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mesetacadre · 3 days ago

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I think it's fair to say there is interest in an explanation of trotskyism from a marxist-leninist perspective. Information on what exactly Trotsky did and what trotskyism is nowadays is complicated to come by unless you know a trotskyist willing to be straightforward or someone involved in organizing with these types of communists. So instead of answering these asks without much prior research or preparation, I decided to wait until I was freer, without too many academic and political responsibilities. Full disclosure, the portion of this post on Trotsky himself is essentially (though not completely) a summary of Moissaye J. Olgin's Trotskysim: Counter-revolution in Disguise, which gets into the basics of trotskyism as well as Trotsky's actual position on his contemporary issues, such as the Chinese revolution, or the CPUSA which I don't get into here but I highly recommend reading. The second portion, about modern trotskyism and how it got to be present in the countries that it is, is shorter and more based on my own experiences organizing with trotskyists as well as reading what they have to say, and conversations with much more knowledgeable comrades of mine.

What is trotskyism?

Succinctly, it is the form of left opposition to marxism-leninism that has enjoyed the most spread, spearheaded by Leon Trotsky and his criticisms of the USSR.

Trotsky himself, despite what his self-aggrandizing History of the Russian Revolution leads one to believe, was never a bolshevik, much less a leninist. The second Congress of the Russian Social-Democratic Labor Party¹ (RSDLP) of 1903, which sought to establish the bases of what would become the bolshevik party and the CPSU, saw the start of the menshevik-bolshevik split, on the issue of what the party should become and how it should be organized.

The bolsheviks, already lead by Lenin, defended the principles of organization that were later systematized into democratic-centralism. These principles were the freedom of discussion until the party decided by a majority vote during a Congress, Conference or other organ for discussion, a position on any issue. After this, unity of action should follow, and the comrades who held the minority opinion, even if they still disagree, should submit to the collectively agreed-upon position, and act on that line an all party matters. This is to ensure that the party of the proletariat, representing the interests of one class, is not divided, and is able to express that single will. Otherwise, its action is crippled by unending debates kept alive by a minority. Consequently, these principles also lead to the intolerance towards fractions within the party.

Trotsky, who aligned himself with the mensheviks, opposed these principles, instead advocating for a complete liberty of individual action of comrades in the party. He called Lenin "the great disorganizer of the party" over this. This is the first great pillar of trotskyism, a rejection of democratic-centralism in favor of the creation of endless cliques and fractions within the party, which he did multiple times within the CPSU until his expulsion.

The second great pillar of the trotskyist opposition that arose before the October Revolution was of defeatism regarding the peasantry. Especially after the defeat of the 1905 revolution, Trotsky was convinced that a successful revolution in a country such as the Russian Empire, where the peasantry was a majority and usually held reactionary positions due to various economic determinations², was impossible because these reactionary elements would inevitably overthrow a worker's dictatorship. While already an excessively defeatist position among other communists, and certainly not a bolshevik position, this belief did not change whether it was 1905, 1915, or 1935. Up to the end, even once the USSR had beaten the armed intervention of 14 armies and had transformed the peasantry by eliminating the class of kulaks and collectivizing agriculture, Trotsky's opposition to socialism in one country relied on the perception of an insurmountable reactionary class constantly on the edge of an overthrow. This is what the "permanent revolution", a term that when used by trotsky has nothing to do with the same term used by Marx and Engels, actually means. A defeatism so deep, that only the practically simultaneous and global victory of the proletariat is possible, all without party unity!

This also negates other leninist positions such as the weakest chain theory, crucial to understanding imperialism, or the necessity of a communist party altogether. Since socialism in one country will inevitably fail, Trotsky told workers that an armed insurrection once the conditions was right was pointless, and that they should instead work for a "worldwide revolution", something that's in practice impossible because it would necessitate a synchronization of the conditions necessary for a revolution in every single imperialist country at once. Unequal development is an unbreakable rule of the imperialist stage of capitalism, and the notion of a worldwide revolution or even a revolution among a significant portion of imperialist countries was already refuted by Lenin in 1915.

So how did Trotsky reconcile his defeatist dogmatism with a living and thriving proof against it in the form of the USSR? As the third great pillar of trotskyism, he insisted by every possible avenue that the USSR wasn't actually socialist, the reasons for which changed constantly. Some issues were already recognized by the CPSU and worked against, and Trotsky exaggerated them. He expressed concern about the Central Committee replacing the party itself, he expressed concern about bureaucratization, the NEP and its lack of collectivization, the excessive speed of collectivization in the 30s, and other criticisms which, when taken together, show only contradiction and a single consistent position: that any attack against the USSR was legitimate.

And it's not like he was being ignored in the USSR, he simply always chose the most incendiary and anti-leninist methods for criticism. In the 13th Congress of the RCP(b) of 1924, among other things, the resolution that was approved recognized many flaws in the party coming out of the NEP, but that these issues weren't actively dangerous and could be solved: bureaucratization in some areas, excessive departmentalization, some influence of bourgeois elements. This resolution was passed unanimously, which included Trotsky. Immediately after the Congress, he published a pamphlet called The New Course, in which he lambasts this Congress and the entire party as having degenerated. In this pamphlet he also places students as the "barometer of the revolution", instead of workers themselves. His only proposal to that Congress was one to allow "freedom of groupings", meaning the freedom to form fractions. Once again he pulled the same stunt in the 15th Congress of 1926; he publicly subscribed to a resolution that explicitly banned such fractions, and directly afterwards published more pamphlets that directly opposed the resolution that he subscribed to! This is not a man who levied fair criticisms and was shut down, he was someone who held minority positions, anti-leninist ones, and refused to admit it, to the point of plotting against the USSR.

But how come Trotsky, during his better known times in exile, claimed he was the true Leninist and that he opposed the Stalinist degeneration? This is the greatest example of a tactic he used constantly. To always seem like the rational critic, and to pass his opposition as one coming from another bolshevik, he always shifted the perspective of his criticisms. In the times of Lenin, Lenin was the "great disorganizer", and the "leader of the reactionary wing of the party"³. But once Lenin died, he became the most loyal foot-soldier of Leninism, crusading against the Stalinist corruption. Then it was Stalin who became Trotsky's devil, effortlessly transposing his criticisms of Lenin to Stalin, and shifting his perspective from that of a menshevik, to that of a true "bolshevik-leninist".

This tactic was used constantly. For instance. when he was still within the ranks of the party, he completely opposed the principles of democratic-centralism, but once he was in exile and had to criticize the Communist International, his issue suddenly became only that the bolshevik form of organization was being hastily applied to different contexts. Then, he really had no issue with democratic-centralism. When he talked of the possibility of a revolution in the US, then all his worries of an insurmountable reaction dissolved, instead becoming an optimist who believed that, actually, there would be no real significant class who would oppose a revolution in the US, and that therefore the USamerican workers should carry out a revolution "without compulsion". The very same person who over the course of decades insisted on the dangers of a counter-revolution apparently believed the workers of the USA had no opposition to fear. This was, rather, simply an opposition to the Communist International's analysis of imperialism, as Trotsky placed the most revolutionary potential in the countries where capitalism was most developed, the imperial core, the very same mistake Marx and Engels committed, except only 70 years prior and with no good framework with which to analyze imperialism. If Trotsky was truly a leninist, then he utterly failed at even beginning to understand anything about the theory regarding imperialism.

I think this is a good enough place to leave Trotsky be, and talk now about trotskyism beyond Trotsky.

Trotskyism, especially in its analysis of imperialism, is very attractive to the imperial core communist. It appeals to multiple sensibilities like individualism, an aversion to revolutionary discipline and work, and impatience. By putting the emphasis away from the party of our class and onto the group of individual ideologues, each with their own cliques and mini-parties, by completely disregarding the possibility of a revolution outside the top of the imperialist pyramid, and by also disregarding the possibility of a revolution until the instance of a total global victory, it is no wonder most trotskyists nowadays are found in the imperial core. This is, with the exception of a portion of Latin-American countries, which I think deserves its own explanation.

Latin America in the 20s and 30s was a continent⁴ of very differing levels of development of capitalism and the proletariat. When many European trotskyists left to Latin America for various reasons, it's no coincidence that they ended up mostly in the urban centers of the most developed countries, such as Argentina and México, where Trotsky himself ended his emigrations after exile. It was exported to places that had a significantly developed proletariat, places which up to that point lacked a culture of multiple communist parties, like Europe had, and places with a strong unionist movement. Other countries like Colombia, Ecuador or Perú, whose worker movements were more significantly indigenist and/or decolonial, along with not meeting the other conditions like Argentina and México, were less ripe for trotskyism.

The condition for a lack of a multi-party environment was important because the trotskyist opposition to the USSR collected all the "orphaned" communists who opposed the sections of the Communist International in each of their countries, especially after the Moscow trials of the late 30s which expanded the opposition to marxism-leninism internationally, as well as with other events like the Hungarian intervention after WW2. But besides this very specific phenomenon, product of a set of very specific conditions which, outside of the imperial core, were only met in these specific countries, the basis of trotskyism as an imperial core opposition to marxism-leninism remains.

So nowadays, trotskyists are mostly located in the imperial core, with those exceptions I've explained. And this leads me to the last part of this post, which is about organizing with trotskyists as a marxist-leninist. In short, it's not impossible but also not an extraordinary situation. Organizing in the imperial core varies from country to country, that much is clear, but the fragmentation into countless groups and sects, as well as the competition with social-democrats, is broadly consistent. These conditions, again generally, mean marxist-leninist parties in the imperial core have to collaborate with a myriad of communist offshoots, anarchists, and ill-defined "leftists" to achieve a broader reach. This includes trotskyists. What makes them in particular uniquely annoying to organize with is that they continue to pretend to be leninists despite all the discrepancies, so they tend to constitute competitors in agitation and rhetoric, while their internal organization usually resembles that of an anarchist group more than anything else. From this, other symptoms like a reliance on assemblyism (especially in the students' movement) and extreme levels of voluntarism naturally follow.

The IMT (International Marxist Tendency), or whichever acronym it is that they're using now, has a relevant presence in just the US and UK with a nominal one in most other imperial core countries. In all cases they're not much more than newspaper vendors who sometimes gives talks at best, and mere reading clubs or financially-extorting sects at worst. There is another international grouping of trotskyist parties that I've come across led by the PTA (Partido del Trabajo Argentino, Argentinian Labor Party), mostly linked via their news broadcast Izquierda Diario, although from what I've heard, the PTA finances their international "children" parties too. Of course, these groups all have different names in each country which in turn tend to change every few years.

Before the split of the Second International during WWI, communists called themselves social-democrats

The mode of production of the peasantry was very individualized, since each peasant or group of peasants lived partly from the fruits of their own labor, they didn't sell it in its entirety. This stands in contrast with the proletariat's completely socialized mode of production; every worker sells the entirety of their labor-power and sustains themself by purchasing commodities with their salary. The pre-existing socialization of production in capitalism was identified by Marx and Engels already in the Manifesto as one of the reasons for the proletariat being the revolutionary class by excellence. The reactionary tendencies of the peasantry wasn't wholly determined by this, it also depended on various historical and contextual reasons, but this should be better expanded on a dedicated post to social alliances.

