#i saw a post and someone said they would just tell their younger selves to just do it and die

[ambedoshowers]

I wish I could go back to my younger self and say “hey., yeah it’s all really shitty, I know you know that. But you know there’s a lot of good shit too., the stuff worth staying alive for, being there to see. There will still be a lot of bad shit., but you’ll find strength in each passing year. You’ll fumble and fall., and worry about this scary place your head is in catching up to you. But you’ll finally be in control., and that’s something worth staying alive for.”

#text #words #thoughts #i saw a post and someone said they would just tell their younger selves to just do it and die #and thats not right #this life is awful and wretched but love still seems to exist #flowers still sprout every spring #life SUCKS but then it doesnt and it does again #And we all deserve the gentle experience of being okay. #if only for a moment

[twopoppies]

My Policeman Screening - Part 1

Let me start by saying these are comments from a friend who attended tonight’s screening. I haven’t seen the film. I’m just going to give you their commentary as they gave it to me. This is their initial message to me when the came out of the theater:

The movie just finished. IT’S FUCKING GORGEOUS I’m like shaking, it was so beautiful. I’m SO PROUD!! That’s what a performance with a competent director and supportive costars looks like, holy shit!!!

And DAVID FUCKING DAWSON!! EMMA!! And they kept Julia 😭😭😭

Just know I heard people being asked by staff what they thought and EVERYONE around me said EXCELLENT.

This is LONG. So long I have to split it into at least two posts. I’ll put everything under the cut for those who don’t want to see spoilers. And when I say spoilers, I mean it. This is pretty much scene by scene.

Harry gets the first billing on his own. So it opens on a beautiful shot of the water then it his name and then the title of the movie. 🥺🥺🥺 A true leading man!! I was already so proud to see that. Then everyone else gets billing during the opening shots of Patrick arriving.

Okay, from what I can remember in order: It opens with the older Tom and Marion at their home just as Patrick is being brought in from his assisted living facility. Older Tom immediately takes their dog out for a walk while Marion adjusts everything for Patrick in his new room.

She places a picture of her and Tom from their wedding day on a dresser facing the bed so Patrick sees it when he first lies down. Cue the first scream from these girls in the audience who would not stop their constant talking and  giggling because we saw a picture of Harry and Emma posed. 🙄🙄🙄

So it does begin with the older versions of the three. The difference from the book is that Marion is not writing a letter. A box of Patrick’s old things gets delivered and his diary is included. So she actually finds the diary and that’s what initiates a lot of the flashback sequences.

Tom is off walking the dog, Marion is trying to make Patrick comfortable. And then the first flashback is the scene on the beach with where Harry was wearing the blue shorts and vest.

Marion is sitting with Sylvie when Tom comes over. Sylvie’s part is drastically cut from the novel, so you don’t see her getting pregnant or married. She doesn’t tell Marion (or hint rather) that he’s gay like she does in the novel. You only see her in that opening scene to introduce the younger selves and then she teases Marion and tells Tom she doesn’t know how to swim.

Then Sylvie runs off with her boyfriend but we never see her again, she’s just referenced one other time.

They changed this bit from the novel too. Tom tells Marion he’ll teach her but he takes her to a public swimming pool full of families. So it’s a very cute and light scene with up tempo 50s music included. There’s a brief slow mo shot of Tom swimming and Marion being infatuated of course, to imply she’s already falling for him. The parents from the novel are cut too, no scenes with them. When Marion and Tom meet on the beach, he tells her there he just got back from the service and he’s already a Policeman. And she’s already a teacher.

Like the novel, they get to know each other by the swimming lessons and Tom says she must love books if she’s a teacher. He asks her if she knows about Art, she says a bit and there’s a sweet scene where she takes him to a library and they just sit in silence while he’s earnestly reading about an artist he found out about.

He asks her if he’d like to go to a museum since he knows someone that she can talk to about art. Enter younger Patrick.

And omg…when I tell you David Dawson was perfect. EVERYONE was perfect, especially the younger trio. But when I tell you the younger three has the BEST chemistry. And David instantly captivated me. What a presence!

So this is where Tom introduces Marion and Patrick for the first time.

Patrick asks if they would like to attend a play and Marion says sure. But as they’re walking out, Marion says something about attending (I didn’t catch it) but Tom says they can decline Patrick’s offer if she really doesn’t want to go. Marion says no, they should go since she doesn’t want to hurt Patrick’s feelings.

So this is when they go on their first outing as a group. And omg, they’re all so lovely together. If I didn’t know what was coming, I could’ve just watched them be silly as sing together while in a bar. David and Emma both have BEAUTIFUL voices!!

There’s a montage of the three in a bar, then driving together into the countryside for a picnic. Harry sings along with them but (and maybe this was a deliberate decision by the filmmakers) but you hear David and Emma’s voices over his. This montage of their outings is when you start to see the dynamic play out. In the theater, they sit MARION, PATRICK, TOM In the bar, Tom and Patrick grab each other to sign before Marion joins them. In the car going into the country, she’s sitting in the back while Patrick is driving and Tom is sitting up from with him 😭😭😭

Between the younger flashbacks, it did go back to the present. Older Tom stays away from older Patrick completely. Older Marion gives older Patrick his bath/meals/pills and reads his diary (unbeknownst to him).

As in the novel, older Patrick’s his mobility and speech are severely impaired. Rupert Everett gave a wonderful but heartbreaking performance.

The first entry Marion reads is the night Tom went to Patrick’s apartment to have his portrait drawn. So this differed from the novel too!

Those photos we got of Harry in costume with a bag and smoking a cigarette sitting on the beach happen right before he goes to Patrick’s apartment for the drawing session. His uniform is in the bag and, like the novel, he tells Patrick he brought it in case he wants him to wear it for the portrait. Patrick says yes, tells him to change they start.

They talk briefly, Patrick asks why he wanted to be a policeman. Tom says to help people, to which Patrick replies that’s how he differs from other cops. Tom questions him and Patrick says he keeps his distance because not all are like that. Then Tom gets defensive, he sits up straighter and gets this very almost robotic look (or more militarized) and says something like “the police only seek out criminal offences and take appropriate actions when they’re committed”

Patrick offers him a drink right away to change the subject. And then it cuts to them relaxed, Patrick is wearing Tom’s jacket and hat pretending to be a cop and making Tom laugh.

Tom says Patrick will probably think he’s a drunkard for having 3 scotches but Patrick says cops deserve to have fun after they clock out.So they both relax on the couch. And start talking. And this is where my mind glitched Because Gina 🥺🥺🥺

Okay…I swear to god this happened and I KNOW it happened because Patrick has a line about it and this fan I talked to after (that I’m 100% sure was a larrie because she mentioned it too)…The fan mentioned it.

You know that clip of the boys that everyone credits with turning them into a larrie? When Louis pushes his arm back because Harry just uses two fingers or so to stroke his arm

Okay, so in the SCENE Tom and Patrick are sitting on the same couch but a little bit always from each other cause they’re manspreading but Tom has his arm outstretched towards Patrick. So Patrick is kind of talking and then Tom just delicately, WITH THOSE SAME TWO FINGERS I’VE WATCHED OVER AND OVER AGAIN just slightly strokes Patrick’s neck. And my mind immediately went blank because I’VE SEEN HARRY DO THAT BEFORE.

but when I tell you my heart rate sped up because it was so gentle like some of the touches between Louis and Harry used to be.

Wtf wtf wtf. IDK, IMM ACTUALLY ONLY PROCESSING IT NOW AS I’M TELLING IT TO YOU.

So of course Patrick pauses. And Tom pauses. Then Patrick just goes for it. So they don’t have multiple sittings for the drawing, they put the blowjob scene here!

Tom initially says he’s “not like that” and Patrick dismisses it and goes for the kiss. And it’s so sweet and tentative before he gets down on his knees in front. You get a shot from behind the couch/Tom’s head then you just get Harry’s beautiful acting as he falls apart.

SUCK MY DICK OLIVIA WILDE. We need more QUEER pleasure represented on our screens. But I digress. 🤣

Then it cuts to Tom getting dressed quickly after and saying they can’t do this, it’s wrong. Then Patrick says, rightfully so, “YOU TOUCHED ME FIRST!” But Tom can’t argue with that so he flees. and it cuts back to older Marion finishing up the diary entry.

Her behavior never changes towards Patrick, she even shares a cigarette with him even though he’s not supposed to have any and she keeps trying to get Tom to see him.

So from the first blow job scene, Tom returns to the apartment drunk, asking Patrick if he’d keep drawing him. Of course Patrick is totally thrown off given how they parted before. But he sees Tom is drunk and doesn’t want his neighbors to find them again (during the first visit, a neighbor does come out but Tom is introduced as a cousin)

Tom is of course struggling with everything. He yells a bit. And oh Harry was so great. I told [another friend], I actually was able to get lost and (despite the rude crowd) JUST see Tom. I was so heartbroken for him.

But of course Patrick understands and they actually have sex. And oh wow…once again, OLIVIA WILDE SUCK MY DICK. 

It wasn’t raunchy but it was EXPLICIT. You see them together a few times. In the bed and on the couch with Patrick riding him, OH MY GOD!! It was beautiful shot!! It was actual GAY sex and not some bullshit scene with Harry’s head under a skirt.

You do see Harry completely nude from behind. I would say a step further than Brokeback Mountain, no full frontal. David is gorgeous, his bf is also lucky. 😂

DWD is fucking child’s play in comparison. The gays stay winning.

I told [my friend] gay sex should always be shot this way. It was obviously well choreographed. The riding scene had beautiful vertical lines of their bodies shot from a small distanceIt wasn’t obscene, it was supposed to show them falling apart together and it was lovely.

They end up in bed together with Tom’s head on Patrick’s chest and that’s where Patrick says he had a previous partner that was killed for being gay. So they decide to obviously keep their relationship a secret.

It was so natural and Harry looked so amazing. I was so strangely proud, again just to see him be able to do that and recognize it as art and have it be a part of such an important story.

I know people are gonna ask you, so just to get it out there: Tom tops in every scene. When they’re in bed, Patrick does switch positions with him but just to kiss along his neck. And honestly, for a second I thought we were getting a rimming scene because Harry kind of arched his back 😳 But then it cut away. That DID make my eyebrows go up a bit but then no. Good form though, Styles. And congrats Louis, you lucky mfer.

OH! Before Tom goes back, there is a scene where Patrick visits the gay bar mentioned in the novel. He thinks he ruined his moment with Tom, so he goes to find someone else. They go to an alleyway and he’s about to blow the guy when two cops come. Patrick escapes but his guy is arrested.

Part 2

Part 3

#my policeman screening #my policeman #my policeman spoilers #spoilers #mine #my policeman screening report part 1

[ynscrazylife]

Spoilers

Not sure if you write for Melina from Black Widow but if you do could you please write a Melina x Reader where they are both locked in the cells in the red room and confess to each other and kiss

Destined to Lose | m.v fic

Summary: Melina recalls the love that she once shared with a Red Room agent years ago.

Authors Note: Thanks for requesting! Also, as the Red Room focuses on girls, the reader will be female.

Warning: Implications of some malnourishment. 

Request to be on a taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

MCU Masterlist #1 | MCU Masterlist #2 |  Main Masterlist

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

Ever since the Red Room had been stopped once and for all, there seemed to be the fragrance of calm in the air, washing over Mother Russia . . . or maybe it had just washed over Melina, Alexei, and Yelena, as everything had been shifted now. They were all free and had the opportunity to work on their shattered relationships - and to work on their shattered selves. Each one had coped in their own way, discovering and rediscovering their interests and who they were outside the Red Room, outside KGB.

One of the ways that Melina chose to heal was to take time for herself, and that included reading. More often than not, she’d be curled up in an armchair in the living room, entranced as her eyes swept over the ink printed on every page. The stories, whether they be fiction or non, always captivated her, and she soaked in every word.

That is the precise reason that despite being a highly trained and experienced spy, she didn’t notice that her youngest daughter was in the room until she piped up and spoke.

“Melina?”

Instantly the brunette was tugged from the faraway world she was in and her head snapped up, eyes holding a gaze of alarm for just a moment before they stilled. Melina took in Yelena’s state. The younger woman was standing confidently but her face told a different story. She was concentrating on something, Melina could tell from the way that her muscles were pulled, and there was an inner dialogue going on, troubling her.

“Yes, dear?” Melina said, carefully turning over the corner of the page and closing the book on her lap, as she could tell that this conversation wouldn’t be over in a minute.

“I had a question,” Yelena began, pausing for a moment and then sitting in the armchair across from her mother. She continued when she was comfortable. “-which you don’t have to answer.” She reeled in her worried gaze and made it more neutral.

Melina allowed her shoulders to slump into a relaxed posture and drew her bushy eyebrows together, her chin jutting down ever so slightly. “What is it?” She asked, the curiosity gnawing at her, since this wasn’t Yelena’s typical behavior.

Yelena seemed to be collecting her thoughts and, when she was finished, spoke in a delicate manner. “When I was looking at the Red Room’s files that Natasha got, I . . . I came across yours. It had said that you had been through the Red Room five times and . . . It mentioned someone named Y/N Y/L/N? I was wondering-” she cut herself off abruptly when she saw the solemn and serious look on her mother’s face.

The moment she heard that name, it struck something inside Melina. The memory, the feelings, it all came hurtling back with a force that had been absent for years. Y/N.

Y/N was the name that caused her stomach to twist and turn as the wound was ripped open. Y/N was the name that put a smile on her lips through the tears and reminded her how far she came when she was sad. Y/N was the name she thought of as a battle cry when she jumped into a fight against those Red Room agents. Y/N was the name she focussed on, like one would stare at a point on the wall to keep focus, as she got through the hardest times in her life, motivated her to push through with all her might.

With all those thoughts running through Melina’s head, she finally looked up, met Yelena’s gaze with her own, and parted her lips to tell her a story.

Melina had long since given up keeping track of the days at this point. There was no use, for by this time the days had all blurred into one. She could only differentiate the day and the night because every night is when someone with a deep frown on their face would walk in and give her a tray of food, and every morning was when someone else would arrive and take said tray away. She had barely moved from the position she sat in: back against the chain wall that seperated her cell and the one right next to hers and her knees drawn to her chest. She’d tune in to any sound she could hear and fixate.

She had been thrown into this cell because of her attempt to escape the Red Room. It wouldn’t be the first time she tried to escape, nor would it be the first time she sat in this cell, but it was the first time that she had gotten as far as she did, since she had help.

Melina could only wonder why she was here and Y/N wasn’t, and those wonderings always ended up with her conjuring thoughts and ideas that frightened her.

She ended up having the endless questions crawling at the back of her mind come to a halt when she heard pounding footsteps one day. Despite being in a tired haze, Melina snapped right out of it and became alert, watching and waiting with anticipation as their footsteps got closer, and closer, and closer.

The person - or people - belonging to those footsteps came into sight and Melina couldn’t stop the gasp before it escaped her lips when she saw what was happening.

A man, a Red Room agent, was practically dragging Y/N who was thrashing about, doing her best to put up a fight, but ultimately losing it when he carelessly tossed her into the cell next to Melina’s, locked the door, and walked away.

Only after his receding footsteps could be heard no more did Y/N look up from her tears, only for her eyes to widen and for her to lurch towards the chain wall, fingers grasping around it, when she laid eyes on Melina. Melina did the same and, after a little struggle, they managed to hold hands in a steel grip through the chain.

“Mel,” Y/N breathed, but her hoarse voice caused her to cough.

“Y/N,” Melina whispered, tightening her grip and scooting as close to the chain wall - as close to Y/N - as she could. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

Y/N let out a shaky sigh, alarming Melina, and rested her forehead against the chain. “I wasn’t thrown into the cell immediately because you’ve been through the Red Room five times now, but I haven’t. They wanted to train me more and they did their best, but when I kept on fighting them they decided to put me in here.” she answered tiredly.

Melina thought this over and let out a sigh of her own, but this was a sigh of relief. She was glad that she no longer had to worry about Y/N and thankful that Y/N was with her so she could make sure that nothing bad would happen to her.

After a couple moments of the silence beginning to creep in again, Melina decided that she needed to tell Y/N something. “I have to tell you something, love.”

Y/N looked up, a beautiful glint in her eyes telling that she was intrigued. God, Melina had missed seeing that look on her face.

“Don’t feel pressured to respond, just, after I’ve been away from you, I really, really have to say this: I . . . I love you,” Melina confessed, bravely meeting Y/N’s gaze.

Y/N blinked, but that glint did not go away. In fact, it seemed to get bigger, making the smile on her lips reach her eyes, and she squeezed Melina’s hands as best she could.

“I love you, too.”

Those four words were probably the softest words she had ever spoken, but they were beyond true.

Melina leaned forward and Y/N after a moment did too. They did their best and managed to meet each other with a kiss. The two cherished it - the kiss was sweet and simple and not over-the-top. Perfect. They each leaned back.

Then, the silence came again, but this time, to Melina, it was more comfortable.

“I have something to tell you, also”

Melina looked up, expecting the smile to still be on Y/N’s face, but it was faltering. She tilted her head to the side.

“I insisted to them that you not be put through the Red Room a sixth time. I’m not sure if they’re going to do anything, but I wanted to stop what they were doing to you and-”

“That you did. They’ve listened.”

Both looked up to see a Red Room agent standing outside Melina’s cell. He unlocked it and she instantly scurried back, but couldn’t do anything to prevent him from grabbing her and yanking her up. “Y/N!” She yelled as she was half-dragged, half-carried away.

Y/N sat up, banging on the chain. Tears started streaming down her face. It was happening far too fast. “MELINA!” She yelled. “I’M SORRY!”

There was fear in her voice. Oh, god, what had she done?

Melina paused for a moment, eyes focussed on Y/N as they went down the hall. She then said calmly, but with a firmness, “Don’t be!”

“And that was the last time I saw her,” Melina concluded her story, not meeting Yelena’s eyes, but with tears threatening to spill.

Permanent Taglist: @natasharomanoffismywife @hehehehannahthings @paulawand @blackbat2020 @cerberus-spectre @marrymemcgrath @celestialbarnes @kathryndimitrescu @snipyloulou @big-galaxy-chaos @cc13723things @ycfwmalise14 @unexpected-character  (could not tag)  @passionswift

MCU Taglist: @stephanieromanoff @summerlovingbaby @ineffablebean @okkulta @procrastinatingsapphictrash @prettysbliss @caseyfish @sarahp-stan @thewidowsghost @basiclesbianbitch @mycosmicparadise @kidswhofightmonsters @xtraordinaryfangrl @peggycarter-steverogers @username23345 @ima-gi--na-tion @yori-nakajima @hi-i-1 @mmmmokdok @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @mads-weasley @tenaciousperfectionunknown @afraid-to-be-me @lilclownx @acertainredhead @natromanoffxox @lilymurphy03 @thanossexual @avengersz-biotch @kozumekoi  @mjaudrey @un-name-d @leyannrae @buckyandstevesbitch

#melina vostokoff x reader #melina vostokoff #melina vostokova #black widow angst #black widow x reader #black widow x you #black widow x y/n #black widow imagine #black widow family #black widow fic #black widow fanfiction #black widow movie #black widow mcu #mcu requests #mcu reader insert #yelena Belova #marvel request #marvel reader insert #marvel self insert #marvel femslash #femslash fanfic #wlw fanfic #send me requests #mcu #marvel #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #marvel angst #marvel fanfiction

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

not allowed iv, m | jjk, myg

pairing(s): est. poly relationship – jungkook x reader x yoongi

summary: Your boyfriends woke up and chose violence. Excuse me, Jeon Jungkook, Min Yoongi? Do you really think you can post one after another on Twitter, send the world into heart palpitations, and not expect your girlfriend to do something about it? Hmm?!

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of the pandemic; reader and Yoongi have giant heart eyes whenever they see each other; feels and fluff; smut (fem reader, dirty talk, nipple play, f and m-receiving oral, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, m-masturbation, double penetration/spit roasting); idol!BTS

that’s right JK posted his blue hair and i absolutely lost it part of ‘not allowed’ series, but can be read alone. basic summary: your boyfriend asked JJK to fuck you, then again, and then they decided to make this a thing; based on real time.

--

Your boyfriends woke up today and chose violence.

Everything was fine. You were on your lunch break, sitting in your kitchen, knowing you would have to get back to work soon. A quick meal and scrub of the dishes left you with you a few minutes to check your phone. You didn’t get many messages throughout the day and you preferred it that way. You took a moment to scroll through social media.

Only to choke a little seeing Jeon Jungkook, the Golden Maknae of BTS, reveal his dark blue locks to the world in the middle of the damn day. Did you almost drop your phone? Yes. Did you not because it was the special edition BTS S20+? Also, yes. The TinyTan SUGA phone case would have protected it anyway, but… still.

You placed your phone aside and went back to your computer, ready to attend work again.

Not quite composed, but it was just a picture, just a picture, just a picture…

Except you knew what Jungkook looked like naked and that wasn’t helping.

Three hours later, you snuck a glance at your phone only to be attacked by the cutest human being in the world, Min Yoongi, SUGA of BTS, sometimes Agust D, all the time lil meow meow because, holy shit, why the fuck was this man so cute? Those damn cheeks. Those eyes. Fuck, you loved his eye shape. And his pretty lips. Damnnit, why couldn’t you kiss him right now?

They’re trying to kill you and ARMY all at once. 

You’re convinced.

You rubbed your temples and took a deep breath.

It is only a coincidence. It doesn’t involve you. They’re only being their usual adorable, attractive selves and giving a gift to the fans. You weren’t delusional. It was their job to do things like this. You knew this and you were used to it. You’ve seen Yoongi say all kinds of things in V-LIVEs and you always thought it was funny. Lately, he hadn’t been responding to them much though. As for Jungkook, well.

Everyone in the world wanted Jungkook, including you, so could you blame the world? No.

Jungkook tried to tell you before that he was shy and you recalled all those see-through shirts he’d worn on stage. All those ab reveals. Hmm, you weren’t fooled.

“I wanted to make sure you were looking at me, noona,” Jungkook had teased you, hooking his arms around your waist. “I had to get your attention somehow.”

Yeah, yeah, your attention and millions of other people.

It made you laugh, until he became your boyfriend, and now it made you choke on air like every other human being who saw him looking that good. Before you had the safety of giving your full attention to Yoongi. Yoongi had always been your priority and you wanted to make sure he felt that way.

Little by little.

Jungkook grew up.

And became harder and harder to ignore.

Even more difficult when Yoongi gave him the apartment key and told him to fuck you in his stead.

You heard your phone ping. You checked your messages, saving your work in the process.

That will teach you to post such sexy pictures.

You twitched. Excuse me? What was Jungkook talking about? Your personal, private Instagram was for expressing your – sometimes eccentric – fashion sense. Was he referring to the images you posted for Valentine’s Day, the ones with the white vinyl coat, red stockings, and sky-high red heels? Hmph. You couldn’t even see your face in those. Actually, you deliberately cut off most of your face in all of your pictures. The most you showed were your lips, always painted to match your outfit. You didn’t want anyone to recognize you, even by happenstance.

Made taking pictures much easier, since you never had to do eye makeup or worry about accidentally making ugly faces.

It was private now, but it wasn’t before, and the only reason you privated it was because you started dating Yoongi. You still wanted it use it as an outlet though, so you left it as is, with your follower count unchanging. It wasn’t that many people to begin with and you were pretty sure a lot of the accounts were bots.

In any case, sometimes you felt like being creative and dressing up, thus you did so on Instagram. You couldn’t dress like that when you went to visit Yoongi. Ah, and now Jungkook too. To be honest, you loved fashion and trying on different looks, but it wasn’t possible unless you were alone. And you were alone a lot, with no one but strangers to appreciate (or be confused by) it.

Might as well take a picture, right?

And if you could tease Yoongi a little, at least from a distance, that was even better.

You forgot Jungkook also followed you now though. 

Dammit. 

Had the photos been sexy? Sure. Provocative, lots of leg, almost a peek of ass but not quite. Red lips to stand out against the white. If the coat was black, it would have been more traditionally fetishist, but that's why you had picked shiny white vinyl. Brighter for the cute holiday. 

Who are you kidding? You wore it to provoke Yoongi.

He texted you after you posted it. Usually, he said things along the lines of, pretty, cute, you look crazy, I like it. Only sometimes did he say...

what the fuck

You had asked him if he liked your post today. 

I'm not trying to pop a boner in the middle of practice, control yourself woman.

Maybe don't post such cute selfies then, you had thought. Then your phone pinged again. 

Send a picture with the coat open. Jungkook wants to see. 

Oh, so now that the maknae was involved, he was going to pin things on the younger one. Two can play at this game. You sent the photo to Jungkook first. You knew that if the situation was reversed, Yoongi would have done the same. Jungkook's reaction had been hilarious.

Noona?! WHAT???

And then a slew of head exploding emojis.

Yoongi had been agitated until you finally sent him the picture too. It had been a fun incident.

Until your boyfriends woke up today and chose violence.

Dammit. 

You stared at blue-haired Jungkook and 'Blue and Grey' Yoongi from the MTV Unplugged performance. 

This just wasn’t allowed. 

-

This visit had a purpose, but then you saw Min Yoongi standing in the hallway waiting for you, wearing an olive-green shirt, hands in the pockets of his black sweatpants, small smile on his lips. Purring your name lovingly after you closed the door, and you realized you missed him so very much, his lovely dark brown eyes and dark hair, and then you were suddenly in his arms and he was hugging you. 

With both arms. 

Yoongi was recovering well and he still couldn't do strenuous activity yet, but he was hugging you with both arms and you wanted to cry because it was so nice to have them both around you. You could've been cool and collected, yet somehow both you and Yoongi had the same idea to first hug and breathe in each other, his fresh, woodsy scent strongly invading your nose and his soft cheek against yours.

"You smell different."

"Do you like it?" you mumbled into his neck, kissing it lightly. 

"Mhm."

You thought it had worn off by now, but the new perfume you had purchased lingered far longer than you imagined, clinging to your hair. Warm spiced sweetness with a hint of sharp smoke. Yoongi inhaled deeply beside you.

"You should wear more perfume," he murmured, hands kneading your waist.

"Someone might notice."

"Nah, your taste similar enough to mine."

He was taking off your coat and you were stepping out of your shoes, being pulled deeper into the apartment, and now his kisses were yours, soft and light, every one saying, I missed you, I want you, I love you. There no need for words when it was Min Yoongi. Fingers tapping down your waist, pulling your oversized black shirt up and over your head. 

"Excuse me?"

You pooped your head out to see Yoongi staring at your chest, jaw dropped and eyes wide. Oh, right. You had been so occupied with hugs and kisses that you almost forgot. Your shirt fluttered to the floor, forgotten.

You smirked. 

"Surprise."

Yoongi made a face at you. Somewhere between angry, aroused, and shock. Good. Serves you right for posting such a cute selfie.

The front door opened. 

Both of you instantly moved, you sliding behind him and into the bedroom, Yoongi standing in front of you, masking your frame. The discarded shirt and jacket could be explained away – that's why you wore oversized men's clothes, usually in Yoongi's preferred color palette.

"Hyung?"

Oh, whew. Actually, wait. No, this was danger. 

"Ah, Jungkookie."

Yoongi placed his hand on your arm and you popped your head over the corner once you heard the door close. Yup. A swift shake of dark blue locks, white sweatshirt and loose black sweatpants, and that mischievous smirk with a wrinkle of his nose. 

Danger.

"Hey, noona!"

Damnnit, planning for two is hard! You couldn't just go put your shirt on and do the grand reveal again. Yoongi grasped your upper arm with his right hand and yanked you from the doorframe. You squeaked, body stumbling into Jungkook’s view.

"Did you plan this?" Yoongi asked with a cocked brow. 

Jungkook's eyes went wide. 

"Uh... no, but I like where this is going," Jungkook replied, smirk growing. 

