#i think part of it was him projecting the fantasy of having two beautiful women fight over his self insert

[morelikecommunitydick]

This line hit me like a brick when I first watched it as a lesbian who's only irl male crushes were all men who my best friend (that I was suspiciously close with) dated or had feelings for....

#lesbian annie edison #like what was dan harmon thinking making all annies love interests be involved with the older woman who shes shown to admire first #i think part of it was him projecting the fantasy of having two beautiful women fight over his self insert #but annies sexuality completely revolves around britta with the one exception being the most popular boy in her school which i mean come on #time to drop a piping hot take but annies crush on troy is the gayest shit ive ever seen in my life #WORST case of comphet ever #community

[idkimnotreal]

i have opinions about william and noora.

you know that redpill bs incels believe in? it's like 20% right. people who are at the top of the hierarchy, be it talent, beauty or wealth, are not easily impressed. william has had a difficult childhood, and he gets off on how easy it is to make girls run after him. and then he f*cks them because it's nice, because they're offering it, and it feels nice. he didn't take vilde's virginity because he's a jerk. he kinda is, but she was just like the other girls - she was easy, she initiated it, which made him feel nice about himself, and the act itself is nice because it feels good. so he just did it.

also, he's an alpha and stuff, so for the other boys he has to show off. "the penetrators" and trophy hoodies are not for the girls, but for the boys to respect and look up to (and obey) him.

the problem arose when vilde confronted him for basically what she herself did. he tells noora that a single comment couldn't destroy her self esteem. he's right. she went after the alpha out of her own will, and then her friends convinced her that william was actually bad for giving in to her advances and not minding her anymore after that. but she already knew that would happen. they all did. they knew what william was about. they want the fantasy; the thinking that maybe william, the alpha, likes her out of all the girls he makes out with. that's vilde's (self esteem) problem, not his. and she actually had shitty friends for basically encouraging her fantasy in a way (if she takes it up with him, then she's already believing he should like her, which is at least a faux pas; if the other girls believe that they don't talk about it), but the show is about teenagers being teenagers so it's realistic.

so what about noora? noora is not like the other girls. in a good sense. all his life, william has met two types of girls: girls who are interested and girls who are not interested (e.g. eva is insecure like vilde, but she doesn't like william, and he doesn't care about that because other girls do). noora likes william, and he can see that... she confronts him so she cares, she has an opinion about him, and very well thought out as he can see. but she's not throwing herself at him like the others. why? she's different, he thinks. she's what he needs. she would actually understand him. all the other girls are beyond understanding because they don't have what he has; in the least they would bore him and at most they would not be good partners (because they don't get him). but noora gets it. she has it too. she's naturally up in the hierarchy - she's pretty and intelligent. out of the 3 - talent, beauty and wealth - noora has 2. pretty much like william.

so this is about hierarchy. and successful people seek out people who are like them. people who have only beauty want people who have only beauty, and so on and so forth. but it's not in the incels' redpill sense that the upper women go for lower men. people actually go for their respective hierarchy equivalents regardless of gender. and it makes sense. otherwise it's an unequal relationship for both parts.

(sugar daddies/mommies don't just select their babies based on beauty. do they? they might lack the wealth, but they have something else. that's talent, or intelligence, which is why a person who has wealth might seek out a person who has talent instead of wealth, especially if the older party lacks beauty and wants it. it's a balance)

so this was my ted talk. I'm thinking of returning to psychology major but maybe I'm too much for it.

(noora is insecure too, like the other girls, and like william himself. but exactly like william she projects her insecurity as confidence, and that bumps her up. it enhances her; it shows her talent and her intelligence in using her circumstances in her favour. i think william sees himself in noora, as well as being amazed by the fact that she likes him but isn't desperate for him, and aside from the whole thing being mutual.)

[ambiguouspuzuma]

This is a Let People Write What They Want blog, but I really am personally tired of certain tropes. I remember when I started writing over a decade ago, in the aftermath of Twilight and its partners in crime, when writing spaces were saturated with romances (under the cover of all other genres) in which the perfect, beautiful-but-doesn't-know-it female main character meets two unrealistically sexy men who both fall for her and her main focus is then the torment of having to choose between them. You know, the classic hetero FMM love triangle formula.

I was tired of it then, enough that one of my earliest planned works was a satire where the two guys go off together and leave the shallow protagonist behind, but I still come across it too often ten years on! I find it nauseating, not just because of the oversaturation, but because of the way so many of them are written. Part of it is that the protagonist usually feels like a stand-in, like we're party to the author's personal idyllic fantasy, which I'm fine with them having but don't really want to be a part of.

I'm assuming the idea is that the reader shares this dream of being fought over/having to choose between perfect love interests, or finds that sort of conflict particularly hot, although I'm not sure how ubiquitous that fantasy actually is. But if the protagonist is a stand-in, their behaviour is a bit questionable: the male characters are not only held to ridiculous beauty standards but seem to have no personality other than being a love interest for her, and she is able to lead both of them on or discard them without having to worry about their feelings whilst still being described as a sweet and lovely girl.

On its own this is all well and tolerable - after all, every other action film still has a male lead working through a cycle of beautiful but hollow and disposable women - but with the stand-in element I do sometimes struggle to disconnect the art from the author. For example, I struggle to read thrillers like the Jack Reacher series because it's clear that the chauvinistic author is just living out his own macho fantasy where everybody respects him and all women throw themselves at him, and as a reader it feels like you're encouraged to join in, which makes me feel icky and uncomfortable.

In one book the hero goes to his friend's funeral and hooks up with his daughter, whom he has apparently admired since she was a teenager. That grooming is justified in-text by presenting them as soulmates, but she is immediately discarded in the next book when Reacher visits his brother's widow and hooks up with her instead whilst wearing his brother's clothes. It's clearly some weird power fantasy that the author's inviting us to share his thrill in, and I can't stomach it at all.

I think the root of it is that the female characters aren't given agency. They exist just to fawn over the hero, and are just as easily discarded once their usefulness to him is served. It's degrading and dehumanising, because they aren't treated as people in their own right, just objects for the main character to interact with. They don't have their own existence beyond him.

As a counter-example of a male author writing an excellent female character, Terry Pratchett once wrote Granny Weatherwax as saying "sin, young man, is when you treat people like things". I think that applies to writing too. You can write antagonists who are unlikeable and evil and designed for your readers to hate, but at least do them the decency of viewing them as people - and you'll also find you write them better in the process.

Many genres are male-hero, male-author, and male-reader dominated, and feature chauvinism like the Reacher books due to a failure to respect women as individuals, but the same goes for any out-group being portrayed by an in-group. If you don't respect X as people, you're at risk of writing horribly strawmanned and objectified X characters just for the purposes of projecting whatever issues you're going through onto them, and it can make your writing unreadable by anyone who sees that.

Other genres (especially those concerning romance) can be predominantly female in both their authors and readership, allowing similar attitudes to cultivate in another direction. There are many such novels written by women who do not have healthy relationships with men in their lives, as demonstrated by the way they write these two-dimensional, stereotyped, idealised men who exist purely to throw themselves at their stand-in characters and who have no inner life and don't need to be respected as human beings in turn.

It's not just bad characterisation, which I can live with, but being able to tell that this leads back to somebody's actual fantasising - that this is actually how somebody thinks about men, which as a reader you feel you are tacitly endorsing. That's the issue. You can write whatever you like - personally, I do prefer writing female protagonists, and I've written more than my fair share of femme fatales who straight up murder the men in their lives. There's nothing wrong with writing that, if it makes for a fun story. But you should write it for the right reasons.

However I mistreat them as characters, I understand that people of all genders, at least on the individual level, are rounded human beings capable of having any type of personality, and that their gender is just one of the many features we use to describe the person underneath. This is instead of applying a blanket stereotype to one group or another as some inherently untrustworthy, or treating them as incomprehensible aliens from Mars or Venus as appropriate. If I actually wanted the men in my life to die, those stories would become uncomfortable and I wouldn't expect readers to want to be involved in that fantasy.

I'm worried that a lot of these two-dimensional portrayals have less wholesome worldviews underneath. I was recently recommended a book with a love triangle in which I see reviews have raised concerns about the way the strong female character has insta-lust for the male characters, who are all tall, muscle-bound, sub-human monsters, but praised the way that she isn't afraid to discard a lover or give them the comeuppance they deserve. All fine, on its own. There's nothing wrong if that's your character. But then I looked up the author, and saw that this was literally the way she saw men in real life.

She is on record making comments like "I don't understand men, and the more I see of them the more I'm certain I don't actually want to", or "I am attracted to men, I just can't see myself dating one", or "I am an equal opportunity misandrist, there is plenty of hatred in my heart to go around", or "you do not owe men any entry into your life", or "I wish life could be a women's only event". She says that she hates damsel in distress tropes, not because of the female vulnerability, but because "I don't trust men to be saviours", again lumping them all together as some lesser beasts. All of a sudden, that story becomes a political manifesto.

In this context, the depiction of male characters as this inherently evil race of human-like monsters, who exist only to be muscular sex objects to be fucked and thrown away, takes on a toxic new light. The author is projecting a bitter and unhealthy worldview into her work, and encouraging us to endorse it in enjoying what we think is a fictional ride where this just happens to be the case. But it's hardly a coincidence, as I see she also mentions she is next working on a "a grimdark world based on misandry" and has committed after this project to never again make a female character love a man.

I think that's probably for the best - in general, I would say that people should not be depicting stereotyped characters of a demographic they have no interaction with in real life and seem to actually view as subhuman. Funnily enough, some of the reviewers who didn't have this background information still picked up on the toxic vibes in the characterisation, although they misdiagnosed them as racism instead:

Yes, she's dehumanising and objectifying them, but that's just because they're men. She sees all men as subhuman monsters, and so she creates them as such. Of course our female protagonist uses them both, or seizes the feminist victory in spurning them. On its own, that could be a perfectly enjoyable narrative about a strong, well-developed female character blazing her own path through the world. But I find it hard to cheer for her, knowing the type of person she's standing in for.

We're back to trying to separate the art from the artist, but I don't know how you can enjoy the book knowing her worldview - how you can celebrate that victory over the monstrous men, knowing you are being encouraged by somebody who has stacked the deck that way on purpose, just to play out and validate her own real-life hatred - especially as it has clearly bled enough into the art that people are finding it icky without even knowing the real reason why.

Write what you want, if it helps you work through the issues, but don't then promote that manifesto to other people. In general, I think people with outdated, gender essentialist views shouldn't really be writing unhealthy romances for mass consumption, whether their avatar is the tough action hero or the radiant princess. If you can't write a character respectfully, find one that you can. If you hate other genders, write a beautiful same-gender romance instead, and then it won't be actively uncomfortable to read. Write out of love, not resentment. I guess that's a compromise: Let People Write What They Want, but discourage them from Writing What They Don't Want.

[sanderberg44]

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[foxgloveprincess]

Shifting Gears

A Story Written by pisseddaddy (In Collaboration With @foxgloveprincess​)

Pairing: Stucky x Female Reader [First Person]

Summary: Small town life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Especially when everyone’s a piece of shit. We all wear our masks, but how long until they fall?

Warnings: Rape (Non-Con that kinda turns into Dub-Con at the end, Fingering, Cunnilingus, Unprotected Sex, Holding Someone Down, Forced Orgasm, Biting), Dark Fic, Manipulation, Possessive Behaviour, Modern AU, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Cynicism, Cursing, Misogyny. Please proceed with caution. 

Words: 5.7k

Credits: For the beautiful edits of sexy Steve and Bucky made by @nix-akimbo​ and to the anon who inspired this: link

Song lyrics from Frank Sinatra’s ‘That’s Life’.

A/N: Steve and Bucky are veterans but they didn’t fight in WW2 (this is part of a modern AU).

This story was written by pisseddaddy (also known as the nonnie who calls me bunny). If you haven’t read through the asks on my blog between us, she approached me to ask if I could help her with this project and I agreed, stepping in to help her edit her story and share it with all of you (since she doesn’t have a Tumblr of her own). We both have enjoyed working together and are now ready to share this with all of you!

Dividers by firefly-graphics

We would love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. No permission given to copy, translate, rewrite or post this work, at all.

I guess I would be the Beta on this one, but I’m human and fallible, so all mistakes are my own. 😊 If I’ve missed any tags, please let me know.

Enjoy!

Tagging (with no obligation to read, just if you want): @nix-akimbo​ @saiyanprincessswanie​ @slothspaghettiwrites​ @kleohoneyao3​ @caffiend-queen​

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age, thank you!

Life in a small town is simple. Time ticks differently—slower—here.  You do what you need to do in order to survive. Preferably with the least amount of effort.

So, maybe not so simple. But it’s what I’ve gotten used to.

I’ve learned to stay unobtrusive, cautious, always act friendly, speak only when spoken to—just stay as invisible as possible if you don’t want to end up the talk of town. Of course, men are freer than women, their actions less scrutinized, lauded more for less. The scales of equality imbalanced.

I think Orwell understood something vital when he picked pigs for his Animal Farm. Our mayor, for example, is a fine pig, if you ask me. A greedy, slimy, old, ugly brute hungry for power, dominance and luxury—or as he prefers to describe himself, a sensualist with a great love for the finer things in life. His grabby, unwelcome hands pinching every ass they can reach. But he’s not the only dangerous character in town.

Enter two dubious mechanics, Steve Rogers and James ‘call-me-Bucky’ Barnes. Yes, those two know the art of deception.

I will admit, they cut a fine figure, both Adonis-like in stature. And I would be lying if I said they’re not wanking material—tall, ripped, asses you can crack nuts with, the body of real soldiers. Their faces angelic, Rogers’ framed with honey-gold locks and Barnes’ with chestnut brown curls.

Apropos soldiers—they’re veterans. Yep, makes them to two real heroes, I guess. Rogers came out of that hell quite unharmed, but Barnes paid a higher price. He lost his left arm to the fight. Sure, the army compensated him with a first-class prostheses, a cybernetic arm, all shiny titanium. For whatever reason, it seems to be quite the fantasy for the ladies here, but it can’t really replace the real thing.

When it comes to their characters—well, that’s a whole other story. Rogers is the more social one. Always ready with an attentive ear for everyone, respectful to the elders in the community, and helpful where he can be. Barnes is more reserved, farouche even. Maybe because of his arm. Though in general, both always have a friendly smile on their face, a cocky grin here, and a respectful greeting there.

Their lifestyle is, indeed, always the talk of the town. Both living together in a tiny apartment over their shop. You can guess how such an arrangement stimulates the imagination of small-minded people.

The men tend to be more pragmatic saying, “They’re both vets. They saw and did things during their service no man should. Of course, they want to be left alone more often than not. And with the way the women in this town prattle and giggle. Who can blame them? But they’re some fine lads.”

The women are often more imaginative.

As for myself, I’m sure—deeply, instinctually sure—they’re as fishy and filthy as the rest of the town. After all, in the end, we’re all wearing masks.

The only problem is that avoiding them is nigh impossible. They have the only mechanic garage for miles, Goddamnit. When your car is broken, tough shit—they’re your only viable option.

I’m still cursing the day when I had to call them because Putin—my car, named jokingly after the Russian President—packed up. I should have expected it, really. It’s a very old Lada my grandfather bequeathed to me after his death. He bought it in Berlin during his stationing as a soldier in the late 80s, and then brought it home. He often told me stories of how his German friend and he used it to smuggle everything from West Berlin to East Berlin and, sometimes, vice versa. His favourite story involved catching a glimpse of Putin, himself, at Checkpoint Charlie. Although, everyone knew that couldn’t be further from the truth. Yet he swore it until the day he died, and thus, the car earned the name Putin. And the name is still fitting: a death-trap, way past its time for retirement, and the bane of my existence. But I digress.

The first time I met them was actually okay. I can’t really recall the exact circumstances, maybe one night dancing at the bar or out and about at a local funfair. In the end, it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is this: it was the first nail in my coffin.

They were friendly, polite, funny—everything the townsfolk usually described them as, but there was a heaviness in the air. The subject of our conversation escaped me. Surely the usual, unimportant small talk like ‘How is work?’, ‘Still unmarried I see’, ‘A nice fella will come and make a real woman out of you soon’. And the only thing you can do is smile, nod like a good puppet, think to yourself that this prick can go fuck themselves, find a shitty excuse to leave, and repeat the same shit with the next person.

But with them—it was as if I was the joke without even realizing it. The skin prickling at the back of my neck, my hairs standing on end. Something set my inner alarm blaring and if I had known what I know now…I would have driven Putin into a very deep, watery grave.

Shit started when that stupid hunk of metal decided to quit its job. I was doing business for Mrs. Baker; a lovely old lady for whom I work.

Usually, I only take care of her accounting. But her only son called in sick—well, really, the sucker either couldn’t hold his liquor or didn’t know his limits—and wasn’t able to do his job. I was asked to do his deliveries. And you can’t exactly say no to an old lady, who’s your boss, and lets you rent for cheap in small town like this without becoming persona non grata.

So, I plastered a smile on my lips, forced out a meek, “Of course, Mrs. Baker. No problem, Mrs. Baker,” and saw to the deliveries as quickly as possible.

Have I already told you that my damn car decided to quit? In the middle of nowhere. I had no other option but to call Stucky’s Garage—God, who came up with that stupid name anyway?

Lucky me, it was just a small problem with the battery. Unlucky me, James ‘call-me-fucking-Bucky’ Barnes was the one I had the honour of working with. That bozo was even creepier than his bestie, Rogers.  

But it wouldn’t be the last time I saw him. After that day, the damn car broke down three. more. times.

Have I said it would’ve been a wiser decision to just drown Putin in a very deep lake?

The sun shone bright and warm as I drove home one day. And this bucket of bolts decided it would be a great idea to play ‘Guess Who’s Quitting’—again.

Not again, please, I silently prayed, resting my head against the steering wheel, eyes squeezed shut and a wave of hopelessness washing over me. How is it possible that this damn car kept fucking breaking down? I just had a car repair last week.

I drew a deep breath into my lungs, calming my initial panic. Stucky’s Garage was not an option I wanted to choose. The last three times were uncomfortable enough—Barnes’ leering stare inspecting me like a prized breeding cow. I bet if he could, he would have weighed my breasts like udders, inspected my eyes and teeth for illness, and given me a slap on the ass when he was through and decided to buy me. I didn’t care if they’re well respected and nice to everyone else, every time I found myself around them, a sickening feeling washed over me and my blood ran cold.

I could call the auto shop of the neighbouring town. But fuck, they’re miles away—definitely not gonna drive all the way here. And even if they did come, how was I supposed to explain myself? People would talk when they heard word of it.

What would I say when they asked, “Cutie, what’s with that nonsense?” or confronted me to say, “We’re all a big family. We support each other.” And those would be the G-rated conversations.

Sighing heavily, my only option loomed over me like a weight on my shoulder. So I scrounged around my glovebox, found their card, and extracted my mobile phone from the depths of my backpack. Reluctantly, I typed each number into the keypad and waited with bated breath as the line rang.

“Stucky’s Garage what can I help you with?” greeted a deep, melodic voice.

My eyes closed as I gathered my voice and mumbled in reply, “Yeah. My car. It’s broken…again. It won’t start. I’ve checked everything. Don’t know what the problem is now.”

 A sonorous chuckle resounded over the phone speaker in response. “Well, kitty, give me your whereabouts and I’ll pick you up.”

My eyes glanced about my surroundings, muttering my location along the road. And with a final word, the call ended.

Wiping my sweating palms on my baggy jeans, my mind wandered in contemplation. My attention finding a focus on the denim, somewhat peculiar in a town where proper women wore only skirts and dresses. Jeans were for men, baggy and often ill-fitting, paired with a white ribbed tank and a chequered shirt. My fashion choices often made me stick out like a sore thumb, but I had my reasons—one being that pig of a mayor with his wandering hands—reason enough to forgo being considered a true lady.

Lost in thought, Rogers’ truck surprised me as it pulled up to tow my car. My eyes flashed to the clock on my dashboard, mildly stunned by such a hasty arrival. Rogers stepped out of his vehicle, his figure strong and broad, the tails of his open button-down shirt waving in the wind.

“Again, kit-kat”, he laughed, leaning his forearm over the window of my car and lowering himself to catch a peek of me, “It seems you enjoy our services quite a bit.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I rebutted bluntly, “I had my car fixed last week and now it’s wrecked again. I’d say you’re doing a sloppy job.” My fury bled into my tone, vexed by his audacious claim and raring for a fight.

“Now, girlie, you better behave and watch that dirty mouth of yours,” he bit, his tone strict and eyes wild, staring me down as his jaw ticked in irritation.

I choked out a small “sorry,” and climbed quickly into his breakdown vehicle. My mind raced, struck by my knee-jerk response to his ire—that was new, addressing him so weakly. Despite my normal meek and mild demeanour, they never failed to draw out that fighting instinct. My eyes narrowed as I watch him hook up my car to his truck, more wary of him than before.

The truck shifted slightly as he hauled himself into his seat, a heavy sigh breezing past his lips, “I know it’s frustrating that your car keeps breaking down. Tell you what. Today we’ll fix your car for free.” He cut his eyes to me, dark with mischief and desire. His hand reached over to pet my thigh, fingers stoking up and down in a sensual caress. “You know, cause of the sloppy job.” His lips quirked in a cocky smirk—bastard.

I held my tongue and nodded, shifting on my seat to squirm away from his touch.

You’re probably thinking: ‘Oh God. That’s gonna be a long ride.’ You’d have been wrong. It was a blip in comparison to what happened after.

The ride itself didn’t take long and Rogers managed to drive without further inappropriate advances. Unfortunately, the moment he stopped in front of the garage I realized how completely alone I was with the two men whom I despised. My stomach immediately sank with dread.

“Get out and tell Bucky we’re here, will you, kitten?” Rogers requested—though with the brutish grunt of it from his lips, it sounded much more like a demand than an actual question.

My feet found the solid ground outside of his truck, kicking up dust in my wake as I hesitantly scuffed my way into the shop. The air smelled of old oil, rust, wet concrete, and cigarettes. Music drifted around the room, old-fashioned crooners lilting their lyrics as a soundtrack. Something from the 50s or 60s, some of my personal favorites. Frank Sinatra, a man who knew his setbacks, the love of my life. My ear perked up, catching the words as they played from a crackling radio.

I said that's life (That's life)

And as funny as it may seem

Some people get their kicks

Stomping on a dream

But I don't let it, let it get me down

Cause this fine old world, it keeps spinnin' around

I reached the counter, a big used book and a bell sitting atop the cracked linoleum. Staring at the bell, I couldn’t bring myself to tap on it and draw attention to myself. Instinct screaming at me to turn around and run away—leave this place and my car and get as far away as possible. Just leave a note and get the hell out of here.

But before I could force my body to move, Rogers suddenly stood behind me, trapping me between him and the counter. His fingers smacked the small mechanism of the bell, the ding shattering any chance I had for a hasty escape. The sharp chime echoed through the room and down the hall. Rogers’ smell invaded my senses, a strong musky scent that tickled my nose.

His breath brushed against my ear, “Kitten, what is wrong with you today? You seem so tense. Here let me help you,” he whispered soothingly to me, like a secret meant for just the two of us.

He started massaging my shoulders, his hands kneading all the knots. I bit back a moan of pleasure. It felt so good—sogood. His fingers pressing against all the tension locking up my back, muscles melting as the stress drained away. Fuck. Never in my whole life had I received such amazing treatment.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a small voice scathingly scolded, ‘Bitch. Focus. He’s touching you without permission,’ but it was so far away, so easy to ignore. And the massage felt so good. I couldn’t help but dissolve into a needy, mewling mess.

“That’s it. That’s it, kitty. Let go,” his voice soothed, lulling me further and further away from rationality.

I didn’t even notice the small rhythmic brushes of his pelvis. How he rubbed his hardening cock against my ass—smoothly, gently. I was so lost in state of needy hunger that I missed Bucky approaching from down the hall, eyes dark and hyper-focused on the scene like a predator.

“Having fun, I see,” he chuckled, an amused smile on his smug face, posing in place like he owned the whole damn world in his stupid blue jumpsuit. The upper part wrapped around his waist, the arms tied in knots, exposing his athletic chest barely covered by the stretched cotton of his white tank.

My eyes caught the glint of his cybernetic arm. The first time I had ever allowed myself to look, curious at the design of the prosthetic. The plates shifted as he flexed and crossed his arms over his chest. Was that clicking coming from his arm?

That noise, that mechanical whirr, was enough to snap me back to my senses. With a heave of force, I pushed Rogers away, leveraging just enough space between the counter and him to squirm out. My cheeks filled with embarrassed heat, mentally berating myself at my folly.

All I wanted was to leave this damn place, so I let that instinct guide me, turning on my heel and ready to run. But before I even took one step, Rogers caught me, holding me tight against him, my back crushed to his chest. One of his arms settled between my breasts, the other wrapping around my belly, yanking my body back around and forcing me to turn my attention to Barnes.

“Now, now. No reason to be embarrassed. In fact, you should feel flattered. Usually, we don’t treat our customers so warmly,” he taunted, cleaning his flesh hand with a dirty cloth and removing the glove from the other. “Furthermore, Steve already told me that we’re fixing your car for free. Sloppy jobs aren’t something we want to be associated with.” He stared at me, a shit-eating, self-satisfied grin stretching his lips—God, I wanted to punch it. “Follow me into the office where we can discuss your problem.” Barnes bid as he turned away and led us back to a small office.

I didn’t want to move. Really, I didn’t. But Rogers had me in such a strong grip and with every step he took, he nudged my feet forward, forcing me to match his progression down the hall. And then there we stood in that damn room, the door locking behind me with a click.

The room was littered with junk, cupboards lining the walls, piled high with papers. A desk sat in the middle, smeared with oil stains and ink smudges. An ashtray pushed to one corner of the desk, filled with a mound of ash and stubbed out gaspers.

Rogers sat on the desk, positioning me to hold me tight while sniffing at my hair like a rabid dog, running his nose over the skin behind my ear. My shirt hung off my shoulders, dishevelled and wrinkled. The strong man and my fear immobilized me while Barnes stood proudly at my front, one hand on his hip, cocky smirk mocking.

“Surely you remember our first encounter,” he said, stalking toward us.

I shook my head in denial, thoughts jumping with each step closer he took. He paused before me, cocky grin melting away, and I tensed. As if it wasn’t enough that Rogers was already violating my personal space, Barnes reached out, stroking my cheek tenderly with so much naked adoration in his eyes—it certainly wasn’t helping me one bit.

“That’s okay,” he assured softly, “We remember. The mask you wore. Always so good. Always a smile on those beautiful lips. Always answering meekly. Always so polite.” He chuckled quietly, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “But we saw through your façade. So much contempt and disdain in those shiny eyes. It’s kinda surprising how much hate fits in such a lovely body.”

My head shook. I didn’t want to hear this—I wanted to get out of here. Wriggling my body, I contorted my posture to push, pull, kick—anything to escape—but Rogers and Barnes held me steady in their unrelenting grasp.

“Yes,” he purred, “the truth hurts. But it’s not like this is news to you.” His voice dropped low, secretive, sultry. “It intrigued us how well you played you part. Always giving your opposite the feeling of superiority, never taking it for yourself. That’s what people like—feeling superior—and if you play your role well enough, they’re willing to pay. Handsomely.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, needing answers. Because this conversation—or, better, monologue—made my palms sweat and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My initial feeling of dread spread over my whole body, dripping down my spine like molasses.  

“Because we want to give you what you really want. Freedom. Freedom from this constricting social cage.” His fingers brushed delicately over my cheek. “I mean, in the end, a wild cat like you doesn’t belong here.” A twinkle glittered in his eyes, shining at me in delight.

A flicker of anger danced through me as I bit out, “Deal.” I jerked my head away from Barnes’ caress. “Let me the hell out of here. I don’t fucking like your games.”  My shoulder dug into Rogers as I thrust it back, trying to get away.

“In due time,” he replied cryptically with a brief nod to Rogers, and suddenly I was pressed face first onto the table. Barnes moved behind me, pushing my hips painfully against the edge, resting over me and caging me with his body. “Stevie, hold her arms.”

In a flash—too quick for me to really react—Rogers had my upper arms in a vice-like grip, stretching me out in an awkward position across their desk. Continuing to wriggle like crazy, determined to gain my freedom, the reality slowly set in that I was completely trapped. The fight within me intensified, my lips pulled into a feral snarl as I bucked and kicked back, heated adrenaline rushing through my bloodstream.

“Wild cat. Don’t make things more difficult,” Bucky grunted, tearing at the zip of my jeans and ripping the denim down to my knees, “It will happen one way or another.”

With his foot, he pushed my jeans to my ankles, the sound of his boot thumping against the floor. My knees smacked against each other at the harsh movement, my whole body nearly falling backwards. Only Rogers’ hold on my upper arms, tightening immediately in response to my loss of balance, kept me in my bent position.

“Steady. Steady.” A breathless laugh left Barnes’ mouth. His groping hands pushed my hips back against the edge of the table, pinning me in place. “I imagine you must be totally confused,” he mused, stroking the exposed skin of my rump in a soothing gesture, hovering over me once again. His hands wandered under the hem of my shirt, tracing upward along my side to place his warm palm against my belly and knead the bit of excess flesh there. Though I remained motionless, my teeth ground together, seething at his boldness. But both men paid my ire no mind. And when Bucky was satisfied, he moved on until his fingers graced the underside of my breasts. Stroking the skin there delicately but refraining from really touching them.

Humiliation surged hot up my spine, splashing across my cheeks, which I tried to hide in the crook of my arms. But Rogers kept them firm in his control, giving me no leeway to hide from my violation.  

Barnes dipped his head closer to me, his breath tickling me at the nape of my neck, “I know you’re scared,” he crooned into my ear, “but this will be good for you—for us.” His hand cupped my tits, kneading them lewdly, rolling my nipples between his pinched fingers and sending little jolts of pleasure down to my pussy. Small moans escaped my lips, forced out from his ministrations even as I tried to bite them back.

My chest rose and fell heavily with my gasping breaths. And Barnes took my reluctantly debauched state as a signal to move to the next level.

“Stevie, hold her tight. She’s gotta stay put.”

Barnes lowered himself down to his knees, hooking his fingers into my white panties and pulling them carefully down, until his view of my ass was unobstructed. My legs shivered. From what, I didn’t know—the cool air, the fear, the potential for pleasure, the adrenaline.

“We’re not gonna hurt you. Never,” Steve rasped, blue eyes blown black with lust, his fingers gently stroking the skin of my upper arms, even as he held me tight.

The vulnerability of my position gnawed at my guts, a nauseous, terrified feeling. The newness of this situation added to the sickness—never had I let a man so close to my most intimate parts—but Barnes didn’t care.

He spread my legs as wide as the taut fabric of my jeans would allow and dove in, lapping doggedly at my lower lips and clit. Nothing could prepare me for a sensation so new, so foreign. I shrieked at the first contact of his tongue and tried to escape, pushing my weight on my hands and tipping forward to stand on my toes.

Steve only laughed, preventing any further movement and pushing my upper body back to lean on my elbows. His fingers brushed over the apples of my cheek, a warm caress, as he tilted his face dangerously close to mine.

“This is important,” he assured, eyes sparkling with an adoring stare. “We need to bond.” His teeth flashed at me when he smiled, the expression making my knees weak. “You know, men fall in love with a woman before sex.” His fingers continued to brush over my cheeks, my skin prickling under his touch. “Women fall in love afterwards. We already love you. We love you somuch.” His voice dropped to a low whisper, his words ringing in my ears like a sinister threat. “Now it’s your turn.”

Before my mind could even fathom the stupidity of his statement, Steve’s lips descended, capturing mine in a tender kiss. Working together with Bucky’s ministrations, my mind whirled, too distracted to form even one clear thought.

It was just too much.

Though Steve started kissing me softly, almost chaste presses of his lips against mine—small butterfly kisses that intoxicated me—they soon turned sloppy, wild, feverish. Throaty, whining mewls rushed past my lips, but Steve swallowed every noise I made, muffling me with flicks of his tongue.

Steve assaulted my senses from the front, Bucky from the rear—his needy mouth sucking at my folds, licking with the flat of his tongue from my hole to my clit, thrusting inside my fluttering walls.

I freed my lips from Steve’s, gasping in desperately needed air. He allowed me the short reprieve, but kept my face close. Exchanging breaths between our gaping mouths, his breath fanning into mine, my moans responding in answer.

“Bucky, I think she’s close,” Steve groaned, eyes flitting briefly over my shoulder before returning to my face.

A sharp, surprised shriek punched out of my lungs, my pleasure killed in an instant. Jerking away from Bucky, my nose pushed into Steve’s cheek, shock coursing through my veins. What the actual fuck—that ass just bit me, that fuckhead really just bit my pussy, hard.

“Bucky is a bit of a biter,” Steve explained easily with a laugh.

I moved my face away from his as much as he’d allow and stared into his eyes, dumbfounded. No shit.

Steve only laughed harder in response, his fingertips digging into my cheeks. Even Bucky joined in the amusement, chuckling into my sensitive folds, another brush of his teeth over my swollen flesh prompting my hips to jolt away. But with their combined grip, even in their mirth, they didn’t let me get far.

Slowly, Bucky stood from his position behind me, nibbling on my inner thighs and my rump. His legs pressed to the back of mine as he loosened up the knot of his sleeves around his hips, jostling the rest of his jumpsuit until it hit the floor. He shoved up my shirt, kissing along my spine until he draped over me again, pressing his nose to the back of my neck. His feet shuffled forward that miniscule bit more to press our bodies flush together. The air whooshed out of my lungs as his teeth nipped at my nape, his facial hair tickling over my skin.

His dick slotted against my pussy lips. His pelvis rocking languidly, coating his cock with my arousal.

Panic lanced through me, feeling the heated weight of his girth so close to my entrance—a slap of reality splashing over me. Like a wild, captured animal I wriggled my body—once again fighting to get free.

But my movements had the opposite effect from my aim, Bucky groaning deeply, his hard cock pressing more insistently between my folds. I ceased my struggle immediately, but the damage was done. He nearly collapsed on top of me, rutting against me whilst restraining my movements. Only Steve supported us on the desk, holding my arms diligently.

Steve caught my face before it could hit the sturdy wood, his large hand engulfing the right side in a touch too hot.

My eyes met his, pleading, “You said you want me to be free. So let me go. I don’t want this.” Tears pricked the back of my eyes, threatening to spill out and down my cheeks.

“Wild cat,” he cooed in response, “Everything has its price. You of all people should know that.”

As if to punctuate his partner’s remark, Bucky thrust into me. Never in my whole life had I felt so stuffed and full. With every inch Bucky pressed into me, he groaned and panted harder, the caress of his breath fanning across my skin.

“Fuck, kit-kat. You’re so damn tight. Made for my cock,” he moaned, throaty and guttural—more like an animalistic growl than any man-made noise.

The pain of being split on Bucky’s cock was not bad—physically. But, God, why was this situation so fucked up? I wasn’t supposed to like it. Yet I could not deny that I felt the slick drip of my juices down my thighs.

I took a deep breath, centring myself so I could form some cohesive thought. Calm down. A natural reaction of the body is to protect itself from any harm. Deep breaths. Stay calm. This didn’t mean anything.

It didn’t take long to become somewhat accustomed to his intrusion inside me. And, as if psychic, he chose that moment to start moving his hips gently, pulling out and pushing in. It felt good—too good. My teeth sank into my lower lip and my fingers curled, scrambling for purchase on the wood top of their desk.

Bucky’s tentative jolts quickly turned into something more deliberate. One hand gripping my hip, the other—the metal one—cupping my belly again. His fingers pressed against my flesh, the bulge of him inside me appearing and disappearing with each thrust of his dick. He groaned, long and low and deep.

“Kitten, feel this,” he prompted, grasping my left hand and placing it on my belly. He secured my hand in place with his metal one, interlacing his fingers with mine.

It felt so strange, feeling him thrust inside me, feeling the shape of his cock enter and re-enter, feeling his metal hand clasping mine. It was intoxicatingly, perversely erotic and I couldn't help but moan.

My orgasm built slowly, so lost in pleasure that I missed Steve letting go of my arms, stepping away from us. But then I registered his presence somewhere behind me.

“Bucky, baby, lift your shirt. Give me a good show,” he rasped, breathy and tense.

Bucky grunted in annoyance, but straightened his posture, allowing Steve a full view of our bonding. Metal fingers retracted from mine, his hand moving from my belly. He told me to stay in place, his left hand mimicking his right and clamping over my hip.

My eyes flicked over my shoulder, catching sight of Steve shoving his jean under his ass, enough to free his cock, stroking it slowly and massaging his tip.

“I don’t think I can’t hold it any longer,” Bucky panted, fingers pulsing around my hips, digging into my skin, sure to leave bruises. “She’s too damn tight and so warm. Fuck, best pussy I’ve ever had.” His movements became more erratic, pushing my hips upward into a strange angle so that the brush of his pelvis assaulted my clit.

And, Goddamn it, if that wasn’t exactly what I needed. I came. Hard. With a silent scream on my lips, a deep guttural moan bubbling up behind it.

Bucky followed me into his climax moments later, the sensation of his warm spend spurting into me accompanied by the sudden heavy weight of his body. Our chests heaved with deep inhales of much-needed oxygen, our respective highs flushing through our systems. His breath brushed across my shoulder as he peppered small kisses everywhere he could reach. He buried his nose at the base of my hairline, whispering a small, breathless, “Hot bitch,” like a sweet nothing.

When he found his strength, Bucky pushed up to hover over me again. His cybernetic hand touched my throat, forcing my face to meet his. He bent to give me a chaste kiss, leaning his forehead gently against mine. His eyes closed, a content expression painting his features.

Absurdly, that felt more intimate than the sex itself. Just then, a thought sprang to mind—that was our first kiss. The whole time he never kissed me, only Steve. A confused intrigue fluttered in my belly.

“Bucky. Move.”

Reluctantly, Bucky let go of me, huffing in irritation at Steve’s impatience.

My limbs felt like jelly, Bucky’s cum running down my thighs in globs and I barely had the strength to hold myself up. But before I fell Steve caught me, swiftly flipping my body around and until my back met the table.

Sweat clung to my body, the exertion finally taking its toll. But in the end, I honestly didn’t care anymore. I knew what happened next and had no strength to fight it.

While Steve took his time, pulling off my shoes and removing my jeans, freeing me from the makeshift restraints, Bucky pulled up his jumpsuit and dragged a chair next to the table. His eyes remained locked on my form, as he adjusted his seat to find the perfect spot. He took my hand and intertwined our fingers again, resting our hands on the table next to my head.

My mind floated, lost in the foggy absurdity of the moment, when Steve suddenly grabbed my legs and dragged me closer. I squeaked—a pathetic sound—and scrambled for a hold on his biceps for some sort of security.

“My beautiful wild cat,” Steve purred, bending over me with a glint of dark lust in his eyes. “Now it’s time to love me.” He captured my lips with his, his cock splitting me open and hitting home.

So here I am—and this shit is definitely far from over. But when did I start calling them by their first name?

I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king

I've been up and down and over and out, and I know one thing

Each time I find myself laying flat on my face

I just pick myself up and get back in the race

#stucky x reader #dark stucky #tw rape #reader insert #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #dark fic #mechanic stucky #modern au #tw non con #tw dub con #dark fanfiction

[katiesbooks]

My thoughts on Find Me by André Aciman (the Call Me By Your Name sequel)

I’m going to be completely honest, I got like 30 pages into the first part of this book and said hell no, I’m skipping to part two. I’m fine with some unrealistic dialogue, maybe some over the top characterization, but to have such an unrealistic portrayal of a woman is kind of unforgivable. Not to mention cringe. I mean, I’m assuming it was meant to be a parallel for Elio and Oliver’s relationship, but it reads as a predatory, pervy fantasy rather than a love story. It comes off as inauthentic, it’s unnecessary, it’s honestly just gross. I hated it. But my feelings on the book as a whole are more complex.

I really do think the entire story of Sami and Miranda is just the André Aciman’s weird fantasy- not just that he wants to be desired by a beautiful young woman, but that he wants to be part of the universe and story he created with Call Me By Your Name; hence, heavy projection onto Sami. It wasn’t too unexpected a move to bring in a new character, but it was weird for her to never actually appear after the first part. It felt like when an actor leaves a show but they keep mentioning their character and making excuses for why they aren’t there. In the end I really didn’t understand the purpose of including this part. Miranda was just a vessel for the kid that Elio and Oliver strangely claim as theirs at the end. Maybe Aciman just can’t write female characters. Has anyone who’s read his other work confirm?

Part two. I liked the story of Elio and Michel more than I thought it would. It captured some of the CMBYN magic, the longing and the subtle eroticism, and I thought Elio’s voice came across as consistent from the first book but noticeably older. I wasn’t wild about how large the age gap was, but it never felt predatory like with Sami and Miranda. Much like in the first book you get the sense that Elio’s in control, that he’s an equal part of the relationship. But way too much discussion of Michel’s father. Fucking hell. I get that it was supposed to be a parallel with Elio’s father or whatever, but again, I think Aciman is just projecting onto Sami, and wants to be important in his characters’ lives. The mystery of Léon/Ariel was creative, and definitely helped drive the story forward and tie it all together at the end. It was probably one of the most tasteful moments of the whole book. This was by far my favorite section.

Part three. I don’t have a ton of thoughts on it. Like with Elio, Oliver’s characterization felt pretty consistent from the first book, just older. It’s nice to see him reflect on the choices he’s made. I wasn’t sold on the obsession with Erica and Paul. They weren’t quite fleshed out enough for me, and Erica’s portrayal just adds more fuel to my theory that Aciman can’t write women. The section felt a little drawn out, especially considering the lack of, you know, actual events or dialogue. Oliver’s imaginings of Elio definitely kept this section from being totally irredeemable.

Did I want more Elio + Oliver content? Yeah, absolutely. The stories of them separately were important for the reader’s exploration of their individual characters but they weren’t a substitute for actual interaction. And what we do get of their interactions doesn’t feel as meaningful as those in the first book, even the tiny ones at the end. It was disappointing in that regard. But I still wasn’t completely let down by this book. I’ll be honest, I absolutely adore the Call Me By Your Name universe. To this day it’s my favorite of Timothée Chalamet’s performances, and as unhealthy as it is, there’s nothing I want more than to experience a romance even half as powerful as Elio and Oliver’s. Find Me let me live in that universe for just a little longer, spend some time with Elio as an adult, and realize that time marches on even if you’re still yearning for the past.

#find me #andre aciman #timothee chalamet #armie hammer #call me by your name #bookblr #book blog #elio perlman #samuel perlman #cmbyn #find me andre aciman #katie’s thoughts

[starbornvalkyrie]

ACOSF USA BOOK TOUR NOTES

Hey y’all! I just attended the LiveTalks Los Angeles event with Sarah J Maas and Eva Chen!! I took lots of notes so I wanted to share them with you all! They’re a little incoherent on the page, so it might seem a crazy, they jumped topics a lot. Feel free to chat with me about what she talked about! But first.

MY RULES:

NO SHIP OR CHARACTER SLANDERING. I know that we all may have different opinions. I will not offer my opinions here, this is purely informational for those of you who did not have the opportunity to attend this event.

PLEASE NO ARGUING IN MY COMMENTS OR ASK BOX WITH ME OR ANYONE ELSE WHO COMMENTS

Acknowledge that I am not perfect and may not have written down everything perfectly. I did my best while still trying to enjoy the event.

I AM NOT SARAH J MAAS AND CANNOT INTERPRET WHAT SHE MEANS

I’m tagging this with #acosf spoilers and #acosfspoilers just in case.

If you understand and can abide by these rules, keep reading below the cut, and enjoy!

SJM said it was weird doing this event from her living room where you might be able to hear her dog in the background or her son trying to get into the room.

ACOSF started as a passion project while she was writing ACOWAR! It was never anything she thought she was going to publish. (more on this later)

About reading and writing growing up

in middle school, she read a lot of fantasy

in high school, she didn’t read as much, but wrote A LOT. it became her fixation, almost an obsession.

in college, she only really wrote on vacations (she had a very healthy social life hehehe) but her junior year is when she found her balance between schoolwork, writing, and socializing.

there was no plan B for her!! it was always to be an author. if it didn’t happen right away, she was going to find a job that would get her by until plan A could come to be.

her favorite author growing up was Garth Nix. She longed for books about badass women. She got to meet him and write a blurb to be on one of his books! She cries when she meets her favorite authors.

