `Thank you, Hailey,´ he quietly whispers in my ear, letting go of me after a few seconds. `It'll be one hell of a show.´

The corners of my mouth rise again. `It will be.´

`And I hope to see you after it too? Because the show is not the only thing that'll be one hell of a hit tonight,´ he adds with a grin.

`The after party of course,´ I say, and to be honest I had been kinda forgetting about it, my focus was too much on making everyone's look as perfect as possible. `Yeah, I will be there.´

I can see that he wants to continue this conversation by the way his lips part again, him being distracted by the idea of the afterparty, so I quickly pat his head and say: `Now, get out of here. Go rock the show like you always do.´ I even start pushing him towards the exit, which makes him let out a laugh.

`Okay okay, damn. Don't worry-I'll make sure to give them a night they'll never forget.´

Little do I know, that it indeed will be a night the both of us will never forget, or be able to.

#noah sebastian #noah #noah bad omens #bad omens #noahsebastian #bad omens cult #bad omens fanfiction #fanfiction #romance #smut #noah sebastian bad omens #noah sebastian smut #18+ only #18+ content #18+ story #story #reading #tumblr fanfic #badomenscult

[bowtiepastabitch]

Let's Talk Costuming: A Very Professional Midwife/Cobbler!

At last, the long awaited sequel to Avaunt! aka my post analyzing Aziraphale's (and by extension the other angels as well) costumes from the Job flashback!! I knew Bildad's robes reminded me of something but it has been hiding stubbornly in the back of my memories for weeks, and I was doing myself a little doodle and it came to me, so here we are, friends, buckle up.

For better or for worse (depending who you ask), Crowley's costuming for this bit does not mirror Aziraphale's Renaissance-inspired aesthetic. That is, he is neither buff nor naked, as demons are often shown, nor is he a fucked up little guy

Scene from Michelangelo's Last Judgment, Sistine Chapel altar wall fresco, 1534–41 (featuring buff, naked, fucked up little guys)

The historical evidence that we have for the clothing of ancient Israel is spotty to nonexistent. To my memory, there are no real descriptions of clothing in the Old Testament aside from the instructions for priestly garb. (Note that I'm using "Old Testament" simply because Good Omens is based on a Christian interpretation of religion) None of the art from the period and surrounding time/geographic region, of which there is very very little surviving, depicts clothing anything like what we see in this episode either.

And then it fucking hits me.

It fucking hits me like a sack of bricks.

Weirdly specific Children's bible that stirred up childhood memories so I stole a photo from Amazon; published in 1972

We had this one as a kid, as well as several others, and THAT my friends is what Bildad the Shuhite reminds me of. Modern illustrations of bible stories, especially those used in children's materials. Now Christians are god-awful about giving credit for art, so please forgive me when these don't have sources.

Goodsalt.com has a lot of this stuff labeled as 'religious stock imagery'

This is why the style felt so familiar yet unplaceable: I grew up expecting this as the default outfit for bible stories. If you grew up christian, you're probably at least a bit familiar with this weirdly specific style of art. (Side note: if you have any idea where it came from please let me know, but I can't find any older styles of religious art like it. Anything pre-20th century harkens more to Renaissance style than anything, which in turn is a refresh on Medieval) This is, more than anything, in fact best described as religious stock imagery. It bears a lot of resemblance to clothing worn still in areas thereabout the historical region where this takes place, but it has a distinctive flair that the costume is definitely emulating.

The stripes and colors both feel deeply reminiscent of that art style, and it makes total sense considering this is in fact intended to have the feel of a bible story more-so than any other flashback in Good Omens has. Even the odd floofiness of his beard and hair make sense when put into this context and compared against the beards in the illustrations!

We even see that 'illustrated bible' inspiration right in front of our noses, but my brain didn't even process that because again, this art style is so pervasive it doesn't feel out of the ordinary. It was everywhere in the church I grew up in: posters on the walls in the children's wing, in our bibles and our coloring sheets, all that jazz.

The cheery bright colors, which certainly would not be available as textile dyes for another almost 4500 years, add a definite stylistic flair that makes this not only inspired by modern imaginations, but historically impossible. This of course contributes to the larger theory of how the costumes betray the unreliable narrator which I explore in this post and will almost certainly expand on when the impulse strikes me. The angels can be excused as miraculous, but this is definitive proof that what's happening here is at least in part fictitious, and more importantly for our analysis, that its heavily influenced by MODERN biblical stylization.

Those reds and yellows would have been available sooner, though not 2500 bc soon, but that shade of blue wouldn't be achieved until the industrial revolution and the invention of synthetic dyes in the 19th century. It is, however, very popular in biblical illustrations.

And so, friends, lovers, countrymen, we come to everyone's favorite part. What does this MEAN?

When we talked about Aziraphale and his Renaissance-angel-drag-queen era, the biggest emphasis was on the accentuation of his angelicism and holy glory. He's set apart from the humans in a way we've never really seen the angels before, and he also fits in with the other angels in heaven, who are also dressed ostentatiously to the nines. Crowley, on the other hand, does not have his demonic nature highlighted but downplayed. Instead, he fits in among the humans *almost* flawlessly.

Aside from his incredibly amazing and goofy glasses, which I think are an obvious anachronism of memory, he's dressed in pretty much the exact style as the human people around him, a style hugely shaped by latter 20th century aesthetics of biblical times. From a storytelling perspective, it makes total sense for Crowley to be fitting in among the humans, since he's sympathizing with them and even passing himself off as a human midwife/cobbler right under the angels' noses. He even takes a human name!

From a meta perspective, the modernity of the stylings tells us that whoever is narrating is having their memories shaped by somewhat recent events. However much is true remains under question, and there's tons of fascinating time-fuck theorizing to go around, but whatever is being remembered here is being re-evaluated through the lens of the last fifty or so years max, a mere blink in the eye for our angel/demon duo.

Whether it's the not-pocalypse, the arrival of Gabriel, or something that happened we haven't seen yet, SOMETHING has caused our narrator to reshape these memories recently. The overall character arc of Season 2 belongs to Aziraphale, as he struggles with himself to bring to terms the part of him that sees his own good as an extension of his being an angel and the part of him that can see how awful heaven is, so I think the importance of Crowley being more human than ever while he is more separated from than ever plays a big role in the story we're being told and that will hopefully carry over into season 3.

#good omens costumes #good omens meta #costume design #good omens analysis #good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 #bildaddy #bildad the shuhite #art history #nerd shit

[outlawedmando]

SOMEWHERE SAFE

pairing: sihtric kjartansson × poc!reader

warnings: violence ; sihtric not married here

summary: scared of losing someone dear to you.

a/n: this is so inaccurate but i desperately wanted to write for my one love <3 kicking myself for not watching the last kingdom sooner (that's on me). this has not been edited/beta read.

also! would really appreciate reblogs + comments!!

word count: 1,3k+

COPYRIGHT ® 2023 OUTLAWEDMANDO. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. THIS ORIGINAL WORK IS NOT ALLOWED TO BE REPOSTED ON ANY PLATFORM IN ANY FORMAT.

SOMEWHERE IN DANELAND

The aftermath of any battle came with its own consolation prizes. Both sides of the war lost many on their sides. There were dead bodies scattered everywhere, decorating the barren field to completion. You do not remember being dragged violently on the ground, only that you could not see properly as blood had gotten everywhere—into your eyes and all.

Now as you sit on the bloodied earth surrounded by Danes jeering about how they caught one of Uthred's most trusted men. But, you knew how the men looked at you. You rather the Saxon's and their god smite you then be laid out on a platter for these savages. You did not know when your back up would come, if they would notice that you were gone. You could be dead for all you knew.

Your hands shuffled across your body, patting down all over. Your fingers had found the small dagger strapped alongside your pants on the right-side. You would die with honour if worst comes to worse.

A Dane you haven't seen before strutted in his glory towards you. You glared as he laughed drinking his ale. Most of it spilled all over the ground. He swiped his long dagger from his hip and brought it directly in front of you.

“What a prize you are,” He dragged the tip of the steel from your cheek down to your chest. “I wonder what Uthred would say now that we have one of his own.”

You spat at him, “I will cut out your tongue and feed it to you and I will watch you as you choke on it.”

His smile turned into a frown. He chucked his empty cup away as he dug his dagger into your throat drawing a sliver of blood. You winced but you sneered even more as you struggled in your binding—the rope cutting into your wrists.

“You shut your mouth bitch or I will make you.”

You swore under your breath. You eyed this man before you spat at his shoes. “Fuck you.”

“You little…” He grabbed the back of your neck. You knew there was going to be a large bruise left after. That was the least of your worries. You had endured worse. Women always bore the brunt of men’s actions. That was written in history.

The Dane brought the hilt of his dagger and smashed it against your cheekbone and switched the weapon so the blade got dragged down your neck. He was making incisions amongst your skin, the flesh open and gaping; letting blood run its course.

You steeled your face. You must show no fear. He kept on beating you, wearing your body down. Until, there was a commotion at their camp. One of the men came and addressed his leader that they found dead bodies scattered at a river.

“The sickness, it has travelled from afar. From those Christian bastards. We must prepare.” The leader addressed his men, he stared directly at you, “If you see anyone that is not a Dane, kill them.” He smirked.

You cowered in hurt as you coughed up blood. It splattered against the earth. Your body collapsed against the ground, eyes dizzy. You didn’t remember anything, only blackness.

—

Screams were heard, the ringing in your ears faded with time. The screams continued. Metal clanged against another, the sharp thrum of violence. You could hear a name being shouted, multiple times of different voices.

Everything rushed to your head, a sharp tinge rung through. White light blinded your eyes as they fluttered open, trying to refocus your gaze.

The chant of your name repeated until you saw someone crouch by your side, pushing your shoulders back and letting your body lay on the dirt. You settled your gaze upon the shadow overcast your body, you gasped.

