#listen idk how much they want me to know about the locale so i must learn everything in case they decide to interview me

[archiephd]

having to research the blandest mayonaise democrats possible of an entirely different state because i want $23 an hour #grind

#jean tries to move #basically. my most attainable moving destination is colorado and they're recruiting for grassroot campaigning pisitions for $23/hr #who am i to deny them.... #i just have to learn about a state i know nothing abt's democratic landscape of my own volition bc i'm a try hard dw about it #listen idk how much they want me to know about the locale so i must learn everything in case they decide to interview me #there's a gay ass libertarian guy who got gay married last year and everybody's tongue kissing the military there. sad #j.txt

[effortandmore]

the sleeping hours | knj x f!reader

summary: namjoon thinks there must be infinite versions of the universe, and in every one he’s known, he’s meant to love you. 

pairing: namjoon x f!reader

rating: explicit (18+ please)

genre: fluff, smut, angst

au: okay. so this is canon-compliant but also maybe a little bit of a time-travel/multiverse au

warnings/tags: here we go... time travel (kind of), discussions of war, descriptions of famine, talks of anarchy/revolution, descriptions of ww2 germany and nazis, minor character death (not a tannie), implied gun violence, the japanese occupation of korea, sex worker!namjoon, soldier!namjoon, architect!namjoon, idol!namjoon, spy!reader, namjoon has a big dick (ofc), mentions of blood... smut, including: biting, unprotected sex, sex work (this is not the unprotected sex), oral sex (f!receiving), a little bit of cumplay... idk i think that's all but honestly it's not as weird as it sounds i promise

word count: ~12k

a/n: i have wanted to write a songfic for "here i dreamt i was an architect" by the decemberists for... years now. and with my three month vacation from work, i've finally done it! listening to the song will help this make more sense, but essentially there are three verses, and they start like this: "here i dreamt i was a soldier," "here i dreamt i was an architect," & "and in spain i was a spaniard." so, i thought it would be fun to turn that into a story about namjoon and reader across all these different universes. my research for this fic was completely unhinged, and i'm sure i still got some things wrong. if you need translations for any of the dutch, german, or spanish in this, lmk but i think it's pretty readable given context. i hope you like it, but even if you don't, i'm glad i wrote it. thank you so so so much to @ugh-yoongi who assured me this was not too unhinged for the locals—ily and i appreciate you

read on ao3

Namjoon always tells people he doesn’t have dreams, but it’s a lie… Sort of.

If these are dreams, he doesn’t know how billions of people aren’t talking about them like they’re magical experiences, can’t fathom why so many people still don’t believe in multiverse theory.

Lying about it seems infinitely easier than trying to explain it to people. His “dreams,” if that’s what they are, seem so real. He can smell the scents, he can feel the rain and the blood and the orgasm that courses through him when he inevitably, in every single one, finds a version of you. When he wakes up, he can feel the phantom pain, feels like his skin’s just barely dried out from a shower, feels loose and lazy with the pleasure he’d felt while he was asleep. 

So, he says he doesn’t dream, because he’s halfway convinced they’re actually happening, and he has absolutely no clue how to explain that to anyone. He thinks there must be infinite versions of the universe, infinite versions of him. At first, he thought maybe it was a past-lives sort of thing, but he’s lived parallel paths on different parts of the planet during the same time frames. Or, he’s dreamt that he has, anyway… maybe they’re dreams. Maybe not. What he’s sure of, though, is that you must be out there in the universe he lives in—you must exist outside of this near fugue state where he always finds you. If you’re on the streets of Germany during the war, if you’re in Andalucia dancing the flamenco and catching his eye on every twirl… If you’re fleeing with him to Jeju as more and more Japanese soldiers encircle your small farm town… If you’re all of those places, he knows you must be here, too. 

There must be infinite versions of the universe, and in every one he’s known, he’s meant to love you. 

Every dream is different, but the love he feels for you? It’s always the same, and it goes like this: 

Birkenau, Germany — April, 1942

He comes to, and he’s lying in a cot. It’s dark. It would be pitch black, except there’s a crack of light on the floor that’s muted and warm-looking even though the air around him still carries a bit of leftover winter chill. Somehow, he knows there’s a coal shortage this spring because of the war. There’s an everything shortage, really. No coal, no clothes, no food… He can’t think of a time he’d eaten anything but potatoes in days… Namjoon can’t think of anything, really. It’s strange, his memories feel dull, rounded around the edges and blurred out, everything just slightly out of reach. Maybe it’s lack of sleep, maybe it’s hypothermia (he’s a little dramatic), maybe it’s hunger; he doesn’t know. Doesn’t want to know, because there’s not much to be done about whatever it is. Knowing the future doesn’t always mean you can change it, he thinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

The clothes he is wearing are stiff—they make it hard for him to bend his elbow to reach his own face. There’s a worn crease in his right sleeve from saluting, dirt that will never scrub out on his lapels… his badges and patches do a poor job of covering the wear and tear. Although his brain isn’t fully awake, the thoughts still cloudy, two are clear: he is ready for this war to be over and he is terrified that he is a little in love with the woman lying next to him. 

If someone asked him how he got here, to Birkenau, Germany in the middle of the spring in 1942, he couldn’t tell them (a consequence of for some reason not remembering anything concrete prior to this week at the moment—just feelings and sensations and language and you). He feels as if he doesn’t belong at all and at the same time, as if he’s always existed right here. 

He teases you awake slowly. Whispers sweet nothings to you in a language he finds himself surprisingly fluent in—it’s not his native one. He doesn’t know if it’s yours, either, but he knows you like hearing his voice. Remembers how you ask him to tell you stories of his home, how you hum softly along with the folk songs he sings to you when he thinks you’re almost asleep in his arms. He knows he likes the noises you make as you start to come to, knows you need a soft re-entry into wakefulness or else you’re a little off for the rest of the day. 

You’d both fallen asleep after what some people would call lunch, although the persistent pit in Namjoon’s stomach would argue that. It’s hard to have energy when you can’t really eat, so the two of you do your best to conserve it. 

Tonight, though, tonight he wants to be special. The carnival is in Birkenau this week, maybe longer, but he won’t know. He’ll leave soon, onto the next base, the next battle. It’s a miracle he’s able to go tonight, being a foreign soldier here is dangerous and the demands on him are high. He wears his uniform while he sleeps to stay warm, but doesn’t dare wear it in this town outside of this private and safe space that you’ve carved out for him. It’s been going on for a while, this sneaking away to be with you. There’s another soldier, Seokjin, on his base, who always covers for him. Namjoon doesn’t know how, it’s one of the fuzzy things he can’t figure out. Regardless, he’s here with you now and he knows he’s always grateful to his fellow soldier. And here, he’s someone different. He’s not Namjoon the soldier, he’s Namjoon who loves you, who will give up almost anything to be with you. 

Except the one thing you ask him to. 

He may be grateful to escape for a while, but he is duty-bound—loyal to his country, to the cause. He is, above everything, a soldier, and that cannot change. The Remington on the cheap bedside table is his best friend, and a reminder that this between you is dangerous, that it has a time limit. 

And you? You have to leave, too. He knows it, you know it. It’s not safe for you here, probably just as dangerous as it is for him. 

You don’t wear a uniform, you don’t carry a gun (often), but you move under the cover of the night and you deal in secrets you’re not supposed to know. The work you do is just as important as his—sometimes he thinks it’s probably even moreso. He admires you, adores you, thinks you’re brave and beautiful and brilliant. Maybe he thinks some of those things because of how dangerous you are, because of the risks you’re willing to take. Being with him, hiding him here with you is a big one. 

Beside him, you stir. Your voice is a melody, always lilting, tumbling from one word to the next. “Love you, Namjoon. What time is it, baby?” Later, he won’t know why he never thinks it’s strange that you weave words across several languages. Maybe that’s just how all spies are; and that’s what you are, at the core of it, isn’t it?

“Is it time?” you ask into the darkness. 

“Yes. I need to change and then we can go.” 

“Do you think we’ll find something to eat there?” 

Namjoon smiles even though you can’t see him in the dark. “We will. Sausages and sauerkraut, I’m sure.” He waits for you to make the gagging sound he knows you’re about to. 

You do. “I hate German food,” you complain. “Can’t wait to get out of here once and for all.” 

“They’ll have schnitzel,” he says, trying to make you laugh.

“Germans and their pork,” you say dismissively, “swine for swine.” 

“They’re not all bad.” He means it, but it sounds a little weak when he says it. It’s hard to see the forest for the trees, sometimes. Doesn’t help that the both of you see the worst of people… that the both of you sometimes are the worst of people. 

“Hmm…” you hum, he knows you agree with him. “I know, I'm sorry. I’m just tired. And don’t want to leave you.” 

“I know.” 

“You could come with me. Run away with me, Namjoonie.” 

When you say it, he almost believes it could work. Knows it wouldn’t, knows you’d both end up dead or worse, knows he could never go home, never see his mother again. Knows it would break his heart to bear witness to the secrets you have to keep, to the lives you take. 

He never responds, just lumbers off of the cot and strips his uniform off, trades it for the street clothes you keep here for him. They’re ill-fitting, cheap and scratchy. He loves them because they smell like you, smell like the soap you carry with you from France—lavender from Provence—the one luxury you allow yourself. 

The two of you walk hand in hand through back alleys and quaint cobblestoned neighborhoods, making your way to the carnival. He hears the barkers getting louder the closer you get, promising fun and winnings and love and only happy fortunes told. In reality, there are no happy fortunes here, and you both know that. But Namjoon’s happy to give into the fantasy of it all, just for tonight. Just to see you smile. He’d do anything to see you smile. Except…

“Win me a prize,” you coo sweetly. It’s futile, since you never take anything with you, and later tonight (or very early in the morning), you will leave Birkenau for good—a mission needs completing, and dead or alive, you won’t be back here again. 

“Whatever you want, jagiya.” 

You bounce on your heels in excitement and drag him to a booth, one offering cheap stuffed birds. There are swans, peacocks, parrots, ducks… He doesn’t know what you’re drawn by, but he’ll knock over as many milk jugs as he has to get you what you want. 

“My strong soldier,” you whisper in his ear after he knocks the top three over. It makes him grin, makes him show you his dimples. He loves you so much, loves how you tease and bait him with your words—then with your body in the privacy of your hideaway. Loves your confidence and your unwavering belief. Loves your conviction. “You can do it, Namjoon.” 

He does. 

The final three jugs topple off the ledge. With you by his side, he thinks he can do anything. He knows he can. 

“Wähle eins,” the barker shouts at him, Dutch accent thick in his German.

“De pauw,” you answer immediately in his native tongue, pointing to the top shelf.

The man pulls one of the blue birds down and hands it to you with a smile. You can charm anyone, Namjoon thinks. A skill you’ve honed doing the work you do, he supposes. “Voor de dame,” the huckster says with a bow and a flourish of his hand. 

You giggle as you take it. Namjoon’s enamored with you. 

As the two of you wander (you clutching the peacock tightly under your arm), he watches as you make friends with a fortune teller and charm free pieces of chicken schnitzel from a mustached French man. Your greatest feat is sneaking the two of you onto the ferris wheel. Namjoon’s in awe of how you move—though sleight of hand is usually what he catches you at, you’re not as skilled a pickpocket as you are a liar—how you can weave in and out of a crowd unnoticed, how you can blend in with any surrounding, any language, any group… It’s a skill he wishes he possessed, too. He’s too large, a little lumbering, a little awkward in his long limbs made to feel longer as he loses muscle to months of being malnourished. But somehow, you make him nimble, you make him invisible to everyone but you. He wants to chase that feeling forever, wants to bottle it up and uncork it again when you’re gone, when he’s so desperate with the want of you that he’s got no other solace. 

Bellies unusually full, legs tired, and peacock secured, he leads you back to your basement apartment. He pulls you along to follow a different path to return than the one you took there—a trick he’s learned from you. Don’t give people the opportunity to see your face twice. 

It’s still dark, and you have no electricity, no oil for your lamps, so Namjoon makes love to you by memory. 

He feels so foggy, but this he knows how to do, like he’s done it a million times and will do it a million more until you and he become different versions of the same thing. Maybe you already are. 

Slowly, using time you don’t have, he undresses you. He’s careful with the buttons of your blouse after he slides your cardigan off of your shoulders. Takes time to press his nose into the skin of your neck once it’s exposed, to try and remember the way that you smell, that lavender soap and the iron of the hard bathwater and the danger that rolls off of you in waves. 

When he lets his arms drop from your body, you walk backward toward the cot, unlacing your skirt as you go. Namjoon can’t see you well, but he hears the sounds of the cotton strings being pulled through the gussets, the soft swoosh of it hitting the floor when you shimmy out of it. 

“Come here, Namjoonie,” you whisper. He would, even if you didn’t ask. Wouldn’t be able to help himself. Always pulled to you like a magnet. 

“Yes, jagiya,” he breathes, now trembling fingers removing his own clothes as he moves. When he finally can feel your skin under his hand, he’s fully undressed, thinks you are, too. Lets his fingertips explore your limbs just to confirm. 

You straddle him on the cot, press your thumbs into the meat of his thighs and tell him he’s brave, powerful, that you’re so lucky he’s chosen you. But he knows it wasn’t a choice. Can’t explain it, but he’s always existed for you, would always find you. Couldn’t choose anyone else if he wanted to. 

He doesn’t. 

The way you kiss him feels like forever, but he knows better. Chases something deeper and messier as his heart rate rises. Knows you don’t have time to draw it out, knows he won’t be able to be as gentle with you as you deserve. No one’s ever gentle with you, is what you always tell him. People who know you know how dangerous you are and they treat you accordingly. Except Namjoon. Namjoon who reveres you and knows you and he are cut from the same cloth—the one where you need to fight for what’s right at any cost. It doesn’t make you dangerous to people who don’t deserve the battle scars you dole out, he thinks. It makes you a hero. To him, you are a lionheart. 

Your palms press into his chest above his own heart and you sink onto his length. Every time you’ve been together seems to bleed together for him, but he knows you know exactly how to move to bring him bliss, knows you feel like the god who seems to have abandoned you made the two of you for one another. 

It’s a risk, but he reaches up to pull the thick curtain back just a few millimeters. Wants the sliver of light to illuminate the tendons in your neck with your head thrown back as you ride him. Wants to see the peaks of your nipples, the smooth skin over your ribcage, the mole you have right on the plateau of your collarbone. Wants to let his eyes roll back in his skull, that’s how good you feel, but can’t let himself pull his attention from your body. 

“Come here,” he says quietly, wraps his spindly arms around you and pulls you down so your chest is flush with his. “Be with me,” he almost begs, “look at me, love.” 

Your hands cup his face, and his guide your hips on top of his. 

“I want to feel like this forever,” he thinks he hears you say, and Namjoon can see a tear dripping down your cheek before you lean in to press your lips to his. He licks at your mouth, gets you to open for him, plays melodies along your tongue with his. 

He thinks they’re love songs. 

He hopes you know. 

You’re all tight heat around him, and your nipples brush his chest in time with his tongue brushing yours. Your lavender scent is a balm, your tears drip onto his cheeks from above, and your breaths come shallow and labored as he fucks into you. 

“I think I’ll love you forever,” he says. 

“Mijn schat...” You whisper, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone and smiling the sad kind of smile. Quietly, you tell him that you want to feel him, beg him to move.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he doesn’t stop. Thrusts into you, lets the sound of his skin against yours get louder and filthier. He knows he should stop. Can’t make himself. “Are you sure?” he asks, but it’s probably too late. 

You’re nodding anyway, letting out a sweet little moan when his fingers find your clit and he comes, deep inside of you. Feels like a claim he shouldn’t be making. Gets one back from you just moments later when you squeeze around his softening cock, shuddering with your release above him. 

Against his chest, you breathe, and he waits for the moment when your inhales align with his. It’s going to be the last time you share the same air, he thinks. 

Your work tonight will be messy. He doesn’t ask what that means, thinks he already knows. Eyes the Remington in his periphery and you give him a tight-lipped confirmation. Yes, you have things you have to do. Yes, they’re worth sacrificing your life if you have to. 

Namjoon spends a lot of time wondering about the balance between sacrifice and selfishness. 

Never seems to decide where he sits on the spectrum. 

Lithe like you are, he should barely feel it when you climb off of him, but it’s a crushing weight. Feels like his heart might be melting, like his lungs can’t expand anymore.

Once you’re dressed—in clothes he’s never seen before, those usually given to people of a different gender, maybe a different time—he watches you toss your skirt into the hearth first, then the clothes you’ve been lending him for your trysts. He watches you find the smallest vial of kerosene and some tinder you’d been collecting and add those, too. It’s as if he can see you in your full vibrancy now: focused on the mission, focused on destroying the you that has existed in this space, the him that has loved you. 

The fire burns more brightly than he could have imagined after all the time you’ve spent together in the dark. It allows him to see the hope in your eyes when you lean down to kiss him one last time. Allows him to see the tears you no longer let fall when you hand him the peacock, press it close to him so he can hold it like a child.

“Why the peacock?” he asks when you turn to leave. It’s the only question he can think of that he suspects you’ll give him an answer to. 

“Immortality, Joonie. You know, the Greeks thought the flesh of the peacock would never decay? Perfect and enduring even in death.” 

“Are you the peacock or am I?” 

“I guess we’ll find out,” you say as you heave open the door.

He shudders with the cold gust and wishes he knew what to say. Wishes he could choose you over his gun. Wishes you would choose him over yours. 

“Until next time, Joonbug,” you say against the wind. 

You pull the door hard behind you, and when it punches shut, Namjoon is startled out of his dream. 

Seoul, South Korea — Present Day

“You gotta stop falling asleep in here, hyung.” Jeongguk’s voice is almost drowned out by Seokjin’s laugh. 

“I covered for you at the last meeting, told them you were chasing down an idea… don’t interrupt a genius… creative flow… you know.” 

Namjoon rubs his eyes and sits up. Of course he’s not in Germany during World War two. Of course he’s in his studio in Gangnam, and apparently he’s slept through a meeting. 

He hates these dreams because he feels so thrown off when he wakes up. The pain of losing you always sticks with him for a while afterwards, makes his whole world tilt about one degree. Not enough to change anyone but him, but more than enough to notice.

He loves the dreams because he gets to be with you—tries not to let that thought be concerning. 

“What’s that smell?” he asks, still half asleep. 

“What smell?”

“Mmm… you know, the lavender smell.” 

“Hyung, are you having a stroke?”

“I think people who have strokes smell toast,” Jin says. 

“Nevermind,” Namjoon sighs as he gets off the couch. “Thanks for covering for me, hyung.” 

“You owe me now.”

“Sure, yeah. Of course.” Agreeing is always easier than arguing with Jin. 

Namjoon’s awake enough now to notice the looks that Jeongguk and Seokjin are passing between each other. He knows they know something’s going on with him, sees how they adjust the ways they move around him after these dreams, when he’s out of sorts and halfway out of commission for a half a day or so. It’s not just them, either. Jimin has tried to talk to him about it, but didn’t get very far. Hoseok knows Namjoon’s had a few bad dreams, but that’s the extent of it.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell them, it’s more that he doesn’t know how to explain it without sounding like he’s completely batshit. Doesn’t know how to tell them that he knows you’re real, that he believes in you the same way he believes in the existence of his sister or his best friend, Heeyoung. It’s part of the problem, really. Because every time he has one of these dreams, he finds himself actually looking for you. In real life. In Seoul. In every city they have a show in. Thought he saw you once in Switzerland, but was too afraid to get close enough to know for sure… Still isn’t sure if he regrets that or not.

