Tumgik
#i tried getting all the european languages
undergoing-mitosis · 3 days
Text
i am going to ramble about my death note accent and language headcanons (wammy's boys + light) okay thanks
L is very British. This fits surprisingly easily with Alessandro Juliani's incredible dub performance, but just lose the Canadian(?)ness. He still has that slight drawl and softly pronounces every consonant, so it's less bo'o'wa'a bri'ish and more autistic every consonant is pronounced British. Every language he speaks is practically perfect accent wise, he tends to be a bit of a chameleon. You can only tell that he's not native Japanese when he speaks it by a few lilts on certain sounds which aren't quite right, but even then it's only noticeable if you're looking for it. Knows an ungodly amount of languages fluently: he had a period of hyperfixating on learning a bunch between cases, before he got bored and moved onto advanced Go strategy.
Light is Japanese. Mamoru Miyano's voice is canon. That is all I have to say on the matter. He also knows a few other languages from his studies, including English, but knows very little about using these languages in practice, making his speech sound very formal and textbook-y.
Mello is from somewhere in east Europe, but given he's lived at Wammy's since he was around 5-ish he had completely lost his accent. So his base accent is British like the rest of them. Whatever his native language may be, he can understand it but not speak it. Mello tended to err on the side of more rough British, dropping consonants no matter how much Roger tried to make him speak properly. He never devolved into full roadman though. When he ran away to the US, he taught himself how to speak with an American accent. (this idea is directly from Crush on ao3 haha) Over the years of the time skip he perfected his accent, now it is indistinguishable from a native LA resident. However, he is still having to actively put this accent on. Post-Mafia, Mello doesn't have to put up a front of being purely American any more: he still does it out of habit, especially in public, but in private his voice will become an odd mix of American, British and a few muscle memory sounds that come from his mother tongue, creating a unique sound. When Mello loses his composure (mainly, when he gets pissed at Matt) he devolves into full British expletives. He is known he mutter "bloody hell" under his breath frequently. He can also speak Japanese fluently, along with French and bits and pieces of a few other European languages.
Matt is Canadian. I don't know, I just think a Canadian accent suits him. Picked up a few British turn of phrases at Wammy's, but given that he moved there later than Mello he kept his accent. The only Japanese he knows is osmosised from anime. He also picked up wingdings from that period of time when every email he sent would be in it for funsies.
Near is also British. Very much has that autism British accent, without the added drawl in L's, making him sometimes sound quite posh even though he isn't. Nate River is the most British name I have ever seen I'm sorry I don't make the rules. He learnt Japanese for the Kira case, and can speak it pretty fluently and without a strong accent, but as a rule of thumb he has no interest in learning languages: he'd rather spend his time making paper cities or studying quantum physics. An exception to this is code languages: he knows morse code fluently.
105 notes · View notes
fdelopera · 6 months
Text
Yo Gentiles! Looks like I'm going to need to give some of you a crash course on what antisemitic language looks like, because I've been seeing entirely too much of it from some of you here on Tumblr.
Now, I think it's time for a Jewish history lesson, because I've been seeing way too many Nazi-related conspiracy theories going around. If you hear contradictions to the basic information that I am about to share (i.e., if you hear someone saying that the Jewish people are "a race that originated in Europe"), it is likely that you are hearing a white supremacist, anti-Jewish conspiracy theory.
So, here's the basics of Jewish history. Jews are indigenous to the Levant have been there for thousands of years. The Levantine people that Jews descended from have been in that area of the Levant since the Bronze Age. Jews as a distinct people have been there since the Late Bronze Age. Before it was Palestine it was the Kingdom of Judah, then Judea, and then Judaea, and that is literally where we are from. The word Jew means "a person from the Kingdom of Judah." The Romans renamed the area Syria-Palaestina (which they borrowed from the Greek name Palestina) in the 2nd century CE after destroying the Second Temple in Jerusalem and leading another campaign to try to eradicate the Jewish people (guess what, we're still here, motherfuckers).
And even after the Romans tried to annihilate us, even after they scattered many of us into European diaspora, many Jews came back, again and again over the ages, and there have nearly always been Jewish communities in the region throughout history.
And if you come for me or try to dispute any of this history with white supremacist bullshit, I am a Jew who has studied way more Jewish history than you. And as politely as possible, you can take your white supremacist conspiracy theories and fuck off into the sun.
Okay, with all that out of the way, let's get into it!
Gloves are coming off, because this is just a sampling of the Nazi dogwhistles I've been seeing here on Tumblr about the Jewish civilians who were tortured, murdered, and worse:
- If you say shit like, "The Jews got what they deserved"...
GUESS WHAT? You're talking like a white supremacist, and you need to fucking check yourself.
- And if, on the other hand, you say shit like, "The reports were probably overblown. I think those were paid actors. I don't think those Jews were murdered. No Jewish children were killed. No Jewish bodies were desecrated" blahblahblah...
GUESS WHAT? You get to sit with the Nazis at their table for lunch.
- If you tell Jews "go back to Europe where you came from"...
GUESS WHAT? Not only are you telling the descendants of Jewish refugees to go back to the Spanish Inquisition, the Russian pogroms, and the Nazi gas chambers, as I explained in this post, but you are also repeating a white supremacist conspiracy theory about the origins of European Jews.
Jews are a Levantine people from the area of the Middle East currently called Israel (formerly called the Kingdom of Judah, and then Judea). While there was some emigration to Europe during the late Roman Republic and the early days of the Roman Empire, the first mass migration of Jews to Europe was a forced migration. Gentiles from the Roman Empire dragged us there as captives after 70 CE, the year Rome destroyed the Second Temple.
- And if you're telling yourself that there are "good Jews" and "bad Jews," and those Jewish civilians were "bad Jews," so they deserved to be tortured and killed...
GUESS WHAT? You're spouting white supremacist ideology.
Antisemitism takes a long time to deprogram.
A lot of gentiles grow up with anti-Jewish ideology that they have never questioned.
And a lot of Christians are kept ignorant about Jewish history because preachers and priests fear it would make Christians question the many inaccuracies in the Bible.
But the first step in noticing antisemitic beliefs is to notice when you start singling people out *because* they are Jewish.
And I have been seeing some of you gleefully celebrating the murder of Jewish civilians *because* they are Jewish.
And that is antisemitism.
That is one step closer to the next generation of Jews getting shoved into the gas chambers. And there are only 16 million of us left in the entire world. We're 0.2% of the world's population. And we cannot afford another Holocaust.
And if your response to me saying that is, "Well, those Jews deserve it."
Guess what. You are making it easier for Nazis and white supremacists to spread hatred and commit acts of violence against Jewish people. And you will have to live with that blood on your conscience.
So...
If you are a gentile, and you see other gentiles repeating these kinds of white supremacist dogwhistles about Jewish people, here's how you can help:
1. MOST IMPORTANTLY: Help them direct their focus away from attacking random Jewish people online and towards helping Palestinians.
Actions that people can take right now are contributing to verified charities and relief organizations that help the people of Gaza. Some organizations that are verified by CharityNavigator.org and CharityWatch.org are:
Anera (92% rating on Charity Navigator)
Palestine Children's Relief Fund (97% rating on Charity Navigator)
Doctors Without Borders (98% on Charity Navigator)
2. Call that shit out. Tell people that they're being antisemitic, and explain that Jew-hatred is dangerous to Jewish people. Antisemitism gets Jews attacked and it gets Jews killed. In the US, many synagogues require round the clock security to protect against white supremacists who want to murder Jews. In Pittsburgh, my old home town, a group of Nazis from north of the city planned the murder of Jewish congregants at Tree of Life Synagogue, and so far only one of them (the gunman) has been arrested and convicted of the murders. The others are still at large.
3. Explain to them that it is antisemitic to celebrate someone's death *because* they're Jewish. ALSO, it is antisemitic to blame a random Jewish person for the actions of ANY government, whether that be the Israeli Government or the US Government.
4. Explain to people that they're not going to solve this conflict by posting antisemitic statements and memes online. All they will do is alienate the Jewish people in their lives and make those Jews feel scared and unsafe. And they will contribute to this current wave of antisemitism.
Antisemitic hatred doesn't help Palestinians. All it does is put Jewish people around the world in danger.
4K notes · View notes
mercurycft · 2 months
Text
𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍'𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 — 𝐋𝐁
## lucy bronze x reader !!
Tumblr media
Enjoy this cheeky little something something while I perfect the next chapter of ‘OFF LIMITS’.. This is probably my favourite thing I've written in a while, as well as the longest too! Love always! - RG! x
can you tell im a sucker for a ‘forbidden love’ type fic? contains: softtop!lucy. age!gap but i promise its entirely legal. thigh riding, fingering, praise, finger sucking.
3.3k words.
CONTAINS MATURE CONTENT & LANGUAGE 18+
“I swear on my life Leah, It isn’t a big deal!”
“And I swear on my life, I will volley him over the bar!” She slurred, pointing a firm finger in the direction of the ‘handsy’ bartender. Before the situation could get any more embarrassing, you pushed her away and towards the table with a timid and apologetic smile back in his direction. Alcohol tended to brew confidence in Leah. Her usual calm and quiet demeanour slipping away with every sip of her drink throughout the night.
You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head and patting her shoulder. “Sit down, before you get yourself in trouble.” You mumbled, raising your eyebrows to the other girls who sat around the table as Leah slumped herself next to Alex and started ranting. The other girls were tucked neatly around the booth - all of their faces plastered with an amused look as they watched on, disregarding their own conversations to try and listen in.
Most of her words were drowned out by the music, bass bouncing off the walls. From what you could hear, a slightly tipsy Leah had read the situation wrong - assuming the bartender had started flirting and ‘pushing his luck’ as she put it, when you had leaned in to hear him better. You shook your head and tried to stifle a laugh when she started defending herself, encouraged by the rest of the group who were highly entertained by the whole thing.
Leah was a funny drunk, a table-top dancer, shot-encourager and very clearly protective. It was admirable, but so funny. It was funnier, however, listening to her explain to the rest of the group. Her voice cracking and jumping octaves as she tried to shout over the music - throat becoming hoarse.
You stood from the booth after a few minutes, leaning across the back of the booth to pat Alex’s shoulder, bringing your lips into a tight line and holding in your laughs as she you left her stranded with a fuming, blonde companion. Making your escape and b-lining for the dance floor, where the rest of your friends were.
Leah, by nature is protective. The captain of the team, and now headed towards being a european champion. But before all of this, she was a big sister. Your big sister. You were only a year and a half younger but she made it her life mission to protect you and this wasn’t a role she took lightly. She looked after you, steering you out of harms way and at times, getting herself in trouble instead. Just like tonight.
You had been around football, and most of the girls, for a majority of your life. It was Leah’s passion, and it filled you with pride as she got to live her childhood dream. As a result, you and the rest of her teammates had spent a lot of time together - and you got on like a house on fire.
You went to most training sessions, filming content. You went to almost all matches, and her friends quickly became your friends. So when the group had gone out for celebrations, following the match that shot them straight into the semi- finals, naturally you were invited along.
You were now in the midst of the crowd of bodies. Drink in hand and arm in the air as everyone sang, no massacred, a Kings of Leon banger. Stomping their feet and dancing along, screaming. You were stood laughing between Lucy and Jordon - who were surprisingly joining in the chorus, arms strung around each other.
Waiting until the song ended and the room filled with cheers to poke your head between them both, shouting “Can I steal Lucy for a sec, mate?” Jordon simply laughed, leaning back in to reply with an ‘of course’ and shuffling away towards another group of the girls.
Before you could speak, her mouth was pressed to your ear as she tried to reach a hearable volume. “Tenner on your sister two-footing someone tonight!” You couldn’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes and shoving against her.
“That’s because you lot encourage her!”
“I do not! I simply tell her to express her anger how she sees fit!”
“Oh so in other words, encouraging!” You laughed back, sarcasm lacing your words. Lucy was always easy to talk to, a familiar face. Leah and Jordan spent a lot of time together, which meant Leah, Jordan and Lucy spent a lot of time together. It wasn’t unusual to find the three scattered around the living room on a Sunday, practically dead to the world, often after a particularly messy night.
“Tenner that we’ll be the ones carrying her back to her room later as well!” You added, clinking your glasses together as another song reeled through the speakers - greeted by a crowd of screams and cheers.
—————————
You were right, though you always were when it came to Leah. Now you stood inside the lift, Leah with one arm draped over your shoulder and the other over Lucy’s. You both tried to hold her up as best you could, which was hard when she was pretty much falling asleep between you.
It felt like three hours had passed when the three of you, four if you included an also drunk Jordon who was trailing behind the group with her head tucked into her phone, had finally made it their shared room. Scanning Leah’s key-card and dragging her through the door and getting her on the bed.
Fifteen minutes later, her makeup was off and pjs on. Though that was mostly the work of you, physically having to peel her clothes off of her body and replace them without any help on her end as she dead-weighted against you. You did all this while Lucy put her phone on charge, and made sure she had a water bottle beside her bed for the night.
When you had finally put her to bed, Lucy spoke up from behind you. “Does this mean I owe you a tenner?” you scoffed at her remark, turning to face her.
“If that was the case, you owe me about a grand in bets since we met!”
“Oi, don’t even! I have definitely paid that back in all the takeaways I buy you and your bloody sister!”
“Touché, Bronze,” you grumbled back, turning to place a kiss on Leah’s forehead and say goodnight to Jordan, who was laid beside her and almost asleep before you had even left the room.
When you got outside and shut the door behind you, you looked towards Lucy to thank her for her help and apologise for ripping her away from the party, but were met with her hand already lifted to stop you. “Don’t even say it, you know I don’t mind.”
You smiled at her, taking a deep breath and checking the time on your phone. “Shit, I need to get an uber. I’ll text you in the morning?” You said, looking up periodically from your phone whilst typing in your address.
“Why don’t you just stay here? I don’t think I like the idea of you in a taxi alone this late,” She started, checking the time on her phone. “It’s past 2, absolutely not.” She confirmed, shaking her head and pulling out her own key-card. “Just stay with me. I’ll get you a taxi in the morning,”
“It’s fine! I’ll just hop in with the girls-”
“If Leah finds out I let you get in a taxi, she will actually punch me in the face.”
“You do have a point..”
The pair of you had started walking through the hall by this point, still arguing lowly at the idea of you in a taxi alone. Lucy didn’t take no for an answer, swiping her card and unlocking her room. “If you don’t go and get in that bed right now I will call your mother.” She pressed, teasing. Her accent seemed to get thicker with the presence of alcohol in her system.
“Oh really..” You shot back folding your arms together across your chest, challenging her. You watched as she fumbled with her phone, mumbling some sarcastic comment under breath while pulling up your mum’s contact and hovering her finger over the call button.
“Don’t make me wake Amanda up..”
“Fine!” You caved, scurrying into the room and holding your hands up in defence. She followed close behind, pleased with herself and shutting the door behind her.
Once in the room you sat on the bed, undoing your shoes and chucking them in some direction away from you - you didn’t care, as long as they were off. You got up to wash your face, wincing when the soles of your feet met flat on the floor. “Fucking heels,” You whispered, walking to the bathroom in a huff.
When you emerged back into the room, Lucy was already changed. Shorts and a sports bra now adorning her tanned body, you had to shake yourself out of the moment as you stared at her back. Admiring the toned muscles as she dug through her suitcase, turning briefly to throw something towards you.
“Put that on,” It was short, but sounded sweet and made you smile internally. Turning back towards the bathroom to strip and put the shirt she had given you on. It was a football top with ‘BRONZE’ plastered across the back of your shoulders, but it did the job and was comfier than your outfit previously.
You stood in the bathroom for a few moments, pulling your hair into a ponytail before shutting off the light and making your way back to the bed. “Left or right?” You questioned.
“What?” She looked at you, her glasses now perched on the bridge of her nose snd you swore you felt your insides shift.
“Uh- Side of the bed? Left or right?” You stammered, pointing towards the sheets.
“Whatever tickles your fancy, I don’t have a side,” She shrugged back, trying to contain her smirk when she caught you looking at her for a second too long.
You made a fake disgusted face back to her, scrunching your nose. “You’re such a freak, who doesn’t have a side of the bed?”
“Me, obviously.” She retorted, rolling her eyes sarcastically.
You had opted for the side closest to the window, walking around the bed with your back to Lucy. She had to stop herself from audibly groaning at the sight of her name printed across your shoulder blades, unable to tear her eyes away. Lucy would be lying if she said she didn’t find you attractive, because you were and she did.
When you had rounded the bed, you pulled at the linens. Yanking them up and over your body as you got comfortable in the bed, sinking into the mattress and sighing when your head hit the pillow - facing the other side of the bed which was yet to be occupied.
—————————
The bed dipped beside you after a few minutes,and Lucy shuffled under the covers next to you after faffing about the room. Flicking the light switch above her bedside table to turn off the lights, your phone now the main source of light.
You lowered your phone to shine in her face, smiling when you were greeted with a smile. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had a Williamson in my bed,” She quipped, winking dramatically as you faked a gag.
“Gross! I’m going to tell then you told me that,” you replied, laughing and turning to place your phone on the table beside you. You faced the window, the curtains closed but still allowing some light from a lamp outside to peak through. With your back now to Lucy, she had a full view of her name once again. “Goodnight Lucia..” You whispered into the dark, sighing contently into the silence.
“Goodnight,” She replied, still scanning your back. Noticing how the shirt sat bunched above your hips, revealing a slither of your back and the lace of your underwear - sucking in a breath at the sight alone. You felt her hand skim gently across the letters on the top, smiling into your pillow.
She had gotten closer, her arm now slung across your waist and holding you against her. Time had passed but still you were awake, and you knew she was too. The loud thrumming in your chest prohibiting any chance of sleep, when you felt her presence beside your ear.
You could feel her breath on your neck as she leaned in towards you slowly, whispering a small “Is this okay?” as her lips lingered over the skin below your ear, awaiting your answer. You nodded and she moved closer, pressing her lips against your neck softly.
They were tender but calculated and you breathed heavily out into the room when she kissed along your shoulder, dragging her teeth over the material of her jersey. You waited a few more minutes before turning over to face her, flushed. Taking a deep breath and looking into her eyes, your faces were close. Closer than you realised. So close you could see every groove, every line and feature. Lips no more than centimetres apart.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Please.”
That was all she needed, bringing her lips to press against yours. Hand still gripping your waist and guiding your frame to lay flush against hers as your hands moved to cup the back of her neck and head, lips moving in sync.
The next few minutes were a blur of movement and small, breathy giggles and now you sat on her lap - straddling the top of her thighs with your mouths still connected. The kiss was now a mixture of desperation and yearning, hands grabbing at whatever skin they could find beneath the sheets.
