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sardonic-sprite · 1 year

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The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

“Ok, but like, does it stack, or is it just a song thing?”

“I mean, if you take it literally, it stacks.”

“That’s crazy outrageous. How much shit is this girl getting?”

“Or guy.”

“Or guy?”

Tim whipped out his phone and tapped his calculator. “Let’s see. Twelve, plus the quantity eleven times two, plus the quantity ten times three, plus the quantity—”

“Why the hell would you do it that way?” Damian grimaced.

“Well, how would you do it, then?” Tim snipped.

“One, plus one plus two, plus one plus two plus three…”

“No, no, no.” Dick shook his head. “Just go in order of the lyrics. One, plus two plus one, plus three plus two plus one, plus four…”

“The word plus has become utterly meaningless to me,” Duke announced.

Cass exchanged a look with Jason. He raised his eyes to the heavens; she hid a giggle.

“Wait a second, I’m an idiot!” Tim yelped.

“Correct,” said Damian.

Tim ignored him. “It all parallels. Ok, two times each quantity of twelve times one, eleven times two, ten times three, nine times four…”

Damian and Dick were both still furiously jabbing at their calculators.

“Three hundred and sixty-four!” Tim cried in triumph, holding up the phone.

“Dammit,” Damian muttered.

“Holy shit,” said Duke.

“True love, more like sugar daddy,” Dick mused. “How much does all that cost?”

“Now or when the song was written?”

“What are even the ethics of buying someone dancers and milkmaids?” Duke wondered “Like, animals are one thing, but are all the people, just, like, hired or were they actually enslaved?”

“Let’s go with hired. But how do you hire a lord?”

“Shouldn’t it be three hundred and sixty-five, Drake?” Damian asked, still determined to prove Tim wrong, “Since the partridge line is repeated one more time?”

“But that one is just musical flare.”

“How can you call that musical flare, but not all the other repeats?”

“Fine!” Tim threw up his hands. “Three hundred and sixty-five. My calculations were still faster, brat.”

“This is what we’ve come to,” Jason muttered, too soft for anyone but Cass to hear. “This is our semblance of sanity?”

She giggled again, shrugging at him to say she didn’t mind. Her brothers were crazy and funny and she liked it that way. But the pinch between Jason’s eyes meant he couldn’t handle the conversation much longer, so she took his hand and tugged, saying, “Dance with me.”

“Gladly.”

The other four didn’t even notice them leave, too busy arguing whether the true love had had to pay delivery fees for all the gifts.

Cass didn’t usually enjoy galas. In fact, she, like her siblings, tried to get out of them every other time of the year. But for some reason, Christmas galas hit different, as Tim would say. She loved all the green boughs and glittery lights and pretty painted ornaments. The various shades of the same six colors (white, green, red, gold, silver, black) were calming to process compared to all the bright neons and pastels that she’d see other times of the year. Eggnog was also much tastier than champagne, and there was usually gingerbread, her favorite kind of cookie.

But the best thing about Christmas galas was the music.

Ordinary galas had bland, benign background pianos or violins. They played songs Cass could dance to, but not songs that were fun to dance to. But not at Christmas. At Christmas, they played lots of big, broad songs, with brass and sleigh bells and quick beats that she could swing to, and dramatic, full, swooping songs for a waltz. Cass could fly to Christmas music.

She didn’t know the tune the band had just struck up, but she could feel that it was already quick and fun, and was beaming even before she and Jason started to dance. The trumpets were loud and proud, showing her the music’s heartbeat so she could step in time.

Jason was very fun to dance with. He enjoyed it almost as much as Cass did, and knew lots of fancy twists and turns. He also wasn’t afraid to lift her off the ground and spin with her, and she’d laugh in delight, and he’d grin right back. He also sang along under his breath if he knew the song, not even aware that he was doing it, but teaching Cass the words nevertheless.

They danced three songs together, working up a good sweat and making Cass’s neat bun fall out, before the fourth song began with a series of high, tiny chimes, and Jason groaned.

“Not this one,” he said, leading her off the floor towards the others. “I love you, Cassie, but not this fucking song.”

A middle aged woman with a sprig of holly in her hair shot Jason a horrified look as they passed. Cass hid her giggle behind her hand.

Halfway to the table, Dick came running up to them, crying, “Cass! Cass, come on, I gotta dance this one with you!”

“You’re a menace, Grayson,” Jason called, trading her off with a shake of his head. “One too many concussions.”

“Bah humbug to you too, Scrooge!” Dick shot back, pulling Cass back to the dance floor right as the music really got going.

It was another swing, one that most people were taking half-time, so naturally she and Dick took it double. Towards the end, he started spinning her and spinning her, so much that her skirt stayed out in a bright green plume, no time to settle until the very end, when, rather than a graceful dip, she stumbled dizzily into his arms, both of them laughing too hard to speak.

“Whoo!” Dick cheered as Cass got her balance back. “That was fun.”

“Very fun,” Cass beamed, breathless. “But need a drink now.”

“Then shall we, my lady?” Dick bowed at the waist and offered her his arm.

“We shall,” she grinned, taking it.

They headed over to the refreshments table, Dick ladling a cup of punch for himself, and Cass taking a flute of eggnog. Plus a few gingerbread cookies. To share. Probably. Maybe.

Not, it turned out.

They made their way back to the others to see the argument still ongoing. Damian was in Tim’s face over the particulars of each species of bird, and how the price of doves was not equivalent or even indicative of the price of turtle doves, and Tim was shouting right back that if he couldn’t find the answers, he had no choice but to extrapolate. Duke was trying to get between them and calm them down, and Jason had given up, dropping his forehead against the table.

“Are you gonna tell me what type of dancer, too, brat?” Tim was saying. “Whether the pipes were metal or wood? What kind of drum? Just chill about the particulars!”

“I will not settle for a subpar answer when you have the ability to give me an accurate one!”

“I’m telling you, I don’t have the ability to—”

“Tim, Dami, you’re both beautiful,” Dick said, accomplishing what Duke could not and pushing them apart. “It’s hypothetical anyway, so as long as Tim gets close enough in his comparisons, I’m sure the rounded total won’t be far off.”

Cass cocked her head and signed, What are you actually doing?

“Trying to figure out exactly how much it costs if you’re the true love from Twelve Days of Christmas,” Tim answered, completely casual although Cass was certain it was not a very normal activity.

“I hate to even ask,” Duke interjected, “but do we include the value of the laid eggs and the milk?”

“I don’t think so,” Dick said. “He probably wasn’t paying to make sure the geese were actually laying eggs at the time they were received, so the fact that they can lay eggs is just covered by the cost of each goose.”

Jason lifted his head and banged it against the table. “It’s. Just. One. Stupid. Song.”

“Come on, Jay, aren’t you even a little bit curious?”

Jason turned his head to squint at Tim. “If I ever was, all your nonsense has completely ruined the answer for me.”

“Do you have a better way to pass the time?”

“No,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Then shut up or help us figure this out. If the swans are swimming, we assume the receiver already owned whatever they were swimming in, or was that purchased too?”

Cass ruffled Jason’s hair as she started away, ignoring his whine of Take me with you! and smiling to herself. She wandered through the ballroom, admiring the gowns and suits, until she spotted the tall figure she was looking for.

Bruce turned before she reached him, as if he had sensed her presence. He smiled, excused himself from the group he was speaking with, and closed the distance to give her a hug.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“I am. Jay’s not.”

Bruce scanned the crowd, and Cass knew he’d seen her brothers when his mouth twisted into a wry grin.

“We’ll head home soon. What are they going on about this time?”

“The Twelve Days of Christmas song.”

He winced, obviously recognizing just how absurd and detailed a conversation his sons could spark on that topic.

“At least it’s kept them from pranking anyone.”

Cass giggled. Tim and Jason could come up with very good pranks when they put their minds to it. She thought they were very funny, but the fancy people at the balls rarely did, and Bruce didn’t like to make them too mad. Still, it would have been fun if one of them had put mistletoe in Dick’s hair again.

The music changed from a quick song to a slow one, in three-quarter time, and Cass beamed up at her father, holding out her hands.

He smiled and took them, leading her out to the floor and starting to dance.

Of all the people in her family, Cass loved dancing with Bruce the most. He wasn’t as energetic as Dick, or as showy as Jason, but she could see in his posture and his smile that he was dancing just for her. It made her feel special and loved, that he always made sure to dance with her, and always was so happy to do so. She had to share him so often, with her brothers, with Steph and Harper and Cullen, with Selina and soon their new baby, with all his friends. Dancing was the one time she could have him all to herself.

The dance ended, as dances always did, but that was alright. Cass beamed at her dad, and he smiled back, soft and warm. Then he winked and told her to gather her brothers. She had to stand on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, then skipped off back to the table, snatching more gingerbread on her way.

This time she saved one cookie, giving it to Jason as she told them, “Go home now.”

Everyone cheered, except Damian who asked Tim three times whether or not he’d factored in what region of France the hens had come from, as he’d found there was a wide variation of price.

“Yes, Dami, I just took the mean, calm down.”

They continued discussing things until they were out in the cold air, and had to stop to run to the car, where Alfred and Bruce already sat waiting.

“I see you all found a way to entertain yourselves,” Bruce said mildly.

Jason pointed a finger at him, gesture as threating as if he held a knife.

“If you make me go to a party with these hooligans ever again, Bruce,” he warned, “you owe me reparations equal to whatever the hell crazy total Timbit figures out, adjusted for inflation.”

“I…”

“Adjusted for inflation?” Tim looked up from his phone in shock, tapped a few more keys, and slowly shook his head. “Yeah, no, B, Jason’s definitely not worth that much to have around.”

“Tim,” Dick started, “be ni—oh.”

Bruce shook his head, smiling fondly. “I’ll figure it out,” he promised. “You’re priceless to me, Jaylad.”

“Shut up,” Jason muttered, turning pink.

#christmas countdown playlist #day 2 #christmas party #cassandra cain #dick grayson #jason todd #duke thomas #damian wayne #tim drake #bruce wayne #fic #also on ao3

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mr-ambiguity · 1 year

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Digital Witchcraft 101

When you’re researching witchcraft and Paganism, it’s easy to fall into the trap of believing that there’s One Right Way to do it. When I was a baby witch, I thought adhering to Wiccan traditions and principles was the “correct” way. My first few months of research were filled with fantasies of elaborate altars carefully arranged with God and Goddess symbols and elemental objects, high-energy rituals for the sabbats, and an emphasis on incorporating various herbs, oils, and incenses into my practice. I looked online trying to find a wand that was both beautiful and inexpensive. I wondered where in my tiny cluttered room I could set up an altar. I tried my hand at keeping a Book of Shadows and planned to fill it with all the spells and correspondences I could find.

Of course, there’s nothing wrong with these practices, and if they work for you, that’s fantastic! But it’s also important to acknowledge that magick isn’t one-size-fits-all and some methods aren’t accessible or feasible for everyone, for a variety of reasons.

Magickal tools like wands, athames, crystals, and tarot decks can be expensive, making them out of reach for witches who are unemployed or living in poverty. Ritual work tends to require a lot of focused physical and mental energy that witches with chronic illnesses and fatigue simply don’t have, as well as being time-consuming to perform. And, like myself, many witches are living in homes where it might be unsafe to reveal their craft to family members, which means that magickal tools and fancy altars aren’t an option.

Fortunately, non-traditional witchcraft is just as powerful and effective as the “traditional” stuff. (Sometimes even more so, because it allows you so much freedom to customize and figure out what works for you!) One of the most accessible and versatile tools available is digital technology. If you’ve got a computer and/or phone, there are tons of ways you can use them for your practice. Here are just a few ideas that could be useful to witches at any level of experience.

1. Digital Book of Shadows

I think most of us enjoy the images we see online of super-detailed grimoires and journals. The fancy leather covers, scrawling handwriting, stunning artwork, and beautiful border designs. The tables of correspondences and hand-drawn moon phase calendars. Beauty and detail like that makes people excited about witchcraft! It’s basically the bullet journal inspiration of the witchy world.

But if you’re like me, looking at those gorgeous flip-throughs on Tumblr and Instagram can also feel overwhelming. Not all of us feel great about our art skills. Not all of us have the time it takes to handwrite pages and pages of spells and lists. (My arm starts hurting after a few paragraphs of handwriting anything, to be honest.) If you have nosy or controlling housemates, a physical book might not be safe to keep. And physical grimoires can also be tougher to organize. I always worry that I’ll have something to add after a designated section is entirely full. I may be a witch, but I can’t just magickally make another blank page appear where I need it.

A digital grimoire or Book of Shadows, though? Easy to maintain.

Using a word processing program like Microsoft Word or Google Docs can make organization a breeze. As an example, I use Google Docs for storing a lot of my witchy information, split into their own sections: Correspondences, Deities, Holidays, Ideas/reminders, Journal prompts, Spells/rituals, and Tarot/divination. If you do a lot of research online, you can copy and paste relevant information into a document within seconds instead of copying it down by hand. You don’t have to worry about running out of space, either.

You can still personalize a digital version by using colorful fonts, copying and pasting pictures, and taking advantage of the templates offered by your word processor.

2. Digital Spellwork

One advantage of using your device in your magick is that the electricity powering it adds an extra boost of energy to your spells. I like to visualize the cord keeping my laptop charged also charging up my magick. This can be helpful for us witches who have issues with energy regulation and fatigue.

There are also countless ways you can cast spells with a computer as your tool. Some witches use social media likes and sharing to charge and cast their spells. Others use emojis to symbolize their intent. I’ve personally used my desktop background as a symbol with the intention that the spell will charge whenever I look at it. If you’re into writing magick, you can type up a quick incantation and activate it either by saving or deleting the document. If you’ve got witchy friends, you can cast and charge by messaging each other.

There are even more ideas out there that I haven’t listed. Get creative. Take a look at the built-in abilities of your device and figure out how you can harness them to focus your magick.

3. Digital Divination

I am, above all else, a tarot witch. I was unintentionally doing digital witchcraft long before calling myself a witch when my teenage self started using a website that gave free computer-generated tarot and rune readings. It was how I first started learning the meanings of the cards and where I first connected to tarot as a divination system.

Years later, I still take advantage of free online readings from time to time. This is especially true for moon phase readings — I can never guarantee that I’ll have the focus and motivation needed to clear off my desk, get out a deck and tarot journal, and do a full spread. Using computer-generated readings and typing my interpretations is a lot easier sometimes, particularly on days where my depression is strong.

There are plenty of other ways to use technology as a divination tool. You can use random word or writing generators for insight. Your digital music library is all you need for shufflemancy (the practice of using shuffled songs for divination). Word processors are ideal for quick-paced automatic writing sessions. Get creative and see what you can come up with.

