#STUDIO BONES I WILL GIVE YOU MY FIRST BORN

[idiosinkrasies]

Idk about yall but I need a scene where they link pinkies or something small and yet so big for them

[h5eavenly]

Fallen Star┃Jake Sim

fourteen - Why didn't you take me? warning: detailed description of anxiety, mentions of death, angst, and smut.

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(a/n: special thanks to @stargirl-gigi for giving me strength when i lacked it. i know you're not the biggest fan of enhypen but i still hope you'll like this cus if it weren't for you my brain wouldn't have been able to form this many words <3)

Jake learns that the world is unjust early on in his life. Even supposing for the preponderance of his few first moons he’s adjudged lucky not to be on the receiving end. Nevertheless, he finds himself appertained to an all-familiar watching crowd. With impertinent eyes and forged pity, they’ll watch as lives fall apart in front of them. They’ll never help but prate about how bad they feel.

Jake wasn’t on the receiving end for a long time, but he recalls being a perpetrator.

He is seven years old. It was a warm summer afternoon; he was running around with fellow students in the classroom. Despite being apprised a little more over four times to not do that. Jake was born obdurate; it wasn’t something that came with time. Conceivably it might have grown, became something that is unwillingly part of his skin. Nonetheless it was always there, and it is still the reason his hip ends up colliding with the teacher’s table, knocking over her vase of flowers and he watches with wide eyes as it tumbles to the ground and shatters into diminutive bits.

When his favorite teacher with disenchantment imprinted on her features asked who did it. His heart trembled with the trepidation of getting reprimand and so he ends up blaming someone else. throwing the guilt of his wrongdoings upon someone else’s shoulders to carry. He watches as his superiority sides with his luck. Being the most liked kid in his class aids his lie and every student lies with him, for him.

Jake ruminates on the situation a lot more than he would like. It comes to him on random days of his life, and it comes to him when his supply of luck runs out. The day he ends up on the receiving margin of life. He’s on his knees. Agony sneaks its way onto every atom of his being and before he could even breathe – it draped itself over him.

More often than not Jake feels like he had lived four lives, yet he bides not even past his mid-twenties. His first ends with him starry eyed, floating in a pipe dream. That despite his insidious mind he could still make it work in Paranoia. It only lasts for fleeting moments before it all crumbles. Anxiety is a searing ache, it’s in perpetuity coursing through his veins. No matter how hard Jake locks the door, with indomitable force it breaks it down, it travels through the window until he’s tied together by threads of unpreventable dread.

His second life passes by in a colorful daze, an emptiness in his chest that’s scarcely filled with pills on his tongue and poison in his blood. It’s all blurry fragments of him on stage, staying in the studio until every bone in his body ached and him trying to find meaning in pages of his lyrics.

With his third life he’s watching his mother’s dead body being lowered into her grave. His heart is now nothing, but a gaping scar and it pulsates with agonizing affliction every time he breathes. The flashes of cameras feel like knives being stabbed repeatedly into his body. In a fugitive breath he recalls that day when he was seven years old, and he ponders on if this was his punishment.

Why didn’t you take me?

In another world, one where life is impartial, his mother lives and Jake dies, with no blood on his hands.

By his fourth try he no longer feels human. Rather a floating revenant watching down upon the creature who’s etched with misery and a colossal amount of anxiety. He’s constantly overtaken by calamitous emotions. There’s no time for his wounds to mend when he’s so busy trying to control his thoughts, to keep them at bay. Placate them with rehearsed fortitude just so he could have room to exhale. However, his questions remain. They plague his mind; it beleaguers him and then at night it all interposes into questions he can’t seem to find a remedy to.

Why didn’t you take me?

What’s the point of anything?

“Jake?” He hears you calling him, disquiet lacing your voice. He blinks, his eyes that have been zeroed in on a random spot in the mirror finally move, landing on yours instead.

“Yes?”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Sorry, do you mind repeating that once again?” he sighs, rubbing his temples warily. Missing the way, yours linger on his face with worry etched on them.

“Okay.”  He’s met with a few moments of silence as you scroll up through your ipad “The Vogue team reached out again and they’re hoping to redo the interview you never got to finish a while ago,” your eyes flick to his for mere seconds, ephemeral although more than enough to skim across his features, perusing his scrunched brows “do you want that?”

“If they’re actually gonna show up on time then sure.”

“Okay.”

“Make sure to tell them that.”

“You want me to tell Vogue they better show up on time?”

“Yes bunny,” despite his raised brow and the look in his eyes that straight up calls you stupid. You grow somewhat relieved that bits of his usual self are back on the surface.

A pout draws on your lips as you type away on the screen of your ipad and his eyes fleet to them a tad too long to be deemed appropriate. He is apt to be swayed by deviant desires, yours seem to feed his ardour.

“Can I get you anything?” You speak suddenly and it takes him back to his reality, gaze shifting away and you, too busy to notice.

“An energy drink would be nice.”

“What kind?”

“Whatever is available.” With a nod sent in his direction you leave with a brush of your hand on his shoulder blade. It’s delicately discreet. In the same way your lashes flutter whenever he looks at you and the warmth of your palm doesn’t stay long but it has him trifling.

Not inordinately scalding but rather a soothing touch that eases the thorns picking at his heart.

With a sigh he leans back in his seat and checks his phone. The tightness pulling at his ribs comes back, intensifies by his messages to Soojin being left unanswered. And it all makes itself discernible once he starts bouncing his leg on the floor. His demons swarm by his feet and inchmeal, they creep upwards, almost as if they’re melting onto his flesh.

“Is Soojin still coming?” he asks Jay – who is sitting on the couch not too far away - with concealed fret. The latter looks up from his stack of papers, glasses halfway down the bridge of his nose.

“As far as I know yes. Why?”

“She’s not answering my texts, so I was wondering.” regardless of his inefficacious attempts to remain composed Jay has spent what feels like a lifetime by his side, every moment was more than enough for him to commit every mannerism of Jake into his memory. Seeing through his façade is a practice he mastered.

“I’m sure she’s okay man. She probably has it on do not disturb or something.”

“Yeah,” Jake replies absentminded. A fraught silence settles and despite Jay’s words that portray themselves as a touch of gentleness on his being. His striving to calm down the storms that are threatening to take over him.

It starts off palliate with slight tugging at his chest, puncture just to be annoying. The logical wheels in his mind turn, giving meaning to Jay’s words to him and finding solace in between the letters. He busies himself with turning all of Sunoo’s makeup products with the label upfront. It earns him a slap on his hand and a glare.

“Can you fuck off Jake? I have other clients to work on.” Sunoo spits and he only huffs in response, sinking in his seat and checking his phone once again.

No Notifications. He never hated anything more than those two words. The tugging grows relentless and before he gets to think he’s already picking at the skin around his nails.

Jake’s anxiety is too fickle of a creature to ever just leave him in seclusion for far too long.

It already seeped into him and clung itself on his bones. It is more than just a part of him but rather who he is. Like A winding coil that finally snaps. his head is bombarded with frightful images and every bad thing that could have happened to Soojin flashes in a moment. His heart skips three beats at once and panic travels through his veins.

The logical wheels come to a halt so abruptly.

What if something really bad happened to her? What if she’s hurt? What if she got into an accident on her way here to see him? It’s his fault, isn’t it?

“Are you okay Jake?” His head swivels towards Jay who somehow has made it to his side without making much noise or getting his attention.

“Yeah um- “he clears his throat “do you think you could call Soojin? See where she is?” The worry that starts filling Jay’s eyes is what he was hoping to avoid seeing. He knows it’s nowhere close to pity, knows no matter how much blood his heart spills, Jay will never look at him with ruth.

And yet Jake has grown an immense hatred for every possible way that people look at him, somewhere between sleepless nights, how vacant his chest remains and his constant reminder to breathe- he yearns for normality and if it’s something he isn’t meant for, his unyielding covet to be invisible overtakes his will to live.

“Of course.” Jay like always doesn’t question him, a tender smile settles on his face “I’m sure she’s okay, alright?” he assures, and Jake could only nod mutely in response, his throat is tightening and an all too familiar knot is forming.

With Jay walking away from to make a call, you’re back. His promised drink between your hands.

“Here.” You place it in front of him and when Jake doesn’t even look at it, his peculiar silence is enough for you to take notice of the shift in the air. Your words hanging heavy, and Jake’s agitation is avidly pellucid, as crystal as running water.

Your eyes shift when Jay walks back to you two, with downcast eyes.

“She’s not picking up. Should I call her manager?”

“I guess?” Although Jake’s voice is unmodulated edged with an imperturbable expression, your eyes remain on the way he keeps picking at his skin. With a mute nod Jay leaves you two alone once again

He glances at you when your fingers wrap around his wrist to halt his movement, with imbedded delicacy. Even your touch plea rather than order and if Jake’s mind wasn’t already clouded with webs of consternation. He would notice it.

“Is this about Soojin?” You purse your lips right after the question slips from your mouth, as if you didn’t mean to ask and really if Jake wasn’t so busy worrying about the wellbeing of his friend right now, he’d be snorting at you.

Alternatively, his state remains stoic.

“Yeah.”

“You seem to care about her a lot.”

“Because she’s my friend?” He side-eyes you, sharp enough to again call out the lack of your intelligence with a glance and it renders you mute. Walking away from him just in time for him to roll his eyes, checking his phone for the third time.

Your absence doesn’t last long, in fact it doesn’t last long enough for him to click his phone shut before you’re shoving a stack of papers in his face with a minacious lustre in the flickers of color in your eyes.

“Can you help me count these folded pages?” you smile at him, imbued with inimitable docile that only seem to find home in you, and in between his sheets.

He prances between you and the papers in almost suspicion yet stays quiet and despite the way he fights the urge to roll his eyes at you he still takes them from you, only because it is welcome enough of a hindrance to combat against his fatalistic mind.

“Sure.”

As a tranquil silence descends upon the two of you. It takes mere moments for comprehension to swim its way to his head, amidst the crashing waves of overbearing disquietude, he finds your kindness. Like a shore he finally gets to rest on after swimming for so long, he’s choking on the water clogging his throat pipe, yet you manage to exist as a stroke of color amongst his grays.

He remembers it so well. Seeing you this morning counting these same papers.

Were you trying to distract him?

He pauses, and you catch his eyes promptly. You don’t make him wait and his brain fizzles out for a second, a silence he doesn’t get to linger in enough to appreciate, as his eyes rake over your features, your eyes manage to exist in screaming color while the rest withers away, uncompromising. And then ever so slightly, the corners of your lips turn upwards in a smile that isn’t inundated with sympathy for him. Instead, you’re everything that you ever are, sugary sweet and nothing like his forget me nots. You’re akin to cherry blossoms that sprout throughout spring.

So scintillating, too exorbitant he’s obligated to tear his gaze away from you.

Jake had long discarded his deficient organ - so called heart. It is nothing more than meritless and it died the day his mother left this world. It only ever subsists to awaken him once it slips his mind that he is alive, he is present if not that, it’s here to remind him he is made of his anxiety.

Right now, an interval of many years that feels closer to decades than anything, his heart skips a beat, not out of trepidation.

However, it being so unwonted does not give it any more sprinkle of an eminence, it persists in being counterfeit. It disintegrates the moment your own heart picks up speed, the moment a blush starts to bloom high on your cheeks because the softness glazing his features is never directed at you.

It is completely foolish, how hope remains an adherent wavering spirit, and it crumbles in the blink of an eyes, right when his eyes shift to somewhere behind you.

“Soojin..” he mutters and your expression falls.

Jake never gets to see it cause he’s out of your sight as soon as her name leaves his mouth. Getting up from his seat and abandoning the papers he had between his hands and you with them, as you look down at them, it’s ironic how your blush subsides, instead you feel as inconsequential as a piece of paper. Trifle.

“Soojin! Fuck are you okay?” He asks once he’s in front of her, hands on her shoulders and his eyes etched with concern as they dart over her figure in a rapid search for any visible wounds, any evidence to pack up his growing anxious feelings but he finds nothing but puffy eyes and a breathy yawn.

“Gosh I was so tired I ended up falling asleep in the car. Sorry for being so late.” She chuckles sheepishly and despite the smile clinging to her ravishing face it isn’t enough to estrange his ghosts, they stay like foreboding shackles tightened around his ankles, dragging him down.

He almost stumbles, shoulders slumping as his overwhelming feelings transform themselves into pure enervation, it is enough for Soojin to take notice of his all-knowing telltale signs of his anxiety and this time she’s the one who holds him, as if she’s ever able to keep pieces of him together.

“Hey, hey I’m okay Jake.” Despite the nod he gives her, his unfocused eyes are an indication of how he’s not actually listening. His worry only starts to melt when she brings his palm right atop her pulse, pressing his fingers right where life beats “I’m okay,” she whispers softly.

“you’re okay.” He repeats, more to himself yet she nods incessantly.

“I’m here. I’m okay.” Her fingers intertwine with his, laced with a pledge to bring ease into his jumbled-up mind and when she squeezes, he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he needed to release.

He is constantly overshadowed by exhaustion. And you sit in a corner, gaze locked on their hands, it only irks your uncertainties -akin to his monsters- to raise to the surface. A feeling you’re so inured to stirs in the middle of your chest, it’s not pleasant and it feels like callous hands have made their way inside, clutching it until you feel like you can’t breathe. Not when she’s here.

You pack your papers and leave the room with an unyielding grip, a heavy emotion sits in the Indeterminate territory between you two, your body is colliding against these walls and it’s all too familiar jealousy.

why why why

Jake only notices when he’s calmed down enough, with furrowed eyebrows his eyes scanned the room looking for glimpses of you.

“Good job everyone! That’s all for today!” one of the staff members yells, a cluster of ‘Good job’s is being thrown around, staff walking around to pack a mess the photoshoot had left behind.

Jake slumps in his chair with a sigh, an ache is starting to spread throughout his body, specifically his shoulders. Despite not having a long day of work unlike his usual days he just feels so exhausted. Soojin stands close by munching on a mini croissant, his mini croissant to be specific.

“You could have asked,” he remarks and Soojin only snorts in response.

“I could have,” she shrugs with a smirk tugging at her lips and Jake’s eyes are already rolling “but I didn’t feel like it.”

He finds nothing to say back, instead his eyes are lolling to you, who’s a few steps away from him, writing something down with enormous potency it’s almost comical. You’ve been a little off ever since his little episode earlier today. Avoiding his eyes and only talking when you’re talked to. Truthfully, it’s how Jake wished you to be, but he knows your proclivity for chatter, for loud laughter to know that you’re not okay.

“Bunny.” He doesn’t get a respond.

“yn.” this time you look up, glancing at him with an empty expression.

Ah so you are upset.

With a raised brow and his index finger beckons you to come over, you sigh, making a show of dragging your feet to him.

“Yes?” you ask when you’re in front of him, looking down at him with faux emptiness clinging to the tips of your lashes.

“Could you get me my phone? I left it in my dressing room right on the vanity.” You nod mutely and just as you’re about to leave Soojin speaks up “Oh! I left my phone there too could you grab it please? It’s the one with the red phone case!” she claps her hands together in a plea, a sweet smile spreading across her face and yet an almost eerie silence fills the air as you turn your head to face her.

“You’re talking to me?” there’s an edge to your tone that makes Soojin’s expression fall, her mouth opening and closing a couple of time.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” She trails off, bewildered.

Your lips separates, ready to spit a response and Jake knows the look in your eyes cannot be anything good and so he stands up, walking past you with a demanding “Follow me.” voice laced with enough venom for your words to dissolve on your tongue and you saunter behind him.

Once you’re in his dressing room, the door is locked, and he faces you with crossed arms. The room is leaden with stillness that has your heart picking up speed, your eye contact falls into a familiar dance, lead by tension, vexation and then something that tastes akin to abhor.

“Are you okay?” he asks and despite the shaking of your soul you stay as frigid as stone. The way your eyes flit behind him in avoidance starts to annoy him right away but he pulls on his composure.

“I’m perfect,” sarcasm drips from your voice and his own teeth sink into his bottom lip, thinking of the right words to say.

“You seem pretty upset.”

“It’s your imagination.” The sneer on your face is cruel enough to expose your lousy acting and he only sighs, his hand falling to rest at his hip.

“If you’re tired you can take the rest of the day off, bunny.”

“I’m perfectly fine Jake.”

“Are you sure? I’m just asking because I assume you’re still worried about your brother so you can leave, or you can take the next few days off.” He attempts to lean down, closer to your height in grappling tries to catch your eyes, his words dripping with odd tenderness, it feels foreign in his mouth.

“Oh!” an extravagant widened gaze takes over your face, your feigned coldness is washed away by the heat of your emotions , profoundly.

“I’m sorry if I’m disturbing your little reunion,” this time you’re not running away, this time your hardened stare melts his softness right off him “you’re trying to get rid of me now?”

“What’s with this attitude? Huh? I'm only trying to help." His benevolent demeanor is already fleeing, replaced with stoicism.

“I don’t have an attitude.”

“Yeah, you do. You’re acting like a fucking brat yn.” you breathe out through your nose, you feel your bones shake from within with licks of anger, it matches the fire setting his eyes ablaze.

“How am I acting like a brat?”

“Do I have to spill everything out for you every single time?” he spits, indignation seeping into every word.

“So, when I treat you the same way you treat me, I’m being a brat?”

“So, you do know what you’re doing.” He raises his eyebrow at you in mocking provocation while your eyes start to escape his anew.

“If you’re gonna ignore me then don’t be mad when I do the same.” You mutter in a much smaller voice, and maybe because you sound frangible, curling into yourself as if that will help you appear smaller, shrinking under his gaze that his annoyance subsides for a moment.

He sighs, demolishing his aggravation for a moment.

“I’m sorry bunny I didn’t mean to ignore you. I was just relieved to see Soojin.”

You don’t foresee an apology tumbling out his lips and when it happens it leaves you foundering, not sure how to deal with this mess between you two now. You fall into a discomfiting silence, with callow stubbornness you rake your brain to find something to throw at him, something to blame him for, something that will help quiet down the voice inside of you. yet you come back empty handed.

“Are we good now?” he asks, and you swallow, eyes darting between him and the wall behind him, a yes nor a no wants to find place on your tongue. At the lack of response from you he turns to leave.

You feel foolish as a misplaced proprietorial desire drapes over you when you mutter your next words; “of course you’re going back to her.” A part of you wishes he didn’t hear you, it’s too hideous of a truth for you to admit yet when Jake turns to face you with a twisted expression. Fulfilment engulfs you, knowing you aren’t the only person who cares enough to be drowning in anger.

“Are you jealous?” he jeers.

“I’m not jealous.” Your glare is a flimsy barrier against your veracity.

“You better not be. You and I both know exactly what this is.” He says, pointing at the space between you and him and when your eyebrows scrunch together, he is only grows confused at your anger, doesn’t quite understand what triggered it.

“With the way you keep treating me it’s hard to fucking forget.”

Jake was never really an angry person; he did get annoyed about a lot of things, and many might have considered him sensitive towards a lot of things as well. The list of adjectives to describe him is long and angry isn’t even in his top ten. Yet you, with a flame-like personality and piercing eyes as deep as oceans he only ever sees in his dream, manage to make rage his utmost emotion. You have it rushing through his veins and it’s moments like these when he’s standing in front of you, he feels like nothing but a hurricane of rage and every dark emotion in between.

In an inhale of harsh anger, he has you against the wall, caging your body with a palm flat next to your head, he tilts his head to regard you with a narrowed gaze, doused with wrath that has your knees buckling.

“I’m so sick of having this fucking conversation with you.”

“We don’t have to talk.” You sneer.

“I’m not doing this with you.” he scoffs in disbelief at your words and your eyes only grow harsher with disdain.

“what’s wrong? You can’t fuck me when your dear Soojin is outside?” you mutter atop his lips, your eyes fliting between his mouth and eyes, and the scowl that crawls over his face looks delicious “no. I’m not fucking you because you’re feeling insecure and you don’t know how to deal with your emotions.”

One thing about you, is you’re always as translucent as glass, despite your futile attempts at standing your ground, the way you try to keep your stare as bitter, it all crumbles in front of him and he sees past it all. It’s in the way your eyebrows drop ever so slightly, the way your lips separate with a slight breath as if you felt his words grazing the surface of your heart.

“Keep lying to yourself Jake.”

How do you manage to still get on his nerves? He’s not sure anymore. Even when he cups your face with one hand, denting your cheeks with his fingers.

“Shut the fuck up. You’re pissing me the fuck off.” He spits through gritted teeth, eyes flashing in warning, yet you don’t relent.

“Make me.” you whisper, a smirk curling your lips upwards.

He doesn’t kiss you like he knows you want him to, it’s so evident in the way your eyes fall lidded with hunger, your lips falling open with breaths as you involuntary lean forward with a want for a taste of him. The glint in your eyes, resembles the moon is enough for him to snap, igniting the flame of desire within him and he groans, flipping your body and pressing your chest to the wall, with your wrist between his grip and pressing them into your lower back, a gasp shooting from your lips as you attempt to look back at him.

“Jake what the fu-“

“Shut up.” He growls in your ear, laced by displeasure and overtaken by lust.

Your short skirt gives facile access to his thigh when he nudges it between your legs and against your clothed cunt, an inadvertent shiver courses through your body, every comeback you had conjured up flees your mind and instead a barely audible whimper escapes your lips.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he presses his chest against your back “like the fucking brat you are, so you better take it.” He tells you darkly, his words looming over you and your silence lingers, hanging your head pathetically and he wants to scoff.

