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lire-casander · 2 years

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the dream of someone else

[4,700 words] [teen and up audiences] [beta’ed by @moviegeek03. you're the best, brit. i wouldn't have finished this without you.] [title from you’ve got mail] [carlos reyes, tk strand, original female characters] [alternate universe — college, alternate universe — coffee shop, alternating povs, carlos is a criminal studies major, tk is a health science major, vandalizing of public property, alternate universe — movie setting, loosely based on you’ve got mail au, mentions of past drug addiction, mentions of recovery] [written for @911auweekend, day 1: not your average coffee shop au, day 3: outsider’s pov tinder date au, day 4: writer’s choice and for my good things happen bingo square coffee shop au]

[carlos reyes wasn’t expecting a penpal out of his busy mornings studying at the cafeteria. tk strand hadn’t expected anyone to reply to his message left on a table out of boredom and struggling.]

the dream of someone else on ao3

The cafeteria is bursting with life when Carlos sets foot in the place, ready for a quick break in between his classes. He’s spent the past three weeks holed up in his room trying to finish one of his essays, and he’s made it in time, so he thinks he deserves a reward. However, he would have liked for the place to be a bit quieter. He eyes the tables warily until he sees one free table further inside the cafeteria. He makes a beeline for the table, dropping his messenger bag on top of it noisily. Whatever happens now, this table is his now.

He knows he needs to leave the bag on the table to go order, and he isn’t really so keen on doing so, but he doesn’t want to give up his table and he desperately needs caffeine. He grabs his wallet, checks that nobody would want to steal his secondhand Introduction to Psychology textbook, and runs to the counter. For all the people boisterously chatting across the cafeteria, the baristas are not too busy, so he gets his coffee and a bagel in record time and rushes back to his table. His messenger bag is still on top of the table, and it doesn’t look like anybody has come even close to it. He sighs, falling down on the chair while managing not to spill his coffee, and takes his book out of the bag.

Carlos opens the book at the page he last marked, realizing he needs to take more notes from the book than he initially expected. He huffs; he’s been attending class these past weeks, but the stress of having to hand in an essay on Violence in Society has made him slack in his other classes. He needs to be ready for his class in around an hour and a half — he’s still cursing the planning he made at the beginning of the year, but he thought it’d be great to have such a span of time to relax and do nothing. If he could travel back in time and tell Carlos from three months ago that he wouldn’t have a moment to himself even with the ninety-minute gap between Introduction to Criminal Justice and Introduction to Psychology. He’s grateful that the building where he has most of his classes holds a cafeteria so he doesn’t have to run around campus and waste a lot of time. He skims over the last of the notes he took in class, which should be complementing the ones he takes out of his book, and reads that, according to what he jotted down a week ago, the professor announced they would be paired up for an upcoming project today.

Carlos doesn’t really want to work with anyone these days. He’s a perfectionist, he doesn’t like how other people work, and he ends up taking more than he can manage in order to finish the assignment in time. He’s been lucky to ditch working with peers for the past three months; he guesses his lucky streak ends this afternoon.

With a shake of his head, he focuses back on his textbook. He notices that the paper where he’s been writing down a few ideas is almost full, so he puts the book downwards and sticks his hand into the half-open messenger bag on top of the table. He fishes for a notebook and his pencil case, only to come up with just the former. He mutters to himself, “I know I put it somewhere in here,” before proceeding to turn the bag upside down — careful as to not slosh his coffee out of the cup. The movement makes the few contents inside the bag spill over the table, and as he finally sees his pencil case, falling onto the surface with a thud that gets somewhat lost in the background noises of the cafeteria, he also notices there’s scribble on the table.

He frowns. He isn’t one for vandalizing public furniture, but the presence of whatever message that’s on the surface makes him feel a bit icky about the cleanliness of the cafeteria. “What the—” he refrains himself from swearing, still under the spell of his mother’s words about gentlemen and swearing. He leans in, face almost against the wooden surface, so he can read the black-inked words, so different from his usual chicken scratch.

Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.

He repeats the words slowly in a soft voice, for fear that someone might overhear him and think he’s gone crazy. They roll nicely on his tongue, and the message behind them reaches Carlos’ heart. He’s moved by the force of the verses, which he recognizes are from Henley, and before he knows it he’s grabbing a sharpie and writing in the best handwriting he can muster the following verses to the poem.

In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed.

He feels a wave of accomplishment at having followed the poem with the next few verses — conveniently forgetting he’s just written on public property with permanent ink — and sets to re-read his book and jot down a few notes that could help him study for his test.

There's a calmness in the cafeteria right before closing time that TK cherishes. He spends his days running around campus, attending classes or volunteering at the in-campus LGTBQIA+ association he discovered during his very first day of college. And, since about a week ago, he's had to juggle that with having to meet with Carlos Reyes for their joint Psychology project.

Sometimes he hates his life.

He waves at his favorite barista, who's wiping down at the counter, before he approaches her. "Hey, Anne," he greets, leaning onto the surface. "How's the day been?"

"Hectic as always." Anne smiles at him. "Your usual? I can even throw an avocado and Philadelphia bagel in it."

"You haven't run out of them today?" TK beams at her. Those are his favorite treats, but his schedule doesn't allow him to be at the cafeteria before everyone else's gone through the supplies of avocado and Philadelphia bagels.

"Let's say I got one for you," Anne tells him with a wink. "C'mon, TK, I'll bring you your coffee and your bagel to your table."

"You're the best!" He lifts his fingers to his lips to send her an air kiss before turning to his usual table by the far end of the place.

He flops down on the chair, immediately checking the surface for new words. TK knows he shouldn't have done it, but he'd come to the cafeteria one night after his weekly meeting at the local NA — a requirement from his parents in order for him to go to college three thousand miles away from them — and he hadn't felt all that good. He'd taken out his sharpie, and before he'd known it, he'd been scribbling down the first four verses of his favorite poem about remaining whole in the face of adversity. He'd needed the reminder. Anne had almost had a conniption when she'd seen how he'd written on the table.

But, the following night, TK had found the next four verses of the poem scribbled beneath his own four, and his heart had done a giddy somersault. He doesn't know who's behind the chicken scratch, but for a whole week straight he's been exchanging verses and messages. It's been a wild seven days, and there's been some sort of weird comfort in the knowledge that there's been someone at the other end of a sharpie ready to read TK's thoughts and whines.

He checks the surface, but the wood looks pristine — not a single word inked in black and blue.

Anne comes by with his coffee and his bagel, and sighs when he looks up at her helplessly. "Anne—" he begins, but she cuts him off.

"I couldn't stop it," she explains with a shrug after she's left his coffee mug and his bagel with so much as a small droplet of liquid sloshed on the otherwise clean table. "I know it's been some sort of escape these past days, but my manager said she couldn't afford having any table littered like that."

"It's not—" TK bit his lip before raising his voice. He's gone to enough anger management sessions to recognize the signals and try to appease them by breathing in deeply through his nose and exhaling through his mouth before continuing, "I didn't think when I started doing it. I'm sorry. But this is the only way I could communicate with this person," he says in a small voice. He doesn't even know if he's penpalling with a guy or a girl, but he knows the other person might as well be his soulmate, be it romantic or platonic.

"What about you stick to post-it notes?" Anne suggests. "You can place it under the table, make sure it doesn't fall down."

"If it isn't on the surface, how will the other person know where to look?" he asks, frowning. He has a stack of post-it notes, but he isn't sure the glue on the paper will hold for longer than a few minutes. "And won't it be taken away anyway?"

"What's under the table isn't checked that often," Anne offers. "Plus, Abigail from the morning shift thinks she knows who your penpal is," she continues in a conspiratorial voice. "She can always explain where to find the next note."

TK stares up at her for a moment, dumbfounded. He wasn't aware that the different shifts talked to each other — and that shouldn't surprise him at all, anyway; his father's a firefighter back in New York and he's grown up surrounded by the members of the different shifts since they were all a big family — but he also didn't know that they specifically talked about him. That opened a whole new world of possibilities, but one detail sticks to his memories, and that's what he decides to run with.

"Abigail knows who the other person is?"

Anne shrugs. "She thinks she does. She can't be sure. But there's this guy who sits here every single morning right around lunchtime, and he's always with a sharpie in hand. It's not a wild theory." She checks the clock over TK’s shoulder and winces. "I should get going. There's so much left to do before closing time."

TK watches her turn around and go back behind the counter. He focuses then on his bagel and his coffee at the same time as he grabs his notes for the project he's been forced to do with Carlos Reyes. It's not something he enjoys, mainly because Carlos Reyes is one uptight guy who always has the right answer and seeks attention at any given class by raising his hand and demanding to be asked whatever question the professor is throwing at them. Plus, he's been very insistent on taking notes for their project on his laptop, arguing that it's more effective and quicker that way.

It's been faster to get their essay rolling, indeed, but TK isn't going to admit that to Carlos. Not when he's giving off weird vibes with his hair all gelled back and his fitting chinos and his impeccable Henleys.

Not that TK’s been paying any attention. Surely Carlos Reyes is a hundred percent straight. And TK isn't interested.

Not a single bit.

With a groan, TK picks up his laptop and starts it.

Carlos is about to throw some punches. It’s been a terrible week, and the only reason why he’s been able to go through it has been the small post-it notes he’s been exchanging with his faceless coffee table penpal. He hadn’t noticed them at first, despairing when he found out the table had been wiped clean and all their conversations had gone with a sweep of bleach and a ton of cleaner. But one of the baristas — Abigail, according to her nametag — had pointed him in the direction of the underside of the table, where his fingers had found a trail of neatly paged stick-notes he’d avidly read. He’d spared one of his post-it notes he used for class to reply.

The next morning, he’d come back with a stack of post-it notes and a new sharpie.

Their conversations have become the only highlight in Carlos’ days, given that he’s stuck with TK Strand of all people for the Psychology project. Carlos doesn’t understand the appeal Strand seems to have over everyone; no matter who he talks to, Carlos always ends up listening to a comprehensive list of reasons why TK Strand is the perfect human being. And it’s not only from TK’s known friends at college — Carlos has met with Paul Strickland and Marjan Marwani for different joint projects before, and they’re cool; their only flaw is to be close to Strand — but also from Carlos’ own friends. He thinks he’s going to rip his ears off if he listens to Nancy and Mateo waxing poetic about how wonderful TK Strand is.

Carlos knows his hatred, if that’s how he wants to call it, is irrational. In fact, hate is a really strong word; Carlos Reyes has not hated anyone in his life except himself. And that’s been happening ever since he turned seventeen and decided that he could trust his parents with his most sacred secret. He sighs into his morning coffee; there’s no need to revisit that particular memory today. He allows his fingers to roam over the keyboard of his laptop, mindlessly settling his fingertips on top of a few keys without pressing on them. He’s got the document he’s sharing with Strand on his screen; they’ve worked a lot on it and Carlos thinks it’s beginning to turn into something readable.

He hadn’t expected TK Strand to be actually good at joint projects and college, if he’s being honest with himself.

Carlos sips from his coffee, reading over the last few sentences Strand has written and replaying in his mind how the next few words should sound like. They’ve talked about it during their last meet-up at the library, in between Strand’s classes and his appointments for the evening — whatever that meant. Carlos isn’t one to pry, and he surely doesn’t want to learn anymore than he already does about TK Strand.

Perfect scores in his GPA. Eligible for different scholarships. Always top of his class. Volunteer at the in-campus LGTBQIA+ association where Carlos has been too chicken to even set foot in.

TK Strand is a lot of things, and Carlos couldn’t even resent him for being himself. He can’t afford to be attracted to Strand either, so he’s been balancing on a tightrope ever since Strand first sat down beside him at the library and suggested they brainstormed for their project.

“Focus, Reyes,” he tells himself, shaking his head to get rid of the image of TK Strand wearing a frayed yellow hoodie. Carlos remembers thinking how good TK would have looked like in Carlos’ own pink hoodie. “I said focus, Reyes,” he repeats to himself.

He can’t get distracted; he’s here on a tight budget and he can’t fail his classes. Not everyone has been able to get a scholarship to cover for everything.

“Oh, no, thanks,” a voice says next to him. Carlos lifts his gaze from the screen in time to see a guy dressed in jeans and a green button-up sitting at the table closest to him. He’s speaking to Abigail, who’s seemingly approached him to offer some of the specialties of the day. “I’m waiting on somebody.”

Carlos smiles at the guy, who seems fidgety and nervous. The guy smiles back before saying, “It’s just—it’s our first date. I don’t know what he looks like and I’m really nervous. We met online, you know? Through one of these dating apps? Anyway, I should probably go apologize to the barista.”

Carlos watches as he stands up and moves towards the counter. Swallowing a snort, he picks one of his post-it notes and writes down A guy just sat next to me. He’s waiting on a guy for their first date. They met online. It’s adorable with some pointy exclamation points by the end of it. He wishes he could see his penpal’s face upon reading it. He hopes his penpal understands.

He hopes his penpal knows that Carlos feels like the guy in the green button-up every single time he sits down at their table and reads the messages left for him overnight.

“Reyes,” he hears, making his head shoot up in recognition. He’s met with the indecipherable gaze of TK Strand. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“I didn’t think you were a morning person, Strand,” he greets back, hand still under the table as his fingers press harder to make the post-it note stick.

“And I’m not,” Strand confirms, eyes scanning the cafeteria until they land on the guy talking to the barista. “But a good Tinder hookup has never hurt anyone,” he continues.

“Except for those girls who were assaulted a couple of months ago in Galveston,” Carlos is retaliating before he can stop himself. Strand frowns at him before shaking his head.

“Didn’t think you’d read the news,” he says after a beat.

“Didn’t peg you for someone who would actually know about those two girls,” Carlos replies.

Whatever Strand is about to say gets lost when the guy in green comes back and sits down. “Oh, hey,” Strand says in a casual voice, turning his back to Carlos. “I guess you must be Tony. I’m TK.” He sits down and starts chatting up the guy, who looks like he’s hit the jackpot.

Honestly, Carlos would be feeling the same if TK Strand had turned out to be his faceless Tinder hookup. That’s it, if he had the app downloaded on his phone. If he were a bit raver and stepped out of his comfort zone. If he were out to the world and not just his parents who didn’t even acknowledge the huge leap of faith he had taken.

He picks another note and writes Don’t get all “awww” on me because of the guy from before. It’s a Tinder hookup. With my Psychology partner who I kind of can’t stand but actually find attractive. I don’t really get why everyone’s so hung up on him. He’s just average! Anyway, this is no longer adorable

He doesn’t notice TK Strand’s gaze following his hand as he rips the note from the stack and places his hand once again under the table to glue it to the surface underneath.

TK is actually really fucked up.

He really, really, really, truly is.

He knows he shouldn’t have agreed to a coffee date with Tony — if that’s his real name — at the cafeteria where his penpal spends the mornings. He should have foreseen that he’d run into said penpal.

He never expected to find Carlos Reyes sitting with his laptop running and a steamy mug of coffee, right at the table where TK spends his evenings fantasizing about meeting his perfect penpal.

He never expected to witness as Carlos wrote something on a post-it note and stuck it under the table.

To say TK feels flabbergasted upon this revelation is falling short on the intensity of his feelings.

He’s ditched Tony as gently as he’s been able to before escaping the cafeteria in a rush, claiming to feel suddenly ill. Which isn’t exactly a lie. His stomach is running wild with butterflies scraping his insides with their tiny, imaginary wings.

TK leans into a nearby wall as soon as he gets outside the building to catch his breath. He rubs a hand over his face and draws in a shaky breath. He doesn’t know what to do next, because the force of his sudden realization is consuming him.

He’s been exchanging notes with Carlos Reyes — the guy with the rebel curl that falls on his forehead and that TK has been finding annoying and cute in equal parts, the guy with a penchant for order that TK has been willing to defy for so long, the guy with the brightest smile and the kindest eyes that TK has been refusing to admit he kind of like, maybe.

Paul was right, but TK doesn’t want to acknowledge that because Paul is always right. Even Marjan was right when she told him that this fantasy of penpalling with someone through messages on tables and post-it notes on a table at a busy cafeteria was nothing but a wild dream. It’s still not the wildest thing TK’s ever done — he shudders when he thinks of his past self, barely seven months ago, checking himself into rehab in Los Angeles after a stint gone awry when Alex had told him that he was in love with someone else. But this, whatever he had with his penpal, TK had thought it’d been real.

And now it turns out it’s been nothing but a mirage.

“Hey, are you okay?” he hears. When he lifts his eyes to the source of the sound, he meets the warm brown gaze of Carlos Reyes. “Did that guy bother you? You left in such a hurry, I didn’t think—”

TK surprises himself by stopping Carlos when he’s about to turn around and get back inside the cafeteria. His fingers find Carlos’ wrist and circle it gently. “Wait,” he says, his voice steady despite the state of nerves he’s in. “What are you going to do? Get back in and threaten ony? The guy hasn’t done anything.”

“Well, you seem pretty shaken up,” Carlos says in that soft tone of his, the same one he uses when he’s typing down one of TK’s ideas and he repeats the words to himself as though he fears he’d forget them. “If it hadn’t been the guy, then what? You sounded quite full of yourself inside, before.”

TK can’t stop the words from escaping his mouth, and he cringes when he hears himself saying, “It was you.”

The look on Carlos’ face changes so fast that TK feels dizzy just by looking at him. There’s a frown that blooms in between his eyebrows that TK longs to soothe until it disappears, and his eyes turn cold. TK doesn’t want the feeling that fills him.

“I see,” Carlos says slowly. “I hadn’t realized that you—I’m sorry. I won’t bother you again. I’ll pack my things and move somewhere else. I’ll email you my part of the project, even. That way you won’t be getting a panic attack whenever you see me.”

TK’s panicking. He doesn’t want Carlo to leave — he doesn’t want Carlos to think that he’s the reason why TK’s heart quickens and his breath hitches in his throat. Which, apparently, if TK’s being honest with himself, Carlos pretty much is the reason why all those things happen. Only, he hadn’t known until today that the crush he’s been developing on his project partner wasn’t at all incompatible with the crush he’s been developing on his secret post-it notes penpal.

But Carlos is walking back inside the cafeteria. If TK isn’t fast enough, he’ll be stepping outside of the building and TK will only see him in class. They’ll still have the notes, but they’re tarnished in TK’s mind now.

“Wait!” he exclaims, body setting into motion. He follows Carlos inside, but he doesn’t reach him until he’s at their shared table. TK notices that Tony is nowhere to be found; maybe he’s exited the cafeteria in the impasse between TK getting out and Carlos getting back in. “Carlos, wait a second.”

“I don’t think—”

“I know you’ve stuck a post-it note below the table,” TK blurts out before he loses his courage. “I’ve seen you do it before.”

“Huh?” Carlos is staring back at him, positively looking like he thinks TK has lost all his marbles. Maybe he finally has. “Is that a crime now?”

“You’ve been exchanging notes with someone for quite some time now,” TK continues, earning himself a startled glare from Carlos. Great, he thinks. Way to come across as creepy. “I—I know because—”

“You’ve been spying on me?” Carlos snaps back, grabbing his messenger bag and strapping it across his chest angrily. “What’s your problem, TK? Why can’t you go back to your perfect life and stop messing up with mine?”

“What do you mean, mess up with your life?” TK almost shouts back. He’s aware that they’re attracting so many people’s attention on them, but somehow he doesn’t care. “It’s you who’re always seeking for that perfect score! You stress me out! Is that it, then? You think I won’t be able to meet your expectations and fuck with your grade?”