Talk about character names!

her character names come from everywhere and nowhere

sometimes she’ll just hear a name in her head and think “that’s it!” (Rhys, for example)

she needs to know the name to write the character

if the name doesn’t immediately come to her, she spends a lot of her time on baby name websites and makes lists until it clicks

sometimes the names just... connect. sometimes she doesn’t mean for them to.

it will always be uncommon. never “Frank” lol

Writing about Nesta!

on a “surface level” she loves writing when Nesta comes out to fight. for example, her favorite scene in this aspect to write was the bog scene. As soon as she got to it, it flowed out of her. The final product was almost identical to the first draft. She wrote it in one session, from the terror & tread to the “who am i?” to when she emerged--she went YES. MAJOR Mic Drop moment for her.

going deeper: definitely her overall journey was one of the favorites she’s ever written. From the dark place she’s in at the beginning to the very end. 

Writing about Nesta meant so much to her because of her own mental health. She channeled a lot of her own feelings and went on the journey with Nesta.

it was a lot of “how do you face mental health in a fantasy world without therapy and medication”

it was easy to get into Nesta’s mind but emotionally intense.

ACOSF’S BIG MESSAGE: LEARNING TO LOVE YOURSELF AND OTHERS. YOU ARE WORTH OF LOVE.

YES there is a book planned for Elain!

As soon as Nesta and Elain came onto the page again in ACOMAF, she knew they’d get their own journey.

Nesta grabbed her by the throat in book 1

She was originally contracted for only the first three books but realized there was more she wanted to explore. Essentially the “what comes next” after ACOWAR in this new world with out the wall.

FUN FACT: while editing ACOMAF/writing ACOWAR, she drunkenly told her editor at the time, “hey guess what happens next?”, and it turned into a two hour conversation about everything she wants to happen for Nesta, Elain, Mor, Azriel, etc. TWO WEEKS LATER, she gets a call saying they want to buy the stories!! Obviously, she said yes.

This allowed her to start planting the Easter eggs for these stories in ACOWAR. She knew she did not want Nesta to be sympathetic at the beginning of the book! But she did not want people to hate her.

She always has one eye on the horizon for future books.

If she could visit one court for a day, which and why?

She LOVES the season Autumn, it’s her favorite. “BUT EVERYONE IN THE AUTUMN COURT IS AN ASSHOLE”. She would want to visit the Autumn Court when no one is there so she can enjoy the beauty of Autumn.

But also she would want to go to the Summer Court because she has a thing for Tarquin but only if it’s not gross and humid.

She would ALSO want to go to the Day Court for Helion and all his libraries.

ESSENTIALLY she would want to go everywhere but Spring because Tamlin sucks and is an asshole lmao.

BEAST FORMS

SJM’s beast form would be something totally not cool or majestic like a sea otter.

Nesta’s beast form would be something terrifying and beautiful like a snow leopard/dragon hybrid, a griffin, or a sphinx. **WANTS SOMEONE TO DRAW THIS**

FUN QUESTIONS

Nesta’s favorite smutty book would be JR Ward’s Black Dagger Brotherhood series. She reads these books for the distraction, of course, but also for the comfort they gave her that everything turns out okay for the characters.

Nesta’s Starbucks order: cappuccino- something simple, nothing with too much sugar or whipped cream. Elain’s would be a Frappe- something delicious and sweet. SJM’s is a flat white, iced or not, but never after 2PM.

SJM usually listens to classical music and movie scores while she writes, but she’s gotten used to write in silence so that she can listen for her son’s shenanigans with Josh.

“Stay Together for the Kids” by Blink 182 semi-inspired the scene when Nesta and Cassian go back to her family’s cottage. She can hardly explain why.

WRITING ADVICE

Write what you love, not what you think you should be writing.

Give yourself permission to suck. Her first drafts are shit and are usually accompanied with an email that says “I know I need to fix this, this and that” lol.

WRITE THE DAMN THING. Vomit on the page!

YOU CAN’T FIX A BLANK PAGE.

Her least favorite part about the publishing process is the first pass of copy edits, those last minute checks and balances. But once it’s off to the printer, it’s not her problem anymore.

She’s every publisher’s worst nightmare because she sends it off to the printer at the LAST possible minute.

For reference: Throne of Glass was finished almost... a year and a half? ...before it hit shelves, but ACOSF was finished this past fall.

MAIN CHARACTER TALK

All of her heroines have a piece of her.

SJM’s personality is a hybrid of Bryce and Nesta.

Feyre and Nesta got most of her in terms of learning to be empowered.

She has to have a connection to them in order to write them. It’s an out of body, method acting experience.

MISCELLANEOUS

She said “CC2 is a year from now.”

She started writing ACOTAR in 2008 before she published TOG.

She loves the story and dynamic of Elizabeth and Darcy from Pride and Prejudice. Cassian is Elizabeth. Nesta is Darcy.

And that’s all I have, folks! Thank you for reading, I hope you got something out of this!

#acosf spoilers #acosfspoilers #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #sarah j maas #live talks

[imaginariumpod]

Studio Ghibli; and the aesthetic of comfort and the mundane.

When it comes to animation movies, Studio Ghibli movies are still some of the long standing staples of the genre, and for a good reason. A lot has been said about these films, their thematics, their characters, their stories and the studio that made them, as well as one of their elusive and yet most well known creators : Hayao Miyazaki. I will try to focus on the ways Studio Ghibli views comfort as well the coziness in these little slower moments that fill the universe of Ghibli films. These movies are generally universally loved by the public, despite the fact that they are aimed toward a younger audience. These movies are definitely created with the goal of showing it to a public of children and families, and yet they still are very complex and layered pieces of art and animation that all audiences can appreciate. These movies also do not look down on their audiences, they do not shy away from touching upon more difficult themes such as war, loss, and fear, in a manner that’s adequate for the public it is targeting. With this article, I want to write an extension on the article I have already written on the subject of slowness in cinema and that has been asked by one of my subscribers on patreon. If you haven’t read that article yet, you can read it HERE on my blog. 

 The films that have been created by Studio Ghibli, are, and with reason, a cornerstone of the animated movie industry.  Despite the fact that these movies are definitely intended and made for a younger audience, I think we can all agree that these particular movies can be appreciated by everyone, at any age, and that anyone can find meaning and solace within these movies. Studio Ghibli movies are truly an excellent example of filmmaking that manages to capture a slower pace in media, slowing down the action to just offer a moment to breathe. Between all of the grand adventures and events that are happening in those movies, there are always moments of slowness to be found. Of calm. Of quietness. The characters of the Ghibli universe are permitted to simply exist sometimes. 

The concept of slowing down in media is one that I deeply appreciate for the way it brings depth and serenity in stories. This is a very personal point of view of course, I find the modern pace of capitalist life deeply alienating at times, and sometimes I think we just need a moment to slow down and enjoy simply being. Doing nothing is a very anti-capitalist thing, in my opinion, and I greatly appreciate seeing this concept in books and movies. While being productive is always a nice feeling, and god knows I always enjoy being busy and having things to do, it is always in these moments where I feel submerged by everything I have to do that I yearn for some peace and quiet. While it is not always possible to have this, it is always possible for me to simply … start a movie, and try to escape a bit the weight of the world.

I personally think having these moments to be able to just breathe and be truly enriches a movie. Those moments of simple mundanity and ordinariness ground the story in reality even when the story is about a wizard living in a moving castle. Studio Ghibli movies are the epitome of films that can focus on fantasy and the imaginary and telling incredibly original stories, while also including this measure of the mundane, the routine and the ordinary in between the louder and more action-packed parts of the film. This way of constructing these films, makes it so that the universe feels more lived-in, real and comforting, the characters feel more grounded and rooted in reality. 

 Studio Ghibli: a brief history

Even though Hayao Miyazaki started working as an animator in the 1960s, working in TOEI animation and learning the tricks of the trade, it is only later in 1985 that he established Studio Ghibli as we now know it, with the partnership of Isao Takahata and Toshio Suzuki. It is with that previous working experience that he got to truly construct an identity as the type of animator he wanted to become, and the type of movies he wanted to produce. Before Ghibli, Miyazaki got involved with different animation projects such as Heidi (1974) , and Anne of Green Gables (1979) and a project that would never see the day : Pippi Longstocking. This project is quite interesting in how it simply … never got made, its a bit like a lost part of history, a what-if. Despite the fact that Hayao Miyazaki had drawn a lot of concept arts as well as storyboards for this project, they never got the green light from the swedish author Astrid Lindgren.  

Nonetheless, it is obvious how all of these projects forecast how Miyazaki and his business partner Isao Takahata will more often than not try to center young girls as the main protagonists of their movies. A trend that will continue on for the most of their careers to this day. They will continue to focus on young girls and women as the main characters of the stories they are telling in such a complex and intricate way, all of their female characters are different from each other, with their own complicated inner lives, dreams and goals. It seems like such a basic requirement to request from our media, and yet even now, it is still not something that… will be guaranteed in the stories we consume. It is not to say that ghibli’s portrayals of women is perfect, but I do appreciate their very complex heroines and their adventures. 

I will not try to pretend that I can totally understand the type of person that Miyazaki is, he’s a complicated figure at the helm of Studio Ghibli, the man behind the curtain. He is definitely a hardworking and self-critical person, but also deeply critical of others as well, wanting to set up very high standards of work that can be extremely difficult to achieve in a very high pressure environment. Thus is the complex personality of Miyazaki. I do not want to pretend he is a perfect man, and I do think some of his choices are things i don't quite agree with. There are some very valid and legitimate criticisms to be made about him, some by the closest people he works with as well as his own sons, especially Goro Miyazaki, who say that his father was always very distant, working long hours even by the era’s standards, and whose heart was obviously more into his work than his home life. Hayao Miyazaki valued work and putting in the time and effort into his art and job, pushing for very unhealthy job practices and work culture.

 He is far from perfect, and seek perfection in his work, both from himself and the people he works with. There’s a lot to be said on that aspect, and yet I still very much think that he is that he is still a very fascinating person to reckon with, someone who brought very important and beautiful stories and revolutionized the world of animation in a really significant way. The universes he created are some I keep coming back to times and times again. I also highly recommend the documentary A Kingdom of Dreams and Madness (2013)  if you have not seen it, as to have a glimpse of the way this animation studio functions on a daily basis. I find it always so very inspiring personally, each time I watch this documentary, I feel hugely motivated to create and to make something, no matter how small. Sometimes, it is simple about the sheer act of creating something, of spending some time away on the roof, looking at the skies while a cat is sleeping next to you. 

His involvement with the Union during his early animator years left him with a leftist tendency that will continue on during his career and seep through the themes of his movies.From the very firmly anti-war stances to the pro-environmentalist and anti-capitalist and anti-consumerist themes, Ghibli movies are a proof that you can tackle these subject matters in a very conscientious way even in children’s media. It can be seen in the movie Grave of the Fireflies (1988), a heart-wrenching movie about two children trying to survive the last months of  World War II.  Even though Isao Takahata, who directed this movie, says the movie was not made out to be an anti-war movie, this stance is still very much woven in the very fabric of the movie, from its beginning to its ending. 

This specific theme is very important here in terms of the experience of the mundane and the ordinary in Ghibli movies. Even within the most devastating of events, smaller moments of slowness can be found, and appreciated. Quiet moments of peace that feel even more poignant in the midst of struggle. Despite everything, I think we have all come to the conclusion that even when world-shattering events are happening, life truly must go on. And it does find a way to go on, and it feels mind-boggling that we all have to do our groceries, cook dinner, wash our laundry while terrible events keep happening, and yet, these mundane moments still occur. It is still possible to find a moment of respite and peace in the midst of uncertain times and terrible events. 

But also, as Marco says it in Porco Rosso, « I’d much rather be a pig than a fascist » and I think this really does say it all. 

The aesthetic of comfort 

Despite being usually  an animated movie set in a very obviously fantastical universe, Studio Ghibli movies tend to be very realistic in the way they portray the characters, their complexity, and also what are the real underlying conflicts. For example, in Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989) «The primary conflict isn’t about magic—it’s internal and invisible and wholly human: Kiki’s brief period of lost motivation and artist’s block. She gets it back when she wants to help Tombo, whom she loves. Simple as that. She doesn’t have to wage an epic battle to prove her worth»  The stakes might seem lower in this movie compared to other stories, very mundane and ordinary, there is no war, there is no significant conflict, but I think this is what makes it so special in the end. 

One of the particularities of Ghibli movies is how they deal with the notion of childhood, a notion that few animation movies have approached with such delicateness and seriousness. One of the things I really appreciate from Ghibli movies is that it does not shy away from treating children as complex beings. It does acknowledge the fact that children are also able of complexities and of understanding more than we think they do, and yet creating media that is easy for them to comprehend and appreciate, which I think is no small feat. 

There is definitely also a definite focus on working class characters instead of the more “prestigious” ones in Ghibli movies, there is a desire to center normal people, whatever that means, in their stories. Most of the characters have to work for a living, earn their lives, and the value of hard work is definitely something that is highlighted in the Ghibli universe. In Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989), the baker’s wife tells the young witch that work is work no matter how small and insignificant you might think it is,  and all work should be paid, and it is a truth that should be remembered.

In that movie, here is no world shattering events, no wars or massive destruction, only a young witch trying to make something out of herself, losing her will and creativity and gaining it again. That particular theme is one that resonates a lot with people on a very basic level, especially in this current day and age where so many of us are trying to monetize our creative work. So often, trying to capitalize off a hobby and enduring the bone deep dreary weight of capitalism is what will make artists lose their original inspiration and will to create, when a hobby turns into labor, and this is, at its core, the journey that Kiki went through. 

As Robert Ebert told Miyazaki, during an interview with him « I told Miyazaki I love the "gratuitous motion" in his films; instead of every movement being dictated by the story, sometimes people will just sit for a moment, or they will sigh, or look in a running stream, or do something extra, not to advance the story but only to give the sense of time and place and who they are.» 

And he was right, Ghibli movies have these moments where the action is not something that is strictly essential to the plot of the movie, and yet it is essential to the essence of what Ghibli movies do. Miyazaki then explained what this concept for him meant for him : 

  «"We have a word for that in Japanese," he said. "It's called ma. Emptiness. It's there intentionally."» 

Those slow moments between the actions are thus very deliberate, they mean to slow down the story and to slow down the pace. Unlike the generally accepted school of thought in modern Hollywood cinema, where every single scene and dialogue needs to move the story forward, Miyazaki lets his story and movies breathe and exist. This way of building a story does give it an added sense of calm and soothingness, but also it gives it a sense of realism. Instead of following a strict narrative outline, this fluidity makes the story feel more real and relatable.

These quiet moments and details that might seem innocuous and useless at first glance, and maybe look like they would slow and hinder the pace of the movie in itself, are ultimately what gives it this feeling of genuineness, of sincerity. It lets the characters as well as the plot have the space to breathe, evolve and grow. 

« Although these scenes may seem slow or unimportant, they give space to develop the characters and to heighten dreams or feelings the characters are having such as feelings of isolation, wonder, or anxiety. It is in these moments of stillness that the audience can contemplate with the characters and feel what the characters are feeling. These moments remind the audience the importance of stillness in such a fast paced world and highlights the beauty of a slower paced life»

Studio Ghibli movies insert those slo

wer moments in between their more faster paced and action packed scenes, but also in the midst of world-changing events such as wars, as shown in Howl’s Moving Castle (2004). This demonstrates how people still live on during those crises, even with the danger looming over their heads. This kind of media gives me hope that we can live through this, that moments of happiness and peace are still to be found even within the madness of our very fast capitalistic and  hyper consumerist life.

From visibly established routines to a focus on the mundane, the daily.  the ordinary, Ghibli movies will definitely bring these seemingly unimportant acts and integrate them as essential to the general experience of the movie. You see the characters inhabiting the Ghibli universe working, studying, sleeping, eating, in a way, you see them being alive. In a manner of speaking, of course, these are fictional characters in fictional universes, but it is obvious that the universe and the lives these characters lead extend beyond what we’re seeing on the screen. They have whole lives and experiences that we might not be privy to, as the audience, but it is apparent that these characters are fully formed. They are going on and about with their lives, and it is this emphasis on the ordinary that makes them appear so realistic. 

Falling and getting up again. Jumping and stumbling. So often, Ghibli’s characters are not perfectly graceful beacons of dexterity and elegance, quite the opposite even, their demeanor and posture will inform the character and their place in that world, and yet it is not always perfect and flawless. Sometimes, the characters will run and stumble and trip and fall and this mundanity of being.  

This representation of the realness of what it is to be a person, that sometimes we trip and stumble, that we fall and get up again and yet, we continue to walk or run. It’s also a way of defining the different characters, of imbuing them with their own personality and mannerisms and be able to distinguish them even with such small details as the way they walk and carry themselves. This is definitely not exclusive to Studio Ghibli, animation as a whole uses movement and mannerisms as an essential tenet of character, but it is  still very rare to see this sort of flailing included voluntarily in the films. Since the medium that these movies are created in is two-dimensional animation, it means that every single frame had to be carefully planned and executed, before being drawn and painted frame by frame.  These movements could have been easily not included in the final cut of the movie, they could have been considered superfluous to the film, and yet they were. These imperfect moments are what ultimately makes it better. 

Ghibli movies do that, not only in terms of physicality and concrete elements, but also when it comes to feelings and emotions. Emotions that we all feel and experience, from the feeling of restlessness to loss and  fear, to love and courage. Ghibli movies really do showcase all of these feelings that we all feel, even though in a manner that is easy to understand for all audiences. 

 “Only Yesterday does not hit the dramatic highs of Miyazaki’s work, but that’s partly the point. It’s less concerned with presenting a grand thesis about the nature of being human than it is navigating the heartbreaks, triumphs and regrets that make us. But it’s still comforting for a film about the relentless march of time, the title even invoking both the speed with which childhood can pass us by and how close those memories stay with us.

It’s immensely relatable in how it evokes these little tragedies: the feeling of being a fraud; of missing out’ of wondering if you’ve left your childhood self behind; idealism; dreams and all. It asks us not to mourn what might or might not have happened, but to keep those memories close, and use them to move forward. That Only Yesterday makes this feel as wondrous as a castle in the sky or a land of spirits is nothing short of miraculous, and why it ranks among Ghibli’s best.”

The act of eating is one that is heavily emphasized in Ghibli movies,  one only needs to read all of the articles dedicated to the mouth-watering food that fills its universe to understand that this simple act, of eating and of preparing food, is one that is very important. Countless of people have made videos on how to recreate some of the most iconic dishes and meals of the Ghibli universe, from Howl’s Moving Castle’s tempting breakfast to Spirited Away’s feasts, both the one that Chihiro’s parents eat at the beginning of the movie and the ones served to the bathhouse’s guests, and the simple snacks that are eaten throughout the movie, from the onigiri Haku gives Chihiro or the food she shares with Lin. Ghibli movies are very well known for how pretty and appealing its food looks, and simply taking the time to showcase the act of preparing and eating food, thus slowing down the pace and creating a break during the plot of the movie. There’s a certain type of media that does put a lot of importance on the act of slowing down, taking the time to cook, such movies such as Little Forest : Summer & Autumn and Little forest : winter and spring, for example. A lot of media that’s just about not doing much and preparing some food, which somehow has a very soothing effect. The act of eating and cooking is part of the greater character narrative and storyline when it comes to Ghibli movies, but also the act of sharing a meal and of eating together. 

Food, the preparing of food as well as the sharing of a meal, is a love language in itself, in my very humble opinion, taking the time to prepare all of the ingredients and then a dish for someone else or for one self is an act of care. And it is definitely one of the ways it is used in Ghibli movies, from My Neighbor Totoro (1988) in which the eldest daughter is often seen having to prepare lunch and food for her younger sister and her father, since her mother is sick and hospitalized. I will not be talking here about eldest daughter syndrome here, but it is very much a Real Thing™️. It is simply in this representation of the act of cooking, and the care she puts in it, that we can understand not only the love she has for her younger sister and father, but also the very real responsibilities that she has to shoulder as such a young age. 

In every single Studio Ghibli movie, this pattern appears, someone will make food, and it will be obvious how much time, effort and love it takes to prepare this dish, or someone will simply take a break from whatever they were doing and take a bite of a small but tasty snack. Somehow, the usage of food in the Ghibli universe is central to the way the characters will experience and move through the world. 

It is in these small moments of respite and calm that the characters, and by extension, us, are allowed to breathe. Moments that are quiet, where two people will share a meal and just be. I always terribly appreciate whenever a movie, or any piece of media really, simply takes the time to let the story expand and move at its own pace. Studio Ghibli movies are always ones I love to go back to whenever the world feels overwhelming and slightly unbearable. I hope that we can all have more moments of peace and quiet, that things can slow down enough for us to catch our breath. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY:

Hayao Miyazaki interview | Interviews

The Magic and Artistry of Studio Ghibli's Films

The Low-Stakes Pleasure of KIKI’S DELIVERY SERVICE 

Wings and Freedom, Spirit and Self: How the Filmography of Hayao Miyazaki Subverts Nation Branding and Soft Power Shadow 

Miyazaki’s Magical Food: An Ode to Anime’s Best Cooking Scenes 

Food in Spirited Away: Consuming with Intent

Grave of the Fireflies: The haunting relevance of Studio Ghibli's darkest film

NAPIER, Susan. Miyazakiworld : a life in art. Yale University Press, 2018. 

#text

[callmeelle22]

Blue Dream IX

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Allen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 6, 258

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Say Yes

Chapter VII: Brave

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Chapter IX: He Loves Me; Because she looks like a woman drowning in bliss, a woman draped in desire, the look of it hugging like a second skin. She looks like the way women might be described in romance novels, so satisfied she can’t think of anything other than being wrapped up in the man giving her the satisfaction. She looks like the woman in some fantasy or dream, ascending the clouds, spread out and open in an expanse of blue. She sings it in her head, you school me, give me things to think about; invite me, you ignite me, co-write me, you love me, you like me; incite me to chorus, at the same time that she sings out loud, “god, Bear, baby yes,” her eyes fluttering closed at only the very last minute. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter.)

He Loves Me

You love me especially different every time

You keep me on my feet happily excited

By your cologne, your hands, your smile, your intelligence

You woo me, you court me, you tease me, you please me

You school me, give me some things to think about

Ignite me, you invite me, you co-write me, you love me, you like me

You incite me to chorus, ooh

Oh

She tells him she loves him on a Friday night.

A week later, and it's the first night in a long while that she doesn’t get to stay at home because Barry has asked if he can have her time tonight. He doesn’t give her any details, only tells her to come over to his place around 8 and to be prepared to stay over. He seems particularly animated, when he asks, and it makes Iris wonder why, if he’s got something planned or if it’s just that he’s happy he gets to spend the time with her, even if they’ve been around each other more than usual this week.

So, the entire day, she’s dizzy with excitement.

Her taping of Good Morning, Central City is mid-morning. The segment tapes live at 9:30, which gives her some time to down a cup of coffee or two to settle her nerves, and then carefully apply her makeup. She dresses in one of her favorite dresses, a long sleeved wrap dress in black with soft, pretty flowers printed on it and a pair of shoes that boost her confidence, tall black pumps with a gold heel and gold double chains around the ankle. The neck of the dress dips and the delicate material flirts with her lower thighs; she feels pretty in it, in a lighter, brighter way than she’s found herself feeling before. Her makeup is subtle, except for the dark maroon lip, and she’s had her hair blown out and it hangs in soft fingered out curls just past her shoulders. A small black bag is all she takes to keep her keys and cards and then she’s out the door.

WCCTV, the station that houses the studio, is a short drive away, tucked into a neighborhood that Iris doesn’t frequent. She isn’t sure what she was expecting of the station, but it’s a squat little building in an unimaginative cream and brick scheme that would look like any other commercial building if not for WCCTV printed in large blue letters on the building and the satellite dishes spaced intentionally around it.

A news producer meets her at the door, a thin young woman with thick red hair piled into a high ponytail who introduces herself as Katherine.

“We’re all excited to have you here,” the woman says, smiling as she leads Iris through a number of desk cubicles towards a back room. She recognizes a couple of the anchors from the station, who all look either intensely focused on their work or bored out of their minds.

“Thanks,” Iris says politely. “It is a little overwhelming here, though.”

Iris doesn’t love speaking in front of people, which is why she's firmly on the invisible side of her work, but she isn’t as nervous and she figures she could be. There’s that feeling in her belly she connects with nerves, but it’s slight; instead, she’s ready. This can change the trajectory of her blog, invite more viewers and more paying ads. It could invite more stories, people who see her and trust that she wants to do right by them and their lives. She’s practically giddy with the idea.

Katherine’s response is an easy grin. “I know it seems that way, but you’ll be fine. You look fabulous so that’s one concern out of the way. Plus, Alexa and James are phenomenal at getting people to open up at the same time that they project a sort of calmness. It's fascinating to watch and I can tell you’ll be great.”

“Thanks, Katherine. I really appreciate that.”

Iris is led back to a small room where the two anchors for Good Morning, Central City are standing with four other local internet stars. Alexa May is tall and blonde and exactly like what one thinks about when they think of a news anchor: pretty and personable on a killer black skirt suit, though Iris is a little surprised at the naturally kind gleam in her eyes. James Broderick is even taller, his dark hair styled to look windswept, his ice blue eyes looking constantly around the room, as if he’s always wondering where a new story might be.

Iris steps in to greet the other four guests. They include a short Somalian woman in a beautiful bright purple hijab who cooks and shares recipes on YouTube; a stocky white guy known for his skits on TikTok; a dark-skinned Black Instagram beauty guru; and a non-binary Mexican person who discusses true crimes on Snapchat ala Buzzfeed Unsolved. It’s an eclectic collection of people and Iris feels honored to be a part of this group. She’s watched all of their videos in some fashion, though she’s more partial to Aya, the home chef, and Nadine, the beauty grammer. Still, they each have large followings and to be included gives Iris such a sense of pride, that she’s a little drunk with the force of it.

“You guys ready?” Alexa’s strong voice pulls all of their attention immediately, and Iris passes one more look through the crew of them before locking eyes with Alexa and James.

She nods her assent.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At 8, Iris pulls into Barry’s two-car driveway right next to his Jeep backed up into the drive as usual. The garage is open, though, and she takes that as an invitation to walk into the house, finding the kitchen door unlocked. She steps in and presses the button that closes the garage, locks the kitchen door behind her.

Her giddy mood has stuck with her.

The segment had been a quick fire round of questions and answers, with the hosts wanting to know how they all got started, what motivates them to do what they do, and the ups and downs of being in spaces of both influence and criticism. It’d been fascinating to hear the stories of the others, and afterward, they’d all exchanged contact information with the idea of collaborating on future projects.

After, she’d gone to lunch with her dad and Wally, who’d all but hinted at a watch party planned for the following night. She'd merely shaken her head at her family’s love of partying.

Now, she’s at Barry’s and she recognizes that tonight is going to be different. Because she knows that she’s going to say it. After the last part of her interview, where she’d all but explained to Alexa and James that she’d fallen in love with someone, she understands that there is no way that she can announce it on television and not tell the man himself.

It’s fairly dark in the house; there is a small light on above the stove. She continues through the quiet living room, a single table lamp lighting her path down his hallway. She pauses to pull her jacket off, tossing it over the arm of the sofa as she treks towards his room. That’s where she finds Barry, sitting in the large overstuffed chair in the corner near the window.

She takes a moment to look at him, in a pair of soft looking pajama pants and a simple white t-shirt, tattooed arm hooked behind his head as he sits wide-legged in the chair. His dark hair is only the slightest bit messy. Iris likes the look of the breadth of his shoulders, the bulge of his biceps, the print of his sex visible through the thin cotton of his pants. He’s not overtly sexy in the way that other men she’s dated have been, but there’s something about Barry, his eyes and his mouth and his length, that really gets to Iris.

She drags her eyes away from him and that’s when she suddenly notices the two gift-wrapped boxes sitting in the middle of his bed, the large bottle of wine and two glasses on his bedside table, a couple of pre-rolled joints sitting beside them too.

Iris steps further into the room, her heels heavy on his hardwood floors; the movement is enough to catch his attention and his head pops up, those sea-foam eyes glittering behind the wire frames of his glasses as he smiles up at her.

(And, Iris will realize later, her entire body floods with her affection for him, the feeling familiar in that the thought comes so much easier now, comes to her so smoothly that she doesn’t know how it’d once felt so difficult to get the words across.)

“Hey, beautiful,” he greets as he stands, unfolding his long frame from the chair. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s okay,” she smiles at him as he comes to a stop in front of her. She naturally reaches out to wrap her arms around him, tightening them around his waist. His touch is automatic too, his big hands landing on her neck, thumbs trailing softly across the skin on her cheeks. She falls against him, his firmness and his warmth and the soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leans down and kisses her, a peck and then another, and then a longer one, his tongue easing out to coax her open. He pulls back first, though slowly, and Iris chases after him. He obliges with another kiss, this one longer, wetter, Iris squeezing him to her.

“Hi,” she speaks, voice a little faint.

“Hey, beautiful” he repeats. He thumbs at her bottom lip, the tip of his finger tracing gently over the line of her mouth.

“What’s all this?” she asks, when she pulls away from him this time. She gazes around the room again, at how the only lights on are the bedside lamps and at the weed and wine waiting on one of those tables and the gifts sitting neatly on the bed.

“It’s a celebration,” he says with a wide smile. “Well, it’s your Friday night routine, just here. I got the wine and the weed, and Thai ordered out here for a bit later.” His smile dims a little, becomes unsure. “And I thought we could talk about your segment today; maybe actually watch it. I recorded it.”

“Really?” Iris’s eyes widen in slight surprise. “I know my dad and Wally did because we’re gonna have a watch party at dad’s place tomorrow. And probably Linda, but...”

“Of course I recorded it, baby.” Barry gives her an indulgent look. “I tried to watch some of it at work, but we got called out on a case before you came on. Then I thought it’d be better to wait to watch it with you.”

Iris doesn’t have a response other than to bite at her lip, eyes trained on him, the reality of his kindness rendering her momentarily speechless. Barry doesn’t acknowledge her silence; instead, he plants another firm kiss to her mouth and steps away from her, nodding at his bed.

“Is this all okay, though? Maybe you can open your gifts and then we can pour the wine and turn on your interview?”

Her smile is big. “Yeah, Barry, of course.”

She looks over at the sleekly wrapped presents before going to sit on the edge of his bed. She makes quick work of unclasping the buckle around her ankle, leaving her shoes strewn on the floor, and then she hops up into the middle of the bed, pulling the two boxes in front of her, her dress riding up to the top of her thighs.

One of the boxes is bigger than the other, though it’s lighter than the heavier one. They’re wrapped in shiny gold paper with dark blue bows sitting in the corner of each. She picks up the bigger present first, tearing through the paper. She recognizes the garment box and thumbs open the top. Nestled in white tissue paper is a pile of red silk, the material so soft and delicate it looks like waves on the cardboard.

“Bear?” she questions, picking up the folded clothing. It’s a nightgown and matching robe. The gown is almost like a dress she’d wear out, with thin straps and a split up the right side, except the fabric of it is so light, one can tell it’s only made to be seen by a lover. The feel of it in her hands is so nice and Iris knows that this isn’t like the inexpensive dresses she buys for herself.

“I thought that you could have one to keep over here sometimes,” he says when she catches his gaze. He looks a little bashful, cheeks slightly tinged pink. “I know that Friday night is largely your thing, but maybe every so often you can spend it with me.”

“And wear this?” Iris asks, her grin widening slowly.

Barry nods.

“I think that this is really a gift for you,” she says and he barks out a laugh.

“It is my favorite color.” He grins. “And I admit that when I saw it, the first thing I wondered was how it would look as I took it off of you.”

Iris rolls her eyes in jest. “Pervert.” She fingers the material again. “So you picked it out yourself? In a store?”

“You have no idea how embarrassing it is buying women’s lingerie. The sales lady kept making these innuendos and I thought I was gonna pass out, I was blushing so hard.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Iris laughs as she reaches over and pinches his cheek. “You did good though. It’s so soft.”

Barry beams at her. “Can I get a kiss as a thanks?”

Iris shakes her head. “Not until I open this other one. I could hate it and then that would overshadow how much I like this nightgown.”

He snorts. “Even if you do hate it, I’ll still get to see you in the nightgown and, honestly, that’ll make my night.”

“Like I said: pervert.”

He just chuckles as she picks up the heavier box and claws at the paper on it. It looks like some sort of leather book, and once Iris pulls all of the paper off, it takes everything in her not to just start bawling right then and there. It’s the journal she’d seen at the fall festival, except in a pretty royal purple instead of the coral she’d picked up there; this one’s definitely a better choice. It has the rose gold edging that the other had and her name is stitched in that same color at the bottom right corner of the journal. She flips through it, fingering the heavy cream paper. Handwriting catches her attention and she turns to where Barry has written a message on the first page in small, scrawling script.

Iris,

I think I knew that I was falling for you during fall fest, when I saw you staring down at the notebook with such a look of reverence on your face. I could see in that moment how much you loved your craft. It made me curious about you, about someone who’s goal in life is to be the voice for those who can’t or simply won’t. And when I started to read your work, I saw your heart in everything you wrote, in every line that scrolled across my computer screen. I wanted to know that heart.

Now that I do, now that I’ve seen it firsthand: in the way that you touch me, in the way that you smile at me, in the way that you make me feel like every day is new story to experience, I want to be able to experience it for as long as you’ll let me. Because you are a lightning bolt, Iris, brilliant and electric. You are beautiful and tenacious and the single most fascinating person I’ve ever met.

So keep putting your heart into your stories, and I’ve no doubt that everyone who reads it will love it as much as I do.

Barry

“Barry,” she says, breathes really. She looks up at him, his expression nervous, his eyes tracking her. She feels the moisture pricking at the corners of hers and she blinks, letting the tears fall.

“Iris.” His voice is a little raw as she gazes up at him. “I’m sorry. Please don’t cry. I can…” he cuts himself off as he reaches for the journal. Iris swats at his hand and brings the notebook closer to her. “Iris?”

Another tear, and then another and then more, roll down over her cheeks and Barry stares at her, hand outstretched, mouth agape.

“Iris,” he tries again. Wordlessly, she places the journal back down in the box and then she crawls over to him, planting herself in his lap. She wraps herself around him, legs locking around his waist, arms crossing behind his neck. He closes his mouth, but his features are still twisted in turmoil. “Baby, please tell me why you’re crying.”

He asks this as he reaches up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Everything in Iris seems like it’s settling now, even as the tears fall. Even clearer than before, she can read the story of them, like the book is in front of her, words bold and in technicolor. She can see the dream she’s living in, the vision of them laughing with each other and making love to each other, for days on end, one that plays out like a movie in front of her.

She tightens around him, trying to get as close as she can without crawling inside of him—she really wishes she could right now—and she sniffs, looking down at Barry through her wet lashes. She takes a deep breath. And then she tells him.

“I’m crying because I love you.”

Much like the last time they’d had this conversation, Barry’s body stiffens beneath her. He asks carefully, “And loving me makes you cry?”

She nods and Barry looks stricken. It’s what she needs to bring a modicum of levity to the moment and she huffs out a small laugh. “These aren’t sad tears, Barry.”

Iris can physically see him exhale, letting out a shaky breath. His shoulders lose their tension and he gives her a tentative smile. She returns it.

“For someone who always seems to know what I’m thinking, you completely missed the mark here.”

Barry shakes his head as Iris notes the flush climbing up his neck. “The tears threw me off.” He wipes at her face. “Please never do that again.”

She laughs. “I’ll do my best.”

Barry runs a hand down her back, over the fabric of the dress she’s wearing, and he grips her chin with his other thumb and forefinger, bringing her down so he can stare into her eyes.

“So you love me?” he wonders. His voice dips, lower like midnight walks on a beach in the fall or like early morning talks before coffee and reality ease in. He pulls the glasses from his face, folds them on the table beside them, and gives her all of his attention. She likes being surrounded by him like this, by the look of him and the smell of him and the feel of him. She stays wrapped around him like a koala and Barry holds on to her too, gripping her chin and pressing her to him with a wide palm to the small of her back.

“I do,” Iris nods. “Very much.”

Iris can see the joy brimming in his gaze. “Can you tell me?”

“Tell you?”

“What you love about me.”

Barry shifts so that he’s sitting more comfortably on the bed and she’s perched even closer in his lap, the crotch of her panties almost pressing against his belly. He pushed the boxes and wrapping better towards the edge of the bed.

“For example,” he says, and he lets go of her chin to touch his palm to her chest. His hand is warm through the fabric of her dress. “You know that I love this heart, how gracious and compassionate it is.” He reaches down and picks up on her hands, rubbing a thumb along her knuckles, along the rings that adorn her fingers. He brings it up to his mouth and presses a few tiny kisses along the pads of her fingertips. “I love these fingers, because it’s through your writing, your typing, that you show yourself, even when you can’t always physically or verbally.” He goes back to her face, his thumb caressing the middle of her bottom lip. “I love this mouth: the way that it smiles and laughs, the way that it purses when you’re annoyed, the way that it feels on my own.”

Iris can’t help it when she licks her lips, tongue swiping at Barry’s thumb. He makes a soft grunting sound.

“Tell me, Iris.”

She thinks back to the second night they’d been together, when he’d been hard inside of her and he’d asked her to tell him how he felt fucking into her. She decides that this is even harder, not because she doesn’t know, but because when she speaks it, it’s officially there, written out in the sky, heaven coming to collect on its bet.

“I love your tattoos,” she starts, tentatively. She unhooks one of her arms from around his neck and touches at the skin on his arm, tracing the outline of a white daisy. “I love that you did it as a way to remember your mother; I love that you were brave enough to put the iris on your heart, even when I wasn’t sure how to receive that.” She reaches up to trail her fingers along his brows. “I love your eyes. I love the look of them, the fact that I can’t actually name what color they are; I love the way you look at me, how you can tell my feelings by just watching me, how it seems like I’m the only one you see whenever we’re out together.” She lets a nail trace the outline of his mouth, dropping her hand to rest on the back of his neck. “I love your mouth too; the way you always say things that make me feel beautiful or smart or loved.” She licks her lips again. “Or make me blush, like when you’re saying those dirty things when you’re…”

Barry gives her a deep smirk, those eyes flashing in a way that makes Iris’s body clench. Her thighs close around him.

“Like me saying those dirty things when I’m…?”

She rocks her hips. “You know.”

“I do,” he nods, “but I want to hear you say it.” He grinds up into her. “When I’m what, baby?”

“When,” she licks her lips again, slower this time, buoyed by the way his eyes darken, “you fuck me.”

“Mmmm,” Barry groans and then his grin changes to something a little indecent, darker and dirtier. “You know what else I love?”

Iris shakes her head, though she thinks she does.

“I love the way you respond to me, when I’m saying those dirty things to you when I’m fucking you.”

Iris rocks her hips again and she knows that it’s an involuntary moment. Because, like always, she responds to him easily, fluidly, like they’ve become extensions of the other.

Barry fingers at the hem of her dress sitting around her thighs. “Take this off,” he demands. “I want to show you how you look.”

Even with her brows furrowed in confusion, she does what he says, pulling the dress up and over her head. She reveals to him her bra and panty set, a dark green that even she thinks makes her skin glow. He fingers the lace at the top of the cups of her bra, at the same piping along her hips.

“As pretty as this is,” he murmurs, “I want it gone too.”

She unhooks the bra first, staring back at him. She tosses the bra on the bed beside them, her breasts sitting heavy on her chest, nipples already pointing out at him, seeking him, his fingers or his tongue or the nip of his teeth.

He helps her off of him so that she can take her panties off. Then, instead of letting her climb back on top of him, however, he positions himself so that he’s facing the side of the bed. He pulls her to him and sits her so she is sitting between his open knees, her back to his chest.

This brings a different part of the room into focus. Iris has always paid more attention to the wall length window on the other side of the room, the one that Barry will open when they’re together sometimes, taunting her with the eyes she’s sure she’s seen peeking through their blinds and his. The bed sits on a platform facing front, a television mounted on the wall above a stand that holds his game consoles and a few other knick knacks. But on the other side, there’s a bookshelf, above which hangs a mirror. Of course Iris has known it was there, has looked into it as she’s done her makeup or straightened one of Barry’s stolen shirts on her. But it looks almost dangerous now, only in that she can only imagine what Barry has planned for it. In the mirror, she can see all of her. It’s not an extremely large mirror, but it spans the length of the bookshelf and it’s just high enough that, on the bed, Iris can see both of their bodies.

“Barry?” she questions as she looks over her shoulder at him.

“I know you like it when other people watch,” he says, and she almost rolls her eyes at the smug, laughing look on his face. “But I want you to watch you right now. To see yourself the way I do; to see why I felt so compelled to come to you that first night.”

Iris’s lips quirk up slightly. “I didn’t look like this the first night you saw me.”

“I’ve got a great imagination,” Barry winks.

Ignoring his statement,

(but not the way her heart fills with love for him, the kind that sits heavy in her chest, bold and open; the kind that stays strong in her belly, flipping and fluttering and always present; the kind that dips low in her sex, warm and wet and wanting)

Iris turns back to the mirror and catalogs what she sees: her naked body cocooned in his fully clothed one; her brown eyes bright with anticipation, his darkened with barely disguised lust. There are still traces of her lipstick on her full mouth, and some of it is on Barry too, a look that shouldn’t be as arousing as it is. The fabric of his clothes are so soft on her bare skin, and the warmth of the heat through the room only serves to heighten her desire. Barry moves her hands, throws them over either side of his thighs, and uses his to open her legs; the move puts her even more on display, the gold necklace she’s been wearing all day nestled in between her breasts, her belly taut, the pinkish brown lips of her pussy already slick.

Barry circles a hand gently around her throat at the same time that he palms the inside of one of her thighs, holding her open, rubbing gently at her skin.

“I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you,” Barry says to her, whispers it, his voice soft in her ear. “I admit I was drunk that first night, but I saw you and it was like, like the entire world came into focus. I think my body knew I would love you before the rest of me could even deny it. And, by some miracle, I got you to take me home with you.”

He touches her lightly on her neck and then moves down, the tips of his fingers feeling on her breasts until he circles a nipple. She gasps, the sound more like a low moan, and Barry smiles at it.

“You were so responsive,” he explains. “I’ve never seen anything like the way you respond to me; it’s so electrifying, baby.”

He circles one nipple with the rough pad of his fingers, pinches at it until it fully hardens, the action almost painful in that she needs more. He moves to the other nipple, does the same thing, and Iris grinds her hips, hoping to move the hand still gliding on her thigh closer to where she always wants him.

“It can be the slightest touch,” he continues, running his nails down the space between her breasts. She proves his point, whimpering a little as he glides down to her belly, and then up again, adding a finger as he goes down once more, and then up. It should not feel like this, such an innocuous move. But he’s right; she’s so responsive to him. This ghost of a touch, just the barest hint of his fingers on her, and she’s heated, her thighs quaking, her sex fluttering.

“Barry,” she sighs, catching her gaze through the mirror. He licks those pink lips, eyes honed in on her, and in that moment, she sees that it is mutual. However true it is that she so easily reacts to him, he is not unaffected. He is, just as much as she is, the truth of it right there in his wrecked countenance: the burning gray of his eyes, the pink flush of his cheeks, the colorful bunch of the tattoos on his arm as he holds her tight.

“I’m in love with this pussy, too,” he mumbles into her neck, his pale hands moving to grip her thighs. The sight of it is a touch obscene, his lightly tanned skin on the umber of hers, his long fingers pressing into her flesh. He doesn’t touch her sex, not right away. Instead, he squeezes her thighs before repeating his pattern of running his fingers up and down, up and down again.

“Look at it,” Barry groans, and she watches his gaze go down to her before she looks at herself. She knows her own body, but Iris has never looked at herself like this, has never spread her legs in front of a mirror when her lips were wet like this, flushed red like this, puckered open as if begging for the stretch of his cock.

“Look at how pretty you are, baby.” His voice sounds like music to her. “Look at how slick you get for me; how open you get for me.”

“Bear,” Iris moans.

He chuckles. “I know. I wanna fuck you right now too.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Because I’m not finished playing.”

Iris gripes at that, throwing her head back on his shoulder and canting her hips toward his hand.