4. Digital Worship

For those witchcraft practitioners who work with deities, there are plenty of ways to honor and interact with them using technology. The number one method I’ve found is the use of e-shrines. If you don’t have the space or you’re unable to be open with your practice, e-shrines are a great alternative to physical altars. All you need is a digital space where you can leave prayers and offerings.

Any social media site can house an e-shrine, but my personal favorite is Pinterest. I have an entire board dedicated to the deities I work with where each deity is given their own section. You can put anything you want on your shrine — I personally save any quotes, photos, and artwork that remind me of them. Your deities will appreciate the time you put into collecting such posts. An e-shrine also serves as a space where you can go to connect with your deities by reading or viewing things that remind you of their energy.

I know that looking at others’ elaborate methods of practice can lead to frustration and self-comparison. Even though I’ve gotten better at embracing my own unique way of making magick, I still often feel a pang of envy or inadequacy when I see those gorgeous Instagram altars packed with massive crystals, expensive tarot decks, and bundles of herbs and flowers. I sometimes worry that my magick won’t be as effective without all the traditional tools.

But the most important lesson I’ve seen and learned since beginning my practice is this: there is only one absolute essential you will ever need in witchcraft and that is you. Your magick comes from within. Any tools that you use in the process are simply there to help you focus your intention. That means that there’s no shame in using whatever options are available to you. If you want that added focus and your computer or your phone is all that you can or want to use, go for it. I promise your magick will be just as powerful and beautiful.

#magic #magick #technology #technomancer #paganism

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ravagedarkness · 1 year

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Spider-Man: Home Rebuilt, Chapter 34: Joanna

We all looked down at the phone silently. I, myself, had a mixture of annoyance and despair welling up inside of me. I was just getting tired of dealing with Justin Hammer. A part of me wished I did level him with a punch the last time we met. Would it have changed anything? Probably not, but I would’ve felt fantastic afterwards.

“…So,” Scott began, breaking the silence. “This either tells us two things. A, Carmilla is being held hostage by Justin Hammer. Or B, Justin Hammer is baiting us into a trap.” I looked over at him, and he was visibly vexed. “…Neither one of those are mutually exclusive.”

“So what, we shake down Justin Hammer?” Ned asked. “I wouldn’t be opposed. Just give me a moment and I can track down his – ”

“As tempting as that is – and please believe me when I say that I’m extremely tempted – that wouldn’t be the move,” Craig spoke up in a grim tone. As I looked at him, he shook his head as he chuckled bitterly. “…You know, this makes too much sense.”

“What do you mean?” MJ asked.

“Hammer Industries have always been hit or miss with their tech and ideas, and when they hit, there’s at least a 50 percent chance that the idea or tech is stolen.” Craig turned away and walked a few steps. “So you know what I think?” He turned back towards us. “I think Justin Hammer saw Carmilla, or footage of her when she was still an X-Men, and decided ‘Hey, let me copy that, but change it up a bit’. Of course, Carmilla is not some hulking juggernaut that can burrow through the street. But the green and black color motif, the scorpion theme…”

“But why would Justin Hammer have her in his possession?” Kitty inquired.

“There’s a good chance that the man who became Scorpion wasn’t his first choice,” Scott mused as he scratched his chin. “Perhaps Justin tried to bring Carmilla into the fold. She said no, Justin Hammer imprisons her and takes her whole superhero identity.”

“I wouldn’t put it past Hammer,” Ned spoke up in agreement. “The man’s a dick.”

“Yup,” I stated. “…So what do we do?”

“We can’t shake down Hammer, but if we can find someone in New York who may know a thing or two about Hammer Industries’ facilities, that’d be great,” Kitty stated.

“I can try and hack Hammer Industries’ employee database,” Ned offered.

“We could do that,” MJ stated. “But we could go a different route.”

“What are you suggesting?” Scott asked.

MJ picked up her phone and pocketed it. “Simple, we just have Ned search LinkedIn for people who are employed by Hammer Industries. And then we can narrow it down by location and the jobs they hold until we have a shortlist of people we could possibly track down.”

Scott went quiet as he looked to the side in thought. He then nodded before he looked at Ned. “Ned, would you kindly do that search? Narrow it down to people who have executive roles and people with military experience – both government and private.” Scott paused for a moment. “Also, narrow it down to anyone in the New York area.”

“Will do.”

Scott nodded. He then looked at MJ and smiled. “Great stuff, Michelle.”

“MJ,” MJ corrected. She then smirked. “And thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Narrowing down the results only took a few minutes for Ned. Between his search and Scott’s input, we were able to narrow the names down to five. Ned went through each profile until we landed on one.

“…Joanna Cargill,” Scott whispered.

“Found something?” Craig asked as he walked towards the fridge.

“I think we did.” Scott leaned in a bit a closer to the screen. I walked over and stood over Ned’s left shoulder as I looked at the screen. The profile picture showed a black woman with long dreads that reached down to at least her shoulders. While her expression was neutral, there was a certain intensity in her brown eyes. I heard footsteps, and Craig walked up to my left, bottle of water in his hand. He stared at the screen. He then smirked as he looked over at Scott.

“Quite the bombshell she is,” he commented. “…Hey Scott, she might be single.”

Scott continued to speak, either not noticing or ignoring Craig’s joke. “Joanna Cargill, from what is shown on her profile, has had quite the life. She spent 12 years in the U.S. Marine Corps, reaching the rank of Second Lieutenant before she left. From there, she ended up working for different private militaries around the world, most notably Wild Pack – who she still works for as a freelancer – and Anvil. She started working for Hammer Industries about four years ago. We should probably check her out.” Scott looked over at Ned. “Can you find an address for her?”

“Sure thing,” Ned stated. He pulled up another program and typed in her name. “Let’s see… according to utility records… she’s living in Bed-Stuy.”

“Let’s pay her a visit tonight, then.” Scott straightened himself up before he looked at me. “Do we need to stop by your house for a suit?”

“Yeah.” I looked over at MJ. “Red and Blue, or Black?”

“I say Red and Blue,” she replied. She sighed. “Well, looks like we are all going on a stakeout.”

Scott looked over at Michelle as his eyebrows rose over his glasses. “Excuse me?” he said in a slightly exasperated tone. “What do you mean ‘we’?”

“Do you honestly think Ned and I are going to just go home while you guys confront this woman?”

“You guys could use a guy in the chair since Kitty will be preoccupied,” Ned added as he closed his laptop.

“Guys,” I spoke up. “I…” I trailed off as both Michelle and Ned looked at me. The point I had, whatever it was, died before it could be even leave my brain. I remembered who I was talking to. I sighed. “…Just be careful.”

“Bruh!” Craig exclaimed in protest. “We can’t have them in harm’s way!”

I looked at him sympathetically. “Look, if we say no to them now, they’ll just figure out a way to meet us there. We’re a package deal – even more so since we reunited.”

Scott shook his head. I knew he was rolling his eyes, even though I couldn’t see them. After that, he looked back and forth between MJ and Ned. “…You two will stay in the car with the keys. If there’s any sign of trouble, I want you guys to drive off. Am I clear?”

“Yes sir,” Ned replied.

“Crystal,” MJ added.

“Okay.” Scott nodded a couple of times. “Let’s go.”

After Scott, Craig, and Kitty took time to change into their quick change attire, we made our way to my apartment. A bit to MJ’s annoyance, Scott vetoed her suggestion for my red and blue suit and told me to dress in my quick change outfit. After I made my way back to the car, we drove off. During the drive, we were all quiet. The only sounds coming from within the cabin was the GPS of Craig’s phone, which was sounding off directions. I looked over at Craig, who was in the driver seat of the armored SUV. He was focused on driving and nothing else. A part of me wondered what was going through his head. For his sake, I hoped this Joanna Cargill had the answers we were looking for.

I frowned before I looked out of the window. I then looked to my right when I felt MJ’s hand on mine. Ned and MJ were looking at me with reassuring smiles. While I didn’t smile myself, I nodded towards them as I took MJ’s hand in my own and gave it a soft squeeze.

After some time, we arrived in Bed-Stuy. I looked out the window at the black and gray building with seven stories.

“The apartments on 1111 Fulton Street,” Scott commented as he adjusted his glasses. “I really hate to compliment Justin Hammer, but he apparently pays his employees well.”

“I’ll stick to robbing drug dealers,” Craig deadpanned as he brought his hood up and pulled down his mask. “There ain’t a set of benefits good enough to make me send him my resume.”

“You could get hired by him, then rob him,” Ned offered in jest. At that, Craig scoffed.

“Don’t tempt me.”

I pulled out my mask before I pulled it over my head. Before I could fully pull it down, MJ grabbed my wrists gently. Before I could ask what was up, I felt her lips against mind. It was a short kiss, barely giving me time to reciprocate. After that, she let go of my wrists.

“Be careful, Dork,” she whispered.

“You as well, Em.”

“Oh I’m sorry, should we leave the car and give you two some privacy?” Ned deadpanned.

MJ looked over her shoulder and flipped off Ned with her right hand. “Don’t be mad because Betty’s not around.”

Ned grumbled. MJ looked back at me and smirked.

“Hey MJ, catch!” Craig warned. MJ looked towards him, just in time to see him toss the keys at her. She caught them with one hand. “Like Scott said, if anything happens, y’all need to haul.”

“We will,” MJ promised.

“Codenames from here on out,” Scott stated. I nodded as I pulled my mask all the way down and stepped out of the car.

We walked over to the building. We walked up to the door, which had a key pad. Without missing a beat, Shadowcat walked through the glass door as we waited outside. We watched as she walked up to the security guard at the front desk. The security guard quickly stood up, only for Shadowcat to sink into the ground. After that, the guard suddenly descended behind the desk. A few seconds later, Shadowcat ascended. She was looking down before she reached down for something. A moment later, there was a buzzing sound. Cyclops opened the door and waved Frictor and I in. The two of us walked inside with Cyclops walking in after us. The three of us then walked up to the desk to see the security guard pulled halfway into the ground.

“X-Men?!” he exclaimed frantically. “Why are you guys after me for?! I’m just an - !”

“Average joe working an honest job?” Frictor finished. “Yeah, we know. That’s why she pulled you into the ground, and that is why you’re still conscious.”

“I’m really sorry we had to do this,” Cyclops spoke up in earnest. “The thing is, we have a person interest that we want to talk to. We want to do it as discreetly as possible and, unfortunately, leaving you unrestrained would have likely prevented us from doing that, since I’m sure you would have called the police.”

“As any good security guard would have done,” I added. “So, it’s nothing personal. We’ll try to be done as soon as possible. Then we’ll pull you back up to ground. After that… well… that’s up to you, because we’ll be gone already.”

With that, we all walked up to the elevator, Shadowcat phasing through the desk. After we called the elevator and the doors opened up, we filed in casually. After that, Cyclops hit the button for the fourth floor. The doors closed, and the elevator ascended.

“I just know we’re going to be talked about in the Daily Bugle after this,” I muttered.

“It’s J. Jonah Jameson,” Shadowcat replied with a shrug. “If we dump out a cup of stale coffee, he’d rant about how we’re disrespecting impoverished families by wasting food.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” Frictor muttered.

“It comes with the territory,” Cyclops chimed in. “What he says doesn’t matter to me.”

The elevator slowed to a stop before the doors opened up. We stepped out of the elevator and down the hall until we reached the right door – 4D. I stepped up to the door before I placed the side of my head against it. I closed my eyes and focused on my hearing. I heard the sound of the A/C and the hum of the fridge. But I didn’t hear a single heartbeat. I pulled my head away.

“No one’s inside,” I stated.

“…A bit unfortunate, but far from the end of the world,” Cyclops mused. “Shadowcat, would you kindly?”

“You got it,” she replied. She reached out and grabbed Frictor and Cyclops by the shoulder. I moved behind her and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Okay, one… two… three.” We all walked forward through the door. Once inside, I removed my hand from Shadowcat’s shoulder and looked around for a light switch. Once I found it, I walked over to it and turned it on. The apartment was… pretty basic. The living room was furnished with only a sofa, a glass coffee table, and an entertainment system – albeit a rather impressive one with an Ultra HD TV situated on top of it. The apartment itself looked rather expensive, though.

“…Justin Hammer does pay well,” Frictor remarked as he looked around. He then walked up to the coffee table and looked down at it. “Let’s see… mail, laptop, remote… that’s about it.” Frictor picked up the mail and looked through it before he grabbed one. During this, Cyclops moved into the kitchen and started searching through cabinets and drawers. Shadowcat walked into another room. Frictor dropped the rest of the mail on the coffee table before he started up the envelope he was holding.

“Dude, isn’t that a federal offense?” I protested. He glared at me in response.

“We’re already violating The Accords. Besides, I’m opening this envelope for a reason – it’s from Hammer Industries.” Once he had the envelope opened, he gently pulled out the contents, which was a folded up piece of paper. He sat down and unfolded the piece of paper before he looked at it. “Let’s see… ‘Dear Ms. Cargill…’.” Frictor looked up from the apparent letter and towards Cyclops. Even with the mask on, I just knew he was smirking. “She’s single, Cyclops.”

“Don’t make me blast you, Frictor,” Cyclops called out from the kitchen in a tone of slight annoyance.

“I’m just saying!” Frictor looked back at the letter and continued to read. “‘Dear Ms. Cargill. We received your letter of resignation. I understand that nothing lasts forever, but this letter we sent you is a passionate request for you to reconsider. You’ve been a very valuable part of the company and we would like to negotiate any terms that would result in you staying. We like to think we’re a family at Hammer Industries…’ Blah, blah-blah, blah-blah.” Frictor tossed the letter onto the coffee table. “Seems like Joanna isn’t working for them anymore.”

“There’s still a good chance that she may know something,” Cyclops pointed out.

“She’s not hurting for work, anyway,” Shadowcat stated as she stepped out of the room. “I saw a lot of recent deposit receipts in her room. She still has cash flow.”

“So what do we do?” I asked.

“I say Shadowcat tracks her down tomorrow and find out where she works and/or frequents, and then we can try and interrogate her when she’s most accessible,” Cyclops stated.

I nodded. “I think that’s a good…” I trailed off. My senses started to go off. “…Um… guys… I think someone’s coming.”

“Everybody keep quiet,” Frictor said in an urgent whisper. He stood up and quietly made his way to the light switch. He flipped the switch down, turning off the lights. He then placed his eye against the peephole. He remained like that for several seconds. He then sighed as he turned away. “I don’t see anyone.”

My senses didn’t subside. And they were about to be proven right.

Before anyone else could say anything, the door was suddenly knocked out of its frame. The door hit Frictor, knocking him down to the ground. As the door landed on top of Frictor, I looked at the doorway as someone stepped in.