Carlos blushes. He tries to sneak around TK to get out of the cafeteria, but TK’s blocking his only escape and he doesn’t budge. “Let me get through, TK,” Carlos hisses.

“Aren’t you curious about why I know you’ve been exchanging notes with someone under a table at the cafeteria?”

“Well, I think it’s stated that you’re a creep,” Carlos says easily, looking down at the floor. “Why would you know otherwise?”

TK is so baffled at those words — at the certainty with which Carlos has spoken — that he takes a staggering step backwards, allowing Carlos to move away. And then, a sinking feeling conquers his soul; he’s losing it again, everything he didn’t know he needed, and he’s watching it quickly vanish from his life and he can’t do anything to stop it.

Only this time, he actually can.

“It matters not how straight the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll,” he begins, voice slowly rising as he speaks. “I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.”

He watches as Carlos stops dead in his tracks in the middle of the cafeteria, shoulders slumped forward. TK takes advantage of the momentum to reach him and gently push him outside the building. He doesn’t want any more witnesses to whatever this is. When they’re both outside, Carlos still looking down at the ground, with his hand tightly gripping the strap on his messenger bag, TK speaks again.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ve just realized, when I’ve seen you writing down a note and sticking it under the table.” He takes a deep breath, ready to fight whatever fleeing feeling he might get as he furthers through this path he’s chosen. “It’s been me the whole time. I know it’s not ideal, and I know we’ve been at each other’s throats for a long time, but the truth is—” He clears his throat. “The truth is, I don’t know why, to be honest.”

Carlos finally looks up at him, his brown eyes throwing more questions than TK’s ready to answer. “I don’t know why either,” Carlos admits softly. “Why we’ve been antagonizing, I mean. We’ve worked quite well together on the project.”

“Yeah, I think we make a pretty good team,” TK acquiesces, earning a tentative smile from Carlos. “And I’m not saying this,” he gestures between them and then towards the cafeteria, “should mean anything. But it’s a start, isn’t it?”

Carlos shakes his head, as though he’s making a decision. In the end, he slowly lifts his hand and says, “Hey, I’m Carlos Reyes. I’m a tad perfectionist, not a team player at all, and I love writing small notes underneath coffee shop tables for my not-so-secret penpal to find them.”

TK hisses out a breath and smiles back. “I’m TK Strand. I need to learn to work in a team, so maybe we could do that together?” He laughs bashfully. “I also love leaving random poetry on tables for my secret penpal to find it.”

Carlos laughs as TK lifts his hand as well and shakes Carlos’, and when the touch sends a wave of electrified surge through his body, he does the only thing he’s never done before.

He holds on.

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moonflowerlesbians · 3 years

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count your blessings instead of sheep

Hello, friends! Back in November, I decided to partake in my first fandom Secret Santa exchange. I’m not much of an artist, so I opted for the holiday-themed fic route, and this one-shot was born. So, @satelitesprite I hope you enjoy, and Merry Christmas! Thank you so much to @damiesecretsanta for organizing.

Read this work on AO3.