“No, be a good girl for me, Iris.” Those nimble fingers inch toward the middle of her. “Be a good girl and keep looking while I finish playing.”

He waits until she looks back at the mirror and then he starts. That first touch to her sends electricity coursing through her. He swipes a finger straight up the middle of her slit and she jerks, followed quickly by a limb-loosening moan when Barry sucks the digit in his mouth.

“I love the taste of it,” Barry says.

He reaches back down again, uses his index and ring fingers to hold her open and then dips his middle finger into her. He fucks that finger into her slowly, rubbing against her walls as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of her, gathering the slick of her on that finger.

“I love the feel of it.”

He shifts to use all three of those fingers, dipping them in her wet and rubbing them over her. This is where he finds his rhythm. Iris catches, and this time holds, the sight of them in the glass. Her hair is a curly mess, the strands hanging loose and tangled around her head. Her lips are swollen from how often she keeps tugging the bottom one between her teeth, her chest heaving as she prays for release. In all of that, Iris swears she’s glowing, eyes darkened and alight, her entire body lit with pleasure, bringing out the honeyed undertones in her skin. She looks raw. She looks fucked. She looks like a woman who sings out whenever she can, you woo me, you court me, you tease me, you please me.

And Barry holds on to her, fingers moving a little erratically, going between fucking his fingers into her and massaging her swollen clit with his wet fingers. All of it is, a lot, the way his fingers look slicker and slicker until she’s dripping down onto his wrists, the way that their different skin colors seem to matter right now only in how erotic the contrast looks right now.

“Come, baby,” Barry says. “And watch yourself.”

She does, watches herself as she comes, watches Barry watch her as she does. And it’s as beautiful as he says. Because she looks like a woman drowning in bliss, a woman draped in desire, the look of it hugging like a second skin. She looks like the way women might be described in romance novels, so satisfied she can’t think of anything other than being wrapped up in the man giving her the satisfaction. She looks like the woman in some fantasy or dream, ascending the clouds, spread out and open in an expanse of blue. She sings it in her head, you school me, give me things to think about; invite me, you ignite me, co-write me, you love me, you like me; incite me to chorus, at the same time that she sings out loud, “god, Bear, baby yes,” her eyes fluttering closed at only the very last minute.

“I love you,” Barry tells her, after, as she blinks through the haze of her orgasm.

With low, shaky limbs, she turns around, crawling on top of him and pulling him out of his sweatpants only enough that she can slide down the length of his dick. He stretches her, even as wet as she is, her cream coating him. Then he wraps his arms around her, pulling her down to him, all the way until there is only the ocean blue shade of his eyes filling her gaze, so different from the molten whiskey of hers, though nothing in Iris doubts that the same expression shines in both of them: that of a craving for this to last until the last breath shudders from their bodies, that of the love that she hopes makes that dream come true.

“I love you too, Barry.”

And this time, they only watch each other, reading each other, their climax hurtling toward them with the sort of rugged elegance that has always accompanied her idea of love. It’s bliss, la, la, la; da, da, da; do, do, do.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So Iris, tell me,” Alexa May starts. Iris inclines her head as she awaits Alexa’s question, the other woman’s gaze kind and curious. “Are any of the stories on your blog particularly personal to you?” James Broderick nods his head at the question.

“Well, they’re all personal to me,” Iris tells her with a side grin. “But I assume you’re asking if one of the stories I’ve written is particular to my life?”

“Exactly,” Alexa gives her her own smirk.

Iris shakes her head, pauses for a minute as she decides how much she wants to say on a widespread television

“None of them are,” she says, carefully. “But I’m working on one.”

Both Alexa and James’s blue eyes light with interest.

“Oh really?” James questions.

Alexa leans toward her, crossing her slim legs and settling her elbows on her thighs. “Is it a love story?”

“It is,” Iris laughs softly. “It’s a story still being written, so I don’t want to give too much away. But I can tell you that it’s about two people who’ve found something neither had been particularly expecting. It’s about two people who’ve struggled to find acceptance in different ways, to fight through the pain they’ve experienced. It’s about two people who feel into each other’s lives in one of the easiest ways possible, like puzzle pieces clicking or locks being secured or some other metaphor for two people who just… fall into place.” There’s a round of sweet chuckles from Alexa and some of the other guests. “Most importantly, though, it’s about two people who’ve stumbled right into something out of a storybook, something that can only be described as love.”

There is a pause. And then Alexa sighs. “God, that’s beautiful.”

Iris presses a hand to her heart, trying to keep in the surge of emotion that floods through her in that moment.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “So are we.”

“And there you have it, viewers,” James says, pulling the attention away. “Keep a lookout for that love story on What a Life You’ve Lived. Thank you all so much for watching. We’ll be right back.”

You're different and special

You're different and special in every way imaginable

You love me from my hair follicles to my toenails

You got me feeling like the breeze, easy and free and lovely and new

Oh when you touch me I just can't control it

When you touch me, I just can't hold it

The emotion inside of me, I can feel it

#westallen fanfiction #strangers to lovers #iris west #barry x iris #barry allen

[unioncolours]

A 2nd Majsasaurus Year!

Today, 22nd of September 2021, it’s been two years since I officially joined the magical world of fandom. 22.9.2019 I uploaded the first chapter to my fic Shadows and Sand, and the rest is history.

I did a deep dive into my first year as a fic writer and active member of fandom last year, when it was my first anniversary. You can read it here!

In that meta discussion about my membership of fandom, I presented it as if walking on clouds. I was so, so happy and talked during all the discussion about my happiness in fandom.

Since that post was written, my life and also my perception of the fandom I am part of has changed. Change isn’t always bad, as I really had a honeymoon phase with fandom over a year ago, and the low after hit hard.

But let’s see what I’ve been up to and what I’ve been writing! The following year provided much change and fun things! Please keep reading 💜⬇

The first fic I wrote since 22.9.2020 was a Sakura x Ino fic. I had for a longer while been interested in writing a woman-loves-woman ship, which I had never done before, and as a wlw-person myself the urge to explore that part led to Promise me this is just a kiss. The pairing itself was chosen on rather random, it had to be two women and I like Ino, so I chose the most popular Ino-wlw ship for this for convenience.

I really liked writing the fic and it was well-received! It was the first time I had written a fic that was entirely centred around exploring feelings and having sex.

After this I jumped directly onto the next idea that had been boiling inside me for a longer while. Up to this point, all I had written, except the wlw-fic, had been set in the Naruto canonverse and I was itching to try to work with a multi-chaptered modern au! The pairing was of course my beloved Shikadai x Inojin.

It was during the creation of this fic I began to struggle. This was a new genre, as this was romance only and all my other works had been action and fantasy based, except the sex fic of course. I was maybe over critical and stressed, which resulted in me having a hard time writing it. But I made it. Was the sky always this beautiful? ended up being 35k long, and in hindsight, I freaking love, love, love how it turned out in the end and what it represented. I am very proud of this fic.

I “upgraded” as a fan by the end of October when I bought myself a digital drawing tablet. I began drawing fanart of Shikadai and Inojin and preferably them two together, haha! I still draw a few days a month and find it extremely fun as a side hobby beside the writing.

We are now in November 2020. By this time, I had completely finished my zine fic, Under the Scorching Sun, which I had written during September and October, for the Shikatema zine I was kindly accepted to. I was proud of what I had created and was eager for the rest of the contributors to wrap up theirs, so we’d have a wonderful zine for sale in 2021. It was lovely to write ShikaTema again. As the zine fic was about to be released in months from when I had at first finished it, I wanted of course to write something fans and friends could immediately take part of on the internet. I had hyped myself up to a state where I wanted to write a third and final story in my series To love and never let go, my epic series about Shikadai and Inojin.

Now, I should maybe have waited another month, but I was worried the readers would give up on me if I didn’t write it right away. In December, I began writing To find hope in the Universe, with my usual speed and love for the art.

What I by then didn’t realise or even recognise was that I was very slowly turning burned out. I ignored all the signs.

In December I wrote simultaneously as Hope in the Universe a fic that was part of the Shikatema server’s Secret Santa event. The fic’s name was The Ghost Stories of our Hearts, and it was ShikaTema, as the event’s name suggests. It was fun to write and despite the final big fic, Hope in the Universe, pressing down on me, I finished The Ghost Stories of our Hearts and was very happy with the result. Sadly, at this point the burnout began taking control over me, and I never managed to reply to the comments.

The 15th of January, I began uploading To find hope in the Universe. It was a lovely experience, even if it was tainted by negative feelings coming from my decreasing happiness and the fact that it didn’t do as well as To dance above the Stars, the second fic in the series. To deal with two very contradiction emotions, loving my work, the characters, how I have painted an entire world around the characters and how I knew some people honestly loved my hard work, and then the negative feelings coming from not feeling good enough and depressed, was a difficult thing to navigate and still is when I think back to that time. It didn’t help that during the process of uploading the fic I went through grief, and I chose distraction as my coping method. I kept writing and working, the only thing I ever knew.

Our pre-order of the Shikatema zine was in full motion by this time and it was a nerve-wracking time! Mostly because of excitement but also worry. I’m super happy for my friends who were part of the zine, with whom I could share all the excitement and nervousness with. The zine ended up making good sales, which made me happy among the uploading of the long fic.

To find hope in the Universe was completed 31st of March 2021. When I uploaded the final chapter, I felt nothing. It was so weird, so spooky, to have finished a long fic and a series on top of that and not feel anything. But deep down, beneath the layer of depression, I felt great pride.

That was the emotion that broke free once the burnout left me. Pride.

I had created this empire of Shikajin, a whole alternative timeline, an alternative canon from my own head and to this day, that is my internet legacy. I love Trial of the Heart, which I wrote in 2020, but if I have to choose between ToH and this series, I will choose To love and never let go in a heartbeat.

So, even if it felt depressing and hopeless in the moment, I look now back with pride and happiness. Never forget that. Never forget that I made that.

April was a curious time. I swore to not write anything, because I had by now recognised that I was burned out and needed to rest, yet managed to scrape together three smaller fics.

The first one was another wlw-smut fic, TemaSaku this time called Another Light. I wanted to explore that part once again. I wrote it in canonverse and honestly think the fic ended up extremely nice. Perfect amount of feels and sex. It didn’t feel hard to write at all, because the setting, characters and emotions were so different from the fics I had written the last five months.

Now more interesting things lay on the horizon! A new zine, the Ino-Shika-Cho zine called Beyond a Bond had an interest check during the spring, and later the contributor application. I urged in the interest check to please give us the next gen kids, Shikadai, Inojin and Chocho – my kids and babies, and when it turned out they were going to feature, I had to apply as a writer. For this application I wrote a one shot, called It’s just hair, and I loved this spunky little story featuring the best babies that I created.

I also edited one of my tumblr fics, And then I kissed him, into a longer, better version that I later in May uploaded onto AO3. It was once again a Shikajin, a sequel of Trial of the Heart, and it was a fun little project.

Now May came and I sent in the application for the zine early, which I now am relieved I did. I am happy that I did the work for the application in April instead of May, because in May I had a few breakdowns and another grieving period, which lead to complete creative paralysis. I didn’t write a single word during May, only uploaded the two one shots I had prepared in April.

What I did do in May was to read through the Shikatema zine I had contributed to! It arrived in the mail! I was so nervous; my whole body was shaking when I opened the package right outside the post office. The zine now resides on the parade place in my little zine shrine in the bookshelf. Thank you to the mods who made this a reality!

To my great happiness my zine adventures continued as I was accepted to the Ino-Shika-Cho zine as a writer and was assigned to write my favourite characters. I felt so relieved and overjoyed, mind blown by the sheer talent among the contributors.

On the other fandom front, June didn’t continue any brighter, with stress and mental pain still having a strong grip around me, despite the very happy news that I am still so grateful for. I wrote a Yamanaka family fic which to this day hasn’t seen the light of AO3, because of negative emotions surrounding it. I turned into a complete wreck compared to me in June 2020. In June 2020 I was flourishing, I loved what I did, I loved fandom and I loved the friends I had made through Discord servers. Now I could find myself crying my eyes out over a wip not going the way I wished it would. What had happened to Bex 2021?

I was so incredibly frustrated with myself, groaning in defeat when my hands just couldn’t write. I managed to push through 6k of what I called my “emo au” – more of that later – and finish the Yamanaka fic which is still buried, and on top of that I had the zine and another fandom event, The Naruto Photo Album, to create content for. Why couldn’t I do it? Why couldn’t I find happiness in something that once was my reason for happiness?

In the end, I managed to write 15k in June. My former monthly word count used to be 30k. One could think this would turn into the end of my fic writing career, or the beginning of a longer hiatus, but I am stubborn and want to meet the expectations of the people who love my content, so I didn’t want to give up. I wanted to try. I wanted to be whoever I was before.

Funnily enough, the healing came in the shape of the most self-indulgent fic I have ever, ever written, a fic I like possessed began writing July the 1st 2021. It was nothing less than a freaking fairy tale AU, namely a Shikadai x Inojin Peter Pan AU. I can hear you laugh at the silliness of it, but this whimsical AU gave me back my love for writing. I hyper-fixated on this story quite a bit and stopped writing on everything else, something I almost never do.

Only happy boys fly ended up being 21 000 words long! I knew it was a niched story, and true to my guesses, the story has to this day very low stats. Today, two months after it was published, it has just above 100 hits and 10 kudos, so for all I know, only ten people read and liked it. I try to not care too much, since I love the story and in some way, that story saved me from going batshit insane over my emotions about writing.

At this point I had begun writing my fic from the Ino-Shika-Cho zine, finding joy in silly scenes with my favourite characters and trying to heal. The writing process was frustratingly slow, but one word at a time I got forward and as of today, the draft is done. The pre-orders are in December. At the side of the zine fic I wrote a short fluffy Shikajin story, CLEAR, a story with almost no plot, because I knew how much self-indulgence could help me.

And then, I finally began writing for real on my emo au, A gang of fallen stars, which has the first few chapters up right now! I have for the first time in six months a longer fic (if we don’t count the Peter Pan story) and it feels… good. This fic is once again a modern au, but in darker tones than my other modern au from November 2020. I honestly like what I have so far, even if I during June and July almost planned to never finish it. I am so relieved I managed to begin the upload. In September the Photo Album was released and I could show my two fics I wrote for it.

It sounds like this year has been nothing but misery, and at times it felt like it. However, there are a few fandom friends who brought light to my life when I couldn’t see it. The first ones to mention are of course my partners in crime, @notquitejiraiya and @thespookymoth. Together we created a server dedicated to Ino-Shika-Cho during the spring and it has been tons of fun with the members there! Thank you two for listening to me and for being my friends during 2021.

I also have to mention Soverel, who carefully begun taking contact through comments and likes on my twitter, and later through direct messages, and it has been a fun ride ever since. We’ve had lovely discussions which are very dear to me and your support means a lot to me. Thank you for being you and for drawing so many wonderful artworks you’ve shared with me. Haha, and for making me play Genshin Impact, even though I do it like twice a month!

Another person who has made my days so much brighter is @sugarriene. Thank you for sending me that one dm that made us chat regularly, thank you for popping up and sharing panels and your wonderful drawings with me, and for vibing head canons with me. You are a lovely person, and you make me happy.

Finally, I want to give a shout out to @yoboseyokyu for listening to me when I had to yell into the void and for making me happy with your cute posts on both twitter and tumblr.

Since September 2020, I’ve written around 195 000 words and drawn close to 35 illustrations, most of them of Shikadai and Inojin. Almost 200 000 words of Majsasaurus. I’ve created a Discord server and I’ve been part of two zines as a writer, plus a free PDF-project.

It has been a wild year. A year filled with passion for my favourite characters and ship, with the excitement that came with being part of projects and hyping them. It was a year where I learned to draw digitally, and heck what fun it was.

This also a year where I learned people can be mean to me because of what I ship and that fandom friends won’t necessarily always stay to be your friend anymore and how much it can hurt. I also learned what my limits are, and what punishment I get if I don’t listen to my own mind and rest when I have to.

It was a year, guys.

Now, onto the third Majsasaurus Year. Cheers!

And those of you, who supported me when I needed it – thank you and I love you.

#majsasaurus

[thecandywrites]

Of Heaven and Fire Chapter 19 Finale Epilogue.

Woo, it’s been way too long. But I have other projects that got in the way and I had this all figured out and an outline written up and then...the go juice ran out. UNTIL TODAY. So, after way too long, finally. We have the finale to this story that will also segway into a campanion piece that takes place at the very same time Heaven and Fire takes place, actually about six months earlier, but half a world away, on the other end of orc country that takes up practically a whole continent in my made up world. 

Also behold, that gorgeous brunette, THAT is the OG The Original Audravienne, the one that Audra in Blood For Gold is named after. So think of it as Suchi and Stormbreaker are on the west coast and Yekmeni would be the east coast, different ocean, different ocean coastline. 

And so in this fantasy world- you mix mouras with jade green orcs- you get aqumarine orcs. You mix moura with Yekmeni orcs that are a dark and drab olive green with dark brown splotches- and they are born looking exactly like their orc parents but as toddlers change to look kashmire blue in place of olive green and bright amethyst intense purple in place of brown. So then they got nicknamed paradise orcs, because they have the same coloring as birds of paradise, you mix aquamarine orcs and paradise orcs-you get PEACOCK ORCS that also get called paradise orcs. The Aquamarine goes to turquoise and teal, just like a peacock, with the same splashes of kashmire sapphire blue and amethyst purple. But that’s another story all together. I’ll get to it. Eventually. 

Of Heaven and Fire 

Part 19

A week later, you woke up to Brock’s hard cock pressing at your rear as he spooned you. 

It’s been more than long enough for you to heal and recover from Brive’s birth and your first thought is you needed to reconnect with Brock on this most physical intimate level. Most women take three to four months to recover from a birth before they can have sex again comfortably. Moura women and especially moura mated women who have a moura husband to help heal them from the birth, that gets whittled down to barely a month. And it’s been a month and a half for you. 

You looked down at Brive as he slept away the morning, his blond hair growing fast in gorgeous blonde curls. His mint green skin that had more aquamarine notes to it the older he got was a beautiful mix of your pale ivory and Brock’s emerald green. Even though he is only a month and a half old, he has doubled in size thanks to your milk and he has fat rolls for days, which is the sign of supreme health for all babies. 

You gently moved Brive farther away from you and make sure he’s perfectly covered and warm. The fireplace in the bedroom is ever burning- keeping the room toasty warm while you can watch the snow fly outside. 

Your movement stirred Brock and his arm reflexively tightened around you and your backside was then pressed into his front as he woke up and now that Brive is far enough away that your movements won’t disturb Brive, you ground your ass against Brock’s cock to see if you can stir him awake, which worked to a degree because Brock growled a grunting moan as he started to wake up before he seemed to become aware of himself and moved his hips back so that his morning wood isn’t touching you anymore. 

“Sorry Babe.” He apologized sleepily. 

“Bring it back.” You whined as you started scooting backwards towards him to feel it again. 

“You’re still healing.” Brock gently argued as he rolled onto his back and stretched out just as Brive did the same in his sleep before you quickly rolled over him so you straddled him, your night clothes vanishing in an instant as you sit up onto his belly and braced your hands on his chest which made him open his eyes as he blinked and frowned in confusion at you.

“Moura women usually take 3-4 weeks to heal from birth. It's been 6 weeks. I’m more than healed. Please Babe, I haven’t had sex in the last 7 months, if you don’t fuck me senseless right now I’ll go mad.” You pleaded as you stared down at him and could feel his cock tap at your behind again, he was as hard as a rock and you wanted him so bad it hurt. 

“Are you sure?” He asked, even though you could see the desire burn behind his eyes but he was absolutely insistent that he would never, ever hurt you again before you gave him a meaningful look and canted your hips back so that his cock fell towards his belly then set your pelvis down so that your pussy laid over his length and rocked back so that your lips engulfed the underside of his cock as you rubbed yourself from the tip to the base, your own essence making it glide almost effortlessly and watched as Brock’s eyes threatened to roll back into his head while the head of his cock spurted precum onto his belly. 

“I’m sure. Please Baby.” You begged and you saw him cave. 

“If anything hurts, you stop me immediately, got it?” He insisted. 

“Promise.” You vowed before you got into position and slowly eased down onto him, both of you breathing out a breath of relief in being rejoined as he looked up at you questioningly. 

“Nothing hurts, it feels so fucking good.” You confessed as your grin grew giddy as his did the same as you felt him dig his heels into the bed and begin to push up into you as you saw the hunger in his eyes grow before you fell into what was once a familiar rhythm but yet it felt new all the same before milk started to drip from your nipples and he was sitting up in an instant to lick it up. 

“Good?” You couldn’t help but giggle as he started to wrap his mouth around your breasts and suck in earnest before he hummed in confirmation before he moved from one to the other as you sighed happily and contentedly as you leaned back to give him room to do as he pleased before you removed his mouth from your chest to gather you closer and start kissing you as you could taste the rich sweetness on his tongue as he devoured you whole. 

“Gods I missed you,” he confessed in your ear as his hips hiked up into yours as your body rocked against his. 

“I missed you too.” You mirrored earnestly. 

“I’m just...so sorry I made you wait.” Brock began to apologize and you could tell he was getting choked on emotion again. 

“Hey, hey, don’t, don’t start this again? Ok? We’ve been through this, I forgive you. No more beating yourself up. It’s enough. We can’t go back and change it. We can only change now. And right now- is all that matters.” You insisted as you held his handsome face in your hands and looked into his eyes earnestly as you could see his eyes start to shine with tears. 

“No more hurt. Only pleasure.” You repeated as you grinded down onto him for emphasis before you kissed him hungrily and passionately as all the pent up feelings over the last year came to a head and you lost yourself in the passion as did he and it wasn’t until you came down from your respective releases when you heard a giggling coo before you looked over to see Brive fully awake and giggling from his spot nearby which made you and Brock both start laughing as you untangled from Brock to go to your son as you pulled him closer. 

“Well good morning Brive, did you sleep well?” You cooed to him as you laid down on your side and put him to your breast so he could eat his breakfast which he was all too happy to do, nursing and smiling up at you and Brock who cuddled his back as Brock combed Brive’s hair with his fingers as he stared down adoringly at Brive. 

“He’s getting so big.” Brock murmured. 

“He is, because he nurses just as fast as I can make the milk.” You grinned as you laid on your side and let Brive use your arm as his pillow while he nursed and in near record time, he had drained one breast and was ready to drain the other before you put him to your chest and rolled with him so that you could lay on your other side and let him nurse from that one as Brock cuddled into your back and rested his head on yours as he nuzzled the juncture of your neck and shoulder, pressing soft sweet kisses to every bit of you his mouth could reach. 

“I love you, thank you so much for... everything.” Brock thanked you. 

“You’re welcome. Love you too.” You cooed as you kissed his cheek affectionately and once Brive had nursed till he was full and had almost completely drained your other breast of milk, did he detach his mouth with a pop and smile happily up at both you and Brock. 

“Ok, my turn.” Brock insisted as he reached over you and got his son and picked him up and cooed to him and kissed him all over before he brought him over to a changing table and changed Brive’s diaper while you slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom, grateful that Brock was so involved and helped with everything he could with Brive and you could tell Brock loved Brive dearly and once you two were ready, you went from your bedroom to the kitchen to prepare breakfast together. 

Come spring Brock was unusually busy getting ready for the spring equinox festival since the lunar new year was the greatest celebration to date and Brock wanted the spring equinox to be even bigger and better than the lunar new year. Brock turned so much gold himself for it and saw to most of the details himself, which you didn’t mind. Your biggest hurdle was making clothes for Brive who was growing so fast and his moura cloak was coming in really beautifully but it would still be a few years at least before he learned to control it and it felt like you were sewing all day every day and you felt like you spent a fortune just in fabrics and needles and threads but Brive could wear a burlap sack and look adorable and all who saw him thought he was the most handsome baby boy any of them had ever seen and whenever Brock was around he was all too happy to insist that Brive got all his good looks from you but you could see the unmistakable resemblance Brive had with his father. 

When it was time for the feast Brock had you dress in a special dress he had commissioned for you from a group of seamstresses that had settled in Drauch. You felt like a queen wearing it. It was brightly colored and almost every inch of it was embroidered and it even had the prettiest jewels sewn into the fabric. You didn’t want to think about what it must have cost him. But you honored him enough to wear it with immense pride especially when Brive had a matching outfit and even Brock’s outfit was similar, but not as fancy. With how hard he usually worked, you wondered if he was afraid he’d get it dirty or something. Brock escorted you to the main feasting tent and you graciously sat in the seat of honor which was in all realities, basically a couch at the head table with lots of cushions so that it was exceedingly comfortable to prop yourself up and Brive up as you noticed your entire extended family had come for this as they took their seats around you and all the married ones were showing baby bumps or their own little ones since they had gotten pregnant shortly after you did. 

“Brock? Aren’t you sitting with me?” You asked when he had you sit down but he moved to leave. 

“I gotta take care of something first.” He excused himself before he left, leaving you looking on curiously as Brive was all too happy it sit in your lap and watch what was going on with bright excited eyes as you noticed almost all the women around you who weren’t in your family were also sporting baby bumps or their own little ones along with before Brock took center stage in the tent and got everyone’s attention. 

“I would like to thank everyone for coming today to feast on behalf of not just the equinox, the sewing of the fields- which was just completed a few days ago but also to celebrate my official proposal dinner to the most beautiful, goddess divine to swim in the seas, walk the face of the world and fly in the skies.” He gestured to you as you blushed but smiled adoringly at him. 

“And I’m sure we’ve all heard the legends..” Brock began before he very elaborately and dramatically retold what had happened in the last year as you and your family and all your friends all laughed almost hysterically at most of it as Brock used every tiny little opportunity to praise you and practically sing your praises. 

“And that is why, I would like you all for coming to my surprise betrothal feast for such an amazing goddess!” Brock announced as your eyebrows rose in surprise as your jaw dropped as everyone else cheered excitedly. 

“What?” You asked as you bounced Brive in your lap as the real feast was then brought out as you realized what all of you had been grazing on before had just been appetizers before suddenly things seemed to fall into place. Your whole family and all your friends were here, they were all seated around the giant tent along with everyone in the clan and you notice that it’s Brock’s captains and generals that are the servers and it’s the men who are serving the women and the families which was a refreshing change of pace and you were drinking your favorite drinks and eating your favorite foods as Brock then left and brought into the arena in the middle of the tent- his betrothal gifts and you were shocked when they were all new, you had never seen any of them before as you started crying tears of happiness when each and every single one was actually really thought out and you could tell that Brock put so much effort into all of them. And it wasn’t just gifts for you, there were gifts for Brive and all your other future children with him and you couldn’t be happier about that and your smile was brighter than the sun and you and especially his family were practically glowing with pride. 

“So, do you Benyana Auksa, accept by betrothal?” Brock eagerly asked. 

“Yes.” You happily answered before you happily got up and kissed him which caused everyone to cheer. 

“Wanna get married?” Brock asked when you broke for air.  

“Yes!” You answered. 

“Right now?” Brock asked which made you bust up laughing. 

“Right now? Right now, right now?” You asked. 

“Yeah, I have a wedding dress for you and everything.” Brock informed you. 

“You do not.” You laughed, in disbelief.

“Yeah, it should be back in the house. I had the seamstresses look through all your other clothes and what you usually turn your moura cloak into to get a gage on your tastes and then your mom and your brothers and sisters helped put different elements to it.” Brock confessed as you gasped and stared at your family as all your siblings were giggling gleefully while your mother was looking pleased as punch. 

“Let’s do it!” You readily agreed before you and Brive and all your siblings and friends happily got up and all of you practically running to your house and going inside it as your mother followed closely behind to get Brive from you while your dad had your baby sister as you walked in to see your wedding dress already laid out as you just started crying and laughing at the same time, not knowing how it was possible to be this happy. But you were. 

It was hands down the most beautiful wedding dress you had ever seen in your life. It had all of your own benar, that you had cried that first night that Brock had captured you. It seemed like a lifetime ago by now and you noticed they were sewn into the sweetheart neckline. You eagerly stripped out of your clothes and your siblings helped you get dressed first before they too dressed in their own clothes that had been prepared for this that matched what had been made for you. 

And it all felt so surreal but you were trying to memorize every single moment. What started off as the beginnings of a the spring equinox festival turned into an impromptu wedding feast and celebration as your siblings brought priests from every realm to make a sacred document so that it was recognized the whole world wide that you were married and mated with Brock before you finally got to exchange moura cloak collars as Brocks’ collar had to shrink down to fit your neck while yours had to grow a little wider to encompass his neck before the two seemed to form a link between them so that they both took on the traits of the other so now the two matched in both style and aesthetic, making something altogether new and different and unique. It was so much more than you ever thought to expect or want. It was perfect. 

Fifteen years later

“Thanks mom.” Brive thanked you as as he held one of younger siblings and tried to feed them and himself at the same time as you passed out all the portions of pepper crab to all of your kids as Drauch had come to Suchi for another summer solstice celebration as you were wearing another silver belt that had a long tether to the rest of your smaller children while your elder children all had silver bracelets, all of them matching before you were approached by Warchief Lukher and Warchieftess Audravienne and all of their children from Yekmeni which was just on the other side of the continent to the east as they had flown in since Audravienne had come as a moura bride from the stables to Warchief Lukher 17 years prior and themselves had started a large family and their union and the other unions that followed from mouras who married into this particular clan of orcs saw a new kind of orc become born, orcs who had become known as paradise orcs. Because as toddlers they changed from dark olive green with splashes of dark brown to royal blue with bright purple splashes, like a peacock’s feathers or other birds of paradise. 

“Audrey!” You greeted her as you hugged her tight as Lukher and Brock hugged too. 

“Yana! It’s so good to see you!” She greeted you sweetly and excitedly. 

“Oh my goodness is this Brive? Oh my goodness, look how you’ve grown!” Lukher praised Brive as he measured Brive, trying to see how much taller he was than him as Brive came up to his chest already as Brive smiled bashfully as he did his best to stand as tall as he could in the face of Lukher’s praise almost as much as he was happy to see Audravienne’s son Ahi-Shumai who had been his friend since infancy and was trying not to be too awkward to see Ahi’s sister Monrhi who was only a year younger than him and good friends with his own younger sister Brilanni as the two girls were quickly talking and sharing food and complementing each other on their clothes which were their own moura cloaks as they quickly picked up details about the other’s clothes and then began to mimic each other as Brilanni had the same coloring that Brive and all their siblings had, they had the same bright aquamarine coloring and blonde hair as Brive and Brilanni as Ahi was in a similar state that Brive was in as he was trying not to swoon too hard at the sight of Brilanni again because she was still the prettiest girl he had ever seen in his life as Audrey’s sister Maisara and her husband came over with all of their kids before they retreated to Drauch where there was more room since the streets were getting almost overcrowded as they had someone with a big messengerari take a picture of all of them together as something of an extended friends and family picture as they continued to eat the fare offered on Drauch for the summer solstice. 

“God, I swear Drauch makes the best fried fish.” Audrey praised as she happily bit into the large fried fish on a skewer. 

“Yeah they do. Don’t forget to get a bite of the pepper crab.” You reminded her as you ate beside her, taking the special leg of king crab out of its shell and dipping it into the amazing sauce the vendor made. 

“Oh how could I?” Audrey answered between bites before she looked up to see Brive trying to feed Monrhi. 

“I think we have a little romance going on.” Audrey teased you. 

“Between Brilanni and Ahi? Oh only since they were two.” You teased back. 

“Wait what?” Audrey asked before she looked to her own eldest son to see him doing the same thing that Brive was doing by feeding Monrhi the peppered crab leg. 

“Wait, which kids were you talking about?” You asked her. 

“Brive and Monrhi.” Audrey said as you looked then blinked as you looked from one to the other. 

“Well I’ll be blessed.” You laughed as she did the same before you snapped your fingers softly to get Brock’s attention and Brock and Lukher were talking very animatedly about griffins. 

“Yeah?” Brock said when he noticed you were trying to get his attention before you nodded over to where Brive and Monrhi were talking and eating and feeding each other as Audrey used sign language to Lukher to look over at his son and daughter- Ahi and Monrhi before they both looked over and started laughing and then teasing each other about it. 

“Well I hope one of them works out, just for pure curiosity because if their colors meld, then they’ll really look like peacocks.” Audrey mused. 

“They would.” You had to smile fondly. 

“To peacock orcs then.” You offered as you offered your cup of wine up to toast with hers. 

“To peacock orcs.” Audrey laughed as she toasted her glass with yours. 

The End.

#Of Heaven and Fire #Of Heaven and Fire Chapter 19 #Moura #Orcs

[idreamofplaid]

It Begins

Square Filled: Tongue Fucking for @spnkinkbingo & Singing Christmas Songs for @spnchristmasbingo

Characters: Sam x Olivia (OFC); Jensen and John mentioned

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Oral (female receiving)

Summary: Olivia is new to the marketing firm owned by John Winchester, and is surprised to be assigned to an important ad campaign for a high profile client. She feels like she’s in over her head with the work, but she’s in even deeper with the boss’ son, Sam.

Word Count:3781

A/N: This is Part 1 of a Series called Surrender to the Truth. It’s an AU mash up of RPF and SPN characters. I’m also playing with time. Imagine Season 8 Sam and Jensen a year or so into the future.

It was beta’d by the wonderful @fangirlxwritesx67. Thanks Viv for your patience with all my questions, your enthusiasm for this project, your thorough reading that really made me think about what I was doing, and the series title. 

Why were Mondays always like this? Olivia found it hard to decide what to wear after a weekend of being relaxed in pajamas and denim. Traffic was predictably the worst, even more so because of the holidays, and if there was any day she was going to forget and leave her coffee on the kitchen counter; it was Monday.

She made it to work on time with only a couple of minutes to spare. This was only her second week on the job at the city’s most up and coming marketing firm and being late was not the way to make a good impression on her new boss. John Winchester was a man with exacting standards and high expectations.

Her first stop was the coffee pot in the breakroom. There was no way her creativity was going to start flowing without caffeine. Cup in hand, Olivia made her way to her office. It was a respectable office, larger than the little more than a closet sized space she’d had in her last office. This one even had a small window. These things might seem insignificant, but Olivia had worked hard for them, and to her they were badges of success.

Olivia had barely had two sips of her vanilla creamer laced coffee when she had a visitor in her office, the kind of visitor who doesn’t knock: Sam Winchester. She hadn’t been here long, but she had been filled in on Sam. He was practically legendary among the women of the office, and some of the men. She took another sip of her coffee to hide the fact that her mouth had fallen open. This guy lived up to the hype. 

He was wearing a white dress shirt, minus the jacket, and the way his shoulders and chest filled out that shirt was nothing short of sinful. His tie formed a perfect Windsor knot at his throat, and the face above that tie was Greek god handsome. He was a Greek god with dimples.

As he walked across the room, his every move exuded power and privilege, without the arrogance. Holy fuck. Could a man be more attractive?

 He put a folder down on the edge of Olivia’s desk. Work. Right. He expected her brain to focus on what his family was paying her for.

She sat down to take a look at what was so important Sam Winchester himself had delivered it.  When he spoke, his voice was just as delicious as the rest of him.

 “New account. Dad wants you to take it.” He sat down smoothly on the edge of her desk to watch her look through the file like he owned the place, which he basically did. She finished looking through the file then looked up at Sam, more confused than ever. She was the new kid here. Why would they give her something this high profile, as in Hollywood high profile?

It wasn’t her most impressive moment or the most professional thing she’d ever said, but she blurted out, “Why me?”

Sam rested his hand on his thigh. The way his long fingers spread out over it wasn’t helping her concentrate or wrap her head around this situation. “Because you’re from Texas. Gives you insight into the culture, the vibe, the feel of it.” He stood and adjusted his tie, drawing your attention to his hands again. “This Ackles guy is a personal friend of my dad’s, so make it good.” As he left, he looked back over his shoulder. “Besides, everyone likes beer; you’ll come up with something.”

She said to the empty room, after he closed the door behind him, “No, actually I don’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For a couple of minutes after Sam left, all she could do was stare at the nicely framed but generic artwork on her wall. The Winchesters were trusting her with a huge account for some reason, and she was scared completely out of her mind that she was going to screw it up and ruin her future with this company, along with her career in advertising. Why did it have to be beer? Finally, she opened the file and spread the pictures of the brewery and the photos of its famous owner across her desk. 

She picked up one of the glossy pictures of Jensen Ackles in all his male model perfection and took a good look at it. He was just as gorgeous as Sam, but his look was distinctly different.  His eyes were a clear green, and they held a deep intensity. Those eyes were captivating in a photograph. What would they be like in person? She allowed herself to indulge in that fantasy for a few seconds then shook her head to break the spell. She needed some Bailey’s in her coffee. Excellent idea. She was already walking a perilous line at this new job, so why the hell not?

Olivia swiveled her chair and opened the cabinet behind her, reaching into the back to grab the bottle of liquor where she’d stashed it. She poured a generous amount into her cup, hoping it would calm her nerves. With that in mind, she turned on some music. The soothing notes of an instrumental version of “White Christmas” floated from the speakers. 

She closed her eyes and let the taste of the coffee and the Irish cream sit on her tongue. This had been one of her favorite Christmas songs when she was growing up. It always took her to a fantasy wonderland, a place where life was ideal and Christmas cottages had perfectly trimmed trees with beautiful presents piled beneath them, fireplaces alive with glowing fires, stockings hung on the mantel, and snowflakes falling gently outside. Living in Texas, snow had been a magical and rarely seen event.

That long cherished holiday dream filled her mind and calmed her. She started singing along with the music. ...just like the ones I used to know.  After a stanza or so, she opened her eyes to focus once again on the pictures of the brewery in front of her. A snowy Christmas was her fantasy, but she had a job to do; that was her reality.

By the end of the day when Sam came back to check on her progress, Olivia had practically nothing to show him. It would do no good to try and stall or hide just how little she had managed to accomplish. He was her supervisor on this project, and he was here to see how much progress she’d made. 

He flipped through the work she’d done that day. His expression was unreadable, but his words were clear enough. “The Taste of Texas? Not exactly original is it?” He paused and cut his eyes over to her, then dropped them back to the papers he was holding. “The drawings aren’t bad though. We can probably use some of these hill country sketches. Maybe a logo design.” He closed the file and tossed it back on her desk.

 “Do you know what you need?” Her silence said she didn’t. “Inspiration.”

She put her hand on the folder lying on her desk, the one that represented her failed day of work. “Where do I get that exactly?” She was unable to keep a hint of exasperation out of her voice.

He flashed her those unbelievable dimples and winked. “Follow me.” Sam took her to his office. It was easily four times the size of hers with an entire wall of windows that revealed a breathtaking view of the city, the lights from the skyline competing with the white lights on the tastefully decorated Christmas tree that adorned his office. It was opulent and sleek, a space befitting the heir to the growing empire. 

She allowed herself to indulge in the breathtaking view of the skyline for a few seconds before commenting, “It’s an incredible view, but I don’t see anything about a family business in Texas out there.”

“Your inspiration isn’t out there; it’s in here.” His voice drew her eyes away from the magnificent view. Sam walked to his mini fridge and pulled out a six pack. He held it up. “A little Cosmic Cowboy from Family Business Beer Company. How can you create an impactful and memorable campaign without sampling the product?”

Sam twisted the top off a bottle and handed it to her. She took a sip of it. Unfortunately, she wasn’t one of those people who could describe the taste of beer. It was cold. It was beer. That was all she had. She was not a connoisseur. How was she ever going to do this ad campaign? She didn’t even like beer.

Sam had been watching her reaction carefully. Olivia didn’t have a poker face, though she’d tried to hide her reaction. It didn’t slip by him that she wasn’t comfortable with this beer thing. 

“Not your favorite then?” He took a drink from his bottle. “Taste it again.”

He was the boss’ son, effectively her boss right now, and this was her job; but she got the feeling she would have done whatever he asked even if that hadn’t been the case. She took another sip, and Sam coached her through it. “Think about what you’re drinking; savor it. Just like wine, beer has notes; and they’re all different.”

She took one more drink. “What am I supposed to be tasting?” She’d never been good with wine either, but once someone explained there was blackberry or oak or whatever in it; she could pick up on that. She needed Sam to tell her what she should be tasting.

“Do you taste how it’s substantial but still light?” She took another sip and nodded. “It’s the grapefruit and pineapple that make it light; the pine in it gives it a little something more.” When he said it, she could taste it. She could taste it all.

Sam’s office had a fireplace, not like the one in her fantasy Christmas cottage, but when he picked up a remote and clicked it bringing the flames to life, it was cozy nevertheless. Sam took off his tie and tossed it on one of the upholstered chairs in front of the fire. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt and rolled up the sleeves. Absentmindedly, Olivia took another sip of her beer while she watched him. 

Sam sat down on the plush rug in front of the fireplace, his back leaning against the leather sofa, legs stretched out in front of him. He put what was left of the six pack of beer down beside him and patted the floor on his other side, inviting her to join him. Olivia lowered herself next to him. She was thankful her pencil skirt wasn’t so tight that it didn’t allow some freedom of movement, and she tried not to stare at the way the firelight danced over his golden skin. He caught her looking at his strong forearms, exposed below the rolled white cuffs of his shirt. Sam smiled, a flirty and suggestive sort of smile. He finished the last of his beer, and popped open another.

Olivia was slower to finish hers, but she was beginning to warm up to the taste. Perhaps it was something you had to acquire, or maybe the company you were in made all the difference. Beer might be okay after all. 

He asked, “What do you think of it now?”

“I can taste everything you said.” The crackle of the fire, the lights from the Christmas tree, and the skyline in the background created a perfect storm of romantic atmosphere. Olivia noticed how Sam’s eyes were a beautiful honeyed brown, dappled with green and gold. His lips looked incredibly soft in contrast to the hard line of his jaw. He caught her starting again, this time at his mouth. 

He took her empty bottle and slotted it back into the cardboard square where it had originally been and put what was left of his beer in the empty square beside it. Sam turned back to her and leaned in closer. He took her face into his hand and looked into her eyes for a long second or two before he lowered his mouth to hers. 

The way he kissed was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. His tongue was sure but gentle as it circled hers. He had complete control of her through what his mouth was doing. A wet spot was forming in her panties, her body responding to him. At the same time his hand was cradling her face while his fingers moved slowly back and forth through her hair, massaging her scalp and melting her under his touch. He could do anything to her. She was eager for it.

He broke the kiss, and now he was holding both sides of her head in his enormous hands. His lips were still just inches from hers. She could feel his breath when he asked, “What do you taste now?”

This man could make her breathless. He was either meant for her, or he was excellent at reading her actions and responses. His attention was completely on her, waiting for her response. 

 “I...can still taste the beer, but the way you taste makes it better.” It wasn’t eloquent. For someone who worked with words to pull the maximum effect from them, he could make her forget how to use them properly. 

Sam kissed her again, hands roaming down her back and stopped just above her waist. “You know what else might really inspire you?”

Olivia pressed her body so tightly against his she could feel the muscles in his chest and stomach through his shirt. It made her wetter. “I have some ideas.” 

He took off her jacket and let it fall to the floor. “Then let’s get those creative...juices flowing.” The blouse she was wearing was form fitting. Sam’s gaze traveled over her breasts before his eyes locked onto hers.

 A spark traveled between them. Lust? Need? Want? Whatever it was, the sexual tension hung in the air for a moment before their lips crashed together. 

Sam lowered her to the floor while he pulled her shirt up. He broke the kiss to tear it  over her head and throw it out of the way. Now it was his turn. She took a fistful of his shirt and pulled it out of his pants, then did the same on the other side. He propped himself over her on his hands while she unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. She ran her hand across his chest and over his shoulder. What he’d been hiding beneath that expensive shirt was impressive.  

Sam smiled down at her. “You like?”

“Very much,” she answered while he took off her bra and lowered his head to take one of her nipples in his mouth. He teased it with his tongue until she was arching her back and raising her hips off the floor. 

Sam sucked hard on the nipple in his mouth before pulling off it. “Do you want more?” Her eyes closed and her lips parted, a small moan escaping from them. 

He unzipped her skirt and dragged it down her legs, then turned his attention to her lace covered mound. Sam rubbed his fingers over her panty covered core. “Already so wet.” He pushed her panties aside and swiped his fingers through her folds. Then he lifted his fingers to his mouth and sucked her juices from them. His eyes bore into hers. “Tastes so good.”