There was Joanna Cargill. She was dressed in a pair of black jeans with a matching pair of sneakers and a grey t-shirt bearing The United States Marine Corps emblem. Just like in the picture, she had a head full of long dreads and intense brown eyes. However, the headshot didn’t do nothing convey her seven foot stature or the fact that she was quite muscular. She walked in slowly, stepping on the door that Frictor was under before she came to a stop.

She looked around, her eyes landing on me first, then Shadowcat, then Cyclops.

“So,” she began slowly. “I see Cyclops, I see Shadowcat, and I see Spider-Man.” She looked down at the door she was standing on. “I’m assuming that the person underneath this door is Frictor.”

“Yeah, it is,” Frictor replied with a muffled voice. “If you would kindly remove yourself from above me, that’d be great.”

“Yeah, no.” He looked over at Cyclops. “…I’m going to give you five minutes. During those five minutes, you’re going to leave, go downstairs, pull Larry out of the ground, and never come back to this place again. And maybe… just maybe, I’ll send Frictor on his way unharmed.”

“Appealing terms,” Cyclops stated. “However, we’re here for a reason. We need information and you’re probably the best person we can find for it. In a word, we need your help.”

At that, Joanna scoffed. “You guys break into my apartment and now you want to ask for my help?”

“…Yes.”

Joanna stared at Cyclops for several seconds. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “You guys are at about three minutes now.”

“Look, I know this looks bad,” I spoke up. I took a step towards her. She snapped her head towards my direction and gave me a warning glare. “Just… hear me out. Do you have people you love and really care for?”

“What of it?” she demanded curtly.

“I think everyone here is willing to go the extra mile to try and help those they love. For us, this right here is the extra mile. We’re trying to find someone. We have a lead, and we have reason to believe that this person’s disappearance involves Hammer Industries. We came here because we know you work for Hammer Industries… or rather, used to, as we figured out a few minutes ago.”

“…” Joanna tilted her head. “…How did you know about that?”

“I read your mail from Hammer Industries,” Frictor said from underneath the door. “They really want you back!”

Joanna glared down at the door. “…That doesn’t help you guys’ case!”

“Would it help if I paid for the door? I’ll even pay you what you put down for the deposit, and then some!”

“Please, Joanna,” Shadowcat interjected. “…We’re trying to find someone – someone we’ve been sorely missing for months. As Frictor said, we’ll pay for the damages. And we’ll each owe you a favor. Just give us five minutes to explain ourselves, and you’ll understand why we’re going to such extremes.”

Joanna looked at Shadowcat for some seconds. I started to prepare for a possible fight – something told me that she was a lot stronger than she looked, and she looked extremely strong already. Fortunately, there wasn’t.

She stepped off of the door. “Consider your clock reset.”

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nicolai-schafi-viktor-creations · 2 years

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any headcanons for Klemper? Like fav food, color, etc?

( I had actually planned a long reply, sadly my phone battery had died after most I have written already so I will now just super shortly sum up what I wanted to write)

Since I imagine Klemper having lived inside the 'correction house' for half of his short life he had to endure a very strict daily schedule of 'education' and 'training for usefullness' and the strict punishments that basically left no time for play. It was not encouraged to do social bonding with other children or people, instead work abilities and obedience was forced by the socialworkers. Having pets wasn't allowed and bonding with the animals that some of the boys were meant to train working with was considered a waste of time. Same the meals which were prepared without love. Blund and cheap daily portions of thin soups and mainly something called Getreidebrei (a sort of porridge made from different mashed up grains). Those who weren't eating were punished as well as those who didn't manage to follow the exceptions of the institution. Just the later ones had to stay hungry. Gladly for Klemper he usually was happy to do something where he could, even if restricted by obedience and silence, interact with others to find a friend. Food and rooms were basically barely any colours. Mainly brown and beige, which is a colour he doesn't like despite it's similarity to white which is one of his favourite colours. But since the institution was funded by the local church, they put a lot of emphasise on holidays like eastern and christmas. Eastern in the european alp region usually still goes along with snow, and so does christmas, but not just snow is what was part of his favourite ritual but also the sudden but regulary change in the daily tasks of food preparations they had been tought to help with. A sudden unusual kindness in the name of the 'holiday spirit', applying paint to eggs in eastern and cutting up apples, filling them with sweet ingrediences and warming them in the ofen on christmas. Klempers favourite colours aside white are yellow and red, since his first holiday was christmas, Sankt Nicolaus and Krampus brought a little golden and red coloured little metal orb for the christmas tree and Klemper was allowed to hang it up each year (sadly on his last christmas he accidently broke it). If he was to paint easter eggs he tried to made it look like the christmas tree orb. The hollow painted easter eggs put on the little eastern twigs reminded him of the orbs for the christmas tree, also they both had to be handled carefully. It was a part of his ritual of welcoming the time where they were actually encouraged and allowed to go outside and to build figurines with the snow and playing and saying goodbye to the freedom of snow play activities with the eastern equivalent of hanging up hollow eggs on twigs instead of metal orbs on trees.

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techno-dystopia-druid · 2 years

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In the spirit of trying to reconnect with humanity at least a little, I’ve been searching around for TV shows to watch.

Disenchantment

I had high hopes for this show when it came out a few years back. I’ve always been stubborn about trying new shows, but this one seemed so up my alley: fantasy-themed, female protagonist, and created by the some guy who made one of my all-time favorite shows.

It was hard to give it my full attention after the first episode. Bean definitely is a female-as-written-by-a-man. Through what I’ve picked up with it on in the background, she’s sexually promiscuous, likes to get naked, is embarrassed by her small breasts (I hate this trope so much), and is bisexual. She’s also just not very relatable. What’s even more amazing is the voice cast - some of my favorite actors ever are in there. And it’s ... so mediocre.

I’m gonna try to rewatch giving it my full attention and hope it grows on me since there’s so few other options right now

The Pentaverate

What the actual fuck happened to Mike Myers? Sure he always had establishment-loving-boot-licking tendencies, but this watched like a hollow propaganda piece.

A shadowy cabal of rich white guys rules the world, competing lightly with other secret organizations like the Illuminati. A reporter hoping to infiltrate them does so with the help of a filthy van-dwelling conspiracy theorist and a mainstream-thinking young black woman.

The ultimate messages of the show are that people are dumb sheep and choose to be exploited by refusing to look up from their phones. Organizations like the one in the show are necessary for the good of humanity, but only if they’re full of “good guys”. They’re only a problem when infiltrated by bad guys or corrupted. And their biggest problem is just race/sex diversity.

The conspiracy theorist is told he is technically correct about some conspiracies, but crazy for believing the rest, and is a lonely failure of his own making. The main character (still an old white man) saves the day by merging with a sentient AI supercomputer. The movie ends with a new secret society emerging, full of people of color and women. It concludes that they will do things right this time.

It wasn’t even funny, as hard as it tried. I saw Mike Myers weird old man dick and I didn’t even crack a smile once during the six episodes.

The Midnight Gospel

Watching this currently in the background. I sought it out after seeing it was made by the same creator of Adventure Time (I have been seeking out new content primarily by going to creators I’ve enjoyed before.) I turned it off immediately when I realized it’s just an animated podcast.

But then I thought about what I’ve been writing - my loneliness, my stubbornness and refusal to get with the times if a new thing does not meet my high standards and specific tastes. I’ve definitely connected the two things. I thought about how much shit I’ve talked about podcasts (like, who the fuck just wants two listen to two people talk? What IS that?) and wondered if it’s less proof that there’s something wrong with other people, and something wrong with me. I’ve definitely noticed I’ve gotten worse at just talking and holding conversation as I’ve become more withdrawn. So I gave the shot another shot.

I’m glad I did. It has the same wholesome, warm vibe that Adventure Time did (well, mostly). I also think the podcast I heard was important.

There was a magic practitioner discussing his beliefs, life, and philosophy. He answered a question I had and hadn’t been able to answer myself - what to do once you feel like you’ve figured things out. He said that it is the responsibility of those who have found their way to help guide those who who haven’t. He quoted Beethoven, something like “The meaning of life is to approach divinity as closely as possible, and then allow the rays to emanate throughout humanity.”

He also addressed my own skepticism - he discussed a variety of occult schools and explained how their concepts were related and just evolution of the same school of thought. I’ve encountered this myself with the Overview effect.

For years I’ve had the nagging feeling that the most important thing I can do is work on my “stuff”. Then I procrastinate, overthink, avoid, experience ennui, or work on anything else or nothing at all. But never my “stuff”

It’s finally time

#the pentaverate #the midnight gospel #disenchantment

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six31 · 2 months

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Giant survey, then and now

While going through some recently acquired archives of my early days (i.e. my Xanga account from 20 years ago), I found one of those survey things that tells people all sorts of random stuff about you. I thought I'd take a stab at filling it out again to compare the answers. Formatted painstakingly for clarity.

STARTERS

date 2004: August 29, 2004 2024: February 29, 2024

time 2004: 11:39 p.m. 2024: 10:48 p.m.

name 2004: [first name] 2024: [first name] or Six, which I didn't start using until after the Xanga was created.

age 2004: 22 2024: 42

birthday 2004: 1/4/1982 2024: 4/1/1982 (I have since moved to a commonwealth country)

school 2004: University of Georgia 2024: The same, class of 2004

BASIC

eyes 2004: Brown 2024: Brown

hair 2004: reddish-brown 2024: brown with gray at the temples, although at times chocolate brown, ginger brown, brown with caramel highlights, pink, red or purple, depending on what wig I'm willing to tolerate that day.

height 2004: 5'0" 2024: 5'1" or 155 cm

shoe size 2004: 6 1/2 2024: 7, or 7 1/2 if I plan to wear insoles. I was probably a 7 back then too. Shoes aren't supposed to hurt, regardless of what pop culture tells us

when is your bedtime? 2004: Paper clear time + 30 minute travel + 1 hour. So roughly 1 a.m. on a good night 2024: Whenever I feel like, which tends to be sometime between 11:30-1 p.m.

HAVE YOU EVER…

flown on a plane: 2004: yup 2024: many times

ever been so drunk you blacked out: 2004: nope 2024: at least twice

cut your hair: 2004: I desperately need a haircut 2024: During the pandemic I couldn't stand the feeling of hair on the back of my neck, so I buzzed it all off with a #1 clipper

FAVORITE

shampoo 2004: Joico Kerapro. I have 2 liters of it under my sink 2024: See the last question. My husband has the long thick curly hair, so I use whatevers available in the shower

fav color 2004: sage green 2024: mostly true, but I also like purple, and I'll always default to gray when I'm chosing a product/item of clothing. If there's a color called pewter or charcoal, even better

day/night 2004: night 2024: still a night owl

summer/winter 2004: summer…i don't like cold! 2024: summer, but I really prefer autumn

lace or satin 2004: satin 2024: satin

person to talk to face to face 2004: The redhead 2024: Randy. I miss him terribly

person to talk to online 2004: Seth. Definitely seth. 2024: Carl

RIGHT NOW YOU ARE…

wearing 2004: short shorts and an old t-shirt. My equivalent of pajamas. Oh, plus an avocado and clay purifying masque 2024: An oatmeal tank top and a pair of capri leggings

eating 2004: my words 2024: M&M's I hide in my desk so my husband doesn't eat them all in one sitting

drinking 2004: tea 2024: Raspberry Coke Zero

listening to 2004: Meat Loaf - Bat Out of Hell 2024: the very loud crickets outside, because the windows are open

HAVE YOU EVER… IN THE LAST 24 HOURS

cried 2004: no 2024: not in the last 24 hours

worn jeans 2004: jean skirt 2024: jean shorts. jorts, if you will

met someone new online 2004: not online 2024: no

done laundry 2004: I took Gavin to the laundromat 2024: Marc puts in a load before he goes off to work, and I take it out, fold it and put it away in the afternoon

drove a car 2004: yup 2024: yes! In fact, it was my first time behind the wheel of an Australian car, driving on the left side of the road. Every time I tried to put on my turn signal, I hit the wiper blades instead. I will never, ever relearn the correct way, it's too deeply ingrained at this point.

talked on the phone 2004: Yup 2024: No

DO YOU BELIVE IN…

yourself 2004: more often than I used to 2024: barely

your friends 2004: yes 2024: much more than myself

destiny/fate 2004: nope 2024: no

angels 2004: nah 2024: no

ghosts 2004: not in the traditional sense 2024: There are things we don't understand but I'm hesitant to ascribe them to the supernatural

UFO's 2004: "We've been coming to this planet and probing people's anuses for over fifty years and the only thing we've found out is that one in ten of them doesn't mind it all that much." 2024: Kids in the Hall was so fucking gay (laudatory)

FRIENDS & LIFE

do you ever wish you had another name? 2004: yeah 2024: I have another one now, and I go by it in some circles

do you like anyone? 2004: yep 2024: yes

which one of your friends acts the most like you? 2004: If you put all my friends in a blender, the metaphoric result would act something like me. 2024: I don't know? There are parts of me in all my friends and vice versa

which friend have you known the longest? 2004: Tim 2024: I'm still in touch with Tim, bless his heart

who do you go to for stuff? 2004: Depends on what I need 2024: Depends on what you mean by "stuff"

who do you hang around the most? 2004: Glenn, Katie, and the rest of the copy desk. 2024: Marc, Jimmy, Mika, Ethan, Cleo in person, the rest of the Gang online

worst feeling? 2004: being forgotten or ignored 2024: being forgotten or ignored

OTHERS

Keep a diary 2004: In spurts 2024: Oh man, as part of my last move I consolidated and scanned in all the diaries I've been holding onto for years and years, so now I have a digital copy of every journal I've kept. By and large, two things were consistent: 1) they all started with some variation of "Paper feels better to write on than a computer, and even though I've started many of these and lost interest, THIS ONE WILL BE DIFFERENT." and 2) they all peter out at about 35 pages.

Like to cook? 2004: I have a few select dishes I do well 2024: I'm trying to learn how to cook more, and not just recipes from food companies trying to get you to buy their prepared food. It takes me three times as long to shop for groceries here in Australia because I get flustered when they don't have things I used to regularly buy, like Shake 'n' Bake and sweet pickle relish, kosher salt and graham crackers. Bloody graham crackers! Its a learning process

Fold your underwear? 2004: nah, it gets piled up 2024: yes, it fits better in the drawer that way

Talk in your sleep? 2004: I grit my teeth pretty loud, so I'm told 2024: I still grit my teeth pretty loud, and they're noticeably shorter than they were when I was in my 20s, and I've been told if I don't get a handle on it, they'll cost about $10,000 to replace

Set your clock a few minutes ahead? 2004: every room in my house is in a different time zone 2024: this house is run by Google devices, so everything is synchronized but the microwave, which is several hours off.