Title: count your blessings instead of sheep, Rated T, Word Count: 4763

Summary: In which Dani takes Jamie's White Christmas comment a bit too seriously. (But Jamie's absolutely not complaining.)

~~~

One day at a time, they’d said. Jamie had looked at her so earnestly, spoken with such conviction, as if by sheer force of will she would bend the world, stacked so vehemently against them, to her whims. And, Dani supposes, she may as well have succeeded. They’re still here, after all. Still together. Still alive.

Jamie had said something else, too, that same day. A confession she’d admitted almost shamefully. A film about honoring memories and protecting what matters. A sight she’d like to see.

Dani gets to thinking, planning, scheming, if one could call it that. She makes a silent promise, to Jamie and then herself.

If they make it until December, Vermont is as good a place to spend the holidays as anywhere, she thinks.

Dani can’t seem to stop moving. The cuticle on her thumb is raw and bitten; her legs, one crossed over the other, bounce, bumping the tray table in front of her on occasion and nearly sending her drink toppling into her lap. She all but leaps out of her seat when Jamie places a hand on her knee.

“Easy, there,” Jamie raises an eyebrow. “Tremble any more and you’ll disrupt radio frequencies.”

It’s a weak attempt at humor, but Dani appreciates it nonetheless. The little notebook in her breast pocket burns a hole in her blouse, stuffed full of ideas and anticipatory hope.

“Might be able to help if you told me where we’re headed.”

She’s been trying for weeks to nose her way into Dani’s plans, to glean some inkling of direction since Dani first hinted, one quiet evening in early November, that maybe thinking about Christmas isn’t such a bad idea.

“Yeah?” Jamie had said, soft, not quite believing. The future, their future, had been a taboo topic, danced around like an active bomb.

“Yeah,” Dani confirmed, “trust me?”

“‘Course.”

Then it had been library visits and guidebooks and scribbling telephone numbers on lined pages and Jamie-don’t-you-dare-open-that-box.

Dani rocks with the gentle movement of the train beneath her as it rounds a bend in the tracks.

“Whatever happened to the fun of not knowing?” Dani tries for a tease but falls somewhere just short of playground wedding jitters. A little confused and perhaps regretting her choices. She clears her throat. “I just,” she sighs, “I want you to have a good time.”

Jamie scoffs. “Ah, well, you know how difficult I am to please. Such high standards and all.” She gestures to the tray table between them, littered with snack-sized pretzel packets and a can of seltzer to share.

Dani rolls her eyes. “The picture of refinement.” Jamie pops her shirt collar with a huff and a wry smile that earn her a playful kick to the shin, and she pouts. “Still not telling you.”

Jamie retracts her lower lip, her ploy failed. “Should’ve known I wouldn’t get you to crack on the last day. A steel trap, you are.”

Dani snorts at the obvious exaggeration. They both know just a lingering stare from Jamie has her weak at the knees.

She can’t say she’s complaining.

On the subject of their trip, though, she has managed to keep impressively silent, offering only such vague clues as, “Thoughts on the desert?” and “D’you suppose four thousand is too much if it’s a room with a balcony?” At latter of which, Jamie had gone slightly pale, but she had declared, albeit shakily, something along the lines of, “whatever makes you happy,” as she blanched.

And, oh, how Dani had loved her for it.

As the temperate trees outside their window turn to evergreens and the cold trickles in from the mountains, it becomes abundantly clear that Dani has not brought them to the desert. Just one more stop until theirs, and Dani can’t help the flash of worry that streaks through her like lightning.

She’s a perfectionist by nature. Or, at least, she was. Likes her ducks in a row, likes her trains on time and her schedules stuck to. These past months have been agony, each day a guessing game, no way to be sure what will come next. She understands the necessity, has tried to embrace it, even, but when the opportunity presented itself for her to plan something concrete, she leapt at it.

Jamie had stepped back, understanding how badly Dani needed this. A part of her, she told Dani, late in the night, wrapped in blankets and sweet embraces, was simply glad Dani could bear to think of the future, even short term.

When they left Bly, Dani would not allow herself to entertain the thought of next week, much less next year. But, as time slid past with no sign of her co-inhabitant, she relaxed, millimeter by millimeter, drop by drop, the tension slipped from her body. The paranoia, the jolt of terror upon rounding a corner, looking into a mirror, faded gradually each time she saw only herself, one eye brown, one blue.

Each day with Jamie pervaded her idea of “normal” until that is what their life became. Normal. Waking up together, seeking out breakfast, exchanging quips before setting about their adventure of the day felt...normal. A remarkable concept for the woman whose notion of normal shattered with a pair of glasses.

She sits across from the woman she thinks of as her best friend and marvels at how different her life was, even just a year ago, when the sentiment of a Christmas with someone she loves was unfathomable. She can only hope Jamie doesn’t hate it.

Jamie, who is folding the tray up and sweeping crumbs into her palm to dispose of, only to realize she has nowhere to put them. She looks around for a moment, mumbles a shit to herself, and stands to toss them in the bin in the restroom, while Dani watches affectionately.

“What?” Jamie says, when she returns, gathering her things.

“Didn’t think that one all the way through, did you?” Dani says, a little smug. It’s not really a question.

“You said one more stop, yeah? Thought we should be ready.”

“Eager?”

“You’re having a go at me,” she rags, “Been building this up for a month. Can’t blame a woman for being a wee bit curious.”

A conductor wanders past, loudly announcing the next stop.

“Vermont, eh?” Jamie wraps the strap of her bag around her hand once, twice. She’s nervous, too, Dani realizes. The unpredictability has taken a toll on her, as well. Jamie, who woke up at five-thirty like clockwork, who tended to the same plants on the same grounds with the same tools, who saw the same five people each day. She likes routine, just as Dani does.

Perhaps, should they make it to the new year, it’s time to find a place to plant themselves. A place to call their own, if Jamie will have her. Somewhere to land. The thought sends a thrill through her.

Dani nods. “Trust me?”

Jamie studies her. “Always.”

Dani collects her belongings from the overhead as the train slows to a creaking stop at the platform. They appear to be the only two disembarking. Unsurprising, really. From Dani’s research, the town’s population is in the low thousands. The station, a one-story, low building, is rustic, all exposed wood and lantern lighting fixtures.

“Clayton?” An older man calls as they step off the train. He leans against the hood of a town car emblazoned with the logo of his proprietor.

Holiday Inn, Est. 1942

“That’s me,” Dani chirps, meeting him halfway from the tracks, where he takes the bags from her arms with an amiable nod. Jamie follows him to the trunk -- boot, as she insists it’s called -- and drops her rucksack next to Dani’s, while Dani, herself, opens the door with a grand flourish. “M’lady.”

Jamie sends the driver a sidelong glance, but he slides into the front seat without a word. She accepts Dani’s invitation and turns to her once they settle a respectable distance apart on the back bench. The driver, Wallace, as he introduces himself, turns the key in the ignition.

“So, the Holiday Inn?” Jamie prods. “Wasn’t aware the big hotels did shuttle services now.”

“Not a hotel,” Dani corrects.

“No?”

“An inn.”

“Ah, thanks, love, that clears it right up,” Jamie deadpans, but there’s no bite to her words.

“Hold your horses,” Dani placates, “You’ll see soon enough.”

“Can’t feel my bloody hands, been holding these damn horses so long.”

Dani swats her across the stomach. “Quiet, you.”

“Oi, ‘s no way to start a holiday, is it?”

“So, what brings you across the pond?” Wallace cuts in, the car rounding a bend on its climb up the mountain. “We don’t get many Brits around here.”

Jamie looks to Dani, a smirk curling upon her lips. “Not entirely sure, actually. You want to take this one, Poppins?”

“She hasn’t been stateside since we were kids,” Dani supplies. “I thought it might be a nice change of pace to spend the holidays with my cousin since it’s been so long.” Then, muttering to only Jamie, “She’s more sarcastic than I remember.”

“Oh, that’s lovely. You know, I haven’t been overseas since the war. Can’t bring myself to fly these days.” He continues to regale them with stories of his time in France, and they allow his tales to fill the silence for the duration of the ride, Dani offering polite interjections wherever appropriate. This is, in part, a way to keep Jamie from asking questions and spoiling the surprise mere moments from its fulfillment.

They turn onto a narrow road lined with towering fir trees. Undisturbed snow from a recent bout of winter weather bows the branches. Jamie watches out the window, transfixed by the changing landscape. Dani cannot see her face.

“Here we are,” Wallace says, with a note of pride. “She needs a little work, but she’s home.”

A house comes into sight as the car crests a hill, a three-story colonial with a broad front porch and white trim. Rocking chairs perch near the railings, and pale blue shutters frame tall windows. An old barn stands a little ways down, weather-worn, but charming.

Dani hears a quick inhalation from beside her. Jamie’s gaze is fixed straight ahead. Dani’s stomach flips.

Their car pulls up in front of the lodge, and Wallace grabs their bags from the rear.

“We’ll be just a sec,” Dani says.

Jamie’s back is to her as she turns in a slow circle, absorbing the scenery, until her eyes come to rest on Dani, who fidgets with the nail on her index finger.

“So,” she begins, “I, um, I know we said we’d take it slow. But, you said snow could be nice, and you’ve done so much for me, and I just wanted to give you this one thing, but I get it if it’s too much or too cold. I just thought, you know, it might be nice since you said you saw White Christmas as a kid that one time, and I know it was probably a joke, but--”

“Dani,” Jamie interrupts, with a saccharine laugh and the most gentle smile, “love, not to interrupt what was shaping up to be quite the eloquent speech, but this,” she gestures at the picturesque cabin and the trees and the mountainside, “this, you didn’t have to do all of this.” She looks around hesitantly, then takes one of Dani’s hands in her own. “I almost forgot I mentioned that story, but, apparently, you didn’t.”

Dani grins sheepishly.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Jamie assures, “this is stunning. Everything I could’ve imagined. But, and I’m sure I’m starting to sound like a broken record, I would be just as happy spending Christmas in a shack under a bridge, so long as I’m sharing that shack with you.”

“I’d like to think this is at least a few steps up from a shack.”

“Oh, it most certainly is. Can’t say I’m mad about it, either. Quite fond of being warm, you know.”

“Speaking of,” Dani segues, “inside?”

“Please.”

Dani drops her hand and leads Jamie up the porch steps, the old wood groaning underfoot.

“Dani Clayton?” A portly woman steps out from behind a counter.

“Present,” Dani says brightly.

“Anne,” the woman replies merrily, “I believe we spoke on the phone. Welcome, the both of you, to the Holiday Inn. Such a pleasure to host this little family reunion.”

Jamie appears perplexed for only a moment. “Jamie,” she greets, accepting the proffered handshake, “lovely to meet you.”

“Right, well, your room is up the stairs to the right, third door in.” Anne smooths her apron and passes Dani a key. “Wallace, my husband, should’ve dropped off any luggage, and please join us and the other guests for Christmas Eve dinner tonight, won’t you?”

“We’ll be there,” Dani promises.

“So, cousins, then?” Jamie prompts once Dani has inserted the key into their lock.

“I figured it was the easiest way to get around two women sleeping in the same room,” Dani says apologetically. “Family bonding, and all.”

“S’pose sisters wouldn’t have made sense with the accent.”

“We look nothing alike.” Dani shuts the door behind them. “Wouldn’t have been believable.” She flops unceremoniously onto one of the two double beds. The pale pink quilt wrinkles as Jamie sits, leaning back against the oak headboard. The windows are shut, but the off-white, lavender-printed curtains sway in an unfelt breeze, and a small fire crackles in the brick hearth. The sun is just beginning to set over the treetops, casting the room in a golden haze.

“‘S nice here,” Jamie remarks. “Feels familiar.”

“I, um, I may have picked this place because it looks like the one in the movie. Had them fax me images of the rooms to find one--”

“That looks like the one Betty and Judy shared in White Christmas,” Jamie finishes, noting the white doors and gleaming brass knobs.

“And, the inn, too. I tried to find out if we could go to the real one where they filmed, but turns out it was a set on a soundstage in California.”

“You mean to tell me the painted backdrops were just,” she gasps for dramatic effect, causing Dani to laugh, “painted backdrops?”

Dani groans. “In hindsight, it should’ve been more obvious, but at least I tried?”

“And an admirable effort it was,” Jamie chuckles, tugging Dani’s sleeve until she moves up the bed to lay her head on Jamie’s shoulder. “Looks just like the real thing, right down to my very own Judy.” She presses a kiss to the top of Dani’s head.

“Mm, I think you might just have a thing for blondes in turtlenecks.”

“Seven-year-old Jamie might’ve been a wee bit taken with Vera-Ellen,” Jamie shrugs. “Who’s to say?” She continues, “Not a lot of pretty blondes for me to fall for back in those days.”

“Oh, well, as long as she’s pretty,” Dani teases.

“Happen to like my version much better, thank you. Terribly sorry, Vera, may you rest in peace; can’t hold a candle to Dani Clayton.”

“It’s because I made one of your childhood dreams come true, isn’t it.”

“Hm,” Jamie muses, “proud of that one, are you?”

“Just a little.”

“It’s wonderful, love,” Jamie speaks softly, raking easy fingers through Dani’s hair. “Promise.” A pause. Her hand freezes for a moment, then resumes its steady path. “No one…ah, no one’s done anything like this for me before.”

Jamie’s life thus far has been far from perfect, as Dani knows from the pieces Jamie has shared. Bouncing from home to home as a child and landing in with the wrong crowd. A life in which stability and consistency did not exist, in which Jamie came to learn that companionship--love--is conditional and hinges upon her ability to provide. At the first sign that she could not be serviceable, in some way or another, she was cast aside.

She learned to work with her hands. Plants cannot reject you, after all, and there are always cracks to be patched, leaky faucets to be repaired. To some, the work might feel tedious, but to Jamie, the monotony feels safe, providing her a sense of immutability in an otherwise turbulent life.

And, as Jamie tells it, three years into her residence at Bly, a goddamn American started traipsing about the garden, and everything went to shit.

More or less.

Dani thoroughly wraps herself around Jamie’s middle, eliminating any space that existed between them. Words fail her, but she hopes her message resonates all the same.

Things are different, now.

***

When they eventually untangle themselves, it’s in favor of washing away the grime of travel with a hot shower. Dani unpacks as Jamie steps under the spray, rejecting the proposal to join, on account of one of them should make sure they’re on time for dinner.

They’re still almost late, though, neither realizing that the barn they’d seen that afternoon doubled as the formal dining room, and they stumble in just in time to settle at a small table in the back of the packed hall.

“Didn’t realize this was dinner and a show,” Jamie comments, observing the raised platform at the front of the room.

“So, there may have been another reason I picked this place,” Dani explains in a whisper, so as not to irk the other patrons seated nearby. “They have this Christmas Eve tradition I read about in one of the travel books and--”

Music echoes through the space from a small pit orchestra set up to the side, and a spotlight illuminates the stage, where two figures are hidden by pale blue fans.

“They may, or may not,” Dani winces, face screwing up into a weak grimace, “kind of, invite local performance groups to do songs from the movie?” She bites her lip, peering at Jamie through one eye.

Jamie, for her part, appears equal parts enthralled and perturbed. “Gotta hand it to you, Poppins,” she says, mouth slightly agape, “You know how to keep to a theme.”

Dani likes to think she hadn’t been chair of the prom committee in high school for nothing. “I really hope you don’t absolutely hate this movie, or this will be a very awkward dinner.”

“Wasn’t one of my favorites,” Jamie admits, leaning in, “but it certainly is now.” Under the cover of the tablecloth, she grips Dani’s hand and gives a discrete squeeze, Dani relaxing at her touch. “It’s very sweet,” Jamie murmurs, amused. The silver chain resting around her neck reflects the stage light as she turns her head. The number draws to a close, met with enthusiastic whooping from the jovially intoxicated crowd.

A server delivers two plates, starter salads, to their table, jotting down polite requests for main courses and alcoholic beverages.

By the finale number, Dani is warm and a bit wine-drunk. Her chair has migrated, over the course of the evening, to perch mere inches from Jamie’s. The gardener’s fingers move with the melody, eyes closed, an easy smile on her lips. She hums under her breath to match the vocalist crooning into the microphone. Dani commits the sight to memory. Jamie, here, draped in flickering shadows, untroubled by good intentions, chores that ought to be done, single-sided debts to be paid to no one and everyone. She is utterly beautiful. And Dani is utterly smitten.

Perhaps it is the wine. Perhaps it is the security provided conveniently by the position of their tucked-away table. Dani parts the tablecloth and traces down Jamie’s slender wrist, their fingers slotting together like a key in a lock. She presses the briefest of kisses to Jamie’s shoulder. Jamie’s thumb runs over Dani’s knuckle.

The antique oil lamps lining the walls glimmer warmly, and the final verse of the reimagined Irving Berlin classic fades into applause.

It is snowing lightly when they wander back to the main building and into their room, faces flushed from the chill. Dani giggles, squirming away from Jamie pushing a cold nose into her neck. Jamie chases her, pins her to the door with a sound kiss. Dani cups the nape of her neck, holding her close. The flurries melted into her hair are cool against Dani’s palm.

“Good night?” Dani asks, pressing their foreheads together.

“Mm,” Jamie puffs against her lips, nuzzling closer “was perfectly splendid.”

“Was it, now?” Dani ribs coyly.

Jamie pulls back just far enough to meet a pair of heterochromatic eyes. “Dani,” her voice is insistent, sincere, “thank you.”

Dani feels herself blush under the intensity of Jamie’s stare.

“I mean it.” Jamie’s index finger curls pointedly under Dani’s chin, tilting her head up, and something pulls low in Dani’s gut. “Thank you.”

Her lips are soft, pliant beneath Dani’s, speaking volumes in the silence. The snow continues to fall outside, blanketing the earth in mysticism the way only a new snow can. In here, though, the air burns.

They break apart at their lungs’ insistence, chests heaving in unison, but they do not stray far, choosing instead to stay, wrapped up in each other, neither willing to allow the moment to pass. Jamie smells faintly of smoke and the inn’s shampoo. Her sweater stretches slightly in Dani’s insistent hands.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got any mince pie and whiskey stashed away?” Jamie nods to the fireplace, lips kiss-swollen and hair mussed.

Dani pauses, a little taken aback, and feeling a bit like someone’s just doused her in icy water. “Do I have...what?”

“Have you got any mince pie and whiskey?”

A flash of panic shoots through her, and she runs through a mental checklist. Is there something she missed? Something Jamie had said?

“Um, should I?”

“What else are you supposed to leave Father Christmas?”

“Milk and cookies?”

“Milk and cookies,” Jamie scoffs in a poor imitation of Dani’s Midwestern accent, “how’s that going to keep a person going all night? Blimey, man’s got to travel ‘round the world, you know.”

“Blimey, must’ve left them in my other suitcase,” Dani laments, outlining the fair curve of Jamie’s collarbone, enjoying the feel of her smooth skin.

“A real shame.” Jamie’s exhale is a note heavier.

Dani hums, “Bet I can make up for it.”

Jamie’s brows rise. “Oh, can you, now?”

“Mhm,” Dani affirms, with a sigh. Before she can go any further, though, her face splits into a yawn, and any semblance of seduction is instantly dashed.

Jamie laughs, stepping away and checking the grandfather clock that stands in the corner of the room. “Half eleven. Ought to get you to bed.” She leans in, with a wink, “Santa won’t come if you’re not asleep.”

“Oh, come on,” Dani says reproachfully, rolling her eyes in a manner not dissimilar to chiding Owen’s god-awful puns. She tugs Jamie toward the wardrobe.

They slip between the sheets a short while later, lying close in the double bed, a perfect mess of legs and arms and contentment.

“‘S after midnight,” Jamie whispers, long after Dani thought her breathing had evened out. “Happy Christmas, love.”

Dani’s heart swells. “Merry Christmas, Jamie.”

***

Pale sunlight filters through the sheer curtains, coating the wallpaper in a serene glow. It’s rather poetic, Dani thinks, the way the light falls across Jamie’s sleeping face, highlighting the graceful tilt of her cheekbones, the button of her nose. Jamie looks ethereal in the morning, something Dani cannot truthfully claim about herself.

She traces the high arch of Jamie’s brow with her thumb, and the woman’s eyes flutter open. She blinks, adjusting to the feeling of being awake, until her gaze settles upon Dani, propped up on her elbow.

“G’morning, sleepyhead,” Dani coos.

“Been up long?” Jamie asks, voice low and sleep-rough.

“Not long,” Dani replies. “Was getting hungry, though. Thought you might like to see what Santa brought you before breakfast.”

Jamie sits up slowly, a cheeky grin turning up the corners of her lips. “As though waking up next to you isn’t enough?”

“Sweet-talker,” Dani says, nudging her, “It’s small, I promise.” She rolls out of bed, grimacing when her bare feet make contact with chilly wood. She rummages through her backpack, the one Jamie knows not to investigate, and emerges with a small, rectangular package wrapped in brown paper. A red bow is stuck to the top, a little squished, but thankfully still intact. Dani crosses her legs on the bed.

“Now, hold on.” Jamie reaches for her rucksack, pulling out a newspaper-covered object. She sets it on the bed. If Dani didn’t know any better, she would think Jamie seems, almost, embarrassed. “Not much experience by way of gift-giving, I’m afraid.” She wrings her hands in her lap.

“Hey,” Dani soothes, “like you said. I’m happy just being with you, okay?”

Jamie gives her a small smile. She huffs, “Look at me, being all gloomy on Christmas morning. C’mon then, open it up.”

Dani picks at the newsprint, unfolding each section delicately, deliberately. As she peels away the final layer, in her hands, she holds a small camera and a few rolls of film. She looks to Jamie, who studies her carefully, gauging Dani’s reaction.

“Might be silly, but I thought, you know, all this traveling, might be nice to collect a few momentos. Have something to look back on a few years down the line.”

Years. Years. Years. Dani allows herself to imagine them, together, somewhere, anywhere, on a couch, years from now, turning the pages of a photo album.

Yes, she decides, years.

She must have some kind of expression on her face, because Jamie speaks. “Alright, there?” She says it casually, lightly, but underlying the words is a pool of worry. Worry that Jamie has overstepped, that she’s made a mistake, that Dani will cast her aside.

“Years,” Dani says. “Years,” she repeats, high-pitched and carefree. She captures Jamie’s lips in a kiss, a celebration of time gone by, a promise of time yet to come.

“Take it you like it, then?”

Yes, Dani wants to scream, God, yes. You’ve given me the future and there are not enough words in the world to explain how I feel about you.

She settles, instead, for inserting a roll of film and bringing the viewfinder to eye level, the lens pointed at Jamie, who still wears a small smile. She is illuminated by a halo of sunlight, catching wayward hairs in its rays. The shutter clicks, and it’s loud in the stillness of the morning.

At the confused tilt of Jamie’s head, Dani attempts to clarify. “I wanted,” she explains, sounding only a little strangled, “the first memory to be of you, and me, here. In this moment.” She sighs, “Just us.”

Jamie’s face softens as she understands. Her hand snakes around Dani’s head, and she pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Alright, your turn,” Dani decrees, when they separate, and Jamie accepts the offered gift. “Not as exciting as a camera, but I hope you like it.”

“Poppins,” Jamie breathes, staring at the unwrapped item on the bed as if afraid to touch it, “it’s beautiful.”

Dani had found the journal at a craft fair they visited in Chicago. The man said he’d been working with leather for twenty years. The book is bound in green leather, with shimmering gold trim around its border. On the front cover, a leaf, also covered in thin gold foil, is stamped into the material. Dani had been immediately drawn to it.

“I think we had similar ideas,” Dani jokes. “I thought, since you’re always talking to yourself and coming up with new ideas, you might like a place to put everything in that brilliant brain of yours.”

“Feels like I’m saying this a lot lately,” Jamie chuckles, “but thank you, Dani. I love it.”

As if on cue, Dani’s stomach makes itself known, and she cringes.