Her head dipped, kissing and nipping at the skin of your jaw and along your throat. You couldn’t help but whimper when her teeth grazed a particularly sensitive patch of skin, right where your neck and collar bone met. You could feel her smirk against you, which only made the feeling in the pit of your stomach worse.
—————————
You had tried to remove your top, well her top, but were met with a protest telling you to keep it on. Her skin on fire at the thought of you wearing her name as you sat now desperate on top of her.
Your hair was now down, and one of her hands sat roughly in the roots. Tugging at the stands to guide you against her mouth, when she felt you start to rock your hips against her. Eliciting a guttural moan from the back of her throat.
She used the hand still on your waist to slow your movement to a stop, moving to lift you up and over until you straddled one of her thighs. The only barrier between you both was your underwear, and when you shifted your weight she felt your wetness graze against her. Smirking and pulling away to look at your face.
“You wanna ride my thigh, darling?” She whispered, eyes locked on yours as you enthusiastically nodded. Eyes glazed over, and eyebrows furrowed with need. She smiled at the action, moving her fingers to push your underwear aside and lift her thigh to meet your warmth. Groaning when she felt you coat her thigh.
You moaned at the contact, your clit already sensitive and throbbing. You didn’t know how she did it, how she had you wrapped around her finger and laying in the palm of her hand but you loved every second of it. Mouth falling agape when she began guiding you up and down the length of her thigh, rocking your hips against her.
“Does that feel good baby?” She asked from your neck, her lips stopping their sloppy kisses for a second. You whimpered in response, nodding slowly. Her hand met your jaw in a swift but gentle motion, pulling you to focus on her. “Use your words, love.”
“Yes it feels good, Luce..” You whispered, licking your lips. Head falling back as you worked her thigh, the sound of your wetness protruding through the quiet of the room and accompanied by the sound of laboured breathing from below you.
“Good girl..” She added, jaw clenched when she attached her lips to your neck again. You savoured the feeling, the delicious feeling as you dragged yourself against her skin moving to tuck your head into her neck.
“Need more, Luce..”
“Hm? What’s that?” She was egging you on, hands moving to squeeze at the flesh of your thighs. Helping you rut against her.
“Want your fingers..” You confessed, dragging your own teeth along her shoulder now - biting down against the skin when you felt your face flush.
She had you flipped in seconds, now towering over you as you laid flat against the bed helping her shimmy your underwear off. Once gone, she spread your legs - moaning at the sight of your juices dripping and now covering the inners of your thighs. You blushed at the sound, biting your lip to muffle any noises you were concerned about making in response.
You felt her fingers next, sweeping through your folds and drawing tight circles around your clit. Moaning when she pressed the pads of her fingers harder into the bundle of nerves, finding it humorous as your body responded to her touch.
“Please,” You begged, hips rising off the bed in a desperate act for more friction. She shut the down quickly, using her free hand to pin your hips back to the mattress.
“Please what, darling..” Lucy stalled, slowing down to an unbearable speed. “What do you want..?” She added lowly, coaxing you out of your shell.
“Want you to fuck me.. Please..” You squirmed, knees now bent and sat on either side of your hips - inviting her in. You felt as she slowly and carefully slipped in a single finger, watching your face contort before she added another.
Stretching you out perfectly and starting to move them methodically inside you. Pulling out the perfect amount before pushing them back inside, curling up against your tight walls to press against your g-spot.
Her pace and pressure increased with the volume of your sultry moans, back arched into her touch and face buried in your arms as her fingers pressed perfectly inside of you. Bringing her thumb to toy with your clit, salivating as she watched you take her.
She could feel you squeezing around her fingers, becoming breathless as you chased your orgasm - chest rising with every thrust of her fingers. “You gonna cum for me?” She asked, her free hand lifting to the side of your face to force you into eye contact.
“Y-Yes,” You stuttered, eyes rolling into the back of your head when her fingers curled. Mouth hung open and hips riding against her fingers.
“Show me how you cum, baby..”
That was all it took for you, orgasm crashing through your body and shaking through your limbs. Legs thrashing around her hand as you came, back arched and screaming out her name - which caused her to smirk, watching you intensely.
Lucy let you ride it out, only stilling her thrusts when your back finally laid against the bed again - catching your breath when you heard her chuckle deeply. Bringing her fingers up to your mouth and slipping them past your lips, admiring how you took them and started working against them. Pulling away with a pop when you felt they were clean, and looking up at her.
A deafening silence engulfed the room, as Lucy fell beside you on the bed. She turned on her side to face you and handed you a towel she had grabbed, which you accepted gracefully and did what you could.
“Jesus..” You whispered, testing the air.
“That’s not my name..” She threw back, earning a weak laugh. There was the normal Lucy you had grown to love, you thought whilst lifting your hand to swat at her chest.
“Let’s maybe not tell Leah about this..”
“Agreed.”
448 notes · View notes
holylulusworld · 3 months
Text
Romanian Kiss
Tumblr media
Summary: Your fiancè leaves you for someone else. You try to get him back and meet a grumpy taxi driver.
Pairing: Taxi Driver!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader
Warnings: cheating (not Bucky), angst, heartbreak, meet cute, fluff, bad Romanian
A/N: This story was inspired by the movie "French Kiss" but takes place in Romania (Bucharest).
A/N2: I'm deep down the Bucky rabbit hole again so bear with me...
Words: 1,4k
Tumblr media
He left you. He went to Romania for an important convention.
Suddenly he didn’t call you back.
But he left a message, telling you he found the love of his life.
Love of his life? Not a week ago, he promised you forever, and suddenly, another woman took your place. One he met two days ago.
You had no choice but to catch the next plane and hit Romania to find John and win him over again. He can’t just throw three and a half years of a relationship out of the window because he met some girl half his age.
So, this is how you ended up in the cab of the grumpiest guy you ever met. He pretended to not understand your language and grumbled under his breath the whole way to the next hotel.
“Sir,” you sighed as he didn’t react. “Can you tell me where the convention is? My fiancé is there,” you tried again. “I know you understand me. Please, I need to find him. He left and met that girl. I—he can’t just throw our life together away.”
“Miss,” he suddenly said, “stop talking so much. Maybe that’s why he left you. I’ll drive you to the hotel, but I’m not a city guide.”
“Whoa, I thought European taxi drivers were nicer than the ones in New York City,” you huffed and looked out of the window. 
“Maybe you should head back then and leave Romania alone,” he snapped at you and slammed his hands onto the steering wheel.
You bit the inside of your cheek. His words haunted you like an unwanted truth. Hot tears wanted to spring free. John leaving you. The stranger taunting you. Your hopeless situation. Torn between wanting John back and running away.
All damns broke when he grunted at you and accused you of being an annoying woman. You sniffled and the tears finally fell. 
You couldn’t stop. He had to stop the car and talk to you. He opened the door and sat next to you in the backseat. “If you stop crying, I’ll drive you anywhere you want to.”
He told you his name, an odd one. Bucky. At first, you believed he lied and tried to make fun of you; but it was his real name. He talked and talked to make you calm down. While you tried to stop the tears from falling, he murmured words you didn’t understand. 
He called you păpuşă and prinţesă. His words calmed you, and you allowed Bucky to hold your hand while you told this stranger about your past, and the love you just lost.
You believed him when he told you that he’d help you find John. He had no reason to help you, but he did.
For the next few days, Bucky drove you around town. He showed Bucharest, the most important places, and helped you stalk your fiancé and his new girl.
He even let you cry in his chest when you watched John meet the girl’s parents after knowing her for a few days. And the worst was, she wore a diamond ring, making your chest tighten.
Tumblr media
“The convention is held in this building,” he said and pointed at the luxurious building. “Do you want to go inside and find out if your fiancé is in there?”
“I don’t know,” you said and meant it. If you met your fiancé right at that moment, you didn’t know what to say. “What if she’s prettier than me, or smarter…or younger.”
“Doll,” he placed his hand on your shoulder, “if you don’t talk to him, you’ll never know. If you want me to, I’ll drive you back to your hotel and you can fly back home and forget about him.”
“No, you’re right. I should talk to him but,” you sighed and looked down at your body. “Jeans and t-shirts won’t make him see me in a different light, don’t you think?”
“If you want me to,” he cupped your face and looked you deep in the eyes, “I’ll turn you into a maneater stealing his heart and mind.”
Tumblr media
“You look stunning,” he said, watching you walk out of the bathroom of your suite. “I mean…wow.” Bucky eyed you up and down. 
“I,” you shook your head. The dress felt like a second skin, but you felt like it was suffocating you. The heels were too high and the make-up too much for your liking. 
In other words – this wasn’t you. But if wearing a short and figure-hugging dress, too much make-up, and heels makes John fall for you again, so be it.
Tumblr media
“Go ahead, doll,” Bucky said and gently nudged you toward the entrance of the fancy restaurant. All you had to do was walk inside, pass John’s table by, and sit at the table Bucky reserved for you. He’d take care of the new girl by your fiancé’s side and distract her long enough for John to fall for you again. “He will love you.”
You took a deep breath and got the show on the road. While walking inside the restaurant, you held your head high and didn’t look at anyone. Including John.
For a second, you heard him gasp when you walked past his table, but you resisted the urge to turn your head to look his way.
You used the few words you learned in Romanian from Bucky to order water and food. The whole time you didn’t look at John’s table, always busy talking to the water, checking your phone, or reading the tourist guide Bucky bought for you.
“Y/N?” You only looked up when John was standing right in front of your table. He looked surprised and a little scared. “What are you doing here?”
“John?” You acted surprised too. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you about the convention, didn’t I?” He cocked his head to look you up and down. His eyes trained on your chest he murmured your name when you acted like you forgot about him, the convention, and the fact that he left you for some other girl. 
“Oh, that was in Romania. I can’t remember, sorry. With all the things going on in my life, the cancellation of our wedding and buying a new apartment I forgot about you.”
He sat down and puffed his chest. John tried, just like he did before he asked you out on a date for the first time, to impress you. You smiled and let his compliments and charm wash over you.
John and you dined together, and it almost felt like back then. And when he asked you to join him in his hotel room, you didn’t hesitate to follow him.
Tumblr media
A few days ago, you would’ve happily given in to his advances. A few hours ago, you dreamed of being with him again. 
But at that moment, all you could think about was the guy you ran into while chasing your unfaithful fiancé.
His lips didn’t feel perfect against yours any longer, and the weight on top of yours didn’t make you feel how you should. 
“No, stop,“ you pushed him off you. “This isn’t right.”
“Baby, it’s right. I was a fool,” you whimpered at his words.
“I came here to hunt you down and win you over again but..” You got off the bed and grabbed your dress. “Not a few hours ago you wanted to marry that woman. Tonight, you believe I’m some sexy wonder woman but in the morning, I’m still the same woman I used to be.”
He tried to stop you, but you shook your head. “Please give me another chance. I was blinded by lust and—” He trailed off. “Maybe I was scared of the future and getting married.”
“You weren’t scared of marrying that woman you barely knew,” you cocked your head and gave him a sad smile. “Just tell me the truth. You’re not made for normalcy and me.” You bitterly admitted. “I’m not exciting and wild. Only the reliable and boring woman you easily forgot about the moment you met someone else.”
Tumblr media
“You did what?” Bucky threw his hands up as you ran to him after you turned John down. “Why? I mean…all the effort and you let him off the hook?”
“It didn’t feel right,” you murmured and dropped your gaze.
“Why?”
“Why what?” You asked.
“Why did you turn him down,” he stepped closer to gently cup your face. “Tell me why, prinţesă.”
“I can’t…”
“Why?” He softly asked. “Doll?”
“I’m scared.”
“Tell me,” Bucky leaned closer to whisper against your lips. “Please.”
“Te iubesc,“ you whispered.
“I love you too,” he pressed his lips to yours and wrapped his arms around you. Right at that moment, you forgot about John and your past together. All that counted was Bucky holding you in his arms.
Tumblr media
Tags in reblog.
520 notes · View notes
ethereal-pie · 5 months
Text
bullfrog head cannons
I have seen no fics of this beautiful French man so I have done it myself
just a ramble of my thoughts in bullet point form
he is an american bullfrog, he not only looks like one but also there are tons in France
He enjoys warmth and gets grumpy if he is too cold
I feel like he doesn’t touch you all that much but adores cuddling 
If given the opportunity he will burry himself in pillows and blankets ( bonus if they are weighted) especially during winter cuz of his hibernation instinct
He will insist you join him and promise it’s very comfortable 
He isn’t slimy like his real world counterpart but his skin feels very moisturized 
He gets cold super easy and shove himself under your shirt or jacket to soak up your natural body heat 
You also don’t have to worry about it being too hot to cuddle as he is cool to the touch 
He will insist you let him put his cold ass hands on your bare back to warm them up , he will pout if you don’t let him 
Letting him do this will more then likely result in him having his head under your shirt and his face pressed into your back and his hands on your upper stomach 
He usually avoids conventional touch based pda, the most normal pda you’ll get out of under normal circumstances is a peck on the cheek 
Instead the way he shows touch based pda is by sitting on your shoulders
Although if he is super cold he won’t care all that much
 And  Unless your in a situation where being partners with him would put you in danger, he will be  fairly vocaly affectionate
He will call you his beloved and other pet names 
As well as praise, flirt and compliment you
Some of His pet names  involve your name 
He seems like a darling, my dear, love type of person
He will jokingly call you stupid ones as well 
He has a lot of running jokes with you and will tease and joke around with you all the time, he just likes laughing with you in general 
Some of your jokes might take a second to land with him in the beginning but as your relationship continues he will pick up almost immediately 
He tries really hard to be cool cuz he wants to make friends but everyone being stuck on him being a frog annoys him a lil 
He will complain about this to you at least once 
He is trying to be cool and Poetic!
When he is mad he will begin to speak in a mix of French and English but he doesn’t really yell at all, he does talk faster tho 
He will bath for hours but doesn’t like to shower 
He cannot use certain soaps or he will get sick because he will absorb the chemicals through his skin 
He likes the look of bubble baths but if he sits in them he gets sick cuz of the soap In the water 
Given his accent I assume he speaks French but I think he can speak multiple European language, due to his job 
He is very adverse to the idea of eating bugs, he isn’t scared of them but if someone offers him a bug he will be grossed out.
He is the kind of person to not only catch and release bugs he finds inside but he will have little convos with them too
You’ll hear in the other room “hello there my miniature friend.’’ And as he takes them outside “ I’m very sorry but you cannot stay here.” 
His approach to flying bugs is far different, he will take NO PRISONERS
He is very efficient with a fly swatter and knows all the concoctions to lure and kill flys fruit or other wise 
He avoids using his hands cuz of the bug guts 
If you are afraid of bugs he will find it amusing but he won’t tease or torment you, he will just chuckle at how ridiculous you look up on the counter while he captures the invader.
He is very polite and kind to everyone he interacts with unless they have done something to warrant other wise 
He will use French sayings in English  instead of the English one because he is convinced that “ they are far superior” 
Pins and needles are now ants, it’s raining ropes not animals, forget apples and trees, dogs don’t make cats.
If you use the English versions he will argue the French version is better 
“ bolt of lightning explans the felling of it, love at first sight is so bland.’’
Please convert he will find it unendingly adorable every time 
He does get cuteness aggression and will randomly shove his face into your chest and aggressively nuzzle into you whist squeezing you and violently kicking his legs and making a happy humming 
He will be embarrassed the first few times he does this 
He will get cuteness aggression from your cuteness aggression 
If you bite him he will be very confused but won’t care all that much so long as you aren’t hurting him
You will probably be taller then him and honestly he likes it that way because when you hug him he feels like momentarily  he is a totally encased by you 
You can carry him but only certain ways
No toddler hold, with one arm and him on your hip 
Piggy backs, shoulder sitting and standing are encouraged 
You can only sling him over your shoulder in emergency’s 
Same with under your arm 
He doesn’t like princess carry’s cuz he can’t hold on to much and he wants to touch with  max surface area
Carrying him by his armpits away from you has the same problem, he will struggle 
He does enjoy if you hug carry him with both arms, either his face in on your chest or resting on your shoulder 
I have made a helpful diagram ( I can draw but it’s just stick me cuz I’m lazy)
Tumblr media
He will randomly start monologueing if given the opportunity 
He will tell you about being an assassin but only if you ask 
I think he is more likely to be with Someone who has prior experience with fighting
He feels nauseous after producing bubbles 
He will lean on or try to be touching you while he recovers 
You cannot truly surprise him, he will know something is up the moment you even begin to plan 
He knows because you act slightly different 
And hiding  or sneaking something past him is also impossible 
He has to actively try to avoid finding out what your doing 
You’ve snuck something into the garage, I guess he isn’t going In There for a while 
Hiding something behind your back, he isn’t even gonna face your direction while you hide it 
You cannot sneak up on him either 
When you try he will scare you by suddenly turning around and grabbing you 
On the other hand he has  scared and surprised you accidentally many times 
hope you enjoy and this inspires more fic to be written of bullfrog
446 notes · View notes
caxde · 2 months
Text
pretty sounds | steve harrington x reader
summary you and Steve share an apartment while you're both away in Uni, one night he comes earlier than he should and gets to enjoy himself
warnings fem!reader, 18+ mdni this is just smut guys i'm sorry. english is not my first language so I apologise if there’s some mistakes, not proof read! 
a/n part 2 is up!
Steve always took his showers in the morning. 
You preferred them at night. 
Sharing a small flat with him was a quiet experience. He’d spent most of his time out of it anyway, preferring to study at the University library, or at the coffee shop you had down the corner. Or working half shifts in the small record store, where you also worked. 
Roommate and coworker Steve were two very different people. 
Roommate Steve was prone to laugh at your stupid jokes and watch stupid movies with you on the couch. 
Coworker Steve tried not to talk to you that much, scared that if your boss saw you two chatting it up, he’d get accused of flirting with you. Scared that it was painfully obvious to everyone else but you. 
But it was impossible for him to not stare at you when you’d come home exhausted after a stressful shift and mutter under your breath how much you wanted a hot shower. Or how he’d wait painfully to hear the record you had been playing while you studied in your room stop, knowing that you were about to knock on his door and tell him that if he had to go to the bathroom he better do it now before you took your very deserved long shower. 
He often teased you about how much you’d like to have a bath instead. 
You’d laugh it off, even though he was absolutely right. 
The truth is, he loves to hear you while the water hits your body. 
The bathroom stood between his room and yours. 
His bed against the wall, he usually laid down on it with a second hand book about whatever topic he needed to research for his next paper on American Revolution History or European History and its impact in Modern World. It didn’t matter to him, because in the next ten to twenty minutes he could hear you singing to yourself, your voice drowned by the noise of flowing water hitting your wet body. Though he did love it when you’d talk to yourself. 