Bite your fingernails? 2004: yep 2024: I quit cold turkey when I was 38, then had to relearn how to use my hands

Believe in love? 2004: sure 2024: Yes

LAST…

Movie you rented? 2004: We buy them by the handful around here 2024: I have no idea. I mostly watch things that are available for free on streaming

Movie you bought? 2004: Lost in Translation 2024: Who buys movies these days? I think I bought my mother a copy of Moonrise Kingdom back in 2012

Movie you watched? 2004: The American President 2024: The Fifth Element

Song you listened to? 2004: Poe - Not a Virgin 2024: The Rolling Stones - Gimme Shelter, part of my 120 bpm walking playlist on Spotify

Song that was stuck in your head? 2004: The very same. I made the discovery that it falls nicely within my range 2024: Albert Hammond - It Never Rains in Southern California, which was shared by a former mentor in SoCal kvetching about the near-flood conditions they were experiencing

Song you've downloaded? 2004: buncha Liz Phair stuff 2024: I bought the soundtrack for Fran Bow

CD you bought? 2004: Outkast - Speakerboxxx/The Love Below 2024: Lol. Lmao even

CD you listened to? 2004: Meat Loaf - Bat out of Hell, per Glenn's request. Learn something new everyday. The CD now lives in my car 2024: From Exile - Monolith. My brother's band

Person you've called? 2004: Gavin 2024: My mother-in-law

Person that's called you? 2004: My brother, Ben 2024: My husband Marc

TV show you've watched? 2004: Sealab 2021 2024: Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares

Person you were thinking of? 2004: Bo. I shoulda called him yesterday for my New Media project. 2024: a college friend who's going through a rough time at the moment

DO…

You wish you could live somewhere else? 2004: I belong in the mid-atlantic region 2024: I belong in South Australia

Others find you attractive? 2004: yeah. Attractive attractive, not this "she's cute and has a nice personality" bullshit 2024: Some do, yes

You want more piercings? 2004: I wanted an eyebrow ring before I learned about the whole severing a nerve to your face thing… 2024: I don't even use the holes I have

You want a tattoo? 2004: I'd never be able to settle on design I could love for the rest of my life 2024: same

You drink? 2004: Citron and ginger ale, baby 2024: Still my go-to cocktail, but I'm more of a craft beer person these days

You do drugs? 2004: nah 2024: In Texas I used to buy delta-9 gummies from a local small sister-owned business, which I would consume at the rate of 10 mg every two weeks. Nothing more than that.

You smoke? 2004: only second-hand 2024: From approximately December 2004 to Ausgust 2014, I regularly smoked clove cigarettes. I switched to e-cigarettes for about 4 months before quitting completely

You like cleaning? 2004: my things need to be in an order that I can understand 2024: Marc runs a very tidy house and I'm mostly on board. Ironing can be very zen if you let it

You like roller coasters? 2004: hell's yeah 2024: hell's yeah

You write in cursive or print? 2004: a hybrid of the two, just like my father 2024: a chickenscratch hybrid of the two that's getting worse and worse

HAVE YOU…

Ever cried over a boy/girl? 2004: Who hasn't? 2024: yes

Ever lied to someone? 2004: yeah 2024: yes

Ever been in a fist fight? 2004: nope 2024: no

Ever been arrested? 2004: Nope 2024: no

NUMBER

Of times I have been in love? 2004: every time I think I'm in love, I realize later I'm not. 2024: twice

Of times I have had my heart broken? 2004: At least twice. I can't remember because I don't dwell on it 2024: multiple times

Of people I consider my enemies? 2004: three 2024: I'm too old/tired for enemies

Of CDs that I own? 2004: about 100 not counting mp3s 2024: One. I gave away my entire collection when I moved, save for From Exile - Monolith

Of times my name has appeared in the newspaper 2004: every day for the past year my name has appeared in 6 pt type on the opinions page of The Red & Black 2024: From October 2011 to February 2016, my name appeared in the corner of every page I designed for The Gaston Gazette and The Shelby Star, a number that is conservatively north of 6,000.

Of things in my past that I regret? 2004: 2. One, not getting into design sooner, Two, not getting the help I needed back when I realized I needed it. 2024: 2. One, getting into design in the first place, Two, not getting the help I needed back when I realized I needed it.

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whileiamdying · 5 years

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“The Harder Life Was for Us, the Stronger the Images Were:” Director Hassan Fazili on the Perils of His Flight from the Taliban Doc, Midnight Traveler

As headlines blare possible peace talks between the U.S. and the Taliban, and with its intersection of politics and filmmaking, Hassan Fazili’s Midnight Traveler, which premiered this week at the Sundance Film Festival in World Documentary Competition, is bound to be one of the festival circuit’s most discussed pictures this year. (It travels next month to the Berlin Film Festival.) Midnight Traveler charts the Fazili family’s escape from the Taliban after Fazili became the group’s target due to his controversial documentary Peace. Fazili, with the help of his filmmaker wife Fatima and daughters Nargis and Zahra, filmed the story of his family’s perilious, multi-year journey through the Balkan route and across Europe entirely on camera phones. A deeply humanistic, intimate family portrait, Midnight Traveler is all the more impressive for being made while the filmmaker was surrounded by high-stakes risks at every turn.

Due to ongoing visa and immigration problems, Fazili was unable to attend Sundance for his film’s premiere. Filmmaker conducted the below interview with the director via email, and it was translated by Midnight Traveler’s producer/writer/editor Emilie Mahdavian.

Filmmaker: You and your family have shot this entire film on three iPhones. But the footage still seems to have a unified voice and vision. How did you establish that consistency over such a long and unreliable period?

Fazili: All of our phones were one brand, and I tried to set them up similarly. I shot most of the footage and also guided and checked the footage shot by Fatima, Nargis and Zahra. Still, I felt in the initial assembly that the images didn’t feel like one vision. It wasn’t until post-production, when the sound design and color grade happened, that many of the weaknesses of the images were corrected and the film appeared consistent. Filmmaker: While this film is important for the world to see, it captures a time in your life that you and your family probably want to leave behind as you build your new lives elsewhere. So how did you, as a filmmaker, negotiate this in your head: deciding to document such a tough period for your family and preserve it in a film?

Fazili: I feel that our family’s experience is not unique to us and is an important part of human history and must be preserved and seen by all. I always thought that I had to honestly record like a historian and not hide things from viewers because of my personal issues. But sometimes I do wonder whether I should have made this film, because after this, my family must begin a new life and forget all the problems we suffered before. I worry about this problem because I am caught in between two different ideals. As a filmmaker, I feel I must document some of the problems in the world so that future generations will know about the time we live in. As a father and a family member, sometimes think that I’ve done wrong and sometimes I think I’ve done right.

Filmmaker: In what other ways did you find your roles as a father, husband and filmmaker clash while you were capturing your family’s earnest experiences?

Fazili: The more problems my family experienced, and the harder life was for us, the stronger the images were. In some scenes, I enjoyed shooting the beautiful images but was simultaneously crying behind the camera. Sometimes when my family was afraid they looked to me for safety. I tried to make myself look strong, but I myself was afraid and didn’t know where to find safety. I was ashamed of myself that I could not do anything for them. I hated myself; I hated the cinema; I wanted to break the mobile phone and beat myself, but I was comforted by the idea that we did not have a role in creating these problems, and this is not my fault, and then I was able to work again. Filmmaker: Could you talk about shooting constantly over a nearly two-year period, and, yet, being able to cut hundreds of hours of footage down to a feature-length documentary?

Fazili: One of the good things in this film, in my opinion, is that the editor, Emelie Mahdavian, is a part of it. For three years, Emelie has been there with us and she knows us well. In each country, I sent the footage to her before going to the next country, then we talked about the footage together. Emelie even gave me good advice to improve my shooting and the final edit. This style of work brought us close to each other, so Emelie and I often had the same viewpoint, and she understood the emotion that was in each scene. Emelie was able to capture our emotions in the edit, even when they weren’t clear in the footage. From hundreds of hours of video, she wrote the story so that it both reflects the reality of our lives and also brought out the beauty in the film.

Filmmaker: You and your wife Fatima are both artists and filmmakers. While you are in the director’s seat here, did the two of you have different opinions on what Midnight Traveler should and shouldn’t be?

Fazili: That fact that my wife Fatima is a filmmaker helped me in this film because she understood the value of my work. Nonetheless sometimes there were small differences of opinion between us. Fatima is a realist, and I am often emotional and imaginative. I would take risks in order to shoot in every situation, and Fatima was sometimes worried that the filming could create problems for us. Generally though, Fatima and I were in agreement, and even when we disagreed I tried to both listen to her and explain my viewpoint clearly. Sometimes, when I was following my own ideas, Fatima respected and agreed with the directing work I was doing.

Filmmaker: Through all the perils you have braved, the film manages to consistently keep a tight focus on the intimacy between all the members of your family. Why was that a priority for you?

Fazili: Prior to our movie, there were many other films made about problems with migration, so we decided that the migration part of our story would be a marginal part of the movie. We wanted the audience to be closer to our happiness, unhappiness, dreams and feelings. We wanted the viewer to feel that they are by our side during the film, to laugh and cry with us, to feel homeless and confused with us so they would not just watch us from a distance.

I saw other people who do not trust each other, who fear each other, who are not kind to each other, but inside their family they are good to each other and they trust only their own family. Our family was always close to each other, and we were helping each other to fight our problems. Whenever I was disappointed with the severity of our problems, just seeing the sweet acts of my daughters gave me hope again. My daughters’ world was full of honesty and love and closeness, and I always felt that the best moments of my life are the ones with them, to the extent that I sometimes wished I could just stop time. On this trip, all our power was being with each other, and for this reason, the most important part of the movie is the family. Filmmaker: There are countless candid moments in the film that give us insights into every member of your family. The one that probably hit me the hardest is when one of your daughters started crying out of boredom. Another scene I keep thinking about is your daughter’s dance to Michael Jackson — the song choice (“They Don’t Care About Us”) seemed especially fitting.

Fazili: Nargis has the character of a seeker, she is careful about everything, and she is kind and strong. She has an introverted personality and tries to hide her problems from me and her mother because she does not want to upset us, but then sometimes she does get tired and cries. Most of the time, when Nargis is upset, she tries to dance her sorrows away. I already knew Michael Jackson’s songs. Although my English is not good, I had read the song lyrics to “They Don’t Really Care About Us” in Persian, and whenever I heard this song, I felt like it was inviting me to fight against injustice.

In order to pump myself up, I myself would listen to this song turned up loud and pace the room. After a while, I realized that Nargis was also listening to me and likes the song. Nargis and I understand very little of the meaning of his lyrics, but both of us love the rhythm of the song and we dance. I think Nargis is trying to drown out her sadness in that scene. For me, that dance scene with Michael Jackson’s song is like a giant scream emanating from the bottom of my heart that I am screaming from the top of a tall mountain.

Filmmaker: It sounds like you and Fatima are raising your children with artistic values and aspirations. In the film, your (I think, older) daughter even voices her interest in becoming a filmmaker. Would you like for her to follow through on that?

Fazili: I want my daughters to decide on their own future, and I do not want to force them to do anything. When they grow up, if they want to be filmmakers, I would be happy and I would support them. But I would respect them and support them if they choose another job. I just want them not to be indifferent towards others, and to try to make their own lives and other people’s lives more beautiful.

Filmmaker: The film ends with some positive news, but still on an uncertain note. What is your family’s current situation? Are you still appealing to live in Germany?

Fazili: We have been in Germany for about t10 months. Initially, the German government told us that because of the Dublin Convention, we have to return to Hungary. But we were imprisoned in Hungary for three months and the police there didn’t treat us like people. We depicted the poor status of the refugees in the Hungarian prison in the film, and that is why we are scared of going back to Hungary. We got a lawyer here in Germany, but unfortunately the lawyer took our money and did nothing for our case. So we had to get a new lawyer, and in January 2019 all our asylum proceedings re-started from the beginning.

It is still unclear how our case will turn out. Perhaps the German government may deport us to Hungary, maybe we will be accepted to stay, and maybe we will be stuck here for many years in this uncertain situation. We are all healthy in Germany and we are happy to go to school, but we are all upset and worried about being in an uncertain position.

#Midnight Traveler #Hassan Fazili #Filmmaker Magazine #Refugees #حسن فضیلی #Dari #دری

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christianjohndomingo · 2 years

Text

Vilomah

You and your mother are gifted with the creative talent that I always desired but was never given. I couldn’t be more happier that you didn’t get your old man’s hanging curveball although who knows where that nasty throw could have taken you in life if you went on to be professional. But trust me, the art world is where you belong.

The scribbles of green circles and red triangles on a blank sheet of white paper that was made to print invoices always takes my dear breath away. And I mean it when I say that because I know how remarkable your mother is on canvas as she would also rip the paper off the crayons like you do when she was your age.

In the morning, when you were scribbling the life away from those waxed colored tools, I tried to observe what you were drawing without you noticing me. If I were caught with those captivating hazel eyes of yours, I’d take a sip out of my coffee or check my phone right before you get upset at me for staring at you.

However, the last time I asked you if you were drawing a tree, you corrected me and said it was a car. So I was afraid to ask again because I don’t want to embarrass myself or offend you. But mostly so I don’t think about it at work of how stupid I felt for assuming.

I’m afraid that your Jackson Pollock replicas aren’t what I think they are. Perhaps they are buildings you see when you look out the window of the car or maybe it’s Buster, the annoying dog of our neighbor Charles that I fake smile and pretend to like him when Buster constantly jumps on me on our walks to the park.

Whatever it is you are drawing, there’s always a vacancy waiting on the fridge for your next masterpiece. And one day the fridge will turn into a gallery and your drawings will still remain the same. And your mother and I will stop in the middle of the gallery and stare at them like we always do in the kitchen knowing we gave birth to an artist.

At least that is what I’m telling my therapist I’m writing.

I was ready to become a father since the day Maya surprised me at dinner one night at her favorite restaurant. When we sat down at our table, she pulled out a small box, placed it gently on the table, and said, “open it.” The box was bigger than an iPhone but smaller than a MacBook so it definitely had to be the Beats headphones I was begging for. Wrapped in black wrapping paper, I tore the edges off so slowly anticipating what was inside. Once I lifted the lid, I saw a pair of shoes: the left one red and the right one blue. As I stared at the smallest shoes I’ve ever seen for about ten seconds, it finally hit me; my body became paralyzed and the music playing in the back was suddenly silent. The second I looked up to Maya, the stream of tears from my eyes blurred her face and a stream ran down my cheeks, the same reaction when I found out we lost the baby.