For someone who talks so much you fall apart easily every single time.

With a glare set on the back of your head, as if his eyes are bullets that can break through your skull, you shiver when you feel his cold hands remove your underwear. His fingers brush against your folds and wetness meet his hands, a breath of belittlement escapes him, burning the entirety of your face bright red.

“Does pissing me off really turn you on that much?”

You force a swallow, your head lolling into a haze of arousal and your vigour for a quarrel dissolve becoming one with the floor.

“that’s not  it-.” You attempt to reply, your words are cut off by a gasp forcing its way out of you when he presses you further against the wall, your cheek centimeters away from it “didn’t I fucking tell you to shut up?” your sanity collapses along with your common sense, intoxicated by his voice “why the fuck are you talking huh?” he taunts and this time you don’t answer, your chest heaving with the proximity.

His fingers loosen from around your wrists, but you keep them where they are, daunted by retribution. They throb, matching the beating of your heart against your ribcage. He leaves behind reddening marks, residue of a rage that only you are able to inflict on him. He moves quickly to remove himself from the confines of his pants.

You turn your head to the side slightly, stealing a glance at him with an idiotic hope that it’s unobtrusive yet they stumble upon his frighteningly nimble.

“Face the wall I don’t want to fucking look at you.” with a scowl plastered across his face, his voice doused enmity has you whimpering, melting the metal of malignant insults right off your brain as you turn to face the wall again.

your body tenses at the feeling of him lining his cock up with your entrance, his hands rough against the skin of your body and when he sinks into you, he doesn’t give you much time to linger for breathing, setting a pace that is nothing less than brutal, one of his hands inches upwards and wraps around your throat driving you to the brink of insanity, you’re constantly fighting against a losing battle and your moans spill endlessly.

“J-jake slow down.” You cry out, your hand reaching for his hips to somehow impede them.

“Quiet.” He hisses, his tone shaking with a groan and you’re even more turned on by his gravel voice “if you make another sound, I’m gonna stop and leave you like this, do you understand?” you could only whimper in response, a piteous sound that feels revolting as it falls upon your ears, you wish to block it yet a prodigious wish takes over, you hope he takes it as enough of affirmative.

He picks up speed, grows harsher with every thrust, not caring if this whole thing is turning vengeful more than anything else, your teeth sink in your bottom lip, banishing your sounds of pleasure and your eyes roll back, you hang your head, exhilaration taking your mind through a whirlwind, your pain and ecstasy tangling together into a song of nothing but sin and loathing.

At a particular harsh thrust you’re launched forward, your cheek pressing against the cold surface and you’re falling apart, eyes falling open lined with tears, and you lock gazes with him unintended. He is not sure if it’s the whine you let out, or your rapture soaked expression, it’s probably your tears shining like specks of glitter on still water. Whatever it is, it has him by his throat, within reach and his anger is lost in between your arousal as he leans forward and takes your lips for his.

Imprisoning you in a curse of passion with his kiss and you let out a wanton moan against his mouth, as if you were dying to feel his lips upon yours.

He fucks you through your orgasm and his.

As soon as the smoke of lust clears up, a contrasting tension fills the heavy breaths between you two. He moves away from you in silence, his limbs filling with aversion towards you and himself for giving in to you. More than anything he’s congested with disenchantment that he hopes his eyes covey when he looks at you.

“you’re acting the same way you acted the first time this happened.” You ridicule, hurt creases your glance and he lets out a humorless laugh that has you frowning.

“I’m still fucking pissed at you.” he’s flooded with disbelief “did you think I was gonna fuck you and then everything was going to be fine?”

You fall silent, lips pressing together and really there you go again, igniting the flame of prickling rage within him. It has him wanting to pull at his hair, he doesn’t understand you, constantly confused by the way your mind works, the emotions swimming in your eyes aren’t close to aiding anything and it only waters his disappointment. Plunges it further into dirt the more he recalls the events of the day.

You blend with everyone else, everyone who sees him as a shiny toy to play with, to ease their inquisitiveness. After that he is nothing.

“Jake-” You start and your words are once again snatched away from you, a knock on the door purloins his attention away from you.

“Jake? Are you still coming to the store opening with me?” Soojin’s voice reverberates from behind the door, like a blade flung at your chest, your fist clenched.

“I’m coming.” He replies, moving to tidy himself and you splutter, hands going through your hair nervously “y-you’re leaving? Just give me a few minutes to sort out myself-“

“You’re not coming with me.”

“What? But I always go everywhere with you.”

“Not this time.”

You mouth opens and closes a couple of times, suddenly your resentment flees your body like a breath of air, nerves taking their place just as quickly, building all the way to your throat.

“I understand you’re mad at me but at least let me do my job.”

“Your job is to listen to me,” his icy eyes flit to your convoluted ones “I’m telling you I don’t need you so you’re not coming.”

He doesn’t give room for your answer to exist, he leaves the room with despondency clinging to his ankles, a headache is already starting to form and his heart is loaded heavy with conflicting emotions that only ever exist because of you. Disappointment slithers its path throughout his being and he’s growing frustrated for letting himself kneel into hope in the first place. How stupid. The feeling lingers even when he’s in the car with Soojin next to him, her concerned eyes glued to him.

"Are you okay?" She asks, her palm envelopes his with warmth and he doesn't have courage to tell her about the emotions that are breaking him down.

He can't tell her.

You’re just like everyone else.

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@stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @softieluvsyou @seunghancore @chaewonshoney

@beommii @fuxktaekook @antonsgirlfriend @nessas-archive @lukeys-giggle

@arikazu @pochamocharoll @chlodavids @jakeyverse

@belovedsthings @vveebee @duhgurl @niniissus

[ugh-yoongi]

HOBI REQUESTS YAY! okay so at first i was thinking it might be hobi's birthday and he stays late at the studio regardless of the day and comes home to reader all tired and drained, but then reader has such a sweet surprise for him when he gets there (whether it be a cake, flowers, balloons, etc.) and it just seems like he can breathe again without the weight of his work on his chest, even if it's just for that night, he can fall asleep with no problem.

OR, considering it's in the name of jess' birthday, it could be reversed? reader's birthday and hobi has the sweet surprise instead? i don't have an idea of what specifically would be demanding so much of reader's attention, but coming home to hobi with his pretty smile on such a day seems like something so beautiful.

that's all i could muster up as of now, 🙃 if you chose to, feel free to play around with it until it's something you are comfortable with! <3

thank you so much for the request! i went with the first one and i hope you enjoy it! <3

(side note: i banged this out in one sitting so i'm tentatively optimistic that my writer's block is cured. we'll see. thank you all for your patience and not showing up in my ask box with pitchforks.)

ataraxia

pairing: hoseok x reader genre: est. relationship au; fluff, a tiny bit of angst warnings: hobi's kind of going through it so there are allusions to poor mental health, otherwise this is mostly fluff. just being there for your person when they're having a tough time. no gendered pronouns used. unedited. rating: e for everyone wordcount: 1k listen to: novo amor - anchor

Hoseok had heard once that babies born in the winter are stronger.

Something about mothers being able to absorb more vitamin D during the summer months.

As he collapses onto the floor of his studio, sweat and exhaustion blurring his vision, he thinks those people are full of shit. What has being born in winter gotten him besides muscle cramps and seasonal depression? Because he’s also at a higher risk for that, which those people lauding his athleticism tend to leave off of the discussion.

He sighs. He’s twenty-nine now, and there’s something truly haunting about the inevitability of time. Can’t slow it down, can’t make it go faster; he just has to sit here and take it. Next year he’ll be thirty, thirty-one the year after that, and on and on it’ll go for the rest of his life.

All he has are these little joys: the squeak of his new sneakers on the studio floor, the kids in his class finally nailing their routine, those peach iced teas he likes being buy one get one free this week at the convenience store next door. He has you, too, but you were smart and traded in your two-cent dreams for the corporate world and now you’re spending his birthday on a business trip to Singapore.

Yoongi would call him an asshole for that, probably. He has friends. Friends who want to see him, buy him a drink and give him gifts, and he appreciates the effort, he does, he’s just… tired. Fatigue has seeped into all of his bones and left him nothing more than a husk of a person. It’s been months of this same unending grind, and he’s running out of self to give.

At least Singapore is warm this time of year. In Seoul, beyond the frosted windows of his studio, there’s nothing but gray-brown slush and a patch of black ice he can’t melt no matter how much he salts it.

“Fuck this,” he mutters.

It’s nearing nine o’clock. He needs to get home; needs to eat something and drag himself into a hot shower before he crawls into bed and spends the entire weekend there. Needs to reply to all the texts on his phone wishing him a happy birthday. Needs to tactfully and politely turn down all the invitations. Needs to post some bubbly, colorful message on social media thanking everyone for the well-wishes and attach a photo from a few weeks ago because he hasn’t been smiling much lately.

First, though, he needs to get off the floor.

He usually likes his walk home. Likes pressing his face to the glass to look at all the window displays when he’s not in the mood to shop. Likes seeing other people go about their days, live their lives. Likes looking at all the ways the city reflects sunlight and fades to husky gold. Likes walking under the cherry blossoms in the spring; likes it even more when a few petals stick to his shoulders and you laugh and brush them off as soon as he comes through the door.

It’s hard to get off the floor when none of that is out there.

But he does it anyway, because maybe he has a bit of that winter strength. He packs up his stuff and sits at the bus stop, counts his exhales as they materialize in front of him, thankful for the heavy coat you’d bought for him a few years ago, now well-worn and no longer itchy. He sits at the back by himself and sends half-assed replies to all of those texts. Scrolls back to stare at the photo you’d sent him this morning—fresh from sleep and barefaced, lips pursed together in a kiss, thumb and pointer fingers together in a heart.

Slush sticks to his shoes as he ducks inside the building. Nearly trips climbing up the stairs, because the two of you live on the fourth floor and it feels too lazy to take the elevator, even when his muscles are screaming from a long day at the dance studio. But it keeps him moving. Keeps him upright and functional when all he wants to do is rot away.

His shoes are dry by the time he reaches the door, soaked into the carpet lining the hallway. His hands still bear the cold—red and unsteady, it takes him a few tries to punch in the code. Gets it wrong twice, and he takes a second to just… stand there, head resting against the door, feeling the weight of the world come down on him.

He’s not sure what he thought twenty-nine would be like, but surely it wasn’t this.

And maybe if he wasn’t feeling so low, he would’ve noticed. Your keys in the bowl by the door, your shoes in the rack. The light on in the kitchen. The smell of the miyeokguk simmering on the stove. The sound of your footsteps as you meet him where he stands, shoulders slumped, eyes brimming with tears and exhaustion.

“Hob-ah?”

There are hands on his face. Soft, he thinks. They’re touching him so softly, treating him just as delicately as he feels. He leans into it; recognizes the perfume stuck to the wrist. Knows it smells like home and an aching he can never seem to put a name to, and you don’t hesitate to wrap him tightly in your arms.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says, words waterlogged and hesitant as he speaks them into the crook of your neck. Nothing feels real, and he doesn’t trust himself to open his eyes.

You tangle your hands in his hair. Scratch lightly against his scalp. “I got an early flight home. Got back this afternoon.” This is where someone else would ask if he’s okay, try to pry apart his ribcage and look at all the ugly parts, but you don’t. There’s just a small intake of breath and the reluctance to let him go. “The miyeokguk is almost ready,” you say instead. “Do you want to take a shower while I get everything ready?”

Hoseok is reluctant to let go, too, but he’s at his best when he has a task. Needs something to accomplish, something to check off on his imaginary to-do list, so he nods. Pulls away and immediately misses your warmth. Takes your face in his hands and presses a kiss to your forehead. Thank you, it says. I needed you here.

You already know, though. You always do.

[snek-of-eden]

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40

For the ask thingy Hehehe

cherry - what is your sexuality? bisexual!! also aceflux

lollipop - favorite makeup products? i don’t wear any huge brands (or a lot of makeup) but i love black eyeliner so so so much

daydreams - if you could be anything or anyone, who would you be? i’m pretty happy being me, but i think being a penguin would be pretty good too

october - what month were you born in? december :3

caress - do you like to snuggle? YES YES YES YES i think this is what i was born to do. my purpose, per se. i have it on good authority that i am a nice snuggler and i will always say yes to snuggles

ivory - describe your pajamas? usually a plain t-shirt or sports bra with really old winnie the pooh shorts T-T or black sweatpants

golden - favorite stationary product? i have a special fondness for uni-pin fine line 0.2 black pens

freckles - most-worn article of clothing? probably adidas shorts or my black Queen tank top (wearing it rn)

twilight - best friend? my babe teri!! they’re offline for now but they’re @belt-soup

silk - do you like k-pop? not really. i like a few songs, but i never really got into it

poppy - favorite pastel color? pale blue or purple! same colour as my hair

dimples - most attractive features of a person’s face? smile <3 and i guess just… them in general. we’re all beautiful creatures

sunkissed - autumn or spring? autumn 4eva

buttery - favorite snack? salt and vinegar crackers…. or maybe the tumblr cheese toast is because nothing can beat that

whisper - how much sleep do you get? on average about 8 1/2 hours. 9 if i try!

pencil - do you own a journal? yep, i do. and a diary

cupcake - are you a good cook? i like to think so, yeah! i’m a good baker, i can cook alright

honey - favorite term of endearment? babe, baby, bud, sweetheart, honey, take your pick ^_^ i use endearments with everyone

clouds - describe one of your favorite dreams? i hug a lot of people in my dreams!! it’s definitely a theme. i have a teacher who gives the best hugs ever and i’ve had a few dreams about them… also i had a dream once about scotty and bones from star trek being my gay dads and taking me to a concert? so strange but i loved it

velvet - who was your first crush? a boy named alexander on my primary school soccer team T-T he was so cute man. i still think about what happened to him sometimes

paper - favorite children’s book? hmmm, i used to love ‘where is the green sheep’ when i was a toddler, and it’s become a core memory :3

peaches - do you have a skincare routine? not really lol. i wash my face and sometimes moisturise or do a face mask, but yeah

mochi - favorite studio ghibli film? i’ve never actually watched one! it’s on my list though

backyard - did you ever have an imaginary friend? nope

strawberry - favorite fruit? watermelon or strawberry!

kiss - have you ever kissed a friend? on the cheek and forehead yeah haha

nightlight - do you read before bed? i used to, i never do anymore… i don’t know why, just too exhausted nowadays

shampoo - favorite scent? aniseed, vanilla and fresh rain

skin - what distant relative are you closest to? perhaps my second cousins? they’re lovely

aphrodite - favorite actress/actor? DAVID TENNANT OR ANNE HATHAWAY

cuddles - do you have any pets? i have a dog and i sometimes keep stick insects :}

lace - if you own any dresses, which is your favorite? i don’t wear dresses <3

sheets - sanrio or san-x characters? idk what this means

cream - frozen yogurt flavor? a mix of strawberry and chocolate !! can’t go wrong there

watermelon - do films ever make you cry? i don’t think so. not very often at least. really rarely

sapphos - favorite poet? robert frost or edgar allen poe

plush - how many stuffed animals do you still own? at least ten, but the only one i keep out is my kermit plushie that’s been passed down through the family

roses - what flower do you find most beautiful? lavender or pink tulips <33

sweetheart - favorite mug/cup? i have a rainbow mug my mother got for my birthday that has the same picture as the mug in one direction’s drag me down music video… i’m not a huge 1D fan anymore but i adore that mug sm

sunset - what are your pronouns? he/him right now, they/them sometimes!!

thank you so so so so much for this ask!!!! i’m on a road trip and this made for a very fun time x

[beels-burger-babe]

Us Two in the Spotlight's Glow

***So, some of you may have seen I have a new Obey Me OC/D&D character named Sibella. She is all I can think about, and this was born. Enjoy. *** Summary: Sibella's life, and death, had always been empty and alone, until she gains a certain noble patron. Who knew the Avatar of Pride could make such good company?

The stage was many things. It was home. It was life. It was joy and despair. It was the only reason why Sibella could bring herself to rise from her bed sometimes.

But it was also horrendously lonely.

She hadn't realized it when she was still human, but since dying and awaking as demon of pride in the Devildom, she had come to recognize it as a simple fact of life.

Or, well, after life.

She hadn't minded at first — though she had certain words for which ever sick asshole decided to give her the whole "deer in headlights" look. Her life had always revolved solely around her career as prima ballerina. She didn't have time for things as small as friendship or a social life, when all that precious time could be spent perfecting her fouette. Why would that change now that she was buried six-feet under?

Sure, some might say that she missed out on a lot of the fun things, like partying at The Fall, or enrolling in that devil-forsaken academy. But she was happy.

She wasn't.

She was happy before.

She was tired before.

She could be happy now.

She tried not to think of how fucking empty she felt.

That's all there was to it.

She was a one woman show. The diamond that dazzled in the spotlight. She had fought tooth and nail to get to where she was, and she wasn't about to let something as fickle and strange as emotions take it from her now.

But death had a funny way of changing things. And the Devildom even more so.

Sibella had been making a name for herself for years. By now most of the Devildom knew of the hypnotic dance of the icy prima ballerina. She had a reputation. On stage: she would warm your hearts and move your very soul to the point that you would feel alive again. Off stage: she was colder than snow and no one could manage to get a single word out of her before she was either in her dressing room or fleeing to the dance studio.

Well, almost no one.

She had been in her dressing room after a show. Her performance had been flawless as always, though she was looking forward to a good soak in the tub when she got home to soothe her aching feet and bones. She had barely begun to take her hair down from the head-splittingly tight bun it had been pulled back into, when she heard it. "O-O-Oh. I'm sorry, sirs, but the lady doesn't take guests." She felt one of her long ears perk at the sound of her security guard's voice. He'd never been nervous around nosy fans. What the hell was going on out there?

"Perhaps. But I'm sure she can make an exception." Her frown turned into an afronted scowl at the sound of the deep, arrogant voice. She most certainly did not make exceptions. Had they any idea how precious her time was and how exhausting it was to perform like that? Why, the audacity to bother her after performance like-

"I-I-I ... I'm sorry, my Prince and Lord. I'm just following orders."

Sibella nearly dropped her hair brush as she whipped her head towards the door and looked at it with wide eyes. Prince. As in the Prince of the Devildom. As in Prince Diavolo. And did he say a lord was here as well? Even in her human days, Sibella had never achieved the honour of performing for royalty. But now she had done so unknowingly!

Her breath halted as she immediately began playing-back her performance in her mind. Sure, she was confident that she was a damn good dancer, but this was nobility! Had she slipped? Did she misstep at any point? Under rotate? Over rotate? Why had they come back to see her? Surely they were equally, if not more, busy than herself! If they wanted to take the time to see her, than perhaps she had messed up. Perhaps they were here to ban her from ever taking to the stage in the Devildom again or-

She couldn't help but yelp, throwing her brush across the room as a loud knock sounded at her door.

She managed to take in a few deep breaths, her heart banging against her chest, as she smoothed out her hair. "Yes?" She called out with as much neutrality as she could manage.

"Miss Sibella, I-I'm sorry to bother you ma'm, but you, um ... you have visitors. I-It's um ... It's Prince Diavolo and Lord Lucifer, ma'm."

Shit. When was the last time she even talked to someone who wasn't a member of the theatre's staff?

She caught a glimpse of her terrified expression in the mirror. With another grounding breath, she carefully smoothed her face into one of passive indifference as she rose to her feet — barely surpressing a wince as her tights-covered wounds met the floor once more. Pulling back her shoulders, and raising her chin, she opened the door.

Staring back at her was her bodyguard — who looked like he would rather be anywhere but here — a giant gigantic red-head with golden eyes that glittered with excitement and a wide grin — who she immediately recognized as the prince — and another man — slender, with dark hair and burning crimson eyes. He stood back, arms crossed with only mild interest on his face.

The red head moved forward, his smile growing impossibly wide, as he held out his hand. "Miss Sibella! It's an honour to meet you."

She took a moment to remember herself, bowing her head slightly before meeting his eyes once more. "The honour is mine. I wish I had known we would be dignified with such noble guests this evening. I would've had the staff prepare our best booth for you."

Sibella quickly repressed a flinch as the Prince burst into a strong, hearty laugh. "No need to worry about that! The V.I.P. booth is always reserved for me! I've owned this theatre for years. I've been meaning to see this esteemed performance of yours that everyone in the kingdom is talking about, and I am elated to have finally been able to drag old Lucifer down to see it with me! You are truly remarkable!"

Sibella's onyx eyes flickered curiously over to the gentleman accompanying the prince, only to find his eyes already resting on her. His eyes held an all-knowing gleam as he smirked at her. "Yes. I must send my compliments. I haven't seen a performance like that since my time in the celestial-realm," his eyes shifted back over to the Prince, giving Sibella the opportunity to control her slightly-flushed expression. "Though perhaps I may have enjoyed it more if someone hadn't been gasping and awing throughout its entirety."

Diavolo laughed, planting a heavy hand on Lucifer's shoulder as he did. "Oh! Your jokes always get me!"

The ballerina smiled politely as she maintained her eye contact with the Lord. "Then perhaps you should come again sometime. I assure you this is far from the only accompaniment that I dance to, and it is also not my most impressive. If you can find the time, I can guarantee that you won't be disappointed."