The black lace bra stood out against your skin, strappy and elegant, molding to the swells of your breasts and the curve downward to your waist, matching the garter belt that disappeared into the black jeans you were wearing. You didn't usually wear lingerie. It wasn't practical and if you accidentally left something behind... it wasn't worth the risk. Yoongi and you took every precaution to not fuck this up. 

Therefore, you only wore lingerie on your private Instagram. 

Only showing little flashes, never the whole picture. And, really, you wore it in your photos to mess with them. It made you feel nice too, so it was a win-win. This set was familiar to Yoongi and Jungkook because you had worn the red version in the original Valentine’s Day themed photos. 

Again, you didn't usually wear lingerie, but Jungkook and Yoongi couldn't just post pictures on Twitter back-to-back, two-shot you, and not expect a damn reaction. That kind of shit wasn't tolerated! On top of all that, you had to wait and get properly tested before getting here. This pandemic extended your frustrations. So, yes, fuck it, you wore the damn lingerie that made you feel the sexiest. Even if your jeans were still on, you knew you looked good. 

No one had to tell you. You checked in the mirror before you left. 

"Is this your response to my text a couple days ago?" Jungkook teased, kicking off his shoes and bounding over to you two. His dark blue hair shimmered in the light, like a night sky covered with stars, smile pure and naughty at the same time, lighting up his whole face. 

Fuck you for being hot, Jeon Jungkook!

You leaned back against Yoongi, crossing your arms under your breasts, pressing them together. Jungkook grinned, the mole underneath his lower lip winking at you. 

"Something like that," you coolly replied. Shit, there was an edge to your voice. Hopefully neither Yoongi or Jungkook picked that up.

"Hmm..." 

Jungkook pursed his lips, the tip of his pink tongue sticking out the side. Ack. You had to look away. You turned and bumped your lace-covered tits against Yoongi's chest. His dark brown orbs flickered to your breasts, sly smile on his lips. 

"This is your fault too, by the way."

Yoongi raised his eyebrows, amused. "What do you mean?"

You dropped your hands, surveying him suspiciously. "You think I don't know? Posting right after Jungkook? That's not allowed! You know what that does to me."

Yoongi leaned forward. Your breath caught in your throat, heart beating fast all of a sudden. You backed up, right into Jungkook's chest. Uh oh. Yoongi hummed, black hair shadowing his face, devious sparkle in those dangerous eyes, his voice a raspy, purring drawl. 

"What does it do to you?"

Your hand fell back to brace yourself and Jungkook's fingers wrapped around your wrist, stroking your skin. You felt him shift behind you and then his lips were on your ear, whispering in his silvery voice. 

"Yeah, noona. Tell us.” His grip on your wrist tightened, squeezing lightly, asserting his presence behind you. “Or you can show us."

...

!!!

How dare they tag team you? First, they visually attack you – and millions of other ARMY – in the middle of the workday, and now this, Yoongi closing in, kissing you once more, deeper, hungrier, with dark intent, smirking against your lips as Jungkook took both your hands, ghosting his long fingers over yours. You whimpered into Yoongi's mouth, body tensing, Jungkook pressing himself into your back, breath against your hair. 

"You smell different," he murmured.

You couldn't reply. Yoongi was sucking on your tongue, making you whine. 

"Warm, sweet, and spicy."

Yoongi released you and you gasped for air, bucking into Jungkook's crotch. "I bought it last week... thought it smelled nice..."

Jungkook nuzzled your hair. "I like it. Makes me horny."

You laughed a little, turning your hands around in his to lace your fingers together. He held your hands firmly, grinding his crotch into your ass. You could already feel his arousal through your jeans.

"Sounds dangerous," you mused. 

"It is," Yoongi chuckled. "But you should keep wearing it anyway. You smell good."

Heat rose to your cheeks. Then you realized your jeans were already undone, being daintily pushed down by deft hands and an amused expression, Yoongi crouching to pull them along. Bit by bit, revealing the matching garter belt, the high-cut black lace panties that framed your thighs, and lace-topped sheer stockings, all the straps emphasizing your softness, sinking into your thighs and ass.

"Fuck..." Yoongi breathed, running his fingertips over the delicate fabric, touch so light against your skin, dancing up your knee. "You're so fucking beautiful."

He looked up at you, eyes so dark they seemed black, playful smirk on those perfect pink lips. Thump. You felt Jungkook pull your arms back and press them to his sides. You grabbed fistfuls of Jungkook’s shirt, staring down at Yoongi advancing between your legs, his smirk growing wider and more teasing, lovely voice low and husky, deep with arousal.

"What's the matter?" Yoongi purred. "Cat got your tongue?"

Your body tensed in anticipation, Jungkook's hands crawling around your sides, one tattooed, one not, fingers hovering over your now trembling chest. Looking down at Yoongi's smug expression, tongue flicking out and teasing you. Reminding you how good he was and how long you'd been waiting. 

Fuck you for being hot, Min Yoongi!

"Don't overexert yourself..." you breathed.

A sculpted brow lifted. 

"I have help now," he reminded you and Jungkook's hands sank into your barely-covered breasts. 

"Fuck..." Jungkook hissed into your ear, running his palms over your nipples, listening to your gasps as Yoongi dived between your thighs, hot tongue sliding against the lace. "Missed these tits so fucking much." His lips on your ear, growling your name, that dominant edge to his silvery voice, tweaking the hardened nubs while Yoongi teased your clothed clit with his tongue, the lace hardly a barrier but still an effective one, the rough threads plucking against your sensitive nerves.

How long had it been? So long, almost forever since Yoongi’s tongue was on you, soft and fast and the perfect pressure, deliberately teasing you and not moving the fabric aside, so close yet so far. If it wasn’t Yoongi, maybe you could tell him to move it, maybe you could beg, but you couldn’t speak because of Yoongi’s tongue and Jungkook’s rough touch, his hands on your breasts, pushing them together, your nipples poking tiny tents in the black lace, running his fingertips over them over and over, his hips grinding into your ass. Yoongi cupped one of your ass cheeks and spread them, your panties bunching in the center, Jungkook’s hardness slipping in, still covered by his sweatpants.

Wetter, hotter, sanity slipping little by little.

“Y-Yoongi… J-Jungkook…”

You tried not to shove your hips in Yoongi’s face, not wanting to strain his neck, and ended up pushing back instead, bouncing against Jungkook’s cock. The younger man snickered, nipping at your ear, pinching your nipples, and you felt a slick squelch as Yoongi’s tongue pushed the lace into your dripping pussy. The moans dragged out of your throat, eyelids fluttering, letting them do whatever they wanted, pleasure flooding all your senses, watching Yoongi wreck you, clutching Jungkook’s sweatshirt, panting their names, leaking more and more, the scent of your juices getting stronger and sweeter.

“This isn’t fair…” you panted. “I’m going c-crazy…”

Yoongi hummed on your clit and you cried out, hips rocking, so good, head tipping onto Jungkook’s broad shoulder, his long blue hair brushing against your cheek and eyelashes.

“Good, because you make us crazy,” Jungkook muttered, pushing your breasts together and squeezing them roughly. His voice was so deep you could feel your back vibrate with his words. His other hand came up and gripped your chin, trailing down and fitting around your neck, the loose sleeve falling and revealing his forearm tattoos, contrasting your lace-covered skin. “Always looking so fucking pretty and making me want to fuck you…”

His index finger came up and pressed against your lower lip. Those chocolatey eyes were watching your face from his peripheral vision, smirking as he witnessed your expression.

“Even showing off these sexy, fuckable lips. That’s not fair either, noona.”

“T-That’s not…”

Jungkook’s hand at your throat dropped and you yelped, his large palm fitting around your right thigh and lifting it up, fingers sinking in. Stockings, lace, garter, Jungkook’s touch, holding your leg up and out, giving Yoongi a perfect view of your glistening core. Then there was more, too much more, Yoongi pushing aside your panties, soaked fabric snapping against the inside of your thigh and then his mouth was directly on you, oh, fuck, his tongue on your throbbing clit, lips wrapped around it, pure suffocating ecstasy, your slick juices dripping down his chin, so easy, it was just too easy for Yoongi to make you feel so fucking good and he looked so sexy doing it too, those cat-like eyes piercing into you, ordering you to cum for him, to spill all over his beautiful face.

“Yoongi… fuck, your tongue is so fucking good–”

Your body rippled with pleasure and you flung your head to the side, away from Jungkook’s ear to moan far too loud, filling up the entire hallway, wanton and lewd, absolutely pornographic and sinful in nature, orgasm gushing into Yoongi’s waiting mouth, shuddering against Jungkook’s hard body. So many sensations, too many sensations. Yoongi sank his nails into your ass, growling as he sucked out your cum and drank it, Jungkook grinding his stiff length in between your ass cheeks, spreading your leg so far that your left one was quivering with strain, tits squashed in Jungkook’s left hand, his warm tongue on your ear, whispering darkly. Dirty, sensual, and your pussy couldn’t stop throbbing, Min Yoongi’s mouth and Jeon Jungkook’s low octave driving you insane.

“You look so fucking good, noona. Your body is so fucking perfect, so sexy wrapped up in lace,” he exhaled, sliding his palm over your nipples roughly, earning more depraved moans. He lowered your leg, slowly, Yoongi lapping at your clit, sending shocks of pleasure up your torso as he cleaned you off. Jungkook’s hand slid down over your stomach, flicking the straps against your skin, small snaps of pain that made you gasp, trapped in Jungkook’s power, letting him take over you. He took a step back, forcing you to arch your spine and look up at him, a curtain of cobalt surrounding that handsome face and those intense brown eyes.

No one could make you feel the way Yoongi made you feel. No one.

So...

Why did staring up at Jungkook like this do things to you? Why did it put your heart on a string and tension in your throat? Get it together. You weren't a teenager. Ask for what you want. He was just so insanely attractive in every way.

Jungkook smirked and you wanted him to ruin you. 

He lifted you up easily. You saw Yoongi standing up and wiping his chin, self-satisfied and amused. He tilted his head and plucked one of the straps on your stomach, a light, erotic sting. Yoongi made eye contact with you, locking you in his gaze. A single look, and your heart was fluttering, immediately smitten. One by one, fingers wrapping around a few of the straps and pulling you to him, backing up, leading you to the bed by own your lingerie. 

"Why today?" Yoongi drawled, tracing the curve of the bra cup, sending shivers over your skin. "Feeling risky?"

You raised a brow, focusing on him, trapped in those cat-like eyes. 

"Control yourself. Aren't you used to this body by now?"

Yoongi grinned devilishly, darting closer, leaving you breathless in his speed. The scent of his cologne and your orgasm lingered on his skin, a delicious combination. 

"Never."

Kissing you, taking your startled inhale, and you could taste yourself, fuck, just something about his skilled lips and your taste had your fingers twisting into Yoongi's shirt, rolling your body into his, still being so careful, but it was so hard because he was making it so hard, teasing you with that deft tongue, bursts of pleasure with every heartbeat you had while captured in Yoongi's lips. You missed it, this intensity, the overwhelming feeling that Yoongi gave you, being able to give in to the want, but you still couldn't give in without abandon, but you were so close. 

So close. 

Ruin me. 

He pushed you lightly and you felt another pair of arms wrap around you, the kiss suddenly broken, but the second touch was familiar now, one tattooed arm, one not, and you knew that if you fell, these arms could catch you.

Jungkook put you in his lap, your back touching his bare chest. Oh, shit. Before you could think much about it, he turned you so you were laying in his arms princess-style. He must have removed his sweatshirt while you were talking to Yoongi, but he still wearing his pants, now sitting in the side of the bed, blue hair messy from your hands and the removal of his clothes. Your arms hooked around his neck instinctively, not wanting to fall, but he had his right hand splayed across your shoulder blades, holding you up securely. 

"Mmm, this is nice," Jungkook murmured, playfully smiling. He nuzzled your nose, tongue flicking over your lips. "Why did you make us wait so long, hm?"

You frowned, breath against his chin. "The number of cases got higher... and you all were so busy... I couldn't get tested until recently."

Jungkook made a disgruntled noise. 

"Hey, public health and safety is important."

He pouted at you. "But..."

"He's horny and wants to fuck," Yoongi cut in.

"Hyung…!"

Yoongi pulled up his chair and sat down, looking amused. 

"He's been jacking off to your pictures."

"N-no, I haven't!"

"Really? I have."

Yoongi's face was completely neutral. It was hard to tell if he was lying or not. 

Jungkook tried to hide his flushed face with your hair. "... M-Maybe I h-have..."

"Tsk, tsk, naughty Jungkookie," you teased.

"Noona..."

"And you?"

You felt Yoongi grasp your chin, tipping you back in Jungkook's arms. Some of your hair fell over your eyes, hazing your vision of Yoongi. Even so, his intent was obvious. You could feel it in his gaze, the burning hunger, his fingertips caressing your chin, leaning forward slightly to observe you. 

I want to ruin you. 

Yoongi didn't have to say it. You knew it, pierced by the predatory glint in his eyes. You could tell he missed this, could tell that he wanted to give in to his desires, wanted to lose control, only limited by his own physical body.

However. 

He pressed his thumb into your lower lip, lifting a brow. 

Jungkook was here now.

Yoongi gave you his trademark open-mouthed smirk. 

"Ruin me," you whispered, staring into those cat-like dark brown eyes. The recognition was instant, pleased that you knew what he wanted. You shifted your attention to the maknae, his chocolate eyes wide, watching your tongue slide out and licking Yoongi's thumb. "Ruin me, Jungkook."

You loved the way Jungkook could turn from blushing anxiousness to sly confidence, and all it took was your words and the way you said them, enabling him in the best way possible. The dark blue hair helped accented the shift in demeanor, creating cool-toned shadows over his lightly tanned skin. 

"Anything for you," Jungkook purred.

You gasped sharply as you felt two fingers slide into you, Jungkook’s thumb rubbing your overstimulated clit. Your body jerked, trying to get away, but Yoongi's hand on your chin slid down, pressing on your chest, holding you still, your name a dangerous rasp from Yoongi's lips.

"Stay still."

Your eyes flickered down. Right hand. Okay. You shouldn’t be worried anymore, but you were. It was habit.

"Yoon–ah!"

You gasped, left arm firmly behind Jungkook's shoulders and the other behind you, your hand on the bed to steady your balance as Yoongi shoved the bra cups down, exposing your breasts. He lowered his head, the contact of his lips on your hot skin paired with Jungkook's thrust of his fingers into your pussy. Instant waves of pleasure overtook you, fingers sinking into the sheets and Jungkook’s hair, fuck, his beautiful navy hair standing out against your skin and, for some reason, seeing that made you feel prettier, thrusting your chest in Yoongi’s face to get more into his mouth, spreading your legs wide to give Jungkook more access.

Only a brief moment of, I should know better, I shouldn’t be doing this, and then Yoongi’s eyes were on you, tongue flicking your red nipple.

Let go.

Was this even fair to them? Could you satisfy both? Could you and should you? But Yoongi’s eyes were telling you to let go, to chase the feeling, to give in, and hunt the desperation and the want. They wanted you. There was nothing like this and there will never be anything like this again.

“Give it to me,” Yoongi growled.

You whined sharply as you felt two more fingers push into you, but not Jungkook’s fingers, Yoongi’s fingers, his thumb joining Jungkook’s on your clit and your eyes rolled back, so wet and aroused from knowing both Jungkook’s and Yoongi’s fingers were thrusting into you, four in total, your pussy sucking them in, back arching as Yoongi sucked on your nipple. So much pleasure, rapidly ascending higher and higher, so fucking full and tight that their fingers were making sloppy smacking sounds, matching rhythm so they filled you completely together, all at once.

You couldn’t stop your hips from meeting them, fingers spreading out in Jungkook’s hair and the sheets as you came hard, gasping their names, euphoria soaring through your nerves, and still they didn’t stop even though your pussy was violently spasming, creating a messy splatter of your juices on the inside of your thighs and their hands. Instead, the pace changed, Yoongi switching sides on your chest, and then you really couldn’t think, because Jungkook was lowering his head too, and now both of your nipples were getting abused, Jungkook’s arm firmly under your upper back to hold you up, not letting you fall.

“Yoongi, Jungkook… p-please, oh fuck!”

Your other hand flew up and buried in Yoongi’s dark locks, both hands in their hair now, one blue, one black, another orgasm crashing down, moan torn from your chest. And they kept going, changing the pace again, your toes and fingers curling, every muscle tense with irresistible, consuming ecstasy that you almost felt a little numb, unable to compute anything else but your body scantily covered in lace, two mouths sucking on your nipples, four fingers stuffed into you, clit engorged and sending violent shocks throughout your system. You couldn’t even discern one orgasm from another, pussy continuously throbbing and convulsing with the continuous, chained orgasms, so wet that it was soaking the tops of your stockings, the sweet honey of your cum the predominant scent in the room.

“I… I-I can’t take a-anymore, please…”

Your legs threatened to close but Yoongi snapped his head up, snarling your name dangerously.

“One more,” he ordered. “Give us one more.”

“Your pussy feels so good,” Jungkook panted, saliva dripping down your chest. “I love it so fucking much, even when it’s around my fingers.”

You were trying to hold back, trying to control it, tensing everything, your core, your legs, your arms, and you didn’t even realize it, but you held your breath too, biting your lip and seeing Yoongi and Jungkook at the same time, both watching you, fingers punishingly squelching into your tight little hole, stretching it out unforgivingly, abused clit pulsating so hard it almost hurt, and it was exactly what you wanted, brimming, boiling pleasure that threatened you on the brink, closer, closer, closer, and the world was almost hazy with how ferociously you had constricted the coil.

“Fuck!”

You threw your head back, back abruptly arching and smacking them in the face with your tits as everything came plummeting down, resolve cracking with a wanton howl, orgasm racking through your entire frame so hard that your body lurched and flinched, Yoongi and Jungkook cradling you while you rode your high, grinding your hips into their hands and carnally moaning, liquid gushing out and dripping down your legs, your ass, down Jungkook’s sweatpants and onto the bed.

It was such an intense orgasm that you were lightheaded, hands slipping out of their hair and falling down, drained, aftershocks causing your body to shudder, even as they removed their fingers. Your clit was still throbbing, pumps of pleasure spreading through you.

It was obscene witnessing Yoongi and Jungkook cleaning their fingers off right in front of you, pink tongues sliding between the digits, licking off your viscous cum, giving you a perverse sense of satisfaction when Yoongi moaned softly and Jungkook groaned lowly, savoring your taste like a fine wine. Yoongi spied your exhausted, smug expression.

“Do you think you’re done?”

You gave him a weak smirk. “I better not be.”

“Sit in Jungkook’s lap,” Yoongi said calmly. “Face me.”

You tilted your head curiously but did as you were told, shifting your still quivering legs so your thighs were on the outside of Jungkook’s thighs, the balance a little difficult, but Yoongi took your hands and placed them around his hips. You held onto him as he lifted his shirt, pulling it over his head.

“Jungkook, rip her panties off.”

Wait, what did Min Yoongi just s–?

Two strong hands dug out the lace trapped in your ass and fastened around the thin fabric.

Riiiiiiip!

“Yoongi!”

The shirt fluffed his black hair as he removed it, dropping it onto his chair. You glared at him as Yoongi looked down at you, expression blank, dark brown orbs full of mischief.

“You knew it was going to happen. If he wasn’t going to rip it, I was.” Yoongi placed his right hand on his left shoulder. His tone dropped, mockingly rueful. “You wouldn’t want me to hurt myself, right?”

Yeah, this was why you didn’t wear lingerie.

But, also, this was why you wore it today.

You felt Jungkook tugging off the now useless pair of panties, plucking them out from under your garter belt. Oh well. You liked the red more anyway. That’s why you had bought two sets, after all.

“Remind me to take all the bits before I go,” you grumbled.

“Sure, noona.” Jungkook dangled the said lacy bits next to your head. You narrowed your eyes and mouth into slits even though he couldn’t see. “I’ll put them in my pocket.” You felt him shove them into his sweatpants.

Were you… going to remember?

Yoongi beckoned you. You shot him a warning look, still annoyed, but Yoongi pointed down to your hands on his hips.

“Isn’t there something you want?” Yoongi mused in that raspy, dark tone, the one that made your irritation fade instantly and replace it with arousal. “Take it.”

He cocked his head, shading his dark eyes with his hair, pink lips parting, the slightest hint of a smirk. Challenging you. Go on. Show me how much you want me. Your body still buzzed with the aftermath of moments before and yet you still lowered your head, sliding your hips back, sucking in a breath as your puffy pussy lips touched Jungkook’s toned chest, smearing yourself on his skin.

“Ooh, I like this,” Jungkook murmured, leaning back a little to give you space. You rocked your hips into his torso, his muscles flexing under you opening, inflamed clit brushing against his hardness. You pushed Yoongi’s pants and underwear down, dipping your head, hearing Yoongi breathe your name lustfully.

“That’s a pretty picture.”

He was only semi-hard, but he was getting harder and harder, watching you grind against Jungkook’s pecs. You knew exactly how to get him the hardest, dipping down and latching your mouth around one of his balls.

“Fuck, yes,” Yoongi gasped, his hand coming up and fitting behind your head. You sucked it into your mouth and then extended your tongue, bouncing the other with your wet muscle while sucking the first one. The first time you did this, Yoongi was literally speechless, sputtering and confused at how you could stimulate both at once and in two different ways, sucking with your lips as your tongue flicked against the other, slurping slightly to add vibration over the sensitive skin. You felt his cock swell, smacking your cheek, fully hard at the combined sensations.

“I still don’t know how you do that,” Yoongi gritted out, keeping your hair away from your face.

“Do what?” Jungkook asked behind you, one hand on your ass and squeezing it.

“She can suck one of your balls and lick the other at the same time.”

“What?!”

You yelped at the sharp sting of Jungkook’s slap to your ass.

“How come you never did that for me?” Jungkook complained, whining a little.

You tried to lift your head, but Yoongi’s hand refused to move. You make a muffled noise of distaste, but Yoongi answered for you as you switched sides.

“Have you asked?” Yoongi replied calmly, sighing in satisfaction.

“How am I supposed to know she has porn star skills?”

“Is this a discussion for right now?” you mumbled into Yoongi’s balls.

“No, because you’re supposed to be swallowing.”

“Wha–”

The second your mouth opened, Yoongi nudged his cock between your lips and you wrapped them around it, moaning as his stiff length slid down your throat, so satisfying, his taste on your tongue, so delicious that you didn’t even want to complain, you only wanted to bob your head up and down, hands on his hips. Yoongi chuckled above you, guiding your head with his right hand, left loosely by his side. You slid your lower body up and down Jungkook’s chest, your increased slickness adding more stimulation.

“Fuck, that’s so damn hot,” you heard Jungkook groan. There was a rustle of fabric and then skin on skin, his muscular arm brushing against your stocking clad thigh with every stroke.

If only you could take a picture and could see how sexy you were, blowing Yoongi with his hand behind your head, tucking the head of his cock into your throat a little deeper every time you descended, your pussy sliding up and down Jungkook’s chest, and Jungkook furiously jacking himself off while watching you suck his hyung off, feeling your slippery clit throb against his skin.

Good thing the door was locked, because of any other member walked in on this, it might have become a damn foursome.

“Close,” Yoongi panted, fingers digging into your scalp. “You want it like this?”

You hummed approvingly in your chest, increasing your pace and fucking Jungkook’s torso harder, nearing your end too, Jungkook moaning louder and pumping himself harder. So many indecent sounds, skin on skin, mouth on skin, hand on skin, moaning, crying out around Yoongi’s cock, his saliva-covered balls smacking you in the chin, you ass slapping down on Jungkook’s chest.

Hot, wet, positively sinful.

The chain reaction started with Jungkook. He came suddenly, choking on your name, shooting up your chest, warm stickiness splattering onto your skin and you squeezed your eyes shut, moaning as you came all over his chest, slippery and sweet, drenching his skin, throat muscles tightening, Yoongi whimpering your name, a rare moment of lost control as he thrust his hips into your lips, coating your throat with thick hot strings, forcing you to swallow fast, the pressure satisfying and overwhelming, gulping it all down eagerly.

You did ask to be ruined.

Just… a little more.

Your eyes were still closed, lazily licking Yoongi’s twitching length. He was panting above you, gently stroking your hair, words so soft that they were almost inaudible.

“I love you…”

You went all the way down and Yoongi groaned, your tongue flicking the top of his balls, rapid, swift laps that made his cock swell again, bending against the roof of your mouth. Yoongi chuckled, knowing exactly what you were doing.

“Still want more?”

You backed up, panting hard, Jungkook’s cum clinging to your chest and lingerie, hair a mess from Yoongi’s hand.

“Want your cock in my pussy,” you demanded hoarsely. “Want you to fuck me, Yoongi.”

He pretended to think about it. “Hmm, I don’t know…”

You got off Jungkook’s lap, snaking around the younger man’s body, crawling onto the bed, eyes on Yoongi, his intense gaze following you, enticed by your movement. On all fours, hips in the air, dropping your chest down a little, the curve of your back accentuating the roundness of your bare ass. Still in your garter belt and stockings, your bra half-off, the lowered cups pushing your breasts together invitingly. Jungkook turned his head, pink lips parting as your fingers fanned out over the sheets, one eyebrow arching gracefully.

“Jungkook in front. Yoongi behind.”

“Do… Do you want a towel or something, noona?” Jungkook asked, blinking rapidly at your assertiveness.

“I want to get fucked and I want to get fucked now, so get over here.”

“Bed’s going to be a mess,” Yoongi remarked, moving quickly, shedding his pants and going for the nightstand, taking out a condom.

“We can sleep in Jungkook’s room,” was your dry reply, yanking Jungkook’s hips towards you after he removed his sweatpants.

“Wha– ack!”

You spread his legs out in front of you, eyes roaming over his naked body, admiring it all, his legs, his abs, his pecs, covered in your drying juices, his adorable surprised face, navy curls around his chiseled cheeks, chocolate eyes round and awed at your prowess. Your hands were on his knees, breasts hanging down, breathing hard, adrenaline humming in your veins.

“You are so fucking pretty it’s unreal,” Jungkook breathed.

You grinned.

“I can’t wait for you to fuck my face.”

Jungkook grinned back at you.

You dove down, tits bouncing before becoming squashed against the bed, Jungkook’s drying cum flaking off as you wrapped your lips around one of his balls, moaning as you felt Yoongi’s hands firmly grip your hips.

“You have to help me a little,” Yoongi murmured.

“I will, hyung.”

“I mean her too,” the older man chuckled, smacking your ass playfully. Your tongue flitted out, slurping at Jungkook’s other ball from the side of your mouth as you sucked the first one, wiggling your ass at Yoongi to indicate that you heard him. Jungkook yelped, hands slamming down onto the pillows and clutching them, moaning out your name.

“What the fuck, what the fuck, holy shit…” His head hit the headboard lightly, speaking to the ceiling and maybe even the higher power himself. “H-How...? Why does it feel s-so good…?”

You felt Yoongi slide in, so easy because of all those back-to-back orgasms, and yet he still hissed at your tightness, muscles holding him firmly. You could cry with how good it felt, Yoongi finally fully inside you once again, filling you up just the way you liked, knowing how to hit your deepest spot right away, skillful and wonderful. You licked up Jungkook’s now hard length, moaning deeply as you slapped your hips back into Yoongi’s crotch. Yoongi moaned to match yours, enraptured by the feeling.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good,” he hissed, nails digging into your ass. “Missed you so fucking much, my love.”

“I’ll do the moving, love,” you gasped back, squeezing Yoongi’s cock inside you. You reached for Jungkook’s right hand and grabbed it, planting it on your head. “Fuck my face, Jungkook. Please. Don’t hold back until you cum.”

Jungkook bit his lip, exhaling your name. “I think I love you.”

“And I definitely love you, so please give it to me.”

