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#i know this is probably a jarring post compared to my last one but
bangtanintotheroom · 3 months
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Goodbye 2023!
Well well well, it's the end of another year and miraculously, I'm still here on Tumblr writing my silly little smut fics. To think it's been two years since I started this on a whim and have experienced so much on this blog, it's crazy. But this year felt so different compared to the previous one, for multiple reasons that I'll talk about underneath.
To start off on a major personal note, my year didn't start off the best.
I lost my grandmother last December after she struggled with health issues since the pandemic (non-COVID related). She was my last grandparent and although I didn't agree with a lot of her views, she loved me and I loved her. The holidays were rough to get through, to say the least.
Then my great uncle (her brother) passed in February while my family and I were on vacation. We visited and stayed with him last summer, which was the longest I had ever been around him in my life. It was a sudden decline in his health and to have it so soon after his sister was shocking.
Only the people in my personal life know about this as I didn't want to bring this up on here. I make sure to keep certain things separate from my life as a writer, but now I feel comfortable enough to tell you all just what's been going on. I'm doing better now, thankfully. We visited the cemetery recently where my grandmother and grandfather are now laid to rest together with their newly-acquired headstone. It was bittersweet, but it felt good to finally see a marker there after all this time. 💕
Now onto the good notes, which there were plenty of!
This is the first time I have ever went to Trinidad TWICE in one year! We went in February and in May, both for different reasons, but it was a relaxing and fun time. Something about the islands is refreshing, especially when you live in a cooler climate.
And then came April...MUTHAFUCKIN AGUST D TOUR 🗣️🗣️🗣️
This was officially my first K-pop concert and boy, was it an experience. Despite the rain and Prudential staff being shitbags, I had an amazing time and I look back at my videos and pictures with fond memories. Shoutout to @minttangerines @kithtaehyung and @here2bbtstrash for meeting up and listening to me scream drunkenly about nuggets at 2 AM!
I also had some nice weekend and day trips with my irl friends, filled with chaos and conversations that would probably get us committed lmao
I went to Texas for the first time, too! My brother moved down there last year and I already made plans from the jump to go visit him. It's a whole different world down there, but I'm already planning to go back in 2024 (with a checklist of what we have to do)!
Let's see...I did my usual cons and got somewhat back into cosplay, too. My friends and I are planning to return to the last one we visited before the pandemic started, so we're very excited!
Those were the main things in my personal life that occurred, other than work (which is still ass) and the usual daily things.
Now onto my year in writing.
2023 paled in comparison to 2022. My output lessened considerably, due to multiple personal events, exhaustion and stress from work and mental health.
I was writing most of the time, but I was rarely finishing anything to post. My WIPs kept nagging at me on Notion and it got to the point where I recently cleaned up shop. I cancelled some of them, but kept them in a page where I could reuse the concept and scenes for something else. This gave me peace of mind.
But I also have to do some cleaning up for fics that have already been posted.
I know I said I would stretch some of them out, but I am at the point where I have zero desire to still do that. Plus I am getting into new groups and find myself wanting to write for them instead. I will make a separate post on my intentions for my current fics, just so there's no confusion on anyone's end whether it will be continued or not.
It's also been extremely jarring how many people have just...left.
When I compare the end of 2022 to the end of 2023, it's like a ghost town. A majority of the servers I was in have shut down or been abandoned. Many fellow writers have disappeared, deactivated or gone on hiatus (for reasons that are valid and I wish them all the best). And the atmosphere has shifted, but not in a positive direction.
Interactions have lessened, anons are being ruder than ever, people are plagiarizing left and right. It's a mess.
I've had a couple of moments where I debated on stepping away, but I can't right now. Writing gives me an unexpected joy and it's always a treasure to see my mutuals posting their own works that they've put their blood, sweat and tears into. I'm not quite ready to leave that yet.
Although, I do have to take a slight step back, just to focus on personal things. I'm practicing art again to see if I can start selling once I'm comfortable enough to. If things ever get overbearing and I can't juggle the two, I will let you all know as soon as possible. But for now, expect at least one more year of AJ aka bangtanintotheroom!
Wow, this was long 😬 but I've been sitting on these thoughts for months and I had to get it out somehow.
I'll finish this off by saying thank you to everyone who follows me or reads my fics or plans to start reading them. Thank you to my mutuals who are supportive and encourage my crazy ideas. Thank you to everyone.
Happy New Year! 🥳
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1dont-really-know · 8 days
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Feat: Malva Draconia and other one-off characters that I'll probably never use again
Tags: @kitwasnothere @kdjmybeloved
This is self indulgent as heck and probably not my best writing but it's Malva's birthday and I can do what I want
Word count : 6509 (longest I've ever written voluntarily in english)
⊹。₊°⟡.⸙͎۪۫ ༄
There are paws on your face. Paws with sharp claws that are currently kneading your face. Paws that you were pretty sure you locked out of your bedroom last night. You groan, gently grabbing the bundle of fur that was using your cheeks as a scratching post and lifting them away from you. The bundle of fur meowed in reply, and as you opened your eyes, you’re met with a pair of amber ones, staring directly into your soul. “Lysander.” Another meow. The tabby had the audacity to sound annoyed. You set him down on the bed, sighing deeply as you rub the sleep away from your eyes. Lysander continues to paw at you, meowing loudly with that adorable but incredibly high-pitched meow of his. A quick glance at the window confirms that the sun is low on the sky, silently sinking down as dusk takes hold of the horizon. Lysander, apparently very annoyed at your lack of activity, unsheathed his claws before bapping you on the arm. You wince, moving your arm away from the violent beast, “alright, alright, I’m getting up.”
Lysander meows again, sounding smug.
You make your way to your kitchen, Lysander at your heels with his tail held high. The key to the top cabinet is stuffed in a jar, so you quickly retrieve it before unlocking the cabinet and getting the ingredients for yours and your kitten’s meals. You’re running out of basil. It’s too early to buy more but by the time your store closes the market will be mostly closed as well. Ah, well. Looks like you’ll just have to make do without it for a few days. You’ll be able to restock on other cooking ingredients then as well.
Lysander chomps down on the meat you prepared for him while you munch on your own food, still very much trying to get your bearings after being so rudely awakened. It's not much, you know, but it's enough to get you through the day.
With your bellies filled, it’s time to get downstairs and take stock. It’s been a while since you opened this bookstore of yours. Perhaps forty-ish to fifty years. At first, it was signed under your parents’ names, but they had transferred the ownership to you ever since you became of age. It was your idea, after all, and your parents had only wanted to give you a leg up on your childhood dream. Most might think your job was monotonous, but you’ve always found the structure and sorting part of it soothing. You walk around your store, taking note of the books on the shelves and comparing them to the notes you had of what’s supposed to be there. There are some books that weren’t where they were supposed to be. Some clients must have mistakenly put them there. You return them to their rightful places. This has been your day-to-day for these last forty years. Have breakfast, feed your pet (Lysander being your latest, but you’ve also had a few dogs and other cats before), make sure everything is alright with your shop, and man the desk until sunrise.
Today is no different. Just as always, once the sun dips down below the horizon and you have all of the books in the store accounted for, it’s time to open up.
The first customer is a teacher that you know works at a nearby school, Yarron, who was looking for a simple children’s storybook to keep the children entertained while also teaching them how to read. “I’d prefer if the pages had an anti-tear spell on them. You know how kids can be,” he said, with a fond yet exasperated smile. You recall that he had visited your store a few times before, similarly looking for children’s books.
“Of course,” you laugh. The children of the village, though few, have a known mischievous streak that all the adults have at least once been a victim of. Just because they have not learned many spells does not mean that they don’t use the ones they do know to their fullest extent. The paint staining your front door is proof of that enough. “The children’s books are on the third shelf on the right. Go ahead and take a look, and I’ll get that spell there on whichever one you choose.”
Yarron nods with a smile and leaves to browse the shelves, Nell comes in. She’s the town’s resident herbalist, the closest thing your town has had to a healer since the last one retired. She’s looking for a recipe book, and you point her to the correct shelf.
The night goes normally from there.
It’s nearing midnight when the bell once again chimes as another person enters the store. You chirp out your usual greeting, still preoccupied by a customer currently checking out, when you notice that you have yet to see this stranger even once since you started your shop. With how small and out of the way the town is, you assume that they’re a traveler passing through.
The stranger is a tall one, with a slender, feminine build and piercing green eyes. They’re wearing what seems to be a blue uniform– a healer’s uniform, you soon realize, with a hood around their shoulders and hiding their face from sight. They turn to you once they notice you’re there, and you can see the slightest ripple of magic on their features. A glamour? Why would they need to use one if they’re a healer?
Apparently your staring was a tad too obvious, because the stranger clears their throat and meets your gaze questioningly– warily, almost. You hadn’t even realized that your other customer had finished their transaction and left the money on your counter, leaving you alone with the green-eyed stranger. 
“I didn't mean to stare,” your ears feel hot from embarrassment, but you suppressed the urge to curl up into a ball and manage to keep a steady voice, “but I don’t think I have seen you around here before. May I know who you are?”
You fully expected the stranger to stay silent, or otherwise just go look at your wares without giving you much thought, but instead, they nod and start speaking, their voice a gentle lull in the quietness of the room, “I believe you would have already heard of my mentor, Areca,” they start, “I’m a healer– or, well, an apprentice healer, you see. I’ve been traveling for my studies and I’m looking for a book on the flora around this area, if you have any.”
You feel your shoulders relax ever so slightly. There had indeed been talk of a healer visiting lately. It wasn’t uncommon (or at least you heard that it wasn’t uncommon, according to your town’s late resident healer. The last healer that passed through here had both arrived and left when you were still a child) for healers to take their apprentices out to the farther-out towns and villages of Briar Kingdom to get them some on-hand experience. This must be the apprentice in question.
But just to be sure,
“Yes, of course!” You give them your best grin, walking out from behind the counter and gesturing for them to follow you. They do so, keeping a safe distance away while still being in your line of sight. “Our herbology books are right over here. For the flora in our little corner of the kingdom, I recommend this one.” You point to a leatherbound book about as thick as your fist. It has a very lengthy and detailed way of describing the plants, but they seem to be the type of person that would enjoy that.
They give you a nod, perhaps in thanks, then take your place in front of the shelves and got to browsing.
Being this close to them, you see the signature single line bands on either side of their uniform, near their wrists, clearly, along with the slight warmth of healing magic coming from said bands. The healers’ odd idea of identification, as you’ve been told by the healer that stopped by your town about 50 years ago.
With your worries soothed, you turned and walked back to your counter, settling on finding something to pass the time while your customer decides on what to buy.
⊹。₊°⟡.⸙͎۪۫ ༄
It’s been a few weeks since that day. The green-eyed stranger, Miss Malva, you’re soon told, quickly becomes a regular of yours. It turns out that she’s not much older than you, and had started to train to become a healer around the time you first opened your shop. She’s nice. A bit stubborn, but ultimately very invested and passionate in her work. That’s good, you think, even though you still find her regular use of glamours weird. It’s always good for a healer to be passionate. Even now as she’s having a very serious discussion with Nell about the effects of ginger and whether or not it could actually strengthen immune systems. Right at your counter. You’ve finished their respective transactions at least 30 minutes ago.
What’s worse is that the sun’s rising.
It’s grocery day.
Inwardly, you sigh. Miss Malva’s insight on the various herbs had been interesting to listen to, yet just as you thought that thought, the resident beloved herbalist of your town that never shuts up had to come to ruin that.
“There are countless sources that claim so, dear healer, but I have yet to see its effects for myself.”
Miss Malva chews on her bottom lip, deep in thought. You have the strangest feeling that if she had a tail, it would be swaying in concentration. Still, with her experience with actually using them on a day to day basis, you’re sure that she’d know the answer. “Ginger is a very widely-used herb. I doubt that so many sources from so many locations could state something to be true when it's not, but…”
Really?
“Exactly, what I am saying. Ginger doesn't grow around these parts. We need proof. If you could just do a few experiments, since, you know, you're only an apprentice.” Nell nods sagely, as if she had just said something wise. You side-eye her. She pretends not to notice. Or maybe she really didn’t notice. Who’s to say at this point.
With a sigh, Miss Malva nods. “I’ll look into it. It’s going to take a while, though, since I’ll have to ask Areca for permission and…”
Does she even have enough time in the day to do that? Doesn’t healer training make her busy enough as is? Miss Malva seems more concerned about having to ask her mentor than she is about her schedule.
You clap your hands together and smile. Both Miss Malva and Nell jump, apparently having forgotten you were there too. “Glad that’s settled with. Here are your books.” You say, nudging their paid-for books towards them. You’ll be honest and say that you hadn’t meant for it to sound so snappy, but you were tired, damnit. You just want to go to bed and cuddle with Lysander.
Speaking of, that cat is currently lounging on one of the top shelves, licking his paw and glancing at you with the corner of his eye with a look that practically said, ‘you’re taking too long’. You suspect he’s sulking since Miss Malva stopped petting him once Nell arrived.
Nell quickly grabs her book and excuses herself. Meanwhile, Miss Malva lingers just for a moment longer, her smile sheepish as she picks up her own book and takes a quick glance at the rising sun through the window. “Sorry,” she said, tucking her book in her satchel, “I got a bit carried away. I’ll see you soon, then?”
You huff out a laugh. “If the rate you keep reading through the books you buy is any indication, yes, I’ll see you very soon.”
She laughs and nods, satisfied, and walks out the door, leaving you alone in your store-
“Meow.”
No, not alone. Lysander is still there, of course, lazily stretching atop the shelf and watching you.
“What is it now?” You can’t keep your weariness out of your voice anymore, your shoulders slumping slightly as you make your way over to the shelf Lysander is on. He meows again. “Can’t get down?” Another meow. You sigh, “how did you even get up there in the first place…”
After summoning a stepladder, you quickly climb on and open your arms. Lysander, the smart little kitty he is, immediately jumps into them, digging his claws into your shoulder as your footing slips due to his added weight. Thankfully, you manage to catch yourself, swiftly stepping back onto the flat floor with your darling cat in your arms. “There we go-” he’s not letting go. You frown, trying once again to put him down on the ground. Nope. He’s still clinging to you.
Welp.
You end up carrying him around the store as you close up.
Thankfully, as you finish closing, Lysander jumps out of your grasp, landing gracefully on his feet and padding away. You breathe a sigh of relief. At least this way you won’t have to carry him while you go out. With all the windows closed, you step into the early dawn light and lock your door behind you.
The walk around the town is pleasant, all things considered. Sure, the sun is annoyingly bright as always, but you enjoy the song that the birds and crickets sing to welcome the morning. You see some townspeople that are still awake here and there, either just finishing up their own jobs or having come home from an errand. You smile and nod at them, and they do the same. You can only hope that in your rush, you didn’t accidentally pass by the various shopkeepers whose wares you were planning to buy today.
The butcher’s shop is still open when you get there. You buy a few good cuts of meat for yourself and Lysander.
The local gardener, Nell’s son, sells you the spices and vegetables you need for the week, though he’s unfortunately all out of thyme. He also tells you about the person who had bought the last of the thyme and how apparently they started asking him about how to grow them.
You also need to buy some eggs and bread and…
By the time you finish, all the shops in the town have closed except the local tavern. It’s not noon yet, but still early enough to be considered morning. Deciding that you probably wouldn’t be able to muster enough energy (read: too lazy) to cook dinner, your steps carry you to the entrance of the establishment, your grocery still in your arms.
As soon as you enter, however, someone calls your name. Following the voice, you find Miss Malva on a table by herself, a few books (were those the books she bought just today? Even the sappy romance novel that she- no, wait, she pulled it under the table. Huh) opened all around the table and a glass of… something, next to her. It’s definitely not alcohol, if the smell is anything to go by. She gives you a smile and waves you over, and despite your hesitance, you find yourself walking towards her and taking a seat across from her.
In an attempt to break the ice, you chirp; “I didn’t think I'd ever see you somewhere that’s not my bookstore or Miss Areca’s clinic, Miss Malva.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever really seen you outside of your store, either,” she quips, curiosity hidden under a thin layer of amusement. It makes you smile a little in return. “And just ‘Malva’ is fine. I’m not much of a fan of formalities.”
“I’m the only one who really runs the store. My parents used to help when I was younger, but they decided that it’s my responsibility now that I’m an adult and since the bookstore was my idea.” You say as you set your groceries down beside your chair. Briefly, the thought of how in the world she would have enough time to research ginger when she even has to study while she’s in a tavern crosses your mind again.
“Really?” Mis- Malva tilts her head to the side slightly, “What is it like, running a bookstore?”
Not really knowing how to answer her in a way that makes it sound interesting for anyone but yourself, you shrug, “you know, just keep the store clean, restock the shelves every once in a while, interact with the customers and handle the counter, give recommendations if customers ask for it, stuff like that. The organizing part is the most fun.” Along with getting to talk to people about the books, of course.
Malva hums her understanding, taking another sip of her drink. Her whole body is turned towards you, and you can tell that she’d been listening pretty intently the entire time. It’s nice, you think, to have someone so genuinely interested in hearing what you have to say.
“What about you?”
“Hmm?”
The question had escaped your mouth before you could stop it. You blame it on the exhaustion, but you can’t lie to yourself and deny that you’re at least a little bit curious about the healer’s apprentice. “Your whole thing as a healer. What’s it like?”
It takes a moment for Malva to reply, but when she does, you find yourself listening just as earnestly as she had when you spoke, “it’s a lot of memorizing for one,” she glances down at her cup, then back up at you again with an easy smile, “it’s important to remember it all since every single plant has its own use, and it could end disastrously if you use the wrong plant on the wrong ailment.” She seems to cringe slightly at that, but nevertheless continued, “There’s also various potions, and they all have their own recipes as well. But at this point in my training, I’m learning how to make use of the raw herbs.”
“You must know a lot of plants, then?” You ask, leaning your chin on your hand, your interest piqued, “do you have a favorite? I’d imagine you’ve studied loads of interesting plants.”
By the way her eyes light up at your question, you think you’ve said the right thing.
“As in, plant in general or a specific plant?”
“Specific. What do you like about the plant?”
“Okay, so there’s this flower called the gardenia. It’s pale in color, usually white, and it’s mainly used as houseplants but it can be made into calming potions-”
⊹。₊°⟡.⸙͎۪۫ ༄
The seasons pass, just like they always did. Autumn made way to winter, which then made way to spring, which then faded into summer. And like them, you went about your days just like you always have. Season after season, year after year.
It was the end of the week, so your store is closed early for the day. You take the remaining time until sunrise to take a walk around the edges of the town, enjoying the cool summer night breeze against your skin. You didn’t have a destination in mind, just the curiosity to explore a bit more of the forest that surrounded your hometown.
You find her there, crouched over a shrub, a notepad in one hand and a pencil in the other. Your weekly tavern meet-up isn’t for another overmorrow, so it suffices to say that her appearance is unexpected. Malva seems to be far too occupied with whatever plant it is that she’s studying to notice you. You ponder briefly on whether or not you should approach her. She should be nearing the end of her apprenticeship soon, so whatever it is she’s working on has a high possibility of having ties to that, but your curiosity won over in the end.
“Malva?”
She perks up as soon as she hears you say her name. “Oh, it’s just you,” she sighs, visibly relieved, “I thought Areca had come to drag me back home again.”
You can’t help but laugh at that, but a part of you cling to that one word. Home. Has Malva grown to see this place as home, just as you do? Does this mean she’s going to stay here after she graduates and becomes a full healer? The thought sent a strange emotion into your heart. Still, you crouch down next to her, glancing over to see the shrub she was looking at. It was a cluster of small purple flowers. You were unfamiliar with its name, but you remember her telling you about a plant like it, once. Was it hyacinths? Cosmos?
Thankfully, Malva takes pity on you. “These are evergreen lupines,” she said, brushing her knuckles over the delicate petals, “they’re used to get rid of parasites, but they’re toxic to cattle. Bovines, specifically.”
“Am I interrupting your studies?”
“Not really. I was just finishing up,” it takes her a moment to put her notepad and pencil back into her bag, but then she turns to you, eyeing you curiously and giving you her full attention, just like she always does, “did you need something?”
You shake your head. “No. I was just taking a walk and happened to see you.”
Malva huffs a laugh, “what, am I that eye-catching that you saw me even when I’m wearing all black in the darkest time of the night?” 
You pause, taking an extra second to look at her. It turns out that, yes, she was wearing all black. You don’t know how or why you didn’t notice that earlier. Nevertheless, you shoot her a playful smile in return, “something like that, yes.”
It felt oddly natural, saying that. You offer her your hand, “would you like to walk with me?”
She takes your hand with a smile that feels incredibly, indescribably warm, “I’d love to.”
⊹。₊°⟡.⸙͎۪۫ ༄
Alright. Bluebells, white camellias, white chrysanthemums, moonflowers, and mallows. According to the book about flower symbolism you read, these were the best thing you could put together that would look visually appealing when paired with the gardenias Malva’s so fond of, plus the mallows since you thought it would be cute to include her namesake in the bouquet.
You take a nice, deep breath, calming yourself. As autumn comes to an end, the winds have gotten colder, hence the need for the warming spell that enveloped you as you sat on your front porch. Your courtship with Malva has gone well so far, but with the end of her apprenticeship so quickly approaching, you didn’t have much time left to confess to her. Even so, you’ll be damned if you don’t do your absolute best to make it count. The planning for the bouquet is done, and now you just need to buy the flowers. Then you need a good spot to confess. Your house, maybe? No, that would be weird. The middle of town? But she’s too private of a person to enjoy that.
Lysander purrs as he lays in your lap, undisturbed by your mumbling nor by how aggressively you’re petting him and basking in the warmth of the spell. Perhaps his age is catching up to him. You’ve had him for, what, more than a decade, now? You have noticed that he’s slowly been less and less energetic over the course of the last few years.
Shaking your head, you remind yourself of the matter at hand. Lysander still has a few years left in him. You need this confession to be perfect. It has to be perfect. Maybe you could learn a flashy spell to impress her? Something? Anything?
Your orange fluffball wiggles out of your grasp. “Wha- Lysander!”
Too late.
He slinks off before you could stop him. You curse under your breath, getting up to chase after him.
Despite being old, Lysander was quick, running along the town paths with abandon. There were points where you had to follow his footprints after he successfully shook you off to find him again. Thankfully, you finally saw what it is that caught his attention. A tiny gray mouse was running away from him, its squeaks terrified as it tried to get away from the menacing predator that was your cat.
You weave through the streets, making one turn then another, dodging people and objects, almost slipping on the icy roads when they make a sharp turn into an alley, having to slow down to keep yourself from doing so. A victorious, “Mrrp!” comes from Lysander, with him having stopped running and his tail held high. He caught the mouse. You didn’t need to see it to know; the metallic smell of blood has already filled your nostrils. You sigh.
Lysander brings the fresh prey to you, dropping it at your feet and looking up at you expectantly. You take the opportunity to scoop him up into your arms and hold him tight enough so that he wouldn't be able to escape. Now you just need to go home.
You use the footprints you left in the snow to guide you back until you’re back at paths that you’re more familiar with. It’s still pretty dark out, so there are people out who’s going about their night. Lysander wiggles in your arms, meowing loudly and demanding to be let down, catching the attention of some people. You give them an apologetic smile. But. He. Just. Keeps. Meowing. You quietly hiss, trying to get him to shut up. Eventually, he does.
But that’s when you hear your name be said.
Then again.
“I’m going to, I swear! I’m just trying to find a good way to do it!”
Was that Malva? You turn your head towards the source of the sound, only to find that you’re right in front of Miss Areca’s clinic. The patch of ginger from Malva’s experiments was still there in the front yard.
“You better!” you heard another voice say; Miss Areca’s voice. She said your name again, “-deserves to know, alright? I know you don’t want people to only approach you because of your status, but-”
Lysander mews. You glance at him, then at the building, then back at him again. “Just be quiet, okay?”
Another mew.
You sneak towards the sound, careful to pass under the windows and keep your footsteps light as you make your way towards where the sound is clearest; an open… window. You hear Malva’s voice again.
“I don’t want to scare-” your name sounds melodious in her voice, but you could also sense her hesitation. You frown.
“You’re not gonna scare-” your name, in Miss Areca’s voice, “-I’m sure of it.”
“But-!”
Miss Areca hushes her. A beat of silence passes, then another, then another…
The uncertainty is suffocating.
You lift your head up to peek inside, and immediately, your eyes lock with Malva’s forest green ones. Something in her face ripples and-
Her glamour’s gone. Her pupils are slitted like a reptile’s. There are a pair of large obsidian horns on her head. And the magic that surrounds her; that’s no longer disguised and contained by her glamours…
One word makes itself at home in the forefront of your mind.
Draconia.
Huh. So that’s what she’s been hiding.
You give her an uncertain, wobbly smile. It’s odd, you think. You thought you’ve mentally prepared yourself for whatever it is that her glamour hides, but now.
Now…
You hear your name being said again. Malva’s walking towards the window- towards you. Strangely enough, it looks like there’s multiple of her. There's-
Lysander shrieks in surprise, and your vision goes black.
⊹。₊°⟡.⸙͎۪۫ ༄
When you come to, you find yourself in a cot that's not yours, in a room that smells strongly of disinfectant. Miss Areca’s there, holding Lysander in her arms, and behind her is Malva.