It really messes with him when he’s in a city that he’s dreamed you in. Once, in Sevilla, he was too fucked up about it to even leave the hotel room. Tried to explain to one of the managers that something bad had happened last time he was there, but it got complicated when Namjoon couldn’t explain when exactly that was. 

“What’s on your mind, Namjoonie?” Seokjin’s tone is gentler now, cautious. 

“Spain.” 

Another look of concern between Jeongguk and their hyung. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jeongguk asks softly. “Sometimes it helps to talk about things—you taught me that.” 

He can’t help but smile at that. Caught in his own words. And he’s so tired of this, so tired of feeling like no one will understand… he’s tempted. To be honest, he could probably talk about it with Taehyung. Maybe that’s what he should do, he thinks. Tae would listen, wouldn’t judge him. But maybe Jeongguk and Seokjin wouldn’t either. Namjoon has assuredly done more questionable things than possibly believe in a ghost. Or whatever you are. 

He sits back down on the couch. “I’ve been having these weird dreams,” he says. 

“About Spain?” Jeongguk and Seokjin find seats to settle into, too. 

“About a girl, mostly.” 

“Want to tell us about her? Is she Spanish? Is she someone you know?”

“I’m not sure,” Namjoon admits. “She’s whoever I want her to be, I think.” 

Seokjin’s eyebrows almost lift off his face. “Okay, Namjoonie. Why don’t you tell us about these dreams?” 

Namjoon nods. “Well, the one I just woke up from, we were in Germany.”

“All of us?” Jeongguk asks. 

“No, I don’t think so. Just her and me. I think hyung maybe, too, but I never saw him in the dream.” He gestures to Seokjin. 

“But you have these dreams often?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And one of them was in Spain?”

Namjoon’s not sure what they’ll think of him once he tells them, but maybe he doesn’t have to give everything away, he decides. Maybe he can just tell him about one of the dreams and see what they think. 

“Yeah, I can tell you about it if you want.” 

Jeongguk nods eagerly and Jin does, too. He supposes he can’t back out now. 

“Alright… well, here’s what I remember…” 

Andalucia, Spain — Summer, 1913

The heat is relentless. 

Namjoon sweats so much under normal conditions—this is borderline torture. If it were up to him, he’d be back in Sevilla with you, content in the small pension you both scrape together rent for every week. It’s shaded by the orange trees surrounding it, feels safe and private and cool, and most importantly, it’s yours. 

Ronda is less forgiving. Maybe because he doesn’t know it as well, isn’t sure who might be someone to know and who might just be pretending. He’s done this for long enough that he thinks he has a pretty good sense for it, but he’s still sucked into having his time wasted on occasion. Wouldn’t mind it so much except it’s time spent away from you. 

Blas Infante has been yelling on the steps for a while. His throat should be raw, but the adrenaline of agitating the people of Andalucia keeps him fresh, voice ringing clearly through the square. Namjoon has been watching the wealthiest in the crowd drift away, paying attention to where they’re going, making sure he’s got a line on which bars and cafes will be the best to move on to. The time is about right, he thinks. They’ll be a few drinks in and soon the wider crowd will disperse. Wants to make sure he can find a seat at the bar next to someone rich, attractive if possible. If they’re a little desperate that’s even better. 

They probably all will be given the way the political winds are shifting in Andalucia.

As he turns from the crowd, he hears Padre de la Patria Andaluza shout, “the moment has come for the privileged to die!” The remaining crowd roars like the lions on their flags, angry and proud. He agrees with them—as long as he gets his money first. 

When he slides onto the barstool, he makes sure to order his own drink first. Chilled palo cortado says he’s from around here but maybe a little down on his luck, otherwise, he’d be drinking Fundador. 

It’s strange, he knows he grew up poor, but he can’t remember any of the details. It’s as if his whole life before knowing you is completely out of focus. He feels the resentment, though, the frustration of knowing there’s more for the taking if you have the right family, the right education, the right skin color. 

But he’s older now and while it’s there, it’s in the background. Because he knows how to get his share, knows now that it’s also for the taking if you have a nice smile, a silver tongue, and a willingness to do whatever it takes to succeed—including changing your definition of success. Including sacrificing the things you believe in the most. 

Good thing the only thing Namjoon believes in anymore is you, and you’re willing to stick by his side no matter what. 

She’s not anywhere near as attractive to him as you are. She’s round in all the places he likes—soft hips, soft stomach, thick ass, but there’s something with her face. Too drawn, a little gaunt in a way that doesn’t suit her. It’s age maybe, she’s got to be thirty years older than him. 

Age is another one of those tricky things that feels a little elusive to him. 

He thinks he’s around nineteen and she’s probably fifty. Doesn’t care, really, as long as she’s got pesetas. 

She does. A lot of them. 

He fucks her slow in a room above the bar and calls her “Princesa” because she asks him to. Because she’ll pay him more if he does, because he knows how women like her work. It’s been quiet between them since he took her upstairs. They don’t talk about her husband, her children… They don’t talk about you. 

She shifts a little below him and it almost hurts. He’s not used to sex so dry like this—makes it hard to imagine it’s you beneath him. Digs his thumbs into the flesh at her hips and tries to picture you instead, but her noises aren’t as sweet as yours, her skin isn’t as supple. 

At least, he thinks as he thrusts over and over to her guttural cries, he’s doing this for you. For the future the two of you have dreamed of since you were basically kids and he would throw stones at your window after dark to sneak a piece of your attention. He’s fairly certain you almost have enough saved up to escape, to get away from your father and brother who have never once approved of Namjoon. In their eyes, it’s bad enough he’s a foreigner, but then he has the audacity to be poor in addition. 

He wants to give you a good life. There’s still a part of him that thinks someday he can give you an honest one, as well. There’s a part of him that hopes he’s not only his mistakes like your father thinks, that he’s capable of so much more than the world has allowed him to give so far. He thinks you see it, too. He’s pretty sure that’s why you stay. 

As the work drags on, he realizes he’s made a critical mistake—he didn’t ask her how much she’d had to drink, didn’t think to slip the bartender a note to water it down a bit. Feels like she’s never going to come, and he can’t leave a job undone. God, he just wants to get home to you. Wants to take a lavender-laced bath with you and cleanse himself of this sin and the thousand others he’s committed before it. Wants to start on new ones with you. 

The thought of you: in your orange grove, smelling of sun-dried linen and laughing while he chases you… it gives him the will to keep going. 

Ironic that his love for you is the reason his cock is buried in someone else. 

Eventually, she comes, and he lies and says he does, too. Makes quick work of ridding himself of the condom with his back to her. This isn’t the first time he’s lied. Would he sound like too much of a romantic if he said he’s only ever had an orgasm with you? 

For tonight, his patron seems satisfied, romanticism or not. She asks to see him again the following week and he tells her all about how he’d love to, but he just doesn’t have the money, see? So, if she wants to see him, it wouldn’t be possible unless…

She’s more generous than he’s expected. What she gives him to come back to Ronda will pay for a month of your pension. He shoves it in his pockets and tells her he’s going to get them another bottle of sherry from the bar. 

When he slinks out into the finally cool night air, all he feels is relief. He’s going to make it in time to hop the late train back to Sevilla, back to you.

He looks up and down the cobblestone street, taking a second to remember which direction he came from. Notices a man watching him, seems like it should matter, but all that matters is getting back to you. 

Namjoon counts his earnings under the moonlight as the train rumbles through the countryside. It’s enough. He’ll need to count what’s at your home to be absolutely sure, but he thinks it’s enough to get you out of there. You dream of Valencia—of a different kind of orange grove, of thick and salty sea air, of vacations in Madrid or Barcelona, strolling the markets and church grounds. 

He looks out the window at the moon and thinks of how bright your face will be when he tells you the good news. He looks at the stars and hopes they will guide you both faithfully to a better life. 

The train pulls into the station at Sevilla several hours later. Namjoon feels like the time just slipped away, doesn’t quite know how he passed it. Maybe the wine was stronger than he’d first thought… 

It’s quiet in Sevilla at this time of night, but he doesn’t pay too much attention to the bustle in front of him, the same man from outside the bar in Ronda rushing up the road ahead of him. Must be in a hurry to get somewhere—Namjoon can relate, he’s in a hurry to get home to you. His bag is weighed down from the coin he’s bringing home, but oddly enough, he feels lighter than ever knowing he may never have to give himself to someone that isn’t you again. 

It’s freedom.

After years of conning and scraping and scratching to climb out of the poverty he’s known, he finally has hope for something better. Because of you, because you gave him something to believe in and to fight for. 

Tomorrow, he’ll take you to the gardens at the Alcazar, and amongst the flowers and the peacocks you love, he’ll give you the news—tell you it’s finally time. Maybe you can even take the train to the sea that night. 

He loves you so much, owes you everything because he gets all that he needs from your company and your faith in him. 

As he draws nearer to you, dirt road narrowing as he approaches the pension, he hears raised voices. Yours and someone else’s. Maybe more. It’s all he needs to take off running, can’t fathom why you’d need to be fighting with anyone in the orchard after midnight. 

“Namjoon!” you exclaim when you see him sprinting up the road. 

He can hear the fear in your voice, and it only makes him come to you faster. “What is it? What’s going on?” he calls. And then he sees them: your father and your brother, gesturing wildly and yelling. 

“Mija, you know what he’s doing in Ronda? How disgusting he is? How he’s making a fool out of you, making fools out of our family?”

You’re calmer than they deserve, standing your ground with your arms crossed over your chest, full skirts whipping around you in the breeze. You look brave, intimidating, and more beautiful than ever. 

Namjoon starts to understand, realizes he should have known something wasn’t right, that the man in two places would be a problem. Hadn’t let himself believe your father would have had him followed, but why wouldn’t he? 

“You know nothing,” you snap at your father. “Mind your own business, old man. I’m not your family anymore. He’s my family now.” 

Namjoon joins you in front of the pension, stands by your side, wraps an arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your temple. “I think you should leave,” he says to the men facing you. 

Your father spits in his direction, your brother makes rude gestures with both hands. They call him a whore, call him disgusting, claim he’s giving you diseases and ruining you for the god they say you need to meet one day. 

(They still believe, Namjoon never has, and you think you already know god—that he lives in the way the birds call a bright greeting to the morning sun and the flowers bend to offer the bees what they both need to live.)

“Leave,” you say firmly. “We’re leaving for Valencia soon—you’ll never have to see us again. I’ll change my name, no one will know the disgrace you think we’ve brought to the family. Just let us be.” 

And if Namjoon thought the crowd in Ronda was loud, he hadn’t yet had the screams of your father to compare it to. His face is a violent red, his whole body shakes with his anger, and Namjoon feels scared for the first time in a long time. The arm he has around your waist tightens as your brother pulls a revolver from the back of his trousers. 

You are ever courageous—Namjoon can hear your racing heart, but you betray nothing, staring down your brother with iron conviction and pressing in tightly to the man at your side.

“No one will take you from us!” your father yells.

The barrel is pointed straight at the two of you. Namjoon can see your brother’s finger shaking and it’s as if he knows what’s about to happen. He can’t let it, would sacrifice anything for you, already has given up his body and his soul to you in some ways. He’s prepared to do it again. Would never make a choice that wasn’t to protect you. Loves you like you’re oxygen, like he needs you to survive. 

He’s nothing without you, but you can be something without him. So, he moves.

And as Namjoon twists to pull you behind him, a single shot rings out through the Andalucian night, louder than a firecracker. 

Seoul, South Korea — Present Day

“And then what?” Jeongguk asks, leaning so far in he looks like he’ll topple at any second. 

“I don’t know,” Namjoon shrugs, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “That’s when I woke up. I had the window open and I think there was a car accident or one backfiring or something. Startled me awake.” 

“That’s so romantic,” Jeongguk sighs. “Don’t you think, hyung?”

Seokjin nods along. “How often do you dream about her?”

“Every few weeks… for a couple of years now.”

“Shit.”

Namjoon explains how he can’t stop thinking about you for days after the dreams, how you always look different in them but he knows it’s you every time. There’s something in the way you speak to him, in the way you know his mind, in the way you move across each time and space so self-assured and brave and admirable. And then the words just keep coming. He tells them about how he always dreams of you existing at night—never in the morning. Never had a dream where the two of you have made it through the night and woken up together in love with no tragedy befalling you. He almost cries when he tells them how badly he wants to find you, how he knows you must be real, a person he’s just yet to meet… Says he’s not sure he believes in something like soulmates, but that sometimes his chest actually aches with the need to know you, to be with you. Tells them that you’re never perfect in any of his dreams, but you’re perfect for him: a partner in crime, a lover, an intellectual rival, a battleground ally, just always by his side making him sharper and better and happier. Tells them that all he wants is the chance to wake up next to you just once, sunlight and joy and no crisis clapping him awake. Tells them how lonely he is in the mornings. 

When he finally trails off, out of ways to explain that each time he dreams of you, the desire to find you seems that much more urgent, Seokjin and Jeongguk are speechless. Jin looks like the fish he loves, mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out. Jeongguk is a little teary-eyed and his hand is rubbing careful circles between Namjoon’s shoulder blades. 

“You have to find her, hyung,” Jeongguk says softly. 

“I know.”

“We’ll help you find her, I promise.” 

Namjoon thinks the commitment from Jeongguk is sweet, but doesn’t know how they could possibly help. You look different in every dream, a different voice, name, language… It’s an impossible task made even more challenging by the fact that you probably don’t actually exist. Just a figment of his imagination his brain has made to give him some stress relief, some friendship. He says as much, and he can tell Seokjin agrees with him, but Jeongguk is insistent. At the very least, it’s a little comforting that he’s told them what he feels like is probably his weirdest, deepest secret, and they didn’t laugh at him, didn’t march him upstairs to the company therapist. 

After that day, Namjoon feels a little bit better about everything. Better enough that he doesn’t dream about you for a few weeks, starts to forget to look for you in the face of every person he passes. The best part is that he’s really able to focus on their upcoming tour, and by the time he boards the plane to another continent with the rest of the members, he wonders if he’ll ever dream about you again. 

It’s been long enough that he misses you a little bit, as ridiculous as it sounds. He doesn’t mention that part to Jeongguk or Seokjin.

They touch down in a new city, and Namjoon rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He’d fallen asleep on the flight—no dreams. It’s early, but they don’t get the day to themselves. They’ll eat a snack in the cars on the way to the venue, run a short rehearsal for blocking and then Namjoon will do some foreign-language interviews from the hotel. He runs a hand through his hair and pulls his mask up, trying to mentally prepare himself a little bit for the remainder of the day. And then he smells it, as he steps into the airport, a gentle lavender scent that’s so familiar he thinks he might be imagining it. 

Namjoon stops in his tracks right outside the gate and starts looking. It’s practically instinctual at this point, head on a swivel trying to spot you. It’s so ridiculous and he knows it. But there’s just something… it’s like he knows you’re here. 

Unfortunately, it’s a terrible place to be having a crisis, and he’s literally knocked out of his search when another passenger on their phone runs right into the back of him. 

“Fuck, sorry,” you say, only glancing up from your phone for a second.

Namjoon doesn’t look at you, just flushes with embarrassment as if anyone could possibly know what he’s thinking. Keeps his head down, says, “no problem,” and tells himself that the weird pit in his stomach is nothing and the smell he’s so drawn to is in his head. The you of his dreams isn’t possibly in this airport in a city on the other side of the world. 

He tries to shake it off all afternoon, all evening, but doesn’t think he’s too successful. Thinks he probably fucked up a couple of the interviews, hopes one of his managers would have stopped him if he was too off the mark, though. It’s probably fine. 

That night, for the first time in weeks, he dreams of you. 

Gyeongsangnam-do, South Korea — Summer, 1931

In these most uncertain of times, Namjoon is sure of two things: you are the most beautiful woman he’s ever known, and he is so much in love with you that he feels shaky with it. 

It’s quiet in your father’s farmhouse save for your soft moans. With a rare stroke of luck, your mother and father have left to negotiate with the angry man who owns their land now, and Namjoon has taken advantage of sneaking away from Pukyong’s campus to be with you. He’d come to review plans for a new barn with your father, but finding him gone was a blessing. 

You and Namjoon haven’t been able to find much time alone since he left for Busan. He comes back when he can, which isn’t often, and you sneak out to the edge of the fields to meet him under the moonlight. He’s gotten used to fucking you quietly and in a hurry, helping you brush grass and twigs out of inappropriate places when you’re done. This though, this is a luxury, to be with you in your own bed, in the daylight. To be as loud as you both want—Namjoon could write a dissertation on how nice you sound when he fucks you. 

You’re slick and tight, and you’re the only home Namjoon’s ever really known. He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth and watches as you arch your back underneath him, whine a little, tell him not to leave marks where your parents might see. 

Because you’re young and reckless and you’ve both only ever loved each other, he knows he’s got to pull out soon, but it’s hard to remember in the heat of the moment. 

You call him “Namjoonah,” you tell him how good he feels inside you, breathy and sweet, running your fingers through his hair to brush it off of his forehead. It’s gentle, the way you touch him, like he’s something worth taking care of. You say all the nicest things to him when he fucks you—you tell him he’s strong and handsome and so big, you always emphasize, widening your eyes and palming his cock through his trousers. It’s probably giving him a little bit of an ego, he thinks, but he likes it anyway. Being the focus of your attention is so flattering. He always wants your eyes on him, your hands on him, your thoughts about him. You make him greedy and selfless at the same time—he wants everything you’re willing to give him and he wants to give you even more in return. Wishes this fucking war were over so he wouldn’t have to be on edge all the time. Knows he’s lucky not to have been conscripted to the Imperial Army yet, but that it’s probably a matter of time. 

It’s a blessing, being smart, which people have told Namjoon that he is since he can remember. At least they’ve spared him so far because he’s of more use to them at Pukyong, learning how to be the best architect he can be, than he would be as a soldier. Someday, his own father says, he will build castles for a Korean leader, walls to keep the Japanese soldiers out. Those conversations are had in secret, in whispers and gestures. It’s dangerous to be someone like his father, to think there’s a chance for Korean independence, to fight for it in secret… But it’s dangerous to be fucking you into your mattress when your parents could come home any moment, too, and that doesn’t stop Namjoon. 

Like father, like son, as they say. 

He’s sure it’s not a secret that he’s your boyfriend. Your parents know him, invite him for meals, they like him. They think he’s a sweet, smart, college boy who’s going to give their daughter a better life than they can someday, and they’re not wrong. 

Though, he’s also sure they’d like him a lot less if they knew he was a sweet, smart, college boy who loves your body, loves the way your soft thighs feel around his head when he licks at your core, loves the way he can throw your calves over his shoulders and hold you in place as he thrusts home. Loves the small violet bruises he bites into your skin, hidden away under your long skirts and long linen sleeves. Loves how you let him pull out and cover those bruises with his cum, and then especially loves when you run a finger through it and lick it off—when you tell him he tastes good and you thank him for sharing with you. 

They’d think he’s ruined you, and he’d cop to it even though it is absolutely the other way around. 

You come with a sweet, loud moan. Your throat sounds a little raw when you say his name again, which only turns him on more. With a few strokes, he follows you, leaving his release across your stomach and breasts and thinking that if all art looked like you do in this moment, he’d change his major.