Sihtric cupped your cheek gently, “I’m here,” his fingers caressed the cuts. “I am here,” he whispered. You groaned in pain. Whimpered at the soft touch.

He coaxed you from the ground, hand cradling the small of your back as he helped you up from the ground. Sounds of throats being slit reverberated in the decrepit environment; Uthred, Finan, Osferth and Aethelstan took care of the rest of the men.

Sihtric called Osferth over to tend to your wounds. His look of worry worsened as Osferth approached in concern. He swore openly in undiluted anger. He stabbed one of his weapons; his dagger into the ground. Uthred grimaced. Osferth tended to your injuries, mixing a salve to apply to the deep cuts. He tore fabric and wrapped it tightly around your arms.

Osferth gazed directly into your eyes, “You know he’s not angry at you. He’s angry at himself, right…?”

Silence filled the space. You replied, “I know.” Your hands scrunched into the dirt, burying your anger and sadness into the specks of soil. “I know.”

Osferth got up and smiled gently towards you. “Thanks baby monk.”

His ears tinted a pinkish red.

Finan called him over after he saw that he was done tending to you. Uthred came over. It seemed like a domino effect; each man lined up waiting to speak with you on Sihtric’s behalf. When all you wanted was that oaf of a man.

You glared at Uthred, “Do not speak of it.”

“I do not know what you mean.” He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. He lifted you up and brought you over to one of the horses and helped you up.

“Let’s get back home to Rumcoffa. We will ride as much as we can before we settle for camp.”

“Hmm.”

“You’re riding with Sihtric.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell by the way you placed me upon his horse.”

He laughed. Sihtric approached the horses side and pushed himself up and behind you. He snaked his hands around your waist to grab the reins. His left hand settled against your stomach and gently pushed you back into him. You felt the warmth of his palm. You relished in it.

A throat cleared and you snapped out of your thoughts. Finan smiled like a lunatic. You glared. The horses neighed and set off riding. Only the sounds of hooves hitting the wet ground as the group rode into the horizon safe from danger.

—

Night came upon the land quickly and Uthred decided to set up camp in favour of you being deeply unwell to continue riding in your state. Their were no complaints from the rest of the men. You needed rest.

The fire crackled, the rabbits spit roasted and charred from the fire, chewing of the cooked meat traversed the environment. No one spoke until Finan couldn’t handle the silence and started talking about one of the women in the taverns. An old tale, a tale heard many times before.

You smiled deliriously and yawned.

“Here use this,” sweet Aethelstan gave you a fur to cover yourself. It was a cold night.

“Thank you,” you said.

Sihtric stayed quiet. He stayed quiet until everyone finally dozed off into sleep.

He stayed right by your side; close by.

You awoke soon after. You could feel someone staring into your back or it could of been a nightmare. You’re not sure which. Sihtric gaze settled on you, his fingers clenched.

“Why do you hate me so?”

“I don't hate you. I hate them for turning you into this.”

“Into what?”

“Someone I deeply care for get hurt.”

“You know bloodshed will never end. Especially because of who our loyalties lie with.” You turned over to face him. You stretched your hand across and placed it onto his thigh.

“I still do not like it.”

“Well, you have to deal with it.”

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t pain me to see you hurt this way.”

“Neither do I when I see you hurt.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“I do.”

Your hand grabbed his. “Then lay with me and rest.”

His fingers tightened around yours in agreement.

#the last kingdom #sihtric x reader #tlk sihtric #sihtric one shot #sihtric kjartansson x reader #tlk x reader #tlk imagine #the last kingdom x reader #sihtric #uthred x reader #finan x reader #osferth x reader #tlk #tlk fandom #tlk reader #poc!reader #sihtric x poc!reader

[alatismeni-theitsa]

https://www.tumblr.com/cardassiangoodreads/722229585723424768/im-just-going-to-say-right-now-that-i-dont-think?source=share

Just curious about your thoughts

The post and the tags because this person has blocked me preemptively - and they're lucky cause I wouldn't shat all over them. This person is a USAmerican very removed from Italian culture.

My Answer:

Ooooo coloniser rhetoric in the 21st century! That's a sight for sore eyes! (Which became sore cause they see such takes all the time).

Funny how this person talks about how objects belonging to Greece right after saying that our heritage figures (like our gods and heroes) don't belong to us. If Greek culture is a global culture why can't foreigners keep the objects? Hmmm I wonder…. They still put the "Greek" or "Roman" to characterise the stories but the moment Greeks and Italians speak up, then all of a sudden "the stories akksuually have no culture, they belong to all of us!" 😂😂😂

I wonder if this person understands what the term "heritage" means, because gods and heroes are definitely part of one's heritage and we never stopped preserving the texts that spoke about them, and they are still part of our living culture.

I'm all for listening to the members of the diaspora but when we are at the point when one of them is regurgitating imperialist points, not only there's a big divide with current opinions in Italy, but I also cannot leave such points unanswered. Also, many Italians, like Greeks, are sick of how their myths are treated but this person didn't even check, they just spoke over them. Because they didn't bother to ask people, obviously.

Ancient Greek heroes and gods still mean a lot to us. They always meant. They were born from visions, dreams, and other sacred methods, or oral traditions from our ancestors, reflecting specifically the ancient Greek culture. It's good that foreigners can access them and relate to a degree but divorcing any folk story from its origin is always negative. Especially when this culture is still ongoing.

Our Christianity is revamped ancient Greek religion, I wonder, does this person know that? Our temples have the same parts. We still have home altars, and divinities presiding over domains. Our hagiography is how we used to paint our gods and creatures. We still have almost the same nature creatures. The customs have remained and have persisted, and I won't have someone who clearly ignores this say "They gave the religion up". Ftou.

Also when it comes to our gods and their symbols (and yes btw we call them "our" gods lots of times), we can deduce things from our local tradition and environment, whereas an Anglophone who worships the gods or is interested in them but doesn't know stuff about the country of origin of those gods has no idea about our history, methods and environment. Example: Foreigner refuses to accept that there's a pine cone on Dionysos' thyrsos (although it looks like a pinecone) because "it doesn't make sense" and very excitedly suggests another plant instead. Greek lets them know that it is actually a pine cone not only because it looks like a pinecone but because the pinecone has been used in our winemaking process forever, and Dionysos also presided over this process. Guess Greece and its environment and it's people are still relevant to the religion, and it also turns out that the symbols of the gods derived from the Greek reality. Who knew!

Now onto another point. Op says that the Greek stories became "global culture" because they got shared everywhere. Them being shared is not a bad thing! However just studying them and be taught about them is not culture. By this logic, and since Egyptians "gave their old religion up", ancient Egyptian gods are now MY ancient gods because I can find books about ancient Egypt at my local bookstore. woww 😂 What about this? Almost every Greek knows 100 and 1 nights. We have made it into a play also. SOO... these are our cultural stories now, right? West Asians and Arabs in general shouldn't speak if they ever see us and other nations being ridiculous about the stories, and stereotypes and changing the characters a lot but still claim we are doing great, right? Got it.

The way this post is written it's like Germans and Brits kept the ancient Greek myths alive since ancient years or something. Greeks themselves never stopped preserving their own ancient texts, and they escaped with them in Europe after the fall of Constantinople, so NW Europeans REDISCOVERED them 1500 years later. They had lost interest by then.

Funny they mention different nations that were Hellenized or became Roman territories because people living in these nations are exactly those who don't speak about Greek and Roman culture as "a global culture". It's always North Westerners who start these discussions, I wonder why…..

People from the aforementioned nations already interact healthily with their ancient heritage - which is not Greek or Roman culture but always a local version with Greek or Roman elements, and that's great too. I haven't heard a Pakistani say "Theseus is our hero too!" or a Tunisian say "Zeus is our local ancient father of the gods!" Because they know exactly how the mix happened and what their national identity is. And I'm getting more and more tired of seeing Westerners erase these experiences too, and just make assumptions for other nations.

I swear I mostly see USians getting butthurt about other people getting conquered 2.000 years ago. The nations themselves don't give a shiiit. Guys, I know our antiquities are the only interesting thing about us in your eyes but Please Make An Effort to understand people from ancient cultures and how we don't give a shit about these conquests cause they happened Two Thousand Years Ago, and we had other tragic stuff in the meantime. Thanks

Also, as I said, these conquests are not why Greek myths are popular today. The conquests were so incredibly old that the average person in these countries (Balkans, the Mediterranean, West Asia) - and Greece - had no idea who built the ancient ruins they saw around! Does this person think Greek myths were handed down from Moroccan grandma to Moroccan grandchild from 300 BCE to 2024 continuously or something?

Greek myths are very popular in most parts of the world today because the West (meaning not Greece, especially at the time when we were "cattle") popularized them non-stop the last few centuries. And they did a shitty job, at that. In fact, Greeks abroad have been cringing about this treatment of our myths since the 15th century but, as usual, we were not being heard.

And what does "global culture" even mean?? As if you see any culture to how the US (because OP focuses on the US and the retellings there, from the looks of it) interacts with our stories. As if they care about the meaning of the story. (There are a few notable exceptions ofc but they remain FEW) People with such arguments just want to feel guilt-free when using our myths out of context. That's why Western academic cycles often run in circles about "what the myths mean" while Greeks have told you exactly what they mean.

The US audience is still not free of the coloniser WASP approach. They see our myths STILL as a product of modern White Supremacy instead of an ancient Greek product, and they often condemn the myths and "better" them by completely pushing them into USian lens to the point they don't look or feel like the original myths anymore. (All the above you don't dare to do with cultural stories and figures from nations you want to respect, by the way.) Is this the cultural "exchange" they're talking about?