These are all real insults thrown at Lenin by Trotsky when he disagreed about party discipline. The "true leninist", ladies and gentlemen

Using "continent" in a very loose way here. It's not like the common definitions of continent are very determined either. But you get what I mean

#seriousposting

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notbecauseofvictories · 3 days ago

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50/50

Well, 2024 sure did...happen.

Anyway! I didn't set any sort of goal to watch 50 films and read 50 books this year, but that's where I ended up. Neither number is exactly accurate, and I'm leaving out television, revisiting what I've already read/watched, and all the ridiculous novels I pick up when I'm hungover, but still. I'm kind of impressed with myself. I didn't get to 50 books last year, and I don't think I've watched 50 movies in a year ever---but the more I watch them, the more I explore what they can do and communicate, the more I want to see. As a lifelong reader, it's interesting to explore a new kind of art, to try and intuit your way in through a strikingly different form of communicating the exact same humanness.

TOP FIVE 2024

FILMS

The Florida Project (2017)

Crimes of the Future (2022)

M (1931)

Something in the Dirt (2022)

We’re All Going to the World’s Fair (2021)

It's been months and months since I saw The Florida Project, and I still think about it. The bright and artificial sherbet coloring of it; the dank and mold and shadows that linger around the edges....Actually, I think of all these films in terms of their aesthetics first. Not that there wasn't a story there, but because they all represent such a marriage with form. Consider Crimes of the Future with its fading decay, its browns and rust; M with its stylized, refined cityscape even in the greyscale of 30s cinema; Something in the Dirt where every shot is mundane, or fantastical or both; and We're All Going to the World's Fair, with the particular blue-grey loneliness of the internet age. Surely the benefit of watching a movie (as opposed to anything else) is being presented with something to watch, and I like when directors and creative teams understand that.

Honorable mention to American Psycho (2000) since I'm still a little insane about it---or maybe Corsage (2022) because whether or not it was a good movie, it was nevertheless the most uncompromising, brutal portrait of a historical figure I've seen.

BOOKS

The Rehearsal, Eleanor Catton

Big Swiss, Jen Beagin

Vintner's Luck, Elizabeth Knox

Wylding Hall, Elizabeth Hand

Diavola, Jennifer Thorne

Some people may try to tell you that horror is a discrete genre---I am here to tell you that it's not. All great novels are horror stories, and those listed above especially. From The Rehearsal's self-important artistes, to the therapy-speak Millennials of Big Swiss, to the musicians of Wylding Hall (who miss every sign that Something Is Happening) and the Pace family of Diavola (who deny that the signs mean anything, even after fleeing their vacation home in the night)....all these novels are a study in people experiencing something painful, even terrible. And yet, that provides incredibly fertile territory for their authors to explore the things that come with horror---complicity, desire for closeness, narration and performance, the open wound of family, the thin netting of modernity that keeps us from plunging into something older and darker than we can comprehend.

The only exception might be Vintner's Luck. Not because it's not there as a theme, but because the novel itself spans the narrator's life. By the time he's middle-aged he's committed so many errors, he can't judge too harshly when others do. In this respect it's almost an answer to the questions horror poses---not just how do you survive this? but how do you go on, having survived that?

Honorable mention to Dead Inside, by Chandler Morrison, because it was stomach-turning in the very best way. Echoes of Cipher by Kathe Koja---when an author really knows, really understands, how to wield grossness without shirking or apologizing for it, the result is delightful.

Books of 2020 | Books of 2021 | Books of 2022 | Books of 2023

#from the bookshelf #a proscenium for our dreams #I know we've got another week before we properly reach the end of the year #but I've been dying to publish these lists so you get them early!

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myalgicpierrot · 11 hours ago

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Plain text: They run away from moose like girls. they think a sheet of glass is adequate protection from being shot in the face by gang bangers and their recipes include fresh urine. What the hell is up with New Jersey's finest punk metallers? roars: Cardinal Doran. Snapping fingers: Brother Naki. "The Spanish Inquisition: You ask, they squirm" My Chemical Romance.

Why are you guys soooooo cool?? - Thomas, via email

Gerard: "We can answer this question. (Massive pause.) Er, shit. Let me answer this with a question, "Why is Brody Dalle from The Distillers so hot?" (Another massive pause.) I guess we're cool because we're just like Thomas. Unless he's a serial killer or something. We're just the kids who didn't fit in at school and that's how we found each other. We were always on the outside looking in and it depends on whether you think that's cool or not." Hammer: Off stage though and outside of music, who is the coolest, the most goddamn suave when chatting to the ladies? All bar Mikey in unison: "Mikey." Hammer: Is it your uncanny Jarvis Cocker impersonation? Mikey: "Yeah dude, it gets them every time. No it's Bob; the ladies are suckers for his beard." Hammer: They suck his beard? He must have some good lines.

Gerard, have you any plans to do any more artwork for future albums and how much would it cost to get you to play in my front room? - Name taken, via Hammer message board

Gerard: "Yes and 20 bucks." Hammer: I suppose there may be people who don't know that you do all the artwork. Gerard: "I did the art for both of the records. The first one - '1 Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love' - because I didn't want photographic artwork, so we got the picture, photocopied it, put some Ajax on it and put some cellophane on that. It's not actually a digital image like most people think. Then the second album - 'Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge was all done in watercolours and paint. And, yes, I want to do all of our album covers. I don't get chance to do half as much artwork as I'd like." Hammer: Talking of front rooms, what's the smallest gig you've ever played since you've been releasing records? Ray: "We played a basement in Philly in front of five people, a major record label rep and a homeless person." Frank: "The homeless guy had a tape recorder tied on a string round his neck; he bootlegged the gig and then tried to sell it back to us afterwards. It was very enterprising of him."

Have you ever thought of doing a cover? - The Drifter, via Hammer message board

Gerard: "Well we did. We played 'Jack The Ripper', a Morrissey b-side, at the same time the first record was out because we just didn't have enough songs. We did that for years cos we only had five songs and our sets would have been over too quickly." Hammer: We tend to hate it when bands do either exact copies of songs or when they do really obvious songs; what rules do you think apply to cover versions? Ray: "The band you cover have got to be over and done with or at least on their 10th album or whatever." Frank: "Yeah, so like it doesn't matter if it's Aerosmith - not that you should try to do an Aerosmith cover anyway - but how are you going to improve that?" Mikey: "Johnny And Mary' by Placebo (originally by now deceased suave ladies man, Robert Palmer - OAP Ed) is an interesting cover." Ray: "Just don't do anything obvious. Not covering a hit should be another rule. Placebo also covered 'Where Is My Mind' by The Pixies (American rock heroes that influenced Nirvana) and you can't do that. How many bands do that song? Too many."

Gerard, how do you feel about the comment that you look like Drew Barrymore in ET? - Ant, Birmingham

Gerard: "Where does this come from?" Hammer: I think it was originally from a Hammer live review ages ago. Gerard: "I always get compared to some Hollywood starlet or other. Especially Christina Ricci." Hammer: I'm never going to be able to watch the bit where she does that really sexy tap dance, wearing that amazingly short skirt in Buffalo 66 ever again.

What do you feel about the claim that you are goths? - Ali, from Reading

Gerard (who is dressed entirely in black, has long black hair and loads of make up on to appear like he has the three day dead eyes of a ghoul): "It doesn't really bother us. I think it comes from our song 'Vampires Will Never Hurt You'. I mean, I always dress in black; the whole of the band always dress in black but that isn't really goth to me. Bauhaus were goth; the Sisters of Mercy are goth. I think it has more to do with the sound of the music and our sound is more punk rock. All that goth music is good stuff though; I just don't think we sound like that."

Why not play a show in Iceland? It's not a bad idea. - Icelandic name, Iceland

Gerard: "I would love to." Frank: "I've heard it's fucking beautiful." Gerard: "We're always up for doing stuff like that in different countries and what I always say is 'If you can find a promoter who is willing to bring us over then we'll do it."

Hey guys, sorry to ask the obvious but what happened to Matt (the band's dour and slightly older ex-drummer)? - Alexandra Rose, via Hammer message board

Gerard: "We'd rather not talk about this because we're not a shit-talking band." Frank: "It's just not anyone's business. We don't feel we need to talk about stuff like this." Hammer: Well, I'll turn the question around: Can you tell us about the background of your new member Bob, who's replaced him? (The entire band turn round to Bob, who is dozing in the corner with his hoody pulled up, and laugh.) All: "Bob, what's your background!" Bob (groggily): "I started playing drums when I was three and then after school, I worked my way into the music business, working in music stores and record shops. I started doing drum tech stuff and I always ended up hanging around with My Chemical Romance whenever I worked with them.”

(splash quote) "I just rolled the window up. I couldn't think of anything else to do. 'Phew. I'm safe from the .375 gun now that I've rolled the fucking window up.’”

What are MCR's favourite sandwich fillings? - Your biggest fan, Northern Ireland

Rae: "Turkey and Gruyere." Frank: "Eggplant (Aubergine – American Ed) and parmesan." Mikey: "Grilled cheese and tomato." Hammer: Ah, poor man's pizza. Bob: "Tuna mayonnaise." Hammer: While we're on the subject, who is the best cook in the band? Ray: "Well, I know that Bob can actually cook. Bob, how do you cook them steaks?" Bob: "I get some steak and some vinegar and some other shit. I could tell you but I'd have to kill you. Shit, I don't know, I can cook really good if I've got a book in front of me." Gerard: "Next time I'm over I'm going to cook all of Metal Hammer's readers a chick pea curry, It tastes really good." Frank: "If you are making a chicken Caesar salad you should put powdered onions into the dressing and it tastes really nice. Hammer: Onions? In powder form? Really? What kind of insanity is that? Frank: "You guys don't have powdered onions? You are so BC. Hammer: Goddamnit. You can't speak to a member of Her Majesty's Metal Press like that. But let me know where we can get this shit, we're thinking of launching a sister title Metal And Modern Cookery Hammer All: "Awesome!

To the guy with the big hair (Ray), do you actually Iron Maiden or are you just being cool? - Insane Angel, via Hammer message board Ray:… Gerard: "Woah!" Bob: "Ha! Ha! Ha! Ray:… (starts shaking) Frank: "Oh my God!" Ray:… (smoke starts pouring from his ears) Mikey: "What a fucking question" Ray (with barely controlled anger, through gritted teeth): "No. I hate them. They're fucking shit. That's a fucked up question you shit head!" Gerard: "To be fair it's a valid question. You do see a lot of young chicks wearing Maiden t-shirts who are just doing it because it is a fashion thing to do." Hammer: So we can safely assume you are all Maiden fans? All: "Dude! Of course!" Hammer: In that case can you all give me a surprising Bruce Dickinson fact? Mikey: "He was an Olympic fencer." Ray: "He wrote books on how to get on in the music biz." Gerard: "He is a trained pilot dude!" Frank: "Do you know how in the 70s Bowie started thinking he was Ziggy Stardust? Well, I think Bruce Dickinson is the same with Lord Iffy Boot Race (Main character from Dicko's comedy novels)."