You closed your lips around him and sank down, looking up at him and his sweaty dark blue hair, his blown-out pupils, his outstretched tattooed arm, so fucking hot, fuck yes you loved him, him and his body and his work ethic and his sweetness and his firmness as he obeyed your command, thrusting into your mouth from below, filling your throat with the thick head.

Perfect.

You rocked your hips back to Jungkook’s rhythm, matching him, slow at first, but gradually faster, rougher, planting your hands on the bed for balance, completely focused on clenching your core and your mouth to fit the two cocks, giving them the maximum amount of pleasure that you could offer, suffocating them with tightness. It if was obscene before, it was ten times obscener now, Yoongi’s hand on your hip, barely having to move as you smacked your ass into him, Jungkook lurching you forward with his force, clenching his jaw as he chased his release, the bed screaming for help and none of you listening.

“You’re so fucking sexy, fuck, you always make me feel so good, can’t help but want you, need you, miss you so fucking much,” Jungkook gritted out, fingers curling in your hair, desperately and viscerally whimpering out your name as you tipped your head to change the angle, the sensitive head dragging against the roof of your mouth as he buried himself in your throat. “You’re so good to me, such a soft and tight mouth, fuck.”

You arched your back a little more, Yoongi hitting you deeper, hearing him suck in a tight breath at your movement.

“Tighter,” Yoongi growled. “I’m close, come on, give it to me.”

And then he smacked your ass with his open palm, making you moan around Jungkook’s thick cock, pussy clenching around Yoongi’s entire length, and then again, smack! Control slipping with every hit, falling into Jungkook’s pace, the sheer force of his hips pushing you down on Yoongi’s cock over and over, now only focused on hollowing out your cheeks and gripping Yoongi’s cock, the sudden twitching indicating that Yoongi was close, so close, holding out a little so he could watch you longer, torturing you just the way you liked, but he couldn’t hold out for long because you didn’t let him, walls pulsating around him brutally as you came, stuffed so full that you couldn’t think. Yoongi groaned your name, gripping your ass with both hands and digging his nails in your softness, cock jolting as he came in thick pumps, filling up the condom and swelling it against your walls.

It took Jungkook a little longer, but not that much longer, your mouth still locked tight and he hissed out your name, whimpering as he came down your throat, filling it with cum once again, so fast that you had to swallow hastily to breathe, and yet there was more, thick salty dribbles that made you moan, so delicious that you leaned into it, sucking Jungkook dry.

“A-ah, n-noona…”

Your body ached, flinching from oversensitivity, your mind swimming with pleasure. Had it ever felt this good before? You slid off Jungkook’s cock, falling against his thigh and using it like a pillow, chest heaving, sticky all over, lips overused, pussy throbbing, barely realizing that Yoongi had pulled out, far too spent to see straight.

“Fuck, I love you two…”

Yoongi’s face suddenly appeared, smug expression above you. He had crawled over your body, ruffled black hair hanging down, dark cat eyes gleaming.

“Romantic.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Mmm.”

He leaned down and kissed you, smiling against your lips, mouthing his love to you, forming each word against your skin slowly so you knew. You smiled back, showering him with light pecks, mouthing the words back to him. Yoongi purred and lifted himself up, taking you with him.

“I can’t move,” you complained, using your arms to push yourself up to avoid straining Yoongi’s shoulders. He chuckled, not the least bit fooled by your whines. He pushed you into Jungkook’s hard chest, covered in sweat and cum, and sandwiched you between them, your face right beside Jungkook’s, cheek to cheek. You could feel the heat in his face, his hair sticking to it.

“Noona?”

“Hm?”

Everything was far too messy for this cuddle session, but that could wait.

“Is it okay if I love you?” Jungkook mumbled, burying his nose in your hair.

“Mhm,” Yoongi responded, sounding sleepy.

You brushed Jungkook’s hair away from his face. “I would very much like that.”

“Everything is dirty,” Yoongi grumbled.

“You are a main contributor,” you said cheerfully.

Yoongi grunted, leaning against you, squashing you a little harder against Jungkook. Nothing to complain about. You were enjoying every second of this.

“Jungkookie?”

“Hm, noona?”

You reached up and ran a hand through his dark cerulean hair. Jungkook hummed appreciatively, closing his eyes at your touch.

“You know this shade is Cookie Monster blue, right?”

“… Hah?”

“Does that make you Ggukkie Monster?”

Yoongi burst out laughing, raspy and full, a rare moment of Min Yoongi absolutely losing his shit.

-

part v "Sorry, Jungkook, you're not allowed this time."

--

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #yoongi x reader #bts smut #yoonkook x reader #yoonkook smut #jungkook smut #yoongi smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi smut #min yoongi x you #suga x you #suga x reader

[moonbeamsung]

I Love You, Rain or Shine

No matter the weather, I hope you’ll be mine...

member: jisung

au: best friend!jisung x gn!reader

word count: 7.9k

genre: fluff, a tiny bit of angst

warnings: kissing, mentions of insecurities

author’s note: My first Jisung story! In this one, there are multiple flashbacks, and I’ve indicated which parts they are by the extended italicized sections. When I started editing this, it was just under 6k words and now it’s almost 8k...oops :) Let’s just hope it posts correctly now because I just gave myself a heart attack thinking I lost it all. I hope you enjoy the fic!

The smell of fresh linen sheets and the feeling of warm sunlight pouring through the sheer white curtains greets your senses as you awaken, tucked tightly beneath the blankets of your hotel bed.

The queen-sized mattress had looked absolutely heavenly last night, and you were looking forward to having it all to yourself, but once you settled under the soft covers it felt empty. As you laid awake, eyes staring up at the ceiling in the darkness, you found yourself longing for someone to share it with.

More specifically, your best friend Jisung, who was also in a queen-sized bed of his own just across the room. His even, steady breaths echoed in the silence, soon lulling you to sleep.

The next morning your eyes land on his slender figure, facing away from you as his chest rises and falls in a natural rhythm. As you watch him with heavy eyelids, he stirs and turns to lie on his back, granting you a view of his profile. The light shines brightly on his features and illuminates his smooth skin, casting a shadow on one side of his face and creating a stunning silhouette.

The curves of his straight nose, barely parted full lips, gentle cheekbones, and sharp jawline captivate you and receive every ounce of your attention. You want nothing more than to run your fingers through his dark bangs, pushing them back from his forehead as you gaze at every perfect imperfection.

Oh, how you envied the sunbeams that could caress every inch of his handsome face with such grace and elegance. The lighting makes him appear so delicate, so vulnerable, like he would shatter into thousands of pieces at even the tenderest of touches.

The sound of footsteps on the other side of your door is just loud enough to wake the sleeping boy. You continue to gaze at him as he sighs deeply, his long eyelashes fluttering open. A quiet groan escapes his lips as he stretches his limbs, legs visibly extending under the covers and arms reaching out above his head.

Those footsteps are then followed by the muffled voices of your and his younger siblings, and even a few rooms away you can still tell that they’re speaking at a volume far too high for 8:30 in the morning.

You suppose it’s why you’ve become so close with each other. You both grew up as the oldest child, expected to be a mature role model for your little brothers and sisters to follow. By no means were your parents unreasonably harsh or strict about this, but that responsibility of yours went out the window and was long forgotten during the time you spent with him.

You both could act as crazy as you wanted, laugh at the dumbest jokes and forget about setting an example and just be your authentic, real selves around each other. While your similar family situations brought the two of you together, it also led to all of your siblings and your parents getting to know each other, too.

Jisung shifts once again, now lying on his other side and facing you. “Good morning,” he tells you with a raspy voice and a sleepy grin. You return his words with a small smile of your own, eyes still drowsily fixed on his form across from you. Who knew bed hair could look so attractive?

He’s just about to sit upright when four hyper children burst through the doorway, one pair of them jumping up onto his bed and the other making their way over to yours. It was at moments like these when you thought about just how much you had in common with him. Each of you had a younger brother and sister, one slightly older than the other by a year or two. In your case it was your brother that was older, in his case, his sister.

His siblings all but throw themselves at him, landing on his chest and giggling when he whines, complaining about “personal space.” Yours, although still rambunctious, are more gentle with you and settle for the smaller impact of a hug before they both sit down on either side of you.

“Can we trade?”

You look over and chuckle quietly to yourself at the sight of his siblings pinning him down by sitting on his torso, still covered by the bedsheets.

Out of the corner of your eye you see him tap their shoulders, telling them that if they let him sit up he could reach the remote and turn the TV on for them to watch. They waste no time in scrambling off of their older brother, allowing him the freedom to move (and breathe) again. As he does so, the blanket falls from his shoulders all the way down to his waist, revealing his nightshirt-clad torso that you often found yourself clinging to so dearly in a snug embrace when it was just the two of you.

“Are those the pajamas I gave you?”

Two days before his 18th birthday. You were struggling as you always did to find just the right gift for him, but this year felt different. It really needed to be perfect.

You were about to give up and just ask him what he wanted because you were completely at a loss. As luck would have it, he showed up at your front door right as you were about to leave for his house.

Opening it, you stumbled back with surprise when you saw him standing there, arm extended towards the doorbell. A sheepish smile overtook his features as he apologized, hurrying forward to take you in his arms and make sure you didn’t fall, one hand gently gripping your wrist and the other supporting your shoulder. Recovering from the initial shock, your expression softened and you straightened, your gaze hesitantly drifting up to his eyes and then down to your sneakers.

“I was just about to come see you, y’know.” “Really?” he exclaimed, eyes becoming impossibly wider. You nodded. “What are the chances?” Even without looking at him, you could still picture the pure astonishment on his face as he said those words.

For the rest of the afternoon he would playfully bug you for answers about the present you got him this year.

“Pleeeeeease tell me? What is it what is it what is it what is—”

“Shhh,” you had held a finger to his lips, only temporarily silencing his endless inquiries. His gaze followed the action, the cross-eyed expression looking nothing short of endearing on him. “I don’t know,” had been your response, the blatant honesty of the statement going right over his head.

Several hours later, the grass in your backyard blew against your warm skin in the crisp February breeze. You were both lying on the ground, staring up into the vast heavens that happened to be full of twinkling celestial bodies that night.

“There’s Venus,” he had pointed out, “The closest one to the horizon.”

“You mean that one right there?”

“...No, that’s a plane. It’s moving.”

He turned his head to the side, studying you with an unamused expression before bursting into loud laughter at your apologetic pout.

When the moment had passed and it was quiet between you once again, as inconspicuously as possible, you repositioned one of your arms behind your head. You leaned slightly upwards, high enough to be able to see his dark brown eyes that had turned into inky pools under the dark sky. You noticed how they reflected the bright stars above so clearly, and in that moment something clicked.

“You see the moon? Tonight it looks like it’s in the waxing gibbous stage, which means we should see a full—what are you doing? Is there something on my face?”

With every second that you didn’t answer him, too busy using your best friend’s eyes to stargaze instead of a telescope, his face grew redder. He was sure his face was the color of Mars by the time you finally noticed you’d been staring.

“Huh? Oh! Sorry...” you trailed off, now feeling a bit flustered yourself.

A beat of silence. Then, you spoke up again.

“Wanna know something?” you had asked him, rolling onto your side and propping your head up with an elbow.

Curiosity permeated his entire demeanor in that moment. After meeting his eyes, you continued your thought, an unusual surge of bravery coursing through your veins.

“Your eyes look like they could be a galaxy of their very own.”

Your best friend was so adorably at a loss for words that it was all he could do not to burst into flames. He scrunched his nose up before his hands flew to his cheekbones, hiding the blush steadily coating them. He tried to roll away from you but your arms locked around his waist before he could get far, and you pulled yourself flush against his side.

Your pointer finger found his button nose, lightly tapping the lovable feature before your hand wound itself around his shoulders, finding a home behind his head, gently playing with the soft ebony strands of hair on the back of his neck.

He didn’t have the heart to continue his attempts at concealing his pounding heart and somersaulting stomach.

Forget the butterflies, there was a whole zoo in there.

And like that you both had stayed, tucked snugly beneath the blanket of the night sky. That is, until you were called inside for cookies. Not coincidentally, they were space-themed. One day he had brought over the set of cookie cutters right after he purchased them, and from then on you kept the metal molds in a special cupboard to use whenever he visited. He insisted they made them taste better, but you weren’t quite convinced.

Biting into a Saturn-shaped one, your epiphany from earlier had hit you all over again. Briefly making a note on your phone, you smiled to yourself, satisfied with your idea and wishing with all your might that Jisung would like it as much as you were hoping.

Needless to say, you got your answer days later in the form of the bone-crushing hug he had picked you up and spun you around in. With the pajama set still clutched tightly under his arm, one of the biggest smiles you’d seen from him in a long time lit up his face with joy.

Your question seems to stop time as these fond memories replay themselves in both of your brains. As if a movie projector just turned itself off, you’re brought back to reality when his hands lifts to thumb at the satin hem of the shirt, tracing the delicate stitching. The pajamas are a dark navy color, dotted with planets and stars, suns and moons, and from the moment you laid eyes on them you knew they would suit him well.

“Yeah… They’re really soft, by the way. Thank you again,” he rambles softly.

Leaning back against the headboard, he clicks the remote and the screen comes to life. Your siblings are oblivious to your previous conversation, too busy arguing about which cartoon to watch.

The bedroom door creaks open again, revealing your mother on the other side. “You two are adorable,” she coos, not missing a beat as she quickly extracts her phone from her pocket and snaps a picture. If she had shown you the photo you would have seen your own face looking directly back at the camera, but you might have missed where your best friend was looking: over at you, with his eyes smiling and an expression that was full of love.

Of course your mom notices this, and she wastes no time sending the photo to his for them to gush about their children who are “perfect for each other, they just don’t know it yet.”

You’d be lying if you said it hadn’t crossed your mind.

Some time passes as you stare at the TV, only half-invested in the show playing on the screen. You eventually look back over at your best friend and are met with the sight of his little brother snoring soundly against his chest. He catches your eye, sending you a sweet smile and your heart does a backflip.

You remember how your younger siblings had complained about the two of you having your own room last night. Your parents did their best to explain that it was only fair since you were the eldest and the most responsible kids, and since you did so much to look after and take care of them all the time, they thought you could use a break from being a babysitter.

As you were getting ready for bed you lovingly joked about their stubbornness together, but the lighthearted conversation between you turned deep as you thought about everything that made being the oldest child in the family so special. You were motivated to be someone for your sisters and brothers to look up to. You felt proud when they succeeded and never failed to comfort them when they didn’t. You could watch them grow up. They always returned the love you showed them in their own ways.

A few minutes turned into an hour, and soon it was past midnight. As you began to rise from your spot on the side of his bed, you felt his long and slender fingers grasp your wrist. Turning around, you tilted your head at him questioningly before he swiftly stood up and hugged you, putting his arms around your shoulders as you clasped your hands behind his waist. He’s tall enough to rest his chin on the top of your head. When he pulled back he had lifted a hand to your face and ran his thumb over your cheek, his other arm hanging rather awkwardly at his side.

“Good night,” he had said, the pitch of his voice a little higher than usual and you stuttered out the same words before crawling into bed. A minute or two passed in silence before you heard him speak up, his tone huskier now. “See you in the morning.” Again, you were nearly at a loss for words and so you settled for repeating what he just said back to him, hoping your heartbeat isn’t loud enough for him to hear.

You could tell that he had already fallen asleep soon after, thanks to the gentle sound of the air entering and leaving his lungs through his lips. As you were lying down you suddenly felt a tingling sensation on the skin of your face where his fingertips had held you. You brought your own hand up to your cheek, smiling to yourself at the not so distant memory.

It wasn’t long before you drifted off yourself, immersed in dreams you would never remember of the boy you called your best friend but who meant so much more to you than just those two simple words.

Which brings you back to now, the next morning, looking over at him as he brings a hand up to rest on his sibling’s shoulder, who squirms in his sleep, nuzzling his face into his older brother’s side. He casts his eyes down at the small boy, a look full of admiration and affection in his eyes. An image flashes briefly in your mind of him not with his little brother, but with another child. You blink rapidly, forcing the thought away as you inwardly reprimand your brain. Not the time.

The hotel suite is cozy. There are two master bedrooms for your parents, each with a king-sized bed of its own. Situated in between them is the smaller room where your 4 siblings are staying. You had peeked in earlier to see 2 sets of bunk beds next to each other, complete with ladders and railings for safety. You guess it’s the older sibling in you that makes you pay attention to something like that.

The size of the bedroom that you share is somewhere in between. Your window looks over a quaint courtyard filled with flowers of every color imaginable, bright green trees, and dotted throughout with pastel pink cherry blossoms amongst them. Your families had been organizing this trip for months now, and they had chosen this place because it was famous for its beautiful springtime visuals. The forecast for the next two weeks is perfect, minus a day or two with expected showers.

The pale periwinkle of the morning sky has melted into a vibrant blue by the time his little brother wakes up, slowly adjusting to the room’s brightness. He gives his older sibling a quick hug before bounding off the bed and out the door, closely followed by the other three who had been focused on their favorite cartoons for the past hour.

You want to say something to Jisung about the sweet moment they just shared but struggle to articulate your thoughts into words. He notices the slight furrow of your eyebrows as you think, nose scrunching up in concentration. “What’s up?”

And then the perfect response comes to you.

“Do you still want to trade?” You ask, referencing his earlier complaint and shooting him a cheeky smirk.

“I guess not.” He sighs, scratching the back of his neck in mock defeat.

This time it‘s your father who comes into the room. “What do you say we have a picnic today? There’s a garden downstairs that would be the perfect spot and it’s a beautiful day.”

A few minutes later you’re both brushing your teeth in the bathroom, making faces at each other in the mirror. You nearly choke on the toothpaste in your mouth when he pulls a particularly funny expression.

Once you’re both dressed and ready for the day, you meet the rest of your families in the main room of the suite. Your mom is chatting giddily with his about something on the screen of her phone that you can’t see. The curiosity doesn’t last long enough for you to ask, however, so you end up brushing it off. Your group of 10 soon reaches the ground floor, all walking briskly out of the lobby doors before being greeted by a mild temperature and a gentle breeze.

An hour later your stomach hurts from all the delicious food. While you and him had been tasked with simultaneously picking a place to sit and keeping an eye on your little brothers and sisters, your parents had gone to grab a takeaway lunch for everyone at one of the casual restaurants in the hotel so they could bring it outside, allowing you all to enjoy the weather while you ate. That was exactly what you did, and now you find yourself sprawled on your back, lying down on the large blue and white checkered picnic blanket.

The puffy white clouds above remind you too much of sugar at the moment, so instead of gazing up at the expansive sky full of them, you make a half-hearted attempt to pick out which window belongs to your hotel room. Your best friend is just about to offer you another strawberry when he looks over and sees you holding a hand over your stomach. Turning away, he pops the sweet red berry into his mouth instead before his eyes land on you again, noticing the drowsy state you’re in from eating so much.

You sleepily say a ‘thank you’ for lunch before rolling over a little onto your side, which just so happens to be the one closest to him, and your head accidentally nudges the side of his thigh. Your mother, ever the hopeless romantic, tries and fails to suppress an “aww” at the sight. Currently, you’re slipping in and out of consciousness and don’t hear the conversation she shares with your best friend.

“We were thinking about letting your siblings hang out at the kids club they have here while we go out shopping and then to dinner afterwards. Does that sound okay to you?” He’s slightly confused by the question, but her kind smile reassures him.

“Yeah, we’ll be okay… How long will you be gone?”

“Well, our reservation is at 5, but I’ve heard that the service may be a little slow, so a few hours at least. Don’t worry, the kids may get bored easily but the club will entertain them for as long as we’re there.”

“Should we just go back up to the room, then?”

“I was going to suggest walking around and exploring, but that’s fine too! Just ask what they want to do,” she motions to you with her head and winks. “Enjoy having a quiet hotel room all to yourselves.”

He blushes, glancing at you before responding. If he knew you at all, he knew you would never pass up the opportunity to take a nap in the middle of the day. “Okay, ma’am, I will.”

“How many times have I told you? You don’t need to be so formal with us! We’re like your parents, too!”

You’re awake enough to hear his laughter.

The time reads 2:30 when you finally sit back up again, rubbing your eyes and squinting in the sunlight. Your little sister runs up behind you and grabs your shoulders, giggling when you turn around to lightly poke her rosy cheek with your finger. They had been running around for a while to hopefully get out some of their energy before they spent the afternoon at the kids club. They were rambunctious at times (okay, most of the time) but also incredibly well-behaved kids when they needed to be.

Your parents round them up before sending you two off by yourselves and bidding you goodbye over their shoulders while they begin to make their way across the property, since the club is on the other side of where you’re staying. As you’re parting ways, his little brother breaks free from his father’s hold to give your best friend one last hug, the sweet action warming your heart.

Something about the way your trip began had caused an uncommon awkwardness between you two, but now that the strange tension has dispersed, the walk and elevator ride up to the suite are far from silent. By the time you reach the room you’re nearly out of breath from laughing so hard. Jisung closes the door behind him and asks, “So you’re not tired anymore?”

“Not really. Your bad jokes were enough to wake me up!”

“Bad jokes? Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

You turn around and see him looking at you, a hand over his heart as he feigns hurt. Then his expression changes and you can almost see the lightbulb go off inside of his head. You instinctively back up when he begins to take long strides towards you. “What are you doing…?” The words die in your throat as he gets closer and closer, your steps away from him quickening until you can go no further, back pressed against the wall of the living space.

Suddenly he’s close enough for you to make out every detail of his face, and his looming figure makes you feel small. Your mind drifts to thoughts of counting every single eyelash, every pore of skin, each individual detail on his face, temporarily distracting you long enough for him to tickle your sides with his large hands.

You can’t contain your laughter as you squirm at his touch, trying to escape his tight grasp. The hem of your shirt lifts up enough to expose your bare skin, his fingers ghosting over it just lightly enough to generate goosebumps all over. There’s mischief in his eyes, mixed with the satisfaction of making you giggle so uncontrollably. He knows where all your ticklish spots are, leaving you even more breathless than before in a matter of seconds.

In a sudden burst of confidence he sweeps you off your feet and into his arms, rushing across the room and running into the one belonging to his parents. He carefully lowers you down onto the king-sized bed before continuing to dig his fingers into your sides, your arms, your stomach.

“This is payback!” He exclaims.

“For what?”

“...Okay, you got me, I just wanted an excuse to tickle you!”

“You’re so cute,” You manage to whine, your filter completely gone at this point. You miss how his face burns a deep red at your bold words, but he decides he isn’t going to fight the pride he feels as he lets a shy smile overtake him.

Momentarily resisting the urge to shield yourself from his hands, you gather enough strength after a minute to flip over, caging him in below you with your limbs. It’s his turn to giggle as you tickle his neck, which you’ve learned is one of the most sensitive places on his body.

The loud laughter that erupts from him only eggs you on, and you speed up your pace at the adorable sounds. He raises his arms to block your access to his very vulnerable collarbone and throat, but in doing so he gives you an unintended opportunity to reach his armpits. He realizes his mistake too late, your observant gaze eagerly following his every move and your quick response coming in the form of a few jabs at the underside of his sleeve.

In a rushed motion, he plants an elbow on the bed behind him and lifts himself up, trying to escape what he started, but the momentum is much greater than he anticipates and his lips narrowly miss your own. It happens so fast that the close call doesn’t register in his mind, allowing him to remain blissfully oblivious. It certainly startles you, though, enough for you to instantly fling yourself off of him and to the other side of the large bed.

Confused, he stands and follows you, circling around the pristine white mattress.

“Hey, hey… what’s wrong? Are you okay? Did I do something?” His voice raises in pitch but lowers in volume with every question.

“It’s nothing, really... I was just surprised.”

“Surprised? Why?” He tilts his head and searches your face for an answer that isn’t in the form of words. You realize that he doesn’t even know what just happened between you, and so you decide to preserve some of your remaining dignity by not explaining further.

“Never mind. I’m okay, really.”

He lies down beside you, his eyes full of concern and care. A foreign but not unwelcome feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as you both stay there, gazing at each other in a comfortable silence. Hesitantly he extends his hand, palm open and reaching for yours. You accept and squeeze it a little. He scoots closer, close enough to sling an arm over your shoulder. Close enough for you to feel his breath on your face.

“Can I ask you something?” He blurts out, and you nod.

“Is this what best friends do?”

“...What do you mean?” Your voice shakes as you speak, nervous about where this was going as well as how he manages to speak your current thoughts into existence just like that. He looks you directly in the eye, hand sliding down to rest on your waist.

“I mean, do best friends have tickle fights like this? Do they sleep in the same room like we do? Is that all we are? Because I don’t know about you, but lately I feel like there’s more—”

“—To us?”

“Yeah,” He breaks the intense eye contact with you, opting to look up at the ceiling instead.

“Well, maybe it isn’t what best friends do… but it’s what we do.”

Your anxiousness melts away with every word of the conversation as you realize that you have nothing to lose. Even if you decide that you’re no longer just best friends, he’s by your side no matter what, and you wouldn’t trade your relationship for anything, platonic or otherwise. It was leaning toward the latter at this point, anyway, but who needs labels?

“So… what are we?”

You gently let go of his hand and let yours find his face, grasping his jaw that clenches at the unfamiliar contact.

“We’re just us, you know? Maybe we’re closer than most best friends, but we aren’t a couple. At least, not right now. We’re somewhere in between, and I’m okay with that if you are. If we ever decide we’re something more in the future, we can figure out what that means for us then.” Your soft voice puts him at ease, and he relaxes under your hand, shifting even closer to you.

You don’t shy away like you usually would at such a proximity, as Jisung’s arm trails up your side and around to your shoulder blades, finally halting at the nape of your neck. He’s eye level with you, forehead pressing into yours. A rush of courage shoots from your head down to your toes, inspiring you to tilt your chin up and bump your nose with his.

The few stray moles on his face that you always notice remind you of the constellations in the night sky. Individually, the stars shine brightly enough on their own. But when they’re connected, they form a unique masterpiece. In his case, these freckles are merely a small but beautiful part of him. Every little detail about him is special, but when you picture them all together you realize how lucky you are to lay eyes on such a breathtaking sight.

The intimacy between you is broken as the boy before you makes the same face that made you laugh so hard this morning. You shake your head in mock disappointment before letting a quiet giggle escape you, and at that moment everything seems normal again.

You spend the rest of the evening watching TV and chatting on the couch of the living area.

“You know… you called me cute earlier.”

“I did?!” You panic, turning in his direction with wide eyes.

He nods smugly, nudging you with his shoulder.

“When?”

“While I was tickling you.”

“Well...” you stutter, trying to think of an excuse. Darn. There’s no way you’re getting out of this one.

“Just admit that you meant it and I’ll leave you alone.”

Swinging your legs to the side and facing him, you cross them and pout childishly. “No.”

Jisung frowns at your response, face falling and you struggle to maintain your stubborn facade. You hope he doesn’t take any of this seriously. He should know better, because the amount of times you’ve fawned and cooed over him is far too many to count. Granted, they were mostly playful exchanges like this one, but you recall a particular incident where that wasn’t the case.

You had been studying over at his house one evening when you looked up from a boring textbook only to find him asleep. His glasses were slowly sliding down the bridge of his nose, and a thin page was tucked between his fingers, like he had been in the middle of turning it. Checking the clock and deciding it was time for you to get going, you stood up, quietly shutting the heavy book and lightly setting it down on the carpet next to your bag. You then made your way over to him, the endearing pout he so often wore present even on his sleeping face.

Careful not to wake your best friend, you slowly pulled the still-open book in his hands towards you, his hand falling from its spot on the page to rest on the bed’s surface. You had to haul yourself up onto the bed to reach his glasses, however, and crawling on your knees, you gently lifted them from his face. After folding and placing them on his bedside, you stayed perched beside him, listening to each inhale and exhale that whispered past his lips.

You had absolutely no reason to believe that he wasn’t asleep.

And yet, there he was, wide awake.