“Right, how about breakfast?” Jamie inquires.

“I can wait,” Dani says, “The dining room closes at ten.” She glances at the clock. “We’ve got time.”

“For what?”

Jamie catches the mischievous glint in her eye. “Pretty sure I still have to atone for my grievous crime of depriving Santa of whiskey and mince pie. Unless, that is, you’ve decided to let me off the hook?” She gingerly places Jamie’s journal on the bedside table next to her camera.

“Oh, you, my dear,” Jamie all but purrs, punctuating each word with a kiss, “are still very much on the hook.”

***

Breakfast has all but ended by the time they make it downstairs.

Dani decides that cold pancakes have never tasted so good.

22 notes · View notes

tulipanisk · 5 years

Text

The MBTI types as people I know (from an infj perspective)

This is based on the few people I've met in real life with these personality types. I haven't met all types so maybe yours isn't here.

INFP: So quiet. Works as a cashier with me in a grocery store. Says every "hi", "do you need a bag" etc like she has practiced in front of the mirror. Is super afraid to be left out of conversations. Asks "what are you laughing about", "what are you talking about", "what happened" all the time. Seems serious, but it's probably because she takes her role as a cashier pretty seriously, because it has to be perfect. Would hate herself if a customer was mean to her, but wouldn't tell anyone. Often says "I don't know" and is never mean. Instantly smiles when I smile. Likes to build on my weird thoughts, but it's hard to read her actual opinion on things.

ESTP: Leader of a youth organization for atheists. Loves ranting about politics. Has a strong opinion on every matter, but has no opinion when it comes to taking peoples feelings into conversation, other than what he knows is morally correct and practical. Accidentally uses master suppression techniques to win arguments. Regrets being to harsh when he accidentally hurt someone, and awkwardly tries to apologize. Has a partner who he listens to before anyone else. Loves emo punk, computer games and discussing existential, social and political issues. Reacted to his personality type by saying "I guess I'm ESTP" *sighs* as if any answer would have been a disapointment. Oftentimes asks the questions we needed to hear, like "so if this is the case, then what are we even discussing here, this is a meaningless conversation, isn't it?". Very practical. Very nice. Wishes everyone well.

ISFP: Friend of enfp. Is obsessed with this one thing, MMA. She sees everyone as competition and wants to prove them wrong. Wants to go against the big and though guys and be respected equally. Pushes people away, then says she didn't initially like them, but instantly takes them into their life again when they take initiative at all. Is a real soft girl, but pretends to be emotionless. Rants about how stupid this one guy she met at the store was. Is very spontaneous. Goes on dates with the most handsome people, because she actually takes initiative and comes off as confident. But analyses people because "what if they don't actually like her". Has a beautiful smile and everyone listens to what she says. Good story teller and manages to get people on board with her opinions quite easily. Comes off as super extroverted, but is really in her own head, likes being alone and secretly seeks intimacy

ESTJ: Person 1, a guy. He talks before thinking. Oftentimes seen as a big jerk and doesn't mind saying things like it is. Is very traditional when it comes to certain things. Doesn't know how to cope with my feelings, and might say "seems like you have a bunch of problems man", instead of saying something that helps. Potentially saying "at least you have this and that" or "people are dying". Listens to ABBA, loves cars and cats. Has never been in a relationship because he is afraid people judge him like he judges people. Will scream at you if he finds you anoying, a hypocrite or stupid. Doesn't care. Wants to care about politics, but hates all the parties. Loves my hugs but won't ever take the initiative for them. Very practical, knows how to fix everything. Could build Ikea furniture without looking at the manual. Asks me for advice he doesn't take. Jumps to conclusions. Beliefs me as if I'm God, and will hand me his phone to answer messages more emphatically if he really likes someone, so that he doesn't come off mean. Likes to annoy me because I react to it, then smiles after and make me smile to. Beautiful smile. Never talks about emotions, but has a lot when I ask him about it. Has no time for bullshit. We actually fit together, despite the stereotype that infj and estj dont have anything in common. I see it as we can learn from each other. Person 2: Has been through a lot of family issues and sick people. Listens to rap and ironically terrible music. Once went up to her boyfriend at work and yelled at him in front of all the customers because life is more exciting that way. Very fashionable, yet comfortable. Is her own mom figure. Does her chores. Will tell you to snap out of it if you're too emotional, which I need sometimes. Mom friend. Sits with the older people.

ENFP: Person 1, my roommate and boyfriend for four years. Has so much positive energy. Laughs away his insecurities. *Smirks, looks to the side, huge hand gestures and body movements without context*. Over explains everything. Everyone considers him a close friend, yet he doesn't concider anyone a close friend because "they don't know the real him, only the fasade". Insists on keeping it that way, because he knows people like that version of him. Wants to be liked by everyone, and thinks "challenge accepted" when someone doesn't instantly like him. Has really bad or dark humor. Listens to super creepy and intense music to feel something. Talks a lot, thinks a lot, knows a lot about things nobody should know about, remembers practical facts, but doesn't remember to lock the door. Oftentimes has to edit what he says as it comes out weird and people take it literally. Gets easily distracted, especially if there's animals nearby. Can't multitask. Loves children. Person 2: Never sleeps, forgets to eat but loves food, has plans every day. Has 689 friends who she actually hangs out with. Laughs constantly. Is not afraid to meet new people and instantly befriends them. Loves music, especially classical and orchestra. Plays the French horn. Very very patient. Colors her hair, cuts it short, cuts it off, grows it out, burns it. Doesn't want to hurt anyone. When she gets mad she gets real mad. Person 3: Makes music. Talks about it's so passionately. Cried when his favorite band died and everyone listened. Didn't talk to girls before he started high school. Very good at imitations. Has a lot of projects and dreams that he actually tries achieving. Talks so much, but only has introverted friends. (I know so many enfps, I'm not gonna write about them all).

ISFJ: My actual mom. Does everyone's chores. When she gets help with the chores, she will do them again "like she likes them done". Everything around her magically gets clean. Will clean your apartment if she visits. Is super patient and let people be mean to her without saying anything. Is loved by everyone, but doesn't believe it. Very good mom, she thinks you should follow your heart, not your brain. Stresses a lot, but laughs and is super happy when we're together. Everyone comes to her with their problems, my mom doesn't respond, but they still feel better after she opens her mouth. Hates making food, but is great at it. Finds everything funny, but is rarely the funny one. Has a lot of controlling people in her life and doesn't want me to experience that. Very skeptical, but still open.

INTJ: Is one year ahead of her age group in her education. Takes on the leading role in every single thing she can, complains about having much to do, but doesn't quit, and still wants more responsibility. Has perfect grades and actually reads the emails she gets. Would probably read terms and conditions to. Is very negative, and doesn't see her reached goals as anything's special, but most people look up to her for those things. Falling in love is a lot of work in her opinion, so she stresses about anyone potentially liking her. Very calm. Likes being alone. Jokes sadly about existence. Has goals. Very perfectionistic and realistic. Wants what's best for people. Very likable. Always on her phone and has streaks with everyone. Everyone falls in love with her and she doesn't understand why.

ENTP: "FIGHT ME". Is the loudest. Has an opinion about everything. Will answer your sayings with "Or DoEs It", "Or WiLl YoU", "BuT wHaT iF i PrOvEd YoU wRoNg newbie girl. Is politically active and and activist. Shitposts on social media. Both accidentally and consciously hits on everyone. Is never single. Has a lot of anxiety and deals with it by socializing. Meets new people every day. Cares about their physical presence and clothing. Isn't afraid of the dark and will probably go out in the middle of the night thinking "if anyone tries to kill me now I would fight them, or, I would die happily tbh". Knows everyone you know. Spills their feelings. Constantly points fingers. Likes new wave. Very physical. Cares about people. Will point out your contradictions.

INTP: Person 1: Has the sexiest voice. Good at imitations. Knows everything about politics both nationally and internationally. Plays video games all day long and is addicted to energy drinks. Has a really bad physical attitude. Laughs of his own jokes. Is really insecure, and self aware. Often regrets saying the mean things he thought. Acts very cold and seems to not like affection, but will hug you and let you sleep in his bed if he loves you. Beautiful smile. Rarely takes initiative, but if he likes you he will do it when he first craves social interactions. Cuts people out of his life like he's a waking pair of scissors. Has blocked me from social media 10 times I think because I mess with his feelings and because as an infj he doesn't understand my idealism. He would be okay with doing the right thing no matter how many people would get hurt by it. We have the exact same humor. Puns puns puns. Very skeptical and has allready decided what he thinks about every single matter. Is very closed minded, and can scare people off by coming off like that. Listens to synth music. Loves Depeche Mode. Could stay indoors all year long. Hates coping with his emotions. Will say "why" if you tell him you like him in a romantic way, and will get uncomfortable about having to deal with it. Wants to get married, but doesn't know how to start. In my opinion, the most attractive type in addition to enfp. There's just something really attractive about this personality, but also dangerous. The only personality I've met who can make me overthink like crazy. Person 2: She knows everything about pop culture. Loves cats. Listens to David Bowie and Cher. Only opens up to me, and that's after I've asked directly about it. Has a lot of emotions, but never shows them. Will make a face if she disagrees, but won't say anything. Loves watching dry humor programs. Loves candy. Has a whole line of generation in sims 4. Loves her family and would live at home by choice forever. Cares about social issues and wants justice. Likes extroverts because she can sit back and relax. Her interactions with other intps are unbearable as it gets so quiet you can hear crickets. Is very likable. Will laugh at all your jokes, of her own, and of her face with an ugly Snapchat filter on them. Hates group chats. Procrastinates every thing.

ENTJ: The only thing I know about her do far is that she does cosplay, makes her own costumes, says things like she couldn't care less what you thought about it, and has a lot of ambitions.

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monkey-network · 4 years

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Good Stuff's Best of 2019

WARNING: Just wanted to say cheers to you for making it through another year. I send you best wishes for next year to be fruitful. Thank you, take care out there, and enjoy. (Best of 2017) (Best of 2018)

Dedicated to Russi Taylor, John Witherspoon, Rip Torn, Tartar Sauce, Caroll Spinney, Peter Matthews, and the many of KyoAni lost in the arson incident. You all did wonderful; rest in peace.

Welp, I figured the last year of this decade would be the most chaotic one by far, then again everything peak after 2012. As for now, I am counting down the best cartoons/animations/comics I’ve seen and loved this year in no particular order other than #1. Same rules apply: No sneak previews of future projects, no repeats, and this time anything goes.

Runner Ups: Superman Smashes the Klan, Marvel’s Aero, Infinity Train, Enter the Florpus, Amphibia, Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart, Helluva Boss, Meta Runner, Lego Movie 2, Forky Asks a Question

Anyways, Badda boom bang whiz, let’s do this shizz...

10. Super Mario Bros GT

Nostalgia can be quite a mystery, especially one that can come out of nowhere. Super Mario Bros Z kicked so much ass as a kid that now, it still frustrates me to this that it got a cease & desist from Nintendo, even the reboot from the same person couldn’t last long. But the gods have offered a slight miracle in the form of this new spiritual successor that has heart and soul put into every pixelated frame. There is much to celebrate with Youtube animation, where many say it’s dying due to the algorithm and all of the site’s corporate bullshit, but it’s stuff like this which helps me understand why we should celebrate. Against all odds, channels like Smasher Block willfully put their works out their for the people and continues to because on top of getting a little dough, it’s what they want to do.

9. DC SUPER HERO GIRLS (2019)

Awwwwww yeah, this is She-Ra and the Princesses of Power done right. Diverse female squad, each given a quality screen time to truly shine (Beecher especially) on their which makes the episodes where they’re all together feel earned and joyous to watch. Certainly reminds me of Friendship is Magic, which is coincidental since they were created by the same woman. I’d like to think this and MLP G4 were the answers to Faust’s cancelled project Milky Way and the Galaxy Girls where multiple personalities collide to one extraordinary superhero team of girls capable great feats that are lifted from their insecurities or drawbacks. And on top of this being a fun series to kick back to all around, it’s a comforting, somewhat aspiring thought to consider.

8. JOKER

I am somebody that rarely goes to the theaters to watch a film; you have to hook my tight just for me to even think of buying a ticket, no less plan to. But honestly, Joker was worth the hype, the ticket, and the fact that it wasn’t the incel uprising that buttfuck normies tried to make it out as. It’s lower on the list because in thought, there definitely could’ve been some tweaks to the dialogue and a couple scenes that I felt didn’t work in the long run. But really, this movie to me worked because of the escalation that leads to a cathartic climax and ending that left me in actual tears. I don’t give a shit if it “doesn’t fit”, having Frank Sinatra sing the film's credits put me in shambles. Joaquin Phoenix was phenomenal as Arthur, and this movie felt authentic in its many details. This is definitely up there with my favorite comic book films of all time. Good thing, too, Spider-Man was taking up most of that shelf.

7. TUCA & BERTIE

This series being what I can’t help but say is a spin-off to Bojack Horseman, a show I respect, was enough to pull me into watching it. But it being like Bojack where it’s tight-roping between a bouncy comedy and a grounded drama was what kept me around for more. It is a damn shame this was cancelled after one season (while 13 Reasons Why gets FOUR seasons like what the fuck), because while this did feel enough like a complete series, I was certainly interested for more because I really enjoyed it all. I have my issue with a couple choices in the show, but I am sure this series would’ve addressed them later down the line. I can see why some women would find this personally endearing, it felt like the personal stories of actual people, and it deserved better. Either way, I enjoyed this series and I recommend it just as much as Bojack.

6. PRIMAL

Genndy Tartakovsky is that kind of cartoon creator where you feel he’ll go beyond if you give him the right amount of space. He’s not a perfectionist like John “Dirty Diddler” Kricfalusi, but with things like Hotel Transylvania and Samurai Jack, he certainly has proven to have the range in animation where you know how he plays. Primal showcasing his noted skill in dialogue-less storytelling and dynamic action scenes, able to convey everything clear with its ruthless yet careful protagonist and his dinosaur friend, all on top of the most luscious backgrounds. This is a series that definitely feels like Genndy’s taken what he’s used from his previous works and putting it together for a brutal yet passionate look at the prehistoric life. He truly brought us an adult series to enjoy and to look forward to more in the coming year.

5. SPINEL

Bet you didn’t expect a character to be on this list, eh? Spinel is the best thing to come out of Steven Universe in general; makes me wish she was in a better movie. The crew certainly did their darndest to make her not only an enjoyable and connectable character through and through, but a very versatile character that the fandom could take in any which way. Call it corny, but Spinel perfectly represents SU as a whole: a lovable goof that can certainly mean business but deep down is deserved of a hug because of what she’s gone through. Wish she had a more satisfying resolution in her respective debut, but really it’s the balance between those three elements mentioned that makes Spinel almost eternally wonderful.

4. MOB PSYCHO 100 II

As someone that doesn’t like reading, I’m a firm believer that the best animations or visual medias elevate the writing to a memorable degree; the visuals hook to the point where you want to think about what you saw and how it was conveyed. Mob Psycho 100, for two seasons now, does this in spades where Studio Bones throw them bones in animating one of the most dynamic animes of the modern era, providing the writing and characters a proper chance to flex its muscles. The characters are especially what makes this and MP100 as a whole work so well, the story being about a boy learning to be more sociable as well as emotionally stronger all while helping others understand maturity and empathy. For more on this, I recommend Hiding in Public’s video(s) on Mob. But with the animation, Bones was able to provide a sense of impact and immersion to the moments that matter, not making it an overstimulating mess, and putting some respect on ONE’s webcomic art style.

3. KLAUS

Hands down, this is a great Christmas movie. Take away the animation and you have a charming, wanna say ground and authentic, story about the makings of Santa Claus. With memorable and likable characters, a nice escalation in terms of the plot, and moments that are/can be so satisfying, they can bring you to tears. A couple overdone tropes in the road that doesn’t make this the most perfected story, but those sincerely minor compared to everything else that makes this story the best. Now. Add in the animation, and you have a gold, nay a platinum animated story of the year where the visuals definitely enhance the story to a degree where they’re undoubtedly inseparable. The visuals alone is enough to check this movie out and it’s eye-opening when you learn of how it’s all done. Klaus is a film that did it’s job and then some, and I hope this will be well remembered as a classic holiday film for it deserves that status.

2. BEASTARS

I’ll be fair, I’m mostly referring to the manga and not the anime but since the anime premiered this fall, it counts. Because be it the anime or the series overall, Beastars has such well intricate world building all while offering a little something for everyone (violence, romance, slice of life). The story is well paced and even when we aren’t focusing on the main characters momentarily, Itagaki is surprisingly able to make every supporting/side character we come across memorable in their own way; like I said before, the city is much a character in this story. Oh yeah, and the mangaka is the daughter of Keisuke “Grappler Baki” Itagaki, that in itself is a treasuring bit of trivia for this. Everything about Beastars is enticing and Studio Orange certainly helped in giving this series more of a following.

1. GREEN EGGS & HAM

Well, well, well. Guess Netflix is three for three in terms of bringing its best foot forward among its few steps back each year. The best term to describe this series is surprising. Surprising that this is a Dr. Seuss story that got expanded a 13 episode series, that has fleshed out characters, fun hijinks, an easy story, lovely emotional, more quieter moments... on top of being 2D hand drawn animated. I mean, what else is there to say? Green Eggs and Ham is to Dr. Seuss what Seven was for Final Fantasy, what Friendship is Magic was for MLP, what watermelon was before a nice menthol cigarette. This definitely took the top spot because to me, it was able to bring many good elements from the previous entries and knot it all together into a well kept bow that I never knew I wanted until now. I’m genuinely glad this show got to exist the way it is and I am hoping, praying, that the second season keeps that momentum up.

That leads us to the actual number one which is

1. STEVEN UNIVERSE FUT-

Total Dramarama is now the two time World Heavyweight Champion, babey. Will 2020 give us a quality contender? Will the streak last another year?

Stay tuned, and always seek out the Good Stuff.

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borisbubbles · 5 years

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Eurovision 2010s: 08 & 07

08. Blanche - “City lights” Belgium 2017

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[2017 Review here]

~Ol aloing indu daignur zoin~

I can’t think of a hook more appropriate for Blanche because her journey was such a thriller.

But let us first discuss the obvious: “City lights” is nothing less than a brilliant song. It’s a dark, moody, innovative synthpop masterpiece. Like “Sebi” and many others in this higher-than-high section, it is a touching, immersive trip through the best modern music has on offer. Blanche is perfectly cast, providing an ethereal yet deep voice that conveys pure vulnerability. As the Polish commentor reportedly pointed out, ‘you can hear the tears in her voice.’

and of course, it also features SuRie’s voice for that extra bit of kickass:

However, we are mostly here because of the journey, one which, I don’t think anyone could argue that, was quite epic: From scalping ALL of Europe once her song was leaked, to having a series of calamitous rehearsals Blanche experienced a huge rise and an even bigger fall in the span of a full month. People turned on her left and right, as they normally do whenever they smell defeat.

But remember, what do we say to the god of death? Not today.

Right at the very last moment, Blanche found her courage, found her voice, found herself as a performer and turned it around completely. You can actually pinpoint the exact moment where she experiences the epiphany in the SF, which I’ve gif’ed for convenience:

It was STILL a thriller going forward, but once she qualified she was back on the map as a serious contender, however as an underdog instead of an overdog. She wouldn’t win, but nevertheless made everyone who believed in her proud of being a Blanche fan.

So ultimately, "City lights” is much more to me than just a really good song. It’s a mesmerizing tale -a passion in the biblical sense- of someone so crippingly shy and perfectionistic she almost succumbed to the massive pressure and just like that, turned it around into something golden. You may not like that a shy 17 year old with no experience lacks the confidence of the others and if you do, it’s your loss! Out of all the contestants on this list, it is Blanche that I’m the most proud of.

~small OT addendum~

PS: My friends also were heavily invested in Blanche’s journey and it actually resulted in her becoming a meme on our Discord server. Basically, they would spam blanche-related emoji’s and pasta’s everywhere until they (the memes, not the posters) got banned by the admins. The Blanche Wars between those who watch Eurovision and and those who don’t still haven’t fully subsided yet, but what our side has learned to become creative with our spamfolder offenses:

Introducing:

> Pasta :Blanche:

> Pasta :Wallofblanche:

> Pasta :Cubeofblanche:

and finally,

>Pasta :Warholblanche:

Art.

Lol. I mean, obviously, as a Belgian I’m a bit biased, right? But in reality this mostly translates to having strong opinions, which results in either very high rankings or very low ones. Having said that, Belgium was pretty good in this decade and we’ve got the Loïc/Tesoro/Blanche streak to thank for that. The past five years we’ve sending in great songs, though we must forever remain mindful of the live staging, which is our Achilles heel.

________________________________________________________________

07. Poli Genova - “If love was a crime” Bulgaria 2016

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THEY’LL NEVER BREAK US DOWN!

Lol I realize Poli hasn’t officially come out of the closet yet, but come on this is a Coming Out Anthem, right? “If love was a crime, then we would be criminals, locked up for life, but I’ll do the time ;-)” mhm yesssss get that tit’n’clit, girl. The only context where such a song would be more at place at is a Rainbow Pride Parade.

All of this pro-LGBT empowerment is AMAZING obviously, but “If love was a crime” is an amazing, flamboyant party song at its core. It is a great composition that builds up its fiesta momentum at a *lightning fast* pace and never lets go of its tempo. Add in a wonderful dork dance,

Airstrip apparel

and an EPIC final chorus,

and indifference becomes an impossible feat. “If love was a crime” is stupidly good at being fun and frankly puts every other funmonger to shame. Not to mention that Poli herself is AT HER BEST. This performance stands out as her most magnetic one. Not only is her song a near-religious revelation, she also has immense fun herself while performing it. *That* is the difference between a merely great entry and an all-time best one. OH DAI MI LYUBOVTA, BABY.

BULGARIA