Lazily, he lies next to you and pulls you close. You should clean up, you should get dressed, Namjoon should be sitting at the kitchen table studying his drawings with his shoulders back and glasses smart across his nose when your father gets home. You don’t want him to leave though, asking him to stay just a little longer, turning your head to kiss him softly. 

When he wakes up, it’s dark, and he panics. You’re pliant in his arms, still sleeping, and your parents should be home—what if they’ve seen you? What if they know that Namjoon is taking something sweet from you at every opportunity, paying you back with pieces of his heart? 

Maybe it’s time he faces this like an adult, he decides. He’s going to marry you someday anyway, it’s a foregone conclusion. They may not like that you’ve been breaking so many of their rules in secret, but someday you will be his wife, and he will care for all of your family as his own, and hopefully that buys him a little leniency with your father. He kisses your temple and gets out of bed as quietly as he can, pulls his clothes back on, and pads out of your room to meet his fate. 

He spots them immediately, and as soon as he has the thought that he’s going to be sick, he heaves all over your kitchen floor. It’s going to wake you up, but he needs to spare you from the scene. Somehow, he gets their bodies covered before you get up. It’s the best he can do but it’s not enough—the scream you let out is haunting, half shock and half anguish. When you crumple to your knees, he holds you, lets you sob and scream into his chest and rocks you steadily. He doesn’t know what else to do. 

After that day, he files for a leave from school and essentially moves in with you. You use your anger to fuel you, fighting for independence in secret alongside the bravest Koreans Namjoon knows. Your landlord comes around and neither you nor Namjoon even try to hide your rage and disgust. You spit at his feet and he warns you to be polite unless you want to end up like your parents. Namjoon tries to convince you that the old man isn’t even worth your anger, that you’re better off serving your parents’ memory alive than alongside them in a grave. 

As the war picks up, so does conscription. Namjoon thinks he’ll be called any day, but the idea of fighting in the Imperial Army makes him ill. So instead, he makes a plan.

It’s only a matter of months before you’re on the ferry to join him on Jeju. He’s been there, building and fortifying. Perhaps it’s cowardly to cut and run, but he doesn’t care. It’s the only way he can be with you, the only way he can keep you safe. With the farm equipment sold off and a bit of his family’s money, he’s made you a home there, and it’s finally ready for you. 

There’s a tearful reunion on the dock, and it’s followed by a trip to the courthouse to get married. It all happens in a daze, the memories hazy and dim, but the way he felt as he kissed you and made you his wife burns in him bright, bright, bright. 

He makes love to you on the floor of the new cottage that night, slow and sweet. Tries to make you understand how much he’s missed you, how much he loves you. Thinks he succeeds when you tell him you love him as you come, thinks he’s never seen or heard something more beautiful in his whole life. 

Finally, he leads you up the narrow staircase to the room he’s built for you. It’s got a big bed, but not too big, because you always want to be close to him when you sleep. Its wooden floors are made warmer with a rug his mother made for you, a wedding gift. The balcony is small, but he designed it himself, based on a wish you’d told him about, that you’ve always dreamed of a place to read in the mornings. It’s shaded from the eastern sun with a balustrade you can kick your feet up onto. There are crude drawings of your favorite animals carved into the balusters, alternating lions and peacocks. Protection and immortality, built into the home he’s made for the two of you. When you see it, you look like maybe you finally understand the way he cares for you, the way he will do anything he can for as long as he lives to keep you happy and safe. 

You let yourself out there, and light up the night with your happiness. Namjoon watches you from the bed. He’s been on the balcony, and it’s small. He’s not technically the architect he always thought he would be since he’s left school for good, but he tried his best with this design, and then tried even more when he built it for you. 

Maybe he should have seen it coming, maybe he shouldn’t have been so confident. The funny thing about light and sound is that he sees it happen just barely before he hears it. Sees you stumble a little to your right, sees the balcony wobble and thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him. Then he hears the deafening crack and it’s perfectly timed with his stomach sinking and you disappearing from his view, the balustrade going with you. 

New York City — Present Day

Namjoon wakes up in a cold sweat, the alarm blaring next to him. He hates this feeling—the one immediately after the dreams. At least he has most of the day off. The company always gives them time for the jetlag, supposed to be for sleeping, but he’ll use it to shake himself out of this fog that settles in after the dreams. Maybe the Met this time; he saw the Whitney last time he was here and he sort of wants to get out of Chelsea, anyway—thinks the walk might help him clear his head. 

He sees you when he’s standing in front of a moon jar, wondering to himself what right these people have to even store this piece and then charge people to see it. Wonders if he could get it back to Korea somehow where it belongs, mutters something under his breath about colonialism and notices you smile at that out of the corner of his eye. 

It’s exactly like he’d always thought it would be to see you: immediately he knows. There’s no question. You look different again, not quite like you have in any of his dreams, but you smell the same and you’re wearing a blue and green dress, tight around your figure and flouncy at the hem that reminds him so specifically of a peacock he wants to cry. You smell like fancy French lavender soap and you have a smile that could bring world peace. 

The sight of you makes him freeze. What would he even say? There’s nothing he could tell you that wouldn’t make him sound insane, nothing that he’s willing to admit to a stranger, even if that stranger is you. His heart races and he feels himself start to sweat nervously. He’s been looking for you for years, and when he finally finds you, it sends him into a panic. How perfect for him. 

He can’t stand in front of the same moon jar forever, though, so he swallows his nerves and stands up a little straighter and begins to turn to you, even if just to introduce himself like a normal person. 

Namjoon’s heart sinks when he realizes you’re already gone. 

He’s talking to Jeongguk while he sits on the steps of the Met, phone pressed to his ear. 

“I know it’s her,” he says, sending Jeongguk into a frenzy of questions. 

Namjoon is contemplating the possibility that he’s fucked up his only chance to meet you, when you appear, out of the blue, to take a seat a few feet away from him, he rushes out a “Gotta go, Kookie, bye,” and hangs up as Jeongguk is still talking. 

“Hi,” you say. 

“Hi.” 

“This is probably so weird, but…” You straighten out your skirt and don’t make eye contact. You look equal parts beautiful and nervous. “Do I know you from somewhere?” 

Namjoon gets this question a lot. Usually, it’s fans trying to ‘play it cool’ when they run into him in Seoul, trying to give the impression that they don’t immediately know who he is. And yeah, he thinks he’s more humble than some people less famous than him, hates to assume, but it’s always pretty transparent. But, for as much as he gets this question, as often as he brushes it off with an, “I don’t think so,” and a rushed exit from wherever he’s been recognized, he has no idea how to answer it when it comes to you. So, he just gapes at you. It’s mortifying. 

“Sorry,” you continue. “It’s just that… Well, this is probably gonna sound crazy, but I think I’ve had dreams about you.” 

“Holy shit,” Namjoon says, living up to his reputation as a certified genius and a clever songwriter. 

This response flusters you even more, it’s clear you’re embarrassed. The way your eyes flit around and look for an exit from the situation tells him everything he needs to know. 

“Sorry again,” you groan more than speak. “Nevermind.” 

You start to stand, and Namjoon barely gets his shit together in time to grab your wrist and finally speak. “It’s not weird. I have them, too. The dreams.” 

“No fucking way,” you whisper, your eyes wide.

“Yeah.” Namjoon nods in agreement. “How’d you know it was me?” He asks. 

“Just knew it,” you shrug, wrist still kept tight in his grasp. “I’m not sure. It’s like… you feel the same. You smell like you, too.” 

“Come on,” he says, dropping your wrist finally and standing. “Want to get coffee or something?” 

To his relief, you do. 

It’s awkward at first. Where do you start with someone you feel like you’ve known forever but you’ve never actually met? Namjoon has a million questions he wants to ask you but none of them seem to fully form in his head. It’s bad enough he has to think through how to not be seen with you—his lifestyle adds a whole layer of complication you’d never faced together in his dreams. Eventually, you knock on his hotel room door about ten minutes after he gets in. It had been a little stressful, waiting for you. He made you promise three times you’d actually show up and then on the fourth one, he made you pinky promise. When you took his little finger solemnly, instead of laughing at him, he was finally (mostly) convinced you’d be there. 

And now, here you are, sitting at the little table in his room, clearly trying to be polite and not look at the mess of stuff he’s accumulated in just one night. After all this time wishing he could find you, he’s got no idea what to say to you. 

“So… why the Met?” 

You smile a little sheepish and shake your head. “You’ll think it’s stupid.” 

“I doubt that,” he says, trying to be as reassuring as he can for such a weird situation. 

“I thought it’s where the lion statues were… you know… on the steps. I thought if I went there, maybe you’d be there. I was sure it was you at the airport but by the time I realized it, you were gone. So, I guess it was the only place I could think to look for you where you might look for me, too. But they’re at the library.”

“The lions?”

His confusion seems to make you a little shy; you duck your head and shake it, like you’re telling yourself off before you even explain. “You always say I’m like a lion in the dreams. No matter where we are or what’s happened to us. You say I’m strong and brave and beautiful—”

“A lionheart,” Namjoon whispers. 

“Yeah,” you brighten at that. “Is it like that in your dreams, too?” 

Namjoon tells you it is. And then he tells you about all the dreams he can remember. Not in detail, and not the worst of the bad endings, but enough that the two of you can compare notes. Enough that you realize you’ve been having basically the same dreams, although not at the same time. Both of you have had some the other hasn’t had yet. He loves it when you tell him about one that ended happily, the two of you betrothed in the Joseon era and figuring out how to fall in love. You think it’s supposed to mean something that the two of you are always facing something that’s keeping you apart—you wonder out loud what might keep you apart in reality, too. 

“I hope nothing will,” he says without thinking. 

“You don’t even know me!” You’re laughing, but he’s clearly taken you by surprise. 

“Don’t I, though?” And the mood changes. You swallow thickly and he tries his best not to break eye contact with you even though he thinks you’re so gorgeous he might not make it through the day without passing out. “Can I kiss you?” he asks quietly, but he’s already moving to your side of the table and you’re already scooting your chair back to make space for him. 

You don’t kiss like you do in the dreams. In the dreams, you kiss him like he’s the beginning and end, like you’ll take anything he gives you. There’s something nice about that, makes him feel wanted and strong. In reality, you kiss him like you know it’s the other way around. You’re confident, teasing—you smile against his lips when you do a thing with your tongue that makes him let out a moan. 

In the dreams, he can’t remember ever kissing anyone but you. But now he’s got your lips on his and you’re definitely not the first person he’s kissed by a long shot, but you’re absolutely the best. It’s almost like having something to compare it to makes it even better. 

Maybe there should be some hesitation, but neither of you seem to have any. Not when he pulls you up from the chair so he can kiss you without bending all the way over, not when he walks you back toward the hotel room bed, leaving a trail of tender kisses up your neck and across your jaw in a surprising show of coordination. 

It’s inexplicable, he thinks, how he feels like he’s done this a million times with you before but in the best way. He can kiss you without any of the awkward, nervous, first time worries he normally has. He can trust you without knowing quite why, and that part is probably the weirdest thing about all of this because he can’t trust anyone outside of the members and his family usually. 

“Is it weird I feel like we’ve done this before?” you ask as you run your hands from his shoulders down his arms. 

Namjoon just shakes his head and winds his fingers with yours, leaning in to kiss you again. “No, it’s the same for me,” he says. 

Because of the familiarity, maybe, it’s not urgent when you undress each other. He takes time to appreciate this version of you, the one he’s actually holding in his arms, the one who pinches his side gently and then laughs. “Just making sure you’re real,” you say when he yelps in protest. 

There’s a moment when you’re both naked, standing in front of the bed, when the air feels thick between you. You’re holding his jaw in your palm and he’s got his hands around your back and neither of you speak for a long beat. For him, it just feels incredible to be here with you. He doesn’t care that he has no idea what you do for a living, where you live… Doesn’t know anything about you except that he thinks he has loved you for a long time. Thinks maybe he was put on this planet specifically to love you. Wonders how the two of you could have messed this up so badly in every other universe, but is actually really glad you did, because maybe that’s why you’re finally here with him now. 

“I… I think I love you,” he says timidly. “Makes me feel crazy.” 

You have a tear falling down your cheek, but you’re smiling—Namjoon is pretty sure you’re not supposed to be crying before sex like this, but you seem happy. “S’not crazy, I think I love you, too. I’m so happy I finally found you.” 

“I looked for you in every city,” he confesses before he presses his lips back to yours, then kisses the tears off your cheeks. 

You go soft under him, body pressed into his, and he guides you onto the bed. The two of you laugh into each other’s mouths, mutter how you can’t believe it’s happening, let your breath grow heavier as you take time to learn each other. Namjoon loves it when your lips move against his pulse point, when you get a little rough with him, leaving small bites and bruises in places the stylists won’t give him shit for. You like when he talks to you, tells you how you make him feel, how much he wants to be with you—he whispers right into your ear, the sweetest confessions sandwiched by pure filth that makes your breath hitch and a shiver travel down your spine. 

Namjoon’s dreamed you a hundred ways, in a hundred places, but here, spread naked underneath him in this hotel bed and laughing with him while he fucks you slowly is better than any dream he’s ever had. 

“Can’t believe you’re real, baby,” he breathes as you run your fingertips down his sides. He looks down to see where his cock is moving inside of you, and he thinks this must actually be a dream. You’re perfect, he thinks as he moves fingers to your clit and presses there gently. When you pull him down to kiss you, it feels familiar again. You brush his hair off of his forehead like you’ve done in every one of his dreams, and now he feels like he could cry—he’s just so overwhelmed by you, so in awe just like he knew he would be. Just as he always has been. 

You whisper his name when he makes you come. You tighten around him and dig your nails into his shoulders and Namjoon thinks this is the closest to heaven he might ever get. When you finally work through your orgasm, you encourage him to change positions, to lay on his back and let you ride him. 

The way you know exactly what he likes is magical, that deep grinding of your hips in his lap. You don’t have to ask to know what makes him tick, bringing his hand to your lips as you move, sucking two of his fingers into your mouth and whining around them.

He’s always preferred this to something faster. This way, he gets to watch you, feels like you’re taking your pleasure from him, feels like you’re both getting precisely what you want from each other. He could lift his hips and fuck into you, could hold your waist and get you to bounce on his cock like you’re making a sex tape. But this is better. This is you and him, moving like you’re meant to be connected. 

You absolutely are, he’s sure of it.

It’s a movie script ending when you come again just as he does for the first time—he wishes he could feel all of you when he spills into the condom, wishes he’d found you years ago and built a more tangible history with you. Hopes more than anything that you want to try to do that with him now. 

The two of you clean up with a little bit of shyness; you hide your face as he cleans you carefully with a warm washcloth, and he tries not to let you see him get rid of the condom. It’s not as easy as the dreams where those things sort themselves out, but Namjoon wouldn’t trade these awkward moments for anything. 

There’s not really a need to ask you to stay, he knows somehow that you will, but he asks anyway, preens when you agree and ask to borrow a shirt. 

He can’t really risk room service with you here, but he gets a manager to bring you food (hand stuck shyly through a crack in the door as to not interrupt), and while you eat, he peppers you with questions about your life. Feels like he knows the important things that are the same as in his dreams (he loves you, you’re loyal), but wants to learn all the mundane stuff, too. 

Much later, before the sun rises but after some people would already call it morning, you fall asleep in his arms and he lets himself drift off thinking of lavender and peacocks and falling in love.  

Namjoon’s alarm goes off, and the sun must be high in the sky because the light in the room is a bit muted. It’s the first time in a long time he’s woken up content, hesitates for a second before he remembers why, remembers everything that happened the day before, remembers that you were real and here and in his bed and his arms. He lets himself just exist there for a minute, eyes closed, thinking about what might come next, how he’ll explain you to his family… 

Then it sort of dawns on him that you should be right there, that he fell asleep wrapped around you and now he isn’t. He panics for a split second when he realizes you’re not pressed against him, doesn’t think he could handle it if this was a dream, too. Tries to be rational, but for some reason can’t quite bring himself just to tip his head over and open his eyes. 

Instead, he takes a deep breath, smells hotel laundry detergent and sex and the faintest hint of lavender. He says a silent prayer and then sticks his hand out to the other side of the bed to feel for yours. Thinks he might scream when he doesn’t feel you there immediately.

Namjoon snakes his hand across the sheet and hopes he never has to dream to see you again.

#bts x reader #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon angst #namjoon fluff #rm smut #rm fluff #rm angst #bts imagines #namjoon imagine #rm imagine #kvanity #bts smut #bts angst #bts fanfic #namjoon fanfic #rm fanfic

[barclaysangel]

Junior Wheeler Playlist

*pats playlist* This bad boy can fit 207 songs that lasts in total 12 hours and 27 minutes. I fixate too much on Junior. But I got inspired by @high-functioning-fang1rl Nica playlist so I had to do one for Junior too.

This is on my iTunes account and idk how to manage Spotify so if y'all wanna listen to it, I'm going to put all the songs down below. The ones with * on it are the ones I 1000000% relate for Junior. And feel free to send asks about any of the songs and I'll legit do a lyric analyst to explain why I chose it for Junior.