He was normally a heavy sleeper, and you knew this, but the tenderness of your touch had been enough to jolt him into consciousness.

Just as he was about to open his eyes and alert you that he was, in fact, awake, you began speaking.

“Sometimes I don’t think you realize how lucky you are, y’know?”

His ears perked up in interest, anticipation flooding his senses as he waited for your next words.

“So many people these days only care about looks in a person. What makes you so special is that while you definitely have those, there’s so much more to you.”

“I’ve always thought a good personality was the most important thing to have. Up until a certain point I was under the impression that everyone else believed the same thing. But the world tells us we have to be pretty, handsome, attractive, or cute to be happy. To have friends. To be liked.”

You hesitated, “...To find love.” He prayed that you didn’t hear his breath hitch.

“When I’m with you all of that pressure just goes away. I don’t have to worry about looking presentable for anyone. You’ve never cared about my appearance. So when I find myself dwelling on yours, I need to be reminded that at the end of the day, it’s not what truly matters.”

“...So then, how exactly are you lucky? Well, it’s simple. You’ve got everything, even if you don’t know it. People like you for who you are, and your looks are just a bonus.”

As you leaned down a little, he swore that he could feel the warmth of your presence radiating onto his skin.

“...I guess it’s not a sin to take notice of them every once in a while, though.”

Even without his sight, your best friend felt the way that your eyes scanned his supposedly sleeping figure. It was like your gaze was as light as a feather, filled with the utmost care and gentleness despite not even touching him.

“Yeah, you’re pretty cute,” you had muttered after a moment, more to yourself than anyone else. He still heard it, though. If you kept this up, he didn’t know how much longer he could pretend to be asleep.

Another minute ticked by on the clock resting on his desk. Stealthily sliding off his bed, you went to gather your things and got ready to leave for the night. You turned off the light and were in the process of shutting his door behind you when you heard the faintest sound come from inside, resembling a goodnight wish.

You were surprised that the door handle didn’t shatter into pieces when your grip on it tightened at record speed.

In all honesty he was exhausted, and your soft, shuffling footsteps around his room had relaxed him to the point of forgetting you weren’t supposed to know that he was awake.

His door was never fully closed that night, as you had been too busy panicking on the way out of his house. He had heard absolutely everything, and you were sure it couldn’t get any worse. The moment which you saw as embarrassing would, oddly enough, eventually become a source of inspiration and confidence for him when he needed it. There would always be an unspoken agreement between you to never bring it up, though, as you couldn’t bear to be reminded of such an awkward mistake on both of your parts.

You can’t stand arguing with him over something like this for long, so after another few statements of denial and prodding from him, you cave.

“Oh, come on, we both know you’re adorable,” you finally blurt out, crumbling under Jisung’s devastated expression. Lunging forward, you can’t help but pinch his cheeks between your fingers, a habit that you’ve developed over the years to tease each other. A habit that he pretends to hate, but deep down he can’t get enough of.

After hearing the words he’s been after, he reaches behind him with a sly grin and holds up his phone screen, showing a newly recorded voice memo of presumably your forced confession. With a gasp you withdraw your hands from their position on his face and turn around, crossing your arms over your chest as a child would do and letting out a loud huff. He scoots toward you and waves a hand in front of your eyes, trying to draw your attention away from the wall opposite you.

“You know you love me,” he tries.

The use of the strong but not inaccurate word makes your heart skip a beat, and you warm up to it within a matter of moments. Sighing, you take a peek over your shoulder before allowing him to pull you down to lie with your head in his lap, looking up at his face above you.

“You got me there.”

A few days pass and nothing is much different between you. Your family travels around the city and occasionally spends the day in the hotel. It happens to be a rainy evening the next time you’re completely alone together. Your parents are taking your siblings downstairs to get some dessert at a cute and colorful candy store in the shopping section of the lobby. Both deciding to go to bed early, you tell them all goodnight and close the door to your shared bedroom as they leave.

The soft sound of the water droplets hitting the window is soothing, but as usual, thoughts of your best friend cloud your mind while you try to fall asleep. You lie down on your side facing his bed, him doing the same across from you. In the dim light you can’t tell if his eyes are open or not. You get your answer a minute later.

In that same raspy voice that always gives you chills, he mumbles, “You look lonely...”

Squeaking a little, you try to recover from the surprise, “What?”

“Come here,” He lazily stretches an arm out, beckoning you to join him.

As you crawl under the blankets, he pulls you close, threading his legs through yours and inhaling your scent. He’s warm, and the bed’s warm, and you never want to leave because this just feels so perfect. His hand comes up to stroke your hair, and you automatically bury your face further into his neck.

Jisung feels you tense up as you realize that while you’ve been in his arms like this before, something about this time feels different, and his fingers graze over your neck to gently massage your upper back. With every passing second the position begins to feel more natural to you, and for the first time since you’ve arrived at this destination that seems to be the epitome of springtime’s beauty, you don’t dream of him because he’s no longer out of reach.

The clock that sits on the end table between your beds, one of which is now empty, reads 1:46 when you wake up, though you don’t turn around to check. You’re exactly where you were a few short hours ago when you fell asleep, held in his snug embrace, wondering how so much could change in such a short time.

“Can’t sleep either?” His chest rumbles as he murmurs, lips against your forehead.

“Actually, I’ve been sleeping. You haven’t?”

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Wow, you’re even cheesier than usual in the middle of the night.”

“No, I mean I’m serious. I’ve literally been up all night thinking about you even though you’re right here.”

“...I don’t know how to respond to that.”

“You don’t have to, I just...” He exhales loudly, his warm breath tickling your face.

“What is it?”

“...There’s something I’ve always wanted to do but I’ve never felt brave enough to do it before.” Looking at you in that moment makes him feel like he has nothing and everything to lose at the same time.

“And if I don’t do it now I don’t know if I ever will.”

You nod a little, signaling for him to continue. Your heart seems to have an idea of where this is going but your brain hasn’t caught up just yet.

And then he says four words that you never thought you’d hear but hoped for anyway.

“Can I kiss you?”

Your body answers on its own with a slight hum, head tilting up so you can meet his eyes with your own before they begin to trail down your face slowly.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Every nerve in your body is on high alert, aching to feel the plush softness of his lips against your own. He shares your desire, nearly shaking at the thought of finally doing what he’s dreamed of after all this time. He’s scared he won’t be good at it, that he’ll disappoint you, but as he gazes at your rosy lips he throws everything to the wind and abandons his worries, figuring he might as well try.

And try he does. Everything seems like it’s in slow motion. Nothing about the kiss is rushed, but you find it more romantic that way. When you touch at last, you’re already addicted to the feeling. A thought of your parents and siblings being just a few rooms away enters both of your minds for a split second before it leaves, and you remain unfazed.

You hold your arms against your chest, not sure what to do with them. He doesn’t seem to know either. What does come naturally, however, is your eyes fluttering closed at the contact, and even though you can’t see anything, explosions of color dance in front of your sealed eyelids regardless.

As you break apart you’re both much too shy to look at each other right now. You settle for staring at the dark window behind him, barely able to make out the raindrops trailing down the glass.

He focuses on your bare shoulder, exposed by your sleeveless pajama shirt. He doesn’t even realize that he places a hand on it, or that you look back at him not in surprise, but curiosity.

Your best friend chuckles deeply, “May I kiss you again? Please?”

“Kiss me all you want,” You mumble softly, feeling far from sober after tasting him.

His lips remind you of the fresh spring air that rushes into your bedroom whenever you step out onto the balcony. They’re sweet and a little bit sour, like cold lemonade without sugar. He smells like the crisp, clean sheets of the bed mixed with a hint of oak wood, just like the vibrant, shady trees below your window.

He’s all kinds of intoxicating.

Quickly closing the distance between you once again, Jisung plants another loving kiss on your lips. This time, he gingerly cups your face in his hands, a thumb tucked underneath your chin. The novelty of the sensation overwhelms you, clouding your mind, and you can’t think straight. That’s why for no reason at all, you can’t stop yourself from giggling softly into the kiss, unsure how to properly respond and dizzy from the unfamiliarity of this new kind of touch.

He pulls back a little, lips leaving yours, and your breaths mingle in the small space between you. Fearing the worst, he asks in a deep but quiet voice, “...Are you laughing at me?”

The way he says it, his bright eyes previously so full of hope and love suddenly dimming, makes you feel like someone just punctured your heart. His question breaks you out of your daze, and you rush to correct your error.

Apologies spill from your lips, “No! I’m… This is all really new to me. I guess I’m just nervous… You’re doing nothing wrong. If anything, I’m the one messing this up. I have no idea what to do, where to put my hands… I’m so sorry, we shouldn’t do this.” Squeezing your eyes shut in frustration with your inexperience, you hastily roll onto your other side, facing away from him.

“Hey, hey...” he soothes, firmly gripping your shoulder in an effort to get your attention. You turn, and he sees your face glisten with tears as they overflow from your eyes. “Oh no, please don’t cry… If it makes you feel better, I don’t know what I’m doing either.”

“Really?” You ask, incredulously.

“Not a clue.” He smiles a little, hoping it was enough to bring a similar expression onto your own face.

When you don’t respond, he offers, “Do you want to figure it out together?”

Your gaze softens at his words, and he takes the opportunity to bring his hands to your cheeks, wiping away the tears. With a small nod, you roll over to face him yet again.

“But seriously, where should I put my hands?”

At this it’s his turn to giggle, and he takes your wrists in his own, guiding them to rest on his shoulders. As he leans in for the third time, one hand of yours stays in place while the other migrates upwards, past the back of his neck to comb through his thick, dark hair with your fingers. He’s holding you by the hips now, touch tentative but secure.

Just as you’re about to kiss, he halts his movements, with the minuscule distance of what seems like only a hair’s length separating you. With an innocent but teasing grin, he waits for your response.

Not even caring if you rip it, your hand leaves its spot on his collarbone to impatiently tug on the collar of his pajama shirt, initiating the kiss yourself. The small noise of surprise he makes at the brazen action is cut off by your lips meeting his.

After getting more comfortable and sharing a countless amount of kisses, ranging from sweet, playful pecks to ones full of sincerity and affection, you collapse on top of him. With your head laying on his broad chest, he has a chance to catch his breath before pulling you as close to him as physically possible. His arms come up to tangle behind your back, palms open against the blades of your shoulders.

He shifts you upwards and a little to the side, at the perfect angle for him to pepper featherlight kisses all over your face. At each place where he plants them you feel a faint buzzing feeling, and though there are no visible marks left on your skin, your true feelings for each other are indelible.

“So… what now?”

“Well, I was thinking about formally asking you out, but then I realized that there’s no point.” Jisung’s ambitious words catch you off guard.

“Huh?” You deadpan.

“Not to be dramatic or anything, but I’m saying that there’s no one else I’d rather spend my life with than you. I feel like we don’t even need to make things ‘official’ between us because this is what we both want, right? I… I want to stay this close with you forever.”

After a minute, you reply, face flushed at his confession.

“That makes sense… Yeah, okay.” You take a deep breath. “And… so do I.”

“I know we’re still young, and it sounds like such a silly thing to say at our age. I have no doubt that others would scoff at us, call us too naive if they heard that. Sure, there are bound to be hard times in store for us. We never know what the future holds, but I’m willing to work together to overcome any challenge that stands in our way if you are.”

“Me too.” A triumphant affirmation of your commitment to this relationship, to each other.

“We’re just us, right?”

“Right.” You beam at him.

You exchange a few more sleepy pecks as you cuddle close in the dim light of your hotel bedroom, the scattered tingles on your skin bringing shy smiles to your faces. The giddiness of the rejoicing butterflies in your stomach only grows with every second that you spend like this, in your best friend’s arms. You wonder how you got so lucky.

After a final, longer kiss, your lips are still touching when Jisung gently breathes out, “Sweet dreams.” And you drift off.

You both dream of each other that night, your subconscious thoughts assuring you that it was always meant to be.

#nct #nct au #nct fanfic #nct dream #nct 127 #wayv #nct dream fanfic #nct dream scenarios #nct dream au #jisung fanfic #jisung fluff #jisung angst #jisung au #jisung x reader #jisung scenarios #jisung imagines #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct dream imagines #fluff #angst #nct angst #nct fluff #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #park jisung #nct soft hours #nct dream soft hours

[bulletproofscales]

the realest of selves

this is the namkook fic i told yall i was working on, the birthday friend already recived it so i thougth id post it! its not feederism and its very fluffy. hope you enjoy!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28723872/chapters/70426767

9/9 chapters 6.4 words

tags: established relationship, misunderstandings, fluff, happy ending

the one where jungkook falls in love again through namjoon’s poems, without knowing its him

Moma Muji.

That's the brand of the notebook Jungkook has in his hands… or, hand actually. It's rather small.

Must be passport sized.

He doesn’t own one of these.

He fumbles with it curiously. No, Jungkook doesn’t pick random objects he finds laying around; his mother raised him right.

But this wasn’t just any random object, this notebook had been left abandoned at Jungkook’s favorite desk in the college library. Specifically perfect because nobody used it: desk free of bumps from the scribbles or from people who wrote with too much force, minimal amount of gum stuck beneath it (He aspired for zero, but his dreams had been crushed pretty early on to his college life). The positioning was perfect too, far enough that the library’s wifi didn’t reach it, which was practically useless with the amount of work covered students plaguing the place constantly; but if he needed too, he could connect to the wifi from the classrooms nearby (And Jungkook went to the library at night time so… no classes happening at all)

It's the perfect desk and if something was left forgotten here, then it means it isn’t his anymore.

Which means he has the right to investigate.

The ragged, leather like texture feels expensive against his fingers. If he had to name the color, it would be a slightly darker version of a persian green; it's pretty. Jungkook can’t imagine someone using this for any academic purposes, given the size. He keeps playing around with it in his hands, hesitant.

It is one thing to pick up a stranger’s notebook on the desk, but to open it? It's a completely different violation of privacy. And he said it before: his mother raised him right.

Muji is an artsy brand right? These types of stationary notebooks probably have an information slot where he can find information; a name at least. Something to make hipsters who buy Muji, feel like their notebook is more special and personalized.

If he wants to find the owner he has to open it, doesn’t he?

No. Jungkook could simply deliver it to the librarian and let the owner look for it themselves.

Curiosity is killing him, though. To the point he was already opening the notebook even before he finished that thought. Eyes wide and fingers eager as he leans forward to find what he is looking for.

This notebook belongs to:

the Real Me

Oh.

Oh fuck.

This person is more hipster than Jungkook had even prepared himself to.

That tells him… absolutely nothing.

Hope you’re happy, Jungkook thinks to himself, directing it to the random hipster stranger.

As spiteful as he is of this infuriating halt that was brought to his detective adventure, he has to admit, the vulnerability of the stranger’s answer did absolutely nothing to calm his curiosity.

There's a few moments of quiet, just Jungkook and the first page staring at one another, as if daring him to look further, to sink deeper into the real authentic version of someone he has never even met.

I promise I won’t judge. He thinks apologetically as he flips the page.

In the blood you shed in the winter i was born red

Plum blossom in the snow:

Camellia,

Daffodil

Yeah, yeah, you can call me whatever you want

Listen up, winter you’ve bloomed me

Now I’m going to burn my branches blue

06/01/20

He gasps, as if Jeongguk had been holding his breath the entire time while reading it.

Moma Muji, passport size.

He looked it up when he got back to his dorm. It is in fact passport sized, the same exact measurements as a passport: 4.92 x 3.36 inches. How funny is that?

Jungkook had intended to continue reading in the library. But after...that, a feeling took over him that he was opening in a place far too public for the realest self of the (apparently) poet.

A poet…

There's a dreamy sigh that leaves his lips.

Anyways! The point is he took the notebook to his dorm and is now preparing himself to read more of it; from the safety of the locked door.

I’m real good, but a little uncomfortable

I’m still not sure if I’m a dog or a pig or what else

But then other people put a pearl necklace on me

So much blabbering

One says ‘run’ another says ‘stop’

This one says `look at the forest`

That one says ‘look at the wildflower’

My shadow, I wrote and called it ‘hesitation’

So they really are a poet.  

In the back of Jungkook’s head he had expected for that first one to just be a silly quote this person added to the beginning of their notebook; maybe from a song from a band that they brag about listening to before it was popular.

But it's not…. this person is a poet…

This person is a romantic . The thought comes with a warmth that spreads across his cheeks.

It's obvious, these are romance poems. The first one, speaking about falling in love in the winter, about how delicate the poet’s significant other makes them feel; as delicate as these winter blooming flowers, comparing himself to a plant that burns under their love even during the winter. Love is getting them through the cold.

The second poem, however, is a lot less optimistic. Clearly the poet is battling their own feelings of inadequacy with the flattering words of their partner. They think of themself as a pig or a dog while they’re being treated with love. Different directions and orders are being directed to the poet are the contradicting opinions of themself: the ones they hear of their own and the ones from their partner.

So they’re probably in a relationship , he thinks with a little apprehension.

Not that it matters to Jungkook what this literal stranger is doing with their romantic life. He has to remind himself that, given that just the two poems had been able to give Jungkook a sensation of… odd familiarity; as if he knows this person already. It seemed as if with those poems he had gotten a glimpse of the poet’s two sides.

Obviously, the poems already showed two sides regarding the theme of love: safety and doubt. But aside from that, Jungkook couldn’t help but notice the difference in the way of expressing these sides: while the first poem was melodic and metaphorical, the second one held a language that sounded just a lot more accessible and down to earth.

This person must have thought about this relationship a lot.

It doesn’t matter, and it most certainly doesn’t affect him; so Jungkook shuts the notebook closed. He’ll just go about his day.

Moma Muji, passport size, 4.92 x 3.36 inches.

Why does Jungkook remember the exact size?

Hell, why is he thinking about that notebook at all?!

Jungkook had rushed out, stumbling into his running shoes and beanie. Joonie had invited him to go out for a run even though they’re well into winter. And Jungkook… he is smitten enough to say yes.

But, nobody can blame him. He always has so much fun when he is with Namjoon… Or well, he tends to have fun, when his mind isn’t keeping him distracted with useless things!

Useless things like the way Namjoon’s route goes by a huge Camellia bush.

Yeah yeah call me whatever you want

Would Joon like it if he called him Camellia? Would his branches burn blue with love?

“Jungkook-ah, you’ll trip if you keep running that deep into your head, baby.” His endeared tone calls him out of the deep trance. His voice is a little breathless from running, he does so effortlessly while talking after years of taking this same route. The youngest has to shake his head a little bit, for a moment, Namjoon’s voice still sounded a little bit far away.

“You look like you saw a ghost, whats up?” For some reason, his boyfriend’s obliviousness only leads Jungkook to one conclusion: Namjoon hasn’t noticed the Camellia bush.

Of course he hasn’t, why would he?

Jungkook… Can’t ignore the sour disappointment in his tongue.

…

Odd.

They’ve stopped running now.

You still have to answer something, Jungkook.

“Oh.. I was just-..” He cuts himself off. Doing what? Judging Namjoon for not meeting the standards of a random poet?

“Those flowers are pretty.”  Jungkook finds his voice a little softer, gesturing to the bush a little bit behind him; still at arms reach. He can’t help but sound shy, the answer he came with on the spot was… rather silly.

But, at least it was true , he thinks as his eyes linger over the gorgeous splashes of pink.

Namjoon’s expression is startled for a second, before melting into tooth rotting fondness. “You like Camellias?” Jungkook can feel the older’s eyes on him, tender and loving; before his hand is reaching tenderly for the bush.

He can’t lie, Jungkook is a little hypnotized by the way Namjoon’s knuckles look caressing the flower carefully. “So, do you?” The young hadn’t realized he had forgotten to breathe at the sight, Namjoon’s voice grounding him yet again from his wandering thoughts.

His nod comes hurriedly, thank god Namjoon is used to his spacing out; his chuckles help Jungkook’s shoulders sag down relaxed. He hadn’t even realized he had tensed them in the first place. “They only bloom in the winter… Feels special.” A shy smile grows on his face as he eyes up at Namjoon; he is already staring at the younger with a soft look.

“Who would have guessed you knew about flowers.” There's something gently amused about his tone, playful and flirty. It still makes Jungkook feel exposed.

He doesn’t know about flowers. He just looked up the flowers on his way from the library. But of course Namjoon would pick up on it, his boyfriend has been into botany since before they even started dating.  

Meanwhile Jungkook… has no excuse. He tries to hide it in his face. “Only after spending so much time with you! ”He exclaims softly, nudging his shoulder against his boyfriend’s. Jungkook hadn’t realized they were so close, his hand goes to meet Namjoon’s where it's cradling the flower. “Do you have one of these?”  His voice comes out quietly, too caught up admiring the sight of their big hands holding the almost hyperbolically delicate flower.

Do you imagine the poet cares for Camellias and Daffodils?

Namjoon chuckles softly, for some reason, it feels like he is reading Jungkook’s thoughts. “No, they’re a little too hard to maintain just for a pretty flower that comes once a year.”

Oh… He can’t help his disheartened reaction.

“Hey, don’t look so disappointed.” Jungkook’s eyes snap from where they were stranded on the flower, Namjoon’s hand isn’t there anymore; but he can distinctively feel a hand gingerly tucking a strand of hair into Jungkook’s beanie. Handling the younger in a similar fashion than he did the flower. “We can come take care of this one every once in a while; I’m sure I got some ericaceous fertilizer saved up.”  His eyes meet Namjoon, smiling tenderly.

Jungkook can feel his chest tighten in affection. A grin spreads across his face. “This is just an excuse for you to take me in more runs with you, isn’t it?” He can barely hold his accusing laugh, launching forward to press his fists to Namjoon’s chest; it earns a roll of his eyes, but Jungkook can the tremble of a laugh under his hands.

“Can’t even start a nice project with your boyfriend anymore. Romance is so dead.” His attempts for sound annoyed are laughable. And the answer only makes it more obvious what Namjoon’s intentions truly were.

Romance can’t be dead, though. Not as long as that Moma Muji, passport sized, 4.92 x 3.36 inch notebook is sitting in his dorm.

He feels guilt as he side eyes the notebook laying on his bedside table. Especially with the feeling of Namjoon’s plush lips lingering on his cheek from when he just dropped Jungkook by his room.

Especially when that persian green cover is a mocking reminder of the Camellia bush they encountered; reminding Jungkook that the flower mentioned in the poem has no relation to Jungkook’s life outside from the confines of that green leather cover.

Reminding Jungkook of how… oddly disappointed he is by that fact.

He plops heavily on his bed, arm reaching for his bedside table. When he grips the notebook and opens it, he does it spitefully.

I wanted to have the sea so I swallowed it up

But I’m even thirstier than before

Is what I know really an ocean?

Or a blue dessert?

Maybe it's the soothing feeling of his stomach full from the food he had with Namjoon after his run.

Maybe it's the dark outside his window, allowing his thoughts to think of someone, somewhere, who can’t have enough of their lover.

He doesn’t know… But he manages to fall asleep.

Moma Muji, passport size, 4.92 x 3.36 inches, persian green cover.

The guilt follows him like a shadow.

Damn, he is even thinking in poems now.

He can't help it! He can’t help the way that, despite Namjoon giving him everything, he still longs for a romance like the one in the poems. Everyday, Jungkook sinks a little deeper into the vulnerable self of the poet; his heart fluttering at their verses while simultaneously expecting Namjoon to keep up with him. Keep up with his sensitive tugging of his heartstring that his boyfriend doesn't seem to be syncing to.

In fact, Namjoon seems to be more weary of Jungkook’s attempts at romance. Acknowledging them for sure and just, he isn’t de--escalating his gestures… But… he seems weary of them.

We need the scenery of the night more than anyone

You are the only one, that comforts me more than anything

Thinking “don’t think” it's a thought on itself, you know?

With your falling eyes I look at the night sky again

We are each other's night view

We are each other's moon

The poet said, and Jungkook thought while standing on the balcony of Namjoon’s apartment. The both of them are way too under-dressed for the weather; clouds looking menacing above them; hunched over the railing shoulders pressed together.

It's calm, however, Jungkook feels like his heart will beat out of his chest. Too many words, too many emotions that he can feel bottling up in chest; threatening to spill in a way that he fears is quite too vulnerable to present to Namjoon.

“I really need moments like these.” It feels as if with the help of the poet,Jungkook was able to really grow more comfortable voicing out his thoughts like these. A fear he had to explain to Namjoon when they first started dating, nervously reassured him that he did want a relationship; despite his lack of enthusiasm.

He was so embarrassed back then… Still dealing with the aftermath of a self-homophobic past.

“What about them?” He can feel Namjoon side-eyeing him with a smile.

Of course he doesn’t get it.

That’s something else Jungkook has been losing his grip of: the snarky comments that come out of Namjoon's… inadequacy? He shouldn’t even be calling it that, not when Namjoon has given him everything. It's just, lately, the more Jungkook grows in his romantic acts and words, the more it seems Namjoon is just… playing dumb.

He isn’t picking up any of his signals.

It's getting frustrating.

It's like Namjoon is just backing down when things were starting to get serious for them.

And that fucking hurts.

“Nothing, forget it.” He mumbles eyes still strained on the city infront of them. “It's getting late anyways, I should probably head back.” He can’t hide the distance in his voice. They had agreed Jungkook was staying over, and it's obvious how that objection hangs off Namjoon's tongue as he stares a little widened. Jungkook answers before he can speak. “I have early class tomorrow, it's better if I go from my dorm.”

Somehow, the disappointment grows on his boyfriend’s face more at that. “Oh…” Jungkook fights the urge to kiss the pout off his pouting lips. “Yeah you’re right it would just be… inconvenient to stay here.”

When Jungkook leaves, he feels a heaviness in his chest. But he chooses to ignore it.

Moma Muji, passport size, 4.92 x 3.36 inches, persian green cover, 24 pages.

24 of them, ruled,  though only 16 are being used. Jungkook knows because he counted them, even if he hasn’t gotten to read everything he skimmed through the pages in a weak attempt to distract his mind. The unnecessary but easy counting of the pages, most of them double-sided in their use, except for the last one (They must have gotten tired of the ink bleeding through the pages, Jungkook asumes), helps keep his mind off last night.

Not that he has anything he needs distraction from. He is fine.

Him and Namjoon are fine .

No big fight occurred, no insensitive one sided fallout, no revolutionary discovery. But why does Jungkook feel so… off?

So neglected, so scammed, so robbed of a romance he could be having but doesn’t have. That Namjoon doesn’t let him have.

Jungkook always does this, he always feels so intensely, always too needy and too ready to fall in love. At a speed and intensity that doesn’t match others. He had revealed so much of himself to Namjoon, had been so open about his devotion, his complete and thorough adoration; and he convinced himself to believe Namjoon was okay with his arduous loving.

But if Jungkook took a second to think about it, he had been a fool to think that. Namjoon, his Namjoon is a philosopher by default, a thinker, he dissects, and recognizes, and categorizes, and doubts . Namjoon has so many doubts. About everything really, so perceptive of his surroundings he theorizes about things that aren't his business, except they are because Namjoon has an interest for every little thing in this world.

And it's as enamouring, as it is deadly.

Namjoon questions, questions himself, his intentions, his moral, his relationships, his worthiness .

It’s been four years.

But it's never too late for Namjoon to have second doubts. Even when Jungkook is sinked… so, so deep..

Maybe they aren’t meant to b-

Maybe Jungkook should read a poem.

Parting is to me, a tear that blooms unknowingly in my eyes

All the things we couldn’t say flow out

And lingering feelings crawl up my face

Parting is the reward that comes only at the end

Of my play of lies

It feels like hours as Jungkook stares at it, entranced. Only when he sees a teardrop make the ink bleed and smudge, is when he is snapped out of it.

He sets the notebook down in his night stand. Jungkook doesn’t feel like reading anymore of it, the knot on his chest only tightened by the unhelpful words of the poem.