Today was different. 
He’d come home later than he usually does, he had spent way more time than he intended stuck in the library trying to write his last paper on the Spanish Republic and he had little to no information on it, and he had exhausted himself enough to go straight to his bed, letting his body hit the mattress without even bothering to turn on the lights. 
That’s when he heard the shower turning on. 
At least he can hear you sing for him for a bit he thinks. 
But he was wrong for once. 
You thought you were alone, you thought you could be as loud as you wanted to, or as much as you needed to. The truth is, you had been crushing on Steve for a while now, and sometimes, only sometimes, you fantasized about him. Maybe more than you’ve been proud of. 
So now, as you were standing there, with the hot steam hugging all the parts of your body, and the water dripping drow your curves, you started thinking about how it would feel if what was keeping you warm wasn’t the hot air, but him, standing behind you, kissing every inch of your bare skin. 
You couldn’t help yourself, not now. So your fingers traveled down your folds, your fingers playing lazily with your dripping wet pussy, circling your clit as you thought of him, soft small moans came out of your mouth. And the hunger only grew, as images of him walking around the flat without his shirt and hair dripping wet invaded your mind. The way his hair sticks onto his forehead every morning, and he always smiles at you before telling you good morning in that husky early morning voice. 
It was driving you crazy, so you started touching yourself with more speed, a clearer pattern, tempting your entrance as one of your fingers graced it. 
Unknown to you, Steve was laying on the other side of the wall, his eyes opened as he heard you moaning, with each one growing louder and clearer, his mind became clouded, as he felt the way his jeans started to feel to tight on him, he needed to free himself, so he did the only thing he felt like he could. He sighed as his cock hitted his stomach once his pants and underwear laid on the floor. And he began stroking himself, softly, slowly, letting himself be guided by your voice as you whined. 
The only thing that made him touch himself faster is when he heard the way your voice moaned his name. 
You were so close to cumming, one of your hands had three of your fingers deep inside you, reaching that spot that made you see stars, as the other held the shower head closely to your clit, the vibrations of it making it feel when you closed your eyes that he was the one eating you out. And even after you had comed and you had screamed his name as loud as you could you left it there for a moment, recomposing yourself. Wishing he was there so you could kiss him, wishing he’d feel what you feel. 
He did, but you didn’t know, though now he did. 
His hands wrapped around his throbbing cock fast, and tightly, he resorted to biting his lower lip so he wouldn’t be a whippering mess, but he couldn’t help himself when he came all over his stomach and he looked down at himself, with the stupidest grin he could fathom.
-
if you enjoyed it please leave a comment or reblog. i promise it makes a huge difference <3
requests are open
361 notes · View notes
sssammich · 24 days
Text
there's a human in the storeroom
THIS POST got extremely long with five posts, so we're gonna just keep going in a new one. (read that first to get caught up!)
--
Kara clears her throat for the umpteenth time, it feels like. But it gets their attention, so she gives them her best smile before trying to offer back the satchet of what looks like regular nuts and berries. She wasn't sure what it said about her that they gave her another bag of food. But, at this point, what's the harm? After popping the final berry in her hand and licking a little bit of fruit juice from her palm, she stands and wipes her hand on the side of her chinos. She then takes a step forward and brings the satchet towards the beautiful woman to return it.
"Thanks. They were good."
"Remarkable," the beautiful woman says. "You just ate all of it?"
"I...yes. Sorry."
The group stares at the empty satchet and then back up at her again. She tries not to squirm under their judgy eyes.
"Um," she starts to say. "This was really nice and you guys have some really tasty food, but I should probably get going. I've got work tomorrow, so I don't want to get home too late."
"You can't leave," the beautiful woman says.
"Is this about the food? I can pay! I'm good for it. Let me just--" she tries to palm for her wallet in her back pocket but realizes that her wallet is no longer there. She pats her front pockets, but there's nothing in those, either. Kara quickly scans the room and finds that her messenger bag, phone, and wallet were nowhere to be found. She shakes her head and tries to focus on what she was trying to say. "Have any of you seen my stuff? My phone?"
"What's that?" the mean looking lady asks as she walks towards the crates to move some of them around.
She stops mid-search, wonders if these...Europeans? just weren't familiar with technology. She tries not to judge, of course. Instead, she clears her throat again. "Oh, a phone? Well, uh, it's a thing that you use to make calls."
"You can't leave," the beautiful woman repeats, her face now looking somewhat more alarmed than she was a second ago.
"You keep saying that, but I really should get going."
All four of them yell NO! at her and she freezes in place.
The four grown adults talk in hissed whispers to one another lost in whatever European argument they're having. The teenager, grinning all the while, walks towards her. Kara stands her ground because she's not a wuss and this is just a teenage girl. But, like, she's not not a wuss.
"Hello," says the girl.
"Um, hello."
"You...are...n-..hmm..." the girl pauses, chewing on her bottom lip, then her eyes perk up when she finds her word. "...trouble?"
Kara's brows jump to her hairline and she shakes her head. "I don't...I don't mean to be. I'm really sorry. I was just trying to get some work done and--"
The girl seems convinced at the words she's saying as she points at Kara. "You...trouble!"
"No, hey--maybe don't say that. I'm totally not trouble. I'm a good person. I'm just trying to go home."
"You, trouble."
She stares at the girl and wonders if the girl thinks her name is trouble? Which, pffft, is not even remotely true. But she bets Alex would agree. She shakes her head and points at herself. "No, my name is Kara."
Just then, the four grown adults in their angry European huddle all rush towards her, the last image she sees is the beautiful woman grabbing hold of her and screaming in a language Kara doesn't understand just as she loses consciousness.
176 notes · View notes
taexual · 5 months
Text
sleepwalking ● 8 | jjk
Tumblr media
pairing: jungkook x fem!reader
summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.
genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers
warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, angst, SLOW BURN
words: 10.3k
read from the beginning ○ masterlist
Tumblr media
chapter 8 ► let’s search the skies for a while, you and i
Tumblr media
Stockholm replaced Copenhagen as the next location for Rated Riot’s European Tour, and it was Day 2 of the 14 days that Sid had given Jungkook to win this bet.
Because of that, Jungkook found himself living in a whirlpool of contradictions.
When you were in the room with him, the bet was all he could think about. It’s what held him back from approaching you, what stopped him from talking to you—out of paradoxical fear that this would count towards winning the bet, but not towards getting back together with you.
And when you weren’t in the room with him, all he could think about was that you weren’t in the room with him.
It was like this right now.
Earlier today, Yoongi had suggested that everyone met up for dinner at a high-class restaurant on the Strandvägen promenade after the show tonight. It made sense for everyone to agree – the band had a day off tomorrow and the restaurant was, supposedly, at a very beautiful spot – and Jungkook figured everyone would come.
Everyone did come. Except you.
And now thoughts of you made their way into his mind while his body winced at every slight noise, every minuscule movement that he noticed out of the corner of his eye, thinking—hoping—that it was you entering the room.
He could remember seeing you at the show—actually, it was difficult for him to see anyone but you when he was on stage; he’d just noticed how impossibly captivating your eyes looked with the stage lights reflected in them as you watched Rated Riot perform—but he wasn’t sure where you had gone afterwards.
He leaned over to Namjoon, who was sitting next to him at the restaurant table, and whispered awkwardly, “so, um, I thought everyone was coming to this dinner.”
Namjoon forced himself to look away from the streetlights reflected in the bay as the band and their team dined on the waterfront. He was still smiling, dazed by the overwhelming beauty of the place, as he murmured, “everyone did come.”
“No,” Jungkook objected before Namjoon could look away. “No, uh, see, our manager didn’t.”
“Oh, Luna said that she had something to do,” the producer replied. “But I think she mentioned joining us later.”
Jungkook knew immediately that that wouldn’t happen. In fact, as he scanned the table for your friends—Luna or Maggie—he glanced at Yoongi, who’d overheard the brief exchange, and shook his head when Jungkook’s gaze landed on him.
The whole band knew you well enough by now: if you weren’t here from the start, you weren’t coming. Luna probably only said that to Namjoon, because you asked her to.
Figuring there had to be a reason why you didn’t come – it was early morning back home, so it was possible that the label had contacted you, although Jungkook doubted it; they weren’t the type to call when things were going well – he looked over to his other side where Jude, Sid, and Minjun were sitting.
The three of them had already drunk a considerable amount of brännvin—the more it burned their throats, the more they seemed to enjoy it, the psychopaths—so they were probably unaware of how loud their conversation was.
He thought this was the perfect opportunity to slip out.
Granted, he probably shouldn’t have worried about his friends catching him leaving – they’d assume he was doing it to win the bet. And perhaps he should have deliberately tried to draw more attention to himself, to show off that he was going to win.
But he snuck out of the restaurant because of you, not because of the bet.
He didn’t think this through very well, however. A taxi van had dropped everyone off at the restaurant earlier, and the ride hadn’t taken very long. But, on foot, he was forced to walk for at least fifty minutes until he reached the parking lot where the tour buses were.
He tried to breathe in through his nose and out his mouth, so it wouldn’t look like he’d just run a marathon—although the muscles in his calves certainly felt like it.
He opened the door of the bus and peered inside. As suspected, you were half-lying in your bunk, laptop on your knees, airpods in your ears.
He entered and closed the door behind him with an accidental slam. There was no one else on the bus, but you didn’t lift your head; not even as he walked down the lane between the bunks, stopping in front of yours. Whatever you were listening to had to be loud enough to drown out the noise he was making.
“What are you doing?” he asked, reaching out to touch your shoulder. Your violent flinch at his touch made him flinch as he nearly tumbled backwards into Hoseok’s bunk.
“Jesus! Fuck!” you cried in horror, yanking the airpods out of your ears. “Stop doing that! What—why are you here?”
Straightening up, his eyes still wide, he replied, “I-I came here to ask you that!”
You kept your eyes on him, your heart still startled. “You came here from Strandvägen?”
“Yes.”
“On foot?”
“Yes.”
You knew Strandvägen was quite far from here, but you didn’t know Stockholm well enough to determine if his answer was plausible. However, his chest was rising and falling at an irregular pace, even though he was trying very hard to appear calm and relaxed, and that was a clear sign of physical exertion.
Still not blinking—as if he’d fade away if you closed your eyes even for a second—you furrowed your brows. “Why?”
“To ask you why you weren’t with us,” he replied simply.
Even more confused, you flipped your laptop screen shut and placed the device behind you.
Jungkook took this as an invitation to sit down next to you (really, he would have sat on the floor at this point, his legs were burning). You watched him and thought about what to ask next.
“You could have used the phone,” you said, figuring there was nothing you could ask him that would make you feel satisfied with his answer.
“I wanted to see your face,” he replied, “when you explained why you made me walk all the way over here.”
Despite the humorous twinkle in his eyes, you felt accused and defended, “I did not make you do anything.”
“You weren’t at the restaurant,” he argued. “So, yeah. You did.”
Averting your gaze, you ran your fingers over the frayed edges of the bedspread underneath the two of you.
“You shouldn’t have bothered coming here,” you began. He ignored the condescending tone in your voice, knowing it was there to make you feel better about having to explain something personal—something you’d undoubtedly categorised under ‘complaining’ and, therefore, would regret as soon as you talked about it. “I didn’t come with you guys, because I’m not really feeling up for socialising tonight. That’s all.”
He figured as much, but he knew that was not all. The pain in his legs eased a little, now that he could see that he hadn’t walked here for nothing.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” you replied—a reflex—and Jungkook had to swallow his frustration. “Just not feeling my best. But I’m fine.”
You seemed unaware of your own contradictory words, but he chose not to point it out, saying instead, “Luna told Namjoon you were busy.”
“Yeah,” you replied with an uncomfortable twitch of your lip. “I asked her to. I didn’t want him to pity me. He’s very sensitive. Makes me feel bad if I upset him.”
Weirdly happy to hear that, Jungkook gave you a small, teasing smile. “But you don’t mind upsetting me?”
“You came all this way,” you replied, meeting his eye and smiling back—but your gaze remained vacant. “I couldn’t just lie to you. But, really, I’m fine. You should go back.”
Funny how you managed to assure him you weren’t lying and then proceeded to lie all in one breath.
“I’m not going back without you,” he said, his voice rougher. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” you said, and then again, “nothing. I’m just tired, that’s all.”
Jungkook knew you never admitted you were tired unless it was an excuse to hide what you were really feeling. And, frankly, he was starting to grow really annoyed. Not because you were refusing to tell him what was going on, but because you were treating him like a stranger.
He’d known you for seven years at this point. He could tell when you were pretending.
And yet, he hadn’t tried to pry the truth out of you in years—he couldn’t even remember what methods he used to use back when you were together.
And he suddenly felt guilty, too, because you spent so much time making sure everyone around you was doing well—citing your job as the reason—but he’d never really asked you about you in return.
“You can talk to me, you know,” he mumbled—the words he’d heard you say to him hundreds of times sounded awkward when he repeated them. “You always tell me that. It’s only fair that I reciprocate.”
“See, but I have to listen to you,” you replied softly, not meaning much by it. You just wanted to relieve him of the responsibility he seemed to think he had to sit here and listen to you. “It’s my duty to make sure you’re feeling your best.”
“Well, I’m making sure you’re feeling your best because that’s what I want to do,” he countered. “Not because I have to.”
Your eyes widened in realisation. “I didn’t mean to imply that I don’t care about you—”
“I get it,” he cut you off. “Talk to me.”
You sighed. There were only so many times you could slither out of answering questions without it becoming frustrating. In your personal experience, most people rarely persisted long enough for you to say “I’m fine” more than twice in a row.
Jungkook, however, sat on your bunk, stiff as a statue. Determined, clearly, to stay here until you talked to him.
You knew you’d have to. And, really, you weren’t purposefully hiding anything. You just didn’t think this was something that you should have bothered other people with. Especially Jungkook, who already had enough on his plate from performing almost every night.
“It’s nothing,” you said—always the introductory phrase in your sentences. “I was on the phone with my mum after the show—”
Jungkook reacted immediately, “isn’t it… very early over there?”
“It was a little after four in the morning when she called, yeah,” you said. “That’s why I knew right away that something bad had to have happened.”
He felt an unexpected pang in his chest. Forgetting the bet completely, he worried about something else for a second—another thing that your mum could have told you about him.
It wasn’t anything bad per se, he knew you wouldn’t be angry if you found out—he hoped not—but you might not like the fact that he wasn’t the one who told you.
But it couldn’t be. You appeared tired, not flabbergasted. You looked surprised to see him, but not enough to toss a flowerpot at his head.
He shuffled on the bunk, and tried to ask, “what, um—what happened?”
“It’s my brother,” you said with a sigh so deep, it drowned out the sound of Jungkook’s relieved exhale. “He got—he had gone on a trip with friends. But then he suddenly returned home with a broken leg. That bonehead thought it was just a sprain, even though he couldn’t walk at all, so he didn’t go to the hospital right away. And now the leg is, apparently, swollen and blue.”
Jungkook cringed at the image.
“Yeah,” you replied to his expression. “Anyway, mum needed his insurance information. It’s not even a big deal, just a broken bone, he’ll be fine. It’s just that my mum was crying like it was the end of the world, and now I’m—I don’t know. It’s nothing. You shouldn’t have come.”
So close. You’d almost finished the whole story without discrediting your feelings again.
Jungkook tried to – quickly – find a way to bring you back to your previous state of mind, “no—it’s—is he going to be okay?”
“Yeah, they were at the hospital when I talked to her,” you replied. “The x-ray showed a common fracture, so he won’t need any surgery or anything.”
“That’s good. And your mum?”
“Oh, she was still hysterical when she hung up,” you said. “She only ended the call, because the nurse came to talk to her.”
This was typical of your mum, who loved her children more than anything—and now that you were rarely home because of your job, she focused a lot of that love on her youngest son.
Naturally, a broken bone was a disaster for her.
And she probably didn’t even realise how much her crying would affect you. No one liked to see their mother cry—it was possibly one of the worst sights a child could endure—but you’d always been particularly sensitive to it.
You had once told him that your biggest dream was to never see your mum cry again. And you put in great effort to make this dream come true ever since your parents’ divorce was finalised and your mother began to get herself back together: shopping trips, beauty salons, and holidays in her dream countries.
Jungkook had never heard anyone’s biggest dream be about someone else. He didn’t think he even believed you at first, but several late-night phone calls when you were pacing in your room, nearly ripping your hair out, because your mum wasn’t feeling well again, convinced him that you’d meant it.
Really, he admired you for this. But now he was clenching his jaw, because he understood where your mum was coming from, but he still thought it was unfair to burden you with this when she knew that the sound of her tears would haunt your dreams.
“He’s her youngest kid,” Jungkook rationalised in spite of himself.
“He’s seventeen,” you retorted irritably. “Surely, that’s old enough to develop a brain.”
“How did he break his leg anyway?”
“He told mum he was climbing a tree, and a branch broke off, so he fell,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I don’t know who climbs trees when they’re travelling with friends, but I do know that he was drinking, and he didn’t want mum to know. As for the thing he fell from, I can’t say anything about that. But clearly, he hit his head pretty badly on his way down, too, the absolute idiot.”
Jungkook couldn’t help a small snicker here. “Did she believe him about the tree?”
“He’s done dumber things, so I wouldn’t blame her,” you said. “And she still told me not to yell at him.”
“I second that.”
You groaned, disagreeing with him just as you’d disagreed with your mum before, “he was stupid enough to think his obviously broken leg would heal on its’ own and did not go to the hospital, and now he’s made mum cry—”
“He made a dumb mistake,” Jungkook’s calm voice cut you off. “I’m sure he knows and blames himself for it.”
Thrown off by his composure, you mumbled, “he’d better.”
“I’m sorry,” he said—the word sudden, almost inappropriate.
You looked at him. “Hm? For what?”
“That your mum cried, and you were on your own in a foreign country.”
You swallowed, your gaze falling from his face to the bedspread underneath you.
You didn’t have to tell him much, he knew your family very well: with only one parent to look after two children, you had to step up and take on the role of the other parent to your little brother and be the helping hand to replace the missing partner for your mum once your parents divorced.
Even before they divorced, actually—but Jungkook didn’t know much about that. You never talked about your family before your parents finally split up, but he had an inkling that things had been bad for a while. You had hardly any contact with your father and that had to come from somewhere.
Being a younger brother himself, he’d always felt this misplaced guilt in situations like this. As if exploiting older children in favour of the younger ones was a common practice of all parents, and he, too, received preferential treatment compared to his older brother.