I'm done hearing in the international spaces that my culture is "boring" because USians have seen horrible adaptation after horrible adaptation. I'm tired of USians making wild assumptions about how "horrible" our gods are because whoever told them the myths didn't give a simple explanation about our ancient societies. (Don't start crap about accessibility, there are very accessible ways to talk to kids, teens, and adults about other cultures and teach them age-appropriate tales) I'm tired of my heritage being commercialized to that degree. All Greeks roll their eyes in USAmerican movies about our culture and we call them Amerikaniés. And don't worry, I'm getting to the real stuff.

How our ancient culture is treated and how we are sidelined has real consequences on our lives abroad AND inside our culture, on how we are perceived, on how our surnames are perceived, on how we "don't look like Greeks", on how our Greek myth retellings don't get published abroad! They speak in front of us about our own words as if they are magical and mythical and strange! The opinions and perspectives of Greeks are not sought abroad, and you are a masterclass on why this happens. We make y'all uncomfortable. You feel better if you forget about us.

Another exhibit: All the hurtful comments of foreigners who centered the HUGE milestone of same-sex marriage in Greece because all they could imagine - while queer Greeks suffered a lot these last few months - was their wedding in Gay Mykonos and Lesbian Lesbos. This was their first reaction. They didn't possibly think that Greeks were seeing that because we are far away and irrelevant, right?

Obviously culture-mixing is not bad but the West didn't mix our culture with theirs. They just took it for entertainment and their popular culture never saw the depth or the meaning of it. OP speaks about how our stories were spread while actively avoiding speaking in depth about the problematic elements of that spread. They recognize to a small degree how Greeks feel about the matter but they dismiss most of our concerns in such a nonchalant way that all that comes to my mind is "privilege".

And speaking of power… Greeks have less systemic power than the countries of the West. We are the US' puppet, are you kidding me?? Our armies get deployed wherever the US wants. Our politicians don't even fart without a telephone from the US. We are the whores of the German, Belgian and French governments. Greeks abroad still face discrimination for their customs and how they look, and how their food smells, and how our religion is and how our hymns sound, and other ridiculous stuff. Our infrastructure is slowly being bought out by Germans and USians to various degrees. There are different scales to exploitation and bigotry, I agree, but that doesn't mean that only the roughest bigotry cases are worth discussing.

"We could also talk about the additional level of exploitation in how imperial powers used Greek mythology as an argument for the "superiority of the West," while at the same time plundering Greece's resources and treating it like it exists only as a tourist site" They are SO close to getting it, and yet their post says otherwise.

Fetishism of a culture makes the members of the actual culture feel alienated and hurt. As a person of Italian ancestry you should know how this specific "global culture" argument has been used to strip Greeks and Italians of any claims, so the "dirty Greeks" can be separated from the "pure WASP" USian upper class of the time who deemed themselves more suitable to engage with the material.

"Greeks spreading their culture through military force all over (eventually) most of Europe" what the hell?? Sorry, guys, (side-eyes the other Greeks) we conquered Romania??? wow!

Plus, this person doesn't know the difference between the Greek colonisation of Italy and Sicily and the recent European colonisation, and - to say it very politely - they should open a book.

By The Way

You can still interact with the Greek culture without having a colonial attitude! Nobody is barring you! I want to make this abundantly clear!

Most importantly, you don't have to make arguments for "global culture" when it's simple to place the myths inside their original context while interacting with them! You just have to read a bit more books that are on the internet and your library for free! Recognising that a foreign culture is not yours, and that you engage with it because it's just popular, doesn't stop anyone from interacting with it. You simply refuse to interact with them at the proper, deeper level, because you always want to center them around yourself. You want to interact with foreign stories just how the colonisers did it. Congrats.

I'm talking about the majority of cases. Of course people in the US can take all sorts of inspiration from foreign myths and adapt them to their reality. And it's a good result when they're being respectful and have studied the stories beforehand.

All we ask is to engage with the material in context so you can understand what our ancestors wanted to express. If your only view of Greek myths has come from other Americans and NW Europeans then you see them through coloniser lens. That's non-negotiable. I had people from other countries recite to me USAmerican viewpoints about the Greek gods, as if they were fact. Cause it's the only exposure that's happening worldwide right now.

You can interact with Greco-Roman myths whether Greece and Rome touched your country or not, we don't care. But please don't get your source from the pop US culture. These people think that it makes sense for nymphs to look like trees (that's an Anglo-Saxon and Celtic nature creature depiction. Ancient Greece was very anthropomorphic). It's not a crime if you change some stuff in a retelling but why willingly ignore the original depictions and what they have to show you for the ancient people who created them?

Pfff... Thank you anon for bringing this trash to me. I needed to - metaphorically - throw something in the trash. It took me a few hours to answer this but well... I do write a lot and this post was full of shit I had to shovel.

#answered #xenoi doing bs #uscentrism #representation #appropriation #greek myth #greek mythology

[captainpulisic]

woke up just in time, now I wake up by your side - c. pulisic

authors note : dedicated to all my girlies who went against gender norms and dont know how to cook for shit. you are SEEN and you are LOVED <3 gif credits to owner word count : 1.8 k

christian had always hated mornings. waking him up was the worst thing you could do. don't get him wrong, he had always prided himself with being punctual and motivated for hours spent out on the pitch but unscheduled mornings were his own time. after long days and endless weeks of training, hiding away in his sleep was the only chance he got to truly rest. no expectations to meet, no obligations to fulfill. back before he had gotten his own place, every teammate turned roommate was tasked with the pointless battle of trying to get him out of bed. it was futile trying to shake him awake or yelling at him to get a start on his day, they’d just be met with snores or a shoe lazily thrown at them. 

if only any of those roommates could see him these days, they’d have a stroke.

the current christian, the one waking up at ungodly hours, was not the one they had come to be weary around. he was different, he was happy. he wasn’t cursing the person waking him up anymore. how could he, when it was you waking him up?

you being an early bird, tried to always wake up at 6 am. a jam packed schedule and uni had you itching to start your days earlier than others, wanting to be out the door by 8 am, and not a moment later. yet, you made sure to always set a few moments aside for the grumpy, sleeping beauty on the other side of the bed. you’d trace the curves on his face, a feather like touch sweeping his furrowed brows and over his lips. sometimes seeing him so peaceful, so beautiful- you couldn't help your urges to kiss him silly.  

and that was christians favorite way to wake up. the trail of kisses you’d leave on him was intoxicating. he felt them everywhere. his lips, cheek, jaw, neck and chest. and when he’d hear your soft ‘good morning’, it was over for him. no, he didn’t hate mornings anymore. he loved them and he wished he could always wake up this early, if this was the way it would happen. 

a typical morning would have the rays of shine having your eyes flutter open. the light illuminates the room, casting a pretty glow on christians sleeping face. it gives you a few seconds to fully wake up, a peaceful prelude before your hectic day begins. the cold london air is still present outside of your little bubble. you don’t even feel it, christians insane body warmth keeping you as toasty as possible. with his arm secured around your waist and your body pulled flush against his, you’re sure you’d survive antarctica in this position.

and while christian might say he despises mornings, you absolutely loved them. and its become your mission to make him love them, too. thus, you’ve created a little game of seeing how many kisses it takes to get him awake and happy. you pepper them all over his face and neck, watching him stir a little. you start this little show by a gentle kiss on each cheek, making sure to leave one on his nose. soon after, you reach his chest. there, gentle kisses to his collarbones and wet brushes where his neck meets his shoulders. they grow a little faster and frustrated as you realize they aren’t working, trying to lure him out of his sleep in the sweetest way possible. 

it took you a week of this charade to realize that he cheats. that he usually wakes up after the first kiss to his nose and cheek, but lays perfectly still. that while his eyes remain shut and face unchanged, he’s praying that your touches don’t stop. he thinks he’s so clever, not realizing you figured out the moment he’s awake. you’ve figured out what areas to kiss, that causes his breathing to stagger. the slight tint in his cheeks betrays him every single time, alerting you that he's conscious. 

lucky for both of you, this is a win-win situation. he likes being kissed awake by you and you like being the one to kiss him all the time. therefore, you’ll gladly keep this pretense up, pretending to desperately cover him in soft kisses until he’s ‘finally awake’.

usually, after you shower him with affection with one final kiss on his lips, he’ll decide to be nice and miraculously wake up (as if on cue). other times, he’ll be a bit more stubborn and keep up his sleeping beauty act. on those days, you’re practically straddling him and messily kissing him. neither of you wanting to be the first to fold. damn right strong headed, the both of you. 

yet, usually, you end up winning with your secret move. the final act that has him waving the white flag and you claiming victory once again. after kisses on neck and cheeks and lips and tattooed chests, you drag your lips to his ear. capturing his earlobe, you tug it gently in between your teeth. 

and that just about does it for christian. game over, no argument. he lets out a sigh and his eyes flutter open. 

“morning, handsome.”

he feigns grogginess, eyes awake and tired. the bastard even has the audacity to fake a yawn. returning a kiss to your forehead, he slides his hands to rest on your hips. a smile plays on his lips, “morning, pretty girl.”

yeah, christian loves these types of mornings with you.

but today was not one of those mornings. he had woken up to an empty space and cold sheets. with tired eyes and still in a sleepy haze, he unlocks his phone to see it’s already 10:15 am. his horrible mood is at the point of returning because you’d usually be in class by this hour. yet,his frown only grows deeper when he remembers it was supposed to be a peaceful sunday morning between the two of you. no class, no training, no plans. 

he could go back to sleep, it’s tempting. he could roll over right now and hide his body further into the blankets. he could do it, but he doesn’t. it just doesn’t seem worth it if you’re not there to keep him warm. hoping to find you somewhere in the house and coax you back into bed, he gets up with a huff. 

he checks the living room, knowing you retreat there to read when you want to be alone. nothing. he checks the backyard, the living room. nothing, again. this house is too fucking big, why does he need all these rooms when they’re just here to make it harder for him to find you?

its when he hears the pots and pans clanking that he nearly trips over himself rushing to get to the kitchen. he doesn’t care how pathetic he seems. frankly, waking up without you and spending these 5 minutes without you, he’s decided they’re the worst 5 minutes he’s ever lived. 

finally, reaching the kitchen, his feet and heart stop at the sight of you. there you were, back turned to him and in his shirt from the night before. he can’t see your face but he hears your smile in the way you were humming along to whatever song is stuck in your head. it’s very endearing to him the way you’re too caught up in your mind that you don’t even notice the eggs burning on the stove. no, making sure the kettle was filled with water seemed more important to supervise. he doesn’t blame you, not really. back when you had first moved in with him, you wanted to make a celebratory pasta for dinner. lets just say, a pot of water caught on fire and some pieces of clothes earned scorch marks. to this day, neither of you can explain how that happened. it was just mutually agreed upon that christian would be the one to do the cooking for the both of you. 

when he fears that the smoke detector will go off any second, he lets his presence be known by stepping up to turn the stove off. your head whips around, finally noticing the burnt state of the eggs. you let out a shy laugh, hiding your face behind your hands. 