He read enough .

Jungkook curls to his side dejected, as if offended at the poet and his own relationship problems.

Maybe romance is dead after all.

He feels his shoulders tremble in what's a sob shaking its way out of his lungs. Is he really going to give up Namjoon? Just for a romance that clearly isn’t as perfect as he thought it was?

He can’t.

Moma Muji, passport size, 4.92 x 3.36 inches, persian green cover, 24 pages, ruled, only 16 used.

That's what he thinks when his hand reaches for the notebook almost in a hurry. Jungkook had run back from that dreadful early class, he was barely able to concentrate, a plan forming in his head just as he was about to go to sleep dejected and sad. It kept him all night from the nerves of it all. He has to make things right, and the lack of sleep didn’t stop his adrenaline as it made his mind wander even with the professor explaining in front of him.

The point is Jungkook has the notebook and is desperately running to Namjoon’s apartment.

Guess all those winter runs served some purpose at least.  

Maybe he is being stupid for running in negative number weather in clothes that were apropriate for his ac-heated classroom. But fuck it.

Romance is alive, and Jungkook is the breathing, sprinting, embodiment of it.

When he reaches Namjoon’s apartment, his throat feels like it has shards of ice poking at it with every deep swallow of air, the skin across his cheeks and nose sporting a blush from the cold and knife-like wind across his face running here. His hair is a mess, there’s definitely sweat stains under his arms, and he most definitely looks insane.

He also kinda forgot to tell Namjoon he was coming over, he knows his boyfriend’s schedules and routines so he should be home right now. He always has friday morning’s off. So he doesn’t bother letting Namjoon know, rather fumbling with his shaky, numb fingers to reach for the spare key. The ends of his hands are also red from the cold, tingling and making his movements clumsy.

But he manages to put the key into the whole regardless. And feeling quite proud of himself and with adrenaline still pumping through his veins, he opens the door.

Namjoon is standing near the door, hunched over halfway through putting on his shoes, looking up surprised. It seems as if adrenaline was only willing to get him this far, as it leaves Jungkook’s body completely.

“Babe…” Namjoon’s voice is cutely stunned, with his eyes widened and plump lips adorably parted with a mouth that stays ajar. “What are you doing here?”

“Where were you going?” Jungkook asks instead of answering. His voice is embarrassingly small for someone who took a 35 minute run without an ounce of doubt. Maybe he's just out of breath.

Oh god, Namjoon was leaving, he has stuff to do Jungkook came at a bad time, he is probably over exaggerating and took all of this way out of proportion and Namjoon didn’t even think anything was wrong at all and he is just making a big scene for nothing being the big, needy baby that he is; bothering Namjoon with his useless emotions-

“Your dorm.” He replies so simply, like sinceirty costs him nothing when it's to Jungkook. “I asked first though.” And his tone isn't accusatory as it is teasing.

Namjoon doesn’t specify, but something inside him wants to believe the older was on his way to do the same as Jungkook.

“I...I wanted to tell you something?” He can’t help but sound doubtful. Even when he knows Namjoon is on his way to see him, even when his eyes are soft enough to melt the shard of ice growing on Jungkook's throat; he can’t seem to recognize if it's from the run or the anxiety. “It's kinda silly, though.” He can’t help but coax that out as well. from the outside one would consider Jungkook is belittling his feelings, yet belittling it makes it less of a big deal and maybe it can calm the speeding rate of his heartbeat.

“It must be important if you came right after class.” Namjoon says taking off the single shoe he had managed to put on and properly stand up straight eyeing Jungkook. “Did you run all the way from the bus station? Jungkook…” He scolds, taking Jungkook's frozen hands into his own bigger warmer ones and drags him in.

Jungkook for a moment has to hold back a snicker imagining Namjoon’s reaction if he knew  how he actually got here. And he looks so cute with his small frown and determined expression already. He can feel his own heart sizing up as Namjoon drags him by the hands into the couch, hushing about Jungkook being too careless and too underdressed as he drapes a heavy blanket over his shoulders.

He feels cared for, it's nice.

It's only when Namjoon forced a hot cup of tea into Jungkook’s hands, that they slowly start to regain their feeling, that the older sits  back down next to him on the couch. His eyes are concerned, unsure, as if all this had just been an excuse to make time, before he inevitably has to ask. “What-uh--What did you want to tell me?” He manages to smile, but Jungkook knows him all too well.

Jungkook’s expression doesn’t falter though, he is ready to do this. He needs to do this.

“You...you’re probably wondering what happened to me yesterday.” Namjoon’s expression drops at that nodding a bit quickly, eagerly, and all too endearingly. Jungkook really made him worry, didn’t he?

“I was upset over some rando’s romantic poems,because--well its stupid but- they were so corny and romantic, they actually made me doubt what you and I have.” He can't help the incredulous tone of his voice because, saying it outloud finally, it really is so ridiculous. Jungkook shakes his head smiling, as if humored.

When his eyes find Namjoon again, they melt with love at the older’s stunned expression. “I convinced myself we were out of sync, or that you weren’t getting anything I sent your way. But it was just those stupid corny poems getting to me.” He sets the cup down, hands warm enough to hold Namjoon’s.

“But I am stupid, and corny, and in love.” He feels his own cheeks burning. “So I want to dedicate these poems to you.” Jungkook knows his smile is giddy like a childs as he reaches for his pocket taking the infamous notebook and handing it to Namjoon with an excited smile.

His boyfriend still looks stunned, and Jungkook can only think about how much smaller the passport sized notebook fits in his hands; even when Jungkook’s own hands aren’t particularly small, it's his boyfriend’s fault for being so family-sized.

With a great amount of strength, he forces himself to stop looking at his boyfriend’s gorgeous hands as he skims through the pages. He is a little surprised to find a frown on Namjoon’s brow, an anxious feeling settling over the younger at the bottom of his stomach.

“How much did you read of it?” Namjoon asks eyes staying glued to the notebook on his lap, avoiding Jungkook’s wide vulnerable eyes.

“U-uh.. I read… I read the first five, though--though the fifth one isn't romantic I only want the first four of them for you. They--I think they fit perfectly into my--my feelings for you.” Jungkook is growing nervous by the second, Namjoon’s eyes stay strained on the notebook, as Jungkook grows more and more convinced that he is exposing too much too intensely again.

“So you didn’t read the whole thing.” For the first time since Jungkook handed him the notebook, Namjoon’s eyes traveled to meet Jungkook’s unsure eyes. He can’t find his voice so he just shakes his head, and that makes his boyfriend's shoulders relax with a sigh. “Okay that explains it.”

“Ex-Explains what?”

“None of those poems are romantic, Jungkook-ah.”

Moma Muji, passport size, 4.92 x 3.36 inches, persian green cover, 24 pages, ruled, only 16 used, poems 1-5 non-romantic themes (allegedly).

“How--how would you know?” Jungkook asks almost defensively, as if standing up for the stranger poet with fanaticism.

Namjoon winces as if it pains him to say it. “I left the notebook by your desk, its uh--mine.” He was avoiding Jungkook’s eyes until now, staring up at him vulnerable, but with a small smile. “They aren’t romantic poems.”

Jungkook’s world stops for just a second, the shock is evident on his face. He is beginning to open his mouth to speak again but he can’t find anything in his seemingly hollow head to say anything. “Well...That’s embarrassing.” He manages to say, feeling the tip of his ears burn.

He made that whole love scene.

“I believe the reader can find more than one structured meaning to the poems, it's not that my meaning is above yours just because I wrote it.” Namjoon explains, and maybe it's his imagination, but he sounds a lot more comfortable having seen his own loss of words on Jungkook’s tongue.  He is handing him back the notebook, the older’s smile is almost as giddy as his when he first started his monologue.

“That sounds like bullshit to make me feel better.” He manages to joke with a grin.

“You should read it, the ending” Namjoon’s smile turns warm. He didn’t deny it. Sounds like, thinking the creator’s intentions are equal to the perception of the auciende, is bullshit after all. “It's kinda important.” There's humor in his voice and a pout forms on the younger’s lips.

“Well I liked to appreciate them one poem at a time!” He defends but it's harmless under Namjoon’s loving stare.

“You could have just recognized my handwriting, baby.” Jungkook’s face blushes in embarrassment.

“And take away all the mystery? No.”

Jungkook’s fingers are hurried and clumsy as he flips over the pages, at first eyeing the poems that had already plagued his mind for weeks. And as he continues forward finding more scribbles and poems, only recognizing a word or two before skipping until he reached the last pages. His heart threatened to beat its way out of Jungkook’s chest.

He is pretty sure he is on page 14 when he meets what he is looking for.

Moma Muji, passport size, 4.92 x 3.36 inches, persian green cover, 24 pages, ruled, only 16 used, poems 1-5 non-romantic themes (confirmed by author: Jungkook’s boyfriend).

Jungkook

His own name stares back at him as he prepares himself for what's next. But he can't find it in himself to feel afraid, not with the weight of Namjoon’s adoring eyes on him.

If you’ve reached this part is because you managed to read through this notebook and whatever I coax out of myself to write in it. I

If you reached this part, then it means you managed to get through all the ugly that I put in here, all my doubts and fears and sour thoughts, I displayed them to you.

Because you make me believe that all my ugly insides are worthy of love; that my entire self is somehow deserving of you. You make me want to show you my realest self.

So, I did. And even if it hasn’t happened I’m terrified of the thought already; no one has made me sink as deep as you, while simultaneously lifting me up higher than ever.

For some reason, I get the feeling I’m exaggerating, since you always find a way to love the unlovable parts of myself. But despite that, I want to give you something pretty, and worthy of love.

I used to be one of those whatever people

I didn’t believe in what real love is

I used to say habitually “I want to love”

But I found myself. The whole new myself.

I met you and did I realize that I’m a book

I want to be the best man for you

It's probably naturally because you are my world itself

You are my beginning and the end itself

I wanna become part of your bookcase

I wanna interfere in your novel as your lover.

What would it be like if I really went to you?

If I went to you, would you be sad?

If I am not the one, what would I be?

In the end, would you leave me too?

The wind wind wind that grazes me

I hope that isn’t just this.

My feelings are blue blue blue

My entire head is filled with blue

How much much much

How much much much you…

You’re my person

You’re my wind

You’re my pride

You’re my love

You’re my love.

Jungkook, I want to share my ugly and my pretty with you, I want to let you see me whole .

Would you move in with me?

“You...You didn’t just imagine me acting off sync.” Namjoon breaks the suffocating silence as Jungkook’s widened eyes leave the sixteenth page of the notebook. It looks like the older’s expression has softened, even if sadly. “I thought you had read it all and just...didn’t know how to reject me.” He smiles but it's gloomy eyes avoiding the younger, as if he had assumed this was a fact.

A little bit of Jungkook’s heart breaks at that.

A life shared with Namjoon, Namjoon who trusts Jungkook the deepest parts of his being, that trusts in Jungkook’s ability to love, to treat him delicately around ugly insides, and grounding against a weak trembling frame.

Like he looks right now, eyes nervous and strained on Jungkook as his hands fondle with each other shoulders raising and falling shakily with quivering breaths. Jungkook doesn’t even have to think twice.

Both his hands reach for Namjoon’s shoulders, making sure his entire attention is on him. Namjoon's lowered head perks up startled. “Joonie… I’m sorry your plan didn’t work out the way you intended.” He smiles apologetically and he lets his hands slide down Namjoon’s arms and onto his fiddling hands. “But it's not like it matters.” His tone it's relaxed but it doesn’t seem to calm Namjoon, not even with the stroking of his thumbs over the older's hand.

There's a question rising up the older’s throat but Jungkook doesn’t let it. “It doesn’t matter because... I want to move in with you.” He sees all the tension leave Namjoon’s expression into pure surprise, endearing enough that it coaxes a giggle out of Jungkook, tugging his bigger hands closer to him, kissing him softly; surprised to find Namjoon kissing back with what he can only imagine is all the pent up emotion from this week.

He doesn’t question it for long, he can never think all that much when Namjoon is kissing him.

Moma Muji, passport size, 4.92 x 3.36 inches, persian green cover, 24 pages, ruled, only 16 used, poems 1-5 non-romantic themes (confirmed by author: Jungkook’s boyfriend), now sitting on a bedside table on Jungkook’s side of the bed.

“Where are you going? We already have everything.” Jungkook questions his boyfriend as he starts to exit their apartment door; which is currently filled with boxes they just brought back from Jungkook’s former dorm.

“I just have one more thing to get from my car.” He kisses the top of Jungkook’s head and without any more explanation he leaves through the door. Leaving Jungkook by himself for the first time in this entire hectic day.

The apartment looks messy, or well, messier than usual; Namjoon always tried to be neat for his boyfriend’s sake, and succeeded a few times. Most times, Jungkook would find him covered in work and would offer to clean for him, claiming to be ‘trophy wife’ material. Its catastrophic now, covered in boxes, Jungkookisn’t a hoarder but Namjoon’s apartment is what one would politely call ‘cozy’. It's catastrophic, yet Jungkook can only feel his heart size up in excitement and giddiness; as if completely unaffected by the mess like he normally would.

It's just hard to focus on the mess, when every time he tries to he sees traces of himself in this apartment: in his box of old CDs that will go in a shared collection with Namjoon’s, or how his boyfriend indulged him by taking Jungkook’s energy crystals out of the moving box and into the spaces of the apartment here they belong (even when it's obvious he doesn’t believe in them for a second),  or the way Namjoon got some of Jungkook’s photos printed out and framed so they can decide where to hang them sometime this week.

He’s only been living here for half a day, and Namjoon’s place is already his.

Well, to be fair, Namjoon has been his for a considerably longer amount of time. And that fact alone is enough to make Jungkook stand just the slightest bit taller than before.

Yes he is proud, sue him.

“Back.” Namjoon announces softly shutting the door, and taking out his snow soaked boots, with a hand suspiciously behind his back.

In a wave of confidence Jungkook can’t help the flirty smile as he walks over to his boyfriend. “Yes, back.” A hand settles over the short hairs of Namjoon’s nape, caressing softly. “What’s behind it?” He tilts his head to the side with a smile that tries to be seductive but only manages to be bright.

“Can’t get anything past you, can I?” Namjoon’s face splits into a grin staring down slightly to Jungkook; he isn’t that short! It's just… they’re so close.

“No you can not. I own this place and I’ll establish a customs directorate right at the doorstep.” His grin is wide, cocky almost with its jokes; hands still mindlessly playing with Namjoon’s hair with arms hooked over his shoulders.

“You own the place? Does that mean you’ll pay your share of the bill?” A raised eyebrow is all Jungkook needs for his facade to collapse.

“Nooo, I think you misheard me. I just said this is my boyfriend’s place? My super generous, compassionate and broken college student boyfriend, he is great.” If hsi tone sounds desperate he doesn't care, it makes Namjoon chuckle, and that's all that matters. “No customs. But please show me? Please?” Maybe he is whining, laying limp against Namjoon’s firm torso while he whines like a child.

But you can’t criticize him for it, when it works.

“You are impossible to resist, you know it's not fair.” He says rolling his eyes and shoving Jungkook off of him, with the hand that he has available. Once they're at a comfortable distance he reveals.

A potted Camellia.

“I bet that mean poet had you pretty bummed about not having one of these.” His tone is joking but soft, adoring as a pink tone spreads over his cheeks.

Jungkook’s cheeks hurt from smiling as he nears Namjoon again, the potted plant being the only thing separating them. “He did.” He meets Namjoon’s hands helping hold the weight of the plant. Today, his hands are cold instead of Jungkook’s. “I’ll have to make him pay me somehow.”

“I’m sure he’ll find some way.” Namjoon mumbles but leaning over close enough that Jungkook understands. Placing a soft peck to his lips.

Moma Muji, passport size, 4.92 x 3.36 inches, persian green cover, 24 pages, ruled, only 16 used, poems 1-5 non-romantic themes (confirmed by author: Jungkook’s boyfriend), now sitting on a bedside table on Jungkook’s side of the bed, with a cut Camellia on a whiskey glass with water next to it. Both manifestations of how Namjoon is just as stupid and corny and in love as he is.

#namkook #kim namjoon #jeon jungkook #fluff #established relationship #poetry fic #happy ending #misunderstandings

[onemorrelight]

Dear Andy,

You’re no longer dear to me, so I don’t think it’s appropriate to start this off calling you something that you’re not. That’s a lie. Somehow, despite being a bastard man, a betrayer of trust, and an oath breaker, you are still dear to me. How fucked up is that?

You gutted me. I was blindsided. I still miss you, and I hate that. I hate how you liked a post I reblogged and that fucked me up. Again.

What they don’t tell you about giving is that it keeps coming back. Every time there is a new reminder of them, or an action you hadn’t already mentally fortified yourself against, the pain just hits you again. Raw.

I heard Nine Inch Nails on the radio and cried. I haven’t thought about you in months, at least not for this long, until you liked my fucking tumblr post. I feel so weak. I want to message you and say ‘please don’t do that, unless you want a conversation or to talk to me.’ But that’s not something I should want. I need to believe that ‘sometimes the trash takes itself out.’

But fuck. You were a part of my life for so damn long. You were such a positive influence. I know you have your faults. I know this isn’t all my fault. I know this isn’t all your fault. I know I took you for granted. I know I wasn’t a capable friend. I’m still learning how to be one. We both fucked up and hurt each other a lot.

There is this book series; Red Rising; I think you’d like. I try and think of you as my Cassius. The fact that Cass isn’t my friend anymore isn’t an irony that’s wasted on me. But I try and shove you into the role of betrayed and betrayer. Someone who can’t see past his own prose and anger. Someone who called a Blood Fude. Which, honestly, sounds pretty accurate now that I list it out. But I think maybe you’re more like Rouke. Hmm. Or maybe that one is Cass.

Either way, watching the main protagonists fuck up his own relationships, and seeing him process what he’s done wrong, it’s comforting, I guess. I look at those three, and I can’t help but think it could have worked. If their younger selves saw what they would become, that maybe their anger wouldn’t have twisted their hearts so much. Maybe they would have felt like they could have opened up to each other. I think about how it still seems so irreparable. How things have gone too far. It’s relatable.

I miss you all. But I know that you all dropped me. When the going got rough, none of you talked to me. There wasn’t any conversation. I think that’s a big part that hurts. How I cared so much for all of you, how I would have made time if you told me you needed it; I would have gone to Denny’s at two am just to talk it all out, if that’s what you needed. But none of you did that for me. None of you reached out. None of you told me I was hurting you. I didn’t know.

Andy, I know we talked a little about how the texting delays hurt each of us. How some of the people I had made friends with were shitty to you. I dropped those people. All of them. I didn’t know they were shitty to you until you spoke about it that one time. I had no damn idea. I’m so mad I didn’t know or see it. It feels like I should have. Therapy tells me otherwise, but it’s such a hard emotion to fight.

I never really told you what I was going through. I realize that now. How could you understand something I never voiced. I’m learning how to read and understand myself, so that I can advocate for my needs, instead of going silent. I’m not making myself better in hopes that we could be friends again. For starters that would be creepy. But secondly, and most importantly, I don’t think I could ever trust you again. No matter how much I still want to.

Not you. Not Cass. Not Ryley. Not Hayden. Not Camille. Not Wes. Not Ellie. Not Edison. Not Maris. You all just dropped me. You all made it look so easy. It hurts so damn much. Andy, you were my best friend, and I was in love with you. My heart hit the floor and splintered. Everyone else sent it shattering. You all were my closest friends outside of Miles and Tori. That’s it.

I still don’t understand what I did so wrong as to have you choose to drop me and never touch again. Cass sent a text letter. I don’t know what I said or did that had them feeling broken. Therapy tells me no one else can make someone feel something else. It says that our own interpretations make us feel certain ways. Still, I don’t know what prompted that. But I respected them enough to heed the wish to be left alone. Everyone else was a fucking coward and didn’t say jack shit to me. I’m learning how to be angry. That’s a positive silver lining through this. My therapist was proud that I stood up for myself.

So, I know I don’t deserve to have friends that won’t talk to me, or won’t tell me when I’ve done wrong. I’m having better standards for myself. But, of all the people in the world, I still wish I was friends with you the most. But I know that relationship won’t be healthy for me. Not that you want one.

I’m guessing you didn’t know you were still following my tumblr. I sure as shit didn’t know I was still following you.

I should block you. It’d be safer for me. Maybe for you too. But that stupid little flame of hope yearns for you still. How pathetic is that? You cheated on me and I still want you in my life.

I think I have to block you. I can’t spiral like this every time you find something relatable that I share. Hope springs eternal. I need to do my best to circumvent this.

Goodbye Cassius. Rouke. And all you other assholes I thought better of.

I should channel Beyoncé’s Best Thing I Never Had.

Thank god you blew it. Thank god I dodged a bullet. You showed your ass and I saw the real you. Ooo I want you so bad, I can’t let you back, you turned out to be the best thing I never haaaad. Sucks to be you right noooow.

It also sucks to be me. Well. That’s one more thing I have processed you out of. So, hopefully, that with the blocking, this won’t happen again.

[ultsracha]

Soulmate Chan (skz)

Request: Maybe could it be an Imagine where you are soulmates with Chan and like switch bodies randomly? A/N: Thanks for requesting love, I know that this kinda of went off the request but I got carried away heh, its super long and I’m sorry but I hope you enjoy! Thank you to the wonderful @trixareforlix for helping me with ideas! <3  Summary: everyone has a soulmate and everyone has a different experience when they finally touch their soulmate. Yours just happened to be a little more extreme than everyone else.  Warnings: Swearing, very, very, very mild angst for like .2 seconds

soul mates were always a mystery to you

most people on earth had one

and the stories you heard of how they knew the other person was their soul mate were always strange 

the majority of the people you met who’d found their soulmate had pretty normal experiences 

like hugging the other person and feeling the entire world heat up for 3 seconds before fading away

or your parents story when your mum was working at a cafe and handed your father his change and ever so gently touched his hand with hers

and the feeling of electricity that flowed between them that they both said lasted for what seemed like weeks 

but there some stories that were more extreme than just a feeling

a story broke the news of a young pair who both flew 6 feet in the air when they nudged hands while walking down the street 

or the soul mates who’s eyes changed colour when they bumped into each other on the street 

sometimes people knew as soon as they found each other

other people had to use social media after realising they must have accidentally touched their soul mate on the street and not felt anything

you had yet to find your other half 

not that you minded all too much

the idea of what could possibly happen when you meet them makes you,,,, nervous

chances were you’d feel some kind of amazing feeling in your whole body and then you’d know who you’d be destined to be with forever

everyone else in your family had similar whole body feelings of warmth of electricity or like being full of water 

Even your younger sister found her soulmate during a sports day relay race in school 

So now you just go about your business trying your best not to touch people as you go 

It’s a boring Friday evening when everything decides to changes

Your phone rings halfway through a movie and it’s your best friend

“Hey, there’s this really cool group that’s performing at work tonight please come and see them” they whine through the phone 

You internally sigh and agree because well

it’s time you saw the real world not just work and your apartment 

So you get dressed again and walk to the bar, signs plaster every wall and lamp post for a group called ‘3racha’ 

When you get there the stage is all set up and people are already filling up the from of the stage 

you just walk over to your friend and linger around the bar until they have a spare moment to come talk

“so, did you hear them do soundcheck or anything? are they good?” you ask over a vodka lemonade

“Yes!” they literally squeal, “there’s three guys, one of them has this super sexy Australian accent. You’re gonna love him” they’re practically bouncing at this point 

So maybe this night wouldn’t be a total bust because cuties on stage

You really thought it would be some old guys with guitars but after another 20 minutes waiting and 2 more drinks

3racha were on stage and well

let me tell you something

fucking incredible 

they had so much energy and passion and every song was powerful

all three boys were undeniably handsome 

but the leader was something ELSE 

your friend was right about the accent, it was beautiful 

and that angelic face that goes from smiling to deadly serious in a second 

holy shit someone was one lucky person to have him as their soulmate

You learned their names, Changbin, Jisung and finally Chan

by the end of their songs and some surprisingly funny dad jokes from Chan

you were going to follow them on their social media because they were so, so good 

When they finally said their goodbyes you were right at the front of the crowd by the stage 

Chan waving and smiling while hopping up and down 

Until the moment he missed the edge of the stage 

and fell 

everything happened in slow motion and the look on his face as he flew to the ground was priceless

No one could catch him before he landed 

Right on top of you 

His whole body crushing into yours in a second

You would’ve screamed if it weren’t for the strange feeling that filled up your whole body

Like you were filled with sparkling water 

Or how TV static must feel 

You closed your eyes as the feeling crept up to your head and braced for what would follow

Honestly it just seemed like Chan killed you and this was what death felt like 

And then you were being yanked from the floor and heard a female voice groaning on the floor

“Chan mate what the fuck are you doing trying to kill fans?” a very, very angry Jisung is holding your shoulders and shaking

“I think you picked up the wrong survivor” you mumble, raising your arm to brush through your hair 

You hand quickly passes through the amount of hair on your head

Hang on a minute

With a heart full of dread you turn to look at where Chan was supposed to be lying on the floor from where he fell and see 

Yourself

You’re looking down at yourself with wide eyes

You are also looking back up at yourself with wider eyes 

“Is this what it’s like to be dead?” You ask, turning back to look at Jisung

“Chan what are you talking about, also help the poor girl up” He growls, walking round you and helping your other self up 

“No, I’m Chan” your other self says while looking you up and down

“And I’m Y/N” you reply 

Everyone in the bar is just standing around looking at you with shock and confusion 

“Let’s go. Now” Changbin appears from nowhere and grabs you and your other selves arm and drags you to a backroom

As you walk more things seem different than before

Everything seems slightly lower down than usual 

Your clothes feel, loose 

So, naturally you look down to examine your outfit because when you left the house it was NOT this baggy 

even more panic sets in when you see a plain tshirt and baggy tracksuit bottoms 

When you get into the room Changbin forces you and other you to sit down on a sofa next to each other

“Right. So what in flying fuck is going on here then?” Jisung asks 

“It’s pretty clear what’s happened, they body swapped” Changbin sighs back 

“Hold on a minute..” You start saying before clasping a hand over your mouth

That accent 

Slowly removing your hand from your mouth and looking at it in more detail it finally sinks in

You’re not in your own body 

your own hands were not this big, and you certainly didn’t have the money for these nice rings 

Which means you swapped with Chan

“OH MY GOD THEY’RE SOULMATES” Changbin yells while slapping Jisungs chest with excitement 

This means 2 things: 

1) Chan is your soulmate and you’re not about to complain

2) You, for the time being, are stuck in Chan’s body

“Holy shit...” Chan whispers from next to you 

“Uh, it’s nice to meet you I guess” you sigh twisting to face Chan 

“Nice to meet you too.... I don’t mean anything by it but when do you reckon we can get our own bodies back?” He asks, rubbing the back of his neck nervously 

“I’m not going to lie, I have no idea how to solve this problem, I guess it’s just how long the universe wants to keep us like this” You reply, looking at your own body 

That outfit really was cute 

“How long did you family members take for their match to finish?” Changbin asks cautiously 

“My parents had a feeling which lasted for like 3 weeks...” You mumble awkwardly knowing that this would not be a popular answer 

They all groaned and Jisung stormed out of the room moodily 

“He’s just worried about out shows and new music we need to finish it’s nothing personal” Chan explains, patting your knee sympathetically 

That’s when the whole situation dawned on you

Your job, your family, you friends 

You’d have to explain what was happening 

Which would mean explaining to your family you’d finally found your soulmate 

The entire situation was just proving more and more stressful and just as you were getting caught up in your thoughts

Chan patted your knee again this time keeping his hand there gently 

“It’s okay, there have been worse matches happen before. Remember the couple on the news that caused a fire in a bus stop a few weeks ago?” 