She still has those horns. It wasn't a dream.
It wasn't a dream? Really? All this time, Malva was hiding her horns? Her eyes? Was she really a Draconia or were you just losing it at this point-
Miss Areca pats Malva’s shoulder with her free hand, whispering something to her, which she then nods to, before the healer leaves her apprentice alone with you.
Malva, for her part, seems just as lost as you feel, wringing her hands together and her tail (you didn't notice that before. She had a tail. A very dark purple tail with a lighter purple underside. Huh) twitching in what you can only assume is anxiety.
You feel like you have more of a right to feel anxious than she does, in this particular situation, but still.
She sighs, taking a seat next to your cot. Despite her nervousness, she still looks you straight in the eyes, just as she always does. A part of you is relieved. At least this is still the same.
“So, as you can very obviously see,” Malva starts gesturing to her horns, “I might've… misguided you, on what kind of fae I am.”
“That's an understatement.”
Malva winces slightly at your words. You hadn't meant to say it in that tone, but it's too late to change it now. Still, she continues, “yes, well. I should tell you now, then. The truth.” She straightens her posture, her hands placed neatly in her lap. She looks every but as regal as a royal should be. “I am Malva Draconia, daughter of Maleficia Draconia and second Princess of the Land of Briar. It's a- pleasure to meet you.”
You didn't miss the way her voice falters ever so slightly in her last sentence.
But, well. You've read about scenes like this before, haven't you?
“But you're still Malva, right?”
Malva seems genuinely surprised at your question, but nods, albeit hesitantly. “Of course I am,” she says, confused, “I’ve always been myself.”
You nod. “Then the version of you that I’ve known is you? The real you?”
She seems to be catching on at this point, because her answer becomes more certain. More… her. “Yes. It's always been me. Besides the horns and tail, I haven't hidden anything else from you, and I don't plan to.”
She looks set on something. Like she's going to do whatever possible to achieve it. You remember seeing that look on her face back when she regularly studied in the tavern, with you there to keep her company.
“Then I still love you.”
“I see. Well, if you ever change your mind-”
Malva freezes, and so do you. Something changed in her eyes, the previous determination replaced with hope and the slightest hint of surprise. You feel like burying yourself in a hole.
“You love me?”
There's little you could do but nod, hiding your face in your hands to hide from the embarrassment. You said it. You said it to her in the clinic. You said it to her without your bouquet, without any real preparation, without-
Malva laughs. A sweet, soft, fond sound, like a bell that chimes in the wind. “And here I thought- nevermind.” You hear her shifting closer to you, and then a hand gently cups your chin, tilting your head up in a silent request to meet her gaze, and who are you to deny her?
You'll never forget the words that came out of her mouth at that moment, nor the warm smile she gives you. If anyone asks in the future, you’d tell them that the things she said would put poets to shame, when in reality, all she said was:
“I love you too,”
Your name has never sounded sweeter.
⊹。₊°⟡.⸙͎۪۫ ༄
At the end of the day, Malva’s still a healer.
The end of her apprenticeship came and went, and with it, Malva’s time at your town. There was a small celebration, a small goodbye party, and then… then she's gone. Gone to pursue her passions and dreams.
You find yourself being happy for her. How can you not? It's all she's ever worked for. Even if it meant not being able to spend much time with her. Besides, she still visits whenever she has the time.
Still though, you find yourself missing her quite a lot, and a lot of the time on top of that. She's started sending letters almost every day when you told her as such.
The last letter she sent is still open on your desk, received a little more than a week ago. You don't know how many times you've read it by now. The quick scrawl of her handwriting, the little swoops of her L's and the scratchy way she dots her I’s. It brings you comfort, especially in this uncertain time, what with the threat of war looming over your heads.
She's a princess, you insist to yourself, she has to be involved with these types of things, even if she's a healer now as well.
It only heightens your anxiety.
You shake your head, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. She's strong. She can handle herself. She was a Draconia for crying out loud.
Yet still…
You grab a pen and paper, and you start translating your thoughts into words.
Surprisingly enough, the reply to your letter arrives the very next day. It's… odd, you think, considering that usually only happens when Malva is on her way either to or from the town, but there's no denying that it's her handwriting on the envelope.
To my beloved, it read.
If it was anything dangerous, you're sure she would've contacted you a different way, you tell yourself. You retreat back into your home and close the door.
It took a bit of effort to open the envelope, what with the charms and protective spells Malva puts on them, but you manage, just like you always do, without ripping or tearing the letter itself. Safely in the comfort of your home, sitting on a chair next to your desk, you start to read.
To my beloved,
You didn't know why she always felt the need to include that twice, but you weren't complaining.
It has been a while since I've had the time to meet you last, hasn't it? I'm sorry. I wish I could've spared the time, but so many things are happening all at once. My duties as a princess and as a healer pull me in different directions, but I assure you that I’ll be alright, and I’ll meet you soon enough.
Soon enough… and how soon is that, you wonder. A month? Two? You didn't know. You didn't know if Malva knew either.
Until then, would you indulge me in something, love?
A request?
Take a walk near the forest for me. Pass by the evergreen lupines, to the spot you and I used to frequent. The place we used to watch the stars together.
Oh, and don't finish reading this letter before you do. Read it while you walk there, if you wish, but remember to always stay alert of your surroundings.
Just who did she think she was talking to? You huff, putting on a jacket before going outside. The autumn leaves crunch under your feet as you walk. You keep reading.
It has been a pleasure knowing you all this time, you know. I still remember the first day we met. You had eyed me like I was some sort of suspicious criminal-
You smile, reminiscing. You didn't think she was a criminal, back then, but the way she was acting was suspicious.
Still, I kept coming to your store again and again. I will admit to you now that it was not always a book I was looking for, but simply some time to talk with you. Your insight has always been incredibly valuable to me, and I truly cherish it, whether you realize it or not.
You pass by the evergreen lupines, still vibrant and purple, but no longer the flowers you first saw with Malva. A different patch entirely, at this point. That was to be expected. It had been years, after all.
I had always suspected that I'd get attached to someone of the town, but never could I have thought that it would be you-
Rude.
and never could I have suspected that I would have grown to love you so deeply, either. But I do.
You pause. All around you, small floating green flames burst to life. You don't feel afraid– more confused, than anything. The magic is familiar. It's Malva’s. You follow the wisps and keep reading.
I adore you, do you know that? It might seem silly or cliche to say it, and maybe I got more than a bit influenced by the novels I've read (with no small amount of them coming from you), but I genuinely feel so. You're incredibly precious to me, and I can't imagine a life without you in it.
There are thousands upon thousands of things I could liken you to. A spring bloom, a dewdrop at the beginning of dawn, the stars… but none of it could ever truly be compared to you.
She's waiting for you, you realize. Malva was waiting for you at the spot, a bouquet in her hand, wearing a floor length dress. She smiles when she sees you. You've known her long enough to see the signs of her nervousness, from the tension on her shoulders to the way her tail twitches back and forth. Still, she holds herself gracefully, taking your free hand into hers and placing a kiss on the back of it. You hear her giggle to herself softly at the gesture, and you smile in return.
“Hello, love.”
“What's all this?”
She smiles at you, in that sweet and soft way she does when she knows you’ll like a surprise she has given you. As if the flowers carefully and meticulously all around you is not enough of a surprise already.
“You haven't read it to the end, have you?” Malva laughs, her eyes filled with a fond amusement.
You narrow your eyes at her in return, “you explicitly told me not to read it till the end until I'm here in the letter.”
Malva gestures towards the said letter loosely, her eyes never leaving your face, “well, you're here now. Go ahead.”
You want so desperately to wipe that amused look off of her face, yet still, you continue to read. Though you don't really need to, since Malva puts it upon herself to say what was on the letter anyway.
“My star, my earth, my heart. These years of being with you; of having my heart in your hands and with yours in mine, have been the best I’ve ever known. I know the future might be uncertain, what with everything going on, but know that my choice will forever be the same. So I ask you now:”
She drops to one knee, pulling out a small velvet box and opening it to reveal a ring inside.
“Will you do me the honors of marrying me?”
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chriscdcase95 · 1 year
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My thoughts on “Halloween Ends” that no one asked for...
I normally don’t do reviews and such on my blog, but I watched Halloween Ends last week and have been meaning to get my thoughts out there. The following is copy pasted from a post I already did on reddit, with a few editions.
Ultimately I liked it even if it was a step down from 2018.
I hold Ends and Kills in about the same regard but on opposite sides; one being an all out slasher rampage for Michael, while Ends was more character focused slow burn; and in that “character driven drama” regard ? Ends did it better than H20.
Spoiler talk below.
I liked seeing a Laurie who tried to move on from her trauma...even if it was a little jarring after Kills cliffhanger, but y'know ? IRL issues, what are you gonna do ? It's probably my favorite of JLC's performances, since 2018. 
I still liked to see Laurie trying to move on with her life, even with her failures and losses. Especially since I was honestly expecting Laurie to go TLJ!Luke following Kills ending.
I see some people making Allyson out to be this total a bitch in this movie, but I didn't really see it. 
Actually I kind of expected Allyson to have more anger and resentment issues following Kills; the Allyson we see in Ends is a lot more tame compared to where I thought she'd go; rebellious tomboy/total Chloe Price type, probably in the same place Laurie was in 2018.
I actually liked Allyson trying to cope with her trauma in her own way, while not completely ignoring it. Having seen and written characters coping with trauma similarly, I can totally see Allyson making poor relationship choices, such as overlooking Corey's red flags.
Speaking of Corey Cunningham ? Loved his character and was almost sad to see him go. He made for a great villain with a tragic arc; a genuinely good person going down this path due to a tragic mistake, that wasn't even his fault. And when he finally went full slasher, I'll admit, his kills were some of my favorites.
Now am I upset that Corey overshadowed Michael ? Nah, not really. When introducing a new secondary villain trying to take the mantle of “The Shape”, I'd say you gotta give them some time to shine. 
If Ends was just Michael going on another rampage throughout, it'd be the same song and dance as the 2018 and Kills. Which if you ask me would be pretty boring. Besides, Michael at least had more of a presence - and more to do in this film - than in he did H20. 
H20!Michael spent that movie travelling across, and was ragdolled in a single fight. This Michael is kind of wear I see him going after 2018 and Kills - with his injuries and age catching up to him - what’s H20!Michael’s excuse ?
If I had one gripe with the movie, is that the Corey storyline felt like it was trying to tell the story of two movies in one; same gripe I had with Rise of Skywalker. But it wasn't that big an issue for me. 
Then again, Curse was one of my long time favorites in the old sequels, so maybe I'm not the best at judging them /j. I don't know, maybe I'm easy to please; the only slasher movie to genuinely disappoint me this year was the new TCM and Jeepers Creepers.
Anyways, I’m decently satisfied with being Michael and Laurie’s send off; but as John Carpenter said, as long as there’s money to be made, it’s unlikely this’ll be the last Halloween movie altogether. 
Danielle Harris expressed interest in coming back to the series, and I wouldn't mind a continuation of the Jamie Lloyd timeline. There's two ways I can see it going.
1. A movie that ignores 5-6, and with an adult Jamie being the focus, and giving  Danielle Harris a better send off. 
Though on one hand, I don't like the idea of Jamie becoming the next Shape; on the other hand, the kind of story I would give an adult Jamie would be to repetitive of 2018!Laurie's story.
2. This one was a story idea I was working on a couple years back, but a Thorn Trilogy/H20 timeline merger, with Steven Lloyd as the protagonist. Though I don't think it would work as a movie, if I got the chance, I would probably make it novel or something.
----
Also, a fun fact also comparing Ends to H20 ? While Jamie Lee Curtis proposed H20 with the intent of killing Michael off, at the time there was a studio claus that prohibited them from definitively killing Michael - the reason we Halloween Resurrection was because of this claus.
One of their original ideas was that Michael in H20 wasn't the real Michael, but an obsessed fanboy who dawned his mask. They scrapped that idea, I think because they didn’t want to piggyback off of Scream, like a lot of late 90′s slashers were doing. I’m guessing this idea was repackaged with Corey Cunningam.
Honestly, if I were to write some kind of Halloween/Scream crossover fic, Corey’s storyline is probably were I’d take it (though I’d probably try to pair Allyson off with Scream 2022′s Sam, cuz I’m shipping trash like that)
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captainsspnanon · 11 months
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C2E67 - Beyond the Eyes of Angels - rewatch
Fair warning, this one is loooong and rambly.
Well, while I still greatly enjoy CR, it’s clear that my hyperfixation stage of it has passed. It lasted a good two years before it calmed down, so that’s good! But it means that these rewatches end up going a lot slower, because I’m not binging 2 to 2.5 episodes a day. It also means that I jump between lots of media now, which is fun. :) I’ll be starting my re-read of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings soon. I last read the Hobbit probably around 25 years ago? And LoTR was 21 years ago. I loved the Hobbit, my mom read it to me as a child. LoTR was a big struggle for me at first, I kept trying and giving up within the first book of the first book. I only ended up finally reading it all once the Two Towers movie was released, and binged them very quickly. Turns out it’s ONLY the first book of the first book that was a struggle for me, the rest was easy. So I’m really looking forwards to seeing how my interpretations of the story will change after two decades. (not going to be posting it, don’t worry! That’s just for me)
Oh wow. So this is the ad bit where Sam says he’s too depressed to do a bit, so they have a pre-recorded generic version – which is him acting like he’s dead and it’s his will. And after, I don’t know if I noticed this before!, Liam actually got hit pretty hard emotionally! I actually went back a few seconds to check, and it doesn’t look like he’s playing it up? I wonder if he had other stuff going on behind the scenes, or if this is just Sam’s particular ability to always seem to grab Liam by the emotions. (If I remember, he gets choked up both during the five year song, and the pandemic welcome back.)
It’s been a while since we’ve seen Codependent!Caleb. Even though Nott ended up still being invisible so the scene doesn’t work, I do like Liam having Caleb looking panicked and stressed flicking between Nott and the team, Nott and the team, until he goes after Nott. As much as I joke, I do wonder why Caleb is so stressed about Nott being separate at the moment. We know that he has faith in her, and she’s gone on ahead before a number of times. Is it because of the atmosphere of the tomb? Is it because Nott is sober, so he thinks she’s more likely to make bad decisions? I wouldn’t call it a regression in behavior, but it is a bit jarring compared to how he’s been interacting with the entire team for a number of in game months. ...Well, maybe not. The last time, I THINK, was in episode 54, when they split up the rooms and Caleb didn’t realize that he was going to be separated from Nott. Looking at critrolestats, I think that’s only a difference of 20 in game days.
OH GOD THIS IS THE SPIDER ROOM ISN’T IT I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT THIS AAAAAAAAA (i’ll find out in a few minutes if I’m right, but Matt describing things stuck around the wall, and one of the words he used was ‘sacks’, so I’m pretty sure I’m right) Interestingly, I WAS actually just the other day thinking about rogues in dnd – I’d seen some post talking about how rogues actually were bad at dealing damage unless the sneak attack critted, and I remembered Nott’s exciting sneak attack crit that basically took out the entire baddie. Of course, I couldn’t remember what the baddie WAS, but this brought all the memories rushing back.
One BS comment I have seen way too much of online is Laura being ‘entitled’ with her spells, being ‘whiny’ when things don’t go her way with spells, and trying to get as much out of Matt as possible. And here we are – with Laura specifically bringing up to Matt that the Bless that she cast would have faded by now and so not have been present with initiative. Something that had she not brought up, Matt might not have caught. No whining, no complaining, just playing fair. *sigh* I’ve gotten off of those places (aka reddit forums), but still some of the shit I saw just DIGS.
Poor Travis. I am very lucky that while I am thoroughly freaked out from bugs, I’m not bothered by situations like this. The figures don’t bother me, nor do the descriptions. I’m pretty good with seeing them in movies and such as well. It’s only 1) in real life, especially if they’re close to me or move fast, 2) if they are ON ME – my actual literal phobia is them somehow getting inside me (nose, ears, mouth), and 3) some of the really freaky videos you can see online where someone brushes a dark clump and it spreads out into a million spiders.
Beau attacks, misses, Matt barely starts to speak before Marisha rolls again, then she apologies and gives him the go ahead, he gives her the go ahead, and then she tells him he can do his description, which he then does, but keeps it short. A good sign of a good table, a player recognizing when a DM wants to speak and giving them the space to do so, AND a DM recognizing that a player may want to just get the attacks out and is willing to forgo the usual flavor speech. You love to see it! Mutual respect!
(coming back to this at the end of april) wait I’m only half an hour in? I thought I was way further than that!
OH WHAT. We have the red Ashton lopsided 6-sided dice here with Tal!!! I totally thought those were c3 only, I don’t recall seeing them before! Clearly he’s had them though.
ROGUE CRIT!!!!! I love how Sam is so astonished by it too. Are rogue’s the best class to get a crit on? I’d assume paladin would be up there as well with smite…. 20th level rogue can get 60 sneak at max, so 120 per CR rules, then plus weapon damage. Divine smite has a max of 6d8, so max of 96 plus weapon damage on a crit. Wait, does improved divine smite and another d8 on top of that? So 112? but do smite spells add to a smite, or replace? Like, if it was banishing smite, would it add 5d10 on TOP of that? Or INSTEAD of that? I’m thinking way too hard about this, especially considering I prefer spellcasting to melee for my own personal play. EITHER WAY – badass moment!
...I got distracted just watching it. There’s something so comforting about the humor in C2, the feel at the table is different than it was in both C1 and C3, and sometimes I prefer it. Don’t get me wrong, the balls to the walls punchiness at the table in C3 is great and leads to a ton of laughs, but there’s a nice balance in C2 that almost lends itself to the PCs as much as it does to the cast. I’m doing a horrible job of explaining it, but it’s pure comfort food for me.
Anyhow, yay for spell scroll for Caleb, but also I’m glad that it’s not some super amazing spell. It’s something where Liam wouldn’t feel like he was missing out or punished if he never found it, but it’s a nice bonus to have to where he feels rewarded for looking.
Once again my grumbles about the table attitude towards a rogue though. Caduceus wants to move forwards, but Tal/Cad has to tell Sam/Nott to search for traps. Jester wants to open the door, but Laura/Jester has to tell Sam/Nott to search for traps. There are times that I really would like to get into Sam’s head and see what his choices were for this. If he’d known how it would have gone, would he have picked a different class for Nott? Was he deliberately making a rogue who wasn’t particularly good at what she did, not because she couldn’t but because she forgot and didn’t care a lot of the time? It would fit with the housewife picture, but it’s a sense of almost spiting the class for the roleplay. I feel like with C1 and C3, Sam was able to explore his roleplay within the confines of the class, whereas C2 it feels like the roleplay just has the class slapped on top of it. *shrugs* It’s hard to say, because she does do a lot of sneaking around during combat, but it always feels a little forced. It’s much more Liam/Frumpkin doing early exploring than Nott, a lot of the time.
I really love how they discovered the stairs going down (this is the lightning one where Matt uses an hourglass, I think?), and I also love how they were able to so quickly and smoothly give the marching order. In the weirdest way, I do think the Nein ended up being the most smoothly combined group, which is very surprising considering they started out the most fractured. (also in fairness I really don’t have much recollection of this aspect of C1, so I could be totally wrong here)
LOL I love that Laura stands up and hits the mic, then Taliesin stands up and hits the mic, and then Sam stands up and hits the mic. They talk about how it had to be so loud for the audience, but either Chris the sound guy is REALLY good at his job, or no it’s not that loud at all.
(wait is this the episode where they have three encounters/maps and sam gets short [humorously] with the last dwarvenforge sponsor bit?)
(omg I’m only an hour and forty three minutes into this, we’re now in May. I don’t know why I’m watching this so slow, it’s SUCH a good episode!)
In the span of five minutes, Sam hits the mic AGAIN and Marisha, while bending down under the table, cracks the back of her head against in while coming up.
I have no recollection of the mist/wind spirit! I thought this was the electrical pulse! (I still think it is, and that’s what the timer is for, which honestly is a great method of using it. I know Matt used it a few times in C1, and I think this is the only time in C2, but I appreciate that while it’s punishing in an effect, it’s not massively punishing like they LOSE or FAIL if they can’t accomplish what they are doing in time. Especially because them asking Matt for clarifications eats away time, as well as Matt���s own turns. I’ve seen some detractors online wish that Matt pulled out the hourglass more, as a way to get the players to make decisions faster, but all I can think is that pulling out the timer means that it becomes even HARDER to think because now you have the external pressure as well as whatever circumstance you’re in. I can’t fully pooh-pooh the detractors as there have been a few circumstances where I have found that the players really dithered, either consistently during combat, or having ooc conversations during a quick event that took way longer than I thought Matt should have allowed, but I see people claiming this for so many things, including encounters where there may have been minor dithering but then moved smoothly, or one or two players turns took long but everything else was smooth.)
Beau jumping down = so fucking hot. Especially because she’s the first to break from the ‘run down and maybe action’ format which reveals the bottom tier allowing other players to start having more creative movement. (polymorph of eagles coming in five, four, three…) Hm, I trying to think now of how often Marisha is the red-button pusher. We know that Travis and Sam will go for it, Ashley’s pretty decent at button pushing, is Marisha the next one? ...I’m struggling to think of examples in all three campaigns, which could meant that no, she’s not, but it also could mean that I have a very shitty memory (well confirmed at this point).
Matt allowing Beau to both investigate and yank out the power source of the electric crystal is something that I think is a very table-specific decision. On the one hand, I love that he allowed her to do essentially two actions because she is a monk and able to do things very quickly (such as step of the wind, flurry of blows [I typed bleaus without even thinking what the fuck]), but on the other hand that can definitely feel bad at a different table with another player being allowed two actions where you may only be allowed the standard one. I genuinely am unsure of how I’d feel about it at my table, though that’s also because I have a really shitty attention-grabbing player at the table. If they were allowed the double action I’d probably be pretty annoyed, but if the really nice good player at the table were allowed it, I’d feel better about it. Breaking the action economy for a cool moment really only works when you have full trust at a table. Here, it’s a moment done well, with a group of players who fully respect the choice and decision (and are glad not to take additional damage XD), at a table like mine? ….I’d rather have taken the damage, tbh. (side rant, but last game I got to do some exploring as a water skimmer, DM describes to me what I see, players immediately start going off of the description and I’m like….alright, I guess I went back and transformed, lost my wild shape, and told them. Fuck me if I had other things I wanted to do, or even if I’d wanted to roleplay the moment.)
(also off topic, I read a chapter update today of a shadowgast fic that I’m enjoying, but Caleb is SO OOC it’s ridiculous, to the point where I’m like his canon backstory must not have happened in this fic, and coming back and watching canon Caleb is DELICIOUS. We’re not in an rp moment, but even the way Liam portrays using shield, the facial expressions and body language, it’s like YES this is the caleb I crave.)
There’s so many good tactics on display here. Fjord jumping with his held Misty Step, both polymorphs with Jester going back to grab the other party members, Beau investigating the door and finding the slot! There are small bits of metagaming that I just...eh. Would Jester have gone back for Nott and Caduceus if the hourglass had still been going? Maybe not, but that also can be explained by her seeing that the glow has stopped. Caduceus thinking that there’s no monster now? ...Honestly that just feels like Taliesin thinking ‘well we beat the encounter so we’re good now’. Usually I’m not too heavily bothered, even if I notice metagaming, but that bothered me just a little bit. I’m a tiny bit nastily pleased that the creature attacked again shortly after. ….I have a petty side, okay?
OH GOD IT’S THE START OF MAKING MY WAY. (I think someone found that it technically started in a one shot before this, but this is the first in game of a very very long running gag)
Interesting that Caleb flying down triggered an attack of opportunity from the creature, with Fjord, Jester, and Beau not triggering one. I wonder if Matt had specific ideas of where the creature was in the tower and this really was the first, or if he’s just been blanking because he was focusing on the electrical charge and this is the first time he remembered.
…..why does Sam want to know if goblins have tails? I want to know what he’s thinking! I can’t think of any mainstream depiction of goblins with tails, so it’s certainly a bit of an out-there thought.
For what it’s worth, while we all know and love Veth’s Big Naturals, I greatly appreciate and am entertained by Sam’s insistence that Nott also has Big Naturals, despite every piece of official artwork (presumably signed off by Sam) depicting Nott as smaller-busted.
I’m sure this was speculated about by the fandom at the time, but I wonder if Jester being so preoccupied with making sure that everybody gets out of the mist tower before she will leave ties back into her getting left with the young dragon back in the happy fun ball. I know Laura has talked about the impact that moment had on Jester, but unless I’m forgetting stuff (super entirely possible) I feel like this is the first time we’ve really seen Jester make an effort, putting herself at risk, to ensure that everyone else is safe.
Sam just did his usual bit when Matt went to get the map for the zombie room. I wonder what the section I’m thinking of is? To be fair, *I* don’t actually remember it, but I saw a post talk about it. AH – thank you CR Transcripts! It’s episode 79 “It's a fantastic company that makes a fine product and if you don't go to their fucking website, I'll kill you.”. Searching “kill you” under Sam worked. Based on context, rather than it being the ‘holy shit a third encounter’ that I thought it was going to be, instead it was just the pure stress and time crunch with Obann and the tree. Understandable.