Sibella held her breath as she felt his onyx eyes pour over her entire being like a river's spring and seemingly pick her apart. She hadn't felt so exposed and vulnerable since- She lifted her chin higher and shook off the unwanted memories.

The lord tilted his head. "Perhaps, we will-"

"I will go buy us season tickets for your shows on the way out! It will be a great opportunity to get out of the office. Yes! Wonderful idea, Lucifer!"

Sibella did her best to bite back a giggle as Lucifer narrowed his eyes sharply at the Prince before sighing in defeat. "Of course, my lord."

The ballerina could almost see sparkles floating in the air around the Prince as he beamed. "Brilliant! Well, until next time then, Miss Sibella! We will see you again."

And they did.

They didn't attend every performance, but they were Sibella's most frequent patrons by far. Most of the time they would come together. Sometimes only Diavolo would come with different company by his side. Other times it was only Lord Lucifer, by himself. But regardless, they would always come to visit your dressing room afterwards for conversation. At first it was intimidating. She had increased her practice hours, nearly to the point of destruction, to push herself to maintain a performance level worthy of their presence. But as months passed, Sibella had begun to become more relaxed with the pair, and them her. She dared to say that she even looked forward to their pointless, time-wasting visits. It was ... nice.

One of said nights had been a particularly grueling routine. Sibella allowed the facade of strong, immovable, grace to drop the second she was hidden back stage and silently limped back to her dressing room.

She threw yourself onto her couch before ripping her satin slippers off her feet with a choked cry. Beneath them sat bloodied tights that hid bruised, blistered and swollen toes. She hissed through her teeth as she slowly peeled off the pink, thin fabric and examined her injuries.

She couldn't help but groan as a knock sounded at her door. She couldn't leave it ignored — not while knowing who stood behind it.

She looked up at the ceiling taking a minute to collect herself before pulling herself to her feet. Only, the second her poor toes touched the ground, a strangled shriek slipped from her lips and she had to quickly catch her balance on the arm of the couch as pain shot up her legs.

"Miss Sibella?" Fuck. It was Lucifer. Of course it had to be the observant one. "Are you alright in there?"

Sibella cursed under her breath, doing her damnedest, and failing, to bite back a whimper as she stood back up. "Of course. I-I'll be there in just a moment."

But the odds were not in her favor. Her abused legs felt like jello beneath her feet and threatened to give out with with every step she took. Her panicked eyes flickered desperately between the door, only 10 feet away from her, and the end of the couch, where she now stood. She could leap that distance in a single grand jete on a good day. Surely, she wasn't going to let it defeat her now?

With a choked deep breath, she lifted her hand away from the sofa and tried to quickly make her way to the door.

She was betrayed by her stupid feet. Sibella had barely managed to let out a yelp as she began to fall towards the ground.

The door swung open and two strong hands quickly caught her by her arms.

Her breath hitched as Lucifer helped her back onto her feet. "I was fine," she insisted.

"I can see that," the lord grumbled, keeping an arm fixed securely around the ballerina's shoulders as he looked at her injuries. "And I'm sure that you're in absolutely no pain at all, and if I were to let you go that you could walk back to that couch perfectly fine."

A flare of frustration ran through the proud demoness as she lifted her chin. "Most certainly."

"Then let's see it," he stated simply and began to remove his arms.

With gritted teeth and pure spite, Sibella held her breath as she wobbled her way back over to her couch and all but tripped into its cushioned comforts. "See?" she panted. "Perfectly capable."

Lucifer hummed with a raised eye brow. "Yes. And the trail of blood you left behind isn't discerning at all. You looked like a baby fawn attempting to walk on ice."

Sibella glared sharply at him as her ears tucked back against her skull. "You may leave now."

He scoffed and leaned against her vanity instead. "I think not. You're in no state to be alone right now. You're injured."

The ballerina waved off his concern. "Part of the repercussions of dancing. I told you, I'm fine."

"You're clearly not."

Anger boiled desperately beneath her skin in a way that only Lucifer could manage as she sneered at the lord. "And what would you do about it?"

The room froze as he locked eyes with her. His head tilted. Blood-red eyes narrowing. "Dress your wounds for starters. And then ensure that you made it home, and have what you need for recovery." Her pulse thrashed like a wild-beast inside of her as the lord drew closer. "You need me right now, even if you refuse to acknowledge it. You have no one else," shivers ran down her spine as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Let me help you."

She tried to think of an alternative. Another way that ended with her safely making it back to her apartment. But her bodyguard was off for the day, and she knew that no one else would willingly help her. If she didn't accept this offer, she would be spending the night in her dressing room, which would be miserable for her already aching body. Not to mention unhygienic.

"Fine," she sighed, giving in and allowing herself to slump against the couch. "If it'll make you happy, my Lord."

He huffed and shook his head as he looked around her dressing room. It was clean, neat, perfect. Just like all things in her life. Any gifts she had been given by fans were in a organized drawer in her vanity. All makeup and hair products were specifically placed by her mirror. All costumes were bagged and hanged in order of use on her rack. Even though the room was practically a home away from home, she could never bring herself to customize it. Her dressing room was for the Prima Ballerina Sibella and her only. There was no space for sentiment here.

"Where is your first-aid kit?" Lucifer questioned, looking among her selection of dance slippers. Sibella silently pointed to the cabinet above the mini-fridge that the stage manager had set up for her. The lord nodded and walked over, removing a red box before taking a seat beside the demoness. With careful hands, he lifted her wounded feet into his lap, and grabbed some disinfectant.

They both remained silent as he worked and gently soothed the aches that had been condemning her with experienced hands. It wasn't until he had begun to wrap her feet in guaze that he spoke. "I will be sure to inform the director that you will not be performing this week."

The ballerina shot up, "What?!" she hissed venomously, her deer-like horns reappearing on her head as her demon form threatened to break loose. "No. You have no right. I am fine, Lucifer!"

He narrowed his eyes, and firmly pressed against her freshly-bandaged, fractured toes. A pained-cry tore itself from her throat before she could stop it. He raised an eyebrow and released his hold. "You can barely walk. You expect me to believe that you can dance the same routine that caused these injuries for the rest of the week?"

Sibella snarled and tore her legs back in towards herself. "You don't know what you're talking about. It's nothing I haven't done before."

He paused at her words, lips pulling into a thin line as he took in her furious, yet vulnerable state — Sibella hated the way it made her feel so open. "If you go out there like this, you will only further hurt yourself. Not only that, there is no possible way that you can meet your own high-standards for yourself in this condition. You will only become angry at yourself, and that will only get worse and worse with every performance you do without letting yourself rest and recover." The lord nodded to himself, as he stood and held out a hand towards the ballerina. "Come. You're going home. And you will be taking time off. I will personally ensure that you do."

She slapped his hand away and went to stand on her own once more.

Lucifer huffed, rolling his eyes, before scooping up the demoness in his arms. Sibella refused to make it easier for him. Keeping her arms crossed as he carried her out of the room. Although she was by no means pleased by this arrangement, she allowed him to continue with his plan. That was until they made it outside the theatre and she spotted exactly how the demon planned on taking her to her apartment. "Absolutely not," she hissed, her body tensing in his arms as she squirmed and pushed against him and tried to get away from the car he was carrying her towards. "Put me down. You're not putting me anywhere near that tin-death-trap!"

Lucifer gritted his teeth as he tightened his hold her. "Then, pray tell, how do you plan on me getting you back to your apartment?" She snarled at him, continuing her resistance. "Anyway but that! I only live down a block or two from here and usually jog as a warm up on my way to theatre!"

The demon sighed miserably. "Of course, you do," he made no effort to stop his movement towards the car. "I am not carrying you all the way there — not that it would be difficult. And you are in no condition to walk. So driving it is." "No! Stop!" She screamed as shifted into her demon form. "Put me down! I'd rather walk a thousand miles with shattered limbs that get in one of those monstrosities for a single second!"

Lucifer growled, attempting to secure his grip on the thrashing woman once more. "Will you stop acting like a child?! What in Diavolo's name is wrong with you?"

"I died because of those machines before and I refuse to do so again! Put me down!"

Lucifer froze, giving the demoness the opportunity to drop back onto her own two feet, and weakly stumble away from him. The lord blinked back at her. "You died in a car accident?"

She sneered at him from behind a deadly glare. "Does it matter?"

His lips pulled into a thin line as he glanced between his car and the demoness before sighing and approaching her once more. "I was unaware. We won't take the car," she looked up at him with wide-doe eyes. "I'll carry you. Just ... Wrap your arms around me."

Sibella stared at him for a moment — her anxiety riddled heart still running wildly in her chest. With trembling arms, she silently held onto his shoulders and allowed him to lift her into a bridal carry once more. "There," he whispered as their eyes met. Her breath caught at the shocking tenderness that hid within them. "See? Not too bad is it?" Lucifer chuckled as the demoness's cheeks flushed pink. He stared at her for a moment too long before clearing his throat and looking at the sidewalk ahead of them. "Just up the block, you said?"

"Yes," she muttered, leaning slightly into him. "It's the gothic, navy building across the street from Savonne." Lucifer hummed and began walking without further question, and Sibella ignored the rush of warmth that filled her heart for the first time in two life times.

*** GAH! I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!! I hope you all enjoy Sibella as much as I do! I will keep ya'll up to date on what happens with her in the one shot! Thank you so much for the love and support! *** Taglist:

@thegrimgrinningghost @henry-and-the-seven-lords @satans-beloved-riv @cosmixbun @sufzku @obey-mes-treasure @kissed-by-a-dementor @yukihaie @justtiarra @mammoneybb @poly-bi-mf @burrixino @pumpkins-mainside-blog @acousticpen @sucker-for-angst-and-fluff @itskrispy @10paradox10 @vallison-rea @ivoryclive @newfangled-artistry @pumpkinpatchkid @chirikoheina @sailboat21 @theother4 @todoroses @circus-of-freaks @mcx7demonbros @bloopthebat

[protectgeorgeweasley]

LUMOS: “Duel” Playlist Instructions

1. “March of Mephisto (feat. Shagrath)” by Kamelot (The Personal Diary)

2. “I Bet My Life” by Vitamin String Quartet/”The Weasley Stomp” (September 30, 1999)

3. “Anything Can Happen” by Ellie Goulding (Sept. 31)

4. “Together We Are Free” by Andreas Kubler (Oct. 2, 5:12 p.m.)

5. “Holding Out for a Hero” by Nothing But Thieves (Same day, next scene; when you see the mother.)

6. “Butterfly’s Repose” by Zabawa (Same day, next scene; when they start speaking about Crookshanks).

7. “Hold My Girl” by George Ezra (Oct. 2, 10:00 p.m.).

8. “Fireworks” by Nicholas Hooper (Oct. 4)

9. “Threnody” by Goldmund (Same scene, when you see Bill)

10. “Will I Find My Home” by Juniper Vale, Vian Izak (Same scene, after).

11. “Lost Boy” by Ruth B. (Oct. 5)

12. “Remember Not to Forget” by Audiomachine (Oct. 6)

13. “Somewhere Only We Know” by Lily Allen (Oct. 8)

14. “Another Lifetime” by Nao (Same scene, at the mention of Nintendo).

15. “Kaleidoscope” by A Great Big World (Oct. 10)

16. “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” by The Beatles (Same day, you’ll know. Briefly at first, then again.)

17. “Yesterday” by The Beatles (End of prior scene through Oct. 11)

18. “Don’t Give Up On Me” by Andy Grammar (Oct. 12)

19. “6 Pieces for Piano…” by Ottorino Respighi and Magdalena Hoffmann (Oct. 13)

20. “King Arthur: Legend of the Sword” by Daniel Pemberton (Same scene, when you see the newcomers).

21. “Jackseye’s Tale” by Daniel Pemberton (Same scene, directly after).

22. “The Born King” by Daniel Pemberton (Same scene, directly after).

23. “Theory of Light” by Eternal Eclipse (Same day, next scene, when they start to share).

24. “Be Bold and Be Brave” by Secession Studios and Greg Dombrowski (Oct. 14)

25. “Sign of the Times” by Music Lab Collective (same day, directly after the prior, through the next scene.)

26. “Stillness (Reworked)” by Poppy Ackroyd (Oct. 15)

27. “Running Up That Hill” by Unsecret String Quartet (Oct. 16-Oct. 18)

28. “Under Grey Skies” by Kamelot (Oct. 19, when you see Bill)

29. “Don’t Speak” by Hidden Citizens and Tim Halperin (same date, next scene)

30. “Hallelujah” by Music Lab Collective (Oct. 20—through both songs, on repeat, really.)

31. “Nevertheless, She Persisted” by Audiomachine (Oct. 21)

32. “Can’t Help Falling In Love” by Built By Titan and Skybourne (Same day, 9:12 p.m.)

33. “Hallelujah” again. (Oct. 22)

34. “Fables” by Secession Studios (Oct. 24)

35. “Take A Chance on Me” by Music Lab Collective (same day, at scene break)

36. “The Wisp Sings” by Winter Aid, then “Split” by WYS (Oct. 25)

37. “Boreas” by The Oh Hellos (Oct. 26)

38. “Oh, What A Life” by American Authors (Oct. 26, 11:37 p.m.)

39. “North” by Sleeping at Last (Oct. 28)

40. “Castle” by Halsey (Oct. 29)

41. “Minesweeper” by Audiomachine (same day, at the scene break)

42. “Nazca” by Mark Petrie (Same day, when you hear Vane).

43. “Chiquitita-Instrumental” by Chillout Lounge OR “Chiquitita Ending-Piano Version” by your movie soundtrack (Same day, you’ll know/when you hear the music, of course).

44. “Down By The Lake” by Trent Ivor (Same scene, directly after; [spoiler/confirmation, though it’s pretty obvious, likely] Yes, this is who you think it is—and yes, this is a plot aside hidden inside the playlist for those who look here.)

45. “Bad to the Bone” by 2Wei and Bri Bryant (Oct. 30; —you’ll probably know, but when Hermione takes the podium)

46. “Uptown Girl” by Billy Joel (Same day, you’ll know).

47. “Runaway – Piano Version” by your movie soundtrack (Nov. 4 – first part of Nov. 5).

48. “Atlas” by Secession Studios (Nov. 5, at the interruption).

49. “Minesweeper” by Audiomachine again (Same day, right after the previous/when you see George’s full name)

50. “Luminosa” by Secession Studios (Same scene, when you see “George felt eleven years old.”)

51. “This Is Our Legacy” by Zack Hemsey (Same day, 5:00 p.m. at the scene break)

52. “Kneel Before the Crown” by Audiomachine (same scene, at “willow”).

53. “Don’t Speak” by Hidden Citizens and Tim Halperin (same scene, right after the previous).

54. “Dynasty” by MIIA (Same day, 10:00 p.m.)

55. “Colder Heavens” by Blanco White (Nov. 6)

56. “Hold On” by Chord Overstreet (Same scene, while listening to the conversation with Mr. Weasley)

57. “Dynasty” again (same scene, after the previous, until the end).

[sigmashuffle]

I posted 590 times in 2022

That's 590 more posts than 2021!

38 posts created (6%)

552 posts reblogged (94%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@2offayyo-kzt

@gracetoldmeto

@walking-meme

@babygirlchuuya

@kyouka-supremacy

I tagged 571 of my posts in 2022

Only 3% of my posts had no tags

#sigma - 166 posts

#chuuya nakahara - 159 posts

#osamu dazai - 97 posts

#bsd - 64 posts

#bungo stray dogs - 55 posts

#nikolai gogol - 50 posts

#bsd sigma - 27 posts

#bsd spoilers - 25 posts

#fyodor dostoevsky - 25 posts

#ryunosuke akutagawa - 22 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#edit: yalls response to this post is one of the best things to ever happen to me tysm 😊 im new to the fandom so this makes me so happy!!!

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Sometimes I think about how its possible that Sigma was indeed NOT born from the book and he had a life up until 3 years ago that he simply doesn't remember.

The book could've just erased his memory.

22 notes - Posted June 11, 2022

#4

When You’re Dealt a Bad Hand

~A BSD 101 Fix It AU~ Happy "Birthday" Sigma

Read on ao3

WC: 2.4k

Summary (mentioned in this post):

“You knew he would need to die.”

Dazai paused mid-step and looked at him blankly before exploding into laughter.

Sigma was dumbfounded in horror.

Once the laughs subsided and Dazai caught his breath, overdramatically wiping a tear from his eye, he looked back to the console with a mischievous smirk. “Who said he was going to die?”

Sigma immediately removed his eyes from the floor and returned his gaze to Dazai’s, trying desperately to read his intentions.

“Of course, however,” Dazai paused, “little Chibi is not-so-pleasantly unaware of that at the current moment.”

or

How Chuuya survives the events of Chapter 101...and meets a brand new face with an odd haircut.

A/N: A BSD 101 Fix It AU - Happy "Birthday" to Sigma. If anything goes against canon, well… ignore it. This is my first fic in this fandom. And because it's my fic I threw some subtle Chuusig into the mix bc the potential in their dynamic is an untapped goldmine. Enjoy Chuuya still being alive! &lt;3

See the full post

24 notes - Posted May 4, 2022

#3

Still really proud of this joke from Chuuya's first convo with Sigma hehe

Read the whole fic here

26 notes - Posted June 13, 2022

#2

This is a plea to the dear lord (Studio Bones) to give us the child (Sigma's character design)

42 notes - Posted November 28, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Nov 30th, 2022 - the day Sigma was first animated

325 notes - Posted November 30, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[taylorrama]

The Locked Tomb + mewithoutYou pt. 13/17

To which shepherd’s field Did which angels descend? And what’s this about eternal non-existence at the end?

Song: Bethlehem, WV Album: [untitled] e.p.

For their final studio album release, mewithoutYou put out an EP called [untitled] and an LP called [Untitled]. Even though they're technically different albums, they're considered to be the same release. This last stretch of mwY and TLT posts will cover the EP first, then the LP.

Overall, the EP hits me as the soundscape for None the Ninth, even if a lot of the lyrics don't clearly connect. Much of the EP has a dry, spacious sound, and as I've mentioned in other posts, I imagine the planet in which Nona the Ninth takes place to be a desolate city in an otherwise dry, desertified climate. Everything is in fragments, but we don't understand how we got here, and some parts of the world are downright absurd and silly. Both of the Untitled albums have this same vibe with some songs being downright incomprehensible to me (and therefore I won't be posting about them lol).

But there are some songs I do understand enough to write about and "Bethlehem, WV" is one of them. Immediately, we have an allusion in the song title. This is a real town in West Virginia and a surprising reference because, in the U.S., you'd expect to make this allusion to Bethlehem, PA, which leans into the nativity story for tourism.

Indeed, the song starts by invoking and upturning the nativity story.

To which shepherd’s field Did which angels descend? And what’s this about eternal non-existence at the end?

In the Bible, and in typical ways that this story is taught, we're told with certainty that shepherds were in the fields and angels of God came to tell them that Jesus had been born. But this song changes these certainties into questions. Now, stories of faith that we once confidently knew don't seem so solid anymore. This disorientation is where we are for much of Nona the Ninth. We're coming from a total fragmenting in Harrow the Ninth into this place that doesn't make a lot of sense. We've learned that God is just some guy and the truth of the Lyctorhood process (eternal non-existence at the end). The way we understand the universe of these books (if we understand it at all) is thrown into question.

Your carcass on the ground Brought vultures to their eyes My frontal lobe is shutting down I bet you hear it all the time

This hurts me in my Harrow feelings. Our poor, sad girl giving herself a lobotomy because she can't deal with Gideon's death or the consequence of having to consume her soul to complete the Lyctor process. She's fractured even further in Nona the Ninth given that she's not even in her own body anymore.

To which shepherd’s field did which angels descend? Or is blessedness revealed to those of us who best pretend? Some counterfeit ideas form ideas all their own I watched them spread for years to my unsuspecting bones

With these lines, the connection I find is more general–this idea of pretending and performing in certain ways to achieve blessedness, whether that be Cam, Pal, and Pyrrha pretending at being a wholesome family; John and the Lyctors performing divinity. "Counterfeit ideas" can easily fit with the whole John backstory we get in Nona the Ninth–God in this universe really is just some guy with some weird powers and he and his friends had to craft a whole narrative around it to make the universe run in this new way. "Unsuspecting bones" is just a nice touch that becomes so literal in a TLT context.

And the nights my heart was tired you sang your saccharine song But when your mouth was quiet was the sweetest sound of all "Soon our ransomed souls will leave this age behind For streets of solid gold", I hear it all the time

I get a bit of Harrow's attitude in the first two lines here, especially calling back to the vow of silence she made Gideon take at Canaan House. The second half invokes a typical religious idea of sure salvation that, to the narrator, is now exhausting to hear. It's a position you can reach after having enough happen in your life to question the ideas you always had about God, and we see that journey throughout the book series.

On a West Virginia road On a West Virginia road On a West Virginia road I did just as I was told

The song ends with this implication that the narrator saw/experienced something in West Virginia that gave him instructions. We don't know what the instructions are, but the general idea of having a spiritual experience and following what it tells you to do in context of these upturning doubts about the religious narratives you're used to is really interesting. I think we can see this in the Lyctors, knowing what they know about how they had to come into their power. There's doubt and grief there, but they did what they were told anyway because they were already too far gone by then.