At work I find myself visualing scenarios in my head ever since we found out about the miscarriage. Instead of journaling my feelings, I am writing about a fantasy world where everything is perfect and nothing terrible has happened to me. And there are these voices from other people that keep replaying in my head day in and day out driving me to insanity. I question everything at least every minute trying to come up with some sort of understanding, catching myself juggling different perspectives just to know what peace feels like again.

She was only in her first trimester. It wasn’t an actual baby yet.

I can hear the laughs of the pro-abortionists mocking the brainwashed Christians for thinking abortion is a sin and god considers it to be murder. I know what those laughs sound like because I was one of them. My family tried to raise me as a radical Christian but I didn’t see any benefit to their beliefs so I rebelled. But here I am eating my own words, unintentionally understanding why those Jesus freaks fought so hard against Planned Parenthood. I now struggle to dismiss the early stages of pregnancy despite the doctor telling me the baby would have been about the size of a grain of rice when it passed. That should have been reassuring but a redwood tree began its life as a seed and eventually the grain of rice would have been….nevermind.

We can try again.

When Maya told me this, her voice carried no weight and those words fell directly onto the floor. Her eyes just glanced at me for a second or two as she attempted to give me an effortless smile that her muscles could hardly spread and walked back to our bedroom. I just sat there in the kitchen, the same place where Maya and I made a list together to choose a name for the baby. Each of us had a list that had “boy” on one side and “girl” on the other. We wrote down names and tried to convince each other that our list was better or agree on at least one of the names together. We debated and laughed the night away until ultimately we gave up and decided to do this again another day with a new list. “We are just too freaking picky, aren’t we?” she said. “Maybe tomorrow we’ll finally settle this once and for all” but tomorrow never came.

You’re falling apart.

Maya was right; I was losing my wife and myself by pretending this misfortune didn’t bother me when in reality it was eating me alive. It was the first week after the loss that changed the whole trajectory of who I have become. When I tried to comfort Maya one day as she sat silently on our sofa staring at the window, she said to me,

“When your body can’t do the one thing that it should, you come to realize if all the other parts of you are just as faulty.”

I disagreed in silence which was the root of my mistake. I should have said something but I said nothing. She continued getting lost looking outside as if I was never there to begin with and at that moment I felt afraid to say anything else only to think I would have made no impact on this situation, my second mistake.

I couldn’t talk to my friends or my family like Maya did which really helped her during this process and I remained quiet living in my head without telling anyone a single word on how I really felt. My communication between anyone felt so lifeless that things took a bad turn when I lied to Maya about working late but really I was at the driving range hitting golf balls until the staff had to kick me out. One of those nights Maya FaceTimed me in agony thinking that I was having an affair because I was routinely out so late. That’s when I had gone too far and didn’t realize I was jeopardizing my marriage.

“I watched you so closely and began to see things that weren’t there before.” she said. If you’re not going to talk to me, you need to talk to someone. Anyone. We’re falling apart. You’re falling apart.”

My third and final mistake.

I’m sorry for your loss.

A line nobody said to me.

It’s good to see you again. What has changed since we last met?

I felt the same as yesterday, the day before, and last tuesday: “I’m still in a trance of writing fictional episodes of the baby and I,” I say to my therapist. Yesterday I wrote what it would be like to take you to an amusement park and how you would react to the neon lights, inhale the nauseating smell of deep fried Twinkies, staring at the baby blue cotton candy on advertised every corner, and the grinding sound of the roller coaster tracks with its screaming passengers creeping up right behind us. I thought about what would happen if I had lost you and how my heart would drop to the floor and my vision would become blurry trying not to go insane hoping you were just drawn to one of the stuffed animal prizes hanging close by. Sort of like how I’m feeling now.

The day before I wondered what it would feel like if you caught a fever. I might say this would probably freak me out more than losing you at the amusement park. If your temperature reached over a 100 and the distress in your cry overtakes the thoughts in my head, how in the hell would I cope? How do I speak to a small human who can’t speak at all?

“Have these letters you have been writing helped you process the loss?” he asks.

“I think they are the only thing keeping me alive to tell you the truth.” I replied.

“I thought about these letters you write and I want to do an exercise with you if you’re comfortable with it. I think it would help you get familiar with sharing your feelings if you allow yourself to. Let’s pretend your child was sitting right next to me on this chair to my left; what would you tell him or her?”

Instantaneously I began to weep and tremble trying so desperately to hold back any feelings he summoned out of me with that question. But there he was clear as day, appearing next to that empty chair beside the therapist just as I had imagined him. I knew I couldn't hold this weight in me anymore. I had to do this for Maya and ultimately, for myself.

Looking at the empty chair, at the ghostly child, I unloaded everything I had in me. “I just want to tell you how much I love you. You may not exist in the world I live in but deep down in my heart you are very much alive. And I’m sorry that your mother and I couldn’t bring you to this world. It’s not your mother’s fault. These things happen and it sucks it happened to us. Whenever I go places and I see dads holding hands with their kids, I ask myself, ‘Why couldn’t that be me?’ When I go to work, I’m carrying every small piece of my shattered heart knowing you’re not here and pretend everything is fine when it’s not. I envision what the warmth of your tiny hand would feel like placed in the middle of my palm and what kind of reaction I’d get finding one of your teeny socks mixed in with my laundry. I already have sleepless nights that lead to waking up wailing; why couldn’t I do it with you?”

The weight of arms no longer felt heavy, I covered my face with both hands and felt every drip of sob coming out, and I bawled explosively. For the first time in a long time, I said the words I’ve been imagining in my head out loud. My therapist sat there in silence for about two minutes giving me the time to grieve.

“To feel in any form is a gift,” he said. “Just because Maya was carrying the baby doesn’t mean you didn’t feel the same hurt and suffering. This child was yours too.”

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romanoffsbish · 2 years

Text

Chapter 9: You Ready?

Chapter 8 | Masterlist | Chapter 10 | Words: 1,395

Nat's POV

I made lunch...

Correction, I tried, it failed. So takeout it is!

I head to Y/N's room and on my way I slip copies of the mission files under the others doors.

"Friday, please inform Rogers & Maximoff that they have a mission, and to read up on it. Thanks"

"Will do Miss Romanoff ."

I knocked on Y/N's door and I heard a crash, causing me to shove the door open fearing the worst. I walk in to see Y/N on the floor. We locked eyes and then she just bursts out into fits of laughter.

"Hey Natty, you might've scared me out of my dream state. No worries though, I'm all good." She chuckles out.

"Well, my apologies Y/N/N, however nap times over. Time for lunch, and we also have some very important business to discuss." I sincerely reply with my hand out to help her up.

"Thank you." Y/N cheerily replies, giving me a stupid grin and then moving for the food.

"Ah, aht! Sit!" I say pushing her away and causing her to fall back onto the bed.

"Natty, I'm starved. I only got to eat half of my breakfast this morning before you rushed me to training." She whines

"Patience detka, I'm preparing the lunch I slaved over. My thumbs so sore from selecting it on my phone." I taunt

She threw a pillow at me in response.

"No egg rolls for you!" I assert

"You wouldn't dare take my egg roll privileges away from me." She growls.

"Fine, I won't." I chuckle evilly while shoving one into her mouth.

"Thank you very much, I was about to have to beat your ass." She mumbles while chewing the egg roll.

"Wow. I'll be sure to bring egg rolls to training for the inspiration that you need."

"That's all I ask." She giggles.

"So, Fury called and asked if you're ready for missions. I said from my end you were, but I want to ask you if you feel you are."

She's silent for a few minutes, I guess that's fair as I did just kinda rush into it.

"Y/N/N?"

She looks up at me with a confusing stare.

"Are you ready?

She takes a drink through her straw, giving me an unreadable look.

"Yes."

"Are you sure? Because if you're not..." I almost begin to start rambling.

"Natty baby, I'm all good." She replies, looking up at me with a wide grin.

"Okay, well it's you, Rogers, Maximoff and myself. We'll go over it all tomorrow. For tonight though, we'll relax and watch our (y/f) show."

"Sounds good! Your room or mine?" She questions with an eyebrow wiggle.

"Mine." I reply with a cheeky grin.

"When?"

"We could start now?" I question, hoping we don't have to separate.

"How about at 7? That way I can shower and put my PJ's on and you can get our dinner plates. You can invite Wands too. I'll see you later!" She all but shouts, then she kisses my cheek and runs to the bathroom.

Not happening... I love Wands, and girls nights are fun, but I just want some time alone with Y/N to decompress...

"Hey Wands, can I have two dinner plates? Also, if Y/N asks tell her you were busy, okay? Thanks!" I rush out, and give her my best smile.

"I'm not though." She teases, causing me to turn back around.

"Wanda!" I warn with with a playful glare.

"I never thought I'd see the day when Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow herself, would start to fall for someone. Especially never the ray of sunshine." Wanda whispers, so no one else can hear, while staring directly into my soul.

"That's not it at all. I'm just trying to be a good teammate and be in her corner." I mumble

"Then I guess you wouldn't mind if I grab a plate and follow you to movie night." Wanda teases and my glare hardens.

"Movie night? I'm in!" Tony shouts

"Too bad you weren't invited." I growl.

"Oh, you still babying the Hydra Plant?" Tony grumbles

"Well, if by babying you mean treating her like a human, then yes. She's far greater company that the lot of you combined."

"Hey..." Wanda whines.

"Oh hush little witch, you're still in my top three." I reply with a smirk.

"Whatever, just watch, she'll show her true colors soon and you'll see what I was saying." Tony replies venomously.

"You know, Tony, the only true colors I've seen so far are yours. You're truly... Actually, I'm no longer entertaining this conversation. I hope you come to your senses one day, and that actually goes for all of you." I seethe

*You're in love.*

*Shut up before you drop on the list*

*Y/N and Natasha sitting in a compound.

F-A-L-L-I-N-G*

*Bite me witch*

*I will be finishing this song later...*

I walk into my room to see it adorned with fluffy blankets, and massive amounts of candy, I'm pretty sure she has a secret candy stash. Her hairs slightly damp, and down. She is wearing these adorable Black Widow themed PJs and that just made my heart flutter.

"Natty, you made it!" She beams

"Of course I did, this is my room after all. I also brought dinner, but no Wands, she is busy."

"Oh, that's totally fine, next time it is. Just us is perfectly fine." She replies with an infectious smile.

I hand her the plate of spaghetti that Wanda made and we eat in a comfortable silence. I take the empty plate from her and move it to the side.

"Detka, sit in between my legs, and press play on our show. I'm going to braid your hair!"

"Okay." She replies

"I love your pajamas." I tease.

"Thank you, I asked Fury for them. I'm also getting one to represent Wands wiggly woos. Just trying to honor your guys."

The idea that she got Wanda related PJs made me a bit jealous. It's innocent and downright cute on her end, but still...

"Ow.." Y/N whimpers.

"Sorry..." I whisper, I guess I pulled too hard.

"No worries." She replies, and goes back to smiling and watching our show.

As I finish the braid I decide to lay back on the pile of pillows behind me. I throw my arms over Y/N's shoulders and pull her back gently so that she's laying with her head on my stomach. She hums in contentment, and looks up to me with a sweet smile before looking back to the TV.

Y/N's POV

I looked up to see that Natty's fallen asleep, and due to her position she is snoring. Her snoring is actually quite adorable, but I'll probably never tell her that. I'm honestly so grateful for her, she's trying her hardest to make sure I'm not nervous for the upcoming mission. She's honestly my best friend, she's great at being in my corner.

I'm also pretty certain I'm falling for her, but I've never experienced something like this before. It's terrifying, yet exhilarating, but mostly it seems unfair. She was assigned to watch me, then in some twist of fate she chose to be my friend. She most definitely didn't sign up for me to develop feelings for her. I'll just take what I can get, like the friendship cuddles she initiated.

I attempted to pry her arms off me gently, so that I could pull her down flat, and then leave to my bed.

"No!" Nat mumbles sleepily.

"Natty baby, I'm trying to let you sleep comfortably." I gently whisper to her, still trying to remove her arms.

"No, you're warm." She whines.

"I bet your blanket is as well." I giggle.

"Not the same."

"Nat, it's getting late, I'm going to go to bed."

"No way." She grumbles before adjusting herself.

She is lying down flat now, but she's also yanked me up and into her.

"Fine, I'll stay the night. First time for everything."

"Goodnight detka." Nat whispers, tightening her grip on my waist, and placing a tired kiss to my forehead.

This whole experience has done nothing but further my confusing feelings, but she's also exhausted so she's probably just delirious.

"Goodnight Natty." I whisper back wrapping myself up in her.

Taglist:

@simpforflorencepugh1

#natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff imagine #natasharomanoffpov #natasharomanoff #natasharomanoffxyn #black widow #gxg #avengerspov #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff x you

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dourpeep · 3 years

Note

IT WAS 2AM WHEN I SENT THAT SO I HELD BACK MY SIMPING FOR COLLEGE ALBEDO A LITTLE. tried not to send all my brainrot so I didn't just send a wall of text into your inbox LOL. Some others I thought of were:

- Mona giving astrology forecasts and compatibility readings in this au and Albedo may have asked her about the two of you

- Going to botanical gardens or museums with Albedo but for some reason it feels like a date even when it didn't intent to be. You tug on his sleeve now and then when you see something he might be interested in or even when it's something that excites you, and Albedo can't help but have a soft look in his eyes that he can share this moment with you! Somehow it results in the two of you holding hands - just so neither of you stray from each other of course - and eventually, intertwined fingers. You hear someone say that the two of you seem like a cute couple and you know Albedo heard it too, but neither of you say anything. You feel his hand squeeze yours a little tighter and respond in kind. The two of you are too embarrassed to look at each other but can't help the smiles on your faces.

- Lending Albedo some of your favourite books for pleasure reading and you've left tiny tabs on lines that you like. Perhaps this is before Albedo realizes his feelings so when he reads particularly romantic lines, he wonders if this is how he feels about you. Or did you mark these pages because you feel this way about someone? His stomach is in knots to the thought that you may be intrested in someone that isn't him and he settles for it just being prose.

WHAT YOU WROTE WAS SO CUTE AAA. THANK YOU FOR SIMPING FOR COLLEGE BEDO WITH ME!!

Tugging his hand and not letting go omg . . . you tend to just intertwine pinkies or play with his fingers absent-mindedly that Albedo becomes so accustomed to it so he starts to offer you his hands without a second thought.

WAIT. I gasped at Albedo being a cuddler. He's a little delirious when he first wakes up but you're so comfy that he hugs you a little tighter, asking if you've slept well. You try to reply while worrying about whether or not he can feel your heart thrumming in your chest.