Mathematically the best chart out of everbody and I mean, look at those shades of green. This was a great decade for Bulgaria after a really mediocre one in the 00s.

I will however say that I don’t consider them the best country in this decade. Because A of all, the best country is Estonia and B of all it’s way easier to have a higher average if you have only 7 entries to rate as opposed to 10. Take away the three lowest of Estonia, Slovenia and Moldova and they easily beat Bulgaria in the overal list.

TOP 6

#Eurovision #Eurovision Song Contest #Belgium #Ellie Delvaux #Blanche #City Lights #Poli Genova #If love was a crime

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cheeseeatingtrashmonster · 6 years

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Mirror

GabeNath Week day 5: HawkNath.

< Previous | Next >

Read the whole week on AO3

Seven Weeks Later

ONE

Adrien was sitting alone in the dining room. Nathalie had waited a few days after the argument in the car to schedule a meal for Adrien and Gabriel. That one had gone well, but every one after that had been a fight. So Adrien was sitting alone.

She decided to play her new game.

"Mr. Agreste? I need your opinion on something, if you have a moment."

Gabriel nodded distractedly and paused whatever was on his screen. He walked to where she stood beside her desk, expecting her to extend her tablet for him to see. Instead she turned and exited the office. Gabriel followed her, glancing around for what he was supposed to declare judgement upon. She led him to the dining room door and opened it, her hand landing on his back.

"Adrien has seen you. If you leave now, it will be because you are a coward, unwilling to acknowledge his son's feelings. I strongly encourage you to not be that person."

He tried to shift away from the threat that was her hand, but it followed him.

"I expect you to finish the filing by the time I'm back," he hissed at her.

"Of course, Mr. Agreste."

She walked away, knowing she had only won the battle, not the war.

But he was just so easy. A cheerful, "Mr. Agreste" and he'd follow her off a cliff. She wouldn't admit it (not that she had anyone to admit it to), but she enjoyed tricking him. She wondered if her double knew the power she had over him.

Gabriel had his own little victories though. He would bring her coffee, but he would not bring creamer. Or give her decaf. He would send her on errands during the day that turned out to be wild goose chases. The phone he ordered her was the slowest, oldest model still available. He made work as inefficient as possible while demanding the same time schedule as he had with "his" Nathalie. The perfectionist she was, she couldn't just leave the work to wait.

Adrien, bless him, was mostly oblivious. He still hadn't noticed that the red streak in her hair had switched sides. He did try to ask Nathalie why she and Gabriel were fighting, but she simply confused him with a hug.

With the translated spell and a fair idea of what had gone wrong, they needed a magical expert to help them undo the switch.

Nathalie had a few ideas of who could help. Not that she was planning on telling Hawkmoth who they were.

/*****/

TWO

Ladybug and Chat Noir had been wounded in the fight that killed Gabriel, Nathalie found out. They hadn't been going out as often and their rampages were shorter and weaker than normal. The General had been going out only when their destruction threatened highly populated areas. However, they were now unopposed, and it was only a matter of time before they figured that out. Kubdel split his time researching how the Nathalies had gotten switched, searching for new miraculous holders, and smuggling valuable museum artifacts out of the abandoned Louvre between raids on the building. Nathalie found herself being an assistant to anyone who needed it. She babysat the Cesaire twins, she helped Alix and Mylene with homework, she drove Adrien to Japanese lessons, she kept inventory in code for Penny. She was accepted into the crowd a little too quickly, given the benefit of the doubt for her appearance. She was standoffish and reticent and absolutely refused to swap "war stories", though no one guessed it was because hers were all the wrong ones. But no one seemed to mind, and Adrien seemed to find comfort in her presence.

So she stayed. She worked. She researched and tried to be as little a burden to these people as she could.

It didn't feel like enough.

Maybe that feeling was what made her do it. Maybe being around an Adrien who saw her differently was the cause. She couldn't know for sure.

"Mr. Agreste,

I need you to know that I"

"Gabriel,

I've tried to"

"Sir,

My time in the other world has left me no choice. I have to"

She closed the notebook again and tucked it under her arm. She didn't have a tablet. There was no need for one here, but she needed something to carry with her everywhere. It felt right.

The front door opened with a bang and Nathalie ducked into a crouch, listening. When she heard Jagged shouting, she felt a little safer (It wasn't an attack or a raid, at least), but he never came home this early, and he knew that slamming doors and raised voices put everyone on edge.

"Sweetheart? Nat? We gotta move, we gotta get the word out!"

Nathalie ran downstairs, meeting Jagged and Adrien in the hall, and Penny in the kitchen.

"We've got one shot. One shot to get this to work."

"Get what to work?" Nathalie asked. At least she had years of experience forcing another version of Jagged to sit still, focus, and answer questions.

"An attack. The big one, the one we've had planned for almost a year. If we do this right, we can cripple the regime's control for months. Possibly enough to bring them down."

"Then we need Kubdel," Adrien said. "We need the miraculous."

She didn't like the look in Adrien's eye.

/*****/

ONE

Nathalie had made an excuse at lunch time to leave the office. She was surprised that her complaints about cramps were met with sympathy and a sincere offer of the afternoon off if she needed it. It was the moments when he acted most like her Gabriel that hurt the most, made her hate him the most. It made using him as a bargaining chip to get home easier in some ways, harder in others.

"Hello, Master Fu," Nathalie said when he opened the door to his massage parlor.

"Welcome," he said, guiding her to sit with him at a small table. "You didn't say on the phone, what services were you looking for?"

"Knowledge of the miraculouses and magic." She reached into her bag to pull out her tablet. "You can understand why I didn't ask for this over the phone, I'm sure."

"I think you have me confused for someone else," Master Fu said.

"In my world, Master Fu was paired with Wayzz. Is he here? I've missed him. I know he won't know me, but it would be nice to see a version of the kwami I knew, all the same."

Wayzz popped out of his fish tank to float over to her.

"Master, she is-"

"Not of this world," Master Fu finished. He turned his phone for Wayzz and Nathalie to see. He had brought up a press photo of Gabriel giving a speech a few years ago, Nathalie hovering behind him. "You're from a Mirror World."

"I see I chose well in looking for someone who knows more about the magic that brought me here than I do."

"How exactly did you end up here?"

"I will tell you what I know," she said. "But my safety, and the safety of a few others- the whole city, really, is at risk. I have to know that you won't alert Ladybug and Chat Noir until I have secured a way home. Do you agree?"

"You know something worth my silence? Something the heroes would want to know?"

He had that knowing look that always annoyed her so much.

"Do you know how to get me home?" she asked.

"I know a few ways to get you home," he said. "But none will be effective if I don't know how you got here."

Nathalie nodded. "I know who Hawkmoth is. His attempt to strengthen his power did this. He needs to be stopped before he reaches the level of power of my world's Ladybug and Chat Noir."

"You know who he is?"

"I'll confirm the name after you have a solution," she said.

Master Fu nodded.

"It seems we have a lot to talk about."

/*****/

TWO

Fred Haprèle had a map laid out on the dining room table. Nathalie wasn't sure if it was a cliche or actually necessary, but she stood with the others, listening to him explain the plan he and the General had outlined in the event this happened. "The not-so-miraculous duo will be heading out to do their thing around eight. That leaves about a ninety minute window when they're out and the Vice Royal Dictator is out of his fortified home travelling to His Royal Dictatorship's estate. The travel team is ready to go on our signal. The teams striking the government buildings are mobilizing, but need a little longer to all get in place. So we're out of time. Kubdel, we need at least one miraculous holder to keep Ladybug and Chat Noir busy. What do you have?"

"Not a lot," Kubdel said. "We only have three miraculouses, and the Bee is damaged, but I can't figure out how. We have the Agreste miraculouses, but they won't seem to bond with any of the people I tested. Master Fu did not leave good notes on the selection process."

"Hand it around the room," Nathalie said.

Everyone turned to stare at her. It was the first input she had ever had for any of the few meetings she had attended.

"What will that do?" Penny asked.

"Everyone who would be willing to wield it tonight should try holding it, regardless of whatever the normal rules are for bonding to a miraculous. It's just for one mission, so regardless of long term compatibility, someone is bound to bond well enough to take it for the night. Sometimes you just know who can wield it, sometimes you need a more open approach."

"How do you know that?"

"Just research. Research in my world. We didn't have access to a Guardian."

She knew because Gabriel had tried sneakily handing the Peacock Miraculous to a few people, including herself, but never found one that bonded. He had heard of the method as a folk lore in Tibet.

Kubdel nodded and started lining people up to try the Peacock and the Butterfly. No one who volunteered was a match.

"Keep looking," Penny said, patting his arm. "We still have an hour."

The group broke into groups, discussing and planning and worrying. Nathalie sat with Penny and Jagged.

"Little Prince or Farrah isn't liking all the excitement," Penny said, rubbing a spot where her baby kept kicking.

"So long as he or she stays in there the rest of tonight, I'm sure I'll find a way to forgive him or her for kicking my wife."

"You know, I think that's the first thing you've said about your team," Penny said to Nathalie. "What's your usual role when there's an attack?"

"If I'm not caught in the crossfire, I get as far from it as I can. I've hidden under my desk from akuma attack victims before, and I'll do it again."

"That's generally my policy," Jagged said. "I once managed to hide in a closet in a suitcase! Me, in a suitcase! I still can't believe I-"

"You're on their side," Penny breathed.

Everyone went still, one at a time, as the sense of unease passed through the room.

She had fucked up. Nathalie had fucked up, after weeks of covering her tracks perfectly. She had only wanted to help by volunteering that bit about finding a miraculous holder. Then she had stupidly answered a simple question.

"Your Hawkmoth wasn't worried about the effects of enhancing his power because the power was the goal itself, wasn't it?" Penny was pulling away from Nathalie, horror written on her face.

"No. No, you don't understand-"

"Hawkmoth is the villain for you," Penny said, standing to back away. "Just like your hair. Just like the hand you use to write. Even your relationship with Gabriel is different. Everything's flipped around with you, and we didn't even see it."

Nathalie raised a trembling hand to cover her mouth, horrified that tears would betray her now after so many years of obeying her demands to wait until she was alone.

"We let you in our home! We let you near Adrien! We trusted you!"

Nathalie would never know what Jagged planned to do when he took a step towards where she sat. The second he started moving, a blinding flash filled the room.

"Adrien," Nathalie sobbed. "No."

She knew what she had to do now.

/*****/

ONE

"I found the right fix. It will take me a bit to prepare it," Fu said into the phone held between his face and his shoulder as he started pulling ingredients down from a shelf. "I will come to you."

"Thank you," Nathalie said. She could only think about getting back home. "Text when you're on your way. I'll have everything ready."

Nathalie knew she had to get through the rest of the day acting normal with Gabriel. If he suspected she had gotten knowledge behind his back, suspected she'd betray him like this... she wasn't sure what he would do. She couldn't always predict this Gabriel's actions like she had been able to with her own.

Nathalie decided to check on Adrien, maybe burn off some of her excitement by listening to him talk about how his father had eaten a meal with him again.

"Plagg, Claws Out!"

Normally Nathalie would never violate Adrien's privacy by opening the door to his room before getting a response to a knock. But that phrase sounded like-

Chat Noir. Adrien. Oh.

She watched Chat Noir jump out his bedroom window, then backed out of the room, closing the door silently. She wandered back to the office on autopilot and sat down at her desk.

"You still look pale. At least go rest for a few hours," Gabriel said, stirring her from staring at her blank computer screen.

"I think I will," she said, grabbing her purse. Adrien was Chat Noir. In the room she frequently borrowed, Nathalie sat and thought about what this meant. She had limited time here. What could she do to fix this? Chat/Adrien was gone, and would be too difficult to track down. Leaving a note for him was risky, someone else might find it. She assumed Master Fu already knew Chat Noir's identity, and it made her angry, but wasn't a surprise. She knew what she wanted to do. But was it worth the risk?

Nathalie decided to try to sleep. In a few hours, one way or the other, everything was going to change again.

/*****/

TWO

Nathalie crossed the room in an instant. Adrien stood staring her down, the sting of betrayal making him look smaller even with the costume of his father's miraculous wrapped around him. He would make a good Hawkmoth someday, but right now he looked like he was playing dress up.

"I can't believe you," Adrien whispered. "You were... you were so kind to me. So patient when I called you the wrong thing. How could you work with someone like them?"

The move felt familiar, practiced. She had seen herself do it enough times in her mind. Though usually to Gabriel, not Adrien. Nathalie lifted a hand and set it on the side of Adrien's face, trying to communicate through her touch the weight of her regret.

Then she slipped her hand down to yank the miraculous from his chest.

The detransformation was bright, but she was expecting it. She fastened the brooch to her lapel and called on Nooroo's power.

"I'm sorry," she said to Penny, walking backwards to the door, keeping her and Jagged and Adrien in her sight as long as possible. "I'm so sorry. I never wanted this."

She ran into the night. She knew exactly where to go.

/*****/

ONE

Nathalie came back with a half hour until the end of the day. She finished a few urgent tasks and turned to Gabriel.

"I'll make up the time later this week, but I need us to get to work upstairs, if you don't mind."

Gabriel sighed but nodded. In the lair he flipped open a book and started taking notes.

"Gabriel?" Nathalie said, taking a step closer to where he sat.

"Mmm?"

"Look at me."

Gabriel looked up just as she stepped the rest of the way into his space. Her hands fell to his shoulders and she leaned down to kiss him. To her shock, he started kissing back. She slid one hand up to run her nails against the nape of his neck, the other down his chest. And back up to yank his miraculous from under his tie. She shoved him backwards off the stool and as luck would have it, he fell hard enough to be winded for a moment, giving her time to transform.

"I'll never forgive you for this," she whispered. She closed her eyes and said, "Teleport!"

She knew exactly where to go.

If you thought HawkNath meant Hawkmoth x Nathalie and not Hawkmoth!Nathalie, you were gravely mistaken.

#Gabenath Week #mlshipfleet #miraculous ladybug #nathalie sancoeur #gabriel agreste #my writing #events #Through the Looking Glass

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the-onceandfuture-king · 6 years

Text

War || Self-Para || Past

A commotion in the courtyard had stirred him first as the heavy gates clunked and groaned apart, amplified by the quiet of the night. Voices called, mail clattered and booted feet echoed in running place around the stone walls of the castle. Arthur stared at the ceiling and let out a sigh. Torches flickered in the midnight air. It was not worth waiting for the sound of shoes to reach his chambers, he thought as he slipped from the comfort of his bed and the warmth of his new wife, and silently pulled on his trousers. Something had been brewing for months, though he kept his concerns quiet for the sake of a moment of marital bliss. For a normal life. Even as he moved about his room, ready to make an exit, he did not want to stir her from the dream that had carried their hands and their hearts in their time together. Everything would be fine, the illusion would not shatter and he’d be back in bed before the birds began to sing. He tied his laces and left one last gentle peck on Guinevere’s forehead, before stepping out into the corridor and greeting the soldiers racing toward his room with a weary smile.

Only a handful of men occupied the seats in the hall, half dressed and bleary eyed, some likely still drunk from the night’s charades. For all but Merlin of course who had never looked fresher in all his life and, as he learned later, had been sat in that very spot, expectantly nursing a cup of hot water for over an hour before the commotion had started. The cause of said commotion sat beside him, cheeks raw from panicked tears, his hands black and swollen, and a streak of blood crusted to his left side as the druid rambled on about purely irrelevant matters. It was easy to forget, he thought as he crouched beside the boy - for that was all he truly was - how young much of his warbands were. Though he let none of his tired thoughts penetrate the morning air, as the boy spoke with a quiver of leagues of armoured men marching south, of how they’d captured him and a score of other scouts, of how they had killed all that weren’t useful and sent him off with a message, after smashing his hands with a rock so he could not even hold a spear for the coming battle. Arthur gazed at the damage and imagined he might not ever hold a spear again.

“They said you- you have to renounce your,” the young man swallowed and kept his eyes in his lap, “your wife-”

“Whore was the actual term,” Merlin interjected with his usual thin, unreadable smile. He was always the perfectionist, in love with the details, though often Arthur wondered if he liked to say things as they were to stir all kinds of emotions in his fellow men - whether for his own pleasure or to incite a driving passion in their hearts, he couldn’t quite decide.

“Or they’d,” he licked his lips as he continued, “sweep through you like a plague.”

Arthur closed his eyes, fingers finding his chin and scratching their way through the stubble, as a deep sigh pressed at his chest.

“How many warriors were with them?”

“About…” He stared at the ceiling. “Two hundred, that I saw.”

“Probably more.”

Sagramor leaned on the table and yawned. “With that many men, I’d say they’ll be with us in four days. Six at best.”

“Send word to the closest kingdoms,” Arthur rose to his feet and rubbed his brow. “Ask for aid, if they can provide it.”

One of the older men stirred from the end of the table and shook his head, lips finding the rim of his cup. “Don’t bother,” he said, throwing a cautionary glance at the messenger. “No one will.”

“Call for aid.”

The scoff that followed echoed around the hall, so even men who had been half asleep were alive with the sudden thickness in the air. “This is your doing,” the old man growled. At one point, he had been right hand to the previous High King and though his status had long since dissolved, he still held himself with that same air. In the earliest years of Arthur’s rule, even, he’d taken pleasure in striking the young king and it seemed now he was large enough to strike back, he prefered to assault with cutting remarks. “You think a good ruler would risk their men because you decided to break the rules? This is what happens when you insult powerful kingdoms for a commoner. If it were me, I’d send you to meet them by yourself. Then you’d be able to see what piss good love does for kings and we’d all get the fun of watching you shit yourself before they hack you to pieces.”

For a moment the hall was silent, eyes stared, things that fell were forgotten. The only thing that breathed was the wind.

“If one has nothing nice to say, one best say nothing at all. Did your mother never teach you that?” Arthur stepped forward and the adviser rose to meet him. He hadn’t stood eye to eye with the man in a very long time and while he’d grown considerably since then, the old bastard still made his hands tremble like a boy. He swallowed the feeling. “At basest, if it must be unkind, I would much prefer it constructive. In the even that I did - go out alone and shit myself, that is - do you not imagine that any of you,” he gestured around them, gaze meeting men as it passed, “would be next in line to have your head removed? They would see the the throne kingless and sweep in to steal it for themselves. So please,” he snatched the cup of mead from his fat ancient fingers and slammed it on the table, “I would like you sober and thinking of ways this might actually work.”

The advisor twitched a moment as though he was going to strike him again. It took all Arthur’s will not to instinctively flinch. But, slowly, he sank back into his seat.

“We have nearly one hundred men, one hundred and ten if we scrape the very bottom of the barrel - that is conscripts so new they lack even a knight to guide them. I do not want to ask our neighbours for help, I also am under no illusion that they will. But we must at least try,” he continued, addressing the entire room, some of whom had obviously been hoping for a brawl with all the life that had suddenly appeared in their cheeks.

“We can’t meet them here. Why not call conscripts from the town closest to where we fight? Bump our numbers up by thirty at least.”

Arthur shook his head. “This is not their war. I very much doubt they care who sits on the throne so long as they do not take their sheep. But I suppose it would do no harm to be aware of the town and even friendly with it, in the event we should need food or shelter.” He motioned the messenger over with a tilt of his head. “Where did your camp meet them?”

The lean figure bent over the table and frowned. It was an enormous, wooden thing, circular with a map of the entire land on it, ranging from the very tip of Dumonia in the south to Gododdin in the north. Urther had commissioned it for pride and grandeur, he suspected. But much of the ornate flourishes had been worn away by time and bored fingers, and Arthur had decided to repurpose what had once been a very ornate dinner table. The edges had been carved deeper, past the border of swirls to show even some of the Saxon lands. Town names were engraved in their places and gold fittings melted down for the treasury. Sagramor had said he’d never seen a better war table in all his life.

The boy offered a lost glance between the King and the table.

“We are here,” Arthur pointed to a spot in the lower half of the map. “Those are the Beacons, Powys starts there, Gwent here.”

For a moment, the young man hesitated and then stretched himself over the board so his toes barely touched the ground, and tapped with one swollen hand at a spot in the centre east.

Sagramor leaned forward and hummed. “They’ll be going through the valley then. That might be a good place to catch them. If we’re careful they might not march us into the ground and they’ll be trapped if aid does come.”

Arthur frowned for a moment as he tried to piece together a solution. There was one there, he could almost taste it. “How many horses do we have? Twenty?”

“More or less.”

He rubbed his eyes and smiled. There was something about making the best from the worst that made his chest flutter with an odd kind of joy. Perhaps it was excitement, or maybe even hope. But he found the corners of his lips pressing with enthusiasm. “Why wait for help to cut them off? If we spread evenly, we could do it ourselves.” He hopped onto the table and placed himself over the markings of the mountains. “With a hundred men, we could send a solid fraction to cut them off to the south. Forty or fifty say, enough to build a strong shield wall, possibly two or three men thick, but also enough for them to think it an easy win. Send a score of archers into the hills on the east and the west sides with a band of our quickest men. I imagine they would like to be through the valley by nightfall, but if we arrange obstacles we could certainly slow them and with any luck, attack as the sun begins to set. They’ll be at a disadvantage at night in unfamiliar lands and to the men in the hills. Saving arrows until the shield walls clash will certainly come as a surprise, perhaps ever scarper some of the men.” He nibbled his lips as he stared at the image beneath his feet. “I will lead the horses east around the hills and to the northern end of the valley. When their army begins to fail or they begin to push the faction to the south into submission, whichever comes sooner, signal me and I will bring my horses round to trample them from the rear.”

A quiet hum filled the courtroom. Hushed voices danced the air. Whether or not it agreed with him, however, was unclear.

“Sounds an awful lot like you’re trying to get us killed,” Kay replied with a smirk, slumping on the table and picking at the carving beneath his fingers. Even as a boy, he’d never much cared for life or death, so long as it came with a punch of excitement and, as he got older, a dash of honour. But, as his brotherly duty, he also liked to pick holes in everything Arthur did. He didn’t play into the illusion that Arthur was any better now than he had been as a child and liked to make that blatantly obvious to everyone around them. “What’s in it for me?”