But he didn’t think he did. He knew he didn’t—his parents called him and his brother the same number of times every day, even if Jungkook couldn’t always pick up. They scolded and praised them equally.
And he knew it was different for you. Your mum called you and asked how you were and what was new with you, but the real reason for her call was your brother and the new problems he was causing.
Jungkook suspected that she did this because you’d never told her that you minded being a parent to a child you didn’t have. You never minded being needed, being everyone else’s shoulder to lean on.
You were you.
You had everything under control, always. You were the only clear head in your household of chaos. Sometimes, even in his household of chaos.
You had taught your mum years ago not to ask how you were feeling, because two things would happen if she did: either she would worry, or you’d have to lie to her so she wouldn’t. You didn’t want either.
So, she knew better than to ask you too much, and she thought—or rather, hoped—that if you really needed help, if you were really struggling, you’d be the one to call her.
At least that’s what you’d told her you’d do.
The fact that she accepted this arrangement so easily, however, broke Jungkook’s heart, because he knew that if you were going through a really difficult time, you wouldn’t even think of calling anyone.
It was a miracle you even admitted what was wrong tonight. You’d been fluent in repressing your feelings and emotions for so long that Jungkook felt a little dizzy hearing you talk now.
“I’m fine,” you repeated as the silence in your bunk became too heavy. “Really. You shouldn’t have—”
“Do you want to walk back with me?” Jungkook asked.
Like Luna, he knew when to push, but he also knew when to stop. When to demand answers and when to distract you.
With Luna, that was understandable. She’d been your closest friend for years. But Jungkook made you watch him in stunned silence for a minute.
It shouldn’t have been surprising how well he knew you, but it was. And as you looked at him, the unexpected lightness in your chest made the inside of the bus spin a little.
Objectively, Jungkook knew that everyone would be done eating by the time you got back to the restaurant. But he suggested this anyway.
And, honestly, you knew that, too. But you still wanted to go with him.
“I would,” you said, your mind whirring with all the reasons why you shouldn’t go, “but we’re probably parked very far from Strandvägen. I don’t know how you walked here in the first place.”
“Let’s go,” he decided, standing up from your bunk.
“Huh? I just said—”
“You said you would. So, let’s go.”
“But I also said—”
“If distance is the only thing stopping you,” he cut in again, “then remember that I performed a whole gig tonight, walked over five kilometres to find you, and I’m still willing to walk back. So, give me a little break and come with me willingly, okay?”
“Hmm,” you ran your tongue over your lips to hide your smile at his phrasing. “And, uh… if I don’t?”
Jungkook was completely serious when he replied, “I will carry you if I have to.”
You immediately stopped smiling and narrowed your eyes. “You wouldn’t.”
“Is that supposed to be a challenge—?”
Noticing the almost predatory look in his eyes, you leapt out of your bunk.
“It’s not,” you said, grabbing your phone from the bed. “I’m coming. Let’s go.”
Tumblr media
When you and Jungkook left the parking lot, there were barely any people around—apart from a few cars here and there—which was understandable, considering it was almost three in the morning in the middle of the week.
You tended to get lost in your job a lot of the time, so you took a lot of it for granted sometimes. But it was in times like this: on dark, empty streets somewhere in Europe, that you remembered you weren’t working with regular people. You worked with artists. Musicians.
And walking back to the restaurant on Strandvägen—which should have closed hours ago, but that’s another perk of travelling with rockstars: they had the influence and the money to change the working hours of all the places they went to—you were hyper-aware of all this.
And, for a second, you felt almost intimidated. You’d known Jungkook for so long, but now you realised that he wasn’t just Jungkook, your client. Or even Jungkook, your ex-boyfriend.
This was also Jungkook, Rated Riot’s vocalist, strolling through Stockholm, hours after his concert.
But then he turned to look at you—his gaze so warm that you could see it, feel it, even in the dark of the night, under the fluorescent streetlights—and all of those feelings dissipated as quickly as they’d appeared.
He was back to being someone you’d known for almost a decade. Someone who knew things about you that you’d never shared with anyone else.
“So,” he spoke up as the two of you walked. “Is Kai still playing basketball?”
The mention of your brother made your stomach tighten again.
“Yeah,” you replied. “He doesn’t like it, though. But I’m pushing him to keep playing. He’s good at it.”
“Well, he’s tall,” Jungkook remarked.
“That, too,” you agreed. “But he’s also smart. And cunning when he needs to be. This could be his ride to college, he’s skilled enough to get a scholarship.”
“But he doesn’t want to keep playing?”
“I don't know. This is Kai. He doesn’t want to do regular, everyday things. He wants to skydive and eat cockroaches, and stuff.” You glanced at him before adding, “kind of like you, I guess.”
He was almost ready to argue, but ended up chuckling when your eyes met.
“Okay. Yeah,” he concurred. “I guess that’s true.”
“That’s why I’m relieved you guys are no longer in touch.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Wait, I’m the bad influence?”
“You can be,” you said, a meaningful glint in your eyes.
He watched you for a minute, enjoying the moment and your gentle features as you responded to his smile with one of your own. Then a dog barked somewhere in the distance, breaking the spell, and you both looked down at the pavement again.
“So, uh, if not basketball,” Jungkook said, “what does he want to do after school? Last time we talked, he wanted to be a ninja.”
You snorted. “Yeah, that was Kai in his Naruto phase. He’s into Chainsaw Man now, so I’m afraid to ask.
He laughed, clearly understanding where your apprehension was coming from.
“It could be worse,” he said. “At least he’s reading. Even if it’s manga.”
“Yeah.” You lingered on the last vowel as you sighed. “I wish it didn’t influence him this much, though. But then I feel guilty, sometimes, that I’m forcing him to only do the things that are beneficial for him instead of letting him explore other interests and hobbies.”
Jungkook nodded—indicating that he was listening—and suddenly walked to your other side. Growing confused, you felt him lightly touch your hip and nudge you both out of the way of an oncoming bike—which, at two-thirty at night, was surprising, even in a capital city.
Before you could react, he seamlessly returned to your previous conversation. “You just want what’s best for him.”
“I—yeah, uh—I do,” you said, trying to determine if your heart rate increased because of the unexpected bike, or because Jungkook was still walking right next to you, his arm brushing against yours with every step. Crossing your arms over your chest—in an attempt to shield yourself from the chilly night and your own warm chest—you added, “still, I feel like I’m hindering his growth as a person.”
Jungkook looked at you. Because your eyes were focused on the ground, he allowed his gaze to linger longer.
“But that’s not something you should be worrying about,” he said. He couldn’t help it; he felt offended—and hurt—on your behalf. “You’re not his—you’re his sister.”
“I know that,” you replied. “But he was three when dad left for the first time. He doesn’t even remember there ever being a dad. Mom and I are all he’s got. And, you know. Like a true father, I’m pushing him to fulfil my dreams and play in the NCAA.”
Jungkook found several points in your statement that he wanted to address, but he ended up focusing on your half-joking remark, “you wanted to be a basketball player?”
“No,” you said and he lifted his eyebrows higher. “But I’m committed to my role as the father. A father who desperately wants his son to succeed until the son says, ‘it’s not my dream, dad, it’s yours’. You know? Like in any normal family.”
Jungkook snickered—somehow sadly—but did not play along with your joke. Both of you knew that was just a TV trope you were using to divert the topic.
“You don’t need a father to have a normal family,” he said. “The three of you are perfectly normal together.”
You swallowed as your heart switched from beating three times faster than necessary to nearly stopping altogether.
“That’s true,” you said quietly. “But thank you for saying that. It’s easy to forget sometimes.”
“That’s because you’re so used to thinking that your family is different,” he theorised. “Growing up, I thought so, too. My house was the only one on the whole block with over a dozen people living in it. No one else lived with their aunts and uncles.”
You smiled, remembering the absolute chaos that thrived in his family home—a new argument, a new problem every day. It was lovely, though. Before meeting Jungkook and witnessing his life firsthand, you never imagined that families could be so close.
“Not a quiet moment there,” you said.
“Yeah,” he nodded, stuffing his hands in his front pockets to protect them from the cold late-night breeze. “And when I lived back home, I used to kind of hate that unstoppable noise. Now I miss it.”
“Do you go back often?”
You looked at him after you asked this, and suddenly felt your breath catch in your throat as the lights from the skyscraper across the street illuminated his features. Nearly hypnotised, you followed the lights across his face as they accentuated the darkness of his hair and the lightness of the spark in his eyes.
“I—well, probably not often enough,” he replied. You looked away from him to save yourself from making very poor decisions. “But it’s not the same. My brother moved out, my parents bicker every time they speak to each other. My cousins are still louder than all hell. I… I guess it’s just my grandma, really, that I want to see right now.
“Did you call her when we were in Paris?” you asked, recalling your conversation in the taxi outside of Gare du Nord.
Jungkook swallowed. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I wanted to, but, uh, she’s... well, she can’t hear very well right now.”
You furrowed your eyebrows. “You scream for a living.”
He looked at you and retorted with exaggerated dignity, “that’s how I sing.”
“My point still stands.”
He shook his head, a small smile appearing on his lips.
“It wouldn’t matter even if that was true,” he said, and, out of the corner of your eye, you could see the smile fade from his face. “She, uh, she doesn’t always understand me. Or, remember me, actually.”
You felt three separate stabs: one in your chest, one in your stomach and one somewhere in your lungs. They left you completely breathless and absolutely speechless for a full minute. It was hard to discern which had affected you more: the realisation that his grandmother—the most lovable lady you’d ever met—was sick, or the way Jungkook looked as he said this.
“I’m so sorry,” you whispered. The late hour and this revelation called for hushed voices.
“Thank you,” Jungkook replied with a distracted nod. He unconsciously sped up and you had to take two steps for every one of his to catch up.
You reached a bridge when Jungkook continued, “she has better days. My aunt and uncle are looking after her right now. I asked them to call me when she has a good day, but, uh... I haven’t heard from them since we arrived in Europe.”
Struggling to keep up, you reached out a hand and gently touched his shoulder, bringing him to a full stop in the pedestrian lane of the bridge over the Tranebergssund strait.
The lights from nearby buildings reflected in the water below, and you could sense the beauty around you as you caught glimpses through your peripherals. But you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Jungkook’s cloudy gaze.
You’ve spent over a week in Europe. You didn’t know that he was waiting to hear about his grandmother the whole time.
“That’s really unfair,” you remarked. “Your grandma loves you so much.”
“Yeah.” He looked down at his sneakers, then leaned his back against the railing of the bridge. “She actually once told me I was her favourite grandson.”
You smiled at this, then teased softly, “she probably said that to all of her grandsons.”
“Okay, but to me first!”
“Okay, okay,” you agreed, chuckling. “That might be true. In any case, this is—I don’t even know what to say. How is your grandpa handling it all?”
The brief moment of lightness faded from the conversation as Jungkook inhaled deeply and looked around, searching for a distraction.
“He is, uh... coping,” he finally replied. “Never admits what he’s feeling, but his eyes always well up when he talks to her.”
“Does she remember him?” you asked.
“Sometimes,” he said.
“On good days?” you echoed his previous observation.
“Yeah. On bad days, she pretends to remember,” he explained. “On really bad days, she’s so scared of the familiar face, but unknown person, that she can’t even pretend.”
“God,” you sighed, resting your forearms on the railing. “Both of them must be in so much pain.”
Jungkook nodded slowly and turned around, mirroring your position. The two of you watched the strait in silence for a minute, observing the lights as they danced on the soft, gentle ripples on the surface of the water.
There was a storm inside of him, nothing like the peaceful water below. It was a storm he did not like to think about, a storm he tried to run away from. But with you here, he felt a little less afraid of it.
“They’ve been together for almost sixty years,” he said. “I don’t—I can’t even begin to imagine what this must be like for them.”
“It sounds like a nightmare,” you admitted. “I don’t know what’s scarier: forgetting your loved ones or being forgotten by the ones you love.”
He answered without hesitation, “being forgotten. If you forget, it’s just—it gets scary sometimes, because everything seems so foreign. But most of the time, it’s just empty, I think. Quiet. You can still feel the love of the people around you even if you can’t remember who they are. But being forgotten—that—that’s just unbearable. You’re talking to someone you love so much, and t-they have no idea who you are.”
It felt like your heart was about to tear in half as you listened to the pain in his voice. You did not dare to imagine what sort of warzone his chest had become.
“How long was she sick?” you asked so quietly that the water nearly carried your words away.
“She was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s a year ago,” he replied. “Back then, her worst symptom was very shaky hands. She’s always been distracted and scatterbrained, so we didn’t think it was anything serious. But then she started to talk about visiting her sister who’s been dead for almost six years now, and uh… yeah.”
“Shit,” you whispered, because, for a moment, that was the only word that could capture what you were feeling.
You squeezed your eyes shut as if that would make hearing this easier. The cold wind and the raw emotion of this conversation made it all the more difficult to keep your eyes dry.
A short while later, you added shakily, “this breaks my heart, so I don’t even—I probably can’t even begin to understand what you and your family have been going through. I-I wish you’d told me.”
Jungkook looked at you, startled momentarily by your teary eyes. Then he realised that his own throat had become tight.
Turning towards you, he admitted, “I wish I had, too.”
You responded by turning to him as well.
There was a quiet moment, filled only with the wind as it moved the trees, the water, and the two of you closer to each other.
Jungkook reached for you almost instinctively. His hands were hesitant at first, unsure of how you would react. But your small nod—so small, you weren’t sure if you’d really willed your head to move—gave him permission to come closer.
He enveloped you in his embrace and exhaled so deeply that his lungs almost hollowed out when he felt you lean your head against his shoulder and slide your hands over his back.
“I-I know there’s nothing I could have done,” you whispered, “but I just—”
“You would have known,” he interrupted, tightening his grip around your waist. The side of his face was pressed against yours and you could feel every word on your temple. “That would have been enough.”
He was completely still, focused entirely on the feeling of you in his arms and the way your scent, your warmth, your touch—you—seemed to ease the pain inside of him. The way it quieted the storm, made the noise more bearable, the wind less powerful.
“I know now,” you said, lifting your head to look at him. “You can come find me if you get any news, good or bad.”
Breathing unsteadily, he nodded.
You watched each other, neither one daring to move. He held you and marvelled at how he’d survived so long without the feeling of your arms around him—tentative as if you were afraid he’d disappear if you held on too tightly. As if you’d wake up and leave this—all of this—in a near-forgotten dream.
He was the one who held you tighter in turn; to show you that he was here with you. And to show himself, too.
He understood that he had to let go of you soon—to return his hands to the frigid railing of the bridge or slide them back into his pockets—but he chose to play dumb. He chose to pretend he couldn’t read the situation, so he could keep his arms around you for just a minute longer.
His grandma used to say that a hug made everything better, and for a long time, she was one of two people in his life whose hugs truly made his heart and his mind slow down.
He hadn’t been able to hug her in a while. But he was hugging the second person right now.
“Thank you,” he said, reluctantly unwrapping his arms from around you. “Promise you’ll do the same? About your brother?”
You gave him a sad smile as you took a small step back. The chill of the night felt even more intense.
“I promise I’ll try,” you said.
He smiled back, understanding that this was already a lot coming from you.
You glanced at the water once more before returning your gaze to his face as you nervously stretched your fingers.
This conversation, along with memories of his family and how much they loved each other, reminded you of many things about your relationship that you had tried to forget.
There was something else, too. Something you couldn’t forget and couldn’t escape.
“Can I ask you something?” you said.
“Of course,” he replied, his body still facing yours even though you had gone back to leaning into the bridge railing.
“It’s something I’ve always wondered—actually, I tried to ask you before, but, uh, you never really told me,” you spoke, stalling, as you were too nervous to just spit it out.
“Okay,” he said patiently.
“Why are you friends with Sid and his crew?”
If Jungkook was surprised by the question, he didn’t show it as he inhaled and looked somewhere behind you. Somewhere far, far into the distance.
“You know why,” he said. “We have fun.”
“I understand that part,” you said. “They distract you from the stress. I get it. But… is that really it?”
Now he began to fidget. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he turned to face the water, then got one hand out to scratch his neck, just below his chin.
“That’s very—uh, what brought this on?” he asked, the question functioning more like a defence mechanism than a manifestation of his curiosity. “Why are you asking me that suddenly?”
“Well, because I doubt Sid has even a spoonful of emotional attachment to any of his family members,” you said. “All three of them grew up so rich that their silver spoons were golden. And you’re so different.”
Jungkook swallowed. Coming from anyone else, this question would have probably offended him, even though he understood that you merely meant his relationship with his family.
He’d been friends with Sid, Jude, and Minjun for a long time, but he sometimes wondered if they kept him around out of pity. And so, he wanted to make it clear that he was more than just Sid’s little sidekick. His errand boy.
He may not have had as much money as his friends—not yet, anyway—but now, finally, he had something that none of them did: popularity and acclaim. It pushed him forward until he could walk alongside his friends. Until, he thought, he could truly call them friends and not feel inappropriate.
They were equals now.
And still, deep down, he knew you were right. He was fundamentally different from the three of them. And you were the only person he felt comfortable admitting that to.
“Yeah, uh, I know I am,” he said, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Our differences are what initially drew me to them, I think. I was always restrained by my family and, I guess, our relative lack of money. Compared to them, I mean. Meanwhile, they could just do whatever they wanted without a single worry. Sure, they all have jobs, but it’s different for them. They know they’ll be fine even if they drink those jobs away. All of that seemed exciting and, I don’t know, invigorating to me. It still seems that way. When I say I want what they have, I don’t mean their money. I mean their freedom.”
When he paused, you nodded quietly. You could see he hadn’t finished yet.
“I feel like...” he said, his eyes cast low. “Like I don’t have to worry about the consequences of my actions, either, when I’m with them. I know I do, but it feels good to pretend for a while that I don’t.” He swallowed before continuing, “but, uh… I realise that I have certain responsibilities. I have the band. I have you. Unlike them, I can never truly be free. At the end of the night, I always go home. And my grandma is there to remind me who I really am and where I come from.”
“That’s why I asked,” you said. “It’s impossible she would approve of your friendship with them.”
“She doesn’t know about them.”
You weren’t expecting this, and you couldn’t hide your reaction as your lips parted and eyebrows rose in obvious surprise. “She—she doesn’t?”
“No,” he admitted. “I never told her. I want her to believe that I’m friends with nice boys like me.”
An ironic smile appeared on his face as he said that last part and you couldn’t help but snicker. You wouldn’t have used this particular adjective to describe Sid or Jungkook, but you knew that, unlike Sid, Jungkook did have a different side to him. A side that he rarely showed anyone, but you remembered it in his good morning texts and goodnight kisses.