How do you feel about the criticism you receive from the metal community? - Chris, via email

Gerard: "I'm not sure what he's talking about. If he means about the people who remember us from being in a hardcore band who call us faggots on the internet then we're not really bothered. We get called faggots a lot but, you know, so what? Generally we tend not to read about ourselves. Live reviews are handy because you can learn stuff from them but generally not."

(splash quote) "There were five people and a homeless guy at the gig. The homeless guy bootlegged the gig and tried to sell it to us afterwards." (close-up photo captioned "Gerard knows the Way. To wear makeup.")

Do you consider yourselves a metal band? - Grace, London Gerard: "Metal is a big influence. If you think about the power, the screaming, the guitars etc then it is quite metal but it sounds like punk to me." Mikey: "We're also metal in the sense that we've a lot of metal on our instruments and I have quite a lot on my belt buckle as well." Gerard: "If we're metal then we're very traditionally metal. Iron Maiden are an influence as are Helloween, don't ever forget Helloween!" Hammer: In that case, is your song 'Thank You For The Venom' an ABBA style tribute to the large haired black metal poodle rockers from Newcastle, England? Gerard: "Eh?" Hammer: It doesn't matter. Gerard: "That song is a sarcastic statement, a bit like saying 'Thanks for ruining my life'. It was something I had written on my t-shirt the first ever gig we played."

What would you do if you ever encountered a moose? Would you run like a girl or stand and face it like a man? - Goldfinger, via Hammer message board Frank: "Has Goldfinger ever seen any mooses?" Mikey: "That isn't the plural of moose. It's moosi." Gerard: "Fuck off, it's meese." Frank: "Has Goldfinger ever seen a flock of meese advancing on him? It's a terrifying sight. They aren't small creatures. You would just run off like a girl or a boy. What does running like a girl mean anyway?" Mikey: "I've seen one. I'd run like a girl for sure. They're massive. If you run over one you're fucked. They come in through your windscreen kicking." Bob: "People think that moose are really gentle and goofy but they aren't; they're fucking animals." Hammer: What is the most exotic piece of wildlife you've ever encountered on tour? Gerard: "I saw some grizzly bears in Canada." Ray: "I saw a coyote." Bob: "Ray saw this girl in Chicago. She was fucking exotic." Ray: "Oh shit. She pelted me with chicken-flavoured crackers. Do you remember the homeless lady as well? She was this really old lady with this faint voice that I found when I was getting on the tour bus one night. She said, 'Can I sleep here tonight?' and I was like, 'No way lady, get the hell off the bus.' And then I realised that she had wrenched the window off the side of the bus to get in." Hammer: You have more stories about homeless people than any other band that we've met. Gerard: "That's because they are our core audience." Mikey: "We're very attractive to them because we dress like homeless people." Hammer: I saw a moose once. It was bearing down on me with a semi-on and a heart full of hatred. Gerard: "You're making this up aren't you?" Hammer: Er, yes.

Do you like the French? - Paul, Kingston Upon Thames Gerard: "Oh. That is such a loaded question." Frank: "Well, I'm going to say no because when we've toured there they've never been anything but mean to us." Hammer: Well, you're in good company. I know Andrew Eldritch, from the Sisters Of Mercy, said if he had one wish he would make France sink into the sea except for all of the pretty girls aged between 18 and 26, who he would levitate to safety." All, cracking up: "Awesome!" Hammer: Yeah, they are an easy target. Wasn't it Donald Rumsfeld who said that going to war in Iraq without the French was like going hunting without an accordion? Frank: "Brilliant."

Can you clear this up for us once and for all; which one of the Village People was actually gay? - Iron Monkey, via Hammer message board Gerard (without pause): "The Construction Worker."

You guys rule live. What British band would you like to play with in the future? - Hollow Man, via Hammer message board Frank: "Muse." Mikey: "Muse." Ray: "Funeral For A Friend." Gerard: "Yeah, Funeral For A Friend again."

Have any of you ever been shot and/or stabbed? - Andy, Bristol Ray: "We nearly got shot recently. We were stuck in a traffic jam and our manager got into this argument with these Puerto Rican guys and told them to go fuck themselves. They pulled up next to us and got a gun out. Our manager was trying to grab the gun. I thought we were fucked for sure." Bob: "I just rolled the window up. I couldn't think of anything else to do. 'Phew. I'm safe from the .375 gun now that I've rolled the fucking window up.'" Hammer: Were you scared? Bob: "Nah, I'm full of piss and vinegar." Hammer: Ah ha! So that's what's in your secret steak marinade! Bob: "Shit yeah! I piss on my steak. Now I'm gonna have to kill you."

Rock journalists suck big dogs' cocks. And they smell. Really bad. Like burning ammonia. Take over by asking the questions that matter to you. See www.metalhammer.co.uk/spanish for who the Inquisition are gonna be quizzing in the coming months and how to ask your questions. Arriverderch.

MCR for Metal Hammer, Issue 133, December 2004 🩸 #Revenge20

📸 via Naki

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nymphea0 · 19 hours ago

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Monster And His Love

Yan! Leon winston x reader

Oneshot Story (Special Side story)

(Warning : Some Death threat, Some Mature Scene in the end!)

(Minor are prohidited to read this story🚫 )

Main story of : Monster And His Love

Manhwa : Try Begging

: Adult Manhwa (19+)

Author: Libenia | 리베냐

Artist: ABYSS

Word Count ; 1000k word

So because many of you asked about Leon's story, so this is a special chapter that I made. This is shows how rough and significant your future with leons is. so use a lot of your imagination my dear, every ending is yours to determine whether it is a happy ending or not. For my one of dear, i promise to update on New years eve, but guess not, but dont worry, in New years Eve i will update some special oneshot story, my dears.. do you all like Older Chara? Like for example Nanami or like peter killer? Some older man? (^3^) anyways.. much of love- Neva🦋

Might have some bad grammars, correct me if there are any mistakes in the words in the story I wrote. Anyways i hope you all enjoys my story, much love.- Neva🦋

Leon Winston, Who doesn't know that man? Brilliant achievements, famous among the soldiers and also the noble faction.

A handsome man who no one knows how much of a devil he is. Maybe there is only 1 person... his wife. That person is none other than you.

It has been more than 6 years that you have lived with a man, whom you call a devil, a crazy and cruel devil. 6 years you have faced hell by getting pregnant with his child. You have tried everything to escape from Leon, with the child you are carrying, but like a hunted deer, you are trapped. Can't run or even escape.

No.. this story is different from what you think, this is your story, your story in trying to tame the devil, for 6 years.. the effort was not in vain, maybe you could say.. you regret even doing that. Because Leon... is increasingly captivated.. and obsessed with you.

Fareadith Sophia Winston.. your first child with Leon, unfortunately she has Leon's hair color but with your amethyst eyes. You feel like crying every time you see her, you will remember Leon.

What surprised you .. Leon really loves Sophia, the reason is enough to make your soul tremble .. with burning intensity Leon said right in front of your face at that time.

"You ask, why do I like Sophia so much?"

Leon approached you slowly, pulling your chin, making you look directly into his eyes.

"Sophia reminds me of you my dear, she has the same eyes as you my wife .. my love, if she didn't look like you, I would definitely ... kill that child"

You really want to scream, curse and torture the man who is grinning like a devil in front of you.

'31 - xx - 1xxx'

At a beautiful glamorous party, attended by many rich families, a gathering of aristocrats.

One of them is, you and Leon. Even when you and Leon have changed identities in this country, Leon still insists on being a person with unlimited money.

Standing beside Leon who was busy talking to the coal entrepreneur. His right hand was holding a wine glass, while his left hand was hugging your waist affectionately. Maybe that's what people think, too bad, Leon did embrace you.. but also kept you in place so you don't wander off.

Being a good and obedient wife. Do you regret knowing Leon? Of course, you curse your father who took you to Count Winston's residence, maybe if you refused, this misfortune would not be directed at you, but at someone else, Riddle Grace for example, the girl at the summer resort that you accidentally met playing with Leon

The girl with Turquoise eyes, who Leon always called Daisy. Well, but the rice has become porridge, your fate may be more terrible than Riddle Grace.

After the party, Leon forced you into his car, you sat quietly, very different from your husband who was busy focusing on the road.

His grip on the steering wheel was so tight, you? Sighing softly, damn, your hell will come soon. You really hoped the cooling ointment you bought at the local doctor would at least help heal the abrasions.

"How many men have you seduced tonight?!"

Leon may have his eyes on the road ahead, but his hands? His hands were tightly gripping your thighs, squeezing them with a mixture of emotion and possessiveness.

"Seducing you say? I've been standing beside you for over 2 hours Leon? How could I even seduce them when you're holding my waist tightly?!"

Damn, your story is over, you accidentally raised your voice, the car Leon was driving, made a sharp turn, and stopped right in front of the forest, a deserted area!.

"So it turns out, my love has now become a rebellious woman"

Leon got out of the car, turned around and forced open the side car door right where you were sitting.

"Look at me doll"

With his tight grip on the nape of your face with eyes filled with jealousy and arousal.

"Kneel"

You want to refuse but what can you do when you are side by side with Leon who could ask you to do more and more strange things.

You get out of the car, inevitably kneeling on the ground and grass that touches your knees.

"Open it with your own hands"

Leon looks at you kneeling right in front of him, so beautiful and erotic, how lucky he is to have a wife like you.

"Suck it faster doll, don't hit your teeth"

With a tight grip on your hair, Leon guides you to suck it and move your head back and forth, he penetrates your mouth, as if your mouth is another part that he really wants to damage and claim.

You can only pray that when you get home, Leon will at least be gentle with you.

Let's say you are the saddest woman in the world, your daughter Shopia has above average intelligence that makes your head dizzy, while leon? The man was just busy laughing at the report from Sophia's guard who reported that the child had deliberately burned down the inauguration building of the international bank, on the grounds that the bank's funds used corrupted people's money.

With a revolutionary spirit along with the other people, sophia burned down the bank right on the day the bank was to be inaugurated.

"See the doll? I told you, it would be better if we put it in the military academy"

At night, maybe it's the time when your world really becomes a hell of torture.

Lying in bed, both your hands and feet are tied to each bedpost, making you in the 'X' position.

Eyes covered with black silk cloth, in a naked position.

Yes, that's right, naked, your hell will come soon, and you are not sure whether in 1 week you will be able to walk or not.

"Sophia is already 6 years old my dear, it would be nice if we gave her a sibling, a little brother for example? Hopefully the second one will be similar to you"

You can hear the sound of Leon's shoes, and the sound of flowing water and the sound of an object being placed somewhere, you are not sure.

Until you feel Leon's tongue forcing its way into your mouth, you can feel the wine flowing in every corner of your mouth, you can even feel the wine falling in vain to both your left and right sides.

"Tonight you are very naughty, teasing men at the party, raising your voice, even, trying to argue back to me"

Leon's hands skillfully squeeze your chest, his lips that very expertly sip, and bite your neck, leaving marks on every inch of your neck, claiming as if there is no tomorrow.