He tore her panties from her body to gain access to what he wanted; she heard the sound of silk and lace ripping. Sam’s hand felt huge on her thighs as he pushed them wide apart. He held them there, and his tongue found her clit. He sucked it the same way he’d worked at her nipple. 

She was raising and lowering her hips beneath him, fucking nothing and needing to be filled until Sam swirled his tongue all the way down her slit to her opening and thrust it inside. She wasn’t empty anymore, and it felt incredible. He moved his tongue in and out of her, fucking her on it until she was writhing and grabbing fistfuls of his hair. 

She wanted to scream but was still aware enough to know they were in the office building. So, with some effort, she held it in. But when he added the pad of his thumb circling over her clit while he continued to thrust into her with his tongue, she started to whimper and moan. Her thighs were shaking when she came on his face. He licked and stroked her through her orgasm until she went still beneath him.

Sam didn’t move for a few seconds, then he raised himself up so he could see her reaction to what he’d done to her, how it had affected her. Olivia smiled up at him, and Sam returned the smile while he unbuckled, unzipped, and pushed his pants and underwear down over his hips. If she’d thought what was under his shirt was stunning, what was under his pants was better. His cock was absolutely magnificent. It stood against his stomach long and thick, resting on his well defined abs. Sam caught her looking at him yet again, and his smile got bigger. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

Sam lowered himself from his kneeling position until he was sitting on the floor. He pushed his pants farther down his legs to get them out of the way. He extended a hand to her, and she took it. He settled her on his lap. Olivia wrapped her legs around him. He looked at her with those beautiful eyes that combined colors in so many ways that seemed to change from moment to moment. “Do you want to go through with this? It’s not too late to say no.”

She squeezed her thighs into his sides. She was imagining the feel of his cock stretching her open. From the looks of him, it was going to be a tight fit. “I absolutely want to go through with this.” 

That was all he needed to hear. He took a condom from the wallet in the pants pooling around his ankles and rolled it down over his length. Sam put his hands on each side of her waist and lifted her up, lining her up over the tip of his cock.

When he started to lower her down onto his shaft, she rolled her head forward. Her hair brushed over his shoulder as he continued to slowly ease her down onto his length, giving her time to adjust to his size. Once he was fully seated inside her, he began to roll his hips. Oliva imitated his movements, rolling her hips with the same rhythm. 

She raised her head because she wanted to see into Sam’s eyes while he thrust up into her. There was something in the depths of them that she couldn’t quite define, something she wanted to figure out, something she wanted to understand and know better. He covered her mouth and kissed her with an intensity she could feel through her entire body.

His tongue was circling hers, tasting her, when she came again. Olivia clenched around him and her body spasmed in waves as her orgasm crested and blended into another. Sam kissed her all the way through it. She went limp in his arms, and he kept moving. 

She could feel his hands on her and the warmth of the flame from the fire on her skin. She could feel the way his cock throbbed, still buried deep inside her, and she could taste him. He pulled away from her mouth and buried his face in her neck when he came.  

“Olivia.” He said her name once, just the one word, and it struck her to the core. Olivia regretted that she couldn’t feel his hot release painting her insides. It felt like some part of him was being held back from her, and she wanted it all. 

Whatever magic she’d felt hearing the sound of her name on his lips dissipated with the reality of Sam pulling himself from her body and carefully removing the condom. He pulled his pants back up before walking over to his desk to dispose of it in the wastebasket there. Olivia imagined it wouldn’t be the first time the cleaning service found one of those in his trash. 

What was she doing? She just screwed the boss’ son in his office. She was a total cliche. Her mind told her she should feel like a slut, but she didn’t. She refused to be ashamed of what she’d done. The sex had been mind blowing; her body had never responded to any man that way. Sam had stirred something in her physically, but it had gone beyond that. It was something she would examine later and try to define, but now all she could think of was escaping the overwhelming thoughts and feelings consuming her. Hastily, she grabbed her clothes and was in the process of putting them back on when Sam returned. 

He took her hand and charmed her with his boyish dimples and his eyes that had turned a soft gray like the color of a sky lit by a silvery moon. Still, it was his words that got to her the most. “Hey, don’t be in such a hurry to leave; you’re going to make me feel cheap.” He was flirting with her. Guys like him moved smoothly through situations like this as though they were born to it, and in a way they were. Still, part of her hoped he was being at least a little sincere.

Sam hadn’t let go of her hand. “Stay with me. We can watch the fire, enjoy the lights on the Christmas tree.” This was a fling, right? It was a one night stand with the irresistible guy at work. “Plan our trip to Texas.” What did he just say? “A six pack is just an introduction to the business. What you need is to see the brewery.” 

Sam sat down on the sofa, and Olivia sank down beside him. She lowered her guard a little and let some of the bliss she was feeling wash over her. The ambience created by the light from the tree and the fire enhanced her mood; both the light and her mood seemed somehow softer now.

“We can take the company jet. Ring in the new year in Austin.” Listening to him, Olivia had a most happy thought. Maybe this wasn’t a one night thing after all. 

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @heycasbutt @jules-1999 @mrsdeannafuckingwinchester @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @mrs-meghan-winchester @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @lonewolf471 @sea040561 @dawnie1988 @volleyballer519 @outcastedangel @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @daisymoder72 @sorenmarie87 @winchesterxfamilybusiness @deansotherotherblog

Sam/Jared: @girl-next-door-writes @stunudo @feelmyroarrrr @sammit-janet​ @idabbleincrazy​ @evansrogerskitten​ @focusonspn​ @autumninavonlea​ @spnxbsessed​ @durinsbride​ @deansyahtzee​ @waywardnerd67​ @fullmooner​ @julesthequirky​

#spnkinkbingo #spnchristmasbingo #sam smut #sam x ofc #sam series

[tomeandflickcorner]

Episode Review- The Real Ghostbusters: The Revenge of Murray the Mantis

Well, okay then.  Guess this episode was certainly timed right.

The episode opens on the day before Thanksgiving, at it appears as if the Ghostbusters are to appear in the annual Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade.  To prepare for this, Peter and Winston are working on washing the Ecto-1 so it would look its best.  Winston comments on how surprised he is to see Peter working so hard on making sure the Ecto-1 looks good, but Peter reveals he has an ulterior motive.  He was simply looking to impress all the young, beautiful single women attending the parade, believing that they might even feel inclined to approach him for dates.  Winston decides to deflate Peter’s fantasy to inform him that the only women who would be lining up to see them would be the mothers of young children, considering how much the kids loved them.

Meanwhile, down in the basement, Ray and Egon are working on a new project, and are connecting a functioning airlock to the Containment Unit.  As they perform their final specks on the airlock to determine if it checked out with their projections, Ray asks Egon to specify why exactly they needed an airlock. One might wonder why Ray would wait until now to ask a question like that, but clearly this was so the viewing audience would be filled in.  Egon announces he’s hoping to be able to open diplomatic relations with the spirit world, and that he wants to be the first ambassador for the physical plane.  Which is actually a rather good idea, and one I support fully.  Though Ray doesn’t seem to share my sentiment as he states he thinks Egon might be running a fever.  At that moment, a light starts flashing on the airlock, signifying that Slimer is coming back from his trip into the Containment Unit.  This did confuse me as first, as I didn’t see why they would intentionally have Slimer go into the Containment Unit.  Especially considering how some of the ghosts in there might not have the best opinion of Slimer.  But I suppose it makes sense.  They probably had to have a ghost test subject to make sure the airlock attached to the Containment Unit worked the way they intended it to, and Slimer is probably the only ghost who would be willing to cooperate with them.  As for the part about how Slimer might run into a ghost or two who despised him, this might explain Slimer’s response when Ray asked him if he had a good time in there, because Slimer immediately starts babbling angrily at Ray.  Fortunately, Ray is able to placate Slimer by telling him that Peter keeps his jelly beans in a box under his pillow.  This was apparently how they got Slimer to agree to work with them on this new project of Egon’s, as a gleeful Slimer immediately heads up through the ceiling to get Peter’s jellybeans.

It then cuts to night.  A bunch of people are gathered at some dreary looking warehouse, working to inflate the parade floats. Specifically one of a praying mantis.  Now, granted I have no knowledge of how they go about getting things ready for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade, but isn’t it a bit too early to get the parade floats inflated?  Wouldn’t it make more sense to do that a bit closer to parade time?  But maybe they have to start inflating them during the middle of the night, to ensure they’re fully inflated in time for the parade start time.  I can’t be sure about that.  Anyway, a woman, whose name is later revealed to be Anne Lawson, is checking with the head worker, Harlan, about how things are going.  Harlan assures her that the parade float will be ready in time, which is a relief to Anne, as she finds the old warehouse downright creepy.  Harlan kinda chuckles at this, stating there’s a good reason for that.  Turns out the old warehouse once was used as the city morgue, a fact that Anne finds unsettling.  Of course, nobody notices when eerie green smoke starts seeping out of a nearby grate, with the smoke seemingly entering the pump that was filling the praying mantis parade float.  Which is obviously not good, especially when the praying mantis’ eyes start to glow.

The next day, crowds begin to gather for Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade.  The Ghostbusters, accompanied by Janine and Slimer, are driving the Ecto-1 into position. And Peter is complaining about his jelly beans being gone, as he was planning on bringing them to the parade. (Um…were you planning on throwing them to the kids, Peter?  Because I’m pretty sure that the candy you toss out from parade floats and the like have to be wrapped, for obvious reasons.)  As a group of pedestrians cross the street in front of them, Ray takes notice of the parade float behind them, which is the same praying mantis float we saw in the last scene.  Though some exposition, we’re told that this praying mantis is actually Murray the Mantis, the star of a Saturday morning cartoon show about a praying mantis who kept peace within a garden with the help of his best friend, a human girl named Posey.  Surprisingly, Egon also admits he watches the show, too.  And proceeds to give a scientific excuse for this when Peter starts playfully jibing him for it.  (Come on, Egon.  You don’t need an excuse to like a show aimed at kids.  If you like it, that’s reason enough.)

As the parade commences, with Ray and Peter riding atop the Ecto-1 (apparently there’s not enough room for five people and a ghost to sit comfortably inside the vehicle), the Ghostbusters are confused when the parade abruptly gets halted.  When Winston sticks his head out to find out why, he notices Lieutenant Frump (remember him from The Headless Motorcyclist and The Scaring of the Green?), who informs him that they’re having trouble with the Murray float.  When they all look out to see for themselves, the Ghostbusters see that the people charged with holding the float’s ropes are indeed having trouble, as the float seems to be rising higher into the air, and the float handlers are being lifted up off the ground.  Egon states that the float ratio of the parade float should make such a thing impossible.  Out of nowhere, Anne Lawson appears, shouting at the float holders to let go of their ropes. The float handlers comply with this, resulting in the Murray Float to float away.  But this means the Murray Float is now a danger to areal navigation.  To resolve this issue, Anne turns to Peter, who had chosen that moment to step forward, suggesting that he try shooting the parade float down with his Proton Pack.  Peter, who clearly finds Anne attractive, agrees to this instantly, and he fires off his Proton Pack.  This does result in the parade float to blow up, but a large praying mantis monster materializes in the parade float’s place.  The Murray Monster charges towards them, resulting in the crowds to scatter.  The Ghostbusters likewise speed off, with Ray pulling Anne up onto the roof of the Ecto-1.

Thankfully, the Murray Monster doesn’t end up going for anyone in the crowd, but it does chase the Ghostbusters into Central Park.  As they try to evade it, Peter wonders if he was the one who caused the problem.  Ray assures him it wasn’t his fault, as their equipment wasn’t designed to do anything like this.  This leads to Anne explaining how they inflated the Murray Float inside the former city morgue.  Ray realizes that the cause for the Murray Monster must have something to do with a release of death force energy held dormant, combined with an ecto surge across the continuum. Winston, however, points out that, regardless of what Anne told them, the public will most likely blame the Ghostbusters for what happened.  To make things worse, when Ray and Egon confer things, it’s determined that, based on the constant half-life breakdown rate for all ectoplasmic entities, cross referenced with the PKE Pulse, the Murray Monster could have a life energy on par with Gozer.  So, while they can certainly fight the Murray Monster, their chances of winning are very slim.  Upon hearing this, Winston suggests they bring in ‘The Big Guy.’

The Ghostbusters proceed to head back to the Firehouse. Egon double checks the data and confirms that the Murray Monster’s energy level is at 45 Mega Watts times 10 to the 14th power. In other words, this is a super-strong ghost.  Winston once again suggests deploying ‘The Big Guy.’   And Egon agrees that might be their best chance.  He tries to recruit Slimer to once again enter the Containment Unit.  Slimer, however, is extremely reluctant.  So Peter has to bribe him by offering him his own tiny refrigerator, ice cream delivered every day, a crate of doughnuts and a diner’s club card.  This successfully convinces Slimer, and he agrees to help.

So the Ghostbusters all hurry down the basement.  And time is of the essence as sirens can be heard outside.  It seems that the public is indeed blaming the Ghostbusters for the Murray Monster, and the police have been sent to arrest them, with Lieutenant Frump leading the charge.  The police, despite the fact that Winston had claimed to have locked the door when they returned, manage to break into the Firehouse.  And they apprehend Egon just as he’s putting Slimer in through the airlock. Fortunately, he does manage to throw a switch with his foot as the police drag him away.  And so, before Lieutenant Frump can finish reciting the Miranda Rights, and express Mayor Lenny’s displeasure about the Murray Monster, the airlock on the containment unit explodes, and PKE energy shoots out through the roof of the Firehouse (similar to what happened in the movie when the Containment Unit exploded).  As everyone watches from the street, the ghostly energy takes form, revealing Mr. Stay Puft.  Upon seeing Mr. Stay Puft, Lieutenant Frump voices his disproval, considering what happened the last time Mr. Stay Puft was loose in the city.  Peter, however, seems confident that things will be okay, as Mr. Stay Puft is better now.  Which is a good thing, as Mr. Stay Puft is their best chance of defeating the Murray Monster.

Peter, Egon Anne and Lieutenant Frump begin to follow after Mr. Stay Puft in a police helicopter as he walks through the city.  And Slimer is revealed to be with Mr. Stay Puft as well, charged with making sure Mr. Stay Puft stays on course.  Eventually, Mr. Stay Puft is guided to Central Park, where the Murray Monster is still lurking.  Upon reaching the park in the police helicopter, Egon and Peter join up with Ray and Winston, who are waiting near the Ecto-1 AND the Ecto-2.  Yeah, the Ecto-2 reappears in this episode.  As the Murray Monster and Mr. Stay Puft come face-to-face and begin to fight, Peter and Ray take the Ecto-2 into the sky in order to shoot the Murray Monster with their Proton Packs to ensure the Murray Monster doesn’t try to fly, while Egon and Winston watch from a nearby roof.  And I have to say, the fight between the Murray Monster and Mr. Stay Puft seems very one sided, considering one has those razor-sharp spiky arms and the other is made of marshmallow.  But I guess Mr. Stay Puft was not supposed to defeat the Murray Monster, just to force it back into a designated spot in an alleyway.  Because once the Murray Monster is in position, the Ghostbusters all fire their Proton Packs at the Murray Monster, as Mr. Stay Puft holds it in place.  Eventually, the Murray Monster explodes.  Not sure how, but okay.  And everyone is unharmed, though Mr. Stay Puft and the Ecto-1 got a little singed from the explosion.

With the day saved, the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade can commence.  This time, Anne is sitting up atop the Ecto-1 with Peter and Ray.  Ray apologizes to Anne for losing the Murray Float.  But Anne shrugs this off.  After all, as Peter points out, they managed to find a replacement.  And then we see Mr. Stay Puft floating down the street like a parade float.  (So, is he floating simply because he’s a ghost, or did they somehow pump him full of helium?)

Interesting to see Mr. Stay Puft again, as he’s apparently a full-fledged good guy now, with the Ghostbusters only keeping him in the Containment Unit because he’s too big to belong anywhere else. Though I can’t help but notice he lost the ability to talk.  The last time he appeared, he could talk in coherent sentences.  But here, all he can really do is make roaring sounds.  Though overall, I only have two minor grievances with this episode.  First, the fact that the police just abruptly come to arrest the Ghostbusters without giving them a chance to explain things.  Considering how many times they saved the city, you’d think the police force would at least attempt to give them the benefit of a doubt.  Of course, we saw Lieutenant Frump was there.  And it’s already been established that Lieutenant Frump does not like the Ghostbusters in the slightest.  So that might have something to do with it.  Also, it’s kinda a bummer that the airlock Egon and Ray had built was destroyed when they had to pull Mr. Stay Puft out. Because I rather liked Egon’s idea to form diplomatic relationships with the ghosts inside the Containment Unit.  While I know a few ghost in there were extremely dangerous and deserved to get locked away, I wonder how many ghosts were just prankish and virtually harmless.  And when you think about it, at the end of the day, ghosts are just people who have died.  So it might be possible to open up communications with them.  Of course, I suppose this will be the last we hear about Egon’s aspiration to become an ambassador towards the ghosts of the spirit world.

(Click here for more Ghostbusters reviews)

#the real ghostbusters #rgb episode review #ghostbusters franchise

[jiminniethemarshmallow]

Fairy Dust

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Genre: adventure, fantasy, fluff

Word Count: 22k

(A/N): This is my first time writing anything like this and boy was it tough! Also I really didn’t mean for it to be this long so oops 😬

For BCC One Summer Night Project

You follow Jimin away from your campsite off the beaten path on a journey guided by starlight, walking hand in hand and treading lightly so as not to disturb the wildlife around you. You weave through the wooded area of your night trail to a destination that your boyfriend has not yet disclosed to you. Shades of midnight blues and purples color what was once green and brown around you, blackening shapes at your feet that you step over with care.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” You fret with a chuckle, enjoying the warmth of his fingers when they squeeze yours.

“Of course, I used to come here all the time with my family. It’s right up ahead.” He points with a finger you can barely see in the dim lighting. You trust him, shrugging to yourself as you trek on. He stops you a few steps later, looking down at his feet until you do the same and come to the realization that there is a stream in your path. “I’ll go first.”

He demonstrates by stepping on a flat stone in the center of the water source, leaping to the other side gracefully before turning to offer you his hand and a smile. Your movements are a lot more unsteady than his. A hesitant step on the stone is all you can manage before you’re grasping for his hand, stumbling to his side and nearly pulling both of you down into the water, a few bugs flying up at your rough landing. It’s smooth sailing after that, avoiding a fallen log, regretfully stepping over the corpse of a poor decaying animal, and brushing past short shrubbery before you finally reach a clearing with a perfect view of the starry ceiling above you.

“Wow,” From this vantage point at your altitude in these mountains the beautiful glow of the galaxy is not clouded by pollution or artificial light. You’ve never seen so many stars in your life, all twinkling at you in clusters of white dots that form patterns and constellations above your head. Jimin pulls a purple blanket from the bag on his back, placing it in the uncut grass at the center of the meadow. You take a seat next to him, laying back to curl into his chest comfortably as his arms come to wrap around you.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He asks in a whisper, watching the environment around you come to life from your movement. Fireflies rise above the blades of green beneath you to put on a display of light for you, creating their own pictures that rival even the stars.

“It’s... perfect.” You are utterly speechless, simply thankful that he decided to share this with you. Looking up, you discover that he is no longer looking around but is focused solely on you now, and when you lock eyes, you lean in for a kiss. You could swear that the fireflies around you begin to circle around your bodies once your lips touch, your eyes now closed and a delicious scent engulfing you. It’s easy to get lost in Jimin’s kiss, so easy that you begin to lose track of time and space and lose consciousness.

“Why did you pick them?” A voice sounds distantly, distorted oddly in your ears.

“Uhm, well, I- uh,” The timid squeak comes from much closer, and you can almost hear the nervous way the mysterious person gnaws on their lip. A loud sigh. “We’re desperate.”

“...Fine. But you couldn’t have found someone more— I don’t know— muscular than them? I mean come on, they’re both practically splinters!”

“There was no one else around... maybe we could make this a stealth mission instead?”

Your eyes start to crack open once the grogginess fades, a soft and fuzzy fabric swallowing you in its folds. Jimin is not in your immediate line of sight and everything is brighter than you remember. Your head lifts before you’ve gotten both eyes fully open, alerting the two that now accompany you.

“Oh, one of them is awake!” The timid voice whispers, and the first thing to come into view is a flawless face, features too smooth and delicate to be real. The woman’s skin sparkles as if she had been bathed in glitter, but it seems that she’s producing her own light, an supernatural glow outlining her body and... wings? Maybe your eyes were still adjusting...

“Mm, what happened?” You mumble, your mind feeling hazy. Once your eyes fully focus, you jump at her proximity.

“W-wow, I didn’t know humans were this pretty.” She gushes, earning a slap on the shoulder from the other person she’s with. Looking to the left, you find a shorter woman whose features are just as undefined as her taller counterpart, the same glow haloed around her.

“Don’t say things like that.” She scolds.

“Jimin?!” Suddenly you think of your boyfriend, who you have yet to see, and begin to search around, finally taking in your surroundings and noticing that you appear to be lost in a sea of purple, blanket-like material, its folds blocking and trapping you as you move around to find your partner. You call out to him again, this time receiving a response.

“(Y/n)?” He sounds sleepy, probably just waking up from whatever slumber you had fallen into.

“We should help.” The taller woman says, appearing behind you to grab you under your arms and lift you. Lift you? Wait, were you flying?! Your legs dangle as you rise higher above your fabric prison, the new perspective allowing you to see that you were surrounded by giant blades of grass and that you had, in fact, been on your blanket. She lowers you next to Jimin, huffing from the exertion, and you scramble to his side. What the hell was going on?

“Did you just... Fly?” He looks at you funny, then turns his attention to the two mysterious figures who have yet to introduce themselves.

“Hello, humans.” The shorter one starts awkwardly, cringing at herself. “You’ve finally awoken! That’s good.” There’s quiet— well, not really, the atmosphere is no longer muffled sounds of the forest, but now resembles a bustling town in daylight. Everything is so much louder. “W-well, my name is Alva and that’s Laila,” She nods in the other’s direction.

“What happened to us? Why did we pass out?” You question immediately, not bothering with self-introduction.

“O-oh, well, y-you both, um,” Laila starts, unable to look either of you in the eye. “What I mean to say is... you- we kind of-“

“We sprinkled you with Fairy Dust.” Alva finishes bluntly. Your jaws drop. She can’t be serious, this must be a joke. Yet you can’t bring yourself to laugh. No, she looks too serious.

“Fairy dust?” Jimin barely cracks a smile, subconsciously touching your arm to make sure this isn’t a dream.

“Y-yeah, but it appears I was a bit heavy handed. My apologies.” Laila smiles wryly, wringing her hands together nervously. “We are the fairies that live in this forest, and we need your help to save a dear comrade.” It is only then that you actually process what you’re looking at. The two of them hover in front of you, their wings fluttering gracefully like those of a hummingbird, the movement too quick for your eyes to perceive.

“Are we fairies now too?” Jimin checks his own body, then yours, inspecting you for any differences. The only thing that has changed is your size, and he sighs in relief.

“For the most part you are just tiny humans now, but we can make you wings if you so desire.” Alva deadpans, impatiently waiting for you to come to terms with the situation. She continues before you have the chance to let things sink in. “Stink bugs have infested these lands and have made their home by the water source, blocking all creatures on this side of the meadow from reaching the water’s edge. We fairies have put up a resistance to this, and in retaliation, they have kidnapped our leader. Please, we kindly ask for your help in retrieving her.”

“Why can’t you save her yourselves? Don’t you have an army?” Jimin frowns, unsure of how he feels about being this little. You may still be in shock.

“They have fortified their home with troops that protect them from land and air. In order to enter their territory, we would need to get past them, but they attack everything that they identify as being from this side of the meadow.” A chill runs up your spine. Were you willing to embark on a dangerous mission like this?

“But t-their eyesight is pretty bad, so they might not recognize you as fairies, even with wings.” Laila speaks up when she sees you wavering. “You may be able to negotiate a way in.”

“I don’t know about this.” Your boyfriend murmurs to you as he weighs your safety versus adventure. He’s always so kindhearted, so you know he wants to help them, but how far was he willing to go if danger was involved? If it was you he was worried about, you wanted to quell his fears.

“It sounds scary, honestly. But when in our lives will we get another chance to do something like this? We get to be fairies! That’ll never happen to us again.” You smile. But suddenly your eyes shoot wide, turning to the women again. “Wait, this does wear off, right? We won’t be stuck like this forever?”

“Well, there is a spell to reverse this, but the fairy you must rescue is the only one who has mastered it.” Laila offers with another apologetic look.

“Then we have to! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, we have to take advantage. These people need our help! Plus, what else are we going to do while we’re this tiny? Might as well become hero’s while we’re at it.” You chuckle, pulling a smile from him. “If it gets dangerous we’ll protect each other, promise.”

“What if something goes wrong and one of us gets hurt?” He asks. It’s uncharacteristic of him to worry like this, but this is uncharted territory so you can understand his apprehension. But as a couple you are known for your adventurous nature— hell, he’s the one who suggested going camping in the Rocky Mountains by yourselves in the first place. You won’t let him back down from this.

“What if everything goes right?” Your hand finds its way into his, squeezing in reassurance as he looks over your face. With a second more of hesitation, Jimin finally nods in agreement and the two fairies sigh in relief.

The mission they explain to you seems very much like the objective of a video game: traverse through different landscapes and hone your skills until you reach the villain’s lair, where you will then attempt to rescue the princess (or in this case, fairy leader) and defeat the villain. Of course, you will be responsible for coming up with the plan once you reach the lair because the fairies know nothing about where their leader is kept or what the stink bug king will think of you. It is entirely possible that you’ll be able to negotiate with him to release their leader and stop blocking the waterway, but it’s more exciting to think you’ll do a bit of fighting.

“We have supplies and tools for you that will be helpful for you on your journey.” Alva is kinder to you now, advising you to come along to their home to prepare for your mission.

“We don’t have wings yet...” You point out, assuming that you would fly to their abode.

“Obviously.” She rolls her eyes at you, not bothering to explain. A high pitched whistle comes from her with little effort, followed by an intense buzzing noise approaching from behind. You and Jimin turn in horror as 3 giant fireflies appear from the sky, landing weightlessly on the surface before you with a blinding flash of light. It is then that you realize that the brightness in the sky above you isn’t from sunlight, but are actually the bulbs of the fireflies you had admired before. The three in front of you dim their lights to save your eyes, peering down at you with curiously large eyes.

Laila begins to speak with them in a language of chirps and clicks, and much to your surprise, they respond energetically to her. Although you now pale in comparison to these creatures, they are still awe-inspiring; with their red upper bodies that contrast so prettily with the luminescent glow of their yellow-green rears, the hard outer wings that protect the delicate transparent wings beneath that you’ve never noticed until now. Never in your life have you expected to see any bug from this close up.

Laila lets out a laugh that brings your attention back to her. “They agreed to give us a lift home.” She seems brighter after the interaction, though she still refuses to look you in the eye. “Ah! Let me introduce you— this is Magus,” She points to the one on the right, who tilts his head down at you in what you assume to be a bow. “This is Meri,” the one on the left nods at you two as well and you nudge Jimin in his side to offer a bow back. “And this is Garnet, named for her color.” The firefly in the center lifts her wings slightly in greeting and it takes immense self control not to step back in intimidation. She is the largest of the 3 and her color is distinctly different, her body appearing as a deep shade of red mimicking that of a garnet stone, as opposed to the pinkish shade that her counterparts take on.

“Since there are two of you, you will be traveling on Garnet because she is the biggest.” Alva explains, already in the air and mounted on Magus’ back.

“Wait, you want us to ride on its back?!” Jimin seems startled as you walk ahead of him and reach your hand out to Garnet, touching her head. Normally bugs were something you feared, but you have a newfound sense of bravery that is sparked by the novelty of this experience. “(Y/n), don’t touch it!” He shouts, eyebrows furrowing cutely when your hand makes contact with the insect.

“Babe, it’s fine, stop being so wimpy.” You snicker at his distress. “She won’t hurt us, I can tell. She’s nice.” The firefly chitters at you, causing Laila to giggle.

“She says to hop on, she doesn’t bite. But if you need a nip of encouragement she’s more than willing to give you one.” Jimin shutters and takes a hesitant step forward, following your lead with a soft pat to her head. She lowers to the ground as much as she can, and the two of you hop on with Jimin in front and your arms wrapped comfortably around his waist. He can feel your smile and it gives him a little peace of mind.

“No offense, but we don’t have time for cowardice. Anything could be happening to our leader right now and the more time we waste, the more danger we put her in.” Alva cuts in sharply with a twitch of her wings.

“Grab the ropes and hold on tight.” Directing your gaze to the thin ropes seamlessly attached to the smooth surface of Garnet’s shell— by magic, you assume— you take Laila’s advice and grab onto them from behind Jimin. “I already told her where we’re going, just tap her back twice to signal when you’re ready and she’ll take off.”

“Are you ready?” Your boyfriend asks, rolling his shoulders.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” At your confirmation, he taps his hand on the hard shell and her wings open up, fluttering loudly on either side of you before you begin to lift from the ground. You rise quickly yet carefully, and you can’t help but let out an elated squeal as the earth beneath you gets farther and farther away. The footprints you left in the grass when you arrived in the meadow have somewhat disappeared as the blades slowly return to their normal standing position, but you can still see the sheer size of them compared to how small you are now. Even from high up they look enormous, each one flattening an area that would probably take you several minutes to cross on foot. But the most amazing sight of all is something that Jimin points out with a dropped jaw.

The blanket that you had both been comfortably laying on not 10 minutes prior was now unreasonably large and you struggle to comprehend the scale. If being on the back of a bug wasn’t enough, seeing your own belongings look so disproportionate compared to you is what makes you realize just how tiny you really are. It’s almost frightening being so small and fragile, the human body does not have many natural adaptations to fend off the world making this situation that much more dangerous, but having Jimin with you eases your heart significantly. He isn’t the strongest or the bravest, or even the smartest for that matter, but you know that if you work together you’ll be alright. At least that’s what you tell yourself as you cling to him on your way up into the trees, not missing the opportunity to take in the view.

You’re taken to what looks to be a treehouse, perched on one of the thin branches at the top of a tree. It could be mistaken for a small bird’s nest from the outside, but the home is actually complexly made with a variety of materials and innovation you are unfamiliar with. Jimin grabs your hand immediately after you dismount from Garnet, glancing down from your height with a silent warning. Of course he’s weary, if either of you fell from this distance you would be dead before you were halfway down the trunk. Even a fall to the next branch down would be life threatening, but you try not to think about it as you walk carefully to the entrance of the home.

“Do not touch anything.” Alva hisses as she holds the door open for you. The inside of the abode is cozier than you expected, sheltered from the chill of the night and decorated with art and color.

“Alva, don’t be so crude to our guests.” Laila scolds, wringing her hands again. She seems to be nervous once more without the presence of her firefly companions.

“Do you live here together?” You ask, moving to inspect some items on a bookshelf. Jimin smacks your hand when you go to lift something up, reminding you of Alva’s warning.

“Y-yes.” Laila nods, turning away from you when you meet her eyes. They say no more on the matter so you don’t press it. “Anyway, you’ll need a few things for your journey. We’ll accompany you most of the way, but we won’t be able to enter once we reach the stink bug’s territory so you’ll need disguises.”

“I thought you said they won’t recognize us?” Jimin questions, walking over to where Alva is hard at work crafting something on a workbench.

“The stink bugs won’t, but they have spies everywhere. We’ll have to pass through some town centers on the way there and that’s where you’ll have the highest risk of being discovered. Also, they know that the two of us are part of the resistance so they will automatically be suspicious if we’re seen traveling together.” She murmurs. You watch as she sprinkles glowing dust onto the table, grabbing tools that glow similarly and manipulating the powder with skilled hands.

“That’s Fairy Dust.” Laila whispers to you when she sees the looks of confusion on your faces. It looks just how you imagined it would.

“So, are you saying that we’ll have to go through the town centers by ourselves?” Jimin’s question makes your heart jump with nerves.

“Yes and no. We’ll have to walk through the towns since their surveillance is stricter on air traffic, but all you have to do is follow behind us and everything will be fine. We’ll go first and lead the way while you trail a safe distance behind us. We can fly together between towns, when we’re not being watched.”

“Fly?” How would you fly if you didn’t have wings like them? You’ll probably use the fireflies again, so you don’t fret, but Alva shakes her head.

“What do you think I’m doing right now?” She asks rhetorically, rolling her eyes at your stupid question. “I’m making you wings so that you can fly with us.” Just as she says this, her workspace begins to glow red.

The Fairy Dust had somehow turned into thin sheets of glass-like material while you were looking away, inflexible and cloudy in quality but now burning a bright red color. Alva whispers something under her breath as she places her hands over the material, closing her eyes in focus. The glowing intensifies and Jimin pulls you back a few steps protectively to look on at a safer distance. Amazingly, the material transforms right before your eyes into transparent and featherlight wings that mimic those of the fairies beside you. They bend when she lifts them, they look extremely frail and delicate, so thin that you almost want to doubt their capabilities in holding you up in midair.

“Turn around.” She instructs quickly to you, using two fingers to rub more Fairy Dust on the edges of each wing. You spin for her and feel her move closer before pausing. The perplexed and irritated look on her face can be felt through the thick air and you don’t even have to see her to sense it.

“What’s wrong?” Jimin dares, eyes flicking back and forth between you.

“What covers your skin?” She asks, much to your confusion. You want to answer but you honestly have no idea what she’s referring to. Neither does Jimin.

“I believe they call them ‘clothes’”. Laila responds quietly.

“Ew, remove them.” The disgust in Alva’s voice is clear, startling you. Somehow, one small detail had escaped both you and your boyfriend this entire time: the fact that the two fairies are completely naked. Their bodies are just as undefined and nondescript as their faces and the odd light they seemed to give off acted as some sort of censor, making it difficult to tell whether or not they were wearing anything. But their reactions confirm that they, indeed, are in the nude. It makes sense, humans are the only creatures to cover themselves like this. But you’re still human and the thought of roaming naked and free in this unfamiliar landscape is uncomfortable.

“Is there a way that you could put the wings on over the clothes?” You turn to allow her to see the cringe on your cheeks. “Logically, it would make sense to keep our clothes on so that when we save your leader and return to normal size, we won’t be naked and exposed in the wilderness?” It’s phrased like a question because of the intimidating glare Alva is giving you, sucking the confidence right out of your words.

Thankfully, Laila is there to back you up. “It’s true, if they aren’t wearing their coverings when they turn back, i-it will remain our size.” Alva gives her the death glare too, but surprisingly, Laila doesn’t back down.

“Fine, but if this doesn’t work, you’re making the next pair of wings.” She points to her roommate, smoothing down your shirt to get a feel for the structure of your back before gently attaching the wings. Their attachment is joined by a ticklish sensation that makes you squirm and giggle, pulling against the small hands that attempt to hold you in place. You expected it to be painful, but the ticklish feeling fades quickly followed by nothing, your extensions successfully attached. She moves onto Jimin swiftly and you grin as the cutest giggle bubbles from his throat at the feeling. The wings really suit him, he looks like a fairy prince that has come to sweep you off your feet and fly off into the distance.

“Excellent.” Laila sighs in relief when your wings move with the motion of your shoulders, steadfast and not likely to come off. “I have prepared these for you as well.” She thrusts a bag into your hands, as well as a shiny whistle. “This Fairy Dust is essential to our mission. Fairies use it to craft things and manipulate items around them, so it is imperative that you get this to our leader to aid in her rescue and escape. This whistle is to only be used in emergencies,” Placing one in Jimin’s hands, she glares when he immediately puts it to his lips. “It will call Garnet to you in case you need a ride, but she is very busy at this time of night, so try not to use it.”

“Okay! Now we’re all set to go!” Alva rushes, practically pushing you out of her house.

Laila is the only one who has patience enough to teach you to fly, speeding through a lesson and demonstration with pressure from the other woman who looks on with annoyance. To Jimin, who is always quite graceful, flying is easy. The wings on his back move to his will and it’s as if he’s dancing in the air, lifting above you and quickly using his skills to twirl and flip. You, on the other hand, struggle immensely. As soon as your feet leave the ground, balance loses all meaning to you and you toddle unsteadily, smacking into things left and right because of the uneven flutter of your propellers. You bet you look silly right now— no, you know you do because Jimin makes sure to laugh loudly every time you struggle— but this is no time for shame. Alva concludes your lesson once it’s apparent that you won’t fall out of the sky and suggests that you’ll get the hang of it as you go, barely waiting for you before taking off from the tip of the branch.

“Now, I must warn you,” She says as you rush to keep up. “These wings do have a time limit, so it’s important that we make it to the water as fast as possible before time runs out or you’ll have to walk.”

“G-got it.” You’re still uneasy, veering off to the side occasionally and nearly smacking into Laila when the wind catches you. Just when you’re starting to get dizzy from your wacky steering, a warm hand closes around your arm. Jimin smiles at you, this time not with humor but with care, and you feel yourself relax. Pulling you closer to his body, he helps you balance in order to fly straight, offering tips and holding on tight for support. Even after you’ve gotten the hang of it, he holds your hand and stays close to you.

Traveling across the meadow takes far longer than you expected and by the time you reach the first town, you’re already tired. Alva lands several meters away from the tree line, turning abruptly to face you. “We’re about to enter the shrubs. This town is full of friendly faces so it shouldn’t be too hard to spot spies, but stay on the lookout. Laila and I have to meet up with an ally in one of the shops; once we get there, stay outside in the area and try not to look suspicious.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” Folding your arms, you wait for a response, but Alva simply shrugs and continues ahead.

“Just try not to bother anyone.” Laila says softly, avoiding your eyes as she speeds up to walk in front of you.

As soon as you enter the shrubs, hundreds of eyes zero in on the unfamiliar faces of you and Jimin. Some greet the fairies as they pass farther in front of you, but seem to burn holes in your back when you walk by, squeezing the hand of your boyfriend at the horrifying bugs that are now very close to your size. Ants and worms, caterpillars and centipedes all roam freely on the dense floor, chewing on fertile dirt and decaying leaves, carrying on with their lives all around you. None seem particularly threatening, but that doesn’t stop your hands from becoming incredibly sweaty in Jimin’s palm.

“I’ll protect you.” He whispers, though his voice shakes in uncertainty.

“How? There’s no way you can fight any of these things!” You whisper back through gritted teeth. Your eyes are so focused on trying not to lose sight of the women in front of you that you don’t notice the roots sticking up from the ground and trip noisily over one of them. Jimin reaches out with lightning fast reflexes and catches you before you come crashing to the ground, offering you a cheesy smile when your wide eyes lock on his before pulling you back up to your feet.

“I don’t need to fight them, I just need to save you from yourself.” You pout at his words, feeling your cheeks get hot at how embarrassing that fall must have looked. Even though you’re surrounded by bugs, you still have your pride.

Finally, Alva and Laila enter a shop, giving you a meaningful glance before disappearing inside. Jimin leads you just a little bit past the store before finding a spot to stand just opposite of its entrance so you can watch for their exit, pulling you against him as he leans against a mushroom. You take this time to take in your surroundings: the ceiling of this area is made of the dense leaves and vines of shrubs, yet it isn’t dark. Instead, everything is lit by glow-in-the-dark fungi that is speckled above and below you. Large mushrooms, like the one you sit beneath, grow in bundles in the darker places, their smell humid and pungent like a room full of mold. It tickles your nostrils and you sneeze, causing a movement from behind you.

“Oh!” Calls a voice that appears out of seemingly nowhere. Jimin moves you defensively away from the person, turning to confront them as they step from behind the fungus’ stem. “I wouldn’t sit under this if I were you. It’s smell can be quite intoxicating after a while and may cause hallucinations to those who aren’t used to it.” A male fairy steps forward, coated in Fairy Dust and naked just like your guides had been. The only difference is that he is covered in spores. This doesn’t seem to bother him, though. He eyes both you and Jimin up and down, smiling oddly at your appearance. “New around here?”

“Yes.” You answer hesitantly, but he seems nice enough.

“I can sense that you’re not fairies... Hmm, where are you from?” Just as you open your mouth to speak, Jimin cuts in.

“We’re just visiting. Who are you?”

“Ah, yes! I’m a mushroom fairy, the name’s Bayard.” He extends a hand and you shake it despite Jimin’s weary expression. “I work here and tend to the mushrooms that light this place. We don’t get visitors often, welcome!”

“Thank you! We’re actually heading to the water, do you have any helpful advice for us?” Alva and Laila said that this place was full of friends, so you want to take a chance. He seems kind and helpful and the two of you are absolutely clueless in your environment, so you figure it would be beneficial to get all the help you can get. The hand holding yours tightens, but you ignore it to listen to the fairy’s advice.

“Oh, I’ve never been to the water before, but I heard it’s pretty dangerous over there now. I say it’d be smart to invest in a weapon if you’re heading over that way.” He nods solemnly. “You can probably get one at the shop over there,” He points to a small stall next to the store your comrades entered and you sag.

“We don’t have any money, though.” You pout, using your charms on him.

“Money? Nah, you just need something to trade for it, that’s all. Here, since you seem so sweet I’ll give you something, wait here.” Bayard flies up to the head of the mushroom and you watch in awe as he collects something from its surface before coming back down to hand you 2 bags. “These are the hallucinogenic spores I was talking about. They’re worth a lot, so you should be able to trade it easily, but you could use it for your own benefit.”

“What do you mean?” You ask innocently, making him chuckle.

“Well, a good whiff of it might lead to a wild night, if you catch my drift.” He winks at Jimin and your face bursts into flames at the implications, and you can see that Jimin has a similar reaction. Bayard laughs heartily, clapping his hand together in a plume of spores that you wave away from your face. “I’m only pulling your leg. But seriously,” His expression drops so fast that a chill runs up your spine, all humor wiped from his eyes. “This is some powerful stuff. One bag of this is enough to knock out something 10x our size, so be careful. I gave you 2 bags in case you need to buy more stuff, but please, handle with care.”

“We will.” You nod, giving your bag for Jimin to hold. “Thank you so much, Bayard, this is very generous of you.”

He grins shyly. “Don’t mention it. If you ever need a friend, you know where to find me. Good luck on your travels, I gotta get back to work.” He waves you off as he disappears back behind the bundle of mushrooms, hidden in the deep shadows they cast.

“I think we should be more careful with who we talk to, (Y/n).” Jimin whispers, following you as you walk toward the shop. “We can’t tell everyone our business, they could be spies!”

“I know, but I could tell he wasn’t. Plus, he turned out to be really helpful, so everything worked out.”

“Yeah, but we could have just gotten lucky this time. This is real life, babe, you need to be more careful. You shouldn’t talk to everyone like that.” He argues back, tugging on your arm to stop you before you reach the stall. You turn to look him in the eyes.

“But if we didn’t talk to him, it would have been suspicious. We can’t go around looking nervous and jumpy because then people will start thinking we’re up to something (which we kinda are). I was just blending in.” The determined look in your eye makes him pause and he can no longer argue. Dammit, he’s always so weak when you look at him like that. And you’re so beautiful in this lighting, your eyes shining back at him and the structure of your face contoured perfectly with the subtle shadows. You’re right and he has no choice but to accept it, even if he does have more to say. You can see the moment he drops it, his face softening with the slight nod he gives you as if admitting defeat. But you’re also weak to him when he looks down at you like that, like he wants to kiss you senseless and make you forget about whatever you disagreed about. You decide to compromise. “But I’ll be more careful from now on to make your job a little easier.”

He cocks an eyebrow and tilts his head cutely in confusion.

“You said you would protect me, right? It would be rude of me to jump headfirst into danger when I know you’ll jump right in after me.” You try to shrug indifferently but it comes off as flirty, pulling a smug smirk from him as you continue your way to the shop.

It costs a whole bag of the spores Bayard gave you to acquire a weapon. Jimin chooses a small blade that the shopkeeper explains is made with Fairy Dust and can cut through even the toughest bindings. He advises that you should only use it for self defense in extreme situations and gives him a sheath to saddle on the belt loops of his pants. The sight perplexes the shopkeeper, but he sends you on your way without question.

“I know you said you’d be more careful, but you have a penchant for trouble so we’ll probably find ourselves in some bad situations. But at least I can protect you properly now.” You wrinkle your nose at his accusation, but end up chuckling at the way he brandishes the blade as though in a heated battle.