I admit, I’m a bit exhausted with initiative. As much as I enjoy this episode (and I really really do!) three back to back combats, regardless of the tactical aspects of them, is just tough to watch. It’s the same thing for me for the really big episode long fights (Lucian, Vecna, etc). Four plus hours of combat is a LOT. I’m usually good if it’s two or less.
When Matt decides to just ‘roll with it’, it works out fantastically at the table. Jester casts Turn/Destroy Undead, which he has just impact the five undead that he had minis out for. After a bit of ooc clarification about the slopes and creatures on them, Laura asks if her destroy undead would have worked there too. In terms of the encounter, I’m pretty sure Matt saying yes or no wouldn’t have impacted the main combat at all, but he acknowledges the legitimacy of her point, rolls some rolls, and has a total of ten more get destroyed. Does it make the encounter any easier? It does trigger Caduceus seeing the glowing heart, but that would have happened fairly soon anyway, I’m sure. What it DOES do is it has the table let out a cheer at Jester being badass and destroying thirteen enemies with a single spell. It’s a feel good moment, rather than a numbers game moment, and even as a viewer it does exactly what it should do, it Feels Good. In comparison to the other GMs I’ve watched (Brennan on ExU and a number of D20 shows, Aabria only on ExU so far), he does roll with things a lot less, as he is a bit more of a stickler for the rules, so I notice the moments more. With Brennan a few times, and with Aabria in ExU a lot more of the time, I’d see Rule of Cool moments where, for my tastes, I would have preferred a harder RAW/RAI ruling. (again, no judgment to Aabria in Misfits and Magic or A Court of Fey and Flowers, I still have not seen those though I want to! Especially because I’ve heard her GMing style is very different in those other systems.)
Coming right off of Jester’s Feel Good, we’ve got Caleb’s Feel Bad. Very smart to do a fireball into the massive pit of undead, but then immediately after it fails to have any true impact at all. While I can understand the choice not to have it impact the number of undead spawning, I could see having that area be considered difficult terrain due to the flaming corpses, or simply just having no undead spawn at that specific area until the next turn – instead have them spawn on the other side. There was no actual benefit to Caleb casting the fireball, which is just a sucky feeling – especially with a third level spell. Especially because Caleb is the only one targeted by two undead, with anyone else only being targeted by one.
Double Feel Bad of Matt not letting Nott at least try to give the door a physical tug after expending her action using Mage Hand. It’s some inconsistent DM decisions this episode, considering Beau being allowed to inspect and grab and pull out the rod from literally just the previous encounter.
Granted, I don’t think any of the players are taking issue with this, or I’m sure they would always speak to Matt about it after game if it bothered them, but it’s things that I’m noticing that just feel just a bit sucky.
Off topic, but I’ve been seeing some complaints about C3 with the group talking over whoever is making the action in combat, and how rude it is and how it’s so bad in C3 and it was never this bad in previous campaigns. Meanwhile I’m watching the gang non-stop chitchat during the combats, I literally think the only difference is that C3 has better mic pickup than C2 or C1. I don’t think the group is being any more or less than they usually are, it’s just now sometimes we can hear them more clearly which covers up the audio of the main player at the moment.
LOL Marisha saying she’s never playing a wizard after seeing Caleb basically being the only one actually hit by the zombies. Double lol at Liam saying he’s only playing bloodhunters from now on.
It’s fun to see Sam clarify that Nott is running low on bolts, only six left! because we really only had one ranged combatant before with Vex who never needed to keep track of arrows – but only because she bought a thousand of them before the stream started. (I’m not counting Percy because he had to make his own ammunition versus being able to buy it in a shop.) I actually don’t think Nott ever runs out though, what with being able to collect them back after combat. Also interesting looking through the transcripts now that Nott/Veth always seemed to buy bolts in amounts ranging from 10 to 40. I’m not sure if Sam’s thought process was that Nott/Veth didn’t have a bag of holding for the bolts, or if it’s just the Mighty Nein vibe of buying what they need, as little as possible, versus the Vox Machina vibe of buying what they need and want in larger quantities than they may use. I love this little dnd-broke group so much. (also with all the transcript searching, bolt/bolts no longer look like actual words.)
...Did we ever figure out what caused the glowing hearts versus grey hearts? Critrolestats doesn’t know. I’m wondering if it was just DM fiat based on an estimated frequency.
One thing that I really love about M9 versus both other campaigns, this group somehow seems to perfectly convey that exhaustion and despondency. VM had a lot of grief, but it was always intense emotions, always a 9/10 or higher on the scale. M9 I feel is perfectly able to capture those days where you are deep in your feelings but it only shows as a 2/10. That’s such a horrible way of explaining it. It’s High Fantasy versus gritty realism, in a way. BH has it’s own frequency of emotions XD
IT’S BEEN SO LONG I literally forgot there’d be a Talks Machina after this!!!!!!! AAAH SO HAPPY.
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jupitercomet · 1 year
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Hey, bugs!
Let me start by saying that it's totally fine to feel better because of my... interesting and questionable choices and about me having no idea what I'm doing.
I mean there's something so calming in comradeship especially when it comes to being confused.
And just wanted to tell you - I'm probably watching the news with more emotion compared to my expression when I'm reading smut (then again, when I'm reading fluff, I get all flustered, and I just-)
About the Defending Jacob question - I'm one of those super annoying people that kind of insists on reading the book first, so even though I've read a ton of fanfics about the show, I haven't watched it yet (but hopefully, I'll get around reading the book soon and then watching the show).
And in my country, a degree also doesn't matter much - except if you want any sort of a public job, but I prefer working in the private sector, so yeah. That's what I remind myself of every time while I freak out - that I don't actually need a degree and that my brother found a great job without even having one (even though he got his last year).
And please, please, please have Peach recreate the iconic painting! It'd be sooooo gooood! Actually, I might try recreating it with Jake, Bradley and Mickey on my graphic tablet and might send it to you, but I'm not promising anything.
Also - I kind of realized that Nick and Jess are the tropes grumpy x sunshine and idiots in love.
I don't know if you've watched (500) Days of Summer (it's with Zooey Deschanel), and I just realized how this film and the episode where Jess admits her feeling to Sam are kind of the same (at least at its core) but with role-reversal.
And just wanted to say that I loved how Schmidt got turned on by emotional vulnerability while having the cast - it'd be so funny if you did that with any of the boys in The douche bag jar (not pressuring you or anything, just the thought makes me laugh).
Lastly - I remembered yesterday how you said once you live in the mountain time zone (it was the first time I heard of it!), so I checked our timezone difference, and there are like 9 hrs between where we live (my time zone is gmt+2). How insane is that?
"there's something so calming in comradeship" literally truer words have never been spoken 😪
also I was today years old when I learned Defending Jacob was a book (actually I feel like I knew that, but also I feel like I didn't know that)
ugh degrees are dumb and stupid and we should abolish them all
PLEASE if you do end up recreating the painting I'll add it in 100%, I feel like if I tried, my photoshop skills would end up making a literal crime against humanity
you are so right!!! also I LOVE the grumpy x sunshine trope I literally eat that shit up
I actually haven't watched (500) days of summer but I definitely will now and let you know my thoughts (I'm a sucker for rom coms so I'll probably love it)
AND OH MY GOD I CAN'T BELIEVE I FORGOT THAT SCHMIDT SCENE !! the thoughts are thinking and the brains are storming so we shall see 😉
and 9 hours seems so weird like my day is basically your night and vice versa (does this mean I have to post smut in the morning if I don't want you to read it over a bowl of cereal?)
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sewergarbagetrash · 2 years
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Fic post: I just want to feel better
Chapter one: Dig a hole and shout into it
Author’s note:
Sorry for the clunky nature of this post, this is my first time putting out fic on tumblr. I really hope someone likes it!
Heavily inspired by the amazing Dewmie-in, whose stories and blog I would heartily recommend to anyone interested in Sad Pink Cartoon Dad. Please check the tags for content warnings if you’re sensitive to that kind of thing.
-
This is weird, right?
Bill swallowed, wringing his hands tightly in a near-painful stim. Only a few feet away stood a clearly bored Antigorite, arms folded over her chest as she watched others mingle on the boardwalk. It had only been a few days since the insanity went down, and the two groups appeared to be meshing well. There hadn’t been very many fights yet, anyway.
I can’t remember the last time I saw so many Gems in one place. Let alone someone like me, Antigorite continued. They’d been jittery for weeks, but the last few days had really put a strain on their anxious nature. So many things could go wrong so quickly, and they didn’t know how to prepare for any of it. And how were they supposed to talk to any of these people? Should they even try? What if they let something slip?
Morganite was somehow more on edge. She was the only one to hold onto a few tangled memories of Homeworld, and none of what they contained was good. Her purpose hung over her like the shadow of a noose, urging her to use the skillset buried in the back of her mind. But with the constant reminder of what she was, those instincts were coming out in full force. It made her tense and snappish and guilty, and that made Antigorite defensive.
They’d even separated a few times because of it. That was never fun, least of all because they couldn’t  unfuse physically. Bill would just feel himself being stretched further and further until he either dissolved into mist or was violently torn in half, and then he was just gone. He was able to track down the memories later, but as they weren’t exactly his it was difficult to look at them. The whole concept was a little terrifying, honestly.
But that wasn’t to say this whole “Let’s be friends with humans and move into the town and stop trying to kill each other” thing was bad in any way. It was just very jarring and happened to bring back some not so fun instincts and shadowy repressed half-memories that they’d all rather stayed buried. Which he couldn’t talk about to anybody but himself, because he’d been Bound. What a wonderful life he led.
Not that he could have, anyway. Rose’s family barely tolerated him as it was, and he was honestly surprised that they’d let him near Steven as often as they had. But maybe they figured the boy was old enough to make his own choices.
“You okay?”, the other Antigorite demanded.
Bill looked up and bit his lip, sweat pouring down his face and hands. “Uhhh.”
She was tall, probably about 6'2. Her smooth, green gem was set in the center of her left cheek, half-hidden by a halo of wispy white hair. Small, almost beady yellow eyes were set above a crooked nose and large scowling mouth. A scar marred her round chin, which was as deep dark green as the rest of her. Bill couldn’t help comparing it to the splotches on his own stomach, which had always been the slightest bit lighter. Is this what I used to look like?
He only realized he’d been staring when she raised an eyebrow and repeated “You okay, pipsqueak? If you’re about to burst into flames I don’t want you near me.”
He swallowed. “Uh, nope! Humans don’t do that, so that couldn’t happen. I’m just-sweating, because of the sun. That’s a thing us humans do, when there’s-when we get too much sun.”
The Antigorite blinked, turning her head to fully face him. “Why?”
“Uhhhh…biology?”
“What’s that?”
He bit his tongue, wincing as his mouth filled with blood. So he shrugged and gave her a bright smile, turning on his heel and walking away. He did not run, because that would be rude and weird.
Stupid, he cursed himself all the while, sure that his face was nearly purple by now. You darn idiot. You’re even worse at talking to Gems than humans, go figure. Wonder why the heck that could be. Darn it all to heck-
He didn’t even see the other man until he’d walked straight into him, sending him stumbling off to the side. “Sor-”
“Hey fuckwad, watch where you’re going!”, Jamie snapped, his expression utterly livid.
Oh, god no. Oh, let this be a nightmare. Bill cringed, hands fluttering uselessly. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even see you-are you okay?”
The young man turned to face him, eyes widening. “Uh, yeah, no. Sorry, I-didn’t see you. Either. I didn’t mean to yell at you like that, you just startled me.” He rubbed his shoulder, brown eyes darting down to stare at the ground.
“Sorry”, he said again, and bit his slowly-healing tongue once again. Shut your mouth, boy.
“It’s okay.”
Bill stood there frozen, unsure of his next move. Run away, Antigorite urged. Before he yells at you again.
The thing about Jamie-well. There wasn’t a thing. No things had ever happened.
Really, they didn’t even know each other that well. Jamie had brought over the occasional package came through for him to sign, and before the whole…historical play fiasco, Bill had volunteered his services for props and whatnot. It was exciting to see someone with so much passion for their art, even if he didn’t really get it. And maybe he’d been a little…on guard, around the man. A little quick to brush him off or insist that certain things were done in specific ways. And he hadn’t meant to be rude, but he often spoke before he thought because deep down Bill was just a narcissistic control freak who was terrified of being on the bottom of the food chain.
In short, they had butted heads. Not too much or too often, but they’d been faintly chilly work acquaintances at best. And then in a fit of impulsivity while riding the high of people liking him, Bill offered to personally fund all of Jamie’s future plays. The faint sparkle in the young man’s eyes had made him smile, and the memory of it had stuck in his mind for some reason. The next time they’d seen each other, it had been…easier, somehow. He tried to get along better, and Jamie put his foot down more often. The ice had melted a bit.
And that was all there was to it, really. Except for the horribly embarrassing crush he’d developed in the few months between then and losing his job, of course. Not that he’d realized what it was until he found himself staring wistfully at the other man’s lips, a familiar longing pulling at the place his heart used to be. Caught himself looking, like-well. It was inappropriate. He was much older than Jamie, even more than the young man knew. And Jamie in turn wasn’t even all that old for a human-what was the average lifespan now, eighty? Ninety? Thirty-five was nothing. And Bill was in a position of power anyway, and he had a kid…it was just a bad idea. There was no way someone like Jamie would be interested in him, and even if he had been it would be weird. Too weird. Wrong.
So he’d tried to back off. Back away. Keep his respectful distance and pretend he didn’t hear or understand the occasional flirty joke, pull away when their hands brushed. It didn’t mean anything, it couldn’t mean anything.
And then he’d resigned. That should have made things easier, but they still occasionally bumped into each other. On the street, on Jamie’s mail route, then later at the donut shop. Polite small talk happened on occasion, but nothing more.  
And then at Garnet’s wedding reception, he’d looked across the table and saw those big brown eyes full of pain. Pain he could understand, and the realization of that understanding was reflected back at him. And in that moment, he thought eff it and reached back.
They’d danced. Not too close or with too much feeling (not that Jamie hadn’t tried, but Bill hadn’t perfected his “old man with arthritis” routine for nothing) because even while dipping into total insanity he wasn’t an idiot, but the awkward tango had been…nice. Jamie had laughed a couple times, Bill had gotten to hold his hand, and for about fifteen minutes he’d gotten to just-be. Exist. He’d just taken the moment for what it was and not worried about what came afterwards.
But then the ship had come down out of the sky, and he’d thought well. There it is.
Morganite had wanted to stay and fight, but Bill held himself together in a vice grip and got the heck out of there with everyone else. Maybe it was cowardly, but what else was he supposed to do? Rose had been very clear about not wanting him near his her family, and he’d disrespected her memory enough.
He wasn’t sure that locking himself in a motel bathroom to dissolve/unfuse/whatever so the two semi-amnesiac Gems stacked in a trench coat could yell at each other until they broke down crying was a better use of his time, but it was probably less destructive. When he’d finally emerged, Jamie had been sitting on the other bed, staring up at the ceiling.
“I’m bisexual”, was the first thing he said.
“Um…congratulations? I, uh”, Bill had fumbled, unsure how to respond. “I, um, support you?”
Jamie had laughed, rolling over to hide his face in a pillow. “What a fuckin’ day.”
The conversation had ended there. They’d both gone to bed, and in the morning they’d gone their separate ways. He hadn’t really seen Jamie since, and kind of assumed he’d been avoiding him. Bill honestly wouldn’t blame him. He’d tried not to be a weird creep around him, but maybe he’d missed something. Done something.
Or maybe they were basically strangers and Jamie didn’t actually give a frick. And who would expect him to? Bill was way too invested in this horrible one sided crush that he seriously needed to get over before something terrible happened.  
Jamie gave him a weird look, which made him realize he’d been staring for like two minutes. Darn it all to heck.
“Hh”, he managed to say, flinched, and tried again. “Sorry for bothering you.”
“Hey, no worries. I was just taking a walk.” He shrugged, looking a tad awkward himself. “So…how have you been?”
“Oh, just terrible.”, he laughed, waving off the question before realizing what he’d actually said. “Uh I mean, that was a joke, haha. I’m fine. Great! Breathing air and eating rats! I mean not that last one. Joking again!”
Now Jamie’s expression was somewhere between concern and alarm. “Mr Dewey…are you okay?”
Bill laughed a touch hysterically, backing away. “Yeah! Just fine! Absolutely fine, nothing wrong here! Sorry again, I’ll see you around! Goodbye!”
And this time he did run, before he could do something incredibly stupid. Like keep talking. He ran all the way home, banging the door open and making a beeline for the basement.
He sat down on the concrete, fingers digging into the sides of his head until all thought was replaced with physical suffering. And maybe he rocked too, because it was comforting and if it was fine for Buck then it was fine for him.
God, just kill me now. Please.
Bill’s freakout only lasted about an hour, but he stayed in the basement until his son got home. At which point he dusted himself off and went up to make dinner for them both, somehow managing to pretend everything was fine.
(And maybe he threw it all up twenty minutes after eating, but that was nobody’s business but his own.)
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literaticat · 2 years
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I'd like to hear your thoughts on the types of picture books that are selling now and how they compare to the types that were selling when you first started agenting. Thanks!
Well, as I said a couple posts ago, when I started, it was the DARK AGES for picture books. We were selling them, as an agency, but they were not EASY to sell by any stretch, and when I started, I didn't even accept picture book author or illustrator queries at all, because I fancied myself a "YA & MG exclusively" agent. I did sell some, but only for authors that I already repped for novels. But I just didn't even TRY to sell enough of them to really have good data -- So my VERY early years can kinda be discounted.
(I do think the first ones I sold would still sell today, though. I know that because, well, they are books like OVER AND UNDER THE SNOW by Kate Messner, which I sold in 2008 and came out in 2009-10-ish, and I still am selling sequels to that book as recently as last month, it's going strong 10+ years later.)
But anyway -- I'll take a stab at, say, 10 years ago compared to today. 10 years ago it was really the "short - no SHORTER!!!" era. Which, yes, we still like short books, but at that time it felt virtually impossible to sell fiction picture books that were longer than like, 200 words. I had to explain that to authors A LOT. Now, authors are kinda used to that, so it's less jarring. . . and now, we sometimes DO see picture books that are longer, because publishers realized they were leaning TOO far in the short direction. Books like LITTLE WITCH HAZEL, which is quite a robust storybook, probably would not have sold ten years earlier.
10 years ago, graphic novels were not a huge thing for kids. ("That's not a picture book, JENN!", you exclaim -- Yeah I know, hear me out!)
So SMILE came out in 2010, and really introduced that as a viable kind of book for MG, but it took years for the category to truly gain a foothold and creep younger. There were no picture book graphic novels or early reader graphic novels back then. Now there are both, and hybrids, and they do well. I'm thinking of books like FOX + CHICK and its sequels -- it's packaged like a picture book, but is told in panels, and could be an early reader too. NARWHAL AND JELLY, which is an early reader / graphic novel / good for PB age kiddos. etc. Publishers are more open to sort of blending categories in this way for this age kid.
10 years ago, the "meta" and "interactive" picture books were taking off. By "meta" I mean, books where the character addresses the reader directly, and either knows they are in a book (so it's kind of a book about the book itself) or the reader is invited to interact with the character -- the classic examples are THERE'S A MONSTER AT THE END OF THIS BOOK and DON'T LET THE PIGEON DRIVE THE BUS, both of which came out earlier of course, but in the early-mid 2010s, there was a rash of these kinds of books. Other examples of interactive books are like PRESS HERE, which came out in 2011 or so -- these books encouraged kids to turn the book upside down, touch things, say magic words for things to happen on the page, etc. And there were many sequels and copycats in the following years. For both these kinds of books, I think the market is pretty saturated, and unless it was bringing something WILDLY cool to the table, would be a tough sell.
On the nonfiction side, because "common core" was a new thing in 2010, books met common core standards started to be talked about a lot. I feel like we sold A LOT of picture book biographies and such. At this point, though publishers still theoretically like bios, most acquired SO MANY that their lists became overloaded with them, and now they may not even want to look at them unless they are SUPER special.
(Another category like that really blew up maybe ... um... around the mid-20-teens, like post-Obama administration -- for some reason... *cough*... was a rash of "GIRLS CAN DO IT! YOU ARE AMAZING!!!! DON'T LET BULLIES GET TO YOU!!!" kinda books - which, yes, they are still coming out -- but again, that is something publishers have seen A LOT of and probably not going to sell unless it's doing something spectacular and new.)
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v5hadow · 11 months
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WIP Wednesday
So I haven't managed anything of what I've been intending to work on this week for progress at this point of the story(aka we aren't finishing the scene today...). Or more correctly I've only got a a small, small bit of what I want done on it.
Instead I'm posting the first section of a prequel bit that took most of my focus this week....
Futaba's Lost and Found Services
11/21/20XX
Futaba knew the longer she kept tapped into the phone the more likely she was to get caught in the metaphorical cookie jar. She pretty much had what she wanted almost from the start of the call. A name and a confirmation of actions taken. But something about Akechi’s tone… He sounded a bit hollow. Something, something, curiosity and cats, and between her and Morgana in her lap they probably had a full cat’s curiosity.
It was nice to hear that Akechi had no plans to immediately act against the rest of the team, even if he said nothing positive to say about them himself. A little surprising to be compared to cattle instead of sheep since how much more aggressive cows are. Generally a bit of surprise how little he was planning on going after them, as it may take months for them to be off lips enough to start targeting the teens visibly attached to the team. Him keeping an eye on them would likely be one of the most dangerous parts from now on but if he is being this loose Futaba was way less concerned.
Deaths were interesting to think about in an abstract way. Her and maybe Ryuji, would need to be the most cautious as they were not as public of figures. Her and Sojiro would likely be framed as a murder-suicide. Makoto would be difficult to justify until at least the next school year but pretty neutral after that. Yusuke was probably the easiest of their famous group, if he could frame it as a suicide, being a literal starving artist at times. Haru would have to wait one of the longest, as she is the largest shareholder of a major corporation that had her father die just last month. That was just last month. 
Akira’s death… wait. And the SIU director? Isn’t that too close? And why does that seem like the most amusement he’s had in all the conversation? He’s acting completely differently on these two deaths of targets. 
The SUI director from everything they could gather was likely in the know of the conspiracy. In fact the group couldn’t figure out a way he wasn’t like Kaboyakawa. So Akechi got to kill another member of the conspiracy and was happy about it. But he doesn’t seem nearly as happy to have done so to Akira. He shows some emotions about his targets still.
Akechi finished his call with Shido. She should be disconnecting but she felt an urge to listen a little more. See if he gets out of the building as smoothly as he hopes and that Akira isn’t caught in the first few minutes.
Futaba heard a few bangs from Akechi’s line as she set up all the preestablished audio on Akira’s cell phone for Niijima-san. In any other environment than the quiet hall she likely wouldn’t have heard Akechi’s whispered, “Why? Why?” There was one last, harsher than the others bangs but still soft enough to barely be heard. Even quieter, “No, not here. Can't break down here.”
She disconnected the tap but had it prepped to check on him again in a few hours. Now she needed to keep a monitor on Sae and Akira’s progress out of the facility.
When Futaba checked in on Akechi’s phone again, his location was listed as what she assumed was his apartment from previous assessments. One of the news reports about Akira’s capture played in the background. 
“Why couldn’t you figure out another way? How didn’t you find another way out? Why did it have to be you?” So many other what ifs and questions crossed his lips before the news broke with the suicide. 
With that news a slam and a curse quickly followed. Watery breathing, as if holding in the crying, was all that could be heard in the quiet transition from the news to jazz. She let the recording go for a few more seconds before closing and unwinding her bug for now.
The cat looked up to the hacker, starting, “Ora-”
Futaba quickly interrupted, “Don’t bring this up to Akira.”
“Huh? Why?”
Futaba stared at the audio files she’s recorded today. “If Akira ever crosses paths with Akechi again knowing he was, uh, upset? Might just mean Akechi succeeds on a second try.” She ended up dragging several out into another folder. Just in case.
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damn wouldn't it be something if i could figure out whether i loved or hated myself?
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I just finished lesson 29-13 where
(SPOILER)
Mammon and MC go to his room after Satan's tutoring session and that curse goes haywire and Mammon practically throws himself at MC.
And just,,, how he apologizes??? Even though he had no control over his body so he really couldn't help it??? And how he was so worried that we were scared of him??????????????
I wish there was an option to be like "of course you didn't scare me because I always feel safe when I'm with you" because he's the best boy and I love him so much!!!!!!!