"I will enjoy you so much, my love"

For Leon, no one can take you away from him, if necessary making you pregnant with his child for the second time, maybe it's not a bad idea, even if the world ends.. Leon will find any way to be able to continue to be with you, no matter how much the price is needed.

Because you are there for him, and he is there for you, His, his alone, no one else.

His mine

Tag list; @snowflakes666 @nerdygoateepeanut @blurryperrtymoonlight @luminethebest @scenicelixir @n4muqr @cannyyyyy @athena-roy @sirenetheblogger @rai-xxx @thehopingfairy @ryusooze @yaoduriaa @merveeeeesworld @darkuni63

Please dont steal my work, or use without my permissions, Always be good people Dear. Much love, Neva🦋🦋.

©️Nymphea0 2024 , OG story, Project Drak Manhwa Character story.

#obsessed #possesive #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere male #yandere x darling #manhwa x reader #yandere manhwa #nevaerah

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mister0ctopus · 2 days ago

Text

apart-mental issues part 2

mini series - jeon jungkook

Pairings: Neighbor JK x Reader

Summary: Just your awkward and embarrassing encounters with your next-door neighbor, Jungkook. This story has three parts.

PART 2 of 3 acceptance is key divas welcome to after hours what can i get ya? cockblock! we should start a podcast handyman buried things avoidance open the door crack mush mush

Ratings: 18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: Explicit language, Mature Contents

Au/Genre: Mini Series, Neighbors, Enemies to Lovers, Angst, Smut, Fluff

Word Count: 5.9K

a/n: inspired by when i moved to my new apartment and my next door neighbor wasnt jungkook :(

🐙 Masterlist / AskMe

apart-mental issues part 1 apart-mental issues part 2 apart-mental issues part 3 (wip)

🔑 acceptance is key

You gave up.

You’d stopped wondering why Jungkook always seemed to catch you at your most awkward.

It was like you were that good at embarrassing yourself, and he was that good at being there to witness it.

But his presence felt significant, not just because he always seemed to be there, but because those moments—however embarrassing—had started to feel oddly comforting, like someone silently rooting for you in the background.

Like that one person you never actually spoke to but who consistently likes all your posts?

Whether it was your latest hallway stumble or your random solo commentary about your grocery list, Jungkook was always there.

Watching. Smirking. Shaking his head.

Avoiding him stopped being a thing. You stopped trying.

It got harder to keep a fixed schedule.

Your classes kept switching between in-person lectures and online sessions as you focused on your thesis.

The apartment building turned into a stage for accidental encounters—hallways, the garbage area, the stairs. You’d exchange hellos, quick chats, banters, and fleeting moments that made you feel less…alone.

Today was no different.

You stepped out of your door, balancing your bag and an iced coffee, only to find him locking his door. His hair was still slightly damp, and he was dressed in an oversized white shirt and jeans.

“Morning,” he greeted, his voice low and slightly raspy, like he hadn’t been awake long. His dimple made its familiar appearance when he smiled, and you couldn’t help but let your gaze linger for a few seconds.

“Morning,” you managed to squeak, juggling your bag and fumbling with your keys. Your iced coffee wobbled dangerously in your hand.

You knew he was watching you struggle, but you didn’t know he was biting his lip to hold back a grin.

Finally locking your door and securing your coffee, you shot him a glance. “So, what’s the agenda today? More random appliance repairs for desperate neighbors?”

“Maybe,” he said, chuckling as he stepped beside you. “Depends on how many people I see kicking trash bins today.”

You groaned and covered your face with your hands, realizing he’d seen your meltdown. “Okay, that was one time. And it was a moment of weakness.”

He shrugged, slipping his hands into his jeans’ pockets. “Hey, no biggie. We all have our moments. There’s no shame in that.”

A warm feeling spread through you. Too warm. Too comfortable. You rolled your eyes and waved. “Alright, alright. Bye, Jungkook.”

💃🏻 divas

You had a presentation coming up, and, despite years of experience, the fear of speaking in front of people never quite went away.

The thought of standing in front of your class still made your stomach drop. So, you’d been practicing nonstop, trying to memorize the key points to calm your nerves.

By the time you hit the stairs of your apartment building, you were already in full-on presentation mode.

“Speech, speech, agriculture and resource management, speech, speech, inclusive development for a more equitable world—” you waved your hand dramatically as you climbed.

“And that, my dear friends,” you muttered to yourself, “is why we’re taking economics to... to TAKE THE FREEDOM WE DESERVE!” You raised your fist in the air like you were leading a revolution.

When you reached the top, you finished with a flourish, curtsying as though you’d just wrapped up a Broadway performance. “Why thank you, thank you. No time to prepare—it was all impromptu!”

CLAP, CLAP, CLAP

You froze.

Of course.

Jungkook. Standing at the bottom of the stairs with an amused grin plastered across his face, his eyes sparkling like he'd just witnessed the best performance of a century.

You blinked.

You'd grown used to these perfectly timed encounters with him, but that didn't make them any less embarrassing.

So, without missing a beat, you turned to him, giving a dramatic bow, as if the applause was exactly what you expected. “Thank you, thank you,” you said with an exaggerated flourish, playing along. “I couldn’t have done it without my loyal fans!”

Later that night, you found yourself in his kitchen, sipping tea as Jungkook crouched on the floor, sleeves rolled up, intensely focused on fixing your ancient electric fan.

Yes, it was old, but it was salvageable, and the repair was free in exchange for a cup of tea.

“You know,” you said, watching as he tightened a screw, “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who willingly fixes things for their neighbors. Is this, like, a secret hobby or something?”

He glanced up at you, lips curling into a teasing smile. “Neighbor,” he corrected. “You’re the only one getting this free repair service. And no, not a hobby. I do this at work—electronic appliances, product development, testing… all the boring stuff.”

"Boring?" you echoed, raising an eyebrow. "No way. Not boring at all. Honestly, I think I should be friends with you, just in case. If you haven’t noticed, I’m basically a walking disaster. I could definitely use a repair guy!"

He laughed, setting the screwdriver down. "Hmm, should I start charging?" He leaned back against the counter, looking at you with a smirk. "So, what are you studying?"

“Just wrapping up my bachelor’s in economics,” you said, taking a sip of tea.

“And working too, right?” he added, tilting his head.

“Yup. Waitressing in the meantime,” you replied with a grin. “So, you know, living the dream. Hot stuff.”

His eyes widened slightly, clearly impressed. “Economics? While working? Wow. That’s… wild. And kind of amazing.”

“Yeah, right?” you replied, playfully tucking your hair behind your ear.

Jungkook’s gaze lingered on you a moment longer than necessary before he cleared his throat and turned back to the fan.

The conversation drifted from school to work to random bits of life—your rambling and his chuckles filling the space.

By the time he finished fixing the fan, you realized you’d been standing in his kitchen for over an hour.

🍻 welcome to after hours what can i get ya?

The next day, your shift started like any other at the bustling bar.

It was a casual spot, perfect for after-work crowds and people looking to unwind.

It was also known for its servers—those who “enhanced the customer experience” with short skirts, crop tops, and a whole lot of upbeat energy.

You adjusted your uniform, the cut highlighting your cleavage and legs. The regulars' eyes already followed you, but you'd grown used to it. It was just part of the job.

Balancing a tray of beers and nachos, you navigated the packed floor with practiced ease.

Then, you turned a corner and—

Jungkook?

There he was. Right in the middle of a group of coworkers, laughing at something one of them had said.

For a second, everything froze. His eyes locked onto yours, and his jaw dropped. He quickly grabbed his water glass and brought it to his lips—only to choke when he fully realized who he was looking at.

You’d told him you worked as a server—you just never mentioned where. Did that matter?

“Are you okay?” one of his friends asked, slapping his back as Jungkook coughed.

You? Completely unbothered. Professional. Cool. Totally unaffected by the fact that your cute, laid-back neighbor was sitting there, staring at you like he’d just realized you had boobs. Or a woman. Not the pale, messy-haired, oversized hoodie-wearing mess you were at home.

“Hi, welcome to After Hours,” you said smoothly, pulling out your notepad. “What can I get for you guys?”

Jungkook’s friends rattled off their orders—beer, nachos, the usual—but Jungkook? He stayed silent, eyes still wide, locked on you.

“And you?” You turned to him, giving him a soft smile.

“Uh—just, uh, a burger,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

“Fries with that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, smile never leaving your lips.

“S-sure,” he stammered, those boba eyes wide and a little embarrassed.

“Got it,” you replied, flashing him a full smile. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.” You turned to leave, but you swore you caught him sighing softly as you walked away.

The smirk that crept onto your face was unavoidable. He’d tried to play it cool, but his eyes had lingered just a bit longer. Not that you blamed him. The uniform was designed to get reactions like that, and you knew the effect it had.

Yeah, I look different in my work clothes.

Wait, why are you enjoying this?

When you returned with their beers, you set them down with practiced grace. “Enjoy,” you said, in a rehearsed, flirty voice, flashing another sweet smile before turning to walk away.

As you leave, you heard one of his friends say, “Dude, she’s hot.”

You didn’t catch Jungkook’s reply, but you kept walking. Still, the smirk never quite left your lips.

🍆 cockblock!

The next evening, you were coming home from work, juggling a grocery bag and your tote when you spotted Jungkook ahead of you, walking toward his door. You were about to joke about your brief interaction at the bar the night before, but—

This time, he wasn’t alone.

There she was—tall, gorgeous, and effortlessly stylish. She stood by his door as Jungkook unlocked it, laughing at something he’d said, her hand resting on his arm.

You froze mid-step. Should you keep walking? Turn around? Pretend you’d forgotten something?

Why did you feel so awkward?

Too late. He looked up and saw you.

“Hey,” he greeted casually, flashing you his usual soft smile.

You managed a stiff "hey" in return, offering a tight-lipped smile and a quick nod before bolting to your door like a startled deer.

Inside, you tossed your keys onto the counter, muttering under your breath, “Cute. Whatever. I don’t care.”

But you did.

You stood there, groceries in hand, staring at the counter. What was this feeling?

You couldn’t name it. It lingered, unresolved, like a song stuck in your head but with no tune.

You lay down on your bed, staring at the ceiling, bracing yourself for the night. Part of you half-expected to hear the sounds of his obviously better-than-yours sex life drifting in from next door.

Thin walls.

But the night stayed quiet. Too quiet.

The next morning, you bumped into him on your way to class. He was dressed in sweats and a shirt, his hair slightly tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed, a black plastic trash bag in his hand.

“Morning,” he said, offering that small, easy smile.

You hesitated before blurting out, “Thanks for keeping it quiet last night. As you can see, I had to get up early for class today.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard, before a grin spread across his face. “Oh, uh... that’s because she didn’t stay long.”

You froze. “Oh…Okay. Well, I hope I didn’t cockblock or anything.”

Jungkook let out a soft laugh, brief but warm. “All good.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, and you swore you felt your stomach flip.

You couldn’t think of anything else to say, so you nodded awkwardly and turned to walk away, silently cursing yourself.

“Hey,” he called after you.

You stopped and turned, heart racing for no reason.

“Yeah?”

“Have a good day.” He shrugged, his smile lingering longer than neccesary.