Alva clears her throat as she glides past the two of you with a twitch of her wings, announcing her presence subtly as Laila follows swiftly after, pointedly trying not to look at you and accidentally being the most obvious one in the group. You linger for a few more moments with an embarrassed Jimin, asking the shopkeeper one more question about your purchase before making a smooth exit in the footsteps of your comrades. You’re a good distance away from the shrubs before you begin flying again, catching up with the two who wait for you at a nearby tree.

“Oh my goodness, that was so nerve wracking.” Laila sighs, biting her lip.

“Sorry that took so long, but we got some great intel on the enemy.” Jimin reaches for your hand again when you take off even though you’re infinitely better at flying now. You act like you aren’t affected as you try to listen to Alva’s words. “We’re about to pass a carcass so we’ll need to go around, but it has a spy checkpoint on each side so we’ll have to split up when we cross them to avoid suspicion. Be on the lookout for a shady looking ant and a really chunky maggot. Laila and I will do the talking, but don’t answer any of their questions in too much detail if they ask you directly.”

The way she lists off the warnings makes you sweat. What would happen if you got caught? Yes, this was a once in a lifetime adventure, but the danger is not lost on you. Jimin is right, this is real life and you could get seriously hurt or worse if things go south. You had to rescue their leader, this had to work because she is the only one that can return you to human size, and that realization settles uncomfortably in your stomach. Separating from Jimin only makes the feeling worse.

“We’ll be traveling together,” Alva informs you once you land, instructing Laila and Jimin where to meet. Your eyebrows crease with worry and you quickly grab his arm before he leaves.

When you don’t say anything, he gives you a soft smile, reading your eyes. “What happened to all that bravery you had back there?” He teases.

“I was confident because we were together. How can we look out for each other if we’re not together?” The only thing you can think of that’s worse than you getting captured, is if he got captured without you. It’s not just about him protecting you, you want to watch over him too.

“We’ll be fine. Alva and Laila will keep us safe.” They both nod at you.

“Yes, we’ll do everything in our power to keep you two safe.” Laila adds in her timid voice, glancing up at your eyes.

“Okay...” You reluctantly let go of him and watch them start to walk away. “Please be careful!” He sends you a thumbs up as he gets farther away. The starlight above you is partially covered by the trees, making this area much darker than the meadow had been. Fireflies flicker in the distance but it still isn’t bright enough to see him clearly as he continues on.

“Come on. The faster we go through this, the sooner you’ll be reunited.” For the first time, Alva offers words of consolation, and you’re almost shocked that she has sympathy for you. She mumbles in a quieter voice than usual. “I’m not thrilled about splitting from them either, but this is the safest way. If we all went through together, that would definitely raise some red flags.”

“Why couldn’t we just follow you like we did back there?” She scoffs.

“Not many newcomers cross these parts alone. You two would never make it past the spies without being noticed. Even with us, it’s a risk. I just hope Laila’s okay.” This is the first time you’ve actually seen her worried and for the second time in a row, you’re baffled. This entire time Alva has been hardened and crude, but now she seems almost as worried as you. You can’t help but ask.

“You seem to have a soft spot for her. Do you have feelings for her?” She knows you’re teasing by the lilt in your voice, and you see her wings twitch, something you’re beginning to notice that signifies her annoyance. Her eyes roll so hard you think they’ll get stuck in her head.

“Of course I have feelings for her. In human terms, we’re dating, why do you think we live together?”

“Oh!” You chuckle nervously, feeling a bit dumb. You saw only one bed in their home but thought little of it, and now much of their decor makes sense. There’s an awkward silence for a while and you can’t for the life of you think of anything else to talk about. You wish the ground beneath you would just open up and swallow you whole. Thankfully, she breaks the silence for you.

“We learned another important detail that I didn’t mention,” She waits until you glance over at her. “We found out that the stink bug king plans to marry our leader, so it would probably be smart for you to come up with a plan to intercept this.” You sigh in thought, turning your gears to come up with a plan.

The smell of the carcass is much worse than Jimin imagined, it hits them long before they reach the body. Laila leads him to the right side of the unidentifiable animal, a heap of fur, bones, and flesh in the middle stages of decomposition thanks to the abundance of bugs and fungi working diligently to break it down. They stop before the animal as Laila crafts 2 masks from her own bag of Fairy Dust, handing one to him to reduce the horrific smell as they trek on. He tries to ignore the sounds of the ecosystem feasting on its prey, and thankfully his partner offers a distraction.

“I know you’re worried about your girlfriend, but Alva will protect her. And I will protect you.” He notices that she easily makes eye contact with him, unlike before. “Stink bugs aren’t vicious, they’re just resilient and armored, making them tough to beat. But hopefully we won’t have to fight.”

“I know she’ll be alright, I have faith in her. She probably won’t get caught by the spy, she’s too smart for that.” His words are genuine, yet his heart still races at the possibilities. A darkness eclipses his face that she catches onto immediately.

“What’s wrong?” Her voice is so gentle that he has no problem opening up to her.

“If she gets captured or hurt it’ll be my fault. I brought her out to the meadow to have a romantic date, but instead it ended up putting her in danger. We should have stayed at the campsite.”

“No.” Laila says firmly, causing him to yank his head up in surprise. “If anything, this is my fault. I chose you because you were the only ones around that could help us, but I could have left you alone. If anything happens, I am to blame.” He says nothing to this, not quite accepting it, but she seems steadfast so he won’t argue. “I apologize for not asking sooner, but what is your name?”

“Jimin.”

“And what is hers?”

“(Y/n)~” He says your name almost dreamily compared to his own, a smile subconsciously finding its way to his lips. She grins.

“Do you love her?” Laila doesn’t seem to be the blunt type, but this is obviously amusing. Especially with the way his ears color red at that one question.

“I- I don’t know if I know what love is,” is his response.

“I think you do. I see how you look at her, how you smile when you think of her, the way that you say her name with such delicacy; I bet you don’t even realize how lovestruck you look when she’s around.” Jimin turns away from her to avoid her eyes, bringing a hand to his warming cheeks. He mumbles something under his breath. “I know because that’s how I am with Alva and I love her very much.”

“Alva? Wait, are you-?”

“Yes, she is my girlfriend.” The confirmation makes his jaw drop, some pieces falling together just as they had for you. “Never be embarrassed by your feelings, they can be a source of power at times like these. It is because you love her so much that I know you’d do anything to keep her safe, and I have no doubt that she is exactly the same way. This mission will be a success, I can feel it. You should tell her how you really feel when this is all over.”

“Oh... I don’t know about that. What if she doesn’t feel the same way...”

“She’s intelligent, compassionate, outgoing, brave, charming, and above that, so beautiful that everyone around takes notice— a woman like that can be pretty intimidating. But trust me, she loves you too. Though I haven’t known you two for long, I can see how her body language changes with you, that sparkle in her eyes whenever you interact. She’s just as lovesick for you as you are for her. But I won’t pressure you.”

Laila is a lot wiser and more perceptive than he originally expected. She hadn’t looked you in the eye much— which he now knows is because you intimidate her more than her own intense girlfriend does— but it seems she’s picked up on a lot about both of you in this short time. Maybe her observations are right and you do love him back. But this feels like an inappropriate time to confess to you, so he decides he’ll keep it in for now.

As he’s ruminating on that idea, a huge tan bug crawls in front of them, blocking their path with its large body. Upon closer inspection, Jimin comes to the conclusion that it is a maggot, and it is indeed very “chunky”. It’s at least 3x his size, towering over them and angling it’s head in their direction. He can’t see its eyes, but it apparently can see them, turning its attention to Laila.

“It’s been a while, Laila. Haven’t seen you around these parts lately.” The breath that billows out from its mouth is even more rancid than the corpse it was feasting on, the stench so pointed that it slices through the barrier of their masks. It almost brings tears to Jimin’s eyes as he tries to refrain from gagging.

“Yes, well, I’ve been busy in the meadow, so I haven’t had the time to come out this far.” She replies easily, not the slightest quiver in her voice present. The maggot hums.

“And who is this?” Turning to face Jimin, it gives an interested tilt of the head and leans in closer, its pincers coming just inches away from his face. The smell is vile, beyond sickening, and if it were to have a color, he’s sure it’s breath would be the most impure black sludge— yes, sludge, because it is too thick to be a gas— imaginable. As black as death itself. The most he can do is hold his breath.

“He is simply visiting the area. We’re just passing through.” Laila answers, but it hisses at her to hush.

“Visiting? What business do you have visiting here?” The hairs on the back of Jimin’s neck stand straight, every cell in his body telling him to run, yet he stands frozen. The pincers in front of his face are large enough to bite his head off and he gets the sense that if he doesn’t say something convincing, that’s exactly what his fate will be.

“I’m visiting my cousin.” He rasps out, his head feeling light from running out of air.

“What cousin?”

“Um, h-his name is Bayard. He’s a mushroom fairy that lives in the shrubs.” At this the maggot leans away, finally allowing Jimin to take a breath of the slightly less offensive air.

“Bayard, huh?” He nods quickly, watching nervously as the insect snaps its jaws in thought. Does it know him? If it does, there’s a chance that Jimin will be caught in his lie, that somehow it will know that Bayard does not have any visiting relatives and that he’s not who he says he is. He and Laila share a tense stare as the bug takes a few seconds to process before it bursts into laughter. “He’s a crazy bastard, isn’t he?” They sigh in relief and Jimin nods along, forcing out a laugh. “Why isn’t he showing you around? I would’ve loved if he came to visit, I don’t get to see him often.”

“Oh you know, he’s busy working. You know how he is about his mushrooms.” They laugh again and the air seems to get a bit thinner.

“Ah, well, we’ll tell him you said hello. For now, though, we must get going.” Laila interrupts, much to his relief. The hefty maggot walks forward, opening the path for them once again and nods its head at them.

“Safe travels!” It wishes them well as they pass, watching as they continue around the side of the carcass, no longer conversing with each other but making headway straight out of the area. It isn’t until they reach the rendezvous point that Laila finds the courage to speak again, holding both hands over her chest as if she were in pain.

“That was close. If it wasn’t for your quick thinking, I don’t know what would’ve happened.” Then she tilts her head and looks up at him quizzically. “How do you know of Bayard, anyway?”

“(Y/n) befriended him in the last town.” Jimin rubs the back of his neck, thinking back to how upset he was about you speaking to strangers like that and how silly he looks now. Without you, he wouldn’t have made it out of that situation. Maybe he should have more faith in your instincts— they may just be your way of protecting him.

It takes several minutes before you and Alva emerge from your side of the animal. Alva is nodding at you, looking apprehensive, but you seem determined and sure.

“Let’s not tell Jimin, though. He probably won’t approve.” You whisper to her just out of earshot before you reach them, smiling in relief when you see that they made it here safely. You didn’t encounter your spy, though you did see him interrogating someone else who was passing through, and when you tell him this he shakes his head at the rare good luck you’ve just experienced. He tells you about the Bayard lie as you wrap your arms around him briefly and you laugh in a way that says “I told you so”— and it is then that he notices the look that Laila was talking about. The one you give him when you’re hanging onto every word he says like it’s the most interesting thing you’ve ever heard. His heart flutters at the thought. Laila and Alva share a meaningful look but say nothing, coaxing you onward with your journey.

This place has a worse atmosphere than the carcass you just passed, you can feel it. Supposedly, this is the last obstacle in your path before you reach the water, and even Alva seems on edge about what lies ahead. A fallen log stands before you, decaying and riddled with plant-life, fungus, and insects. Hostility leaks from every crevice of the black wood, the breeze itself seeming to carry a sneer as it blows past it.

“Okay, a word of advice before we continue,” Alva begins, slowing her pace in order to turn and face you as you fly. “Unlike the shrubs, this place is full of shady characters, so do not stop to talk to anyone or anything. That being said, keep your eyes peeled as we pass through, the creatures here will feast on anything that moves— and that includes you.”

“Also,” Laila casts her eyes down away from you. “Your wings will likely start to disintegrate soon. We’ll have to fly through this area because we’ll be too slow on foot, therefore putting us in more danger. The wings should last long enough to make it out of here if we fly, but it will be close, so we can’t have any interruptions or stops.” You both nod grimly, biting on your lip as a dark feeling swells within you.

It’s a gut feeling that alerts you to the danger up ahead, and you mindlessly reach for Jimin’s hand for comfort. He doesn’t seem to be as nervous aside from the warnings the two of them explain, and you wonder if you’re being paranoid.

“Why can’t we just fly over or around it?” You ask, trying to hide the tremor in your voice. Alva gives you a frustrated sigh before explaining once again how closely the skies are monitored, going against your plan to slip through undetected. But you can hardly say that this route is any safer.

It’ll be easy to stay out of trouble if you just stay off the ground though, right? Fly over the heads of everyone and make it out of this area before any real damage can be done. You cling onto that ideal as you watch Laila and Alva enter the center of the log, moving slowly until you and Jimin follow behind them.

“Please stay close to me.” You whisper to him— more like a plea because of the growing anxiety building in the pit of your stomach, your gut feeling worsening as you near the entrance.

“I will. Don’t worry, I won’t leave you.” Softly, he presses a kiss to your forehead, but even that doesn’t help you shake this feeling.

It’s dark and muggy within the rotting wood, the lack of light contrasting even with the dimness of the night sky. Glowing fungi are speckled against the walls of the log, but it is nowhere near as bright as it had been in the shrubs, leaving many areas cloaked in shadows. Jimin holds onto you tightly, his other hand feeling for the blade equipped to his pants. Your nervousness is unsettling; he can feel how cold and clammy your hands have become, the slight tremor of your body as your heart races within. He wishes he could reassure you, but you have amazing instincts and he doubts anything he says could contest against the physical reaction you’re exhibiting at this moment. All he can do is prepare himself.

The fairies in front of you seem to shine against the blackness, making them easy to follow. You execute your plan for flying as high as possible in the somewhat cramped tunnel, almost scraping your head against the ceiling in your effort to avoid the crude faces that crawl underneath. Insects hide in the crevices of the jagged walls, disturbed and squirming as you whoosh past their lairs. Something about them makes you think they’re blind, but you wouldn’t know for sure since you won’t give yourself enough time to inspect them.

Something brushes your arm when the tunnel narrows, causing you to gasp and jerk embarrassingly only to realize that it was just soft moss. You give a sheepish look to Jimin when he turns to you. “Sorry, I’m a little jumpy.” So far, you haven’t encountered anything of noteworthy danger and you’re almost halfway through the log, and you start to think that maybe you were just being paranoid.

As you move along, the wood gets denser and the pathways become smaller, only allowing one person at a time. Laila’s wings are still visible due to the waning light, but you’ll have to fly faster if you want to keep an eye on them, so Jimin flies ahead of you since he’s generally faster and better at flying than you. Reluctantly, you release his hand and follow close behind, blind to what lies in front of you and solely relying on him to guide you forward.

“You okay?” He asks quietly, unable to turn and look at you.

“Yeah, keep going.” Is your quiet response, trailing right on his heels. “Can you still see them?”

“Just barely. Let’s try to go a little faster, I don’t think our wings will last too much longer.” Jimin can sense how his body seems to feel heavier on his wings. The transparent material of them is getting thinner and he isn’t sure how much longer they’ll be able to hold him up before they become unusable.

“Okay, I can keep up.” Picking up the pace, you start to feel less weary of the life around you. Nothing seems interested in your presence as you float by and that’s exactly how you like it.

The path opens up into a hollow section, allowing you more space, and you shift to the left of Jimin in order to see around him briefly. You intended to catch a glimpse of your guides, laser focusing your eyes in front of you so intensely that your surroundings are forgotten. Jimin remains in your peripheral as you squint through the darkness, but in an instant, he zips by and leaves you behind. Confused, you turn around to see if you got snagged on something and find yourself losing your balance and landing on something sticky. Long threads form a net around you and it dawns on you that they are the cause of your immobility— so naturally, you try to shake free from them, only to find that the more you struggle, the more parts of you become stuck. You barely have any time to process what this could possibly mean before several long legs emerge from the corner of your eye.

“It looks like there’s light up ahead. We’re almost out, (Y/n)!” Jimin smiles in relief, eyes still watching for the pair of wings that flutter several centimeters ahead. But when you don’t respond, his eyebrows crease. “(Y/n)?” Before he can even turn around, a blood curdling scream rips through his ears, the voice sounding alarmingly similar to yours. He spins around and immediately notices that you are no longer right behind him. How long have you been gone?! He races backwards toward the source of the scream, fear and worry bubbling in his chest with every second it takes to reach you as you let out another deafening scream.

The first thing he sees is the underside of an enormous body with 8 hairy legs protruding menacingly from its center. They splay out methodically to walk the thin cords beneath it with the expertise of a tight rope walker, graceful, long, and elegant in the most wretched way. Next, he spots you, placed in the center of its legs, completely caged in and frozen by the sheer size of the arachnid above you and shaking in terror. Jimin’s eyes drag up to find 8 odd black orbs locked on yours, sitting just above open jaws aimed directly at you. Before he can even stop himself, he’s calling out your name.

“(Y/n)!” It’s more of a reaction of surprise, but it catches the attention of the spider, who looks up from its prey with glazed eyes. But he is not the one that’s caught in its web, so it quickly returns its interest to you.

“Jimin?!” You cry out with an unsteady voice.

“I’m here, baby! Just stay calm.”

“How?!” You can’t see him because of how your back is facing his direction, but you can hear how panicked he sounds. He knows that spiders are your weakness. You suffer from mild arachnophobia and he’s sure that encountering a spider that is many times larger than you and moments away from eating you is intensifying that fear unimaginably. He has to think fast.

The first thing he can think of is to distract it, so he breaks off a piece of wood and taps it to the web, sending vibrations that catch the attention of the previously uninterested insect. It glances over with curiosity before making its way to the other side of the web to inspect the swinging wood chip that is now attached to the threads on one end. Taking this opportunity, Jimin runs over to you and pulls out his knife, praying to everything that it is holy that it really can cut anything. If this fails, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. He tries to break one of the threads with a quick slice, but when he brings the knife down, it promptly bounces off as though he had hit a steel wire, instead sending more vibrations that bring the spider back over to you. It hisses loudly, likely upset that he’s trying to steal its dinner, and it lunges at him with its fangs, barely missing him through the web. He falls backwards, but catches himself with his wings unsteadily.

He tries the same method again and again, shaking the already stuck stick to lure the spider over, then swinging his blade at the thick bindings that refuse to release you, to no avail.

“It’s not working! And I don’t have enough time to break the web because of the spider!” He’s clearly distressed, using all his force to push down and break the web that has the integrity of metal. Spider webs break easily to a human, but it’s an entirely different monster when you’re this small. This knife, this stupid knife that cost him an entire bag of spores is doing absolutely nothing, and his frustration grows with each slice.

Wait, that’s it!

“Jimin, the spores! Do you still have them?” The words come out hurried and jumbled, but miraculously he understands.

“Yeah, why?” He looks up at you, but swiftly jumps out of the way when the spider returns. This time it won’t leave you, guarding your body from the intruder, repeatedly striking and hissing at him to leave. The wings that hold Jimin up are weakening, he has to hurry or he won’t be able to reach you from the ground.

“Throw them on the spider! Bayard said that one bag is enough to ‘knock out something 10x our size’, you can use it to buy time and cut me out!” As you’re explaining, Jimin reaches for the pouch in his pocket, opening it to look at the small particles piled up inside. He isn’t sure if it’ll work as well as you hope but he has to try, so with only a second of hesitation, he looks back up at the colossus on top of you.

“Hold your breath.” Once he hears you inhale, the bag of spores is flung straight into the face of the spider, some getting in its mouth, most of it landing on and around its head, caught in the hairs that line its body. Your eyes close as they float around you, but you can feel how the spider stumbles back in shock, trying to shake the particles from itself. Jimin immediately gets to work with the knife, trying a sawing approach this time with every bit of hope poured into his efforts. Thankfully, the string breaks with just 2 back and forth motions, loosening the integrity of the web just the slightest bit. He works fast, snapping each connection around you until you’re falling backwards into his arms and away from the staggering monster.

He grabs your arm and pulls you along as you attempt to gather yourself, flying as best you can with the few unbroken strands still stuck to your wings, but you won’t let that stop you now.

“We’re not gonna make it, our wings are-“ You try to say, but Jimin cuts you off.

“There’s light up ahead, we just have to make it there.” Fairy Dust has begun to fall from both of your wings, leaving a shimmering trail behind you as you push them to their limit. They can barely carry you an inch off the ground now, but that’s all you need as long as you make it to the light. But of course, it’s never that easy. As if on cue, the spider comes barreling through the log from behind, its eyes crossed and confused as it swerves up the sides of the tunnel in pursuit of you, its legs scraping the dead wood and causing crackling and falling pieces avalanching down.

You scream, pushing yourself even harder to escape your doom, ducking under protruding chunks and narrow openings desperately. You know the feeling when something’s chasing you and you feel like it’s just a step away at all times just teasing you, waiting to grab you, and you can swear you feel them breathing down your neck no matter how far back they are? Yeah, this is one of those situations. Except the spider actually is just a step away, and the only reason it hasn’t caught you yet is because of the spores in its lungs. It lunges forward aggressively, just barely missing you and grazing the side of your right arm— had its aim been any better, you surely would be dead. It hallucinates several versions of you flying before its eyes, your screams echoing off the walls and damaging its overwhelmed senses. It stumbles, using its front leg to reach for you and barely missing your side with the razor edge of its claws, a feature you hadn’t known existed until now. But the claws are very real and your torn shirt is proof.

The light that Jimin was talking about suddenly emerges, the dim starlight seeming as bright as the sun compared to the dark that engulfed you within this black wood, and for a moment, hope sparks in your chest. But your heart drops to your stomach when both of you suddenly fall to the floor, your wings finally giving out as they continue to disappear. You scramble to your feet and take the lead, glancing back at the spider that is squeezing his way through the tiny opening you and Jimin managed to slip through, spitting foul noises at you out of rage.

“Up here!” Shelf fungi line the walls, creating a convenient ladder up to the top of the log that you climb, finding strength you never knew you had to pull yourself up each one. Jimin is close behind, pushing at your feet when you struggle near the top, but his eyes widen at the sight of the spider with half of its body through the opening, its legs flailing and scratching to pull itself through. The mushrooms end just a body length from the ledge of the log, your freedom just fingertips away, but you can’t reach from your height and you don’t have the strength to pull yourself all the way up.

Jimin nudges you out of the way, the adrenaline pumping wildly through his veins allowing him to jump up and grab hold of the ledge and pull himself up, disappearing on the other side; and for a moment you fear that he’ll leave you here. You gasp when your eyes meet the dizzy ones of your pursuer, it’s body nearly free, and panic rises within you like never before.

“(Y/n)!” Jimin calls, and you look up to find his hands reaching down to grab you, his hair and the top of his forehead the only thing visible. Without wasting another second, you jump up and grab his hands, and with strained grunts, he helps pull you up to his level on the outside of that Hell. “Where do we go now?”

You’re high up, really high, and it’s a long way down without your wings. Honestly, you hadn’t thought this far, but now isn’t the time to stop and think, not when you hear the sound of splintering wood and hissing beneath you. Jimin follows as you run forward, looking to the end of the timber suspiciously.

“(Y/n), what’s your plan here?!” The edge is nearing alarmingly fast and it looks to him like you intend to run right off the side. He wishes he could say that he was thinking of a plan too, but his mind becomes blank with terror the moment the spider re-emerges from the opening. It takes a few seconds to find you before chasing, its speed significantly slower now thanks to the spores, but it is enough to drive you forward with no hope of turning back. Leaving the only option to jump off the side. But you couldn’t be thinking that, there’s no way, because from this height you’d both break your legs from the landing, at best.

“Do you trust me?” You ask, your eyes determined. You can’t be thinking what he thinks you are. But despite his worries, he answers without hesitation.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” You pull out the whistle stored away in your pocket and blow, the noise barely audible over the bustle of the night. You blow into it again, this time longer, but nothing happens and the ledge is right in front of you. The skies are empty, few bugs crossing your paths as you come to a stop and look around, the creaking wood below your feet mocking you as you stand still. “Are you sure you trust me?” Jimin nods. “We need to jump.”

“Jump?!” He’s not sure he heard you right. But then again, what choice does he have? The spider seems drunk behind you, clumsily galloping toward you with eyes that look through you, and if it doesn’t eat you it’ll surely smack directly into you and push you off the cliff, spelling your doom either way. Jimin watches as you blow the whistle again and step closer to the edge, looking down at the drop with that determined look he’s seen so many times. You’re serious. But you haven’t been wrong yet, so with a deep breath, he steps up next to you. “I trust you.”

He doesn’t say this with a tone that holds doubt, it's a definitive statement. And that makes you smile. Even if you are leading him to your deaths, you know Jimin has his full faith in you, so you take his hand and pray that this works. On your count, you both jump, your lips on the whistle that you continue to blow. As air rushes past your face, you squeeze Jimin’s hand and search your surroundings during the slowest, most uncertain seconds of your life.

Suddenly, a flash of green and red appears with lightning speed and before you know it, you’re landing on the hard back of the creature with a force strong enough to drop her a couple of inches and rip your hand out of Jimin’s. He lands straight in the center of Garnet’s back, but you skid off the side, grabbing at the smooth surface of her body helplessly. But Jimin has quick reflexes and latches onto your arm, using his strength for the second time to pull you onto Garnet’s back. You secure your arms around him tightly as he holds the reins and tells her to take you to Alva and Laila, who are probably already out of the log and waiting for you. Hopefully she can understand what he’s asked. Looking up, you catch sight of the spider just as it careens off the edge of the wood, following you blindly with now uncontrolled limbs and foggy eyes, it’s body narrowly missing you as it falls all the way to the ground, crumpled into an unconscious heap. That uneasy feeling in your stomach almost immediately subsides, and you tighten your arms around your boyfriend with a sigh of relief, burying your face in his shoulder and breathing in his scent to calm your pounding heart.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt at all?” His worry is heavy and it warms you.

“I’m fine, just a little shaken up.” It’s probably just the shock, but you feel oddly at ease. You know that later— maybe tomorrow— you’ll be freaking out about your worst nightmare nearly coming true if it weren’t for Jimin. “Thank you for saving me.”

Your surroundings are serene, the night air warm and soothing. The landscape is pretty from this perspective. Full of hidden terrors and thrills, everything looking so peaceful despite you nearly losing your life moments ago.

“I said I would protect you.” He smiles cockily, and you giggle into his shirt. “But seriously, you did most of the work. We make a great team; let’s keep working together.” If Jimin was being honest, he doesn’t think he’d be able to save you if it wasn’t for your quick wit. His brain is no good in times of trial, he freezes up mentally, and though he jumps into action without a second thought, he rarely has the capacity to come up with an effective plan. You are certainly the brains of the operation, and the more he thinks about it, the more attractive your intelligence becomes. He wouldn’t want to be in this situation with anyone else in the world, and he means that with his whole heart.

When Garnet lands, Laila runs over to you, helping you and Jimin off her back with care and concern. She looks you over, gasping at the tear in your shirt. “What happened?! You disappeared toward the end and we heard screams, but Alva said we couldn’t go back. I was so worried for you! Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

You explain what happened bashfully, feeling embarrassed that you were the one to screw up the plan, but neither of the fairies seem upset by it.

“We’re just glad you made it out alright.” Alva reassures in a rare moment of sentiment.  “Do you still have the Fairy Dust?”

Thankfully, the bag remains untouched and secure around your waist. You weren’t thinking about it during that near death experience, but you’re glad that it wasn’t lost in all the action. After Laila takes the time to physically examine you to make sure you actually weren’t hurt, they lead you ahead to the last leg of your journey.

Though they had talked at length about the stink bugs’ fortress, you were completely unprepared by the sheer number of bugs that were involved. You were forced to go the rest of the way on foot and had the chance to see the change in landscape that came as you neared the water. Where you would expect luscious plant growth you were instead met with hole riddled leaves and weeds, plants wilting with eaten roots, and scarred fruit littering the area, much different from the land closer to the meadow. Laila explains that these bugs are rapidly expanding their feeding grounds and will soon take over this side of the stream, and the thought sends a chill up your spine. But it isn’t until the water is in sight that you see the perpetrators of all this damage.

It’s almost like a swarm of bugs appears out of thin air once you cross a certain threshold, all of them crawling from under rocks and holes in the ground, flying up from plants where they were once hidden, and disgusted chills overcome you again at the sight of them. Jimin steps closer to you, putting an arm out in front of your body protectively when they form a wall in front of the 4 of you.

Laila steps forward, walking up to meet one bug that stands in the center of them all. She communicates with it for a few seconds, again amazing you with her lingual skills, and when she’s done, it turns away and flies in the opposite direction, leaving its army to stand guard. You don’t know what she said, or what is even happening right now as you seem to be standing in a stalemate, so you decide to ask.

“Was that the leader?” You whisper, as if speaking any louder would break the tension and prompt fighting with the soldiers ahead of you.

“No,” Alva answers, looking at her girlfriend’s back as she stands strong. “That’s only a messenger. I think she has asked to speak directly to the leader and the messenger agreed.”

“You think?” Jimin questions, tilting his head.

“Yeah, Alva, why don’t you know how to speak to bugs? Isn’t that a power you fairies have?” You join, blinking at her innocently.

“No it’s not some inherent power all fairies have, it’s a skill. A skill that I do not possess.”

“Well why not? I think it would be useful to learn.” You nod in agreement to Jimin’s words.

“Laila could probably teach you! Hey, babe, did you know they’re dating?” You ask excitedly, ignoring the winged woman to converse with your own significant other, but she cuts in quickly.

“This isn’t about me!” Her wings flick and you both stop talking, wordlessly returning your attention to the front where the bug returns with another creature in tow.

“Why the long look, Laila? Aren’t you glad to see me?” The voice of a man cuts through the air and you look up to find a thin fairy fluttering toward you, landing a few steps away from your comrade as she glares intensely at him. He’s colored brown similarly to the bugs he commands, but he is so twig-like that you could mistake him for a stick insect with wings. His features are as undefined as every other fairy you’ve encountered so far, but you can still tell he’s grinning by the way he opens his arms merrily.

“That’s their leader?” You whisper to your boyfriend, who looks on with the same shocked expression you wear.

“I have no desire to see your face.” Laila spits, shocking you even further. “You kidnapped Nissa, you do not deserve my kindness.”

“Is that so?” His arms drop to his sides. “Then, what brings you here, oh fair and beautiful warrior?” She visibly cringes at his words, Alva also wrinkling her face at his unwanted compliments.

“We’ve come to negotiate for our leader,” Alva speaks up, stepping closer to him to draw his attention. He scoffs, saying something about the two women not being allowed into his territory in order to negotiate, but she stands firm. “That is why we have brought ambassadors with us this time; surely, they are not banned as well?” His eyes then shift to yours, squinting at you and Jimin with a perplexed look. It’s probably the clothes that are throwing him off, you think.

“And what have they come to offer me? Will my sweet Laila finally trade herself in for her leader and become my bride?” A goofy smile crosses his lips, but it’s quickly wiped away with your next words.

“No, I will. I’ll become your bride in exchange for their leader.”

“What?” Jimin turns to you so fast that you think he’ll give himself whiplash, staring at you in disbelief. He must have heard you incorrectly, why would you say something like that? Placing his hands on your shoulders, he turns you to look at him, checking your face for any hints of a lie. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am serious, Jimin.” You say, looking back at his eyes. “If I offer myself to him, then Nissa will be free to go and there’s a chance for this place to be saved.”

“Yeah, but... we’re not even fairies. We don’t belong here. Why would you trade your own freedom for them?”

“Just because we aren’t one of them, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do everything in our power to help them. Their situation is hopeless without us, I can’t just sit here and let them suffer— not when I can do something about it.” It’s not that Jimin didn’t want to help them, it’s just that he’s not willing to give you up in exchange. And yes, all of your plans have worked so far, but this is going a little overboard.

“I want to help them too, but isn’t there another way?”

“This is the best way.” You say resolutely.

“But I can’t let you, (Y/n)! I can’t let you live with bugs for the rest of your life. Forget that, I can’t let you marry anyone else! I want to be the one you spend the rest of your life with— I love you! And I’m not willing to give you up for anything.” Your heart skips at his confession, your resolve wavering for a second. He’s never said anything like that to you before and it almost makes you dizzy with emotion. “I said I would keep you safe through all of this, and if we learned anything throughout this experience it’s that we need to work as a team, so it would be irresponsible of me to let you go through with this. Don’t forget, this is real life, no matter how surreal it seems, and you have a life to go back to after this.” His eyes are pleading, but you’ve already decided on this.

“You said you trusted me.” You say quietly, lip in a straight line.

“I do, but-“

“Do you trust me?” You ask again, his mouth left open with unspoken words. He takes a moment to answer, dropping his head.

“Yes.”

“Then trust that I know what I’m doing. We’re still a team, babe, I can’t do this without you. Go save their leader and trust that I’ll be okay. I have a feeling that everything will turn out well in the end.” Though his heart is hurting, Jimin let’s go of your shoulders, frowning deeply with conflicting emotions swimming in his eyes. For who?, he wants to ask, but he can’t say anything more.

“Now that I look at you, you are quite pretty.” The fairy walks up to you, bowing and kissing your hand. “Hello, I’m Hix. And you are?”

“(Y/n).” You reply simply, his lips feeling ticklish on your hand like when the wings were being attached to your back.

“And what are you, exactly?” He directs the question to both you and Jimin, but Laila answers.

“Humans. From a distant land.” Her arms are crossed and she’s still giving him the most disgusted look possible, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’ve never seen a human before... they must be rare. Esteemed much higher than a fairy leader.” Hix thinks aloud, a finger on his chin. After a few seconds of deliberation, he comes to the conclusion that this is a worthy trade. “Come with me. We can discuss this further once we’re inside.”

“What about him?” You point to Jimin and Hix pauses, raising an eyebrow.

“What about him?” He asks incredulously.

“He should come with us. He’s my... assistant.” You say slowly, hoping the excuse works. None of this matters if Jimin isn’t welcome in the fortress with you. Hix accepts with little thought, leading you away with a short farewell to your fairy accomplices, but Alva pulls Jimin aside as he passes her.

“Don’t worry, (Y/n)’s a smart girl and she can talk her way out of almost anything. She has a plan, just make sure you get Nissa out of there.” She leaves him with that as he follows you through the army of stink bugs, each of them dispersing once you reach the fortress.

His home is nothing to brag about, it doesn’t come close to the innovation and beauty of Laila and Alva’s place, but it is structurally sound and complex, so it has a few things going for it. It’s colors are of mud and dead plants, it’s foundations rooted in the bleak gray of smooth stones, and you find it to be quite depressing.

“Do you live here alone?” You ask. You can’t imagine staying in a place like this all by yourself. Maybe that’s why he’s so desperate to find a wife.

“Yes. I also built this place by myself, so it’s very personal.” The smile on his face is proud and your eyebrows scrunch in sympathy. He leads you two to a wide room before he remembers that Jimin is with you, turning abruptly to face him.

“You may leave us now, assistant.” He commands rudely, and you reach for Jimin’s hand just as he makes his exit.

“Here. Take this to her.” You whisper, slipping the bag of Fairy Dust to him discreetly. Of course, he’s reluctant to leave you alone with this strange fairy, but you seem confident so he’ll do his best for you. Since there is no one else around, not even guard bugs, he is free to roam the fortress, and he enters a hallway to begin the search for Nissa.

The building is much more complex than he expected. The hallways wind and most lead to dead ends, leaving him confused in a maze of empty, doorless rooms. Jimin finds that the fortress isn’t completely deserted, there were a few close calls with some bugs that were monitoring certain hallways, but after searching surrounding areas he comes to the conclusion that they must be guarding something important.

Maybe I can just walk past them? He thinks, biting his plush bottom lip as he spies on the occupied corridor from around the corner. He is a guest here after all. But what would he do if they questioned him, or worse, what if they attacked? Since he knows none of their language and he isn’t sure they can understand him, he goes with a stealth tactic.

Shimmying along the brown walls, Jimin moves as slowly as possible so as not to draw any attention to himself. There’s another turn up ahead, just before the entry way that the insects keep watch over, and the plan is to slip into it and cause a distraction in the opposite direction to get them to walk away. He thinks he’s seen that in a movie somewhere, but he’s praying it’ll work in real life. The halls are wide to accommodate the girth of the shelled backs of Hix’s soldiers and Jimin feels exposed, inching his way toward the opening and hoping they don’t spot him. Of course, the bugs are low to the ground, crawling around on all fours which would make his feet very easy to spot from their vantage point, but they appear to be talking with one another, their heads so small compared to their bodies that he can’t even see their mouths. They probably wouldn’t be able to do much if they did decide to attack, but he wouldn’t risk it to find out. He continues at his painstaking pace noiselessly, holding his breath to make 2 bold leaps into the opening, so close to them that the breeze from his motion causes them to look up.

They make a noise but make no attempts to investigate, and after a few silent seconds, Jimin throws out his distraction. The only thing he has on him is the whistle Laila gave him and the bag of Fairy Dust, so he fishes the small shiny tool out of his pocket and holds it in his palm, hoping dearly that he won’t need it in the future. He isn’t even sure Nissa is behind this door, so losing important items could be costly, but he has to trust himself. You’re counting on him after all. And you’d probably come up with a silly plan like this if you were in his situation too. He tries to have a little more faith. With 2 short deep breaths, Jimin gathers his courage and throws the whistle down the hall, snatching his head back behind the cover and closing his eyes when it clinks loudly against the dry walls. Now he’s caught—he’s sure— because they have to walk right past him to reach the noise and he tenses in preparation.

But miraculously, the plan works!

The pair of stink bugs crawl swiftly to the end of the corridor, giving him the perfect opportunity to slip into the now unguarded room. Upon entering, he sees what appears to be a normal bedroom, decorated nicely with windows that overlook the water and furniture that would make for comfortable living. But oddly, the room is unoccupied. Surely this would be where Hix would keep the fairy leader, unless this is his personal bedroom and he just has very feminine taste. But she’s nowhere to be found and disappointment curls around the pit of Jimin’s stomach. As a last effort, he calls out her name, wondering if she would be hiding somewhere.

“Nissa?” A few seconds go by and nothing happens, but just as he turns to leave, motion in the corner of the room startles him. Seeming to peel right from the wall itself is a figure, invisible at first glance, but slowly morphing into a distinguished body right before his eyes. Nissa changes color as she walks up to him, eying him suspiciously with every tentative step.

“Who are you?” Her voice is high but strong, her stance so intimidating that Jimin feels as though she were here to rescue him and not the other way around. She is most definitely a warrior.

“Uhm,” He clears his throat when his voice threatens to crack. “Alva and Laila sent me and my girlfriend here to help you escape. I-if you want to.”

She lets out a hearty laugh at that, her defensive posture slacking into something more relaxed and casual, and subconsciously Jimin’s body does the same. “I’ve been planning an escape for days, I can’t wait to get out of this place.” He wants to say something else, but instead he just stands awkwardly for a few seconds. Clearly, he isn’t as good with people as you are. “So, you’re human?”

“Yes.” He tilts his head at her and she grins.

“Laila must have done a pretty good job with the spell if you’re still in one piece.” His eyes widen as she walks past him, looking through the opening of the doorway.

“Why haven’t you escaped yet? The door’s wide open.” Actually there’s no door, but those are technicalities. He watches with interest as she presses her hand to the thin air, pulling it back sharply as though she had been shocked. But he’d just entered through there, there’s no way it could be sealed off.

“Hix sealed this room with magic. Don’t worry, though, it only works on fairies so you shouldn’t be affected by the barrier. My plan was to make the room look empty so he’d think I had already escaped, then to leave once he broke the barrier; but since you’re here I can use a different strategy.” Nissa turns to Jimin abruptly, her smooth features glowing brighter with an idea. “I need materials. Can you get them for me?”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Jimin gives her the bag of Fairy Dust that he had nearly forgotten about, and the relief on her face is clear once it’s in her possession. She thanks him, thinking quickly before nodding her head.

“Okay. I need a leaf and some wood. There should be a stash of leaves somewhere on the other side of this fortress and twigs scattered outside.” Just as Jimin goes to step out of the door, the guards return, stopping in front of the doorway without even glancing inside. He ducks behind the wall just to be sure, he and Nissa sharing a brief wide-eyed look. She grabs his wrist and wordlessly pulls him to the far side of the room, opening the bag of Fairy Dust he had just given her and pulling out a fist full. Jimin watches with fascination as she manipulates it between her hands, the consistency changing right before his eyes as she displays her mastery with the medium. Soon, it’s worked into a thin film and before he can react, she holds up her palms to him and blows into it like a bubble, the film stretching over his body from head to toe until he’s completely covered. Nissa pinches off the bubble, but it doesn’t pop. Instead, it tightens around him like a second skin, leaving him glistening and shiny with the odd texture of the material. “There.” She says proudly, grinning when he gives a ticklish shiver.

“What is this?” From what he can tell, nothing has changed except for the fact that he looks like he's wrapped in plastic.

“I just made you invisible. Now, you can leave without being noticed,” She explains, turning and pushing him toward the door. “They won’t be able to see what you’re holding when you’re like this, but they can still hear you, so be as quiet as possible. Now go, time is of the essence!”

Ever so carefully, Jimin steps out of the room and around the bugs. He presses himself to the wall, hoping that he doesn’t accidentally touch one of them or make a noise— he’s known to be pretty clumsy, so he needs to be extra careful. The hallways are fairly clear, he has an easy time making it to the other side of the fortress and gathering a leaf from what looks to be a break room of sorts. Next is the wood, and his plan is to slip outside, but just as he is passing by the large room that you’re in, he hears something curious.

“Ow!” You hiss, a scowl etched into your features as Hix prods you with a wooden staff. You appear to be frozen in place, your body unnaturally rigid, and telling by the shimmering quality of your clothes and skin, Hix probably cast some sort of spell on you.

“This is very interesting,” He hums, jabbing you in the back near your shoulder blades. “You look like you should have wings. They should be right here.” He drags the staff along your back, obviously perplexed. “Is this a genetic defect of some sort? You say you’re human?”

“Are you finished?” You ask impatiently, ignoring his questioning.

“I don’t entirely trust you yet. I need to make sure you aren’t just a fairy that’s trying to trick me to help Nissa escape. Even if you are who you say you are, there’s no guarantee that I’ll let her go. Surely I’ll gain some status if I have 2 wives. One who’s powerful and one that’s exotic.” He continues to circle you. Jimin fumes at that, ready to do something, but then you speak again.

“What’s your goal here?” You seem calm, and something tells him to wait.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you doing this? Why did you suddenly decide to kidnap Nissa and invade this area?” Hix debates whether or not he should tell you this or not, but in the end, opens up. There’s just something about you that makes people do that.

“The fairies treated me so poorly here. I was an outcast and everyone always excluded me, barely even considering me a fairy just because I had a knack for destroying things. Do you know how it feels to be rejected by your own people? Well I’ll tell you: it sucks. Most bugs didn’t even want to socialize with me, having heard rumors from the fairies about me and not even giving me a chance. I was sad and lonely and spiteful, so I decided that I’ll become powerful and gain control over this side of the water and force everyone to pay attention to me!”

“Is that what you want? Attention?”

“Yes. I want everyone to acknowledge me and see that I’m not worthless. If I control the waterway, I control everything. And if I have the fairy leader at my side as my wife, there’s no way anyone can ignore me anymore. I won’t have to be lonely or outcast, pushed to the corner where I’m out of sight and out of mind. My friends on the other side of the stream helped me realize that if I want to be happy, I need to be at the top.” He says this thoughtfully, placing his poking stick to the side and coming to stand in front of you.

“But this won’t make you happy. Sure, you’ll be married and may be able to control this area, but really, all you’ll have is a wife that doesn’t love you and a land full of people that hate you. They all know you kidnapped Nissa so she isn’t really on your side, and that your minions are destroying this place. The type of attention you’re getting from this isn’t the kind you want, trust me. It’s only confirming their thoughts about you.” He narrows his eyes at you, clearly disliking your reasoning.

“Then what do you suggest I do?” As the two of you stand face to face, Jimin decides to take this chance to creep over and steal Hix’s wooden stick. That way he won’t be able to poke you anymore and will inadvertently be aiding in his captive’s escape. Jimin hadn’t planned on staying to listen to your conversation, but what you say next makes him pause.