“Shouldn’t that be a sign to you that these people aren’t good for you?” you asked. “You’ve never lied to your grandma.”
Something inside him prepared to argue, but he held the urge until it dissolved in his grip. He knew you were right.
Sighing, he said, “probably,” and left it at that.
The truth was, he became friends with Sid, Jude, and Minjun, because he wanted to be like them. He wanted what they had.
But, over time, their friendship became something else. A distraction. A way to maintain his sanity. And he didn’t know how to tell you about that.
He didn’t know how to tell you that he had a fear that had ingrained itself into his mind. A fear that he’d never tried to describe before, worried that speaking it aloud would bring it to life. It would materialise around him and swallow him whole.
It was loneliness, he supposed. Or maybe just himself.
Growing up with a family so big and friends so plenty, he never learned how to be alone. He never learned what to do when it was just him and his thoughts in an empty room for an extended period of time. He didn’t know how to distract himself from all that plagued his mind.
He was afraid of silence, afraid of the way it made his mind scream at him. He was afraid of those screams—they came from a dark place deep within his subconscious.
The screams were his doubts and insecurities. His flaws and weaknesses. His anxiety and fears.
And his friends—all three of them—made sure he was never alone. They made sure there were always enough voices in the room to keep him away from his thoughts. To keep him busy, to keep his mind satisfied.
And on this night, as you watched Jungkook drift away from you while you stood on the bridge, you could sense that there was a lot he’d still left unsaid.
“Be honest, though,” you said to the faded look in his eyes. He blinked when you started to speak and returned to the moment. “Does Sid really never get on your nerves?”
His smile was sad. “He does almost every day.”
“So why do you put up with it?” you asked. “Is this distraction really worth it? This feeling of freedom.”
Jungkook sighed. Sid wasn’t worth it. The rational part of him knew that much. Sometimes, Sid was louder than his own thoughts, and that was hardly better. But without Sid…
A silent minute later, you answered for him, “it’s the rest of them, isn’t it? You think if you cut Sid off, Jude and Minjun will leave with him.”
“I know they will leave with him.”
Uncertain how he’d take this, you asked awkwardly, “would that… really be such a bad thing?”
“I’ve known them since I was a kid,” Jungkook said as a way of answering.
“Well,” you clicked your tongue. “That sounds a little like an unhealthy attachment.”
He lowered his head. He knew that he wasn’t the best judge of what was healthy and what wasn’t, but even he could tell that his friendship with Sid had taken a turn for the worse. And still, he’s known Sid and the rest of his friends for years.
“There were good moments, though,” he said, his tone hopeful. “Sid wasn’t always this... obnoxious.”
You assumed as much; otherwise, Jungkook wouldn’t have kept him around for so long. Still, you asked, “what moments?”
“Well… the birthday parties, for example,” he began. “I saw fireworks, stood behind the wheel of a yacht, and drank decades-old whiskey way before I was legally allowed to do these things. And I didn’t have to pay for anything. Oh, and, okay—I also saw Sid dance to Britney Spears, which is, of course, priceless.”
There was unexpected amusement on your face. “Okay. That’s fair. I wish I’d seen that.”
“You really don’t,” he said. “I still have nightmares about it. He brought out a guitar later. Attempted to remix ‘Toxic’.”
Sucking your lips in to keep yourself from laughing, you nodded. “Hmm. Fitting song.”
“Yeah,” Jungkook restricted himself less as he laughed at your comment. “He can’t play for shit, though.”
Finally, you laughed, too.
Grinning, he continued, “the racing, too. I-I know this isn’t something you want to know about, but it’s—I guess, it’s a special memory for me.”
“It’s okay,” you said, a little surprised by the ease in your own voice. Racing used to be a taboo topic in your relationship. For you, that meant ‘don’t do it’, but for Jungkook, it meant, ‘do it in a way that she doesn’t find out’. Now, you said, “you can go on.”
He went on, “we raced in pairs. Jude was usually with Sid, I was with Minjun. We couldn’t do it individually, because I didn’t have a car of my own, and it wouldn’t have been fair. So, Sid bought me a car. You know the one.”
You knew and the knowledge made you lower your eyes. Even four years later, this car was difficult to forget.
But as you listened to him romanticise his friendship with Sid, you weren’t sure if Jungkook was even aware of how much the car and these races influenced your eventual break-up. How these happy moments that he shared with Sid led to unhappy moments with you.
“Then there was the time we were drunk and, somehow, ended up on the beach,” he continued, and you looked up from the water as you listened. “It got really sentimental in a way that it almost never does with us. I think Sid started it, actually, when he said that he wanted to become a musician.”
Your eyes widened, the image of Sid with a musical instrument successfully distracting you from your thoughts.
“No,” you said. “Was he serious?”
“Yeah. Dead serious.”
“Free Britney.”
He snorted. “Not for Britney. Punk rock. He had a bass and everything. He owned all the Sex Pistols records. You can see where I’m going.”
You paused, thinking. Slowly, your eyes narrowed.
“Not Sid Vicious,” you said.
Jungkook nodded and the sound of your exaggerated groaning made him laugh.
“He used to scream—I mean, literally screech at the top of his lungs—if his parents called him Isidore,” he said. “He started to go by Sid as a tribute and, I don’t know, a manifestation, I guess.”
You shook your head. The only resemblance Sid held to the notorious Sex Pistols’ bassist—aside from the drugs—was that he, too, seemed to give everyone headaches wherever he went.
“It was that night on the beach that I said I wanted that, too. Music, I mean,” Jungkook continued. “And we joked, for a minute, that we should start a band together, the four of us. Jude was going to be the lead singer, by the way.”
You scrunched your nose; another absurd image. “And you?”
“The drummer, of course. Rocking a cigarette between my teeth as I dropped killer beats.”
You laughed again. This was the one thing from their fantasies that you could see: the four of them choosing all the wrong positions in the band, but thinking they made it work because they looked cool on stage.
“So, what happened then?” you asked. “After you were the only one who became a musician.”
“Nothing,” Jungkook said. You scratched your forehead to hide the frown that your laughter had morphed into. Defending his friends came naturally to him and this habit was so useless. “I don't know. Sid never mentioned it again. I don’t think he cares.”
You looked down. You thought Sid cared.
Jungkook must have believed that they were equals now. But you knew they weren’t, and they never could be as long as Sid was involved.
The less of a lackey and more of an individual Jungkook became, the more Sid’s jealousy had to grow. Especially now that Jungkook was doing something that Sid had, apparently, always wanted to do.
“These good moments,” you started slowly, “that’s so long ago. When was the last time you had a good moment with him? When you had drinks in Prague?”
Jungkook almost winced at the unexpected memory of what happened at the hotel bar in Prague. Scrambling for a response, he gripped the railing of the bridge. “No, um, that was—that was one of the bad moments.”
“Really?” you were surprised. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“If I did, you would have thrown me in the water.”
You glanced at the strait reflexively. “It’s that bad?”
“It’s...” he sucked in a breath. “Not good.”
“Huh.” You ran your fingers over the railing, confused. With all that had happened—Sid’s lie about Jungkook’s ex, the Paris trip, the unfortunate encounter at the bar in Berlin—it was hard for you to guess what could have constituted a bad moment between him and Sid. “But Sid’s still kicking it. Wreaking havoc on Stockholm.”
Jungkook only hummed in response.
This time, your question was intentionally provocative, “so what does he have to do to cross the line?”
He brought the sole of his sneakers over the ground, rubbing at the pavement to win another moment.
“He’s done everything, I think,” he said finally. “The more time I spend with him here in Europe, the more I realise that things will be different when we go home.”
“Oh.” You blinked. Discomfort and distaste and even a sprinkle of pure dread gathered in the pit of your stomach. “So, he—he’s staying here until we go home?”
He lifted his eyes and noticed the way the light in your gaze seemed to dim. He wanted to assure you, but he also knew that there was something else he wanted, too.
He wanted to defeat Sid. He wanted to make him regret his actions for once. He wanted him to deal with something that he’d never had to deal with before: consequences.
So, all that Jungkook could say to you, was a lame, “I-I don't know.”
The disappointment remained prominent on your face as you said, “well, as long as I don’t see him, I guess, you can… think about what you want to do with him. I just think you deserve better friends.”
He cleared his throat and tried to shift the topic, “I thought Minjun wasn’t that bad.”
You glanced at him and saw the desperation in his attempt at a smile—it was there, but it did not quite reach his eyes.
“He’s tolerable,” you replied kindly.
He snickered. “Okay.”
“Keep him,” you said. “Lose Sid.”
“Hmm. And Jude?”
“Let Jude decide.” You shrugged. It seemed really simple. “It’s not a divorce, you don’t need to divide children. He can choose his real friends himself.”
Sadness returned to his voice as he looked down. “He’ll choose Sid.”
Your voice remained firm. “Then let him.”
Jungkook sighed. There wasn’t much else he could say to you. He heard it in your voice—all the determination that he lacked, you made up for it.
You noted that this wasn’t simple for him, at all. He’d known Sid, Jude, and Minjun since he was a teenager. It was easy for a friendship to feel permanent when it was decades-long. When you got so used to it, you didn’t think to imagine what it’d be like without it.
“Look…” you said, leaning your back against the railing. “If I were more like Sid, I’d be forceful. Maybe I’d even offer something as leverage. Something bad that I would do to you if you didn’t stop being friends with them. But I’m not Sid.”
Flashing back to the bet again, Jungkook groaned. “And thank God for that.”
“Yeah. So, I’m just… all I can do is tell you that you deserve better,” you said. “You deserve to be happy, you know? I don’t always talk shit about your friends because I personally think they’re shit.” You paused when he gave you a look. “Fine. It’s not just because I think they’re shit. I’m—I’m also looking out for you.”
“I appreciate that. You’re…” he stopped, feeling a flicker of fear for your reaction. He decided to push through more quietly, “you’re one of the few people in my life who does that for me.”
“Surround yourself with these people,” you said, too lost in the moment to notice his apprehension. “The ones who really care about you. It doesn’t matter how many of them there are. If they’re the only ones left in your life, I promise it’ll feel enough.”
He shook his head. “It’s not the quantity that matters for me, anyway. It’s… a lot of other things.”
“Think if those things are really worth it,” you persisted, “and if it wouldn’t be more reasonable to just walk away.”
He remembered—so suddenly, it almost knocked him off his feet and his grip on the railing tightened—how you’d done it. How you walked away from him for what was supposed to be the final time.
If it weren’t for a stroke of luck—or destiny, he supposed—he might have never seen you again. He might have never stood on this bridge in Stockholm with you. And if he’d gone after you that time, if he’d stopped you, then maybe he wouldn’t have had to wait for four years to get to this bridge.
Everything required a decision, and he was desperate to know if you ever regretted yours.
“Even if walking away could hurt them?” he asked you.
You looked at him and misjudged the sadness in his eyes for the pain of losing long-time friends.
“You’re hurting me,” you countered, “when you let them treat you like that. When you let them put you in danger.”
He could suddenly hear the silence around you both. With his eyes locked on you, he stammered, “w-why does that hurt you?”
This time, it was you who didn’t have a proper answer to his question. “Because.”
Inhaling until his lungs overflowed, Jungkook lifted his chin and closed his eyes.
A heavy minute later, he asked, “do you know what is the one thing that I’m glad my grandma forgot?”
The sudden change in conversation caught you off guard. “Uh—what?”
“You.”
You continued to watch him, and there seemed to be something burning in this word—a fire strong enough to shield you from the cold wind of the Swedish night and light your skin up with a warmth that felt innate and familiar.
“Why, um,”—you swallowed, interrupting yourself—“why are you glad?”
“Because she’d managed to do the one thing I couldn’t,” he replied.
The fire in your chest spread and you could barely inhale before it consumed everything inside of you.
You looked down at the water below. “Jungkook—”
There it was – his name like a curse on your lips. He didn’t think he was going to last this long in the first place, but this still felt like a forceful slam of a door in his face.
“I know,” he said quickly. “It’s too much, sorry. It’s just... being here with you makes me feel like myself again. Like I’m not just Rated Riot’s vocalist. Not just Sid’s friend. I’m also more than that. It probably makes no sense to you—”
“No,” you interrupted, shivering as the warmth inside of you faded into anxiety. Into fear. “I—I understand what you mean. But I think it’s because we’ve spent so much time together these past few days. It’s easy to get lost in the memories.”
Your guard went back up so quickly that Jungkook scoffed under his breath. He thought he’d broken down some of your defences tonight. Really, he’d merely bent them, if even that.
He still couldn’t tell you anything more out of fear that you would get lost in Stockholm just to run away from him.
“Well, why do you think we’ve been spending so much time together?” he asked, a certain edge to his voice.
You looked at him. “That’s what I’ve been asking you since we came to Prague.”
“It’s because I’m—because—” he started to say and then, in search of the right words, ended up dropping his own walls so he could admit, simply, “I just miss you.”
Still, you looked away and insisted, almost childishly, “you can’t miss me. My job is being with you and the band 24/7.”
He wasn’t sure if you were saying that because it was just easier like this, or because you genuinely felt this way.
Regardless, he shook his head.
“I miss you outside of your job,” he said, gaining confidence now that you weren’t looking at each other. He continued to speak to the water, “I miss hanging out with you. I miss how we used to spend hours scrolling through Netflix, trying to decide what to watch only to get so distracted by our conversation that we’d end up talking the whole night while the movie posters played in the background. I miss the way you’d sing backup vocals for me when I was putting on a show in the shower. I miss the apple scent of your shampoo and how the bottle was the perfect microphone. And the way you screamed that one time, when I nearly blinded you by accidentally squirting shampoo directly into your eye.”
You snickered—quietly, involuntarily, almost painfully—and the sound brought him back down from his memories as he turned to face you again.
“I miss everything,” he finished. “All those little moments.”
Your glance at him was furtive, momentary.
“Why now?” you asked.
This time, it was Jungkook who laughed—incredulously, cynically. “Why always? I don’t think I’ve ever truly stopped missing you.”
As you became more aware of how close he was—physically, of course, because mentally, he might as well have already been inside your head—goosebumps began to rise on your skin. Not just from the cold night, but also because he was right there—right fucking there—and you weren’t touching him.
Clearing your throat, you tried again, “well, why did you tell me now, then?”
Deep inside, he was anticipating the question—it made sense, he could see why you’d want to know—but he still winced when he heard it.
Despite everything that had happened tonight—each moment brutally honest and coming from the deepest parts of his heart; the parts that he’d kept hidden for four years—there was a reason why he was telling you this now.
It’s because he was a fraud.
He’d made a fucking bet.
Inhaling sharply, he lifted his gaze to the cloudy sky above. He shrugged, hating himself with every word that was supposed to be an explanation, “better late than never or something like that, I guess.”
You observed him for a second before you looked away, too. You didn’t say anything, and he was desperate to make things right—at least, as right as he possibly could, without making them worse.
“I’m sorry if everything I said made you uncomfortable,” he tried. “I just wanted to—”
You shook your head, encouraged by the darkness and the emptiness of the street around you—like there was no one else here in Stockholm tonight, just the wind, the bridge, the two of you, and the water below.
“No,” you cut him off. “I’ve missed you, too."
His heart rate sped up so quickly that he thought it might give him whiplash. This night, in its entirety, was a rollercoaster ride.
He looked at you, shocking you with how intense his own shock was. “You have?”
Realising that he’d gone out of his way to do these things—spending time with you, helping you backstage, taking you to Paris—while you continued to find it all suspicious as if there was some deeper, more malicious reason for his actions, you began to feel guilty.
Wanting to redeem yourself, you nodded firmly.
“Yeah,” you said. “I have.”
Jungkook was nearly suffocating, his lungs full of something that he could not inhale.
The rollercoaster had reached its peak—his heart was leaping out of his chest—and suddenly, it plummeted at a rapid, nauseating speed. He felt like he was free-falling, his stomach slamming and hitting everything on its way down, as he realised, in horror, what he was doing.
He was taking advantage of the fact that you didn’t know about the bet. He was taking advantage of you.
You were being honest with him—which was rare for you in general, but even rarer nowadays—and he wasn’t doing the same for you. Not entirely.
There was a real reason why he told you about this now, not months—even years—earlier.
The memory of Sid suggesting the bet that very first night in Prague was sharp and brittle. It added to the weight of the confessions he’d made tonight and each of his words ricocheted off his ribcage and pierced his heart as a reminder that everything he’d told you tonight was a half-truth.
He meant what he said about missing you. He meant every single word, every little barely pronounced syllable that kept getting caught on the spikes in his heart, stabbed there each time he remembered that you were no longer together.
Four years he’d felt this way. And deep down, at the end of every day, he knew that he wanted you. Bet or no bet.
And he saw now—he could feel now—that he may have had a chance. A second chance.
But you were looking at him, the colour of your eyes reflected on every surface around him, and he couldn’t move.
He couldn’t take the chance. Not like this.
“It’s cold,” he said. “Should we go?”
The way the colour seemed to drain from your eyes was painful. He felt nauseous as he looked away.
“Uh, yeah,” you said. There was an emptiness in your voice—a great reflection of the sudden space that had opened up in his chest and in yours. “Let’s go.”
The disappointment came so abruptly, it caught you off-guard. You felt like this wasn’t everything that had to have happened tonight.
You felt like the night had been leading up to something. You weren’t sure what, and you weren’t sure how far you’d let it get, but here it was, instead; the disappointment.
The two of you walked the rest of the way to Strandvägen in silence.
One half of your pair felt confused and unexpectedly dispirited. The other half regretted being born.
There was something else, too; a feeling that the two of you shared. And it was the same thing—the thing that almost happened tonight—that you were both afraid of.
Tumblr media
chapter title credits: sleep token, “is it really you?”
Tumblr media
prev ○ next
400 notes · View notes
matan4il · 5 months
Note
Hello. Can I ask why everybody is calling Israel a "colonial" state? Because it annoys me very much when I see that for three main reasons:
1. My country was a former member of the British colonial rule. Do you know what happens when a country gets colonised? Every bit of the wealth generated went to the Crown, every political decision had to be approved by the Crown, laborers were exploited as much as possible, my people were directly under the orders from a British Monarch who actively hated them. The economy was in shambles after we got independence. As far as I know, since the state of Israel was created, it does not answer to any foreign country (the UN is not a country). How is this a European 'colony'?
2. Most(All?) people who immigrated to Israel were refugees. If Jewish people living in Europe did not have any ties to the land of Israel and were completely 100% European, why were most of them killed horrifically during the Holocaust for not being the right race? Why does nobody talk about the expulsion of Jews from the surrounding Arab countries? Where should these people go?