“i’m sorry, i know i’m banned from using the stove” you rambled, flushed and starting to regret the romantic idea of bringing him breakfast in bed. “it’s just that you were asleep and you looked so peaceful and pretty- you alway look pretty. and i wanted to do something nice for you and have food ready for when you woke up and uber eats would’ve taken too long and eggs seemed easy. why aren’t eggs easier to make?”

he steps in front of you, taking your hands from your face and kissing each one. his voice is still raspy from sleep, “mornin’ baby.”

“hi, good morning.” you kiss his lips in return. shaking your head once more, “and I really am sorry.”

“it’s okay, we can make something else.”

“wait! I did make you something else.” he sees your eyes brighten, “I also made you toast, no one can mess that up! it’s just bread!”

without wasting a second, you turn to the toaster that’s on the other side of the island counter. you freeze when you see the black smoke emitting out of it. as if on cue, two slices of charred bread pop out. yeah, you both should’ve seen that one coming. 

christian, bless his soul, just smiles and says ‘yum’. he tries, he really does to scrape off some of the darker bits of it. its hopeless. he lathers some butter on it and doesn’t break his smile when he takes a bite of it. you notice how he tries not to wince. you can see him struggle to chew it and swallow, you’d be laughing at his horrible poker face if your heart wasn’t about to burst over how sweet he is. 

he notices your awestruck expression, “what?”

“nothing,” you muse. wrapping your arms around him and burying your face into him, “I just love you, ‘s all.”

“i love you, too.” you feel him squeeze you a little tighter, “and i’ll finish this toast but no amount of love will make me eat those eggs.”

your laugh is music to his ears and he feels a sense of pride for being the cause of it. he feels a kiss on his exposed arm, “sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up.”

“it’s okay,” he kisses the top of your head. hoping to make you laugh some more, “you made me a 5 star meal, so i’ll let it slide just this once.”

yeah, mornings might just be christians favorite part of the day now. 

#christian pulisic imagine #christian pulisic #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic x you #christian pulisic fluff

[that-ari-blogger]

Wicked's Existential Crisis

Deception is a big theme in Wicked. I don't think this is news to many people. The wizard is a wizard, truth is truth, happy is what happens when all your dreams come true.

Galinda embodies this pretty heavily, but so does Fiyero, although they do so in similar ways. They both lie to others, and realise that they have been lying to themselves later on.

But, you need a baseline before you get to character development. You need a benchmark for everyone to either move up or down from, depending on the genre.

In my opinion, Dancing Through Life establishes that benchmark, while asking a few more philosophical questions as it does.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD

"Dancing through life, Down at the Oz Dust If only because dust Is what we come to. Nothing matters, But knowing nothing matters, It's just life So keep dancing through"

Fiyero, buddy, friend, pal... are you ok?

Dancing Through Life is the introduction of Fiyero, and there is a enormous difference between what he is saying and how he is saying it.

That dust line is actually a biblical allusion, with various Judeo-Christian books and prayers claiming that G-d created humans from dust, and that when someone dies, they return to that dust. Hence the "ashes to ashes, dust to dust" saying (source). So, Fiyero is nihilistic.

"Nothing matters, so why bother trying" is such a morbid idea, and its usually associated with emo music, either lots of drums and raw emotions, or quiet and sad. So, when Fiyero sings it as a musical theatre, bombastic full orchestra song, his message flies under the radar because it is so dissonant with the style.

That's the key here. Most of the time, people are nuanced, and stereotypes do not encompass the human experience at all. The emotionally confused or depressed or spiraling person isn't the one who sits in the moonlight writing sappy poetry, it's the person who manages to hide it the most easily because they've been doing it for the longest.

Fiyero is putting up a mask to hide his insecurities, and he is doing it by... not wearing a mask?

Lampshading is the practice of softening elements in a piece of media, letting the audience know that something is out of order or farcical, and turning it into a joke. Overly Sarcastic Productions (@comicaurora) has a video explaining the trope in detail.

In a weird way, this is what Fiyero is doing. He is turning his own crisis into a joke. He doesn't have to hide it if he can poke fun at it. He becomes self-referential, and tells people to move on past the words he is saying and focus on the fun dancing and music.

I see where Fiyero is coming from, here. Purpose is difficult to find in this world, and it definitely seems like neither good or bad are rewarded, and luck will do what it will. But I would like to present a counter point.

Everything Everywhere All At Once was easily the most emotionally powerful film of 2022, and it also discussed nihilism in detail. I don't want to get into plot spoilers, but this movie asks the question: If nothing matters, then what?

And the answer to this is clear: Everything. In a Cinema Therapy video on the film, Johnothan Decker states this:

"If nothing we do matters, then the only thing that matters is what we do."

Actions have whatever meaning we ascribe to them, and if we ascribe no meaning to anything, then everything has meaning on the same level. If nothing matters, then everything matters.

This segways into another core question of the musical and especially this song. Do intentions matter?

Galinda and Elphaba have a comedy of errors with the gift giving, specifically when Galinda sets up Nessa with Boq, and Elphaba arranges for her to receive a wand in return, contrasted with the infamous hat.

Galinda does things for personal gain, and accidentally makes someone's life slightly better for a moment, and Boq kind of does the same. Neither of the two cares about Nessarose, but they bring her happiness in the short term.

"We deserve each other, and Galinda helped it come true."

I mentioned in my post about The Wizard And I that this theme comes up there first, in association with meeting the wizard, and I think there is something else to it than just deception. Don't get me wrong, this is deception at work, Elphaba with the Wizard and Nessa with everyone around her. But that lie has a positive result here, for the moment.

It also separates the consequences from the intention. Elphaba sees the wizard and wants to improve the world, her hopes are on rocky foundations, but her actions are strong, and I have already mentioned what Galinda's actions do.

However, I would argue that intentions do matter, and that this musical agrees with me, and that is with Boq, a person whom I despise.

As a character, Boq is fascinating. He is a direct satire of the hopeless romantic of stereotypical fairy tales, think Ariel from The Little Mermaid, or Lancelot from the 1963 movie, Lancelot and Guenevere. Boq is trying desperately to court someone who does not care about him and has someone who does care fall from the sky in front of him, but he can't see past himself.

Now, pining is all well and good, you are allowed to pine, and if someone is attracted to you, there is no law that says you must be attracted back. But Boq goes a step further.

"It's because I'm in this chair and you felt sorry for me. Isn't that right?" "No! No! It's because you are so beautiful."

Boq had an opportunity to back out of the romance handed to him on a silver platter. He could have said it was just a dance, or even confessed that Galinda put him up to it, if he so desired. But Boq made a choice to keep stringing Nessarose along. He may have his reasons, but I think his actions are not excusable, and the gut punch at the end of the musical when he tells her that he never cared is a betrayal that could have been so easily avoided.

Boq and Fiyero go on to become key players in the "death" of the Wicked Witch of the West, and they do so for alternative reasons, and it reframes Dorothy's journey.

For a more nuanced explanation of what I mean, consider this: In 2019, youtuber Hbomberguy (Harry Brewis) raised $347000 for a Brittish charity organisation called Mermaids in a livestream of Donkey Kong 64, and he gave a speech in October of that year about why he did such a thing.

"I think secretly, we're always making one of two decisions, and we make that decision even if we don't know we're making it. You're either choosing to make life worse for someone you don't like, or better for people you care about. There is an actual difference, and I didn't realise I made the wrong choice until a lot of people came over and helped change the choice retrospectively."

What you are trying to do matters, because if you keep trying to do good, even if you hit roadblocks, if you are truly committed, you will eventually do some good in the world.

I actually like Brewis' definition of right and wrong here, because it isn't overly philosophical, it pertains to individual actions. You either make someone else's life better or worse.

I have been rambling around my point for a while, so let me make it concise. Dancing Through Life asks philosophical questions about life. What matters? Is it you? Is it your actions? Is it your intentions?

Final Thoughts

There are two other things I need to mention before I finish. First up, the extras are some of the best parts of this musical, and in this song, that is driven home. Everything comes across as so superficial, and not in a "that's bad acting" way, but in a "that's an actor playing a character who is acting" way. This carries over to Galinda's entire style of talking, but the extras knock it out of the park here. It means that the only sincere moments in the song hit with the relevant weight. Those being Elphaba and Nessa's conversation, and the Elphaba dance (something remarkably difficult to find images of).

That dance is the moment I see Glinda x Elphaba (I still refuse to use the Gelphie ship name) actually taking off, rather than in What Is This Feeling, because it's the first moment that the two see eye to eye, and Galinda finally understands Elphaba. She earns her friendship and trust by trying to make up for her mistakes. Galinda talks a lot, but actions speak louder than words, and that dance kicks off a love story.