“What you need is to find real love and passion. I have someone that I love with my whole heart and I’ve been so happy since I met him. He’s a person that makes me feel brave, that would protect me at all costs, that takes me on adventures outside of my comfort zone, and I’ve grown so much just from being around him. On top of that, he helped me find my passion for exploration and travel, and we’ve had so many new experiences together that I wouldn’t have even dreamed of with anyone else. That’s what you need. You need someone— a lover or a friend— that challenges you and makes you happy. All of this stuff is great, but it doesn’t mean anything to you. In fact, all it does is hurt the people involved, including yourself. You’re not a bad person, you just need to branch out and find yourself. Let all of this go and find what really brings you joy.”

Was what you said true? Did you really feel that way about him? Jimin feels like his heart is about to burst at your confession. Although it wasn’t meant for him to hear, that makes it that much more sincere. He told you he loved you a little while ago and you didn’t even react, but hearing you say this eases every worry he had. Now motivated more than ever to finish this ordeal and get back to normal life with you, he snatches up the stick and hurries back to Nissa as Hix thinks over your words, his resolve looking shaken.

“You’re back!” She says as he enters, looking at him as though she can see him. She removes the spell on him, the film around him disappearing with the flick of her hand. Swiftly, she takes the leaf and staff from Jimin, moving to a table to drop the contents onto a prepared pile of dust. “Hix’s staff? Nice choice.” She giggles inspecting the wood with satisfaction before coating the items in the powder. After less than a minute she produces her finished product, the new staff glowing brightly. “Hold this.”

She thrusts it into his hands, and to his surprise, it’s quite heavy compared to the almost weightless stick he brought to her. Nissa walks over to the barrier, hands covered in dust, and places them in the center. Her palms move over the barrier independently, as if searching for something, and after a few seconds, she returns to him to take the staff back with now clean hands. He watches in awe as spots of gold seemingly float in midair as if attached to glass and the fairy walks over wielding her tool, not hesitating for a second before thrusting the blunt edge into the gold spots. Sparkles radiate out along the doorway with every strike, her technique looking like a fencing player expertly brandishing her rapier, and as soon as the last spot is pierced, the barrier flashes once and dissipates into a plume of dust. The dust lands on the stink bugs underneath, both of them falling to the floor, and the woman simply steps over their sleeping bodies without batting an eyelash.

“Come on, let’s go!” She waves him over, snapping Jimin out of his stupor as he follows her into the hall. They make their way back to you cautiously, avoiding all enemies as they navigate through the fortress.

Meanwhile, you sit with Hix on one of the benches in the center of the large room, your backs facing the entrance. You didn’t mean for this to turn into a therapy session, but somehow you ended up listening to all of his problems and sympathizing with the struggles he’s faced leading up to this, trying to help resolve this conflict peacefully.

“If you have friends on the other side of the stream, why don’t you just move there and live with them?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed in pity. “You would have a better life where they already accept you, instead of trying to force others to see your worth here.”

After giving this some thought, Hix stares out of the window in front of you. The water passes lazily outside, the other side looking several times farther away than when you were normal sized. “Maybe you’re right... but I put so much time and effort into this plan, I can’t give it up so easily.”

“You can! I know it seems like a waste of time, but the damage hasn’t been done yet. Things aren’t set in stone, you can still change your path and redirect yourself in a better direction. You haven’t married Nissa yet and your stink bugs haven’t destroyed this area, but if you continue like this, you may end up doing something irreversible and regretting it. Walk away now and start over. People don’t get many chances to do that in life.”

“But-“ He shakes his head. “They’re never going to forgive me for what I’ve done. I kidnapped their leader and threatened our home!” His head drops to his hands, and you put a hand on his back.

“They might not ever be able to forgive you, and that’s okay. But what’s important is that you never forget and use this experience to better yourself as a fairy. Look back on who you are now and tell yourself that you’ll never make the same mistakes again. I believe in you, Hix. I know you aren’t bad, you’ve just had a hard life— and I know I can’t do anything to make up for that, but I truly wish you the best in the future.” Your smile brings him to lift his eyes to look at you.

He sighs, looking at your sparkling eyes. You seem passionate about this and he can’t understand why you care so much about this. About him. You aren’t even a fairy from here, yet you’ve shown him more compassion than anyone in his entire life. And for the first time, his heart thumps wildly in his chest with warmth.

Nissa and Jimin arrive at the doorway, both peeking their heads in to see what was happening. They see you talking with Hix, your backs facing them, but the fairy looks to be in some sort of turmoil next to you, his head in his hands, looking mildly distressed. Jimin moves to interrupt, but Nissa holds her hand out in front of him, whispering to keep watching before taking action.

“I’ve had a change of heart because of you. I think it would be best if I did move to the other side of the water, away from the creatures I hurt and oppressed here. You’ve opened my eyes, (Y/n). You truly are a beautiful soul inside and out.”

He looks up at you again before suddenly lunging at you and pulling you into a hug, but from another perspective it looks as though he’s grabbing you and pulling you to him against your will. Nissa and Jimin gasp as they see your eyes wet with tears, and as soon as one slips down your cheek, they jump into action.

“I’m sorry you were treated so badly here. I wish I was born a fairy so that I could be your friend and change how things were for you.” You mumble sadly into the embrace, to which he chuckles.

“Thank you for your empathy, but you do not mean that. You have another life to live. Go be happy with your lover and tell him that you love him everyda-“

THUNK!

Nissa storms over from her hiding place and swings her club down, landing squarely on the back of Hix’s head. A short scream falls from your lips when he goes limp, the noise echoing in the room as he falls out of your arms and off of the bench onto his face, laying flat on the floor. Jimin pulls you up and into his arms, replacing the space where your new friend had been without a second thought. Cradling you into his chest, he misses the horrified look you have on your face.

“Did he hurt you? Are you okay? Did he touch you or make you do anything against your will?” His eyes are worried and you almost don’t have it in your heart to be angry. Almost.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You shout, looking down at his body. “Oh my god, did you kill him?” Jimin holds you as you try to go over to Hix, but you rip out of his grasp to kneel down to your new friend.

“Of course I didn’t kill him, he still needs to face the consequences of his crimes. I just knocked him unconscious.” The fairy beside Jimin says nonchalantly, looking incredibly satisfied with the sight of him lying unconscious.

“Why? He just agreed to let us go and move to the other side of the water! We resolved this peacefully!” Your eyes are flames as you look at them, and Nissa’s mouth falls open.

“Wait, he what?!” Even Jimin looks surprised. Yes, you are the most charming and persuasive person he’s ever met, but did you really sweet talk a villain in such a short amount of time?

Before you can say anything, several stink bugs enter the room, the commotion causing them to check on their leader. Their tiny eyes land on you leaning over his limp body, Nissa with a club and Jimin standing suspiciously near the scene of the crime. You try to explain— as if they would even understand you— but the wings on their backs open up and they begin to charge toward you aggressively.

There’s little time to react as Jimin grabs hold of your wrist and pulls you up, dragging you along as he follows the fleeing fairy that dashes toward the exit. You have no choice but to run with them, looking behind you only to be met with the large armored bodies of your pursuers. They close in from the left, right, and from behind as you head toward the door, close to cutting off your exit. You and Jimin sprint past Nissa when she suddenly twists around to face them, and with one swing of her club, the bugs are pushed backwards, allowing the three of you to make your escape.

Fresh air slaps you in the face once you make it outside, the humidity and guilt feeling suffocating in your lungs. In your heart you know this isn’t right. You connected with Hix, you made so much progress with him, but in the end violence was still used to get your way despite that. Yes, you and Nissa escaped, but someone else was hurt in the process. If Hix decided to go back to his original plan, you wouldn’t blame him, but you still feel horrible about how things turned out. You suppose your gut feeling was wrong after all.

“Babe, we have to keep running or they’ll catch us!” Jimin breathes exasperatedly, your feet slowing down beneath you without you noticing. A swarm of guards are now flying in from all sides, there’s no way you’ll be able to get around them. But that doesn’t mean Nissa won’t try, the fairy flying up to smack down the insects in an attempt to clear a path. But she’s just one woman and it won’t be enough, and you can’t force yourself to keep going. Just then, Alva and Laila appear, joining their warrior leader in the battle, knocking down the bugs to help you advance forward, but by now, you’ve stopped running. “(Y/n)!” Jimin pleads, tugging on your arm, but you ignore him.

Looking around, all you can see is a mess of flailing bodies and Fairy Dust, warriors attacking each other for an irrelevant cause. The sounds of buzzing and grunts fills your ears at an unsettling volume. It’s pure chaos. You hoped to avoid this— a war where others get hurt instead of solving things diplomatically and sensibly. As the appointed “diplomat”, you supposed you failed if things had to come to this.

“Alva, Laila, Nissa! Please stop!” You shout at them when one falls to the ground roughly. “You don’t need to fight, Hix has changed! He was about to let us go, there’s no need to fight unnecessarily!” They barely spare you a glance, the three of them trying to push through the blockade.

“Then why are they attacking you?” Alva points out, ducking as one bug tries to tackle her.

“You really believe he’s changed?” The leader asks, strained.

“Yes, he has. I could tell just by looking at him, he was telling the truth.” Nissa looks unconvinced, scoffing at your response.

“Then you don’t know him like I do.” She clearly doesn’t trust what you say, so you turn to your boyfriend, hoping he’ll be more understanding. Jimin looks at you and into your eyes, reading your emotions as if they were written in ink. He knows from experience that you’re a great judge of character and that you’re seldom wrong about things like this, but at the same time, you’re talking about the person who has tormented this side of the stream so much that the fairies here needed to recruit the two of you for help. It’s hard to believe that you’d be able to change him so easily. Only a few seconds pass but he feels like he’s standing there for minutes debating on if he should take your side or not. But he trusts you— you need him to trust you— so he does.

“I believe you.” He says quietly, letting go of your arm, much to your relief. You’ve always been a pacifist, so he knows you’ll take this personally if anything bad happens to any of your comrades. He calls up to the others. “If she says he’s changed, then he has! Please, stop fighting.”

“How can you be so sure?” Laila questions, looking down at the two of you briefly.

“I know my girlfriend. (Y/n) wouldn’t lie about something like this.” As he speaks, nobody notices the male exiting the fortress with a throbbing head, looking out at all of the action in front of him. “Laila, Alva, you brought us here to help save your land, and it was (Y/n) who convinced me to help you do it. The least you could do is believe her and listen to what she has to say. She cares so deeply about this place after only being here for a short time, she would never do anything to hurt you. Just please stop attacking and listen. You don’t have to believe her right now but at least stop fighting.” Jimin isn’t nearly as eloquent with his words as you are, but you can’t help but smile at his short speech. It may not mean anything that he’s taking your side, but you appreciate the support nonetheless. And to your surprise, everyone does stop fighting soon after.

The stink bugs land in an orderly pattern, standing solidly like before as Hix approaches dizzily from behind. Your three friends land as well, glaring at the man who now holds his head with a sorrowful look on his face. Without seeing him, you step forward, prepared to explain all that you have learned. You tell them of how you listened to Hix (the first time anyone has ever done that) and found that he was just a misunderstood and lonely villain of their own creation. You spoke of how he simply wanted to be acknowledged, and how all of the creatures around did everything in their power to make sure he never received that acknowledgement by spreading untrue rumors about his character. Hix isn’t evil, you explained, he’s just desperate to be one of them, and if it took him going to such extreme measures for them to finally notice him and his struggles, then the problem lies with them and not him.

“So he won your pity? Good for him. But that still doesn’t excuse what he’s done.” Alva crosses her arms, followed by Nissa, Laila staying silent.

“Yes, I know.” He finally speaks up from behind you, looking dejected and apologetic when you snap your head around to look at him. Upon seeing him, Jimin steps in front of you out of instinct, not liking how physically close the two of you were before the escape. You trust Hix, but it is still his duty to make sure that you are safe. Your hand rests on his side, but you don’t push him out of the way, simply peeking out from behind his back to watch as the fairy speaks. “I know that what I have done is unforgivable, but this human has given me a lot of insight. Enough to change my heart.”

They scoff at him, but refrain from speaking at your sharp glare. Hix approaches you, but Jimin stands firm, holding his arms out to block him— something that surprises the mud colored fairy before you.

“It’s okay, Jimin.” You say, placing a gentle hand to his shoulder in reassurance. Hix looks on in awe as you stare into each other’s eyes, communicating in an unspoken language that makes your boyfriend slowly comply and allow you to step into the open. But he still makes sure you’re right at his side. He won’t let you out of his sight again.

“I see. So this “assistant” is your lover?” Hix grins in realization, donning sparkles in his eyes. You nod. “I’ve never... known love or kindness. But seeing you like this, and having experienced the kindness you showed to me— a complete stranger— makes me want to find it on my own. Away from here.” His fingers are soft when they touch your arm, color painting his cheeks. Nissa gapes at this, not having seen the man be so tender before. She’s only seen his bitterness or the mocking, teasing persona he used when addressing Laila, whom he’s long had a crush on. He turns to them, addressing the three that stare in shock. “No amount of apologies will undo the trouble I’ve caused, but I’m willing to take whatever punishment you all decide for me. I want you to know that I plan on moving to the other side of the water, where I was more welcome there than I ever was here, and I will never bother you again. Nissa, I’m sorry I kidnapped you.” He looks down sheepishly. “It was very childish of me to think that it would solve anything, and instead it just caused more conflict and fighting. You are completely justified in knocking me out. Let this lump on the back of my head be a reminder of my wrongdoings and keep me on the right path.”

You stifle a laugh at that, biting your lip to hide your smile.

Then, Hix turns to you once more, looking between you and Jimin’s faces. “You are very wise,” You blush at this, feeling the earnestness in his compliment. “You said earlier that this person is someone you love, correct?” He asks, pointing to Jimin, to which you nod shyly. “Well, he is very lucky to have someone like you: someone so sincere and caring. Never change.” His eyes find Jimin’s. “I don’t know much about love, but she thinks of you very fondly. Please treat her with all the delicacy in the world and never let her go.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, blushing furiously at your confession coming from the wrong mouth. You try not to look mortified when he looks down at you, your cheeks shaded prettily as well and lifted into a soft smile. He doesn’t plan on letting you go any time soon, and this whole experience has made him want to hold on to you tighter than before.

“What should we do with him?” Nissa whispers to her companions, eyeing the remorseful male that comes to stand in front of her.

“You are our leader, I think you should decide.” Alva replies. An odd look crosses Nissa’s face then, one that almost mirrors her enemy’s as they look back at each other.

“I’m your leader...” She mutters thoughtfully before standing straight. “I’m no leader. I caused everything that’s happened, everything that Hix has done. The rumors that ruined his reputation: I started them. I... I didn’t realize that my words could have so much power— that as the leader of the meadow that I had the strength to destroy someone just by giving my misguided opinion of them. No, I never liked you Hix,” He rolls his eyes at that. “But I never meant to cause you such pain. You deserve to live a normal life, so as leader I will allow you to leave without punishment.” Shocked, he bows his head in thanks.

“How noble and humble of you to admit your faults.” Laila comments quietly, her cheery attitude returning.

“Furthermore,” Nissa continues. “I’m stepping down.”

“What?! You can’t do that!” Alva protests loudly, eyebrows shooting up as she leaves the ground just slightly in her surprise. Laila also seems shocked, but she grabs her lover’s arm and tells her to calm down and let her explain.

“A real leader doesn’t slander others mindlessly. They are diplomatic and generous with a perfect balance of modesty and fierceness. I believe Laila fits that description perfectly.” Everyone turns to her then, your eyes lighting up when they meet hers for the first time this entire night. “Laila, I name you the new leader of the meadow. We can officially title you in front of everyone in the morning.”

You all clap, Alva jumping on her in a tight hug, the taller fairy spinning her girlfriend around before setting her feet back to the ground. Jimin smiles at the adorable display, his arm thoughtlessly wrapping around your waist and pulling you into his side. Your eyes are glued to him as he watches the happy couple. You’re happy he’s here with you through all of this. It’ll all feel like a crazy dream in the morning, but at least he’ll be there to recount all of your experiences with you.

“Since you’re giving up your position, whatdoya say we both start over across the water?” Hix interjects, wiggling his eyebrows at Nissa. “We could build a new place, find ourselves-“

“NO.” She cuts him off sharply, her wings twitching similarly to Alva’s.

“Well, then... I guess it’s time for me to go.” He says, pout on his lips, but it disappears when he turns to face the stream. In his eyes, you can see him envisioning his new future, the possibilities of having a new life where he doesn’t have to feel lonely and rejected anymore. You wish him the best, you truly do. He walks up to the water’s edge, dipping himself in safely and re-emerging looking clean. His real complexion is actually a dark leafy green, and you assume he colored himself brown to fit in with the stink bugs. He calls the creatures and they come flying up to him, all of them floating over the water together and dispersing into the wildlife there.

“I guess my gut feeling was right after all.” You tell Jimin, giving him a toothy grin. “Everything turned out just fine.”

You ride Garnet back to the meadow, yawning and resting your cheek on Jimin’s back for the entirety of the trip. It’s mostly silent, the breeze whistling lullabies into your ears and combing through your hair sweetly as you fly over the terrain. The spies are gone, you notice, the highly policed skies looking empty and calm. Many creatures have already started migrating closer to the water and you presume that Hix’s fortress won’t be standing for much longer once the insects get ahold of it, tearing it down to get to the bank of the water and restore their supply. You feel proud of you and Jimin for accomplishing your outlandish mission, and you whisper as much to him in the quietness of the night.

With one stop to visit and say your goodbyes to the friendly mushroom fairy, Bayard, you’re off to Nissa’s home, which you find out is right next to Alva and Laila’s.

“Alright,” She says, guiding you and Jimin inside her abode. “Time to make that reversal spell. If I can remember it.” She mutters the last part, causing your eyebrows to scrunch, but she waves you off when you question it.

“Thank you for helping us.” Laila walks up to you, meeting your gaze for the second time. She doesn’t seem as intimidated by you anymore, which is a relief. But her cheeks still flame the longer you hold eye contact. “We couldn’t have done this without you. Both of you.” Then she turns to Jimin. “Remember what we talked about. Never be embarrassed.”

You look between the two of them as he nods, neither saying anything more than that, but you’ll let them keep their secrets. She hugs both of you and then it’s Alva’s turn to say her last few words to you.

“Thank you both. I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to pull it off, but things turned out better than I could have hoped. Really, you two are lovely, come visit us again sometime if you can. Then you’ll get to see how beautiful the meadow is in times of peace.” She pulls you both into an awkward side hug that makes you giggle, her own cheeks pink and wings flicking when you tease her about it.

“Mm, I think this is it!” Nissa chimes, scooping the now blue Fairy Dust into a bag. “Are you two ready?” At your okay, they fly you back to your purple blanket, placing you in the center where you find other bugs inspecting the odd surface. “I guess I should say thanks as well. You didn’t have to save me, but I really appreciate that you did.” She bows her head at you, taking both you and Jimin’s hands in hers to show her gratitude.

A ticklish feeling overtakes your whole body when she sprinkles the blue dust onto you, but this time you don’t faint. You watch as the waving fairies become smaller and smaller, their figures disappearing until they are nearly microscopic to you. The blades of grass around the perimeter of your blanket shrink too, as well as the trees and fireflies surrounding you, all returning to normal proportions that take a minute for your mind to process.

“We’re finally normal again.” Jimin sighs, looking at his body and the area around you. It does feel better to know that your chances of being smashed by something are significantly lower now.

“Was that... real?” It feels fake, like a pipe dream, and when you check your phone you find that only an hour has passed since you first got there. “That can’t be right.” You blink a few times, both you and him staring at the time in confusion.

“Time must move slower when you’re that tiny.” He reasons, running a hand through his hair. You take the time to reorient yourself, gazing back up at the stars above you. They twinkle invitingly, their light feeling so much brighter after experiencing the darkness of the forest floor. You look over at Jimin to find that he’s already staring at you, looking as though he’s nervous about something.

“What?” You ask, eyes wide at the expression on his face. He takes a deep breath, your heart beating a thousand times faster.

“I...” Taking his lip between his teeth, he pauses to choose his words. “(Y/n), I love you.” Your heart flutters, and this time you let it. “I meant it when I said it earlier, I really do love you. I wanted tonight to be special so I brought you out here to a place that was special to me as a kid, and I wanted to confess to you here, but I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way. But I’m not afraid to say it anymore.” His hand finds yours, fitting perfectly like it was made to be there. “This whole experience made me realize how much I need you, and how terrified I am of losing you. I was so terrified that something bad would happen to you the entire time that I have a headache right now from all the stress!” You laugh, placing your free hand on the side of his face, fingertips grazing his temple. “But even though I was scared, you taught me how to be brave and step out of my comfort zone. I wanted to protect you, but somehow you ended up protecting yourself and saving the entire meadow with your amazing instincts (which is incredibly sexy, by the way), but now I feel like a useless sidekick. So, I guess the only thing I can offer a girl that has everything, is my heart. I don’t mind being your sidekick as long as I know you love me too.”

Jimin tends to ramble when he’s nervous, word vomiting everything that’s on his mind, but it’s one of his charms that you find absolutely adorable. You can’t help but smile at his confession, the dampness of his palms melting you. “Of course I feel the same way, Jimin. Hix kinda confessed for me, but I still want to say it myself. Park Jimin, I love everything about you. You might feel like you’re my sidekick tonight, but we’ve been on so many adventures before this where you were the one who led me out of my comfort zone and taught me how to find my own courage. Do you remember our first date?” He giggles at the memory with you, looking away with fondness. “It was around Halloween and you convinced me to go to one of those haunted trails with you after I said I’d never been to one. And you pulled me along every step of the way and held me close so I wouldn’t get lost or hurt myself because I had my eyes closed the entire time.” You let out an embarrassed chuckle. You really have changed a lot since meeting him. “I think that was the day that I realized I was in love with you. Or at least that I would fall in love with you. I’ve never felt so safe and comforted in anyone’s arms before, but when you held me, it felt like home. Every time we went on an adventure, you were always the one to reassure me and make sure I was okay; that’s the reason why I slowly began to open up to the world and realize my passion for exploration. I don’t think you realize just how much of who I am today is because of you, Jimin.”

“You don’t mean that..” He says, though his love for praise starts showing in the pleased look he has in his eyes. You decide to indulge in it.

“I do! I’m only able to be brave because I know that you’re there to protect me. You saved my life twice tonight! And thank you for having my back and helping me stop the fighting. I couldn’t have saved the day without you.” His hand wraps around the wrist of your hand that still rests on his face, both of you looking into each other’s eyes lovingly.

“Of course, babe, we’re a team. Let’s always stay together.” He leans in to softly press his lips to yours, and you stay in that gentle kiss under the stars for an indeterminate amount of time, lost in each other’s embrace. When you pull away, you see shapes being drawn into the air, Fairy Dust in the shape of hearts traced above your heads, and you smile at the antics of your friends, wondering if they were listening the whole time. It’s a beautiful display that warms your heart. “I think it’s time to head back to camp.” Jimin says softly when you yawn, standing before extending a hand to you and pulling you up against his chest.

As you bend down to pick up your belongings, you feel something hard in your pocket and reach inside to pull it out. An unnaturally shimmery whistle rests between your fingers, now grown to a proportionate size as it must have been caught in the spell as well. You meet eyes with Jimin as he folds up the blanket, raising his eyebrows at you to blow it, and when you do fireflies come swirling up from the grass, synchronized and brilliant as they put on a spectacle for you. You can’t help the giggle that bubbles from your throat as you watch them perform, spelling their thanks to you and your boyfriend before one comes to land in the center of your hand.

“Thank you, Garnet. We’ll come back to visit someday.” She flutters her wings and flashes her colors at you before taking off again into the night, her light blending in against the starry sky as Jimin takes your hand to begin the trek back to your campgrounds.

#oof #Jimin fluff #BCC project #btscreatorscorner

[jimlingss]

Inside My Mind [M]

➜ Words: 19.2k

➜ Genres: 50% Fluff, 50% Smut, High School!AU

➜ Summary: You're safe in the confines of your mind. Free to think whatever, free to fantasize to your heart's content. And your imagination tends to quite a wild turn when you’re dying from sheer boredom. But when some GUY IN YOUR CLASS CAN FUCKING READ MINDS - YOU'RE NOT SAFE ANYMORE! WHAT THE FUCKSKDKASDFGHJKL—

➜ Warnings: semi-public sex, attempts at dirty talk, consenting minors engaging in sexual actives with each other, first-time sex, brief depiction of tone-deaf sexual education that doesn’t do shit.

You’re safe in the depths of your own mind.   No one knows what you’re thinking — they can’t tell when you have a constant poker face and the only change in your features is the way your brows furrow in concentration every so often.   But if the teacher and your classmates knew what was going inside your brain, they’d be aware that you were bored out of your goddamn mind.   “Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear. So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, as yonder lady o’er her fellows shows. What does this mean? Flip to the page fifty eight and the modern translation is her beauty is too good for this world; she’s too beautiful to die and be buried. She outshines the other women like a white dove in the middle of a flock of crows. Now with the critical analysis of this soliloquy, we can deduct—”   You’re drowsy. Sleepy. Your eyelids are heavy and you feel yourself losing consciousness, head beginning to dip slightly. Everyone else seems to be dulled from the lesson like you, but none are asleep and the last thing you want is to fall out of your chair and draw attention to yourself.   So you try jostling your leg. But after a moment, it doesn’t dispel the seduction of sleep. You resort to pinching yourself, but it doesn’t work either. So you go to your last resort, allowing your mind to wander, pulling yourself away from reality….   You imagine someone crawling underneath your desk. Their rough hand tapping up your thigh, shoving your skirt up before carefully pulling your underwear down. This faceless person’s hot breath would skim against your leaking cunt and you’d feel their soft lips right on your flesh.   “You like this?” They’d chuckle lowly, vibrations traveling through your skin. “Eating you out in the middle of class like this. What a bad girl. It’s disgusting. What if they see, hmm?”   You envision them beginning to eat you out, face pulled up on your slit. Their tongue would penetrate through your hole and you’d clench around them. You’d grab their hair, sinking your fingers through their strands, pushing them closer to you while throwing your own head back to moan.    These fantasies make you wide awake again and no one can even tell you’re not paying attention.   //   The lunch bell rings and you’re finally dismissed from class, freed from the horribly dull lesson.   You’re one of the last to leave the classroom, taking your time and humming while walking out by yourself. But your mind is still reeling from your most recent conjured up fantasy. You’re still thinking about the way this faceless person would lick you up, from the bottom of your slit all the way to your clit. Their tongue would swirl around your folds, eyes glancing up to look at your fucked out expression, their tiny chuckles that would vibrate through your body and make your core clench—   Wide eyes shock you back to reality.   You go crumbling back to the ground, head out of the clouds.   Someone’s stopped in the middle of the hallway, blocking your path.   They’ve whirled their head around.   The dark-haired boy in thick rimmed spectacles looks at you in unadulterated horror and mortification, brown eyes locked into yours. The pair of you stare at each other. Colour drains from his face, lips parted, jaw dropped. It’s almost as if you have said your thoughts out loud for him to hear…   “Namjoon!”   His friend calls out his name, breaking the private bubble between you two. He runs up to him and quickly takes a glimpse of you. You don’t waste a second to step aside, moving out of the way and walking by them.    “Who’s that?” Jinyoung asks, eyes following your backside.   Namjoon answers after a delayed beat. “Y/N.”   “Huh.” His friend frowns. “Never heard of her. Anyways, what did you think of—”   Kim Namjoon is a smart, quiet individual. You’ve known him since sixth grade, but you’ve only spoken a few sentences to him at best when you were forcibly paired up by teachers for group projects. You don’t remember much about him. Only enough to recognize his face.    He’s an outsider….much like you are.   People think you’re a pleasant, hardworking, studious girl who’s compliant and no-nonsense. At least that’s your exterior. The type to live a quiet life and die quietly without contributing much to society. And you like that image — it’s not too far from the truth. But more importantly, it protects the true thoughts brewing inside your head.   But as you walk away, you can’t help glancing behind, over your shoulder towards the boy.   He’s weird. And you can’t remember what you were even thinking about anymore.   //   Against your will, you begin to notice Kim Namjoon.   You share biology and health class together; he sits a few rows away from you by the wall. And your eyes can’t help but stray off to him constantly. It’s just strange. You can’t stop your fixation about the way he looked at you, brown eyes shocked and scandalized, cheeks coloured in pink embarrassment.   It’s suspicious.   The teacher drones on and on about how the myelin sheath deteriorates and the gears of your brain start turning in sheer boredom. You glance at Namjoon’s profile from meters away before you look over to the door, envisioning someone striding in, disregarding the teacher completely.   They’d march up to your desk and pull you up by your arm until you’re standing on your feet. You imagine being pulled in, your crotch pressed to theirs. Your mouth would be devoured by their probing tongue. You’d whine at the back of your throat, grabbing onto their shoulders until they’d grunt back, having enough of it and whirling you around.    You imagine being bent over your desk, underwear pushed aside and thick fingers mercilessly shoving into your cunt. They’d curl up their knuckles and you’d cry out, grabbing the edge of your desk, notebooks and pencil cases tumbling to the ground. They’d poke and prod, pulling their fingers out to plunge them back in again, collecting your slick between their fingertips.    “You like that? Look. You’re leaking all onto the floor.”   Your fantasies continue.   For the rest of class, you continue to daydream, head in the clouds without anyone noticing.   The bell eventually rings. The students are dismissed.   As you leave, your eyes stray off to Namjoon again. He’s still sitting in his desk, unmoving. And again, there’s that horrified expression on his face. He’s red from his chin to his forehead, refusing to meet your eye even when you’re blatantly staring. More importantly, there’s something weird poking out in his lap and as you pass, he covers it up with his backpack.   Weird.   There’s something not right about this and you’re sure you’re not imagining this.    You’ve made your observation. You’ve created a question. You’ve formed a hypothesis and as outrageous as it is, it’s the best educated guess you got. And for the rest of the week, you conduct your experiment and collect the data through examining him afterwards.   When Monday arrives, you waltz to biology class, stealing a seat directly behind the guy.   Class hasn’t started, each person is still getting settled down. You prop your elbow on the desk, cheek rested in your hand as you stare at the back of his head. The strands of his hair are poking in different directions — you wonder if it’s bed head — you also spot a few moles on the nape of his neck and your eyes trace them, drawing lines like you’re making constellations.   There’s no way, but there’s no other explanation.   With a deep breath, you test your theory.   Namjoon.   He turns around. “What?”   The corner of your mouth tugs into a discreet smirk. You weren’t wrong.    His eyes widen, nearly falling out of their sockets and his jaw goes slack. He knows you’ve caught him red-handed.   But you merely shake your head, going expressionless and you stare back at him. “I didn’t call you.”   You didn’t. You thought his name.   It shouldn’t be possible, but rather than being shocked or confused, you’re excited that your hypothesis was correct after all. It’s crazy and wild, but you were right!   “Y/N—”   “Alright, alright, kids. Settle down. We have a lot to get through today. Your midterms are in three weeks and we’re slightly behind the other class…” The teacher interrupts and he’s forced to turn back around and pay attention.   For the rest of class, you think of nothing, simply paying attention to the best of your abilities despite becoming more and more drowsy.   By the time everyone’s dismissed again, Kim Namjoon whirls himself around fast enough to get whiplash and he grabs your wrist before you can flee. “C-Can I talk to you?”   //   The two of you end up at the back of the school, standing on the dead grass beside the spray painted wall. It’s a place where love confessions happen or fights are scheduled. You’re pretty sure he’s going to do neither — no one has crushes on you and while the guy is taller and broader than you are, you doubt he would try to beat you to a pulp. Probably.   “H-how did you figure it out?”   Namjoon’s a nervous mess, pushing his dirty glasses up the slope of his nose. It slumps down again, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s sweating buckets, swallowing hard, panicked.   You shrug. “I just did.” You don’t want to talk about your fantasies out loud and how you caught the look on his face. You’re more interested in this skill of his, curiosity piqued. “So it’s true then? You can read minds?”   The boy’s trying his best to explain himself. “I-...I was born with this ability. It...it skips a generation in my family and I was the one to get it. I’ve always had it. D-don’t tell anyone. No one else knows and I don’t want to be part of an experiment.”   Like the one you did on him, except you imagine a proper experiment might be worse. NASA would probably strap him to a table and pull apart his brain to see what’s going on.   You get his fears and he seems to read your mind, becoming relieved at your thoughts. “Sorry for putting you through my experiment.” You step closer, invading his personal space without realizing. “But can you really do it? It’s just a bit hard for me to believe. What am I thinking about right now?”   He stumbles back a step, uncomfortable. “Me.”   It’s obvious, so you envision a string of numbers inside your head. “What number am I thinking about?”   “One thousand five hundred sixty four.”   Your mouth draws open. “What an—”   “Horses.”   “What—”   “Blue.”   “Shit!” You’re grinning, arms in the air, unable to contain how impressed and excited you are. “This is so cool! Why didn’t I know about this before?!”   A timid smile pulls onto his cheeks. “I mean we don’t really talk—”   “Oh my god.” Your expression washes over to a deadpan, lips pressing together. “Do you get good grades because you cheat on tests?”   “I mean...I try...not to…”   “God, this is so unfair, but also,” you eye him up and down while stepping back, “really invasive.”   The boy swallows hard, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as he redirects his vision downwards to his shoes. “Sorry about that.”   You grimace, muttering, “d-don’t expose my thoughts….”   Namjoon becomes red in the face, knowing exactly what you’re referring to. “I won’t. I don’t think I’d even be able to say the things you think out loud.”   You scoff, crossing your arms and defending yourself. “It’s normal, you know, for people our age to be a bit….hormonal.”   “Alright,” he answers, but you can hear the skeptical tone. You’re a freak — it’s true, but you didn’t want anyone to know, Namjoon is most definitely not an exception to that either.    “Don’t reveal my secret and I won’t reveal yours. Deal?” you offer it up, negotiating and he nods, promising not to.   It’s cool that Namjoon can read minds, but you’re not sure what to do with this new information. You guess you have mixed feelings with the idea that your thoughts and fantasies are no longer safe, but it’s not like you two interact with each other much or even talk. It’s still exciting, but doesn’t change much of anything.   The pair of you part ways, returning to the strangers that you are.