The king tried to stifle his sigh and gazed, eyebrow raised, at his elder brother. “You do not get ploughed down, two to one, by an army we are completely unprepared for. We have all these resources, why not use them?”

The knight picked at something in his teeth. “And if they turn their shield wall to face your horses?”

Arthur pinched his lips together. It had been a passing concern, though he’d preferred not to air it. It didn’t take a genius to know that a horse would not charge a well formed line. At best, they’d stop blank before the mass of spears and you’d have holes poked in you. At worst, they’d jump and tumble and you would be down a horse and completely surrounded. “That is a problem for me to solve if and when it occurs.”

Kay laughed and shrugged a shoulder. “Very kingly. I’m game.” He gave the wood a solid pat and rose back straight. “Can we go back to bed now?”

Arthur’s fingers drummed against his chest and his eyes searched for faces in the crowd.

“Bedivere, your twenty best archers. Sagramor-“

“The sharpest I can find.”

“By noon. I want them out, setting traps, laying obstacles in a day’s time. Everyone else,” he raised his head to the crowd, “Prepare your men for war. Have them well fed, well armed and enthusiastic. This is not the Saxons, this is not the same. These are men that look and think like us. Remind them of that.” He hopped down from the table, letting out a low breath and motioning them away. “Rest yourselves well tonight. We are most certainly going to need it.”

In the songs that followed, they said he’d jumped to the table with an almighty roar that shook the whole of Britain, so even Powysian force were woken by trembles in their sleep; they said the king had commanded an army of fifty bright braves souls against a wave of four hundred; they said soldiers had descended from the sky like glittering angels.

Most of it was wrong, of course, though no man denied the acclaim. But despite the fantasy, that night they had glowed, as the moonlight sparkled off shields and spears and polished leather. They had fought from the ground, descended from the hills, stormed through on stallions, white cloaks folding in the wind, light rippling through the masses.

And they had won.

That time.

But as with any miracle, it came with a price.

#paras #past #headcanons #tw: gore #tw: violence

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joonbird · 7 years

Text

Comfort Inn Ending | 4

➭“It was you who Jungkook gave his heart to- that is, until the day you broke it. And it is you now, hoping that some faultlines can be repaired, and that some broken hearts can be put back together again.”

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: angst, smut

wordcount: 8.3k

inspiration

You were shivering as you walked home. Your lips were slightly swollen from the kisses you and Jungkook shared, your eyes red from your tears. That was nothing though, compared to what was going through your head. His voice echoed in your mind like a drum beat.

Don’t do this to me again.

The guilt, it was weighing you down, making your entire body heavy and useless. He was right. You had no right to ask him for anything. The memory of the look on his face before he left you there on that rooftop, the fresh pain in his eyes and his furrowed brows... it just made the guilt worse.

I just got over you.

Was it wrong for you to hope that he hadn’t fully gotten over you? You were torn, wanting him to be happy, to have closure. But another part of you, a larger, more ragged, selfish side, fiercely argued that you didn’t want him to ever get over you.

The minute you walked through your door, you went straight to your bedroom. You felt disoriented, your head pounding and your eyes raw from crying so much. You were sick of the tears, of the heartache.

You didn’t know what to do, all you did know was that seeing Jungkook tonight had you regressing back to the start. You weren’t over Jungkook, you never had been. You just didn’t know what you were supposed to do about it. You needed definitive answers, you needed a sign. Something, anything, to give you direction.

You rummaged below your bed until you found it, the shoebox that you kept under there. You had never gotten the strength to throw it away, but you also never had the strength to look at it again since you had moved homes. You sat there for a moment, staring at it. The silence was so loud it was deafening.

You pulled your knees in to your chest, taking a deep breath in. You weren’t crying anymore, as you opened the lid of the box.

Your eyes fell on the contents of the box and your heart immediately twisted. You pulled out a black hoodie that still smelled faintly like him, holding the soft fabric in your hands. You pulled out an old bottle of facial cleanser. There were polaroids and photos scattered at the bottom of the box, you looked through them all, feeling your resolve waver. The photos felt like distant memories of happier times, you had such a big smile on your face in all the photos. Jungkook had an even bigger smile on his in them. You let your fingertips run wistfully across the photos before you put them down. You had no answers, you were still as confused as ever. Maybe it was time to throw away this box, throw away these memories, and move on.

Just as you were beginning to put the lid back on the box, a flash of bright orange caught your eye and you hesitated. It was a sticky note, a tiny square of paper stuck on the back of one of the photos.

You picked it up, your eyes falling on it. It was a tiny note, something Jungkook had quickly written for you and stuck on the fridge when the two of you had been living together. Jungkook kept sticky note pads around the house, he liked to jot down lyric and song ideas. You’d find random sticky notes with words and phrases on them everywhere. Sometimes, they wouldn’t be lyrics at all, but love letters, addressed to you.

Never give up on me, his messy, sloping handwriting made you smile. I will be the best man I can be for you. I will never stop trying. Your fingertips traced his words, your breath hitched in your throat. You will always have my heart.

You held the little sticky note in your hands, looking up and around your empty bedroom. It was a tiny reminder of everything you had shared with Jungkook, a small throwback to the immense love the two of you had for one another. You still loved him. you had been a fool to think that those feelings would just go away. You loved him and seeing him again had brought back a flood of feelings, a sea of emotion that you had attempted to keep locked back behind a dam. Now, that dam had broken and you couldn’t hide from it anymore. You had to confront it.

You loved every part of Jungkook and there was so much about him, within him, that you knew you would never be able to find with anyone else. There were things about him that you had never appreciated when you had been together, things and habits you couldn’t stop thinking about now.

You winced, wishing more than anything that you had articulated those thoughts to him better today. You had wanted to tell him how much he meant to you. That you shouldn’t have taken him for granted. You wanted to tell him that you missed his sense of humour, how he would always lighten up a tense situation with a silly face expression and a sudden outburst of goofiness. You wanted to tell him you missed feeling the atmosphere change when he was stressed or moody, you even missed your petty arguments with him. He would always tell you he was sorry for not being better, now, you wanted to tell him you were sorry.

Jungkook was the definition of a perfectionist in all aspects of his life. His career, his music, and his relationship with you. He was always striving to keep your relationship fresh, to keep you happy. He was always apologizing for things that didn’t even bother you, you would catch him with his brow furrowed, telling you he wished he had more hours in a day to spend with you. He had done so much for you and been so much for you, and you had taken it all for granted. Not anymore.

You glanced back down at his words. Never give up on me. You steeled your resolve, putting the sticky note on top of the box and pushing it back under your bed. You hadn’t even fought for Jungkook properly yet. You owed it to him, and to yourself, to try harder. To fight for him, to show him that you weren’t giving up on him, that he was important to you.

It was worth it. Jungkook was worth it. You knew now, with the ghost of his kiss still lingering on your lips, the image of hesitation etched on his face before he tore himself away from you, that there was a part of him that loved you too. You couldn’t give up. You wouldn’t give up.

You clenched your jaw in determination as you gazed at your tear streaked face in the mirror. No more tears, you told yourself. Starting tomorrow morning, you were going to do whatever necessary to prove to Jungkook that you were willing to fight for him.

You woke up early, nervous but still sure of your decision. You were going to stop by Jungkook’s dorm before you had work, and ask Jungkook to talk. You knew he had 9AM practice most mornings, and you had your fingers crossed his schedule hadn’t changed. You got out of bed, heading straight to your closet and rummaging through its contents. You felt on edge already, your hands trembling as you picked out your outfit carefully. It was to any onlooker a normal outfit, yet you had chosen it meticulously, pondering carefully on each different piece of clothing. You wanted it to be perfect.

You were wearing your black skinny jeans, the ones that Jungkook always said were his favourites. You had a big woolly sweater on top, a dark burgundy red one that you had been wearing the night you had seen Jungkook in Hongdae, watching buskers. It had been a cold night then, and everybody was dressed in all black, embracing the winter weather. Except for you. Jungkook told you after your first date that he had noticed you across the crowd from the busker that the two of you were listening to... because of your jumper. He told you it was your sweater first, and then the look in your eyes as you listened to the street music, that drew him to you. He used to call it your ‘Lucky Sweater’, saying it was the jumper that had brought the two of you together.

After careful deliberation, you chose your white tennis sneakers, the ones Jungkook had bought you on a trip the two of you had taken to Busan last year. You had planned every detail, as if choosing these things carefully gave you more of a chance to win him back. You glanced at your reflection in the mirror before leaving your place, feeling nerves in your pulse and in every beat of your heart.

It was an odd feeling, walking to the dorm when it had been so long since you had last been there. You weren’t sure what your plan of action was for once you saw him, but you knew you would figure it out.

You passed the old bakery you and Jungkook used to go to together before he had practice in the mornings. You smiled at the sight of the familiar building, walking in on a whim. The warm scent of baked goods enveloped you, the woman working behind the counter smiled when she saw you, her cheeks were pink from the heat of the oven.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you!” She called out warmly, you just smiled back. “It has,” You responded agreeably. “Can I get one of your raspberry muffins please?”

They were Jungkook’s favourite, he had gone through a phase of semi-addiction to the muffins last year and eaten 7 in one day. She smiled, getting it from the display with tongs, placing it in a paper bag.

“For your boyfriend?” She asked conversationally. “I haven’t seen him in a while either. The two of you will keep coming to see us, won’t you?”

You smiled weakly, nodding. “I’ll try my hardest,” You replied honestly, passing her the money for the muffin and cradling the paper bag in your hands. “Keep the change.”

You left the store, wondering when exactly the last time was that Jungkook had visited that little bakery. You wondered if he had done what you had done when the two of you had broken up, avoiding familiar places, trying to hide from any reminders of the past.

You sighed a little, walking down further until you reached the dorm. You stood outside, staring up at the building for a moment. It had been so long since you had been here, you trembled, feeling the nerves heavy in your throat. You missed it, coming here with Jungkook on his days off, having meals with the guys, being part of their family. You had thrown that away.

The front door opened and voices floated out. You recognized them instantly, the deep rumbling voice and a higher pitched, clear voice. It was Hoseok and Yoongi.

You froze, you hadn’t been planning to run into any of the guys, unsure of how they’d react to seeing you standing there, waiting outside their dorm. You stood still, paralyzed for a moment, before you reacted.

You jumped and turned, ducking and crouching so your body was tucked in next to the bins, trying to minimize yourself as much as possible. Thankfully, Hoseok and Yoongi didn’t register your presence, stopping to stand outside their dorm. You could hear their conversation, and your heart twisted when you realized they were talking about Jungkook.

“…he was wrecked last night,” Hoseok sighed, you stayed still, feeling your heart pound. “Fucking hell Yoongi, you should’ve seen him man. He was all shaken and he went straight to his room. He wouldn’t talk to anyone, not even Namjoon.”

Yoongi responded immediately. “God, when’s he going to get over this? What exactly happened last night?”

You heard Hoseok’s loud sigh. “I don’t know. Something to do with Y/N.” They lapsed into companionable silence for a moment, you held your breath. Your heart was beating louder and faster at their words.

“I feel sorry for him.” Hoseok added sadly. “Poor guy got his heart smashed into pieces. I’ll never forgive her for that.”

You felt a shaky breath leave your lips at their words, guilt and regret seeping into the deepest parts of you at Hoseok’s words, the anger in his voice. That was all you.

“He’ll get over her soon,” Yoongi said dismissively, you could hear their footsteps, they were walking away from the dorm down the street, their voices getting quieter. “She lost her chance when she had it.”

You stayed still, trembling. The reality of your situation was hitting you again, you had broken Jungkook’s heart and you had no idea how things were going to get better. Further, you had destroyed your relationship with the other members, that much was clear. You felt the heavy sensation of guilt after hearing the guys talk, knowing they had every right to hate you. You felt your heart beat faster as you stood up shakily to leave, beginning to feel afraid that his was all a mistake.

You glanced up to the driveway and spotted him. Jungkook.

Jungkook was walking down the driveway, earphones in his ears, dressed casually in a beanie and a hoodie. He spotted you immediately, shock in his eyes as he spotted you.

“What… are you doing?” He asked in surprise, before covering up the surprise on his face, a steely look in his eyes.

You looked at him, he looked exhausted, circles under his eyes, which were slightly puffy. You knew instantly Jungkook had been up all night, and worse, he had been crying.

“I…” You began, silence hanging between the two of you. It was a heavy, uncomfortable silence and you shuffled from foot to foot as you stared at him.

“I brought you, um, food.” You held the bag in front of you, he just eyed it skeptically.

You rushed to fill the silences, stammering over your words. “It’s um, your favourite. Raspberry and white chocolate muffins, you know, from our place-”

“I’ve already eaten.” He cut you off, looking away into the distance. His coldness caused a pang of hurt to echo through you before you nodded slowly. Bravely, you held out the paper bag to him, stepping a tiny bit closer.

“Um okay… well I was wondering if um, on the way to practice, we could get a coffee or something? And talk?”

He finally met your gaze, his eyes were flat and cold.

“I don’t drink coffee anymore.”

Your mouth dropped open a little, he was already looking away, down at his phone. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, unsure of what to say.

“Oh… you don’t? You love coffee,” You managed lamely. As long as you had known Jungkook, he couldn’t function without his morning coffee. Usually it was something sweet and strong, a triple shot caramel macchiato was his usual. You had dropped coffee off to him at practices in the past more times than you could remember. The countless times he had bounded up to you, sweaty and grateful for the caffeine, while Yoongi watched, rolling his eyes and muttering that macchiatos "didn’t count as coffee".

Jungkook just shrugged, still scrolling through something on his phone.

“Not anymore. Things change.”

He didn’t meet your gaze, you just nodded, swallowing. He was being so cold and rigid, you didn’t know how to respond.

“Oh. Okay. Well um, bubble tea or something?”

He was still staring at his phone. “I can’t.”

You just nodded slowly, looking down at the floor and at your shoes. You had painfully, carefully chosen your shoes this morning and he hadn’t even looked twice at them. You cursed yourself for being so stupid, thinking winning him back would be that easy.

“Is that all?” Jungkook’s voice interrupted your thoughts, you glanced up to see him looking over at you, a cold look on his face. It was so unfamiliar that you just stared at him, unsure of how to proceed.

“Um,” You began. “I…” He glanced back down at his phone and you squeezed your eyes shut for a millisecond, telling yourself to gather your courage. “Jungkook, I’m sorry. For everything. I’m not going to stop saying it because I will always mean it. I regret what happened and I… I miss you.” Your words came out in a jumbled, frantic rush. You saw his head twitch slightly to the side, something he did when he was unsure. You took that as a sign and hurried to talk.

“Jungkook… this is me fighting for you. I know I fucked up. And I know things are different now. But I want to prove to you that I will fight for you. I want to show you that I’m not giving up on you, I’m not giving up on us. Because even if you don’t believe in us, I do.”

Your words hung in the air for a moment before Jungkook shoved his phone in his pocket, putting one earphone back in his ear. A passive expression was on his face, he just stared at you blankly and you felt your heart sink.

“Okay.” He started walking past you, you followed beside him silently for a few steps, feeling your heart pound.

“Jungkook, can we talk about this…?”

He turned his head to glance down at you dismissively.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

You swallowed. “Okay, well can you at least take the muffin? I bought it for you to eat. Please.” You held out the paper bag to him, willing him to look at you, to give you something, anything.

He kept walking, looking ahead emotionlessly.

You sighed quietly. “Jungkook, please take the muffin, and I’ll leave you alone.”

He snatched it with one of his hands, his mouth settling into a firm line. If it had been any other situation you would’ve laughed at how he looked, like a kid, his mouth set, refusing to look at you.

Instead, you were quiet, stopping to let him breeze past you. He continued walking down the street, not noticing or not caring that you had stopped walking beside him. Doubt began to creep into your mind about what you were doing. He had been so cold, so unresponsive. He had stared at you like you were a stranger, as if you meant nothing to him. Maybe you did mean nothing to him and this whole thing was a waste of your time and his time.

You watched as he opened the paper bag, glancing inside. And then in one smooth motion, he threw it in the bin. You stared, your heart throbbing in pain, watching as he walked away, his body getting smaller and smaller until you couldn’t see it anymore.

It had been a long day, you had been trapped in your own thoughts, unable to focus at work. All you could think about was Jungkook, the cold look in his eyes. When you were home, finally, you dropped your bag on the floor and went straight to your room. You were exhausted, drained. Your entire body had been tensed all day without you even realizing, reliving every word you had said to Jungkook. It had been so unsuccessful, you were feeling deflated and hopeless. The mental image of him discarding your muffin was playing on an endless loop in your brain, you groaned loudly and flopped onto your bed.

You just wanted this day to be over. You were exhausted, and you welcomed sleep gratefully. You wanted a break from your own thoughts, from your own regrets. As you slipped into sleep, the last image in your head was a clip of Jungkook’s face this morning, staring ahead, away from you, right before he had walked away.

You were dreaming.

You were in the boys’ dorm living room, you gazed around and smiled at the familiarity of your setting. You could vaguely smell Jin cooking stew, and noisy chatter coming from the kitchen. Above all, your felt loose, comfortable as you looked around you, you were sitting on the couch. The dorm. It was your home away from home.

You only knew you were dreaming because things were slow, and hazy. And Jungkook was there.

Jungkook had appeared in so many of your dreams in the last six months that you weren’t surprised to see him. He was sitting beside you on the couch, an arm draped comfortably around yours.

You smiled at him, he just smiled down at you. “What, jagiya?” He laughed, his voice was stretched out, slow, and you just shrugged. “Nothing.”

You nestled closer into him, enjoying the feeling of his arm around you casually, the comfort of having him there.

“I missed you,” You whispered softly, to no one in particular. You knew with a sad clarity that you were in a dream, that this wasn’t your reality anymore.

Yet you enjoyed these dreams, these strange, hazy stolen moments with Jungkook. They weren’t real, and you knew that, but you still took what you could get.

“Jungkook, I’m sorry,” A voice floated into your dream, you glanced up and squinted. It was Taehyung, standing there with his arms on his hips, a pleading look on his face. “I’m sorry…”

You blinked, and when you opened your eyes, Taehyung was gone, and it was just you and Jungkook. Except the setting had changed. You were in your old bedroom, tucked into the crook of his neck. You glanced around in confusion, it was definitely your old apartment, your old bed.

“Where’s Taehyung?” You asked dazedly.

“I don’t know, I don’t care. I’m mad at him. We’re in a fight.” Jungkook muttered, you pulled away to glance at his face. He had a steely look in his eyes, it was an expression that was eerily familiar. You just couldn’t remember why. Where had you seen that look on his face before?

“Why are you being like that? It’s Tae,” You asked softly, poking his waist. He just glanced at you, his face soft before he shrugged.

“I don’t know,” He admitted, kissing the side of your forehead absently. “I’m stubborn. I don’t want to apologize first to hyung when he was the one to wrong me. I don’t want to be weak, I want to be strong.” Something in his words caused something to prick in your memory but your brain felt foggy, hazy. You just nodded slowly at his words.

“Besides,” Jungkook’s voice was slowed down even more, you knew you were going to wake up soon. Your dream was starting to fray at the edges. You curled up closer to him, suddenly feeling desperate. You wanted to stay in this dream with him forever. “If he really is sorry, then he’ll prove it to me…”

You woke up, to the sound of your alarm ringing, your face dotted in sweat.

Your dream, still vivid in your memory, had you shaking. You knew it was a sign.

You knew Jungkook like the back of your hand, he was your Jungkook and you knew how he worked, how his mind worked. It wasn’t over yet. You had to try again. You had to keep fighting for Jungkook. It wasn’t going to be easy, but if it was for the slight possibility that he might forgive you, allow you back into his heart, then it was worth it.

You glanced at your phone, if you rushed, you would be able to make it to the boys’ dorm before work. You dressed quickly, not thinking about your outfit, just getting ready quickly. You had to try again, you had to fight again. You repeated the words in your mind as you left your apartment.

You hurried to the dorm, feeling a new, fresh determination wash over you. It was quiet outside when you got there, you stood against the wall, your senses on alert for any of the other members or staff, waiting until you saw him.

Twenty minutes passed and then you saw him. He was dressed in a different outfit, a sweater you had gotten him last year and ripped jeans. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw him, he glanced around for a moment but didn’t see you. You took him in, his handsome face, his lean body, and it made your heart ache for a moment.

You stepped out, his eyes fell on you and surprise once again melted over his face.

“Jungkook,” You addressed, he just ignored you.

“Jungkook,” You repeated, hurrying to catch up with him. He just grunted in response.

“I’m not giving up,” You said suddenly, fiercely. He stopped walking and glanced down at you, he had an unreadable expression on his face. You continued on.

“I am not giving up. I’ll wait outside your dorm every morning to convince you to talk to me if that’s what I have to do.”

His eyes flashed a little as he just stared at you silently.

“Jungkook, please.” Your voice softened a little. “Please, can we talk? All I’m asking is for you to hear me out. Please.”

He just stared at you before he tore his eyes away, looking into the distance behind you.

“I’m busy today, I have practice until 9pm.”

“I’ll meet you after practice. Please. Just thirty minutes.” Desperation coloured your voice, you stared at him hopefully, you crossed your fingers and prayed for him to say yes.

He studied your face before he sighed a little, shrugging. He didn’t meet your gaze.

“Alright.”

You fought to keep the ecstatic grin from your face, struggling to stay calm.

“Thank you, thank you. Um, is practice still at the same-”

“Yep.” He cut you off coldly, picking up the pace and beginning to walk faster.

You let him walk away, a smile on your face.

“Okay, I’ll see you at 9PM,” You called out after his retreating figure. As expected he didn’t respond, but still, you couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across your face.

This was your chance.