“You too,” you mumbled before hurrying toward the exit. Your cheeks may or may not have been red.

As you walked away, you realized your hands were gripping the strap of your bag so tightly it hurt.

Stupid Jungkook, with his stupid bunny smile.

🎙️ we should start a podcast

“YOU THINK I WOULDN’T FIND OUT?!” A loud voice, followed by the unmistakable crash of something glass breaking.

You glanced at the time—7:10 am.

The walls of this building might as well be paper.

Groaning, you buried your head in your pillow. You were free today. No classes. No work. Just sleep.

The yelling grew louder, words like “cheater” and “homewrecker” repeatedly thrown around during the heated argument.

Sleep was a lost cause now. You sighed and sat up, glancing at the clock.

By the time you opened your door to investigate the noise, Jungkook was already leaning in his doorway, a mug in hand, grinning like he was watching a reality TV show.

“Good morning!” he said, raising the mug in a mock toast.

“Ugh! They’re still going?” you grumbled, rubbing your eyes as you heard the voices not backing down.

He shook his head, chuckling. “But free entertainment, right?”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

You’d planned to sleep in, but somehow, you ended up in the middle of the hallway with Jungkook, coffee in hand, both of you fully immersed in the commotion.

You’d nod dramatically whenever someone made a solid point, raising your mug like you were cheering them on, and then pull exaggerated faces every time someone threw out a lame argument. Honestly, this was way more entertaining than staying in bed.

A few hours later, you and Jungkook were on your couch, two empty bowls of bibimbap scattered on the coffee table. You were trading theories about the fighting neighbors. Jungkook’s convinced the third party is someone from within the building.

“Jungkook, where are you getting this idea? Only Murders in the Building? You don’t even watch that show!” you groaned. It’s been hours, and he’s still holding on to this theory.

He leaned in, eyes wide with drama. “I swear I saw the guy in the parking lot at 10 pm last week. He was with a blonde lady who looked like the woman from the first floor. Heavy smoker, big hair, dirty blonde? You know her. They whispering.”

“What if they’re just talking? Friendly talk?” you quipped, not buying his theory because of weak evidence.

“In the dark? Behind a car? At 10 pm?!” He was practically jumping off the couch.

“Well, still! They could be just talking.”

“Whispering,” he corrected. “And about what? Hmm? Recipes? Best day to take out the trash? What’s so important to discuss at 10 pm in the dark?”

He was so invested now, his hands gesturing with full animation.

“Okay, okay, calm down, Perez Hilton. Jeez.” You raised your hand, mock surrendering.

He threw his head back, and you both laughed.

“We should start a podcast. Only Gossips in the Building with Jungkook & YN,” he said, his eyes glinting with excitement.

And just like that, your conversation was a whirl of podcast names, wild theories, and dramatic reenactments.

Hours flew by, with no signs of slowing down.

🔧 handyman

The next morning, you barely managed to drag yourself out of bed for your morning online class, splashing water on your face in a half-awake state. As you reached for your laptop, a knock at the door startled you.

Opening it hesitantly, you found Jungkook standing there, a black repair tool box in hand and a soft smile on his lips.

“Good morning!” he said, his voice a little too cheerful.

“Good... morning?” you replied, eyebrows furrowed. You were too groggy to connect why he, was at your door first thing in the morning.

He gestured toward your living room. “So, I noticed your bookshelf yesterday—half-built, just sitting there taking up space, and, well, I figured you’re home for classes this morning, right? Thought I’d finish it.”

Oh. That bookshelf. You cringed internally as you remembered your disastrous DIY attempt. The instructions had seemed so simple… until they weren't. That was three weeks ago.

“Honestly? I could really use your expert services,” you admitted, stepping aside to let him in.

He chuckled and followed you to the living room. Kneeling in front of the half-built bookshelf, he inspected it with a quick glance.

“My services aren’t free anymore,” he said, deadpan.

You gasped in mock offense. “Wow, already monetizing your skills? How much are we talking here?”

“I’m happy with just a cozy cup of coffee,” he said with a playful smirk, not looking up.

You clutched your chest dramatically. “Oh, thank goodness. Something I can actually afford. Guess I should milk this generosity before you raise your rates, kind sir.”

His laugh was low but genuine as you shuffled to the kitchen.

When you returned with the coffee, you handed it to him like it was a prized treasure. “Here you go. Only the finest instant brew.

He accepted the cup with a quiet “thank you” and focused on the instruction manual you’d abandoned weeks ago.

“I’ll be at the dining table for my lec…” You paused mid-sentence, scanning for your bag when you remembered you still needed to put on some lip tint. You couldn't show up looking like a zombie today for an important class.

Jungkook, still waiting for you to finish, simply stared at you, his gaze soft but expectant.

“Oh, sorry,” you mumbled, distracted. “Just remembered I need to look alive for class today.” You quickly began rummaging through your bag as soon as you found it on the couch, your fingers grazing over everything but the lip tint.

“You look perfect no matter what,” he said casually, not missing a beat, his attention already back on the bookshelf.

Your heart skipped a beat, the warmth spreading across your cheeks as his words settled in. You tried to shake it off, your voice a little shakier than usual.

“Lectures starting soon, so… if you need anything, which I highly doubt, just wave me down.”

You didn’t even look at him when you spoke, but his simple compliment hit you harder than you expected, and your stomach fluttered in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

From your seat at the dining table, you caught glimpses of him—his brows furrowed in concentration, an occasional nibble on his lower lip. Every now and then, his eyes flicked toward you, and you could’ve sworn he caught you staring back at him too.

By the time your class wrapped up, Jungkook had not only finished the bookshelf but had also fixed the lamp that he’d switched on yesterday but didn’t work.

As he packed up his tools, you blurted, “I’m so sorry. A cup of coffee isn’t enough for all this work.”

He shrugged, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “It’s fine. I had the time. Besides, I couldn’t just let these things stay broken when they’re easy fixes… they mess with my peace.”

You rolled your eyes. "Okay, Mr. ‘I can fix you’ guy. But still..."

An idea popped into your head, and before you could second-guess it, you walked over to the fridge.

“Hey, so, I made pasta last night... It’s not, like, fancy or anything. I was actually craving japchae but, didn’t have the ingredients, so... pasta. Anyway, um, take this as payment? I mean, if you want... It’s not much, but it’s food, so... yeah.” You hesitated, still unsure about offering your cooking. It wasn’t exactly top chef materiall. You offered the container to him.

His smile widened as he took the container. “Pasta works. Thanks. Wow, honestly, I’m enjoying getting paid more than I thought.”

“Good,” you quipped, opening the door for him. “Maybe we can negotiate a discount next time?”

He chuckled, giving a lazy wave as he stepped out. “See you, YN.”

The next morning, when you opened your door to start your day, a paper bag greeted you. Inside was your container, now filled with japchae, and a note:

“I cooked too much last night. – JK”

⚰️ buried things

Slowly, without meaning to, Jungkook became a constant in your life.

Before you even realized it, you found yourself spending more and more time in each other’s apartments, as if it just... happened.

You slowly started making space for each other in the chaos of your busy lives, finding yourselves yapping away at the end of each exhausting day.

You’d talk about the most random and dumbest things—the mundane happenings in the apartment, his annoying coworker that he’d impersonate to perfection, or your professor, whom you were pretty sure was having an affair with one of the faculty staff.

And you’d end up laughing so hard, you’d be on the floor, tears in your eyes.

He’d fix things for you without you asking or pick up on the little things you’d meant to take care of but forgot.

He’d listen to your mindless ramblings. You’d catch yourself mid-story, realizing you had already told him this a million times before—and you’d apologize. But Jungkook would just look at you, smile, and say, “It’s okay, I like hearing this story. Especially the part where you—“ and he'd lean in, genuinely interested in what you said.

It was like he saw all the tiny messes in your life, both literal and figurative, and took care of them because he wanted to. It was just in his nature.

And somehow, you started feeling more and more comfortable talking to him about everything—those random, unfiltered thoughts that flitted through your mind. You didn’t feel the weight of being judged or the worry of being too weird.

You didn’t even know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, you started really noticing him. It wasn’t just that he was attractive—though, of course, he was—but there was something beyond that.

You noticed little things.

Like, how good he smelled, that subtle hint of fresh laundry mixed with his cologne. Or how he’d touch his ears when he got shy.

And oh, food! The way he got so dramatic about it. When the food was amazing, his face would scrunch up like he was about to start a fight with anyone. It was like he was angry, but also excited, and it was so ridiculously endearing.

But the one thing you couldn’t ignore anymore is the way his eyes lingered on you. Not in a way that felt strange, but in a way that felt like he saw you.

There seemed to be stars in his eyes, and sometimes they lit up even in the dark, appearing brighter when you smiled.

The things you've buried are clawing their way to the surface, and it terrifies you.

It’s been ages since you allowed yourself to truly feel.

How do you face what’s been hidden for so long?

So, you do what’s easiest, what’s most familiar:

🫥 avoidance

You avoided him again.

This is the best course of action.

When you heard his door open, you’d pause mid-step, holding your breath until you were sure he’d gone inside.

If you were in the hallway when he appeared, you’d suddenly remember something you “forgot” in your apartment and make a quick retreat.

Once, you almost tripped over your own shoes in your rush to slam your door shut. Smooth.

"People can only meet you as deeply as they've met themselves."

And you're not ready to meet yourself at the level life is requiring you to be at.

But Jungkook noticed. Of course, he did.

One evening, there was a knock at your door.

🚪open the door

You hesitated before opening the door, uncertainty gnawing at you. Were you ready for this?

When you did open it, there he was—Jungkook, standing with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes were searching.

“Are you avoiding me?” he asked, blunt as ever, but his tone was gentle, almost hesitant.

“No,” you replied too quickly, the word almost sounding like a question.

He raised an eyebrow. “Then stop pretending you don’t see me in the hallway. Stop shutting the door before I can say hi. Stop avoiding me.”

You winced, retreating into the safety of your living room. He followed, shutting the door quietly behind him. “I’m not—”

“Sure. You’re just too busy, right?” he said, his voice softer but laced with frustration.

You folded your arms defensively. “I am! Work and school are killing me, Jungkook. I barely have time for myself, let alone anyone else.”

Silence hung between you.

When you finally turned back to face him, he sighed softly. Slowly, he stepped closer, his hands still buried in his pockets as if to keep them from reaching out.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice low and steady. “I just… I feel like you’re avoiding me, and I don’t know why, or if I’ve done something wrong. That’s all.”

You shook your head, unsure of how to respond. Confrontation wasn’t your strong suit, and right now, you felt cornered.

"I’m sorry," was all you could manage.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward, but it was heavy, charged. His gaze didn’t waver as it traced over your face, as if searching for some hidden clue. Your heart raced beneath the weight of it.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

“I need to tell you something,” he said, his tone serious but gentle. “But you don’t have to do anything about it, okay? I just... I can’t keep it to myself anymore.”

You froze.

His eyes held that look—like he was about to spill something that had been bottled up for too long.

You’ve never been good with spilled milk. Do you just wipe it up? What if it’s too much to handle?