Anyway, enjoy :)

Avril Lavigne

Losing Grip*

Wish You Were Here

Let Me Go

Billie Eilish

COPYCAT

lovely*

you should see me in a crown*

bury a friend

everything i wanted*

Therefore I Am

Happier Than Ever*

Christina Perri

Distance

The Lonely*

Tragedy

Human

Digital Daggers

Where the Lonely Ones Roam*

The Devil Within*

Can't Sleep, Can't Breathe

Still Here*

Bad Intentions

Dorothy

Raise Hell*

Wicked Ones

Beetlejuice the Musical

Dead Mom*

Say My Name

That Beautiful Sound

Home*

Evanescence

Going Under*

Bring Me To Life

Everybody's Fool*

My Immortal*

Tourniquet

Hello*

My Last Breath

Whisper*

Sweet Sacrifice*

Weight of the World*

Lithium*

Like You

Lose Control*

All That I Am Living For

Made of Stone*

The Change*

My Heart Is Broken

The Other Side

Lost in Paradise*

Sick*

Never Go Back

A New Way To Bleed*

Even in Death

Missing*

Farther Away

Fall Out Boy

I Don't Care*

My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark

Alone Together*

Young Volcanoes*

Irresistible

Centuries*

Immortals*

Halsey

Empty Gold

Hold Me Down*

New Americana*

Ghost

Colors*

Colors, Pt. II

Gasoline*

Control*

I Walk the Line

Alone*

Now or Never

Sorry

Good Mourning*

Lie*

Angel on Fire*

Devil in Me*

clementine

Graveyard

Forever ... (is a long time)*

I HATE EVERYBODY*

3am*

Finally // beautiful stranger*

Still Learning

Bells in Santa Fe*

Easier than Lying*

Lilith

Darling*

1121*

honey

Whispers*

Ya'aburnee

People Disappear Here*

Hollywood Undead

Young*

Paradise Lost*

Another Way Out

We Are*

Medicine

Renegade

Imagine Dragons

Radioactive

Demons*

I'm So Sorry*

Monster*

Who We Are

Natural*

Enemy*

LINKIN PARK

Faint

Numb*

What I've Done*

Heavy

Livingston

Shadow*

Surprise!*

Marina and The Diamonds

Oh No!*

Teen Idle

Melanie Martinez

Dollhouse*

Soap*

Training Wheels

Pity Party*

Milk and Cookies*

Mad Hatter*

The Principal

Show & Tell*

Drama Club

Lunchbox Friends*

Orange Juice*

High School Sweethearts

DEATH*

VOID*

FAERIE SOIREE

LIGHT SHOWER

SPIDER WEB*

LEECHES*

BATTLE OF THE LARYNX*

THE CONTORTIONIST*

NYMPHOLOGY

EVIL*

PLUTO*

Olivia Rodrigo

brutal*

Can't Catch Me Now*

Queen

Bohemian Rhapsody*

Under Pressure

The Show Must Go On*

Set It Off

Nightmare*

I'll Sleep When I'm Dead*

Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

Skillet

Falling Inside the Black*

Monster*

Taylor Swift

I Did Something Bad*

Don't Blame Me*

Look What You Made Me Do*

my tears ricochet

seven*

this is me trying*

hoax

Anti-Hero*

You're On Your Own, Kid*

Vigilante Shit*

Three Days Grace

Just Like You*

I Hate Everything About You

Born Like This

Overrated*

Pain*

Animal I Have Become*

Riot

Let It Die

Bitter Taste*

Break

The Good Life*

Someone Who Cares*

Chalk Outline

Misery Loves My Company*

Human Race*

Pain Killer*

Fallen Angel

So What*

Nothing's Fair in Love and War

One Too Many

twenty one pilots

Stressed Out*

Ride

Fairly Local*

Other Artists

Let Me Down Slowly by Alec Benjamin

Here by Alessia Cara*

Panic Room by Au/Ra*

I'm Gonna Show You Crazy by Bebe Rexha*

Dark Side by Bishop Briggs*

idfc by blackbear

Break the Rules by Charli XCX

Arcade by Duncan Laurence

The Monster by Eminem*

Gorgeous Nightmare by Escape the Fate*

Seven Devils by Florence + the Machine*

You Found Me by The Fray

Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths*

So Alive by The Goo Goo Dolls*

Blood // Water by grandson*

Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Green Day

Impossible by James Arthur*

Human by John "The Ragin Cajun" Jones*

Broken by lovelytheband

How Villains Are Made by Madalen Duke*

Twisted by MISSIO

Voices by Motionless In White

Funeral by Neoni*

How You Remind Me by Nickleback*

Don't Let Me Get Me by P!nk

Cradles by Sub Urban*

Bad Things by Summer Kennedy*

Shattered by Trading Yesterday*

Unsteady by X Ambassadors*

Heads Will Roll by Yeah Yeah Yeahs

#let me know if there are any other songs i should add for junior! #luna talks #admin #chucky #chucky 2021 #junior wheeler #playlist #junior wheeler playlist #halsey #melanie martinez #taylor swift #avril lavigne #billie eilish #twenty one pilots #three days grace #hollywood undead #christina perri #digital daggers #dorothy #beetlejuice the musical #evanescence #fall out boy #imagine dragons #linkin park #marina and the diamonds #olivia rodrigo #queen #set it off #skillet #livingston

[chim-chim1310]

Aren't they being overzealous with all the payola though? Even if people close their eyes, we now have 17 remixes after 1 week. Like that's crazy. What's the end goal here? That getting #1 will suddenly make JK a household name or something? Or it just needs time to blow up? Well 🛴 is the one who's in the industry so one presumes he knows what he's doing. I'm just curious about what the objective here is.

Honestly I don't think the locals even care about jungkook outside of bts. They just don't care? They will only listen to any artist if they actually like the music. And in this case they're not liking seven so they don't give a fuck about it.

And I'm confused if scooter wants to make jk established in US or he just wants that #1 and then he's done. And he's using jk for a while to get that #1.

Idk.

But they're doing too much. I thought that they must have secured the position by now. So why are they trying so hard and doing all this.

17 remixes?! My god!

And armies were barking during face era just because of 2 remixes. Where are those snakes now? Huh? Wouldn't call out your golden maknae?

Idiots.

I don't usually keep up with number and charts. But I've heard somewhere that seven is not doing that great in US.

Is it true?

Can someone who's knowledgeable about this tell me how it's doing in the US?

[struggle-but-its-all-ocean-floor]

I watched vcha's debut mv and the songs they've released so far (go getter is catchy after a second listen but that's it) and I don't understand the strategy behind their direction. I realize that I'm older than what must be their target demographic but even the younger teens that I know wouldn't tune in for this - the lyrics are often too cringey and western audiences have never been that big a fan of cutesy concepts. When people throw a lot of resources at something like this, I always figure they must know something I don't and have some reason to think that this will have broader appeal than I'm seeing, but the title track they put out is just ok. Like it doesn't hurt me to listen to it, but there's nothing interesting about it and I don't see anything that would make it trend-worthy as a way to bring attention to the song. All of the choices behind this group are so confusing and it makes me question the idea of these global groups bc I assume the intention is to appeal to the west but idk who they're listening to when strategizing how to do that

Hi!

Honestly, I've only heard their debut song, but I can't say I understand their strategy either. I thought the song was pretty cringe. I kept thinking maybe pre-teens would like it. Teenage girls like powerful women because that's who they want to be - it's why they like Blackpink and Taylor Swift. Teenagers don't find other teenagers making childish music cool. I like Sneakers, Boys Like You, Teddy Bear, The Feels, etc. so Girls of the Year could grow on me, but fun, cute, and a bit childish kpop is different from the try hard concept they did. I don't know, their aim is clearly the West so debuting with this is just not it. Those girls aren't Blackpink. I'm not sure who in the West likes that kind of music.

I don't get international groups in general. A lot of people know of kpop now and expect kpop to be made by Asian idols. Introducing international idols and making songs in English does not make a group more GP friendly, just harder to market, since they're not what people expect kpop to be, but they aren't what people like to see in pop either. Kpop stans don't seem very interested in these groups and neither does the West. To be very, very honest, adding white girls to a kpop group makes kpop lose what makes it "exotic" to locals. All groups cater to the West atp, so if a kpop group's entire concept is being kpop, but for the West, that's literally what a lot of groups already do? The idols having different nationalities likely doesn't help much reach those different countries.

I don't know... There's something extremely unappealing and weird to me about international groups, and I don't know if I'm just being a racist Koreaboo or if there's something legitimate there. Just full disclosure. I admit my prejudice.

Thanks for the ask! I agree with you!

#ask #text #thanks for the ask!

[drakenology]

It’s Gonna Be A Long Night - Bakugo Katsuki

warnings! ⚠️ : smut, fluff, and swearing. also in the perspective of a fem!reader

summary: bakugo gets home from a longggg night of hero work; desperate to just crawl into his shared bed with his favorite person (hey, that’s you!) and ravish her until the night is done. he hasn’t been this hungry for you since the first time you guys did the deed!

Idk the word count for this. Sorry! I’m typing this on my phone anddd i’m kinda new to this stuff. Enjoy!

God. Tonight was one of the most draining nights of Bakugo’s career as top hero. Five villian attacks in the same night as well as an attempted kidnapping. Not to mention the long and drawn out confrence meetings with the local police as well as the other pro heros in his agency.

As the night ended, Bakugo waved goodbye with the least amount of energy he could give as he turned in for the night, heading to his car to return home. He plopped down in the driver’s seat with an exasperated sigh as he reached in his pocket to grab his phone to let you know he was on the way home; shutting this door behind himself.

“Hey, you awake? If not I’m waking you up. I need you.” Bakugo texted with sleepy eyes. He waited for a little while to see if you’d respond before he pulled off. Soon enough he heard his phone ping.

“Yeah. Can’t sleep. Had a bad day? I can reheat your dinner if you want.” You texted back from your shared bed. You were up waiting for him to come home all night. He wasn’t supposed to be out this late anyways. That’s what happens when you’re engaged to a pro hero. The sleepless nights, those nights where one of you would be asleep and the other comes trudging in from a late shift; sometimes it can be overwhelming, but for him it was all worth it. You supported his dream of being a pro hero since the two of you were walking the halls of UA together.

“Nah. Not hungry for that. I’m tryna eat something else though.” Bakugo texted back with a sly smirk. He sat his phone on the dashboard and pulled out of the parking lot; making his way home.

Bakugo couldn’t wait to get home; driving in his all black sports car with haste through the city traffic. At least y/n would be there to greet him. He knew from the start of your relationship that you were his end game. He loved everything about you from your head down to your toes (which he secretly thinks are fucking adorable!). All he could think about is how you look when you’re undone; hair messy, little to no clothes on looking absolutely delicious in one of his big t-shirts. He could already smell your shampoo as he dreamt of you lying in bed waiting for him; his pants growing tight as he imagines your breasts bare and supple underneath one of his shirts. As he waits for the traffic light to turn green, he reaches for his phone to text you again.

“Gonna fuck the shit outta you when I get there, baby. I cant wait to see that ass naked.”

Meanwhile at home, you read the text from your favorite blonde with a goofy smile plastered on your face. Biting your lip in temptation, you jump out of bed to prep yourself for the long night of love-making ahead. It was a Friday night so he had all the time in the world to please your body for as long as he wished as weekends were his only days off. You walked towards your bathroom to take a quick shower before your fiancé made his way home. You stood in the hot shower and let out a small groan as the feeling of your muscles relaxing under the water slowly covered your body. Sighing, you wash up a little more before turning off the water and stepping out, running a towel over your wet face to dry it off. You walk back into your bedroom and pull out one of Bakugo’s favorite sets he loves to see you in. An orange lace bra with a black lacy thong with matching orange trimming on them. The first time you wore this for your fiancé he damn near ripped it off of you.

“Fuck, you look so sexy, princess. Move ‘em to the side. Don’t you dare take them off.” He said gesturing towards your sweet heat. He ate you out for what seemed like hours that night in his office and fucked you until you couldn’t remember your own name.

You softly smiled at the memory as you pulled a big white t-shirt (belonging to bakugo) over the sexy little number. Soon enough you heard the sound of your fiancé’s car alarm being activated .

He’s home. You practically run into the living room like a puppy greeting its owner. Standing right in front of the front door, you listen as the door clicks unlocked, your lower half feeling a familiar pressure. You missed him so much. Too much. The door opens as your spikey headed blond lover walks through, sitting his bag at the door and taking off his shoes. He looks down at you, his towering figure inching closer to your smaller frame. He says nothing, pulling you into his arms as if he hadn’t seen you in years when it had only been a few hours. You wrap your arms around his neck and embrace the man you love.

“Hey, shitty woman.” He says, peppering little kisses all over your face and neck.

He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his strong waist as he plants a passionate kiss on your lips. Your tongues danced together, massaging and exploring each other with love as he pulled away slowly as if he never wanted to stop. He catches your scent and he knows he’s finally home. With you.

“I’ve been missing you all day, Ka-chan. How was your day?” You ask him, still being carried by Bakugo as if you were a precious thing that was to never touch the ground.

“It’s better now that I’m home. Today did anything less than piss me off.” Katuski growled. He walked toward the kitchen and sat you down on the island. “I guess you’re gonna have to make it better, huh princess?”

You licked your lips in response; your pussy feeling as if a faucet had been turned on. You wanted him bad. And he wanted you too.

“It’s like you don’t own any of your own pajamas. Why’re you always prancing around in my shirts, huh? Is it ‘cause you know it fuckin’ turns me on seeing you like this? I bet you’re naked under here, aren’t you?” Bakugo groans lifting the shirt over your head to reveal the sexy lingerie you slipped on earlier. You smirk as he drinks in your entire body with his cheeks flushing red. God, he think you’re the most gorgeous thing walking. How’d he end up with someone as perfect as you? Didn’t matter. He had you right where he wanted you, from now until forever.

“Damn.” He said, biting his lip as he caressed your thighs, spreading them a bit to get a good look at you. You let out a subtle moan, your pussy growing wetter by the second as he touched you. It was like his hands knew which spots to touch to turn you on. He stood between your legs, hiking them up on his hips as he motions for you to lay back on the island. “I remember this damned set. You surprised me at work wearing nothing but this under that long coat I got you a couple Christmases back. You still look fuckin’ hot in it.” Bakugo said, looking you deep in your eyes. He doesn’t even know where to start with you. All he knows is that he’s gonna fuck you until all you can say is his name by the break of dawn.

“Katsuki~, I’m so wet for you. P-Please touch me.” You whined, the pressure in your panties becoming too much to bear. He smirks at you, running his hands up your body to pull out one of your breasts from your bra. You hiss a little at your exposed nipple being assaulted by the cool air of the kitchen.

“ ‘Gonna be a long fuckin’ night, baby. You oughta be more patient. You’re gonna be walkin with a limp for a week when I’m done with you.” Bakugo said, lightly pinching your hardened nipple, pulling it slightly as he watched you try and close your thighs for friction. Your lacy panties could barely contain your juices from freely flowing out of you, your moans softly filling Katsuki’s ears as you squirm underneath him.

“Been thinkin’ about your sexy ass all day, ya know.” He says, kissing a trail down to where you needed him most only to further tease you by rubbing your clit harshly with his thumb over your panties. You gasp as he pulled them slightly to the side, just enough to see your pussy glistening with your own juices.

“Heh.. you weren’t kiddin’. You must be dyin’ for me to fuck you, huh baby?” He was enjoying this way too much. You try grinding against his stilled thumb as he swatted your ass in protest, you yelping in response.

“Stay fuckin’ still. I’ll get to that needy little pussy in a second.” He groans. Trust me, this is killing him just as much as it’s killing you. He just wants to savor the moment. Even though he had a whole weekend to have you bent over or spread out for you to take his dick, the weekends go by so quickly. And the night had just begun. Bakugo lifts you up and carries you to your shared bedroom, practically throwing you on the bed as you giggle. He climbs on top of you, dipping down to kiss you again. You moan into the kiss as he slips his tongue in your mouth, lifting a knee up to lightly brush against his hard dick through his pants. He groans, extra sensitive from being hard from his car up until now.

“Damn brat, I told you keep still.” He says, wrapping a hand around your throat to choke you as he kissed you deeper, yanking off your panties. You squeal as he slips his hand down to rub your clit in agonizingly slow circles. You moan into his lips desperately, wanting so much more than this insufferable teasing. You needed him now. He pulls away to look at your face; flushed and absolutely gorgeous. Your hair was disheveled from the kissing, your breast still hanging out of your bra as your chest heaved from you breathing heavily after the heated kiss. He burned this image of you into the back of his mind. Reaching behind you, he unclasped your bra; drinking in your beautiful and supple breasts. He moans at the sight, taking a nipple into his mouth feverishly suckling on the exposed bud. You moan into the air as he slips in two of fingers into your needy hole.

“Like that shit, huh?” He asked, pulling away from your breast. You nodded desperately, moans filling the room and Bakugo’s ears to his delight. He smirked as he quickened his pace, feeling your pussy contract around his fingers. Any more of this and you’re gonna cum for sure. Your moans becoming more high pitched and audible by the second as he inched you closer to your climax. Just as you’re about to release, he stops his fingers to your dismay. You frown at him, the cutest face he’s ever seen.

“Aw, princess. Did ya really think I was gonna let you cum this soon?” He said, licking his fingers tasting your sweet juices. He kissed down your stomach, stopping just below your belly button. “Tell me what you want, baby.” He growls, kissing a little lower.

“Fuuuck, Ka-chan pleaseee. F-Fuck me. I need you.” you whine, almost crying out for him to fuck you already. He loves it when you beg for him, especially when you use his old nickname in bed while doing so. You’re a strong, bad ass hero out in the streets, but a needy little baby for him in the sheets. He smirks as he removed his pants and boxers, his thick and juicy length slapping against his stomach as he removed them. You practically drool at the sight, hungry for that dick to be inside you. He watches your face has he revealed his dick to you, loving the hunger in your eyes.

“You ready, babe?” He asked, tapping the tip of his dick against your aching pussy. You nod, so ready to take him as you spread your legs nice and wide for him. Bakugo bit his lip at the sight of your gorgeous pussy, not hesitating to slide himself inside with a gutteral grunt. You gasp, taking him all in with ease with your slick cunt.

“Fuck, baby, mmm you’re so fuckin’ wet for me.” He groans, leaning down into your neck as he slowly thrusts into you, allowing you to adjust to his length. You two haven’t fucked all week until now so you’re feeling extra tight around him. Finally, the feeling you’ve been waiting for all night. You moaned sinfully as you feel him stretch you out, grabbing hold of his head and pulling lightly on his hair. He always filled you up so nicely, the feeling of his veiny length sliding in and out of your drenched walls sending you into complete bliss. The world could be burning around you and you wouldn’t even notice or care. Bakugo leaving open mouth kisses all over your neck, sucking harshly at the flesh as he leaves love bites all over as his pace became hard and fast. You moan loudly as he pounds into you, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you claw at his back.

“Mmmm~, K-Kachan I-I love you.” You purr into his ear as he kisses you in response. You start to feel yourself coming undone under him, your legs shaking around him. “I-I’m gonna c-cum. Ughh I love you.” You repeated as he fucks you even harder. Sounds of skin slapping, and your wet pussy taking him in and out filled the room as your moans echo in Katsuki’s ears. He’s close too but you always cum first so he’s holding himself back.

“Shit baby. You’re so fuckin’ tight. Go head and cum for me. C’mon.” He coos, rubbing your clit in time with his strokes. You practically scream as you instantaneously come undone as he requested, Katsuki not letting up in his strokes as he has to cum too. Tears fill your eyes as you take him, not fully recovered from your first orgasm as you moan louder. Overstimulated, you tremble underneath him unable to cope.

“Ah- Fuck!” You scream, feeling yourself about to burst for him again. His name on your lips like a mantra, you claw at his back more, for sure leaving scratches. He growls, lifting your legs onto his shoulders, stroking you deeper and deeper. He watches your face twist and turn as you take him deeper, your face filled with pleasure and lust as he brutally pounded into you. Your breasts jiggle as he pounds you, you grabbing onto one for dear life as he assaults your pussy. You clench around him again, seeing stars in your eyes as you feel yourself nearing your second orgasm.

“That’s right, baby. Cum for me again. ‘M not fuckin done with you.” His brash voice hums as he leans in further, your legs pressed against your chest as he pounds into you, slow but hard. You can’t contain your moans as you scream and cry for him, your neighbors definitely will know his name without even meeting him. You moan from deep within your stomach as you clench hard around his dick, cumming again and leaving a mess all over your sheets. He groans as his hips stutter into yours, nearing his own release.

“Fuckkk princess. I’m gonna cum- shit!” He hissed, his strokes becoming sloppy. You bite your lip as you feel his dick throb inside you, loving the way his last few thrusts feel.

“Yes ‘Suki, cum inside me!” You whine, kissing him briefly as you felt his hot sticky cum coat your insides. Huffing and puffing, his head hangs back as he rides out his orgasm. He comes back to reality as he pulls himself out of you, watching his seed ooze out of your used pussy with pride. You wipe the sweat from your brow as you welcome him to snuggle with you, his head resting on your breasts as he kissed them and gave one a final squeeze. You two lay in silence, coming down from the highs of your orgasms as you both panted for air with exhaustion. Well, at least for you anyways. He looks at you with love in his eyes, caressing your cheek as he gazed into your eyes.

“I know I don’t say this to you often.. but I love you. Dumbass.” He laughs weakly as he kisses your breast. You smile as you move his hair away from his face.

“And I you, Kachan.” You say, kissing his forehead. Knowing Katuski for as long as you have, he doesn’t really articulate his feelings with words but more so with his actions. Tonight was a prime example of him showing his love and appreciation for you without having to say it. So to hear him say these words verbally means a lot to you.