---

TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 1; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 2; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 3; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 4; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 5; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 6; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 7; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 8; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 9; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 10; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 11; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 12

[lyricposting]

hiiiii we shall all be healed or bleed out for the album asks???

WE SHALL ALL BE HEALED! (i am not an expert on this one bc. well. you'll see)

best song: palmcorder yanja. i mean come on, it deserves every bit of the hype. it's not my favorite but it goes hard, and it hits on almost everything the album wants to say favorite song: oh man. it was cotton for a long time, but now i think it's against pollution, ESPECIALLY live, literally the jls recording changed me as a person. honorable mention to your belgian things also because that shit hurted least favorite: linda blair was born innocent... i see so many ppl raving about it but i think i just don't get it. maybe i am missing something. or need more mental illness most overrated: the young thousands, i think. it's a good song! but palmcorder yanja and letter from belgium give the same energy but better imho. most underrated: home again garden grove!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! that's one of those songs i have and will again listen to like 30x in a row screaming down the highway the banger of all bangers: also home again garden grove........... >:) rate from 0-10: 6 for the studio recordings. honestly i would have ranked it lower until i heard some of the songs live and it turns out i just vastly prefer the energy of nearly every single song live, if we count that it gets a 7.5

BLEED OUT!

best song: BLEED OUT BABY. TITLE TRACK. PERFECTION favorite song: MARK ON YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!! THE INSTRUMENTALS ON THIS ARE ABSOLUTELY MY FAVORITE AND IT'S ALKSJDHF;ASG;SAJ YEAH least favorite: first blood. don't really have a reason, it's just skippable to me most overrated: i don't think this album has any overrated tracks...? maybe it just needs more time to percolate, or maybe i need to look at more goats posts lol most underrated: this one was also kind of hard ummm i feel like i haven't seen a lot of people talking about bones don't rust, that one is really good even though it's not a banger the banger of all bangers: training montage!!!!! rate from 0-10: 8 :) it's really good, it's a goats album! not my favorite of their newer albums but it has some great songs and memories :))))

[dragonwysper]

1. Are you named after anyone?

Yes! My mom gave me my deadname based on an old friend she had (both were J names). My second/current name, Cole, I'm pretty sure came to me because I watched Ninjago. So there's that lmao.

2. When was the last time you cried?

Friday. For a friend who was struggling.

3. Do you have kids?

No, nor do I ever want any. If I change my mind, I'm adopting.

4. Do you use sarcasm?

Sometimes, and usually only for very obvious lighthearted jokes. My autism makes it hard to determine tone sometimes, and makes me just about incapable of lying, so I don't like to come off as mean or hard to read.

5. What's the first thing you notice about people?

Ngl probably hair if I'm being honest. My hair is a big thing for me (gives me euphoria if it looks good and dyphoria if it looks bad), and also is a big part of how attractive I think someone is. Secondarily though? How conservative they look. Gotta make sure it's safe to be my authentic homosexual self around them lmao.

6. What's your eye color?

Grey-blue

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

Both! I'm a real sucker for a good trauma recovery story, but stuff that's all horror or all wholesome is great too!

8. Any special talent?

Well, I can draw, I'm decent at finding stuff online, I'm great at IDing North American snakes, I'm learning how to ID various Acari families and orders, and I make some deliciously juicy, fluffy, microwaved scrambled eggs.

9. Where were you born?

Same little Missouri town I still live in. I think I was born at a St. Luke's hospital? Don't quite remember though skhddjjd.

10. What are your hobbies?

Drawing, sleeping, reading sad fanfiction, looking for mites, hiking through the creek, and watching horror movies.

11. Any pets?

Yes! I have an Egyptian egg eating snake (Dasypeltis bazi) named Mildred! I've begged my parents for a snake since I was five, and they finally let me, under the condition it didn't eat rodents. So! Egg eater! I also have a little Trombidium mite in a mini terrarium, though I'm not sure if he counts. Bro needs a name though fr fr.

12. What sports do you play/have you played?

I played flag football for a while when I was in kindergarten. The coach was really misogynistic and encouraged the other boys to make fun of me for being a girl. Joke's on them, I grew up to be a real manly man who can't throw a football for shit 😎. I hate sports though, fr. No shame to those who enjoy them, of course. Just ain't my thing.

13. How tall are you?

Measured my height a couple weeks back for a CSI project. I think I was about ~160cm?? Idk. Somewhere around there.

14. Favorite subjects in school?

Out of my current classes, animation's definitely the best! I do enjoy CSI a lot too, and last year's trigonometry was just about the most fun I've ever had in a math class.

15. Dream job?

No clue. I wanted to be a herpetologist for a while when I was younger, but then I got older and realized herpetologists get to pick between working at a zoo, milking venomous snakes, or breeding ball pythons. I like the idea of being an acarologist and studying undescribed species of mites, but acarologists in reality just get to learn how best to kill the parasitic and crop-devouring ones. Osteology would be cool, but I'm not super sure how good the outlook for that is. Animating might be fun, but a lot of studios like to work animators to the bone on the most grueling shit. Plus the whole AI situation doesn't look great. I really don't know what I want to do.

Tags (sorry if y'all don't like being pinged! Feel free to ignore!):

@vannyxan @vexingvertebrae @baneswood-sins @funkyness @hordraomin @images-that-are-only-cursed @jackquell @johnnystruant @marisatomay @wintercoffin @wolframbites @lankyledlights @thestargazerx @u-got-lynks @bbonsai3321

15 tags 15 mutuals

*tips hat* @athemarina

1. Are you named after anyone?: No but there is this thing on my father's side of my family where give a name starting with the letter A to their child.

2. When was the last time you cried?: About a month ago.

3. Do you have kids?: Noh

4. Do you use sarcasm?: Why would I ever?

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people?: The way they talk and I try to notice hand gestures a lot.

6. What’s your eye colour?: Dark brown

7. Scary movies or happy endings?: Either one or both

8. Any special talents?: Eh....I can do this thing with my arms, it's a bit hard to explain but one friend called it a 'bone breaker' and my other friend told me I was temporarily popping it out of it's socket.

9. Where were you born?: Earth. I assure you that I am not an alien.

10. What are your hobbies?: Writing, drawing, reading, day dreaming, plotting ways to rebel against my school.

11. Have you any pets?: Fishes.

12. What sports do you play/have played?: Speed skating, swimming

13. How tall are you?: 5'4'' (yes I am very short)

14. Favourite subject in school?: Art (I am a computer science student)

15. Dream job?: Honestly I am trying to survive through school. My dream job was crushed in 8th grade.

Tagging: @late-to-the-fandom @master-of-the-pigeon-religion @on-noon @caligraphyzev @calloumii @idreamofhamandcheese @rxd-bxttrflxss @isabellebissonrouthier @midnight-and-his-melodiverse@subuthetitan @i-eat-books-and-nutella @timetravellingkitty @avocado-frog @usernamewastaken @aohendo

[kuma829]

Wedding Speech＊Strumming Bride Light Translation Chapter Seven

Cast: Kaoru, Nagisa, Yuuta, Koga, Adonis

Author(s): Yuumasu and Akira

Season: Summer

Proofread by: Gelyan

Hey, no, you don’t have to do that ♪ If you’re fascinated, then come on, touch it.

Koga: …

Kaoru: …Is it a bad idea?

Koga: … You’re not goin ta do this half heartedly, are you? No, “ah~ I can’t go on anymoooree, I’ve gotta quit.”

Kaoru: Of course. It’s my own idea, so I can’t just give up on it.

Koga: Yer “idea” so that’s why you won’t give up, huh~?

Kaoru: I mean… Correction. I won’t abandon it, period.

Koga: Hmph, ya should’ve said that from the start. Alright, the almighty Oogami Koga will teach ya in person!

Get yer ass ready, I’m going to work you to the bone… ☆

<A few days later>

Kaoru: …~♪

(...Aaa~hh… Seems like I’ve made a mistake in the same place again)

(Let’s try this part again, until my fingers pick this up completely)

…~♪  …~♪  …~♪

(Seems fine? Right, let's do the next four bars now)

…~♪  …~♪  …~♪~…~♪   …~♪

Yuuta: I’m back~ Hey, Hakaze-senpai

You’ve been working hard today, huh? Me too~ Continue working hard on your practice, okay ♪

Kaoru: Yuuta-kun, good job on your hard work as well~

Sorry for always playing my guitar in the dorm everyday. I should be practising in the studio, but I can’t seem to get a reservation to play at this time.

Idols use after work time to practice on their own, huh?

Yuuta: It’s fun to see my senpai get better bit by bit… ☆

Kaoru: Aha, you’re just like a teacher.

In fact, you are a teacher. You’re pretty attentive to the parts I mess up on.

Sorry to do this right after you get home, but do you mind showing me how to play this part?

I can play it with perfect accuracy, but for some reason whenever I practise my fingers get all tangled up in the chords, you see?

Yuuta: Sounds good! Give me a sec to put my bag away, and I’ll be right there, okay?

Kaoru: Mhm! Take all the time you need, okay? Yuuta-senpai ♪

Ah, Ran-kun, welcome home~

Nagisa: Ah, hello. Have you finished practising with the guitar?

Kaoru: Nah, not yet. I’m waiting for Yuuta-kun. I’m asking him for a demonstration on how to play this one part I just can’t seem to get…

Nagisa: … Ah, that’s good. I’m happy you’re not done yet, because recently it seems my favourite activities consist of listening to Kaoru-kun play the guitar.

Kaoru: Even though I suck?

Nagisa: … But you still grow ever so little, day by day

… Stars are born from floating as gas in outer space for thousands of years, so seeing that gas become a “star” is quite interesting.

Kaoru: Haha, you said something similar to Yuuta-kun~

I don’t think it’s bad to be compared to a star, not at all, but I don’t wanna spend thousands of years practising, y’kno? I’d become a fossil~

Yuuta: Sorry for making you wait. Lend me the guitar and sheet music?

Hm… The chord switching is a bit strange here.

The trick to it is to be conscious of the common strings in the previous and following lines—

… ~♪ See, easy right?

Kaoru: So you don’t have to memorise every chord, just let your fingers carry themselves? I see. I’m learning quite a lot.

Nagisa: The movement of the fingers is interesting.

Yuuta: Playing the guitar is fun, do you wanna play with it too, Ran-senpai?

Nagisa: I’ll have to refuse. It would interfere with Kaoru-kun’s practice.

Kaoru: Hey, no, you don’t have to do that ♪ If you’re fascinated, then come on, touch it.

Yuuta: Yeah, please go ahead.

Nagisa: Thank you. I’ll just borrow it for a little.

Kaoru: You’re playing for the first time, yeah? I’ll grab you some sheet music as practice.

Nagisa: … I have something in mind, so it’s fine, you can leave it.

… ♪~♪

Kaoru + Yuuta: Woah~♪ (Applause)

Kaoru: You’re like a role model, Ran-kun~ Wow, Ran-kun seriously can do anything, isn’t that amazing?

Nagisa: I owe it to Kaoru-kun. By seeing the two of you perform together, it gave me a point of reference.

Yuuta: No way~! It’s too perfect of a performance to be from just watching the two of us!

I’ll keep practising too, so then all three of us could have a session sometime!

“Your excellency, when did you learn to play a guitar!” I’m sure Vice President’s going to be completely speechless ♪!

Nagisa: Fufu, that imitation was spot on.

Yuuta: Really!? This is the beeest! I got Ran-senpai’s seal of approval ☆

Kaoru: (A session together, huh? I wonder how long it’ll take me to reach that far~)

(As an ordinary person, I suppose I’ll have to go at an ordinary pace)

<Next Day>

Kaoru: Good Morning~ eh? Koga-kun’s not here yet.

It’s still pretty early in the morning, and he was working late last night, so he’s probably sleeping soundly now.

(I’ll just start practising with what Yuuta-kun taught me yesterday)

(Just be aware of the common chords—)

…~♪

 (Woah~ I did in my first try. It doesn’t feel like all those times I stumbled and failed were real)

It feels good to plaaay, ♪~♪~♪

Adonis: Excuse me, Hakaze-senpai. Are you all alone today?

Kaoru: Eh? Nah, don’t worry. Koga-kun will be here in a bit.

Adonis: I see. That’s good. I brought you both some food.

Kaoru: Ah, a morning only hamburger. Oh that one’s a pancake combo, isn’t it?

Both look delicious, but what about the calories, huh~?

Adonis: Just eat. We’ll be here until evening time, won’t we?

Kaoru: That’s true. Well they do say to start the day with a big breakfast, so I guess dinner will just have to be light then.

Thanks for the food, Adonis-kun

Adonis: Hm. I said I wanted to lend my aid, but it’s frustrating that I can only do this much to help.

I wish I could play the guitar like Oogami…

Kaoru: Don't get all mopey, Adonis-kun. You’ve always been a great help.

… Come to think of it, I haven’t ever thanked you properly, Adonis-kun?

Since it’s just the two of us here, I’ll just say it now.

Adonis: A thanks?

Kaoru: Mhm. I heard from Rei-kun that you noticed I was acting off, and that you asked him for advice on what to do about my strange behaviour, isn’t that right~?

Thinking back on it, you’ve been looking after me since the moment you saw me in the cafeteria, haven’t you? I was so absorbed in my own problems that I completely ignored you.

Even though I’m older than you, I caused you all that unnecessary anxiety… I’m sorry.

Adonis: No, it’s only natural to worry about your friends.

Everyone has their own problems, some they don’t wish to share even with their closest of friends.

Because I love you, as your friend, I didn’t wish to push your boundaries too far, or else it wouldn’t be any better than a betrayal.

So that’s why I suddenly became a bit intrusive. I wanted to hear why you were troubled, but I couldn’t bring myself to step too far beyond your comfort zone. But, then I just ended up making a detour around town dragging Hakaze-senpai around with us, which only confused you…

Kaoru: When you guys were taking me on a trip? I didn’t know why you guys were doing it, but now that I do~ Well, it’s a fond memory now.

It’s rare for all four of us to spend time together like that, yeah?

Adonis: Ah, so it was fun? … Yeah, it was nice to hear about the wedding ceremony from Hakaze-senpai too.

Thank you for sharing your worries with us, Hakaze-senpai.

Kaoru: Hm? I think rather, I should say thanks to you

With your kindness, you’re always helping me. Thank you, Adonis-kun.

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[stetervault]

I was just wondering if you had any historical/Victorian AUs for steter? I heard Past the Point of No Return from Phantom and now I desperately want a Phantom style fic but I’ll settle for anything historical. It was an amazing thought. All the Steter I’ve been reading has spoiled me. Also love your blog!!!

Historical AUUUUUUUU coming right up. I'm assuming you don't just want Victorian period or regency-type eras (there's so few of these anyway) so I'll just list ones that take place several decades to several centuries ago. And a few of them aren't just Steter but I'll mark the poly ones. I like them all so you can give them a look and see if any of them strike your fancy.

Out Of The East, Never See The Sun Rise by neglectedtuesday (this one just speedruns through history, from Ancient Greece to modern day)

In the beginning, there are three absolutes.

One. Stiles is a god, forged of starlight and collapsing galaxies and he is eternal.

Two. Peter is human, fragile bone and viscous blood and he is temporary.

Three. Stiles and Peter are in love; love that claws its way inside one’s heart like fish hooks; all encompassing love that is beautiful but dangerous.

Stiles is a god. Peter is human. They love each other.

Three absolutes.

-0-

Orbital Distance by neglectedtuesday (1940s, but SPACE)

Artemis, the capital city of the Moon, where movies are born and stars are made. The crown jewel of American cinema and simultaneously Hollywood’s biggest rival. The money may be dollars, it may be counted as the 51st state but the studios run this city, making cinema and waging war. No real bloodshed but equally cutthroat in its own way. Peter has devoured article after article about the industry, from in-depth journalism to gossip rags, desperate for every detail, every scandal, every glorious moon moment.

-0-

Hooverville by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids) (Great Depression - 1930s)

Town to town, train to train, tent to tent.

By 1932, the dust had begun to blow and the jobs were gone.

Anonymity was a byproduct of looking for work, which made it both necessary and convenient.

Stiles had enough secrets of his own to know to look the other way when he saw something that shouldn’t be possible.

The ghost of a tail giving enough balance to disembark a moving train.

Near silent Latin whispered on the edge of a tent encampment.

A flash of burning eyes.

He had more than enough to worry about without adding the oddities of others, and besides- having unusually sharp teeth certainly didn’t make a man worse than the ones running from the wife and kids they couldn’t feed.

So Stiles kept his observations to himself. He kept his everything to himself.

Until he met a man. One with eyes so blue they seemed to glow- and then they did.

Stiles tried to look away, but for the first time he was stopped.

“Don’t be like that sweetheart. Aren’t you curious?”

-0-

Steam Rises from the Body by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids) (Korean War - 1950s)

Peter and Stiles are surgeons in a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital near the front line of the Korean War.

-0-

A welcome arrow by 1001cranes (Regency Era)

The wedding is small and grim, because Stiles is being carted off to parts unknown, married to a thirty-something year old dude who wants to marry a seventeen year old dude - totally not creepy at all.

-0-

A Matter of Chance by 1001cranes (Regency Era)

"I’m going to offer for the Stilinski boy," Peter announces at breakfast one morning.

Greenberg drops the entire pot of hot chocolate.

-0-

my very soul demands you by veterization (Victorian Era - 1800s)

Orphan Stiles Stilinski seeks work at Hale House, an enormous, foreboding mansion in Beacon Hills run by Mr. Peter Hale, who employs him as a butler. Or: Stiles is Jane Eyre, and Peter is Mr. Rochester.

-0-

Royal A/B/O Au by charlottecjhlvr (Historical Royalty)

When his father's Kingdom and the Hale Kingdom make a treaty, Stiles is the one who has to make it work.

-0-

Temporary Claim by sunrise_and_death (Historical Royalty)

Some, of course, are off limits. Queen Talia and her husband have their special favorites who join their marriage bed from time to time. Laura has several young strapping men that are hers and hers alone. Even Derek has a few favorites—the quiet ones, the sweet ones.

Peter? The Duke only has one.

-0-

Send Newts by Bunnywest (Regency Era)

The first thing Peter notices is that Talia’s smiling, and that in itself makes him suspicious. When he sees that Laura’s smiling too, his distrust intensifies. “What?” he demands? “What is it?” Talia’s smile widens as she serves him a cup of tea, made just how he likes it. “Just wondering if your new husband knows you’re such a curmudgeon in the mornings,” she says sweetly. Peter’s cup clatters against the table and the tea spreads in a puddle, ignored. “My what?” “New husband,” Laura chimes in, and then she’s wrapping her arms around Peter’s neck, and saying, “Thank you, Uncle Peter,” and hugging him tight, and the memory of last night tugs at him again. What happened again, exactly?

-0-

Sacrificial Lamb by Bunnywest (Generically Historical idek)

The Alpha has a scruffy beard, unkempt hair and dazzling blue eyes. The scar on his face is raised, running down his cheek like a twisting, gnarled rope. Stiles knows that it came from the blade of Kate Argent herself, and that the Alpha got it fighting in the battle where Kate killed his lover, cutting his head clean from his neck, if the stories are to be believed.

The Alpha lets Stiles look his fill, before indicating that Stiles should take the other couch, and Stiles does so, his father’s words echoing in his ears. He can do this, can be pleasant and amenable. The lives of his people may depend on it. The Alpha spends long moments surveying him, before saying, “I like you, Stiles.”

You don’t know me, Stiles wants to blurt out, but he bites his tongue.

-0-

Like An Arrow by wynnebat (also Generically Historical)

After the war, Stiles means to return to the countryside and never see an alpha again if he doesn't have to. But when his freedoms as an omega are in peril, along comes his former commanding officer with a proposal better than any Stiles has heard, except that it doesn't include words of love.

Stiles hardly trusts himself not to reveal his feelings to a man who doesn't feel the same way. After all, if Peter were interested, surely he would have made his move years ago...

-0-

Wild Creatures by neglectedtuesday (Regency-ish?)

The treaty is signed while Stiles is being laced into his wedding corset. Ink splatters parchment as a maid pulls the ribbons, tighter and tighter. Stiles’ breath and future are taken away, all to save a village. He is a sacrifice more than a bride. The maid assists in fixing a choker around Stiles throat. Her hands are cold despite the roaring fire in the grate. The choker is a string of blood red rubies, they reflect the firelight with a wet shine like an open wound.

-0-

Two Worlds Collided by Bittah_Wizard (another history speedrun)

It was always meant to be Stiles and Peter.

Always.

-0-

Viking Wolves do it Better by MaroonDragon (Viking Age)

Stiles is the omega witch in the village he was born in. A gift that had been passed to him from his mother. A curse that left him an outcast amongst the people he helped heal. Until one day he no longer is. Kidnapped by the Viking Wolves of the North, he suddenly finds himself a human amongst wolves. There is one wolf in particular who is intent to woo him into staying. Stiles is really only indulging Peter until he can make his escape. There is nothing remotely interesting about the other man. Not a single thing.

-0-

Utterly Appropriate by wynnebat (Regency Era)

There's only one person whom Stiles would marry, and whoever has asked for her hand isn't on that list.

-0-

Bittersweet Creek by Guede (Wild West Era - late 1800s-early 1900s)

When Stiles finally steps off the westward trail to California, he’s the last of his pack. He starts building a den, but then he finds a dying man next to a burnt-down house and it turns out he’s not really much of a settler, after all.