Can you just leave it and cry? Panic crept in, and you took a step back.

No no no.

“Jungkook—”

“I like you, YN” he said, cutting you off. His voice was steady, but his hands fidgeted with his thumb, betraying the tension in his body. You caught the slight tremble in his fingers as he continued, “A lot. And I know I wasn’t exactly subtle.”

Your breath caught. “I... I don’t know what to say—”

“It’s okay,” he said, his words softer now, warmer. “I just needed to tell you, because it’s been sitting with me for a while. I don’t expect anything from you. There’s no pressure to respond or feel the same way. I just think…you deserve to know how amazing I think you are. That’s all.”

There it was. Spilled.

You stood there, frozen for a moment, as his words settled around you, your mind scrambling for the right words, but none came. His gaze held yours, patient and kind. He took another step forward, his hands reaching up to gently rest on your shoulders.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. As if he read the questions in your head, he added, “It’s okay. You don’t have to figure everything out right now.”

He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his warm fingers brushing your cheek for just a moment.

You felt a shiver run through you at the softness of his touch and closed your eyes, letting it linger.

“Okay,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

“Okay,” he said, his lips curling into the faintest smile.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel rushed.

You didn’t feel like you had to fix anything, clean up the mess, or even apologize for the things you couldn’t face.

It was enough to just be.

🖤 crack

You feel like dying. No seriously.

Achy, feverish, and barely able to breathe through your nose, you debated ignoring the insistent knock at your door. You know it is Jungkook, who else?

You open the door to find Jungkook standing there, his bunny smile all teeth flashing and eyes crinkling. “Hey, I cooked too much last night,” he says, holding up a huge container. But his smile fades into concern when he sees your state—blanket draped over you, eyes red.

“Wait, are you sick?” he asks, placing his hand on your forehead.

“Yeah, I feel like dying. I’m just gonna sleep it off—”

“You need to eat and take medicine,” he cuts you off as he steps inside.

“Jungkook, I’m literally contagious—”

“My immune system is strong, I’m not gonna get sick,” he says confidently, already heading into your kitchen and rummaging through your cabinets like he lives there.

“What are you doing?” you ask, wanting him to leave so you can go back to bed.

“I’m gonna reheat the food so you can take your medicine,” he says, placing the pot on the stove.

“Don’t you have work?”

He waves you off. “I’m not going in. My strong immune system and I are staying here,” he says with a gentle smile.

You groan, leaning against the doorframe of your room. “You’re gonna get sick too!”

“Nah,” he says, stirring the pot with a ladle. “But if I do, you’ll owe me, and I’ll think of something as payment.”

You blink at him, too sick to come up with a sharp reply. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re stubborn. Now, let’s get you to bed while we wait for your food.” He smiles as he gently guides your shoulder toward the bed.

You obey, mostly because you don’t have the energy to fight him, and watch as he moves around your apartment, reheating the soup and fussing over your blanket situation, saying it wasn’t warm enough.

You sleep the entire day, letting the sickness take over, but Jungkook makes sure you eat, stay hydrated, and take your medicine. He checks your temperature every four hours and places a damp cloth on your forehead.

When you woke up in the middle of the night, you found him curled up on the couch. You noticed he had changed from his work clothes this morning into sweatpants and a hoodie, which was now pulled over his head, his face smooshed into a pillow. His legs were bent awkwardly to fit your short couch, and the blanket you’d thrown over him earlier had slipped halfway onto the floor.

You shuffled closer, your socks muffling your steps. "Hey," you whispered, gently nudging his shoulder.

"Hey," he mumbled, blinking up at you groggily. "You okay? Need something?"

"Yeah.” You smiled softly, trying to keep the laugh from escaping at how adorable he looked, all disoriented and sleepy. "You to not sleep on my couch."

He blinked at you in confusion, his sleepy eyes squinting. "What? Why? It's fine—"

"Just come sleep on the bed with me. Please?" you interrupted, your arms instinctively wrapping around yourself to ward off the chill.

He stared at you for a moment, his gaze softening as his lips tugged into the faintest smile. "Are you sure?"

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Yes. Let’s go."

His smile widened, and the dim light from the lamp caught in his eyes, making them sparkle. Slowly, he sat up, picked up the blanket from the floor, and followed you to your room.

The bed creaked slightly as he slid under the covers beside you, keeping a noticeable gap between you both. His movements were careful, as though he was afraid to disturb you more than he already had.

"Don’t steal the blankets," you mumbled, already half-asleep again as you burrowed into your pillow.

"Wouldn’t dream of it," he murmured back, his voice so soft and gentle it felt like a warm blanket of its own.

You felt the faintest brush of his breath as he settled beside you, and the space between you seemed to hum with a comfortable warmth.

You drifted back to sleep with a clogged nose and a full heart.

The next morning, when you woke up feeling more like yourself, Jungkook was gone. But there was a neatly folded note on your nightstand, beside a full water bottle and your medicines neatly arranged.

Take your meds on time, okay? There’s food in the fridge for the whole day. Rest up. I’ll see you tonight. – JK

You sat there, staring at the note, feeling your chest tighten in the best way. Like this tiny piece of paper had power over you. And then, like it was nothing, you felt the corners of your mouth curve into a smile.

When you opened the fridge , you find everything prepped and labeled, you couldn’t help but feel flutters in your stomach.

After eating and taking your medicine, you returned to bed. As you settled under the covers, you heard a crack... but you smiled, because it was just the walls you’d built starting to crumble.

♥️ mush mush

Life with Jungkook had become like a well-worn hoodie—cozy, familiar, and easy. It was a rhythm that felt so natural, you sometimes wondered how you’d survived without it. You’d always thought your schedule, your goals, and that thick wall around your heart left no room for anyone else.

But he didn’t just fit into your life. He expanded it, creating space for you to breathe and for himself to occupy every empty corner you hadn’t realized was there.

You learned his quirky habits, and he learned yours.

His laundry hobby (yes, hobby) was a serious thing to him. Jungkook treated it like a sacred ritual, complete with special detergent and fabric softener combos he swore by. “It’s about the clothes-to-detergent ratio,” he’d explain, holding up his freshly laundered Calvin Klein boxers like a badge.

Meanwhile, you’d start one task—say, doing the dishes—and somehow end up reorganizing your bookshelf because, obviously, that was the logical next step. Jungkook would laugh when he caught you confused, gently nudge you back to the original task, or finish whatever you had left undone.

The cooking thing had become a ritual too. You’d started cooking for each other when time allowed—mostly him, though, because he was always willing to cook. So, on your day off, you decided to surprise him with his favorite dish. When he walked in and saw it, his face lit up, eyes wide with genuine surprise.

“Did you make this for me?” he asked, his voice dripping with surprise, his eyes big and bright.

“No,” you shot back, “It’s for the cute guy right next door.”

“Oh, he’s cute? No, no, he doesn’t want to be called cute. He’s hot, right?” He pouted.

“Yeah,” you replied, taking a bite, “He’s so hot I’m gonna ride his dick someday.”

Jungkook choked—and you couldn’t help but laugh. He looked at you in wide-eyed disbelief, but his smile was already tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Careful, baby.” He smirked. “That’s a very dangerous thing to say.”

You just kept eating like you hadn’t just said something that made your own insides warm. But your bravado faltered when Jungkook leaned closer, his fingers brushing against your lips.

“You’ve got sauce,” he said softly, wiping it away with his thumb. And then—like it was the most casual thing in the world—he brought his thumb to his lips, licking it clean.

The sound he made was enough to make you press your legs together.

Fucking hell.

Of course, you’d had your moments. The intense, messy, make-out sessions that left you breathless and tangled in each other’s arms. But nothing beyond that. Not yet.

Because Jungkook was gentle. Respectful. Even though you could see the hunger in his eyes, he never pushed. Never made you feel like you were anything less than perfect, even with all your hesitations.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want him.

Jesus, have you seen the man? A full-course meal. A body that screams sex, a face that could make anyone write fanfics about him. He could easily be a Calvin Klein model!

But some part of you still felt like crossing that line was final. A seal on something monumental, something with the power to change your world in ways that scared you more than you'd ever admit.

But tonight, as you watched him laugh at your antics and go about his weird little Jungkook ways, you realized something else.

It’s been two months since his confession, and even though he told you he didn’t need an answer, you know deep down that you can’t keep avoiding it.

Jungkook had bared his feelings with such honesty and vulnerability, and even if he insisted he didn’t want a yes or no, you knew better.

Because you knew, deep down, the walls around your heart had fallen…

Crushed, powdered, nothing but dust now.

And as you sat with that realization, you understood something even more profound:

It wasn’t force that shattered them.

It was his gentleness.

2/3

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a/n: hey <3 if you enjoyed this piece, could you let me know what you liked? it helps me understand what kind of writing i’ll focus on in the future. thanks for your kind words, really really made my heart dance holy shit just realized i have a validation kink aaaah! thanks for reading! -🐙

taglist: @goldietigers294 @ericawantstoescape @kyljjk @daskewl

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kvroomi · 1 day ago

Text

the twelve days of christmas (kuroo’s ver)

summary: the twelve days leading up to christmas with kuroo and the different ways he shows you his love each time.

listening to: anything - adrienne lenker

tags: kuroo x fem!reader, domestic fluff, minor swearing, reader’s first language is english, reader has hair

author note: IM SO LATE I KNOW, but a massive late merry christmas to all who celebrate! hoping everyone is doing well these winter or summer holidays and spending time with/doing who/what you all love the most. wishing everyone well into this coming new year! may 2025 bring you wealth and good health ❤️‍🩹

i giggled to myself too many times while writing this it’s embarrassing i seriously think this is the cutest thing i’ve ever posted. also just wanted to share that the second i started writing for the final day (day 12), it turned 11:11 and i think that’s a sign

on the first day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—a single christmas ornament personalised with your initials. his fingers held the small box in a way that was both cautious and arrogant—a perfect portrayal of his well-known charm. his frame leaned against the doorway to your apartment, his cheeks flushed from the december cold and the faintest smirk decorating his lips.

you were seated on the couch, your hands curled around a mug of tea. though you loved winter, it just happened to be one of those evenings where the world outside felt grey and cold. you supposed your long day was partly to blame, though you’d almost immediately forgotten about it the second you stepped inside, because there he was; he who was always warm and always golden.

“on the first day of christmas,” he began dramatically, “your loving boyfriend gifted to thee…” trailing off, he held the box aloft like it was the climax of some grand performance.

you raised an eyebrow, unimpressed though very amused. “is it socks? please tell me it’s socks. i feel like i’ve been dropping very unsubtle hints.”

your own interest had piqued just from your rambles alone, your mind unconsciously racking through endless possibilities of what could be in the box. now your body has shifted from casually leaned up on the back of the couch to sitting at the edge, eager to find out what gift awaited you.

“socks?” kuroo scoffed, shutting the door behind him with his foot. “do i look like the kind of guy who gives socks on day one? socks are at least day four material.”

“ah, my mistake.” you purse your lips in apology before taking a sip of your tea and watching as he sat beside you, his knee brushing against yours.