“No seriously. Y/n I can’t wait to marry you in a few weeks. And then I’m gonna put a baby in you as soon as we get home. I can’t wait to see you all swollen, wabbling around with our baby inside you. I know we’re gonna make for kick ass parents. You’re the best thing that’s ever fuckin’ happened to me.” He said taking your hand and entertwining it with his. You giggle at the thought of being pregnant by the love of your life. It was truly something you both wanted for a long time and now that you’re both established heros, you can make it happen. You begin to close your eyes, sleep taking over your body as you feel Katsuki jump up from his position in bed.

“Whelp. Break time’s over. Bring your ass here.” He said smirking at you as he pulled you towards him for another round. You squealed as you laughed uncontrollably, kissing him once more. You glanced out of the window to see the sun peaking out the horizon. Damn. Dawn already. He really meant it when he said it was gonna be a long night.

AHHHHH! My first smut writing! I’m so happy omg. This was really fun to write and it only took a day. Thanks for reading! I gotta make a schedule for this stuff. See yall next time! 

#bnha smut #bnha fanfiction #bnha bakugo x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha imagines #bnha oc #bnha headcanons #bnha #bnha bakugou #bnha x reader #bnha todoroki #bnha midoriya #bnha kirishima #bnha kaminari #bnha tenya

[madfantasy]

I haven't seen you post in a while, I hope you've been doing okay? How is everything? Hope it's been a good year so far for you 💕💕

You're too kind, u & everyone who made inquiries, bless ur hearts.. im sorry for disappearing, but yeah, I don't have net— using my phone credit and hope this posts..

I tried to record my voice answering this, like I sometimes did on tik, suddenly ended up trying to muffle the floods of my burning tears, so now I have an awkward vid of me talking then weeping out of nowhere, which a good reason for me to keep up the no cry habit, heh.. but seriously, I suppose I'm fine till I be conscious of it.. its much easier for not to talk .. even tho I'm aching to be back in thy company, lonely in my foresight to catch on to the present that joins us, hand held out to reach like minded souls but shying from the fear of forgetfulness occurring..

I'm fine tho, did few new stuff, merely drowning in too muchness and nothingness as usual, this month I guess you could say I took an act of mad fury in search of any happy source because the echoing silence and the swarm of sadness nipping on my brain cells thickened, and the reasoning merged with the obscene. So instead of giving my guardians the usual of 3/4 of my earnings last month for net and groceries, I spent it all. Ya know, as it was told to me it mine to do as I please? As being prevented any chance of work if it was possible, 't was supposed to be spent on art supplies & measly delights craved for years ?

Before hand, I've been begging them to take me for months to get any clothing or whatever, be it the first time I ever see a shop, then just to drive around, then just me peaking to the outside when the front door is open, merely seeking change I suppose. They kept vaguely promising me until they refused point blank— getting tired of my nagging, then their car just stopped working till this day. Its in the workshop rn..

Anyway, befouled by despair, needing the mere basics of life and not granted, I was delighted when i found a site to buy from cheap & pretty, I pressed buy without any further considerations, or taking their permission and thrilled to be able get gifts for my siblings too. I say gifts but really they are deprived necessities too and not even much just one each cuz well, they are 5 of my babies and to start with the top of priorities; we all draw

I could already see it, they can't help themselves; heck seeped through the clenched gates of their mouths, trying desperately to poison me with undirect attempts this time, cuz I bought for my sibs they're out of the option of calling me selfish. I was upping the same trance like state of vague existence dealing with them, absorbing their insults and degrading just to make sure my shi arrives safe.

Unfortunate for me, the site chose the worst carrier in this country

I did everything in my power to make it into their convenience, by embarrassingly messaging the carrier daily, they took a week of promising to deliver and flanking so my guardians reached a heated level of threatening, waving their hands nd almost tossing shi at mE saying that they don't care if they came and if i dared to order something again they'll do this and that. Not allowing me to open the door for the delivery guy when he comes, blaming me for missing vaccination dates (they kept missing them even before)& missing going to important places(again, they just didn't go to for ages), made them loose sleep, etc etc— in turn, I seen red and regretfully blew up.

I screamed at them its literally the only time I ever did this, it BECAUSE it easier on them & I'll do what I want whatever anyway, & to stop interrupting me while I try to explain things , then they suddnly back done and be like I'm not mad at u I'm mad at the delivery ppl, that they are proud of me for being able to do all this, and such sort. I left them to cool in my room, Idk how I did it but must have slam-gripped something so hard it chipped most of my short nails & cracked one, was glad I didn't hurt my drawing hand but yeah, goofy mani

They robbed me of the joy of anticipation & the dissipation of apathy, I started to lose sleep again and my liberating dreams left me and I don't think I remember leaving bed.

But still, If not force myself to do things.. there'll be nothing for me if I don't.. at least I know im able of that

I got my guardians happy tho after another tiresome refusal, by trying out one of those Uber-eat like local apps here, since they have no car and being disabled & ill, I ordered McDonald's for the first time. Slythry behind their backs per habit, told them someone coming and they had that look again, but thankfully the guy came through and didn't steal my money, heh. For a big 1800 calories meal I suppose it was passable, the happy fam faces I got was the real treat..

Oh with that thing with the credit card stating I owe them money, waited weeks & nobody got back to us? They started taking from my guardian's account directly to pay it, saying oh we did send you warnings--- TO THE SHADOWY LINES OF THEIR POSTERIOR A.K.A NOWHERE. Thankfully the account is mostly empty nd just for random transactions, i alerted my guardians not to use it. And again, my god, another round of endless calls and promises started, and we wait again so they just don't act as if we owe them a frking 17k dollars that we don't have.. was panicking cuz I have nothing and but my guardians were weirdly comforting about it and told me not to worry

One thing good bout no net is it made me stop thinking about life in general, and stop the tiny unnoticeable prick of misery when I have no input to share, trying not to helplessly compare people just living, in inflated style or not, in media, to my isolated-most-of-my-life style and missing much of that organic "life experiences and chances", heh. At least, my situation would be favorable to me if it was ever possible for it to let me have peace, or have the simple knowledge I'm not virtually imprisoned and have never familiarised with nothing of this world but the surrounding walls.. its nice to have more time to be consumed by muse and day dreaming that flutters life through my dull being and sing chorus of inspiring means for art to flow and finds its way delicately onto my realised canvas.. but no, I continued drawing whilst sight blurred with salty droplets contradicting that happy tintin dance on tiktok I worked so long on just cuz I couldn't stop, not the tears or the mad scribbles of determined intention to visualise the mourned excitement I need, hating everything I make

Somehow the lilac dream still intrudes, visualising me friends, living, in a quaint home, maybe we roommate, arm in arm we go to make every fracture of fate's encounters a disgusting adventurous thrill, like building a maze of cardboard or chasing each other in the dark.. maybe getting that half bleached head and endless ear pericings ... then it dies and I totally forget it..

But what those awesome headphones helped me do, literally blocks all their voices listening to Sev losing it and I can Waltz around not feeling gutted to go and interfere or play the referee each time. But I can't wear them forever, gives me a bad headache, and honestly; I can't be too neglectful.. my sibs hates me for it already hehe

At least these clothing came true to their measurements, felt the new sensations on how everything I wore hugs me & learnt the baffling ways on how "gender" and region plays different tunes on the same measurements. Getting fitting things felt like suddenly there's hope to be, for myself to be me, and ease this severe disassociation between who I am, and what my body is .. from how little I see myself nd consider it worthy of anything because of how long it been living like a phantom among people.. to numb this dysphoria until it be gone one day

Saddened that the only site I can't order from again if they keep using that awful carrier

...

I missed our country's 91 national day, too. They made sales everything 91 riyal so.. but knowing the sellers here, I don't think most of em went true with their offers.. Horrible news tho on the celebrations, sigh

I turned this into a dear diary, guess bothered you enough today, sorry

So thankful to yous, Idk if I can be back, but I'll remain creating, and will keep the thought alive of being tickled when sharing my creations with your viewing pleasure somehow

'till then my precious dears, take care 💛🙏

26.9.2021, 8 pm, sleeping

#ask #text #diary #personal #my art #miss

[crab-in-a-pocket]

reserved farmer headcanons + meeting the bachelors for the first time!

wanted to make some generally reserved farmer headcanons to kick off this blog and bc i see a lot of very friendly farmers out there and i... am not one of them LMAO

additionally, there's reference to a supposed volatile relationship with a (former?) loved one (projection time!)

also i forgot to open my askbox bc idk how to tumblr ?? i think it's open now (i hope).

tw: drinking and alcoholism, references to past trauma, one Bad Word (sh^t!)

when you first meet everyone, it's a quiet greeting and maybe a witty remark, but you don't stay for any chit-chat

close-lipped smiles are your signature move, along with the Man Nod whenever you run into someone

you are, of course, a nice and courteous person but you don't feel the need to say hello to everyone every damn time you pass by them because, really, you're too busy rushing to Pierre's for some seeds or lugging around foraged beach stuff

okay, maybe some of them think you're a little cold and an introvert who has... problems

but you're not! you are a strong and emotionally stable farmer who gets Shit Done and prefers to observe over participate and think over talk!

mayor lewis is extremely puzzled and almost mistakes you for someone else-- it's been over a decade and people change too much, too soon. he makes a remark about a wishing well your grandfather had built long ago (remember the well? how you fell in it that one time?) and you nod along politely (i didn't fall, i climbed in because i desperately needed my wish to come true)

it's nice to meet people who aren't as temperemental as the tides. maybe, for once, you could have a proper relationship with someone.

alex

easily the most annoying and extroverted person in town what with his obsession with sports and loud, brash personality but you two get along fabulously because you had that same passion for gridball in college before you were too busy being a corporate slave

he's a little surprised that you sit next to him at the saloon but he goes along easily and the conversation flows between the two of you easily, ranging from future plans (thinking of going pro... think i'll make it?) to the weather without sounding like you're making fake smalltalk (i wanted to play pro, too, and here i am now. if you really want it, you'll have to leave this all behind)

there's something genuine about him that's intriguing and it leaves you wanting to find out and see what the real alex is like inside because you can see through that wall he's made

and there's something enigmatic about you, who is reserved and quiet and seems to be a simple open book, when in fact, you are a very attractive onion with many, many layers

sam

you think he's immature. a wildchild, a manchild, a wildmanchild, really. sam, on the other hand, is drawn in by your calmness and how in-control you appear to be-- when you offer to play a game of pool when sebastian doesn't show up, he's delighted at the opportunity to know you better

okay, so he is immature and a wildmanchild but there is a softness in him that surprises you every time he shows it-- which is frequently around you

he has a soft smile to counteract his proud one and he's so in awe of how you get so much stuff done every day (i don't know how you do it, that's gotta be tough), every week, and every month (you'd like the responsibility, i think. to me, it's one big project i need to finish)

he has instant crush on you because you're so cool even though your line of profession really doesn't evoke much awe. i mean, you're  attractive, you are so in control of your life, and you have a really cute smile whenever he compliments you-- how could he not?

shane

bit bold of you to sit next to him at the saloon because every knows he's can be a real asshole, but he glances at you with a hint of awe and more than a hint of annoyance. you elect to ignore this and choose to order a whisky on the rocks (if you don't drink, call it apple juice)

whisky: shane's a touch impressed because you look like a lightweight. well, it's nice that someone can hold their liquor. he makes a remark about it (planning on getting drunk, huh?) and you raise a brow at him, looking a little haughty and tell him that it's your drink for the week. he's annoyed at your remark and starts an argument that surprisingly, settles down into a civil conversation

apple juice: he snorts at that and makes a remark about meeting penny for your lessons the next day. you play along and sip at your drink, making witty remarks (thank yoba for hangovers. it's the non-drinker's edge, really. just like not having liver failure). he's not sure if he should be annoyed or impressed at your cool-as-a-cucumber personality, not sure if it's too big city or too closed-off

you offer to buy him a pizza if you can take a away his beer-- at any rate, he looks like he'll end up with liver failure the way he's going. shane aquiesces and devours the entire pizza. your conversation is slow and punctuated with his loud chewing but you're pleasantly suprised that he's quite smart and well-read about whatever you're interested in

the fourth time you sit next to him, he turns down your pizza and doesn't say a word. neither do you and it's almost like it's back to square one until you realize that he hasn't made a single salty remark about anything. you decide to try again the day after tomorrow-- nothing comes too quickly to people like you and shane.

sebastian

it was the necklace you wore that caught his eye. a shining teardrop stone hanging off a gleaming silver chain. he had spoken before he could stop himself and watched as you smiled and told him he was right-- it is supposed to be a Yeti's tear.

you're pleased to meet someone who is also a homebody and a touch more reserved than a lot of other people in town. he's easy to get along with (oh, you're kidding, you really have the signed edition?) and he's got pretty good taste when it comes to literature-- after all, who can refuse a good sci-fi book? (of course i do, i'm dedicated fan)

oddly enough, your conversation is quick and eager and not all reserved. instead of the companionable silence everyone assumes you two to have, you two nearly talk over each other because you finally have someone to complain to about everyone's over-friendliness and he finally has someone who understands what it's like to be trapped in a small world

you tease him about the corporate rat race and he fires back at you about being a part of it. you like sebastian and he likes you-- it's as simple as that.

elliot

he had heard of you through leah who had heard of you through emily who had heard of you through gus who had heard of you from lewis. it was a long grapevine and he's not sure how much of the truth was preserved and it's almost a relief to meet you because, to be frank, he's tired of being the town's newcomer.

first-- you're not peppy and overly cheerful at all. second, you are definitely not hot-tempered. and third, there's something so fascinating about you, something hidden under your calm, pragmatic character. he finds a kindred spirit in you, save for the flowery words and, admittedly, the vanity.

you're amused to meet a writer living on the beach. the cabin was built by one of your grandfather's old friends, a rather surly man who had taken a liking to you when you were much younger. while the hut is in no way fancy, you can't help but consider how pretentious and, contrastingly, humble the writer must be. pretentious in such a way that he thinks living in a sandy, damp shack is a way to beat writer's block (it's odd, it's rarely a choice people make) and humble in such a way that he accepts and bears with living in a worn house with little complaint (it's admirable, if not a little silly!)

you find yourself in his company late at night when you can't sleep and it's so easy to open up to him because he's kind, he listens, and most importantly, he's not embarassed to admit he's got faults, at least to you. you let him see past your collected facade and into your cracked heart far sooner than you think and elliot doesn't mind at all

harvey

you might be the most mysterious person in town simply because of the way you present yourself. he finds himself always stuttering a little whenever you're around because of the way you watch him, set in a relaxed stance, your gaze flat and cool. later, he realizes that it's your resting face. he wonders about what you'd look like if you smiled-- really smiled

he's touched at the fact that you buy him coffee whenever he had to patch you up-- which is frequently, given your liking for the mines. you're adorable when he gives you general anesthesia. he had run out of local anesthesia and you needed a fair amount of stitches and though you told him that you have a high pain tolerance (stitches are far more painful than you think. i really don't want to put you through that), he insisted and you let him (fine, fine. get on with it, doctor). you had let out several inappropriate jokes under anesthesia and your cheeks had hurt from laughing non-stop

harvey's entranced. there's no other way to put it-- he's bewitched by your bright character hiding under that collected facade. he never pries for your secrets because he's got secrets, too. you like harvey because he's sweet and compassionate and even though he has to put up a firm, professional affectation, he wears his heart on his sleeve.

you see him as a friend at first, all platonic and it seems to be the end of it. but one day, as you hand him a coffee, he laughs and smiles and hands you a coffee just the way you like it. you're falling for him so hard and fast you think someone's put a spell on you that makes you notice the minute expressions on his face and mull over the way he talks to you. you're in love with him-- you can only hope he feels the same way too

#stardew elliott #stardew harvey #stardew sam #stardew shane #stardew alex #stardew sebastian #stardew headcanon #stardew farmer #sdv hcs #sdv headcanons #sdv sebastian #sdv elliott #sdv harvey #sdv sam #sdv alex #sdv shane #sdv reserved farmer #sdv farmer #my phone hates me but here :D

[caffeinatedrogue]

some rock band shit for my writer pals

Here’s Another Post Nobody Asked For, Really! well, except @saintsofvoid and @butwhatisit (thanks for enabling me)

But I know my writer pals, you all want to get shit right, and maybe you want to write the cute local rock band au of your dreams or early Samurai days Silverdyne fics (hello CP77 fandom)

 I’ve spent literally half of my life being around different varieties of the goblins commonly known as rock musicians so I figured I’d compile some fun things I’ve gathered from my experiences as an enthusiast observer and also my partner’s tales - who is one of those goblins. This applies mostly to small to mid to ‘big in the indie scene but not mainstream’ tier bands, not the big names. (Wish I could hang out with the rolling stones even if they’re geezers now, but eh) anyways, under the cut, it’s very long

Touring is fun, especially the short and sweet ones, but also extremely stressful and can feel like a chore. The gigs themselves are a blast, but unless you're a celeb the rest of the time involves endless driving between locations that are hundred of kms away, because the booking agency will work towards cramming up your schedule as much as possible. It's often spending entire weeks/months on the road, it's washing the same 2 sets of sweaty stage clothes in hotel rooms sinks and being sleep-deprived and hungover constantly. Touring is when personalities clash and tensions will arise and explode between band members. Good angst potential here pals.

 Backstage demands lists are a thing at every professional level, not just Big Names, and they're often hilarious. They range from food to weed to ????. And I'm not talking about insufferably-extra celebs that want wild, unrealistic shit, just the random guy from an indie band that kindly asks to find water and also, idk, an uncut tuft of lettuce for unknown purposes better left to the imagination.

 Musicians have to show up hours earlier to the gig location, because they have to put all their gear together, cable up, and do the soundcheck - which is VITAL, as every place sounds different because of architcture and the individual sound systems -  and if there's something every musician is gonna be a big fucking bitch about, it's how they're sounding. Then there's the chill hours between that and the actual gig, dinner and drinks and chats, and it usually ends up with at least one in the band getting prematurely shitfaced (but usually still able to play perfectly because musicians know their limits, and also know the others will absolutely 100% kill them if they mess up the performance). After the gig you get wrecked but also make sure 1. that your stuff is safe in the van first and foremost 2. that you get paid

There's one very important thing to do before playing and it's putting down or at least agreeing on a tracklist to follow on stage - if you’re opening for another band, you have time constraints and you must adapt. Also, everybody on stage has to know what song comes next to keep the flow. But it can end up very much like herding kittens, cause one is drunk, the other can't be found, and then there's The One Actual Saint holding a marker and a piece of paper, screaming into the void and trying to make the rest sit down for a minute and agree on it. (If you’re in the cp77 fandom yes, that would absolutely be Kerry.)

Unless you are touring BIG and have a service and/or a dedicated driver, you regularly use and abuse some friend to drive you around and help you load and unload the gear that is packed like 3d Tetris in the cars or van. Guitarists and bassists alone will NOT play without their own, personal, precious, beloved amps and those beauties are big. If the drummer is carrying his whole personal set, well... good luck. Also bands who share a stage often lend stuff to each other because maybe you busted a cable the night before. If you steal or break borrowed stuff, you’re forever in the band’s shit list

The Merch Guy is usually the same person as The Driver or The Friend Driver or someone you can equally Fully Trust with the shit. (Unless you're a top-tier band with staff and all that jazz). That's a HIGH TRUST JOB people. Because merch sales account for a good chunk of the money you make in a night if you’re an indie band. They're handling the band's income, quite literally.