Also, not me blushing like a schoolgirl when we "finish what he started" 😳😳😳 (and how he had MC take the lead so he doesn't do anything they don't want because he doesn't want to make them uncomfortable,,,)
Mammon is, and always will be, The Best Boy imo. He's the reason I'm grinding my cards up to get through the main story (I heard we get to act domestic in S3 and I'm *shaking* with anticipation because I REFUSE to look up spoilers)
So I made this post when I first played it:
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And honestly Mammon goes through it in this lesson and he still puts MC before him? And there's still so many feelings I have about this I'm??? Okay gonna break 'em down
1.) Apologising
Something that's happened multiple times is that you can't apologise to Mammon because he doesn't know how to take it? Even if the reason he's pissed off or upset is genuinely legitimate he still either forgives the person or turns it around on to himself as if he did the wrong thing or gets upset by it:
a.) In the example above
b.) When MC apologies to him for keeping secrets from him during his 2020 birthday event (despite promising not to in S1)
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c.) The manga with Beel
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d.) He finally calls Lucifer out for all his BS in S2 but unlike with the other brothers' fights there's no apology/reconciliation. They just go back to normal (and granted this is how it works between myself and my brother but we have much less issues so I don't think it counts)
e.) Almost instantly forgives MC after they apologised to lying to him about Belphie, something even Levi calls him out on
And this hurts. I mean we know despite how much he tries to brush it off, all the name calling hurts him (and it's shown really clearly in S1 when the name calling was at its worst) and I'm pretty sure he must have internalised some of it. Do you think he thinks he doesn't deserve an apology? That whatever happened has to be his fault cause he's the 'screwup'.
2.) Consent
Mammon puts a lot of value on consent and it's such a jarring and refreshing contrast when compared to S1 and early devilgram Lucifer who (being Pride) feels like he's entitled to MC, whether or not they're happy with it.
And you wouldn't expect it yknow? Mammon's Greed.
You'd think he'd be unable to control his Greed for MC but no - like always he vaults over whatever expectations I placed for him after seeing how his brothers act. (Another example being how I expected him to get pissed off and attack MC in S1 because that's what the others did and he just never did??)
Hell Mammon worries more about consent than MC does. Eg: When MC kisses him in S1 and he's just like ???you???can't???just???suddenly???kiss???people???without???telling???them??? AND this is only the first time he said something similar to MC and their romantic advances and yeah sure half of it probably comes from how bashful he is but the rest really is because of how genuinely this man seems to value all parties being on the same page
And you know how Mammon constantly gets in the way between the others and MC in S1? A large part of that is cause of his Greed and possessiveness sure BUT there are also times when he doesn't get in between them and these are all times when he sees MC making the first move (MC kissing Lucifer, MC wanting to spend time with Lucfier in Devil's Coast, MC agreeing to dates with others - he grumbles during the last one but he doesn't intervene during the dates as opposed to the others who intervene during his dates). So yeah, the times when he cockblocks he's not just being greedy and possessive he's being protective too. It's the times when MC isn't given an option to protest or when the brothers are particularly forceful. Eg: in S1 before MC and Asmo were even properly friends but after Asmo throws himself at MC rather persistently (a part that made me really uncomfortable) and MC isn't able to push him off, Mammon gets between them and pulls Asmo away.
Could one of the reasons Mammon values consent so much be because of whatever happened between him and Maddi, that's hinted at in the Escorts Devilgram?
3.) Priorities
Mammon absolutely prioritises MC's comfort and safety above all else even his own:
1.) They're the first person he reaches out to when they're being attacked by Cerberus in S1
2.) He gets inbetween them and a pissed of demon Lucifer and talks back to him despite the fact that he's absolutely terrified of demon Lucifer in S1
3.) Totally disregards the whole drama going on with Belphie to clutch on to MC's body
4.) Tries to go against Diavolo's orders and follow MC to the past
5.) In the spirits event yells and chases away the ghosts if MC says they're scared despite how terrified he is if ghosts
6.) Protects MC when the explosions start going off during the Dames event despite the fact that their priority is the Queen
7.) Stops calling out Lucifer in S2 when Simeon says he's worrying MC
8.) [REDACTED cause of spoilers for you] in S2
And those are basically the three key components of what happens in this chapter and they all add up to make me hurt
He should not have apologised!!? Does he realise that!? It wasn't his fault, if anything MC's the one who fucked up the spell that badly. AND YES! Definitely wish there was an option for MC to say they're not scared of him!!? Cause like he's the only brother to not try to kill them or in Beel's case not lose control in front of them. Asmo didn't do either of those too but he did really graphically threaten MC (I think he threatened to rip out their heart?) And the way I remember MC isn't able to talk back to him. While MC's always snapping back at Mammon in S1 when he's a little shit to them. MC just never registered Mammon as a threat to themself and I love it. And it's a theme that carries on into different AUs as well? In the vampire devilgram MC's just 100% okay with him drinking their blood and Mammon's the one who keeps protesting. During the first paws event when Mammon feels his control slipping and tells MC to run away from him and they're like ???no????I???trust???you??? And then in whatever the fuck was happening in the 2021 Halloween event.
Do I have a hurt/comfort fic based on Mammon realising (gender-neutral, unnamed) MC doesn't know he's a demon demon and panicking cause he thinks he's gonna scare them and apologising for it? Yes. Am I gonna shamelessly self promote it? Also Yes.
A+ Pillow Talk
He was lying to them. It's what he has always been doing. And they deserved more. They deserved so much more. He owed them so much more. And for once this was a debt he wanted to repay.
a.ka.
That one post-coital breakdown we've all definitely had
Absolutely love how he let MC take the lead how he continues to do so in almost every romantic/sexual encounter they have! He always let's them call the shots, let's them decide what they want and he never asks for anything? He never asks to hold their hand or asks to kiss them. He comes up with an excuse to do so but they're always vague enough that MC can easily back out - though yes at least part of that is due to how shy he actually is with MC. Can't remember if you may have passed this part in S2 or not bit there's a more in-your-face option in S2 that shows just how much he let's MC decide things compared to what the others do with MC.
In an effort to distance myself from the whole thing (looking at the content of my blog I'm not sure if it's working) I consider MC as their own character with no link to me at all (at most I'm their conscious that screams 'what the FUCK are you doing' each time they do something incredibly stupid) so MC & Mammon sleeping together, for me, was less blushing and more screaming "FUCKING FINALLY YOU IDIOTS" and throwing my phone down🥲😂
If you can't already tell, if you get me talking about Mammon it's hard to make me stop.... he really is the best🥲 he deserves so much🥲 S3 is very domestic as in their relationship feels more established? Can't wait for you to play it!!
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hansolmates · 3 years
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shiver | 01 (m)
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banner done by the wonderful @dnrequests​
summary; jungkook changed since he moved out of his small town church community and attended college. when he returns for a christmas mass, you suddenly crave a taste of his fun and carefree life. in exchange, jungkook craves a taste of you pairing; bad boy!jungkook x church girl!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers, brief childhood friends to enemies, fwb!au, catholic guilt, jungkook is a meanie who eventually turns into a soft tsundere, bicuriosity, sexual exploration, virgin!oc, eventual smut—in this installment: touching over the clothes, mc is hornee, *pulls out cards against humanity* “a gentle caress of the inner thigh”, panty kissin, mc is a big ol’ pushover and hopeful for jkk:(( w/c; 1.9k a/n; it’s here! aaaaaa!!! i’ve been really eally realllyyyyyy nervous to post this. even though this is just a drabble series  let me know how you feel about it! enjoy [shiver masterpost]
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“Oh, you’re so dead.” 
Jeon Jungkook isn’t thaaaat buff, he's more of a skinny kind of muscular. You don’t understand the hype, why everyone croons over Jungkook’s strength and physique. However, how else could you explain Jungkook being able to climb the currently dilapidated fire escape to the top floor of the chapel. The ladder is rusted beyond repair and is definitely a fire hazard rather than a fire escape. Yet he barely breaks a sweat doing it, and he wipes the minor sheen off his brow with the back of his hand. There’s some soot and whatever nasty residue from the fire escape that gets on his face, a black streak marring his already annoying face. He’s currently wiggling his fingers in a sarcastic “hello.” It makes you sneer, your two consciousness (inappropriate and appropriate) warring against each other to determine whether you still find this man attractive or not. 
Convincing yourself that Jungkook is ugly is the worst quick-fix idea you’ve ever had. 
The words of your Aunties, the family friends in the church, echo in your ears. Jungkook’s bad. They’d say over and over. It would cause you to snort and giggle, unable to imagine what sort of things he’s done to warrant such a cliché label. Yet some of the girls your age, girls that have gone off to college agree with sultry looks and longing eyes that yes, Jungkook’s bad. So bad, it’s good. 
You haven’t a clue what he’s actually done to earn such a hushed title, his parents are lip-tight about his doings, unless it’s his achievements in the architecture graduate program. You hear things, though. Things that make you shamefully green with envy, envious of sin. 
As soon as he finds proper footing in the storage room, he goes to the closet, immediately finding his backup clothes. They’re plain white button-downs, awkward long shirts with no shape or definition to them. They belong to the church, and no one ever uses them because they’re stiff and itchy. Yet Jungkook wears them like it’s tailored, and you have to look away when he quickly knots the bottom half of the shirt, fashioning it into a tasteful double knot in order to cinch his lean waist.
“Pretty sure it was just you that saw me,” Jungkook says dismissively, “so it’s fine.” 
This bristles you the wrong way, and you put down the catering covers you were supposed to return to the storage room. You smooth out your Sunday dress, this shade of Boring Beige looking particularly pale in the morning sun. “How do you know I won’t tell?” you turn your nose up. 
“Because I know,” he doesn’t even look at you, focusing on rolling the sleeves of his shirt. You weaken when you see the black shadowing across his forearm. That’s new, then again you haven’t seen him since last Christmas.   
“Know what?” 
“That you have a crush on me,” Jungkook says into the air like it’s common knowledge, adjusting the leather jacket on top of his outfit so the white-startched collar pops on top, “I mean, it’s hard for anyone not to know. You’ve been into me since youth group, Bunny.”  
You hold your breath, counting to ten as you close the door behind you. A vision of you playing “Duck Duck Goose” as a five year old plays in your head, where you’d pick a bushy, big-eyed Jeon Jungkook each time, hopping over to him to pat his fluffy head so he’d chase you around. 
It’s old news, your puppy love for Jungkook. How could you not like him? He's clever and sweet with his mother and always told the best stories in youth group meetings.  Everyone thought your affections were so sweet, and while that attention weaned over time, your feelings have only increased the more self-aware you’ve become. 
With a mind as open and honest is yours, it’s hard to ignore how well Jungkook has grown. What has also grown is your curiosities since the two of you have moved onto university. Jungkook goes to the university uptown, a far drive which only forces him attend masses during the holidays. You attended the local community college, wrapping up a bachelors in some vague major that you’re not attached to. You’re currently looking around for some graduate schools, but unfortunately you’ve been so wrapped up doing duties for Pastor Nina that you haven’t been able to look around properly. 
Jungkook’s probably living a fun life, with the way he’s grown rough and loose, you resent him. 
When you turn back around, Jungkook’s right in front of you, trapping you between his body and the door.  
“Don’t be embarrassed, Bunny,” you furrow your brows, nearly growing cross-eyed when he leans in. “I think your crush is cute.” 
You’re not sure what he thinks of you. Sure, he considered everyone a friend when you two were in youth group, but that was youth group. Premeditated, parents forcing other children to do the same things with each other for years upon years in the hope they’ll practice together forever and ever. Jungkook did not want that, evident from the way he dipped his duties as soon as he got into university. 
You hate how easy he dips back into it though, calling you Bunny and making you feel like a little girl all over again. Bunny, because you’d hop around to him whenever he was in sight. Bunny, because Jungkook had been fondly compared to the wide-eyed, diamond-toothed creature. It was cute when you were five. Now, it’s just discomfiting. 
“Don’t call me that,” you bite, “and I don’t like you anymore.” 
“Sure you don’t,” he rolls his eyes, and you flinch when Jungkook’s hand rests on the curve of your waist, fingers slotting themselves between the pleats of your skirt. “That’s why you’re not moving away when I’m about to put my hand under your skirt. Because you don’t like me.” 
You press yourself further into the door, your skin hot and vibrating. So warm, you feel like you could melt through the door and escape from Jungkook’s gaze. Sure, the young ladies in the congregation talk. Maybe you’ve heard a story or two about Jungkook being seedy, a result of being repressed after years and years of stiff routines and expectations thrust upon him. You could care less about Jungkook’s sexual appetite, until this appetite has reached you. 
“Mm, you’re pretty,” Jungkook’s eyes roam your form, the daisy white blouse doing nothing to barricade Jungkook’s sudden interest in you, “you’ve never been touched like this, have you?” 
“I’ve touched myself like this,” you hiss in defense, and it’s more out of anger than in pleasure. You don’t need a man to comfort you, but Jungkook’s eyes sparkle in mirth at the new information. 
“That’s really sexy,” Jungkook slips down, roams his fingers down to your ankles and plays with the silver buckles of your Mary Janes. You shiver when his hands trail up up up to your knees, the swell of your thighs, and catch right under the elastic seam that holds your secrets together, “but I’ll have you know, it’s different when you have someone hold your pleasure in their hands.” 
You’re in the storage room of your church, fifteen minutes before the Christmas mass, with Jeon Jungkook’s head between your legs. Your skirt is long, and Jungkook doesn’t bother to ride it up your waist. 
It feels more forbidden that way, Jungkook hiding under the fabric of your skirt to get to your honeyed center, sneaking his way in with rough hands and soft touches.
“J-Jungkook,” you whimper, pressing your full spine against the wooden door, “we shouldn’t. N-not like this.”
What is wrong with you? Is it sheer curiosity? Do you just want to know what it finally, finally feels like? You should be pushing him away. There’s red lights flashing back and forth in your brain like sirens. Yet, do you really want to turn away the attention you’ve been aching for years? 
You imagined your first time to be relatively special. The bare minimum, a bed, a talk, and a partner you’re mutually committed to. None of those things are met. Now you understand why all the young women in church whisper about sex like this. It’s a spur of the moment, it’s an unbridled pleasure you don’t want to stop, no matter how forbidden and sinful the act is.  
“How else then?” you feel his deep voice straight through your panties, his lips whispering between the pink cotton like he’s sinking liquid heat into your skin. “I can’t sink my fingers into your sweet cunt during the candle lighting. Or when we open presents with the family after. That would be inappropriate.” 
Your replies come out in breaths, puffs of air that conceal the moans you so badly want to let out as Jungkook pokes and rubs at you. He does nothing beyond the cotton fabric, only slides two fingers up and down your slit as he gathers the arousal between his digits. 
“So wet already, that’s so sexy,” he’s kissing your core, and you sigh fretfully at the pleasure that feels so close yet so far away. 
“P-please, Jungkook…” 
“Please what?” Jungkook teases, fingers slipping back and forth between the elastic of your underwear, “please stop? Please touch me? Please fuck me?” 
The church bell answers that, and Jungkook’s nose knocks right into your bud at the sudden intrusion. You yelp at the jarring stimulation, pulling him from under your skirts as the loud noise echoes in the room. Both of you wince at the pain, the moment interjected. 
“You first,” Jungkook casually opens the door for you, as if he didn’t have you ten seconds away from begging him to make you come. 
You don’t even look at him as you dash away, not bothering to take the elevator in favor of running off the heat. Two minutes before the procession. The church is packed to the brim, only the back seats left. Your family probably gave up on waiting for you up in the front. As you sit down in the corner, you’re momentarily distracted by the beauty of a decorated church on Christmas. Even though you’re part of the decorating committee and commanded most of the design, seeing the stained glass lit up with fairy lights and the poinsettia plants blooming burgundy on the altar, you’re impressed. 
“There’s a draft here, you must be cold.” Jungkook talks to you so politely, a perfect picture of a gentleman as he drapes his leather jacket over your lap. He speaks as if it’s a pleasant surprise, a childhood friend he hasn’t seen in nearly a year. 
You can’t tell him to move when people are watching and Jungkook is seconds from interrupting the procession, so you reluctantly scoot over so he can sit next to you. His scent overwhelms you even more now that you’ll have to sit next to him for a whole hour, lavender and vanilla overtaking your pew. 
The jacket is heavy and heady on your lap, and you force yourself to stare straight ahead. Jungkook cannot weaken you like this, not anymore. 
Thirty minutes later, his fingers are hovering at the start of the homily, caressing your thighs under the jacket with his big hands. A draft? Please. You clamp your thighs together, knocking your knees and hoping they’d lock together for the rest of the mass. Jungkook’s a master key, easily parting his way as if your muscles are pure jelly. You turn your head sharply, glaring at him with all the fire in the world. 
“Careful,” Jungkook mouths, eyes flickering to the symbol atop the podium, “he’s watching.” 
His fingers finally brush the damp blush cotton of your panties, and you shudder. 
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memes-saved-me · 3 years
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Billy Hargrove and implied Queerness
First off this is focusing on his scenes without Steve because we've all seen those and....they're pretty homoerotic to say the least so I will be bringing your attention to the other factors which lead people to believe Billy is gay or interested in men and not so much women. This isn't very indepth but more surface level observations I've made and seen others make.
(TW: Homophobia and slurs discussed)
Season 2
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The first scene we get of Billy he is instantly sexualised by those around him. Tina and Vicki taking interest in him based on his looks while Carol watches on rather unamused. This sets a trend for his character and his relationship with his looks and body, but more importantly how he uses it to his own advantage. Of course this was done to play into the 80s bad boy who all the high school girls fall for but what I'll explain later makes it much more interesting.
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The next we see of Billy is with Max on their way home. During this scene he insults the looks of the high school girls, referring to them as cows. We then get a very interesting line "Yeah, we're stuck here and who's fault is that?" Which Max replies to with "Yours."
A response that instantly angers Billy to the point he demands she take responsibility for moving to Hawkins. A topic that has clearly been discussed before because Max's reaction implies this has happened before if not multiple times.
In Runaway Max, which isn't confirmed canon and contradicts a lot of stuff but, we are told that the reason they moved was because Billy was completely off the rails to the point he broke her friends arm. Now. Does that make sense in blaming who's fault the move was? If this is the case it is obviously Billy's fault so why does he keep saying it was her who caused this? She clearly liked being in California so why would she do something to make them move. Unless it was unintentional...
This heavily implies that there is an unspoken incident which involves them both. An incident which triggers such anger and recklessness in Billy to the point he almost runs over Mike, Lucas and Dustin because Max wouldn't say it was her fault. Many have then filled in this gap with Max accidentally telling either Neil or Susan about Billy and another boy, which would make sense with the information or lack of information we are given in canon about the reason they moved.
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While at Tina's Halloween party we do not see Billy interact with a single girl. He is seen with Tommy and another boy who then approach Steve with him. It would make sense for girls to be drooling over him in this moment, trying to dance with him or following him inside but no. He makes a beeline for Steve and we do not see him for the rest of the party.
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Now, I don't know about you but have you ever seen a teenage boy look less interested in his date? Not only is he not interacting with verbally but also physically. He then gets angry when she calls Max his sister and they drive off without a word. It's implied he is taking her home as he they were waiting for Max, meaning he was probably going to hook up with her but if he was wouldn't he act just a little nicer towards her?
I mentioned before that he is the archetype for 80s bad boy and the girls sure are falling, he just isn't catching them. This is the only time we see him interact with a women his age in a romantic way. If you could call this romantic at all.
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When in trouble for letting Max run off while watching her, his response is that he doesn't have the time to go looking for her because he has a date, a date we never see or get the name of, this prompts his father to say the line "So that's why you've been staring at yourself in the mirror like some faggot..."
A line that then prompts Billy to snap and argue back after clearly wanting to get out of this situation as fast and smoothly as possible. Where else have we seen anger brought on by a topic? That's right in the car with Max. There is a trend of Billy reacting with anger to conversations or comments he finds personal or as some sort of attack. This is also when Neil becomes fully angry with Billy as seen in his rather shocked reaction at his response to that line.
This also continues the trend of Billy caring about his looks and using them as a shield of sorts, a shield that doesn't work against his father but everyone else he encounters.
Something to keep in mind, Billy is the only character to be called a homophobic slur by a parental figure other than Will. The character he mirrors in multiple ways including having the same full name William, as well as Will being heavily implied as gay or queer. Both of their father's use homophobic language against them, unlike any of the other characters in the show.
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The next we see of him after the incident with Neil is also when we see him interacting with another women in a romantic sense. Karen. This is where his use of his looks and body fully come into play. He uses these assets to get information and affection out of Karen to make his father happy and avoid further punishment.
Now this is my own interpretation but Billy is used to using his body for positive attention and doesn't get that any other way. At no point in the series is he treated like a person other than in S3 by Max and Max only. Everyone else views him in an objectified manner or as a bad guy to avoid.
There is a clear resemblance between Karen and Billy's mother which I'll further discuss in the season 3 section but this leads me to believe he is subconsciously or even consciously wanting positive attention from a motherly figure, he just doesn't know any other way to achieve that.
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However, it is very clear that flirting with Karen was an act as seen by the quite jarring juxtaposition of these two frames. The mask fully gone once by himself again. Meaning the only time we see him flirt with a women it isn't genuine at all.
Season 3
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Now, continuing off the last point, there is countless girls practically drooling over Billy at the pool but he only accepts this attention from Karen. This exemplifies my theory that he doesn't know how to gain positive affection other than through flirting and well sex, but he only wants this attention from an older women who resembles his mother. Except, again he doesn't know any other way of gaining it. He hasn't had a strong positive female influence in his life since he was 10 years old and by the looks of it every motherly figure has treated him as eye candy and not a teenager crying for help.
He has Heather who is very much his age and flirts with him. Yet, he acts as if she isn't even there and goes straight over to Karen to flirt. The way he acts with Karen should be the way he would act with girls his age, flirting and making advances but we do not see a single example of this.
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This part I find extremely interesting because it perfectly mirrors his interaction with Karen in season 2, except instead of dropping the mask he puts it on. The way he looks to his right as if she is sitting there as he practices what he is going to say to her is a clear example of his act coming into play as he prepares to meet up with her. His expression very similar to when he leaves the Wheeler home but it shifts to practice the way he is planning on talking to Karen. A complete reversal from their scene in season 2.
A rather reaching piece of symbolism could be that this also mirrors the way Neil cuts off Billy's date in season 2 as the Mindflayer is a literal representation of him being controlled by his father.
I also find it very interesting that he chooses to flirt with Karen very publicly and this might be reading a little too into it but it comes off as trying to uphold some sort of image. Another example of this is Max saying she hears Billy with girls in his room, something that sure is something he would do but when you put this with everything in this post it also comes off as him trying to prove something.
Another thing I find interesting is the way he acts around Karen, all smiles and friendly is very similar to that of the way he acts at dinner with Heather's parents. An act put on by the Mindflayer, just as he does when flirting with Karen. A mask used for underlying means and not what it shows on the surface.
Conclusion
This is all just my observation and he is not canonically gay or queer but the way he acts around women compared to Steve is a very interesting aspect to his character. If they truly intended for him to be this bad boy ladies man then they failed at presenting that.
One final thing, which I have posted about before is the fact Billy does not use homophobic language towards anyone. Even Steve does in season 1 so it would make sense for a teenage boy trying to upstage another teenage boy to use slurs and such to belittle and bully him. Except he doesn't.
I could write a full dissertation on Billy's implied queerness but a unorganised Tumblr post will have to do. Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.
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sometipsygnostalgic · 3 years
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This is the post I was working on that I accidentally sent privately before I’d finished it, LOL. Thanks @imorahtarm107 for sending it back after what must have been a confusing request. 
CONT: Rebecca Sugar  has spoken before about how much they dislike the statement by press that Bubbline only became “canon” in the finale, because Sugar and Muto were working on that pairing all the way back in s3, those characters have been canonically queer the whole time. It’s not some novelty thing that was canonized at the very end just because everyone else was doing it, or that the characters were only queer and dating if they got to kiss on the mouth! 
So yeah, I was a bit salty abouta  few things. I mostly thought that season 10 had been underwhelming compared to the spectacular seasons 7 to 9. Honestly, I still stand by that opinion because those seasons were really good. 
I felt that there were some other things missing from s10, but some of those got followed up either in the finale or in Obsidian, albeit less in depth than I’d have liked (primarily the fallout to Elements on the side of the Elementals themselves - I thought this was only appropriate considering what happened in Jellybeans Have Power. Are they not terrified of themselves? What are the long term consequences of that takeover, if any? It seems much bigger than the stuff with the Lich that barely anyone knew about.)  
HOW MY THOUGHTS HAVE CHANGED
Well, honestly? Just hearing more from the crew about the problems they faced on CN, not just the AT crew but also Rebecca Sugar with SU, it clears SO much up. 
Kent Osborne said to Ghostshrimp in a podcast that, even though they knew the show was ending, the team had no idea how many episodes they had left! Unlike the earlier seasons where CN just made block orders of 52 eps, it seems like from s6 onwards, things were far less stable. CN no longer ordered consistent season lengths. I’m not sure if they instead ordered blocks of eps, or if they gave the crew a flexible budget to work from, like Legend of Korra had. 
From my observations and theories, the reason seasons 7 to 9 have so many miniseries is possibly because Adam Muto was using those as a way to appeal to what CN wanted out of Adventure Time, and therefore, to prolong the lifespan of the show. It worked really well as both standalone miniseries and as episodes of the show. Olivia Olsen commented that there were many times they thought they were on the last season but it turned out they weren’t.  Adam Muto pitched the first eps of Distant Lands originally as miniseries to “extend” season 10. He was probably hoping he would be successful! 
Unfortunately, this time he was not successful, and Kent Osborne said that the crew were taken off guard by Come Along With Me being their last ep. When they started work on it, they thought it was a special in the middle of what could be a longer season. Kent even believed they would’ve had another 26 eps left. Adam had to beg for an extra couple of months so they could figure out how they could turn what would have been a gumbald special (whatever that would have entailed) into a finale for the entire show! 
