#Alert about monsoon

[ktownshizzle]

Love & Lullabies | Part 3

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)

Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

Chapter warnings: GRAB YOUR TISSUES!, this bitch is a whole ass kdrama episode and it’s gonna hurt before it gets better, happy ending tho!, themes of self-loathing, anxiety, and depression (MC), severe postpartum depression (not MC), it’s monsoon season and namgi don’t like umbrellas, (____) in the rain cliche scene, NAMTIDDIES because I can’t help myself, lastly… watch me morph this into another workplace romance/co-workers to lovers story lmao (real)

Word count: ~7k

Posting date: November 21, 2024

Notes: This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme. 

I am a clown 🤡 and a liar 🤥 From pretending this is a two-shot, then a three-shot. It has become a chaptered series, atp. There is a part 4 in the works and I fully intend to end it there, but again, I may have just jinxed myself. Anyway! Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four |  Masterlist

“She’s Haneul’s mom.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

“What?”

“Sung Kyung and Yoongi… they’ve been good friends for years,” Namjoon explains quickly, his tone almost apologetic. “I didn’t think they were dating. But yeah, she’s his mom. She left for months and when she came back, she'd already given birth.”

You feel like the ground has been ripped out from under you. What Namjoon said made no sense. You clutch the edge of the counter, your mind racing. “What do you mean she left…?” You have never been more confused in your entire life.

Namjoon sighs. “I don’t know all the details. You know hyung, he tells you what he thinks you need to know. The rest, he keeps to himself. But I do know they did the paternity tests and everything, and Haneul’s his, theirs.”

Theirs. It’s easier if Namjoon just slices your heart open at this rate. 

He places a tentative hand on your shoulder. “It’s better to hear it straight from Yoongi-hyung, since you guys are, you know.”

“I– I don’t know. I don’t know what we are,” you say, leaning your weight sideways against the wall to steady yourself. 

Get a grip. It’s Haneul’s day. 

Namjoon stands to shield you from the rest, in case anybody chances to look your way. You probably look like you’re about to puke. You definitely feel like it.

“Joonie…” Your voice is small when you ask, “Do you think she wants to come back now?”

Namjoon lifts his shoulder, lets it sag, “I don’t know. Maybe. She wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Your chest tightens, a wave of insecurity crashing over you. Of course, she would want to come back now. She’s beautiful, successful, everything you’re not. And most importantly, she’s Haneul’s mother. That’s the kicker. How can you compete with that?

Spoiler alert: you can’t.

When you step back into the living room, the first thing you notice is Yoongi’s mom. She’s standing off to the side, her lips pressed into a thin line as she glares at Sung Kyung from across the room with a mixture of disapproval and barely-contained irritation.

“She shouldn’t be here,” she says quietly, her voice cold and clipped.

“Eomma,” Yoongi grits.

“She abandoned Haneul, Yoongi,” his mom hisses, her tone sharper now. “And she thinks she can just come here like nothing happened?”

Yoongi sighs, his hand briefly brushing his mother’s arm in a silent plea for calm. “Not here, eomma. Please. It’s Haneul’s birthday. Don’t make a scene.”

Of course he is siding with her.

You’re unable to tear your eyes away from Sung Kyung. How can she look so beautiful even if she looks miserable? She exchanges a few more quiet words with Yoongi near the door, her expression alternating between frustration and what looks like regret. You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you catch the way Yoongi’s shoulders stiffen, the way his jaw tightens as she reaches out to brush his arm. You see Yoongi nod, and you’re so curious, what is he agreeing to?

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she leaves. The door is closed, but for sure this chapter isn’t. Not even close.

You entertain yourself by watching some of the BTS members play some video games. Their antics, as funny as they are, don’t really register. Your laughs are hollow, mind totally elsewhere. It’s a while before Yoongi finally finds you, after he disappeared to his studio after Sung Kyung left and went MIA for half an hour or so.

He corners you near the snack table as you pretend to be engrossed in arranging leftover cupcakes.

“Hey,” he says softly, touching your arm lightly.

You turn to face him, your smile brittle. “Hey. How’s everything going?”

“Can we talk?”

You nod, following him toward the hallway, away from the laughter and chatter. The noise completely fades as you enter his soundproof studio and he turns to face you.

He exhales deeply, running a hand through his hair. “I wanted to talk to you,” he says carefully, like he’s choosing every word with precision.

“About Sung Kyung.” you offer. He nods, shoulders visibly tense. “Yeah. And Haneul.”

The mention of Haneul makes your chest tighten, but you steady yourself, waiting for him to continue.

“She and I… we were close for a long time,” he begins, his gaze dropping to the floor. “And yeah, there was a point where I thought it was going somewhere. But then she just… disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“She left Korea. No warning, no explanation. Just… ghosted.” He shrugs. “I didn’t know where she went or why. She didn’t contact me for months.”

“And then one day,” he continues, “she called. Told me she just gave birth to a son. That it was mine.”

The words hang between you, heavy and jarring. You don’t say anything, letting him get it all out.

“She didn’t tell me she was pregnant,” he says, shaking his head as if he still can’t believe it. “I literally only found out after he was born.”

You feel a pang of sympathy, but then you’re also feeling angry at Sung Kyung. “Why did she wait so long to tell you?”

“She said she didn’t want to burden me. I was already doing my military service and I had that thing… that case. She thought she could handle it on her own.” He looks up at you then, his eyes dark and conflicted. “But after she had him… she couldn’t. She fell into really severe postpartum depression and some other health issues, basically telling me she was diagnosed unfit to take care of him.”

Your throat tightens, and you clasp your hands together to keep them from shaking. “So you stepped in.”

He nods, “I didn’t have a choice. Haneul needed someone, and I couldn’t—I wouldn’t turn my back on him. He’s my son. It was confirmed by a paternity test.”

“And now she’s back,” you say, more a statement than a question.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, dragging a hand down his face. “She says she’s better. That she wants to be in his life now. That she can be. And honestly… I don’t know what to do.”

You study him for a moment, your emotions warring between compassion and your own sense of inadequacy. “What do you want, Yoongi? Not for her, not for Haneul. What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, gnawing his lip before he says, “I just… I want to do what’s right for Haneul.”

The words cut deeper than you expected, but you force a small smile, nodding as if they don’t sting. “That makes sense.”

Yoongi takes a step closer as he studies your face. “But what about you?” he asks, his voice almost too gentle. “How are you feeling about all this?”

The sincerity in his question takes you off guard, and for a moment, you’re tempted to tell him everything. The ache in your chest, the jealousy you hate admitting to, the fear of losing whatever connection the two of you have built. But instead, you plaster on a smile, shoving all those emotions into a corner of your mind.

“I’m fine,” you say lightly. “It’s Haneul’s birthday. That’s what matters.”

Yoongi doesn’t look convinced, his gaze lingering on you as if he’s trying to read the truth in your expression. But after a moment, he nods, letting it drop. “Okay.”

Finally, you glance at the door, forcing yourself to straighten up. “We should probably get back to the party.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, stepping aside to let you pass. But as you reach for the door, his voice stops you.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

You turn back, your brows furrowing. “For what?”

“For everything,” he says, his eyes filled with something you can’t quite name.

You don’t know how to respond, so you just nod. Because his words—why did it feel like a goodbye?

The rest of the party passes in a blur. You keep smiling, keep laughing, keep pretending everything is fine. You stand by as Yoongi helps Haneul blow out his single candle, snapping pictures of his chubby hands smashing into the frosting. 

You’re wiping stray frosting from Haneul’s cheek when you glance at him and for a split second, you see her. Sung Kyung’s face is right there, faint but unmistakable, in the shape of his eyes and the curve of his brows.

The realization hits you like a freight train. You freeze, the cloth clutched in your hand, staring at this beautiful baby boy who isn’t yours. Who will never be yours.

It’s too much. You set the muslin down, excusing yourself to the kitchen with a muttered, “I’ll grab more drinks.”

You don’t even make it to the fridge. You stand there by the counter, gripping its edge as you force yourself to breathe, to keep the tears at bay. You’ve never felt more out of place in your life.

Namjoon finds you a few moments later, leaning against the doorway with a quiet, watchful look. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He just stays there, close but not too close, his presence steady and silent. You appreciate him for that—for knowing exactly what you need when you’re unraveling. He’s your best friend after all.

But even his quiet support isn’t enough to keep the emotions at bay.

Across the room, Yoongi’s eomma catches your eye. There’s something pitying in the glances she throws your way, a faint furrow of her brow that makes you want to sink into the floor. You had the feeling she knows there’s something between you and Yoongi, but now… now it feels like she’s seeing through you, like she knows exactly how small you’re starting to feel.

Because the truth is, you’re nothing.

You’re not Haneul’s mom. You’re not Yoongi’s girlfriend. You’re just someone who helps out when it’s convenient, and now that they have a nanny, you’re not even that. And it hurts. God, it hurts because you thought—maybe foolishly, maybe selfishly—that you were becoming something more. That you were becoming someone to them. That, maybe, you were becoming a family.

But now, as you stand there watching Yoongi carry Haneul to his room, barely sparing you a glance, the truth sinks in like a stone in your chest. You’re not someone. You’re a placeholder. A stand-in.

And pretty soon, just like Jiyong, they’re going to discard you. Because that’s what always happens. You’re always easy to leave behind. Always replaceable. Always useless.

The thought claws at you, and you suddenly can’t breathe. You grab your things and run. The cool night air stings your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in your chest.

The tears come before you can stop them, hot and angry and full of every ounce of self-loathing you’ve tried to bury.

You glance back at the building. Maybe for the last time. You’re on the outside now—of course you are. You’ve been on the outside this entire time.

Namjoon must have noticed you were gone because he texted shortly after:

Namjoon: You okay? Namjoon: Don’t worry, I told them you weren’t feeling well. Go home and rest. Text me when you’re there.

That night, you ignored Yoongi’s call. You stared at the screen as his name lit up, your finger hovering over the answer button before you let it ring out. He left a voicemail. You deleted it without listening.

The next morning, you wake up to another call from him. This time, he doesn’t leave a voicemail. Instead, he sends a message.

Yoongi: Can I come over?

You stare at the text for a long time, your stomach twisting with guilt and anger and sadness. Finally, you type out a single word:

You: No

You throw your phone face-down on the couch, ignoring the way it buzzes again and again and again.

For the next few days, you ghost him.

It wasn’t easy. Every time your phone buzzes, you feel a pang of guilt, a deep ache that gnaws at your resolve. But you can’t bring yourself to answer. You need time. You need to figure out where you stood in all of this.

His messages come sporadically at first:

Yoongi: Hey, can we talk? Yoongi: I don’t know what I did wrong, but I want to fix it. Yoongi: Please. Just let me know you’re okay.

You delete most of them without reading too much into them. But then he starts sending pictures.

The first was of Haneul, grinning in his chair, wearing the capybara slippers you’d gifted him for his birthday.

Yoongi: Haneul misses you

The next day, another photo. This time, Haneul was lying on his playmat, still wearing the slippers, holding onto Bora.

Yoongi: Still missing you

Each message chips away at your resolve, but the one that breaks you comes Thursday evening:

A short video clip. In it, Haneul is sitting on the floor, babbling as he clutches Bora. And then, clear as day, he says it:

“Sa-ra.”

Your heart twists painfully. It’s clipped, but it’s unmistakably sarang. Your term of endearment for him, the nickname you’d called him since he started smiling every time he heard it. He’d never been able to say it back—not until now.

And Yoongi knows exactly what he is doing, sending this to you.

You stare at the screen for what feels like an eternity, leaving the video on loop, before finally opening your call log. His name was right at the top, of course. You hit the call button, your hands trembling as you bring the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” Yoongi’s voice comes through almost immediately.

You exhale shakily. “Hi.”

There was a pause. Then he speaks again, and you can hear his vulnerability. “I didn’t think you’d call back.”

You close your eyes, trying to steady yourself. “How could I ignore that video? Haneul… he said sarang.”

“Yeah, he’s been saying it non-stop since yesterday.”

You swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter. “Yoongi… about… us.”

“Mmh?” He didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush you. He just waited.

“I’ve been thinking,” you began. “Haneul deserves to have a complete family. He deserves to know his mom, to have her in his life. If—if that’s what you both want.”

Yoongi was quiet for a long moment before he finally responded. “But… he needs you, too.”

Before you can back out, “Yoongi, I need space,” you say finally, your voice trembling.

There was a pause, and when he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “Okay.”

It wasn’t a protest. It wasn’t an argument. Just… okay. It’s the most ‘Yoongi’ reaction to things, and you hate it. You hate it so much.

You hang up, staring at the screen until it goes dark. Your chest felt heavy, your heart splintering in ways you didn’t know it could.

You’d told him you needed space and he said okay. The truth is, when you said space, you just wanted him to make room for you. To assure you that you belong with them. That there is a seat, warm and yours. But he didn’t.

You miss Yoongi so much it feels like a physical ache. But it’s not just him. You miss Haneul’s face, his giggles, his sleepy weight in your arms. 

Namjoon has been doing his best to check in. He sends you UberEats nearly every other day, a steady stream of meals you barely touch. The one time he came over, unannounced, he walked into what could only be described as a disaster.

“Jesus Christ,” Namjoon muttered, kicking a stray box out of his way as he entered your apartment. The laundry basket was overflowing, your trash can piled up. You were in a 2-day old shirt, hair a rat’s nest, and you’re slouched on the couch with an empty brain.

Namjoon stared at you, his disappointment radiating off him. “Y/N, you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, barely looking at him.

He scoffed. “Fine? You look like you’ve been run over by a truck. Twice.”

“So dramatic.” You rolled your eyes, but the truth of his words stung.

Namjoon crouched in front of you, placing his hands on your knees. “Move in with me for now. You know I have the space. You can’t stay here like this. It’s not healthy.”

“I’m not moving in with you, Joon,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m not your charity case.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “You’re not a charity case. You’re my best friend. And I’m not gonna sit back and watch you drown in your own misery.”

“I’m not gonna live in your and Soyeon’s sex den,” you snapped unnecessarily.

Namjoon just looked at you, shook his head, before he flopped beside you on the couch. He fed you, forced you to go take a shower, and watched some shitty reality show with you. He eventually left, though you could feel the weight of his disappointment long after the door shut behind him. If he only knew how thankful you were of those visits.

A week later, you find yourself standing in front of Yoongi’s apartment. You didn’t plan this. You don’t even know what you’re hoping to achieve by being here. All you know is that the ache of missing them—missing him—has become unbearable.

You knock on the door before you can second-guess yourself.

Mrs. Kwon opens it, her expression immediately uneasy. “Y/N,” she says, her tone cautious. “You should come back another time.”

“Why?” you ask, your voice sharper than you intended.

She hesitates, her lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s just… not a good time.”

“I need to see them,” you insist, stepping forward.

“My dear girl, please listen—”

But you’re already past her, your determination overriding her warnings.

When you step into the living room–

Fuck.

There she is. Sung Kyung, sitting on the floor with Haneul in her lap, holding a plush toy you don’t recognize. She’s smiling at him, her voice soft as she tries to coax him into playing with it. Adding salt to the wound–Bora, the capybara plush you gave Haneul, is discarded carelessly in the corner near the diaper pail.

Your heart stops, and before you can control yourself, you take a step back, your movement catching Sung Kyung’s attention. She looks up, confused. She doesn’t know you, why would she? 

Yoongi’s voice comes from behind you, and you turn to see him emerging from his studio, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Who rang the—”

His eyes widen when he sees you, but you’re already moving, your feet carrying you toward the door in a blind rush.

“Wait—Y/N!”

You barely hear him as you bend down and snatch Bora from the floor. Haneul’s voice suddenly cuts through the air, his tiny, excited voice calling out, “Sa-ra! Sa-ra!”

Tears blur your vision as you wrench the door open and run, Yoongi’s voice calling after you, but you don’t stop.

It’s raining when you step outside. Great, because this day couldn’t get any worse. The cold droplets soak through your clothes almost instantly. You don’t have an umbrella, but you don’t give a shit. Tears stream down your face mixing with the rain.

You don’t know how far you get before you feel it—a warmth against your back, arms wrapping around you tightly.

Yoongi’s voice cracks as he says your name, his rain-soaked body like a furnace against your shivering frame. “Please.”

He sounds like he is begging, but why? What is he asking? What does he want from you?

You shake your head, your voice breaking. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Then why did you?” he asks, his tone desperate, his chest heaving as he pulls you tighter.

“Because I thought… I thought I had a place here. But I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Don’t say that,” he pleads, his voice barely audible over the rain as he turns you to face him. His hands come up to cradle your face. He was starting to shake too, the pads of his fingers damp against your skin. His eyes search yours, desperate, and before you can stop him—or yourself—he closes the space between you and kisses you.

Against the pouring rain, your lips press against each other, clumsy, shaky, unexpectedly urgent. His lips move like he’s trying to say all the things he can’t find the words for, like this is his only way to make you understand. And for a second, maybe a minute, maybe more, you let him.

You feel his ragged breaths as he licks into your mouth, his hair brushing your temple, droplets trailing down your skin. His hand slides from your cheek to the nape of your neck, fingers threading gently through your wet hair. It’s tender and fierce all at once, like he’s afraid you might vanish if he lets go.

But there is a tinge of bitterness cutting through the taste of his kiss. This isn’t enough—not to fix everything, not to erase the doubt clawing at the edges of your mind. Not to prevent the new thoughts from worming its way inside.

Sung Kyung is in his apartment right now. So maybe it’s not just about Haneul anymore. Maybe they’re reconciling. Trying to sort out their own feelings that they put on ice. Yoongi did say he thought their relationship was going somewhere. 

God, you do not want to be some homewrecker. You cannot do that to Haneul. Weakly you try to pull back. 