3. People also seem to forget that governments can be stupid. Just because they are the ruling party does not mean they're capable of making sound decisions for their people. Even a non-colonial government makes bad decisions. If you can separate Trump from the rest of the US, why can't you do the same for Israel?
I do not want to reduce the suffering of the Palestinian civilians. However using the wrong terminology is not the way to help these people. Please correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm really tired of this 'colonizer' takes.
(I hope I made my point clear as English is not my first language?)
Hi, lovely Nonnie!
Please, your English is great! I would have never guessed you're not a native speaker. :D
And you are absolutely right about every single point. Also, my heart goes out to you! I'm so sorry that your people have also suffered due to colonialism. I'm sending you BIG hugs!
Colonialism is what destroyed my people. After our homeland was repeatedly colonized, the Roman colonizers went even further than previous regimes, and expelled most of our ancestors from this land (a small Jewish minority wasn't, and that's why there has been a documented continuous Jewish presence in Israel for over 3,000 years). The expelled Jews became a spread out minority in other countries. With such small numbers in each country, it was easy to vilify us, we were vulnerable to every attack, with hardly anyone defending us, and no real option to defend ourselves. The Holocaust happening to us is directly linked to this way that we were forced to exist for almost 2,000 years in the diaspora.
Meanwhile, our land continued to be repeatedly colonized by different regimes. Each one did exactly as you said, exploited our country for their own benefit. The Ottomans, as just one example, cut off so many trees to build the Hejaz railway (which connected today's Syria to today's Saudi Arabia for the purpose of Muslim pilgrimage to the Saudi mosques), that the Land of Israel went through a desertification process. When Jews started returning in substantial numbers (because in small ones, there were always individual Jews who tried returning to our ancestral land), we did exactly what native populations try to do, restore the land, through continued research and development, to its pre-colonized state.
That's on top of the fact that, as you mentioned, we don't answer to or serve any European (or western) country. Colonies serve a metropole, but there is none for Israel. It's just our country. It's just the place where we live, even when it's incredibly difficult, because it's our ancestral homeland, which we've returned to, after our ancestors prayed for that for almost 2,000 years.
You're also spot on about the fact, that Jews were always discriminated against and persecuted in every country in the diaspora (with a few exceptions in South East Asia, the most important one being India). We were treated that way precisely because there was a historic recollection that we are foreigners. That we were south west Asians, living as a minority in countries that never truly wanted us, like Norway, or Spain, or Morocco. That's why it was so easy to kill us in the Holocaust. That's why it was so easy to expel us from Arab countries. Because we were never truly accepted by the locals.
But even after expulsions and surviving the Holocaust, there are so many places in the world Jews could have turned to! Places where there would be less resistance to us forming a country. Yet, the overwhelming majority of Jews rejected such suggestions. If they hadn't, then we would have truly been colonizers. But that's not what we yearned for. We always dreamed of returning to our homeland, so eventually it became evident to everyone that there's only one real option for a Jewish state, and that is in the Jewish ancestral land.
The reason why people claim that Jews are colonizers of their own land (some deny all historic ties Jews have to Israel, despite every piece of evidence to the contrary, while others acknowledge the Jewish history of Israel and the continued Jewish presence there, but claim that it's been so long ago, it doesn't count anymore. I've never seen any other native group being told that there's a time limit on their native rights. Have you?) is because it allows a narrative that once again vilifies Jews.
When the worst thing Jews could have been was of an evil religion, they described us as evil in religious terms (accusing us of having killed Jesus, and accusing us of using the blood of non-Jewish kids to bake a special kind of bread meant for religious purpose). When the worst thing Jews could have been was of an evil race, they described us as evil in racial terms (describing us as being sub-human, and accusing us of wanting to take over the world, to destroy it for the rest of the human race). Now that de-colonization is such a powerful (rightfully so) narrative, the worst thing Jews can be is evil colonizers... So guess what we're suddenly described as? Evil colonizers, who plot, steal, abuse and genocide another population (when in reality we consented to coexist with it 76 years ago).
I hope that sort of answers it? Basically, it's the newest form of the same age old antisemitism. Find the worst thing Jews can currently be, and depict them as that.
Thank you for seeing past the vilification! It means a lot. I'm sending you lots of love! xoxox
(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)
316 notes · View notes
fangirleaconmigo · 1 year
Text
Abortion in The Witcher Books
Would anyone like to come along with me on a deep dive regarding abortion in The Witcher books? Not enough people talk about the fact that Geralt of Rivia is explicitly pro-choice and that the sorceresses are seen providing reproductive care, including abortion, on multiple occasions. So, let's do that.
Tumblr media
There are a lot of things you can say about The Witcher books, feminism, misogyny, and the male gaze. (I am considering doing my first video on this very topic. It is complicated. This is not a 'the books are perfect' post) But one thing we can never say is that they are wishy washy about bodily autonomy, and more specifically, abortion. (In fact, that is the entire point of Ciri and Geralt's arc, which I will get to at the end of the post)
This topic came up awhile back because a 'witcher school' was closed after the owners were found to have ties to far right organizations, including anti-abortion organizations. So, I did a little thread on twitter about it, wondering how you can call yourself a Witcher fan (to the extent that you license a fan activity business!), and miss the entire fucking point. It was my most popular (and ofc hated by others) tweet ever, which was interesting, but I was mostly surprised that so many people were shocked to learn that Geralt of Rivia is, as a character, canonically, verbally, explicitly pro-abortion rights.
So I’m going to put the info here too in case any of you here find it interesting. Obviously there will be spoilers for the books.
TW: discussion of sexual assault, pregnancy, and basically anything having to do with reproductive health.
Before I start, I want to say that the book refers to abortion in reference to rights for women throughout, so that is the language in this article. I want to be clear that I (as an individual) understand that abortion is relevant to other genders and that I support it for trans men, non binary people, literally anyone. Abortion should be safe and on demand for all. But this is not a post analyzing my views on abortion, but the appearance of abortion in fictional psuedo medieval-esque fantasy world of The Witcher books.
Ok, I’ll start with the fact that sorceresses provide reproductive care in the books, including abortions.
In, The Last Wish (p210) Geralt tries to give Nenneke money to help Yen with fertility treatments. (In the books he does not mock her desire to have a child) He knows Yen wants to be a mother, and he wants to help. Nenneke replies that she does not need his money, and that providing abortions pays a hell of a lot better than witchering.
Tumblr media
"You're more of an idiot than I thought." Nenneke picked up the basket from the ground. "A costly treatment? Help? Geralt, these jewels of yours are, to her, knickknacks not worth spitting on. Do you know how much Yennefer can earn for getting rid of an unwanted pregnancy for a great lady?"
Witches as providers of abortion is a very common trope in fantasy fiction for a very good reason. In order to stamp out paganism and polytheism, European colonists vilified the village wise woman as a murderer of children, hence the 'boil them in a pot, stuff them in the oven' stories about witches. Many people interpret this as the vilification of abortion. In the classic 1972 feminist text Witches, Midwives, and Nurses: A History of Women Healers, Ehrenreich and English quote Malleus Maleficarum, the witch hunting manual written by Catholic clergymen in 1487, to show that women providing reproductive healthcare was one of the 'characteristics' of a witch.
The witch that provides reproductive healthcare fits in very well in the witcher world, where Geralt and the witchers are embodiments of the working class who are used as tools and exploited. They are loathed until they are needed. The same is true of abortion providers. They are hated until they are needed, and they are always needed.
It also fits in well with the themes of class. In the Witcher books, it is stated multiple times that it is upper class women who are accessing this care from sorceresses. That is real. It is the truth that outlawing something very very often only means outlawing it for the poor and working class. The wealthy always find a way.
In Season of Storms, the sorceress Coral and her assistant Mozaïk provide reproductive healthcare to "wealthy, upper-class ladies" on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. Geralt comes to speak to Coral in chapter sixteen and both of the women are wearing white doctor coats. They have just helped a woman deliver a baby and it is implied that the baby died and they are both upset. They do not want Geralt there, because (it seems to me) they need space to grieve, and they do not expect him to understand. They send send him away, suggesting he go spend time with Dandelion.
She walked over and kissed him on the cheek without a word. Her lips were cold. And she had dark circles under her eyes.
She smelled of medicine. And the fluid she used as disinfectant. It was a nasty, morbid scent. A scent full of fear.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she forestalled him...She looked at him and it was a faraway look, from beyond a chasm of time and events between them. He needed a few seconds to understand how deep that chasm was and how remote were the events separating them.
"Maybe the day after tomorrow would be better. Go to town. Meet that poet, he's been worried about you. But now go, please. I have to see a patient."
After she had gone, he glanced at Mozaïk....
"We had a birth this morning," she said, and her voice was a little different. "A difficult one. She decided to use forceps. And everything that could have gone badly did."
"I understand."
"I doubt it."
"Goodbye Mozaïk."
There are multiple other references to abortion in relation to sorceresses; I won't quote them all. But I'll leave you with one other reference. In Lady of the Lake (pp114), in a very funny moment, Angoulême says she has a 'small problem' and Fringilla replies:
"I understand," nodded the sorceress. "It's nothing dreadful. When was your last period?"
Angoulême is rather put out at the thought of being pregnant.
"What do you mean?" Angoulême leaped to her feet, frightening the chickens. "It's nothing of the sort. It's something completely different!"
So, sorceresses provide abortions and other reproductive care.
But what about the men? What about the heroes?
Well, several of the male protagonists state explicitly in no uncertain terms that abortion is an inalienable, sacred right. That includes Geralt himself.
Here is Geralt taking to Queen Calanthe in Sword of Destiny (p345). She asks him whether he hates his mother. In the course of his answer, Geralt says that abortion is “a choice which should be respected, for it is the holy and irrefutable right of every woman.”
Tumblr media
"A choice. A choice which should be respected, for it is the holy and irrefutable right of every woman."
That’s a strong goddamn statement. There’s no doubting his meaning or the strength of his conviction. And it isn’t just Geralt. Dandelion (Jaskier), Cahir (he is traveling with Geralt as part of the hansa in the books, please set aside anything you think you know about him from TWN), and Regis (Geralts dear friend) all explicitly support abortion rights, quite passionately.
In Baptism of Fire (p317), one of Geralt’s dear friends (my favorite, the love of my life, Milva) shares that she is pregnant. They are on a brutal journey through a war zone looking for Ciri. So it’s complicated. Another friend, barber surgeon vampire Regis has prepared an elixir for her to induce an abortion. So, not only do sorceresses provide abortions, but so do vampire barber surgeons, one of the most lovable heroic characters in the books.
But before he administers it, Regis gathers the rest of the company. Regis knows Milva feels like shit at the prospect of burdening them, so he is worried that she is making the decision under duress. They don’t immediately understand why he is bringing the matter to them.
At first they think he is asking for opinions on whether she should get an abortion. They are baffled. Cahir answers first. He says in Nilfgaard it is always a woman’s right to choose.
Tumblr media
"In Nilfgaard," Cahir said, blushing and lowering his head, "the woman decides. No one has the right to influence her decision. Regis said that Milva is certain she wants the medicament. Only for that reason, absolutely only for that reason, have I begun-in spite of myself-to think of it as an established fact. And to think about the consequences. But I'm a foreigner, who doesn't know...I ought not to get involved. I apologize."
So, Cahir says that maybe it’s a foreigner thing. Maybe it’s different for them. Dandelion (Jaskier) is offended and outraged by the implication that they believe any differently.
Tumblr media
"What for?" the troubadour asked, surprised. "Do you think we're savages, Nilfgaardian? Primitive tribes, obeying some sort of shamanic taboo? It's obvious that only the woman can make a decision like that. It's her inalienable right. If Milva decides to--"
At this point, Geralt cuts Dandelion off. Geralt alone actually understands that there is something else happening here, that they are misunderstanding Regis and further questions are in order. Geralt begs Dandelion to stfu, which the bard misinterprets. He thinks Geralt is disagreeing with him and is considering opposing Milva's right to choose. Dandelion LOSES HIS TEMPER at the thought that Geralt would deny Milva her right.
Tumblr media
Geralt becomes even more irritated and angry at the implication that he would do such a thing.
So, not only do we have witches as abortionists in The Witcher books, we have men, the hero (Geralt) his best friend (Dandelion), my beloved Regis, and Cahir say explicitly that abortion is an inalienable right.
And that should be no surprise.
Bodily autonomy and reproductive rights is at the very heart of the story. You do not have The Witcher story without it. It drives the narrative, the conflict, and Geralt and Yen's character arcs.
There is a criticism I see floating around quite a bit, that having Yen's story driven by her desire to be a mom and to physically reproduce is anti-feminist, or at least a tired reductive trope of women being defined by their maternal instincts.
I get that. I get tired of womanhood being defined by reproduction and motherhood as well. Biological essentialism when it comes to gender is exhausting and regressive. However, in this context, it is entirely clear to me that the point is NOT that all women should want to be pregnant. The point is the bodily autonomy, to be pregnant if you want to, and to not be pregnant if you don't want to.
Look at Ciri. She essentially becomes the main character by the end, and the idea of being pregnant repulses her.
So, in Lady of the Lake, Ciri is being held captive by elves, who want to do the same thing to her that everyone else does--breed her. The deal they offer her is, she does not 'have' to have sex with anyone until she is impregnated, but if she doesn't, she can't leave. (So, if she is to access what every human wants--freedom--she has to. This is still rape. It is coerced sex) She is understandably distraught and enraged. The part of that deal she seems most disgusted by, is the idea that she could be pregnant.
"But I don't want to!" yelled Ciri so loudly that the mare skittered beneath her. "I don't want to, understand? I don't want to! The thought of a bloody parasite being implanted in me is sickening. I feel nauseous when I think the parasite will grow inside me, that--"
She broke off, seeing the faces of the elf-women.
So yes, she is distraught that her bodily autonomy is being taken from her yet again. But perhaps the most upsetting part is the idea that she could be pregnant. It physically repulses her.
Now. Let's put this in context.
In this psuedo-medieval-esque setting with royal families, being used as a brood mare is COMMON and ACCEPTED. IN FACT, Calanthe, Ciri's OWN GRANDMOTHER was marrying her off against her will, betrothing her as a child. No one thought this was weird. It's your duty, right? No big deal. Even Geralt, when he first met Ciri, thought it would be a better life for her. Sure, it's against her will. But it's physically safe and luxurious. And he leaves her behind in Brokilon.
But at some point, Geralt puts two and two together. He connects his trauma with hers. He makes a decision that even if almost no one around him in his culture or on the continent, sees the importance of her bodily autonomy or agrees with him, he's protecting her. Not just against death, but against anyone taking her choice from her. When he is having a mental breakdown in Brokilon, worried about her, he tells Dandelion that he is trying to protect her from what happened to him. He doesn't say, she can't die. Or I can't let her be killed. He says she cannot be alone. She cannot go through what I went through. Here, I"ll let him say it: (Time of Contempt, p240)
"Listen to what?" shouted the Witcher, before his voice suddenly faltered. "I can't leave---I can't just leave her to her fate. She's completely alone...She cannot be left alone, Dandelion. You'll never understand that. No one will ever understand that, but I know. If she remains alone, the same thing will happen to her as once happened to me...You'll never understand that..."
"I do understand. Which is why I'm coming with you."
Honestly, I tear up thinking about it.
And Yen, well, she has a similar arc.
Yen has been abused and used as a tool, and along the way she has accepted that this is the way things are. Yen has even done the same to others. But she looked into that little face, those wide green eyes, and at some point she also connected the dots. There's another way of doing things, and maybe it is possible for a little girl to choose for herself. And even if it isn't possible, maybe the important thing is to fight for it. Maybe Yen can give her whole life to let a child just be a child.
Yen goes through torture and imprisonment for Ciri. She shoots lightning at a god, she shouts at a goddess, she drops through a portal into the sea, she gives up every last shred of political power she has spend ninety years accruing, she WILLINGLY tries to give her own life MULTIPLES TIMES, to save Ciri.
And from what? Death? Not always. At the heart of all this sacrifice is that Yen has made a decision that Ciri gets be a human who is given the dignity and respect of deciding what to do with her own body. To be a kid, not a tool. To be a person. To be free.
So Ciri gets to say, actually, for me, the idea of pregnancy is terrifying and repulsive and therefore, I don't want to do it.
In the end, Geralt, a person whose body was tortured and experimented on before he was too young to consent, and Yen, a woman who was abused and used, and BOTH of whom had their reproductive rights taken from them, decide to love Ciri and protect her bodily autonomy at any and all costs.
That is what drives the story. It drives the narrative. It drives both Geralt and Yen's character arcs. It is, in fact, the entire point.
So it should not be a surprise that abortion, and the right to have an abortion if necessary, is an inextricable part of The Witcher world. No, you cannot analyze these books and find 'perfect politics'. They are not politically correct. And there are many parts I can critique. I mean, we can critique anything. (and I do)
But I find it endlessly interesting that people who are conservative or right wing think that this property 'belongs' to them, and they want to push everyone else out, when all they have to do is pay the most minimal amount of attention and have really only two (2) brain cells to rub together, to see that they are indeed, incorrect.
1K notes · View notes
aflame4goinghome · 4 months
Text
Antithesis
j.t.k x reader & j.m.k. x reader
part I
Tumblr media
summary: You’ve been going out with Josh for a few months now, but his twin brother still hasn’t warmed up to you. Despite your efforts, Jake can’t stand you and he makes sure to tell you every chance he gets. Finally, one night it seems like you’re about to get some answers, but the truth is a lot more complicated than you ever could have hoped.
word count: 4k
warnings: THIS STORY CONTAINS SMUT, MINORS DNI!! swearing, mentions of smoking (tobacco & marijuana), drinking, kissing, sexually implicit language, heavy petting, cheating *kind of* SMUT: semi-public sex, fingering (f. receiving), dirty talk, praise kink if you squint
listen to the official playlist on Spotify here
✺⋅∘⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅∙⋅∘⋅✺
“Baby, you almost ready to go?” Josh pokes his head into the threshold of the bathroom from your bedroom with a soft smile.
“Oh, yeah, just another minute,” you reply, putting on the finishing touches of your mascara before turning toward him and slinging your arms around his neck. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in.
“You look breathtaking, as always,” he says with a smirk.
You and Josh have been going out casually for about six months now, but it never got to be very serious. You went on a few dates and had some heated nights together, but his band started its newest tour a month after you met, so the time that you’ve spent together since then has been sparse.
You first met Josh one night while out with your friends at your local bar. You’d gone to get yourself and the other girls another round when you saw him sitting there at the bar next to you. Almost immediately, his honeyed words and sweet smile drew you in. He told the bartender to put your drinks on his tab, you took the drinks to your friends, then you sat down next to him and the two of you got comfortable rather quickly.