Watching Come Along With Me with the knowledge that the crew were taken so off guard changes entirely what I think of it, because what originally seemed like lazy rush jobs - Simon turning back but not having any time as himself, the ep havingt so much going on, the conflict between Bonnie and Gumbald being a bit empty - now feels like the best possible outcome!! How on earth did they make Come Along With Me as good as it was?? They gave so many characters good moments, they had the whole thematic resolution to the land of Ooo and the themes of the world going in circles but nothing staying the exact same, they paid respects to Finn’s growth, and had the outro as the finale song while showing life goes on! 
Now that I’ve had so long to process exactly what happened in the ep, I greatly appreciate so many scenes that I previously overlooked or dismissed. The intro sections by Steve and Tom are brilliant at building up tension, which is part of why the second section feels so jarring. However, the dream sequence is so funny, with interesting imagery that it’s still nice to pick apart. Jake gets to be a good brother, Finn gets to battle Fern, and you have that chilling swapperoo epiphany with Gumbald and PB. The scene where they’re all on the beach is so cathartic. 
Then the second half of the special is just intense start to finish - everyone working together at the culmination of their character arcs, to take down GOLB! Until the power of a little robot’s song turns out to be the best tool of holding it back, and Betty performs the ultimate sacrifice for her mistakes with a smile on her face. So good.  The ending scenes with Finn and the treehouse, Shermy and Beth, the music hole, those are a thematic conclusion to the show. 
So, yeah, it did a great job. To an extent it’s better enjoyed if you pick it apart than if you watch it all at once, since it’s unfortunately not as hard-hitting as a lot of the single 11-minute eps of Adventure Time, including the previous season finale Three Buckets. However it absolutely does its job.
As for Bubbline, well...  Adam was trying to get the show extended, and if anyone looks at the twitter comment I currently have as my pinned post, then you’ll understand that there’s no way PB and Marcy could have kissed or made their relationship undeniably explicit unless it was the very end of the show :/ 
Adam said himself that he didn’t see it as much his fight to battle the decisions of execs as Rebecca did. And while that hurts, it makes sense - he was the owner of someone else’s show that is a smorgas board of a large number of people’s ideas, whereas Rebecca was the owner of their own show and felt that if they weren’t able to express themself in their own show, Sugar was willing to completely take down SU. And that actually happened - Steven Universe got cancelled immediately!!! Adam was not prepared to do that with AT, especally when CN were already talking about cancelling it. 
The good news is he didn’t give up on having PB and Marcy’s relationship be at least fairly clear, especially s7 onwards. I don’t know what happened behind the scenes, but it’s likely a number of the crew members taken on at that time found it important to press for Bubbline, and Adam decidedly agreed. If someone other than him had taken over as showrunner, or even if Pen stayed in charge (he supported it but didn’t want to be wrapped in controversy), I wonder if they’d have never interacted after What Was Missing :/ 
So yeah, with that in mind, as annoying as Marcy and Hunson still is, I can forgive the crew for doing a finale kiss. Rather, I can really thank Hanna K for pressing for one - she knows how important it was to at least confirm what people had expected, without a retroactive tumblr post ala Korrasami. 
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stem-and-chill · 3 years
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 Village Of Shadows & Yearning For Dark Shadows
– A Closer Look
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At the end of the game, it is clear that the folktale story “Village of Shadows” told in the very beginning was about Mother Miranda and the Four Lords all along. Even though the characters in the folktale are different in appearance and behaviour, the key features of the legend stay the same.
The girl in the folktale is presumed to be Rose, the four monsters she encounters represent the Four Lords and the Witch is supposed to be Mother Miranda. The mirror in which the girl has been trapped in by the Witch could represent the four flasks Rose’s body has been sealed in.
This gets confirmed by the revealing of the folktale’s ending, where the father shows up to fight the Witch and sacrifices his life to save his daughter. The concept artwork also confirms that the family in the folktale is based on the Winters family:
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However, there are certain things happening in the folktale that are incompatible with the actual role Rose has in the game’s story.
Rose and Ethan:
The problem is that Rose has a completely passive role in the story, since she is a baby and defenseless. She can’t think for herself and is in need of protection, she is the one that needs to be saved.
But the girl in the folktale is an active character who decides her actions. This is more similar to the active role of Ethan in the game’s story. Ethan meets and fights the Four Lords, in the same order as the girl meets the monsters in the folktale:
1. The Bat Lord = Alcina Dimitrescu
2. The Dark Weaver = Donna Beneviento
3. The Fish King = Salvatore Moreau
4. The Iron Steed = Karl Heisenberg
In the folktale, the Bat Lord, the Dark Weaver and the Fish King all willingly give gifts to the girl, in order to save her or to help her endure her harsh environment. The Iron Steed though, is the only one that does not give a gift to her.
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Instead, the girl apparently has become greedy and starts to take things for granted. She takes something from the Iron Steed what she thought was supposed to be another gift for her. This action in turn angers the Iron Steed:
Then an Iron Steed appeared, bearing a beautiful, golden gear.
The creature said nothing as the girl approached
and snatched what she thought was another gift.
The horse grew angry and summoned the other monsters.
  This is also testified by the Witch saying to the girl:
“Gifts we gave, but more you took,” she snarled. “So more, in turn, is due.”
  The narrator of the folktale and the Witch claim that the girl has become greedy. In the credit song “Yearning for Dark Shadows”, which is told from the girl’s POV, she confirms this:
Warm and full, I approached an Iron Steed adorned with gold,
and I grabbed what I thought was mine.
Mine, Mine, Mine!
  The repercussion and punishment of the girl’s actions and greediness is to be trapped inside a mirror. This could be taken as a classical lesson that folktales sometimes try to teach children: Do not stray away from your parents. Do not trust strangers. Do not assume that everyone you meet will give you something for free.
Assuming that the active role of the girl represents Ethan, then his interactions with the Lords is in contrast to girl’s interactions with the monsters. The first three Lords did not give Ethan a gift (Rose Jar) willingly, like their counterparts in the folktale do. The only one who gives Ethan a Rose Jar back willingly is Heisenberg (even though not without further work), whose counterpart in the folktale was the only one to not give a gift.
The gift giving of the Lords is reversed in the game’s story. The same goes for their behaviour, as their folktale counterparts seem to be worried about the girl’s condition, while in the actual story neither of them cares about Ethan or Rose.
The girl in the folktale represents on one hand the passive role of Rose’s situation in the game (getting trapped by the Witch in the mirror = getting trapped by Mother Miranda in jars). But on the other hand the girl also represents the active role of Ethan throughout the game’s story (meeting and fighting the Four Lords Lords in the same order; the reversed gift giving situation).
At the end of the folktale, Ethan’s active role of the girl is now given to the father’s role, who shows up to fight the Witch and sacrifices himself:
- But the Witch was strong and Father yelled, “Save our daughter!”
- Even now, the burnt forest is a grim reminder of Father’s sacrifice.
  Rose fully takes now over the role of the girl, who has been freed from the mirror (jars). This also means that the active role her father had before is now passed on to her. This is confirmed by the last sentence appearing:
- The father’s story is now done.
  In the “Yearning for Dark Shadows” song, new lines are added to the folktale story and to the POV of the girl:
Hello, my tears, because of you, I am who I am.
Hello, sorrow, because of you, I am who I am.
Long, long, ago I did not know who I was.
And in the deepness, I was lost and now...
These lines are fitting for both Rose and Ethan. The girl talks about her journey seen through her own eyes, which could allude to Ethan talking about how he met and fought the Four Lords. The lines of the chorus specifically could be an expression of his emotions, the moment he found out about his true nature (having died and turned into a Molded).
Because Miranda’s discovery of the Megamycete, her studies and experiments in the village are ultimately the source for everything that happened to Ethan during the Baker Family Incident and the reason why he is no longer a normal human.
From Rose’s POV the lines could allude to her feelings about her father and also about the troubles of her own origins, as it is shown in the post-credit scene.
  The gifts of the Four Lords:
However, there is an interesting note to make on the gift giving situation of the four monsters in the folktale. It is a big focus there and the turning point of the folktale’s story. The Iron Steed stands out compared to its companions, because it does not give a gift to the girl and is the one to cause her entrapment.
The same goes for Heisenberg’s role in the game’s story. Like the Iron Steed, his role in the game stands out from the other Lords, because he is the only one of them who reaches out to Ethan and honestly wants to team up with him. His backstory and motives are also different to them, since he is the only one to have seen through Miranda’s manipulation and schemes, and wants to be freed of her.
The other Lords are loyal to Miranda, fully believe in her and take actions to get her approval and love. Some time ago, Miranda approached the Four Lords, took them in as their children and infected them with the Cadou. This action is seen by Alcina, Donna and Moreau as a form of gift or recognition.
Alcina believes that she must be Miranda’s favourite child due to her generousness:
“She gave me this castle, obedient daughters, everlasting life, did she not?
Am I not her favorite? Am I not special?” - Alcina Dimitrescu’s Diary
  Donna is happy to be able to make her doll come to life, thanks to the Cadou infection and is excited about the effects of the flowers, that she probably received from Miranda first:
“Mistress Donna seems happy. It might be my imagination, but I feel like her doll Angie is even more lively than before. [...] We had a mighty fine conversation.
Something about receiving a gift of power from Mother? [...] I mentioned this to Donna and she seemed thrilled by it.” - Gardener’s Diary
  Moreau still utterly believes in Miranda and seems to see her as his actual mother. Even though he is ashamed of his mutated appearance, for which she is the source of, and despite himself noting that Miranda seems to not really care about him. But the thought of her abandoning him still frightens him:
“But if Mother does then... what will happen to me?
I'm not her real child... Would she abandon me?
No! I don't want that!” - Moreau’s Diary
  The only one who does not see his powers as a gift is Heisenberg:
“We’re merely a bunch of failed Cadou experiments to her. [...]
What a joke. I’ll never forgive her for what she did to me. [...]
Miranda just didn’t change my body, she took my dignity.” - Heisenberg’s Diary
  The four monsters in the folktale, who give a gift to the girl could be a representation of Mother Miranda, handing over the Cadou to the Four Lords and with that their future powers. Each Lord’s unique power is already depicted in the form of the folktale monster. The girl in that moment, could be a stand-in of each one of the Lords, thankfully accepting the gift:
- “So, she clothed herself and smiled with joy.”
- “So, the girl ate and smiled with joy once more.”
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Village of Shadows:
Then the Bat Lord appeared! He greeted her warmly and bit his own wing.
“Come, child. Quench your thirst,” he said.
So, she drank the thick, dark blood and smiled with joy.
  Yearning for Dark Shadows:
Within the darkness, cold and silent,
A voice called out to me:
“Hello, lost child, come quench your thirst and drink this pint, to bring you joy”.
  It’s interesting that the Bat Lord exactly suggests what Alcina has to do, in order to control her mutation and due to her blood disease. She needs to drink blood; the girl in the folktale does the same:
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The girl also gets called “child” by the monsters, which is what Mother Miranda calls the Four Lords.
  Again, the part that stands out is the role of the Iron Steed aka Heisenberg:
Village of Shadows:
Then an Iron Steed appeared, bearing a beautiful, golden gear.
The creature said nothing as the girl approached,
and snatched what she thought was another gift.
The horse grew angry and summoned the other monsters.
  Yearning for Dark Shadows:
Warm and full, I approached an Iron Steed adorned with gold,
and I grabbed what I thought was mine.
Mine, Mine, Mine!
As explained above, the girl has gotten greedy and now assumes something that was not yet given to her, which marks the first step into her entrapment. The growing greediness of the girl could be an allusion to Mother Miranda herself. Just like the girl, she has become greedier and more selfish over time.
In her pursuit, she took in Heisenberg as another one of her children and experimented on him. His anger and hate for her stem from this trauma and is the origin of his antagonizing side towards her. Just as the girl took something from the Iron Steed without asking, and how its anger towards her is the result of her action.
The line about the Iron Steed summoning the other monsters may be interpreted as a hint to Heisenberg’s Soldats that he creates in his factory to fight against Miranda’s lycans.
Ultimately, everything leads to Miranda still not stopping there, but taking away yet another child (Rose), tearing her body apart and sealing her in jars. She abandons an entire village that was dedicated to her, and people who were loyal to her, only to get what she is truly after. She also calls Rose “her daughter” throughout the game, and even at the end she believes that Rose is Eva Reborn.
  Conclusion:
The girl and the monsters of the folktale may represent more than just one side of the story. Or they can be a metaphor for more than just one character.
Everyone’s side of the story in the game is assembled in the characters of the folktale. Together they all represent the themes of “family” and “greed”.
I am most certainly overanalyzing things, as I do not believe myself that this much thought was put into the folktale story or the song lyrics.
But who knows...
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oh-hush-its-perfect · 3 years
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do you think there is any significance that alex's colour scheme is green and pink? or do you think rr went "u know what this character needs? to look like a watermelon"
((Prefacing this by saying that I'm giving RR way too much credit here, but you shouldn't take anything an author does for granted— even a serial author who often makes blunders and mistakes.))
A while ago I saw a (pretty unfair) assumption that RR made it green and pink because blue and pink would be too obvious, but that his intention was obviously to reinforce the gender binary by using two distinctly gendered colors for a character with two distinct genders. Of course, they did not phrase it so delicately. No offense to whoever made that post, but I disagree.
Although that may have had to do with it, there's other things to consider. One of them is color symbolism. And oh. OH. I ADORE symbolism— especially flower/plant symbolism (Language of the Flowers and all that jazz), seasonal symbolism (there's a reason that evermore is my second favorite Taylor Swift album), and color symbolism.
GREEN
Let's talk about green first. Green can symbolize a lot of different things, and there are a few that can be applied to Alex's character. The most obvious thing that green often represents is jealousy— hence the expression "green with envy." But envy is not really one of Alex's character traits. Feel free to argue with me if you think that Alex is significantly envious. Just because I couldn't think of substantial textual evidence for it does not mean that there isn't any.
One of the traits that Alex does have is wealth. Green is the color of American currency, and since both RR and Alex are American, it's safe to take an American lens while looking at this color. Alex's socioeconomic background effects her in a big way. I mentioned in a previous post that I think that Alex's fatal flaw is her sense of entitlement. That kind of entitlement is a quality not exclusive to but common among the upper class. However, her distance from her wealthy background enhances the sense of irony in the story, which is a VERY big thing that we NEVER talk about within the fandom.
This is kind of a little thing, but it's worth noting that when it comes to Valhalla and everything, Alex is "green"— as in new and inexperienced.
The color green also emphasizes Alex's connection with nature. This is one of the parts of Alex's character that the fandom consistently underplays, which is an absolute shame. I don't think I have to explain why the color green is associated with all things natural. Alex's association with nature provides a few key things to her character:
It makes her a more well-rounded character. Another criticism of Alex I believe is totally unfounded is that "being genderfluid is her only personality trait because it influences her philosophy on pottery, which is her only hobby." I'm probably going to make another post in, like, a few minutes about why I find that argument a little silly, but the primary problem is that pottery is not Alex's only hobby. She also loves camping, hiking, and ice wall climbing (I bet y'all forgot about that last one!)
It gives her a connection with Magnus. I mentioned in a previous post that Magnus and Alex are foils, but I neglected to bring up why that also makes for very good chemistry between them. Of course, yes, they have different goals and philosophy, which is what makes them foils in the first place. But foil relationships function best when the characters also share some traits. As it turns out, Alex and Magnus share several hobbies, and one of them is a mutual love for nature. This is a very unexplored thing in fics. Start doing it more plz.
Finally, and this one's kind of minor, but the Alex's green gives her a connection to Natalie. I know, whenever Alex and Natalie are compared, either in canon or in fandom, everybody kind goes "eww. Oedipus complex." Which is very fair and true. But they really do have a lot of similarites. The green of Alex's hair and clothes connects her to the green of Natalie's eyes. It's worth saying, too, that Alex has one amber eye— and amber is pretty close to dirty blonde, like Natalie's hair.
If I had more faith in RR, I might bring up the concept of intextuality and how Alex wearing green is an allusion to The Great Gatsby and how Alex is elusive to Magnus, just like Daisy is to Gatsby. But I don't.
PINK
To give credit to the person who wrote the post I mentioned at the beginning of this spiel, I do believe that part of the reason pink was used was to support femininity. Please keep in mind that Alex dresses in an androgynous way— not that there is an actually "gendered" way to dress, since gender as we perceive it is mostly made up. But Alex's existence as a transfemme person (which I will maintain until my dying day) means that pink has a certain significance to her. A lot of AMAB people embrace traditionally feminine things because if they don't, they will not be accepted as genuine women or genuine nonbinary folks, since masculine dress is unisex and kind of the default. So Alex wearing pink probably had something to do with her gender, yes. But that's not necessarily a bad thing, and it's certainly not an unrealistic thing.
Speaking of Alex's gender in relation to the color pink, let's talk about pink's use as a queer rights symbol. Alex was RR's first character to be introduced as a queer character from the start. This was not an insignificant thing, especially in the year of our Lord 2016 (which, despite popular belief, seriously had an entirely different landscape of queer rep. Though it's commonplace now to include genderqueer characters, it was exceptional at the time— especially by such an accomplished and mainstream children's author.).
Let's go back in time to Nazi Germany. Some of you might know this, but for those of you don't this transition must seem jarring. I swear there's a point. In addition to Jews, Romani individuals, people with disabilities, and Poles (among others), gay men were victimized by the Nazis. If you're wondering why lesbians weren't persecuted, it's because the Nazis didn't see them as a serious political threat, or as a threat to the perpetuation of the Aryan race since they assumed gay women could be forcefully impregnated if need be. Yeah, ew. Anyway, much like the Star of David being used to mark Jewish people, gay men were forced into concentration camps and forced to wear a pink triangle. Years later, after the gay population somewhat recovered, the pink triangle was reclaimed and used as a symbol for gay men. Some people who were not gay men used it, too, but that's somewhat controversial since it wasn't their symbol to reclaim. When the first pride flag was created, it had a pink stripe at the top to signify sex (this was later dropped so flags could be more easily produced). The pink triangle (inverted) was used during the AIDs epidemic with the caption "Silence=Death."
My point is that this is a very important color to queer folks. Having one of the first genderfluid characters in kid's lit wear pink...... I mean, it makes sense.
The last and final thing that pink represents, in this context and in general, is innocence. Granted, this kind of connects to feminitity since women (especially white women) are often infantalized and seen as innocent— which is another issue. In any case, the use of pink to represent innocence in Alex's dress is ironic. Alex has been robbed of her childhood innocence, first by her abusive parents, then by her life on the streets, and then by her eventual death at age sixteen. But then she actually regains her innocence. At the beginning of the—
Hold on. I just had a revelation. I'll make a post about it soon.
At the beginning of SotD, Alex is acting a little childish. The most obvious example is him jumping on Randolph's bed to "make noise." Alex's life is stable and relatively healthy for the first time in the years, and she experiences something that a lot of queer folks experience: a re-emergence of childhood at a late stage.
I imagine you didn't expect a post this long. I either make essay responses to asks or I add on one sentence and post it. Oops. Anyway, I believe the mcga fandom can be more creative than calling Alex a watermelon. Here are some other (kinda romantic) pink-and-green alternatives:
Roses
Dragonfruit
Grapefruit
Cherry blossom trees
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baepsaetan · 3 years
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Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) - Jungkook
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Summary: You miss him so much, but it seems like getting to spend time with Jungkook is going to take a Christmas miracle.
Ao3 Link: here 
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, side Namgi
Length: 17.6k
Rating: Mature
Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort
Warnings: Suspicions of cheating, misunderstandings, panic attack, suggestive content, swearing
A/N: Oooof I am finally done my Secret Santa fic for @thebtswritersclub​ and only - *checks calendar* - too late. So sorry this is so late @jjeongukkie​! It got so much longer than I had planned, and while I had a lot of fun writing it, I did not plan it quite well enough to finish in a timely fashion. Still, I hope you’re able to enjoy a last blast of Christmas vibes and fluff and angst as you slide into 2021! Thank you for your patience, and I hope you have an awesome new year! 
I always appreciate all likes, reblogs and comments! If you enjoy reading this, send me an ask! Happy belated New Year to everyone! 
---
“You’re not coming home now?”
Even as you say it, you’re vaguely surprised you manage to get the words out. Your lips are numb with shock and disappointment, and Jungkook’s wince on the screen of your phone just makes the feeling even more jarring. More painful.
“I’m sorry,” he says, half pleading and half desperate. “It’s just, this project is so important, and we need to have it ready for rollout…”
Throat tight, the fingers of your free hand pushing into your thigh, you adjust the phone with your other before saying thickly, “You said it would be a few hours in the morning, Jungkook. It’s – it’s Christmas."
"I know, I know, I just..."
He’s still speaking, quick and anxious words about necessity and pressure, and while you’re listening, you’re thinking about the cute lingerie sitting next to you on the bed. You'd been planning a little gift for him when he got home, and when he'd surprised you with a Facetime request, you'd pulled them out of the drawer, thinking it might be a fun little tease to give him a flash of the red and black set. Now, though...
"Hey, Y/N, I'm sorry. Really." Biting at his lip, Jungkook somehow manages to look a bit pitiful, even with the dress shirt he's wearing, ironed to sharp definition. The collar of the black shirt is open, sans a tie – he’d mentioned this morning no one cared about perfect business attire while working over Christmas – and the bare curve of his collarbone just adds to the disjointed clash of his clean outfit compared to his dejected expression.
The look has your throat closing even more, and you try to force a smile. You're well aware of how stressful the new position has been for your long time boyfriend, seen the casualties of the job; late night arrivals at the apartment, distracted eyes while making and eating dinner, forehead creased with frustration every time his phone vibrates, fatigue that throws him into sleep before you and he have really even had any time to talk together. He's also been hitting the gym almost religiously lately, another outlet for stress, and while you love Jungkook's enthusiasm for staying active, two sessions a day, every day, is excessive for him. It also eats into what little opportunity is left for you two to spend time with each other.
But he's doing his best. You know that. You're sure of it. And he promised it would get better, soon.
Soon. So, you swallow the disappointment, and the thing that’s more dangerous, simmering below it and too perilously close to anger. You hitch on a smile, and hope it doesn't look quite as forced as it feels. "I get it, Kookie. I'm just sorry you have to work for so long. Will you be back in time for dinner?"
He hesitates, teeth still sawing into his lower lip as he jiggles his head indecisively and the camera frame shifts a bit. "I'm not sure but – probably?" Your expression must sink just as much as your stomach does, despite your best efforts, because Jungkook immediately grimaces, his hands making desperate little waves of abortive denial. "I mean, I will. For sure. I'll be home, okay?"
When he flashes a thumbs up, deliberately and extravagantly enthusiastic, you can't help but smile, just a tentative lift of your lips. "Just – I love you, Kookie. I hope we get to spend some of Christmas together."
"We will! Promise." Both hands are up now, clenched into eager fists under his chin, and he really couldn't look more earnest if he tried.
The smile comes a bit easier now, and you nod, feeling some of that enthusiasm reaching through the screen. "Okay." Taking a deep breath, you try to redirect the conversation, too painfully aware that sulking isn't going to help at all. "Have you eaten lunch yet? Don't miss it just for your stupid boss!"
His grin is a small, toothy thing. "Nah, I haven't. I –"
"Jungkook!"
"I was saving room for when I got home!"
"Hah! You think there's going to be food on the table for you?" This bickering is so much easier than anything else that you might say, and you fall into it with something like relief.
His eyebrows fall, nose scrunching dramatically. "On the table? Y/N, that's so unsanitary."
"So unsanitary...?"
At your puzzled look, the grossed out expression whirls away, replaced with a smirk that's so abruptly suggestive that you find your breath catching. The way his voice drops, becoming a low hum, just concentrates the effect. "I was saving room for you, of course. But I'm not gonna eat you out on the table, baby."
You huff in scornful incredulity, but it can't take back the fact that you almost choked a second ago. It also doesn't really hide the way your cheeks have heated up into a patchy red, and besides, Jungkook knows you too well. If anything, his smirk just gets even sharper, and he adds playfully, "Unless you have it on your wish list. Then I might consider it."
Fucking around with Jungkook on any surface is absolutely on your wish list, but you're too proud and currently too annoyed to tell him that. "With my luck, it would break trying to hold up your inflated ego."
"My inflated muscles, you mean," he says, and flexes. Which is just so obnoxious, and also the long sleeve hides his arms too well to be truly impressive.
"Do that again when you get home," you order imperiously, and immediately he bows his head.
"You got it, boss," he agrees, and it's that easy, sudden switch, that flexibility, that's at least part of the reason you love him so much. Jungkook is what you need him to be; he's always been comfortable with that role, and your flighty ass needs him in so many different ways. He's never failed you in that respect. Well – not much. You need him with you right now, after all.
Want, you remind yourself sternly. You want him, that's all.
Abruptly he stiffens, turns slightly. You hear someone speaking off camera, high and strained, and Jungkook replies in a confident voice, talking about something you don't have enough information on to fully understand. They have a short conversation before Jungkook says, "I'll be over in a moment, okay?"