But Yoongi doesn’t let you. His lips chase yours, teeth gently sinking into your plush and you’re unable to stifle the moan from your mouth at the delicious sting. You open up to him, lips sliding against his as his other hand grips your waist now, pulling you closer until you can really feel the heat of his body through the drenched fabric of his clothes. The world feels like it’s spinning, everything is blending into a dizzying blur, and you don’t know how to stop it.

Your hand hovers at his chest, not pushing him away but not pulling him closer either. Your heart is screaming to hold on just a little longer. But your head is telling you—

“No,” you whisper, breaking away as quickly as you can without slipping on the slick ground. Your chest heaves as you clutch Bora tighter against you.

Yoongi stands frozen, his lips parted as if he’s about to speak, his dark eyes locked on yours. The rain clings to his lashes, his hair plastered to his forehead, and for a moment, he looks completely lost.

“I can’t do this, Yoongi,” you choke out, your voice shaking. “I just… I can’t.”

And before he can stop you, you turn and run again, your feet splashing through puddles as you make your way to the nearest bus stop. By some miracle, you make your way home in one piece. Barring one vital organ that’s discarded somewhere in Hannam.

My tea's gone cold, I'm wondering why I Got out of bed at all The morning rain clouds up my window And I can't see at all And even if I could, it'd all be gray But your picture on my wall It reminds me that it's not so bad, it's not so bad - Stan, Eminem

Your apartment is cold and quiet, the soft patter of rain against the windows the only sound. The mug of tea on your table has long since gone cold, untouched, as you sit curled up on the couch, staring at that grainy selca Yoongi sent you weeks ago. 

You’re startled out of your thoughts by the sound of the door opening. Namjoon steps in, shaking off the rain and holding a grocery bag in one hand, his hoodie slung over his shoulder. He’s soaked to the bone, but he flashes you his dimples anyway.

“You know,” he starts, setting the bag on the counter, “for someone who always claims they’re fine, you sure as hell don’t look it.”

“Don’t start, Joon,” you mumble, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself.

Namjoon ignores you, glancing around the apartment with a disapproving look. “Seriously? It still looks like you just moved in. No decorations, no warmth. This part could be a photo wall or something…”

You roll your eyes. “Alright, Mr. Art influencer.”

“I need a dry shirt,” he says, gripping the edge of his tee and pulling it up and over his head without fanfare.

You’ve never felt attracted to your best friend in any physical or sexual way ever (seriously, ew), but you can appreciate a good physique when you see one.

“Wow, Joonie, are your tiddies getting bigger?” you say as you stand to find a shirt for him from your makeshift closet.

“You’re an idiot.”

Before you can respond, the doorbell rings. Namjoon straightens, wiping his hands on his pants. “You expecting someone?”

You shake your head.

Namjoon strides to the door, glancing through the peephole with a tsk before pulling it open. He doesn’t seem to care that he’s shirtless, which would be awkward enough if it were anyone else standing there. 

But it’s Yoongi.

Yoongi stands in the hallway, his expression strained, his eyes immediately scanning the room behind Namjoon until they land on you, curled on the couch. You clutch the t-shirt you were about to lend Namjoon tighter against your chest, unsure whether to feel relief, anger, or the painful longing that’s been gnawing at you for days.

“I need to talk to her,” Yoongi says, his voice calm but heavy with emotion.

Namjoon steps into the doorway, crossing his arms as he blocks the entrance. “Maybe not today, hyung.”

Yoongi’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t flinch. “I have to. I need to explain.”

Namjoon doesn’t budge, his voice soft but firm. “Sorry, hyung. Not after everything.”

Yoongi’s eyes flick to you again, desperate. “I just… fuck,” He swallows hard, his voice breaking slightly. “I can’t let her think she doesn’t matter to me. She does. More than anyone.”

Namjoon hesitates for the first time, glancing back at you. His expression softens briefly, but when he turns to Yoongi again, it’s your voice that responds.

“Yoongi.” Your voice is quiet, but it cuts through the tension like a blade. Both men turn to you, and the hope that flashes across Yoongi’s face makes your lungs shrivel.

You grip the fabric in your hands tighter, willing yourself to stay firm. “You should go.”

Yoongi’s lips part as if to argue, but the look in your eyes silences him. He nods once, slowly, his expression crumbling for just a moment before he turns away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it.

Namjoon watches him for a moment longer before stepping back into the apartment and shutting the door.

The first step is always the hardest.

Namjoon didn’t sugarcoat anything when he told you to get your shit together. “I love you,” he said bluntly after Yoongi left that rainy night, “but you’re the only one who can pull yourself out of this. No one else is coming to save you. Not me. Not Jiyong. Not Yoongi. Just you.”

You hated hearing it, but he was right.

So you took the first step: you called a therapist. Twice a week, you sat in that tiny, clinical room and talked about everything you’d buried for years. The abandonment issues you’d carried since childhood. The shame you felt after your relationship with Jiyong fell apart. The way you constantly give pieces of yourself to others, just like you did with Haneul and Yoongi, leaving nothing for yourself. Thinking that’s okay.

Session by session, the fog began to lift. Slowly, you started to understand that happiness couldn’t come from someone else, no matter how deeply you loved them. It had to come from you—built piece by piece, nurtured, protected.

You realized that loving yourself wasn’t selfish. It was necessary. And for the first time in months, you began to believe you were worthy of it.

At home, you started small. One night, you finally tackled the pile of laundry that had been haunting you for weeks. Another night, you scrubbed down the kitchen until the counters gleamed. And then one weekend, you went to IKEA and bought a bed frame—not just a functional one, but a beautiful one that made you feel excited to wake up in the mornings.

You even hung up paintings on the walls, little pops of color that made the apartment feel like it was actually yours. Namjoon gave you some from his collection, too.

Running sucks, but it became your nightly ritual. At first, it was hard. Your legs ached, and your lungs burned. But the more you pushed yourself, the better it felt—the rush of endorphins, the rhythm of your feet hitting the pavement, the way your thoughts quieted for just a little while.

Bit by bit, you started to feel lighter. Like you were shedding layers of weight you didn’t even realize you were carrying.

And then there was Yoongi.

He was still a constant name on your phone, though the tone of his messages had shifted over time. At first, his texts were full of apologies and pleas for a second chance:

Yoongi: I know I messed up. Please let me make it right.

Yoongi: I’m sorry for everything. I hate that I hurt you.

Yoongi: I need you, Y/N. I should have told you sooner.

Yoongi: Can I come over? I really want to explain everything.

Yoongi: I’m an idiot.

Yoongi: I’ll wait for you. Just tell me when you’re ready to talk.

Then came the texts about Haneul:

Yoongi: Haneul misses you. Not to one-up my own kid, but I miss you more.

Yoongi: Han said your name today. He kept pointing at the door like he was waiting for you to walk in.

Yoongi: I bought him a new Bora. This giraffe is lame. [image attached]

Yoongi: Han’s been carrying Bora 2.0 everywhere. He even tried to feed it rice last night.

And now, weeks later, his messages had settled into something different.

Yoongi: I was in the studio all day, and Hobi made me take a break. We ended up eating too much fried chicken and now I have a zit.

Yoongi: How was your run today? Namjoon says you’re joining a mini marathon. Good luck!

Yoongi: Still have boxes of Silver Moon tea. It’s too bougie for my ghetto taste buds. Lmk if you want it. Yoongi: Actually, no need. I'll send it thru Namjoon.

Yoongi: I fucked up the choreography to our new track at Mubank today like an amateur. I hope you didn’t get to watch it.

They were simple, almost mundane. But Yoongi’s texts had a way of hitting you square in the chest. You think back to that conversation in his home, the one where he admitted how lonely he sometimes felt—how he wished for someone to talk to about the little things, the big milestones, everything in between. Someone to share life with. And now, with every message he sends, it feels like he’s choosing you.

Even though weeks have passed without seeing him, he’s still there. Reaching out. Trying to stay connected. Even when you never reply.

But his messages have become tiny bursts of dopamine in your otherwise quiet days. You’re both surprised and relieved he hasn’t stopped trying, that he hasn’t grown tired of pouring himself into the void of your Kakao.

Namjoon told you recently that Yoongi and Sung Kyung have started co-parenting Haneul. She gets supervised visits twice a month. At first, the green-eyed monster threatened to come out. But your best friend tells you that Yoongi never wanted to rekindle anything with Sung Kyung, which gave you some peace. Maybe if you’d been braver back then, you could’ve asked Yoongi yourself. Maybe if Yoongi had been better at communicating, he would have told you then it wouldn’t have felt like such an uphill climb.

But, he was also having such a difficult time, sorting through his own circumstances. And your insecurities at the time were too heavy, too overwhelming to sift through. You probably wouldn’t have believed him then. The progress you’ve made now—to love yourself first—feels hard-won and necessary. And maybe Yoongi also needed to go on a journey to really know what he wants for him and Haneul.

You’ve come to realize through all this that you don’t really hate Sung Kyung. Maybe you were angry on behalf of Yoongi and Haneul for all the secrets she kept, for the ways her choices hurt them both. There was even a night when you found yourself doing a Naver search on postpartum depression. You hadn’t understood how debilitating it could be, how it could turn even the strongest person into a shell of themselves. It didn’t excuse everything, but it gave you perspective, especially as you battle your own demons.

Still, as you journey forward, there are moments when you imagine the “what ifs” with Yoongi, if Sung Kyung hadn't showed up that day. Sometimes, late at night, your mind drifts back to him. You replay his kiss, remembering the way it felt, the way he tasted. You can still conjure the image of his face under the rain, the way he looked at you in that fleeting, heart-wrenching moment.

You wonder if he thinks about it, too. You know he’s waiting. You just hope that when you’re finally ready to let him back in, he’ll still be there—on the other side, willing to try again.

One evening, Namjoon called, his tone unusually excited. “Hey, I’ve got something for you.”

“No, I don’t need more lube, I’m stocked,” you joked, just to be a piece of shit.

“Shut up and listen,” he said, laughing. “Hybe’s opening a daycare for employees’ kids. They need someone to run it. You’re perfect for this.”

Your stomach flipped. “What? Joonie, I don’t even—”

“Don’t even try to argue,” he interrupted. “You have a degree in early childhood education. You love kids. This was your literal job in the states. C’mon, this is made for you.”

“What if I’m not ready?”

Namjoon sighed. “You are. I’ve seen how much work you’ve been putting in. You’re stronger than you think. Just… apply. The worst they can do is say no.”

You’re quiet, so he added. “...and they won’t. I’ll have each member of Bangtan sign a recommendation letter for you.”

“You’re too much, Joonie,” you laugh. But you surely won’t put it past him to do that. “But ok, I’ll apply.”

So you did. And a week later, you got the call.

Your first day at Hybe’s daycare center feels like a dream you didn’t know you had. The space is beautiful—sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow over the colorful toys, tiny tables, and pastel murals. There are only three kids who pre-registered, but you were expecting more to walk in.

Namjoon is there, truly your ride or die, sitting casually on your desk with his ever-supportive grin. “You nervous?” 

“Nope,” you say, trying to sound confident. But the way your voice wavers gives you away.

Namjoon chuckles. “Relax. You’re going to crush this.”

Before you can respond, the door swings open, and in walks Hobi with Yunjin and their toddler, Jeongyeon. The little girl looks adorable in her sunflower-patterned overalls, her tiny pigtails bobbing as she walks toward the play area.

“Jeongyeon, say hi to teacher Y/N,” Yunjin says, gently guiding her forward.

“Hi!” Jeongyeon squeaks.

You crouch down to her level. “Hi, Jeongyeon! You’re gonna have so much fun today.”

“First kid of the day, ayeeee!" Hobi says, high-fiving Yunjin, before she runs to Jeongyeon who is mounting the toy pony. Then he turns to you, “Congratulations, Y/N.”

Just as they’re leaving, Namjoon nudges you. “By the way, did you know there’s a capybara mascot today?”

“What?” you blink, confused.

Before Namjoon can explain, something soft and warm suddenly envelops you in a hug. You turn to see a capybara mascot wrapping its plush arms around you, its giant head tilted adorably to the side.

“What the…” You laugh, surprised, grasping its arm. “Hybe really went all out, huh?”

Namjoon smirks. “Of course. First-day activations are a big deal here. And look at that, your favorite animal. What a coincidence.”

You grin, stepping back to look at the mascot. “Guess I’m a little biased, but this might be the cutest thing ever.”

The mascot gives you an exaggerated thumbs-up. 

Shortly, Haneul arrives. The moment you see him toddling through the door, all your nerves, all the weight you’d carried for weeks—gone. There’s no ache, no tension. Just pure, uncomplicated happiness.

His nanny, a kind older woman, walks him in, holding his hand as he peers curiously around the room.

Haneul bounds toward you giggling, his gummy smile stretching wide as he lets go of the nanny’s hand and waddles toward you.

“Hi, sarang,” you say, crouching down to scoop him into your arms. He smells like baby lotion and sunshine, and your chest feels full as he buries his face in your shoulder. “I missed you.”

You glance toward the door, your eyes darting around instinctively, but there’s no sign of Yoongi. A small pang of disappointment settles in your stomach before you shake it off. He’s probably holed up in his studio, working on something brilliant. It would have been nice to see him though.

The capybara mascot wanders over, drawing Haneul’s attention instantly. His eyes light up as he points at it, giggling.

“Appa!” Haneul says excitedly, punching the knee of the mascot with his tiny fists.

You laugh, brushing a hand through his soft hair. “That’s not your appa, Haneul. He’s probably in one of the big studios upstairs working very hard right now.”

The mascot gives you a pat on the head, and something about its movements feels oddly familiar. But you don’t dwell on it, too caught up in Haneul’s delighted squeals as the mascot does a little dance for him. It sure loves to shake its ass.

For the rest of the morning, you’re in your element, guiding the kids through activities, wiping tears, and singing songs during circle time. Every so often, Haneul points at the mascot and calls out “Appa!” again, and you can’t help but laugh.

And if the capybara mascot seems to hover a little longer around Haneul, or if it lingers near you whenever there’s a chance, well… you just chalk it up to coincidence.

(One day, much later, you’ll find out the truth. But for now, you’re content not knowing.)

That night, your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out to find another message from Yoongi.

Yoongi: Congratulations on your first day!

You stare at the screen, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. For the first time in weeks, as you look at your thread of messages from him, you let yourself smile—a small, cautious smile, but a smile nonetheless. And for the first time in months of radio silence, you type up your first reply to him.

You: Thanks, Yoongi. I’m really happy. :)

His reply came almost immediately.

Yoongi: You deserve it

And it may have taken a while, but you finally believe that. So you decide you are also finally ready to do this.

You: Can we talk? Yoongi: giv me 10 mins im cming overr

:)

A/N: 

Alright!! Wheeeew! You good? How are you feeling?!?!? As usual, please sound off in the comments. 💕

I just want to say that am so proud of this chapter. I think I wrote my best, angst work here. Plus - Kissing in the rain? Namtiddies? A taste of smau? Hee hee. 🤗 

If you make it to here, thank you so so much for reading this story, you lovely, beautiful, human! xo

Part 4 is coming uppp and it’s gonna be a doozy~ 🤭

P.S. As some of y’all know I am a mom and I have experienced post-partum depression before. It was nowhere near the severity of how it is depicted here (a condition that is grave and rare because the character also has other mental struggles), but I empathize. I cannot imagine being truly unfit to care for my own baby. So I request that we do not vilify L&L! LSK. She fucked up real baddd, she could’ve involved Yoongi earlier, etc etc but again she is trying to do better. Plusss, it needs to be said, she does not want Yoongi. Gasp. Y’all can rest easy. He’s yours! 💕

& If you want to read more of my work, please check out my masterlist. & If you enjoy my work and want to buy me a ko-fi, I'd appreciate it.

Taglist:

@yoongznme @nnybtitts08 @rinkud @nbjch05 @perfectiondazesworld

@marnz1990 @mxrauds @queenbloody @jadestonedaeho7 @futuristicenemychaos

@direnediane @glossdebut @maryhopemei @theresstardustinmyblood @mggv97

@wobblewobble822 @kam9404 @supernoonanyc @damn-u-min-yoongi @ot72025

@busanbby-jjk @granataepfelchen @jajabro @tarahardcore @marihoneywk

@ryryvna @tea4sykes @mar-lo-pap @lilkittenjenjen

@captainchrisstan @thelittlecatonthecake

@flaneuseonthestreets @sexytholland @diamonddia-mond

@yronathaniel @as-hs-blog @amarssfanfic @mafersame @amarawayne

@eurydiceofterabithia @diame93 @welcometomyworld13 @wonh0oe @lilkittenjenjen @jalexad

@jkkkkkay @chimmisbae @angellekookie @jovanaprime @txtsoobean @joonlovely

@kookiewithluv @soop-sprite @hyukaluve

[roseykat]

TITLE: Play Right

SUMMARY: The aftermath of the events that occurred at Hyunjin's apartment begins to unravel and sprout into things that are unsuspecting of Hyunjin and Jisung. While Jisung is under the disturbance of a text message he sent to Chan from your phone, he decides to turn to his friends to spill the beans.

TAGS: porn with plot, solo male masturbation, ruined orgasm, swearing, handjobs, soft moments, depictions of sexual intercourse, kissing, cum eating, orgasms, mainly m x m themes, alcohol is consumed (but nobody is drunk)

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSWF SKZ related content and I know I won’t be able to regulate/monitor every single potential interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work or page whatsoever.

PART 1 + PART 2 - MASTERLIST

🏷️LIST: @chillichillicrabcrab23 @broken-glowsticks @ihatemen55 @boi-bi-ahaha @galamxy @weareapackofstrays @anglerfishiey @elizalabs3 @fr34k4c1dr41n @stayconnecteed @imnotjjini0325 @twinklix @meilix @livsposts @dawn-iscozy @princejisung @groovygroovyhyunjin @valibals @oiikaro @/itsthatbri @leftkittenface @/20minsat180degrees (if you want to be removed from the taglist going forward with this series, lmk!)