You were outside the practice studio at 8.55PM, your nerves forming a bundle in your stomach. You had a million sentences in your mind, things you wanted to say. You needed the perfect words and you couldn’t get them to sound right, no matter how many times you tried. You paced back and forth nervously, it was dark outside and you had your coat bundled up around you, yet you were still shivering. You bounced up and down on your feet, feeling nerves, excitement, anticipation grip you. You had to get this right.

You waited, frowning when you glanced down at your phone. 9.15PM. Where was he?

You lowered onto the step, tucking your knees under your arm as you leaned against the staircase, sighing. You had to wait.

Everytime someone walked past, you straightened, eyes lighting up, only to be disappointed. It wasn’t Jungkook.

You sighed softly, staring up at the sky. The stars only stared back, the sky was too cloudy to see the moon.

You thought about your rooftop, you thought about Jungkook, about how you had seen him standing there just a few days ago, looking out at the sky.

It had been a sign. He had to be coming.

You were still sitting there when two hours had passed, feeling weak and unsure of what to do. You had been waiting for so long, you weren’t sure if he was still inside practicing, you had no idea what was going on. You didn’t have his number, so you couldn’t call. And you didn’t want to leave. You had been waiting here so long, leaving would feel like giving up.

“You’re still here?” Jungkook’s voice drew you out of your thoughts, you glanced up to see him standing opposite from you, surprise on his face. He was dressed casually, hands in his pockets. He had come from the opposite direction of the studio, your jaw dropped a little.

“I… where were you?” You stammered out, he just shrugged.

“Practice was cancelled so I went to dinner with the guys.”

You froze, he had a cold, uninterested look on his face. You blinked, feeling anger fire up on your stomach.

“What’s your problem?” You asked, straightening and folding your arms. Jungkook just stood there, an impassive look on his face.

“My problem?” He just repeated calmly, you nodded, feeling frustrated tears prick in your eyes. The hot, awful feeling of tears grew in your throat but you pushed on.

“You said we would talk,” You continued bravely. “I waited two hours for you.”

He just stared at you blankly, before shrugging. “Oh. Sorry.”

You stood there, your jaw dropping slightly in shock.

“Sorry?” You repeated slowly. “Jungkook…” You broke off with a disbelieving laugh, before frowning, biting your words. You had to stay calm, not retaliate. “Jungkook, can we please talk now?”

He frowned at you. “I’m tired. Sorry.” He brushed past you, walking down the street. You stood there, letting is words sink in before you followed him closely. Anger was starting to bubble up inside of you, your throat still felt raw and hot, you knew you were on the verge of crying but you weren’t giving up. Not now.

“Jungkook, please. Can we talk?”

“You’re wasting your time, Y/N. Go home.”

“I’m trying here!” You suddenly snapped, reaching out and pulling his arm. He stopped walking, staring up at the sky silently. “I’m trying, Jungkook,” You continued, your voice cracking on your words. “All I’ve done is try.”

He was silent, his arms crossed, looking everywhere but you.

You took advantage of his silence, stepping forward closer to him. “Jungkook… I’m sorry.”

He finally met your eyes, and for the first time there was no anger in his eyes. he just looked exhausted, drained. You felt fear seize you as he just stared at you.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re sorry or not.” He said quietly. The only sound between the two of you was silence, your breaths slowly getting more ragged.

“Jungkook…” You whispered. “Please.” You felt tears well up in your eyes, he kept staring at you tiredly. “I love you.” You said the words desperately, searching his face for anything. But he just stared at you, disappointment in the lines of his face.

“It doesn’t matter.” He said finally. You just stared at him, feeling your heart heavy in your chest. He had such a resigned look on his face, and the reality of everything was sinking in. There was no love in his face, just exhaustion. You had done this to him.

You took a slow step backwards, feeling a sob rise from your chest. You struggled to contain it, feeling your eyes sting with fresh tears. You just nodded, feeling your head bob and down robotically as you stared at the floor. You had fought as hard as you could. It was time to give up.

“Okay, I’ll leave.” You whispered, more to yourself than to him. You were crying now, tears trickling down your face, your entire throat felt raw from holding back the tears.

“Y/N…” You heard Jungkook’s voice, low, injected with concern, but you shook your head furiously, looking up to meet his gaze. Your vision was blurred with tears and you stared at him. His face was open, pained, as he stared at you. You shook your head again, forcing a smile at him.

“It’s okay. I get it. I… I really am sorry.” You said as clearly as you could, feeling yourself start to shake. You had to leave, you had to get out of there before you broke down. He just stood there, staring at you with a raw look on his face before you whirled around, walking away as fast as your legs could take you.

You got home, and immediately collapsed against the wall, letting your body slide against the wall and crumple into the ground. Your eyes were red with tears but you weren’t crying, you were numb.

He had said the words himself, it didn’t matter how sorry you were, it didn’t matter how hard you fought or tried to pretend the past didn’t matter. What happened had happened, and you would have to live with that forever.

You knew in your heart you loved Jungkook and you would always love him. And for the first time, loving Jungkook hurt more than losing him.

There was a knock at the door.

You froze, feeling your breath catch in your throat. A dangerous flash of hope gripped your heart, you tried to dampen it as you stood up slowly. It won’t be him, you chanted to yourself as you opened the door.

It was him.

He was standing there, a tortured look in his eyes. He was slightly out of breath, his chest heaving with exertion as he stared at you. You just stared back, silence stretched out into what felt like hours.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing here,” He confessed finally. And then you started crying.

Tears started falling down your face, and then you started to shake with the tears. HE stepped forward, cradling you into his arms. The feeling of him, the immediate gratification and comfort, made you cry harder.

“Shh,” He murmured, stroking your hair slowly. His voice was hoarse, a sign that you recognized, he was close to tears himself. “You know I can’t stand seeing you cry.” He whispered kindly, softly.

His words, the feeling of his hands slowly stroking your hair, had you crying even harder. The emotions of the last few months, the regret, the awful, insidious feeling that you had caused Jungkook so much hurt and yet he was the one holding you right now, all was too much. You cried into his shoulders, as he circled his arms around you, holding you together, keeping you safe.

“I’m sorry Jungkook,” You tore out. You were sobbing, breaking down, gasping out desperately for air. Jungkook remained calm, just holding you. His hand stroked your hair rhythmically, and he kept his lips near your ear as he softly hummed. It was a tune you didn’t recognize but the vibrations of his chest and his melodic voice soothed you.

Your tears slowed, and you stayed still, listening to his heart beat. You slowly pulled your head away from where it had been nestled into him, you glanced up to meet his eyes. His eyes, warm brown, and soft as ever, were teary.

“Your jumper is covered in my tears, I’m sorry,” You whispered, swallowing. He just nodded at you, his stare intense as he reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face.

“It’s okay.” He cupped your cheek, you leaned against his touch, letting your eyelids flutter closed.

“Jungkook…” You whispered, saying his name out into the empty air like it was a promise. “I’m sorry.” He was quiet, hearing the unspoken words between you as he always had in the past. You opened your eyes, he was still staring at you with that intensity, as a tear rolled down his face.

“I know. Don’t worry about me, I’m a tough guy. I’ll be fine.” He replied instead, giving you a tiny smile. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, you wanted to tell him he didn’t have to be strong now, that you were sorry anyway. But you couldn’t find the words.

You didn’t return his smile, the smile faded from his face as he stared into your eyes. You were still standing in his arms, your face tilted up to his.

“I’m a mess,” You said quietly, meeting his eyes steadily. He was silent, watching you. “You deserve better. I know that.”

“You’re not a mess,” He responded softly.

You shook your head. “I am.” You said, and then he leaned in and carefully brushed his lips against yours.

It was a different kiss to the one you had shared on the rooftop, it was slow, careful. He pulled away almost instantly, his eyes searching yours yet again. There was no anger there, just a yearning, and a sadness. You could sense that he had missed you as badly as you missed him. You curled a hand around the back of his neck, staring into his eyes, and you reached up and brought his face down to yours again, kissing him.

Your kiss was slow, one of those kisses so infused with intimacy that it literally took your breath away. He kissed you softly, you had your hand around the back of his neck, his hands fluttered up to your face and cupped you closer to him. All you could hear were his soft breaths, his quiet murmurs as you kissed, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Y/N.” He breathed out your name in the midst of your kiss, you pulled away a little to look at him. his eyes were still red with tears but he had a soft look in his eyes, his guard was slipping and vulnerability was all over his face as he looked down at you.

At the sound of his voice saying your name, you felt something jump inside of you. You had been longing for him for so long, hearing him affirm your deepest desires, saying your name, had you quietly buzzing.

You leaned up and kissed him again, deeper, entangling his tongue with yours and pressing yourself slowly but firmly against him. He responded, running his strong hands down from your face down to your neck, down to your shoulders, giving them a soft squeeze. His touch was careful, but searching. You had forgotten what his body felt like, he had forgotten yours, and he was trying to remember it again.

He reached behind the two of you, closing the door. The soft click as it closed had your heart beating louder in anticipation, and he leaned down, picking you up. He had always been strong, but he had gotten stronger, and he picked you up with ease. His strong arms encircled you as he walked the two of you over to the couch, laying you down. You gazed up at him as he slowly brushed the hair away from your face, staring down at you before meeting your lips in another kiss, settling his body down on top of yours.

You were both silent, you didn’t speak, you just kissed. You were lost in the feeling of him, you had forgotten this, how he felt when he kissed you. He kissed you passionately, as if his soul was searching for yours, his hands tracing the outlines of your body. You felt like your heart was singing, a slow, dazed beat in your head reminded you that this was really happening.

His body was warm and strong on top of yours, the most real reminder that this was happening, otherwise you could’ve easily been convinced this was a dream. You slowly traced the outline of him with your fingers, enthralling at his strong shoulders, his sculpted stomach, his forearms which gripped the couch armrest, ensuring his body hovered above yours without crushing you.

He was familiar, yet foreign, and it excited you. All you had done was kiss, slowly, and stare at him, but you were feeling so alive, electricity crackling across your skin, a heavy thud between your legs. You wanted him so badly already, you could feel it in your fingers and your toes, the desire for him.

He broke away from your lips to plant a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth, than against the base of your neck, against your pulsepoint, then trailing kisses down the slope of your neck. You gasped out a little at the feeling, he responded by lowering himself firmer down onto you, you could feel him between your legs and he was aroused, as ready for you as you were for him.

He stared into your eyes, his eyes were darkened in lust. It was all familiar, yet it had been so long, your body was calling for him, craving him.

He reached down and pulled the hoodie and teeshirt off of his body in one smooth motion, you swallowed thickly as your eyes took him in. he was better than your fantasies had reminded you, he had been working out and he was muscular, his shoulders rippling as he shifted his weight on top of you, his stomach tensed. He watched you as your eyes roamed across him, before meeting his stare.

“Wow,” You just whispered, his eyes glowed a little at your words and then he reached down and gripped the hem of your dress.

You sat up as he gently pulled it off your head, his eyes immediately on every curve of you as he threw the dress to the ground. You felt exposed under his stare, but in a good way. He was drinking you in as you had with him, and when he met your eyes, there was an intensity in them you had never seen before.

Suddenly he was grabbing you and kissing you, intensely now, desperately. You could feel your desire for him coursing through your veins, through your blood, and you knew that you needed him. You wanted to be as close to him as you could, you wanted to express to him that you loved him, that you would always love him.

He kissed down your neck, reaching behind you to clip off your bra. He fumbled a little, you pushed on his chest and got up, moving so you were straddling him. You clipped off your bra and let is fall to the ground, you guided his hand to his jeans and he responded instantly, unzipping and kicking them off. He was completely naked underneath you, his head tilted back to stare at you. Your legs were wrapped around his, his body sinking into the couch.

You didn’t speak, not wanting to break this spark, this feeling between the two of you, the intensity. You didn’t need words, you just reached down and closed the space between the two of you with a kiss.

His hands curved up from your hips, skimming over your stomach until they found your breasts. His touch was gentle, lightly tracing the outline of your breasts and your nipples, which were hard with arousal. His touch was so light, so bare, that it had you softly moaning into his mouth. He was being careful with his touch, so slow, but you could feel how hard his erection was in his pants. You knew he wanted you, badly, yet he was fighting that to touch you slowly, carefully. He was treasuring your body with his touch.

You reached down and pulled off your underwear, shifting your legs so you could throw them behind you onto the floor. He kissed your chest, planting soft careful kisses around your breasts, his strong fingers reaching between the two of you and carefully caressing your clit. His touch was slow and teasing, his eyes were on your face. The moment his fingers were touching your wetness you felt your body tighten in want, you were already so wet for him, you could feel your core throbbing.

He just met your gaze and then kissed you, his arms around your waist as he suddenly flipped your body on it’s back, his body pressing on top of yours.

The feeling of his bare skin on yours had you sighing out, he positioned himself at your entrance and was stroking your hair. You reached down and wrapped your fingers around his length, gently pumping up and down. He was so hard, you could feel it underneath your touch, precum already on the tip of his dick.

He wanted you so badly, yet he had been slow, careful, memorizing your body with his hands and his eyes and mouth. He let out a soft moan, you glanced up at him. he had his eyes closed, and the look on his face, blissful, had your heart swelling. It was as strong as the lust you were feeling, you loved him, God you loved him.

“Jungkook, I want you,” you whispered to him, his eyes fluttered open and they met yours. You were aware that your eyes were a little teary, but they were a good kind of tears, emotional, and he smiled, kissing you before he slowly slid himself inside of you.

He took it slow, easing inside of you, but you still groaned out. It had been months, and you were tight, he stretched out your walls, his knuckles gripping the couch as he let out a low, deep moan. Your legs wrapped around his waist, you had your eyes closed as you let yourself get lost at the sensation of his dick getting buried within you.

He felt incredible, so full, he stayed inside of you for a moment, the two of you just relishing how it felt, before he slowly started rocking his hips in and out of you.

You whimpered at the feeling, his hands fluttered by your face, gently cupping your cheek before down to your neck, gently tracing your neck with his fingers, gently resting around your neck before gripping your chin and running his fingers against your full lips. The feeling had you gasping out, he was staring down at you, a strained look in his face, pleasure rippling across his face with each motion of his hips.

He started pumping into you with more force, holding the small of your back, the other arm propping himself upright so he could push all of himself inside of you. You lifted your hips against him, wanting to feel all of him inside of you. He felt incredible, his hands entangling in your hair as he pumped into you, his eyes never leaving your face.

He was having sex with you, taking dominant control of your body, yet his touch was still so gentle, that it had you writhing underneath him, murmuring out desperately.

He leaned down between the two of you, massaging your clit with two of his fingertips, alternating his rhythm to have your entire body quivering. He knew exactly how to make your body respond, and his touch had you moaning out loudly.

“Jungkook,” You breathed out, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying his name. He grunted, getting into rhythm, pumping into you with his fingers on your clit, the feeling had your entire body clenched, your vision was beginning to blur from the sheer intensity of it, of him.

“I’m going to come Jungkook, oh….” You cut off your sentence with a loud moan, feeling your orgasm clench inside your core as you moaned loudly, your legs tightening as waves of pleasure and intensity and satisfaction washed over you, tension draining into and out of your body at the same time. He slowed his touch, but kept rocking into you, you leaned forward and bit down onto his collarbone, moaning into his skin as you rode out your orgasm.

“Say my name again,” He murmured, you smiled blissfully into his skin.

“Jungkook,” You breathed, curling your fingers up to lace between his neck, gently pushing so you were on top of him, still inside of him. He was staring at you with wide, intense eyes.

“Jungkook,” You repeated, leaning down to nip at his neck and his earlobe. You were still glowing from your orgasm as you rocked your hips in and out of his, riding him slowly, intensely. You arched your back, making sure all of him was grinding inside of you, he just groaned out loudly at the feeling.

“I…” He stammered out, “I’m close, kiss me, Y/N…”

You leaned down, kissing him passionately, pulling away to stare into his eyes as he came inside of you, his features scrunching up at the intensity of his orgasm, his legs twitching and body tensing as he gripped onto your hips.

You watched as the orgasm took over his face, ebbing away and leaving him with a satisfied smile. You smiled yourself, flopping down on top of him, resting your face on his chest and listening to his heart beat.

Comfortable silence stretched out between the two of you, you slowly eased yourself out of him, reaching above his head for a box of tissues and between your legs, dabbing away his cum. He watched you, his eyes soft, as you sat up, grabbing the blanket you kept by the couch and draping it over the two of you.

You lay on your side on the couch, beside him, he shifted so he was facing you. His face was open, soft, as he stared at you.

“Jungkook,” You began quietly, you didn’t want to disturb this between the two of you, the tranquility, but the thought of waking up without him here was too confronting.

“Will you stay?” You were tense, waiting on his answer.

He searched your eyes, before he nodded. Relief poured through you.

“You’re my weakness,” He said softly, his eyes slightly tinged in pain. You just nodded, staring at him. He was so beautiful like this, his hair messy, no make up, his eyes a little conflicted.

“I’ll give you another chance,” He said quietly, decisively, You weren’t touching, except for your legs, which were tangled in his. The blanket was wrapped up around the two of you, and it felt, warm, safe. He said the words into the still air.

“You will?” You whispered, feeling tears spring to your eyes. your heart was swelling, it was so full you felt like it was going to burst. “Thank you, I promise, I will work on this, I will work on us,” you whispered urgently, he just nodded.

“I’ll give you another chance… but only if it’s on my terms. I need to do this my way.”

You just nodded desperately, he nodded back, leaning forward to kiss the tip of your nose. It was a simple gesture, affectionate, and it made you smile as he pulled away, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close into his arms.

His breathing slowed, you could tell he was tired, falling asleep. You lay against his chest, feeling more awake than ever, with more questions than ever.

Jungkook was giving you another chance, he was here now, he was staying.

You had told yourself you would do anything for him and you had him again. You looked up at his face, he was asleep, lashes fluttering with each breath. Your heart ached with happiness, he was here, in your arms.

Yet, you couldn’t help but remember the pain in his eyes. The pain hadn’t left and you couldn’t help but recall his words, that he would give you another chance, on his terms, in his way.

You had Jungkook’s name on your lips, tucked into his body as you yawned. A pang of worry hit you all of the sudden, you shuddered, closing your eyes.

And you wondered to yourself before you drifted off to sleep, what exactly ‘his terms’ entailed.

AN: ♡ this chapter was hard to write, even with a happy(ish) ending. I have a feeling the next one will be even harder... Part 5 is going to be JK angst heavy!

#bts fanfic #bts angst #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x reader #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook #rapmonluv

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wolfe-in-wonderland · 7 years

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Fireteam