Musicians will talk a shitload about music in general but also... GEAR. Guitars. Effect pedals. Amps. (Bonus if they're made by some random ass guy who idk, lives in a shed in Montana with 15 cats). Or That One Guitar Sound From This 1993 Album And How to Get It. It's not very romantic, just nerds going off for hours about very specific items of music-making electronics.

Rehearsal rooms: now, creative processes vary, but most of the bands I know don't really do the composition part in there. Maybe you're unwinding and just jamming and something nice comes out of it, so you decide to keep it to work on it further. It's mostly because renting out a rehearsal room costs money and most musicians might maybe make a living out of it, but aren’t exactly rich. So either a. you're really rich or you’ve made it big - then gtfo to your jacuzzi b. someone in the band has a space that can be turned into one (it takes a bit of work to make it soundproof otherwise it's Reverbtown) and well, they all live there now! c. The lead composers will meet and do their thing together to brainstorm ideas/jam and put down the groundwork for the songs. Often people have lil home studios to compose and do some basic recording.  But then everybody does their homework separately (both writing and polishing their own specific insutrumental lines and sheer practice).Then the tracks are rehearsed together and tweaked. Before tours or recording the sessions are very long and intensive because you have to make sure everything is pitch-perfect and sounds just as it should.

Recording and mastering an album is hella expensive and that’s why being under contract is great, because the label will pay that for you amongst other things (like PR and booking agents). But it’s not the Beatles chilling at Abbey Road, more like several people spending entire days in the recording studio working like crazy both recording instruments and listening to the recordings obsessively, because you have to get everything right in those few days the studio’s paid for before you send it out for the sound master. The recording process and master is what makes an album sound a certain way and it’s a craft of its own, choosing the right people for the job is extremely important in rock productions. Again, they’re nerds.

 Songwriter life be like:  running in the room while singing a melody out VERY LOUDLY on repeat, while frantically looking for the instrument and any recording device or they'll forget. Replaying a bit of music over and over and overrrrrrr to figure out the harmonies. Asking your partner/friend to harmonize even if they can't sing because gotta hear if it sounds good.  'Hey how does the track sound? You sure it's not a bit too much like *insert obscure experimental band name* ?' - 'I have never heard of them but I'm sure it doesn't'. Texts at 2 am arguing over something music something that doesn’t sound quite right in the tracks. Go off my beauties

#I sound like I have a cool life it's not really like that I just really love music and how it's done

[notveryglittery]

mice on venus (1.1)

summary: gee, those forest ravines really pop out at you, huh? wc: 2k / ships: romantic royality, qpr prinxiety, romantic analogical. warnings: falling off a cliff, injuries, janus is a lil rough around the edges but sometimes u gotta be when living in a dangerous blocky world... author’s note: i couldn’t sleep last night... bc brain was making this... and also @thoriffix​ makes nice minecraft art... so yeah, minecraft sanders sides au? i have no clue what i’m doing besides having fun :) not too much knowledge of the game is needed; you can look at it as a basic adventure au. enjoy!

mice on venus (1.1) (you are here) | far (1.2) title inspo: (spotify link) (youtube link) idk if this will go on ao3 but here’s a spot for editing 

— — —

Patton’s voice tears from his throat in a raw and terrified shout. "Roman!" He screams, hands outstretched uselessly, as Roman tips backwards over the edge of a ravine, and disappears.

Logan is there, barely a second later. He rifles through his bag, finds what he needs, and throws it with all the force he can muster. Gravity won't let it hit the ground before Roman does, but it will help when it arrives nonetheless. He hurries to stand, turn, and face —

"What happened?!" Virgil asks breathlessly, daggers drawn and at the ready.

"Roman fell into a ravine," Logan answers with so little tact that Patton would scold him for it if he were paying enough attention to overhear. The color in Virgil's face drains. "I threw a Splash Potion of Healing after him," Logan reassures without pausing, "but we need to get down there."

"I knew I should've stayed home," drawls their final party member, sounding awfully bored despite the situation.

Patron does hear this and he rounds on Janus with fire in his eyes. "How could you be so cruel?! Roman might be dead!"

Janus raises an eyebrow. "Were you not listening just now? Our local brewer lobbed a potion. Roman's seen worse. He'll be fine."

Patton's lower lip trembles but it's hard to tell whether he wants to cry or to berate. Maybe both. He looks for Virgil, only to find him at the ravine's edge with a bucket. Water is flowing from where it's been poured, creating a safe passage for them to traverse down in once safe.

Roman, meanwhile, is falling.

His only warning had been the horror dawning on Patton's face and even then, it came after his foot met air instead of solid ground like he expected. For some inane reason, his first thought as he went plummeting was "who put this ravine in the middle of a forest?" Next, it was panic and "AHHHHHHHHHHHHH—"

With the wind stinging his face and his blood roaring in his ears, Roman knows he has mere seconds to figure out how to make this suck less. He struggles to right himself until he's facing the ground that is rushing up to meet him. He pulls his shield from where it is strapped to his back and thanks Jeb that he'd had the foresight, as their fighter, to give himself something sturdier. The rickety thing the others use wouldn't have done much for him here but the curved, solid iron plate he tucks himself into should absorb most of the impact.

That doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt like hell. He can barely cry out with how his breath is knocked out of him. Pain shoots up his ankles and legs, lighting every nerve along the way. He tilts over, gritting his teeth and trying to see beyond the stars that swim through his vision. He isn't safe… There could… Mobs…

Glass shatters next to him and he flinches from it. Please not a witch, please not a witch, please not a witch —

As opposed to the nauseous kick of poison or the heavy weight of slowness, however, warmth of healing washes over him. In his shock, he'd forgotten anyone had been with him but of course, Logan would have been right behind Patton, with his emergency potions. Relief floods over everything else. He isn't alone. He has help.

"— an idiot!" is the first thing Roman hears when he comes to. He opens his eyes to see Virgil pacing beside him, flailing his arms, and apparently mid-rant. It's probably Logan at his feet, wrapping his ankle in a splint. Ah… the pain from it being jostled must've woken him… He's glad he doesn't remember it.

"Honey," Patton's voice whimpers, close to him, choked and scared and none of that will do —

"C'mere," Roman croaks, reaching for his beloved. Patton catches Roman's hand and holds it almost too tightly. Roman isn't sure which one of them is shaking. He brings Patton's hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles. "I'm okay, sweetness. Don't cry. Please. You know a smile will help me recover better than anything."

"That's not true," Logan pipes up, deadpan.

Patton gives him a tremulous smile anyway.

"Learn to watch—" Virgil stops. Freezes. Looks up. "Oh. Great." He's rifling through his supplies before the others even have time to ask him what's wrong.

The sudden realization of dimming light answers them well enough, though. Janus wastes no time in beginning to help Virgil, moving with him to the ravine's wall to back their makeshift base against. Sunset brings with it monsters and they certainly aren’t in the best place to handle that.

"You need to sleep before you get back on your feet," Logan tells Roman as he packs away his med kit. "No adventures for at least three days."

Roman gasps, as if Logan has just told him his birthday is canceled.

"Logan's right, dear," Patton intervenes, pulling one of Roman's arms over and around his shoulder. He helps him stand slowly, making sure Roman favors weight on his less injured ankle. "It's okay, I'm gonna stay with you! It'll go by so quick, you won't even know it happened."

Roman wants to complain further but he’s lightheaded from his now-vertical position. With practiced ease, Virgil and Janus have a lean-to set up to keep them safe from the nights terrors. Unfortunately, there’s only enough materials for two beds. Fortunately, they sleep in shifts anyway. It takes some coaxing to convince Roman that he doesn’t need to stay awake for one but once his head is on the pillow and Patton is combing a hand through his hair, he’s out.

Logan sits up for the first two hours. Forty minutes in, Janus leaves to explore the ravine. The others know better than to even try stopping him. He returns, laden with coal and iron ore.

“Roman’s shield is gonna need repairing,” Janus says matter-of-factly as he takes over for the next watch.

Logan groans. “I suppose, at least, the painting will keep him busy while he’s grounded.”

“He’ll last…” Janus pauses, considering. “I give him no more than a day and a half.”

“If he wants to sustain his injuries, sure.”

“Bet you he’ll try stealing an Instant Health potion.”

“Not if he knows what’s best for him,” Logan snaps.

Janus smiles with too many teeth which isn’t to say he has too many teeth, just that normally his smiles are close-lipped. Logan scowls before ducking into their small shelter to try and get some rest.

The next two hours pass without trouble. Virgil takes his turn. The howling screech of an enderman startles Logan awake but just as quick, Virgil is peeking in on the party and waving the concern away with an ender pearl clutched in his fist.

“Didn’t wanna pass up the opportunity,” he whispers, before returning to his post.

Patton sets up for the last watch. Virgil makes Logan take the free bed, which doesn’t take much convincing seeing as he’s half-asleep already. Roman begins to toss and turn so Virgil sits on the ground beside him, reaches up, and holds his hand.

“Sap,” Janus says from the corner where he’s been making torches.

“Have you slept at all?” Virgil asks instead of taking the bait.

When Janus doesn’t answer, Virgil frowns. “How long has it been?”

Another round of silence.

“J, what the fuck? We don’t need phantoms on top of everything else!” Virgil raises his voice without meaning to. Logan stirs at the sound of it; he’s always been a light sleeper.

“Hush,” Janus hisses. They wait a few moments more until Logan has settled. “I will when we get back home. I’ve got at least one more safe night.”

Virgil’s glare sharpens but he doesn’t push any further. Janus goes back to his crafting but Virgil notices now how slowly he works. Instead of staring and letting his concern build, Virgil leans back and shuts his eyes, focusing on Roman’s warm hand in his.

Sunrise means a quick breakfast of bread and crisp apples. They share amongst themselves before Logan and Patton take down the lean-to. Janus returns to the top of the ravine, making sure to dispatch any mobs lurking in the shade of the trees. Virgil remembers the leads Patton had brought with him, for if they had come across any horses, and suggests tying Roman to one of them, just in case things go wrong on the swim up the waterfall.

Roman, ever full of bravado, insists he would be just fine on his own. Looks of concern and frustration come from his boyfriend and queerplatonic partner, respectively, and he quickly gives in without much fuss. Janus joins them again and offers to build a ladder back up, especially since there’s no short supply of wood; Logan disagrees, worried that it would take too long and they’d be caught out once more at nighttime.

Eventually, they do all get up and out of the ravine. Roman’s splint needs redoing now that it’s wet and heavy but afterwards, they are on their way home. He relies heavily on Patton and Virgil to help him, careful to not put too much weight on his injured foot; he hates needing so much help, but he supposes it’s mostly alright, what with Patton keeping him entertained with stories and Virgil teasing him about dumb little mistakes made in the past.

Slow going as as they are, they make it just as the sun is beginning to set. The lanterns are lit at the village they had set up nearby roughly a year ago and their neighbors are gathered at the bell for gossip and trade. Patton wants to swing by to say hello and offer some cake but Roman is really struggling beside him now.

“Oh, sweetpea, you must be so tired,” Patton murmurs, shifting so that he can take more pressure off of Roman. “I’m gonna get you the best dinner… And hot cocoa, too, how’s that sound?”

“We haven’t got a steady supply of cocoa beans yet,” Roman says without much conviction.

“I’ll cocoa bean anyone that tries to stop me,” Patton insists.

Virgil stifles a laugh behind his hand and pretends he didn’t hear the thinly veiled threat disguised as a pun. He makes a note to kick their search for a jungle into first gear and wonders if Janus would be up for a trip to the west. It is the least explored direction and their terribly empty maps remind them every day. In the meantime, he’ll help Patton to get Roman comfortable and settled. He makes sure Janus goes to bed that night, keeping him company until he’s well and truly deep in sleep.

After one last sweep of the perimeter, Virgil retires to his and Logan’s room. Logan is waiting up for him, reading by candlelight. Virgil changes into his night clothes and slides in under the covers. Logan is warm and, with a fond eye roll, compliant as Virgil tugs at his sleeve until he eventually puts his book away. Logan lays on his back with Virgil splayed half-across his chest; the sensation has always put Logan at ease, having his partner’s presence so physical and grounding and there.

“Will Roman be okay?” Virgil asks in a voice so small that Logan almost doesn’t hear him.

“Like Janus said, Roman has been through worse.” Logan hesitates but not long enough for either of them to actually start thinking about it. “As long as he is careful, which I’m sure Patton will help him be, he’ll recover in no time.”

The tension flows out of Virgil in one slow exhale. “Thanks, L.” He shuffles deeper into the blankets and Logan’s embrace. “Love you.”

“And I you,” Logan responds with a hum, pressing a kiss to the top of Virgil’s head.

#sanders sides fan fiction #royality #prinxiety #analogical #ts deceit #dani writes #minecraft au #sanders sides #romantic royality #qpr prinxiety #romantic analogical

[wsgeon]

hey everyone! ummm this is peyton (also the mun of lee hyeon) taking a second shot at a second character — i have a lot of muse for this one, so i swear he’ll be around for a while… 🥵 this is ryu geon, yes his name rhymes with hyeon’s & no i do not care ♥️ he’s the lead guitarist/vocalist of meta and also the son of a former nobody rockstar, but i’ll get into all that below! like this post if you’d like for me to come into your ims to plot, click the read more for more info on geon, and/or click here to be taken to his pages: CAREER, DOSSIER, PINTEREST.

HISTORY.

born in autumn ‘97 to a “budding rockstar” (translation: “no yeah i swear our band’s really starting to take off, we sold twenty-three tickets to our last show!”) & a woman with commitment issues ♥️ geon’s dad always told him that his mom left because she had some dire matters that needed to be taken care of and SWORE that she cried the last time she held her dear baby boy, but all of his dad’s bandmates say that she was just some groupie and had to be persuaded into carrying her child to term… who can say for sure?

naturally, there are no pictures of this mystery woman. there was one (1) of her holding infant geon, but then he found out that that was actually a sound tech who worked for his dad’s band… and he just never corrected geon’s assumptions LOLLLL

anyway! he was always really close to his dad, considering they were a two-person family. he has a set of grandparents, an aunt and a couple cousins but they were never involved with geon’s life because his dad is the #blacksheep of the family. geon and his dad against the world, am i right?

uhhh geon was also kind of a black sheep growing up, but he didn’t really notice? he was a happy kid, very energetic and enthusiastic. a lot of adults in the area looked down on him & his dad, but he was SOOOO blind to it because his dad’s a god in his eyes and HE’S always been nice to everyone, so why would they not like him??? because his clothes smelled a little like dad’s cigarette smoke??? big deal

wasn’t troublesome (beyond talking too much), but a lot of people still expected bad things from him :/ “his father’s a dirtbag, i’ll be surprised if that boy doesn’t end up in jail by 20”, “he won’t amount to anything without a proper role model in his life”, “his dad is teaching him how to slack off”, “he won’t contribute anything to society”, etc. he kindaaa picked up on this as he got older but pretended not to because it was more rewarding to play dumb and keep being a good kid(tm) to prove them wrong

was basically a mini version of his dad. same style, similar features, birthmarks in the same places, same “live today, die tomorrow” approach in life, same affinity for singing & playing rock music. ummm he loved his dad a lot. a lot. a lot. wanted to make him proud SO BAD, started his first band when he was 15 and they sucked so bad but his dad was their biggest fan… you know how it is. a lot of people misunderstood him, but he was a very good guy and such a great parent

TW DEATH unfortunately he passed away just shy of geon’s 18th birthday and your boy still hasn’t forgiven the world for taking his dad when he was in the middle of his angsty teen phase — had he known that their time together was dwindling, he would’ve been so so so much better to him END TW

his dad’s band actually rocketed into the charts after he passed & suddenly they were getting loads of publicity, lots of “what a shame that he went under-appreciated” which pissed geon off SOOOO bad because why couldn’t they have had that energy when he was still alive? he’s still mad about it five/six years later

this is getting kinda long, so uhhh tl;dr, he ended up staying with the drummer of his dad’s band until he was old enough to live alone/READY to live alone, but he changed quite a bit. was really going through it, quit his band, stopped putting effort into school. barely graduated. went from being a social butterfly spending every weekend at a gig or with friends to spending all of his time on a pc or in front of a tv, playing console games. the internet comforted him when nobody else would/could and then he met the future members of meta <33333333 #newbeginnings

present day geon is still struggling, has to go to counseling bi-weekly but he’s coming back out of his shell! he wants to fall in love with life again, just wants to tread carefully... outgoing & will talk to absolutely anyone, but he still spends most of his time alone. hard to reach by text, so if you wanna talk to him, you better call/facetime LMAO. talks a mile a minute, especially if you get him going abt something he really likes. laughs a lot, smiles a lot, more habitual than actual signs of happiness but yk. ummm he has a really loud voice, mostly controlled nowadays but he still gets carried away sometimes. an absolute menace during long drives/flights, sorry meta.

funny but only when he’s in large groups. feeds off of other peoples’ energy, really good at reading a room and breaking the ice/making everyone comfortable, but if you meet him 1-on-1, none of his jokes land quite the same.

i envision him as being the kind of guy who carries himself in such a way that you’d assume he’s really popular/out of reach/maybe even full of himself, but he’s... not like that... at all... in fact, he’s kinda irritating when you get to know him. the personification of a flood followed by a drought and vice versa, always either too much or not enough. gets used/ghosted/dropped/dumped/whatever a lot because he’s soooo fun in the moment (if he isn’t in his feelings), but draining long-term.

really emotionally intelligent, in touch with his feelings in a way that a lot of people never thought he would be (probably thanks to counseling tbh). he’s very very rarely the type of person who will make you wonder what your place in his life is — he’s communicative, kind, honest. ummm he thinks that intimacy between friends needs to be more common, so he’s really affectionate with the people in his life. type of guy to tell you he loves you every chance he gets (calling you when he’s drunk, sounding like a clingy ex type beat) & greet you/depart with a hug. losing his dad kinda fucked him up in the way that he won’t leave/hang up until his friends say “i love you” back, gets kinda (re: very) upset if he’s denied that and/or a hug.

TRIVIA.

has been playing the guitar “longer than he’s been walking” (not really, but he swears it’s true).

uhhh he really likes nail art, but he’s kinda hesitant in what he tries? mainly sticks to black polish (or other plain colors), but sometimes he’ll get little designs added in as well. mainly does it himself because he still doesn’t feel comfortable in salons... if his work looks bad, leave him alone <3 he’s trying

inspired by people like kurt cobain, nicky wire, yungblud, billie joe armstrong & damiano david in the fact that he’s not against wearing dresses or skirts on stage. doesn’t do it ALL the time, but often enough that it doesn’t go unnoticed. some people say that he does it for attention because he doesn’t dress like that elsewhere and tbh they’re probably kinda right

interested in history (only SOME... dinosaurs, ancient civilizations, specialized areas like the history of circuses/clowns/skateboarding/punk, stuff like that yk), stand-up comedy & documentaries. could spend a whole day watching documentaries and would say he had fun, has a lot of useless knowledge that nobody gives a fuck about and is kinda dumb when it comes to things that matter

when it comes to music, he prefers playing really fast and heavy rock or punk over anything else, but he actually listens to a lot more soft indie on his own time... he’s too tense these days to be listening to anything else RIPPP

the vibe: homemade tie-dye, ripped slipknot t-shirts, frosted tips, neon crocs with alien & peace-sign charms, chipped black nail polish, calloused hands, cheesy pick-up lines used NOT to land a date but to pull a smile, driving until he’s lost, stupid socks paired with pressed suits, dramatic poetry in an iphone note, etc. 