A/N: listened to Cigarettes out the window by TV Girl when I wrote most of this.

DISCLAIMER: before you read, this is a series so things are building up. There is a plot, so whilst this isn’t reader x member heavy based as the rest of the parts so far, that doesn’t mean to say that it won’t be in the future. Reader and Chan will get their time, don't worry, just want things to develop. This piece is more Jisung and Hyunjin focused iykwim x 

-

“The weather forecast for the upcoming week is predicted to be hotter than usual-“

“Ngh- fuck, right there...”

“-with temperatures expected to rise above thirty degrees. Weather Watch is also alerting citizens-“

“S-So good, baby…Y/N…”

“-in the city to prepare for the possibility of yet another monsoon-“

“Gonna…cum, gonna cum so hard for you…just like that…”

“-other regions of the outer city should also expect showers and hot temperatures-“ 

“Fuck’s sake!” 

With an angry groan and grumble, Hyunjin’s right hand stills over his slick, hard cock. His other hand yanks a pillow from his side and pelts it straight at his door to slam it right shut. Pathetic white strings of cum shot from his dark pink tip and land on his abdomen, some as far as his shirt that he had pulled up to his chest to avoid staining it. 

It’s been impossible for him to jerk off while the six o’clock weather is playing in the background from his lounge. The talk of monsoons and hot weather threatens the disappearance of the mental images he has of you in his brain, used as vital motivation to get himself off - a recurring activity that has been happening for the past two weeks. 

Summer doesn’t make it any better either. His body is sticky, sweat beading over his forehead from the disgusting, muggy heat that rivals the air con blowing throughout his apartment. Then the rain that lashes harshly at his windows is enough to drown out his own moans. It was a useless feat, just as useless as his own ruined orgasm that now put him in a bad mood. He had to satisfy his needs somehow. 

Instead of turning to porn, Hyunjin had something even better; you. The vivid images of his cock plunging fluidly into your wet pussy. The erotic sounds he extracted out of you with each thrust, that is when you weren’t choking on Jisung’s dick. He just wishes he could’ve seen your face when he made you cum.

Hyunjin sighs and presses his head back into the pillow. Before he gets to think about jumping in the shower, his phone rings from the nightstand. He picks up the device to see a very flattering drunk photo of Changbin appear on his screen. 

Hyunjin answers, “hey.” 

“Hyunjin, what are you doing right now?” Changbin asks.

“Watching the news,” he sniffs, he might as well have been watching the news.

“Boring. Did you not see the group chat messages?” 

“No, not yet. Why is something wrong?” 

“No, nothings wrong. Minho booked a table for hot pot and barbecue tonight. Figured you weren’t doing anything important so we’re all meeting up in half an hour,” Changbin explains. 

Barbecue and hot pot sounded nice. Surely it’ll be a method to dry out Hyunjin’s damp mood a little bit. That and a cold shower to freshen up. 

“Okay, yeah sounds good. Can you text me the details then?” 

As Hyunjin hung up and decided to start getting ready, it dawned on him that he hadn’t seen his friends in a couple of weeks, with a strong reference to you and Jisung. You had both been active in the group chat so he didn’t necessarily feel awkward about seeing the guy he had a threesome with. As for you, he really doesn’t know. 

You’re sweeter and easy to be around. Something about that just turns the entire situation on its head. Not that Jisung isn’t sweet or easy to be around in Hyunjin’s opinion, with you it’s different. Although, as he’s been mulling over the past couple of weeks, he’s discovered a few things about himself and Jisung. 

Dressing according to the weather, Hyunjin takes his umbrella with him on his way out in the hopes the rain won’t continue when he leaves the restaurant later on. After receiving the address from Changbin, thankfully just one subway stop away, Hyunjin heads off into the downfall and arrives fifteen minutes later. 

He was wrong to assume that he wasn’t going to feel awkward around Jisung, and now as he spots him at the table, engaging in a riveting conversation with Jeongin, all he feels is awkwardness. He waves out to him from down the way, ushering him to come over, lulling Hyunjin out of his own mind for a minute. 

“Hyunjin!” Jeongin called out cheerily, patting a spot beside him to come and sit. 

“Already started drinking Innie?” Hyunjin slings his arm around his younger friend's shoulder. 

“I couldn’t wait, sorry,” he responds and pours Hyunjin a shot of his soju. “Long day.” 

“Did you eat before?” 

“Not since lunch,” he replies. 

Hyunjin shakes his head and warns, “Innie, you know it’s bad to drink on an empty stomach, right?” 

Jeongin shrugs, “like I said, long day.” 

Hyunjin picks up his shot glass, downing it in one go before setting the glass back down on the surface again. As he does, his eyes meet Jisung’s who stares intently at him from across the table. He shoots a cheeky wink at Hyunjin, forcing a deep red blush to emerge through his cheeks.

Hyunjin knew what that meant. 

Suddenly his mind races back to that night at his apartment; making out with Jisung, remembering suddenly the thought of what sort of tricks that mouth of his possesses, watching you suck him dry. He wasn’t going to be forgetting it any time soon, not when it fuels his jack off sessions at home. 

After the few lingering moments where the pair were still locking eyes, more of their friends started to show up. Seungmin was accompanied by his new girlfriend, glued to his hip who greeted everyone shyly. Hyunjin hadn’t actually properly met her, let alone talked to her yet, but she seemed nice. Once they had taken a seat on their cushions, Changbin rolled in with Felix and Minho in tow who was stuffing his keys into the pocket of his pants. 

“You guys are here early,” he says with surprise. 

“You were the one who organised it,” Jisung pointed out. 

“That I did,” Minho nods, sitting down with everyone else. 

Felix groans as he flops next to Changbin, “I’m hungry, it's not even funny.”

As everyone settled down, trays of fresh veggies, assortments of meat, and other items were brought to their table for them to cook. Minho decided to get started on grilling while Seungmin opted to bring the hot pot on the table to a boil. The smell of the food made Hyunjin almost forget why he was slightly nervous about going out in the first place.

He got back to talking with Jeongin, asking him how work has been treating him, what he’s been up to since they last saw each other, and even planned a time to hang out in the future. 

“What about you, Jisung?” Jeongin asks with a mouthful of bossam. “Haven’t seen you in ages. Been up to anything interesting these days?” 

Jisung finishes slurping up some of the rice noodles Felix had cooked for him from the hot pot, “here and there. Mainly just working now.”

“Ah,” Jeongin nods in understanding. “You always work so much. No wonder why it’s hard for you to hang out with us sometimes.” 

That’s when it hits Jisung, causing him to pause and realise that something isn’t right. He can’t believe it’s taken him this long to realise it when it’s right there in plain sight.

“Where is Y/N and Chan?” He questions.

“Mm! Gonna…gonna cum all over your cock, wanna cum for you so bad,” you strain out. “Makes me feel so fucking good.”

Chan looks up at you, a deranged and desperate expression paints his face as you ride his dick, “don’t stop riding me then. Need to see that pretty pussy cum all over me.” 

Minho flips over pieces of meat on the grill, “Chan is out of the city with his family at the moment. They flew in a few days ago.” 

“You’re creaming so much around me baby,” Chan growls, nails digging painfully into the skin over your hips. “This pussy is all mine.” 

“And Y/N’s still at work,” Minho continues, plating some of the veggies he had been charring on the side too.

Moans erupt from your chest, projecting out into Chan’s lounge, “C-Channie, so good, make me cum, please-“

Jisung nods. It’s not suspicious at all to him that neither of you are here. The two people to an unwanted jigsaw puzzle that he had been piecing together just so happened to be ‘missing.’ Of course, none of the other guys truly knew why. At least he doesn’t think. 

Maybe you two really are in separate locations - not that he believes it. The one thing he knows for absolute sure to be the cold, hard truth, is that you and Chan are most definitely seeing each other casually - fucking behind everyone’s backs. Then again, so did he and Hyunjin in some sense.

Nonetheless, for the past couple of weeks, Jisung was storing that message he received on your phone from Chan in the back of his mind. It affirms a glimmer of a suspicion that Jisung held about Chan previously; that he was seeing someone. 

“Well, that just confirms everything then,” Jisung mutters under his breath, concluding his answer there and then in his mind. 

“Confirms what?” Minho questions, his hawk grade hearing picking up on his undertone. 

“Nothing, just a theory that I have,” he says smartly. “I was just thinking about it and...” 

“And what?” Minho presses.

“And whether I should be sharing it or not,” he replies, unsure of his own answer. 

“Well you have to now since you brought it up,” Felix exclaims. 

“It’s nothing,” Jisung brushes it off, making everyone at the table wonder what the hell he’s on about. 

“Nah, it has to be something,” Seungmin shakes his head and begins wondering what it is. “If it wasn’t important, he’d just say it. But he’s not.”

Is it even Jisung’s place to tell everyone? No. Should he still do it? No. But that’s what friends do. They talk and speculate about who they think are the perfect matches in the group or who out of everyone would marry if they had no other option. Topics as such.

In this case, it’s whether you and Chan are sleeping together or not, which Jisung already has the answer to. Whether he decides to tell the truth would just be speculation to the others since they never saw what Jisung did. They can decide to believe it or not.

However, does he trust his friends with the truth and to not say anything? Without a shadow of a doubt. So with that sliver of comfort in his mind that makes him think he’s not doing the wrong thing, Jisung chooses to divulge. 

“Y/N and Chan are fucking.”

Everyone’s heads at the table fixes onto Jisung. Not a single mouth moved out of surprise as the silence threads its way around. It makes him feel terribly awkward.

This is news to everyone, particularly to the person sitting opposite him; Hyunjin. Someone who, upon hearing what just came out of Jisung’s mouth, didn’t believe it for a second - did not want to believe it.

“You’re lying,” Seungmin accuses immediately from the other end of the table. 

“That’s your theory?” Changbin questions. “That Chan and Y/N are together?”

“Not together, together,” Jisung makes haste to correct him. “I just have reason to believe that they’re seeing each other casually is all.”

“I don’t believe you,” Seungmin responds, letting his strong opinion be known. “What is that reason anyway?”

“I swear on everyone I know, I saw a text message proving it on her phone,” Jisung mentions before his blood starts running cold. He almost gave away more than he should’ve.

Without context of the night in question, none of them know. Not even Hyunjin, who was a third party to it all, didn’t exactly know. He can only guess if what Jisung is referring to is the dirty text message that was sent off of your phone to Chan during the game of truth or dad. Then again, it’s not a thought that he even remotely considers when his mind has been stuck on the fact that you and Chan are potentially hooking up. 

“What the hell are you going through her phone for?” Felix asks defensively. 

“Yeah, that’s not okay,” Jeongin adds. 

“N-No! I wasn’t going through her phone, I just…saw them, by accident,” he responds out of desperation. 

He doesn’t want to disclose that night to his friends. Sure they’re all mates and share everything with each other, but that’s just Jisung. Hyunjin keeps aspects of his life relatively private and Jisung is sure that you wouldn’t appreciate him going around telling everyone what happened. But at that thought, he starts second guessing himself and what he just did. If he thinks you wouldn’t be okay with him sharing information about that night, how is it any different from him saying the same thing about you and Chan? 

It doesn’t take long for Jisung to feel regret and guilt for ever bringing it up. 

“Even if they are, who cares? Good for them, and if they start going out - even better. Y/N’s a massive upgrade from that chick he was seeing before,” Minho explains. 

“That’s probably why they’re messing around,” Felix theorises. 

“I still don’t reckon they are,” Seungmin puts in his opinion again. 

“Why?” Felix asks. 

“I just don’t see it,” he shrugs. “Chan seems like the type of person who wouldn’t sleep around because he only wants to be with someone that he really, really likes.” 

Those words do not sit well with Hyunjin. 

“And Chan told you that himself, did he?” Minho snickers. “If that’s your reasoning, then it sounds like they’re already going out.” 

Hyunjin and Jisung’s eyes immediately lock onto each other in horror. 

“I don’t know if you heard the word ‘seems’ in my sentence, implying that I’m only guessing but okay,” Seungmin bites back, earning him a finger flick to his arm by Jeongin for talking back like that to their older friend. 

“Ten bucks that they are,” Minho says on a different topic. “Ten bucks that they aren’t,” Seungmin counters. 

“A-Are you saying that none of you believe me?” Jisung whines. 

“We’re saying that we don’t have enough evidence – any of us, not just you since you bought up the topic,” Minho replies. 

“What about tonight? Neither of them are here, where do you think they might be?” Jisung attempts to raise a good point, but Changbin spots the obvious loopholes. 

“We already told you. Chan isn’t even in the city since he’s spending time with his family, and Y/N’s still at work,” he answers. “And we know that because Chan messaged the group chat to tell us that he wasn’t going to be coming to dinner and we know Y/N doesn’t finish until six thirty.”

“They could be lying,” Jeongin conspires. 

“That’s only for tonight though. I know he’s been acting shady lately so I reckon he is,” Felix announces. 

“Hyunjin?” Changbin pokes him in the arm, trying to prod an answer out of him. 

He responds quietly but honestly, “I-I don’t think they are.” 

“That settles it then,” Minho begins instigating once more. “Two of you bet that they aren’t and the rest of us bet that they are.”

“We are not betting on our friends right now,” Jisung tries to calm the masses. 

“Mm! How about losers have to pay for a day of food when we go to Jeju?” Jeongin suggests. 

The majority of the table begins to erupt in agreement, making it impossible for Jisung to rewrite something he just initiated. Everyone immediately starts talking details about what food they would request if they won the bet, then would eventually return to the topic of you and Chan. 

Hyunjin didn’t really want to hear another word of it. Instead, he pours himself another shot of Jeongin’s soju in the hopes his thoughts about the situation start to melt. Until he gets to that stage, it’s easy for him to wallow in his feelings. A selfish part of him wants whatever connection there is between you and Chan to falter to the point of no return. Then the other half scolds his mind for wishing such a misfortune on his friend.

But nobody knew. Nobody knew that Hyunjin had feelings for you nor did he want anyone to know. He’d rather die than tell someone he likes them for fear that they won’t like him the way he does. It’s almost like he’s saving himself from the pain and hopes that it’ll pass. However, there was also ‘instigator number two’ sitting across from him who had been making regular appearances in his brain since that night. Hyunjin doesn’t know what it means, if it even means anything for that matter.

So by the end of the dinner, everyone had their bets placed. 

The whole lot of them lingered outside the restaurant after some filling meals as some of the others waited for their rides back home. All aside from Felix and Jeongin who decided to go bar hopping for more drinks. Changbin and Seungmin were laughing away at something they were discussing while Minho was chatting to his friend's new girlfriend. Hyunjin on the other hand stood away from them, up against the wall of the building as he scrolls aimlessly on his phone. 

“Hey,” says Jisung, emerging from the restaurant. 

Hyunjin turns to his friend, realising it’s the first time they’ve directly spoken to each other in a while, “hi.” 

“You know it feels like I haven’t seen you since-“

“That’s because you haven’t, Jisung,” he cuts him off sharply, having already foreseen what Jisung was about to say after the word ‘since.’ 

He smiles sheepishly, “right. So, what are your plans now?”

Hyunjin doesn’t think and shrugs, “gonna go home, paint, watch TV or something.”

“Cool. I’m coming with you.” 

Hyunjin didn’t have any say in the matter. Jisung was going to follow him home like his own shadow whether he liked it or not. It dismissed Hyunjin from grovelling in his feelings and mind after hearing the situation between you and Chan. One half of his heart yearned to cry while the other wanted to punch Chan in the ribs. He doesn’t know. He’s conflicted. But they are aspects that remain undetected to Jisung as they sat next to each other quietly on the subway back to his home. 

The pair walked under Hyunjin’s umbrella for a few hundred metres until they were under the shelter of the apartment complex. He doesn’t mind accommodating people at his place since he spends the majority of his time in voluntary solitude. It allows him to fully recuperate from social settings in order to go out again. This time, with less company, it’s still equally welcoming. So after Hyunjin unlocks his front door for both of them enter, take off their shoes, and store them neatly. 

“Ah~” Jisung sighs with relief, stretching out his arms and stands right underneath a device mounted to the top of the wall. “Air con!” 

“Don’t you have one? I thought you did,” Hyunjin mistakenly thought. 

“It broke,” he mumbles, revelling in the cold artificial breeze. “Been waiting three weeks for it to be fixed.” 

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything after that. He lets Jisung do whatever he wants while he heads into his room to change from his clothes to a black tank top and a pair of shorts. In his spare room that he’s been slowly transitioning to an art space, he goes in and collects some of his unfinished art, paints, and brushes. After, he returns to the lounge, he sets everything down on the coffee table and pulls up some floor cushions for him and Jisung to sit on. 

“Oh, tangerines,” he suddenly remembers as his eyes clock onto the silver fruit bowl on his kitchen counter while Jisung takes his jacket off and hangs it up. 

“Tangerines? In summer?” Jisung asks as he goes to sit down. 

Hyunjin places the bowl of the fruit between him and his friend as he lowers down too, “why not? I got them fresh from the market the other day.”

“I can only eat them in the winter.”

“Alright then,” Hyunjin shrugs and starts peeling one for himself as Jisung reaches for the remote and turns on the TV. 

For a while, they sit together. Hyunjin switches between picking up his paintbrush and pieces of fruit whereas Jisung’s eyes are glued to some hot drama playing across the screen. It’s nice to just be in the same room with someone and to not have a full on conversation that ends up being draining on their social batteries. Both of them are the perfect introverts for thriving in those types of environments. A peaceful comfort.