“wait, hold on.there’s more gifts coming?” you whipped your head towards his in realisation.

kuroo smelled faintly of pine. whether from a nearby tree lot or just because he insisted on using a “woodsy” cologne, you couldn’t tell. he simply shrugged sheepishly in response and you gave a wearisome huff.

“alright well… go on then, magician. what’s in the box?”

with a theatrical wave, kuroo opened the lid. inside was a single christmas ornament: shiny and delicate, etched with your initials in exquisite gold lettering. it caught the dim light of your living room and scattered it like tiny stars.

you stared at it for a moment, caught off guard by how sweet it was—intimate, even. it wasn’t that kuroo was incapable of romance. he was, in his own teasing way… but this felt different. it felt a lot more thoughtful.

“an ornament,” you said finally, reaching out to touch it. “wow... this is… weirdly adorable. are you feeling okay?”

“don’t ruin it,” he hushed pretending to be offended, though you could see the corners of his mouth twitching. “i thought we’d start a tradition. every year, one new ornament. you know, build up a collection. by the time we’re old and grey, we’ll have a whole tree full of memories. romantic, right?” he winked playfully.

you blinked, caught between laughter and something warmer and deeper. “that’s actually—wow. that’s disgustingly sweet, tetsu.”

“i’m just full of surprises, babe.” his hand dipped gently into the box and handed you the ornament, fingers lingering against yours. “just don’t get too used to it because tomorrow’s gift is going to be hilariously impractical.”

you turned the ornament over in your hand, the gold initials shining faintly. “okay… i just can’t get over how my initials are way prettier than yours? if this tradition continues, i fear we might need to just skip out on an ornament with your name so the tree stays pretty.”

“pffft, it’s not my fault you’ve got better branding,” he grinned as he draped an arm over your shoulder. “if it makes you feel better, next year i’ll go full kuroo—big and bold. i’m thinking something shiny and impossible to ignore. perhaps an ornament shaped like my face instead?”

you laughed, leaning into him. “i’d hang it front and center, right where everyone could see it.”

his smile softened. “great. that’s where i’d want it to be.”

you stayed like that for a while, his hand tracing slow circles on your shoulder. outside, the world was cold and distant, but thanks to kuroo, it felt like the season itself was bright, and full of beginnings.

on the second day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—two matching christmas mugs lined with photos from your recent photobooth trip. kuroo lied yesterday when he said today’s gift was going to be “hilariously impractical” but he wouldn’t tell you until you found out yourself. the box was suspiciously light when he handed it to you, his grin giving away both everything and nothing at all. he’d ambushed you in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you prepped your nightly tea with a knowing look.

it was day two of his so-called “twelve days of christmas” series, and if yesterday’s ornament hadn’t been both weirdly heartwarming, you might have been more cautious. but this was kuroo—the fun was in the gamble.

“i know you’re dying to see what’s inside,” he urged, the teasing lilt in his voice as familiar as his cologne. “guess. it’s the perfect gift for someone like you.”

“someone like me?” you narrowed your eyes, glancing between him and the box. “what’s that supposed to mean? should i be insulted?”

he placed his chin between his index finger and thumb, thoughtfully. “hmmm… insulted, no. concerned, maybe. thrilled? definitely.”

you scowled at him before turning to open the box slowly, drawing it out just to see him fidget. inside was a white mug—unassuming, plain, even. too plain for kuroo. you turned to him, mug in one hand and the other on your hip.

“wow,” you deadpanned. “a mug. revolutionary. thank you tetsuro for single-handedly redefining the art of gift giving.”

“ah-ah.” he wagged a finger in front of your face, grabbing the mug before you could set it down along with the other mugs in your extensive collection. “this isn’t just a mug. this is a magic mug.”

you blinked. once. twice. and three times before stuttering out a “sorry?”

he sauntered to the kettle, pouring hot water into the cup with the flair of a magician revealing the final act. you watched almost agonisingly slowly, as the heat spread and the surface began to change. the once white mug was now fading to colour. your breath hitched as the image emerged: a photo from your last impulsive photo booth trip.

there you were, mid-laugh with your face tilted toward his. his grin was wide and toothy, hand half-raised as if mid-gesture. the next frame showed your cheeks puffed in anger, while kuroo looked genuinely alarmed with one hand outstretched as if apologizing. and the cherry on top of the final frame? pure love—his chin buried in your shoulder with your hands on either side of his cheeks, squishing his face into something utterly ridiculous.

you couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you, warm and unfiltered. “oh my god, this is what you chose?”

“what can i say?” he pushed himself back against the counter, watching your reaction with a soft sort of pride. “i’m a sucker for authenticity and you look adorable in that last one.”

“adorable?!” another laugh bubbled from you as you gestured wildly at the cup, now fully transformed. “i look like i’m wrestling you into submission!”

“exactly,” he uttered, completely serious. “it’s very ‘us.’”

half-exasperated, half-melting under the sheer absurdity of it all, you replied. “i’m going to use this in every meeting i have. i’ll be sipping from this in front of clients and coworkers.”

he grinned, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “perfect. let the world know you’re stuck with me.”

cue the classic eye roll. the warmth in his voice, the way he let his fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm—it disarmed you, as it always did.

“well,” you pressed a kiss to his jaw, “i guuuueeeesss i do need a mug for tea.”

“that’s the spirit.” he picked up his own matching mug, the photo identical but reversed. “and now, when we’re apart, you can look at me squished like a pancake and remember how much you love me.”

for the third time, you couldn’t help but laugh again, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “you’re ridiculous.”

his voice dipped low as he kissed your temple, “here you are loving me anyway.”

and he was right. of course he was right.

on the third day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—three of his favourite, special, christmas recipes. he arrived at your door with a snow-dusted grin and a peculiar sort of confidence—though that was nothing out of the blue. he held a single envelope; it was a little worn around the edges, with your name scribbled across the front in his messy, self-assured handwriting. no grand box like the past two days, no wrapping paper, and no telltale jingles of something extravagant. all that was held between his fingers was the envelope.

“is this a love letter?” you asked, pulling him inside by the sleeve of his coat to stop the cold from clinging to his cheeks. his cheeks were a warm shade of pink and had you had stared at them any longer than you already had, you would’ve kept him outside just so you could stare at how soft he looked for even longer. “because i gotta say, day three seems a little early for declarations of undying devotion.”

“ha ha, not a love letter,” he responded sarcastically, toeing off his boots and shrugging out of his coat. he stood in the middle of your walkway with his hands on his hips, watching you with that unshakable kuroo observation. “though if you want one i could probably draft something up. i’d write about your eyes, your laugh, and the way you snore when you’re—”

a single flick to his forehead to stop him before he could finish, and he lets out a laugh, all mischief and charm.

“okaaay, what’s in the envelope, then?” you asked, shaking it lightly as you moved toward the kitchen. naturally, kuroo followed like he belonged in your space.

“three gifts in one,” he announces, tapping the counter. “an entrée, a main course, and a dessert—recipes straight from the kuroo tetsuro vault of holiday magic.”

you nodded, taking in what he said and ending it with a shrug. “the kuroo tetsuro vault of holiday magic? huh, sounds legit.”

“oh, it’s legit,” kuroo leaned in slightly, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “these are the recipes that made my grandma call me her favourite. this—” he jabs at the envelope in your hand before continuing, “—holds recipes my teammates still beg me to make whenever i’m back home. they’re recipes that are, dare i say, iconic.”

you opened the envelope, pulling out three sheets of paper each written in his handwriting, complete with small drawings in the margins.

as your fingers traced the edges of the paper, the room shifted. the glow of the kitchen lights softened, the air thick with something quiet and familiar. you’d awaited a playful gesture—a joke gift wrapped in kuroo’s usual brand of teasing. perhaps something loud and irreverent to match the way he filled a room, but this? this was different.

the ink on the pages flowed sweetly from one side to the other—slightly smudged in places. you knew it spoke of hours spent leaning over a counter, a pen in his hand and you in his mind. each word carried a history with memories of family kitchens—laughter echoing through the years, a tradition he was choosing to share with you. it was so intimate in a way that pressed against the deepest crevices of your heart, unexpected and unspoken. it was like being handed the key to a door you hadn’t realized you’d been standing in front of.

all you could do was glance up at him, your voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a breath you hadn’t yet let go. “this feels… so personal,” was all you could squeeze out, quieter than you meant to.

kuroo who was against the counter, watched with an expression that was almost unreadable, his usual smirk replaced with a smile. “it is,” was all he said, and the weight of those words settled over you like snow on the branches outside.

it wasn’t just recipes. it wasn’t just a gift. it was a glimpse into the places he didn’t offer easily to the world—the spaces he reserved for family, for love, for you. the realisation unfurled slowly like the first bloom of warmth on a winter morning.

“hey,” he murmured whilst stepping closer, his hand brushing against yours as he gently laid the pages down onto the kitchen counter. “don’t overthink it. i just wanted to give you something real. something that… feels like home.”

you glanced down at the pages. the first was for an appetizer: roasted chestnut and butternut squash soup. there were notes about how the squash needed to be caramelised just right, along with a drawing of a smiling chestnut wearing a christmas hat.

the second was the main dish: honey-glazed ham with a cranberry-orange reduction. beneath the instructions he’d written, ‘if this doesn’t make you swoon, i’m giving up on holidays forever.’

the third was dessert, of course. written in black ink was his family’s secret recipe for gingerbread cookies with notes on how to make them crispy on the edges but soft in the middle. there was a poorly sketched gingerbread man doing a backflip in the corner.

“tetsuro,” you whispered reading through them, the thoughtfulness sinking in. “these are actually amazing.”

“of course they are,” he responds, moving to stand behind you with his chin resting on your shoulder as he peered at the recipes. “but they’re not just recipes. they’re invitations.”

“invitations?”

he tilted his head slightly, his hair brushing against your cheek. “to make them. together. think of it as a bonding exercise. or a relationship test. can we survive one kitchen, one oven, and three recipes without a holiday meltdown? high stakes, i know.”

now you really couldn’t hold back the laugh. folding the papers back into the envelope you continued, “so, what happens if we pass this ‘test’? what’s the reward?”

he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, his voice warm and teasing. “you get to keep me, obviously. and maybe some awesome leftovers.”

you turn to face him, envelope in hand. your chest settles with the same feeling of warmth that had nothing to do with the kitchen. “you know,” you lean in slightly, “for a guy who smuggles his personality in through bad puns and bad jokes, you’re actually kind of romantic.”

“kind of?” he echoed, feigning offense. “i just handed you the culinary equivalent of my heart, and i get “kind of” romantic?”

you kissed him, cutting off his fake tirade. your hands find their way to his collar and when you pulled back, his grin was smug but softer, like he’d just won something only the two of you could understand.

“now, which recipe do we ruin first?”

on the fourth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—four candles, each paired with a scent from a particular memory you had through every season that year. the snow on his shoes had melted into slush by the time kuroo had arrived home from work, boots squeaking on the wooden floors as he entered your apartment. dropping his scarf onto your chair and his coat on another, he finally let himself fall on the armrest of your couch. low and behold, balancing on his leg was yet another box, significantly larger that the past two he had gifted you already.