You snort in reply before looking up at him 

It was weird seeing your own face looking at you

“Maybe we should do some research on if this has happened before and how they managed to get back in their own bodies” Chan explains as he stands up and grabs his bag before grabbing his phone and sitting back down

He doesn’t seem to mind touching because he sits with his leg pressed against yours on the sofa 

It was nice and comforting despite only knowing him for a few minutes 

After some digging and whining about not having a thumb print on his phone from your thumb 

You found a website which explained a couple from New Zealand had swapped bodies for 5 days before returning to their original body when they found their soul mate 

“So I guess we just have to wait this out then...” You sigh, standing up 

“How are we gonna do this? Do we need to see your parents?” Chan asks 

“No no no no no, not yet, this will be too weird to explain right now especially because we met today...” You quickly rush to explain 

Chan quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t argue

“Well can you at least stay at my place tonight? I want to get to know you more” he asks 

If it had been any other person, any other day you would have said no but this is your soul mate

The person the universe knows you’re perfect for 

So you agree and part ways briefly to get your things to stay over and then walk to his apartment 

Which is just down the road from yours 

His apartment is messy but empty all at the same time

His bedroom consisting of a mattress on the floor and a desk with recording equipment 

“I just moved in like 3 months ago and we’ve been super busy with music and performing I haven’t had a chance to like get any furniture” He mumbles, placing blankets and pillows on the sofa for you

You just nod in reply and sit down

The reality really has sunk in 

This is your soulmate 

You’re in his freaking BODY 

And you have no idea how to get OUT 

The evening goes pretty smooth 

Talking about where you grew up, favourite foods, movies you enjoy 

The universe must know what it’s doing because the more you talk the more you realise Chan is really a genuine and kind man

With very similar interests and thoughts as you

You both fall asleep on the sofa together watching a movie 

Sadly as morning came about you were both still trapped inside each others bodies 

You made breakfast for Chan out of the very limited food in the fridge and vowed to buy him some decent food before you had to plan what was going to happen tonight 

3racha were performing tonight 

It was the biggest venue they’d ever played before and well, it was important 

You knew none of their lyrics, had no rapping skills and well couldn’t think of anything more terrifying than performing on stage

“Look, I can teach you lyrics and Changbin and Jisung can do the majority of it and if anyone asks its because you’re ill” Chan repeats again

“But Chan, I can’t rap, I suck at this.” You sulk, lying on his bedroom floor

“You’re in my body Y/N. You have my mouth and my voice. You can do it! It’s just confidence and knowing the lyrics” 

And so, you let him teach

It was hard, very very hard but by the end of the day you knew enough lyrics to pass as Chan 

But that didn’t change the rock in your stomach and the feeling of terror as you paced back stage waiting 

“Y/N it’s okay you can do this just remember the stuff we learnt and keep smiling” Chan was rubbing your arm reassuringly 

“Don’t mess this up, please. You have no idea how big this is for us.” Jisung snarks as he stands next to you 

He has done nothing but make you feel more nervous all day 

“Look. It’s not my fault I swapped bodies with Chan okay? I didn’t ask for this and I’m sorry we couldn't fix it but being an asshole isn’t going to make me perform any better. You’re lucky I even bothered to try.” You reply with as much conviction as your shaky voice would let you

Jisung looks amused and replies while smirking;

“Chan, she’s fiery. I’m glad your soul mate has some sass to her” before walking away

As much as that makes you smile you can’t shake the nerves 

“Chan I’m so scared, I don’t want to mess this up for you” You’re nearly crying at this point

Your hands wont stop shaking 

“Even if it’s not good I don’t care, I found my soulmate and that’s way more important to me than a show. If you’re feeling that worried we can say that I got food poisoning or something” Chan explains, taking both of your hands in his

“No no no I’ll perform because I don’t want to let you down or do anything to damage your career. It’ll be okay but thank you for caring so much” 

Tears are streaming down your face as Chan brings you into a hug 

He just holds you there in his arms in a super weird hug that’s kinda uncomfortable because you forgot you’re in Chans body so you’re like a head taller than yourself 

He obviously forgot he’s a head smaller because he’s in your body and you ended up weirdly holding each other

But it was nice and you could feel your heart beat racing

A warm feeling spreading through your body making you never ever want to let go

It felt like an eternity before you pulled away and opened your eyes 

To see Chan’s face in front of yours 

You look down and see your own body 

“Did we just?” Chan asks in disbelief 

“We did” You grin, wrapping your arms round his neck for another hug

Which works out perfectly this time

“GUYS WE SWAPPED BACK” Chan screams 

“Thank fuck for that” Jisung gasps, hugging Chan tightly 

“We have to go Chan quickly” Changbin rushes before pushing them both 

“Let’s go on a date when this is over yeah?” Chan grins as he’s being pushed by Changbin 

“Of course!” You have to shout because he’s so far down the hallway 

The performance is amazing, as expected 

Chan sends you winks and pulls cute faces the whole time 

When they’re done you meet him back stage 

He pulls you into a sweaty hug and kisses the top of your head 

And despite only knowing him for a day you loved the feeling

Changbin and Jisung were buzzing with happiness over how well they did 

“Chan let’s all go out to celebrate!” Changbin beams 

“I can’t tonight, I said I’d take Y/N on a date...” Chan explains, draping an arm around your shoulder 

“Let’s all go out together, we should definitely celebrate.” You interject, the last thing you wanted was to take Chan away from his best friends after such an important milestone for them

His smile told you everything you needed to know about his feelings as you all got ready to go out together 

Chan was perfect, polite and sweet to you and every single thing he did made you smile 

The universe knew whats up when it gave you your soulmate 

#skz #stray kids #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #skz au #stray kids au #skz imagine #stray kids imagines #chan #bang chan #3racha #3racha au #chan fluf #bang chan fluff #soulmate au #kpop #kpop fluff #han jisung #changbin #stray kids chan #skz chan

[ergomaria]

The Past is Gone (but something might be found) Preview Pt. III

Somehow, the text from the original post was deleted when I tried to edit the tags to make this easier to sort. I’ve restored it. Once again, I’m just posting this as a reminder that I’m alive and still trying to write!

PLOT: Vann, Meetra, and Carth touch the wrong thing at the wrong shrine and are turned into themselves at 18. Alek finds himself paying his penance to the Force when he has to simultaneously watch over the trio while trying to figure out how to restore them to their proper ages.

Now saddled with three teenagers and very few clues, Alek nodded in acquiescence as he trudged back towards the Hawk. Luckily, they were all fairly well behaved during the walk. Once they reached the ship the real fun began.

“So, do any of you know the codes to get back on the ship?”

There was a long bout of uncomfortable silence during which it became clear that no adult knowledge about the freighter had stuck with the teens. The worst part was that Alek did know the codes but couldn’t admit that fact without seeming suspicious. The next best option was to rewire the door panel and go from there.

“Alright, here’s a better question. Do any of you know how to rewire a hatch?”

Predictably, it was Deran who raised his hand. “Obviously I can, at least if I have the correct tools. Unfortunately, I don’t have my normal gear…”

The amount of places that Vann had broken into or out of during his search for the Star Forge still grated on Alek’s nerves. He knew for a fact there was a multitool tucked somewhere in that worn black jacket, but it was yet another fact he couldn’t openly share. “This might sound absurd, but everyone check your pockets. If your clothing originally belonged to spacers, and it looks like it did, the original owners may have left something useful behind.”

It was a risky gamble since there was always a chance that one of them had identifying documents on their person. But Alek was hoping they’d left those behind to perform a mission as covert as hiding a highly dangerous Sith holocron. Onasi’s civilian clothing was the best indicator that this might be the case. For once the Force was on his side and the search produced nothing but various odds and ends. An extra reload for the blasters, a few credits, a ration bar, a medpac, and finally a multitool that Vann had definitely purchased illegally.

Deran was predictably pleased to find the item and immediately set to work rewiring the door to his own ship. Meanwhile, Alek quietly filed that irony away for later. When the exit ramp slid open with a smooth hiss, Onasi practically cracked a tooth in his desperate attempt to not look impressed.

The inside of the Hawk was in partial disarray, though it was hard to tell if this was from whatever had transpired to turn three adults into teenagers or the mere fact that it was Vann’s ship and thus naturally full of clutter. Either way, the mess made it easier for Alek to order the teens to remain in the main hold where it was neater and theoretically ‘safer’ while he ‘checked’ the rest of the freighter. As soon as he was sure they would stay put, he moved into the cockpit to look for further clues.

Despite his tendency towards random piles of mechanical parts, Vann was absolutely fastidious when it came to researching locations and making notes about what he discovered. Before the original trip to Dromund Kaas he’d compiled an entire datapad full of files on the history of Sith purebloods, their laws, and their customs. While Nirauan had significantly less information recorded, there was still a pad with multiple paragraphs discussing the planet’s connection to both the Rakata Infinite Empire and the Force itself. It seemed that the crew was aiming to land near a series of suspected Rakata ruins that had a notable presence.

Datapad in hand, Alek peeked into the main hold to inform his charges of his next step. “Just so you’re aware, I think I found a series notes mentioning that this planet has a strange connection to the Force. I don’t know if it has anything to do with your current situation, but we can’t rule it out. I have a friend who might be able to untangle the few clues we currently have, so I’m going to comm her using the ship’s unit. Just wait here until I’m done.”

“Is she a Jedi?” Meetra was sprawled across two seats looking dangerously bored.

“She was at one time, but she’s since left the Order. However, she’s very knowledge about certain subjects and I feel that her input will be extremely helpful.” One of the subjects she had a great deal of experience with was being a Force prodigy and another was ancient artifacts from the Infinite Empire, currently making her the galaxy’s only authority on the situation. When there were no further questions, Alek hurried away to contact Rakata Base in the hope of begging Bastila for assistance.

“Vann?” The young woman’s face immediately darkened when she saw who was on the other end of the call. “Why are you there and where is Vann?”

“I’m here because Meetra contacted me when there was a complication with their current mission,” Alek hissed as quietly as possible. Noting the concern that immediately overtook Bastila’s face he assured her, “Everyone is healthy. I hesitate to say ‘fine’ because, well… Somehow, through a combination of some Rakta ruins and a Sith holocron, all three members of this crew are currently teenagers with no memories of their adult selves. I’d estimate them between seventeen and nineteen, if I had to guess.”

The incredulous glare was absolutely scathing. “You’ve picked a poor time to develop a sense of humor.”

“Why in Sith hells would I joke about this? I currently have three teenagers in the hold of this damn ship who are convinced that I’m a Jedi Sentinel named Naver who happened to sense a disturbance in the Force. Since it’s blatantly clear that my creativity it lacking, you can be sure that I couldn’t make this bantha fodder up if I tried!”

“Dustil, can you please come here? Our former ‘master’ is on the comm and he believes that he’s being hilarious. Perhaps you can convince him to tell me what’s really going on.”

“What the hells is going on now, Malak?” The younger Onai looked supremely irritated, which actually mirrored how Alek was currently feeling.

“That’s not my name.”

Appearing unbothered by the correction, Dustil sneered for a moment before snapping, “What kinrath nest did Vann get my dad into this time?”

“Oh, did he not tell you? Supposedly through the will of the Force, Vann, Meetra, and your father are now teenagers with no memory of their adult lives.” Bastila looked equally unamused. “Funny, yes?”

“Hi-kriffing-larious.”

Alek was about two second from hanging up and hoping that Rand would be more helpful, if only to get Meetra back into her proper body, when a slender figure crept into the room just within view of the comm unit.

“Um, Knight Naver, I apologize for bothering you but…”

There was a loud pop of static from the other end of the comm, which turned out to be Bastila covering the microphone with her hand so that she could curse for about thirty seconds straight.

“Yes, Deran? I was actually just telling me friend Bastila a bit about you and the others in the hope that she’d be willing to assist us in figuring out what happened. Perhaps you’d like to speak with her about your current situation? It could be useful.”

It was hard to tell who was more bewildered by the entire scenario. Luckily, Deran’s natural curiosity quickly took hold and he slipped over to the console and situated himself before the camera. “Hello, Bastila was it? What did you want to ask me?”

“Oh stars…” The young woman was doing a poor job of disguising her surprise, though she still managed to stutter, “I apologize for my lack of manners. You just… remind me of someone I know. No matter. Actually, Deran, I was just wondering how, ah, how old you are.”

“You really aren’t a Jedi, are you? Sorry, that was rude. It’s just… everyone in the Order always seems to know everything about me. But uh, I turned eighteen a few months ago.”

“Two years before Knighthood…”

“Bastila, be careful. You don’t want to scare the boy!” While it was technically true that Deran became the youngest Knight in the order at age twenty, that wasn’t information his eighteen-year old self knew. It wasn’t until nineteen that his trials actually began.

Plastering on a false smile, the young woman quickly stammered, “That’s just a guess on my part. Though, of course, I could be wrong. It’s not like I can see the future and you’re so very… young.”

Unfortunately, just the mention of Knighthood had made Deran’s back go stiff, his jaw ticking in the corner even as his expression remained stoic and proper. “Well, that’s for the Council to decide. They know best.” Even at this age he sounded thoroughly unconvinced. “What else do you want to ask me?”

“That’s… that’s it.” Turning to Alek, Bastila stated, “I believe you and I’ll do whatever I can to help. Just tell me what you need.”

“I’ll send you all of the data I have in a minute. Let me just find out what brought Deran in here in the first place.”

“I came in to let you know that Carth and Meetra left the ship. They said that they got tired of waiting for you and decided to explore on their own.” The teen winced slightly. “Also, they may have been flirting? I’m not always great at telling that type of stuff, but it’s possible they just went to go and… you know.”

The snort of hysterics from Dustil was all the confirmation that Alek needed to know that this entire situation was his punishment from the Force. Part of him considered letting Meetra and Onasi do whatever they wanted. Someone else could deal with the fallout. But he also needed to get Deran out of the room to prevent him from snooping. “I’m concerned that they’re going to get themselves into trouble. There are some very powerful ruins on this planet and I’d hate for them to make the current situation even more complicated. Can I trust you to find them and bring them back safely?”

It was an underhanded ploy. Alek was fully aware that Deran’s facade of teenage bravado combined with his crippling fear of failure would make him agree to almost any task without question. But the former Sith didn’t have time to chase two teenagers down, all while trying to keep a third from learning that he was currently speaking with his own kriffing Padawan.

As expected, Deran immediately nodded. “Of course. I’ll bring them back as quickly as possible.”

It wasn’t until the teen’s footfalls disappeared off the ship that Alek sat down with a sigh, his head pounding from the sheer mental acrobatics required to keep this situation moving forward. As he uploaded the information from Vann’s datapad he grumbled, “For Force sake, Dustil. I thought your father would be the responsible one!”

The damned kid was still laughing. “Just checking, but is Meetra the teenager as pretty as Meetra the adult? Big blue eyes and wavy blonde hair?”

Attempting to be objective about the attractiveness of someone who was like a sister to him, Alek shrugged. “I suppose? She was more petite at this age, almost willowy. I honestly think she looks better with some muscle. Less delicate.”

“I don’t care either way, it’s just… My dad kinda has a type. Or, at least he did at that point in his life. My mom was petite with wavy, honey-brown hair. They met when he was twenty.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope, you can look up the files for Morgana Onasi if you want. I um, I have. Just to see her, you know? It helps me to remember her face…” Shaking away his melancholy, Dustil cleared his throat. “Ah, anyway, at eighteen my Dad was really responsible when it came to official things. Training and studying? He was incredibly dedicated. But when he had time to himself he kind of… let loose. Nothing really bad, just a lot of drinking and fooling around with his fellow cadets. Put a bunch of bored, horny teenagers in the same dorm and stuff happens.”

Alek had lived in the Jedi dormitories during puberty and was well aware of what could happen. He winced.

“The good news is that my dad definitely liked men at that age as well… Please don’t ask how I know this. It was a really awkward conversation that only happened because I got mad at him and… ugh. But the good news is that he might rediscover how amazing Vann is. He is really great at this age, right?”

“He’s actually an anxious mess who likes to pretend he’s confident, which just comes off as arrogance. It doesn’t help that he’s actually good at whatever he does. Honestly, I think your father currently wants to throttle him.”

“Ouch. Well, maybe they’ll lose all memory of this once they get restored to their actual ages!”

“We can only hope the Force is that kind.” Rubbing his forehead, Alek asked, “Bastila, have you looked over those files I sent?”

“I’m reading them now and I’ll run them through the Rakata archives when I’m done. But you should be aware that, while we have a significant amount of information on the Infinite Empire, we don’t have much else. Vann tries to update what he can, but it’s still nothing compared to what the Jedi possess.”

“Do your best, it’s still more than I have access to on this ship.”

“I do have an idea, but you’re not going to like it one bit.” Upon noting Alek’s hopeful expression, Bastila sighed...

#kotor 2 #kotor 2 fanfic #wip excerpt #revan #male Revan #vann chis #The Jedi Exile #Female exile #Alek Squinquargesimus #Malak #bastila shan #dustil onasi #my writing #not perfection but completeness

[metaphorical-love-for-a-car]

Marry You-- Joe Mazzello x Reader

Request; “How about a joe mazzello based on the song marry you by Bruno  Mars? Idk” ( @hi-i-dont-know )

Warnings; some language, the song is fem! specific but the story itself isn’t

Word Count; 1.8k

Notes; sorry it's taken me so long to get around to this lol

You couldn’t believe it. You had worked so hard for so long, and you finally did it. Here you were, standing on a stage, accepting an award at a prestigious ceremony. People were clapping, and cameras were everywhere. Never in a million years did you expect this to happen. 

You stuttered through your acceptance speech before scurrying back to your seat. The rest of the awards ceremony seemed to go by in a haze as you continued to try to wrap your mind around the evening. You were in desperate need of a drink, and the after party couldn’t come soon enough.

Dozens of people came up to congratulate you, and you only recognized about half of them. You quickly gulped down your drinks in an attempt to make yourself calm down. It wasn’t the wisest idea, but it was all you could do besides leaving the party, which you obviously didn’t want to do. You were tipsy, borderline drunk, and still feeling overwhelmed. That’s when he decided to approach you. The last thing you needed was your childhood celebrity crush to show up, but that’s exactly what happened.

Your first introduction to Joe Mazzello was when you watched Radio Flyer shortly after it came out, then you saw him again in Jurassic Park. Your younger self thought he was cute, thus your childhood crush formed. As years went on and the two of you started to become more successful in the world of entertainment, you had met each other once or twice, but it was always in passing. Neither of you really spoke to each other much. The most interaction the two of you had was via social media, occasionally liking each other’s posts. 

Needless to say, you were worried about embarrassing yourself because you had too much alcohol in your system for your mind to properly function, and it didn’t help that you continued to drink. “I’m sure you’re going to be sick of hearing this by the end of the night, but congratulations!” Joe flashed you a bright smile. You laughed before thanking him. “Mind if I sit?” He nodded his head towards the empty stool next to yours. You shook your head.

“No, not at all!” Joe sat, and the two of you chatted about basic stuff, like ‘Have you tried the shrimp? It’s pretty good!’ or ‘I’ve been going ninety-to-nothing tonight and can’t wait to finally get home.’ You normally felt awkward during small talk, but this was nice. Maybe it was just the alcohol that was making this feel so comfortable. Maybe it was just his charming personality. Either way, you didn’t care. You were enjoying it. 

“Hope I’m not bothering you. I’m sure a ton of other people would like to talk to you.” You scoffed at Joe’s comment and dramatically rolled your eyes.

“Oh, please! I’m having way more fun talking to you than I would have if I were talking to some of them. Besides, it’s not every day that you get to hang out with your age-old celebrity crush.” You brought your glass to your lips and froze. Did you seriously just say that out loud? No, surely not. You weren’t that drunk, right? You slowly lowered the glass, glancing over at Joe. Shit. You did say it out loud. His mouth was open, looking shocked. And his cheeks were red. 

“You... wait. I’m your celebrity crush?” You felt the heat rising to your face and nodded. He ran a hand through his hair. “No fucking way. This is crazy. You’ve been my celebrity crush since we first met at that movie premiere a few years ago,” Joe said enthusiastically, very much resembling a child telling their friends about the cool toy they got for Christmas. You covered your mouth in an attempt to stifle your laughter. Joe’s brows knitted together, but his goofy grin remained. “I’m serious!” 

“This is too good to be true. It sounds like something out of a fanfiction book on Wattpad or Tumblr.” Joe laughed, stating his agreement. He suddenly grabbed your hand. His eyes were wide and mischief danced across his features.

“I’ve got an awesome idea, and it’ll really make life like a fanfic.” You pursed your lips, eyeing him suspiciously.

“What’re you planning, Joe?” 

“It’s a surprise! Now, where’s the closest Walmart?”

Who cares if we're trashed Got a pocket full of cash we can blow Shots of Patron And it's on girl

The two of you managed to find an Uber at the ungodly hour of the morning it was. People gave you odd looks when you first walked into the store. Some because they recognized the two of you, and some because you were both in incredibly formal attire... while drunk shopping in Walmart. You headed straight towards the candy, and Joe disappeared. As you were paying for the mountain of candy in your arms, you felt someone tap on your shoulder. It was Joe, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “You okay?” you snickered, grabbing the plastic bag from the worker before thanking her. 

'Cause it's a beautiful night, we're looking for something dumb to do Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you Is it the look in your eyes or is it this dancing juice Who cares baby, I think I wanna marry you

“Actually, there’s something important I want to ask you.” You raised a brow at him, and he took a deep breath. When Joe got down on one knee, your jaw dropped. He pulled out a ring that had a little silver frog on top, its back made of a green gem. “Let’s continue with the fanfiction themed night, shall we?” You laughed, nodding. Joe beamed up at you and slid the ring onto your finger.

“Is this actually happening right now?” you asked in between laughs. Joe shrugged. 

“Dunno. That sounds like something for our sober selves to figure out. Wanna check out the Redbox movies?”

I'll go get a ring Let the choir bell sing like ooh So what you wanna do Let's just run girl If we wake up and you want to break up That's cool No, I won't blame you It was fun girl

Your head was pounding. Bringing a hand to your face, you rubbed your eyes before squinting them open. How much did you drink last night? You could hardly remember a thing... that is until you realized you weren’t in your hotel room, nor were you alone. An arm was wrapped around your waist, and the person’s head was nuzzled against your back. Fucking shit. Your mind was reeling, trying to remember what had happened. A part of your mind tried to rationalize that maybe you didn’t hook up with someone. After all, you were still dressed. Then again... the sweats and baggy shirt didn’t belong to you. 

You were worried about waking whoever was beside you. You were desperate to avoid any awkward and embarrassing interactions. Slowly reaching out, you went to pull your phone off of the bedside table. That’s when you noticed the ring. Your breath got caught in your throat as a sudden sense of urgency flooded your system. You tried to turn your phone on, but a black screen stared back at you. Of course, it was dead. Well, there was only one thing you could do. You started peeling yourself from the person’s grasp. As you did, the person stirred. When you were finally able to turn and look at them, it felt like someone dumped a bucket of rocks into your stomach. “Damn... my head’s killin’ me,” Joe groaned while rubbing his face. Your mouth open and closed. You couldn’t think of anything to say. Joe removed his hands, finally meeting your gaze. His eyes widened. “Oh my god...” was all the could muster up.

“Joe, what the hell happened last night?” You showed him your hand, and his face reddened. 

“Well... I-- uh-- don’t remember much. I don’t think we had sex, but I don’t know about that.” He pointed at the ring. Joe quickly sat up, snatching his phone from the floor. Thankfully, it had been charging. 

He had multiple missed calls and unopened text messages from his friends, most of which said something along the lines of ‘Joe, what the hell is going on? Is this real?’ Joe swiped through his camera roll, but most of the pictures were goofy selfies or short videos of the two of you wandering around Walmart. It didn’t really offer much information. You suggested looking through your social media accounts. Lo and behold, it was the jackpot. Your twitter was filled with cringe-worthy levels of cheesy and sappy pickup lines, all of which had Joe tagged in them. He responded to a few, but his replies only consisted of various heart emojis. Joe’s Instagram story had dozens of photos and videos of you two, most of which you had already seen in his camera roll. Then there was one post that had the caption ‘I liked it so I put a ring on it (guess we’re engaged now)’, and you had commented ‘#couplegoals’. You decided to take a look into your own Instagram account, clicking through the story photos you remembered posting. When it finally got to something new, you couldn’t help the butterflies that formed in your chest. 

It was a video of Joe, laying in bed next to you. Your head was on his chest, and you had an arm draped across his torso. You were out cold, and Joe had a soft smile on his face. “(Y/N) fell asleep in the middle of our Night At The Museum marathon, so I decided to hack their insta.” He glanced down at you, his smile growing even wider. “They’re so adorable, even when they’re snoring like a freight train. But don’t let them know that I told you guys that,” he said the last part with a serious expression. Joe pressed a kiss to the top of your head, then the video ended.

“So I guess we got engaged,” you mumbled, examining the little frog ring on your finger. “We know that much happened.”

“What now?” Joe asked, his voice barely above a whisper. You glanced at him, and he was idly tracing a pattern into the bed’s comforter. 

“Well, first, I think we should get some breakfast. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Then maybe we could start with a date and see how that goes?” Joe looked up, meeting your gaze. A smile spread across his lips.

“I like that plan.”

Don't say no no no no no Just say yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah And we'll go go go go go If you're ready, like I'm ready

Just say I do Tell me right now baby Tell me right now baby, baby Just say I do Tell me right now baby Tell me right now baby, baby

Tag List;

@mothermercuryy @mmmmmitslikeadiseaseson

#request #joe mazzello #joe mazello x reader #joe mazzello imagine #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody x reader

[jeannereames]

Happy Birthday to the real Amyntor: Ed Reames

9/11 is a day of mourning in the US. But for me, 9/11 means my father’s birthday. And with Dancing with the Lion: Rise coming out next month--which is dedicated to my father’s memory--I decided I’d post here the tribute to my father that I wrote shortly after his death in February of 2017. My father (and mother) provided the model for Amyntor in the novel. So if you’d like to meet the “real” Amyntor, here he is.

Calvin Edward Reames, c. 1944

As some of you are already aware, my father’s health—physical and mental—has been failing, especially since autumn. In late January, he caught pneumonia and was admitted to the hospital. He never regained conscious awareness and was placed on palliative care. At 3:15pm, Eastern time, February 10, 2017, he died, almost exactly 92 years and 5 months since he entered this world.

Social media has become the communication currency of our time, and supposedly nothing on the Internet ever really disappears. Ergo I want to tell you about my father so HE won’t disappear. This is my own reflection.  No one’s life can be understood by any single individual in it. We’re too multifaceted. The father I knew wasn't even the father my brother knew, as we were born almost 18 years apart--he at the beginning of the Baby Boom and me at the tail end. Yet my father raised a writer for a daughter, so I feel the need to eulogize him as I knew him. Others will have other stories, more or less flattering.

Born on the now-infamous date of 9/11, 1924, in Gorham, Jackson County, (Southern) Illinois, he survived the Tri-State Tornado at only 6 months of age. With him in her arms, his mother ran for the railroad tracks and got on the opposite side from the mile-wide monster bearing down on them, then laid her own body over his; the tornado leapt the tracks and spared them. Perhaps that was an omen for a charmed life. On the face of if, his life might not seem particularly charmed, but he survived the Depression, a world war, and mostly made good on the American Dream. He even lived long enough to see his Cubbies win the World Series.

Iva Mae Gregersen Reames & Daddy, 1925

The eldest of 13 children, he grew up in a family who were poor even by Depression-era standards.  It made him generous, occasionally foolishly so. Yet if he decided someone was “his” (family or friend), he saw it as his obligation to help. That conviction stemmed less from abstract ethics than from an innate kindness arising out of his recall of what it meant to be in need. Sometimes people say, “Well, I managed …” and expect others to suffer as they had.  Daddy could do that, too, but mostly he didn't.  If he could prevent someone from suffering, that made him happy.  He just wanted a “Thank you.” When he was in the war, he sent virtually his whole paycheque home to his mother each month to help care for his younger brothers and sisters. He kept $5.  Yes, $5 went much further then, but as an unmarried corporal in the US army, he made about $65 dollars monthly in 1944.  So he kept 1/13th of his income and gave away the rest.