Time seems to pass in their space as Jisung nears the end of the episode and Hyunjin is rounding off one area of his painting. By that time, Hyunjin had eaten five tangerines then opted to bring some more. He offered to Jisung if he wanted something else to eat or drink, but the man was so hooked on this drama that he didn't even hear Hyunjin ask.

He found it…slightly…endearing. Just a bit. But then he went back to his work and all was forgotten until Jisung finally started speaking again.

“Hyunjin,” he starts in a low voice, still staring at the screen. 

“Hmm?” 

“Are we gonna talk about the other night?” Jisung mentions.

His hand freezes over his canvas, a small dollop of paint drips from the end of his brush and onto his work. Hyunjin wasn’t exactly expecting to hear that question, yet at the same time, he should’ve seen it coming. 

“W-What about it?” He responds awkwardly. 

Jisung leans back, both of his hands propping him up from behind as he looks up to the ceiling, “the fact that we kissed, well… made out mainly.” 

“Yeah, that’s right,” he said, unsure of what to actually ask him here. “Do you…regret it?”

“No! No way!” Jisung exclaims rather quickly before he calms down. “No, I don’t. In fact…it was…actually really good.” 

In the back of Hyunjin’s mind, he can almost predict what’s about to happen. Jisung wouldn’t have brought up the subject unless it was really affecting him - unless he was dying to get it off his chest. Otherwise he would’ve let it simmer down, but taking into account that it had been two weeks and he wants to unpack everything, there was clearly something irking him in a way that only Hyunjin seems to understand. 

“You looked…good that night,” he adds then corrects himself. “You do look good.” 

Hyunjin peers up from his work. What’s he supposed to say to that? Is he supposed to divulge the fact that he thinks the same of Jisung? He doesn’t even know entirely what he feels, having just accepted that he slept with his two friends and sort of went on with life.

“What did you follow me back to my apartment for?” Hyunjin gets straight to the point. 

His friend sits back up and looks him dead in the eye, “let’s just say I didn’t follow you back to eat some fruit and watch TV.”

“Then what?” Hyunjin urges impatiently even though his and Jisung’s faces slowly draw towards each other.

Jisung’s eyes drop down to Hyunjin’s lips, and says in a quiet voice, “because I wanted to kiss you again.” 

Hyunjin doesn’t know when, but it happened. One second he had his gaze set on Jisung’s soft expression and the next his eyes were closed, allowing his brain to focus on what’s physically happening. Their lips meet for the second time since the first, this time a little slower and tender.

As the TV plays in the background, all the two of them can hear is the sound of their mouths moving - breaking apart for a couple of moments even though their noses still touch, tilting their heads in different directions to see what’s the better angle. 

The sweet, citrine aftertaste of tangerine lingers in Hyunjin’s mouth, a pleasure to savour when Jisung is able to explore it with his tongue. In Hyunjin’s left hand, the paintbrush slips from his grip, its tip smearing more paint onto his work. But there is a great distance between him and being bothered about it. He worries more about the reaction, that after minutes of kissing, stirs in his pants when Jisung’s hand finds its way onto his lap, barely caressing his thigh. His cock has started filling out. 

He doesn’t notice it until slowly yet surely, Jisung’s hand inches closer to the ever growing, obvious bulge in his friend's shorts. The second he makes contact with Hyunjin’s clothed dick, a moan shoots through from his mouth and into Jisung’s. He pulls away for a second, staring at his lips.  

“You really are a good kisser,” Jisung breathes. 

“Jisung…” Hyunjin struggles, his forehead comes to rest against Jisung’s as he stares down at his hand. It palms slowly, agonisingly slow. 

“You’re so hard for-“

He cups Jisung’s mouth before he can complete the rest of his sentence, “shut up, I know,” he cuts him off bitterly. 

A chuckle reverberates through his hand as Jisung takes it away but decides to continue holding it, “let me help you then.” 

It’s not difficult for him to read the room. He knows what Hyunjin wants and how obvious it is that he needs it. His cock silently screams for touch, to be relieved. So at the perfect moment, Jisung reaches into Hyunjin’s shorts and past his boxes.

A quiet hiss issues from his mouth when the entire length of his dick is free from restriction. His cock is beautiful. Jisung never managed to get a good look at it since it was either in your mouth or drilling your pussy from behind.

Jisung licks his way into Hyunjin’s mouth, his tongue dancing across his plush bottom lip before he breaks away for a moment. Excitement surges through him now that he finally gets to feel what he’s been wanting to since that night two weeks ago. He stares down at Hyunjin’s cock, pre-cum beads at the tip, some had already leaked down his length.

For Jisung to have him so aroused, so desperate for touch, proves the effect his friend has on him that he suspected was present. Hyunjin had an inkling of it when you all slept together, but nothing other than that. A pang of realisation maybe, that his friend was attractive and alluring in a sense, and it was obvious that Jisung felt the same. 

He takes a soft hold of the top of Hyunjin’s cock, the pad of his index finger swiping over his tip and pulling away. He watches the thick string of glimmering pre-cum connect him and Hyunjin, forcing a wave of embarrassment to come crushing over him. It wasn’t embarrassing to Jisung. It was hot. So fucking hot.

Seeing the impact of his own actions on Hyunjin’s body gave him a sense of power so to speak. It made him want to see more as he started tugging gently at his dick. He trusted that Hyunjin’s pre-cum would act almost as a lube, and sure enough with more strokes, his cock was sticky with it. Nothing but slick sounds and tiny, barely there whimpers from Hyunjin’s mouth fill his lounge, drowning out the next episode of the drama that was still playing. 

“Mm…it…mmm.” 

“Don’t be shy Hyunjinnie,” Jisung prompts him to become more vocal, to express what he’s feeling however he wants. “We’re friends, since when have you ever been quiet around me?” 

Hyunjin replies breathlessly, “friends…d-don’t get each other off.”

“Hey, you haven’t gotten me off yet,” Jisung reminds him. 

Yet. 

In his mind that starts to slip through his fingers like sand, Hyunjin was no longer able to tell if that was an empty possibility or a very real chance of it happening. For the time being, he chooses to focus on pleasure. The satisfaction of having something wrapped around his cock to relieve him, and the divine pressure that begins to store at the base of his cock from Jisung’s long strokes. 

“Feel good?” He asks. 

The question alone is enough to make Hyunjin lower his head and close his eyes, too shy to meet Jisung’s ardent gaze. Instead, he gives an affirming nod. 

“Good,” Jisung mumbles quietly, then finds Hyunjin’s lips once more with his own to kiss him.

God he can’t stop kissing him. 

The way they melt into each other is almost like they’ve done this a hundred times prior. Jisung tugs and strokes Hyunjin’s length so attentively, greedily drawing out every single reaction he can possibly get. The hushed moans that transmit from his mouth as Jisung’s tongue moves lazily to explore. Very abruptly however, Hyunjin breaks away from the kiss. 

“G-Gonna make me cum,” he swallows hard. 

Jisung’s eyes nearly roll into the back of his head just hearing that. To him, those words are not only a specific type of praise or reward, but it’s coupled with the way that Hyunjin sounds right in his ear. His tense, high pitched whimpers become more frequent and stressed as Jisung has been building him up to the height of his orgasm.

“Cum for me then,” Jisung whispers to him.

Suddenly, the air snags inside Hyunjin’s throat. His head drops and all the attention gravitates towards his cock, shivering as he starts to orgasm.

“Ngh - ‘sung…cumming,” he strains out, breathing deeply but staggered. 

Jisung catches his seed in the cupped palm of his hand as he manages to stroke the tip of his length at the same time. He looked so beautiful when his mind and body writhe under his touch. Hyunjin’s moans complete the satisfaction Jisung feels to have unravelled his best friend like that. To see ribbons of his white warm cum in hand makes him struggle against the unhinged part of his brain that needs to taste it for himself. He can’t help it when the base of his palm reaches his mouth-

But it doesn’t stop Hyunjin’s face from twisting and screwing into an expression of revolt. 

“Jisung,” he says with a tone of warning. 

He hastily tucks himself back into his clothes, springs up from the coffee table and heads to the kitchen to grab a paper towel. After soaking it a little bit in some warm water from under the tap, he returns to Jisung and cleans his hand. Hyunjin didn’t want to make a note of the fact that most of Jisung’s palm was covered in cum and when he returned, it was almost like it was never there. Still, he did him the decency of helping clean him up. 

“Maybe wash your hand too,” he suggests with a concerned look still clouding his face. 

“Don’t look so offended, Hyunjin,” Jisung chuckles airly. “You taste good.” 

“Shut up, please,” is all he can come back with, then looks up to not only see that cocky, arrogant grin of Jisung’s but to also notice that there’s still a trace of his cum smeared a little bit on his bottom lip. Hyunjin reaches towards his friend’s face, thumbing the excess away.  

“Don’t waste anything,” Jisung scolds him.  

“Alright,” he rolls his eyes, done with the mortifying humiliation and stands up again to return to the kitchen with the dirty paper towel to chuck it away. 

“Wait, come back! Kiss me one more time and I swear I’ll stop embarrassing you!” he calls out to him.

Hyunjin stops listening to Jisung and all the whiny complaints he propels from the coffee table. Instead, something else suddenly occupies his attention. The one thing that threatens to unbalance his mood once more. 

“Jisung,” Hyunjin says. “Is it true? About Y/N and Chan?”

“Huh?” He answers, “Oh, yeah. It is.” 

Hyunjin’s gaze falls to the floor. That answers that then. 

Jisung then continues, “I didn’t want to mention how I saw the message though. If I did, it might’ve put you and Y/N in the spotlight about that night we had when you probably didn’t want to. Plus, they’re like jackals. They would’ve torn you to shreds just to get an answer.” 

Hyunjin nods, appreciative of his friend's move, “thanks. But should you have told them about Y/N and Chan anyway?”

Jisung did realise at one stage that he told their friends about you and Chan, but didn’t apply that same energy towards bringing up himself, you, and Hyunjin. There wasn’t that much of a difference when he looks at it now since he’s also messed around with you both, similar to the way Chan is currently messing around with you.

But Jisung knows for a fact that he didn’t bring it up because he wanted to save his own skin or divert any suspicion or attention away from himself. It was just so scandalous to find out that the two least suspecting people on his radar of who in the group would be fucking, is you and Chan. 

“They said they weren’t going to say anything,” Jisung responds. “I trust them that much, not that I should be making a big deal about it, but I want to go see Chan. I know that they’re not, but I want to make sure that they aren’t actually dating, otherwise-“

“We’d have to tell him,” says Hyunjin.

“Exactly,” Jisung agrees. “Again, I don’t think that’s the case. Chan said so himself that he’s done with dating and relationships, and I trust that wholeheartedly too.”

Hyunjin gives a nod and decides to hold out onto hope. Hope that you’re not seeing him and that it’s just something that turns out to be a stupid rumour. In the meantime, he needs to figure out his feelings. 

Too tired to make the commute back to his own place, Jisung ended up staying the night at Hyunjin’s. He could’ve well and truly slept on the couch but for what it was worth, he was invited to sleep in Hyunjin’s bed. It’s not like they’ve never slept next to each other. But for some reason, it means something a bit more. Something hazy that exists in a twilight zone that Hyunjin only hopes clears up so he can decipher what he feels towards Jisung. 

The thought floats around in his mind before he drifts off, sleeping comfortably, only to wake up the next morning tangled in each other’s arms.

Neither of them were bothered about it. 

[dreamerforever-d]

Well.. I am just gonna rant here right now.. ignore me. Or not.

I just watched “Happiest Season”, because after Agatha all Along I am obsessed with Aubrey Plaza, and yeah, I know, it took me soooo long and wtf is wrong with me, right?

Anyways, I’ve watched it.. and I didn’t like how it ended?

I mean, maybe if I wasn’t so biased by Aubrey’s perfection, I would’ve gone along with it, but… I mean, Riley (Aubrey’s character), was SUCH a better company and better match to Kristen Stewart’s character!!! I mean, she was out already, and she was so open and such a fun person to be around, it seemed…

They went out to drinks, and she took Kristen’s character to a bar where drag queen’s were singing Christmas songs. (Jinx Monsoon was one of them and I LOVE her, so it made me so happy).

Since they first laid eyes on each other, the chemistry was screaming, at least to me. The looks they’ve shared.. how both characters were so easy going and really just themselves around each other.. *sigh* During the entire movie, the only times I’ve felt that Kristen’s character was not uncomfortable, was when she was with Riley.

Anyway, at the same time I understand that the girl had a very problematic family… and when I say very, I mean very! ( I was so fucking mad about the way they treated the ‘least favorite daughter/sister’, she was the sweetest one of them all and deserved better!)

But in my eyes, even when she was not with her family, she was just a different person from the beginning of the movie. She seemed extremely shallow to me.. and the fact that she stayed until 2 am with her ex boyfriend, that she KNEW her girlfriend didn’t like, I think that was also a dick move, even if nothing happened.. it was still so weird to me.

But anyway, it is what it is..

BUT since I’ve always been a fanfic writer, always had a BIG imagination for fictioning things and a hopeless lesbian, I hoped that the one who was in the red car in the end was Aubrey.

Spoiler alert: it was not.

Anyways, disappointed… but it is worth to watch because Aubrey is amazing (and super hot) in it.

That’s it, thank you for coming to my ted talk. Sorry for the rant. And have a good night.

[the-cookie-of-doom]

split/kid! Kim AU as promised 😘

send me an ask and I'll tell you about one of these WIPs!

I haven't thought about this fic in so long I forgot it even existed, but I added it to the list just for you <3

In this fic, through ~magical handwaving~, Kim's younger self is split from his adult self. It was meant to only cut out his memories/trauma (bc Kim will turn to magic before therapy), but oops! Turns out all those memories became a whole person! So now there's a ~13 year old knife-wielding Kim running around the compound, and adult KimChay have no idea. The significance of that age is that's how old Kim was the first time he killed someone, and he sees that as the thing that ruined him as a person. So if he can get rid of the part of himself that decided to be a murderer, maybe he can become a better man for Chay. Spoiler, that's not how it works.

The whole idea behind the fic is Kim learning to forgive himself for the things he had to do to survive. It's a lot harder to blame yourself for life going wrong when you have to look that frightened child in the eyes and tell him everything is his fault. Kid Kim is also a darling, and the brother feels make me weep.

Chay’s phone is ringing on the nightstand. He reaches blindly for it, preoccupied with Kim’s mouth on his own.  “Ignore it,” Kim murmurs, giving Chay’s bottom lip a chastising little bite. He’s half on top of Chay, both of them naked, hands wandering, and well on their way to a second round. Kim is making a very compelling argument, but… “It’s hia,” Chay says, and finally grasps his phone, hitting “accept” on the second to last ring. Kim huffs at him and starts pressing warm kisses along his jaw instead. “Hello?” “Chay,” Porsche greets jovially. “Question for you. Why is your boyfriend a child?”  “... He isn’t?” Chay looks down at Kim, now mouthing at his collarbone, just to make sure. And yep, still the same twenty-three year old he’s been for the last four months.  “I’m literally staring at him, and he is.”  “I’m literally naked with him, and he isn’t. I think I would have noticed.” Porsche snorts on the other end of the line. Kim looks up at him curiously, his tongue tracing wet circles around a nipple. Chay tugs his hair to make him stop but it only encourages him to bite. “Want to tell me why you think Kim is a child, hia?”  “I’m a what?” Kim asks, his voice low and rough and dripping with judgment. “Has your brother lost his mind?”  “See for yourself.” Seconds later Chay gets a text alert. He pulls up the messages, and nearly drops his phone when he sees the picture that loads.  There, sitting beside Kinn, wearing obviously borrowed clothes and the stormiest scowl Chay has ever seen, is Kim. Unmistakably, irrefutably Kim. Chay, left gaping and unable to speak, turns his phone around to show his lover.  “... Hm.”  “What the fuck?” Chay whispers. Then, “Porsche, I’ve got to go. We’re on our way.”  He ends the call.  “You’re not surprised. Why are you not surprised?”  “I’m surprised.”  “Really? Because you sounded like I just told you the road flooded in monsoon season.” Chay pushes himself up to his elbows, dislodging Kim. “What gives? What did you do?” “Why do you think I did something?” “Because there’s two of you!” “... I didn’t do anything that would have done that.” “But you did do something.” Silence. Kim refuses to meet his eyes. “Kim.” “It wasn’t anything bad! I just… Look, don’t be mad, okay?” Chay takes a deep breath, and then another. They’ve been together for two years now. They’ve seen each other through a lot. Chay can confidently say they’ve reached a place where Chay would forgive him for anything, because he trusts Kim not to do anything unforgivable.  “Tell me what happened, then we can figure out what’s going on,” Chay says. “I might have… gotten rid of… my memories. Of my childhood.” “... What?”  Kim squirms. He pulls the blankets up higher, suddenly vulnerable in his nudity. At least he doesn’t try to run away.  “You’re always telling me to go to therapy. I thought I could go straight to the source, cut it out, then,” he takes a shuddering breath, “then I would be okay.” “Kim, you can’t—that’s not how it works.” Kim shrinks in on himself. Chay doesn’t let him hide, drawing Kim into his arms when he tries, clutching him close. “That’s—that’s half your life! And it’s just, what, gone?” “I thought it would be. Guess not. I promise I didn’t know this would happen.”  “And you were just going to hide this from me?” Kim shrugs. Chay’s heart clenches wondering how long Kim could have gotten away with it. He never talks about his childhood as it is, like he’s already locked that part of himself away. “When do your memories start, then?” “When I was thirteen, I think.” “Why that age?”  “That was the first time I killed a man.” Kim squeezes his arms around Chay’s middle, hiding away in his shoulders. Quietly, he adds, “That’s what broke me.”  The day he lost his innocence, Chay thinks. He stopped being a child when he took his first life.  Except he doesn’t believe that for a second. Trauma isn’t what makes someone an adult; Chay would know. Kim was still so young, and he must have been terrified. Alone. 