Next week, I will be diving into Popular, a number that really takes apart the theming to an overt level only matched by one other song, and we will get to that one soon.

Previous - Next

#rants #literary analysis #literature analysis #character analysis #what's so special about...? #wicked #wicked the musical #elphaba thropp #galinda upland #wicked musical #gelphie #wicked is a queer story #fiyero #elphaba #glinda #long post

[drconstellation]

All The Colours of the GO Rainbow

Updated 11 Nov 2023

Edit note: I've done quite a big update on Red, Green and Blue, so if you read this before 11 Nov 2023 it might be worth reading it again.

I'm writing this meta about colours in the Good Omens AU in preparation for some future metas I'm planning, where colour will be important. And yes, I'm going to use "colour" as the spelling, as I'm an Australian and I use the UK English as my usual go-to version of English (that is what I was taught at school,) even though I am finding myself flicking between US and UK English here on Tumblr, leaving out u's here and there and putting in z's where I would normally put s's.

I also think its worth having another discussion about it as there are some colours I've have seen discussed here and there, but not at length, and some not at all that I think are important, and I just want to bring them all to one place.

I'm also going to be referring to @cobragardens excellent meta The Colors of Crowley quite a bit in this meta at various points, so you might want to pause and go read that first, then come back.

BLACK

Most people's initial reaction would be to class black as a colour of Hell. Crowley wears a lot of black, and usually a hidden accent of red (aaand something else. I'll discuss that at the end.) But the other demons are actually quite colourful when you get them into the light. They may tend towards the darker shades but there is quite a range of colours seen. Dagon, for example, is a very dark blue, as their avatar is a marine fish. Normally blue is associated with Heaven in GO. But this fits better if we think of black as being the colour of shadow, where the light does not reach, and the place of hidden things, of mystery

And it's worth noting that Aziraphale wears some black when he is trying to perform a magic show. He also wears white and gold at the same time but normally he does not wear these colours, unless he is performing human magic (see S1E1, Warlock's 11th birthday party, and the 1941 minisode S2E4) This should be striking enough for you to sit up and take note. You could say when Aziraphale dons black it is an expression of his act of "mysteriosity."

RED

Again, red is not necessarily a demonic colour, although we tend to associate it with demons, as Lord Beelzebub and Lord Dagon both wear red sashes as a mark of their rank in Hell. Think of it more as the colour of passion and romance in GO. Ooh, got you there! Makes you wonder what Shax is really up to (I know some of you have.) Perhaps they are just passionate about doing their job, or climbing their way to the top of the demonic ranking ladder?

Edit: After writing up a couple of other metas and some more reading maybe a better description is "devotional passion." Shax is devoted to climbing the power ladder in Hell (her red is usually a darker shade of red than Crowley's,) and the Red Team in the paintball fight at Tadfield Manor in S1E2 is devoted to following the rules of Management. Crowley is devoted to Aziraphale, of course.

In Christianity red has an association with the left-hand side, or the sinister side. In GO we tend to call this the "demon side" as there is a lot of shot blocking for shoulder-angels and shoulder-demons. Crowley is typically on Aziraphale's LHS because of this, so when he isn't, we take note. Actually you should take note of all the shot-blocking in GO because who is on the shoulder-right and who is on the shoulder-left of shot tells you so much about their moral stance in that scene! Anyway, in religious iconography it will often be Michael robed in red, with a sword, on the left of Jesus, representing the eccentric, the strange, the excessive, fire - and goats. (Hey, goats are a whole other meta, we are here to talk colour!)

Special mention to the 1941 minisode in S2E4 that is just soaked in red, everywhere you turn: in the sparks flying off the burning buildings as the sparks of love begin to fly, the inside of the book shop where Crowley encourages Aziraphale to think like a professional, the magic shop where danger and chaos lurks in every corner but magic is Aziraphale's personal passion, and the Windmill Theater where he finally gets to perform his magic passion on the stage. Several ops see this as a special memory of Aziraphale's so he colours it with the red of romance. We've got big hopes of seeing a third part to 1941 in S3. Some of this red is also used as a metaphor for flames and fire (there always seems to be something burning after a gun is fired) - we are fanning the flames of passion again!

GOLD

Gold is one the colours of Heaven. Nearly all the angels have some form of gold on them at some point. A gold ring, gold embroidery on their clothes, a golden brooch, gold on their face, Aziraphale's gold watch fob (he has a ring, too). We also see multiple golden lions in various places, which appear to have a connection to Heaven and Jesus. (I'm still planning to write a meta on the lions in the future, but I've got to find them all first! They keep turning up in surprising places...) The lions have a royal connection, one of two royal mentions in this meta, in that they represent the connection Jesus has to the Royal house of Judah, and are a symbol of his return in the Second Coming.

YELLOW

Yellow in GO is probably the hardest colour to interpret. We see a lot of it, because Aziraphale is so fond of it, being the colour of Crowley's eyes. The walls of the book shop are painted yellow, he gives Jimbriel a yellow feather duster to use and he turns the Bentley yellow on the trip up to Edinburgh, much to Crowley's disgust. (To be fair, Crowley's Mayfair flat in S1 was colour-coded to Aziraphale's eyes in return, in greys and subtle blues, but that's another discussion.)

But I think the important thing to emphasis here is that yellow is NOT the same as gold, and we shouldn't blend the two colours together.

While some point out that yellow can be seen as an imperial or royal colour, as it is the colour of the Sun, when you put this colour in context in the GO AU, it more clearly points to being the colour of fear, as Cobragarden's explains in The Colours of Crowley. I would expand on their words, and say that is why Crowley doesn't wear his sunglasses in front of Jimbriel when looking after him in the book shop - its a measure of how afraid he is that the the real Gabriel might reappear at any moment. And back in S1 when Crowley is trying to work out how to escape the burning Odegra sigil he inadvertently created Hastur appears in the front seat of the Bentley in pursuit of him and reaches out to remove his sunglasses. The shock on Crowley's face in the moment is palpable, because he realises he's in the shit unless he thinks quickly - which he bravely does!

GREEN

Green is the colour of chaos.

Originally I wrote that Green was Hell, but on after writing this and going on to write further metas (I think I’ve mentioned this elsewhere, and this is an evolving meta) and a brief discussion in the Notes at the bottom with noneorother, I decided I would re-write this for a better fit.

It still fits Hell, however, as Hell is chaos compared to Heaven. It’s overcrowded, its clogged with bundled paperwork that hasn’t been filed, there is old furniture everywhere. It’s still the overgrown suffocating swamp of decay, with the leaking pipes and the light struggling to find its way down through the mess. It’s still Furfur, with plans to unexpectedly disrupt our hero’s magic act. It’s still the colour of the fog outside the bookshop during the Eldritch Ball, signalling that things are not going to plan. Demons love chaos, its their purpose. It’s the opposite to Heaven, which is rigid and structured.

A recent post from @noneorother highlights that the intense green used for Hell in S2 is influenced by the the Powell & Pressburger movie The Tales of Hoffmann. They say:

Whenever something evil happens in "The automaton ball" sequence, the light changes to this sickly green. Colour is THE important symbolism in Hoffmann, so now we know green is evil.

But they wanted to add that evil is not necessarily Hell. And we would have to agree. Because Aziraphale also has a lot of green associated with him, and he has nothing to do with Hell - he's more an agent of chaos, if anything. He's unpredictable. Let us address this in it's own section below.

Veridian/Teal/Aquamarine

This is a special section to discuss the blue-green hues that Aziraphale wears. Heaven mixed with Hell. Lawful mixed with Chaos. He is one unique angel. The first sight of these colours is in 1601, when we find out that the Arrangement first proposed by Crowley in 537 is now in full swing, where he has some teal strips in his Elizabethan costume.

While I'm told its traditional to have a darker colour on the back panel of waistcoats, it's notable that the back of Aziraphale's waistcoat is a distinctly dark viridian green. Why not dark blue? Or a shade of brown to go with the other shades of brown and beige the angels tend to wear? But what's the meta-writer's motto in GO? There are no accidents...

He also wears a pale aquamarine shirt in the present day. (wearecrowley has posted a nice set of GIFs that highlight it here) No white for him since 1941 at least, although his 1821 shirt also looks green to me, but its hard to tell in the dim candlelight of night time Edinburgh (unless he is performing magic, then he is in white, gold, and mysterious black or being discorporated, then he is colourless white - back to his "native" state, like Muriel in her Earthly Inspector uniform.) The cape he wears in the 1941 minisode is also a fascinating colour. I am having trouble pinning down exactly what it would be called - Teal? A darker aquamarine? Perhaps turquoise. It's certainly part of his colour palette, and still indicating a lawful-chaos mix. A "dark horse" indeed!

[Edit: So i saw someone describe Heaven and Hell as Lawfulness and Chaos, and I thought that was a perfect fit for Aziraphale here with his blue-greens. Remember Crowley described him as "unpredictable" to Nina? Yeah...]

[Edit 2: I've made some changes above because I re-wrote the section on Green. This is an evolving meta!]

BLUE

Blue is a signal of Heaven, the colour of the sky, and a colour traditionally associated with the archangels Gabriel and Michael. We see it in a number of places, in both S1 and S2, where it is used with deliberate care.

Usually a primary shade of blue, this represents the rigid lawfulness and rules of Heaven, as compared to the chaos associated with Hell. In Christian iconography blue is what Gabriel wears as the right-hand-side shoulder angel to Jesus. It represents the Law, mercy, protection, water, sheep(!) and foundation. The "good" shoulder angel is always on the right shoulder in shot-blocking in the show.

Below are some examples of where we see it:

The blue paint on the back of Aziraphale's coat when he gets hit by a paintball at Tadfield Manor in S1E2.

The colour of Newt's car, Dick Turpin (which actually presents an interesting juxtaposition, as Newt is a Crowley parallel.)