PLOT IDEAS.

people he met through online support groups about coping with grief

uhhh an on & off relationship that’s been going for who-knows-how-long. the reason for this is up for discussion, but i imagine that he hasn’t given up yet because the constant highs and lows are a good source of inspo 🤪 artists must suffer for their art!

opposite side of the coin — someone he’s interested in, but he’s NOT disloyal so it’s a pattern of persistent courting when he’s single vs intense friend-zoning when he’s not and they’re getting tired of trying to figure out what he wants from them

someone else who likes nail art & can convince him that NOBODY cares if he goes to a salon

someone (probably female but doesn’t really matter tbh) who feels like his feminism is entirely performative… maybe they attack him directly for it or maybe they just REALLY don’t like him and they’re super vague about it idk. either way, please tell him that activism is much more than recommending one female artist a year and saying “clothes have no gender 🤪” so he can be praised for the bare minimum (his heart is in the right place but his skull is empty)

someone super introverted who comes out of their shell with geon! uhhh maybe they think that he’s the one doing them a favor, but in reality spending time with them has been doing wonders for his mental health

other people who like to skate. let’s congregate at the local skatepark and scare the middle schoolers away

someone who inspires him musically, for whatever reason. lots of late nights in studios, idly strumming his guitar and writing lyrics that definitely aren’t about how their eyes look in these dim lights… umm maybe he thinks he has a crush on them but really doesn’t and ends up hurting them eventually, maybe he really DOES have a crush but will (probably) never do anything abt it or maybe it’s entirely platonic and he just admires them a ridiculous amount

someone who likes to make music as a hobby, prob won’t publish/release any of it but it’s fun to imagine. spontaneous meetings with geon in the middle of the night, recording songs together and keeping the WORST takes for the laughs. there’s probably a diss-track of them going in on each other floating around somewhere even though geon can’t rap for shit

night owls who keep him company on the phone, even if they can’t be there physically. them talking really quietly vs geon shouting at them while he plays games LMAO

gaming buddies. come over, maybe you can carry geon through his game of the week or you can both fail but have fun while you’re at it… or you can scream while he fends off that hoard of zombies behind you

i’m typing this at the last minute (literally) so i’m gonna stop here, but i will get a proper plots page put up asap with a wider variety of connections!!! but as always, please do let me know if you have any other ideas. i’m always happy to plot and write with you all 🌚

#ws:intro #frankly my characters end up a lil different from intended 90% of the time soooo take my description of his personality w a grain of salt #this intro is long and illiterate but i'll fix it at a later time

[wispandwhispers]

Random fic idea I had (Idk what to call this)

Logan and Patton becoming friends on a swing set in a park

Like Logan is their crying and Patton just comes over to say hi

He sits next to Logan on the opposite swing and just tries to start a conversation but Logan doesn't seem to listen

Logan is  just looking out at the sunset and crying silent tears

Patton wants to help him but doesn't know if he's touch averse like his brother, and doesn't want to make him more upset than he is

So he just stays on the swing and even though he knows it's getting late, he waits

After about 20 or so minutes Logan turns to Patton and just says thanks

Logan then goes out for a friendly handshake and Patton accepts it with a beaming smile on his face

Logan slowly but surely hugs him back

They chat for a bit, just idle speech and Patton starts to make his way home when he sees Logan is very hesitant to go home

"Hey are you ok with me going home? I can stay for longer if you want?"

Logan took a deep breath and turned in the opposite direction. "No."

Patton only realised  as he was going to sleep that he never asked for his name

Logan was in a similar predicament as well

Patton from that day forward , made it a little habit to check out the park once a week to see if Logan was there

He never was

He actually talked to his older brother Janus about Logan

Janus had a theory that Logan was a ghost and he finally was able to cross over to the other side

Patton to panic but Janus explained that he's was half joking

Ironically Janus was the one that actually spotted the 'swing boy'( what the brother's had dubbed Logan) later that day, once again at the swing set

He didn't say anything to him but just took notes of his face and asked his brother if this was the guy

Patton rushed out the house to re meet with Logan

This time Logan actually looked better than usual, he was actually swinging on the swing

Patton joins in said swinging and Logan is actually so much happier than he thought, he's smiling and starts to talk to Patton having an actual conversation with him. Patton and Logan actually exchange names and they are going to part ways when Patton has a question

"Hey, Lo are you always this happy?"

"Not at all, but seeing that my mother finally kicked the bucket brought out so much joy I didn't even know I had."

(Shit, angst got in)

Needless to say, Logan didn't go home that day.

Patton forcefully dragged him back to his place explained what happened to Janus and then he called CPS

(Bare in mind Janus is 14, Patton and Logan are 12. )

A tall petite eventually shows up and they take Logan's statement.

Logan comes out of the make shift office/reception that was formally the brother's living room and just sits down. He's just had to tell his life story to a couple of strangers and he wasn't exactly in the best mood.

He notices a discarded unicorn plushie in the corner and becomes fascinated by it

"You can have it you want."

Logan turns up to see its Patton staring at him from his banister dressed in a cat onesie.

He only noticed that the time was already 11 o'clock

"Aren't you tired?"

Patton yawns "No.."

Janus put down his phone temporarily; he trying to explain to his parents the situation and the fact they would have to come back from there trip early

"How is my own brother so shit at lying?"

Patton dismisses Janus' statement and eyes widen in realisation

"We can be onesie buddies."

Logan didn't ever expect to be be holding a onesie plush while wearing a matching onesie, sipping hot chocolate with a fellow onesie wearer but it happened

(He didn't understand why he trusted said onesie wearer but that must be just weird feeling)

Eventually the women has a chat with Logan and informs him that he has to go to the local orphanage until he's eighteen. His mother was such a horrible person that she literally revoked rights for him to stay with his Uncle Thomas if anything happened.

(The cause of death was overdosing but Logan didn't care.)

Logan went back to Patton and gave a note to Janus who was somehow still awake after all this time and told him that they were asking him to leave.

Janus too tired to compute actual just turned to Patton.

"Make sure Patton knows were to find you. I'm not doing five more months with Patton rambling about 'Swing Boy' again."

An equally tired Logan forgets to do it

While Logan is in the car to his new home he realised that he kept the onesie by accident

A very distraught Patton wakes up with Logan gone with no note

He draws it up to the theory that Logan didn't actually want to be friends with him

And he's not ok with that

Anyway, the days go by, the seasons change and they both think they've forgotten about each other

(We need one cliché, sue me)

Logan thought he was going to be more social now he's in a better place but that's before he gets the information that he is going to have to share a room with the Princeton twins.

Roman and Remus somehow made him feel grateful that he'd put up with shit for so long or he would of chocked one of them by now

He can't even be fully angry with them, Remus was the reason he even met up with Patton again

"Hey dork, do you know any know any good restaurants?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Roman would give a normal answer and Janus wants to go on a regular date. Can you believe it?"

Logan fell out of  his bed

"Does this Janus have a brother?"

"Yeah, this Patt-"

"Give me the address."

Logan rushes over to Patton's house and on him opening the door gives him a hug.

Patton hugs back.

"I'm so sorry, I thought I gave you a letter but I-"

"Shut-up, I'm too focused on the fact you actually care."

"How about we talk about this inside?"

"Sure."

Maybe they talk until midnight, maybe they tell each other stuff that not a single person has ever heard, maybe all of that fluffy stuff and maybe they admit they feel something else than just friendship and act upon it. No one needs to know

Taglist for Logicality:

@froggydrawslightmode, @patton-cake

#thanks gabs #i know i made a bullet fic yesterday shut up #wisp writes #remus sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #i wrote something without Virgil #A cardinal sin #logicality #dukeceit #demus

[37-children-of-the-dreams]

Chapter #34: Bad (Blood) Batch

Crosshair got to meet Bo-Katan and now it's Korkie's turn to meet the Bad Batch. Also, IDK on how to strikethrough a title text. Sorry.

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

The next planet looked dense and populated. It wasn't dense like Corusant, but it was populated enough that they know there were bounties abound. The wait time for a hangar wasn't as bad as the last one. It gave enough time for Korkie to work his Force visions and they had an adequate hangar to stay at.

When Korkie got up from the visions, Crosshair and Fennec were checking their weapons. Crosshair saw the rifle might need a new scope and knew they do not have another scope around.

"There's a huge bounty here," Korkie said as they kept checking. "It's locally known and the prizes they say are big."

"How big are we talking?" Fennec asked. She checked enough that her rifle was ready to end a small battalion.

"Big enough to buy an entire army."

"We don't need an army," Crosshair said. "But I would like a few upgrades."

"We should have taken some of the rifles from the basement," Korkie lamented.

"No. I'm not making your former aunt go insane and try to annihilate us because we took some of your ancestors' weapons."

"Well, they were still his," Fennec pointed out. "I mean, he had the rights to take them before Bo-Katan kicked him out."

Crosshair rolled his eyes as he went to open the ship's entrance. He would have liked some of the blasters Korkie showed him during their practice, but he felt the eyes of a thousand Kryzes judging him for possibly firing their blasters wrong. He looked at the picture of Korkie's late grandfather during the practice and thought Adonai Kryze's spirit was shaking his head thinking that his only grandchild would marry what might be an adequate sniper on his deceased mind.

Korkie went to his side and walked out the hangar with him. Fennec was still behind them. She was starting to prefer being behind of her two teachers because in her point of view, they always start the best drama and she had backstage passes for life. Korkie was pointing out the best cantinas and bar to find other bounties if there were too many bounty hunters going after the same bounty. Crosshair was not budging on bailing about the best prize.

"Then that one," Korkie said.

He pointed at the most rundown cantina they had ever seen. And they've been on Tatooine. The cantina at Mos Eisley was still presentable compared to this. There were no windows, the doors were broken, and there were a ton of drunkards hovering.

Crosshair said nothing as they entered the cantina. Suddenly, it was all eyes on them. Fennec smirked at the sight because they were dressed like everyone else. Well, Korkie had brought his family sword, but it was not enough to set off a bar fight. Maybe it was Crosshair? He was wearing his armor to cantina, but he did add Kryze blue to it when Korkie was asleep to look more like a Mandalorian and not a clone trooper.

Korkie was the one who found the manager of the cantina. He asked about the bounty and got a shrug. Korkie backed off and Crosshair got to the manager's neck. The poor manager was scared to see Korkie whisper something in Crosshair's ear.

"Okay!" he screamed.

He took out a fob and threw it to them. Korkie caught it and \waved it to Fennec who laughed at the antics. She knew they weren't really saying anything threatening to the manager. She was beginning to pick up some Mando'a and she knew Korkie was actually talking about making a good dinner for them.

Crosshair dropped the manager as his fiancee and apprentice walked away with the fob. The rest of the cantina got out of their way. They saw the 360 Korkie did and were not wanting to fight someone who might just smile at their deaths.

"So," Korkie said as they walked around the city. "What do we want for dinner?

"Korkie," Fennec sighed. "Please stop being a mother porg. You make the best dinners."

"No," Crosshair countered. "Please act like a mother porg. You need practice when we might have Sarad."

Korkie scoffed. Ever since the two talked about having a daughter, Crosshair agreed that Sarad was a beautiful name for a young girl. He also wanted their future daughter to be a sniper like him because it might be safer for her to not be connected with the Force. Korkie was sadden by his opinion, but he did agree. Even if Sarad wasn't a Force Seer like Korkie, the Empire was never going to let another Force user live. He rather have a normal child than put one in danger because of who they were to the Force.

"Please stop talking about your future child," Fennec said. "You're not even married yet!"

"Well, Fennec," Korkie said. "It's better to talk about a family now because then we don't have to worry about whether or not your having a niece."

Fennec gave up. She was young herself, but why do Mandalorian have to talk about marriage and family when they're so young? Was it because of the constant state of fighting for their lives, or was it because they're open about having a huge family.

The three were walking about when they stall another set of food stall. Fennec's stomach betrayed her and growled. Korkie and Crosshair looked at her like they were becoming her new set of parents.

"I may be a bit hungry," Fennec admitted. "But we should have food at the ship."

"It's an hour away," Korkie said. "Come on Fennec. Let's have some snacks."

Korkie led Fennec over to the stalls. Fennec was not a picky person, but the options were so numerous and she didn't want to buy too much food. Yet, they smelt so good. Korkie told her they had enough money to provide her a small feast. So Fennec started picking all the ones that smelled divine.

Crosshair smiled as they picked snacks by the smell. It reminded him how Hunter always knew what they should get from the stalls during their missions. Wrecker was never picky himself, but he also didn't want to break the budget. Tech was always to busy reading up on the snacks. So it was between Hunter and Crosshair to give them the cheapest and best snacks. When Echo entered the Bad Batch, it became a three person duty to provide the snacks.

Crosshair was beginning to beg whatever god or deity that controlled life that he'd be with his brothers once again. He knew he ran away from them because he was mad at Hunter, but Crosshair wasn't fair to the rest of his brothers. He was always Tech's older vod even if he never said it out loud. Wrecker and him did butt heads, but they always had each other's backs. Even Echo grew on him. Which was a surprise because he thought he'd always hate regs, but there were some who actually made him feel normal.

Crosshair walked to them, but stopped. He looked beyond Fennec and Korkie's eye spots and saw Echo. Crosshair wanted to punch a deity now because it felt way to coincidental to just see one of the Bad Batch here when he wished for it. The Echo lookalike looked at his direction and gasped. Then he left.

Crosshair ran after him and left Korkie and Fennec bewildered by the action. Korkie had the fob and he was sure they weren't near a target. Fennec grabbed Korkie and the two ran after Crosshair.

"Echo!" Crosshair cried.

Yet, no one looked up. The place was too busy, and with too many people. Korkie got to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"What was that?" Korkie gasped.

"I thought I saw Echo," Crosshair said.

"Well, if they're here, then we'll find them."

"If they're here, then we could look at the hangars near by."

"You know there's a ton go hangar here, right?" Fennec asked.

"I'm not running again from them. I need to apologize."

Fennec looked at Korkie and smiled to the former duke's confusion. He was a good influence to Crosshair because to Fennec, he got to know the huge difference between their families. Korkie was born to a family who hated Jedis and want nothing with members who would be Jedis. Crosshair had his brother who never cared about his defects and saw him as their brother.

And Crosshair wants his brothers back.

"Then, let's walk," Korkie said.

They left the place and walked to the nearest hangar. It didn't take long for them to see a hangar station. Suddenly, a bunch of people got in front of them. The leader was laughing at the three.

"I heard you have the last fob," the leader said.

"We do," Crosshair answered. "But you're not taking it."

"I will."

"And why?" Fennec asked. "I've known a ton of mercenaries, but you're not even important for me to remember."

The leader lost it and attacked them. Korkie took out his sword as Fennec and Crosshair opened fire at the gang. There must have been almost thirty people. Many of them didn't look like they belong to just one group, they were just attacking Korkie, Crosshair and Fennec for the fob. They must have come late because they didn't see them at the rundown cantina.

Korkie was slashing down and slitting throats left and right to protect the fob. Fennec shot down any that came behind Korkie as Crosshair aimed at the leader who was fleeing the scene. They were backed to a corner and the gang was still coming at them.

Then, all kriffing hell broke lose. Wrecker jumped from above them and a vibro-knife from Hunter was launched at a face. Crosshair laughed at the sight of his brothers. He wasn't going insane, a deity really did listen to his wish. Tech and Echo were in front of the gang and launched a flash grenade went off. The Bad Batch, Korkie, and Fennec closed their eyes.

"Get them out of here, Crosshair," Hunter ordered. "We'll cover for you."

"Sorry, but no," Crosshair said. "Korkie's clingy."

"And what about Fennec?" Wrecker asked.

"I have a rifle if you forgot," Fennec said.

Hunter groaned as they attacked the gang. By the time the last man ran away they were done. Hunter looked at Crosshair and took out his hand.

"I know how much you hate hugging," Hunter said. "So this is my best 'I'm sorry for making you run away' shake."

Crosshair smiled and surprised Hunter. He did hug his older vod to the shock of the entire Bad Batch and his companions.

"And I apologize for being the worst brother you have," Crosshair said as he let go. "I know I had all the right to leave, but it still wasn't right to leave my other brothers."

"Who are you?" Wrecker asked. "Where's the real Crosshair?"

"I can scan!" Tech said.

"Please don't scan and I have a reason for changing," Crosshair said.

He presented Fennec and Korkie.

"Duke Korkie?" Echo said.

"You know me?" Korkie asked.

"Well, I used to work with Commander Cody. He met Duchess Satine before. I'm sorry for your lost."

"It's fine. Also, I'm not a duke anymore."

The Bad Batch looked at Crosshair who smirked.

"Any chance you have some food?" Crosshair asked. "Korkie can cook. Real good."

"No?" Hunter said. "You know what we always had to eat."

"Then dinner's on me."

The Bad Batch didn't understand what was going on, but they followed the trio. Then they got the memo once Crosshair took Korkie's hand when they got to the hangar.

"Um, Fennec," Tech whispered. "I know we're not close, but are those two?"

"Yes," Fennec answered.

Wrecker dropped his mouth as Crosshair opened the door and let Korkie kiss him on the cheek. The former duke went to work as the Bad Batch waited outside with Fennec bringing in seats. Well, Korkie's storage boxes, but it's what they had.

"When?" Wrecker asked. "And how?"

"Did you ever heard about a Mandalorian bounty?" Crosshair asked.

"No," Echo said. "You did not."

"Oh I did."

"You fell for a bounty?" Hunter screamed.

"And royalty at best?" Tech asked.

"He was very persuasive," Crosshair laughed. "He became the best thing in my life after everything that happened between us."

"So why is he not royalty anymore?" Echo asked. "I mean, Duchess Satine may have died, but Korkie is her heir."

"Well, he got kicked out of House Kryze."

"HOW?" They all screamed.

"Well I'm marrying him," Korkie replied.

He had dinner ready. A huge pot of soup and some meat. He placed them in the center of the Bad Batch and Fennec gave them a dish plate.

"You've got to kidding us," Wrecker said. "HIM? CROSSHAIR?"

"Yes, brother-in-law," Korkie smiled. "Though, it's more like he's marrying me. My side of the family is drama upon drama."

"And ours is not?" Hunter asked.

"Well, you've only worked with the Jedi. I'm the secret son of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Duchess Satine Kryze."

Korkie has never been asked so many questions in rapid fire response before. But, he's not mad. They were his future-in-laws.

#korkie kryze #korkie kenobi #crosshair #clone trooper crosshair #fennec shand #hunter #wrecker #tech #echo #clone trooper hunter #clone trooper wrecker #clone trooper tech #clone trooper echo #the bad batch #star wars

[serendipitywrites]

Deceptions and Daisies

‘Wooyoung has been acting differently lately, you aren’t sure why, but you just want your boyfriend back again.’

angst, fluff? smut eventually (and tbh idk yet this is my first time uploading)

words: 1,125

note; this is a repost from my old blog. i’m currently moving stories over.