[ramayantika]

Shyam Raatri

The large monsoon clouds assemble in the vast expanse of the night. I am alone here. The terrace is as dark as the dark clouds assembled in the corner of my vision. There is not one star in the sky -- the moon already lost somewhere under a dark veil.

A sweet tune rings in my ear, it's volume increasing as I take my breath. My eyes do not move even an inch away from the darkness in the night sky. Somewhere beside the extreme coal coloured sky, I see greyish clouds floating away with a light breeze gently blowing my hair.

Darkness is often associated with evil and sinister plans when everything eerie has to occur. Black surrounds me. Even the plants kept aside scare me with their dry twigs.

The flute tune now turns from something sweet to a mysterious melody. I feel a deep yearn from the depths of my soul; a sudden lunge in my heart to run into the darkness that keeps calling me. The light, the other path doesn't attract me anymore and my feet as if hypnotized walk ahead.

But there is no sinister allure in the air. There are no dark whispers looming around. There is the scent of fresh jasmines and wild flowers. The mysterious melody now transforms into a deep love tune as if played by someone who carries deep love in his being. I see no one. I am flying I think. Am I in my body? Who am I anymore?

Does it matter?

And suddenly a name escapes from my lips. Shyam. The dark expanse envelops me around and I lean into their embrace. Without a lamp, without a flame colour bursts in my soul, I see it dance as a loud thunder rumbles like a drum. The flash of lightning makes me see the one in the guise of the dark clouds.

Shyam, as dark as the night sky, as dark as the monsoon laden clouds shines as brightly as thousand diamonds. The flute tune now flows through my being. My heart soars with delight. I think this is how bliss feels like.

To go beyond my name, my body, and my identity, I find solace in that dark embrace. I find home in those arms which hold me tight and a small whisper makes me alert of his presence even more.

"I shall never let go."

The dark clouds part away to form the most handsome man in the whole universe. The stars surround his body, his smile as bright and warm as a hundred suns. Enchanting is an understatement. There is no word in my dictionary to describe me, for they only dim his lustre.

And when those rain filled clouds clash, a loud rumble pours heaven's nectar down the skies, drenching me. Mother nature forgets that her daughter is already drenched in love.

Oh how do young souls love so deeply, so passionately? They ask.

I have lived through many lives, each bringing me to him. Who needs a fire torch to light the path when you have him? A serpent turns into a garland with him around. My arms wound around his neck tightly as tears mix with the rain drops falling down my face.

Time is an illusion. Everything is. He can be the only truth, my only solid rock to my existence.

Which poet shall ever be able to write about this love? I cross every boundary deemed moral by this society. I am not a woman in love. I am a soul in love.

How do I go back to society, my dear one? I cross the deemed line every time I go to meet you in the dark.

'This isn't the way to love a god!'

'You aren't as pure as his other devotees.'

'You don't even have an ounce of knowledge than the ones who sought refuge at his feet.'

'This is wrong and immoral. You can't worship him this way.'

And so with tear stricken eyes, a fiery desperation in them, I raise my chin up and ask God himself. "If I have wronged you in any way, if this impure woman's love has borne any impurity in love for you then make me forget you forever."

And when I tell you that God himself wonders how mortals love so fiercely, with so much passion and longing that they are ready to hurt themselves than hurt the beloved, it is all true.

He himself bends his head down, his arms wide and I see the universe swirling in that space between those jewel studded arms. I can never say that I never looked into his eyes. His eyes meet mine and I see a glaze cloud over those lotus shaped eyes.

'If it weren't my wish, you wouldn't have noticed me standing here. You wouldn't walk all dazed towards me. Look around you. All of them. They only see dark swirling clouds but you found me. I have been here for you, waiting when you would find me, when you would realize me. I waited by the door of your room, by the corner of your vision, in the deep recesses of your mind whose doors you opened only in dreams. You found me. Is that not the answer to your love?'

The darkness whisks me away, leaving behind a scent of roses.

Oh mother how can I ever come back to the house anymore? I found my beloved.

*****

SSSSH IDK WHAT EVEN THIS IS I AM WRITING THIS WITH KRISHNA SONGS FROM MAHABHARAT ON LOOP CONTINUOUSLY. I SAW THE DARK SKY FROM MY TERRACE ALONE AND THERE WAS THIS ONE SPOT WJICH WAD EXTREMELY DARK LIKE DARKER THAN BLACK AND BESIDE IT A FEW FEET AWAY GREY CLOUDS WERE FLAOTING AROUND JUST LIKE I WROTE. I GOT SCARED A LITTLE KNOWING I WAS ALL ALONE IN THE DARK TERRACE BUT THAT DARK CLOUDS BLACKISH CLOUDS MADE ME STARE AT IT AND MADE ME FEEL SAFE. I KNEW I HAD TO WRITE SOMETHING BUT SOMEHOW THE TERRACE DIDN'T FEEL SAFE ANYMORE AND I KINDA GOT A MESSAGE FROM INSIDE SAYING GO DOWNSTAIRS AND WRITE WHATECER YOY WANT. I AM LITERALLY SITTING ON MY SCOOTER AND TYPING THIS DOWN. IF MY VISION COILF ONLU FOCUS ON THAT EXACT DARK SPOT THAT FELT JUST PERFECT I WOULD ACTIALLY WRITE THIS MAYBE EVEN BETTER BUT OKAY I WROTRE THIS I HAVE NO IDEA HOW DID I EGEN WRITE THIS AND I AM PROBABLY GLING TO READ IT TOMORROW TO MAKE SENSE OF IT OR CRINGE OVER THIS YEAH EKZKZKZL WHATEVER THIS IS A QUESTION-ANSWER WHAT NOW. FIND WHAT YOU NEED THE ANSWERS TO. MY EYES GURT AND MY ELBOW.

[secret-diary-of-an-fa]

Doctor Who: Empire of Death Review (Sutekh is, and I Don't Say this Lightly, a BAD DOG)

Here we are: the conclusion to an eight episode run that’s given us such memorable villains as The Slugs That Didn’t Move While On Camera and Cos-Playing Murder-Owls. Look, I said ‘memorable’ not ‘compelling’. In fairness, it also gave us Jinkx Monsoon hamming it up as the deranged deity of music, Maestro, but the more I think about The Devil’s Chord, the more annoyed I become that it got permission to use the Beatles and then only gave 50% of them speakin’ lines, so I don’t want to dwell on it. This time, the Doctor is facing Sutekh, the god of death, who looks a lot more like a jackal in this episode than he did in The Legend of Ruby Sunday (where he looked suspiciously mouse-like from some angles). And, spoiler alert, he’s the best thing in it. Within a few minutes of the episode opening, he’s turned the entire population of Earth to dust, hijacked the TARDIS to serve as his temple and revealed that he’s been following in the Doctor’s wake for countless millennia in order to plant his sleeper agents on every planet the Time Lord has ever visited. As a result, the entire universe falls to his ‘Death Wave’ and reality dies a tragic (and surprisingly sandy) death. Great! That’s a Doctor Who villain worthy of the finale. But how’s the rest of it?

Well, it’s nice that the Doctor actually gets to do things in this episode: seeking out metal in a dead universe order to create an interface that will let him look backwards in time; hunting down Ruby’s mother because Sutekh can’t see her and she might, therefore, be the key to unravelling his dominion, and finally trapping the god of death in a death-trap of his own, “bringing death to death” and therefore reversing all his little shenanigans. For quite a lot of this season (the murder-owls episode and bits of Boom being the exception) his role has been providing exposition and then crying in a corner. For the entirety of the giant slugs one he was reduced to a floating VT in a holographic box, except at the end when he showed up in person to have a good scream and a weep over how stupid and self-defeating racism is. Not so much Doctor Who as Doctor Boohoo, amiright? Oh, fuck off. I’ll write better puns when you start paying me and not a minute sooner. I also liked the Doctor’s solution to the Sutekh problem itself: dragging him through the Time Vortex on a specialised bungee like a bad dog being dragged home from the park, using his death-energy to bring life until he straight-up fucking disintegrates. It’s just the right combination of silly and bad-ass and suits the general tone of Who very well.

I’m not a fan, however, of the stupid bloody speech he gives while doing it, in which he bangs on about how he represents life and killing Sutekh is a violation of his moral code that he has been driven to only by extremis. Piss off. The Doctor kills people with frankly sociopathic frequency. The first thing this incarnation did after parting ways with Fourteen was impale a giant goblin on the spike of a church (which is murder and desecration-of-a-religious-building at once). Peter Capaldi’s Twelve once shot a fellow Time Lord in the head and acted like regeneration was just man-flu, when we know very well it’s a kind of dying and rebirth. He also might have pushed a cyborg out of a balloon to fall to his death. Eleven used post-hypnotic suggestion to convince the entire human race to slaughter the Silence on sight, planted a missile homing beacon on some dude’s ship, blew up a planet-full of Cybermen and fed a completely different god of death potential memories until he imploded. Ten once tricked Mark Gatiss into falling off a tall building (though, in fairness, he wasn’t Mark Gatiss at the time: he was a big lizard-thing). Nine engineered the deaths of the Slitheen, the Jagrofess and the Last Human without a second thought. And that’s just the ones from the modern series that I can think of off the top of my head. Give me an hour on Google and I could come up with more (though it is weird, in retrospect, to realise just how trigger-happy Eleven was). I think it speaks to a bigger problem with Who at the moment: Americanisation. See, American morality is more Kantian; more dependent on rigid, inflexible rules (which is fucking weird for a nation that still practices the barbarism of the death penalty, by the way). Whereas British morality is typically more utilitarian; more predicated on what will do the most practical good in any given situation and therefore laced with innumerable grey areas. The Doctor suddenly being uncomfortable with killing feels like Disney’s influence at work: an attempt to sand down his more alien and hostile edges to make him palatable to an American audience (who originally got into the show because it was a slice of British culture that they couldn’t get from their own country’s entertainment industry. Look, let me put it this way: As a Brit, I don’t watch anime to see British values and ideals recapitulated, I watch it because I find it refreshing to encounter the heroic ideals of a different culture that doesn’t think the way my own culture does. Same thing).

I’m also not best pleased with the plot holes. Ruby meets her mum at the end and it’s revealed that she’s just… some rando. The explanation we get for why Sutekh couldn’t see her is that her identity and absence were of such critical importance to Ruby that they somehow twisted the universe and made her important. Which would be fine, except that only makes sense if Ruby is some sort of cosmic being with reality-bending powers. But if her mum is just some rando (and her dad’s a feckless adolescent, as it turns out), how can she be a cosmic being with reality-bending powers? Was it her time in the TARDIS? No, because the Doctor’s genuinely surprised by her (apparently unrelated ability) to make it fucking snow. If that was the sign of a deeper malaise, you’d think he’d have spent enough time travelling in the TARDIS to spot the signs.

Anyhoo, I’d like to take a moment to address Ncuti Gatwa’s acting. I’ve been saying all season that he’s a good actor and that the show needs to give him more to do with his talents than get all teary-eyed and spout expository dialogue (my phrasing has not, however, been that concise). Now I get to see him being the Doctor, really for the only time aside from Rogue (Boom doesn’t count: it was amazing, but our hero was stranded on a landmine from beginning to end, which limited the scope of things he could do quite a lot). The point is that, while I’m still convinced there’s a good actor in there somewhere, there’s also something missing that each episode director has failed to request and Gatwa has failed to provide spontaneously. I’m talking about something that’s going to sound stupid until you think about it: superfluous movement. Nine, Ten and Eleven (also Fourteen) were constantly in motion; constantly reacting to their environment and interacting with the set in interesting way, whether it was Christopher Eccleston picking up and toying with the random detritus of human culture or David Tenant constantly fiddling with technology, striding off purposefully at the drop of a hat (sometimes in the wrong direction) and just general projecting physicality, or even Matt Smith bouncing around the whole set and occasionally breaking bits off it, the Doctor’s always felt like a being with a lot of energy. Twelve was stiffer and more rigid in his movements, but that was a specific part of his characterisation: he was older, grumpier, more worn-down. Gatwa’s fifteen, however, is characterised as breezy and bombastic… but he never moves more than the script calls for. It’s hard to spot at first: you just have a vague sense that something isn’t right here, but once you’ve realised what it is that’s up, you can’t unsee it. He reacts and interacts only as literally demanded by the script. There’s no superfluous tics, no kinetic flourishes, no playfulness in how he responds to each environment… and it makes both him and the worlds he visits feel flatter and less alive. I don’t want to blame him too much for it: it might be that the show costs so much to make now that he’s been told to be careful and not risk breaking anything, but it is a problem and it reaches its apotheosis in The Empire of Death. Simply put, David Tenant could make a ball-game on a roof feel like a battle for the fate of the world, but even when Gatwa is dragging Sutekh through the Time Vortex and reality is being ripped open around them, his movements are so economical and rehearsed it’s impossible to forget you’re watching a telly show. You feel nothing. Or I didn’t anyway. Maybe you’re less sensitised to this sort of thing than I am. I do watch a lot of media and know a lot about how it gets made, which means I pick up on issues other people miss. So, er, mileage may vary.

Overall, I did quite enjoy Empire of Death. It’s solid enough cosmic fiction, but is also has that ‘first draft’ quality that turned me against The Star Beast. Everything in it is good enough, but no better. I wonder, maybe, if the root of the problem is RTD himself just taking on too large a portion of the writing duties. Running a show and writing scripts for a show are two very difficult, very demanding jobs, which is why the Showrunner usually farms out a lot of the script-writing to people who have the time and energy to do it well. This also leaves the Showrunner free to focus their own writing efforts on the episodes that really matter. For example, would Empire of Death have been better, if RTD hadn’t stretched himself thin personally scribing Dot and Bubble and The Devil’s Chord? Almost certainly.

Here’s hoping he learns how to delegate in time for Gatwa’s second season. And that they start using sets the actors are allowed to actually interact with.

PS. The new sonic screwdriver is rubbish. It looks like a TV remote fucked the Starship Enterprise. I hadn't mentioned that yet, so there ya go.

[lerya-fanfic]

op x reader exchange

@thewanderinglunarian i was your gifter for the @onepiece-reader-exchange hope you like it!

I think this is the first op x reader fic i ever wrote so I really hope you like it!!

Shivering as you opened the door to the marine base CP0 was currently living in, you couldn’t keep the shiver from running through you at the chill the slight breeze brought with it. A summer island this might be, they had these horrible monsoons more times than you cared to think about, drenching you wholly and making your soaking clothes cling to you as you closed the door behind you.

“What happened to you, Y/N.”

Looking up, you see Kaku coming down the stairs. His eyes wide as he takes in your clothing and the way you are shivering. 

“Let’s get you to our rooms, you’re lucky we were just thinking about going to the hot springs on the island. Lucci went to reserve one not too long ago. We can go and join him and get you warmed up.”

The thought about sitting in a hot spring with these two men alone was enough to get you slightly hotter. At times like this you had trouble believing that it was these two men that had chosen you to be their partner. 

Moaning as Kaku’s warm hand touches you on your lower back, you let him lead you to the rooms all of you share. Once there, he turns to get his own change of clothing and a towel, leaving you to pull off the wet clothes and wear something comfortable. Your eyes fell on a shirt that Lucci had been wearing not too long ago, it was just a simple sweatshirt he wore when he was off duty but it always looked so warm.

Slipping on a pair of shorts, you pulled on the sweatshirt before making your way to the living area where Kaku was doing a good job of trying to look busy.

Giggling, you draw his attention to himself and see the smirk taking over his face.

“Oh, he’s going to love that.”

Blushing, you look at the sweatshirt you are wearing, “You think so?”

He approached, pressing his hand to the small of your back again, “Y/N, he’s going to adore this. You know we love seeing you in our clothes. In fact, I’m quite sure Lucci left that out in the odd chance that you needed something else to change into.”

The blush intensified, but the smile never left your face, you felt the heat returning at the thought that Lucci had done this specially for you. Maybe his devil fruit had alerted him to the fact that it would be raining not long after you left, which was both sweet of him to do so, and kind of mean as he hadn’t warned you of the oncoming monsoon.

“So he planned for me to get this wet?”

Kaku it seemed had been in on the joke, going by the way his eyes widened before he started waving his hands in front of him. Trying to get your mind on another track, forgetting that he was only pulling more attention to it by his reaction.

Grinning, almost coyly, you looked through your eyelashes at one of your lovers, noticing the moment he realized you were teasing him.

"That was mean of you Y/N."

You shrug, still smiling coyly, "I haven't heard you complaining, though. You're even still here when I kind of expected us to have left already."

He looks at you, a tender look in his eyes as he does so, "We should leave, shouldn't we."

You nod, following along when he turns and leads the way out of your rooms. Reaching back to take a hold of your hand to pull you close to his side.

No matter the importance to the marines that CP0 held, none of the higher ups were that pleased that two of their top agents had entered a relationship with a civilian woman.

It had caused quite a lot of discourse at the base they were living at right now, a common view she might be if the wrong superior saw her they wouldn't be able to have a very nice soak in the hot springs.

Keeping her head down as she followed along, she was happy to see the familiar path towards the hot springs. The slight draft of hot air has her shivering again, her wet hair making sure she wouldn't forget just how soaked she had been not too long ago. Wrapping her free arm around your waist, you pressed closer to Kaku until such a time you see Lucci waiting there for you. His sharp eyes turn towards you the moment he no doubt hears you approach.

"There you are. I was almost starting to worry."