What if Klee is staying with Albedo one night and the three of you fall asleep cuddled up together. Alice comes back early in the morning before any of you are awake and takes a picture. She sends it to Albedo later and he sets it as his phone's wallpaper.

Albedo staring at your lips winded me, thank you.

YES TO THE SWEATERS. I bet Albedo would have the softest and coziest sweaters too! Imagine it being a little cold out and you see Albedo across campus so you bound over to him and give him a hug. You nuzzle into him and mumble out a little 'hello' and say he's warm. You feel his laugh rumble through his chest while he greets you back, wrapping his arms around you

And I LOVE ALL YOUR HEADCANONS! I believe I found your blog around the time you posted Albedo's snort headcanon and it was too much for my heart!! I held tight to that headcanon and never let go lol. I also thought the science + college headcanons you had of him were really nice despite not being necessarily romantic!

Side note: I looked up that lobster fact and that's so cool!!

The Lobster Fact(tm) is my go-to ice breaker and it always fails. I'd imagine it's normally the same w/ Bedo OTL so sad...not many wish to know about potential lobster immortality.

I'm glad that you love the headcanons though!! I enjoy writing for Albedo so so much as you can tell ehe

That being said--if it makes you more comfy to send stuff in a few bursts of asks, I don't mind :DD I'll answer them as usual nodnod

OKIE DOKIE

"...Mona, yes?"

"Ah, I was expecting you to come around sooner or later, Kreideprinz."

Really, Albedo didn't mean to stumble upon the Astronomy major, but for some reason the thought of you has been on his mind and the campus' observatory just so happened to be on the way. With the meager hope that...maybe he'd find some sort of answer (in what, he wasn't really sure himself), there she was.

Luckily, she knew just what he was there for.

The moment that she twirls her hand with a wave, telling him that there isn't anything to worry about, the apprehension creeping within his chest at the thought of seeing you next-

disappeared.

It's not often that he turns to less orthodox methods, but he wouldn't lie. Knowing that--at least in Mona's opinion (which tended to be correct, anyway)--the two of you were undoubtly compatible? Something about how your constellations were intertwined...

In fact, Albedo turns a little theory around in his mind. Though based in old folktales, the idea that you gravitate towards those who are made of the very same stardust as yourself, suddenly made sense.

Or, perhaps he was just being hopeful.

Little does he know that you most definitely asked Mona about the same thing earlier that day.

AHHHHH BUT OF COURSE-

Any of those kinds of places--Botanical Gardens, Art Museums, Aquariums, Zoos, Museums in general--Any place where you're able to utterly lose yourself in your surroundings and look around in awe, really, are your go-to date outing destination!

Usually, it's just the two of you, maybe with Sucrose or Timaeus if it's for a particular class, as well as the occasional Klee in tow whenever Alice is busy with work.

But in this case, fingers interlocked, it's just the two of you on a impromptu trip to the art museum downtown after seeing a promotional banner about a new exhibit. Once inside, you rush along, Albedo trailing close behind with a light squeeze of your hand. The large area used for temporary exhibits isn't far from the entrance, so it's not long until you skid to a stop.

All along the walls are incredibly detailed oil paintings, the thin layered strokes glistening in the light. Albedo takes a moment to whisper to you about how oil paint works.

Due to the thinness of the paint and it's transparency, light passes through every carefully placed stroke, allowing for a unique sort of depth that isn't achievable with other painting media. You smile, the artificial light of the art exhibit making your features glow and Albedo can't help but wonder if you are like those paintings.

So complex, so carefully created in an image perfected with time. Your eyes search his and you say his name and Albedo clears his throat when he realizes he's been staring.

"Do you like this one?"

Ah, you must've assumed he took a liking to this particular painting.

His eyes shift back to it, taking in the sight of the balance of color, the composition, then back to you. He only stares a second longer before nodding.

Whether or not you realize the view he likes is you is something that he dwells on as you both make your way to the next painting.

If you had a penny for every time that someone comments on the way you compliment each other, you'd probably be able to pay off your tuition for next semester.

Okay, perhaps not, but the idea still stands.

You're only just at the end of the art exhibit when the security guard wishes the two of you a lovely date. Something about how young love is something to be treasured, something about how the two of you already seem so natural and comfortable in each other's presence.

Before you can mumble out an explanation, Albedo just squeezes your hand, gentle as always, and smiles.

It's a compliment, right? For someone to see how close you are, even if you really are just friends, is a good thing.

Ignoring the warmth that spreads over your cheeks, you smile and turn your head away shyly. Squeezing his hand back, the thought of what it'd be like if you were together crosses your mind.

Just as you lend books to him, he lends books to you. Surprisingly, this time it just so happens to be a poetry book--something that you expressed interest in a week ago but ended up not getting.

Within, he's left colorful notes with his neat, slanted writing.

Short discussions (presumably questions to himself) of what the poet must've been thinking, different possible scenarios, are peppered throughout the book. But one just so happens to catch your eye. Rather than a question, it's a statement. Simple, short, and...sweet.

'You carry the aura of the stars.'

The little yellow sticky note pasted beneath a love poem to the night sky stands out. Suppressing a flutter in your chest, you continue reading through the poem book with a few giggles at Albedo's musings until you find a note with most of the words crossed out.

It's entirely unlike him, the way that the dark ink scribbled over the words, making them illegible.

But at the bottom was a continued attempt--one you presume he was satisfied with by the way it lay pristine on the colorful paper.

'You look. I fail to speak.

Your mind, so brilliant as it is I wish to see behind To further appreciate the one I love.

I can only hope one day you shall let me in, So for now I wait patiently by your side.'

Who could he have written this for? You can't help but stare at the poetic attempt, knowing full well that Albedo seldom does something without meaning.

The book closes and you tuck it back on the shelf to ask about later.

AAAAA YESYESYESYES I LOVE THAT CUDDLE PILE W/ ALBEDO AND KLEE

Even though Albedo's a grade A student and certified genius (he's adamant in his denial, shaking his head and mumbling about how he just studies hard), he's not entirely a stickler for rules.

Well, that is, Aunt Alice's suggestion that Klee goes to bed by 9.

Instead, the three of you settle in the common room of Albedo's place in a bundle of pillows and blankets at the demands of a pillow fort.

The tv blinks on accompanied by the near silent click of the remote.

"What should we watch?"

Klee always ends up picking the movie. This time, she wants Alice in Wonderland, commenting on how the bunny is like her best friend Dodoco and the blonde girl on screen is named after mommy. Albedo doesn't bother correcting her, even though he knows quite well that dear, sweet Dodoco is a chinchilla.

Between sips of juice and a few mouthfuls of popcorn, the three of you fall asleep, Klee curled up besides you and Albedo's arm draped over you both.

Even when the sun is up in the sky, you sleep peacefully.

So, naturally, Aunt Alice has a spare key just in case something like this happens.

Immediately she's met with the sweetest view--her two kids (she's practically adopted Albedo as her own at this point) and--

Hiding a cheeky smile behind her hand, Alice can't help but sneak a little closer when she spies the way that you and Albedo somehow gravitated closer, his face buried in your hair and yours resting against his collar. Wedged between you with tousled hair, Klee snoozes peacefully.

She snaps a picture, followed by another, and another, and a fourth for good measures before meandering into the kitchen to prep something for breakfast.

Might as well let her three favorite people enjoy the comfort of sleep for a little longer...

You wake up the moment that Klee wiggles her way out of the blankets, nuzzling against the warmth radiating under your cheek.

Nice and cozy. Smells nice...wait.

Eyes fluttering open, you're met with a familiar birthmark and the nearly gone scent of Albedo's cologne.

You nearly pull away until the arm, now wrapped around your waist, pulls you closer accompanied by a satisfied sigh. Ah. You shut your eyes tight when you realize that Albedo's going to be asleep for at least another thirty minutes, resigning to your fate gladly.

Of course, Alice takes the opportunity to snap a few more pictures when you've finally fallen back asleep.

YES ALSO ALSO

Speaking of Albedo and sweaters and warm and also the just mentioned cologne. A little fun tidbit--not only are you familiar with the scent of his cologne because he wears it often, but it (in this au) is actually one that you picked out some time back. You probably were at the store together smelling some of the perfumes when you came across one that you were pleasantly surprised by.

Specifically, something that's lightly floral, a little warm but sweet with a hint of earthiness.

The pros? It fits Albedo perfectly! It also kinda sticks well and his place faintly smells of it.

The cons?? Well...you're embarrassed to say that hugging Albedo tends to drag on a little longer than anticipated because it's just such a comforting scent-

Not because you associate it with Albedo or anything-

Ehe

Man I really went to town again, didn't I?? Well, I'm glad that you enjoy my headcanons :DDD Albedo just seems like such a sweet person??? Like endearing in a way that just is...him. If that makes sense.

Brain go brrrrrr

I'll admit that my favorite headcanons for Bedo are mundane and domestic ones though! Like these! Just the little moments where there's nothing really going on except for him and you and ahhhh yesyesyes

Okay that's all-

#anon asks #albedo #albedo headcanons #genshin impact albedo #albedo x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact fics #genshin impact drabbles #modern au #college au #modern au albedo

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

love letter, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook gets love letters shoved in his mailbox and under his apartment door all the damn time. You, too, get love letters shoved in your mailbox and under your door. All the time. It could be a sweet gesture, but this is the twenty-first century. Love letters aren't all they're cracked up to be.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; short graphic descriptions of sex acts; smut (fem reader, a very intense make-out session including some wild tongue and too much saliva, nipple play, a bit of m-receiving oral, cowgirl, handjob); non-idol!BTS – technically university, blond, softsub!Jungkook x working, softdom!reader; slightly desperate and needy JK

yes, yes, it’s MTV Unplugged ‘Telepathy’JK

"I'm so tired of people thinking they have a chance with me."

Was the exasperated declaration as you backed up into your apartment, only to turn around and witness Jeon Jungkook dumping a waterfall of colorful envelopes from his giant black backpack onto your hardwood floor.

"At least remove your shoes before you start flaunting how hot you are," you replied dryly.

Jungkook rolled his eyes as he kicked off his large white sneakers. "Look at this shit! It's relentless! It's annoying! I just want to live my life!"

You vaguely recalled Jungkook being excited about his first love letter upon reaching university, and then the second, the third... and now you were staring at pile number five hundred on your doormat. "I don't know, put a sign on your door? 'Please stop, the answer is no?'"

Jungkook winced. "I can't do that. How many hearts am I going to break?"

"Uh, I dunno, you already broke half the campus by existing in general."

He bonked you on the head lightly with his denim jacket sleeve. "I have not. I've only slept with a couple people and that was supposed to be no strings attached."

You shrugged. "People can't understand that. Especially women."

He puffed his cheeks and stepped over the pile. You noticed the small stickers and nice handwriting on the colorful pastel paper. You almost felt bad, seeing all the effort put into them.

"At least they're cute. I only get torn notebook pages with scribbles."

"Stop lying. You get girls' letters too," Jungkook grumbled. "Can I borrow your computer? One of my professors assigned an online quiz and the internet at my place is down, again."

"You gotta move," you commented, kneeling down to collect the mess Jungkook made. You noticed Jungkook flit his eyes about before throwing up his hands and bending down to help you.

"I'm trying to get out of the lease, but I have a couple more months left," he complained childishly.

"What about your other friends? Can't you go bother them?"

Jungkook frowned, sticking out his lower lip. The tiny mole underneath winked at you. "You hate me now or something?"

You laughed, standing up with a stacked pile of confessions to Jeon Jungkook. "No, I'm just curious as to why you always come here."

He shoved the rest in your arms, his pile slightly messier than yours. "You live the closest and you're usually home. Plus, you have two computers."

"A laptop and a desktop," you corrected. "Don't you have a laptop?"

"It's easier to borrow yours."

"Lazy."

Jungkook ignored your remark and ticked his silvery-blond head further into the apartment. "Can I borrow it or not?"

You laughed. "Of course. Laptop's on the bed."

He turned and followed the hallway to your bedroom. "Same password?" he yelled, not looking back.

"Obviously."

"Why is it my birth date?" he shouted.

"Because, one, no one will guess it, and, two, you're a dumbass and always forget it."

"I do not!"

"How many times did you ask when the password was Klingon?"

"I don't know your nerdy shit!"

"Do your fucking assignment," you belted down the hall.

Jungkook stuck his head out of your bedroom door and scrunched his nose to make a hideous face at you, holding your gunmetal-colored laptop. You rolled your eyes as he disappeared again. This crackhead. You let out a sigh, walking past the acrylic painting of a blue sky with pink-purple clouds hanging in your living room, flicking through at all the letters addressed to Jungkook.

Surprisingly, you knew what he felt like. With you, it started with inviting one guy over to your place, sucking his dick, and then suddenly a letter appeared. Well, letter was putting it nicely. Dirty napkin with words scrawled with smeared ballpoint pen shoved under your door, explicitly asking for more. Then another, wanting it. Then another, begging for it. You ignored them. At some point, you invited a girl over, ate her out, and then the colorful envelopes started appearing, with cute stickers and neat handwriting.

Mmmhmm.

Why did Jungkook bring them here anyway? To brag? For you to peruse? You spread them out them on your coffee table and tore one open. Read it. Simple confession of love, no name. You were kind of jealous. Jungkook always got nicer ones than you did. Something about being a sexually uninhibited woman seemed to translate to others that you were down to fuck anyone, anytime, anything. You tossed the letter aside, ripped open a folded card closed with lilac tape. Another, 'I love you, please go out with me', no name. Toss. And you opened another one, reading out loud.

"I want to cram all one hundred and seventy-nine centimeters of you into me?”

Uh.

Huh.

Still no name.

Cute peach stationery though.

Was it a euphemism? Symbolic? Thinly veiled code? Hm. In any case, this was more along the lines of shamelessness you encountered yourself.

By all conventions, Jeon Jungkook was attractive as fuck. Pretty pink lips, big brown eyes, manly sharp jawline. He kept his hair on the longer side, around ear length, now silvery-blond compared to the usual black. You heard he dyed it a couple times, but now it had since faded to the original blond.

Oh, yeah, also he had nice hands and a body to die for.

You could see why Jungkook got all these love letters. You? Well, similar reasons, except less muscles. Also, yours weren't really love letters. More like vulgar remarks on the backs of grubby receipts.

Probably just as heartfelt.

The only reason you knew of Jungkook was because you were friends with one of his close friends. Alright, maybe you sucked his friend's dick. More than once. But anyway, not the point. The point was that the topic of love letters came up one night when everyone was hanging out and you voiced your predicament. It was the summer before Jungkook entered university. He had burst out laughing, thinking it was a hilarious situation.