-0-

Intemperance by Guede (Prohibition Era - 1920s-1930s || Peter/Stiles/Chris/Derek)

Stiles is the one who gets pulled back to Beacon Hills by a murder.

-0-

Wolf Ranch by Guede (Wild West Era - late 1800s-early 1900s || Peter/Stiles/Lydia/Chris/Derek)

At first glance, Beacon Hills seems like a terrible place to settle. Ruled by alpha werewolves and surrounded by a haunted forest filled with outlaws, it’s not very friendly to Eastern greenhorns. So Stiles and Lydia should fit right in.

-0-

Moonshine by Udunie (Prohibition Era - 1920s-1930s)

Deucalion was sitting in the corner that was reserved for special guests, with his henchmen - a pair of twins - guarding the table. He was just putting his stetson down, eyes catching Peter and widening just a fraction when he noticed Stiles. He was a good guy though, and quickly got his pokerface back in place. Nobody came to the Moonshine and insulted Peter.

“Deucalion, nice to see you,” he greeted, not acknowledging the goons who were giving Stiles the side eye. He knew they probably wanted a piece of his kitten, but thankfully were not foolish enough to try.

[missjoolee]

📓📓pleeeeaaase

OMG HI HI HI YOU! My mutual, my guy(gender neutral), my pal :D

You send me two books, you get two three fics with the same au. two Juke and one willex. These came from when I had a mini crisis about first words soulmate aus and how some kid born in the 80s probably has WAZZUP! on their hipbone because there isn't any possible way at least one person didn't have that. but then a lovely(deranged) spiral happened with @preoccupied-educator and these came about.

JUKE- canon adjacent

Julie's soulmate first words are something along the lines of "that's so rad" and it doesn't mean much to her as a kid because she had her parent's explain what it means and is pretty happy that her soulmate will find whatever she's doing super cool. It's when she has a slumber party with flynn and carrie that leaves her scared that her soulmate will be super old because "nobody has used 'rad' since the 90s" (thanks a lot carrie, 🙄)

When she goes into the studio for the first time after her mom dies, she listens to SC's demo and Now or Never inspires her to sit at her mom's piano where she finds Wake Up and she musters the courage to play it. Her singing is what summons the guys and after they get through the screaming exchange, Luke, not having a chill bone in his body when it comes to music, lets her know "that was so rad!"

and Julie, shocked at hearing her words, goes zero brain to mouth filter "oh thank god you're cute and not old". which finally gives context to luke's words and it has alex and reggie in giggle fits as luke stares at her in wonder and awe.

When things calm down, she still has a mini panic attack because wait her soulmate is old? No, he’s actually 17…he’s just been 17 for 25 years, does that make him old?

JUKE - canon adjacent but kinda sad?

Julies words are "my name is luke". Growing up friends with Carrie, she has met the dorky Trevor Wilson, so one day she looks through her parent's Trevor Wilson CDs and as she plays them in her room, lying on her bed looking through the jewel cases her eyes catch on the tracklist for one he put out in 2000.

7. My Name is Luke

She immediately switches the CDs and plays track 7. And she absolutely falls in love. It becomes her favorite song, connecting with the emotions of the lyrics.

in 2020, three ghosts fall into her mom's studio and after the initial shock, the one in the rush shirt introduces himself and her heart flutters as she hears her words. She is realistic though. lots of Luke's could introduce themselves to her so that doesn't mean this one is her soulmate. Luke hears his words but he assumes that since he is dead, they don't matter anymore so he doesn't react.

But as the weeks go by and he helps her find music again, she can tell things are different with him. And then it comes out that Trevor Wilson stole Sunset Curve songs. Stole Luke's songs. And it hits her that the song that she loves so dearly, the song that has become inseparable to her from her words, was written by this boy who has saved her in more ways than one and lafkjl;flkjafgh; Julie's filled with rage that it was stolen. It's basically "luke introduced you to rock" but like 2.0

Willex - primary school au

Alex's words are a source of anxiety for him ever since he was old enough to understand them. "That's not how you dab." Destined. FATE has sentenced him to disappoint his soulmate from the moment they meet. So when, in third grade, dabbing takes the school by storm Alex is determined to learn before he can meet his soulmate.

One day at recess, he sees a kid across the blacktop dabbing and he tries to mimic it to learn. After 2 weeks of watching and trying, alex is approached where he's practicing.

"That's not how you dab." is said with a good natured chuckle.

Alex is so nervous he doesn't reply but his lack of response doesn't offput the boy that he'd been watching from afar. Willie shows him how to dab again and all Alex can do is copy him again. finally with Willie's tutelage, he learns and then kind of runs away because he just met his soulmate! his soulmate was so nice! and then it takes him a week of building up courage to approach willie and say "thanks for showing me how to dab." and those end up being Willie's words and all along he was trying to find his soulmate by dabbing at recess. He turns and shouts across the blacktop

"I TOLD YOU IT'D WORK, AARON!"

(send me a book emoji and I’ll share the plot of a fic i’ll probably never get around to writing. No time frame on this. I will answer any that show up in my inbox so long as i still have ideas!)

[massivedrickhead]

Bechloe Week 2021 - Day 4

July 29th: Near death experience

Read on AO3

“Beca, I’m not done talking about this,” Chloe huffed, following Beca out of their bedroom and down the stairs. One hand was held against her heavily pregnant stomach, while the other was gripping the bannister as she struggled to keep pace with her much quicker wife.

“I’m gonna be late for work, Chlo’,” was Beca’s response as she grabbed her jacket from the hook in the hall.

“It’s Saturday,” Chloe said, finally making it down in one piece. “You’re not supposed to work on Saturdays anymore. You promised.”

“I know,” Beca said as she began searching for her keys. “But the studio needs me to come in,” she lowered her voice a fraction, “and we need the money.”

Chloe sighed. “I need you here more than we need the money,” she said. “We have savings, and I’ll be going back to work once my maternity leave is up. And if things get really desperate, we could always ask-.”

“No,” Beca said, cutting her off.

“Beca.”

“We are not asking your parents for money. They already have a low enough opinion of me, we aren’t going to make it worse by letting them know I can’t even provide for my family,” Beca said, dropping her bag on an armchair when she realised her keys weren’t in there. “And our savings are for our kids’ futures, not for right now.”

She walked through the living room, where her six-year-old daughter was watching cartoons, and into the kitchen.

“Blake, have you seen mommy’s keys?” Beca asked as she walked.

“No.”

Chloe followed Beca into the kitchen.

“So I have to suffer because you want to save face in front of my parents?” She said, trying to keep her voice low so Blake wouldn’t hear.

“Oh, I didn’t realise you were suffering,” Beca replied. Chloe spotted Beca’s keys on the bench and picked them up. “Can I have my keys please?”

“Beca I can’t keep doing this on my own. I need your help,” Chloe said, her hand resting on her stomach again.

“This is me helping,” Beca said. “Going to work and putting money in our account is how I help.”

Chloe had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping.

She didn’t know how many more times she needed to tell Beca that providing for the family wasn’t all on her shoulders.

“Beca. Please. I know you think it’s all on you because the latest single didn’t sell as well as you’d hoped-”

“- it bombed, but thanks for bringing it up-”

“-but we’re a team,” Chloe said, as if there’d been no interruption. “That means we share the load. And it also means you can’t run off to work every Saturday and leave your very pregnant wife looking after a six-year-old.”

Beca sighed as guilt prickled the back of her neck. “I’m gonna be late,” she said, holding out her hands for her keys.

Chloe dropped the keys into her hand before pushing past her in order to start making breakfast.

“I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

“Fine,” Chloe said, keeping her back to her as dropped bread into the toaster. “Don’t wake me if you’re home too late.”

“Okay,” Beca said, before she turned and left.

Chloe swallowed the lump in her throat as she heard Beca say goodbye to their daughter before she left the house.

Beca was running very late by the time she made it out to her car.

Guilt, worry, and frustration were all fighting each other inside to see which could make her feel worse.

Couldn’t Chloe see that she didn’t want to have to go into the studio on a Saturday?

She would much rather spend her weekend with her wife and daughter than deal with the aftermath of the dud she’d just released.

A chunk of the money she’d made from the first album was in a trust fund for their kids, enough to cover college (if they wanted to go) or to help set them up in their first home.

Some of it was in a bank account for a break-in-case-of-emergency situation.

But the rest… it had surprised Beca how quick it had gone down.

There was the wedding, the honeymoon, buying them this house, paying off the remainder of Chloe’s college debt, paying off her Mom’s debt, and then the cost of living in L.A… it all added up.

It didn’t help that after she’d given birth to Blake she took some time out of the spotlight and the income of money began to slow down.

After a gap of almost two years, Beca had been ready to start making music again but her first single off her new album just… fell flat.

Theo warned her she’d have to do a lot of work on the album to recover from that, and that meant a lot of late nights and weekends.

“Chloe, just a few more weeks and the album will be out and then things can go back to normal again.”

“No, Beca. A few more weeks and then you start promoting. A few weeks and you start touring. A few weeks and our baby will be born!”

A car cut her off as they were approaching the highway, and Beca had to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting it.

“Asshole!” She said, laying on the horn.

She saw the sticker in the back window, and had to laugh.

‘You’re right where you’re meant to be.’

Beca wondered if it was meant to be inspirational, or if it was meant to be a joke.

“Yeah, right where I’m meant to be,” she muttered. “Which is right behind you.”

They reached the traffic lights and the car ahead drove off while Beca was stuck at a red light.

Great.

If she’d left even one minute earlier-

She didn’t have time to finish her thought as a truck came barrelling out of nowhere and t-boned the car that had cut her off.

“Oh my god!”

Beca got out of the car and dialled 911 as she surveyed the carnage in front of her.

She could hear screaming and yelling as other people got out of their cars to look.

She could smell smoke and burnt rubber, and heard the long unbroken sound of a horn.

Some people ran forward to help, others were calling for help.

Others took videos. Holding their phones up to record the chaos.

Will they watch the footage later? Beca wondered. Or just sell it to a news station.

Beca requested an ambulance and had just told them the location as the car that had been hit burst into a fireball.

She could feel the heat from where she was standing.

That would have been me, she thought, her blood running cold with horror. A second earlier and it would have been me.

In her mind, she saw that sticker again.

You’re right where you’re meant to be.

She threw up. Last night’s dinner splattered the road.

Ambulances, fire trucks, police, they all showed up in the next ten minutes as Beca watched the nightmarish scene in front of her. She couldn’t take her eyes off it.

She would learn on the news that night that there were no survivors.

An officer came to ask her if she saw anything, and she told him what happened.

“Sounds like you got lucky,” he said, writing it down. He took her details in case they needed any more information, and told her to drive carefully on her way home because “you look a little pale ma’am.”

Beca got in her car, turned around, and drove straight home.

She didn’t even register the journey, and was parked in her drive and walking through the front door before she even realised she’d made it home.

“Bec? Is that you?”

Chloe was in the living room with Blake when Beca walked in, looking very pale with unshed tears in her eyes.

“Baby? Are you okay?”

Chloe stood up with difficulty and made her way over to Beca.

“Beca?”

Beca didn’t answer, she just wrapped her arms around Chloe as tightly as she could, and started crying.

She buried her face in Chloe’s neck and breathed her in as she tried to control her tears.

“Okay,” Chloe said, softly. “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry,” Beca choked out. “Please, never stop arguing with me.”

“What?”

“Never stop giving me a hard time about working too much. Please don’t give up on me, Chlo’.”

“Bec, honey, take a breath and tell me what happened,” Chloe said, ending their hug and resting her hands on Beca’s shoulders. Beca still looked scarily pale. “Sit down.”

She led Beca to the sofa and sat down beside her.

Blake, who had been watching with apprehension ran off to the bathroom before returning with what looked like half a roll of toilet paper.

“Here you go mommy,” she said, handing it to Beca.

Beca laughed and used it to wipe her eyes. “Thank you baby,” she said. She lifted Blake into her lap and kissed her cheek and hugged her so hard that Blake started to giggle.

“Mommy you’re gonna squish me!”

“Sorry,” Beca said, relaxing her grip, allowing Blake to slide off her lap and return to her toys.

“What happened?” Chloe prompted.

Beca sniffed and wiped her eyes again. “There was an accident,” she said. “It was bad, and… and I would have been in it. If I’d left here a minute earlier I would have been in it. I… I almost…” She swallowed, not wanting to voice it in front of Blake.

Chloe didn’t need her to say it, she understood.

“Oh my god,” she said, her voice catching. She swallowed hard and blinked back tears. “Okay,” she said, pulling Beca into a hug. “You’re okay.”

“I love you, Chloe. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Chloe said, squeezing her as hard as she could.

Their hug ended when Beca’s phone began ringing.

“It’s Theo,” she said, pulling the phone out of her pocket. She wiped her eyes. “Do I sound normal?”

“No, not even a little bit,” Chloe said. “Let me speak to him?”

Beca nodded and handed over the phone. She knew Theo was a little bit scared of Chloe, so would be much less likely to insist Beca come into work if she spoke to him.

“Hey Theo, it’s Chloe,” Chloe said. “Yeah, she won’t be making it in today.“

She took her free hand and started running it through Beca’s hair in a soothing motion, and she could almost feel the tension leaving Beca’s body. Sometimes she liked to tease Beca on how much she acted like a cat, but she wouldn’t do that today. Today she just needed to calm her down and make her feel safe and loved.

“No, she was almost in a car accident,” Chloe said, adjusting her position as best as she could so Beca could lean into her. Beca’s had came to rest on Chloe’s stomach, and she pressed a soft kiss against it. Their baby responded with a few kicks.

“Yeah, that’s the one. No, she's fine, but I don’t think she’s in any state to drive or work, I think she’s probably in shock. Okay. I’ll let her know. Thanks.” Beca looked up as Chloe ended the call. “He said not to worry about it. He heard about the accident which is why he called. He knows you take that road to work.”

“Thank you for doing that,” Beca said.

“Of course. We’re a team, remember?”

“I won’t ever forget it.”

Blake joined her mothers on the sofa, and cuddled into Beca’s other side.

Beca closed her eyes, surrounded by her family, and let out a slow breath.

She was right where she was meant to be.

[ephemerlskies]

of honey and cinnamon | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: fluff, one shot, slice of life au, enemies to lovers, musician!jungkook

⇢ word count: 14k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, mentions of terminal illness, mentions of death, themes of grief, slight plot twist, a surprising consumption of sugar, enough cheesiness to last you a lifetime

⇢ summary: what makes a three-day train ride back to your hometown anything but dull and dreadfully long? the answer, and your salvation from a boring trip home, was being stuck in the same cart as jeon jungkook for the entire ride there. unknown to you, he would turn this mundane trip into an unexpected adventure.

♪ playlist: dream a little dream of me - ella fitzgerald, departure - joe hisaishi, a journey (a dream of flight) - joe hisaishi, longing for mother's return - satoshi takebe, the sixth station - joe hisaishi, a town with an ocean view - joe hisaishi, you're in love - joe hisaishi, one summer's day - joe hisaishi ♪

a/n: this was honestly one of my favorite fics to write! ever! it was heavily inspired by studio ghibli movies hence the playlist because i recently binged a bunch of ghibli films (and i do not regret it) so, i tried to replicate the vibes from the movies i watched as best as i could!! :)) i hope you lovely readers enjoy!

They tell you love takes time. If you are patient and attentive enough, it courses through your body easier than your own blood and sinks itself in each vessel and bone and cell. Love will melt into your heart until that is all it knows. And in tales where lovers make grand gestures, like slaying the dragon and giving the moon and the stars and the sky along with the world underneath it and bestowing true love's kiss, it takes an entire story to get to the part where they are in love.

Love takes time, and in that time, there is a series of sometimes likely, and sometimes unlikely, events woven delicately within each minute that leads to the moment you know, you are in love. Traditionally, love makes itself known. It is loud and beautiful and anything but hidden within the ordinary moments used to fill in the gaps between the bigger moments. 

This story, your story, existed during the moments in between.

This train station had always emulated such an archaic ambiance. So much so that you believed you'd traveled back in time to when it was first built. Everything felt surreal, when you stepped on the train making a beeline to Cart 102, the floors felt like water; the surface tension clinging just strong enough to keep you afloat not without the occasional toss and turn. You swore it was just the rusted tracks that jostled you, but a part of you knew it was the water.

"Single rider?" The attendant stood at your cart's checkpoint, hand extended and waiting for your ticket.

"Yes, here." You handed him the paper, along with your baggage but kept the book for future entertainment and the pillow because you could tell the seats were no softer than wood.

"The train is fully occupied, so someone will be sharing your cart."

Perfect. If the world wants to do you a favor, just this once, then you hope that it sends you a quiet passenger. One that exchanges the customary 'hello' and 'goodbye' which is the extent of your interaction with them because you were tired in a way that sunk you into your zone of unsociability and on your way back home for the worst possible reason.

And the world did, in fact, do you a favor. It delivered Jungkook to Cart 102. But it just was not the favor you expected.

At first, you believed him to tick all your requirements for the ideal travel companion. Perfectly manicured company with a clear sense of boundaries. For one, he entered with a wall of silence that not only kept a greeting gated in but even the slightest acknowledgment that you were seated right across from him. It was so natural for him to ignore you that you had to glance down at your hand to check if you really were invisible.

He took his seat, stared out of the frost dusted window that reflected the sliding door that separated you and this man from the rest of the train and the world, and sighed. For a moment, he just stared and you thought it would get easier from here. But then he turned to you, and smiled.

"Hi, I'm Jungkook." It was a full smile, one that showed nearly every tooth, which reminded you of a rabbit. That paid enough respect for the previous shouldered entrance, and at first it was cute. Then, it made you feel guilty.

It was a smile you couldn't afford to return at the moment, so instead, you offered back a slightly upturned lip and a cordial nod.

"___." His hands looked strong like they had handled an array of heavy things and had the calluses to prove it. The way he sat made you feel a spark of something.

It was only a few seconds later when you realized that something was an unbridled annoyance. His legs were spread out, having you picturing the times he'd monopolize the space on a crowded bus. Jungkook was probably the type of man who was born with an entitlement that carried through to every part of his life, including the way he sat down on trains and pissed the living hell off of you.

"Like what you see?" Now you were pissed off for two reasons. The way he sat and the fact that you just got caught staring at him; his lap to be specific.

Soon, the two reasons doubled when your eyes returned to the smile on his face that didn't seem to have gone away. He was proud to catch you in the act, and most likely assumed your staring was due to an attraction so gripping that you couldn't help yourself but to stare at his crotch of all things.

"No, I was just..." Your words caught in your throat, because you weren't about to explain why his spread position on the seat had drawn an irritation from you thicker than the blood pulsing loudly through your body. You didn't want him to know you cared enough to be irritated in the first place, even if that meant letting him believe your staring was a form of unspoken flattery. "No."

"Okay, whatever you say, ___." It was the sarcasm this time, and the way he said your name that pissed you off. There was a seed inside you, ready to bury in your gut and grow just enough for you to rip his tongue from his mouth so he'd never have to say your name again.

"You'd think you didn't want to make the person you're about to spend three days on a train with angry, but maybe you're just that dumb." Insulting him gave you instant relief from the headache you knew was about to assume your forehead.

"Damn. Guess you're not the type to take a joke." Jungkook revealed his teeth one by one again, but you didn't describe it as a smile. A smile is something you thought to be beautiful, a physical expression of joy. No, what his face possessed was something sadistic. You were sure of it.

The way he carried himself and voiced his thoughts were more concentrated than arrogance. There was not a word in any language that could properly describe Jungkook. Nor was there a feeling that could render yours into something palpable. And the world had sealed you inside this cell marked Cart 102 with the person who was grainy and slick like quicksand, and just as deadly because you were sinking into him and every feeling he had provoked within the ten minutes you'd known him.

Jungkook was the first person you hated. Beyond every rude customer, every demanding boss, every high school bully, every cut tie, there was Jungkook who wore that heavy medallion of hatred around his neck like he was proud of it.

In all honesty, you thought he should wear it. He earned it. Everyone should know that you hated Jungkook and that it only took him a record-breaking ten minutes to attain the once unattained title.

You began to read your book, however 'read' didn't accurately describe what you were doing, which was staring blankly through the same words while collecting more reasons why you hated this man. It became an obsession of yours in a few short moments, because now you didn't just hate the way he sat and spoke and smiled. You hated how his breathing was somehow louder than the wheels grinding against the metal tracks or how whenever another train would pass by, he'd bring his face so close to the window you could see the warmth of his breath cling onto the glass and form a small, foggy patch.

You especially hated that you could quite literally feel his eyes on you, blistering your skin like the way a magnifying glass would redirect the sun's rays onto a target, which just so happened to be your face. Jungkook was unrelenting; as if he were trying to sear your skin with a permanent brand of his eyes.

Between the rhythmic flipping of the pages that you weren't reading, you were compelled to reprimand him for the staring. Maybe throwing his own words back into his face about 'liking what you see' would do your own vengeance justice. But that might indicate you were thinking of what he said to you this whole time.

"The weather looks so cold. It's practically raining." You moved only your eyes up from your book to study him.

He was looking out the window again, eyes chasing each speck of mist preluding the raindrops that were surely going to fall. It always rained at night.

"Looks like another thunderstorm." You packaged up the gasp that was about to burst from your chest.