He stops after that, slowly, deliberately letting his eyes roam from your sandal clath feet up your bare legs, to your shirts that just barely were visible under your (or was that his) shirt, before taking in his shirt on you, finally moving up to lock his eyes onto yours.

"Don't you look delicious."

The blush coloring your face came back full force, making you look down as you try to gain control over it. Looking away, yet not before seeing the smirks on both Kaku and Lucci's faces. This truly had been a ploy to get you to wear one of their sweatshirts. The self-assured grin only asked that all the more clear, despite Kaku's reaction, those two men in your life had been planning something.

With your blush under control, you narrowed your eyes at them. Seeing the grins on their faces only grow, their eyes roaming around your body in a way that makes you feel so very wanted. 

It had after all been the danger they both projected that had attracted you to them in the first place. They breathed danger, something you found out after accidently realizing what their role in the marine was. You should have been scared, but instead you ran toward the danger they posed. That had been one of the main reasons the admirals and higher were so against your relationship, you know what they were and what they were capable of. You were a liability at best, and a treat at worst.

Not that this was going to stop either of you, this felt right and it made you feel so very special that you don't want this to end.

"So… the hot springs?"

Lucci, after reigning in his grin nodded, "I reserved the back one for us, no one else should come near unless there is an emergency, we have the whole place to ourselves for now."

Silently cheering, you make your way to the changing rooms to pull off your clothing and place a towel to the side to wrap around you to protect your modesty. Using the brush and bucket in the corner to get clean and rinse off any excess grime and dirt. Once satisfied, you wrap your towel around you and open the door to the changing room. Stepping out and grinning as your men were waiting for you. Mentioning you should enter the springs first.

An almost sinful moan leaves your mouth as you slowly sink into the spring. This was exactly what you needed right now.

Looking back you see their eyes dilated and the heat most definitely present.

Googling, you mention them to enter the springs too, which they do a little cautiously. The relaxation entered their face once the water reached their waist.

"Seems like we all needed this."

Lucci hums, "Let's just enjoy this before we go back to our rooms, we can have a little bit of a date here as we can't really go out much."

Humming, you settle in between them as soon as they take a seat on the ridge in the spring, snuggling up to your lovers as you enjoy this, enjoy them, grateful for these little moments that made you fall in love all over again.

A kiss being pressed to your hair was the last thing you remember before dozing off as the hot water, and even hotter men, make you sleepy. This was turning out to be the best date yet.

[foundtherightwords]

All Our Yesterdays - Chapter 9

Pairing: Ralph (Timewasters) x OFC

Summary: Thu, a museum archivist, only wants to escape her dull life in 21st-century Hanoi. The last thing she expects is to end up in 1929 Indochina via a time-traveling elevator and cross paths with Ralph, an Englishman on the run from the French Foreign Legion. Romance blossoms between them, but in a colonized country, unrest is always looming on the horizon, and Thu must decide if she wants to stay with Ralph in the past or return to the safety of the future.

Warnings: outdated/period-typical attitudes about women, mentions of war, mentions of pregnancy and abortion (involving a supporting character), some angst, some smut (non-explicit)

Chapter word count: 3.7k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Winter had finally arrived in Hanoi. For a few short, glorious weeks in November, the sky was a blue dome, the sun was a gentle glaze over the landscape, and everything was crisp and crystal clear. Then December came, and the Northeastern monsoon swept through Tonkin, changing the entire city in a single night. A merciless wind stripped the trees bare, leaving them to raise their skeletal frames toward a sky the color of tarnished silver. The traditional houses, not built for retaining heat, seemed to huddle closer together for warmth, as did the people on the streets. Vendors selling grilled corn on the cob and roasted sweet potatoes popped up on every street corner, and crowds flocked to them, for the fire from their stoves as much as the snacks. In the Western area of town, around Rue Paul Bert, Christmas decorations started appearing in shop windows and around doorways. For the locals, however, the real celebration—the Lunar New Year—was still about two months away.

The weather wasn't the only thing that changed. Thu sensed that something had changed between her and Ralph as well, in the days following his birthday and their outing at the dance hall.

On the outside, everything was the same. They still hung out (Thu tried not to think of their outings as dates)—eating at this or that vendor that they hadn't tried, going to the theater or the movies, even venturing to the Botanic Garden, though Thu was always careful to keep them away from the area around Robin Park. However, the easy friendliness between them was gone, replaced by a sense of tension, not just mental but physical as well, as both seemed to hold their bodies alert like a string, taut with wanting, waiting for the other to say something, do something, to break this terrible suspense, but neither dared to make the first move. It wasn't entirely unpleasant—it was like having a low dose of adrenaline constantly pumping through her veins—but it left her frustrated at the end of the day, when he walked her home, mumbled "Good night" and stalked off down the street, without even looking at her, without even shaking her hand, as if one touch would make them both spontaneously combust.

OK, so she liked him. She could admit that, at least to herself. He was cute and sweet and fun and she liked hanging out with him and taking care of him, and she even liked letting him take care of her once in a while. But it was no use entertaining the idea. This wasn't like meeting someone on vacation, because then at least there was always a chance they could see each other again. No, this was simply impossible.

It would be so much better if she could just sit him down and rip the Band-Aid off. "Listen, Ralph, I think you're great and all (what's that goofy 1920s slang word he uses? "Wizard"?), but I can't stay here forever, so how about we just kiss and get it out of our system and then go back to being friends?" But it was never that simple, was it? It wouldn't stop at just a kiss, would it? And there was always a chance that she had completely misread his signals, that he wasn't interested and was just being nice, and how humiliating would that be? And so she said nothing, and he said nothing, and they kept circling around each other in that limbo, taking both comfort and dissatisfaction from each other's company.  

Christmas came without much fanfare. None of the staff at the newspaper was Christian, and Thu didn't celebrate it either—though it had become an unofficial secular holiday in modern-day Vietnam, she didn't see any point in celebrating as a non-Christian. Ralph did though, so she made an effort to give him a nice time, knowing it would be the one day when he felt the most homesick. They didn't go to church—it was far too crowded and the risk of Ralph getting recognized would be greater. Instead, they stayed home for a Christmas dinner, French-Indochinese style. Ralph bought a bottle of champagne, a cake, and some sweets from Godard's, and she bought a Peking duck and side dishes from a Chinese restaurant.

"This is so good! Beats a roast goose any day," Ralph said, stuffing himself with the duck and pickles wrapped in crispy pancakes, while Thu watched him, smiling indulgently.

For presents, she gave him a dozen cotton handkerchiefs embroidered with his monogrammed initials, R.P. It was the most practical and least romantic present she could think of—she kept forgetting to buy some for herself, and Ralph was always having to give her one of his.

"I have something for you too," Ralph said, blushing a little, and handed her a long, rectangular package.

It was a photo album. "To Autumn, from Ralph" was written on the front page. The photos were all of her, carefully captioned in Ralph's own handwriting. Here she was, standing with the kids in front of the toy shop at the Mid-Autumn Festival. Here she was, leaning over a basket of flowers and smiling up at the camera. Here she was, standing at the balcony and looking over the street, deep in thought. There was even one of them together, reflected in a shop window like two ghosts floating over the busy pavement.

Thu looked from the album to Ralph, lost for words.

"A little memento for when you go home," he said. "I know you have all those pictures on your clever telephone already, but—"

"I love it," she interrupted, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. "Thank you."

He beamed at her.

Later that night, back in her own room, as she looked over the photos again, tracing the captions with her fingers, Thu thought to herself, After the Lunar New Year. She would stay for the Lunar New Year. And after that, maybe she'd find the strength to say goodbye.

***

As the New Year—the "Western" New Year, as it was still called in modern day, as opposed to the Lunar New Year—approached, the office of Women's Weekly was abuzz with excitement. To thank the staff and to celebrate the paper's three-month anniversary, Madame Phuong was going to throw a party at her house on New Year's Eve. Thu realized that then, as it is in modern times, the Lunar New Year is for families, while the Western New Year is reserved for social gatherings.

It was Lien who came up with the idea of putting on a pantomime play, both to entertain themselves and the guests at the party, and to help the staff bond. Madame Phuong gave her approval, and the women had been rehearsing all through Christmas. Thu was glad to see that it didn't seem much different from the amateur shows she and her co-workers often performed at the museum on special occasions, except they were all going to be cross-dressing for maximum hilarity.

They decided to perform Thach Sanh, or the story of the woodcutter who braved monsters and won the hand of a princess, since it had more male characters than other fairy tales, thus more cross-dressing roles for the all-female staff. Lien even roped her henpecked husband into playing the evil adoptive mother, which left the role of the Princess. The other staff members were asked if they had husbands or brothers or male friends that could step in, but the women all laughed behind their hands and said, "Playing a princess? They'd rather die!" It was then that Lien suggested that Thu asked her "photographer friend".

"I'll ask him, but I can't promise anything," Thu said. She turned to Mai and lowered her voice. "Maybe you can ask Louis too?" she asked with a teasing grin. Louis with his mustache playing a princess, now that would be a laugh.

"I—I don't know if he can," Mai mumbled, looking uncomfortable, and Thu's grin immediately disappeared. The girl had been rather subdued and distracted lately. Perhaps her relationship with the dashing Louis wasn't going well. Thu felt sorry for her, and again wondered if she'd done the right thing, keeping quiet about Louis's lechery.

To her pleasant surprise, Ralph agreed to help right away.

"We used to put on a panto for Christmas all the time at home," he said enthusiastically. "It'll be a laugh!"

And so on New Year's Eve, laden with costumes and props and musical instruments, they all made their way to Madame Phuong's villa on the quiet lane of Chân Cầm Street. Thu was astonished to recognize the place—in her time, it was converted into a couple of boutiques on the first floor and a coffee shop on the second floor, but the interior was more or less the same, down to the floor tiles, the tall French windows that opened onto the balcony, the carved columns on either side of the door, and the painted moldings on the ceiling. So many times she and her friends had been there drinking egg coffee, wondering who the previous owner was. Never had she dreamed that one day she would be there when it was all fresh and new... The feeling of derealization, which she hadn't felt in months, was back, and it was only when Ralph touched her shoulder that Thu realized she was gaping at the house like an idiot.

"Everything all right?" Ralph asked.

"Yeah, yeah, just—you know. I know this place." She shook her head. "Sometimes this whole thing feels like the longest bout of déjà-vu ever."

"Come on, we have to get into costumes." He pulled her toward the back of the house. The "actors" had congregated in a guest room, which had been set up as the changing room, and were putting on their costumes with much laughter and teasing. The play was to be very informal. It would be easy to hire a theater troupe, but Lien insisted on impressing Madame Phuong with their enthusiasm and homemade skills, hence the amateurish preparations.

Soon, Thu found herself clad in a men's robe of navy brocade, borrowed from Lien's husband, with a crown constructed out of paper and gold foil. She was playing the king, but as Vietnam still had an Emperor then and the royal color of yellow was forbidden for the common folk, they had to settle for blue instead. Mai, who was in charge of make-up, whipped out a cooking pot, its bottom blackened with soot.

"What the hell is that?" Thu asked.

"It's for your beard and eyebrows," Mai said, dragging a finger through the soot and smearing it on Thu's face.

Ralph took one look at her and bust out laughing.

"I don't see what you're laughing at," Thu scoffed. "Look at yourself!"

Lien had lent him her wedding robe of red brocade, and a crown, similar to Thu's, was on his head. Even though the robe was loose-fitting, Ralph was still too tall and broad-shouldered for it, so he had to wear it open like a smoking jacket, and his wrists poking out from the sleeves struck Thu as adorably awkward. At least he was allowed to wear his own trousers underneath.

Mai was smiling along with them, but then she suddenly went pale, winced, and clamped a hand on her stomach, dropping the pot of rouge she was going to use on Ralph.

"You OK?" Thu asked, looking at the girl with concern.

"Um, yeah, just cramps."

"Why don't you get some air?" Thu said, picking up the rouge. "I'll take care of this. The King and the Princess aren't on until the third scene anyway."

Mai gave her a grateful look and slipped out the door. Thu sat Ralph down in front of her, dipped her finger into the rouge, and rubbed a circle on each of his cheeks.

"You're worried about her," he said.

"She hasn't been herself. No doubt that dick Louis has something to do with it."

"Maybe they've broken up."

"That would be for the best, honestly."

Then she glanced at his face and tried to suppress a giggle.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "What?"

"Nothing. You look like one of those Russian nesting dolls. "

"And you look like a chimney sweep," he said, grinning at her.

"Don't talk, or I'll get lipstick on your teeth."

As she touched his lips, however, all thoughts of Mai went out of Thu's head. She was all too aware that they were alone in the room, and she was tracing his lips with her finger, how full and soft and warm they were, and he was looking at her almost expectantly, and if she just leaned down, she could kiss him—

"Ready?" Lien bustled in. She wasn't going on stage, preferring to be the director instead.

Thu looked up, hoping the soot was enough to cover her blush. "Um, yeah," she said.

"Good. You're up next!"

***

Peeking through a gap in the door, Thu saw that the drawing room was full of people, both French and Vietnamese. They were a rather Bohemian-looking lot, some dressed up, others looking like they just came off of their easels or writing desks. Madame Phuong's own children wove in and out amongst the guests. The atmosphere was casual and relaxed, and Thu's nervousness about her performance dissipated a great deal.

It helped her, also, to see that Ralph seemed to be enjoying himself. Her own role consisted of nothing else but sitting on a wingback chair, lifting her hand, and pointing a couple of times, so she spent most of her time on stage watching Ralph. He took to the stage like a duck to water. It being a pantomime, there was no line, but his gestures and looks earned a great deal of laughter and cheers from the audience. The princess's heartbreaking sighs at being separated from her brave woodcutter were especially convincing, even if she tended to look over at her father the king quite often during that scene. Thu was only glad that she was not a good enough actor to play the lead role, or else she would've melted into a puddle when the princess was finally reunited with the woodcutter.

Afterward, the actors took to the stage amidst enthusiastic applause, bowed, and rushed back into the changing room, laughing and congratulating each other. The women crowded around Lien's husband and Ralph, heaping them with praises, and telling Lien and Thu how lucky they were that their men were so supportive. It hit Thu then, that not only the staff took it for granted that Ralph was her partner, but they were also jealous of her. Her heart swelled with something akin to proprietorial pride, as she watched Ralph taking in the compliments, looking a bit overwhelmed but pleased.

They got out of their costumes, wiped their faces clean of make-up, and joined the other guests for hors d'oeuvres and champagne. The children had been sent to bed, and the party became more boisterous. At one point, Thu overheard Madame Phuong and a few other people getting into quite a heated discussion in French, of which she only caught a few familiar words like parti and révolutionnaire. Then they noticed her looking in their direction and quickly changed the subject.

Thu knew the August Revolution, which led to Vietnam gaining independence from France, was still fifteen years away, but the nationalist movements that gave birth to it must have started around this time. She looked at the happy, amicable faces around her, wondering if any of them would be involved in the war to come. Her stomach twinged with the slight embarrassment of being too wrapped up in her own personal affair, while there were much bigger things going on around her.

Then she caught Ralph's eyes across the room, and that embarrassment vanished. She realized she hadn't talked to him since the play was over, and suddenly she missed him. It was ridiculous to miss someone who was literally five meters away, but she did. As she made her way to him, one of Madame Phuong's friends started asking her about her hair, where she'd had it cut. By the time Thu got rid of her and turned back, Ralph himself was locked in conversation with a French gentleman. Before she could try to reach Ralph again, there was a tinkling of glass, and conversations paused as people turned to Madame Phuong. "It's almost midnight!" she announced, first in Vietnamese, then in French, pointing to the big grandfather clock behind her. "Let's ring in the New Year!"

A countdown began, in both Vietnamese and French. The clock struck twelve, a loud cheer of "Bonne année!" went up, and then, to Thu's great surprise, the guests started giving each other hearty kisses on the cheeks. She had heard of the tradition of kissing at midnight on New Year's Eve, of course, but it was a purely Western custom, never practiced in Vietnam, and certainly not in 1930, when the country was only on the brink of modernization. This must be a very liberal, very Westernized crowd if they took to it so naturally.

She saw Ralph making his way toward her and panicked. True, she had fantasized about kissing him just a few hours ago, but ever since their accidental kiss on his birthday, she had gone back and forth between yearning for his lips and dreading them. What if he was to kiss her now and she didn't know how to behave? What if it was just a friendly peck on the cheek and she didn't know how to deal with the crushing disappointment? No, better not risk it. She spun around and dashed through the other guests, escaping to the back of the house.

Walking down the dimly lit corridor, Thu found her way to the toilet, intending to take refuge in it until the moment for midnight kisses had passed. But as she reached the door, she heard a sound coming from within—quiet, whimpering sobs, like those of a child trying to hide her crying. She paused, not knowing if she should knock or retreat in discretion. Before she could decide, the door opened and Mai emerged, her eyes red and puffy. Thu realized she hadn't seen the girl since the play began.

"What's the matter?" she asked, but Mai only sniffed, shook her head, and disappeared down the hallway.  

***

Her mind was still on Mai when she said her goodbye to Madame Phuong and met Ralph at the front door. Belatedly, Thu realized that he was waiting to walk her home. Ah well. He had done so over the past two months and nothing had happened; there was no need to make things more awkward now.

If Ralph had noticed her running away from him at midnight and was hurt or offended, he made no mention of it. He only saw her shiver in her quilted jacket, so he took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. She tried to protest, but he shrugged. "It's only a short walk, I won't freeze."

"Thank you." She clutched the coat closer around her, breathing in his warmth and the familiar soapy scent, while Ralph walked in long, leisurely strides next to her, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Some of their easy silence had returned, and Thu felt herself relaxing slightly. Perhaps they could go back to being friends after all.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

She sighed and told him about catching Mai crying in the bathroom. "I really should've warned her about Louis."