US Army Corporal, 126th AAA Battalion, 1943

That, perhaps better than anything, exemplifies his fundamental nature. It’s in our actions and choices that, I believe, we reveal our true selves.

He liked to laugh, and kid, but never cruelly. For some families, a disparaging jest is meant as back-handed affection, but that wasn’t heard in the house in which I grew up. When I was younger, I was frequently teased because I walked right into comments with potential double meanings. Perhaps one of the values of getting old(er) is that I’ve aged out of being an easy target. Yet I never learned to hear what others said as an opportunity for ribbing because my parents didn’t find that sort of thing funny. My father's sense of humor was devoid of sarcasm, as he thought it mean-spirited. Some of that owed to his own mother, who—to hear him talk about her—should have been beatified immediately upon her death. But I also believe it owed to having lived through real struggle himself.

To his mind, the world is mean enough. He saw no need to make it meaner via our interactions with people about whom we should care. It's partly for that reason, and a basic aversion to drama, that he was a much-desired member of the pastor-parish relations committee at our church in Lakeland, Florida. His presence tended to tamp down exaggerated crises and occasional bouts of flailing (which is actually a bit funny, given his own tendency to worry).

My father had a will of iron, and a quiet ambition easily overlooked. For instance, when he decided to stop smoking, back before I was born, he’d just received a new carton of cigarettes for Christmas. He threw them in the trash and quit cold turkey because he’d decided he was done. He took up a pipe later (I think largely for image), but decided he didn’t want to do that, either, and just put down the pipe one day. That was it.

"The Lineman," Normal Rockwell

When Daddy decided to do something, he did it. “Failure is not an option”: Apollo 13’s motto. Well, the men (and women) who got Apollo 13 home are my father’s generation. When he returned from the war, he was one of millions looking for a job. He tried on several, but finally decided to work for the telephone company because communications seemed like the future. Before the war, he’d wanted to be a pharmacist, yet circumstance had curtailed the college degree required. So he began showing up regularly in the hiring offices of General Telephone Electric (GTE), asking for work. He made himself annoying. But squeaky wheel gets the grease, and finally they sent him north as a telephone lineman … in January … during a blizzard. He was a relatively little guy (wiry, but short), and they doubted he’d last 2 days. They figured it was a good way to get rid of his terrier persistence.

Daddy on right, GTE employee award

He persisted for 40+ years, and retired as a (self-taught) senior engineer in the mid-1980s. Never tell a Reames, "You can’t do that."

The guys who’d worked under him at the end liked him so much, they kept coming to visit him for years after. He had that effect on people, whether at work, at church, or as a ham radio operator ("This is K9RWP calling..."). They sensed he truly cared about them, and responded in kind. He wasn’t a boisterous or especially outgoing person, but he was still an extrovert. He’d strike up conversations with random strangers in lines at store check-outs.

Especially if there was a baby involved.

Daddy & his great-granddaughter, Leila

See, Daddy loved babies.  And babies loved Daddy. Maybe as a result of being the eldest of 13, but he could burp them, change a diaper pronto, or make them laugh. He so enjoyed watching little kids, especially as he aged; he’d break into a grin just to see them playing at a distance. He was never among the “Children should be seen and not heard” crowd. To his mind, children should be talked to and played with. They would inherit the earth. When my son was born just a few months after my mother's death, Daddy said, “He’s my little replacement.” At the time, I worried his words were fatalistic. But he went on to survive my mother by almost 20 years, and now, I see his words as an expression of continuity. We are our ancestors.

Daddy, Grandson Ian & Licorice as a kitten

So my son, Ian, is his replacement, in the larger sense. When we look forward, we also look back to where we came from. I tried to insure that Ian got to know his Grandpa, who was there just days after he came home from the hospital after birth, and was there when he graduated from high school, even paid his first bill for books at college. Because that’s who Daddy was. If he didn’t get to attend college himself, he made sure both his kids did, and his grandkids. For him, that was an achievement.

As I said…the success of others, especially friends and family, seemed to Daddy the same as his own.

Yet his generosity and empathy extended beyond just people. Daddy was a cat magnet. We used to joke that if he sat down and there was a cat within 50 feet, pretty soon, that cat would be on his lap. He liked dogs, to be sure, but dogs (and horses) were my mother’s favorites. Daddy liked cats, and they liked him. Dogs are forgiving. They’ll stay with even an abusive owner; but cats leave. They don’t put up with crap. Daddy? Even semi-feral cats trusted him.

Daddy, me, Ian, and a completely random barn cat who decided to adopt him for the day at my aunt’s farm

So while he was raised in a time when animals were tools and food more than family members, and he certainly went hunting from a young age to help put food on the table, I think he, more than my mother, had a soft spot for animals. I remember in the ‘70s, he decided we were going to raise rabbits for food, and bought a pair of does. Well, it didn’t take long for yours truly to make pets not only of the does, but of the first litter of babies. All of them had to go to homes where they’d be pets, not dinner. And while I’d made the pronouncement, it didn’t take much to convince my father. Shooting a wild squirrel for the stew pot (especially when hungry) was one thing; killing the rabbits one fed regularly and took care of was another. So our venture in home-grown meat failed miserably (to, I’m sure, the rabbits’ collective relief). Yet it wasn’t just due to my agitating. I don’t think Daddy could have killed a one of them, even if I hadn’t protested. They had names, after all.

He wasn’t a saint. None of us are. The cliche applies: we're a mix of vices and virtues, like shadows against the backlight of the sun. Age softened some of his, while exacerbating others due to a failing filter. Among other things he did well, Daddy was a champion worrier. He worried about anything you can imagine (and then some). Perhaps that owed to growing up in such an unstable era as the Depression when it seemed anything could happen, but for instance, he would remind me constantly to hold onto handrails while going up and down stairs. It seems trivial, but he genuinely angsted over me falling at home and hurting myself when nobody might find me for days. So I (mostly) hold onto rails, because I hear his voice in my head, telling me to.

The irony, of course, is that he was in much more danger of falling, yet he didn't tend to worry about himself. Before he moved up to be near my brother, I tried to get him to buy one of those Life Alert systems. I even employed the ultimate weapon: his grandson (Ian), to beg.  He refused. He’d be fine, because he’s of that generation when all a man should need was himself, a gun, a good job, and a driver's license. And oh, boy, getting him to relinquish that driver's license as he went increasingly blind from macular degeneration was quite the battle, one my poor brother largely had to face when Daddy moved north to Kentucky in his last years. Daddy never did let go of the worrying, though.

He could be impatient, and critical, too, sometimes overly so. I never wanted to sing in front of him because he, like many of his siblings, had an excellent ear and I was, well, usually a little flat. He could hear it, and would say so. But the one he was most critical of was himself, if he failed to live up to his (very high) standards of what he thought he ought to do. Some of that, I lay at the feet of his own father, at least as my mother told it to me. Yet in contrast, as noted earlier, he delighted in the success of others. As a child and young woman I wanted to succeed not because I feared his critique (except about my singing), but because I basked in his happiness when I did well. He could be downright embarrassing in his bragging. If failure, especially his, was not an option, he didn't feel the need to build himself up by tearing down others. He was happy to share the spotlight, or even to applaud from the sidelines--and mean it. Again, maybe that owed to being one of 13, but I think it went deeper, back to his fundamental worldview: “You and me,” not, “Me or you.” He was quietly ambitious, but not especially competitive. Except at cards. Then all bets were off (sometimes literally).

Daddy with Mama, Christmas, c. 1990

One of his most outstanding virtues was his loyalty. For instance, he fell in love with my mother and stayed married to her for 51 years, then never remarried. While it might have been nice for him to remarry, I don't think it was in him; it would have felt like "replacing" her, and to his mind, she had no replacement.

After her death in 1997, I recall going through old pictures of her with him, one from just after the war, which showed them out with friends. Keep in mind that my mother, from childhood until after the birth of my brother, was…pudgy. While on the shorter side, my father was never heavy in his youth. In fact, he got quite buff during WWII: broad-chested and slim-waisted. But as we looked at that picture of my mother next to her friends, he pointed to her with tears in his eyes, and said, "She was the most beautiful of them all." Yup, the "pudgy" girl.

Idalee Brouillette, c. 1944, the picture my father carried during WWII

But he was right: Mama was a stunner. I know that, now, people say I look a lot like her, and I’m honored it’s so. But I was never as pretty as she was, especially in her youth, and I think my father felt bedazzled that this beautiful, black-haired Brouillette girl decided she was going to marry him, and that was the end of it. Her family was better off financially during the Depression, even with Indian blood; they had a farm with a full section, and a car, and enough money for my grandfather to send my mother and her sisters into town to go to school when he thought the teacher at the school on Buttermilk Hill was unqualified. So I suppose you could say Daddy "married up." But to Mama’s mind, she’d won the deal, getting the determined, smart guy.

See, long before they met in person, Mama had gone with her best friend Annie to Gorham High School for a day, visiting. In math class, the teacher put a problem on the board and asked the class to solve it. Only one student could: my father. He got up and wrote the solution on the blackboard, and Mama was enchanted. She asked Annie, “Who is that guy!?”

Some years later, she married that guy.

March 8th, 1946, wedding picture

In many ways, my parents were quite different people. My mother was progressive in thought beyond her time, naturally empathic and perceptive, a bookworm introvert with a steel spine when she needed it and the amazing ability to keep 5+ people’s business in her head without forgetting anything. Everything I know about organization (and I’m pretty good at it), I learned from my mother. My father was conservative, protective, supportive, more intelligent (in sheer IQ), but less emotionally intelligent (EQ), more driven, but less philosophical. Yet they created a unique alchemy of spirit. They didn’t share common interests—Mama loved reading novels, Daddy never read fiction, Mama loved watching murder mysteries, Daddy preferred ball games or the news. Yet they looked out on the world in the same direction, and that’s what mattered.

Ed Reames in high school

In the end, what can I say but that Daddy was the epitome of the Greatest Generation. And now he’s gone. I won’t say we’ll never see their like again, because nobody knows the future. They weren’t perfect—racism was an institutionalized assumption enshrined in segregation, women barely had the vote, LGBTQ wasn’t even talked about—but we, in our current America, could take a page from those who survived abject poverty and economic collapse without government safety nets, then went on to save the world from fascism. They did it not by grand deeds, but by the simple heroism of young men and a few women storming a beach at Normandy or Iwo Jima, a lot of whom never came home. Daddy used to joke that he chased Hitler all over Europe but never caught him.

Daddy, you did catch him. You were part of the men and women who stopped him.

You are my hero.  You are the real Captain America.

I’m privileged and grateful to be your daughter, and I love you, forever.

#My 9/11 #The Greatest Generation #Amyntor #Ed Reames #Dancing with the Lion #DwtL #tribute to my father

[ptrbprkrs]

not ready to give up

summary: tom and you see each other four years after your break-up and both of you realize that you’re still in love with each other. based on the starting line’s the best of me. pairing: tom holland x reader warnings: former relationship, slight angst, fluff, happy ending  word count: 1.9k words notes: please listen to the starting line’s the best of me while reading for Extra Feels™

gif posted by thwiptom

In a crowded house, full of family and friends, Tom sat on the living room couch and was surrounded by many, telling his recent acting gigs and celebrity stories. It’s not like he hated it, but he didn’t love it either. Whenever he came back in town, he always expected this from large family gatherings.

However, one thing he didn’t expect to see was you, standing near the doorway, smiling as you were greeting various Holland family members and close family friends.

The storyteller paused abruptly in the middle of his anecdote, slamming the brakes in his head.  

Four years have passed since the last time he saw you. Tom could remember both of you screaming at each other, tears falling from both parties involved, and yet, memories filled with love and laughter flooded his mind in that exact moment, crashing into his heart.

Tom swore a spotlight was shining above your head; you glowed elegantly among everyone. He knew he had to do something about the little voice in the back of his mind, urging him to not let you go this time.  

“Tom, you okay?” one person asked, slightly shaking Tom by his shoulder.

He nodded senselessly, eyes still focused on you, saying, “I’m sorry, I’ll be right back.”

Several people expressed their “awes” and “wish he finished that story,” but Tom ignored the comments, pushed past everyone, and made his way towards you.

The two of you were kids when you first met. Your families were close and would often attend dinners and events together. Tom and you got along just fine, but nothing ever sparked until you two hung out more when you were teenagers.

You realized you liked him when you were jealous over his first kiss with a girl he was utterly head over heels with during his time on Billy Elliot. Despite the kiss, he was devastated, knowing that she didn’t reciprocate the same feelings. Comforting him, you told him everything would be okay and that someone would come along the way to love him.

Of course, you were implying to yourself, but you didn’t want to say anything because he was just getting over her and you wanted to let him heal in due time.

Unfortunately for you, Tom found love soon enough and dated for a while—two years to be exact. Standing on the sidelines, you supported him fully and watched him blossom into a better person each day. Moreover, you were so proud and happy for him that his acting career was thriving.  

And when that relationship ended, you knew how to carefully pick up the broken pieces of Tom’s heart, as you had done before, but this time you also knew to confess your feelings right away.

If he didn’t want to be in a relationship with you, then so be it, you told yourself. At the very least, you two would still be great friends.  

But as it turned out, Tom wanted you as much as you wanted him and accepted your confession with open arms.

Not to anyone’s surprise, the pair of you made great friends, but even a better couple. You didn’t think it was possible for the two of you to become closer and trust each other more than before. Everything fell perfectly in place; the two of you were two puzzle pieces that fit impeccably together.

The one thing that neither of you saw coming was how the harder you fell for each other, the more harder it’d be to work on the relationship. In retrospect, both of you would learn that love isn’t love without the fighting, the miscommunications, and the misunderstandings.   

Your future selves couldn’t forewarn yourselves four years ago as both of you dealt with insecurities, jealousy issues, and more. All of it was a blur, a vague memory of the past that both of you buried in your minds, and each of you realized they were mistakes of your youth.

“I’m sorry I said those things! I didn’t mean them!” you screamed at Tom with hot tears running down your face. You didn’t know that this would your last fight with Tom.

“If you didn’t mean them, why did you say it?!” Tom raised his voice to meet yours, with tears running down his face as well. He didn’t know this would be the last time you would speak to each other.

You groaned in frustration, your younger self believing Tom would never understand, wishing he could see your mistake simply as a mistake and nothing more.

“I’m leaving, Tom. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Fine, go! Go for all I care!”

Both of you didn’t know this would be the last time time you would see each other until four years later. Tom became obviously busier with his acting schedule, and you were off at a university miles away, rarely having time to visit home. Even when you did, Tom’s and your schedule never coincided with each other.

Until now, where you just recently finished up school and were finally back in town.  

Each second, stepping closer and closer, making his way towards you, all Tom could think of was how he still loved you since four years ago. Granted, both of you were still young, but you were also older now. Tom was ready to mend the past and the pain, knowing he was naive moons ago.

Standing in front of you, he licked and bit his lip, uneasy and unsure of how to approach you after so long.   

“Hi,” he greeted you with a small smile. You looked older than the last time he’d seen you—more mature, confident, and radiant.

“Hi,” you reflected the same smile, taking in the sight of Tom. It may have been four years since you’ve seen him in-person, but you’d be lying if you said you haven’t watched every single movie he had starred in since then. He was the same shining star he always had been since he was a kid.

Everyone around both of you dispersed throughout the house, aware that you two needed privacy. Straight to the point, Tom asked, “Can I talk to you?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Tom then led you to the backyard and both of you looked up at the stars in awe, taking the exquisite sight in.

“Remember when we used to lay here and look at the stars?”

How could you not? You hummed softly in response and recalled to yourself long nights in his backyard, laying side by side, twiddling with each other’s fingers and kissing softly under the stars.

He interrupted your train of thought, “Actually, I think we still have some blankets nearby…”

As Tom left, you fiddled your fingers awkwardly, unsure why you even said yes to talking to him in the first place.

It’s been four years, sure, but could the two of you make it work, especially now that Tom’s career has reached international fame? Soon enough, Tom came back with said blankets and set them on the grass. You nervously walked over and laid beside him on the grass.    

Peering at the stars, you inquired, “What did you want to talk about, Tom?” You expected him to slowly ease into the conversation about the two of you, but he didn’t.

“I’ve missed you,” The words rolled smoothly off his tongue, and his brash words caught you off-guard; they were words you dreamt of for so long, and they echoed inescapably in your head. “Have you missed me?”

Just be truthful. If he’s being truthful, there isn’t any point in lying to him.

You nodded with your eyes still focusing on the stars. Several minutes of silence passed and you still kept your attention on the gorgeous night sky. You could feel that Tom still kept his eyes on you.

Tom whispered the following command into the night air, “Say what you’re thinking right now.”

Inhaling calmly with closed eyes, you tried to gather your thoughts to express yourself in a coherent manner, but you realized it didn’t matter. All the words you could muster up were nothing to the amount of love you still had for Tom.

With an ache in your chest, you anxiously turned your head to face your former flame and let all your thoughts spill out.  

“I’ve been thinking about you ever since the last time we saw each other. I’ve never stopped thinking about you and it’s hard to believe that—I know because it’s been four freaking years—but I haven’t stopped. I regret so much and I think we ended on really stupid terms.”

You continued, “I am so proud of you for what you’ve achieved over the last four years and I’m pissed at myself that I couldn’t—didn’t have the nerve to even text or call you to tell you how I proud I am. I wish I was there by your side…”

“I really haven’t loved anyone as much as I’ve loved you, Tom.”

“I haven’t either,” the brown-haired boy whispered before he caressed your face with one hand. You closed your eyes and sighed at his touch, both memories and fantasies pulling you apart. Your hand came up towards your face to touch his hand, and his hand pulled away from your face to intertwine fingers with you.

“I’ve thought about you every day and it kills me to not know how you’re doing and I was so stupid—”

“No, I was stupid!” you interjected.

“I was more stupid, but anyway,” Tom continued as you laughed at his kind words. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry and if you’re willing, I’m willing to give us another chance.”

You searched within Tom’s eyes. The cynic in you tried to find a sliver of lies behind his eyes, still scared that he would break your heart again.

On the other hand, the optimist in you told you that even if things could and go awry, you were wiser than you were four years ago. Both you and Tom would be able to analyze and dissect situations with a sensible mind. Even so, Tom and you would never lose each other like you did before.

You moved in closer to his face, as he did to yours, and both of you placed your foreheads against each others, readying for the kiss that each of you have been waiting for after four long-awaited years.

“Tom!” his mother’s voice called in the distance before calling out your name as well. Both of you immediately jerked upwards to sit up and face her. “Come in soon! We have dinner ready.”

“Okay!” Tom called back to her with a hint of annoyance in his voice.  

You followed Tom back into the house and the rest of the night flew by with laughter and love. You rekindled immediately with Tom and could only retell so much of your last four years to each other, but it was okay. You would have the rest of your lives to catch up.

By the end of the night, your mom interrupted the two of you to grab you to head back home.

“How long are you in town for?” you whispered close to Tom’s face as he stood in front of you, holding your hands in his.

“I actually have to leave tomorrow for filming, but I’ll be back soon.”

“Well, now that I’m done school, I’m not going anywhere. Text me when you can.”

“I will. I promise,” the handsome figure kissed your cheek and hugged you tightly for a lifetime until your mom had to call for you again.  

A bittersweet farewell followed, but both of you knew that things would be different this time around.

Tom promised to himself that next time that he was back in town, he’d pull you straight into his arms, kiss you with all his might, and never let you go ever again.  

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #one shot

[flyjacket06-blog]

Current Episode: The Retract

You know... The older you get, the more you value your alone time. Or just time in general. I remember a much younger me, going out to party pretty much all weekend. Drinking copious amounts of booze, looking for a crush that same night. This weekend I spent alone, entirely getting high and sleeping, resting for the week ahead. Adulting man...it’s weird. I bet a bunch of you, much like me, would go back to their younger selves and say, “Don’t ever say, ‘I can’t wait to grow up’“. I made this blog as a venture to express myself to complete strangers. None of my family or friends know about this and I kinda wanna keep it that way. There’s no right way into living life. Infact, the only way to learn life is to make mistakes and learn from that or others. We get older and compare ourselves to others, mainly our parents or friends. I now find that less is more. Less people around me equals more happiness. With life, the more you think you know, the less you’ll understand. Keep that in mind. Right now I’m going through a weird moment in life. I’ve cut all my friends out; they are just one giant disappointment after another. In fairness, a combination of life issues, plus their cock ups have created a giant snowball effect which I’ve decided to avoid by becoming a recluse. At times I catch myself thinking about suicide, but a few things are stopping me from actually doing it. One: I’m too good looking to kill myself. I mean, I think i’m good looking and I’ve never had an issue with women or sexual confidence. Two: who’s really gunna take care of my cat if I die? Like I’m thinking about that now and kinda peeved if someone gets my cat and doesnt take care of her. Three: I’m not a God fearing man, but being raised Catholic to some degree has taught me that suicide and renouncing God are the only two ways into Hell. I don’t really wanna take that chance nor have my last living action condemn me for the afterlife I’d be so fast to head to. Damn mythology from the Church! Curse you! I guess I’ll lay it out there for you. My government is suing me for unpaid student loans. Nothing crazy. Something like 12k, but it’s gotten to small claims court and lawyers and well....this is a first experience for me. If you don’t know, I do not do well with first experiences. There’s a learning curve and a coping issue when it comes to first experiences. While my recovery time has greatly increased since I was in my twenties, it still takes a few days for me to see the larger picture of things and regain a level head. To each their own. At work, I was dealing with becoming a fresh new leader among the new and old set of crews. Another first experience, which I managed to flub, atleast I feel that I flubbed it up. There was a moment when I called out three co workers for their lack of ...well...work ethic. You’ll have seen it or been through it. You’re working and you’re working hard. Just grinding, but others are kinda lolly-gagging and gingerly moving when you need post-haste movement. Sure it was the first show; Sure I made the inappropriate call over the radio for a meeting. I had to express myself to these guys that whatever it was that they were doing that day, was complete garbage. I alienated them and myself. Coulda chosen a better way to approach it really. That same night, pretty much broke down in front of my boss. Humiliating in retrospect, but the build up of things got to me. The fact that my landlord refuses to fix a wall in my place, so when it rains heavy, mushrooms grow outta the baseboards. MUSHROOMS! INSIDE! How the fuck... it’s only been six months since I reported the first of three incidents. Who know’s what’s behind and under those walls and floors. Who knows what spores i’ve been breathing in. Then I get to work and I’m put in this situation where I have more responsibility and I’m being relied on to do more and lead a motley crew. These guys and I came up together and now symbolically, I’m above them but they just aren’t taking the things I take serious, serious themselves. You know how frustrating that is?! When you need to get the job done and they are like, “Yeah, okay hummm”. Main problem of that stemmed from the fact that some new guy, a real new aged stoner complainer type, created a stir with me over absolutely nothing. I’m trying to help this fool and he snaps at me, goes behind my back and tells my boss i’m bullying him?! The man is 40 something and at best, a pan sexual imp. If he can’t handle direction or control his sensitive side, then I suggest he apply to Wal-mart to become a greeter. The guy legit goes out of his way (and brags about it) to sue people or corporations where he can. That should tell you what type of character he is. He was the first one I cut out this year. I’ll let him be someone elses problem. As for the other co-workers I disciplined with that meeting, we seem to be on better terms, but realistically since they won’t know, or understand my responsibilities going into this new season, I’ve quietly backed away and kept my own counsel towards things and people.  Oh my phone screen broke at work. Managed to go several phones without having that issue and boom; it happened. My boss said he could fix it, if I got the spare parts. I did! Then he lost my phone! Can you believe that?! Lost my broken phone... He claims he found it and fixed it, but that was day’s ago... Funny how when you’re phone goes MIA, life turns upside down. In my case, it took a while. I deleted all my social media weeks ago. That’s means I was using my phone as an actual phone. Also tells you how pissed off I was with people and the world. One disappointment after another. I figured I needed to recharge my batteries and focus on myself again. Of course the sudden deletion of social media prompted others to bother me on the daily if I was, “okay”. Unbeknownst to them, each time someone asked me if I was, “okay”, I felt more and more uneasy. I really questioned there for a good solid moment how much I had left in the tank. So a broken screen on a phone wasn’t a bad thing. My boss losing my phone after having it for two days...kinda irked me. But what irks me more is that I believe he fixed it and hasn’t give it back to me. I say that because I went into the office and saw my phone charging. Atleast I think it was my phone. It has no sim card in it, so when I touched the home button, and saw it had no sim card, but a fresh new screen, I began to think.... “Why? Why hasn’t this been given to me?!” Esp after the intense, painstakingly slow process it took to back up my old phone to new software and the back up. The process of removing apps and pictures and songs to acquire the capacity space needed for the restore. The endly prompts telling me the restore didn’t work, to log in for this or that ID. Like fuck! A good solid two hours of my life, gone! Reading about how to fix iTunes and error codes, just to load information onto my burner phone, when I likely have a perfectly good phone, not being used or given to me?! HELP!!! As you can imagine, when I got served my papers, I had to rethink and redo all my budget. The end result was losing a lot of savings money to off set a credit card. Fine, I did it, it’s outta the way and done for. I’m thankful for that, but a lack of money has always made me...moody. Without money, you can’t pay for rent or food or anything! Money is freedom and you understand it better as you get older. Add all the issues I just stated above and you get a fuck storm. So to recap: -Got sued -expunged most of my money -Strained workplace relationships -People & friends letting me down consistenly -Broke phone -Boss lost phone trying to fix it -Several mistakes made which I was hard on myself and that’s been how it’s going of late. I’m dealing with it better; having no social media actually helps. But for fucks sakes, I use the whole being sued thing just floats on. They are not disputing my payment plan and want me to pay more. Like fucking blood suckers. I know happiness is a choice. I know tough times don’t last, tough people, But all I want to do right now is disappear....

#life #learning curve #hard times #worklife #snowball effect #bad timing #friends #boss

[sol1056]

character arcs as questions, followup

I’m going to quote only some of the responses (and break a few up to separate out the topics), since a lot of them overlap. 

a note about Yuuri on Ice 

truth and lies character arcs

the difference in the midpoint

learning lessons: Yuri, Hunk, Lance

the need for agency

Behind the cut. 

a note about Yuuri on Ice

@jeannettegray @cristak and the anon who sent me the two-parter about Yuuri all had various observations: Yuuri didn’t need the gold, his story isn’t over yet, his anxiety was secondary to his romance. For a more thorough meta on Yuuri’s arc, I’ll send you to @caramelcheese​​. Her meta goes deep, and maps pretty close to how I see that story. 

I used YoI as an example because structurally, Yuuri’s story is not a change arc. He’s not all that much different at the end from who he was at the start; he began as one of the top six in the world, and ended there (unreliable narrator issues aside). As someone raised in a loving and supportive family, he's new to romance but love itself is not a wholly unfamiliar experience. 

You can debate the exact nature of his question, if you like. Structurally, his story still isn’t a change arc, and that was my point. 

truth and lies in character arcs

another anon:

...you gotta think of your characters stories from a want vs. need perspective as well. Maybe. Our character wants to win something, but importantly, needs to learn something and the external validation/reward is less important than self-validation/growth...

If you’re writing a change arc, then yes. That type centers on the conflict between the lie the character believes (influencing what they want), and the truth they must learn (what they need to do or be).

That lie is really just a coping mechanism. It’s something they learned would keep them safe, and it did --- until the instigating event pushes them into new world. Now, what once helped becomes their greatest harm. 

The longer they cling to those lies, the greater the narrative punishes them (the try/fail cycle). Their dark night of the soul is when they must let go of their lies and face their truth. Doing so will change them, often radically, as they become their authentic selves. 