That should be it.   You now know that he can read minds. He knows you’re a freak in disguise. A secret for a secret. There’s no reason for any more interaction or conversations to be exchanged. You both lead your own separate lives…   But while your mouth doesn’t physically make sounds towards him nor do your eyes stray onto him anymore, your mind travels far and wide.   In the middle of a school assembly, forced to stand there and listen to the principal speak, your brain begins to do what it does best — dreaming about fantasies that can’t be fulfilled in reality.   You imagine someone sneaking behind you, arms wrapping around your abdomen. They’d turn your head and force their tongue down your throat, claiming you as their own. Their hands would wander, from the skin of your stomach down to your navel and then past the band of your panties—   There’s a poke to your side, bringing you back to reality “Can you stop?” the person mutters out from the corner of their mouth in frustration.   You look over, finding Namjoon standing right beside you.   OH.   “It’s distracting,” he dips his head, whispering and trying to remain discreet, not drawing the attention of any teacher who would reprimand him for talking when he’s not supposed to.   You open your mouth to defend yourself, but then you remember he can hear your thoughts.   Get out of my head, Namjoon! Oh my god! What’s wrong with you?!   “I can’t,” he murmurs, looking straight forward to the principal who’s now talking about keeping the school as clean and environmentally friendly as possible. “You’re too close in my proximity.”   Luckily enough, most of your fantasies are of faceless people. Sometimes you fantasize about celebrities, but most often than not, you never discern a specific person, never dwelling on their facial details. But that still doesn’t make it any less mortifying.   When someone tells you to stop thinking about something, all you can do is think about it.   Falling onto the ground. Being pinned to the gymnasium floor. Being fucked roughly until screaming—   “Y/N.” Namjoon calls you louder this time, jabbing your side and several students turn around to see what’s going on. None of you move, looking straight ahead and they spin back around. After a moment of silence, he looks at you again. “Stop.”   I can’t! I can’t help it! I can’t contain it. I just...I’m too….horny.   “Oh my god.” Namjoon is flustered and he puts his hands into his pants pocket, shifting uncomfortably. “Can you please pay attention and listen or like...think about what you’re going to eat later for dinner?”   Fine. God. You’re annoying. You’re so annoying! Who told you to get into my head?! This is so embarrassing! I want to die. Oh my god. Get out of my brain! Get out! Get out!!   For the rest of the assembly, you’re insulting him and whining inside your mind, wishing the world would just swallow you whole or at least let you curl up into a ball of shame. It’s not your fault that you like to think about these things. It’s normal in fact. People act on their urges. At least you have enough self-restraint than them and you put on a better facade.   Why do you have to be punished for something out of your control?   //   It turns out you’re not safe anywhere.    Before all this, your fantasies would come occasionally when you were bored in class and your brain began wandering. But now that you knew your thoughts were exposed and you were trying your best not to think about it anymore, it’s inadvertently all you can think about.    It’s reverse psychology at its worst.   It especially becomes severe when Namjoon’s around, namely in biology and health class when you’re actively conscious of his presence. Even when he sits across the classroom from you, as far as he can physically get, every ten minutes, you see him turn in his seat to glare at you with bright pink cheeks.   “I can’t pay attention in class,” he mutters one day when he decides to sit next to you — apparently taking a seat here and far away makes zero difference to him.   “Look, my thoughts are my thoughts,” you harshly whisper, not letting anyone else eavesdrop lest their blood run cold as well. “Maybe you should try zoning me out instead. Didn’t you say you were born with...this? Shouldn’t you be good at ignoring people’s thoughts?”   You don’t understand. There were thirty kids around — you couldn’t be the only one bothering him.   “Yeah, but your thoughts are...different.” He’s frustrated, huffing out and pushing his glasses up. “Can’t you control your urges for an hour?”   For a moment, you forget he can read your mind.   When you remember again, you don’t say anything.   You think of your answer.   No.   But despite your annoyance and embarrassment, you try your best. And you do remain focused for the entire lesson, listening and taking diligent notes. When you get confused at a portion, frowning and erasing a few sentences, Namjoon leans over and passes you his notebook.    There’s a note in the corner that reads: he means protein, not lipids.   It clicks inside your brain and you pass it back to him, meeting his brown eyes. Thanks.   Namjoon smiles and you muse he isn’t such a bad guy….   It’s a thought that has his smile widening.   //   At the end of the day, you pack up your belongings, swinging the backpack over your shoulders to begin the trek home. It’s your usual routine, walking past the school gate, fiddling with your earbuds and listening to some music as you walk down the road. But the main difference of today is that you notice a certain someone is ahead of you, going in the same direction.   You rip out your headphones, quickening your pace to meet theirs. And the moment you get three meters away, he turns around, already hearing your thoughts.   What are you doing here?   “Taking the bus home,” Namjoon answers with a few blinks and when your next question appears, he elaborates, “I usually stay at school for a bit to finish some work.”   Oh. That makes sense. I never usually see you.   “Actually, I’ve seen you a few times...waiting for the bus….not on purpose. You just happen to be standing there.”   Huh. I guess I never noticed.   The boy syncs his steps into yours and he scratches the back of his neck, peeking at you quickly. “Y/N, c-can you talk out loud? It’s kind of weird to other people if I’m the only one talking to you and you’re saying nothing.”   “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” You nod, having gotten used to communicating through your mind. “Is it...weird to hear people’s thoughts all the time?”   “Yeah.” A tiny smile graces the boy’s lips, having never thought of encapsulating his ability in that one word that undermines yet explains everything he feels. “It’s weird. And really noisy.”   “Seems pretty cool though.”   “You’d think. But that’s until you know what’s going in people’s heads.” Namjoon releases a wistful sigh and steals a glance at you before shying away. You’re the only one who knows outside of his family and he seizes the moment to share a piece of his sadness, wanting someone to understand. He murmurs, “There’s a reason I’m not that close to anyone...”   You stare at him, not sure what to say. You never really thought about the repercussions — solely focusing on yourself and hating how he invaded your head. But for a split second, you see the pain etched onto his features. His ability might be more of a curse than a blessing.   “You’re not close to your family?” you ask. At this point, you’re sure there’s no such thing as boundaries or privacy between each other, no question or topic that’s off limits.   “Not really,” Namjoon admits casually and your heart aches for him, not knowing what to say. “I know what they really think of me.”   “Well a lot of people think things they don’t mean to say or do. Thoughts come and go. And we all get angry and upset sometimes. I’m sure your parents care about you. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t...be around, right?”   He smiles softly, knowing that you’re trying to comfort him. “Yeah, I guess. You’d be surprised though. A lot of people’s thoughts are bad and evil. Yours is just dirty.” Namjoon becomes shy, but he says it so bluntly almost like he doesn’t mind it so much anymore.   Your eyes immediately avert away from him, scoffing and trying not to burn up in shame.   The boy grins and he also looks ahead, down the road sparse of people. He continues, trying to ease the heaviness of the conversation, “Whelp, it’s not all that bad. I’m planning to go to MK National University, so…...yeah, I’ll be able to kind of get away for a while.”   “Oh. What do you want to do?”   “I don’t know yet. I’m thinking maybe their engineering program. I think I’m interested in civil engineering.” Namjoon nods and he seems more sure of himself than how he makes it out to be. It occurs to you how cute his awkwardness is, the way he’s kind of pure and sweet, how his uniform seems more stretched out than it’s supposed to be. But as fast as these thoughts flood into your system, you quickly nip them in the bud before he knows. “How about you?”   “I’ve actually been considering going to MKNU too. I think I want to go into a mathematics program.” You shrug. “But I have no idea what I’ll do with that degree yet. I just like math.”   Other clusters of kids around are talking about what they want to eat later, the latest hot gossip around school, what movies have come out, but here you and Namjoon are, being nerds. You’re sharing your love for math while talking about post secondary and the application process that most don’t even know about yet. It’s been a while since you’ve met someone as passionate about school as you are.   “That’s impressive. Doesn’t their mathematics program require an eighty five percent average?”   “Something like that. I don’t remember the exact number. Engineering’s not too far off, I think. But yeah, things would be okay if it wasn’t for biology dragging my entire mark down.” You exhale a lungful, lolling your head to one side while feeling death upon your shoulders. “I haven’t been really paying attention, so that doesn’t help. It’s just really boring to me.”   “Yeah. I can tell.” Namjoon laughs, a gentle sound that rings pleasantly into your ears. He refers to your distracting thoughts and before you can defend yourself, he says, “I can help you if you want. I get it. Mostly.”   You perk up, spine straightening, steps slowing as your eyes widen. “Really?”   “If you can help me with calculus,” he negotiates with a reserved smile. “There’s some differentiation questions that I’m kind of confused on.”   The boy already knows the answer before it’s come out of your mouth. It’s a deal of a lifetime after all and you’d jump oceans to take it. His smile widens yet again at your excitement.   Deal. “Deal! Sounds like a plan, Kim!”   //   The corner spot of the library is your usual place, chair and table positioned perfectly so you can see the entrance and you’ll be able to quickly look up and call him over when he comes. But for now, you pull out your textbook, notebooks and pencil case, flipping through the review book you printed out and seeing what questions you can answer on your own.   You become lost in your work, focused to the point of forgetting your surroundings, so you don’t see who’s approaching until they slide up right beside you.   “Hey. Seulgi, is it?”   Jung Hoseok has his elbows propped up on the table, cheek rested in his hand as he lazily smirks at you. His dark-hair is gelled back, small gold chain on top of his uniform that you’re sure is bought from ebay, top buttons of his shirt loose like his slacks. You are wholly unimpressed. “What? No.”   “Oh shit. Aren’t you in Mr. Jeon’s math class?”   “No.” You shake your head slowly, wondering why he’s talking to you. The guy doesn’t even know your name. He’s radiating off these sleazy vibes too that you don’t appreciate. You hope he leaves soon. “I’m in Mr. Min’s.”   “Shit.” He raises his hands, palms out like he’s being arrested. “My bad. Swore I’ve seen you before though.”   “Yeah. I go to school here,” you say in an exaggerated tone. You want to go back to work. He’s interrupted you rudely and you still don’t know what he wants with you. “Do you need something?”   “Did your class do those math worksheets?” He leans back. “I...uh...kinda forgot they were due today and was wondering if you could...help me out…”   You pause, annoyed beyond belief. But to outsiders, your meek exterior remains. People always think they can step on you, but it’s not like that at all. “Sorry. We didn’t get them,” you lie and fortunately, he can’t read your mind. Jung Hoseok doesn’t know that you got them two weeks ago, that you finished them a few days after and it’s sitting in your backpack right now.   “Oh, cool. But think you can help me—”   You stand abruptly.   A grin spreads into your face and you wave your arm towards the entrance, completely looking past the fuck boy that is Jung Hoseok.    “Namjoon!” Your shout is too loud for the silent space of the library, and a few turn around to stare. The librarian recognizes you and doesn’t mind the one time offense of being noisy.   The boy you’re signalling comes tottling over with his own smile, books in hand, backpack swinging on one shoulder, pushing his thick-rimmed glasses up the slope of his nose.    “I saved you a spot.” You motion across from you before glancing at Hoseok and shooing him away with an innocent question, “Are you moving?”   At the same time, someone weaves through the bookshelves. A tall, pretty female comes out and by her long black hair and shorter skirt; you recognize her as Krystal. She lolls her head to her shoulder. “Hey, Jay. Are we going or what?”   “Oh yeah. Hold up.” He gets up, tucks the chair in before the librarian yells at him. He throws an arm around the girl’s shoulder and as Namjoon gets settled down, the female looks at both you and him in equal disdain.   “Who did you talk to?” she murmurs, but you hear it loud and clear.   Hoseok shrugs, walking away. “Thought she was in my class.”   You and Namjoon are nobodies and while you don’t know how he feels about it or if he has an opinion at all, you personally like it that way. You enjoy being on the down low, living a discreet life and not drawing any unnecessary attention to yourself.   “Was he bothering you?” Namjoon pulls out his notebooks, stealing a peek at you.   A scoff is pulled out of your throat. “No. He just interrupted me in the middle of solving a question. Speaking of which, I don’t really get number nine. I’m really confused on the concept of trisomy and disomy and figuring out ploidy numbers. I don’t get how the answer can be b and not a.”   “Okay, wait.” He softly laughs, practically dumping his backpack out on the table in haste. “Let me get out the booklet first.”   The two of you study together, getting halfway through the booklet. Namjoon happily answers your questions and clears up any confusion you might have. While he waits for you to finish a question, he works on calculus homework that you’ve already completed and you help explain some things that he’s unsure about.   But as you continue working, the boringness of biology begins to submerge you. At some point, you become drowsier and your brain wanders against your will out of sheer boredom. You imagine being pushed against the bookshelves, uniform skirt pulled up, someone’s hand cupping over your mouth to muffle your sounds as they start to rub their crotch all over you, humping your ass—   “Y/N!” Namjoon shouts your name louder than he’s supposed to, shocked, and you come crashing down to reality. Some people turn around, startled, and they only return to their work when they realize nothing’s happening.   Sorry.   The boy sighs, red in the face. He shifts uncomfortably while you gingerly rub your thighs together beneath the table. A few seconds pass. He swallows hard, flipping through a few pages of his textbook and decides to speak his mind, whispers lowly, “Why...don’t you try porn?”   What? What do you mean? Like watching porn?   No one knows the private conversation that’s happening in the corner of the library. “Maybe that can...help with your situation, so you can feel less…..horny...all the time.”   Oh my god. Don’t say that word out loud!!! And you thought I haven’t tried?! I just...don’t like it. Most of the time, it goes too quickly and it’s too cringey and cliché and I’m not a fan of close ups of...genitalia. For your information, I’ve tried writing erotica too, but I couldn’t finish. I’ve tried, thank you very much.   You slump in your seat, cheeks warming as you admit these thoughts.   Namjoon nods, finding your arguments fair. He tries to search for a solution to your predicament. “Have you ever tried...you know….relieving yourself?”   Sometimes.   You remember those late nights after your parents have gone to bed. In the darkness of your bedroom, you like to put your soft pillow between your thighs and rock back and forth to release some tension in your body. You stifle the sounds with your blanket, but often times the pillow isn’t enough and your hands always go to your shorts, rubbing the spot that makes it feel good—   Namjoon’s hand suddenly propels forward, latching onto your wrist. He lowers his head until his forehead is practically pressed on the pages of his notebook, eyes unable to meet yours. “Can you please stop thinking about it?” he harshly whispers, begging you.   Immediately, you’re mortified.    You let the thoughts slip.   Namjoon knows how you get yourself off now.   I can’t help it!    You feel less like a teenager and more like a hyperactive rabbit in need of reproducing. These primitive urges overwhelm you and while you’ve restrained yourself in a physical manner, it’s difficult to get your thoughts in control as well. But you were supposed to be safe in your own head. Merely thinking and not acting was supposed to be good enough.    You think I’m not frustrated either?! I don’t need these distractions in my life, okay?! I’m just trying to get into uni. It’s your fault for reading my mind all the time. Can’t YOU just stop?!   “I can’t either,” he argues back, huffing with a frown.   It becomes silenced.   A grimace has permanently made its mark on your features. Your mechanical pencil digs roughly against the paper as you move to solve the next question and do the proper calculations. But it snaps with the force of your hand and you groan, pressing the end to bring out more lead.   You force yourself to focus and keep answering. But no matter what you do outwardly, Namjoon can still hear your internal self — he knows you’re angry with him, angry with yourself.   Five minutes pass before the boy can’t take it anymore. He lifts his chin and finds the furrow of your brows.    “Y/N.”   “What.” Your tone is short, curt, decorated with a slight pout. The corner of his mouth tickles, threatening to tug a bit.   Namjoon takes a deep breath to prepare himself. Unlike him, you can’t hear the thoughts in his mind. He has to physically say out the words. “What if I helped you?”   You raise your chin, locking your gaze with his, befuddled. “What?”   The boy in the gawky glasses, awkward movements and oversized uniform moves closer, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, whispering lowly in a rumbling timbre, “I mean….what if we get it done and over with. You know...get over our primitive needs. Then none of us need to ever think about it again.”   It’s like the pair of you are exchanging secrets under a blanket after building a secret fort together. You’re leaning over the table, nearly bent over and he’s moved his torso on top of the surface as well. But you still don’t get it, eyes blinking at him. “What are you talking about?”   “You know—” Namjoon doesn’t want to say it out loud. “—that one word. Three letters. Starts with an S. Ends with an X.”   Sex?! Your mind goes completely blank for a full three seconds. You. You want to have sex with me?   “No-...yes….I mean…” He’s embarrassed that you thought about it so bluntly. If only the passing librarian knew that the two studious students in her library were talking about having sexual intercourse and not biology or mathematics, she’d faint. “I think about it too sometimes and...a lot a-actually...yeah...it doesn’t have to be a big deal, is what I’m saying. I mean we can get it done and over with. Do it once and get it out of our system….”   You’re aware Namjoon isn’t acquainted with many girls. So this is a mutually beneficial agreement. A win-win.   It doesn’t sound like a terrible idea. Don’t you want to wait for someone special though?   “I-It doesn’t really matter to me,” he murmurs, stuttering and he’s fumbling with his words in a way you’ve never seen before. Somehow eloquent Namjoon has been reduced to the word ‘I mean’, repeating them over and over again as he shrivels up in shame. “And I mean...we’re friends. I mean, unless...unless y-you want to wait for someone special.”   I don’t think I have time to be with someone special. Of all the fantasies you have, you honestly can’t imagine getting into a relationship. You have your priorities and the idea of going on dates is kind of cringey and awkward. But what strikes you in his offer is that— We’re friends?   Namjoon’s face has gone red from his chin to his hairline. It’s endearing. And your thought makes the colour of his flushing skin deepen in hue. “I thought we were.”   No...we are. But you’re about to become friends with benefits instead of normal platonic friends.   “Do it once and get it out of your system?” you verbalize your words, making sure that you have it right.   “Yeah, what do you think?” Namjoon searches your expression carefully.   It’s not a bad proposition. Very realistic and maybe even responsible of you. Do it once and you can set your mind straight. You’ll be able to focus on what really matters and no longer have these futile delusions. Considering he has no experience like you, it’ll probably suck and that’s not such a bad thing either — your fantasies can stop after you’ve gotten a taste of reality.   You don’t think of anything. You don’t say anything either.   You simply nod. Agreeing.   //   The house is silent — for the most part. There are noises of thumping from above, footsteps thundering on the carpet that interrupt the otherwise quiet study session. Paper, notebooks, textbooks and worksheets are sprawled all over the table with pencils and erasers. You’re working hard on memorizing diagrams while the person across from you is pressing chains of numbers into their calculator.   No sooner does your mom come prancing down the stairs, bag slung over her shoulder. “Y/N? I’m going to wor—...who is this?” She stops mid-step despite being late, eyes growing wide at the strange boy sitting at her dinner table.   “Hmm?” You lift your head from your notes, playing it off nonchalantly. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. But, this is Namjoon. He’s a classmate. We’re just doing some biology review together since there’s a midterm coming up.”   “Hello.” Namjoon gives a polite smile like a picture perfect son. “Nice to meet you.”   “Kim Namjoon?” she questions, tipping her head to the side.    Your brows raise. “You know him?”   “Yes! I used to be close to your mother when you were in sixth grade and there was that school bake sale with Y/N and a whole bunch of other kids.” Her stern and defensive expression melts into a soft look, smile adorning her face. “I almost didn’t recognize you! My goodness, you’ve grown up so much! I remember when you were only this tall.” Her hand comes up to about her waist.    “You always wore this blue Mickey Mouse hoodie around and you loved dinosaurs. I haven’t spoken to your mom in so long. Is she doing well?”   “Yeah, she’s good.” He smiles, happy that his eleven-year old self made such a lasting impression.   “Mom, aren’t you late for work?” You twist yourself all the way around, trying to get her to leave. She was embarrassing you and Namjoon knows — it makes him grin.   Your mother is reminded and she whips her neck around to the clock then quickly moves to the foyer, grabbing her car keys and slipping on her shoes. In her rushing circumstances, she doesn’t even take a moment to consider the repercussions of leaving a teenage boy inside her house alone with her daughter. After all, he’s sweetheart Namjoon — what could he possibly do to you?   “Right! I should get going. Your dad’s home in a few hours! If you get hungry, there’s food in the fridge and pizza in the freezer! Go heat some up for Namjoon. It’s not everyday that we have guests, so we shouldn’t leave them hungry!”   “Got it. Bye!”   The door slams shut and you turn back around with a sigh. “Sorry about that.”   “It’s okay.” He returns to his work, finishing up with a question.   There’s an extended pause, the sounds of pencil scratching the paper filling the silence before you ask, “What does she think?” You’re curious, wondering if she suspects anything at all.   “She thinks I’m sweet.” Namjoon grins and you realize he has slight dimples in his cheeks when he does so. “And she’s glad you have a friend.”   You scoff. Too bad your mom doesn’t know that this sweet boy she remembers as a sixth grader is about to fuck her daughter. The thought has Namjoon choking on air, sputtering on his spit, but neither of you say anything out loud, focusing on finishing up instead.   In the next twenty minutes, you shut your textbook. Done.   There’s only one thing left to do before he’s on his way.   “Should we—….”   “Yeah, I think we should…”   It’s time to learn some real biology.   “Okay.” You stand, showing him to your bedroom and he picks up his backpack along the way. “You got the goods?”   “I got some goods that’ll help, I think. When’s your dad coming back by the way? I really...don’t want to be killed.”   “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. We got like...three hours. But I doubt it’ll take that long.” More like three minutes.   “Hey.” He gives you a look, pouting.   You’re sheepish. Sorry.   Namjoon enters your room while you apologize for it being so messy. You had actually cleaned it up and one read of your brain, he knows you tried hard and tells you it’s fine with a smile. He takes in the space of your bedroom, realizing it smells like you and he lingers awkwardly, not sure what protocol is. The only female bedroom he’s ever been in was his older sister’s and this was definitely not the same.   He ends up following your lead, sitting beside you on your bed, right at the edge of your mattress. “So…”   “What first?”   “I don’t know.”   It’s terribly, terribly awkward. You begin to second guess everything in your life that led up to this point, but you quickly calm your nerves and after some discussion, Namjoon ends up leaning against the headboard and you’re sitting in his lap stiffly, hovering over his thighs.   “You can sit down properly. You won’t crush me or anything, so don’t worry about it.”   “Okay.” But you’re still tense in his lap.    Namjoon keeps his hands to himself, arms right by his side. He gulps and clears his throat. “We should probably kiss...right?”   “Right. Um...have you kissed anyone before?”   “No. You?”   “Once,” you answer. “I think in Kindergarten while lining up for the water fountain, this kid turned around and our mouths kind of...hit each other.”   “So no then.” He laughs and the sound eases your nerves a little. He swallows a mouthful of spit and his eyes flicker down to your lips for a second before going back into your eyes. “You wanna?”   “I guess.” You shrug. “If we’re going to do it, might as well kiss. C-can I take this off though?”   Namjoon nods and you carefully slide his thick-rimmed glasses off his face, leaning over to set them on the nightstand by your lamp. With a deep breath, you settle yourself back down onto his thighs, psyching yourself up. Okay, okay. You can do this. You can do this. It’s not a big deal.    “You don’t have to be nervous,” he whispers and you nod. “Is it okay if we….”   “Yeah. Just do it.”   “Well...y-you should close your eyes.”   “S-sounds good.” You shut your eyes tight, hands curled into fists and breath hitching in your nose. When it takes too long, you begin to move forward. Unbeknownst to you, Namjoon is stealing a moment to stare at you, your features, lashes, lips, how your face is cutely scrunched up. He smiles and subdues his own nervousness, fluttering his eyes closed, leaning forward.   The boy tilts his head slightly to the left and he misses. Namjoon ends up at the corner of your mouth, near your cheek and when he realizes, he positions himself and finally, your lips graze.   You keep your mouth sealed tight like a toddler who doesn’t want to be fed carrots. He presses against your lips lightly and you muse how plush it feels.   Namjoon moves away after three seconds and you exhale, lids opening. “Like that?”   “I think so. M-maybe...more though.”   “More like how?” He frowns, not understanding and you stutter, unable to speak.   “U-Umm…” Longer? Maybe open our mouths? Don’t they french kiss in the movies? Aren’t tongues supposed to touch or something? Or is that gross? I don’t know.   Luckily for you, nothing needs to be said. Namjoon can read your chaotic thoughts and he goes ahead, trying one more time. He goes slowly enough that it gives you enough time to close your eyes again and he presses against your mouth, a bit harder and for longer. This time, it’s not just a graze.    His nose bumps into yours and you help him by tilting your own head. It’s soft, Namjoon landing multiple pecks on your lips as if he’s trying to kiss a boo-boo away. It tastes like moisturizing chapstick, waxy and a hint of vanilla.   You finally breathe once you can’t hold your breath any longer. In the meanwhile, his hands come up to gingerly hold your cheeks, palms cupping your skin, keeping you in place. You feel your body begin to relax, muscles no longer seizing and you settle more into his lap, feeling something weird poke at you from underneath.   You’re unable to pinpoint it when he pulls away. “Better?”   “Y-Yeah…..that was better. I think….we should try again…just to make sure we got it right.”   “Yeah...okay...alright.”   It’s more intimate than you expected. You never imagined being this close to Namjoon to the point where you can feel his own body heat, have his warm breath tickle your skin, count his lashes, see the crevices of his dimples. But you don’t get to dwell at how awkward this all is when he goes in for a third round.   This time, your lips are parted and his are too. It’s less tense and uncomfortable and the boy has gained more confidence, tiling his head at a better angle. He kisses you, locking your mouths together and as you exhale, he inhales. You don’t realize your hands have lifted to the back of his neck and how he’s pulled you closer onto his lap.    Namjoon pushes harder. It’s sloppy, but also eager and more curious. His tongue prods at the seams of your lips and it draws a noise at the back of your throat. He hums back, vibrations pleasant. It’s warm, slobbery and wet with spit. With the two of you inexperienced, you’re sure this isn’t exactly right. It’s weird.   But also not bad.   He breaks away after a minute or so and you use the back of your hand to wipe your mouth that’s wet with his saliva. Namjoon takes one look at you, reads your thoughts and smiles, glad that it wasn’t too atrocious.   “W-what now?”   “I mean….do you wanna take off your clothes?”   “Uhhh…..”   “We don’t have to. I mean….we only need to take off our pants and underwear. I’m fine with anything if you’re fine with anything. W-we can stop if you want. N-no pressure.”   “Um….I’m fine with taking off our pants.” And our underwear.   “Got it.” Namjoon stands, fumbling with his pants, hands trembling, and you look away, slipping off your own before deciding to just go for it and taking off your panties with it. You’re surprisingly slick, crotch area of your underwear ruined and you push it off your bed to deal with later. “I got some stuff.”   He digs into his backpack, coming out with three condoms and a bottle of aloe vera gel. You eye it and he explains, “It’s supposed to be a lubricant...so you don’t get hurt…”   “Can that go up my….coochie?” The last thing you want is to get an infection because of some boy or worse, go to the ER. You wouldn’t know how to explain that to your parents.   “Don’t worry. I googled it.”   “You’re prepared, Kim,” you banter, making for a more light-hearted atmosphere. He grins and you keep your eyes trained on his, refusing to look down to his pants-less legs and crotch area.   But he knows what you’re doing and becomes insecure by your refusal to look, cheeks becoming warm. “You don’t have to be scared. It won’t hurt you or anything. Do...you want to try touching it?”   For fear of creating a misunderstanding, you brace yourself and look down. Namjoon’s cock is completely hard, red and somewhat curved, a clear liquid oozing from the tip. It looks like a deformed sausage for lack of a better term, but also not so much. While it’s not the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen, it’s an intimidating, good five inches. “S-sure.”   Your hand reaches out, circling around his member lightly. It’s not as hard as you thought it would be, skin kind of soft and fleshy. He laughs, asking you what you imagined it to be like and you shrug. Curious, you try giving it a squeeze and immediately, Namjoon tenses. You look up at him, gauging his reaction. “Does that feel good?”   “Uh-huh.” He nods, releasing a held breath.   Suddenly, you feel a surge of power ricocheting through your veins. His prized possession was in your hands. You have the ability to bring him to pleasure or make him suffer. The ideas swirling inside your head makes him swat your hand away, a bit scared. You grin at him, stifling back a laugh without knowing just how you were riling him up. Namjoon tries to calm himself down before he busts all over his legs, standing in the middle of your room.   Luckily, his dick is not as obscene as other dicks are in porn videos. And you don’t feel disgusted, per say. You just don’t know how that’s supposed to go inside of you. There’s no way.   “It’s not that big. Average actually. It’ll probably fit,” he reassures you. “Ummm….you can lay back if you want.”   “Okay.” You feel comfortable enough around Namjoon to get on your back, head plopping down on your pillow and your hands gathered at your stomach like you’re about to be lowered into your grave — something you’re pretty sure is not off the mark.   Namjoon makes no comment on your metaphor, grabbing the bottle and condoms and climbing onto your bed, sitting back on his knees. “D-do you want me to….do o-oral on you?”   The thought of his mouth on your private parts makes you flinch, worried about a hundred different things, if you smell bad, if you’ll taste bad. The onslaught of concerns makes him blink hard, caught off guard. “I don’t have to. I don’t mind...about anything, so you don’t have to worry.”   “Maybe later,” you mutter and he nods.   “Then should we…?”   “Yeah. Go for it.”   This was unlike all your fantasies — this was very real.   You were beginning to get super nervous, more so than before. And Namjoon doesn’t seem as composed as he makes himself out to be. He nearly drops the bottle of aloe vera, but manages to get it open and squeezes a generous amount on his hands. “Can I—”   “Sure. Go ahead. You’re going to have to eventually touch it, right?” you laugh stiffly, trying to play it off and he nods. Namjoon shuffles forward, swallowing hard. His other hand gently touches your propped up leg and slowly, he spreads your thighs.    He seems to stop for a moment, staring at your pussy and you feel an urge to cover your face up with your hands. The boy says nothing and simply begins to rub the lubricant all over your folds. You jolt at the foreign sensation, of someone’s hands on your body, and he instantly stops.    “It’s cold.”   “Oh. Umm..”   “It’s fine. Just keep going.”   “Yeah, okay.” Namjoon squeezes the bottle again, getting a handful and he rubs his cock up and down, body shivering as he does so. He halts after two strokes and returns to dumping half of the aloe vera into his hands.    You shiver as his fingers touch against your slit, how he rubs up and down, everywhere he can get his hands to. It makes you feel hot inside and out. But he puts so much on that it’s beginning to feel more like he’s trying to frost a cake than touch you. “That’s...a lot, Namjoon.”   “I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he insists in concern and makes sure to get the aloe all over your pussy to the point where you don’t even need your own slickness, pink slit covered with a thick layer of transparent gel. “Okay, I think that’s good.”   “Wait. Don’t you need to put on your condom?”   “R-right, almost forgot about that.”   “That’s a really important step,” you giggle and watch as he fumbles with the condom package.    Ten seconds and he still can’t rip it open. It’s excruciating, so you prop yourself up by your elbows, taking it from him. “Sorry. It’s the aloe. It made my hands really sticky.”   “It’s okay.” You hold yourself back from laughing, but it spills past and he begins laughing too, running a hand through his hair and accidentally getting gel in it. It makes you laugh harder and you finally get the package open. “Wait, aren’t we supposed to roll it on?”   “I think so.”   “Do you know how to put on a condom?”   “No. Do you?”   “How would I know?”   “Well, I don’t.” You try to help him roll the condom onto his cock. With Namjoon’s sticky hands and your inexperience, it’s an absolute mess. The pair of you are gathered together, fumbling with his dick, trying to get it on like you’re attempting to make balloon animals. “Wait, let me pinch it. I don’t want you to accidentally pinch my foreskin!”   You burst out into laughter and he laughs too. “Oh my god! I’m not going to pinch your foreskin!”   “We never know what could happen!” he argues back lightheartedly and manages. “There.” But before Namjoon crawls over, he dumps the rest of the bottle of aloe onto his condom, dousing it from the tip to where his hair is like it’s free fondue.    Lo and behold, after twenty minutes of poorly attempted foreplay and a lot of lubricant-applying, he’s finally between your thighs, positioning himself….or at least trying to.   You lift your head slightly to look at him. “Maybe we should stop and go watch a tutorial.”   “No, it’s fine. It’s just...a lot lower than I expected.”   “Where did you think it was going to be?”   “I don’t know. Higher up. Here, I think I got it.”   “Wrong hole, Namjoon!” you shriek and he stops, apologizing a thousand times. This was going horrifically, but also extremely hilariously. You have mixed feelings in general, but your thoughts begin to quiet down when he finds your hole, spreading your folds enough that his single finger can enter. You shiver, feeling weirded out by it.    It was more like an examination than anything sexual, but you don’t dwell.   “Okay….I think I got the tip in place. Ready?”   You nod. “Go for it.”   It’s slippery, so much lubricant that you his cock brushes back and forth until it finds its place and you barely feel any rough intrusion. Instead, it slides in smoothly and you inhale a sharp breath, flinching upwards. It’s a strange discomfort in your gut. It burns and feels like someone stuck a medical instrument into your intestines. Huh.   Namjoon, on the other hand, is having a very different experience.   He’s shaking above you, eyes shut tight, unable to read your mind when he’s beginning to break into a sweat. He stops halfway and forces himself to look at you. “D-does it hurt?”   “N-not really. Kind of uncomfortable.”   “Want me to stop?”   “No, it’s okay. You can keep going.”   “F-fuck,” he curses and obliges, moving all the way in until he’s balls deep and your knees are bent, thighs parted by his sticky hands. It’s weird, but you’re glad he’s having a good time. “I don’t think I’m going to last long. You’re so warm and t-tight…”   “It’s okay. Knock yourself out.”   “You sure it doesn’t hurt?”   “I’m good. You dumped that bottle on me, so...yeah…”   Namjoon nods, unable to get anything out but a groan when you squeeze around him. He chokes on air and at your approval, goes in for a thrust. He moves his hips back and then yanks forward, eager and excited. It burns and you flinch, not sure if it hurts or doesn’t. This isn’t as amazing as you thought it would be — quite un-life changing actually. If anything, you were more turned on by how much Namjoon was turned on.   You just wish he kissed you again. You liked that.   The second the thought crosses your brain, Namjoon leans forward, seizing your lips with his own and fulfilling your desire. You moan against his mouth, tongue taken by his in a sloppy yet earnest matter that has your belly tickling and fluttering, chest warming up. It feels nice, you decide. And your core clenches, lower stomach tightening.   Namjoon chases after the way your warm pussy tightly hugs around his covered cock, thrusting once and he cums without warning. He merely groans against your mouth and you hug him close to your body, feeling the way he breathes heavily, the way he moans lowly. It takes a good five seconds and then he’s slumping over your body, weight heavy but comforting like a blanket.   “S-sorry…” Namjoon apologizes the second he comes to his senses.   His breath tickles your neck and you smile, running your hand through his hair. “It’s okay. I’m glad you had a good time. It wasn’t too bad for me.”   Namjoon rolls over, slipping out of you. But before you can get up or he can clean up the mess he made, his hand lowers to your swollen cunt and he slides his pointer and middle finger in the pool of gel. He strokes up your slit a few times and then he slips himself into your tight hole, feeling against your velvet walls.   “N-Namjoon,” you choke out his name and he smiles, getting to his knees. He curls his fingers against your walls, a bit carelessly and clumsy, but with enough enthusiasm and observational skills to gauge what your spots may be. You moan, withering against the sheets. “W-wait…”   His other hand lifts and goes a bit higher than your slit. “Is it here…?” he asks for confirmation, recalling the diagrams he’s filled out before and watching your expression carefully.   Your fingers latch onto his wrist and you shift him into the correct position, right where your clitoris should be. Namjoon hums in acknowledgment and begins to fiddle with his fingers, rubbing circles, pressing hard, twisting his wrist while his other fingers curl inside your vagina.   You sob his name, back arching, and he muses how pretty you look like this. Unfortunately with his hands on your clit and the way he’s carelessly rubbing, he’s unable to admire the view for long. Your toes curl and a burst of electricity runs its way through your body, making you seize, left leg kicking out slightly. You cry, spots coming into your vision. It’s warm from your feet to your head, every part of your body.   When you come to, Namjoon’s excitedly grinning at you. “How was that?”   Not bad. That last bit was better, to be honest.   “Was it all you had fantasies about?”   No. It wasn’t terrible though. Kind of meh.   He nods, laying flat on your bed and staring at the ceiling. You also take a moment to process everything that just happened. Though before you can doze off, Namjoon looks at you. “Should we try one more time? Just….just to see if it could be better or not. I mean...might as well since we’re both here.”   It’s not a bad offer especially considering that this is supposed to be a one time thing to get it out of the system. He was right — you were here, so was he. There was never going to be an opportunity like this again. You should make the most out of it.   You smile, eyes glimmering in mischief. “I don’t mind, but can you go for another round? You really tired yourself out there.”   Namjoon scoffs and rolls on top of you, pinning you to your mattress. “We’ll see about that.”

That should be it.   You know Namjoon can read minds. He knows you’re a closeted freak. A secret for a secret. The two of you have had sex too, shared your first times together. You’ve gotten all urges out of your systems, diminished your whacky libido. There’s no reason for any more interaction or conversations to be exchanged. You can both lead your own separate lives, pursuing after your long-term educational goals of going to university…   But you’re weak.   Only now do you realize you can’t get over your primitive needs. To your dismay and contrasting to the way you project yourself, you aren’t an emotionless robot who can simply flip off the switch.   That single experience, the second and third as well, are enough to make you even more needy than before and now your fantasies have truly come to life. No longer are they groundless delusions created from your inexperienced mind. One taste of the forbidden fruit and you can’t stop.    Sitting on the side of health class, your brain begins to take a walk. You recall that third time when Namjoon was curious, experimenting, and pushed you on all fours. Your shirt and bra were discarded beside you, your hands crumpling your wrinkled sheets and his fingertips pressed the small of your back until you were arching for him.   He hummed and you were nervous, talking too much about things you don’t remember now and the boy simply laid down and got into place. He slid himself right underneath you and his hands held your waist, lowering your sex right onto his open mouth like he’s trying to eat a massive taco — inexperienced, odd, but not horrendous.   You were scared of suffocating him, of having to call the police and having ambulances parked right outside your house for all the neighbors to see; and have news spread around that you accidentally killed a high school boy by sitting on his face. But Namjoon was a freak in disguise too and welcomed it. You sat on him and he mumbled something along the lines of it not being too bad either.   You grabbed onto the headboard to steady yourself, legs already shaking as he licked into you, tip of his tongue pushing past your slit and folds, his nose at your bud. His tongue unskilled, technique clumsy. He went too fast, too hard, too much of everything. It drove whines and broken sobs of his name out of you. But while Namjoon was greedy and impatient, he was also excited and eager to please.   He’s naturally observant and perceptive, bringing it into the bedroom as well. You remember the strands of his hair tickling the skin of your thighs, the way you cried out his name, how it felt so good that it was better than having actual penetrative sex. And you remember how he began rushing, afraid of your dad coming home and catching the pair of you in this compromised position.   The memory almost makes you giggle in the middle of class, but you contain yourself and squeeze your thighs together, feeling your panties becoming wet and sticky. You wonder what it would be like if he ate you out here, in class, maybe on the teacher’s desk. He’d kneel on the ground and kiss his way up your legs.   N-Namjoon, you’d choke out his name, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling the glasses away from his face.   Yeah?   Hurry, please.   Why? I wanna go slower. You taste good.   You’re good at controlling your expressions, of wearing a poker face, but unbeknownst to you, there’s a smile tugging on your lips. An outsider might think you particularly enjoy today’s class content. Others who know you better might consider that you’re in a good mood, perhaps daydreaming about something sweet. But there’s someone who really knows what’s going on.   Namjoon is sitting across the room and he turns his body slightly. His eyes are half-lidded, lips parted, chest rising and falling, glasses slipping down his nose. The boy is uncomfortable, beginning to sweat at his hairline. He glares. And your smile grows a bit wider.   He knows you’re thinking about you and him and you eye his slacks, noticing the tent growing in his pants.   Namjoon remains wholly unimpressed by your antics.   “The boy’s bathroom, really?” Your eyebrows are lifted and this time, you’re the one unimpressed with him. Luckily the hallways are empty, but he still tugs you in quickly before anyone can see. Are we fulfilling one of your fantasies now?   “No, we’re not. And if you want someone to blame, then blame yourself.” Namjoon shoves you into the farthest bathroom stall without remorse. If you were caught together with him in the boy’s washroom, you’re not even sure how to explain yourself. No one would believe it. “Who told you to go remembering all of that and thinking about us?”   He turns around and locks the stall. It’s terribly cramped. On one side, there’s toilet rolls and the other is a wall with pencil graffiti. The toilet doesn’t have a cover and it’s dirty. But at this point, the two of you are reckless and desperate enough not to care. “Well am I supposed to forget?”   “You’re supposed to not fantasize in the middle of class, Y/N,” he complains and turns you around, pushing his crotch to your ass. Your hands lift to press against the cubicle walls, keeping yourself steady. “Look at the problem you caused me.”   You can feel his erect cock right on the crack of your ass and you swallow hard, feeling his breath becoming rougher. Namjoon presses you close to him like it might be enough to get him off. “‘M sorry, I can’t help it, you know that.”   “Jinyoung almost saw. I had to cover my lap up with my textbook.” He’s mad and you can hear it in his voice. His hand comes down, fingers pressing on your underwear, rubbing back and forth ruthlessly. “And look, you’re already wet.”   “Namjoon,” you moan his name, grabbing his wrist and not sure if you want him to slow down or go faster. “L-Less talking. We should hurry before they wonder where we are.”   “No one’s going to wonder.” It’s true no one would second guess the two empty desks in the classroom. The pair of you went out at different times — you supposedly to the counselor and him to go make a phone call at the office.   As if to appease you, Namjoon holds the back of your neck and turns your head around. His thick-rimmed, smudged glasses knock against your face but he still kisses your cheek. You don’t know if he missed your mouth or not, if it was an accident, but it’s surprisingly soft and gentle.    It sends butterflies to your tummy.   The eager boy is hugging you from behind, one arm around your waist. He pulls your shirt out being tucked into your skirt and his hand goes underneath it, shoving your bra up and getting a handful of your breast. His thumb flicks onto your nipple, letting the soft bud pebble underneath his tender touch. You keen into him with a whine and he holds you straight, humming.   “You’re so warm and soft. I keep forgetting to tell you that.”   “You’re not going to cum just from touching my boobs, are you?”   He scoffs and rubs two fingers against your nipples harder, almost pinching. And you jump in his arms with a yelp. Namjoon smiles. “I’m not some amateur.”   “Actually, yes, you are.” Your hot breaths are heavy, panting out and your palms press harder against the cubicle wall, searching for some leverage. “If it helps, I am too.”   “Psh. I’m gonna fuck you well, don’t worry.”   You could roll your eyes to the back of your skull. “That’s a really high bar to set— N-Namjoon!”   He’s pressing hard on your clit through your soaked panties, shoving your skirt up. “Pardon?”   “N-nothing.” You turn your head around, trying to speed things up. Sneaking out to the boy’s bathroom in the middle of the classroom is not an optimum time to drag out foreplay. “You have a condom, right?”   “I’m always prepared.” Namjoon smirks playfully and lets go of you, stepping back to dig into his back pocket. You realize how cold it is without his body heat against you, but thankfully he wastes no time, taking out a condom between his index and middle fingers, flashing it to you like it’s a winning card in a poker game or this is the middle of a Yugioh episode.    He does the stupidest things like this that makes you laugh the hardest. “Why are you such a dork?”   “Please, you like it.”   You watch him rip it open. “Need help?”   “I got it.”    It’s quicker and easier than the first time, and the second, and the third. He lets his pants drop, rolling the latex on his cock and then helps you take off your panties, stuffing them in his uniform blazer’s pocket. Namjoon takes a hold of your hips and positions you correctly. He moves the tip of his thick cock back and forth on your slit, spreading your slick everywhere and you feel yourself getting wetter.    “A-are you going to last longer this time?”   Namjoon’s offended and he pouts without you seeing. “I’m getting better. Ready?”   “Yeah.” The head of his cock intrudes your velvet walls, penetrating deep and he releases a shaky exhale. It burns less and feels good, filling a space inside you that you didn’t know was empty.    The first time, it wasn’t bad. The second time hurt a lot and you both had to stop. No one orgasmed then. But the third time was much better and now, there was not even a mild discomfort. It didn’t hurt at all — he’s stretched you out well enough to take his cock. And he can last a lot longer than three strokes too.    “N-Namjo..oon.”   “Everything good?”   “Yeah…” You weakly nod. He’s holding you, humping from behind, drawing as far back as he can before his hips jut forward, trusting in and you try your best to meet him halfway. The two of you are making a mess, fluids running down your legs, uniforms all wrinkled up. “C-Can you kiss me?”   You don’t need to ask twice.   He stops and turns your head around, catching your lips as best as he can in this awkward position. You begin to squirm, rocking yourself back onto him. One thing was certain — the kisses have definitely improved. The way he kisses you is enough to leave you breathless and dizzy.   You pull away and Namjoon continues to pound from behind you. The obscene sounds echo throughout the washroom, leaking out into the hallway; clapping sounds created when his pelvis meets your ass cheeks. Anyone walking past would know what was going on.    It’s also musty, the smell of sweat and sex filling the air. But there’s also the scent of Namjoon surrounding you and it’s nice. You’re not sure what deodorant he uses, or maybe it’s cologne. You can’t exactly pinpoint it.   “H-hey…” The boy slows down the pace, remembering something.   “What?”   “Can you stop envisioning my voice and imagining what I’d say? It’s awkward to hear what my voice sounds like to you in your head.”   He rolls his hips slowly, going deeper with the languid speed and it has you crumbling. “N-Nam...joon...s-stop talking. F-faster.”   “Why? I wanna go slower. You taste so good,” he whispers, making fun of you and recalling the cheesy dialogue you came up with in your daydream.   “F-fuck you.”   He laughs, sound gentle and tinkling. Namjoon kisses the back of your neck, right on the nape and he licks his thumb before tenderly rubbing at your clit. Against your will, loud noises spill from your throat and it has him shushing you. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, entire body jostling with how he goes faster. You’re scared of someone coming in — but the risk is exciting at the same time.   Namjoon can read your thoughts and he gets off on your fantasies too.   You imagine what it would be like if the bell rang, if a bunch of kinds came in, pissing in the urinals, washing their hands at the sink, talking and goofing off. They wouldn’t know what was going on behind the thin wall of the cubical except that there were two pairs of feet right by each other.   “Nam...too-...too much...” He’s rubbing too hard at your clit, forgetting to measure his strength, overexcited with your imagination and it’s too late. The tension in your lower stomach finally tightens and snaps. Your toes curl and you sob his name louder.   He cups your mouth with his hand, muffling your shriek. Your eyes shut tight and you clench around him. The boy groans lowly, sound vibrating and you hear mumbles of your name. His chin is propped on your shoulder and he thrusts twice, sloppy, milking your orgasm and he cums too.   Namjoon is still hugging you close as you both catch your breath.   Eventually he slips himself out and lets go.   You turn around. “That was….better than last time.”   He grins, dimples marking his cheek, strands of his hair sweaty. He slips off his condom. “Next time will be even better.”   Next time?   You’re fixing your bra and shirt, pulling your skirt down again, but the thought in your head is loud and clear. Namjoon doesn’t say anything. Maybe he pretends not to know and you don’t comment either, afraid of questioning how many more times this will happen, afraid of defining what exactly this arrangement is.    “We should get back before they actually start wondering where we are.”   “Yeah.” You flatten down your messy hair, getting your panties back from him despite them being soiled. As you put them back on with a grimace, you watch Namjoon throw the used condom in the toilet. You don’t think twice as he tugs up his slacks. But then it hits you. “W-wait, don’t flush it down the—”   The toilet whirls down automatically. “Shit, too late!”   The pair of you are frozen, watching the destruction happen right in front of your eyes. It doesn’t flush all the way down and seems to burp back. The water runs without once stopping. It starts to overflow.   “Oh my god.”   There’s no choice, but to run.   //   The chain of things that occur after your little rendezvous with Namjoon would be cause for embarrassment, if only you weren’t so shameless now. It may be because you’ve gotten comfortable enough with him, with sex acts, and because you know he’s equally responsible for everything that happens. As long as nobody else knows and it’s just between you and him, there’s no need to be ashamed.   It’s a secret that the two of you share.   “Everyone, listen up.” The health teacher, Mr. Bang, claps his hands at the front of class, quieting down the conversations of students. “On Friday afternoon, there was an incident here at this school.”   “What happened?” There’s a sea of murmurs that ripples throughout the room and your ears perk, picking up on the girls next to you.   “Didn’t you hear? Someone flushed down a used condom in the boys washroom by the science hall that clogged the toilet. It flooded the entire washroom and they had to shut it down for the rest of the day.”   “Ew, gross.”   “Wait, does that mean someone had sex in the washroom? Ugh!”   “Quiet down, quiet down.” The teacher slaps a stack of papers on the desk, gathering the attention back. “There will be consequences for students who engage in anything inappropriate at school. Okay? I just want to make that clear. It’s completely inappropriate and there’s possibility for suspension. We already know who these people are, alright?”    For a moment, he eyes Hoseok and Krystal sitting at the side, near the middle rows.   Some glance at them too in disdain and disgust. Hoseok finally looks up, snapping back to attention. “Wait, what?”   Mr. Bang clears his throat and moves on. “In light of what happened, the superintendent wanted me to review some things we learnt earlier in this course.”    There’s a collective groan, but he shuts it down by saying this is what happens when something like that at school occurs. He begins to write it on the board, marker squeaking on the smooth surface. He’s returning back to the sex-ed unit.   “Look, I get it, alright? You’re at that age where you went to begin getting closer to people and you want to start experimenting with things. But if you don’t want to get pregnant and birth out a baby that you have to take care of for the next eighteen years, do not have sex.”   The students roll their eyes, leaning back on their seat. Few are still alert, most zoning and tuning out. It’s the same thing over and over again, teachers parroting each other, as afraid of kids becoming sexually active as they are of ghosts. “If you don’t want any horrible STIs to follow you around for the rest of your life, do not have sexual intercourse. You don’t know if any of these people have gotten tested! They could have anything. Protection like condoms and birth control are not one hundred percent effective. There’s always a chance it could happen. The best protection is to not do it at all. Don’t risk disease—”   You’re one of the many that have stopped paying attention. Actually, your awareness of the classroom has long been removed. The words going in one ear and out the other. Instead, you’re busy sitting next to Namjoon, stealing peeks at him. You’re thinking about getting on the floor, crawling under his desk, fumbling with his pants.    What are you doing?   Making you feel good.   You envision unzipping his trousers, pulling out his cock excitedly, spitting in your palm to stroke him. He’d become harder in your hand, redder, and you’d lean close to kiss the top, relishing in it when you feel him shiver. Namjoon would tangle his fingers in your hair and tug you closer. You wouldn’t know what to do, how to do it, but he’d teach you, guiding your mouth on him. You’d try your best to take him as far as you can go, salivating and slobbering all over his dick. It would hurt your jaw and you’d gag, choke, but the effort would be worth it when he praises you.   You glance over at Namjoon in reality, finding him shifting uncomfortably, ears bright pink.   A smirk pulls into your cheek. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Namjoon?   He turns his head towards you, expression impassive. But you catch his Adam’s apple bobbing and he doesn’t say anything, simply nodding.   He no longer protests your active imagination. While it’s still a massive distraction to his concentration, he reads your mind promptly and willingly. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger and you love every second of it.   “Excuse me, Mr. Bang?” You approach the health teacher with Namjoon behind you, backpacks on your shoulders, stack of textbooks in your arms.   The older man lifts his chin. “Oh! Y/N, Namjoon! What can I do for you?”   “We finished filling out the diagrams.” You hand in the sheets of paper of the vagina and penis, perfectly labeled with a small description underneath them. Apparently, this is what the school system thinks is sexual education. “We were wondering if we could go to the library to study for the upcoming physics test.”   He nods. “Did you finish everything else for this class?”   “Yes.” You smile. “We both did.”   The teacher returns your smile. “Go ahead then, just make sure you’ve double-checked everything.”   “Thank you.”   The two of you leave the classroom quietly, the other students still causing a ruckus for him. The door shuts and you happily skip down the hall while Namjoon trails after you, laughing. The teachers think you’re both very responsible, studious students — goody two shoes and maybe academic friends at best. No one would ever suspect and that makes it all the more fun to break the rules.   But while you’re happy keeping these secrets between the pair of you, it’s a shame that no one else knows how attractive Namjoon is. It’s one secret you don’t want to keep to yourself. You wish more people saw what you did. How his awkwardness is actually sweetness and makes him all the more authentic, how his clumsiness is cute, how smart and warm-hearted he is.   As he shadows your steps, your thoughts have Namjoon blushing in a deeper shade. He stares at the back of your head, feeling tingles in his chest, unable to resist a grin when you think about how you at least get him all to yourself.   The librarian welcomes you, busy stacking and registering new shipment of books in the back closet. This early in the morning, there aren’t any students. You’re free to pick and choose wherever you want to go, but without hesitation you walk to the farthest table hidden behind multiple bookshelves. You both drop off your belongings there and scatter off to the corner. He takes your hand and leads you forward, weaving through the maze of shelves in the back where no one else can see.   It’s deathly quiet, enough to hear pins dropping. But in this small space, the noise of soft smacking disrupts the peace. Namjoon kisses you roughly and desperately like he’s trying to get himself off with just this. His tongue is down your throat, his spit entering your mouth. It makes you hot and bothered, Namjoon trying to make you as aroused as you’ve made him. You’ve gotten him riled up after all. It’s revenge.   The boy’s glasses knock against your face, but neither of you care enough. His kisses have made you dizzy. “N-Namjoon,” you gasp, pushed against the corner where the shelf meets the smooth wall.   He lifts one of your legs, palm pressed against the meat of your thigh. It’s done with urgency, less playful, less talking and more serious and intimate than before. Your eyes stray off, peeking through the shelves and gaps between the books, finding no one watching.   Suddenly, he pushes deeper into you, silencing your brain until you think of him and only him.   You’re surrounded in his scent, deodorant, cologne, natural sweat. His hands are all over you, tender touches and eager groping with attempted restraint that fails. His broad body shields you away from any potential prying eyes, covering you from head to toe. He tastes like chapstick and you relish in the gentle sounds drawing out of him, grunts and moans, caught in a trance. Namjoon kisses you closer, deeper until you’re overwhelmed.   He only pulls away when you whimper. A thin line of saliva catches between your lips, glistening in the light. But you don’t notice when he’s gazing at you in such a way, endeared. You swallow hard, feeling small under his intense eyes.   It’s only in reading these thoughts that Namjoon ends up turning away. “We should…”   Wait. What? You’re confused and impulsively, you grab onto him, tugging his sleeve. “Are we not going to….?”   He grins, dimples creasing on either side of his cheek before he pushes his glasses up casually. “We almost got caught last time.”   “No.” The syllable draws out into an unintentional whine. “It’s because you flushed it down the toilet. Who told you to do that?”   He laughs, sound tinkling in your ears pleasantly. “You’re so needy.”    But Namjoon returns anyhow, holding you and pushing your panties to the side. His fingers play at your slit, tapping gently like he’s fiddling with piano keys. It makes you jolt and he nuzzles into you, knocking his head down, forehead pressed against your shoulder.   “C-Can you blame me?”   It feels too good. You wish he could touch you all the time.    Namjoon reads your mind and smiles softly without you knowing. He mumbles into your shirt, “You’re so cute.”   Such a wholesome comment shouldn’t be spoken when the tips of his fingers are spreading your folds and he’s entering you. With two digits, he sinks deep into your leaking cunt until he’s knuckle deep. Namjoon has the audacity to laugh as you choke on air and in retaliation, you weakly hit your fist against his shoulder. He’s amused at how sensitive you still are even after doing it so many times, to the point where you’ve both lost count.   “We’re in the library, so keep it down will you?”   “Then stop doing that.”   “Doing what?” He curls his fingers against your velvet walls, hitting a spot that has you sobbing and pathetically trying to hold back. “You mean that?”   He’s being a sly shit, gained too much confidence touching you — but you don’t hate it. He scissors you, thrusting his fingers in and out, twisting his wrist. You knock your head back. If the librarian finds Namjoon fondling you like this with his hand shoved up your skirt, your panties moved to the side, she would be mortified, maybe even getting a heart attack.   “You really like thinking about people catching us, huh?”   “N-no….” Your objection is weak and he grins. “D-do you want me to...blow you?”   He hums, considering it, but the way the member in his pants stir and how he swallows hard is unmistakable. “N-no, I’m good.” His rejection surprises you. You thought any horny teenage boy would jump at the chance. Your fantasies seemed to make him riled up too. “Maybe later, in my room, if you’re okay with that,” he clarifies your confusion as he pets your velvet walls, feeling around like he’s searching for something. It makes your legs tremble.   You nod and decide to tease, “You think you’re not gonna last if we do it here?”   Namjoon scoffs. “No. It’s gonna take a long time to teach you.”   “I’m a fast learner,” you counter.   “I know. But I kind of...want you to sit on my face again….if you want….” He’s nervous for the first time in a long while.   You piece it together, brows lifting. You want me to blow you while sitting on your face? So like sixty nine?   He becomes red in the face, fingers inside of you halting. “Is that bad?”   No. Just predictable.   Namjoon lightly scoffs, but if you were frank, the plans made you enthusiastic and he knows it too. The boy kisses you, squeezing a handful of your breasts over your uniform blouse, becoming more patient. But you make him pick up the speed and he gets out his condom that he seems to have on hand now twenty-four seven. Both your legs end up wrapping around his waist and while you’re scared of falling or snapping him in half, he holds your weight well while you’re leaning against the wall.   He continues to rut against you, thrusting as fast as he can manage. With his thick girth stretching you out so nicely, you squeeze around him, enjoying it when you can make him sputter. After the third time, he’s had enough of your antics and kisses you, deeper, muffling your noises. Books knock against the shelf, several almost falling. Your wetness might just drip down and stain the carpet, leaving your mark with Namjoon’s.   The two of you are sweaty against each other, getting closer to your release.   “H-Hey….”   “Hmm?”   “Keep your eyes on me.”   You nod, trying your best. But Namjoon can’t hold you up anymore. As his strokes become sloppier, one of your left leg falls when you’re not ready. Your knees buckle and he slips out of you, but luckily, Namjoon catches you in his arms and the both of you burst out laughing.   You lean against the wall, he gets himself back in you and you both return to what you were doing before. Namjoon stares at your expression and you lock your eyes into his. He fucks you like he likes you.   Finally, his hand moves to rub your clit with his thumb. It’s enough for you to be pushed over the edge and you stifle your sounds against his shoulder, slobbering on his uniform blazer. You clench, hot walls of velvet like a vice grip, clenching around his length. He groans and moves twice before cumming.    After a moment of hugging you, he pulls himself out and pushes your panties back to hold in the mess you made.   “Don’t throw the condom in the corner,” you chide.   Namjoon breathlessly laughs. “What? I was going to put my kids in between the dictionaries for someone to find later.”   You weakly hit him, giggling together.