For reasons you'd rather not share with a complete stranger you were hellbent on hating, you were terrified of thunder. Not lightning, but the loud crash that followed it. It was the last thing you wanted to experience while bottled up in a train with Jungkook.

"Excuse me." Your abrupt stance interrupted Jungkook's rain watching.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"None of your business." The slam of the sliding door echoed the anger you didn't express before as it snapped shut, fractionating the air you once shared with Jungkook.

You took a deep breath, the air outside felt cooler. The attendant was loyal to his assigned post, which was convenient for you.

"Sir, is there any way I can switch carts?"

"No, full train. And your ticket says Cart 102, so that's where you were meant to be." His eyes were sheltered by his hat, so there was no chance of pleading with your eyes if you couldn't even see his.

"Fine." It was a long shot, one that you didn't have the aim or trajectory for. You suppose he was right. Cart 102 was where you belonged for now. You just couldn't accept that Jungkook also belonged there with you.

Inside, the warm yellow light was beckoning you back in. Through the door, the brightness glimmered out until it was consumed by the dark hall where you stood. Jungkook was looking out of the window again with a rising and falling chest; you could hear his breathing even from behind the door or at least, you could imagine how it would sound.

"If we're going to share a cart, we could at least be friends." Jungkook's suggestion made him too human, too real for you to hate. You wanted to cling on to the idea that he was a horrible person, harboring more vices than the devil himself. But his voice was friendly sometimes, and his smile looked loving, occasionally, when he presented it to you.

"I don't see why we can't just be silent for the rest of the ride."

"Why are you going back home?" For a second, you were shocked enough to forget you were supposed to hate him. His gaze was calm and carried none of the worries yours had. You wondered, just for a second, about all the others who were on the receiving end of his gaze, and if they felt the way you felt when he looked at you. That look that distinguished him from anyone you had ever met.

You didn't want him to be right, because you didn't want the 'why' to be real. The tragedy, the only thing demanding enough to peel you away from your life away from home, should not have been the 'why' that put you on this train. But it was, and it made you angrier than he did.

"How do you know I'm going home?" You injected each word with a sharpness that you hoped would sting Jungkook.

"Well, are you going home?"

"Yes... are you?"

"No, just visiting." His eyes returned to the window, like a refrain in a poem. Always returning to look somewhere out into the beyond.

"Well, you should count yourself lucky." And you returned back to your refrain, pretending to read just so you wouldn't get caught staring at him and listing more reasons you hated Jungkook because that was easier than thinking of what was really bothering you.

"Lucky. Huh." You wanted to know what was so captivating on the other side of the window. What could have possibly supplied his eyes with something that was more interesting than the inside of this train? "Why are you going back home?"

"You already asked that."

"And you didn't answer me." Perhaps it was the stars, and he was tracking them in his mental inventory, examining until they were replicated along his memory the same way they were plotted across the sky. "Why are you going back home?"

"My mom. She's dying." Stars seemed to be a beautiful thing to keep your eyes occupied in a way your mind couldn't be, but you couldn't see past the thick fog and lack of light. "She's sick."

"I'm sorry to hear." His sincerity worked against all the animosity you'd cultivated for him.

How could he see the stars? You were going to ask, but you didn't want him to know what lied beyond the small beacon of light surrounding the train was lost to you, or rather you lost them. You wanted to hate him, so you didn't ask.

"I knew something bad must have happened to get someone like you to come home." That comment certainly suffocated any benefit of the doubt you were going to bestow upon him. Jungkook was arrogant and entitled, and in your most recent discovery, presumptuous and judgmental. Everything wrong with this world. No amount of dashing smiles and considerate questions could change that. You had to remember, you hated this man

"How dare you! How- How dare you assume something so rude!" The cloth of your pillowcase had almost worn through from how tight your fists were gripping them. You felt the fire burning through your nerves, soon about to combust and set Cart 102 ablaze. "I hate you."

It was two in the morning, or at least those were the numbers shining from your watch. The window offered the same pitch blackness that frustrated you, so you decided to give your legs some employment from sitting.

The hall of the train was nearly as dark as the outside; the overhead lights once drizzling down a soft glow were turned off. You wandered down the stretch of the medium but the further you walked, the thinner the walkway felt. Soon, the walls on either side of you were pressed against your shoulders so snugly, you had to turn your body to squeeze through.

"Having trouble?" You knew that voice; you hated that familiar inflections and conceit planted in each word he spoke.

"Can't you see I'm trying to walk?" Squinting proved to be obsolete while trying to see whatever destination was in the distance. "Why is everything so dark?"

"Because, you're not trying." If you could turn around, if these walls weren't beginning to smother your body to immobilization, then you would have run over to him and slapped the smile right off of his face. Because you were trying, you were trying to see this whole time but the dark had infested everywhere.

Unfortunately for you, the walls were connecting closer and closer, as if trying to move through you so they could reach each other and close altogether. But where would that leave you? When the gap was stitched shut, where would you be?

The walls were softer than you thought, but still forceful enough to steal all the air from your lungs leaving you a panicked mess lodged between these unkind walls. And the pressure wasn't enough to kill you, but it was just enough to leave you stuck and miserable.

"Jungkook, help me, I can't..."

Day One

Your dream was vivid enough to mislead you into thinking it was real. It wasn't until your eyes fluttered open, and consciousness spilled into your mind like a gentle breeze that you realized the nightmare was over. The window allowed a soft light into Cart 102, making you more thankful for the day than you had ever been in your entire life. You lifted your head from your pillow placed on the seat that you didn't recall placing there, and now that you think of it, you didn't remember falling asleep either.

You especially didn't remember covering yourself with this wool coat that smelled like the air after a bonfire had just finished browning marshmallows and dissolving wood.

"Someone's finally awake." Then it all came back to you. You wondered why everything felt so tranquil. It was a shame you couldn't enjoy the peace before the omen of annoyance, your special nickname for Jungkook, had returned.

"What time is it?" Your eyes were blinking away the sleep, and when that failed, your hands began to rub them until they were able to prop open fully.

"Eight-thirty. Here." He set down a Styrofoam cup of something hot enough for steam to escape through the open space of the lid. It smelled sweeter than coffee.

"What is it?" Your question came after you had already picked it up to furnish your hands with warmth and your nose with the delectable aroma leaking from this cup.

Jungkook’s smile was hidden behind his cup, already half empty, withholding an answer from you because he wanted to see if you would try it before you knew what it was.

"Don't worry, it's not poison." You figured it could be counted as retribution in the form of a nice pick-me-up for all the irritation he'd caused you, not to mention the fact that even in your dreams, he couldn't seem to leave you alone. No, Jungkook's presence was something that would slip through the realm of your sleep, the only place you thought you could escape him.

You sipped slowly, and the drink inside the cup made a quick and favorable acquaintance with your tongue. The contents were something you'd be able to identify separately, but when combined, they were delicious and elusive all at once.

"Wow, this is great!" The smile escaped faster than a spilled cup of water, and before you could clean the messy evidence of your gratitude, Jungkook returned the same smile, but his wasn't a spill; his smiles were never an accident, and you could almost resent him for it.

Almost.

"You like it, huh? Didn't take you to be a fan of sweet things." Both pairs of eyes were taken by the scenery just on the other side of the window decorated with streaks of the fallen dew drops.

His pride was untamed, and you assumed it was because Jungkook never took any action to dilute his own conceit. You liked to imagine how often Jungkook could arm himself with that smile, that laugh, which you were not too blind in your own despise to admit were both conventionally attractive assets of his, and everyone in a ten foot radius would fall into his hands. The world seemed to rest in his hands, and all he had to do was smile.

Not you, though. You were certain you had polished yourself with enough perspective so you wouldn’t be foolish enough to let something as shallow as a charming smile fracture your walls. Though, it was increasingly frustrating, verging on the point of catastrophe, how difficult it was to convince yourself of this and to ignore the image of his smile, sneaking its way to the forefront of your thoughts after brushing it off seconds before.

It was overcast, and the grey from the sky had permeated along the air below, yet it didn't puncture the vibrancy of the ever-extending grassy plains. They seemed to continue on forever, as if you walked out to the horizon it would take an eternity to find the end of the green landscape. The wind acted as music to which each blade of grass had been dancing an instinctive choreography.

And every so often, a patch of flowers would appear, perform its part, then disappear just as quickly.

For a moment, you wondered what Jungkook thought of the small bits of the world this window was displaying. Did he think it was just as beautiful as you did?

"It's honey, cinnamon, and milk. My mom used to make it for me when I was a kid." Though the view was timeless, you finally broke your gaze to look at Jungkook.

It was hard to imagine this man, the harbinger of almost every ounce of anger you have ever felt in your life, as a child who would drink milk with honey and cinnamon made by his mother. But then again Jungkook's face began to change, or at least the way you saw it morphed into something entirely different.

His bright eyes didn't look like they could be from this world. Not when they seemed to hold everything in his line of vision within them so warmly that it could spread magic over everything around him; like a fairy tale, but this magic rested in the two sockets of his eyes. Something so enigmatic made you want to snap at him just so he would look at you instead, and hold you in his eyes. As though to be held by his eyes would fix all your problems.

"Hm." You looked down at the cup, trying to savor each sip however ultimately failing since the honey melted in with the milk and perfectly heightened each flavor.

Without thinking, you wrapped the coffee-colored coat tighter around your body. It was blissful, sipping a cup of delight inside Cart 102, protected from the prickly wind of the winter while still being vended a view of its beauty. This train ride was almost perfect, if not for the (slightly less) bothersome burden that sat across from you.

"Looks good on you." He didn't have to specify he was referring to his jacket that was giving you comfort.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't-"

"Nah, keep it. You looked cold when you were asleep. You were shivering so much it basically sounded like you were begging for my jacket." Jungkook laughed softly.

Maybe two hours ago you would have been brimming with enough rage to rip his jacket off of you and throw it in his face because it sure sounded like he was pitying you or guilting you into a 'thank you' that you were too petty to relinquish. But now, in the morning that tamed you, stomach digesting a tasty drink given by none other than Jungkook, you let it slide.

Just this once, you thought.

"Well, that was very kind of you. And thank you for the drink, but I don't need some stranger doing me any favors."

"Wow, you sure are stubborn!" He laughed again, even though you had been nothing but uninviting of his advances, he just laughed.

"Am not." You muttered.

"Whatever you say." Just this once, you let him have the last word. Just this once.

One emptied cup of Jungkook's special later and you were energized enough to read, and hopefully retain the story rather than flipping mindlessly through the pages while you fueled your attention with rage.

Jungkook was busying himself, putting thought to paper. The quick ticks of his pencil against the wooden table was enough to earn him a passive-aggressive sigh from you, and you hoped he was perceptive enough to get the hint.

The ticks continued, even spaced out to a consistent pace as if he was beating a drum just to anger you. Your annoyance was once again brimming over, ready to spill into another display of it that consisted of a furrowed brow, a scowl, and a slew of incoherent retorts that had been brewing in your mind.

"Can't you write any quieter?" It hadn't measured up to all the clever insults you had loaded into your verbal weaponry, but it did the job to convey your frustration which obviously hadn't been communicated through your previous sigh.

"I'm not writing, actually! I'm trying to figure out the time signature for this piece. Three-six just isn't right." The pencil once tapping out a rhythm was now tucked between his teeth, and you could tell this was a habit of his from the various other tooth-shaped indents along the end of the pencil.

"Whatever, just... do it quietly."

"Quietly? This process is anything but quiet."

"Then try your very hardest."

"I'll try. Emphasis on try."

Though your eyes had reunited with your book, your curiosity pledged allegiance to what Jungkook was writing on his paper. It took an effortful battle between your urges and your restraint to finally ask him.

"What's a time signature?"

"Kind of like a rhythmic guide. For music. I'm a composer, and I'm hoping I can get this fellowship to work with professionals all around the world!" Jungkook's response came almost immediately after your question and his answer consisted of more information than you asked for, which meant this was something he was passionate about. Either that or he just loved talking about himself. It could have easily been both.

However, from the way his eyes held the world, they seemed to hold the music etched onto his paper the tightest. Like, if he were to let go then he would lose any and all purpose to hold on to anything else.

"You make music? Like songs on the radio and stuff?"

"No, not really. Songs for movies. I want to be a film composer."

"Oh. Is that why you're traveling? To study with a professional?" You surprised yourself more than him with that question.

"No... I, um. I wish that was the reason." Before asking him what his reason was, you stopped yourself from letting yet another question slip from your mouth.

Because you were supposed to hate him. Jungkook made everything difficult, even the notion of hating him was made to be a challenge. Asking him questions, learning about him, making the person in front of you turn into something with more dimensions than two was pointless when in a couple days, you'd leave this train and never see him again. Better to go back to hating him.

It wasn't as satisfying as before. Now that you've acquired some knowledge of who he was beyond an obnoxious seat hog and arrogance asshole, the reasons to hate him were beginning to be outweighed by all the other reasons to not hate him.

So far, you learned he was a musician. A passionate up and comer who gives strangers his jacket when they look cold, and shares a drink of milk and honey and cinnamon because it reminds him of his childhood. Someone who has made biting his pencil into a habit when he was working through a thought, who would often stare out windows and saw all the stars you couldn’t; someone who was quick to try to make friends with even the most emotionally withdrawn people.

Shortly after taking more time than planned on recounting all the things you learned about Jungkook, you felt indebted to him since he only knew two things about you. 

You were stubborn and you had a sick mom. Or at least, you believed these were the only parts of yourself he picked up on. The rest were things he’d observed with an attentive eye of which you had not noticed had been studying your mannerisms in the same way you studied his. 

When you left the cart abruptly after he mentioned the thunderstorm that was somehow delayed for tonight, he was correct to assume it was because you were afraid of the storm. Now, whether it was the thunder or lightning that rattled you so viciously you had to walk off your fear was yet to be discovered. Jungkook was confident he’d figure it out.

Or, how he watched you when you were sleeping in a way he wouldn’t describe as creepy since it was endearing to see you sleep. In fact, he was doing his best to ignore you, but your muffled groans had revealed to him you were the type to have the occasional nightmare. Again, the dream itself was something he was more than interested in discovering.

And your adorably executed performance of passive aggression didn’t evade him in the way you presumed it did. He heard the sigh and understood exactly what you were attempting to accomplish with that, but decided to act like your effort to shut him up wasn’t completely transparent. Mostly because he wanted you to ask him what he was doing. 

Jungkook wasn’t ready to admit it yet, but he enjoyed the way you spoke, even if it was drenched in a thick layer of annoyance. For now, he decidedly stuck with finding innocuous ways to fall back into a conversation with you, to slowly but surely learn all that he could in this three-day train ride. 

At half-past three, lunch had been served, consumed, and digested. Jungkook’s plate, however, was just short of being completely gone. Everything had been notably ravaged by him except for the pile of walnuts he picked out of his salad at the beginning of the meal.

“Not a fan of walnuts?” You convinced yourself this question came from a place that was starting to feel queasy from the silence that was more intoxicating than the small glass of complimentary wine you downed a little too quickly. 

“Allergic. Nothing too serious, though. My throat gets itchy and sometimes I get a rash on my skin.” You made a mental note that Jungkook was allergic to walnuts, which you stored in the part of your brain that harbored knowledge that was completely useless to you yet you still reserved space for it to be memorized.

“That sucks.” 

“Yeah, but it did come in handy when I was in class and didn’t want to be. I’d tell the teacher the cafeteria food had walnuts in it and I needed to go home and get my EpiPen before I died.” The list of things you knew about Jungkook continued to lengthen, and you couldn’t specify when it happened, but you began to enjoy every detail that made the list grow. 

You wouldn’t have guessed it would take a single day for you to wish it would never stop growing. But then again, you didn’t realize this at the time.

“And that worked? Sounds like you had your luck laid out for you from the beginning.” Jungkook smiled at this, the same bunny-toothed smile from yesterday, but it felt much different to you now, as if you were one smile away from forgetting your once insistent hatred of Jungkook. 

“Yeah, I guess so. What about you? What are your allergies?”

“Other than overly friendly weirdos on trains? Nothing.” It was the strangest reaction to feel proud, of all things, when you were rewarded by his laugh. It was softer than the wind rushing against the side of the train, however his laugh outperformed every other sound in the surrounding area until it was all your ears could focus on.

“Then it seems you’re the lucky one. No allergies. Free to eat whatever you want.” His eyes parceled between the sheet music in his hands and you. Though, it was difficult to pull them back down to his work since this was the first time he had your undivided attention that was not born from annoyance or repulsion to whatever he was doing. 

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m free to eat whatever. I have standards.”

“Really?” It was his not-so-discreet way of trying to capture all the pieces of you that he could, but from your slow intake of air, it seems as though you weren’t entirely finished with talking to him either.

“Cilantro. It’s absolutely disgusting. And mushrooms. I can’t stand mushrooms.”

“I love mushrooms.” Of course, you do, you thought. He didn’t have to say it, but he most likely loved cilantro as well. And you were most definitely right. 

“I suppose you love everything I hate?” Eye contact with Jungkook was more than you could handle ever since his mannerisms stopped annoying you and started intimidating you, so you found refuge in the scenery beyond the window. It never failed you during the day, but at night you would have to scavenge for something to stare at when Jungkook’s eyes were close to stealing your breath away. 

“I suppose you hate everything I love.” 

It took a careful eye to catch the subtle hints of emotion that even you were too distracted to notice. Jungkook’s eye was trained pretty well in observation of the hidden traces of even the most thoroughly subdued emotions. His eyes were so well versed in gathering the scarce evidence of emotions that it prompted him to ask his next question:

“What are you looking for?”

Now, your eyes were still averted by his, so you held on to the slowly fading daylight while you still could. But, sadly, the window was a distraction of sight, not sound, so you heard his question loud and clear and felt obligated to give him an answer. Even if your answer was pathetic.

“Just looking at the grass. It’s pretty.”

“I didn’t ask what you were looking at, I asked what you were looking for.” 

Determining what emotion you let slip through the quiver in your lip was a task Jungkook wasn’t well equipped for just yet. In all fairness, he had only known you for a short while and he still felt disappointed in himself for not being able to know what he made you feel with that question. 

“I don’t know.” You couldn’t help the stunned tone of your voice, but that was all that could fuel your words at the moment. “I guess… A distraction. It’s so beautiful out there.”

“Everything looks beautiful when you only have a small amount of time to admire it.” Whatever distraction you were looking for had certainly met your eyes and did its job since you had absolutely no clue he was staring right at you when he said that. That he was savoring the small amount of time he had to admire you.

Jungkook was right, which was a habit of his that he took unrestrained pride in; life was beautiful when you moved through it with such little time to spare. Though slamming your hand in a doorway was something you would sooner do than admitting he was right.

The fabric of time moved in a peculiar fashion when inside a train. You move so fast and yet, not at all, and it is as if there is a tear where the train moves through, and evades the grips of each minute that transports the future into the present and the present into the past. It felt this way the moment you stepped onto the train, so when you checked the time, it didn’t surprise you that it was already an hour before midnight. 

The daytime had slowly melted away, carefully, the way ice shrunk inside a glass of water until it combined with its surroundings, and the plains of grass could only exist in your memory right now. The blackness of night consumed everything beyond your window once again, though there was the occasional streetlamp that provided a glimpse of everything you couldn’t see as of now. 

What you couldn’t see was nowhere near as frightening as what you were about to hear. 

The first flash of lightning felt like a warning. It took a few seconds for the wretched boom of thunder to follow, which was the interval of time you foolishly hoped it would, just this once, fail to accompany that streak of light. That perhaps this train moved quick enough to outrun the storm.

“___? Are you okay?”

You didn’t notice your hands had immediately cupped your ears until Jungkook’s voice was filtered through as a jumble of indiscernible noises.

“Sorry, I just…” Steadying your breath was a toll that required an upfront payment of all your attention, so your previously muted voice and steady tone had gone out of the metaphorical window, along with the rest of your response.

“So it’s the thunder.” Jungkook said softly to himself. It didn’t matter since your hands were being utilized as makeshift earplugs. They seemed to deflect every sound except for the thunder that punctured through your barrier effortlessly. 

Before, Jungkook had this preconception of you. From the minute he stepped into Cart 102, he could tell you were the type to carry yourself steadily, the type that supplied their own assurance and isolated their emotions in the same way you isolated yourself. But here you were, hands clamped against your ears, eyes pressed shut and body shaking; this was a surplus of emotions you let seep through your walls. It was expressive enough for any dimwitted onlooker to know exactly what you were feeling: pure fear. 

And Jungkook had always been adept to telltale signs of what was buried beneath the obvious emotions. He could tell you wanted to be distracted. You needed help.

It was easier to stifle one sense if you stifled them all at once. If you didn’t want to see, you had to plug your ears and hold your breath. And in this case, to block out the sound, you had to shut your eyes and numb the rest of your body in the slim chance that the thunder wouldn’t penetrate through your poorly constructed firewall. 

Suddenly, you felt the space beside you sink lower which meant Jungkook had taken the liberty of invading your space at the worst possible time. It was difficult to focus on blocking out the sound when you could feel the side of his shoulder bump lightly against yours. 

“___.” You shifted towards him slowly, waiting for his explanation of why he was on your side of the cart. “Can I touch you?”

You were past your wit's end, spending the last bits of your sanity trying to calm yourself from the second crash of thunder that made your body lift from the seat for a solid two seconds. All you could do was nod, and hope he wasn’t a serial killer that was about to strangle you to death in a moment of vulnerability. 