You took him home with you that night and you couldn’t seem to forget him after, no matter how hard you tried. He was handsome, sweet, and ridiculously good in bed. You’ve had your fair share of flings over the years, but nothing could compare to him. As you fell asleep that night with his arm draped over your torso, you knew you were done for. Living in Nashville your whole life, you always vowed to never date a musician. You knew that they were wild and unreliable, but damn, this one just trapped you.
Soon after, he embarked on the band’s world tour. You didn’t always hear from him that often, but you never expected to. He called you after a show every once in a while, usually half-drunk and looking for some relief after a stressful day, missing you. You miss him too while he’s gone, but you’re still trying to avoid getting too attached to the idea of him being yours. You knew that he’d eventually get tired of you or find someone else while on the road. But despite never putting a label on it, he’s remained loyal, which surprised you.
After getting home from the European leg of his tour, he invited you to go with him as his date to a Christmas party at his brother’s house. Events like this made you nervous, considering the complicated nature of your relationship, but you could never really find it in you to say no to him. You’re feeling reluctant to go to this party in particular though, and not for the usual reason.
Josh’s twin brother, Jake, hates you. Yes, hate is a strong word, but you are convinced that he absolutely loathes you. You still haven’t been able to figure out why, no matter how hard you tried. You haven’t encountered him that many times, but all of the times you’ve seen him, he would never lay off you. He would question everything you said, scoff at your remarks, and you even caught him glaring once or twice from across the room when he thought you weren’t looking.
After every time, you would ask Josh about it and he would make excuse after excuse. “Oh, I’m sure he’s just having a tough day,” or “Maybe he just misheard you,” or “He’s probably just feeling a bit protective of me.” Whatever the reasons were, you had no interest in entertaining it.
The two of you aren’t even that serious, so you feel no desire to impress his brother. Besides, his younger brother Sam and their best friend and bandmate Danny have both taken quite a liking for you. Screw Jake, you didn’t need his approval anyway. So why were you nervous to go to his house?
You snap out of your daydream and come back to reality, looking up at Josh with a smile. “Thank you, baby. You look quite dashing yourself, you know.”
You’d decided to wear a midi-length black dress with a high slit, pairing it with a pair of black heels. You opted for simple makeup and added red lipstick for the season. It was a simple look, but elegant for a Christmas party. Josh was wearing a pair of khaki pants with a white pullover sweater, adorned with his favorite symbol, and some tan winter boots. His cheeks were rosy from the cold weather, a perfect canvas for the little white dots that decorated his cheekbones. They’re lifted slightly as he smiles at your compliment, revealing a toothy grin.
“You’re an angel. Shall we?” he asks, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.
“We shall.”
✺⋅∘⋅•⋅∘ ⋅✧⋅∘⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅•⋅∘⋅✺
You both pull into Jake’s driveway and when you notice the lack of cars in front of the house, it becomes clear to you that you’ve arrived early. Great.
Josh turns the car off and gets out to round the car and open your door for you. You smile timidly at him as he takes your hand and helps you out of the car, then laces his fingers with yours and walks you to the porch.
“I promise, you’ll have a great time. Trust me,” he assures you as he knocks a few times on the large mahogany door. Much to your delight, it’s not Jake who opens the door, but Sam.
“Hey guys! Thank god you’re here. Jake thinks he’s running behind so he’s become so insufferable. Come on,” he says, clearly exasperated by his older brother already. The two of you follow Sam into the kitchen where you find Danny standing at the kitchen island, plating an array of cookies and appetizers.
“Oh, hey Josh. Y/N,” he says with a soft smile, then goes back to his task. You turn to your right to see Jake standing at the oven, hastily taking out a roast and placing it on top of the stove with a sigh. When he hears Daniel’s greeting, he turns his head and captures your gaze. You watch his eyes droop a bit as he turns back around, removes his oven mitts, and approaches you.
“Hello, brother. Nice of you to finally join us,” Jake mutters sarcastically, reaching over to grip Josh’s arm and giving it a light smack before turning to you. “Was this one holding you back? Probably takes hours to get ready, doesn’t she?” he jokes, stepping toward you to pull you into a one-armed hug, which is surely a formality. “To no avail, it seems,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, so quietly that only you can hear.
You scoff at him and roll your eyes as he pulls away, and turns around to head back to the oven. He speaks to you both as he walks away, facing away from you. “Would you both prepare the bar? All the booze is out in the garage, I’d like it in here.” Josh looks over at you apologetically then answers, “Yeah, Jake. We’ll go get it.” He takes your hand in his once again and you both walk back to the foyer to step out and grab the drinks.
Josh puts in the code and the garage door slowly rises, revealing the large pile of alcohol on the side wall. As you go to grab a few grocery bags of liquor bottles, Josh takes a pack of beer in each hand, opting to take the heavier stuff.
“I’m sorry about him. That’s just how he is, you know? He’ll warm up to you,” he says, looking at you and trying to gauge your reaction.
“How long does it take to warm up to a person? We’ve been seeing each other since June, Josh. Sam and Danny don’t seem to have any issues with me. So why him?” you ask, feeling frustrated.
Josh lets out a heavy sigh, looking at you with softened eyes. “I don’t know, Y/N. I’m sure he has his reasons. He doesn’t exactly wear his heart on his sleeve. I’ve known him since the womb and I still can’t always figure him out.”
“Well, it’s making me crazy,” you pout. He puts the cases of beer down and walks over to you, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing your shoulders. “I’m sorry, baby. Just ignore him for tonight, okay? I just wanna have a nice night with my girl…” he says, placing his hand on your chin to tilt it up to meet your eyes.
“Fine… but you owe me,” you tease with a smile, looking up at him through your eyelashes.
“Oh, I’ll make it worth your while, darling, trust me on that,” he replies with a smirk, biting his lip. He leans down to capture your lips in his for a moment, moving his hand from your chin to the back of your neck, pulling you into him. His other hand which was once planted on your waist moves down to grip your bare thigh, exposed by the long slit in your dress. You sigh against his lips as his grip on your thigh tightens, pulling away from him slowly.
“We should get back…” you whisper. “Sorry, I’m just insatiable for you,” he says with a wink before reaching down to grab the beer and turning to walk out of the garage. You quickly follow, pressing the button the shut the door and then returning inside Jake’s house.
When you and Josh return inside, Jake has finished cooking and went upstairs to change into his party attire. The two of you stand around the kitchen island with Sam and Danny, chatting for a while as you wait for Jake to return downstairs in time for the rest of the guests to arrive.
You hear footsteps down the stairs and turn your attention to see Jake waltz back into the room. He’s put on a black button-down shirt, only fastening a few of the buttons on the bottom, leaving his bare chest exposed. An array of silver necklaces sits upon his exposed chest, the coins attached to the chains lying just right against his smooth skin. His wavy brown hair rests almost perfectly on his shoulders, which you notice has grown quite a bit since the last time you saw him. You think for a moment that it suits him, but you quickly shake that thought out of your head.
He’s wearing a pair of simple black dress pants with matching black ankle-length boots, seemingly leather. And of course, he could not go without his dark sunglasses, despite it being nighttime… and winter. Arrogant asshole.
Through the lenses, you panic as you see his eyes find yours. A smirk forms on his face as he finally approaches, and you already know that he’s about to piss you off.
“Didn’t anyone teach you that it’s impolite to stare, sunshine?” Jake says proudly, leaning against the kitchen island awaiting your response.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Jacob,” you scoff, standing up from your seat in the kitchen to go to the bar and make yourself a drink. Your cheeks flush as your back is turned to the rest of the group and you try to shake off the sudden feeling of embarrassment as you reach down to pour some tequila into your glass, topping it off with soda water.
Convinced that your face has finally returned to its natural color, you walk back to the kitchen, retrieve some ice from the freezer, and add it to your glass. You return to the island and stand behind where Josh is seated, placing your hand on his back and rubbing it slightly.
They’re caught up in a conversation regarding their time in the studio a few days back, but your eyes meet Jake’s once again. He takes a sip of his glass of neat whiskey, which he’s seemingly already poured for himself, not taking his eyes off of yours for a second.
What the hell is his problem? It can never just be a simple night, can it? Before you have the chance to question him, the doorbell rings and Jake retreats to open the door and greet his new guests. Perhaps you can catch him later to question him, but for now, you plan to just have a good time.
✺⋅∘⋅•⋅∘ ⋅✧⋅∘⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅•⋅∘⋅✺
The night has gone smoothly so far, despite your concerns. Jake’s stayed out of your way, spending most of the time speaking with some record executives in the living area by the record player, attending to the music once the record ends every once and a while.
You’ve stayed by Josh’s side all evening, standing by the bar talking to Sam and Danny. You’ve already had three tequila sodas in and are luckily feeling much more relaxed. Not only that, but about three drinks in is usually when you start to crave a cigarette or two. So, you excuse yourself from the group and retreat to Jake’s back porch, stopping in the foyer quickly to grab your coat.
You slink out of the back door and sit down on the porch swing, pulling out a pack of American Spirit cigarettes and a black lighter. The porch is lit dimly by a string of lights, extending from the porch to the small garden next to it. The ground is laid with a thin layer of snow, probably only about an inch or two, and the pine trees in his backyard also have little blankets of snow resting upon them. It’s quiet, almost too quiet.
Then, as if the universe heard your thoughts, you hear the door open from your right. Much to your dismay, it’s Jake who walks out of the house onto the porch, with a joint already hanging out of his mouth as his eyes meet yours. He removes his sunglasses and his lips turn upward slightly as he walks over to sit next to you on the swing. You sigh quietly as you put your cigarettes back into your pocket, picking up on his hint and opting to smoke with him instead. What did you have to lose?
You reach up with your lighter still in your hand, lighting the joint between his lips for him. His eyes burn through yours as he inhales for a few moments before removing it from his mouth and blowing the smoke out to the side.
“Needed a break from the festivities, sunshine?” he asks, raising his eyebrow at you with a smirk, offering you a hit. You take it willingly, taking a drag and shaking your head.
“Not necessarily. It’s just about that time of night when I’d want a smoke,” you answer candidly, shrugging a bit before passing the joint back to him.
“Didn’t want your boyfriend to come with you?” he teases, taking a long drag. You roll your eyes at him, leaning back onto the back of the swing as he hands you the joint back and you take another hit.
“He’s not my boyfriend. And no, I just wanted to have a few minutes alone. You can see how well that worked out,” you say, taking one more hit before giving it back. He just looks at you for a moment with a puzzled look on his face, which soon turns back into a smirk.
“Well, who am I to let a lady sit out in the cold by herself?” he says, turning his body toward you more on the seat. His left arm moves to rest on the back of the seat, with his hand gripping the seat behind your head. You’re suddenly very thankful for the dim lighting, which you hope is successfully hiding the newfound pink tint of your cheeks from the proximity.
“What a gentleman,” you say sarcastically, taking a drag of the joint and crossing your legs as you turn your body toward him to mirror him. He takes it from your fingers and puts it out in the ashtray on the table in front of you, then sits back in his original position. The slit on your left leg causes your legs to become much more exposed to the cold, causing you to pull your coat over your legs slightly. To your surprise, Jake moves his right hand from his lap and slides it slowly to rest on your exposed knee, underneath your coat.
“You are cold, I can feel it,” he mutters, moving to sit a bit closer to you, looking down at your knee and then back up to meet your eyes.
“What are you doing?” you ask with a confused look, searching his eyes for any hint of what he’s thinking. You’ve never been this close to him before and for some reason, your immediate reaction wasn’t to pull away.
“I’m warming you up, sunshine…” he answers, his gaze still not breaking away from yours as he moves his hand from your knee to your outer thigh, rubbing it with his thumb.
“Jake, why do you call me that? I don’t get it,” you ask, hoping to finally get some answers about how he feels about you. Now was as good a time as ever. His lips turn up into a cocky smile, even showing a hint of teeth as he formulates a reply.
“Because you light up the sky, Y/N… and I shouldn’t look at you, or else I’ll go blind,” he finally answers, stroking your thigh again with a bit more force this time, causing you to take a deep breath and swallow harshly. “I shouldn’t touch you, or else I’ll get burned.”
Your eyes soften as you look back at him, still trying to wrap your head around what he’s trying to say. Before you have a chance to question him further, he continues.
“So, if I shouldn’t look at you… or touch you… then why do I still desire to?” he says inquisitively, gazing down at your lips for a moment before returning to your eyes. "Never regret thy fall, O Icarus of the fearless flight… For the greatest tragedy of them all, Is never to feel the burning light… Perhaps my own desire will be my downfall, hm?”
Your heart is beating out of your chest as you gaze up at him in shock. “Jake… what are you saying? I thought you hated me…” you say, in almost a whisper now.
“Sunshine, I’ve never hated you,” he answers, moving his hand slightly further up your exposed thigh. “I’ve just been resisting the light… but I’m not afraid to get burned anymore.” Oh. Your mind is spinning, from the combination of alcohol, weed, and hushed confessions.
Before you have the chance to tell yourself that you should take some time to think about this, your body acts without your permission and your lips crash against his. Immediately his hand snakes into your hair on the back of your neck, pulling you into him as his other hand continues to grip your thigh. Both of your hands find themselves tangled in his hair, tugging on it lightly, eliciting a groan from him into your mouth.
He pulls away from you for a moment as he moves his hand toward the inside of your thigh, inching closer to your already aching core. “Can I?...” he asks, and you nod feverishly. His lips find your neck as you lean your head back against the back of the seat, his fingers snaking slowly up the inside of your thigh.
His fingers find the black lace covering your lower lips, which is already soaked through from all the buildup. You feel him smirk against the skin of your neck as he feels the slick between your legs and then moves the fabric to the side. He runs his fingers through your folds, collecting your wetness before sliding one finger inside of you, causing you to gasp quietly.
His thumb rubs small, quick circles around your clit as he moves his pointer finger in and out of you, then inserts a second finger along with it. “Fuck, sunshine, so tight for me. Bet that feels so good, huh? Did you need it bad?” he whispers against your neck, laying wet kisses down to your collarbone. “God, yes, so good. Needed it so bad, Jake,” you mutter, already overwhelmed by the feeling of his lips and hands on you.
“God’s not here. There’s only me,” he says, increasing the speed of his fingers inside you, curling them upward to hit that special spot far back. You feel how close you are now, barely holding on. Your hand is gripping his shoulder hard, your nails digging into him through his shirt.
“That’s it, baby, come on. I know how bad you want it,” he says, kissing his way back up your neck to your chin. “Want you to come all over my fingers while my brother waits for you inside. Bet you look so gorgeous when you come. C’mon, make those pretty sounds for me, sunshine.” You whine, probably a bit louder than you should have, as his fingers finally coax your orgasm out of you. Jake’s lips find yours to muffle the sound of your cries as he works you through it, slipping his tongue into your mouth as you come down from the high.
He pulls away from you, keeping his eyes on you as he slowly removes his fingers from you and brings them up to his mouth, sucking your release off of them with a low groan. His left hand cups your cheek, pulling you closer to him, leaving only a few inches of room between you.
“So fucking perfect for me… Looks like my wings are melting, love. Too late to turn back now,” he says, his eyes glued to yours. “No regrets?”
“No regrets,” you answer, resting your forehead against his, taking a deep breath before pulling away and standing up, walking back toward the door. You turn around for a moment, meeting his gaze and looking at him softly, before heading back inside to find Josh.
You find Josh in the kitchen, standing at the island with Sam. “Hey, baby, I was wondering where you went,” he says, snaking his arm around you.
“Oh, yeah sorry. I just went out for a smoke and got distracted,” you answer with a soft smile.
“Are you tired? We can head out if you want, I’m sure Jake won’t mind,” he asks with a smile. You nod and turn to see Jake walk through the front door; you guess that he went around to the front of the house to not raise any suspicion. Smart.
You both say your goodbyes to everyone before walking to the foyer, leaving Jake for last. Josh hugs his brother and pats his shoulder, then grabs his keys and walks out the front door.
“Goodnight, Jake,” you whisper timidly, looking up at him.
“G’night, sunshine…” he says with a wink, stroking your cheek lightly as you smile at him, then back away and walk past him out the door. Your cheeks are flush as you walk out to Josh’s car, getting in and buckling your seatbelt before he drives off.
“Did you have a good time, sweetheart?” Josh asks, looking over at you for a moment as he drives.
“Yeah. Yeah, I did,” you answer, looking out the window.
You try to think over tonight’s events as you drive down the long and winding road toward your house. Never did you expect Jake to act that way toward you. You had been convinced that he hated you, but all this time he was just… afraid of his desire for you? It still didn’t make sense to you, but you’re fearful of the feelings that your encounter with Jake has brought to light.
He was so different from Josh, in every way. While Josh was sweet, Jake was assertive. While Josh was desirable, Jake was seductive. It was like he cast some sort of spell on you. Jake is the antithesis of Josh. And for some reason, that intrigues you. But now what? Now that you’ve entertained Jake, there’s no way that either of you will be able to resist the temptation of having each other again. God, what have you gotten yourself into?
✺⋅∘⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅∙⋅∘⋅✺
read part two here
Leave a reply or send me a message if you want to be added to the taglist! And as always, let me know what you think! I hope you all enjoyed this first chapter!
Our dear reader has a lot of decisions she has to make now, doesn't she? I guess we'll find out in the next chapter ;) see you then
Taglist:
@itsafullmoon @vanfleeter @klarxtr @itsdannysworld @lipstickitty @peaceloveunitygvf @wildmoonworld @ignite-my-fire
189 notes · View notes
joaofelix70 · 7 months
Text
A CRESCENT LOVE, AN EPHEMERAL PASSION | joão félix sequeira.
summary: you and joão spent all the summer together. you even met his friends and brother. could this be the beginning of a crescent love or just an ephemeral passion? his friendship with his ex would ruin everything between the two of you?
author's notes: after the win against luxemburgo, where portugal national team set the record of goals, his ex just posted "mysterious" pics with floki, his dog. joão was also there, almost hidden, actually. we all know she always does it, never assuming anything maturely, but instigating the frustration of the fans who care about him and to make every gossip website and tv show talk about it, just like a teenager who wants attention would act. basically, this inspired me. i really don't hate anyone, by the way. even thought influencers who don't spread any impactful content and nepobabies with no talent and only standard beauty annoys me, i can't lie.
warnings: bad language (of course it's joão saying the words), chaotically humorous almost all the time, but also involving sadness and angst. implicit sex reference, i guess? maybe?