Then he's turning back to you, the by now familiar crease back between his eyes. "I've got to go now, Y/N. I'll get out of here as quickly as I can, okay?"
"Okay. Love you, Kookie. And try to eat something."
He nods, curter now, already turning away from the camera. "See you soon."
And you're left with a call ended screen and no reciprocal "love you". The flicker of warmth that had been blooming in your stomach wilts until there's nothing but a cold tightness left. For a few minutes you scroll aimlessly through your apps and messages, fingers restless for something the phone can't give. There are too many Merry Christmas posts, too many pics of friends and family having a good time together with gifts and food, and it grows the hurt in your gut. You and Jungkook had decided not to travel to any of your families' gatherings, to save some money this year after a big and expensive move, but that had been with the assumption that you would be able to take comfort in each other. Now...
Before too long, you give up, toss the phone aside. It lands next to the lingerie, and for the time being you leave them both alone, suddenly anxious to get away from the remote device and the painful reminder both. Your apartment isn't large, and it only takes you a few steps to leave the bedroom and head to the kitchen. You spend several moments milling around there, but you've already prepped everything for dinner tonight; the only thing left to do is the dishes from this morning's simple breakfast, eaten long after Jungkook had already bolted his and left. You clean them with desultory effort, trying not to remember that you and your boyfriend had planned to make something fancy together. The restless feeling doesn't leave with the dishes done, and you check, doublecheck and triplecheck everything before you're even halfway to feeling like this part of the apartment might not need anything else.
The living room, attached to the kitchen, has been decorated with reckless abandon. You've got at least an ounce of beauty aesthetic in your bones, and so does Jungkook, but for some reason when put together it equals a pound of ugly. The tinsel – red, gold, silver, and green – is flung about the room over pretty much any surface that will support it, along with red and green lights. The Christmas decorations are a hideous mash up of whatever you and Kookie have scrounged together from your families or garage sales or cheap outlet malls, plus a few modest clay additions of your own making. Several of the larger succulents and other plants are bowed morosely under the weight of ambitious ornaments, and the cactus on the windowsill looks positively garish with a star perched jauntily on its crown.
And you love it all so much.
Remembering the absolutely wild hour or so that you and Jungkook spent together decorating the apartment – such a rare and precious moment, since you moved here – makes your eyes start prickling with unbidden tears. Jungkook's staggering workload hadn't been so bad, while you were working; acting as a long distance design consultant for a large collection of homegrown companies tended to keep you busy, and you hadn't noticed his absence in a way that demanded you address it. Now, though, with Christmas an enforced break, since none of your suppliers or other contacts will reply to emails, your loneliness curls itself up in your chest, all barbs and agitation. You’re beginning to suspect that maybe the long absences have hurt you more than you thought.
One of your projects is on the coffee table, the spread of files and print outs of possible designs covering the worn surface. You've always preferred working with physical copies for the initial stages, moving to a tablet for more detailed work. You fling yourself onto the couch, telling yourself you might as well do something productive and hoping it might provide a distraction. That lasts for about half an hour, but it's a constant fight to keep your thoughts on the papers in front of you. The unhappiness is curdling your concentration, and more and more you're aware of a simmering resentment, sharp and insistent under your sadness.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. There'd been so little conflict about moving when Jungkook got the job offer. You were already working remotely, and while the pay increase at Jungkook's new company wasn't that much, it was the promise of what could come that made it nearly impossible to turn down. Saying goodbye to your family hadn't been an issue; you were already living in a different city than them, settled there after university. It had been harder for your boyfriend, but not impossible, and despite both of you leaving friends behind, you'd left with excitement. Hope. The future opening up before you two, together.
With a sigh, you shove the papers away. Leave the living room and take shelter on your bed. Send and reply to some Christmas messages. Make a face at the snap Jin sends you, a little blurry, his flushed cheeks matching the red reindeer antler headband he's wearing. He's holding the gifts you sent several weeks ago, an adorable pair of windup salt and pepper shakers shaped like teddy bears that can walk across the table, along with a few duck-shaped strainers. The caption makes you snort. I'm bearly making it without you, sis. I'm like a duck out of water. The next snap is clearer, of him and his two roommates, Jimin and Hoseok, all making heart signs. Thanks for the gifts! Hope you have a Merry Christmas!
He's in the same city as your parents, and you know he spent yesterday with them. Looks like he's having a great time with his roommates, too. Before the affection can sour, you save the photo and put your phone down again.
Kitchen, living room, bedroom. A discontented circuit you don't know how to break yourself out of. It feels so dumb to be making yourself even more miserable like this. You should phone one of the few friends who aren't with their families, or maybe your parents – hell, you could even phone Jin, he and his roommates would be sure to talk with you for an hour or two. But the thought of admitting you're alone, Jungkook having chosen work over spending the holiday with you, has your shame rising to scalding levels. The mere prospect of hearing and seeing everyone happy while you’re alone is another hurt, one that makes you curl up more tightly on the bed, clutching his pillow to your chest like it could fill up the hollowness settled in your lungs. Just like all of the sheets, it has his scent, light and flowery and soft, and it inspires an aching, cloying feeling that isn't really close enough to comfort, but you hold it tighter anyways.
The day drags on like that, swamps of self-pity drained by bursts of frantic activity. You clean up a bit more, work on a project, watch some TV. And then the rush of drowning loneliness fills up your lungs again and you're reduced to more aimless pining.
By three, with no texts from Jungkook and the need to start cooking soon looming large on the horizon, you send him a message. Hey. Gonna be home soon?
About half an hour later, you add a ? that still gets no immediate reply, and agitated tension has you wondering if you should call him. But what if you interrupt something? Get him in trouble? Worrying the thoughts ragged in your head, you resolve to give it just a little more time. Hell, for all you know, maybe he’s on his way home now.
At around four, your phone starts vibrating. Not a Facetime request, this time, but the name that pops up is welcome all the same. You answer almost breathlessly. "Hey Kookie!"
"Hey Y/N."
Right away you know this isn't the kind of phone call you were hoping for. Jungkook's voice is gravelly and tired, more like a bruise than a sound. Your shoulders slump, and you can't find it in yourself to say anything.
Your boyfriend tentatively breaks the silence a moment later. "Y/N, I'm sorry. Things are spilling over and I'm not going to be able to leave for awhile longer."
"..."
"Y/N? Are you -"
"How much longer?"
You can practically hear the wince. "I'm not sure yet."
"Jungkook..." But once again, the words catch in your throat, trapped by just how ungrateful and immature you feel.
"Look, Y/N, I was thinking. Maybe, if I come home too late, we can move dinner to tomorrow? I'm definitely going to be home all day, so we can have a nice breakfast and dinner and maybe open our presents and..." There's nothing in the quiet between you two. Certainly not your agreement. "I know I messed up and that this isn't fair to you, Y/N, and I'm sorry. Maybe – couldn't we just... reset? Start Christmas for real tomorrow?"
"Reset?" you repeat. "Like – what, like one of your video games?" The swampy depression is bubbling now, surging with the outrage that's been building all day.
"No, that's not -"
"We can't just reset, Jungkook. This isn't a level you get to just do over!"
"I know that, that isn't what I meant, you're -"
"I've been waiting here all day, Jungkook! By myself! Just waiting here for you! Do you get how bad that makes me feel?"
Jungkook sounds choked when he replies, though it's hard to tell if it's from guilt or anger. "I know I've made you wait, and I'm sorry. But the project -"
"I don't care about the fucking project! You should have told them to fuck off when they asked you to work!" You're full on shouting now, eyes stinging with tears, the sound tearing from your throat. "This has been the worst Christmas I've ever had, and you just want me to forget about it?"
His voice doesn't get louder. If anything, it gets quieter, smaller, coiling in on itself into a tight mass. "Do you think I'm having a good time? I've been working since 8:00 on Christmas day! It's not like I asked to come in, and they barely gave me a choice! I'm the junior here, do you think they would have been okay with me shrugging today off?"
"Today? Today?" Your laugh sounds too cruel, even to your own ears. "It hasn't just been today, Jungkook! This is just – more of the same! More ditching me – ditching us – for work. For some stupid reason I thought that you might consider Christmas an important enough day to knock it off for just one fucking second. But I guess not."
"I'm doing this for us! For – I told you how much work it was going to be! I thought you'd be okay with it!"
"And I thought there might be a tiny little exception made for Christmas. I guess we were both wrong!" you spit furiously.
There's a pause, heavy with the sound of both of your staggered breathing. You're too angry to regret what you've said – or at least, to acknowledge how much you regret it – and the bewildered hurt is travelling straight to your head, leaving you dazed and disconnected. Could Jungkook really have thought you were okay with what's been happening? Okay with being left alone for what feels like months now? How can you be listening to his tense exhales and still not understand the person on the other end of this call?
"I'm sorry, Y/N." Too polite, too gentle by far. Where the hell did he get off sounding like that? You know that's Jungkook – that he's far more likely to shutdown during an argument, to close off – but it leaves you clashing against air. No opposing force to clamp down on your own anger.
Heaving in a sharp exhale, shaking your head even though he can't see it, you say, "Do what you want, Jungkook. I'm not making the dinner if you're not leaving right now."
"Y/N..."
"Merry Christmas." You hang up.
It feels horrible. The phone is a dead weight in your hand, the anger an even heavier weight in your heart. You make a fractured noise, a frustrated scream that quickly trails into a barely checked sob. If you felt bad before talking to Jungkook, it's nothing compared to the mix of self-recriminations and resentment assaulting you now. He was just - why did he have to - why couldn't he -
Why did I have to say that to him?
You know Jungkook. How hard working he is, how dedicated, how keenly he wants to do well in front of and for others. He isn't working late because he doesn't want to see you; you're sure of that. It's just an inability to say no to his superiors. And... and you really haven't told him how unhappy you are with how often he's away.
But still. Couldn't he figure it out? Did you need to spell out your misery for him to get it? Is that really what your relationship amounts to?
Another aggravated exhale parts your lips, and you start pacing faster, needing the release. The next few hours stretch in front of you with wretched promise. What do you do now? Just wait by yourself until he gets home? Have to see his ashamed, hurt, averted eyes, the way he would creep into the apartment with a shield set between you and him? And then what? Go to bed with that block between you two, wake up and somehow try to pretend it doesn't exist tomorrow?
The tears flow down your cheeks despite your hands’ furious attempts to press them away and there's no way to stop them once they've begun. You cry, the way people often cry when they’re lonely, like silence is their only companion and they're afraid of scaring even that friend away. Quietly, then, no longer trying to hold the tears back but unable to give voice to the magnitude of your pain, either. The wet, soft sobbing quickly sends you back to bed, where you curl up once again, struggling for some kind of self-control.
God, you just miss him so much. Not today, not now, not – it's a void of the little things. The snicker when you berate him for being messy. His warm, gentle hands on your neck after a day hunched over a project, massaging out the pain. A little giggle as you watch a Ghibli film together. The shoving matches when you're out shopping and competing for who can get the most stuff on the list. The quick kisses and the slow kisses and the deep, hungry kisses that always lead to you waking up in his arms the next day, far later into the morning than usual.
You miss him so much, and you just pushed him away even more.
With a muffled sob you push your face further into the pillow, hating how pitiful this is, how much you're struggling to get your emotions under control. This is so – it's ridiculous, that's what it is. Childish. It's not as if you've lost Jungkook forever, and you haven't lost all of the things you love about him, either. It's not like you never goof off anymore, or cuddle, or talk. It's just – it's just that everything has been so much more frantic, hurried, and stressful since the move. It seems like there's never a moment where you can just sit together and love each other and think of nothing else.
The anger, remorse and dejection feed off each other, first growing and prolonging the wrenching feeling choking your throat, and you cry until time doesn’t mean much anymore. The grief is so horribly thick it’s like you can’t even breathe through it, let alone do anything but lie in bed. It goes on and on and – and then exhaustion overtakes your convulsive crying. Eventually, without ever actually being filled, the hollow ache contracts into a hard pit, the tears all forced out. Nothing else, though. The guilt and resentment and sadness are still there, dulled to a grey, insubstantial mass.
But at least you can think a bit. Listlessly, with all the colours drained out of it, but you can do more than sob. Wiping at your clogged nose and tear-streaked face, you find you can actually breathe, something of an improvement. You sit up, gently set the pillow back on Jungkook's side of the bed, giving the soft material one last swipe, trying to rid it of the wet evidence of your meltdown. No luck there, but it'll probably be dry before your boyfriend gets home.
If he gets home.
The bitterness of that thought is too tired to summon more tears from the hole in your heart or your head. You shake it away, more because you're just too drained to cling to the heavy emotion than because of some angelic impulse to forgive.
You know you have to do something. Anything. Literally anything will be better than just sitting here, waiting for Jungkook to come in, getting pricklier with each passing minute. With the Christmas dinner off the table, you suppose you could just pick up something to eat. Fast-food or something... have it ready for him to heat up when he was done work... like you're some trophy girlfriend.
Once again you need to stop yourself, biting back the wave of resentment. God, this isn't doing you any good, and it's so, so unfair to Jungkook. Yeah, maybe he shouldn't have agreed to work on Christmas. Maybe he should have been more sensitive to how far you've been drifting apart because of his long work hours. But at the same time, yelling at him over the phone wasn't the answer, either. He's probably having as bad of a time as you are, and with no private room to cry in, either. He'll be totally repressing the argument now, shoving it into a locker and subconsciously telling himself he's to blame, that he's a horrible boyfriend. Trying to listen to his coworkers and do his work with those harsh criticisms running low and dark through his head. That's how Jungkook is. He takes everything onto himself, especially if you give it to him.
Running your hands through your hair at the thought, pity clenching your chest, you abruptly get up. You and Jungkook definitely need to talk, and soon. But – but there's no reason to close out this shitty day with an even more horrible evening of strained silence and brittle rebuttals. Neither of you are particularly good at apologizing, even though you're both great at feeling guilty. You just don't have the words for it. So, unless you do something – make some gesture – this is just going to stretch into an awful, prolonged fight that isn't a fight at all, both of you retreating from each other.
It's unbearable. You can't stand it. So… you're going to do something about it.
Resolved, as resolved as you can be, you change out of your PJs. The weather's been quite warm, with no snow to speak of, so it's not like you need to bundle up much. After a moment of hesitation, you choose to snag the ugly Christmas sweater. It's got a comically drawn pink bunny on the front, absurdly muscular, with a red Santa hat settled firmly between its ears, and a myriad of red and green patterns crammed into the background. It was the rabbit's expression and the accompanying phrase that had got Jungkook to laughing until he was doubled over when he'd seen it at the mall last year. A challenging, almost intimidating grin is plastered on the rabbit's face, with the words This Bun Don't Want None in cheerfully bedazzled white underneath. Your boyfriend had quite literally begged to get two and wear them to the upcoming Christmas party, and he'd been too imploring for you to say no.
Slipping it on, with the accompanying memory of his hysterical amusement, crinkled nose, and bunny grin every time he caught a glimpse of you at the party, is the closest you've felt to peace in the last few hours.
You throw on some dark jeans and apply your makeup with a thoroughness that's a little much, given that you're not going anywhere for long. You don't care; it feels good to dim the red-rimmed eyes and splotchy cheeks your breakdown has gifted you, to cover it over with something prettier. Finishing with the last of the mascara, you grab your transit pass and head out, closing the door behind you with a finality that could almost be a goodbye.
The air outside is cool, a relief compared to the stuffy apartment, at least for now. You inhale deeply, the mild cold burning your sinuses and clearing your clogged head a bit. In a while, you might regret not having a warmer layer on, but for now it’s a relief to begin to walk, to stretch both your legs and your mind from the cramped defensiveness the apartment had been inspiring. This is – this is a good idea. You’re positive about it now, and can feel your shoulders loosening, steps becoming brisker.
If Jungkook can’t come to you – well, you’ll just go to him. At least for now.
Your building isn't too far from Jungkook's work; you only have a short train ride and a shorter bus ahead of you, according to your phone. You’ve been to his work three times before, but always in your shared car, and you walk with eyes fixed on your screen, calculating the time schedules. Part of you wants to text him, send a little olive branch to smooth the way and let him know you’re coming, but a larger part longs for something romantic and cute to happen today. Fast-food might not quite cut it, but surely a surprise visit might? You won’t stay long, won’t interrupt his work, but just to see his face, confused and then quietly grateful and loudly gleeful when he realizes why you’ve come –
It seems like that shouldn’t be too much to ask.
The trip flies by; you're too anxious in your own head to notice much outside of it, and besides, there aren't many people out and about today. Probably busy celebrating with their families.
You bite your lip at the thought, and violently yank your attention away.
At this rate, you should sign up for a game of Olympic tag. Surely nothing can run as agilely as you've been doing, avoiding every uncomfortable idea.
Jungkook's work is downtown, and there are tons of fast-food options nearby. You pick a smaller chain, KTown Fried Chicken, that both you and Jungkook enjoy. It's hard to convince yourself the cashier isn't judging you at least a little bit for your weird presence on Christmas night. Or maybe she's just eyeing the sweater. That’s another possibility.
With only one other person in line, the food comes quickly, and then you're on your way. Somewhere between stepping off the bus and smiling awkwardly at the girl behind the counter, it occurred to you that you didn't know when Jungkook was actually leaving work. He obviously didn't pack up right away after your argument – he would have made it home before you left – but that doesn't mean he isn't going to be heading home some time soon.
What if you show up and he's not there? What if he shows up and you're not there? What would he think? It is entirely too much to ask your wrung out brain to decide if it would be hilarious, infuriating, or some kind of karmic justice, but you do know that you'd rather just catch him at work with this peace offering. Much simpler that way, so you hurry your steps, snugging your sweater a little tighter around your frame as you do so.
You make it to the imposing office building of Projeck at around six, which is, as it happens, when two of Jungkook’s coworkers are leaving the building. Jungkook talks about them quite a bit – actually, gushes might be a better word – and you’d met them at the office Christmas party a couple of weeks ago. Namjoon, a tall, elegant man with blonde hair currently dressed in a black turtleneck, is one of the lead game designers, and he holds the door open for Yoongi, an audio engineer. The older of the two, in an oversized, comfy hoodie markedly at odds with his companion’s attire, slouches through with a tired smile of thanks.
Both had made a good impression on you at the party (it helped that they were obviously fond of Jungkook and appreciative of his talents) and you’re a little relieved to see them. Solved the awkwardness of trying to get into the building without letting Jungkook know you were here. Both pause at the sight of you, confusion creasing their features, before a grin flashes across Namjoon’s face.
“Hey, Y/N! Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas,” offers Yoongi as well, shoving his hands into the pockets of the hoodie he’s wearing. His eyes are on your chest, a little furrow across his brow, and it takes you a second to realize it’s the bunny again. After a moment his lips quirk, quiet amusement in the expression, and it makes it easier for you to reply brightly.
“Hey Namjoon, Yoongi. Merry Christmas! Are you heading home?” The prospect makes you a little excited. If they’re leaving, surely Jungkook won’t be far behind?
“Yup,” Namjoon agrees easily. His head tilts a little, scouring over you quizzically, before his gaze finds the bag in your hand. “Are you bringing something for Kookie?”
“Yeah… He, uh, was working so late I thought it might be nice to surprise him with some food.” You say it more like a confession, shoulders tight with the knowledge that this is making you sound way better than you actually are.
Namjoon whistles, eyes widening. “Wow, that’s really nice of you.”
“I mean, I haven’t done much today so –”
“He’s not here.” Yoongi states it so bluntly that it takes you a second to process what he said.
“…not here?” you ask, dismayed.
“Nah.” As your stunned eyes fall on him, giving him your full attention, he shrugs uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. He left like… twenty minutes ago?”
“He did?” Namjoon demands, and Yoongi just shrugs again.
Clutching at the paper bag that suddenly feels pathetic and cheap, a stupid idea, you say weakly, “Oh.” You don’t know what else to say, and both of the men’s expressions are soft with a sympathy that doesn’t make you feel any less stupid. “I guess… I’ll go home, then.”
Shifting again, a movement that has him brushing briefly against Namjoon, Yoongi trails a hand up to his ear. “Uh, I don’t think he was going home? Or at least, not right away?”
"What do you mean?" Maybe he'd mentioned he was stopping to pick up dinner, too? Maybe the fast-food you're lugging around is even more useless than you'd thought? Why hadn't you texted him? Why hadn't you -
"He was asking me about the fastest way to get to, uh, the Golden Closet Gallery. I think he was dropping by there first."
"Did - did he say why?"
"Meeting someone? Maybe? I dunno, he's been quiet almost all day, and he rushed away pretty quick."
You stare at him, tired and confused and more than a little guilty at the mention of Jungkook’s withdrawn state. What are you supposed to make of all this? You know about the Golden Closet Gallery – of course you do. You and he went a couple times, early on after your move here, both of you taking a lot of enjoyment from the art displays. But – it couldn't be open now, could it? And even if it were, why would he be going? Who could he possibly be meeting? Was he trying to take a late tour to calm down? Something else entirely? And – it didn't even matter. It wasn't as though you could reach him in a timely manner.
You were just going to have to go back home, and – you weren’t sure. Certainly not eat. The thought of trying to swallow any food right now, with your stomach tearing itself into pieces of shivering disappointment, is too much. Maybe Jungkook would already be at the apartment by the time you got there. Maybe you two could just – sit together. Just be together.
You’re not sure what’s sadder; how much happiness that simple picture gives you, or how sad you are that it makes you happy.
Trying to straighten your crumpled expression, you smile. "Well – thank you for letting me know. Guess I get all of this for myself." Your laugh as you heft the fast-food bag is a small and lost thing. "Sorry to keep you guys. I hope you have a good night!"
You've just begun to turn away, aching to end the conversation before you start bawling in front of these two men, when Namjoon clears his throat, his gaze shifting to Yoongi for a moment. The other man jerks a shoulder, bobs his head, and Namjoon looks back at you. You shuffle a little, desperate to be away but not wanting to be rude to two of the few people at this company who actually seem to be lessening Jungkook's stress.
"Did you take the bus to get here? We could give you a ride if you wanted."
Your throat tightens, and you're already shaking your head before you've even thoroughly processed the offer. "No, thanks, I don't want to take you out of your way."
"Well, if you wanted to drop by the Gallery and see if Kookie is there, it wouldn't be out of our way at all. We live pretty close by." Yoongi nods in agreement, his round face scrunching reassuringly with something that's not – quite – a smile.
When you waver, Namjoon says with studied nonchalance, "Even if he's not there, Yoongi and I don't have any plans for tonight. We don't mind dropping you off."
Still, the thought of inconveniencing them because of your stupid planning – not to mention that you don't know them that well – makes awkward turmoil roil in your stomach. Reading your reluctant expression and apparently hesitant to press you, Namjoon relents. “Well, if you’re sure…”
“Y/N. Come on. We’ll save you a lot of time, and I’m sure Jungkookie would be mad if we didn’t give you the ride. He already throws stuff at me when he thinks I’m not looking; I don’t want him to start chucking shit that actually hurts.” Yoongi’s eyebrow is lifted, an inviting gesture accompanied by a smile with just a hint of gums, and you can’t help but respond, a rueful chuckle that slips out at the picture his comment puts in your head.
Jungkook had mentioned there were a few people he liked to mess around with at work, but somehow it hadn’t crossed your mind that the quiet and slightly intimidating man would be one of his targets.
It decides you.
With a sharp dip of your head, you assent. "Okay, okay. Yeah, sure, and thank you guys. It means a lot to me, and, umm, if you need gas money or something..."
Namjoon throws back his head and utters a loud, barking laugh while Yoongi chuckles. "The company doesn't pay us enough, sure, but I think we can afford to cover this trip, Y/N. Besides, Jungkook's been working overtime so often, I feel like we practically owe you for stealing him so much."
That leaves a sour taste in your mouth that you're quick to swallow. Grinning weakly, you follow the two to their car, a compact grey Honda that's seen better days. Namjoon tries to insist you take shotgun next to Yoongi, but you're far too flustered at the thought of taking his spot and practically dive into the backseat. The first few minutes are a little strained, the fast-food bag on your lap rustling every time you move. Namjoon shuffles through a bunch of Christmas songs on his phone and Yoongi hums to them under his breath, seemingly unperturbed every time his companion switches mid-note.
Eventually, though, Namjoon finds a song he likes enough to leave on, and you find yourself drawn into a relaxed talk with them. Yoongi throws in a comment here and there, and together the two of them are so – easy. They add teasing remarks about each other without pausing for breath, Yoongi praises an arching plotline Namjoon had finished storyboarding today, and when a particularly loud Christmas jangle comes on, Namjoon's already changing it before Yoongi has time to huff in displeasure. You know they're roommates – more than that Jungkook hasn't said – and there's something uplifting about listening to their comfortable conversation.
They don't leave you out of it, either. You talk about your home city. You talk about how you met Jungkook in university, when you both arrived late to a morning Intro to Computer Animation course and were locked out of the classroom as a result. (You'd whispered furiously at each other about who should knock first until another hectic student had come charging up, bleary with sleep, and literally ran into the door when it failed to open. That had pretty much dissolved the tension between you two.) On a wave of laughter from that story, you tentatively ask how the job has been for Jungkook so far.