He was working in your favor, just like when he wrapped you up in his coat and set that cup of milk in front of you, he moved in determination to comfort you. And if it weren’t for the dire circumstances, your pride would have refused the security of his arms that were carefully enveloping your body and eliminating the frigid space around you. You hadn’t realized how cold this train was until you were invited into Jungkook’s warmth. He had somehow silenced the storm, and all you had to do was let him. 

The third blast of thunder pushed you deeper in his embrace, and you wrapped your arms around him tightly like the lifejacket he was that kept you from slipping below the surface of the angry ocean currents. 

“If you couldn’t tell I-” Boom, “I hate thunder.” Your voice came out strained through the fear-induced filter lodged in your throat.

“No, actually, I couldn’t tell at all.” Nine out of ten of your thoughts were concentrated on the thunder, and that one exception was applied towards how annoyingly sarcastic Jungkook managed to be through thick and thin. It was impressive enough that he could subtract the fear even by a small fraction for you to laugh. 

“You’re so-” Boom, “You’re insufferable.”

His laugh was noticed through the gentle bounce of his chest that rocked your head more than the actual sound of it. Soon, a hand came to run through your hair and with each stroke, he somehow removed your terror layer by layer until you were afforded with indifference to the storm simply because you were lulled into a half-sleep and were now too exhausted to care about the thunder. 

“You’re okay. Everything is okay. You’re doing great. Breathe deep.” His chest smelled the same as his coat. A fire burning so brightly, sending the aromas of everything it consumed into the air.

Now your attention belonged to the warmth of his arms, and how he moved his hand through your hair with something deeper than kindness. It was selflessness because he too was scared and tired and in need of rest. Despite this, he used the last of his energy to ward off the threat of a second panic attack. 

“Thank you.” You whispered into his chest, and it seemed as though it permeated through his flesh and ribs and absorbed straight into his heart from the way he held you even tighter. 

The storm had settled, and the horrors of loud thunder were abandoned for quite some time now, but it felt too comfortable, too perfect for you to be anywhere else but here in his arms. So, what went unsaid was more than enough for him to retract any intention to return to his seat and instead hold you against his chest, where his heart would retain strength from being close to you. 

You couldn’t tell if you had already slipped into a dream when you heard him singing softly, or if the melody of Dream a Little Dream of Me was actually being crafted by his voice so beautifully and fell into perfect synchronization with the rhythmic beat of his heart. Either way, you were thankful to bear witness to a sound that reduced the idea of thunder down to something that could never hurt you again, and instead made seeing all the stars the heavens could offer possible even through the darkest nights. You felt a well of tears moisten your cheeks.

In his arms, with his voice, you could see the stars.

Back in the dimmed hallway of the train, you could make out the outline of a figure standing in the distance, waiting for you. Waiting, but about to run out of time. You saw her slowly disappear the way wind would rustle the dying leaves off a tree in autumn. Slowly her body was wilting, disappearing, and the wind only picked up speed. 

All you could think to do was run to her, your mother, the shell of a woman you had known and loved your whole life. Her frail body being stripped of flesh as easily as wind undresses a tree of its leaves until there is nothing but branch and bone.

The walls began to close again, and you knew you had to act faster. You had to push past the pressure of closing walls even if they were squeezing so tightly movement became impossible. All at once, the impossible became your burden to redesign into something possible, which was the only thing crushing your spirit more than these damn walls.

You were so close; you held your hand out and—

Day Two

Winter mornings always start the same. Your eyes began rediscovering sight before the rest of your senses flooded into function, then your stomach would get angry for digesting nothing but its own acid until you filled it. And just like yesterday, your pillow cushioned beneath your head on the seat and your body shielded from the rogue winter winds that snuck inside of your cart by the same bonfire scented coat.

“Rise and shine.” Jungkook said from behind the sheet music he was examining. He must have been stealing glances of you every five minutes or so to catch the moment you’d finally wake up.

“Time?” Part of you didn’t want to get up. Part of you, the more persuasive part, wanted to remain tucked under Jungkook’s coat and slip back into a light sleep. If it weren’t for the hot drink waiting for you on the table then you would have done just that.

“Nine. A little later than yesterday.” You sat up eventually, wrapping the coat around you, and for a moment life was comfortable on the train. So much so that you didn’t mind how your hair was in complete disarray. 

Jungkook enjoyed seeing you this way. When you had first woken up and didn’t wear the usual veil of detachment from the rest of the world. Your guard had surrendered to your sleep ridden body. He guessed very few people saw you like this, natural and raw and untouched by the pressure to be presentable, and counted himself lucky, just like you would say, to be one of those few.

“Thanks, again.” You said softly into the warm cup between sips. “How much?”

“No. It's okay.”

“But-”

“Seriously! Don’t mention it.” He was firm, but that didn’t stop the gentle smile that crept its way back onto his face. You didn’t know what to say other than the thanks you had already said, so you just kept drinking. It was still just as delicious, but today familiarity was peppered into the milk among the honey and cinnamon which gave it that much more reason to love it.

“You get up this early every day?” You asked, because you were at a loss for words but felt less comfortable without hearing his voice to accompany the brisk, quiet morning. 

“Usually I do. I like the morning. It feels like I have the world to myself before everyone else wakes up.” Charming. It was the last thing that came to mind when you would picture Jungkook. Now, however, it seemed to be the only characteristic that came to mind when you thought of him. 

Sitting in front of you, half mindedly scribbling notes onto the staff and half his attention expended on sharing the small ways he saw the world, he was just charming. As easily as he once drove a blunt edge of annoyance into your chest, he erased every bit of evidence that he could ever be anything but charming.

“Sorry to steal the morning from you. I gotta wake up sometime.” You felt entirely unpracticed in the realm of light, friendly conversations, and that was evident from the way you wanted to gag at your own response to his. What you thought was a tasteless, almost pathetic attempt at banter was, to Jungkook, another reason to enjoy the morning. 

“I’m glad it’s you that I have to share it with.” Jungkook certainly sat higher on the hierarchical scale of wit compared to you, but even that didn’t agitate you in the way it would have before. What was more shocking than that was the fact that you felt the muscles in your cheeks changing your flat lipped expression into a smile.

“Flattery gets you nowhere, Jungkook.” You responded that way only to save face. It was a habit of yours you didn’t realize you were doing until the words had already been deployed by your tongue.

“It seems to have gotten me a smile from you. Those are hard to come by.” You jerked your head quickly over to him, the same grin stained with smugness there to meet your surprised ‘o’ shaped mouth. 

He was right again. Your smiles have always been punctuated lately, but you were too busy paddling through every distraction available to even notice.

“Very funny.” Your voice was low enough for Jungkook to nearly miss it. Once the soft tone of your voice delivered to his ears, he looked away from his sheet music to mine through your face like a cavern, searching for the hidden bits of the treasure-like emotions strewn in along the subtle details. 

“What’s wrong?” It was a leap of faith, his question, a leap that sent him plummeting blindly into the depths of everything he craved to know about you. 

“That thing you said the other day.” Your expression was unreadable to the whole world. But inside the train, the whole world rested just on the other side of the window. There was no reason to come off as impassive, cold, or unconcerned, to care so much about trying not to care. “About going home.”

“Mhm?” You waited to see if he had anything to say, anything to stall what was about to escape from your lips. You knew it wouldn’t take long for your thoughts to go rogue, especially when he made you smile like that. 

“I’m angry.” He gave you a look that said ‘no shit’ without having to actually say it. It made you nervous, but still willing to go on. “You're right. I didn’t visit home ever until now. I thought I grew out of it. I thought I became someone too big to fit in a town so small and stuck in its way. But I was never too big, I don’t think I ever actually grew. Because when I got the call, after stupidly ignoring it a hundred times before, I felt like the same child. So scared of the idea of a world without their mother. So, yeah, I’m angry. I’m angry I could be arrogant and stupid enough to think I could live the rest of my life never looking back.”

Jungkook just watched you, with those eyes that held the world. His eyes were holding so much right now when they were looking at you. So much weight from a source he couldn’t define with his own intuition. So much weight, he couldn’t understand how you had been shouldering it on your own this whole time, if he couldn’t stand a few minutes holding it now. 

“Going back home.” You scoffed. “It's not about looking back. It was never about that. I think returning to something familiar is almost just as scary as fleeing somewhere new. All your past mistakes and demons that you have to face…”

“Demons. Is that any way to talk about your mother?” It was his way, unique to Jungkook alone, to litter in a bit of lighthearted teasing even when he was supposed to be serious. As if he couldn’t stand to let the air in Cart 102 become too damp with sadness, as if his heart wouldn’t have been able to handle it.

“I made a mistake. I spent too much time away, and now the last way I’ll see her is weak and sick. That’s my demon. My mom was just unfortunate enough to be the arbiter of it.” 

Jungkook wanted to tell you that if he could, he would take all your pain away and send it back into the universe to find someone else to harbor it. Someone who deserved to feel a loss so heavy, because he knew just by looking at you that you deserved none of it. But he held his overly romantic tongue for now in regards to easing you into him smoothly. Since he had come such a long way with you, making gentle strides to win your affection, it would be greedy of him to tarnish that by saying something as outrageous as that, even if that was truly how he felt.

“Come with me. I have an idea.” It would have been easy to refuse him, to swat his hand away and never speak to him again for the rest of the train ride. But what prevails after the wear and tear of expecting the worst and knowing the painful and permanent scars it will leave you is the trust of someone who turned scowls into smiles, who held his hand out to you and waited for you to take it kindly.

Those tales they tell about feeling sparks when you make contact with your soulmate were decidedly wrong. Wrong to you, because when you touched Jungkook’s hand, you felt those sparks nestling under your skin and learning its way through the rest of your body. Wrong, because Jungkook was no soulmate of yours, just an unlikely stranger you met on a train once. 

And yet, you couldn’t help but wonder, you couldn’t help but hope he too felt these sparks that supposedly meant nothing.

Jungkook pulled you into the hallway, which was brighter than the way it looked in your dreams. At the end of the walkway, there was no ghost resembling your mother, and the walls weren’t closing in, and instead of pushing through alone, you had Jungkook holding your hand tightly, and graciously guiding you down.

“This way.” He whispered, and you mimicked the stealth in his voice through the way you muffled the sound of your feet hitting the train floor, which felt less like water and more like sand with him; soft yet solid sand.

You arrived at an unattended area of the train. The only hint of what Jungkook was up to was that grin. That grin was too playful to be a grimace, and too mischievous to be a smile. That grin that you hadn’t noticed you were looking forward to seeing, the same one you could sense you would miss when the train arrived at its destination. That when he grinned, you finally found the courage to return it. Needing no conditions or second guesses, you were just you, somehow smiling on the train that was taking you to your sick mother. And it was all because of him and his stupid, lovely grin.

“What are you doing? Are we supposed to even be here?” 

“Shh, we’ll get caught.” He began to wriggle with the door handle until it opened. 

“So we’re not supposed to be here! Jungkook, let’s go before we get kicked off!” To silence you, he simply held his hand up. You pouted your lip but did as he commanded. 

Inside the door, there was a collection of all the food meant for purchasing. Your assumption was confirmed that Jungkook had no intention of paying for the bags of pretzels and packets of cookies he was stuffing into his pockets. Hands full with quite the assortment of foods, he looked to you and raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Come on, put these in your pockets! Hurry.” He held the food out towards you. There was no convincing him to put all the stolen goods back, and there was no convincing yourself to not go along with his sinfully sweet plan. 

The fast-paced walk back to Cart 102 was the most exhilarating thirty-five seconds of your life. Jungkook looked all too calm, like spontaneity fell into his hands naturally or like it was a birthright, belonging to his life from the beginning. Life with Jungkook, even if the short span of time he’d claimed part of yours was fleeting, was the most excited and fearless you had ever felt. 

Jungkook and you emptied the haul of food onto the table. For a second, they went untouched only for the two of you to admire your successfully pirated goods. Then, for the first time on the train you met eyes with Jungkook and laughed.

It was the sort of laugh that exercised muscles in your abdomen you weren’t aware that you had in the first place. The kind that began at the top of a hill, and with one push it was tumbling faster and faster, growing louder and wilder. 

Jungkook was laughing too, a sound which could qualify as the only competitor to surpass the beauty of his singing. And whatever music he was scribing onto the paper would have to be beyond masterful to sound anything close to as immaculate as his laugh.

“I can’t believe we just committed grand larceny.” The words came out of your throat between fits of laughter, eyes now with an abundance of happy tears.

“Woah there, “‘grand”’ is a stretch. I like to think of it as unlawful borrowing.” The rest of the afternoon was spent with celebratory feasting of your unlawfully borrowed goods. Your favorite was the packs of chocolate mints, and Jungkook had cleverly avoided eating them when he noticed how much you liked them. 

When dawn arrived, Cart 102 settled into a comfortable silence, now consisting of you reading your book tempered by a glance out of the window every few pages and Jungkook tapping his pencil against the wooden desk while marking up every blank space on his page. To anyone else, including the likes of you, the page was nothing but a jumble of incoherent scribbles. To Jungkook, it was his next masterpiece; the best idea he made tangible on paper and hopefully soon, audible when someone agreed to commission it.

“Done!” 

His remark startled you, being that there had been no warrant for him to exclaim his progress with the music he was working on. You chuckled softly, closing your book and looking back to Jungkook.

“Done with what?” 

“This song. I know this one will sell. I just know it! It’s perfect.” Jungkook’s passion was bursting past the seams of his body. “I just wish… I wish I had more time.”

“What does that mean?” Again, all he offered was the same grin, and that was all you needed in order to know he wouldn’t be dropping any more hints on the account of your curiosity. 

“It means this train ride is ending tomorrow, and I’ll have too much on my plate to work on anything else. So this right here,” He held up the paper with the same tact one would for a pile of pure gold, “Is my last chance to get my work out there for a while.”

For reasons born from an unidentifiable place, you felt like crying. Last chance. It sounded serious. Something you weren’t ready to know and something he wasn't ready to tell. So, instead of pestering the answer out of him, you let him have his secrets. You let him have all the secrets he had somehow gotten out of you. 

And somehow, you were okay with it. Just this once.

Jungkook said he was taking a quick nap. Quick must mean something entirely different where he was from since it lasted about three hours and counting. For someone who had nothing to do but sit on a train all day, he sure was tired. It would have concerned you had it not been for witnessing how much energy he exerted into writing his music, as if each tap of his pencil required the same amount of energy as running an entire mile.

You were looking out of the window, which looked like it had been coated with tar. The departing sun left no remnants of its light and the moon must have been situated on the opposite side of the train, so it was up to the stars to illuminate your view of the world. But, outside the train was dark. Dark, and almost pitch black.

The first few specks were thought to be a hallucination that bloomed from your own wishful thinking. But soon, there were more and more twinkling lights dusting the sky and that outshined any doubt you had before. The stars were so bright and glimmering clearer than you had ever seen. Only something so beautiful, something that ingrained itself into the grooves of your brain to keep forever, could elicit the gasp that came louder than expected.

“Woah.” It jolted Jungkook awake and you would have felt bad if he weren’t already supplied with three and a half hours of extra sleep. 

“What?” His voice was hoarse from being unused for such a long interval.

“The stars! I can see them! They’re so bright, Jungkook. So bright.” The tears began to form in part from the lack of blinking and in part from how happy you were to see the stars. The same stars your mother was probably looking at and the same ceiling of glitter that loomed protectively over you and Jungkook. They were more than just constellations tonight; they were a celestial map navigating you back home and an astronomical assurance that everything would be okay. Even if the worst happened, everything would be okay.

“They are. They’ve been bright for a while. It took you long enough to notice.” Your smile was not yours to control anymore. It was a small price to pay considering you had a world full of stars to last you a lifetime.

“I guess I haven’t been trying as hard to see them as I thought I was.”

And you turned to him, which was the only thing besides the starlit arena above you and Jungkook and the train you’d rather be looking at right now.

“I can’t wait to go home. I miss it so much.” It was the first time you said it out loud, as well as the first time you were able to admit that to yourself. 

“I’m glad you feel that way. You should feel that way.” 

“Thank you.”

There were a plethora of reasons that prompted that thank you. Far too many reasons that were decidedly unfit for just a single thank you. So, you concluded that the thank you was for Jungkook; for becoming a part of your life. For every decision he made on this train that rearranged your feelings towards him into something pleasant. Something that felt warm and safe.

Tonight, the last thing you saw before slipping away into sleep was all the stars that weren't at your disposal before. Every silvery diamond brandished along the expanding sky was so mesmerizing, you wished you could imprint them into the backs of your eyelids when they eventually lulled you into a calm slumber. That and the memory of Jungkook’s rendition of Dream a Little Dream of Me set on repeat in your head. 

This time, you weren't trapped in the confines of a dark train hallway. You were standing in the middle of a grassy field, laden with a diverse collection of wildflowers. The mellow green hues seemed to lift from the blades of grass, stretching into the air around you.

And your mother was there. She wasn’t being blown away by the wind. Just like the sturdy trunk of a tree, she stood with dignity and conviction at the top of the highest hill that provided a view of your hometown; it was the most beautiful you had ever seen her. 

“Mom!” The way you were running felt more like gliding, or flying even, because you moved through the wind without a bit of resistance. Your body was frictionless and unstoppable. And when you finally fell into your mother’s arms, it was the most freeing feeling in the world. 

“I’ve missed you so much. I thought you were going to leave me.” The blue sky that sealed you and your mom into the earth made a stunning partner for the fields of green underneath you. 

“I’m always with you, darling.”

It was difficult to decide whether the sound of her voice or the sentiment behind it made you cry, so you decided not to decide at all, and instead, you simply let yourself cry. Everything was so beautiful, but still not complete. 

“Mom, I feel like something’s missing.”

“There is.” She responded, but it wasn’t a question. Your mom was not your mom, just a figment herself cultivated by your own mind. She was one with you, and she knew exactly what was missing. 

“Where do I find it?” Her hands cupped your cheeks, just like she would when you were young and crying over a scraped knee.

“You know, love. You know.” 

The wind pulled a gentle melody from the spaces between the leaves. A melody you were quite familiar with and grew to love. It slowed, then everything was silent.

Day Three

Waking up came to you in a hurry, as if you shouldn’t spend another second living life through dreams because today was the last day on the train. The last day you’d spend with Jungkook, and possibly the last time you would ever see him.

It was uncharacteristic of you to feel this way. Disappointed at both yourself and your situation. You knew from the beginning that this was a temporary arrangement, and Jungkook was not a permanent fixture in your life. In fact, you used to be thankful for those circumstances because you hated Jungkook. 

But, of course, you went ahead and let him in. You let him buy you tasty drinks, hold you during thunderstorms, and offer you a coat, a smile, a laugh when everything felt cold. You let him ripple currents of fun into your life, but that would be giving yourself too much credit, you suppose.

Because it was never a matter of allowing him to do any of this. He did all of those things, and more, all by himself.

What was even more uncharacteristic of you was greeting the early morning before Jungkook. He was sound asleep, with skin being lightly freckled by the glints of sunlight shimmering through the gaps in the clouds. The morning sun was always docile, kindly shedding light in a way that wouldn’t pull sweat from your skin like it did in the afternoon.

You liked the sight of him sleeping, mostly because it was one of the few moments of the day when he was completely silent, and those were rare.

“Better take this opportunity.” You whispered to yourself before getting up, covering Jungkook with the coat, and heading to the concession stand you had raided with Jungkook yesterday. 

Wondering if the workers noticed the missing inventory, you idled by the counter before ordering but they all looked too tired to care to serve you let alone realize a quarter of the chocolate mint packs were taken.

“Hi, two warm milks with honey and cinnamon please.” The attendant seemed to appreciate how closely your voice was to a whisper. He sluggishly poured two steaming cups of milk and sleeved them before exchanging them for the money already placed onto the counter. 

“Honey and cinnamon are over at the self-serving station.” You followed to where his finger was aimed towards and nodded politely with the two cups in each hand.

You didn’t know why, but imagining Jungkook making this drink himself, instead of ordering it premade, ranked this act as something more motivated than customary kindness. Because getting these drinks wasn’t simply walking to a stand, purchasing, and walking back to Cart 102. There was now an erroneous step you hadn’t accounted for. The act of making milk with honey and cinnamon. 

As you scooped a spoonful of honey to mix into the creamy liquid, one of your mother’s many proverbs rang in your ears, as if she was standing right beside you saying it.

“When you make food for someone, it’s just another way to express that you love them!”

It froze you for a second. Recalling what she would say when you would throw together a meal for the pair of you when she was too tired to. She worked so hard as a single mother, so every shortcoming felt like a colossal failure, no matter how little it mattered to you. And she would always say that to you because ‘thank you’ just didn’t cut it.

This was the first thing you made for someone other than your mother and yourself. But, there’s no way it was because you loved him. 

Just this once, you thought. Just this once I’ll make food for someone that I don’t love.

You were relieved to greet a still sleeping Jungkook when you returned to your cart. The cart you studied closer, because you were about to leave it and wanted to retain all the details that you could before it became a memory you would only visit when you were feeling reminiscent.

The beige walls, the small table where you would read and Jungkook would compose, the stiff leather seats that you had surprisingly gotten used to, and the large window that gave you a glimpse of the blurry world waiting for you.