Tumblr media
what do you feel when you hear my name? shame? embarrassment?
does your brain even bring you any sign or memory involving me?
do you ever think about me?
are your moments with her comparable to ours?
can we talk? can we communicate?
is it my fault? do you miss me?
your head was drunk for the whirlwinds of questions that piled up and get bigger, like waves. they seemed to be drowning you. the glowing light and peace of your woody brown gaze gives you triggers. his smile remains embedded, in your heart, an eternal home. the numbness and wrapping of his lips, every inch of his tanned skin and firm muscles being appreciated and admired by you. his hair was shiny, soft and full by the salty waters of the european beaches: always caressed for you. his laughs at you giving him the most silly and lazy hairstyles, with you pretending to be a professional who was filming your customer to tiktok.
“do that pose! yes, your hand against your face! now, give me that playboy eye. just like that! you’re doing amazing, sweetie!”
when you get carried away in the game ‘who am i?’ and tried so hard doing the mimes, jumping excitedly and demonstrating your animation in a loud tone, before covering your own mouth and feigning naturalness, just to repeat the same instant acts.
when you made joão watch your random dances as soon as you won at uno and he’d tell how hilarious you were. when you cooked your regional foods and desserts for félix, his brother who’s hugo, alex — the photographer — diogo from the movemind channel and all of his friends. when he used to hold your face, rest his touch on your waist and thighs. tracing his fingerprints across your scalp, reveling in the ethereal smell of your hair, laying his lips against your entire face and stature, exalting you completely: from your ears, neck, collarbone, belly, legs and even your feet. being a gentleman, joão opened the car door for you, he intertwined the hands of you both in every single opportunity and helped you eat: having the cutlery for you to open your mouth and giving you support with the napkin. when you did his goal celebration. when the two of you invented a handshake, along with various inside jokes. for example, when joão posted many videos of him swimming and playing in the ocean.
“hey, flounder! ‘the little mermaid’? i loved it!”
“why am i not your ariel, tho?”
“why you didn’t say you’d prefer to be eric of the real life?”
“give me some respect, i’m the protagonist of this shit!”
“slay, king!”
you remember singing the songs that played in his car in the most chaotic way, using his hand as a microphone and taking the opportunity to kiss all over it and his fancy bracelets. you offered him affection biting his skin and enjoyed acting like his personal masseuse. you called him ‘my prince of portugal’.
“please, don’t become a stranger.” your last words, face to face. the intensity of the summer weeks of vacation, which were already ending, consuming you.
“you know i’d never do that. look, you’re such a unique person, and even though we’re gonna go back to our busy routines, i still wanna keep you in my life. i still wanna be that close to you.” joão declared and they both found comfort in each other’s arms. his perfume granted the beg leave and penetrated your lungs, giving you life. you felt like you shouldn’t let it go, but there was nothing else to accomplish. you were single, so was he. you ask yourself if everything would be different. maybe if you had tried your lips once again: asking him to give a chance to them, to have more. to not leave what you went through, together, in the box of forgotten memories. would that really suffice, though?
"it's obvious that you’d choose the blonde influencer with light eyes, slender body and member of a rich family. the one who was with a formula 1 racer days before she went to meet you. before you just disappear from my life, without saying anything. the one that doesn't show an ounce of authenticity and, of course, affective responsibility. who am i in comparison to her?! right, joão?" your voice flashed the disparity of fragility and indignation, trembling hands clutching the phone.
“y/n, listen to me. you’d never understand it, okay? you’re not inside this relationship, me and her are. you’re seeing it from the outside, just like everyone else. yeah, she was hanging out and making out with other people. so was i with you. but then, some things changed.” john seemed to be busy. echoes of other people's voices ran through the call.
“nothing has happened between us since the vacation, joão. what doesn’t make sense because i thought you were liking me. i only think about you!” you vented out and received silence. his answers tried to become existent and complete. he stammered, the audible sound of his familiar backwards cap being pulled off and his honey-colored hair being rubbed against his own fingerprints.
“do you think i don’t like you? holy shit, y/n. i even thought we could have so much more. a future together and everything. i think about you and i swear in the name of my family, and i already said that they mean the fucking world to me. the thing is: there’s something that still keep me going back to her. i don’t know if it’s because i’m with her since i was younger, but…”
“joão, this is emotional dependence. i’m sorry to tell you this, however, it’s necessary. i care about you. you’re so internally and externally beautiful, precious, successful and talented. you deserve better!” you interrupted him, stepping back and forth.
“y/n, i love her. when i looked at you…”
“she’s all that you see, right?”
“hm… yeah…” félix found himself in a bind. paralyzed, he remained without an answer for a while. the coldness of the material of his gold necklace touches his tongue: a way to combat the nervousness that generates the gnawed nails.
“my toxic behavior wants to help and fix you so badly, but i know i can’t get more involved than that. i’m not the one for you.” the words reproduced by yourself reinforced the fragmentation of your heart.
“j, baby… are you coming or not? i’m waiting for you, floki is waiting for his dad!” you heard that female voice call to him and realized the way that just this factor made his breathing destabilize.
“i think this is officially the end of whatever we had, joão. goodbye!” your voice was unstable and he realized it: sharp as deep, transparent and suffocating waters.
“i wish you the best, y/n. i apologize for not being what you expected, what you needed, and…”
“caralho, joão! que merda! (holy fuck, joão! what the hell?). come on, give me your phone!” the girl began to rant. her heels against the floor were exclamatory. she was running out of patience.
the call is over. again, you were superimposed on the ocean of blazing tears. you tried to convince yourself that everything went the way it was supposed to be.
but was it for real?
236 notes · View notes
spacelazarwolf · 4 months
Text
lmao k we’re gonna talk abt ashkenormativity and the weird hostility some of y’all have toward non ashki jews.
so yesterday i was trying to have a discussion on this post, and the person responded with this:
Tumblr media
and then promptly blocked me.
after which they posted a bunch of bullshit that i am now going to tear to shreds.
regarding the above screenshot:
- if you’re defining yiddish culture as “ashkenazi jews who speak yiddish” you are still erasing multiple communities of ashkenazi jews. italian ashkenazi jews migrated or fled to northern italy during the middle ages, long before the establishment of the pale of settlement, and have a culture that is distinctly influenced by italian culture, not eastern european culture.
- sounds like you’re outright excluding any group of ashkenazi jews who don’t speak yiddish or live in central or eastern europe. which is literally the reason i started the dialogue in the first place.
Tumblr media
- talking down to me as if i don’t know what the difference between ashkenazi and sephardi is.
- immediately followed by incorrectly defining ashkenazi. ashkenazim are a group of diaspora jews who originally settled in the ashkenaz. there are many different diaspora languages that ashkenazi jews spoke, including judeo-french, judeo-provençal, judeo-czech, and different dialects of judeo-italian.
- kinda sounds like ur saying eastern european jews who speak yiddish are the only “true” ashkenazi jews????????
- yeah there’s lots of issues surrounding the way eastern european jews were viewed, but that’s not what the conversation was about?????
- it’s not really up to you to have or not have an issue with who identifies as ashkenazi.
Tumblr media
- there are many ashkenazi groups that have ties in eastern europe. there are also plenty who don’t. there’s overarching similarities between a lot of different diaspora groups, but that doesn’t make them the same. and that’s ok.
- kinda weird how you say “this is a conversation for the jewish community, infuriating how people disagree with us about our own culture” as if i’m not also jewish?? do you not consider me jewish enough to talk about jewish culture or history?
- it’s clear you’ve researched a lot about eastern european jews. it’s also clear that’s the only group you know anything about.
Tumblr media
- this conversation had nothing to do with zionism?????? very fucking weird for u to say this??????? especially when i was literally trying to express that ashkenazi jews are incredibly diverse and can’t just be boiled down to “basically eastern european”??????????
- also again homogenizing all ashkenazi jews under “yiddish culture” when you’ve defined yiddish culture as being distinctly eastern european. which. again. not all ashkenazi jews are.
Tumblr media
- didn’t try to correct u on ur own culture bud! tried to get u to see that ur own culture is not actually The Only One.
- “because only a non ashkenazi jew can ever accurately represent ashkenazi culture right?” you’ve got some weird aggression toward non ashki jews you should prob unpack.
- again trying to make this abt zionism when i was literally arguing the opposite.
- also i don’t have a “giant blog” lmfao.
Tumblr media
- this is funny to me bc u r literally the one who misdefined ashkenazi?????? and attempted to homogenize all ashkenazim under the label of eastern european????? hello?????????
- “irredeemable zionists” yikes bro.
Tumblr media
- literally just me when i can’t read and have no critical thinking skills.
- this to me reads like someone who is trying to invert the concept of ashkenormativity and position themself as a victim of non ashki jews. which is absolutely fucking bizarre.
- you’re claiming i’m “denying yiddish culture” while many of your posts actively erase multiple ashkenazi groups from this culture while simultaneously lumping them all in underneath one umbrella eastern european label. like idk how you managed to be so ashkenormative that you managed to erase other ashkenazi jews but it’s almost impressive.
- gee i wonder what it’s like to have ur culture denied surely as a member of a tiny diaspora group that makes up 0.4% of the global jewish population i have no idea what that’s like!
- you are not advocating for diasporism. you are advocating for your culture and your culture only.
anyway, on to my other rant.
if i want to know how to recite a prayer in the ashkenazi rite, i google it. if i want to learn how to speak yiddish, i download duolingo. it’s easy to find these things because people have worked hard to preserve them. and also because ashkenazi jews make up over 60% of the global jewish population and over 70% of the us jewish population.
italian jews, however, including italian ashkenazim, make up 0.4% of the global jewish population. and i couldn’t even find a number for how many of us there are in the us bc there are that few. if i want to know how a certain prayer is chanted in the italian rite, i have to find 70 year old recordings of italian cantors and rabbis singing them for a musicologist who dedicated his life to keeping the italian rite and italki culture alive after it was devastated by the holocaust, bc the only synagogues that still follow the italian rite are in rome and israel. if i want to know how to speak the language my ancestors would have spoken, i have to take a zoom class at oxford at 6am where we study manuscripts from hundreds of years ago. in 1900, there were 20,000 native speakers of judeo-italian dialects. in 2023 there are almost none.
in order to participate in any sort of jewish life where i live, i have to know ashkenazi culture. i have to know the prayers and the songs and the customs. i have to know the food and the language and history.
but y’all don’t have to know mine.
and every time i try to infuse my own heritage into my practice i’m reminded of that. when i make italian jewish food, people don’t see it as “jewish food.” people hear my last name and assume i’m not jewish because it’s not a “jewish name.” when i use italki hebrew, people try to correct me. i frequently encounter other jews who don’t even know italkim exist. so yeah. it is infuriating when i experience constant pressure to assimilate into the dominant jewish culture of where i live only to be a excluded from discussions about that culture because i’m not part of it. i am part of it. i have to be.
ashkenazi culture is beautiful and diverse and i do genuinely enjoy taking part in it. but it is painful to get constant reminders that i don’t really have a choice. it is painful to have people in your own community see your knowledge of their culture as a given but their knowledge of your culture as optional or doing you a favor.
so basically,
you are not being erased by the reminder that jews who are not like you exist.
134 notes · View notes
writingbyshiloh · 7 months
Text
En Français S.V.P.
Tumblr media
AN: I’m Canadian so forgive me if this is more Quebec French than European French. My French isn’t that great (B level) so if something is wrong pls forgive me.
WC: 0.4k
You fiddle with the clasp of your necklace behind your back. The restaurant is new to you, but Vincent insisted that you would like it, due to the daring food pairings. 
But you were excited for a different reason. Slowly, you were learning French, wanting to communicate with your boyfriend in his mother tongue, but also the city around you. You just didn't tell the Marquis, wanting to keep it a surprise. If he knew what you were learning he would get you the best tutors, but also make your studies his newest obsession, guiding you on how he thinks you should learn, not how you best do. 
“Mon amour? Are you ready?” his voice became clearer as he pushed open the heavy door.
Mon amour was an easy one to translate, meaning my love. 
“Non. J’ai besoin du cinq minute additional." (No. I need five more minutes) your voice was clear, but some of the pronunciations were clunky in your mouth, home accent coming through, all while you tried to suppress a smile. 
Your suspicion was right. He pulled you from your chair into his arms, delighted with your surprise. At least that's what you assume he's saying but his French was too fast for you to understand except for the fondness seeping into his tone. 
“How long have you been studying?” He says. You envy how eloquently he can switch from one language to another. 
You shrug your shoulders, leaning into his arm wrapped around your waist. 
“I only know a bit. I can order in French though.” 
“What else can you say?” 
You pause for a second to construct a sentence in your head. It's not one of the ones you practiced but hopefully, it works. 
“Je suis excité, euh, pour le dîner ce soir.” (I’m excited, uh, for dinner tonight) you offer up.
His lips twitch slightly as if trying to tone down his smile.
“Le dîner? (the dinner)” he clarifies. 
“Oui?” you frown, trying to figure out if you used the wrong word for dinner. 
“Ou après?” (or after). 
You quietly repeat the words after him. His hand slowly dips below the small of your waist. 
“Je suis excité is I am excited.” he informs you. 
“I know.”
“Sexually excited.” His gaze is intense, almost predatory as he watches you understand your grammar mistake. 
That’s one French lesson you won’t forget soon. 
235 notes · View notes
stirringwinds · 5 months
Note
While I feel that hws France is hard to portray I do wonder what headcanons you have for him. Care to tell a few that come to mind?
a lot of my headcanons of francis/françois are from the british imperial + sea/east asian perspective, so with that in mind, these are some thoughts i've had:
a. françois' strengths are that he can be very charming and good at putting people at ease. he is somebody, if you ran into him somewhere, just comes off as a really interesting person. he can talk for ages about his passion for philosophy, art, literature, science and cooking without it getting boring to the listener.
b. he can be a really good lover too and is that sort of person who considers it a point of pride to make his partners enjoy his company. the sort of person who will make dinner and probably also a good breakfast for you. but one of his flaws is that he can also be pretty self-centred at times, and sometimes he uses his charisma to get out of things or simply dodge issues in his personal relationships.
c. françois, much like arthur, is in the Bad Parent club vis a vis matthew in the 17—18th centuries. where they differ however, is i feel that arthur was controlling but more...present, whereas françois was more...dismissive. matthew would get letters from arthur instructing him to do this and that, which for matthew at least acknowledged him, whereas françois might just not even write to him much at all, especially after matthew came under arthur's control.
d. françois really clicked with alfred during the revolutionary war. it helped that alfred was punching arthur in the dick, but i think that françois for all his flaws, genuinely possesses a somewhat more idealistic streak (than say, arthur imo) so that gelled well with alfred spouting all kinds of enlightenment thoughts (especially since he was also reading french writers like Montesquieu).
e. françois and lien (vietnam) have a complicated (to say the least) relationship due to the history of french imperialism over vietnam; i see francis being much younger than her (she and yao are peers in age!), so lien fitted him very much into her prior experience as an older female nation being forced to deal with 'boys playing at being empires'. lien probably shot him in the face at least once during the first indochina war, that tried to re-establish colonial rule over vietnam in the 1950s. however, i do think they can talk more cordially in more recent decades, with normalisation of ties. cooking is perhaps one topic that is a common interest—vietnamese banh mi is a kind of sandwich originating from french baguettes that incorporates local ingredients, and it's a really tasty and popular streetfood. there's also a big french-vietnamese population in paris today.
f. kiku was absolutely not impressed by monet's la japonaise, nor 'madame chrysanthème', the wildly racist and orientalist mess that Madame Butterfly was based on. it was exoticising, not flattering to him—he was however, more amenable to those of françois' artists that incorporated japanese artistic techniques in more genuine ways, or with françois' own view of aesthetics and his knowledge and interest in engineering.
g. yao, much like kiku later, was someone françois was very interested in culturally—as seen from the boom in chinoiserie when trade with china began back in the 17th century. i think french is probably one of the first european languages yao learns (besides portuguese). it's a fairly functional trading relationship—until of course, french imperialist interests began expanding in yao's sphere of influence and the opium wars.
h. i'm a fruk fan so naturally i think his love-hate relationship with arthur is one of his most significant r/ships—arthur has been a neighbour, friend, enemy, lover and everything in between. but! scotfra is another very, very long-term relationship important to him (auld alliance!). also on an EU level well, there's him and ludwig too.
i. naturally, he's also fairly fashionable, and i feel like he'll always eye himself critically even if he's going out casually, compared to way i can see arthur being fairly chill about strolling out in that questionable, ill-fitting acid green christmas sweater alfred sent him as a joke once. i also think françois probably smokes a fair bit, compared to how arthur's gotten a kick in the arse to cut back after WWII. and nowadays, he'll often just be relaxing with a cigarette on the balcony of his apartment with a book, or enjoying a day out in one of his museums.
112 notes · View notes
donderwolkenblog · 1 month
Note
can u explain nolpats lore with nico hischier?
god, where do i begin. so basically nolan was projected to be first overall, and had been for a long time, until he got injured. that combined with nico starting to make some serious waves back in halifax, it was suddenly up in the air who was going to be picked first and it remained that wa until l like, the final seconds of the draft. and because sports are predictable, the media really tried to get a rivalry going. which didn't work at all... and not just because nolan and nico were both mostly focused on getting through all the fanfare of the draft without embarrassing themselves on television but also because nolan was like, obsessed with nico. like, they both seemed to really genuinely enjoy each other's company but nolan was having a real summer of realizing things. he was giggling, blushing, flirting, ignoring all the other high draft picks and commenting in-jokes on nico's instagram posts. they shared a hotel room and god only knows what went down there. if you wanna get the vibes of that time -- this video is especially damning. i can't look too hard at these let's get these teen hearts beating faster faster nerds because it makes me feel crazy. anyway. they signed each other's name instead of their own on some nhl thing like two youths carving each other's initials in a tree before being sent off to the hunger games. they hugged after nico got chosen first tributes-holding-hand-style to show everyone there was no bad blood between them! there was a weird moment where nolan's then-girlfriend tweeted that he called nico more than her/kind of ignored her during the draft because he was too busy talking to nico that very swiftly got deleted... hmhm. anyway. then they went off to their respective teams and everyone thought that was kind of it. but it wasn't. they waited for each other outside the locker room whenever they played each other. there's a picture where both of them look dumb as hell just chatting after a game. they went on holiday together during all star break! tk and nico were sent to the all star game and tk got weird about nico 'wanting to meet him' because 'my buddy patrick and him are friends'. mind you he never referred to nolan as patrick so that just added an edge that i really enjoyed personally. nico was the cool european fantasy boyfriend who wasn't impressed by winnipeg royalty because he grew up in one of the most beautiful places on earth and spoke like, seventeen languages. he wore all stars where all the other draft picks worse yeezys. he probably knew what wine to pick, even at seventeen, etc. and nolan's gay third eye was wide open. and then tk, a very real boyfriend, showed up and he was like ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
54 notes · View notes