It’s a sunny day, the weather nice and pleasant, warm enough that you don’t need a jacket. With your stomach full of food, you couldn’t be any happier. And your joy is found in the way your steps have a slight skip to them.   Namjoon smiles, watching you and matching his walking pace with yours.   The pair of you had grabbed a meal together at a fast food restaurant. A reward for doing so well on your biology midterm. While the teacher didn’t announce who did the best, she read the top two marks out loud and they happened to be you and him. You got ninety-five percent while Namjoon scored ninety. The fact that you miraculously did better than him in a subject that you despise has you even more bubbly.   The food wasn’t much, but you liked it. Actually, what you really like is being around Namjoon, even if it’s not for sex, even if it’s to do whatever.   These thoughts have him grinning. But you don’t notice.   “—wanted to die, oh my god.”   “I didn’t know she would be there!” he argues back, but the two of you aren’t fighting. It’s humorous banter, created from mortification and disbelief.   “What if she found me, some random chick, in her kitchen giving her son a blowjob?! Oh my god.”   “You’re not some ‘random chick’. She knows who you are.” He shrugs. “Plus, you like people watching so…”   “I do not!”   “You know I can read your mind, right?”   “Stop!” You hate it. “Get out!”   Namjoon laughs. “What I’m saying is that it’s fine. She didn’t find us like that. And if it helps, she actually likes you.”   “Well, I hope it was worth it, because now she probably thinks I’m your girlfriend.” The entire time, you ended up talking to Namjoon’s mom and answering her numerous questions like it was a job interview instead of doing the deed.   The boy smiles. “I don’t mind.”   “What? That I didn’t get to blow you or that your mom thinks we’re together?”   “Did you end up looking at what university you wanted to go to yet?”   “Oh yeah. I was looking into the admission requirements.” The topic is switched so drastically, but you don’t even notice when it comes to your studies. You and Namjoon made a pact to help each other get into university and it was comforting to have someone help along the way. “Apparently, the math program at MK National isn’t bad. I’ve already done some research onto some profs to take and what GPA boosters there are.”   Namjoon laughs. “Wow, so prepared.”   “Of course,” you hum back before remembering something, “Don’t take economics, by the way. It’s not as easy as people make it out to be apparently.”   “Noted.” The corners of his mouth quirk.   “Haseul’s thinking about going into nursing..” She’s one of the few friends that you have. “...so that’s more incentive to me.” Plus, he’s there too.   Namjoon reads your mind and grins to himself, downcast head facing his feet shyly. “So you’ve decided on MK National then?”   “I don’t know. I’m aiming for it, I guess, but if I don’t get in then I don’t.”   “You’ll get in,” the boy reassures. “You’re smarter than I am.”   His confidence in you draws a sheepish smile on your face.   The two of you are strolling to the bus stop together and while you’ll have to get onto different buses, it’s still nice to traipse around with him like this. At least, that’s what you’re mulling until your daydream is broken by the back of his hand grazing against yours.   You glance down before looking away. For the first time in a long time, you’re nervous again. There’s an urge within you to hold his hand, an instinct that tells you that’s the only right way to walk alongside Namjoon. But that’s kind of weird — you don’t know if you should, if that would make things awkward. In fact, you don’t even know what the limits are when you’re unsure of what your relationship with Namjoon is in the first place, friends with benefits or—   You’re thinking about it for too long. You’re making Namjoon get a headache.   So gingerly, he reaches over while nonchalantly looking ahead, deciding for you. His fingers find your wrist and he moves his hand down, tangling your fingers together, palms clasping, gingerly holding your hand. None of you speak.   You don’t like how he can read your mind.   But this is one of the few times you appreciate it.   His hand squeezes yours — your chest feels warm.   //   “Are you alright?”   Why? I’m fine.   Namjoon knows that you overthink. You like to consider every decision that you make, calculating the benefits and the consequences, making plans for your future. Everything is logical to you. The only reason he’s with you now is because of your rare impulse, emotions that you couldn’t handle or control on your own. He’s with you because of your fantasies and lustful daydreams stowed at the back of your brain for no one else to know of.    If you controlled your urges, he wouldn’t be a part of your life right now.    The realization makes him a bit uncomfortable. He was never a part of your plan, a part of what you envision for your future. For once, he’s thankful for his ability — it’s given him the opportunity to get to know you. But at the same time, he’s disheartened to know that you’ve only kept him around for a few purposes.   Aside from that, you like to lie a lot too.   He can read your mind. He knows your thoughts are a chaotic train on fire heading straight for hell. Yet, you like to act like it’s all fine. Like nothing’s wrong. But he knows you better than that. He can read you better than that. He knows you better than you know yourself. And Namjoon knows that despite what you might think, he’s just not just a temporary person in your life.    “Namjoon!” You’re making a ruckus without being aware of it, standing on the tips of your toes, waving your arm over your head. A stupid smile pulls onto his face and he waves back. People’s heads turn. Your friends are confused and so are his. But you don’t seem to care, happier to see him than being mindful of your surroundings.   He can see the way your eyes always light up when you find him in the crowd.    He notices the way you like to ramble about your day to him. “—finished my paper. But I can’t believe she assigned me to edit Hoseok’s paper. He only had one paragraph done. And I couldn’t even read it! His writing doesn’t even look like chicken scratch. It’s like he wrote it while on the toilet using his toes.”   Laughter bubbles up his throat. “Well, not everyone is Miss. Prepared like you are. Did he at least edit your paper?”   “No.” You pout. “He gave it back and told me it was perfect.”   His gaze on you softens. “It probably was.”   Namjoon catches on before you even know yourself.   You don’t need to say anything. He already knows how you feel about him — and this knowledge makes him more giddy than he’d ever like to admit.   //   For the most part, you aren’t deprived anymore.   A certain someone keeps you satisfied enough to pay attention in class, tires you out enough to make you sleep well at night, placate your endless desires. But still, there are times when you’re bored or sleepy in class and you actively begin to daydream to keep yourself awake.    It’s in social studies that your mind begins to wander without restraint, Namjoon not here to turn around and glare or later scold you for making him lose his concentration.   You envision a faceless stranger waltzing into the classroom, boots tapping against the floor. This person would stride towards the teacher’s desk in the corner. They’d plop down on the swivel chair, lean back, spread their legs comfortably, eyes sweeping the room. You imagine their gaze would stop on you and the corner of their mouth would tug, hand motioning you to come.   He’d guide you to sit on his lap, right on top of his thighs. Your hands would find purchase on his broad shoulders. After you’re settled, he would hum in satisfaction and his rough hands would be placed on the dips of your waist, plush lips skimming down your neck, kissing lightly. He’d relish in the way you’d shiver.    You like that? The voice is familiar somehow, but you can’t pinpoint it.   Y-yes. Please hurry…   Why should I? Don’t you like it when people watch us? Look at all these kids looking. They don’t know you're such a dirty girl. Should we show them? Should we do a class demonstration and show them how it’s supposed to be done?   His fingers play with the hem of your skirt, tugging it up while he fumbles with his pants, lifting you slightly and pulling down the waistband enough to slip his hardening cock out of his briefs. The way his tip leaks has you swallowing hard, remembering the salty flavour.    I-I don’t like people looking, you’d protest weakly, meeting the man’s eyes.   He snorts, air rushing out of his nose. You know I can read your mind, right?   There’s a pause that lingers — you nearly shatter out of your daydream. What?   The person you’re straddling doesn’t answer, lips returning to the sweet spot between your shoulder and neck, hot tongue lapping at it and drawing shudders out of your body. Then he sucks hard, making you cry out. His arms are around you, letting you arch but not shuffle away, pushing you close. He ends up grabbing hold of his cock, squeezing the base and lining it up with your slit.   The boy doesn’t wait, shoving his hips upwards and making you sob, feeling your cunt stretch. He fucks into you raw with his red cock. He groans, thrusting upwards a few times before he holds your hips. Ride me, Y/N, he commands and forces you to sink down onto him until he’s balls deep inside of you. It’s enough to have your walls clenching around his girth, for you to moan and tremble.   C’mon, you can do it, baby, he coaxes and you nod several times, trying your best.   With as much strength as you can muster in your leg, you pull yourself up and drop down on him, swiveling your hips and doing what feels good. The boy helps you too, thrusts moving halfway, praises rolling off his tongue.   You’re so cute, he hums, thumb harshly rubbing your nipple back and forth, his hand underneath your shirt, shoved past your bra.   Pleasure takes hold, making your vision blurry, but you don’t focus on reaching an orgasm or pleasing him. Instead, something’s taken hold of your brain and while you ride him, you curl your hand into his hair, fingers tugging the strands. You pull his head back and he moans your name. His chin is lifted, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat and you narrow your eyes into his features.   Who are you?   The faceless person begins to morph under your touch. The fog lifts and you realize it’s not someone random, a mere placeholder of another body, in your fantasy. His hair is dark, matching the colour of his half-lidded eyes staring back at you, dimples marking into each side of his cheek. His glasses sit on his nose, framing his face, accentuating the jawline.   For the first time, your imagination’s found a face. It’s—   “Miss Y/N.”   You come crumbling back to reality, realizing where you are. Your fantasies disperse into thin air. The teacher’s right in front of you, clearing his throat. Everyone’s eyes are on you and the middle-aged man repeats his question, “I was asking you what the branches of government are.”   “Judicial, legislative and executive,” you say without missing a beat.   The teacher smiles, pleased that you were paying attention even though it seemed like you weren’t. He knows you would never be distracted like some of his other students. “Very good.” He spins around on his heel. “You ought to learn a thing or two from Miss. Y/N, Jung Hoseok.”   The student shoots you a glare that you wholeheartedly don’t even register.   You’ve lost your train of thought, but it felt really important.   For the rest of the day, you’re distracted, unable to focus on anything as you try to trace back to what your thoughts were, replaying what you last remembered. But it’s gone. You’re frustrated beyond belief, feeling out of your element, out of control. But no matter how upset you are at forgetting, there’s no point in moping over lost thoughts.   That is until you sleep.   It’s at night, laying in your bed, deep in slumber that it all returns. Except this time, your subconscious has conjured something that isn’t sexual in the least bit. You dream of calling out to someone, of watching them catch up to you, how you hold their hand, entwining your fingers together with them without hesitation. It’s oddly intimate.   You dream about a strappy, tall boy with gawky glasses and plaid flannels. You dream about soft touches, tender kisses, dimples and doting gazes.   In a shock, much like a nightmare — you jolt awake in the middle of the night.   You finally know who it is.   //   “Hey, can I come over today?” you ask in the hall, holding your books to your chest.   The tall boy with his gawky glasses takes one good look at you and smiles. “No. I’m hanging out with Jinyoung today.”   “Oh.” You turn away, only to steal another glance of him. “Can we….go to the library then?”   “Why?” The boy plays dumb, like he can’t read your mind in a split of a second.   “C-Cause….you know….” You’re not trying to play coy on purpose, but it’s cute.   Namjoon can’t help but be endeared by you. He’s known most people to act differently from their thoughts, people laughing with their friends and at the same time cursing them in their heads. He’s known people internally swearing at him before, teachers that secretly thought he was an idiot, his own parents angry enough at times to think that they didn’t want him as a son.   There’s evilness in everyone — dishonesty, backstabbing, two-faced — but when it comes to you, there’s only nastiness in the best sense possible. All you have are dirty thoughts.   He loves it.   “I don’t.”   “Namjoon,” you whine, “you know what I’m trying to say.”   He shrugs with another mischievous smile. “Don’t know till you tell me.”   The pout on your face does little to persuade him, so with a face lit on fire, you end up whispering, “I-I...want you t..to fuck me.”   “Oh.” He nods and pretends to consider it. “But I thought they were doing a presentation in the library today. It’s probably crowded.”   “Then how about the boy’s locker room?” you suggest, completely shameless.   “Hmmm…..that’s a good place. But I don’t really feel like it.”   “What?”   Namjoon shrugs. “I don’t feel like it.”   “Oh. Okay.” Your head turns to face forward, though the nonchalant act does little to cover up how embarrassed you really are. Still, you easily respect his decision with zero protests.   But for the next handful of times, Namjoon completely rejects your advances. He rolls it off his shoulders, purposely acting ignorant and depriving you of all physical contact. It’s confusing and you begin to trace back to what you did. Maybe he was doing this as petty revenge, but you can’t think of anything you did wrong. You don’t understand.   On a Tuesday afternoon, you catch him shifting his pants underneath his desk as you purposely daydream. You stare hard into the side of his face, catching on that he’s having a hard time with this sudden dry spell too, but he does nothing afterwards to satisfy either of you. It’s strange.    Maybe Namjoon’s just lost interest in you. That would make some logical sense. Maybe you’re boring now that he’s fucked you twenty times—   “Hey.”   You turn, interrupted in your contemplation. “What?”   One moment you’re upright and the next, he’s snaked his arms around you, pulling you into his body. You yelp, but the sound is suffocated against his mouth. Namjoon kisses you in the empty hallway, tongue down your throat. It’s risky. You don’t know why he’s doing this here. The bell’s about to ring. But your brain is silenced. All worries cease.   You shut your eyes after a delayed moment, reveling in him.   The sly boy takes his time in drinking in your expression. The passionate kiss sadly lasts for the shortest of seconds, only satisfying you for a mere moment.   He lets you go just as fast as he held you.   And you’re left breathless with swollen lips. The taste of chapstick lingers. “Wh-what was that?”   “Nothing.” Namjoon shrugs, back of his hand coming to wipe his mouth, taking your saliva off of his mouth.   Okay….   Maybe he didn’t lose interest in you after all.   You’re more befuddled than before and more frustrated as well. It doesn’t add up — you must be making him uncomfortable with your sexual frustrations. The thoughts have been swirling around in your brain twenty four seven, purposely at that. You conjure up your fantasies every second you’re in his proximity. Yet, it gains nothing. There is no reaction.   You even try touching yourself one night and while it does little to relieve your needs, you tell him through your thoughts the next day, conveying it with your brain waves. Again. Zero reaction.   Perhaps he’s lost his ability. Maybe you got too close to him and his brain exploded and he can’t read your thoughts anymore. That wouldn’t be such a horrible thing considering you’d get your privacy back…..but it’s also terrible. The one time you want him to know your needs and he doesn’t.   It takes three weeks, nearly a month of no sexual contact, for you to break. And you end up cornering Idiot Kim Namjoon on the way to the bus stop.   “W-what’s wrong, Y/N?”   Nervous laughter escapes him. You’ve literally cornered him in, metal fence digging into his back, mailbox to his left — there’s no escape. You’re near some poor old lady’s lawn, a bunch of high schoolers causing disturbances. But you don’t care how you look to outsiders. You can’t study at all. And when something begins to impair your academic abilities and your grades, you will stop at nothing to rid of it.    “You tell me what’s wrong!” Your foot stamps like that of a petulant child. “Why have you been holding out?”   “Holding out on what?”   “Sex!” you shriek aloud and those passing by look over with widening eyes.   “What?”   “You haven’t touched me since the third of this month! Today is the twenty fourth!”   “I...I just didn’t feel like it.”   “Really?” You eye him up and down, finding it hard to believe. “I get it okay. If you don’t want to. It’s not like I mind. But I feel like you’re hiding something from me, Namjoon. You’re not telling me the entire truth. Suddenly you just don’t want to anymore?”   “I kissed you...if that counts.”   “That was eight days ago!”   The corner of his mouth is shifted up in amusement. “You’ve been keeping count?”   “Yes!” You’re unabashed, but at the same time, you want to cry. It’s so confusing that it hurts your head. “It’s just….ugh! I hate you!”   “No, you don’t.”   “Yes, I do!” You point an accusatory finger at his face, childish. “It’s unfair how you can read my mind like that but I can’t tell what you’re thinking at all! I hate you!”   Namjoon smiles softly and it causes your anger to surge. “I just don’t want you to treat me like your sex toy.”   “What?” By his sudden statement, you’re left hurt. “When have I ever?”   “I need you to admit something to me. That’s why I’m….‘holding out’, okay?”    It’s puzzling. Befuddling. You look at him like he’s speaking another language. This game...this puzzle...it’s too difficult to solve. You don’t want to play. “Admit what?”   This time, it’s Namjoon who’s cornering you. He approaches, fast steps that end up pushing you against the fence. He looks down and wears a dorky, yet gentle smile. The boy leans down and his warm breath against your ear makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight—   “You like me, don’t you?”   There’s an extended pause.   Your breath is halted. You’re ten seconds away from combusting on spot, steam coming out of your ears, body shutting down from mortification. You don’t know if you want to choke him out or grab fistfuls of your hair. “Oh my god….Oh my god! Get out of my head, Namjoon! Get out! Get out! Stop reading my thoughts!”   But he grabs both of your wrists, not allowing you to cover your face up with your hands. Namjoon stares at you with the biggest shit-eating grin that you want to smack off. “Why are you embarrassed?”   “You’re not supposed to know I like you! How dare you expose me, asshole!” you’re shouting at the top of your lungs. The grandma in the house is about to walk out with her cane and spank you both off her lawn for making such a ruckus.    You’re not so discreet anymore, drawing attention from everyone. Though no one seems to particularly care, assuming that it’s just kids joking around with one another or it’s young love and just a minor lover’s spat.   His stupid smile is about to break his goddamn cheeks.   “So you like me?”   You’re trapped and he already knows the answer anyway. There’s no choice but to own up and at least try to scrape up whatever's left of your dignity when you say it. “O-of course I like you. How could anyone not like you?”   Namjoon’s heart is soaring in his chest. He giggles, sound bubbling out and gentle. It makes your cheeks grow warmer. “Well good. Because I like you too.”   “Y-you do?” Part of you isn’t surprised, maybe your subconscious already knew it. But the other half that was filled with doubts is finally satisfied. You’re relieved. It’s a huge weight off your shoulders.   “How could anyone not like you,” Namjoon repeats with another laugh, brushing a strand of your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. The soft movement has you stuttering, but he steps back soon after, giving you space.   “So...so what does this mean?”   Is he your boyfriend now? Or is this just a casual thing? What does ‘like’ even mean? Does he like-like you or just like you? Did he just acknowledge you enjoy each other's company? But that’s obvious, of course you enjoy each other’s company. Then...does this mean he wants to pursue some kind of long term relationship? Dating? But what does dating even mean? What do you have to do? What if this becomes awkward? What if you mess up?!   “I think….we should go on a date,” Namjoon suggests, calming you down before your brain goes completely haywire.   He takes your hand, squeezing lightly with a smile to match. Your thoughts compose itself.   “A date?” You blink, letting a few beats pass as everything that’s happened in the past five minutes sinks into you. It’s a lot to process. It’s overwhelming. But also— “That sounds... nice.”   He nods and hums a warm note. “And we can see what happens from there. Step by step. Date by date.”   It’s more than pleasant. You feel at ease in his company, in the way he knows your overthinking tendencies, how he so easily understands you.    But what you manage is a fake scoff. He already knows what you really think. “Who says I’m going on a second date with you? You’re going to have to earn that.”   “Please.” The pair of you are walking down the street again, hand in hand. “We both know you’re not going to leave my dick for someone else’s.”   “Namjoon!”   The clumsy boy laughs, squeezing your hand wrapped around his own.   //   You’re no longer safe in the depths of your own mind.   Namjoon knows what you’re thinking — he can tell your constant poker face is a facade and that every time your brows furrow, it’s not in concentration, but that you’re preoccupied in a daydream.   You’ve been invaded, thoughts exposed, but you don’t mind. He understands you better than yourself, helping you make sense of your occasional complicated ideas, appreciating your rather….strong imagination. He also quiets down your mind when it becomes too chaotic. He can stare at you and dive into your brain across the room, chuckling at what he finds.   His ability is what bound you and him together after all.   But these days, things are too busy to let your mind wander. And that’s okay too.   These days, there’s less of an urgency to have constant romps in the sack. These days, there’s less of a rush to spend time with one another. There’s no need to hurry along when you know Namjoon’s here to stay. There’s no need now that the pair of you are together.   “Namjoon!”   You shout from across the hall, springing up to him on this hectic morning. Yet, you don’t care about the way you draw attention, at how you’re making people stare, how you’re revealing your cover, no longer just the studious girl sitting on the side of class and blending into the wall.   You’re wearing a huge grin that is infectious to him. “What’s the matter?”   There’s an envelope in your hand. But you can’t spit the words out when you’re gasping, out of breath, having ran all the way here to find him. He’s the first person you wanted to tell. And luckily enough, you don’t even need to speak the words. One good look at you and he knows.   I got in.   All at once, his eyes widen. His lips part. Then they tug into his cheeks, dimples pressed on either side of his face. Without being able to resist, Namjoon picks you off the ground, tightly hugging you and spinning you around. You laugh into his shoulder, relishing in his embrace, celebrating.   It’s a moment between you and him in this busy hallway. No one else hears. No one knows.    It’s just a little secret that the two of you share.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #namjoon smut #bts smut #namjoon fanfic

[kay-chronister]

“The Women Who Sing for Sklep” nominated for a World Fantasy Award: read free here.

A hugely unexpected honor: “The Women Who Sing for Sklep,” a story original to Thin Places and beloved to my heart, is a finalist for a World Fantasy Award. “Sklep” is my playful troubling of Wicker Man-style folk horror, inspired by the folk music gathering project of the composer Béla Bartók and the ambivalent fascination with the “primitive” that fueled early-twentieth-century anthropology more broadly. Also, Slavic mermaids. In light of the story’s nomination, I’ve decided to make it available -- free online for the first time -- to read here. Hope you enjoy!

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The Women Who Sing for Sklep

The composer stopped when he came to the hillside overlooking the village of Sklep. He asked his assistant to photograph the squat little houses of wattle-and-daub, sipped from his canteen, and looked upon the landscape with approval.

He rode into the village posting to his horse’s trot, stiff in the saddle after many hours of riding. His assistant was fortunate; his assistant got to walk. His assistant’s name was Triglav, after the old Slavic god, which the composer appreciated.

Sklep had no Sunday market, so the main road into town was empty, besides a woman who sold goat’s milk in glass bottles on one side of the road. The composer did not ask her where to find the town magistrate. He already knew. The house at the end of the road was taller and narrower than any of its neighbors. Already he had seen a dozen villages arranged just the same way.

In front of the tall, narrow house, the composer dismounted, put his horse’s reins in Triglav’s hands, then walked to the door and knocked. The horse nibbled hopefully at the dust in front of the house. Triglav arranged and rearranged their luggage. The composer waited, his arms crossed like two intersecting bars in front of his ribcage.

Inside the tall and narrow house, the town magistrate served coffee from an Arabic carafe. The composer’s eyebrows lifted at this display of worldliness. They were on the Hungarian plain. Last year the composer had lived with a tribe who spoke their own language and played instruments made from freshly sanded pine.

“I want to study the music of your people,” the composer said to the magistrate. “I want to live beside you and understand what inspires you.”

The magistrate did not say why, not aloud, but his brow furrowed deeply.

“Go see Magdalena,” he said.

“Magdalena,” repeated the composer.

“Come to the Cemuk festival tomorrow. I will introduce you.” The magistrate was still frowning. “What is that thing?”

He was gesturing to the camera, a cloth-covered lump in Triglav’s lap. The composer nodded to Triglav, who obediently removed the cover and peered down the telescopic lens at the squat, wind-whipped man sitting across from him.

“Please, not me,” said the magistrate, and rose to his feet. “I don’t have any.”

The composer was an expert in his field, so he could not ask for clarification.

***

The composer and his assistant showed up to the festival before anyone else did. They spent two hours photographing and recording and transcribing the gathering of wood by the young men of Sklep, who timidly darted back and forth from a thicket of birches to the field where they laid their kindling. At dusk, the boys lit a cluster of bonfires.

As the sky darkened, the people began to emerge from their houses. The girls wore white robes and had fern fronds braided into their hair; the children were barefoot. Everyone was shivering.

The composer made a note of the festival’s taxonomy: Christian alteration of a pagan summer fertility ritual. He stood at the front of the crowd, beside a birch tree covered in ribbons and beads, and watched the girls shuffle into formation. In a few minutes they would sing, opening the sky, and rain would come to the village of Sklep. The last tribe had told the composer about this miracle so many times that he believed their stories must have some basis in truth.

No one asked the composer who he was or why he had come. No one spoke. After a while the composer saw the girls open their mouths in unison like they were singing, but no sound came out. He shut off his wire recorder. He watched their lips form words he couldn’t recognize, their throats rippling with effort, their chests rising and falling.

Meanwhile Triglav winked into the camera and shot photo after photo. Triglav must either be hearing sound or had expected not to hear sound. No one acted surprised by the silence. The composer felt deeply and profoundly uncomfortable.

The girls shut their mouths in unison. The one on the end exhaled heavily as though all of the not-singing had tired her. Without speaking, they formed a line and walked into the birches. The young men followed at a respectful distance, heads lowered. A boy of eleven or twelve tried to go with them, but his father restrained him. The boy made a little choking sound of frustration. When he saw the look on his father’s face, he fell silent.

As the last of the boys disappeared into the trees, the composer tucked his trousers into his socks and set out after them. The procession had split the woods like a part, pressing down the undergrowth. The path left behind was easy to follow, and no one stopped the composer or his assistant from following. Beside the composer, Triglav shouldered the camera and photographed the backs of the girls’ heads and the boys’ shoulders from between the birches.

They walked for close to an hour. A few of the boys played scuffed brass instruments. Chromatic scales in irregular minor keys. Melancholy, dirge-like music. The music had no discernible tempo, but the boys all walked as stiff and regular as soldiers. The composer made a note to ask whether they practiced the ritual beforehand.

The boys glanced nervously into the trees sometimes; the girls too, though with less fear on their faces. Things with rope-like arms and legs shifted in the branches but never came down. Slick sounds came from the canopy. Presently the procession came to the side of a thin black river. The boys put their instruments down, and the girls laid candle-topped wreaths of pine and yew branches on the surface of the water.

The composer put his notes away and watched the wreaths drift downstream. He could feel that something was going to happen. Beside him, Triglav made a small shuddering sound and laid the camera into the composer’s arms. The composer was surprised, but shifted to shoulder the burden. He watched his assistant join the village youth. For reasons that he would not be able to remember later, he did not call Triglav back to him.

The girls and boys paired off, Triglav beside a girl with a narrow, pointed face that reminded the composer of a fox. The composer watched as they opened their mouths in another soundless song. Triglav sang too.

When they finished singing, Triglav waded waist-deep into the river with the other boys. Ripples formed circles around them. They shivered with the cold. The composer wondered what he would name the concerto he wrote in honor of this ritual. He knew the villagers would drown the little decorated birch tree at the end of the festival. He wondered if they would drown anything else.

Snake-like things came from the middle of the river, the same wet spitting predators that had been in the trees. Legs twined around necks, obscuring faces. The composer already knew his assistant was gone before Triglav sank into the water.

***

The woman Magdalena was old and built like a boulder. She crossed herself when the composer came to the door, saying, “You can never be too careful during green week.”

In her little cottage, she served the composer a fist-sized hunk of black bread with soft curdish cheese. While he ate, she covered the windows and locked the doors. Twice she said a charm. He didn’t know the words but he felt their rhythm and knew they were holy.

When he finished eating, the composer took out a leather-bound notebook and a pencil. He had not asked Magdalena if she would share the village music with him; he had not yet spoken to her. He thought something wordless must have passed between them. Already she had made overtures to protect him from whatever spirits the rustics believed in. He was comforted, a little flattered. He was hoping he would not end up like Triglav, dead on the floor of the river.

“Do your people use modern notation?” he said first.

She blinked at him.

“The treble and bass clefs?”

“No,” she said. “We don’t learn our music, not the music you mean.”

“And which music is that?” He made a note: ritual music distinguished from other genres. Possible religious component to this.

“The music that killed your friend.”

“The music made no sounds. I thought it must be some kind of pageant, or spell, not—not music. And it was vocals only, no instrumentation. Is there a reason for that?”

“You couldn’t hear it?” She looked suspicious.

“No,” the composer said. “Should I have been able to hear it?”

“Hmmm,” said Magdalena.

“Do you make music like that?”

“I can,” she said. “But I don’t think I shall.”

“I’ll pay,” the composer said. For months his artistic failures had been haunting him; he had drifted in a sort of waking nightmare between concert halls and conservatories. He had been longing to make music as the rustics did in his homeland. Now he was wandering the earth like Cain, a mark of wonder on his forehead, trying to find what secrets were contained within the little villages long forgotten by the Poles and the Russians whose operettas were so popular. Civilization had no beauty any longer, he had told someone in a Viennese coffeehouse. He wanted to compose the wilderness.

Magdalena blinked sleepily. “But we are, as you say, soundless.”

 “How can I train myself to hear you?”

“You cannot. Outsiders cannot.”

“And if I am not an outsider?”

The woman laughed from deep inside her throat. She took the notebook from the composer’s hands and laid it on the floor. The wire recorder, she regarded with suspicion but allowed to stay. “You do not want to become one of us.”

“Why not?”

She licked her dry lips. Her eyes kept darting from his face to the covered windows. Shadows were playing on the blankets she had used as makeshift curtains. “When you hear the music, you will not be able to live anywhere else. You will have to stay here.”

The other tribe used to say the same things when they taught him how to play their fiddles and pipes. The composer admired how romantic the people of the plains were. He took up his notebook and made a note: music of central ritualistic and cultural significance.

“While you live among us,” said the old woman, “always remember to listen for rain.”

The composer said he would. Satisfied with his first day of work, he returned to the stranger house in the middle of Sklep. The snake-like things moved in the trees above his head but he did not hear them, or pretended he didn’t. That night, he composed a mazurka on his fiddle. He lay in his bed with the burlap-scented pillow and listened for rain.

The bodies on the floor of the river shifted, and rain fell.

***

The villagers of Sklep rarely left their homes. Even the food-sellers were reluctant to set up shop. While they sold goose eggs and rye flour to the composer, their eyes roved the landscape nervously. Green week, he kept hearing. It was green week so everyone was afraid.

They were not an expressive people. They did not mourn the boys and girls whom they had lost in the ritual. The composer made a note: ritualistic sacrifices occur with regularity? No one spoke of the lost youth, or of the snake-like arms that had reached for them. Magdalena would not acknowledge that anything had been lost, when the composer asked her.

“They will come home. They have to sow their oats,” she said.

The composer sent for a pianoforte. He taught modern notation and scales to anyone who would listen. He composed nocturnes and sketches on his fiddle. He filled numerous notebooks with his observations on the popular music of Sklep, which was mostly ballads full of cruel women and their hapless lovers. Only boys sang the songs. The girls never sang. They sat knitting with their long white fingers. Their feet drummed rhythms on the floor. The composer sat with them and felt impotent.

Many nights the people retreated to the banyas, little wood bathhouses where strangers were not welcome. Boys hauled piles of hot stones from the hearth to the banya door, where their mothers and sisters stood waiting in goatskin robes. At last, the doors shut and flumes of steam rose from the banya roofs. The composer played lonely chromatic melodies on his fiddle and caught rain in a barrel. Twenty-two inches fell in the first week alone.

***

After green week ended, Magdalena washed the blankets that had covered her windows. She was hanging them to dry when the composer reached her house. While she fixed the blankets to her line with clothespins, the composer sat on a tree stump with his fiddle tucked underneath his arm. By now he had grown comfortable watching idly while she worked in the kitchen or the yard. He knew she would not want his help. He wasn’t made for that sort of work.

“You survived,” she said, and beckoned for him to follow her inside.

“Yes,” said the composer. He had been trained not to belittle the superstitions of the rustics. Their mouths and doors would shut as soon as he did. “I thought today we might work on some more transposition of the ballads.”

“No,” said Magdalena. “Today I will sing for you.”

The composer reached for his wire recorder, trying not to look as eager as he felt. He had seen how Sklep opened up when the threat of green week ended. Sellers called out to passersby without taking care to keep their voices low. Children went to and from school in noisy, gleeful throngs. Men walked tree-shaded roads without looking nervously above them. But Magdalena, the composer had feared, would stay closed.

The woman took a long sip of water and grunted to clear her throat. Her arms hung at her sides and her chin pointed to the ceiling. When she sang, she made no sound. The composer sat and listened, his wire recorder humming uselessly in his lap. Triglav would have photographed the woman’s open mouth, her squinted-shut eyes, her flared nostrils. Triglav was dead on the floor of the river. The composer remembered hearing the story of some German hack who wrote a piece made entirely of rests: four pages of silence.

Then, after a few minutes, sound began to come from the woman’s throat. She sang in an undertone as thin as eggshell. The pitch of her voice wavered like an instrument being tuned. The composer could not have imitated the sound on his fiddle or pipe or piano. He could not have described it with modern notation. He could only listen, holding the wire recorder to Magdalena’s open mouth and wondering if the device would even catch the sounds she made.

“Did you hear me this time?” she said, when she was finished.

“A little,” he said. “Are you trained to produce such sounds?”

“I am too tired for questions,” said the woman. “Please, go before the rain comes.”

The composer packed up his belongings. As he reached the door, the sky opened and rain poured down.

***

After green week, Triglav returned. He came out of the river with a wife and a lush, dark beard on his face. When he shaved, his skin was smooth as a child’s underneath. He would say nothing of what happened on the floor of the river. He moved like a sleepwalker.

Ewers of water rested on every flat surface in the small house that Triglav shared with his new bride. The table, the bookcase, the stove top, the porch steps were all covered. Triglav’s wife did not offer the composer anything to drink when he came. The composer was accustomed by now to the inhospitality of the people of Sklep, and took the liberty of filling his canteen from one of the kitchen table pitchers. He found the contents murky and sour, as if taken from still water.

“It’s not to drink,” said the wife.

The composer sat down and waited for Triglav to come home. His assistant’s wife sat down across from him. Occasionally she dipped a dishrag in one of the pitchers and patted herself down with the swamp water, wetting her face and neck and hair. The composer lifted the camera from his lap and took photographs; the way the girl craned her neck, he could see that she wanted to be admired. After a while he asked if she liked to sing. She told him she’d always thought songs were better left to people who didn’t have any in them.

“Any songs?”

“Any blood,” she said.

Triglav came in the door humming. He asked the composer if they could go fishing soon. He said, “Alida tells me we won’t have rain tomorrow.”

From beneath the wet rag draped across her face, Alida said, “There will be no rain until the stranger house is empty.”

Triglav said, “Does she think she can do that? Put us men under siege that way?”

“She’s unmarried,” said Alida. “Of course she can.”

***

At the side of the river, Triglav spoke in a low tone of what happened during green week. He said he remembered those days as a dream. He watched while his existence swam above him. He had no power to stop things from happening on the floor of the river.

The girls could breathe, could swim. The girls’ limbs got longer, their incisors jutted out from their mouths; when they kissed the boys who partnered them on the shore, it stung like salt rubbed in a wound.

He said the girls sang sometimes at night, the same ritual songs they’d sung at Cemuk.

“You can only hear those sorts of songs properly underwater,” Triglav said to the composer. “They make so little sound above the surface.”

The composer took out his notebook and made a note: damage to the inner ear necessary for ritual music to resonate as intended?

“I only wonder,” the composer said. “Why did you marry her?”

“What do you mean?”

“She almost killed you. She might still kill you.”

“Oh, that’s how things are in this town,” said Triglav. “Every woman sees her husband drowned before she marries him. All the girls are made like that. They have to be, or they couldn’t make the rain come.”

His assistant believed in the power of the ritual now; the composer made a note.

“This power she has over you, you don’t mind it?” he said.

“Of course,” said Triglav. “They have us underneath for one week, just one week, and then we have them for the rest of their lives.”

“Or they have you,” the composer said.

The air was hot, for the sixth month had come and the summer solstice was close, yet still Triglav shivered. He said, “You shouldn’t stay here any longer.”

“Why not?”

Triglav wouldn’t say. “We ought to get away from the river,” he said. “A bachelor is worth the same as a grave here.”

“What’s that?” The composer had never heard the proverb before.

“Nothing,” Triglav said. “Nothing. That’s just what we said underneath the surface.”

***

Magdalena was not inside her house when the composer next came to her door. Steam rose from the roof of her banya, so he determined that he would return in an hour; an hour passed and still she sat inside the bathhouse. Long into the night she remained. Every half hour, boys brought hot stones and fresh water to her banya door.

The composer did not question them, though he wanted to. No one in Sklep would speak to him since he listened to Magdalena sing. His music students stopped attending their lessons and his interview subjects made implausible excuses that the composer recognized for what they were: rejections, closed doors. At night he played Chopin’s Raindrop Prelude on the pianoforte. He remembered a story about how Chopin had written the piece after he saw a vision of himself drowned on the floor of a river, raindrops falling over him in a steady patter. The composer thought perhaps he could call the rain to Sklep if he played that prelude enough times. The sun could not shine while someone played Chopin well.

The villagers of Sklep were too reserved to openly blame him for their drought, but the magistrate did come once to the stranger house. The composer admitted him and then returned to the piano bench, continuing where he’d left off in the Raindrop Prelude. “You can leave this town,” the magistrate said, when the composer came to a rest, “whenever you want—perhaps you did not know?”

“Do you fear to be seen with me?” the composer said, dropping to the bottom of the piano as he came to the slow, solemn portion of the piece marked sotto voce. He could hear the rainfall especially well in this bit, the drops coming steadily down. “Will they cast you out too?”

“I fear starving more than I fear the wrath of any woman. The only thing she can do is what she’s already doing: not singing.”

The composer stopped playing and made a note: music a mechanism of social control.

“You believe there will be no rain if the girls won’t sing?” he said, returning to the piano.

“The girls? No. They are—needed. For what they are. For the blood their children inherit. But for now, Magdalena is the only woman who makes the rain come.”

“And when she dies?”

“Another woman will sing for Sklep.”

The composer had reached the prelude’s closing motif, a bright tentative passage like the morning after a storm. He played the last chords. He held them down for longer than the score prescribed. Without turning his head, he said, “That might be for the best, don’t you think?”

***

Magdalena was still inside her banya when the composer came to her house. Steam rose from the bathhouse in white shuddering waves, but still the air felt dry. For weeks there had been no rain. The composer knocked on the door twice, then waited. When she told him to come inside, he did.

Magdalena was wrapped in wet willow leaves, a rustling gray garment that covered her from chin to ankles. Her bare feet, pale and shriveled with water, sat propped on one of the wooden benches affixed to the walls. Her wet hair was bound with fern fronds and hung down her back in heavy bundles.

“I want you to bring the rain,” said the composer.

“No,” said Magdalena, and rose from the bench. The willow leaves crackled softly when she moved. Outside, the wind picked up.

“You won’t?”

“No,” she said. “Not while an outsider stays in the stranger house, banging on foreign instruments and writing songs that sound like bad copies of the ones we sing at Cemuk-time.”

“You refuse?”

“Leave Sklep.”

The composer understood. The crops were wilting in the fields. The river had gone down so far that the Sklep river-girls swimming along the floor were visible from the bank. The trees were as bare as they were in wintertime. Even bathhouse wood couldn’t retain its moisture. Even the wettest things had become perilously dry.

***

Everyone knew who burnt down the banya with Magdalena inside. They also knew when the banya burnt, because the first rain in weeks fell in time to put out the last of the flames.

Sometime later, when he had left the stranger house and taken a wife of his own among the village people, the composer asked Triglav’s wife, the new rain-bringer, to sing for him. She did, in a cool, sonorous undertone that made each note sound like a secret dropping from her lips. The composer could hear her perfectly.