Jungkook’s groan snapped you out of your trance. Before he regained full cognizance, you placed the cup in front of him so you’d be able to boast that you had woken up before him and had the morning all to yourself for a moment. That now you were the one sharing the world with him.

“What’s this?” He said groggily. 

“You know.” You tried your best to mirror his smugness, the way he would sip his drink after sending a witty one-liner through the air like it was no big deal to him. 

Before you became lost in the person you changed into with Jungkook, a person that felt more like a fun costume to wear when you didn’t feel like being yourself anymore, the more neurotic and controlling part of you fell back through when you remembered that the measurements of the ingredients might have been off.

Maybe you had gotten the drink entirely wrong, so your deed would shrivel down to a failed act of kindness. Nothing at all your mother would consider a gesture of love. And that was more frightening than any blast of thunder.

“It's delicious.” Jungkook said out of nowhere, almost as though he knew he was interrupting your thoughts. Breaking them down into a powder thinner than flour, so he could blow all your worries away with one puff of air. He wasn’t lying either, it was delicious.

You spent a gracious amount of time and energy avoiding the book you were meant to finish during this train ride. Instead, your efforts were fully consumed by the last person you thought would ever be the center of your attention. At least, you thought if he were going to be the focus of it, then it would have been because you were mentally berating him for reasons that didn’t bother you much at all anymore; in fact, they started becoming admirable.

“If you could run faster than a train, where would you go?” He asked.

“Paris. Or Italy. I'd just have to figure out how to run on water.” You earned a good laugh from Jungkook with that comment. And finally, you felt like you were beginning to find your niche in conversations, and it relied heavily on sarcasm.

“I’d love to see the day when ___ walks on water.” 

“What about you? Where would you go?”

“I would make my legs take me straight to Carnegie Hall and force the organization to play one of my pieces.” Each word was formed by his tongue as if he had that response rehearsed a hundred times over. Jungkook knew exactly what he wanted, and given the chance, he would use any and every asset to get him there.

That alone was why you fell into something deeper than attraction. Why you began to take notice of things about him that weren’t of importance before. And why your intentions to observe how the world designed this man to be so stunningly unique was less cryptic than you’d hoped.

Maybe if you noticed how his white button-up was undone down to his sternum and tucked into the waistband of his slacks tastefully, then your heart would have taken a quicker pace long before now. If you noticed how his jet black hair was gentle and fluffy when it draped over his eyes, then you would have been frustrated with yourself sooner for not seizing the chance to introduce your fingers to its texture. And if you noticed how the ridges along his palm looked perfect to be held in, then you would have savored every second he held you the night of the storm. There was an astonishing number of details about Jungkook, about as many as the stars in the sky, that would have made you mountains more intimidated to even speak with him. 

One of the attendants left all your observations of Jungkook scattered when she peaked her head through to give the two of you an update on your arrival.

“Looks like we’ll be getting in earlier than expected!” In theory, that was a blessing. You’d get to finally deboard the train and be with your mother. Though, you’d be lying if some piece of you wanted this train to continue west until there was no more land to travel on; and if you could, you would redistribute each part of this train to assemble a boat, so you could sail Jungkook across the seven seas. “Our arrival will be in twenty minutes! I hope you both enjoyed your trip.”

And if Jungkook felt the same way, he didn’t show it through his polite smile and nod at the attendant. 

“We’ll be getting off soon.” He said to you, though you could tell it was his way of interrogating your thoughts on the matter.

“Time moved by so oddly on the train. I didn’t even notice it was already day three.” You paused and took one last glance out of the window. “Funny.”

"It's funny,” He began, and you settled into what you knew was about to be another piece of Jungkook's mind served in the form of his delicate words, “when you're inside a train you don't feel like you're moving. Even though you are, of course. You're moving faster than you would outside of a train. But we feel like we are still because we are moving with the train. When you're in a train, you are moving with time too, so it feels rushed and stagnant all at once. When you're not inside, time moves past you. It feels better to move with time, don’t you think? It feels like you could outrun it if you wanted to, or it feels like you will never run out of time at all. That you and time are equals. But soon, we'll have to get back onto the platform, and time will move past us again, and it’ll feel like we’re running out already."

“You’re right.” You finally admitted. “We’re running out of time.” 

We’re running out of time— together, you wanted to say. However, courage and boldness was a currency you weren’t rich in. Unspoken desires and lost hopes were all you had left to tender. 

“Yeah, I guess so. Hey, I-” He hesitated as well, because when you looked at him with such wishful eyes, it made what he had to say entirely too real and all too scary. “I really liked being your travel buddy.” 

You could tell he was holding back too. That everything you wanted to say to him and everything he wanted to say to you wasn’t meant to be translated into words, that exchanging sentimental smiles was all you and he could afford. Instead, it was better to exist through the language of emotions, floating around the train, moving with time, and eventually, when you and Jungkook returned to the world, those emotions would remain with the train and travel beyond your destination. 

That’s why you let them go. Sometimes, a train is only meant to be a train. 

“Me too. Though, I have to admit I hated you at first.” 

“I know.” He grinned as you etched the most accurate memory of it in your brain as you could. 

His stance came unprecedented. The small radio tucked in his bag now sitting on the table, serenading an unfamiliar melody and overtaking the silent air inside Cart 102. Then, came his hand, extended to you just like he had yesterday. Only this time, you didn’t need to wonder what he wanted from you because you would give whatever he asked. 

You took his hand, or rather you gave him yours, and followed his gentle tug until it led you to his body, pressing away all the space once separating the two of you. Jungkook’s hand followed the curve of your waist until it landed at the small of your back while you instinctively rested yours on his shoulder. 

You and Jungkook swayed to the music until all those words about moving with time became real. The way he held you close had you immune to the passage of time. The soft brush of his breath against your cheek felt welcoming, and you would try your very best to remember the way existing felt when your skin was touching his. It was odd, dancing on a train with someone you didn’t know well enough to call a friend but weren’t estranged enough to call an acquaintance. Again, it felt like you were in between two walls, stuck, trying to out-think your way through a collapsing maze of judgement. 

Though, no matter how odd it was, it stopped neither you nor Jungkook from holding onto each other for the last few moments available. 

The train must have hit a rock, one you would like to thank because it knocked the two of you over until you had fallen into his lap, laughing so hard your bodies shook. You would have been uncomfortable in this compromising position if not for the sense of belonging fostered in the empty space in your chest while being in his arms.

Jungkook didn’t notice you were detangling your limbs from his until you were already gone, seated across from him in the same spot. 

Once, he learned in science class of this phenomenon called ‘afterimage’, which is when your eyes get so accustomed to staring at one particular thing that when you look away, the thing stained your vision in the form of a silhouette, like an echo of something your eyes grew so comfortable seeing that it stayed with you, even when you looked away.

And he knew, even when the view of you sitting across from him in this train wasn’t there anymore, he would carry that afterimage of you, always echoing in his vision like a beautiful melody he couldn’t get out of his head. Not that he wanted to let go anyway

It was sour, the cruelty of letting go. When the train began to brake, it felt like a lifetime of agony. A bitter, unforgiving slap in the face courtesy of the confines of reality, stealing you away from the shelter of a train; a place that made it so easy to be swept up in something as dazzling and impossible as magic. You were onto important things, you knew this, but it was nice to live, even if it were just for a bit, inside something as magical as Cart 102, where you could count on a generous supply of warm coats, milk with honey and cinnamon, and Jungkook.

“Well, our stop is here. Hey, how about we share a cab? Why not save some money, right?” You could only nod, because speaking would have led to tears, which would have led to a failed explanation of why you were crying.

Jungkook hailed the yellow vehicle over, the opening of his shirt widened just an inch too much to let your mind wander.

“You’re going to the hospital, right?” He asked.

“Yeah, the only one in town.” You said, knowing the driver wouldn’t need any more specifics than that. This town was so small there were a lot of singular facilities that made the layout equally difficult to be crammed into and easy to memorize. One library, one park, one church, and one hospital.

As Jungkook went to give the driver your destinations, you packed up the luggage into the trunk. Not too long after, you were side by side in the back of a cab. All you could bring yourself to do was gaze out of the window and watch all the familiar scenes of your hometown pass by, each landmark dousing you with a strong presence of nostalgia. 

No matter how sad parting ways with Jungkook was, it was good to be home.

The cab finally arrived at the hospital, and you got out not expecting the other person in the car to get out with you. Perhaps he was being polite and saying goodbye. You knew you would have done the same if his stop preceded yours.

The two of you stood in front of the entrance, gawking up at the tall building that was in desperate need of reconstruction. You turned your gaze over to Jungkook. 

“Where to now, Mr. Jeon?” You asked, since this town was small enough, and you were fluent in every secret hiding spot it had to offer, you might be able to visit him if that wouldn’t come off as too invasive.

“I'm here.” He responded just as ambiguously and ever so matter-of-factly as always. This time, you demanded to know more.

“What? What do you mean?”

“It took a long time to find a doctor that specializes in my condition.” Jungkook finally turned to you, his eyes crowded by tears. “My heart is weak, ___. I came here to get better, and hopefully, I do. I'm going to be a famous composer one day, and I’ll need a strong heart to get me to that point.” 

You felt angry at him again. For not telling you, because it felt less like keeping something from you and more like lying to you. For telling you, and making it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, that it wouldn’t break your heart into pieces weaker than his own.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It was the harsh snap he expected from you, but he was committed to keeping this a secret until he couldn’t because it was easier that way. 

“I didn’t want to admit it. I’m scared, ___. Really scared. If I don't get better…” 

“Well, you have to! Carnegie Hall is waiting for you and I didn’t waste my time getting to know you for nothing. So, you just go ahead and get better okay?” Your words were coated in anger but layered on top of something compassionate, sweet even. Sweeter than milk, honey, and cinnamon. 

“I’ll try.” He grinned again, knowing it would satisfy you for the time being. Grinning, like a goodbye gift. 

“You’re an idiot, Jungkook.” 

Before you could lose the last word, you gripped your luggage in one hand, the pillow in the other, and made your way into the hospital, leading to what you knew would be countless nights spent at the side of a hospital bed, eating foods you’d rather not eat, and watching daytime cable while taking care of your mother.

What you didn’t know was that a good portion of those nights would be spent with someone else. Someone who resided in the west wing of the hospital. 

Someone who would bring your hand to his heart, and ask you if it felt stronger, and you would always reply with ‘yes’, or ‘yes, you idiot’, even when you were terrified that one day your hand wouldn’t feel the tap of his heart against his chest. Someone who would sing to you in exchange for the times you would read to him. Someone who you would leave notes and small gifts for, his personal favorite being the packet of walnuts accompanied with a folded paper inscribed ‘for when you need to get out of class’. Someone who, when he would be having a particularly difficult night, you’d fall asleep holding hands with, and you’d wake him up with a warm cup of his signature beverage.

Someone you would inevitably begin to fall in love with. 

A month later, one of two people you loved dearly would walk out with you through those hospital doors. That person was Jungkook. And the melancholy of losing your mother to the battle between her and her cancer would also follow you, and stay with you almost as long as Jungkook had.

A year later, you would return, hand in hand with Jungkook. Every two months. It was the promise you sealed onto your mother's gravestone that you would always return every two months. Even if the weather dispatched the most terrifying thunderstorms, or your work piled a stack of paperwork high enough to reach the sky, you’d still return home.

You and Jungkook placed a bundle of wildflowers you picked on the way to her grave, sitting at the top of a grassy highland, at the base of the granite stone. She was overlooking the world, with a perfect view of you; it made you feel safe that she was watching over you, and she was watching over Jungkook and his slowly recovering heart. 

The weather was perfect. The sun blanketed everything beneath it with a generous warmth but didn't restrict the gentle breeze from tempering it. The leaves and grass moved with the wind, but your mother’s tombstone was strong and unmoving, losing no part of herself to the fluid motions of the spring air. 

“I kind of like it here.” He said softly, adorning the view of the hilltop with you. It was the morning, and it didn’t feel like he was sharing the world with you anymore. It felt like it was yours to begin with, and he was just lucky enough to be allowed a part of it. 

“Me too.” One hand was with Jungkook, and the other was with your mother.

“I think it would be a nice place to get married and raise our children. You know, after I become a world-renowned composer and all.” This would have shocked you if you had not been wishing to hear him confirm these dreams of yours for a while now. “Did that scare you? I didn’t mean to be too forward.”

“No, I think this would be the perfect place to live. Only if it's with you.” Because you knew, something was missing here without him. He made this hometown of yours finally complete in the wake of your mother’s passing. 

When you kissed him, he tasted like honey. And he would have told you that you tasted like cinnamon.

It could never scare you, because you were in love.

You were in a debt of gratitude that was deeper than the ocean. There was so much you wanted to say to him.

The town is milk. It is up to you and me, Jungkook, to provide the ingredients that will liven this town of milk into something sweeter, something survivable, something that will continue to sustain a force as powerful as love. Without the honey and cinnamon, all you have is milk. It seems we are the perfect blend of the two to make this bitter place palatable when it hits our tongues. This town needs us together in the same way milk needs honey and cinnamon. 

You didn’t say any of those words out loud. You didn’t need to. All you needed to say was:

“I love you.”

And all he needed to say was:

“I love you too.” 

[hrodvitnon]

The Elder Scrolls TV Idea

Someone’s probably already said this, but if The Elder Scrolls gets a Netflix adaptation (or so the rumor goes), it can go the way of Netflix’s adaptations of either Castlevania (excellent) or Dragon’s Dogma (an on fire garbage can). Because Skyrim is probably the series’ most well-known installment — to the point where I’ve met a guy who was genuinely surprised to learn it’s the fifth main entry — it would be extremely easy, and lazy, to simply adapt the story of Skyrim; the game’s been rereleased and ported so many times that anyone can tell you every single plot beat in this or that questline. It would give the impression of TES just being another generic fantasy world, or that Skyrim’s the only TES game worth playing, and some critic who doesn't know The Witcher from The Legend of Zelda will look at it and go "ho hum, another Game of Thrones wannabe. I don't need to play the game to know otherwise."

And so, I have a proposal: Do it like Halo Legends.

For the uninitiated, Halo Legends is a compilation of seven short animated films set in the Halo universe, telling a different story and animated by a different anime studio, from Studio Bones to Production I.G. to Toei Animation. They’re quite good; “The Duel” is my personal favorite.

So why should an Elder Scrolls adaptation be like Halo Legends? Because TES and its lore is simply too big and weird to brush aside in favor of rehashing Skyrim; from Tamriel’s two moons being the rotting corpse of a long dead god to the sun being a hole in the sky leading to Aetherius, to the very concept of Dragon Breaks, the Daedric Princes and their respective planes of Oblivion, to all the metaphysical stuff, and so on.

And then there’s the CHIM.

There’s so much potential! You can tell established stories in the lore, historical figures and events, you can even adapt the stories of books you can literally read in the games since some of them are actually plays intended to be acted out (including The Lusty Argonian Maid). Here are just a few examples of what can be done (also my lore knowledge is isn't perfect so there might be mistakes here).

Saint Alessia

Picture it: The Ayleid Empire, the First Era. The Ayleid elves employed cruelty and Daedra worship, utilizing slaves not just for practical purposes but also for “art-torture,” including but not limited to setting human children on fire for sport. If it weren’t for the aesthetics you’d think they were Warhammer’s Drukhari. Enter one of countless humans born into slavery, a woman who will become known as Alessia, who prays to Akatosh and the Aedra for liberation. She receives three visions from the Aedra; she escapes her slave masters and establishes a holy city, starting the first slave riots; she meets Morihaus the Man Bull, raises an army, teams up with the legendary elf-hating psycho Pelinal Whitestrake, and royally fucks over the Ayleids. Alessia declares herself the first Empress of Cyrodiil and is imbued with the “Dragon Blood” by Akatosh, and upon death her soul is placed into the Amulet of Kings, to seal the barrier between Mundus and Oblivion...

Also, Morihaus? The winged man bull demigod, son of Kynareth, one of Alessia’s champions? He was also her consort. Their son was one of, if not the first minotaur. It’s like, Joan of Arc meets Beauty and the Beast, and the beast stays a beast.

Pelinal Whitestrake

Remember Pelinal up there? Alessia’s other champion, all decked out in crusader knight armor, considered family by Morihaus, and depicted as a hero in modern Imperial dogma and also the Knights of the Nine DLC? Not only is he actually a batshit insane genocidal elf-hating engine of mass destruction, he’s implied to be a time-traveling semi-divine kinda cyborg from the future. Don’t indicate he’s got some divinity in him or you’ll be smothered by moths in your sleep, though. 

Seriously, dude HATES elves like the Doom Slayer hates demons; Pelinal first meets Alessia when he’s caked in Ayleid gore and viscera. Pelinal nearly caused the Aedra to abandon Mundus in disgust after he erased Ayleid lands from existence in his psychotic rage (then again, this is the Ayleids we’re talking about, and they also killed his boyfriend). So yeah, Pelinal Whitestrake. Champion of Saint Alessia, Slaughterer of Ayleids, and an insane screaming vortex of gore and racism in an approximately humanoid shape! Proof that not all characters need be a perfect golden child.

The Dwemer

The Dwemer (deep elves) are TES' version of dwarves. One of the biggest in-universe mysteries is "what the fuck happened to the Dwemer?" They were hyper advanced, creating steampunk robots that still function after thousands of years, their ruins dotting the landscape and providing all sorts of questions for in-universe scholars to ponder over, casting off conventional magic and worshipping Aedra or Daedra in favor of something called tonal manipulation, they're even responsible for making the Falmer (snow elves) what they are now, built the Numidium (a giant automaton intended to be a new god and a weapon of mass devastation). And then the Dwemer vanished. Why wouldn't they get their own episode?

The Nerevarine

This is one of those episodes that could be an abridged retelling of games in the series, and this one tackles the plot of TES3: Morrowind; in which a certain someone fresh off the boat arrives in Vvardenfell, is inducted into the Blades, is declared a reincarnation of the hero Nerevar, and must fulfill prophecies regarding the Nerevarine in order to defeat Dagoth Ur and his cult.

The Oblivion Crisis

Of course it’d be an abridged retelling of TES4: Oblivion, but you can also show how it impacted the other provinces (or at least what we know about); like the Collapse of the Crystal Tower, the resurrection of the Ald Skar Emperor Crab who ultimately died fighting off the Daedric hordes, and how the Hist trees of Black Marsh called back the Argonians so they can make like an army of Doomguys.

Hircine and the Hunter

Here’s a story that doesn’t have to be tied with anything specific and can even be pulled from various quests involving our favorite Lord of the Hunt; just the tale of a hunter encountering the Daedric Prince Hircine and is given a task, whether it’s hunting down a unicorn or a werewolf or something along those lines. The hunter may choose to go along with Hircine’s commands or disobey them and must survive some cat and mouse game; at the end, when the hunter expects to die, Hircine instead congratulates the hunter for their cunning and rewards them with one of his artifacts. 

Whodunnit?

You know that one job in the Dark Brotherhood questline in TES4: Oblivion that’s basically a murder mystery where you’re the killer? You can make an entire episode based on that. Either make it into a slasher movie where the victims try (and fail) to outrun or defeat their assassin; or go the more interesting route and not reveal the killer until the very end, manipulating everyone at the party to distrust and eventually kill each other until there's only one left...

And finally, The Hypothetical TES Version of “Odd One Out” in Halo Legends:

A Day in Skyrim

The obligatory comedy episode, nothing but pure zany screwball slapstick. Picture it: The Dragonborn and Lydia are wandering the lands of Skyrim when suddenly! A dragon attacks! Naturally our heroes take up arms against the beast, but something goes wrong; the Dragonborn is caught in the dragon’s talons, or their weapon is stuck and the Dragonborn is somehow tied to the dragon, and so the big scaly thing decides “fuck this shit I’m out” and leaves the field... with the Dragonborn stuck to it, screaming with indignation and rage, throwing Shout after Shout, forcing the dragon to do whatever it can to remove the annoying screaming thing from its scales. Lydia, undyingly loyal to the Chaotic Mess that is her thane, is like “ah shit, here we go again,” gets on horseback, and resigns herself to chasing a dragon across the province.

They go through towns, skirmishes between the Imperial Legion and Stormcloaks, interrupt a Daedric ritual that naturally goes horribly wrong, run past an Orc stronghold dealing with a giant attack and two dragons, and eventually the dragon stuck to our Dovahkiin is so worn down it collapses into a bandit fort. Lydia follows the telltale whistling rainbow winds of a soul being vacuumed and catches up, butchering her way through the bandits, and finally finds her very tired thane who now just wants to go home and sleep for like a week... but they might as well loot the place while they’re here, get some money for all the trouble. The episode ends with Lydia checking out a little chest somewhere up in the fort’s tower.

“A NEW HAND TOUCHES THE—”

Lydia slams the chest shut and throws it out of the tower. The Dragonborn shows up. “Find anything good?”

“Nope.”

*distant crash*

There’s simply too many things I could list that could be episodes in a TES TV show; Vivec, the Aedra and Daedra, Ysgramor and the Companions, the Battle of Red Mountain, Queen Barenziah, Tiber Septim/Talos, the tragedy of the Falmer (Snow Elves), the Sword-singers of Yokuda, the Pride of Alkosh, Gaiden Shinji, THERE’S SO MUCH! 

And that’s why an Elder Scrolls adaptation should be like Halo Legends. It should be made by people who love TES and play the games and deep dive into the lore. It’s likely never going to happen, but one can still dream.