"Haha, that would never happen to me!"

Jokes on you, Jungkook, karma's a bitch.

You thought about moving, but the location was close to your work and the internet service was great here. At least you always recycled the paper. What were you supposed to do? Keep an album of Starbucks napkins of people asking if your tongue was good or not?

You opened another envelope addressed to 'sweet, adorable Jungkookie'.

Their words, not yours.

"Shove your dick down my throat and make me gag? Smiley face?"

Well, that's a contrast.

Jungkook didn't start contacting you on his own until the letters started coming and then they didn’t stop coming, flooding his mailbox and underneath his door, overwhelming and confusing him. He didn't think he would get much attention, although perhaps it might be your fault, since you seemed to have set the precedence for this type of thing at this particular university. There was at least one person in every year that got this treatment, and it all started with one dirty napkin with smeared ink. Rumor caught on and then bam! It became a thing.

So, yeah.

Maybe kind of your fault.

You shouldn't have told so many people about that napkin.

You fished out a pizza receipt from the pile, inspecting it. You couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. Then you noticed it had Jungkook's phone number and an order of three pizzas. Not a confession, just trash from Jungkook's backpack. Did he really eat three pizzas? Hopefully not by himself and in one sitting. You noticed the timestamp. Mmm, three in the morning. Okay. Maybe he did eat three pizzas by himself in one sitting.

You filed through the rest, removing trash from the recyclable paper. Paused when you found a scrap of paper that said, "Put your dick in my ass." You recognized this curvy, narrow handwriting, slightly heavy-handed. Same person wrote you the same note this week.

This was why you didn't take the messages too seriously.

You saw a particularly thick purple envelope and picked it up, tearing it open. It was several pages, with tiny, crammed handwriting on paper with cute bunnies on it. Several pages detailing straight up porn with Jungkook as the leading role.

You almost burst out laughing.

Who the fuck would write this?

And send it to him?

Not you, that's for fucking sure.

Still, it wasn't the worst thing you've ever read. Had some spelling mistakes and poor grammar. Instant turn-off. Needed a good proofread. You settled onto your brown leather couch, highly entertained as you read it. Then you actually burst out laughing, because said person wanted Jungkook to lift them and fuck them at the same time and that kinda shit just wasn't possible. You would know, because you’ve tried. It sounded good, but in practice, the dick ended up falling out pretty quickly if the pussy was any sort of wet.

If you weren’t wet, then, eh, not sure why you're fucking.

"What is so fucking funny?" Jungkook grumbled, poking his head around the corner, still holding your laptop.

You held up the sheets of bunny-printed paper, still laughing. "Someone sent you their written erotica and you're the star!"

Jungkook grimaced. "Oh yeah, that person. They write something new every week. It's weird." He frowned. "I try to take it out so you don't have to read that shit. I must have missed it."

"It's hilarious," you chuckled. "You should publish them into a book."

"You know I can't do that," Jungkook sighed, putting your laptop on the coffee table and snatching the pages from you. "I throw them away like everything else."

"Did you finish your assignment?" you chortled, leaning over to look at the laptop screen. Submission successful. "80%?! When you could easily cheat?"

"I read a question wrong," Jungkook whined, balling up the paper and throwing it down. "Ack."

You looked up at him and he was looking upset at the pile on the table.

"What's wrong?"

"What if one of them is real?"

"Huh?"

"I mean... I just throw them away now. But what if one of them is real?" Jungkook wondered out loud.

You shrugged. "Does it matter? They'll tell you in person if it's that important."

Jungkook tilted his head at you doubtfully. "Will they?"

You sat back into your couch, with your legs wide open. You were wearing sleek black leggings and a cropped pink sweatshirt. Not the most ladylike pose, but you didn't really care. You gestured to the stack of letters on your wooden coffee table.

"They should. If they actually like you and it's not a joke, then they should tell you in person and accept that they might be rejected."

Jungkook frowned and slumped down next to you. His light-wash denim jacket made a loud floof as his ass hit the brown leather cushions. The wash of his jeans matched his jacket. He wore a white graphic t-shirt under. It looked vintage, but it probably wasn’t.

"What if they're nervous?" he questioned, twisting his pink lips around.

"So what? Everyone's nervous. We all live in a perpetual state of terror."

Jungkook rolled his eyes.

You leaned forward and plucked a sky-blue memo note from the table, reading it out loud. "I love you. Marry me." You held it out to him. "See? You get nice ones. I get, ‘choke me like you hate me’ and 'shove your tongue into my asshole, please'. Rarely do I get is that please at the end," you finished with a dry laugh. You looked up to see Jungkook staring back at you. Your laugh died a little seeing his serious expression.

"Yes."

You blinked at him. "What?"

Jungkook ticked his chin to the note, then shifted his eyes to you.

You pointed to the memo sheet and raised an eyebrow. "I didn't write this."

"I did."

He was so serious that you couldn't laugh. You just blinked at him rapidly and turned your head to look at the sky-blue memo sheet, finally recognizing the clean, block-like handwriting and spotting the bottom right corner. English letters. A J and a K fused together, the way Jungkook usually signed his paintings.

You dropped the note like it was on fire.

Jerked your head up, not to him, but to the painting across from you in the living room, the one with the blue sky and pink-purple clouds, with a tiny JK signature in black at the bottom right corner. The painting you asked Jungkook to make you a while back.

"You paint, right? I want something calm for my living room. I bought a canvas, so about this size. It's that cool?"

Jungkook had squinted his eyes, nodding. "Yeah, I could draw a pretty big dick on it."

"This is for my living room, dumbass. And I said I wanted something calm."

"A flaccid dick then."

You turned your head back to Jungkook of now, who was wringing his hands on his thighs, wiping off his palms. He noticed you watching him and puffed one cheek before letting out a big sigh.

"I was... gonna leave it on your laptop," Jungkook mumbled, flapping a hand to the sky-blue note. "But I couldn't find it in my backpack, and then I realized one of the pockets was open, the one where I keep receipts... anyway I had put the note there, so I came out to see if it was in the pile... yup, there it is."

He sucked in his cheek and fell back against the leather sofa.

"Was a joke."

Jungkook's voice sounded hollow. Empty.

"... Ah." You tucked the tip of your tongue in your cheek.

"Not the greatest joke," he added flatly.

“No, it’s not,” you agreed. "Jokes that are insincere are bad jokes."

The black words glared back up at you, contrasting the pale azure paper. You picked up the memo sheet again. Turned to face him, holding it up next to Jungkook's head of silvery-blond hair. He pursed his lips and looked away from you, jaw clenched in nervousness.

"Just say it."

He puffed one cheek again. "It was a joke."

"Then why are you saying it in past tense?"

His brown orbs shifted from side to side before Jungkook tried to bolt out of his seat, only for you to slam a hand down on his shoulder and throw a leg over him, straddling his lap before pinning the note to his chest. He yelped sharply and looked up at you with huge, shaking irises.

In all your time knowing him, you never tried to sleep with Jungkook.

Never.

You jabbed the note into his white shirt and he gave you a terrified squeak in response.

You scrutinized his face, jaw slack, eyes wide, blond curls framing his chiseled cheekbones. One of your eyebrows raised, your voice calm and unfazed.

"Say it."

"You say it," Jungkook finally shot back, furrowing his brows, biting on his lip and mustering up the most indignant look he could produce at this very second. You didn’t react. He seemed to have forgotten you did, in fact, say it, although perhaps that wasn’t exactly what he meant.

You never tried to fuck Jungkook because he didn’t treat you as anything more than his primary source of internet when his own was down. Ah, and also his outlet for complaining about his love letter problem. And then there was that other little wrinkle, the unwritten societal rule one of sucking a guy's dick you're still friends with - don't suck his friends' dicks. Surefire way to fuck up a friendship, especially if the dude’s ego was fragile.

Jungkook’s friend was dating someone else now though. His ego couldn’t be that fragile.

You leaned forward and Jungkook's annoyed gaze faltered. He gulped and tried to shrink into your brown leather couch, as if he could somehow disappear under you.

"I love you," you stated clearly and firmly. You glanced at the slightly crumpled piece of blue paper before your eyes flickered back to his face. "Marry me."

Hah, the thing about rules with you was...

Fuck 'em.

Not actually.

Eh, not the point.

"Really?" Jungkook squeaked, voice cracking slightly.

Ah, right, the other reason you never tried to sex up Jungkook because he was a little bit of an idiot around you. But maybe this sky-blue note detailed the reason for it.

"Say it," you repeated crossly, poking him in the pecs. "Stop avoiding it."

You observed Jungkook swallow hard again, Adam’s apple bobbing. You furrowed your brows, tipping your head down so that your forehead was hovering over his, eyebrow cocked, gazing into trembling brown orbs. Why was he taking so long? He wrote the damn words. Were they really just a joke? Hmph, why were you even trying then?

That’s how everyone was.

Not putting any stock or thought into their fucking words.

You lifted your finger but Jungkook’s right hand, the one with tiny tattoos, suddenly darted in your view, grabbing your hand back and jamming your finger onto his chest again. His heartbeat raced under your fingertip, thud-thud-thud, rapid bass accenting the moment. Electrifying it.

“Don’t.”

Whisper so faint you frowned and closed even more distance between you two, picking up the scent of vanilla fabric softener and lush cotton. A little different than you, who used a blackberry and spiced vanilla perfume.

“I like this,” Jungkook breathed under you, chewing his lip anxiously. You could feel his warm breath tickling your lips and chin with how close you were. You could count his individual eyebrow hairs, even though the eyebrow product he used.

“I… really like this.”

He let go of your hand.

Now you raised both eyebrows.

You slowly uncurled your middle finger, landing it on his chest next to the index. You felt him shiver a little, lips parting. Straightened your ring finger, planting it down. His lashes lowered a little, brown orbs on your face, watching your reaction to him. You could count the moles on his face. The one on his nose. The one on his cheek. The one under his lower lip. The one on his neck. Your pinky slid onto his chest. A wispy moan left his lips, eyelids fluttering, blond strands floating around his head with the little rise and fall of his heavy, tense exhale.

Why is it your birth date?

Take a wild guess, dumbass.

Your fingers abruptly dug into his white t-shirt, crumpling the note and scrunching the graphic up in your fist. He inhaled sharply, head tipping back and lips nearing yours, a whine escaping his throat. You quirked an eyebrow, drawing back slightly, taking in the rich depth of his tan skin, the sensual line of his neck, up to his angular chin and his dangling silver earrings. All of it. His hands immediately came up to grab your wrist and forearm, ensuring you and himself that you wouldn’t let go, the tendons in your flexed wrist right against his large palm.

“Say it, Jungkook,” you demanded. “Say those words with your pretty pink tongue hanging out your mouth for me.”

You watched him obey immediately, tongue sliding out and touching his lower lip, brown eyes framed by his long lashes and hazy with lust.

“I love you,” Jungkook breathed, a little gargled with his tongue out. “Fucking marry me, please.”

Ah, you couldn't help it.

You smirked.

"What about all your admirers?" you murmured, twisting your fingers in his shirt, digging your nails into his chest. "You'll break all those poor hearts you’re worried about."

Those dark brown eyes told you they didn't give a single fuck.

"What about you?" he countered, closing his mouth a little to speak more clearly.

"Me?"

The definition of trouble?

Well, if you looked that up in a dictionary, there would definitely be a picture of you.

Jungkook’s lips parted once more, keen to submit to your wickedness, pink tongue slipping out again, shiny and glistening with saliva. Breathing shallowly, rubbing your wrist with his thumb, encouraging you to keep going.

Your lips curved into a treacherous smile.

"I'll break all the hearts to get to yours, Jungkook."

And then you licked his tongue.

A low moan bubbled from Jungkook's chest, his eyes rolling back and his hips bucking up, desperate for friction as the tip of your wet muscle glided over his warm softness, your spit dripping down his throat, listening to his moans turn into messy garbles of your name, begging you, pleading you, more, more, kiss me, please, and you hooked your tongue around his, gently nudging his jaw with your other hand. Knuckle to chin, tilting your head as your lips closed onto Jungkook's.

It was not a neat kiss.

There was spit running down his chin, dripping onto his neck and your skin, your lips roughly working his, tongues intertwined and making even more of a mess, you sucking forcefully to earn pained, delicious whines. Jungkook was far too turned on to attempt to glamorize it, cries a jumbled mess under your greedy mouth, but none of that mattered. The moment was sensual and dark, bodies speaking to each other through dopamine and adrenaline. Your hand released his shirt, breaking his grip, switching to burrowing your fingers into his soft blond hair and running your nails over his scalp, leaving lines of prickling pain to enhance your kiss.

"F-Fuck, oh fuck, yes..."

Your teeth caught his tongue, pulling back and forcing his head to follow. Jungkook made a pained noise, trapped in your embrace, whining as you took him to the brink. You released him swiftly and he snapped backward, blinking hard, trying to reorient himself, but it was impossible, your lips crashing down again, thrusting your tongue into his mouth aggressively, one eye open to witness his fucked-out state, pupils unfocused, long lashes quivering, moaning into your mouth and you inhaling it all, literally taking his breath away.

It started out with a kiss.

How did it end up like this?

It was only a kiss.

You dropped your lower half onto his crotch and Jungkook gasped, breaking the kiss, strings of spit breaking between you two. You smirked wickedly as you felt his hardness trying to escape its clothing jail, his large hands already on your thighs and hips, sinking his fingers into the soft fabric of your leggings, rocking you into him, desperately trying to get some stimulation.

"Please," he croaked, panting for breath, pulling himself up to sitting position, so easy and smooth, fuck, so sexy, and now Jungkook was in your face, pleas on the tip of his tongue pouring out, tempting you, wanting it.

"Please, wanna be yours so fucking bad, seeing all those fucking letters and notes you get, and it pisses me off, it's me, I want it to be me, I want to be yours and I'm telling you to your face."

Whisper achingly hot, deep voice soaked with longing, staring into your eyes with those shaking brown orbs, spinning with emotion like an unstable top, barely enough torque holding it in place and all it took was another spin to encourage it or a gust of rejection to topple it over.

"And you don't even care about mine, you think they're fucking funny, fuck, I can't stand it, let it be me, please..."

His hands running up your sides, grazing against your breasts, and now his hands were in your hair and yours were in his, bringing your face close, the crumpled sky-blue note right between your joined crotches, forgotten, witnessing the agonizing lust wound tightly in this embrace.

"Let it be me," Jungkook begged.

You licked your lips slowly, scarcely swiping against his. He shuddered, leaning into it, taking whatever crumbs you gave. His long fingers tensed in your hair, yours buried in the dark roots of his.