"What happened to not getting involved?"

She gave him a sharp glance. "It's a bit late for that, isn't it? I've been involved in all sorts of things now."

"So if you return to your time and the robots have taken over, you're not going to blame me?" he said, grinning.

She couldn't help grinning back. "No, you're off the hook. Great party tonight, wasn't it?" she said, changing the subject. She didn't like talking about going back to her time.

"It was. You did a great job with the play."

"Me?" She waved her hand dismissively. "Pfft. Trying to look kingly isn't that hard. You, though. If this photography thing doesn't work out, you should think about going on stage."

"I wasn't acting," Ralph said quietly.

"But when the princess was leaning against the window frame? All that sad longing? That was so convincing!"

"Like I said, I wasn't acting."

He had slowed his steps and was looking at her rather wistfully, but Thu strode on, pretending not to see, pretending not to notice the throbbing of her heart. He was probably just thinking of Lauren during that scene. Yes, definitely...

She walked so fast that Ralph had to scramble to catch up with her, but they had arrived at her boarding house. She turned to him. "Well, good night."

Ralph looked down, deflated. "Happy New Year," he mumbled.

"In Vietnam, we say 'Chúc mừng năm mới.'"

"Chuc mung nam moi?" he repeated, trying to form his mouth around the unfamiliar words.

"Close enough." Thu smiled. "See you then."

He gave her a brief nod, turned to leave, then seemed to have come to a decision and turned back, stepping closer to her, crossing the gap between them with just one stride. "Do you know that if you don't get a kiss on New Year's Eve, you'll be doomed to a year of loneliness?" he whispered.

The string inside her snapped. Why did he say that? Why did he keep saying and doing these things that made it so hard to resist him? Didn't he know how painful it was for her?

"Damn it, Ralph." She grabbed him by his shirt, pulled him to her, and clasped her mouth to his.

Chapter 10

A/N: Finally, things are happening! Smut is coming next chapter! Although slow burn is my jam, this is the slowest burn I've written so far, and even I was getting a little antsy with these two, so thank you for your patience :))

[skylarstark4826]

It was a little after mid-afternoon, more like creeping into evening when the first breeze came through, its whistle penetrating tiny cracks in the heavy wooden door. But it was ignored as the air had been brisky all day. He sat enjoying the warm homemade brew from his fruit trees. The second rattled the door with a wailing and a much stronger force than the first. It was the third one shaking the cabin with a loud moaning sound that gave him some concerns.

He sat his mug on the table, rose from where he was sitting, opened his door and stepped out onto the porch; peering out as one more strong gush sailed by. He walked several yards from his hut to the beach, looking into the distance as far as he could see. He is a creature of the sea who could feel the mounting moisture in the air and the troubling of the sea.

Closing his eyes, he became one with his surroundings, feeling it and knowing; a storm was coming, and it was massive. He turned away and started back towards his home and continued to the back to secure his animals. His two goats and three chickens he had in stock. They were not for consumption; but purely for the products they provided. He knew they would be spared the brunt of the onslaught, as his well-built shanty would take it on.

He proceeded to close the shutters and secure them with strong boards across them. Then he entered his hut, shutting and re-enforcing his door with a heavy plank placed in hooks on either side of it. He threw more wood inside the fireplace; he need not worry about electricity going out, his kerosene lamps will do the job. He thought of any and every possibility to prepare himself for the onslaught of the incoming monsoon.

She sped around in the jet boat testing it out pondering if she wanted to purchase it or not. The captain on the ship was getting antsy with the shore alerting him an unexpected storm surge was approaching at enormous speed. He radios her to bring it in so they can head back to shore before its arrival. She wanted to take one last maneuver before coming in. Her mistake; as a rogue wave fueled by the storms advancing power lifted her in the air and rolled on with her riding the wave far away from the huge ship. Everyone was in shock as they watched helplessly, as she was carried away and vanished before their eyes.

Reluctantly, the captain had no choice but to think about everyone else on his vessel and their safety. He ordered the ship back to port before they were overtaken by the storm. They will search for her once it passes over and hope some way she will survive.

He must have dozed off after he ate dinner and had sat before the fireplace, listening to the winds and thunder as it hit the island with its mighty strength. But that’s not what had awakened him. It was the screaming of the wind, sounding so much like a woman, it was eerie. He perked up when he heard it for the second time; it was distinct to his sharp ears; a woman’s voice calling for help.

He sat up to hear better, confused to who would be out in such a mess? They again, it came. He jumped to his feet and raised the heavy board up then opened the door searching frantically in every direction to see where the plea for help had come.

When the wave carried her away, she fought to ride it out to a safe place. She saw the island in the distance and geared her boat towards it as the first of the storm hit the winds helping her along. She crashed but saw the hut before she was knocked unconscious.

When she woke her small boat acted as a shield, protecting her from the fierce gales and torrential rains. She decided to scream out for help hoping whoever was inside could hear her over the surge and thunder. She saw the door open relieved and called out with the last of her strength before passing out.

He rushed to her aide with the wind's aide, the return will be the challenge. He got to her and picked her up, struggling to get back to his hut and their safe place as he fought through the gushes. Finally, making it back, he entered the haven and kicked the door shut. He laid her down before the fireplace then went to secure the door once again.

He came back to check on her and looked at her before the light of the fire and recognized who she was; the Wakandan general he fought when their two nations were at war before the alliance was formed. He hadn’t seen her since, and often wondered about her reaction when she awakens and sees him.

After the treaty between Wakanda and Talokan; he ventured out on his own. He wanted to see what life was like living on the surface world as his ancestors once had before their evolution. With deep thought he wondered what the purpose of the war, from its beginning; and felt it was an unnecessary one. He needed his space and left that world behind for the time being.

With a closer look, her lips were trembling, as well as her body. He bent down to assess the situation further. Her body temperature was dropping from being out in the weather. He has no idea how long she had been exposed to it. He had to act fast. She may not like what he must do, but her anger and being alive was the only choice for the action he was going to make.

He went and retrieved a heavy blanket, removed her clothing and his also. Then he laid down next to her pulling her into his body and covering them; sealing the warmth from him and allowing it to be like a heater. As much as he tried not to notice, he had to admire how beautiful and sleek her form, her skin was so soft, next to his. If this wasn’t a means to save her life, he could fall for her.

Amid waiting for her to respond to his heat, he fell asleep only to be awakened by her stirring in his arms. He looked over at her, she was resting calmly; more relaxed. He decided it would be best to remove himself now that the crisis had passed. He placed one of his shirts on her, then covered her up again, letting her continue resting before the fire. He put his clothing on and took a seat in his chair watching her carefully. The wind outside was going strong with thunder and lightning adding to it.

It was hours before she began to move again, but this time she woke up dazed. She looked up from under the cover and stared into his eyes. He became alarmed as she said nothing at first but look at him. He thought maybe she was trying to come out of the residue of her sleep.

“You saved me,” she finally spoke, rising up into a sitting position.

“Yes, I heard your screams for help,” he replied. “I was brought out of my nap thinking it was the wind at first. Then I realized it wasn’t and came out to see you.”

“Well, thank you,” she said, then saw she was not in the outfit she had worn. She gave him a look and sighed. “I must have been drenched.”

“More than drenched, you were almost freezing from the cold,” he explained. “I had to warm you with my body heat.” She stared at him knowing what he was saying. She turned away shyly.

“You are Talokanil, right?” She looked back at him.

“Yes, I am,” he said, nervously. She leaned in to get a good look at him.

“I know you,” she straightened up. “You are that big warrior from the bridge and ship. We fought.” He waited for her to verbally attack.

“Yes, I am,” he confirmed. She nodded in response, looking about assessing his dwelling.

“You live here?” She came to her feet admiring his home.

“Yes,” he answered. “I have since after the alliance.” She begins to walk about. He stood keeping an eye on her, knowing what she could do. Even with the treaty between their nations, scrimmages have occurred. Not many and none ever severe though.

“So, this is the afterlife you have chosen for yourself?” She looked at him. He was bigger than she remembered, and very handsome. But there definitely was something different about him. He wasn’t intense as before, more tranquil.

“This is the life I choose for myself,” he confirmed.

“I am no longer in Wakanda,” she told him. “I was stripped of my rank and out of my division.”

“But you were fighting on the ship,” he was confused. “Something the Princess created. I occasionally help when needed, but mostly I am here and there.”

“Are you hungry or thirsty?” he asks, seeing as they may be holding a conversation.

“I would like that,” she told him. He went to get her something to eat and drink. She sat back down in front of the fireplace and covered her legs with the blanket. He returned with fruits and nuts, and a cup of juice from his making. He placed them before her then he sat back in his chair.

“Thank you,” she says, and began to eat and drink. She hadn’t realized before, but she had not eaten since breakfast. He saw she was indeed in need of food and liquids.

“So, tell me, how is it working out being away from all you ever known?” He asks because he needed to compare what he felt with someone who is experiencing the same.

“About what you’re feeling,” she told him. “It is a whole new world, except for you its seclusion and for me it’s exploration. How is that working out for you?”

“I would not be truthful if I say I do not miss my home, nor my friends,” he said sadly. “And that at times it gets lonely.” She looked at him and saw him in a different light. He was who he was, an open book. He didn’t have to help her after seeing who she was, but he did even take drastic measures to save her, not knowing how she would react to it.

“Yet, you are not going back to that life,” she says.

“No, this is my home now. And with all that, I am content,” he replied.

“Even the lonely part,” she was curious to if he would ever want someone to share his life.

“If someone were to come along who was that perfect fit for me,” he stared into her eyes. “I would in a heartbeat.” She wanted to turn away, but he had locked their eyes and she felt the electricity flow between them. And it wasn’t from the storm outside but the one brewing inside.

“Thank you again, for saving my life,” her words could hardly come out as his eyes fixed on hers. “And for keeping me warm, the food and beverage; your clothing and shelter.” She rambled on.

“Of course,” he spoke, a smile graced his face seeing this great warrior so gentle and soft. He released their gaze and relaxed in his chair.

“That storm came in so quickly,” she looked towards the door. He became interested in how she got caught in the storm.

“Where were you?” He asked.

“I was on an island not far from here,” she started. “I was test driving that boat you found me under, to see if I wanted to buy it. The captain warned me the storm was coming and to return, but I wanted to take another run when a rogue wave came along and swept me away. The storm came afterwards.”

“I see,” he says. “Luckily it brought you here.” She laughed.

“That wasn’t luck,” she says. “I drove the boat towards the shore seeing the island. It was pure desperation.” He smiled hearing her laughter. He was enjoying her opening to him and being so comfortable.

“So, this nearby island, where you were planning to buy the boat,” he leaned in. “Was it a place of residence or exploration?” She stared at him, getting the sense of interrogation. She knows the drill as she has done it many times. The person gets comfortable with small talk, then the real questioning for information proceeds. She pulled the cover off her lap, then came to her feet with plate and glass in hand. He stood as well, confused with her sudden change of demeanor.

“I better take these and wash them,” she told him. He stepped towards her cautiously, not wanting to be intimidating.

“No, you won’t,” he said. “You are a guest in my home and will be treated as much.” He reached for the items, their hands brushing against the other. She felt this gentle surge of energy flow through her body; she inhaled deeply; her eyes automatically went to his. No, he was not the same warrior she fought those two times. He was very subdued and gracious.

“Twice before we had intimate moments,” she says. “And I am guessing one of a very in discreet nature here.” She was not showing any way of being modest, knowing he had seen her body. She knew he did it to help her.

“I understand the intimacy with sharing the heat from my body to comfort you,” he stated. “But what other time were we? Did I miss something?” She laughed lightly.

“Our battles,” she informed him. “We laid hands on each other in the most intense way, other than making love.” Now it was him, shying from the last part.

“I better go wash these,” he said and scurried away. She was getting to him as she did after the bridge fight. No one has ever been able to match his level of skills as she had that day. She went browsing around his place, peering into his bedroom.

Inside of it was a hammock hanging from two strong beams in the ceiling. Nothing more than a bamboo chair and a door she wasn’t sure where it led to, and she dared not to cross the threshold of his private space. She did notice around the wall were paintings.

“These are the stories of my life,” he came up to stand behind her seeing she was fixed on it. She jumped back and into him, startled. He gently grasped her arms; she wasn’t surprised how carefully he held her. She turned to him staring into his eyes, searching in the coral-colored orbs. She found solitude in them.

“Would you mind telling me what it says?” He felt a twinge in his heart, he wanted her at that moment; she was making it hard for him to resist, but he did.

“Sure,” he said and led her into his room. No one else had ever been inside there.

He described to her each image and what it depicted. His birth, his family, Namor and Namora, him becoming a warrior, his battles, their fight on the bridge and the one on the ship. She chuckled at the one on the ship and how he showed her kicking him off, and him flying into the sea. His eyes cut over to her noticing her reaction to that one.

“You laugh?” He asked.

“I am sorry, but you painted it,” she reminded him. He smiled.

“Yes, I did,” he says. “Did I lie? Or is that not how it happened?”

“No, that is awesome and exactly what happened,” she confirmed. “But you are brutally honest.”

“Is there any other way to be?” He asks. “I mean if you want to be true to yourself, that is.”

“No, to be honest with one’s self, the truth is important,” she walked out the room back to the fireplace. She was feeling fatigued. “You asked if I was visiting the island or living there.” She sat down, covering her legs once again. Away from the fire, the other parts of the cabin were freezing. He stood by the chair, sensing her getting tired.

“I did,” he says. “And you were stating something about being intimate, I get the feeling there was more you wanted to express.” She stared into the flames.

“We never formally introduced ourselves,” she says. “By our names that is. Mine is Okoye.”

“I am Attuma,” he came around the chair and sat. “Your name matches you, it’s beautiful.” She looked back at him.

“I am not sure if I am visiting or if it’s my home,” she was being honest. “Being truthful with myself, I do not know much of anything anymore. I feel like I’m just drifting along with no purpose.”

“You're searching for that, a purpose,” he reminded her. She looked up to him.

“At least you found your peace, not many do,” she told him.

“Yes, a lonely discovery,” he chuckled.

“What a pair we make,” she laughed at the irony of them meeting while fighting for a cause not of their making. Both meet again, but now with their freedom to do whatever they choose. His, a life of seclusion and hers, one of a wanderer.

“And what is wrong with us as a pair?” He asked not pulling back. She stared into his eyes, a sensation flowed through her, as she saw in them the truth. She looked away and sunk down halfway beneath the cover. His feelings for her were deep and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that. It’s been years that she has interacted with any man on this level, not since her ex-husband W’Kabi.

“I am little tired,” she told him. “I think I will get some sleep now.” She lay down facing away from him. She heard him get up and leave but returned minutes later.

“Here,” he said. She turned to see him holding a big plush pillow. “I have a couple of these and used them when I lay before the fireplace. You will find it comfortable and help you rest.” She took it and adjusted it.

“Thank you Attuma,” she smiled. It pleased him to hear her say his name.

“You’re welcome, Okoye,” it gave her warmth to hearing him call her by her name. “Have a good night.” At that moment, a thunderclap sounded sending a huge vibration through the building. She jumped; never has she liked the sound from childhood. He notices as she tries to cover her fear.

“Please don’t leave me,” she looked to him.

“Sure,” he said taking a seat in the chair.

“No, I mean come lay with me,” she reiterated, pulling the cover back. He let out a loud sigh, then came down to lie next to her, but placed the cover back over her.

“I will not be doing this with you, Okoye,” he expressed.

“But I want it,” she says to him.

“What about what I want?” He asked. She tilted her head, bewildered.

“I thought you wanted me,” she replied. He looked past her into the flames.

“You have no idea,” he told her. “And that is something you need to figure out.”

“You are confusing me,” she says. “I can see it in your eyes, why deny it?”

“What you see in my eyes is deeper than what we can do tonight,” he explained. “I do not want one night with you, I need forever. But that is not what you can give to me.” She sat pondering the words he spoke. They went deep inside of her.

“I see,” she finally says. “Will you still stay with me, at least until I fall asleep. The thunder sound is my weakness.” He moved to her side the cover between them.

“Yes, I will,” He laid his head next to hers on the pillow. “And until you awaken.” He spooned her as they watched the flames in silence. She felt he had rejected her, and her eyes began to water. The tears trickled down her face, he knew she was crying. He gently turned her on her back staring her in the eyes.

“You have no idea how long I waited for someone to come and live a life with me,” he says. “Never in my dreams did I know it would be you. I am not rejecting you, In yakunaj; never would I ever. You think this is what you want, but it is not. There is more that you need and that is what I will give you. Whenever you are ready, I will be here waiting. That’s how sure I am of us.” She will have to decide if she wants a life with him, or an adventurous life. She returns to her side and allows him to hold her, as they continue to gaze into the flames in silence. Outside the storm raged while a different situation developed inside.

As the morning came along with the storm moving on. Okoye woke to the aroma coming from the kitchen. She got up and checked her clothing, they had dried during the night. She was anxious to get back and resume the life she had mapped out for herself before encountering him. She took off his shirt and put on her outfit. He came out of the kitchen with plates and set them on the table.

“You’re up,” he said looking at her and seeing she’s had changed back to her clothing. “Do you have time to eat, before you leave?”

“I have to get back to my--,” she was going to say life, but refrained. “I have to let everyone know I am alright, before they panic.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” He asked. She thought it out.

“I have a radio on the boat, I can fix it and give my location,” she explained. “That is if you do not mind someone else knowing you’re here.”

“I do not mind,” he says. “But first we eat then I will help you get home.” Reluctantly, she agreed.

They sat and ate breakfast mostly in silence with a few words passing between them. She was in urgent need to get away from him, why? She couldn’t quite figure it out. Maybe he posed a threat to the lifestyle she had created for herself? Or maybe she wanted him to make wild love to her in a way she knew no other could. But he refused to do so without a commitment from her and she did not want to give up this freedom she had enjoyed for the past several years.