The colour of the external walls of the coffee shop in S2, and some of the inside, which is also the same as the take-away cups, such as the one the Metatron offers to Aziraphale.

The colour of the gecko Jemima asks to be turned into in the Job minisode.

The colour of the suit Jimbriel wears at the eldritch ball, and the glorious ostrich feather jacket he dons when he exits the book shop to give himself up to the demons.

PURPLE

Purple has long been the colour of royalty, since ancient days. This was for good reason - there was only one natural source of the rich purple dye. That came from a small marine snail that was found on the coast of modern day Lebanon, near Tyre, and they held the monopoly on this trade for centuries. Only kings and emperor's could afford to have cloth dyed in this colour, known as Tyrian purple. It wasn't until the first synthetic purple dye was created in 1856 that the common man could afford to wear it as well.

In Good Omens we see Gabriel, the Prince of Heaven, wearing this colour in his ties, and also showing it in his irises in both S1 and S2. But only when he is Gabriel, not as Jim.

[Edit: So I only just found out that the colour he wears is lilac and is modeled after Elizabeth Taylor's famous eyes. But hey, she was a queen of the screen - movie royalty! And you still need to explain all the other purple below. Also, she was only born around 100 years ago and Gabriel has theoretically been around for...a lot longer, so I'd say Gabriel came first.]

There are a couple of other places we see it used. One is when angel Crowley starts up his nebula. The plume of miracle energy emanating from the book shop after the 25 lazurii miracle is also this colour.

Archangel Saraqael's chair is purple when she is on Earth. And Saraqael and Muriel both have purple in their tartan when in Heaven.

WHITE

White is the colour of the angels. It is the colour of Aziraphale's wings and the colour of his robes during ancient times from the Beginning up to Rome. Once the Arrangement starts, the white starts to be replaced with other colours, and the shades of teal and other blue-greens start to appear.

By the present day he has virtually lost all trace of white, except for his hair. He then only appears in all white when discorporated.

Muriel turns up in a conspicuously bright white police uniform on Earth, and the other angels all have some form of white on them.

Crowley sometimes has small accents of white as well. They can be easily missed, such as the white shirt cuff protruding from his sleek black Elizabethan costume in 1601. Remember they are discussing the Arrangement here - so they are both showing signs of taking on each other's colours at this point. On the other hand, I know quite a few people have commented on the white in his 1941 garb, on his tie, and his pocket handkerchief (and remember, he wears a grey shirt, not black, because he doesn't want to be mistaken for a black-shirted fascist during the war years.)

SILVER/GRAY

There are two colours I keep seeing that I'm going to group together as one, and that is silver and gray.

The senior archangels are notably dressed in what I've seen described as dove-gray, but an article on the costumes calls it pearl-gray, and it was meant to look a bit shimmery. I sometimes refer to this group of angels as the Archangels with the capital A, or the seraphim, the closest angels to God. This includes Gabriel, our current Prince of Heaven, Michael, Uriel. And I'm going to include Crowley in his trademark Tactical Turtleneck master spy disguise when he infiltrated Heaven with Muriel in S2E6. Hey, he could have worn white!

So where does this colour come from?

I've spent a bit of time banging on in the past about "traditional colours" of the archangels, in particular Gabriel and Michael's being blue, and the missing Raphael's being green. Part of the problem is, though, if you go looking online for who's colour is whose, you get a big variation in answers. Michael nearly always comes out with being associated with blue, and Raphael with green, so no problem there, but all the other traditionally named seraphim seem to get other colours put against them. For Gabriel, though, a commonly associated colour does appear to be white or silver.

Now my guess would be that sparkly silver would be too naff a look for the angels. I mean, look at what Crowley manifests as a blending-in "bees" disguise, a slightly shiny grayish suit, which kind of mocks the other Archangels (and you're overdoing the gold hints there a bit, Crowley) but it is curiously the same style as Saraqael's garb, and they did supposedly work together on the Horsehead Nebula. Hmmm. The Archangel's pearl-gray suits look very corporate and business-like, echoing a large soul-crushing business entity.

But this is not the only time Crowley wears this upper echelon colour; he has quite a habit of wearing it, particularly once the Arrangement kicks in.

The problem is, he nearly always wears near-solid black (unless he is trying not to get killed, like in 1793 Paris - Cobragarden's meta on the context why here - or 1941 London - see above,) so it stands out. I find this a far more interesting than the red accents, and should note that we don't always see it on him; its not there in 1967, for example.

One colour that is noticeably missing in the full GO rainbow is orange. We don't get it handed to us on a plate as much as the other colours do. Perhaps one exception is the sign for The Resurrectionist pub in Edinburgh, where Jesus is wearing an orange robe under a blue cloth. [Edit: It must be my screen colour, its been mentioned to me that the under-robe is actually crimson red.]

So now we have run through all the colours, it can be interesting to look at them in combination.

Bonus points for noticing the white mugs for the S2 coffee shop (six-shots of espresso,) to go with the blue take-away cups. The shop is blue-white-gold themed. Truly meant to be a place where Heaven is obtainable on Earth! It also kind of reminds me of the sky - blue sky overhead, white clouds, and a golden Sun shining down (from the brass lamps.) [Edit: There is a paler green inside the coffee shop - its easy to miss, we are too busy watching the characters!]

The book shop also has a combination of colours - predominately red and yellow. Yellow for fear, and red for passion and romance. Ouch, what a combination!

Aziraphales's white, gold and black combination for performing magic also has me intrigued. It's not just the black, but so much golden colour in the form of a golden vest. And we get it both times in both 1941 and 2019. An angel from Heaven trying to hide what he really is.

I've added an extra section below as part of a reblog on the angel off-whites and shades of brown that also appear, as I realised I missed them, and do a character analysis of the Metatron, so make sure you read that as well.

If you are interested in my analysis on the tartan in GO I've one here at: What the Tartan Tells Us

For further meta reading on colour in GO try the following:

If you haven't read it yet, do go and read Cobragardens The Colours of Crowley, Red and Yellow can hurt a fellow: Colour Symbolism in 1941 Part 1 and Part 2 as it makes the colours more character specific, whereas I've tried to give the colours a more over-arching theme here.

And for the importance of the yellow colour Vavavoom! which is used on the book shop walls, (and matches Crowley's eyes) see Vidavalors post on The Vavoom: Or, when the show's hinting Crowley & Aziraphale first kissed

#good omens #good omens 2 #crowley #aziraphale #good omens meta #good omens analysis #gabriel #shax #muriel #color #colour #colors #black #red #gold #yellow #green #viridian #blue #purple #royal purple #white #silver #grey #dove grey #archangel #archangel gabriel #prince of heaven #maybe you'll spot an archangel

[homunculus-argument]

Hi i hope ur havin a decent day. I like ur posts and wanted to share that the other day i asked my sister what a concerning number of panic attacks to have in one day was and i was shocked when she said any panic attacks are concerning. Like im out here just goin about my day trying to figure out whats normal too and i think thats neat, same hat buddy!

Also arabic calligraphy does slap i grew up in a muslim house where arabic calligraphy was everywhere like a texas house of crosses and its neat. Religion and me are complicated but the art is always a delight. Theres lots of cool reasons why its like that if u wanna wikipedia it sometime or chat to me about it.

Oh yeah I encountered someone's story here, somebody told of how she told her first gynecologist that sometimes the period pain is so bad that she faints from it, and he dismissed her as being dramatic, which she interpreted as "fainting from pain is normal, and there's no reason to be dramatic about it". And she lived like this for years and had a whole baby, and then asked a pediatrician could she at least get painkillers for the periods while she's breastfeeding, because she's scared that she'll hurt the baby while falling when she faints while holding the baby. And this time the response was a far more appropriate and professional "ma'am what the fuck", and it turns out that fainting from pain actually isn't normal.

I've got a tricky relationship with religion too - my father was a militant atheist who hated religions as a whole and christianity in particular. My mother didn't care that much either way. If dad had just once said "I don't want that stuff around my kids", it would have been so. My mother wouldn't have fought it. The only reason why both me and my sister were raised christian anyway was because the thought of protecting his children from something that he deemed harmful literally never crossed my father's mind. It flat-out didn't occur to him that he could or should make the slightest gesture to keep his children away from influences he hated.

I'm currently learning Hebrew on duolingo for some reason, and while I haven't even gotten halfway through the alphabet yet, this writing system sure was not designed with idiots in mind.

[miss-eli-starfleet]

didn't you say you are going to leave this place because of, and I quote "too many alphabet people"? please hurry up and get out of here, we don't need hateful people spreading bigoted views in here. while you are at it, quit playing Sky too, since its core message is literally "love everyone". and considering how many queer people play Sky, some of your constellation friends are also part of the "alphabet". Oh, let's not forget that all spirits and elders are canonically nonbinary and use they\them. And that is not to mention that people who created this game are openly LGBT too, like Ash and Aimi, the concept artists without whom the game wouldn't exist. Spitting into the well you drink from, huh? honestly, how can you call yourself Christian when all Jesus taught was to love your neighbor and be kind, while you spew hate and bigotry. I hope you grow and become a better person. When you stand in front of God, he will ask you about what YOU did in your life. Being hateful is undoubtedly not an answer he will want to hear.

Heyo!

I’ll admit I was blunt and harsh with my post there, and each day I do try to grow and be a better person. Yeah, at the moment I wrote that I was probably angry and frustrated and I’ll admit that perhaps airing out my frustrations that way wasn’t the best choice.

You are right in the fact that Jesus taught us all to love one another, be kind, love others as you would love yourself. Christ sat and dined with sinners, prostitutes, tax collectors, etc yet he didn’t partake in their sin nor did he support/encourage them in their sin. Christ forgave, and had compassion for all sinners, but when he forgave these people and healed them, he would say, “Now go and sin no more.”