Dear lord, this was harder than I thought. It took me like all day to do this and it's not even good. I'm sorry, so so sorry. For @destinyweek Fireteam Knight is, just like any other fireteam, a group of friends who have been broken and forged in light together. They have faced many tribulations with one another, but in the end they always come out on top. Like other squads, this one consists of a warlock, a titan, and a hunter. The team's warlock is a human, and a tall one at that. 6’5” to be exact, and he likes to be exact. His name name is Connor Strauss, and he is a hard core perfectionist as well as a sass master. He likes everything pristine and in its place, and if it's not it'll urk him until he fixes it. He was awoken in a collapsed building on Venus, and from the little evidence he was able to gleen, it had been some sort or research facility. Maybe it was something from his past? Why was he here when he died? He'll probably never know, and that thought of not knowing something slowly eats away at him. His accent is that of a proper and highly educated Englishman, and his hair is short, dark brown, and well kept. He's often clean shaven, except when he gets too into research and studying that he forgets to take care of himself. As much as he hates to admit it, he does that often, leaving dark circles under his chocolaty brown eyes. His ghost is called Dirson and the two differ, quite a bit. Whereas Connor is quiet and keeps to himself, Dirson is a social butterfly and tends to get loud often. “He's a pain and I wonder how I put up with him, but I don't think I'd make it long without him.” “Awe that's so sweet… wait…” - Next up is the dear titan of the group. Oh, my heart goes out to this poor soul. He is an Exo and his name is Louis-77. Yeah, seventy-seven. He has lived a long life, and not a happy one at that. Well, that's if he remembers any of it. He's been around as long as anyone can remember and he's become somewhat of a curse among the Guardians. Louis-77, having his noggin scrambled so many times, can't really form words anymore and take a minute for him to process things. That's why, until Connor and Aryia-1 came and accepted him, the others avoided him like the plague. Due to his impairment, he's liable to snap in battle and hurt and ally, and because of this no one wanted to deal with him or try to teach him. He tries his hardest though; he's even trying to learn sign language to talk easier, although it's going to take him awhile to memorize the hand signs if he's capable of it. For now, though he'll rely on simple gestures and on his ghost, Freight. Freight, much like how his name suggests, has a very… forceful personality. He's not one to stay quiet for long. “Lou says, ‘Defend. Friends. Death.’ He means to say, ‘I'll defend my friends until death.’ Right, Lou? You can't see but he's nodding.” - Last but not least, is the hunter of the squad. She happens to be an Exo as well. She… well, she's what you'd expect from a hunter. She's reckless, hard headed, and likes to be on her own from time to time. She really likes cloaks and knives, like really likes them. She has about ten knives on her at all times. Don't ask where they are though. She also tends to try and be the groups titan when she's obviously not meant for it. She sometimes forgets that she's squishy compared to Louis-77 and will charge into battle with him, only to end up dead or in the process of retreating. She also has a habit of being selfless. There were times where her teammates were supposed to die but she took their place instead, seeing as she's not detrimental to the team. That's what she thinks anyway, and boy would she be wrong. The others love her shenanigans and they all care for each other deeply. As you can tell she has some darker views on her worth but that's what her ghost, Ember, is for. Ember is sort of a mother figure, as odd as it sounds. She looks after and cares for not only her Guardian but the rest of the team and even their ghosts as well. “It's all in a day's work, looking out for these kinderguardians. Sometimes- wait, no! Aryi! Lou! Leave Connor alone! No-stop! Look, I have to deal with this. Have a lovely day, my Guardians and make sure to eat three meals a day and get at least eight hours of rest!” ~~~A little scenario that I don't know if I like but here it is anyway, to heck with it.~~~ A hail of projectiles rained from the weapons of the goblins, and powerful bolts streaked from the rifles of the hobgoblins. The sky above is darkened with the forever storm that looms over the planet, and vibrant blue lava slowly seeps from the volcano in the distance with the ground rumbling and shaking with the seismic activity. Ancient, gravity defying ruins from before the collapse are overgrown with vegetation, seeing as mother nature is reclaiming her land once more. It is here that we meet fireteam Knight on a mission to destroy a navigation pylon commonly used by the Vex. “Louis, take the aggro. Aryia, disrupt them. Keep them confused. On my mark.” Connor Strauss is crouched behind a broken down and rusted car, giving orders to his fellow Guardians. He pulls a sniper from the holster on his back and begins to take aim. “Mark.” With a burst of speed, Aryia-1, darted from whatever safety the rusted car provided, and threw a poison gas grenade into the horde of enemies. Although the Vex did not need to breathe, the gas from the grenades were special. It has corrosive properties to it as well as the good ole fashioned poison. The Vex goblins shuddered with dismay. The cries of the dying pierce the air as they fall to the ground in a heap of lifeless metal. Aryia-1, using her double jump, gained even more altitude and let loose another grenade. This time the grenade detonated on impact with the ground and produced a wall of void flame, effectively cutting the hoard in half. As she descended to the ground, a bolt from an unknown Hobgoblin nailed her in the chest, putting her off balance. The bolt took over 75% of her over shield and her hard and unpleasant connection with the ground took half of the remaining shields. Without a word, Connor turned his sights to where the bolt had come from and eliminated the assaulting Hobgoblin. “Can't stay on your feet for five minutes, huh? Psh, hunters.” “Those are some fighting words, sir!” Louis-77 burst forth from the cover, shotgun in hand, and charged toward his fallen comrade. The distant sound of a hammer striking an Anvil rang throughout the battlefield as Louis-77 activated his fully charged super. His heavily armored body was bathed in flames as he summoned the hammer of Sol to his left hand. There, it did not stay, for Louis-77 let loose his fury. Fiery hammers flew from his hand like there was no tomorrow. By the time his energy was depleted, there were no more Goblins left to speak of. “Thanks, Lou.” Aryia-1 began to stand up with the help of Louis-77. She let out a grunt of pain and rubbed her chest. “I owe you one.” Louis-77 moved Aryia-1's small hand and placed his larger one on her chest. He was quiet and tilted his head towards her chest, where his hand lay, before looking back up to her face. “Yeah, I'm good.” Aryia-1 gives a nod of thanks and places her hand over his, pulling it off her chest. “Guys, incoming Vex. I’d take cover, if I were you. I mean, unless you want to catch a minor case of death.” The ever calm and level headed Connor spoke over the linked helmet communication system. Without a moment to lose, Louis-77 picked up Aryia-1 and threw her over his shoulder as he sprinted out of the area in which the Vex were teleporting to. Gray fog laced with vibrant blue arcs of electricity began to form where they once stood and soon more Vex replaced the ones Louis-77 had destroyed earlier. However, this time it's wasn't goblins and hobgoblins. This time it was a flock of harpies and pair minotaurs. “This is all they have? Guys, let me handle this.” Connor holstered his sniper and stood from behind cover. Aryia-1, knowing her friend's plan, jumped into action as well. Using the rusted car in front of him, he jumped up and pushed off of its roof to gain more height. Seeing this, Aryia-1 immediately called upon her connection to the Void and summoned her void bow. She focused her energy into one powerful shot that tethered and disabled the Vex caught within its range. Once over head, Connor harnessed the raging storm within him and used his landfall perk to his advantage. The Vex stood no chance when the two supers combined into such an effective pair. Skillfully channeling his powerful connection with the Stormcaller subclass, Connor easily overloaded and fried his enemies where they stood. His enemies lay dead at his feet as his charge ended and his feet touched the ground once more. He used his foot to nudge a dead Vex corpse. “Hmph. Good riddance, I suppose.” “Not gonna lie, I want lightning hands… Think I could win it off you with a bet?” “...” “What? Don't look at me like that.” “I worry for you sometimes.”

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marjaystuff · 5 years

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Elise Cooper’s Interview with Maisey Yates

Cowboy to the Core and Lone Wolf Cowboy by Maisey Yates are the latest in the “Gold Valley series.” What these novels have in common, a Yates specialty, is showing how individuals make their own choices and can choose love over being broken. Both books delve into the lives of the Dalton brothers and how their father’s imperfection affected them regarding relationships.

Jamie Dodge is the heroine in Cowboy to the Core. She is the only girl in a male dominated life. During delivery, her mother dies leaving Jamie, her brothers, and father to be without a mother and wife. No one ever made her feel that it was her fault but she is guilt ridden. Because of that, she has worked harder than anyone to not be thought of as poor Jamie who lost her mother. Jamie built a real tough outer skin and sky-high walls around her heart, and hides her vulnerability with a streak of stubbornness that includes a sassy mouth. Feeling she always had to be “one of the boys,” she tried to ignore the feelings of loss for not having a female role model.

Deciding it is time to go out on her own, she accepts a job with Gabe Dalton to take care of his horses. Jamie has been around cowboys like Gabe her whole life. She won’t be fooled by his words or ways. She wants this job to prove herself and to save up to start barrel racing. As long as he listens to her ideas about the horses and their needs she thinks their relationship can be tolerable. As they work side-by-side, rivalry turns to friendship that turns to a blossoming relationship. Because of his father’s infidelities and the fact that his father sold Gabe’s horses out from under him, he is a very wounded hero. Yet, when around Jamie his restlessness seems to be soothed. The story takes readers on a journey with Jamie and Gabe to see if they can find happiness with each other.

The other novel, Lone Wolf Cowboy, is in some ways a departure from the usual Yates’ storyline in that the heroine is broken. Vanessa Logan is a recovering addict who once had a miscarriage and now finds herself pregnant, after a one night stand with Jacob Dalton. He has become a recluse since his friend’s tragic death, in which Jacob blames himself.

As a former EMT and a wildland firefighter, there’s no one Jacob Dalton can’t rescue, except himself. While working one night many years ago, he saved Vanessa’s life during a medical emergency, and they have never forgotten each other. But after Vanessa’s return to work as an art therapist to troubled youths Jacob feels a strong connection with her. After finding out that she is pregnant from a lustful night, he does the right thing and asks her to marry him. The problem is, will these two people allow their troubles to be put to pasture, or will they decide to remain isolated.

Both these books have very likeable characters that take the reader on a roller coaster ride with them. Will they allow themselves to overcome defects and instead have a thriving relationship?

Elise Cooper: You seem to have a recurring theme about choices?

Maisey Yates: You can choose to be defined by what wounded you or to choose to grab hold to a new feeling. It comes down to love versus staying with something bad that happened.

EC: Why did you write Jamie as a tomboy?

MY: I have a soft spot for them as a type of heroine. Probably because when I was younger I was that tough girl, the one who had friends who were boys. Jamie is the tough country girl type who is confident in what she is very good at. She thinks she can handle almost everything.

EC: You have an Annie Oakley quote at the beginning of the book?

MY: You are referring to the one, “I ain’t afraid to love a man. But I ain’t afraid to shoot him either.” I came across it many times and had it in my mind. I put it in because this is what I was thinking about Jamie. The quote cemented for me the picture of Jamie. She is practical, direct, tough, a straight talker, not apologetic, and sometimes a bit cocky. She wants to realize her dreams.

EC: How would you describe the hero, Gabe?

MY: He is an older hero who knows his flaws. He is a little more emotionally aware than Jamie is. I think he is at a different stage than she is. Interestingly, he is making a move back home, while she is making a move away from home. In the beginning, they are in very different emotional spaces.

EC: Horses seem to play an important role in a lot of your books?

MY: Horses have personalities, much like dogs do. My life long best friend is a phenomenal horse person, a professional who trains and sells horses. Something I observed is that each horse has a different temperament. It is important to match the personality of the horse with the personality of the person. Some people cannot handle a high-spirited horse.

EC: Each of the main characters has had family issues? First, talk about Jamie, please.

MY: She was raised by her dad and four brothers. My mom was also raised by a single dad and brothers. I remember my mom telling me she loved Mary Poppins so much because there was a woman who had influence over a family. Jamie, although she is not willing to admit it, is profoundly affected by the loss of her mom and never wanted to be a burden. I enjoyed writing that she thinks she is OK but eventually lets herself decide to have some femininity.

EC: Gabe had a dysfunctional family?

MY: There was a lot of emotion in his house as he was growing up, and a lot of it was toxic. His father, Hank, is so flawed, nice but selfish. He was someone who wanted to live his life for that moment of happiness and never thought outside of himself. Gabe was the protector of his mother because his dad did not do it.

EC: What about the relationship?

MY: Both of them were profoundly affected by their childhood, which influenced the relationship. Maybe they see themselves in the other person. I do like stories like this with the age gap romance because they can learn from each other. He watched her let down walls and be brave, while Gabe learned how to show vulnerability.

EC: Lone Wolf Cowboy was a deviation from other stories in that the heroine is a dysfunctional character having to overcome addiction and a miscarriage and now a pregnancy?

MY: It is not the first time I have written a heroine getting pregnant out of wedlock. I short changed my readers because I did not think anyone would want me to write Vanessa’s story. She was a drug addict in a previous book and I thought people would not care if she got a happy ending. She had to make a lot of tough choices for herself.

EC: Interestingly, Vanessa got pregnant because there was no safe sex?

MY: I think if the guy doesn’t use a condom assume the girl will get pregnant. I was told by an author friend of mine that during the 1980s this genre never had a conversation of safe sex. I think compared to other mediums safe sex is included a lot in the romance genre. The first time I wrote an accidental pregnancy my editor said ‘I don’t know if we can have this because it is so irresponsible.’ My response, ‘people do a lot of stupid stuff when it comes to sex.’ When it comes to sex there are bad decisions made when it feels good in the moment. The editor I am working with now didn’t even blink. Sometimes irresponsible behavior does occur because as adults we are not perfect.

EC: What about the addiction?

MY: I thought a lot about how I was going to write this. It is important to me to have an honest view of addiction so I talked to people that went through it. I wanted to write her story with compassion and made sure I never put her sobriety at risk. After all, romance is about hope and that everybody deserves love. I never wanted to be disrespectful to her struggles.

EC: There is a powerful quote about death?

MY: The quote is based on a firefighter I knew who passed away fighting a fire. I think a lot about him, off and on. The quote, “It leaves people who love that person behind. And it leaves a hole inside them that can’t be filled. It’s love that makes it matter… The tragedy of death was in the hearts that were left behind, and in the possibilities of life missed by those who were taken too soon.” I wrote this thinking of the repercussions of the people left behind. I read a quote recently, ‘grief is terrible because the person you need to talk to about it isn’t here.” The more you care about that person the greater the loss.

EC: Please describe Jacob?

MY: He is the middle child who is looking for his own purpose. He wanted to fix everything. I think he is a frustrated protector. He is a wounded person, like Vanessa, who went through a lot.

EC: Vanessa’s sister Olivia was an interesting character?

MY: She is totally me. She and I have a tendency to hold everything together. Just as Olivia, I am a perfectionist, people pleaser, sometimes judgmental and inflexible.

EC: You introduced a new character Aiden, who is a troubled youth?

MY: I have plans for him, Dallas, and Violet, and will visit these younger characters as they grow up. Readers will also be able to see the other characters in the background and how they progressed. I think Aiden learned something through the manual labor and realizes he can build something. He has the chance to make different choices and I am pretty sure he will grow into a hero who becomes a cowboy.

EC: Your next book?

MY: It is titled, Cowboy Christmas Redemption and will be out in September. It is the last book in the series. The reason for the Christmas time setting is that not everyone is happy around the holidays. I examined what is it like for someone who lost a husband, and a child who lost a father. When someone dies the tragedy is not theirs, but the person left behind. I saved Caleb and Ellie’s story for last because they have the greatest journey to go.

THANK YOU!!

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fashiontrendin-blog · 6 years

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What the Zodiac Says About Your Family Dynamic

http://fashion-trendin.com/what-the-zodiac-says-about-your-family-dynamic/

What the Zodiac Says About Your Family Dynamic

Astrology is but one small block in the massive Jenga tower of family dynamics, but let’s poke it loose anyway — just for fun. It’s the holidays! With respect to our post-nuclear-family landscape, I don’t presume to know anything about your domestic life, but for our purposes, your “family” can be any group of people with whom you feel safe and loved. It can be your little brother and single mom, the funky cousins who only come around once a year, the group of ladies that you get drinks with every Friday night or your significant other. I’m not here to judge your familial crews; I’m just here to interpret what random star patterns might say about your place in them. So grab some eggnog and your sun sign and join me below for a reading of your family role.

Aries

It’s probably fairly easy to spot the Aries in your family. They’re the ones who get super-competitive during the innocent tradition of New Year’s Eve charades or come to the annual reunion with a fully rehearsed skit. This is the cousin that’s always Instagramming new tattoos or the older sibling who tries to persuade you to go skydiving.

Aries is a striking, daring sign that isn’t afraid to be the center of attention. These people will say how they feel in any situation — and that includes family dinners, get-togethers and group outings. This brash nature can rub people the wrong way sometimes. But Aries is also a fiercely loving and generous sign. You can always count on the Aries in your family to take risks for you and support you through big decisions. They’ll let you crash on their sofas anytime — just be prepared for frequent pep talks and soliloquies along the way.

Taurus

As a typical earth sign, Taurus needs structure and routine on a regular basis. But Taurus is unique in that this sign also exercises daily creativity. You probably go to a Taurus’ house every year for Thanksgiving because the meals are consistently excellent — and there’s always an extra surprise dish waiting for your approval.

Taurus often gets the reputation of materialism. In reality, Taurus simply values comfort and luxury. Their homes are always impeccably decorated; their holiday parties have perfectly curated gift bags; the presentation of the buffet table would make Chopped judges cry. Taurus revels in sharing this lifestyle with the people they love, and so they play the role of host with unmatchable grace.

Gemini

Gemini is the stereotypical fun-loving, rule-breaking family member. This is your parent’s sibling who gave you chocolate donuts for breakfast when you weren’t supposed to have sugar. This is the aunt who wears all black and travels the world, bringing you unexpected and exotic gifts on your birthday.

Geminis are highly social, attentive and energetic. Gemini is the most restless air sign, which means that both their minds and their bodies are constantly in motion. They’re always spearheading the conversations as well as the weekend outings, so don’t let this sign’s flighty reputation fool you. Chances are, the Gemini is the person blowing up your family group chat — and they’re always the one who follows through on the wildest and best plans.

Cancer

Cancer is the classic “mom” of the zodiac — they’re protective, supportive and highly expressive. If you’re blessed enough to have an actual Cancer parent, whether mother or father, you probably lived in the designated playdate house among your friends. If you have a Cancer in your friend group, they probably have the coziest, most welcoming apartment for movie nights.

Cancer is the sign that will care for you and look out for you, no matter what. They will text you after an exam to ask how it went, and they’ll offer to role-play with you to practice for a big date. If that sounds weird, Cancers are kind of weird. But they’re mature and sentimental and everything you want a family member to be, too.

Leo

Leos are strong, willful and impossibly proud. This is the family member to go to if you need someone on your side — whether you’re fighting with a sibling, trying to persuade your mom to let you go to a party, or still waiting on your friend to fulfill a Venmo request. If you manage to convince a Leo of your position, you have an ally for life. They stand their ground, and they’re not afraid of a debate.

This sign is also extremely affectionate. Leos enjoy displaying their affection in tangible ways — and while they don’t necessarily expect anything material in return, they do expect gratitude and appreciation. They feel threatened by apathy. So if you’re near a Leo this holiday season, make sure to smile extra wide when you open their present; it’ll make all the difference.

Virgo

I once described the Virgo in my friend group as “the glue that holds us together.” Four years later, it’s still completely true: Virgos are the voices of reason for many families and group dynamics. They’re the ones who will step in and mediate when you’re having a ridiculous argument about travel plans or where to eat — they’re known for their reliability and tranquility in the face of stress.

That being said, earth signs value ambition and drive, so don’t be surprised if your Virgo parent is always asking about that “upcoming promotion” or if your Virgo sibling is a straight-A’s shut-in. While those are stereotypical readings of the Virgo sign, it’s true that these people are usually meticulous, organized perfectionists. They hate useless squabbles, but they’re happy to squabble for a noble cause.

Libra

If your holiday season is typically tinged with family stress, I’d be surprised if you have a Libra in your group, as Libras are unnaturally gifted conversationalists. They are excellent at diffusing tense situations, and their optimistic outlook tends to saturate any social gathering. Unlike Virgos, Libras won’t try to face the problem head-on, mediating a situation through rational discussion; rather, they’ll distract the group with board games or memes or a particularly charming anecdote. Libras work efficiently and subtly to barter peace.

Occasionally, a Libra will come off as a try-hard. But that’s just because they hate confrontation and love to feel loved. With a Libra in your group, you’ll have access to a gym buddy, a style consultant, a person who remembers to bring your favorite wine every time they come over — and if that’s what a notorious try-hard brings to the table, who would refuse?

Scorpio

The Scorpio vibe is very much “the sibling who’s barely left their room in months and it’s becoming vaguely worrisome.” This sign can be a little angsty, intimidating or difficult to talk to. But at its core, Scorpio is a water sign that values and seeks human connection. Water signs are famously sensitive and family-oriented; Scorpios in particular possess an extremely acute intuition and can easily detect insecurities in other people.

Scorpios are contradictory in nature; while they can be highly selfish, they’re also sympathetic. This can manifest as martyrdom, particularly in familial structures. They’re very sensitive to tension and may have difficulty vocalizing their emotions to their parents (as children) or to their children (as parents). However, they’re extremely honest and spontaneous people, so be careful not to fill a Scorpio with too many secrets before they serve the wine at your family dinner party.

Sagittarius

Everyone has that family member who plans sporadic trips, builds forts for the kids’ sleepovers and always tells the best jokes — the family member who starts the party but is occasionally the reason why it ends, too. This is the essence of a Sagittarius. They usually don’t know their own power. Sagittarius is an outgoing, charismatic sign with an undeniable streak of recklessness.

Sagittarians are independent and adventurous from the get-go. If you have an archer sibling, like I do, then you may remember that they tried to run away as a child for no particular reason. Or perhaps they threw raucous parties while your parents were away but never seemed to suffer any consequences. This confidence, this lust for life, lends itself to the Sagittarian magnetism. They’re always the life of the party — even if the party is at your grandma’s house.

Capricorn

I can imagine that having a Capricorn in your household is a little like living inside of Jay Gatsby’s head. The decor is purposeful and pristine; even your parties are carefully mapped out so as to achieve a specific goal. Capricorns are hard-working, self-sufficient individuals who have a plan. I don’t know what the plan is or what it’s for — does anybody, really? — but I know that they have one.

This is why Capricorns make excellent caretakers. They’ll pour their whole heart into making sure you feel loved and safe. They’ll do anything to make sure you succeed. This is true whether you have a Capricorn for a parent, best friend or wise neighbor whom you go to for advice. A Capricorn will listen carefully and help you map a plan of attack. They’ll make sure that both your coffee and your morals are strong.

Aquarius

If you want to understand the Aquarius’ role in a family, look no further than the hero of the holiday classic Home Alone. We can debate this movie’s true intended audience until the McCallisters come home (it seems a little gory for children, no?) but Kevin’s Aquarian spirit is undeniable. First, he’s a little strange. Second, he embraces his independence from a very young age. Third, and most importantly, he’s ingenious.

An Aquarius may find themselves misunderstood within their own family dynamic, acting as a sort of outlier — perhaps not to the extent that their parents will forget them while going on vacation (twice), but an outlier all the same. Aquarius is the sign that embraces individualism and uniqueness more than any other in the zodiac. As with Kevin, this is what affords Aquarians their resourceful, inspired nature; he may be the family loner, but that’s what makes him an icon.

Pisces

Aquarius may be famously unique, but Pisces is the true eccentric of the zodiac, adorned with a deeply compassionate, understanding soul. The Pisces in your group is the person who gives you a crystal to help you ward off negative energy, or makes extremely accurate Netflix recommendations. More than anything else, Pisces is a perceptive sign. Even if your Luna Lovegood-type cousin only comes to your house once a year, she probably knows you better than you may feel comfortable with. That’s how they’re such excellent gift-givers.

Water signs, and Pisces in particular, can usually be counted on for a sympathetic ear. If you need to rant or unload — but don’t necessarily want advice — a Pisces is your best bet. They have advice, sure, and it’s probably really good, but they’d never insert themselves into your life without your explicit permission. They often prefer to remain on the outskirts, calmly observing and absorbing the emotions.

Illustrations by Allison Filice.

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