You’ve been with Wooyoung for about 8 months now, and for the majority of it, it’s been incredible. He’s so patient with you, almost too patient. he asked you out for months on end before you finally agreed. It’s not that you didn’t like him, it’s just that you knew he was still getting over his last relationship, even if he kept saying otherwise. It kept you away, along with not having the best track record with relationships, you felt skeptical. But even with that, you thought it had been going amazing - which leads you here, at his door and so damn confused. Why hasn’t he talked to you? It took four days of confusion and not being able to talk to Wooyoung and him apparently avoiding your calls and not replying to messages for you to finally make it to his apartment, but now you just need work on the courage to knock and hope he answers in the first place. After a minute or two of contemplation, you hesitantly knock on his door. What you weren’t expecting, was his roommate to open the door, in his sweats and his hair all fluffed up. Not that you are any better, you can only imagine how frantic you must look right now, hair all over the place, and still in your work uniform. Smelling like coffee and wearing a shirt with your cafes name on it. You try not to overthink it. He quickly looks you up on down, expression never changing. ‘y/n? Is everything okay?’ you nod ‘Yeah, San. it’s just… I haven’t heard from Wooyoung all week… Is he home?’ he looks down like he almost has something to say? He slowly meets your gaze ‘sorry, you just missed him. He’s been really busy, but I’m sure he will call you. I’ll tell him you came by?’ feeling defeated but trying to not show it, you smile towards him. ‘Thank you, Sannie. Don’t worry about it, I’ll just head to his class, his shift ends in an hour’ you wave him off with a smile as you make your walk to his work, which is only about a 10-minute walk from here. He teaches dance at the local college and volunteers to help out as often as he can. as much as you hated having to go to his work to see him, you haven’t seen him in days, and he’d want to see you too, right? As you get closer, you try and fix your hair the best you can without a mirror and just your iPhone camera. As much as you want to see him, this all felt… Wrong somehow? Like you aren’t meant to be here, but you push it aside. Because who even thinks like that? Fuck logic, you miss Wooyoung. His smile, his laugh, and of course his comfort. Wooyoung is home to you, even if it took you longer than needed to realize this. You push through the building’s doors, heading to the familiar studio. It being Sunday, the building is mostly silent and only a handful of people are walking around. Getting to your destination, you smile nervously, slowly opening the door. You’re startled by already hearing voices, already recognizing one as Wooyoungs

‘Don’t get me wrong, she’s amazing… y/n is such a good girlfriend, But I still wonder how things would have been if Hana felt the same and we got back together’ You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. Standing with the door slightly ajar, having not moved. You hear a response but it’s muffled, you can’t make it out. Suddenly,  Wooyoung is talking again. ‘well, Hana is back and said she wants to talk..’ talk? what does that even mean? you aren’t able to process the words you’ve heard. while trying to listen, you didn’t realize how hard you were gripping your phone, all of a sudden you feel a sharp pain in your wrist and accidentally drop your phone, it echoing throughout the dance room. Before you have time to panic, You see Wooyoung and Yunho, Wooyoung with a shocked look on his face. ‘Baby? What are you doing here?’ he asks slightly confused. He comes to embrace you softly in his arms. Yunho walks up and playfully ruffles your hair as a greeting. ‘And that would be my cue to leave. Nice seeing you, sunshine’ you wave off Yunho with a smile. you’ve always had a soft spot for him out of Wooyoungs friends. of course, your boyfriend tries to punch him in the arm before he scurries away and winks at you, walking to his next class. You let out a chuckle. You feel Wooyoung grip your sweater more and sniff at your hair softly. ‘I missed you so much’ you can’t help but snort. ‘Then why haven’t you talked to me? It’s been four days, Woo. I was worried.’ looking guilty, he meets your eyes. ‘Work has just been so crazy. Someone quit the other day and we’re all in shambles right now. I’m sorry, y/n. It wasn’t fair to you.’ he tenderly pecks your lips. At this moment, you almost forget why you were upset in the first place and what you heard them talking about. Wooyoungs love and affection did that, blinding and addicting. For him, you’re so weak. Feeling your knees get weak, you gently push him away ‘i’m not just your girlfriend, I’m your friend and I care about you. also uhm.. that’s all…? Nothing else happened?’ you ask, heart racing. He just looks at you with confusion. ‘What are you talking about? I’ve been at work.’ almost sounding offended. Not sure what to make of his response, you grab for his hand comfortingly ‘I couldn’t help but be worried, I didn’t know what to think.’ sighing. ‘you didn’t message or anything’

He pulls you further in his hug. ‘I know.. i’m sorry. I love you. You care so much, I appreciate you’ you two pull apart, still holding hands. He brings his hand up to pinch your nose with a cheeky smile’ you dramatically pull away ‘we agreed on no pinching and tickling!’ you whine loudly. He smiles, radiantly ‘you’re right. No more, yeah? Let’s get some lunch and binge some YouTube.’ When he smiles at you like this, you can’t think of a better feeling. Everything feels right, in place. Peaceful. You lean up to kiss his lips ‘good idea, my love’. You two head to grab some fast food before heading to his apartment to spend the day together. Knowing you two are okay leaves you at peace with your feelings, but it also leaves you with a question.. Are you two actually okay? And who the fuck is Hana? this is my first time uploading, pls be gentle, i have no idea what i’m doing ♥️

#ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez x reader #wooyoung angst #wooyoung fluff #wooyoung #wooyoung smut #ateez fanfiction #ateez #kpop angst #kpop fanfiction #kpop drabbles #ateez drabble #fanfiction #serendipitywrites

[godsporncollection]

Saturday Morning Session

(personal commentary in italics) (sorry for how inconsistent i am at this, i’m trying new medication, so my focus comes and goes unpredictably, but i didn’t want this to take weeks)

Russel M Nelson -  strengthen your testimony (?)

"I understand better what he meant when he said 'behold, i will hasten my work in this time.'" 

Y'all have been strengthening your testimonies and i, and your children, thank you. did that inclusion of "your children" feel off to anyone else?

I can see the work on the temple outside my window and that makes me think about how we need to remove the old debris from our lives. I too think of the temple as 'old debris' that should be removed from my life.

"the gospel is a message of joy" I cannot roll my eyes hard enough

that was short. what was the topic? blab for a five minutes?

Dieter F. Uchdorf - god is Among Us

I had to move lots when I was a kid because there was a war on. i thought about the missionaries who came to the country of their enemies to bring us the gospel.

i was a kid in a war-torn country > missionaries > god has not forgotten us > we will be heirs of god > how could we complain when we have that? > the atonement > mistakes are okay, just gotta keep repenting.

what would jesus teach if he was among us today? the same thing he's always taught. "the savior always teaches timeless truths, to everyone, a message of hope and belonging, a testament that god has not abandoned his children that god is Among Us."

jesus says to love one another and to be full of charity towards all men. i would like to see it.

anyone else feel like these talks are just. empty? like, they're not feeling it either?

if jesus came into your home today, he would see into your heart and i'm gonna waste a couple more minutes by expanding on that. one look into his eyes and we would be forever changed by the realization that god is Among Us.

back to me, i wish i could go back and tell myself to stay on the right track because god is Among Us, so i'm gonna tell you instead. god is Among Us.

"line upon line" *gag*

god is Among Us

Joy D Jones - abuse is wrong unless you use it to teach kids about the gospel

"have you ever wondered why we call 'primary' 'primary'?" as someone who understands how language works, no.

because kids are importanter than everything else

god trusts us to be nice to our kids; that means no abuse, even if we're angry. whoever needed this reminder should be shot.

hey, maybe you can "combat the evils of abuse" by not fucking raising your kids in an abusive cult!

analogy of a kid who fell out of bed because he "didn't get far enough in" = he wasn't indoctrinated enough, with awkward collage of pics of kids for a minute.

eyring said to get 'em while they're young

love all the pics of black people that try to say "see? we don't think black people are inherently evil (anymore)!"

analogy of a soldier in boot camp. drill seargants are mean, but that was necessary because apparantly it's the only way this guy can learn how to hide. also, apparently this guy is "our friend". not my friend, thanks.

"how can we do the same for our children?" don't fucking act like a drill seargent to your kids! ffs

"wouldn't we rather have them sweat in the safe learning environment of the home than bleed on the battlefields of life?" first of all, fuck you. second, dramatic much? third, fuck you, kids shouldn't have to learn about life in a hostile environment. does this woman have kids? are they okay? fucking hell, five kids were raised by a woman with this mentality. what a bitch.

"eternity is the wrong thing to be wrong about." i got news for you. of course, if i ever spoke to this machine, that topic wouldn't be my top priority.

I need a fucking drink.

Jan Eric Newman - teaching the gospel is good, but you can't force a testimony on others

anecdote about a local old woman getting birthday gifts. she taught us some good things when we were growing up, so thanks, sister davis.

another teacher, at college, was a "master teacher." he loved me and the lord. he taught me to learn doctrine on my own and that "changed me forever."

just sayin', if you're taught how to learn on your own, but didn't exercise enough critical thought to gtfo of this cult, maybe the teacher wasn't the best.

it's good to have good teachers.

the ancient nephites and lamanites had good teachers, and "there was no contention among them!"

"how can we teach more like the savior and help others become more deeply converted?" nope, nope. nope.

1st, "learn all you can about the master teacher hismelf." so, we're sticking with the term "master teacher." cool. doesn't sound weird at all.

ask yourself questions about how he taught, then do that.

read "teaching in the savoir's way."

2nd, use bullshit stories. oh, no, it's a story about how somebody is grateful for the pandemic because her adult child read the BoM for the first time during it. she said it had made "literal miracles."

3rd, "remember that conversion must come from within." guess jan and "joy" should have compared notes before speaking.

"children inheret many things, but a testimony is not one of them. we can't give our children a testimony any more than we can make a seed grow; but we can provide a nourishing environment, with good soil, free of thorns that would choke the word."

Gary E. Stevenson - kindness

story about a study where rabbits were fed a high-fat diet, but those under the care of a loving researcher didn't gain as much weight.

only christians can intuitively understand that this means there's a reason to be kind to others.

jesus said love one another.

addressing primary kids - be kind. here's a story about a kid who stopped being a bully because the bullied kid said it hurt.

to the teens - social media makes bullying worse, clearly satan is using social media against your generation. do what you can t make these spaces safer. if you're a bully, "stop it."

to the adults- "we have a primary responsibility to set a tone and be role models of kindness (get wrecked "joy"), inclusion and civility."

from ballard- "i have never heard members of this church to be anything but loving, kind, tolerant and benevolent to our friends and neighbors of other faiths." k, but, like, you know it's not just a difference of religious belief that’s the problem, right?

i'm heartbroken to hear about prejudice against blackasianlatino people or of any other group. i love how that section was really only about race, with a blanket "any other group" thrown in as an afterthought so they can't be accused of being homophobic.

in the winter of 1838, jo smith was in prison and why do you think that happened, gary?

church members were driven from their homes and the residents of a town across the river gave them food and shelter. that generosity saved the lives of many of them.

god is a compassionate care-giver.

Gerrit W. Gong - disjointed anecdotes of human experiences, idk

i miss my dad. he was adventurous, except regarding food.

i saw a guy be mean to a lady selling ice cream. he smashed all of her cones. the image of her trying to salvage the cones haunts me to this day.

story of the good samaritan.

be like christ this easter.

"we recieve inspiration as we counsel together, listening to each person, including each sister and the spirit."

does this guy have a topic?

he’s is just giving a list of random human experiences and parables.

*displays a lack of understanding of instagram.*

he's listing something throughout this, like, he keeps counting, but i have no idea what and his voice is making my adhd medication run away, so i'm not listening to this again.

Henry B. Eyring - temple worthiness

today i'm feeling light and hope, like the first day i went to the salt lake temple

i'm an oblivious fucker who didn't notice my name being pinned on me, so i thought the woman who greeted me was an angel because she knew my name.

thought he could remember being in the temple before, but a voice that was not his own (that's how you know it's true and not something he just told himself) told him he was remembering heaven.

confused "holiness to the lord" with "this is a holy place." i know both phrases use the word 'holy', but like, those contexts mean separate things.

i also had this feeling during my wedding in the logan temple.

i think henry should get checked out, he suffers from frequent hallucinations and it's good to know how your brain works differently from others when in a leadership position.

during my wedding, i had a vision of a house and the officiant said to live in a way that you can walk away easily. a year later, my father in law bought the exact house and my wife and i lived in the guest house for ten years. then i got the call to move somewhere else on assignment from the church and we walked away easily.

scripture from jesus about temples.

if you're unworthy in the temple, you won't be "able to see, by the power of the holy ghost, the spiritual teaching of the savior that we can recieve in the temple."

"when we are worthy to recieve such teaching, there can grow, through our temple experience, hope, joy, and optimism throughout our lives. that hope, joy, and optimism are available only through accepting the ordinances performed in holy temples."

i forgot how simple a baptism is, so i'm gonna tell you how amazed (and a little concerned) i was when my youngest daughter stayed to do baptism for the dead for all of the names on the list that day. maybe i'm just super comfortable in the water, but that doesn't sound hard, actually. i used to almost enjoy doing those.

quotes the primary song 'i love to see the temple.'

remember to be worthy so you can live with your family forever.

#exmo #ex mormon #exchristian #ex christian #excult #cult stuff #exlds #ex lds #former mormon #apostake #ex religious #agnostic #mine #gc april 2021 #gc summary

[25centsoda]

Initial Thoughts

Mister Impossible spoilers under the cut! 

Okay I am still feral but can use real human words now (like a human not a dream-- okay okay sorry) SO here are my disorganized first thoughts having just put the book down about twenty minutes ago, expect little in the way of chronological order

I was not jazzed about the book when I first got it, gonna be honest. The title, okay I guess, I can understand - the song Mister Impossible is a banger and definitely fits the mood. Would’ve prefered a line from the song rather than the title, which is, as some have pointed out, a bit more of an action-novel title than what we were expecting from the Dreamer Trilogy. But fine. Okay. 

Then I read the summary in the inside flap and I went :/ Hmm. Sounds a bit too high-stakes for me - listen, finding one dead king? Fixing one local ley line? That I can vibe with. Finding another dreamer a city over? Underground criminal magic market? Cool. Tangible. Fantastical! But tangible. World-ending stakes? I’m sorry, you’ve kinda lost me? But okay, okay, I trust Mrs. Stiefvater, I want to know more about dreamers and dreams, I’ll bite. 

The three quotes that come before the story itself? Another :/ Another hmm, okay. I’m not terribly jazzed. It’s not caught me. Even the first page! Didn’t catch me. I had to intentionally set aside critical-mode as I started the book

*takes a moment to set aside critical mode again because I did genuinely enjoy this book*

MATTHEW AND HIS CRISES, AA. Poor boy. “Was I made to be this way, or am I this way because I am me? How much free will do I even have? How much does it even matter? How much does anything even matter?” My philosophy phase last summer would’ve totally vibed with you, my dude *fistbump*

ALL OF THE MODERATORS EXCEPT CARMEN WERE DREAMS???? I’M SORRY?????? WHAT

No seriously they were all dreams?!?!? Since when?? Since how?? If they’re killing Zeds, were they killing all but their own Zed?? Did they all have sweetmetals?? Did Ronan dream them, too?????

If so that’s incredibly fucked up

SPEAKING OF SWEETMETALS

Bro what was that. I’m sorry but what was that.

Listen okay it makes sense in the context of the story I guess, but I couldn’t help but read it more as a part of her metaphor for like “dreamers are artists” and I totally get where she’s coming from looking at it as part of the metaphor, especially considering her recent/semi-recent health issues BUT as a story? Idk I just didn’t feel like I could mesh it with the story itself, see it as a thing on its own outside of the metaphor

TRC I could see both the metaphors and the story. CDTH I could see both the metaphor and the story. All The Crooked Saints I could see both the metaphor and the story. Here I was having trouble

Speaking of the metaphor

Why was Ronan committing ecoterrorism

I was almost getting like. Idk y’all read the latter half of Maximum Ride? We were edging into that territory where we were losing the thread of the story in the metaphor. Anyways

BRYDE

BRYDE

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I had to go scream at a friend when I read that part!!! Ronan dreamt himself a father figure, a teacher, a leader!! I’m FERAL

This part I felt was well-done

But BROOOOOOOOOOOOO, a dream that is also a dreamer???? WHAT. The power that takes, the power that has. Unstoppable.

MATTHEW FELL ASLEEP AT THE END AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Wait tho what was that at the end. I do not understand.

I get why Hennessy killed the ley line

BUT WHY DID MAGGIE

I saw Ronan and his dreamt fire and his internal conflict/angst. I saw Hennessy and her lace. Get it.

BUT WHERE DOES IT MAKE SENSE THAT ALL THE LEY LINES SHOULD DIE. WEREN’T WE GIVING MATTHEW AND JORDAN FREEDOM. WEREN’T WE WAKING BACK UP THE ARTISTS OF THE WORLD.

And Matthew was gonna go to school and be a real person instead of his brothers’ pet T_T

How could they do this to my sweet boy

And the book ended with Jordan??? I didn’t feel like she was a main-main character, enough to be ended on like that?? I thought the Dreamer Trilogy was about the dreamers primarily and dreams secondarily. CDTH even opens with stuff about the Lynch brothers (fantastic, btw, still catches me and gets me excited with the very first line even after three reads and about two years)

this is saltier than I intended whoops

Also

Also

Carmen and Lilliana

Appreciate the lesbians! Very much appreciate it. Feeeeeelin like it fell a little flat. Idk I saw possibility for more in the last book, maybe, but this book went from “hint of hint of space for development” to “they are KISSING, they are RUNNING AWAY TOGETHER, they are PAINFULLY OBVIOUSLY DATING”

Lowkey where did that come from

And where was Adam aaaaaaaaaa. I was worried about him! What happened to him! But then turns out Ronan just threw his phone away too fast bro, Ronan, plz 

I think that’s it? I think that’s it. No wait I did really like Jordan and Declan, that was nice. Henessey’s characterization was well-done I think; she be self-destructive and #struggling and desperately in need of some lesbian aunts (good for her on getting them).  ADORED Matthew and his personality and crises. Overall the book was just not the vibe I was expecting/necessarily came for; the stakes were too big, I think, was the most major issue.

What I’ll be looking for in the next book

WHAT IS HAPPENING NOW THAT THE LEY LINES ARE DEAD. Will Matthew be okay? Will Ronan be okay? We established that he doesn’t work without a ley line, right, boy just nightwashes out of life?

ALL OF THE MODERATERS WERE DREAMS??? MRS STIEFVATER EXPLAIN

Ronan just. Did a bunch of ecoterrorism. For nothing? What’s up with that lol. Is somebody gonna arrest him

Opal was mentioned but we never saw her. Where is she? Is she okay?

HOW IS JORDAN AWAKE, WHAT. Is the sweetmetal, like, inside her now, because she made one? Also why did we end on her. I feel like “It was a very nice day/she felt awake” is a VERY different mood from the devastation we were just reading. Matthew slipped out of consciousness AND HE WASN’T EVEN A KING. Like this was TRK-level dramatic but then our last bite of story was not that. I Must understand.

Somebody better talk to Ronan bro seriously kid needs therapy, he made his own father/mentor/leader figure. Declan was worried Ronan joined a cult but turns out boy made one. Plz help him

Hennessy better be vibing. She doesn’t have the Lace to contend with anymore

I think that’s it legit! This was waaaaaaay longer than I thought it would be lmao and less comprehensible/deep but hopefully in the future I will be back with more organized thoughts because boy does this book invite them (and no those thoughts will not be majority salt)

#mister impossible spoilers #mi spoilers #mister impossible #the dreamer trilogy #initial thoughts #tdt #ronan lynch #declan lynch #matthew lynch #jordan hennessey #jordan #hennessey #carmen farooq-lane #lilliana