Most of her life before W’Kabi's treacherous ways and the Queen’s demotion, she has dedicated her life to him, and to her country. That dedication flew out the window with the two lost. These years she has done as she pleased, never second guessing anything she has done or said. Until that damn storm blew her here, to him. Now, she is questioning if she has been truly happy.

“I will see if I can repair your boat,” he interrupted her thoughts. He had finished and was on his feet. She went to hand him her place as he gestured for it. “I am not much of a mechanic, we Talokanil are not in need of your sea vessels. But I am a builder and can make it float.”

“I have a radio on board, I can give them the coordinates.” She informed him. He took the dishes and went into the kitchen. He thought the storm had brought about the mood of the night. But awakening up to her at his side, sleeping so peacefully sealed his fate. She was his one, but she had to decide that he cannot force her.

They left his hut and walked down the beach to the boat. It was upside down, but he was able to push it over. She checked the radio to see if it was still intact; it was. He was examining the outside to see if there were holes are cracks, when a voice came through the radio. His heart ached knowing soon she would be gone from his life.

“Hello, is anyone there? This is Okoye and I am stranded on an island,” she called.

“Okoye?” the man’s voice sounded out.

“Yes, it’s me,” it was the captain. They had started out early searching for her.

“Give me the coordinates and we will come for you,” he told her. She started to give it to him but paused. She looked up at Attuma, who had finished assessing the damage and was staring out to sea. He had made a life for himself here; she did not want to disrupt it any more than she had.

“Give me a moment captain,” she says to him. She went to stand beside Attuma, touching his arm. He looked down at her. “I do not want them to know this place. Can you push my boat in that direction far from here?” She asked out of courtesy; she already knew the answer.

“I will call one of the Orcas to do it,” his voice had a hint of sadness. He chose not to help her go back to something he knew she was not happy in.

“Attuma,” she came to stand directly in front of him, gazing into his eyes searching for what she saw the night before. She found more than she could bear and turned away; looking towards the life she would resume once she had gone. “Thank you for saving me and your hospitality.”

“Did I, Okoye?” He said, then plunged into the water swimming out and summoning a killer whale. He came back and helped her into the boat, pushing it far enough for the whale to carry it out to sea. She never took her eyes off him as he grew smaller with the distance growing between them. Once she could see him no longer, did she turn around and sit looking straight ahead, tears flowing freely.

Attuma turned to go tend to his animals with one last backwards glance into the empty spot her boat once filled. His eyes cast to the ground he had hoped some way it would have had a better outcome. He took a deep breath then continued with his life as he knows it.

Okoye’s heart was breaking, and she couldn’t quite understand. They had last tried to kill each other with their encounters. After the treaty, they hadn’t thought or seen each other. So, how this instant attraction could develop for one another is beyond her comprehension.

As the island vanished behind her the ship came into view. Seeing her drifting the captain stressed towards her, eating up the gap and came along beside her. She was assisted onto it and her boat secured to its side. The captain sought the island she spoke of but did not see it in sight.

“I have tried to locate an island in this area but saw none on the map,” he told her once they were on their way, and she had settled in.

“Island?” She stared at him.

“Yes, you said you were stranded on an island,” he reminded her. She took a few steps away from him, eyes fixed on the direction of where it would be. Where he was.

“I do not remember, captain,” she played it off. “I may have thought so, but no; I was in my boat.”

“That would have been impossible,” he lightly protested. “The gales alone would have shattered the boat and killed you.” She looked back at him.

“And yet, here I am, safe and well,” she says to him. With a hard grunt he took his leave. She stared off into the distance, to him and wondered how he was handling it all.

Several days had gone by without any contact from her. That night he had brought out his heavy liquor and did himself a favor to dim the pain. He got drunk and regretted it the next morning. He was out back, gathering eggs, goat’s milk and vegetables from his garden, fruit from his trees; when he heard a rumbling noise from the front.

He slowly made his way to see what the cause of the sound. It was a boat nearing the shore at a high speed. He fears they would crash the way they were approaching. Then they did a side swipe and slowed down, as they beached it. One look and he recognized the driver. She stepped out, eyes pinned on him, just standing there. She wasn’t sure if she would be welcomed the way she had left. But she was willing to take the chance.

He slowly started towards her; his body language told her all she needed to know. She ran to him and jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and arms about his neck. His arm encircled her small waist, pulling her into him, and his hand cradled the back of her head, resting the side of his face against hers.

“Ta sajbe'en in wóotik (You came back my darling),” he whispered in her ear.

“Je'el in yaakunaj ka'a (Yes, my love I came back),” she confirmed. Her eyes were filled with tears of joy, knowing she had not lost him. She moved her head back to look him in the eyes. She placed his face between her hands. “I missed you so much I couldn’t do anything. I thought I had waited too long to come, and you would not want me.” He shook his head.

“I will always want you,” he confessed. “No matter how long it took for you to realize we belong together.” With that, he removed his mask and did what he had wanted to do; and kissed her deeply for the first time. She whimpered from the intensity of it.

He was her lifesaver, and she, his breath. This will mark their life of compromise. He was not alone anymore, and she had found what she had been searching for. He carried her into his hut and made love to her as she wanted, but more so as she needed.

[endgamebbfan]

A fan of Battlebots, but also.. (Extra info below! QnA currently open!!)

I'm a fan of ALL robot combat!

And that's not all, as I am a fan of:

Phighting, Chonny Jash, and AVA/AVM!

My favourate goobers from these fandoms:

EndGame (my beloved bot <3), Hypershock, Monsoon, Switchback, Rotator, Blacksmith, Bite-Force, Tombstone - (Battlebots)

Razer, 13 Black, Roadblock (chonky ass wedge, i love the bot), Dead Metal, Sgt. Bash - (Robot Wars)

Blue, Tánshè, Cat King, Pixel Hunter, Tungsten - (King of Bots)

Biograft, Katana, Boombox, Vinestaff - (Phighting!)

The Heart - (Chonny Jash)

The Dark Lord, Blue, The Second Coming - (AVA/AVM)

though you'll see mostly Battlebots, I'll still provide content for these silly fandoms :3

i am so sorry for this very cluttered and disorganized mess of a post

edit: in a rush to get this out, I may have forgotten to put the Comedy Central Battlebots, so here are the CC BB!:

Backlash (my other little beloved <3), Biohazard, Sunshine Lollibot, S.O.B (Sony Bot Online), Hexy D (AKA; HexaDecimator) - (CC)

EXTRA!! ALERT ALERT!!

QnA for periodic table is open! Will put link below so that people can access it and read more info about it

[oceanremnants]

@predictions-of-the-past:

RP:

PotP: Greetings!

PotP: To introduce myself, I am Predictions of the Past, Iterator of Local Group 17!

PotP: I hail you on this fine cycle for absolutely no reason beyond having nothing else to do!

PotP: You seem like an interesting lot, that's for sure...

<APIS> Oh shit! Guy alert!

<WM> Greetings, Presidictionés of thee Past. I am Winter's Monsoon of the North-East South-West Upper Coastal Groupe. And the Only Onne who calles it as suche.

<APIS> Tabs at your service!!! Resident swagness holder and the guy who made that one quiz you prolly saw.

<FDM> whatre you two excited about?

<FDM> wait

<FDM> uh.

[silmarillionwritersguild]

We've all been there. One of our fannish pet peeves is enjoying a moment and the urge is there like an itch that won't stop until it's scratched: to complain, to lash out, to rain on the parade with monsoon force.

Elleth (@vefanyar) experienced one of those moments. I interviewed her this month about her role in promoting women-centric and femslash fanworks, and she recalls "a promotion week that was hosted on Tumblr for a group of male characters who were and still are fandom favourites and didn't strictly need promoting." But instead of ruining others' fun, Elleth collaborated with Frilly to create Legendarium Ladies' April, an event to promote fanworks about Tolkien's female characters.

Using the philosophy (learned from another SWG member, Independence1776) of "Promote what you love instead of bashing what you hate," Elleth ran many women-centric events and projects over the years. In the past few months on Cultus Dispatches, we've focused on what it is and was like to create fanworks about women in the Tolkien fandom. We've described a fandom that was openly hostile to fanworks about women and where creators feared sharing their women-centric work. But we've also detailed a change, and while the fandom is still far from perfect, creators no longer avoid creating women-centric works (even *gasp* femslash!!) because they dread the reaction. Elleth, her collaborators, and the events they used to encourage and celebrate women-centric and femslash fanworks were part of bringing about that change.

Elleth was kind enough to sit down with me to tell me about her various events, how she became interested in writing about women (spoiler alert: she wasn't always), and how she's seen the fandom change over the years. As we discuss fan history that is discouraging—even sometimes shameful—where women-focused fanworks are concerned, Elleth's work offers a bright point, and a hopeful one. You can read the interview with Elleth here.

[heresiae]

so, yesterday, we had our first test for the emergency alarm on people mobiles (might come to a surprise to some, but in Italy we do not have sirens installed).

it was nothing really, just an alert with its own sound popping up on everyone phone at the same time. I though it was nice for our nation to make another step toward the frigging 2023 (especially since the Po valley experienced a monsoon season this year and a third of our territory is at earthquake risk).

and then some of my acquaintances start saying shit like "This is not what we need!!! We need this, this and THIIIIIIIIIS!" or mocking it merciless.

like, dude, can't you be happy that if a frigging typhoon hit us the way it hit Milan the would be able to tell us? has the little alarm on your phone be that big of an inconvenience? do you really think that the State being able to alert us of a deadly danger is that much of joke?

with at least one of them I would be soon able to not interact with pretty soon but... jeez.

take the win, because you have no idea how much The Twelve Tasks of Asterix was on point about our bureaucracy.

[shadyfennec]

Today, and since last Sunday, France is suffering from a late-summer heatwave. Many heat records have been broken (Carcassonne, Lézignan-Corbières, ...), and even more night-time heat records were smashed.

Météo-France, the national weather forecasting agency, has been issuing a "red" heatwave alert, the highest level possible, over a large area of the country.

This map is the combination of all alerts for every département (these small administrative regions, part of the bigger régions of France; there are around 100 of them in total). Most of the alerts are for the heatwave, but the north-east's orange zone is actually for thunderstorms.

There are 17 départements in "red" alert: Ain, Rhône, Loire, Isère, Haute-Loire, Drôme, Ardèche, Vaucluse, Gard, Lozère, Aveyron, Tarn, Tarn-et-Garonne, Lot, Lot-et-Garonne, Haute-Garonne, Gers. In total, this is 10,024,728 people (as of the 2019 census), or 15.4% of the total population. In land area, this is 93,667km² (or 36,165 sq mi). That's 17.2% of the metropolitan country.

Temperatures are neighbouring, on both sides, 40°C (104°F). In the city where I live, Grenoble, day temperatures have been at around 39°C (102.2°F) for the past 5 days. At night, it barely goes under 25°C (77°F). Combine that with a fever from Covid, and you can maybe imagine the hell I, and probably many others, seeing the current Covid wave, have been living.

Rich and successful people on TV and all other kind of news media will tell you that this is just "a normal heatwave", not climate change. "This isn't different from the 2003 heatwave, when no one was talking about that nonsense global warming!", they say. Our government says a lot about climate change, but does very little. Not surprising, seeing their hands are tied by the plastic zipties of petroleum companies (this isn't me going full conspiracy, it's public record. Look up the different politicians in our government, and you'll find sooner or later ties, shares, executive positions in companies like Total or Shell).

Of course, this isn't just France. The world is burning. But, I feel like if I can give another concrete example of the hell "elites" have been building for the rest of us, maybe this will add onto the pile of examples of climate change consequences. I feel hot. Tired. Sick from Covid. Sick from big companies' bullshit. I share this heatwave, so that maybe, people will see that it's not just them.

It's not just unusual hurricanes in the southwest of the United States of America.

It's not just record drought and wildfires in Hawai'i.

It's not just insane monsoon in India.

It's not just unusually quick cliff erosion in Britain.

It's not just permafrost turning into steam in Siberia.

It's not just your hunk of land on this Earth. It's every place that's affected.

The thing is: climate change isn't something that's going to be happening grandiosly, with telltale signs and a big message made of cloud in the sky reading "climate change is now!". We are frogs in a pot, and the heat is increasing ever so slightly. The catch is, it's old, decrepit frogs who are turning the dial because that makes them rich.

And I feel powerless.

[oceanic-recollection]

OH my GOD its a TAG DIRECTORY!!!

WIAG]

kinda long but uh!!! hopefully it's organized well. has every tag i frequently use, plus some info on the characters & their pronouns & stuff. yeah!!

blog tags!

self-explanatory tags

#ask game

#anon

#ask

#lore

#ooc

#art

less self-explanatory tags

#personal info - don't mention this in the rp unless your character is REALLY GOOD friends with mine or is intentionally being a creep

#idle chatter - anything where they are talking in-character, even if the chatter is not so idle

#porl or #pearl - porl is for light-hearted jokey stuff, pearl is for actually important stuff

#flirting saga - an ongoing saga where everyone keeps flirting with my ocs. don't worry everyone is above the age of 18;;;

#plamt - my friends send my ocs plants

#canon bitches - any appearance by a canon rw character

character tags!!

the group oceanic

#fdm - first dewdrop of morning, fifth sunrise. the group's mechanic, and the first one to begin engaging in global comms. he/him, xe/xem and any other neos. [TH LINK]

#tsf - three small feathers in a lake of quills, also known as the sun famished. the group's doctor and self-appointed older brother, a bit of an annoyance but always means well. he/they. [TH LINK]

#bvqt - booming voice quiet temper, keeper of ten trillion beads. the second iterator made in this group, and the temporary mechanic until dew was built. enjoys a great deal of hobbies, but never seems to consider herself busy enough. ey/em (she/her OK). [TH LINK]

#rfads -

#fronds -

#wm - winter's monsoon. one of the older members, self-appointed as head of archival and conservation efforts. converted a majority of his can into a safe place for the animals that lived on the surface before it became so harsh. he/him. [TH LINK]

#upsilon / #cock - large cylindrical object with two oblong orbs, AKA countless origins, clear kin. made along with winter and is in a romantic relationship with him, he frequently makes different paints for the members of his group to use on themselves. a bit hedonistic, sometimes fails to consider others' emotions, but beneath it all is a very kind person who cares deeply about his friends and family. he/him. [TH LINK]

#goldy / #grp - a golden rock within a pebble. head of zoology since quiet stepped down. easily excitable, and because of that has negative reputation with the aquanaughts. she/her. [TH LINK]

#tablets / #tabby / #apis - an unbroken treeline surrounding the monastery of twelve or more tablets. co-head of zoology, the one who does the most field work. made the official Which Problematic Iterator Would Date You Quotev Quiz and is heading creation for the second version she/her. [TH LINK]

#gamma - sound of certain winters. not appearing here but imporant nontheless. she/her. [TH LINK]

#bobbins - Invention of Billions and Holder of Few, Bobbin-holding Seamstress of the North-East, Witness Provoked, Walking Tile, Iota of Needless Keratin. a puppet without a superstructure, made to test more versatile puppets for what later became group oceanic. was let go and aimlessly wandered for a very long time before eventually coming across a city built on an iterator. he and the iterator became friends as he lived on her superstructure amongst the ancients, being gifted many titles due to how much he gave to his community. he escaped the great ascension, fearing what might happen if he tried to join the others, and began once more to roam the land. leeching off of the communications of iterators to continue speaking to his friend, he eventually came across the group oceanic - leeching off of their comms alerted quiet, who threatened him and then offered him a place to stay. any pronouns, prefers he/him. [TH LINK]

misc. others

#ts - thirty-seven silvers, my walking puppet / iterator sona. hes dating moonie & my partner's sona & that's kinda it for him tbh! check out my pronouny ! and here's a link to my sona list

#mc - models of clay. an old iterator whose can collapsed, sending half of it into the void sea. before that, he simply worked on the great problem, later taking care of two slugcats who stumbled across his can while trying to find a safe place to live. isn't sure how he can still access global comms. he/him. [TH LINK]

#counter - some weirdo who really, really likes garbage worms. he/they/it. [TH LINK]

#SL - from clay's group

#LIE - also from clay's group

[lizardtracks]

Stress Dreams

Dateline: Tucson, Arizona. 8/2/2023, 3:43 AM

One very fine thing about stress dreams is that sometimes they push you out of bed. Mine did this morning.

When my feet found the tile floor I noticed that the curtains behind my bed were unusually bright. Ah, yes. This is the first of two full moons this month. So I shuffled out to the kitchen, ground and brewed my coffee, and took my mug outside.

The air was velvety warm. The silver bright moon lit a shoal of clouds. The Doberman was in his heaven. He could patrol the yard for stray cats with papa nearby. Mostly though, it was quiet. A few distant dogs barked. But they were far away. Maybe as far as the reservation. The interstate was empty. No knobby off-road tires tortured the concrete. No jake brakes thrummed as 18-wheelers slowed for the exit. Our monsoon, a weak version of its many progenitors, has failed to turn on either spade footed toads or cicadas. More silence there. But my glider chirped with each back swing.

Eventually the Husky let herself out. She curled up in front of me. She could relax secure in knowing that the Doberman would be the first alert to anything requiring her attention. And there it was: me, The Monsters, and an empty city slowly waking up to start its day.

I gradually drained my coffee mug. The caffeine molecules circulated, switching on my chemical and electrical circuits. I sat for awhile letting my stress dreams dissolve into this waking dream. Too soon I would have to go inside, switch on the electric lights and prepare myself for a day in the capitalist grinder. But for now the velvet air, the lunar glow and the near silence gently pushed those things into their proper place. It was better than a dream.