He's always so keen to hide his stress, so anxious not to talk about it and burden you. It seems like these two coworkers might be a good way to get a better picture, rather than the stitched together portrait you've gotten from the late nights and short, hesitant answers he gives you. At the thought, you pull out your phone to see if he’s sent you anything, but you have no texts.
The laughter dwindles, and you hear Yoongi rattling the spit in his mouth loudly enough to be heard over the music as he makes a lane change. In the other seat, Namjoon runs a hand through his blonde hair. Their silence immediately winds you up, and your hand, holding the phone, falls to the side. Had Jungkook not been telling you something? Was it worse than the late hours? Was –
"This isn't a great company," Yoongi states flatly, when it becomes obvious Namjoon is still groping for something more tactful to say. "They make you feel like you owe them your finger bones just because they pay a bit above average, and if those aren't showing from hitting the keyboards enough, you're some kind of failure."
"Yeah..." Namjoon sighs. "They tried that with me, but Yoongi's been there for several years, he's the best they've got in the audio department, and he made it clear that if I left, he would too. So they pulled back a little. Jungkook, though..."
"He doesn't say no. I've told him to – told him I'll throw in for him – but he's really afraid he's gonna get tossed. Can't blame him. People get fired too easily at Projeck." His voice is disinterested, but Yoongi makes another lane change, too abruptly this time, and that, plus his tight grip on the steering wheel, is a hint that he’s not quite as untouched as he sounds.
You press your back into the seat, trying to give yourself a semblance of a spine as your whole body threatens to fold. You'd had an inkling that Jungkook was maybe conceding too easily to upper management, but it sounds like he's having way more than a little pressure to work late put on him. This – actually this sounds toxic. Crippling. And Jungkook hadn't said anything about it.
And you barely asked.
Gnawing on your cheek, you lapse into silence, struggling for something to say.
Namjoon looks back, brows pulling together at whatever he sees on your face. "He's trying to get ahead of his workload, Y/N," he says gently. "I know after today he doesn't plan on going in until after New Years. He said he really wants to spend time with you."
"He was literally moping all over the office today," Yoongi adds. "Was surprised he didn't break his computer screen, he was sighing on it so much."
They're trying to make you feel better, reassure you that Jungkook had missed you and hated being separated on today of all days. They are accomplishing the exact opposite of what they intend, but that's not their fault. After all, they don't know what you'd said to Jungkook over the phone. Part of you wonders if they'd even have been willing to give you a ride if they did know. You're pretty sure you wouldn't have been if you were them.
You might also have tried to run yourself over on the way out of the parking lot, if you were them.
Before you can pull anything resembling words from the mire of rabid guilt curdling in your throat, the car pulls into the Gallery's small parking lot. It's almost surprising to find that there are two other vehicles already parked, and with the way the night is going, it's even more surprising that you recognize one of them as Jungkook's.
"He's here!" you cry out, relief and something heavier saturating your voice.
With a pleased exclamation, Namjoon gestures excitedly, smashing his hand into the roof of the car with a loud thud in the process.
"If you fucking dent my car..." Yoongi begins, but their mild bickering slips by you.
Your eyes are straining for some sign of Jungkook. The parking lot is empty of people, and the big sign above the building isn't lit up. However, it looks like there are some lights on in the Gallery, spilling out into the dimly lit lot, and as you fix your anxious gaze on the interior through the wide glass windows, you think you see the dim form of at least one person moving inside.
He’s here. You’re literally lightheaded with the joy of that certainty. This day has stretched out with excruciating discord, but now, everything is drawing tighter, shorter, focusing into a promise of reprieve. Finally, finally, something’s going right. The blissful expectation of getting to see Jungkook is almost enough for you to forget about everything else. For this moment, you think you’d forego everything Christmas – the gifts, the dinner, the decorations, everything – just to press your face against his chest and feel him holding you.
Hand on the door handle, you keep yourself from leaping out and dashing to the building only with difficulty. “Thank you so much for driving me. I almost can’t believe we caught him.”
“It’s Christmas, isn’t it?” Namjoon replies. “Escaping from Projeck before eight was our miracle – looks like this gets to be yours.”
The three of you chuckle at that, and then you’re opening the door. “I’ll let Jungkook know you helped me. Maybe he’ll stop throwing things.”
“And maybe Santa exists,” Yoongi grumbles, but there’s no annoyance in his rasping voice. “’Sides, that’s not what I want from him. Tell him to think about what we’ve said, ‘kay?”
Assuming he means saying no to the boss more, you nod, emotional with how lucky both you and Jungkook are to have run into such kind people. ‘Thank you’ doesn’t really cover the gratitude their thoughtfulness has inspired in you, and on top of everything else you’ve been through today, it’s almost enough to set you to crying again.
Namjoon seems to sense you’re at a loss for words; at any rate, he fills in the space. “If things change for the better in the new year, we’ll see more of you, Y/N. In the meantime, take care! I hope you and Jungkook have a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!”
Your voice comes out husky with gratitude. “Thank you. Thank you. I – Hope you both have a Merry Christmas, too! And a Happy New Year!”
Then you’re out of the car, shutting the door carefully behind you, your jaw tight to keep back the ridiculous tears. Yoongi and Namjoon wave, you wave back, and then Yoongi pulls away, leaving you standing and waving in the parking lot until the car turns and is gone. You take a couple of deep breaths, a smile easing the urge to cry. The excitement hasn’t dimmed at all, and, clutching the fast-food bag tightly, you pivot towards the Gallery, little shivers of anticipation darting under your skin.    
You practically run to the doors, and nearly commit the same mistake that student had, years ago, when they don’t open at your touch. The thought of smacking into them and announcing your presence to Jungkook that way has a low laugh bubbling in your throat. Yanking yourself to a halt, you try pulling and pushing on the doors, to no avail; they’re locked. You give them one last jerk, just to be sure, but they remain stubbornly shut. It’s not enough of a deterrent to dampen your spirits, though you find yourself bouncing impatiently on the soles of your feet, unable to get rid of the fizzy energy coursing through your veins.
You’re okay to wait outside until Jungkook comes out – it’s still not that cold out, and how much longer could he really be? – but nonetheless you start heading to the right, circling around the building, peering into the windows on the off-chance you can catch sight of your boyfriend and get his attention. The lights are off in some of the areas, but a few are flooded in a soft glow, and you skim your eyes over all that you can see. The more you look, the more confused you are about why Jungkook would be here. There are no other customers that you can see, so clearly, it’s not some sort of special Christmas showing. You literally can’t think of another reason he might be here. And hadn’t Yoongi said he was meeting someone?
It’s a mystery you can’t solve yourself, and you keep up your roaming examination. Most of the building has glass walls, except for an area near the back, and you can see inside fairly easily, where the lights are on. The Gallery is pretty typical, all open spaces and white, dismantlable walls, the better to more starkly exhibit the art pieces scattered across the wooden floors. There are paintings and sculptures, a few more abstract works, little plaques beside most of them –
But no Jungkook.
Lips pursued, you make your way further around, until you’re on the other side of the building, ears keen for any sound of a door opening. Wouldn’t that just be typical? While you’re wandering around out here, he comes out and leaves…
You should text him. A surprise visit is one thing, but at this point you being outside is going to be surprise enough. With that thought in mind, you begin fumbling in your pockets, awkwardly cradling the fast-food in one hand as you search for your phone. Not in your back jean pockets. A horrified panic starts building, and by the time you’ve clawed all the lint out of your sweater’s pockets, you’re certain. You don’t have it.
A memory, stilted and strained, of your hand falling to your side when you’d been talking about Jungkook’s stress in Yoongi’s car. In your anguish, it suddenly becomes clear to you; you’d dropped it. Forgotten to pick it up again. It was in the car!
For a second, you think that’s going to be the breaking point. The straw on the camel’s back. Your frustration peaks, eyes stinging, hands balled into fists as your excitement is drowned in self-reproach and an overwhelming sense of despair. Why were you so stupid? Fighting with Jungkook, sulking around the apartment, this dumb idea to get fast-food that’s definitely cold by now, and now – now this. You start walking again, barely looking, just planning to get to the front of the building and maybe collapse on the pavement. The crushing unhappiness doesn’t let up. Were you cursed? Was the world out to get you? Had you kicked a puppy in a past life? Why did you end up –
Your raging internal soliloquy is interrupted by movement within the Gallery. Someone is moving inside. Someone tall and muscular, with his black shirt rolled up to the elbows, long, shaggy black hair tucked behind his ears as he lounges against one of the white walls. He’s partially turned; you can only see half of his face, and even that not perfectly because of the narrow angle, but the sharp definition of his jaw is obvious, even from here. There’s something rectangular leaning against the wall next to him, wrapped in brown packaging paper, but you barely notice it. He’s talking to someone equally as tall, their back turned to you, but you barely register them.
Jungkook. It’s Jungkook!
It is not an exaggeration to say that for a second you doubt your eyes. Everything has just been so, so shitty today that you’d almost believe he’s a hologram or a figment of your imagination before buying that your flesh and blood boyfriend is standing some twenty feet away and that all it will take to end this horrible experience will be to catch his attention.
The person he’s talking to must say something funny, because his nose crinkles, lips rising as he tilts his head back and laughs. It’s just a giggle, quickly stifled, but it’s also a needle; the second you see that laugh, your bubble of disbelief pops with a force that’s almost audible. You can’t hear him, but at the same time, you can, fully aware of the way his snicker of amusement started out low and then pitched higher in tandem with his head being thrown back. The sound that isn’t a sound but a memory and a gift and a promise altogether gives rise to something hot and aching in your chest.
“Jungkook,” you say, barely aware of the name slipping between your tingling lips. There’s a rushing sensation in your ears, through your veins, like your blood has just remembered that it’s alive and is eager to prove it. The misery of moments and minutes and hours ago doesn’t disappear, but the sight of your boyfriend is enough to lift you out of it, to buoy you above the churning waves and set you, heart alight, in the clouds.    
“Jungkook!” you call, a shout this time, and start waving. He doesn’t hear or notice you, attention fixed on the man he’s with. You still don’t recognize whoever it is, but then again, with his back to you all you can see is the vibrantly patterned orange shirt stretching over his shoulders and a fluffy bit of brown hair. However, whatever he’s saying has sobered Jungkook; from what you can see of his face, his lips have tightened, and he shakes his head now and again.  
Who the hell is that, anyways? More vigorous gestures still don’t pull Jungkook’s gaze away from the other person. You know that any second now he’s going to look over and see you, break into a silly, bemused grin, rush over to the window, if only you could just– You’re about to tap on the glass when whoever it is abruptly steps closer to Jungkook. From what you can see, the guy’s large hands are moving passionately, persuasively, and a moment later he grabs Jungkook’s wrist, other hand rising up towards his face. You can’t quite tell what’s happening, except that Jungkook doesn’t shake him off or push him away. Doesn’t push him away, even when he leans closer, their faces inches apart, and the way they’re standing, you still don’t know who it is.  
Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind that his personal space is being invaded. There’s an attempt at a scowl on his lips, but you can tell it’s fake, a laugh on the verge of breaking through. You realize your hand is still raised to knock on the window, and let it fall. Brows pulling together, you try to make sense of what you’re seeing. The other man leans in even more, and when their lips are about to touch you wrench your eyes away.
For a long moment you stare at the pavement at your feet, mouth moving silently, like you’re searching for a word that fits what you just saw happen. It couldn’t be what you thought. Any second now, a reasonable explanation is going to come to mind. You’re going to find some frame of reference that makes this understandable. There’s going to be something that changes your point of view, makes reality into fiction. Because this can’t be true. This can’t be happening.
Jungkook could not have just kissed someone else in an empty art gallery while he thought you were waiting for him at home.  
Except that’s exactly what happened. You feel yourself change. You’re not a person anymore, not a human; you’re a wound, red and open and weeping. With a strangled sob, you suddenly find your feet moving to match your reeling thoughts, and you stagger away from the warmly lit building. The disbelief is like novocaine, numbing the screaming pain of the betrayal, but it’s not strong enough to force your gaze back through the window. Back to your boyfriend and whoever he’s with. Who knows what they’re doing now?  
Stopping yourself from crumpling to your knees and curling into a ball takes almost all of your strength, and you can’t keep yourself from doubling over slightly, one hand across your middle as you stumble blindly down the sidewalk and away from the Gallery. You press on your eyes to keep back the tears, cover your mouth to stifle the high, anguished gasps you’re making, but it does little to fool anyone, least of all yourself. Each sob rips from somewhere deep inside you, opens up the injury even further, until it feels like you might very well be tearing your chest apart.
He couldn’t have. He just– he couldn’t have. You can’t reconcile what you saw with what you know, but how can they be two different things? How can your boyfriend – loving, loyal, protective – exist in the same place as that man who hadn’t mentioned he was meeting anyone, who snuck around on Christmas day to see someone else? How can Jungkook be a cheater? How? How?
How could I not have known?
Bewildered, you scrabble through your memories like they’re a pack of spilled cards, struggling to piece them together, to pick them up and put them in order after they’ve fluttered to the ground in a chaos of white and black and red. At first you can’t find a hint. Can’t find a reason. There’s warmth and laughter and closeness in your memories together, with only spots of friction and hurt. What could the memory of you throwing tinsel around Jungkook’s neck and him parading around the living room teach you about this moment? What could the recollection of Jungkook’s arms wrapped around your shaking form when you’d received news of your grandmother’s passing tell you that you should have already known? What could the shadow of his quiet admiration as you showed him your most recent design reveal to your befuddled mind?
Was the staying late the only clue? The only ace card that trumped every other moment together? Or had there been others? Did you confuse his withdrawal from you as stress when it was really guilt? Had the silence been resentment? Boredom? Was he really going to the gym? Or into someone else’s arms? Did you do something wrong? Say something wrong?
Is this your fault?
You don’t know what to do, and as your steps slow, tears still going strong, you realize you barely know where you are. It’s fully dark now, and people are passing infrequently, with the streetlights only vaguely reassuring as they spill over faces. You haven’t taken any side streets, just followed this main road passed gas stations and boutiques, offices and fast-food joints, so you’re not lost, exactly. But you don’t have your phone. How are you supposed to get home?
Home. Suddenly the ache is more real. Present. Demanding. How are you supposed to go home when you thought home was Jungkook?
What do you say to him? What can you say? The thought of facing him has you trembling with something approaching nausea. Or maybe it’s the cold. It’s late enough now that the temperature is dropping, your heaving breath misting from your mouth, and you hadn’t planned to be out so late. The sweater is doing nothing to keep you warm. The sweater…
“Oh, God…” you mumble, your fingers digging into the tacky material, creasing the bunny that had made Jungkook so happy. “What do I do?”
What do I do?
---
With a grunt, Jungkook shoves Taehyung away using a hand against his stomach, the other man’s breath spilling across his face as he huffs in surprise. The push is strong enough to send Taehyung staggering back several paces, and he nearly trips and falls. Even as he catches himself, Jungkook is regretting the violence of the motion. It’s just – he’s feeling so vulnerable right now, so strained, and his friend acting like a clown doesn’t help matters.
Rubbing at his stomach, the other man complains reproachfully, “I was just trying to show you what to do!”
Jungkook sighs, rubbing at his face. “I don’t remember saying I needed help with how to make out,” he points out.
Taehyung throws up his hands. “You’ve missed the point!” he exclaims in disgust. “Didn’t you see the concern in my eyes? The tenderness? Dude, I was stroking your face. That’s how it’s done!”  
He snorts but the irritation is already fading, replaced by the amusement he’d had when Tae first started his shenanigans. Jungkook shakes his head, clearing his hair from his eyes, and relents a little. “Do you really think I should do it like that?” A beat. “Well, I mean, not like that. Better.”
With a grand gesture at their surroundings, Taehyung ignores the insult (or misses it, it’s hard to tell with Tae sometimes) and tells him, “You’re already doing better. You’ve got her a painting from an artist she loves.” He stops, points to himself. “Courtesy of your friendly neighbourhood art dealer, who sacrificed his Christmas night and drove all this way to make sure you got it. Plus, there’s the big news – she’s going to lose her mind when you tell her. Anyways, yeah, Koo, I’m pretty sure she’s gonna forgive you, even if you don’t use my sweet moves.”
“But I still don’t know what to say.” Jungkook hates how whiny his voice sounds, how uncertain. At the same time, it feels… good, to admit how he hasn’t got a clue how to make up with you. Or– That isn’t quite right. He does know, somewhere in his gut, in the palms of his hands, in the way his lips ache to skim along your skin. It’s just turning that feeling into words that’s struck him dumb.
“Dude, say what’s in your heart.” There is no one in the world but Taehyung who could say that earnestly and not sound like a weirdo, yet there the other man is, mouth set solemnly, somehow almost making sense. “You love her, you’re sorry for what’s happened, you want to hear her opinion, you’re working to make it better… Koo, you’ve told me all of that in the last half an hour. Now you just need to say it to her.”
“But what if…” He can’t even put it into words, the fear and uncertainty and guilt. Is he asking too much of you? Does he even deserve to ask anything? And what if… what if…
Reading him like a book, Taehyung smiles, simple and brilliant. “She’s going to forgive you. You’ve already forgiven her, so what else is there? Just the getting it done.” Still Jungkook hesitates, and his childhood friend says, a little more gently, “You’re a good person, Koo. I know that, and she does too. Talk to her. You won’t regret it.”
He hangs his head, slowly running his fingers against each other, exploring their lines like they might lead him to the courage he’s searching for. The call with you this afternoon had – shaken him. Although Jungkook had been aware – painfully so – that the two of you weren’t spending enough time together, he hadn’t realized how much it was harming you, and your anger had been both shocking and hurtful. Work had just sucked, so much, and to have you yelling at him…
But after the initial defensive reaction, he couldn’t get the thought of you sitting alone out of his head. It was never his intention to leave you for the whole day, but when he broached the subject of leaving with the boss, the look he got on his face, the way he said, “Well, of course, since I assume you’re done everything you were assigned,” had just been…
You still shouldn’t have left her. Jungkook knows that, knows equally that he didn’t have all that much of a choice if he didn’t want to get fired. It was the balancing act between those understandings that had his shoulders hunched, his cheek fair game to be chewed on. He was working on changing the situation – Namjoon and Yoongi were helping – but what if you thought it wasn’t fast enough? What if you decided you had enough? How can he bear to face you with that possibility on the horizon?
Taehyung gives him space, just hums under his breath and wanders a little, examining the various pieces on display. The Golden Closet Gallery isn’t one of his usual haunts – he tends to deal with artists further up north – but he’d come at Jungkook’s hesitant request, with an alacrity that still has Jungkook wondering what he’d done to deserve such a friend.  
He’d had his eye on your favourite local artist’s website, and when the painting went on sale, he’d known he had to get it. However, Projeck employees didn’t get paid until the 20th, and by the time he had enough money to comfortably purchase it, the artist wasn’t available on short notice and wouldn’t have been around to give it to him until after New Year’s Eve. Taehyung is well known in the community, though, and the painter had had no qualms letting him deal with establishing the price and then handing the piece over. It was practically a miracle, even if Tae had only been able to slip away from his family on Christmas afternoon.
Eventually, with Taehyung’s deep baritone hum a soothing presence, Jungkook tamps his fear down. Gets it to a manageable level. At the end of the day – Taehyung is right. He loves you, more than anything, more than he thought he could love anyone. That’s enough. It has to be enough.
He looks up, clears his throat. “Thanks, TaeTae,” Jungkook says quietly. “I really couldn’t have done this without you.”
His friend beams. “Nah, you couldn’t have. But what else are friends for, right?”
“I’ll get you an early release copy of Urban Anonymous. I think you’ll like it,” he promises. “But in the meantime… I think I’ve got someone to, uh, speak my heart to.” For half a second Jungkook thinks he’s about to die from the sheer cringe of saying that, a blush flooding across his cheeks, but at the same time – it feels kinda good to say. Goofily so, and very embarrassing, but still.
If anything, Taehyung’s beam intensifies. “Then my job here is done! I should hit the road anyways, I wanna get back home. I promised my parents I’d make them something nice for breakfast tomorrow.”
“Sure you don’t wanna stay over?” Glancing out the window, taking in how dark it is, Jungkook feels bad to be sending Taehyung out on the road at this time.
The other man snickers. “And get in the way of a beautiful thing? Nah. Besides, you know I like driving at night, and it’s only a little over three hours. I’ll be fine.”
“If you say so…” Jungkook snags the painting off of the floor, and together they walk through the Gallery, to the doors Taehyung had locked behind them when they entered. He unlocks them now, and they leave the aesthetically pleasing space, spilling out into the chilly night air. As Taehyung locks up, Jungkook glances around, breathing in deeply. Now that he’s resolved himself, he actually feels – a little better. Steadier, as though his world isn’t about to jerk out from underneath his feet.
Their cars are parked together, and once there Taehyung flings himself at Jungkook – scrupulously avoiding hitting into the painting, of course – and they hug, Jungkook staggering under the weight of his friend. The fond affection is a fluffy, sleepy thing, and, with one hand wrapped around Taehyung’s shoulders, Jungkook repeats, “Thank you, TaeTae.” It’s not eloquent, but with Taehyung, it’s enough.
They break apart, and Taehyung is grinning, a wide, boxy affair that has the nostalgia and warmth growing. “I’ve missed you, Koo. I’m glad we got to meet up. Tell Y/N that I miss her too, okay? And that I wish her a Merry Christmas.”
“We’ll have to get together again soon; Y/N will be disappointed she missed you. Although I know she loved your blue hair, so she’ll probably be sad you changed it.” It had even surprised Jungkook a bit when Tae had first ducked out of his car. The blue had just been so… riveting, and compared to that, the darker tone really changes how he looks. Not to mention that Tae went with a curlier style this time around.
Taehyung runs a hand through his fluffy brown locks before shrugging. “I got bored. Besides, I haven’t had brown in, what? Five years? It was a nice change.”
“It’s a good look. Almost as good as mine,” Jungkook teases, and Taehyung laughs in his deep, rolling way. “Okay. Merry Christmas, TaeTae. And have a Happy New Year! Don’t drive into a ditch, but if you do, call me.”
“I’ll get you to drag the car out by yourself,” Taehyung agrees amiably. “You look like you could manage it these days, and it’d save me the cost of the tow-truck.”
He gives Jungkook’s upper arm a cheerful poke, whistles in exaggerated admiration and then dodges Jungkook’s swipe at him. “See you soon, Koo! I’ll send you a text when I get home. Hopefully you’ll be too busy to read it until tomorrow.” And with a wicked little giggle, he gets into his car.
“Bye, Tae! See you! Thank you!” Jungkook waves until the other man has pulled away, blasting an R&B version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, and then he gets into his own car. Being with Tae is like inhaling a warmer version of helium, all uplift and expansion. It suddenly occurs to Jungkook, with a little jolt, that he’s excited to get home.
No matter how scared he is, scared of the future and scared of the conversation ahead, picturing you, thinking of walking into the apartment and seeing your face, is enough to drive a sharp spike of joy through his trepidation. You are the best thing in his life, and even with this fight, even with the hurt still nestled against his ribs, he wouldn’t have drawn it any other way.
It’s as he’s starting the car that he realizes he got a text from Namjoon and didn’t notice. Hey Jungkookie. Can you let Y/N know we have her phone? She left it in the car.
He stares at the words, waiting for the moment when they’ll make sense. When sense is not forthcoming despite scrambling his brains for what it could mean, Jungkook types out a reply, his fingers sweaty with sudden anxiety.  
what car? you saw Y/N today?
…Yeah? We dropped her off at the Gallery. Did she not mention it?
at the gallery?? when?
His heart is in his throat, the unease ricocheting to unprecedented levels, and Jungkook shoves open the car door, begins looking desperately around like you two could have possibly missed each other in the empty lot. When his phone vibrates thirty seconds later, he almost drops it in his haste to unlock it.
Thirty minutes ago. Around there. Is she not there? Is everything okay?
Jungkook rips his eyes from the screen to the empty parking lot and back to the screen, a bewildered trek that gives him no hints, and he doesn’t know the answer.
---
When you finally get back to the apartment, your hurt has become a cramped, flattened pressure at the back of your throat, and every breath scrapes painfully on the way out. It’s taken you close to two hours to get back. The first person you’d asked for directions had given you the wrong bus number, and while you’d realized it eventually, you’d been going the wrong way for a significant period of time.
Usually, you and Jungkook laugh at how bad your sense of direction is, but this is just more humiliation to stoke an already raging fire of shame. Your steps literally drag – you almost trip on your way up the stairs – and your fingers are tingling, almost numb. It’s gotten progressively colder as the night wore on, and by now the icy feeling has sunk deep into your bones, passed the hard exterior until its wrapped around the marrow.
You’d thought about checking into a hotel. You at least hadn’t forgotten or lost your credit card. There was something tempting about postponing the moment when you had to see Jungkook. But at the same time… If you didn’t answer your phone and didn’t come back, he might worry (would he worry?) and worse, he might get other people involved. What if he talked to Namjoon and Yoongi? Or phoned your parents or brother? You can’t stand the thought of having to explain to them what happened without any preparation – without even knowing what happened yourself.