Every. Single. Time. (To my recollection, correct me if I’m wrong)

The reason why I choose not to support the LGBT movement is because those values (homosexuality, lust, trans) go against God. God created man to be with woman and only within a God ordained marriage, can they then have sex. Anything outside of that is considered a sin. Plus, regarding the trans movement, it also goes against God’s creation because we are created in his image and God doesn’t make mistakes when creating someone.

When I stand before God, yeah, he’s gonna ask me what I did in my life. But in turn he’s also gonna ask you what you did in your life.

That post might’ve portrayed me out to be “I hate LGBT”, but I’m honestly just annoyed because all this pride stuff is being shoved in my face everywhere I look. I just disagree with the LGBT movement and do not support it. I have many friends both in-game and in real life who are “alphabet’ people, but it doesn’t affect our friendship (on my end at least). I TRY not to judge, because Jesus also called us not to judge. But just like you are allowed to disagree with the way I live (am Christian), I am also allowed to disagree with the way you live. That is not hateful. It’s just disagreement in lifestyles.

If you think disagreement is hateful and bigotry, maybe re-think your definition of disagreement. Even so, learning to agree to disagree is a very valuable skill in life. There are 8 billion ? people on this planet and I guarantee that most if not all of them think differently than you do and will disagree with you (not just on LGBT but other things too). And learning to cope with that and learning to cope with the concept of being “offended” is also a really valuable skill in life; you’re gonna be offended in this life.

Plus, the concept of pride is a sin. It doesn’t even have to be surrounding the LGBT movement, pride of anything is considered a sin by God’s standards.

And then about the non binary spirits thing; yeah that might be canon in Sky, but I still see them as women and men. And I am allowed to do that because I am allowed to have an opinion. Just like you are allowed to have an opinion. You can tell me a thousand times that in Sky canon, the spirits are non-binary and go by they/them pronouns, but I’m still gonna see them as men and women and he/her pronouns, respectively. Plus, these are just video game characters so the concept of “misgendering” them is impossible. At the end of the day, it’s just pixels on your screen.

Feel free to shoot me another “ask” if you want to respond anonymously.

[onadarklingplain]

9. fruity / delight for our special guys??

thank you both for this very galex pick!! it's going to be another art world au summer special

When Alex finally lets himself kiss George, his mouth tastes fruity, like the sugary cider he’s been drinking all night. They’re both still holding half-drunk pints, and Alex feels his beer slosh over the side of his hand a little when he steps in closer to back George up against the closed shopfront that’s across from the pub.

It’s August, and they left work on time for once, and Alex is feeling indulgent. The day is cooling off, but the heat is still radiating off the pavement, rising around their ankles. He lets himself lick into George’s mouth messily, his free hand wandering down to the place where George’s shirt and trousers meet, the little sliver of skin there. George is easy for it.

When George makes a delighted little noise into his mouth, Alex wishes they hadn’t agreed to come out. He lets his hand run down George’s arm, over the delicate bones in his wrist and wishes that he had taken him back to his flat instead, to his bed. His pint is already warm in his hand, and he doesn’t want to stop kissing George to drink it. He wants to drop it onto the pavement and let it run everywhere. The hot tube ride back to Stratford feels like it’s going to take an age. When someone across the street wolf-whistles, Pierre maybe, George pulls back. His face looks flushed, his lips wet and shining. Around his face, his hair has started to escape from its gel — it’s getting all frizzy in the humidity.

He looks ridiculous, all tanned somehow, even though they’ve just been in London all summer. It makes Alex want to kiss him again. He wants to bracket George against the bricks and forget that it’s a Thursday, and they’re standing on a street with all their colleagues. But they’re only out for drinks because it’s supposed to be Pierre’s leaving do, so. He makes himself step back a little instead. When he does, he notices that George keeps looking over Alex’s shoulder, distracted. 

“What is it,” Alex asks before he turns around. If it’s someone that’s going to ruin his day — fucking Zak Brown wanting to talk about if they have any Norris works available — Alex doesn’t want to know. "It’s Daniel,” George says. He’s barely moving his lips, but he hasn’t taken his eyes away. “He’s talking to Max Verstappen.” 

Fuck’s sake, Alex thinks. He tries to subtly move his body so that he’s standing more in front of George. Like, if they're out of sight, maybe they'll be out of mind. Hopefully.

“What if you pretended not to see,” Alex says, and he leans in to nip at the bottom of George’s earlobe to help make his point. When George makes a little whimper into Alex’s hair and grinds up against Alex’s leg, Alex thinks — maybe. Maybe he would.

But then George says, “But, Alex — he’s. Verstappen works with Christian Horner and Horner is Toto’s client.”

I’m not a moron, Alex thinks. I just don’t care. For the sake of the rest of his evening, he elects not to voice that particular thought out loud. Instead, he waits for a second in the hopes that George will realise he isn’t getting paid enough to intervene. 

“Daniel—” George starts. “What do you think. He wouldn’t be telling Verstappen about the preview for the Leclerc show, would he? It’s just, Toto was going to email his clients about it in the morning. I’ve already set up the mail merge.”

Alex leans in again and kisses George’s neck. He tastes sweet and salty, like his sweat. 

He’s braced for it, but it still makes him wince a little when George says, “I think we should go over. Just to see.”

Alex finally gives it up for a bad cause and looks over his shoulder. Sure enough, Daniel and Max Verstappen are standing outside the pub with pints, just to the side of the rest of the group. Max is talking with his hands, holding a half-drunk gin and tonic, and Daniel is looking at him raptly, like they’re the only two people on the pavement.

It only takes Alex two seconds to realise that they’re definitely definitely not talking about Leclercs— they’re flirting. They’re both laughing way too much. No one has ever been that funny. And Charles makes freaking abstract sculpture about like, the history of French eroticism. It’s not exactly a comedy goldmine. 

Just as Max freaking bites his lip and Alex thinks to himself that he would rather throw himself into the Thames than interrupt whatever they’ve got going on, George says, “I’m going to go over and introduce myself. I think it’s a good idea.”

It isn’t at all, Alex thinks, but he knows the look on George’s face. It’s the look that’s going to make him very good at sales, as soon as Toto lets him off the lead – determined. 

“Fine,” he says. “But you're buying the next round.”

He watches as George steps across the street, sticks out his hand, and says confidently, “Max, it’s George Russell.” George doesn’t seem to notice the look Daniel gives him – like Daniel is trying to vanish him with just his brain. 

Alex downs the rest of his pint before following. He thinks he’s going to need it. 

#when it's summer and you just want to write about your guys engaging in horrible pda #art world au #galex #gr63 #aa23 #f1 rpf #tumblr fic

[bullet-clubs-bitch]

Christian Cage NSFW alphabet please?

CHRISTIAN CAGE NSFW ALPHABET

I'm so sorry this took me so long to get to, I have been so busy

Warnings: NSFW CONTENT 18+ ONLY

Christian Cage Masterlist Main Masterlist NSFW Alphabet Masterlist

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Believe it or not Christian Cage is a real sweetie 

He is such a daddy that he would do anything for you

He would scoop you up in his arms, carrying you to get to get cleaned up

He would hold you close and tell you how much he loves you

The two of you falling asleep in eachothers arms 

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs or their partner’s)

Christians favrouite part on you is your thighs 

He loves to leave marks on your inner thighs 

Loves to have his face buried between them

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Its no secret that Mr Father of the year has a serious breeding kink

He is obsessed with the idea of getting you pregnant 

As much as he jokes about it he really does want you to carry his children, the looks he would get, the backage whispers that he got his controversaly young girlfriend pregnent 

He loves it  

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It’s no secret that Christian Cage has a thing for younger girls, especially if they are fatherless 

He loves to take care of you, praise you, spoil you

He is a total daddy at all times especially during sex

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Christian Cage is VERY experienced 

He knows exactly what he is doing

He knows exactly what you want when you want it as if he could read your mind

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

As simple as it sounds Christian loves missionalry

It allows you to be so much more intamate with eachother 

Cowgirl; he loves it when you ride him

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

If he really wanted to he could crack a joke but 98% of the time he is 100% serious and focused 

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Well trimmed 

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) 

Christian Cage is such a romantic 

He is very intimate, he loves to praise you 

J = Jack Off 

Christian doesn’t jack off like he used too

He says if he needs that release he woud rather go to you for it

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Daddy kink 

dd/lg

Breeding kink 

Overstimulation 

Pregnancy kink 

Orgasm control/ orgasm denial/ forced orgasm

Spanking 

Cock warming 

Creampie 

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

house/hotel 

pool/beach 

Literaly anywhere and everywhere 

He defo has a thing for water sex

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Christian loves it when you wear little outfits around the house to tease him 

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Group sex/ sharing

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He loves to give, more than receiving 

He loves to be buried between your thighs making you come undone over and over again

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Depending on his mood that day he can be fast and rough and slow and sensual

He loved to make beautiful love to you but he also loves to destroy you

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Christian is not a fan of quickies, he would rather take his time with you

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Christian loves to experiment 

He is a risky man filled with lots of secret tricks 

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

The amount of stamina this man has is unheard of 

He puts men 2x younger than him to shame 

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Christian definitely has a secret collection of toys he loves to use on you

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He is a massive tease, he loves to mess with you

However he hates it when you do it back 

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Louder than you would expect 

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

“Christian, are you insane! We can’t do it here!” “Why not? Do you feel how hard I am right now? I need you Y/n.” “We are on a beach filled with people!” “Like that’s stopped us before” “Oh my god Christian, look what you did. You have terrified poor Nick! Why would you say that when he is right here” “You know I love you Nick but you are ruining the moment”

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

8 inches 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

So high 

Like crazy high 

Like everynight high 

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) 