But that’s not the only kind of arc you can write. 

I’ve talked about the different kinds of character arcs before. I didn’t go that much into flat arcs, but I did call out two: 

In a maturity arc, external factors force the character to overcome doubts or disadvantages, which in turn are the key to victory. Wonder Woman being temporarily overwhelmed at the magnitude of the fight she’s taken on is a midpoint of a flat arc. She fights her demons, reaffirms her truth, and gets back in the fight.

In an alteration arc, the character has a change of perspective. A corporate successful attorney sees the damage they helped cause, and their midpoint is a re-evaluation. The second half of their story, they’ll fight using the same tools, but now in a different direction. Other than that shift in their view, they’re still mostly the same.

Any arc can be posed as a question, of course. A maturity arc is just the easiest, because it really is a yes/no question: can the character do X? With their truth already in hand, the try/fail cycle doesn’t punish the character for clinging to a lie. It punishes the character for refusing to let go of that truth. 

Yoon-Hee has to get through the civil exams undiscovered, survive dorm life among boys, and evade a professor who knew her father. Yuuri has to run a gauntlet of competitions to re-establish himself, effectively starting from scratch all over again. Shiro is tortured, tormented, forcibly ejected from his lion, brutally wounded, and loses potential allies too soon; even his own lion seems to be working against him.  

None of these three ever really question whether their goal is good; instead, they doubt their ability or worthiness to achieve the goal. They ask: how much longer can I keep this up? What if I’m not up to this? Can I really do this? 

Kim Weiland describes it as: “In short, they have a Doubt—and it keeps them seeking throughout the story, even as the undeniable power of their conviction in the Truth transforms other characters around them.”

The character holds their truth in defiance of the world’s lies, and in the end, the character doesn’t change all that much. Instead, they change the world. 

Unless, of course, the answer is no.

the difference in the midpoint

If the dark night is resolved with the realization they’ve been going about this all wrong-headed and need to try something new, it’s a change arc. If the dark night pivots on self-doubt over whether they’re able or enough, it’s a flat arc.

If Yoon-Hee had hit the midpoint and realized she’d been believing a lie that said education is the only measure of worth, and then threw herself into finding a husband, that’d signal a change arc. When she picks herself up, determined to work harder towards her goal, that confirms she’s got a flat arc.

If we say Yuuri’s midpoint is his breakdown in the parking garage, a change arc would dictate he must realize he’s been believing a lie. That doesn’t happen; his midpoint revolves around believing in his own ability, and his need for Victor to be there when Yuuri falters. It’s a high-stakes and intense moment, not a brooding midpoint like Captain America often gets. But it’s still a clear flat-arc style of midpoint.

Shiro’s midpoint is more complex than the other two examples, as he arguably goes through it twice. One dark night begins at the end of S1 and continues to the middle of S2; the other covers S3 to the end of S6. In at least the first case, Shiro’s choice is to double down, fight Zarkon, and end up bonded stronger with Black. In S2, Shiro regains his certainty, confident that his answer will be yes, as long as he stays true to himself. 

learning lessons: Yuri, Hunk, Lance

from another anon:

let’s say ... the main character is very self-centered but needs to learn to become part of a team ... what’s more satisfying, getting the gold medal in the end or getting a strong team/friends and seeing that external rewards don’t matter as much as personal/interpersonal ones?

Any arc can create a satisfying story, so long as the arc is brought to its natural conclusion. It really depends on the character, and what kind of story the writer wants that character to experience. 

In YoI, the younger Yuri has a classic change arc. He believes a lie in which a gold medal would validate his self-worth. The best instigating events are ones that appear to satisfy the lie so thoroughly that the character simply cannot refuse, but at the same time, sets the character on a path towards that midpoint realization. 

A chance to use Victor’s routine is exactly that, wrapped up in one gold-medal package. But like every good instigating event, there’s a stinger in the tale: the routine assigned requires Yuri be true to himself --- expressing selfless agape --- rather than cling to the persona he desperately wishes were true. In that, Yuri’s arc is also a failure: he doesn’t change. He clings to the lie he believes, and the story hands him a gold for the effort. 

on the previous question-arc post, @speakswords commented:

Lance and Hunk have questions, they've just been abandoned by the storyline. Hunk’s was something like 'can he step up to plate to do a job that must be done even if he doesn't want to?' Lance's was something like 'can he prove his worth.' ... Lance's question has answered with a resounding no, despite the narrative setting up and providing all the necessary pieces to give Lance's arc a yes answer. 

Hmm. I think what muddies those examples is that fear (Hunk) and insecurity (Lance) can also be expressions of self-doubt. After pondering it, I can’t actually tell. If either ever got a clear outline for their development, that outline got tossed or watered down. I won’t say bad writing so much as... well, an ensemble’s tough to write well. Sometimes characters get handed shortcuts instead of actual arcs. 

What I’m thinking happened to their arcs is they got switched mid-stream from a change arc to a flat arc. That would take as many words to explain as I’ve already written, so if you want me to keep going on that, send an ask. I’ll put it on the list and tackle it as its own post. 

the need for agency

on my post about Shiro’s arc, @gundamgirl17 commented:

While I disagree that withholding agency for Shiro is inherently wrong ... [I want] him to grow and complete his arc and have a happy ending as much as the next person, I don't see anything inherently wrong with the writers making him a tragic character instead.

I respectfully disagree in the strongest possible terms: withholding agency is absolutely wrong by every storytelling measure. 

Chuck Wendig (as usual) puts it best: 

Character agency is, to me, a demonstration of the character’s ability to make decisions and affect the story. This character has motivations all her own. She is active more than she is reactive. She pushes on the plot more than the plot pushes on her. Even better, the plot exists as a direct result of the character’s actions.

A story that negates a character's choice, or blocks the character from acting on that choice, is a bad story. I don’t mean bad/good in the sense of message or morals. I mean bad writing, plain and simple.

We never saw the crucial decision points onscreen: when and why did Keith accept his role after so long being reluctant? When and why did Shiro stop being a paladin? When and why did Allura decide she returns Lance’s feelings? When and why did Lance set aside his easy-going perspective and turn so grim? The one time we saw a character grapple with anything --- when Hunk decided to rescue his family --- the story never let him follow through. If he had anything to do with his family’s rescue, we never saw it.  

I am totally sympathetic with those fans who seek the silver lining, who say Shiro’s pride in Atlas is a sign he’s moved on, has a new place, and will do well there. But I never saw him choose that. 

Shiro’s arc began as a question. At the end of S2, the story answered, and said no. Shiro had fought and struggled and tried, and in the end, he paid for his convictions with his life.  

Whatever he’d learned in the time since, the story didn’t let him act upon it. Whatever he might’ve seen as his options, the story didn’t give him a chance to consider or decide. Whatever he might’ve felt in regret or hope, the story refused to show. The story required he fill a specific space, the plot required that he be happy about it, and the writing hollowed him out to make it so. 

The most common complaint I’ve gotten post-S7 --- beyond representation, plot logic, or shipping --- has been about S7′s lack of heart. Some of S7′s lingering hurt comes from a sense of those broken arcs, and the way that brokenness turns every win into a loss from another angle.

What broke those arcs, though, was the story reducing the characters to puppets, pushed around by the story. It turned a complicated narrative into a recitation of events, play-acted by empty characters. I have my theories on what sent everything in this direction, but I’ll leave that for another post. 

#vld #voltron #character arcs #writing #analysis #yuuri on ice #sungkyunkwan scandal #sol thinks about stuff

[myheartismadeofstars]

I posted 26,623 times in 2021

65 posts created (0%)

26558 posts reblogged (100%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 408.6 posts.

I added 73 tags in 2021

#i read tgcf - 10 posts

#tgcf - 10 posts

#xie lian - 8 posts

#hua cheng - 8 posts

#hualian - 8 posts

#pokemon - 6 posts

#tian guan ci fu - 6 posts

#san lang - 6 posts

#supernatural - 6 posts

#heaven's official blessing - 5 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#my sister and i used to make up nonsensical lullabies for my younger brother when he was little so he’d go to sleep and the laughter that e

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Imagine Marnie has a huge crush on Gloria, but she’s shy even though she LOVES her weird and extremely scottish friend, she’s not confident enough to confess.

So Piers watches as his sister pines (full fledged “listening-to-sad-love-songs-in-her-bedroom-I-think-I-saw-Marnie-steal-Gloria’s-Hoodie” pining) over this girl that he is 99% sure likes her back. But it’s not like he’s a good example of what to do, he’s been pining in complete silence over Raihan for years.

Meanwhile both Gloria and Raihan have been trying to pick up Marnie and Piers respectively for a while. They even both decide that the correct course of action is to befriend the sibling, to try and endear themselves to their crushes (and neither finds it hard, since Gloria thinks Piers is cool af and one of the nicest people she’s ever met, and Raihan knows how sweet Marnie is)

Basically Spikemuth siblings are romantic disasters. Overcome by two dumbasses’ pure determination to love them.

96 notes • Posted 2021-04-12 20:07:35 GMT

#4

Me: *watching Unus Annus compilations*

Also me: Imagine Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua doing some of this chaotic shit together. Like playing two truths and a lie, waxing edition, or covering their entire bodies in wax, or making the people around them genuinely afraid that someone is going to die or it will end in a dual suicide, or regressing to their most primal selves in the woods somewhere, or just generally living a “try everything once” kinda life and keeping some sort of record of it for one year (bonus if there is some bullshit plot device thing that allows them to record their antics. However they don’t yeet it after the year because the memories are too precious) just, every day, for a year, the two of them do something together. Fun, or crazy, or silly, or whatever wacky shenanigans they can get up to in the world SQH created (which I imagine must be A LOT)

Luo Binghe can be the “Amy” of the story. Sometimes he’s just the one recording their antics, sometimes he’s the one enabling their chaotic behaviour, sometimes he’s absent  and they are freaking out over him finding out they..stained the floor, or almost caught the house on fire, something like that. Though I suppose MBJ could play the “Don’t tell Amy!” role better than LBH would...but meh.

Is this technically an Unus Annus AU? Maybe? Either way I think it would be fun to see (this is open to anyone to do btw, I have so many projects atm)

112 notes • Posted 2021-01-13 08:34:25 GMT

#3

Bless the TGCF fandom for the fics that allow Xie Lian and Mu Qing to get around their curse cultivation method and allow them to have sex. Especially when they say that love = pure so having sex with someone who genuinely loves you it doesn’t break the taboo. 

Because they deserve to be able to have sex without being punished for it!

(This is especially fun if you think about it in Fengqing terms. Because the idea that the person in his life who loves him purely and without reservations is FENG XIN is fucking hilarious)

125 notes • Posted 2021-01-03 00:57:43 GMT

#2

Finally reading Heaven’s Official Blessing and:

I love “San Lang”. This bitch really leaned on his hand and casually said “I’m scared” without any fucking attempt at appearing so, gazed lovingly at Xie Lian, and told a bunch of ghosts to fuck off and stop interrupting his date. AND flirted with Xie Lian. What a fucking icon!

Also Xie Lian correctly bullshitting his fate, this amuses me greatly

130 notes • Posted 2021-01-08 02:55:14 GMT

#1

I love to headcanon Pucca is genuinely mute. She became attracted to Garu the first time she saw him, but she really fell in love when she learned he was “like her” and didn’t speak.

Some of the sounds she can make sound a bit like words, but they aren’t truly words.

Pucca’s uncles never learned sign, and neither did she. Garu grew up in Sooga Village and never needed to learn (the people in the village just more or less adjusted to him not communicating except in grunts or gestures)

I like to imagine their silence never became an issue until they became teenagers (Garu first, obviously) and were told they would need to start attending high school, and the only school is on the mainland. Then Garu ends up forced to communicate with strangers and ends up learning sign, which ends up being taught/picked up by a lot of the others around the village. 

Pucca and Garu’s relationship ends up being a lot smoother once they have a reliable way to communicate. Pucca learns that Garu doesn’t really like PDA and they just genuinely have different love languages (Physical Touch with a bit of ironic words of affirmation for Pucca vs Quality Time and a bit of Acts or Service for Garu) but she calms down a bit (a bit) once her and Garu start actually dating which in turn makes Garu more comfortable (since his biggest issue was that she came on too strong)

186 notes • Posted 2021-01-23 17:14:08 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #funny how my read of TGCF is my most used tag #considering I stopped reading #i need to read again

[lirlovesfic]

The Choice

A Doctor Who fanfic

Summary: After GitF, the TARDIS brings the Doctor, Rose, and Mickey back to the estate to solve a problem involving the TARDIS herself. But when they see a familiar face, the face of someone who should not exist, they realize the problem is deeper than they thought and could endanger the Doctor’s very existence. Primary characters: Ninth Doctor, Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Mickey Smith, Jackie Tyler. Genres: Romance, mystery, adventure, drama, character study, HN AU, fobbed!Nine, sick TARDIS. Pairings: Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose Rating: Adult

Warning: none for this chaper

a/n: I am currently working on editing this chapter-by-chapter, with the hopes of completing a chapter a day until I catch up with myself. As I mentioned in a previous post, I’m doing it to try to get back into the swing of writing and to build some momentum in order to finish this. Also, there have been some tiny things nagging at me for a while (grammar, punctuation, etc.) so I’ll be correcting as many of them as I can find as I go. The story will not change. In fact, most of the changes are going to be so minor that I doubt anyone (besides myself) will notice. But to keep myself on target, I’ll be posting it all here as I go, with links to the other websites it’s on. I hope you enjoy it.

Catch up: on AO3, on TSP, on ffnet

This chapter: on AO3, on TSP, on ffnet

Chapter Seventeen—The Titanic dock, Southampton, 10 April 1912

As Mickey stared at the Doctor, his jaw dropped.

And then he burst out laughing.

"That… that was you?" he asked, barely able to compose himself long enough to get the words out. "That… longhaired toff in the velvet was you? Seriously?"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "I'm glad you find this so amusing," he said dryly.

"Oh, I do. Believe me, I do." He patted the pockets of his jacket. "Where's my phone? Where's my phone?" he said, more to himself than to the Doctor. "I have got to get a picture. Rose is never gonna believe this."

"Stop it," the Doctor said crossly.

"Oh, no, this is way too good," Mickey told him, still snickering. "You are never gonna live this down. Long hair and velvet? I am never gonna let this go."

"I thought I looked rather handsome at the time," the Doctor said.

Mickey made a rude noise as he stuck his hands in his trouser pockets, still searching for his mobile. "You thought wrong," he said. "You looked like a refugee from a Jane Austin novel. Or maybe an escapee from a mental hospital." He paused as he did a final search of his pockets. "Damn. I musta forgot my mobile in the TARDIS. I really, really wanted to get a picture." He sighed. "Just as well. Don't want to remind Rose…"

"Of what?" the Doctor asked, puzzled.

"Of how many women came before her," Mickey said pointedly. "How she's just the latest in a long line. And how much you have a thing for blondes."

"I do not have 'a thing' for blondes," the Doctor said, irritation creeping into his voice.

"Sure seems like it," Mickey countered, intentionally goading him. "Rose, Reinette, that girl…"

"Charley," the Doctor interjected.

"Yeah, Charley," Mickey said. "But then Sarah Jane was a brunette, so maybe it's not just blondes."

"Drop it," the Doctor said coldly.

"Yeah, I'll drop it… if you tell me one thing," Mickey said. "That girl, Charley, you two seemed awfully cozy there when you came out of the TARDIS. You care about her like you do Rose?"

"Of course I cared about Charley," the Doctor said. "But not…" His voice trailed off as he looked down the street in the direction his younger self and his companion had gone.

For a moment they were both silent. In the distance were the sounds of the sea, the ship, and the people that were gathering to board her.

Finally the Doctor took a deep breath. "Well, there's no point in just standing here," he said crisply, as if the previous conversation hadn't even taken place. "Let's get going."

He strode off down the narrow street. Mickey had to jog to catch up.

"So what's the plan?" he asked.

"Same as before," the Doctor said, suddenly coming to a stop. In front of them, the street was filled with people headed towards the dock. He watched them for a moment thoughtfully. "We need to figure out what my last self was doing and what could have made both him and the TARDIS sick while trying not to be spotted by both him and my other self. The one you just saw."

"Have you remembered which way you went the first time you were here?"

The Doctor shook his head. "No," he admitted.

"Makes it a bit harder to avoid them both."

"Yep."

Mickey frowned. "I just remembered something. You never told me what you were doing here the first time."

The Doctor nodded in the direction of the ship. "Charley lost some relatives on the Titanic. A distant cousin of her mother, her husband, and their children, a boy and a girl. Charlie and I were here trying to figure out if there was any way we could save them."

"I thought you said the Titanic sinking was a fixed point."

"It was. Is. And the deaths of a number of the people onboard as well. But it wasn't a fixed point for everyone, including her family. While we were here, we tried to convince people to postpone their trip. We even managed to persuade a few not to board her, but not many."

"Knowing you, I'm guessing that most people just thought you were a nutter."

The Doctor laughed ruefully. "Something like that."

"So, what happened to her family?"

"Charley and I won't find them until late afternoon tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? But the ship leaves…"

"Today at noon."

"So they never got on the ship after all?" Mickey asked.

"No, they did," the Doctor told him.

"But if they were onboard, and you found them…"

"Yep. We were onboard as well."

Mickey stared at him in disbelief. "You were on the Titanic?"

"Yep."

"Wow," he said. And then, "Wait a minute. I'm assuming you didn't have tickets. How'd you get on?"

"Psychic paper. Gets me in everywhere. Well, almost everywhere. There was that one place on Mangelonium, officious people, the Mangeloniums. Sticklers for rules and extremely efficient—but absolutely no imagination, and even less sense of humor—had us arrested, tried, and incarcerated in less than five minutes. They make an excellent crumb cake, though, almost made getting imprisoned worth it—"

Mickey interrupted him. "So were you able to save them? Charley's family?"

"No," the Doctor answered, switching back to the topic at hand with ease. "And believe me, we tried. They were from a poor branch of the family, and they wanted to go to America because they'd heard a rumor you could make a fortune in New York overnight. Wasn't true, but it was a common belief at the time. Anyway, they were in third class. Steerage. After the crash, we were on the way up to the boat deck when one of the children got separated from us. By the time we found him, the lifeboats were already gone. I lost track of them all once we were in the water…"

As one, they joined the throng of people headed for the ship. As they walked, they both continued to scan the crowd for either of the Doctor's previous selves.

"Anyway," he continued, stretching out the word. "I eventually got picked up by a rescue boat. That's when I found out Charley had managed to make her way to one of the lifeboats and had been rescued as well. But not her family."

"Wow," Mickey said, saddened for people he'd never met, nor even heard of five minutes earlier. He paused for a moment thoughtfully. "I always wondered…the crash, was it anything like it was in the movie?"

"Yes, actually it was. Although Hollywood took a lot of liberties with the story, it was a lot closer to reality than you'd think," the Doctor answered.

"How'd you manage to survive?" Mickey asked.

"Time Lord," the Doctor said. "Respiratory bypass, so I was able to hold my breath longer than a human. Cooler core temperature as well, so the icy water wasn't as much a shock to my system. Still cold though. Ended up hanging onto an iceberg. Never been so cold in my life. It was even colder than the time I'd been buried in an avalanche in the Himalayas."

Mickey stared at him. As often happened with the Doctor, he was totally lost at the turn in the conversation, and he wondered what he should ask about first. "What the hell's a respiratory bypass?" he asked finally. When the Doctor opened his mouth to explain, he immediately regretted it. He held up a hand. "Never mind. I'm not sure I want to know. In fact, I'm sure I don't want to know."

They both scanned the crowd, looking for either of the other Doctors or Charley. None were in sight. "So which way?"

"I have no idea," the Doctor said. "Since I don't know what I was doing here, I don't know where to even start looking."

"I had a thought about that," Mickey said. "If that other you and Charley were here to try and save her family's lives, maybe you were here to try and give it another go."

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that would be?" The Doctor's voice rose almost an octave as he spoke. "It was risky coming here the first time! There's no way I'd—" His voice broke off. He stared off into space, frowning. "Would I?" The frown was rapidly replaced by an irritated grimace. He let out a growl of exasperation and rubbed his temple vigorously. "Of course I would. Particularly that me! Of all the stupid, idiotic…" He took a deep, calming breath and let it out with a whoosh. It seemed to help, as he continued in a calmer tone. "But if you're right and that's why he's here, that should make it easier to find him. He'll remember where Charley and I had searched, so he'll know where they aren't."

They weaved their way through the masses of people and slowly made their way down to the dock. While they walked, the Doctor began a running commentary as he pointed out the sights: the White Star Line terminal and the gangway that led from the building to one of the upper decks; the lower gangplanks that were the second and third class entrances; the crane that was loading cargo onto the ship; the reporters, photographers, even a film crew, that were capturing the historic moment of the Titanic's maiden voyage.

Mickey barely paid attention to him as he took in just how enormous the ship was. It was probably three times the length of a football pitch, and the huge gold and black smokestacks he'd spotted earlier towered above the rest of the ship, stretching high into the sky. It gave him a crick in his neck, looking up so high. He rubbed it as he returned to scanning the crowd.

"They arrived by train, as did most of the other passengers," the Doctor continued. Mickey knew he'd returned to talking about Charley's family. "And the train's still here. So they have to be here somewhere. Unfortunately, the third class passengers are scheduled to get on first."

"'S like tryin' to find someone at a footie match," Mickey said. If he had thought there had been people from all walks of life in Dallas, that was nothing compared to here. He spotted people in finery: the men in top hats and tails, the women in silk gowns trimmed in lace and wearing elaborate hats. They were followed by others whose their clothes indicated they were maids or valets. Obviously first class accompanied by their servants. There were people similarly dressed to the people they had seen before: in garments made of rough wool, carrying rucksacks, the men in caps, the women with scarves, simple hats, or nothing at all on their heads. Third class, he now knew. And then there were the people who were dressed somewhat in between, not in silk and not in rough wool, the men in ordinary suits and bowlers, the women in dresses and hats far simpler than those from first class, but far nicer than those in third. Second class.

It was amazing how much he could tell about the people here from the way they were dressed.

After several more moments searching the crowd, he shook his head. "This is going to be impossible."

"People are queueing up, but they don't seem to be letting the passengers onboard yet," the Doctor said. He craned his neck, looking further down the dock. "You're right. It's too crowded. We'll have to split up."

"But I don't know what they look like," Mickey protested.

"But you know what I look like," the Doctor reminded him. "Don't forget, although he may be looking for Charley's family, it's me you're looking for, not them." He frowned thoughtfully. "All right, if they haven't boarded yet, the likeliest place they'd be right now is in the inspection queue."

"Inspection queue? Is that like checking passports or something?" Mickey asked.

The Doctor shook his head. "No. The third class passengers would be inspected for lice before they were allowed to board the ship."

Mickey pulled a face. "Lice?"

"Well, primarily lice, but there were a whole host of other things they'd look for. Fleas, signs of illness… Technically, they were supposed to search everyone, but in actuality they only searched third class," he said. "The first time I was here I had forgotten about the inspection queue. By the time I remembered and we searched the queue, they had already been through it and were on board."

The Doctor gestured back the way they came. "You head that way, and after I look around here, I'll head in the other direction. If you find him, watch to see what he does. Without letting him see you. If you don't find him, meet me back at the TARDIS at one o'clock. By that time the ship should have set sail and he should be gone."

"Right," Mickey said.

After he left, the Doctor walked through the crowd, scanning the area around him for a glimpse of closely cropped hair or a leather jacket. It was odd, looking for himself this way. He knew he'd recognize himself head on—after all he'd shaved that particular face for more than a year—but he'd never seen himself from the back. But most of the men around him were several inches shorter than he was, and almost all wore hats of one type or another. Spotting a tall man, bareheaded and wearing a leather jacket, should be a piece of cake.

The honk of a horn startled him. A Rolls-Royce had pulled directly onto the dock. He backed out of the way as it parked. A chauffeur got out from behind the wheel.

"Doctor, where are you?" a female voice called behind him.

He automatically spun towards the voice… and bumped into Charley. His eyes widened. Not good. If she was here, no doubt his younger self was close behind. However, instead of a strategic retreat, he remained where he was.

He couldn't prevent a broad grin spreading across his face.

"Sorry," they said in unison and then laughed.

"No, I'm sorry," she said, raising her voice to be heard over the crowd. "I was looking for my friend and wasn't watching where I was going. He's around here somewhere…" She looked around herself for a second before turning back to him. "I'm Charley, by the way. Charley Pollard."

"John," the Doctor replied.

"Pleasure to meet you, John," she said. "So, do you have tickets, or are you just here for the chaos?"

He chuckled. "Just the chaos," he said. "I'm a reporter with the London Times, covering the Titanic's maiden voyage. How about you?"

"Oh, we're here to see some friends off," she said, looking around as she answered. "But we're having a difficult time finding them. It's a bit of a madhouse right now."

"That's the understatement of the year," he said.

"Not really," she said cryptically.

Before he could respond, a familiar voice called for her from somewhere deep within the crowd.

"Charley? Charley, where are you?"

"Over here!" Charley yelled back.

"Looks like you found your friend," the Doctor said.

"And thank God for that," she said expressively. "It's hard to keep track of him. He does have a tendency to wander off. He gets into more trouble that way."

The Doctor tried to hide an amused snort.

"Charley?" the younger Doctor called again.

"Sorry," she apologized before turning towards the sound of her name. She waved her arm high in the air. "Over here! I'm over here!"

The younger Doctor broke through the crowd. "Charley, where did you go?" he asked. "I turned around and you weren't there."

"I didn't go anywhere," she told him. "I've been here the whole time."

"Did you find them?"

"Not yet," she said. "Doctor, I'd like you to meet… where did he go?"

"The man you were talking to? He headed off in that direction."

"Huh, I wonder why he left so quickly," Charley said.

"Who was he? He looked kind of odd," the younger Doctor said.

"In what way? I didn't notice anything."

"From what I could see he was dressed a little strangely for the period."

She burst out laughing. "You should talk!"

"What do you mean?" he asked, affronted. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Nothing… except that it's fifty years out of date!"

As the Doctor watched from his position behind the car, his younger self and Charley moved out of earshot. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he tried to get in control of his emotions.

He had cared deeply for Charley. Seeing her from a distance had been hard enough, but talking to her, hearing her voice...

But while he lost sight of them in the crowd, it wasn't Charley that he was thinking about. It wasn't Charley he was missing.

It was Rose.

Whatever he had felt for Charley so many years ago, no matter how you wanted to label it, it was a completely different emotion than what he felt for Rose, and seeing his younger self with Charley had just served to emphasize that. And how currently Rose's hand wasn't in his.

Her absence cut like a knife. He missed her so much. It had only been a day since he had last seen her, and he missed her so, so much. The fact that she wasn't with him just felt… wrong. Like a part of himself was missing.

And it was his own fault. He was the one who had left her behind after all. For a very good reason, he reminded himself. And if the TARDIS stopped working entirely, she was better off where she was, on the Estate with her mother rather than stuck in 1912.

But even though leaving her on the Estate had been for a very good reason and was probably for the best, it still meant she wasn't with him holding his hand.

A small, insecure part of himself wondered if she ever would again, even if they did get back. As Mickey had reminded him repeatedly, with the business on the spaceship, the business with Reinette, he had hurt her. Badly. By his thoughtlessness and by his actions, he had hurt the woman he…

Damn it, why couldn't he say it? Why couldn't he tell her how he felt? Why couldn't he even say it to himself?

For God's sake, even a Dalek had been able to articulate it. Why couldn't he?

He sighed in resignation, and with his hands plunged in his pockets, he walked down the dock, searching for himself. And for anything that could have made either himself or the TARDIS sick.

#the choice #nine x rose #ten x rose #ficandchips #fobbed!Nine #revised chap #took a while #but here it is