So here you are, facing the door, empty-handed. You’d thrown out the fast-food at the first trashcan you’d come to after deciding to return. Would Jungkook be home by now? Had he finished with – was he done? Or was he still out there, still… You have to say it eventually, you try to tell yourself firmly, but your whole being cringes from making that acknowledgement, from putting it into syllables that might somehow trap it in reality. It’s not something you can manage tonight. You really don’t know what will be worse, him being inside or not, but you can’t just stand outside forever.
Forcing the key to the lock is no harder than flinging yourself off a cliff, and you approach it with the same amount of dry-mouth apprehension. Your hands are shaking so bad it’s hard to get them to align, but when you finally do, the click of the key sliding in is too loud, like its announcing that you’ve slunk back in shame to all of the apartment building inhabitants. A ridiculous notion, but you flinch anyways, heart seizing as your stiff fingers fumble with the little jiggle required to get the door to open. It takes you three attempts, your anxiety growing, and when you finally manage it, you’re so strung out with tension that you don’t hesitate. You just fling the door open and stumble through.
Straight into Jungkook.
For just a second, it feels like the magnetism you learned about in school. For just a second you fall into him like there’s nothing else in the world more natural than falling, and for just a second you press against his chest and feel dizzy with the light, clean scent that surrounds you. For just a second, as he catches your weight and closes his arms around you, calling your name with a voice of choked relief, you let yourself forget.
For just a second.
And then reality floods back in, a tainted torrent of regret and grief, strewn with rage and humiliation that drifts just below the surface. Though you’re so unsteady you can barely see, your lungs blocked and battling to heave in enough air just to keep breathing, you struggle to get away from him.
“Let go of me,” you say, dry and curt, and when his arms only tighten – more, you suspect, to keep you from pitching over than in denial of your demand – your efforts become harsher, more violent. Without room you can’t get any momentum to really push away from him, but your motions are frantic with the desire to do just that. There’s a panicked, screaming need to get away from him, to get enough space, like he’s the reason your lungs are crumpling in on themselves. “Let go, Jungkook!” you cry, your voice spiking up into shrillness, shattering the syllables of his name.
Like he’s been electrified, Jungkook jerks, his arms flying open. Instantly, let loose, you scramble away, down the entrance hallway. Just as off balance as he’d feared, you nearly trip over something long and cumbersome leaning against the wall that you’re too distraught to look at, and you have to windmill to catch your balance. A moment later you slam your shoulder into the corner of the wall as you try to take the turn too sharply. “Y/N, please, stop!” you hear, and wish you hadn’t. Barely registering the sharp throb in your shoulder, you catch yourself and keep going. Seconds later you’re in the bedroom, and you slam the door shut.
It doesn’t have a lock. Putting your back to the door, your air rattling hollowly out of your mouth – too fast, too shallow, but you can’t seem to calm down – you slide down the solid surface. Pulling your knees to your chest, you rest your forehead against them, eyes tightly closed, still gasping. Your eyes are aching, but you can’t cry against the immense pressure of overwhelming panic. There’s just a stinging sensation and a pulsing rigidity in your face, like each and every muscle there has chosen to stage a personal rebellion at the exact same time.
I can’t, I can’t, oh God, please, I can’t do this I can’t look at him I can’t I –
“Y/N?” Jungkook sounds like he’s directly on the other side of the door, but he makes no attempt to open it. “Baby, please, are you okay?”
His voice is so raw with worry that it’s red. The colour blooms across your closed eyelids, swathes of crimson and scarlet, and you imagine that it’s blood, trickling from the wound inside of you. You can barely tell where your back ends and the door begins, like any moment you might slide through it, or maybe through the floor, or through the ground, or maybe you’re already there, floating in nothing, and the red breaks into jagged pieces of black and orange and you still can’t breathe.
“Y/N? Can you talk to me? Just – say something, okay? Just so I know you’re okay.”
You can’t even manage that. Even if you wanted to. Even if he deserved to know. Throat moving convulsively, you choke out a sob but nothing else comes after. Just wheezing breaths, and you think you’re shaking but you’re somewhere outside of your skin so it’s hard to tell.
“Okay, okay. I’m – I’m gonna be here, okay? Right here. If you need me, I’m here.” Even through the hazy distortion swamping you, Jungkook’s clear, resonant voice comes through. Maybe it’s the concern, too heavy to be swept away by the raging panic. Maybe it’s the compassion, too anchored in you to be broken away by the tremendous pressure.
Or maybe you just know Jungkook’s voice so well that even your disassociation can’t make it unfamiliar to you.
“You’re doing good, Y/N. I’m still here. Just on the other side of this door.” A pause, a deep chasm of silence, and then he continues. “I think it’s a panic attack. I know it’s scary, but it’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”  
Later, you will be both annoyed and touched that Jungkook realized you were having a panic attack before you did. You’ve had a few throughout university, but none within the past year or two, and in the moment, you’d been too overwhelmed to identify what’s going on. The insight is helpful though, something to cling to and repeat to yourself. A grounding. It’s a panic attack. You’re going to be okay.  
Jungkook keeps talking, slow and steady. Nothing serious. Just words. You lean on his voice just as hard as you’re leaning on the door, and, slowly but surely, in a stretch of time that doesn’t mean anything to you, the constrictive bands across your chest loosen. You sink back into yourself. The tips of your fingers make sense again.
And you start crying.
“Y/N? How’re you feeling?”
Funny. Now, with your throat something other than a fist and pain, you still struggle to say anything. This is a softer kind of crying, not quite quiet, with little, hiccupping gasps as the tears run down your face. Possible to speak through. You just don’t know what to say to the man who just talked you, with kindness and compassion, through a panic attack. Who cheated on you. Your fingertips might make sense, but nothing else does.
“I – Y/N, baby, I get that you’re upset, but I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.” So anguished. Why did he have to sound like that? What right did he have?
You don’t know if it’s outrage or bewilderment or grief or pity that has you answering. Is it possible to have all of them in your mouth, gritty across your tongue? At any rate, your tone is as washed out as you feel, fatigued and grey. “I saw, Jungkook,” you whisper to your knees.
There’s silence on the other side of the door. Denial? Guilt? His reply is sluggish, thick with confusion. “You saw what?”
That makes you laugh – or not really, though the tortured sound was supposed to be one. “I was there. At the Golden Closet Gallery.” Will he really keep pretending after he knows you were there? Could he really be that brazen? The Jungkook you know couldn’t. There’s no way he could carry a lie like that, holding it effortlessly in the face of the truth. The Jungkook you know would blush, shuffle, collapse like a house of cards. He’s really not good at lying.
The answer isn’t a lie, but it confuses you all the same. “I know you were. Namjoon texted me to say he’d dropped you off, but – Where did you go? I – I drove around for like an hour trying to find you, and I couldn’t and when I got home you weren’t here…” The stream of words dies out like Jungkook can’t quite find any more to say, or maybe he’s embarrassed to say them.
When your reply isn’t forthcoming, confusion churning up anything you might spit out, he continues, more subdued. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to push you after what you just went through, I just– Are– How are you feeling? Was it – did something happen while you were getting here? Is that what took so long?” Another pause that you can’t fill, that stretches on and on as you try to understand what he’s talking about. How he can apologize for that and not the actual offense.  
Abruptly his voice bursts out. “Why won’t you talk to me!?” Tighter and more uncertain than you’ve heard tonight. Maybe more afraid than you’ve ever heard him.
It rips at your heart, and you realize in a swell of furious sorrow that you can’t stand to hear him sound like that. With a sudden, unstable surge, you get to your feet. Immediately your vision falters a bit, and you stagger, but catch yourself before you fall, clinging to the doorknob. You take a deep breath, fighting away the residual nausea and light-headedness. It clears within a few seconds, and your hand tightens on the knob as you take a deep breath. You can’t just leave him standing out there. You can’t just leave this incomprehensible thing hanging in the frame between your two lives.
You open the door. Slowly. Reluctantly. But you open it.
His long black hair is a wild mess, pushed back from his forehead, strands sticking up here and there. Even as you inch the door open, he runs his hand through it, ruffling it even further. His shirt is wrinkled, only partially tucked in, one sleeve rolled to bare his forearm, the other slipped down almost all the way. With his jaw so tense it’s a wonder he’s not cracking his teeth, Jungkook stares at you, lips set and pale. He doesn’t look like someone who committed a betrayal only hours before; if anything, the anguished panes of his face speak to a betrayal committed against him.
You’re so, so tired. Too tired to grasp at the outrage that wisps at the edge of your consciousness. Sniffling to clear your throat, you wipe at your face, trying make yourself a little less pitiful. “I was at the Gallery, Jungkook. I saw you,” you repeat because it’s still so hard to think of anything to say. When his expression doesn’t change – unless his eyebrows furrow, just a little, in innocent perplexity – you exhale. “I saw you with that guy. I saw you…”
“That guy? Who do you–” Jungkook breaks off, examines you more closely, like you’ve given him something to be concerned about. “Are you talking about Taehyung?”
The name is startling in its sheer unexpectedness. What the hell did Jungkook’s best friend have to do with any of this? “Taehyung? No, I’m not talking about Taehyung. I’m talking about that guy you were with tonight, in the Gallery. The guy you–” The words catch, but only for a second. You push them through with a surge of vehement exasperation for the blank expression he’s wearing. “The guy you kissed!”
In another place, the nonplused spasm across his face would have been hilarious. As it is, it just heightens your frustration, and the way he starts sputtering does absolutely nothing to reduce it. Even when he finally gets himself together and manages to talk, your aggravation is here to stay.
Right next to your mortification, as it happens.
“I didn’t– Y/N, that guy at the Gallery was Tae! Could you not tell it was him? I know he has brown hair now, but…” Jungkook shakes his head, flipping his own hair back. The tension seems to have slipped from his jaw, at least a little, and it might very well have crept into yours. “Is that– Is that what this whole thing has been about? You thought I did something with some random guy?” His lips twitch, and it doesn’t seem like he can decide if he wants to smile or scowl, and you feel the beginning of a flush heating up your face.
“It was Taehyung! And I didn’t kiss him. I mean, he tried to kiss me but it was just to–” Abruptly there’s a wash of faint scarlet crawling up his cheeks – cheeks that are rounder than they were a second ago, as he looks down and away, gaze slipping from you for the first time since you opened the door.
“Just to what?” you demand, the challenge extra belligerent to make up for the belated shock of suspended relief that hangs like smoke over your head. Too intangible for you to catch with your hands right now, though present enough to burn your throat with its sooty possibility.
He’s still looking at the ground, the blush becoming more prominent, and he begins to shift, the rustle of his dress pants loud in the fraught silence. “Um,” Jungkook begins awkwardly, head ticking to the side the way it always does when he regrets saying something or doubts his ability to do something. “It’s just, uh… he was helping me.”
“Helping you.”
Jungkook winces at your deadpan echo. “Yeah. I, um, asked him to…” Hands drumming on his thighs, drawing your attention for a second before you snap back to his flushed face, Jungkook bounces on the balls of his feet. “Uh… This is totally not how I planned this,” he mumbles, before hauling his gaze up to meet your own. “Hold on for a sec, okay? I just want to grab something.” For all that he’s definitely lightened a bit, the request is tinged with urgent appeal, his eyes scouring your face hesitantly like he’s afraid you’re going to retreat back to the room the moment he loses sight of you.
You’re not entirely sure that isn’t going to happen, but there have been so many emotional upheavals today you’ve just about exhausted your ability to feel more defensiveness. The more Jungkook speaks – the longer you’re in his presence – the more the sheer impossibility of what you’d believed is sinking in. He’s just – he’s Jungkook. Such a focal point of light and energy, such a reserve of easily offered comfort in a form so much more substantial than words. Somehow – maybe because of his prolonged absences, maybe because of your staggeringly challenging day – you’d managed to forget just what he is, but it’s in front of you now, demanding to be seen and acknowledged against the backdrop of what you’d thought. What had seemed so possible, even an hour ago, suddenly seems ridiculous when set next to the quiet solidity of him, of everything he is.
Wiping again at eyes that haven’t ceased watering yet, you nod.
He hurries away, down the short hallway and back towards the front entrance. You hear a thump, a muttered curse, a short dragging noise, and then Jungkook rounds the corner, hefting a rectangular object covered in brown paper. When you examine it more closely, you’re pretty sure it’s what you almost fell over when you ran inside. By the time he’s standing in front of you, the unwieldy item put on the ground and balanced against his knee, you’re pretty sure you know what it is by the shape and packaging alone.
And somewhere, in the back of your mind, you’re beginning to make connections. About Taehyung and the art gallery and the thing on the ground in front of you.
Jungkook just speeds up the process. “I was gonna wrap it in something nicer,” he offers apologetically, “but I was… Baby, I was so scared when Namjoon said you should have been at the gallery and I couldn’t find you and you weren’t at home. I thought – hell, I didn’t know what to think. That you got kidnapped or something.” He laughs, that shaky sound of amusement reserved for disasters that are absurd to imagine until they actually happen, and you shift, the heat crowding your face growing.
With a slight roll of his shoulders, he nudges the brown-wrapped object. “Anyways… Tae was helping me get this. For, um, you. Because I thought you might like it.” When you make no move to grab it, his eyebrows knit together. “Y/N? I swear, I didn’t do anything with anyone else. I wouldn’t do anything with–”
“I know.” You cut him off, unable to bear the imploring tone. It’s impossible to meet his beseeching gaze with the burden of your stupidity weighing on you, and you keep your eyes on your fingers. “I know you didn’t. Jungkook, I’m…” The winded feeling is still lingering, a hollowness in your lungs, and you have to inhale deeply just to remind yourself you can. Your anger at being abandoned by Jungkook for work died out so long ago it might as well be a relic, and with the betrayed grief swept so thoroughly out of your stomach, you’re left feeling strangely empty of anything but guilt.
“I’m so sorry. I – God, I’m so stupid. I saw you two and I thought – I assumed…” All of the logic that had founded your incorrect assumption is trickling through your grasping fingers, and you don’t know how to explain in a way that makes sense. In a way that justifies how you’d leapt to conclusions.
“I’m sorry,” you continue unevenly. “I just…”
“It’s okay.” When you keep staring down, Jungkook moves closer, reaches out, tentatively puts his arm around you. Light enough that you could break away if you wanted to. You don’t. You absolutely don’t.
The contact feels like an anchor, pulling you ever closer to reality. Making the trembling relief that much more real. The embarrassment, too. “Really Y/N, it’s – I know today has been…” After a moment he sighs, faint and low, shaking his head. “Today has sucked so bad, and Christmas isn’t supposed to be like this. I get why you thought what you did. After everything that’s been happening, after I’ve – I haven’t been around.”
“That doesn’t make it okay,” is your whispered protest, still unable to look at him. “I should have just talked to you.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that would have saved us both a bit of panic. But Y/N…” He waits, waits longer, until you’re forced to bring your eyes up. Meeting the dark softness of his gaze summons up more guilt, more regret – but also a clear, undeniable relief. Light at the end of a pitch black tunnel. You’re not out of the darkness, but with those sympathetic eyes on you, you have a sense of striving. Like taking a step, and then another, is possible. And might just be worth it.
“Y/N, baby, it’s not all your fault. It’s on me too.” His arms are resting lightly on your shoulders, fingers gently rubbing across the nape of your neck. “I haven’t talked with you enough. Kept just pushing it off, pretending it’s okay.” When he laughs softly, his breath tickles your face. “Not quite okay, hey?”
Your strained giggle isn’t heartfelt, and it fades quickly. “In the car, when Namjoon and Yoongi gave me a ride, they said – It seems like work has really, really sucked. More than I thought it did.” You lean back, just a bit, his arms a steady support against your back, and search his face. He’s biting his cheek, little lines skittering across his forehead. This close, the dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced, his skin sallower than it should be. He looks tired, but he doesn’t look away from you.
“Jungkook,” you say quietly. “How bad is it?”
Something flickers behind his eyes, a shadow of his normal reserve. You can feel the tightness in his body, the slight tremor that suggests he’s about to move away. The protective distance he clings to when he doesn’t want to worry you rears up – and you kill it with your hand, trembling only slightly as you tenderly trace your fingers along his temple, down his cheekbone, to cup the strong lines of his jaw. “Please, Jungkook. Tell me.”
The admission comes, fast and breathless, like he needs to get the words out before his teeth clench over them. “Bad. It’s bad. I hate it there.”
“Oh. I–” This is a different kind of pain from most of what you’ve been feeling today. More selfless, an anguish that extends and expands outward instead of curling up. “I’m so sorry. Kookie, I didn’t know. I should have but–”
“I didn’t tell you. How could you know?”
“I should have,” you insist.
His mouth quirks, a flash of teeth showing in mild amusement. “You can’t expect me to know you’re upset, but you should know when I am? I don’t think it works that way, babe.” When your mouth opens to object, Jungkook pulls you to his chest, cutting off your protest. You sink into his embrace, boneless and aching and grateful for the support, and if the gift’s hard frame weren’t digging into your leg, it would almost be perfect.
Perfect enough.
Pressing your face against his shirt, you feel him kiss the top of your head, arms still wrapped firmly around your shoulders. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he whispers.
“I’m glad you told me about work,” you mumble into his chest, reluctant to draw away. “If I told you to quit today, would you?” You’re not really joking, even though you know what the immediate answer has to be. You don’t have enough savings for one of you to quit without any other prospects lined up.
“Actually…” There’s something restrained in his voice, teetering on the edge of anxiety, or maybe excitement.
Shock has you looking up, resisting the comforting pull of his warmth for a moment. “You did!?”
“Oh, uh, no,” Jungkook says hurriedly, biting at his lower lip. Far from pleasure, the reassurance has disappointment funneling into your heart, funds be damned. To say that Jungkook’s job was the mother of all evils would probably be both unfair and exaggerated, but if it’s making him (and you) as miserable as he says...
“It sounds really bad, Jungkook. Killing yourself trying to please a bunch of jerks isn’t worth it.”
“You’re right.” He’s smiling now, smiling completely, showing off his teeth. “I don’t know if I can keep working for them for much longer, but… Ah, I was so scared to talk about this, and here you are, making it easy!” In his excitement, he’s playing with your hair, hands restless as they dance around. For once, the mystery isn’t extended. “Namjoon wants to break off. Start a new company, one that’s not an absolute dumpster fire to work for. He’s got several other people lined up who are happy to go, and Yoongi, obviously, and he asked me if I would join, too!”
“Is that why they gave me a ride?” Even as you demand it, you can feel yourself picking up on Jungkook’s energy. Not too much – the exhaustion sucking at your bones won’t allow it – but still, the lightness in your chest is a far cry from the sodden despair that’s taken up space there for most of the day.
Your boyfriend jiggles his head back and forth. “I dunno. Maybe. But I think mostly they did it because they’re pretty nice people.” He sounds a bit awed as he continues. “We can’t start for a couple more months – Namjoon said something about getting funding from some rich guy, Bang Sihyuk – but I still can’t believe they want me to come along. I mean, some of the people are, like, the best there are, Y/N.” You can almost see stars shining in his eyes.
Your response is firm, albeit playful. “So, it makes perfect sense that they’re having you join! Kookie, you’re gonna fit in so well, because you’re one of the best, too.” And honestly, you’re not even just shovelling empty praise; Jungkook is a truly talented artist in his medium.
His smile grows, eyes thinning with happiness. “And – you’re okay with it? There aren’t any guarantees that it will work out, with it being a new company.”
The trials of the day – mostly made from your own mind, though no less difficult for all of that – pass through your head. The loneliness and anger and sadness. All of it dimmed if not gone entirely, simply because here you are in his arms, speaking to each other instead of covering your hurt up. “Jungkook, one of the few guarantees I have of anything is that I love you, and you love me. If you’ll be happy working with Namjoon, with moving companies, then that’s all I need to hear.”
With a low hum, Jungkook sweeps you into another hug, and you’re glad to give up what space is between you two. Enfolded in his arms, listening to his steady heartbeat, is about the securest place you can imagine being. “I love you,” he says, voice thick with the truth of what he’s saying.
“I love you, too. Thank you. Thank you so much for everything.”
“I haven’t even given you your presents yet. Here –” And you’re breaking apart again – although not really, because you can still feel the connection as a thin warmth snuggled beneath your ribs – and Jungkook bends down, picks up the item sandwiched between you two. “Feel up to opening it?”
“The mystery gift that almost broke our relationship? Yeah, I’m up to it.”
Nose scrunching, he hands it over, and in your haste to see what’s inside, you make short work of the brown packaging. You can’t honestly say you’re surprised with the first glimpse of the mahogany frame – you expected a painting – but as more of the brown rips away, you feel shivery awe cascading down your spine. Once the painting is completely uncovered, you clutch it with sweaty palms, well aware of how precious a gift you’ve been given. You’d recognize the style anywhere.
“Jungkook,” you breathe, “oh my God, Jungkook, this is one of Ayeong’s, isn’t it? You – you actually got one of her paintings!?”
The quality is unmistakable. It’s a detailed piece, zoomed in on a small, dilapidated house. Almost everything about the house is bleak; the colours are all dull greys, blacks and browns, the porch is crumbling, and the shutters over the windows are chipped and cracked in places. However, right in the center of the house, taking up a good portion of the painting, is a door flung wide open, and the inside is flooded with warm colours and details in stark contrast with the exterior. There are people inside, crowded around the entrance, laughing and vibrant, and they dominate the doorway with their collective presence. One person, the only one who is looking outward, has her hand raised in greeting, as though inviting the viewers in.
“It’s called Homecoming.”
Soft and reverent, the name feels like an echo, a reverberation of your hopes and fears, and against a suddenly blurry vision, you smile. “It’s beautiful! It’s so, so beautiful. Thank you, Jungkook.”
“Do you feel like opening the rest of our presents? Or should we wait until tomorrow? We can grab your phone in the morning, too.”
Your fatigue drags at you, overwhelming even your hunger, but you try to rally, lifting your chin up. “What do you want to do? Do you want to open a present?”
His head tilts as he looks you over, a quick assessment. “I don’t have to. It’ll be nice to look forward to it later.” You’re absolutely positive he’s saying that for your sake, and it makes you just that closer to crying in gratitude for what’s in front of you.
Swallowing hard, you suggest, “How about tomorrow, then? We can…” You pause, scrambling for the memory, and then grin tiredly. “We can reset. Start over tomorrow.”
Jungkook’s laugh washes over you in cozy tides of amusement. “Now there’s a great idea. Whoever thought of it is a genius.”
With a chuckle, you carefully set the painting to the side, planning on figuring out where to put it tomorrow. As soon as it leaves your hands, Jungkook is there again, claiming the free territory. His grip firm and warm, he asks you, “Do you wanna eat? Or maybe nap for a bit?”
Your panic attacks always leave you drained, and the fact that Jungkook remembers is just another fond ache to add to the collection in your chest. “Nap,” you reply gratefully. “But… do you wanna lie down with me? Just for a bit?”
He couldn’t have looked any more solemn, or any more beautiful, if he’d tried. Squeezing your hand, he says, “I’d lie with you forever, if I could get away with it.” A second later the somber façade breaks apart, leaving a blush and a squirming, quietly giggly Jungkook.
With a snort, you pull him along with you, into the bedroom, a tightness across your chest that has everything to do with just how much you love the man next to you. “Now I know you were with Taehyung.” That makes you remember, and as you both walk to the bed, you glance at him, narrowing your eyes. “Are you going to tell me what Taehyung almost kissing you had to do with helping you out?”
As expected, his blush grows, painting his cheeks with a pale pink, but he surprises you by pulling you closer. With a hand under your chin, the other arm wrapped around your waist, he tilts your head up. Meeting your eyes with a tenderness that floods you with reassurance, he brushes a thumb along your lips, leaving a tingling trail. When it comes, his voice is hoarser than before, firmer. “He was trying to teach me something I already know.”
And then his mouth is on yours, steady and certain. Your lips soften against him, and time becomes languid, moving by the count of each breath that flutters against your lips. Jungkook isn’t demanding, not tonight; he kisses you sweetly, gently, conveying everything that he hasn’t managed to put into words. His body has a gravitational pull all its own, drawing you closer, and you skim your hands against his back, relishing the powerful certainty of his shoulders and the intimate confidence of his mouth on yours.
A second later, he sweeps you off your feet, and you gasp in surprise, breaking off the kiss. Jungkook places you on the bed, stands looking down at you with unmasked adoration. You open your arms, a wordless invitation that unwittingly bares the front of your top. His eyes fix on it, and if anything, they soften.
“I like your sweater,” he comments quietly, and as you laugh, he climbs onto the bed with you.
You take off the sweater in question, and your jeans and bra, easy and unhesitant in his presence. He follows suit, and then grabs your pajamas, placed as they always are at the foot of the bed. You wiggle into them, and for his part, Jungkook just throws on a pair of loose pants. The feeling of familiarity sinks into your system like a sigh of contentment, and when he pulls you against his chest, you snuggle into the embrace.
Wrapped in his arms, the smooth warmth of his skin pressed against your cheek, you let the drowsy bliss sweep over your body, and you relax, sinking against the sheets even as you curl closer to him.
Jungkook’s voice ripples against your mind, a soothing undercurrent taking you closer to sleep. “Merry Christmas, baby.”
“Merry Christmas,” you mumble. With one last faltering effort, you say, “Jungkook?”
“Hmm?” You feel the inquiring murmur just as much as you hear it, a smooth hum on your cheek.    
“Thank you for coming home.”
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