"You'll have to skip the marriage bit for now," you teased lightly. "I don't think my parents will appreciate you slapping down papers before you finish school."

Jungkook snickered, tucking his tongue in his cheek roguishly. "Can't they understand I have to snatch this ass as soon as possible to make people back off?"

Your hands slipped down to his jaw, fitting it in your palms, his silvery-blond stands wrapped around your fingertips. "They'll back off my door once they hear you screaming my name."

You leaned in, but Jungkook stopped you, brown orbs glittering with mischief to get in one more quip.

"I doubt it," he purred.

Yeah.

Jungkook was right.

Ah, well.

You seized his face and kissed him again, fuck, such malleable lips just pleading to be bitten by you, gazing up his nose and to his beautiful eyes, his soft skin in your hands, clenching his jaw under your power, letting you have it, letting you control it and him. You felt him scramble and throw his denim jacket off, dumping it onto your couch to cup your cheeks with his hands, sighing in satisfaction as you inhaled him. Your tongue lazily traced the outskirts of his lips, hearing the rattle of his beaded bracelets by your ears, amused, knowing they were his good luck charms.

"They bring good luck," he had answered when you saw them for the first time.

You remembered tilting your head at the wooden beads on his slim wrists. "You trying to get your dick sucked or something?"

He had broken out in a loud guffaw. Nudged you with his elbow, cheeky smile on his lips.

"Never gonna say no to getting my dick sucked."

"Mhm, cool, where's my painting of the flaccid dick?"

From then on, you noticed he wore the same wooden, beaded bracelets every time he came to your apartment.

Hmm.

Now, your hands falling from his face, yanking his shirt from his pants, annoyed it was getting caught, and then Jungkook fitted his hands around your ass and lifted you easily, breaking the kiss, a moment for you to bear witness to his arms flexing – holy fuck, that’s sexy – right one covered in tattoos. Images and script, with one catching your eye, a string of words running up the inside of his upper arm. One you recognized because you had those words written on your bedroom wall, on a canvas hanging above your bed. A canvas you made, background a chaotic mess of varying dark red brushstrokes, the black script in the center, written by your hand.

The exact black script with your flourishes and ticks, now tattooed on the inside of his right arm.

Your eyes drifted to Jungkook's face and his naughty smirk, pleased to be found out. Your lips formed the sentence slowly, in awe of his audacity.

"The devil knows my name."

the devil knows my name.

Hung above your bed, where all manner of marvelous sinful acts were performed.

Jungkook grinned deviously. "I saw it. I wanted it on me."

Wanted it on him.

Oh, fuck.

Did he know? Could he guess?

"Who's the devil?" you whispered, smile widening, matching his.

Jungkook reached down, yanking his t-shirt out of his jeans and pulling it up and over his head, revealing the body he sculpted himself, tan skin taut over hard muscle, toned and...

"You're the devil, of course," he snickered.

Yours.

"Ding dong daeng," you sing-songed.

How many people have been on your bed, head pulled back by your hand, blinking hard, trying to read the words on your wall through waves of forced ecstasy? Gasping them out, ending with a question, inquiring for an answer.

The devil knows my name?

And you, leaning forward, haunting whisper in their ears, yes, she does, before pushing their face down into the sheets.

"All those love letters not good enough for you, Jungkook?" you breathed, running your hands over his bare chest, spreading your fingers, letting your exhale out through your teeth. His eyes on you, torso trembling, hairs raising, feeling your nails dance up, up, raking over his collarbones and neck, leaving little pink lines of intensity.

"They're not you," he whispered. His hands brushing over yours, outlining your fingers, eyes darkening as you pushed him back into your sofa, lowering your head. "You, the one they talk about..." Your lips on his hot skin, kissing softly, tongue so slight that it made him whimper. "You, the one they look for..." His voice, deep and rumbling, vibrating your lips, pitching as you bit and sucked, leaving small hickeys. "You, the one whose bed I sit on, wondering who else has been there, wondering why it's not me, when I make myself available to you, so easy to prey on, but you let me be..." Your lips closing around his dark brown nipple, scraping your teeth against it, making him squirm and look down at you, you and your self-satisfied, ravenous smirk.

"I let you read them," Jungkook whimpered, blond strands curled around his cheeks, chest shuddering at your nail flicking his other nipple while your mouth worked the other. "Let you see everything they want to do to me and you still didn't know."

You chuckled darkly. "What's there to know?" you mused, sticking your tongue out and pressing it against the now hard pink-tinged nub, receiving small whines of pleasure as your reward. "It's obvious what you wanted. I was right in front of you. All you had to do was say something."

Jungkook frowned as you sat up, tongue in cheek, half-grinning.

"Look at you."

You crossed your arms and pulled your pink cropped sweatshirt up and over your head, dropping it to the floor. Casually running a hand through the top of your hair to pull it away from your face, gazing down at shirtless Jungkook covered in your red bites, cocking your head with a smirk. He raised an eyebrow, eyes roaming over your figure and the curve of your breasts molded to smooth black satin.

"You look like you eat hearts for breakfast," he murmured, admiration in his tone.

The side of your lips quirked further upwards.

"And yet you wanna love me."

Jungkook grinned. "I don't want to. I already do."

And then he was the one to pull you to him, kissing you hungrily, you immediately turning it into your favor, your pace, his tongue commanded by yours as he unhooked your bra, moaning into your mouth, rubbing your exposed nipples with his palms, unable to do much as you pushed him into the couch again, guiding his tongue down with your teeth and running the tip of yours over his wet muscle once more, trickling saliva into his throat and onto his chin and neck, messy and lewd.

"The devil knows your name," you sighed into his mouth, feeling him knead your breasts, thumbs brushing over your hard nipples, tendrils of pleasure making your skin tingle. "And now the devil takes what she wants."

You saw the sides of his lips curve upwards as you backed up to strip the rest of your clothes, amused at Jungkook eagerly following suit and unbuttoning his jeans.

"Can't wait to flaunt how hot you are?" you laughed, reaching down to the shelf under the side table where a ceramic R2-D2 cookie jar sat.

"Do you think I'm hot?" Jungkook haughtily accused before gawking at your waist to ass ratio, his hands slowing, pants stopped to his knees in his distraction.

You gently took off the head of R2-D2 and plucked a condom from it. Some guy told you once that you couldn't like Star Trek and Star Wars at the same time and you told him to shut the fuck up as you slapped his nuts. He begged you to do it again. You fondly patted R2-D2's head after you fitted it back.

You straightened to see Jungkook on your couch with his hard dick on display.

You looked him dead in the eye. "You think I'd let you borrow my laptop if I thought you were ugly?"

Jungkook broke out of his trance and shrugged, finally yanking his calves – holy shit, his calves and thighs were muscular as fuck – out of his jeans, underwear and socks gone with them.

"Maybe you pitied my grades."

"I'd just pay for you to go to the library and fuck off, dumbass," you muttered, pushing his hands aside and ripping the condom open, drinking in the delicious sight of his throbbing red cock dripping pre-cum, his balls just waiting for – fuck it, you got down on your knees and wrapped your tongue around his length, Jungkook sputtering and gasping at your suddenness. Fuck, he smelled and tasted fucking good, clean and velvety to your lips enclosing around the head and sliding down, using one hand to scoop up his balls. Made eye contact with him again.

Jungkook breathed your name hesitantly.

Your tongue slid out of your lips and you jammed his cock all the way down your throat, slathering his balls wetly with your whisking tongue, circling around one and then the other, long expansive strokes that went past the girth of his cock, your pink tongue visible to him. Jungkook's pupils blew wide with shock, moans catching in his throat, whole body shivering, trying desperately not to look away even through you could tell he wanted to throw himself into your sofa and fucking lose it.

"Oooooooh, fuck, that's amazing.... Holy shit, your tongue is everything...."

You chuckled and pulled your head back, satisfied with his reaction. He seemed slightly disappointed until you rolled down the condom, cracking your neck.

"I think I've given enough." You stood up, getting back on top of him and his glorious thighs. "Time for you to be taken."

Jungkook smirked.

You smirked wider and more wickedly.

The sky-blue memo was crumpled into a ball, fallen to your hardwood floor.

Held him with two fingers, ugh, the weight of his cock, fuck yes, and those beautiful dark chocolate eyes, Jungkook, you dumbass, cursing that he didn't tell you sooner so that you could watch him groan and throw his head back like he was right now, gasping at your tightness, your name torn from his throat as you took in every centimeter of him, every pulsing vein and contour of his wonderful cock, stupid Jungkook and his attractive self not using his damn words so you could ride him like you were right now, setting up a fast, bruising pace. Your fingers dug into the back of the couch as you bucked your hips into his violently, keeping yourself tight because you were so fucking wet, fuck, so wet for Jeon Jungkook and his idiotic self, asking for internet to do his school assignments and not asking for his dick to be used as your fucking joystick.

Dumbass.

"Oh fuck," Jungkook gasped. "Oh, fuck, you're so wet and tight, shit, shit, shit..."

"Tell me something I haven't heard before," you chuckled, only half-meaning it, waving your entire body to deliver a particularly hard smack to his crotch, Jungkook whimpering under you, his hands flying to your upper arms and clutching them, trying to hold on to your wildness.

"Holy fuck, you have some hard biceps," he blurted out, startled at the prominent muscle.

Well, you haven't heard that one before.

"Guess that's what happens when you jack off a lot of dick," you mused nonchalantly.

You ticked your head to Jungkook's arms – delicious – and he frowned at you, opening his mouth to protest and you cut him off by shoving two fingers into his lips, pressing them down into the wet warmth, grinning maniacally as you watched him struggle with your fingers rubbing his tongue and his cock getting assaulted by you aggressively slamming your hips down and clamping around his stiffness, tighter, faster, whines of your name in his throat, head falling back onto the couch with a flump. You were careful not to push your fingers too far.

Getting vomited on wasn't really on your sexual activities bingo card.

Jungkook was, however, drooling down his chin and neck, and you pulled back to grab his shoulder with your wet hand – oh, fuck, his shoulder, what a lovely shape – and Jungkook wheezed for breath, you ignoring it as you focused all your energy on fucking the life out of him, dirty squelches and smacks of hips on hips, staring down at his abs and v-line, all his hard work at the gym on display, his hands still on your upper arms as he raised his hips to meet yours, needily moaning for you to destroy him with your pace.

Damn, maybe you would have sent him a love letter if you had seen him naked at least once.

"A-Ask me to cum for you," Jungkook finally got out, voice hoarse from breathing so hard for so long.

"You're going to anyway," you taunted.

"Want you to ask," he whined, almost pouting. "Tell me to do it."

You gazed into his eyes, into those brown irises overtaken by black pupils, him a top spinning by your hand, your plaything commanded by your body, pussy clenching around his twitching cock, spurred on from his pleading tone, giving him a devious and wicked grin, speaking to his swollen lips, the devil knows your name, Jungkook, and him moaning back, fuck yes she does, so close, so fucking close, unashamedly barreling towards your release, power in your veins and under you, his muscles rippling as he fucked you back, amplifying every thrust.

"Jungkook."

"Y-Yes?"

"Say it."

Brown eyes locked with yours.

"I love you. Marry me."

You smirked.

"Cum for me."

A half-second and then you let go, letting the feeling rush in and envelop you, the moment held back to torture him, and now you felt it all, already at the tipping point, strained moan as your orgasm crashed into you, shudders all over and falling, sitting all the way down in his lap to experience the throbbing ache of your core giving out and spilling onto his cock and balls in rapid bursts, viscous and sweet. The scent of sex mixing with blackberry and spiced vanilla, his length jerking inside you, and only then did you hear Jungkook crying out your name over and over, the roar in your ears fading out to his shivering moans, hands sliding up and down your arms, eyes closing and lost in the pleasure of your pussy squeezing out his cum. His touch travelling down to your waist, pulling you to him.

Messy, soft kisses, your name and curses mixed together.

"It's me, right?"

You smiled into his mouth that was still asking questions.

"Please let it be me. You'll let me love you for real, right?"

Pushing your hair back, his sweaty blond locks sticking to your face.

"Because I already do, can't stop, won't stop–"

"Yeah, Jungkook, funnily enough I figured that from the first kiss already," you chuckled, running your fingers through his ash blond hair and pulling his head back lightly, seeing him pout, the mole underneath his lower lip peeking out.

"But..."

"Hm?"

His voice suddenly small, vulnerable, his semi-hard dick still inside you.

"Do you love me?"

You lifted a brow. "What kind of dumbass question is that?" You grabbed his arm and pressed your nail into his tattoo of your words, drawing a pink scratch under them, making him gasp. "How can I not love you? Fuck, that's the sexiest thing I've ever seen, my handwriting tattooed onto you. Yes, I love you, Jungkook."

Jungkook's jaw dropped.

This fool is still shocked after all this?

You reached down and held the condom down as you lifted yourself off, yanking him to his feet, pushing Jungkook to your coffee table, right in front of the pile of letters with his name all over them. You picked up your laptop and pushed it onto his chest, forcing him to hold it, him still confused, mildly stunned, not knowing what the fuck was happening.

Then you made him half-straddle your coffee table and yanked off the condom.

"Um–"

Grabbed his cock and started furiously jacking him off.

"Oh, f-fuck!"'

And then he realized what you were doing, the sheer wrongness of it, getting harder and harder with every second, throbbing in your hand.

"You're just like them," you chuckled through exerted breath.

Faster, rougher, tighter, Jungkook clutching your laptop, his larger frame leaning against yours, head thrown back so far that his blond hair was brushing your shoulder, moaning lustfully as he thrusted his hips into your grip. White pooled onto the purple-red tip of his abused cock, far too sensitive to be jacked off this hard right after orgasm, but Jungkook begged you not to stop, streams of residual cum running down your slicked fingers.

"Always looking for your fix from the addiction that's me," you whispered into his ear, laced with an authoritative growl.

You saw Jungkook's head lower out of your periphery, eyes opening, staring at the colorful envelopes with his name printed on them, the cute stickers and neat handwriting, panting your name, tendons and veins standing out on his neck, sweat beading on his tan skin.

A low, dangerous chuckle rising in his throat.

"There's a difference between them and me."

You felt his cock twitch in your hand, ridiculously hard at what you two were about to do.

"They're not going to get their fix."

Jungkook shuddered against you, jerking his hips forward, thick white strings splattering all over the pastel paper as you watched, fascinated, the scent of his cum saturating the air and the envelopes, drops soaking and smearing the carefully written ink, time wasted and defiled.

"I am," he moaned, twisting his body on your arms, leaning down to kiss you hungrily as you squeezed his cock, draining it all out, all over your coffee table and coating your hand, stained with Jeon Jungkook's love letter to you.

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#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook smut

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