Surprisingly Christian Cage is a sleppy man, he will fall asleep before you

#bullet clubs bitch #all elite wrestling #aew smut #aew #aew fanfiction #christian cage #christian wwe #christian cage x reader #christian cage gif #christian cage imagine #christian cage smut #christian cage fanfic #christian cage x you #christian cage aew #christian cage is so hot #Christian cage oneshot

[mrghostrat]

is the infedelity fic in your fic ideas post flawless? or is there a second infedelity au potentially in the works? also if you want to expand on any/all of the fic ideas you posted, i’m sure people would love to hear about them!! (me. i’d love to hear about them.) no pressure tho!!!

yes that one’s flawless!

i’ve shared a couple before.. u’ll have to hunt thru the #ratwips tag to find them ;) people had a lot of fun with “you’re MARRIED?!” in particular

tho i did forgot to mention Lighthouse in that soft and sweet ask, if i ever write it. the idea for that one is taking my latest original story and writing a gomens version of it. still haven’t decided which version id rather do first (#my cowboys)

original: (south australia, 1891) christian, a 19yo city socialite, is suddenly orphaned, and his inheritance is to be held by his aunt until he turns 21. a spinster with no heir of her own, aunt evie asks him to stay with her and learn to run their lighthouse, so she can pass the duty to someone when she dies. christian hates the small town and the isolation, and especially hates the local drover (cowboy) that delivere their groceries and helps evie around the property. for daniel brown, its love at first sight.

christian learns to love the town, hard work, his family, and himself.

gomens: this is hard bc aziraphale would make an equally good lighthouse keeper and drover. the drover is a cheeky golden retriever with a good heart who loves lending a helping hand. but he’s also a restless nomadic who can’t settle on a single thing and keeps popping up everywhere, just like crowley. he’s also a head-over-heels romantic who teases and tugs the pigtails of his little crush bc the light keeper is so startled by genuine affection

i like the idea of aziraphale giving up whatever dull life he leads and taking up the lighthouse job, for the desire to get away from the annoying clamour of the city, but completely romanticising what it’ll be like. thankfully the local cowboy, crowley, is happy to teach him how to fend for himself, keep the garden alive, and maybe even keep him company when the big storm hits

#my cowboys #ask a rat #ratwips

[anamericangirl]

The most frustrating part of the discussion about drug shows, LGBTQ, pedophiles, and kids is how quickly leftists will change the subject to religion.

1: This drag queen who does a reading hour was found with CP on his computer.

2: There are pedophiles in churches too!

1: I'm aware of that. If there was a pedophile priest I would bring it to your attention too. I'm not talking about something that happened years, or months ago or any hypothetical pedos who still haven't been caught. I'm talking about what was reviled this morning.

2: You Christians are always demonizing poor LGBTQ people, making them look like they're after your kids. Deal with pedophiles in Churches first!

1: First of all, it's not only Christians who have problems with kids being taught LGBTQ and Drag Queens. Those things are obviously sexual. Talking about who you prefer in bed. Talking about changing your privet parts. ''Feeling'' like another gender. It confuses kids! That's why there is so many LGBT youth who later regret transitioning. Second of all, we are dealing with all kinds of pedophiles everywhere at the same time. There is no ''deal with it first''. There always be another one of these people. If we're only allowed to talk about pedophiles in LGBT spaces after we deal with pedos in Churches we will never get to talk about it. And even if by any chance we did succeed there would be no telling because of all the hypothetical pedos that can still be there. Also, why do you only bring the Christian religion? What about other religions that don't support LGBTQ? And what about religions that practice marriage between children and adults, actually, plain to see pedophilia?

2: So you're not only homophobic but also racist!?!

1: Religion is not a race!

2: Here, I found an article about a pedophile priest just a day ago. I will vandalize local Churches which have nothing to do with this guy.

1: What? Why? How will it help? If you're worried about children being abused why don't you just observe people around them and look for something suspicious?

2: The unfortunate truth is there always be pedophiles where kids are. Predator follows its prey. I don't think they go out of their way to work at a senior home instead of a school. Speaking of which there is much more pedophile teachers. Will be just as passionate about getting rid of them from schools as you are about getting them out of Churches?

1: I don't want to get rid of them from the Churches. I want Churches and Christianity gone.

2: By that logic, should we get rid of public schools?

1: I don't care about logic. I care about feelings, MY FEELINGS regarding hating anything Christian and loving anything ''progressive''. I use children to guilt trip you into agreeing with me.

A pedophile is a pedophile! Stop protecting them because they belong to your group! It makes that group look terrible.

That's a pretty solid break down of the problem here. Instead of just acknowledging the pedophiles in their own group when they are discovered they just deny, deny, deny and immediately just turn it onto christianity for some reason and find a news article about someone child molester from a church as if that makes a point against the pedos in their own camp.

And the thing is we're not even denying that some people in the churches are pedophiles. There are pedos everywhere and what we need to do is remove them, not act like they aren't there or just shrug and go "well I found one in your group too!!" Uh good job?? Let's get rid of them both.

Instead of trying to find who has more pedos we should just be able to unite on expelling them. Not denying the problem and trying to shift the focus elsewhere.

#anon #answered

[radiosummons]

Even though Wolfwood is very much not an actual Catholic priest, I do find it compelling that Vash--someone without any religious beliefs and minimal exposure to "Christianity," courtesy of Rem (OG Trigun)--is the most faithful of the two.

And by "faithful," I don't mean so much in a religious or Christian sort of sense. More that Vash holds onto his faith that there is good in people and that everyone is worth saving. That the taking of a life is something so unspeakable to him that it will literally cause him immense mental, emotional and physical pain when he is forced to do so. His unshakeable belief, i.e. his faith that every life is precious and no one is beyond redepmtion irregardless of how morally corrupt an individual may be is so foundational to who he is as a character.

While I've only really experienced this through anime and various other Japanese based video games, I do enjoy seeing depictions of Christian iconography and concepts form non-Western creators. I love the art and memes of Vash being a "biblically accurate angel" (even though Plants aren't angels, I am so fucking happy that people are picking up on the unintentional symbolism) and I do enjoy the amount of, again, art and memes of Wolfwood being a cringefail Catholic priest.

But I also love the non-Western depiction of Christianity in Trigun, or rather the apocalyptic remnants of it. Despite the fact I have lost my ability to have faith in a higher being (and my own personal beef/distate with the Catholic Church/conservative Christianity as a whole), I find the worldbuilding of Trigun fascinating in this aspect as it provides its audience an alternative form of a global religion that's very relevant to our daily lives.

In Trigun, Christianity is very much a shadow of its former self, a leftover remnant of humanity--more specifically, a remnant of an old forgotten belief system--that has been essentialy been lost. Save for a few remaining Bibles and some memories of particular Catholic iconography/symbolism.

But overall, that's all that remains. Just familiar symbols and various rituals that some people are able to recall from their former lives.

So the decision to pair Vash up with someone like Wolfwood, someone who has lost his faith in humanity as a whole but has resolved himself to protect those that he can (or rather, deems worthy of saving) ... I find that relationship absolutely fascinating. Because I'd argue that in most Western depictions of a holy man (typically Christian and typically Catholic, let's be real), it's usually the holy man that is doing the saving. Or at the very least, is usually helping guide the other characters on their own paths towards redemption.

Despite the fact Wolfwood isn't an actual priest but instead an assassin trained by a mercenary group using the guise of an old religion (again, that most of humanity has clearly forgotten about), I find it to be a wonderful storywriting choice to make Vash the "holy man."

They're both incredibly tragic characters that burden themselves with crippling destinies. Destinies that ultimately lead to their own destruction, but hopefully all for the greater good. Vash holds faith that maybe, just maybe, he can make Nai realize the error of his ways and turn over a new leaf.

Understandably, Wolfwood finds this way of thinking horribly childish and naive. He even takes it as a personal insult when Vash continues to insist that killing people, even if it's for the sake of protecting someone else, is wrong.

But Vash isn't wrong for wanting to see the good in people. To borrow a quote from Everything Everywhere All At Once: "You tell me it's a cruel world, and we're all running around in circles. I know that. I've been on this earth just as many days as you. When I choose to see the good side of things, I'm not being naive. It is strategic and necessary. It's how I've learned to survive through everything. I know you see yourself as a fighter. Well, I see myself as one too. This is how I fight."

Granted, Vash doesn't express his beliefs as eloquently as this. But that doesn't really matter, though. Because Wolfwood doesn't need Vash to make express himself this way for Wolfwood to finally understand him. Vash, by the simple of virtue of being himself, is a good person who chooses to see the good in others.

And Wolfwood ... Wolfwood is someone who chooses to see the bad.

Wolfwood cannot quite bring himself to view the world the way Vash does. And Vash will never be able to share Wolfwood's opinions regarding who is worthy of living, either. But they respect each other and understand where the other person is coming from.

It does take Wolfwood a lot longer to understand Vash as a person, let alone his faith in humanity. But when he does, it's so satisfying to watch Vash become someone important to him. Someone that he wants to protects. Because if Vash won't defend himself, Wolfwood resolves to be the one to protect Vash.

Even if Vash doesn't really want that.

It's so fucking amazing to see these two clash over their ideals, whether it's in the form of playful teasing or straight up beating the shit out of each other. But they stay together and hold each other in such high regard despite their conflicting beliefs.

To me, one of the most beautiful aspescts of Trigun is that Wolfwood--a man of faith but only in name--gets to have such a close connection with Vash--a man of faith through and through--and that because of their relationship, they both inspire a existential AND spiritual crisis within one another.

Because in a world that makes no sense, they both find faith in each other. And if that isn't the most beautiful shit you've ever seen, then I don't know what is.

#trigun #trigun meta #og trigun #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #vash #trigun vash #trigun wolfwood #nicholas d. wolfwood #wolfwood #vashwood #i've got a LOT of feelings about these two #yes i quoted #everything everywhere all at once #it just fits okay? #i haven't posted any trigun shit in a while #here's my way of making up for that