“are you here to redecorate or ruin our furniture?” you asked, looking up from your laptop as you glared at the wet spots forming around your couch.

“i bring gifts,” he announced proudly like a dramatic oracle. “four of them, actually. one for every season.”

you hummed. “wait! let me guess, a pinecone for winter, a seashell for summer, a pile of wet leaves for autumn—”

“wow. you really have not been giving me any credit, even after yesterday’s absolute banger of a gift!” kuroo interrupted while you snorted next to him, watching as he scooted closer to you on the couch and handed you the box. “this, my love, is the culmination of hours of research, consideration, and—you’ll be surprised to hear—minimal swearing.”

you sat up intrigued, raising an eyebrow and peeled the lid off. nestled inside were four candles, each carefully labeled with a card on top in his handwriting which had looked like it had been scrawled by a caffeinated bird—you found it so endearing

“spring: cherry blossoms and rain-soaked pavement,” you read aloud, pulling the first candle out.

“‘cause of the park!” kuroo winked at you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “y’know, when we tried to have a picnic but you spent half the time yelling at me to stop stepping in the puddles?”

“tried is the keyword there,” you retorted wittily, though your lips curved into a frown at the memory. “and you splashed mud on my shoes.”

“you mean i decorated your shoes,” he shot back without missing a beat.

the summer candle came next, and the scent of salty air and something faintly fruity filled your nostrils. you froze.

“the beach,” it was such a distinct memory for both you and kuroo, “the one with the frisbee game…”

“where i heroically rescued it from that evil seagull,” he finished, and when you looked up towards him, his grin was unapologetic.

“you ate shit running away afterwards.”

“unnecessary details, babe,” he shook his head, waving a dismissive hand.

autumn smelled like spiced cider and faint traces of smoke, the memory wrapped around you like a worn flannel—cool nights, warm hands, and kuroo pointing at the sky with wild confidence as he made up constellations.

“that one’s kuroo’s cluster,” he’d sleepily said that night, pointing to a random spot in the sky. “because it looks like it forgot what it was doing halfway through.”

that candle earned a spot on the coffee table.

finally, winter. the label read ‘evergreen and vanilla latte’ and as soon as the wick was lit, the room was filled with something achingly familiar. the scent of him—of mornings spent curled up together with his laughter spilling into your coffee like the easiest thing in the world.

you didn’t speak for a moment; you didn’t trust your voice. instead, you reached for the winter candle again, holding it like it might explain something to you if you focused hard enough.

“i thought they might be nice to have around,” kuroo added, his tone quieter now as he watched you with that expression he wore when he thought you weren’t paying attention. “like, if i’m not here or something. you’d still… have the moments. or the scents. or—okay, i’m bad at explaining this.”

“you’re not,” this time you were the one to interrupt him—though your voice betrayed you, cracking slightly at the edges.

his grin usual returned, soft and crooked. “you’re not gonna cry, are you? i don’t have tissues on me.”

you snorted, swiping at your eyes before any tears could fall. “i’m just impressed. you managed to make yet another gift that’s thoughtful and functional. what’s next? a calendar with all the dates we’ve argued circled in red?”

“now there’s an idea,” he laughed—big, loud, and very kuroo. resting an arm along the back of the couch, he sighs. “but that’s for next year. for now, you just get the candles. and me, obviously.”

“ how lucky i am,” you mocked, though when he leaned closer, his forehead brushing against yours, the words fell into the warm silence between you.

“you are, actually,” his voice was low and teasing, “because i really am as great as i smell.”

for once, you didn’t argue.

on the fifth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—five flowers all wrapped up in a bouquet he designed himself. it was just after sundown when kuroo was unlocking the door and stepping inside of your home. the paper he held was crinkled in his grip while the flowers peeked out at odd angles, a mix of bold colors and delicate whites. you cocked a brow at him, eyes wandering and questioning

“is this day five?” you gestured to the bouquet. “don’t get me wrong, i’m so grateful… but what’s the theme here, tetsuro? did you run out of budget or is this an act of minimalism?”

his grin was slow and easy, the kind that always seemed to have a secret tucked behind it. you learned to accept it. he laughed, stepping past you and into your apartment, leaving the cold trailing behind. “i may have argued with the florist over ribbon choices—but that’s besides the point.”

“wha—” he handed you the bouquet with a seductive wink. as you took it, you noticed the odd composition—a single red tulip, a deep purple iris, a white daisy, a bright yellow sunflower, and a pale pink rose.

“five flowers for five things,” stepping back to watch your expression, he continued, “each one is for something i love about you.”

and just when you thought it wasn’t possible for kuroo to surprise you anymore than he already did, you were proven wrong again. stilling, you let yourself feel the weight of his words as they settled into tge tips of your fingers. “you made this?”

“mmm, well i designed it,” he corrected, the smugness now tempered by something a little more humble. “technically i only arranged it. poured my soul into it though. the tulip’s for how bold you are. you’ve got this way of standing out even when you think you’re blending in. it’s infuriating, honestly.”

you ran your fingers over the tulip’s petals, and his voice softened as he pointed to the next.

“the iris is for how much smarter you are than me.” there was no bite in his tone. “don’t get a big head about it, i still beat you at trivia night last month.” you opened your mouth to protest, but he was already moving on.

“the daisy? for how annoyingly kind you are. to me, to strangers, to stray cats in alleyways. you make everyone feel like they matter.”

your throat tightened as his fingers brushed over the edge of the sunflower.

“this one’s for how much light you bring into my life. it’s cheesy as hell, trust me i know, but…” all he offered was a shrug, his grin faltering for a split moment. “i mean it.”

he hadn’t looked up at you yet, still in a dream state as he gazed at the last flower. pausing at the rose, his hand dropped back to his side. his pitch lower, more intimate, when he said, “and the rose is for how much i love you. no explanation needed for that one.”

the only sound you could hear was the faint of the bouquet as you shifted it in your hands. for a moment, all the teasing and the wit and the usual sharpness between you dissolved into something quieter—something raw and real.

“tetsu,” you said softly, but you couldn’t find the words to follow.

if there was one thing you loved more than his gifts, it was his dorky lopsided grin. “i told myself i wouldn’t get all sappy,” he scratched the back of his neck. “but you know how i get around flowers. turns me into a total poet.”

“not a very good one,” if there was one thing you could manage while holding back tears, it was witty retorts to kuroo’s words.

“yikes,” he feigned hurt, but his smile didn’t falter. “so, do you like it? orrrr should i just stick to chocolates next year?”

you looked down at the bouquet. gazing at every colour, at the thought he’d put into every flower, every scent, every message hidden in their petals—your heart ached with the weight of it.

“i love it,” you whimpered, your voice trembling just enough for him to catch it. “i love you.”

his smile softened, his hand reaching up to brush a stray hair from your face. “good,” his voice was warm. “because i’ve got seven more days of this, and i’m not letting you return a single gift.”

on the sixth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—six different ways to say “i love you” in different languages. kuroo waltzed into your living room on the sixth day of his increasingly elaborate holiday gifting holding a small stack of cue cards in one hand and an overly confident grin on his face.

“alright,” he began, dropping onto the couch beside you, “today’s gift is educational: a little bit of culture, a little bit of romance.”

setting your mug of tea down in interest, you were skeptical—like always. “if this ends with me being serenaded in bad french, i’m locking you out.”

he loudly gasped in offense, clutching the cue cards to his chest. “excuse me? my french is impeccable.”

“your french is embarrassing.”

ignoring you, he flipped the first card toward you, reading it aloud. in his handwriting were the words, je t’aime.

“see? classic,” his accent was questionable at best. “it’s romantic, it’s timeless. and you can’t deny that it sounds a little better than just ‘i love you.’”

“except when you say it like that,” you teased.

he pretends to be unfazed, choking back a laugh and your playful jab. he revealed the next card: ich liebe dich.

“this one’s german. it’s efficient and to the point like a well-engineered car,” he said, adding a dramatic comparison. “say it back. come on. ich liebe dich.”

“i’m not repeating that.”

“coward,” he muttered, flipping to the third card: ti amo.

“now, this one is for when i’m feeding you pasta,” he gestures extravagantly. “picture it: candlelit dinner, spaghetti, me leaning over the table like i’m straight out of an old Italian film. “ti amo.”.”

you snorted. “more like you spilling marinara sauce on your shirt.”

“uncultured,” he sighed, shaking his head.

the next card read, saranghae. he held it up with a bit more reverence.

“this one’s korean,” he explained. “it’s sweet, right? got a nice rhythm. saranghae.” there was a pause, almost in quiet contemplation, before kuroo then added slyly, “you’re swooning right now, i can tell.”

“oh, absolutely. weak in the knees,” you said straight faced.

“perfect. that’s the goal.”

the fifth card: te quiero.

“spanish. it means ‘i love you,’ but it’s also like, ‘i care about you.’ multifaceted. practical and emotional,” he said, tapping his temple like it was a genius move.

you smiled, “are you planning to take me on a multilingual tour of love, or are we stopping here?”

“patience, my love,” and kuroo flipped to the final card. aloha wau iā ʻoe.

“that’s hawaiian,” he said, his tone softer now. “it’s not just ‘i love you.’ it’s… bigger than that. like, ‘i carry you with me.’”

he grinned, setting the cards aside. “see? i’m not just a pretty face.”

“you’re insane,” you shook your head, your voice betraying the warmth blooming in your chest and the small smile that lingered across your lips.

“and yet,” he teased, leaning closer, “you’re still here. must be the german.”

“definitely not.”

on the seventh day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—seven handmade coupons for morning coffees made by yours truly, (kuroo). you woke up to the sound of him humming in the kitchen, the smell of coffee curling through the air and gently rolling you awake. when you stumbled into the room (still half-asleep), he greeted you with a little stack of paper slips tied together with string.

“good morning, sleeping beauty,” he pushed a warm cup of coffee into your hands. “your seventh gift awaits.”

you squinted at him and then at the handmade coupons he held out. each one had “one homemade morning coffee” written across it.

“coupons?” you questioned flatly.

“not just coupons,” he quickly answered, moving to send a flick to your forehead. “these are artisanal. limited edition. handcrafted with love.”

“they look like they were crafted by a toddler.”

“ouch,” he whined, clutching his chest as though wounded. “but fine, let’s break it down. seven coffees for each day of the week, exactly how you like them. frothy milk, not too hot. just a dash of cinnamon, because i know you pretend not to like it but secretly, you love it.”

he had read you to filth. “and what happens after i use up all seven?”

“oh, you’ll be addicted by then,” he replied with a charismatic wink. “i’m just playing the long game.”

toying with the crumpled paper and inspecting them more closely, you notice one of them had an additional note scribbled in the corner: bonus: i’ll even let you take the last sip of my coffee ;)

you shook your head in disbelief. this was so unlike kuroo. with furrowed brows, you turned to him, “you hate sharing coffee.”

“uh, correction: i hate sharing coffee with other people. with you, it’s an act of love.”

“and when can i actually make good with these?” you asked, tucking the coupons into your pocket.

“whenever you demand it,” he bowed, “i’m at your service always—currently a barista for hire. oh but i must say, full disclosure, my latte art is limited to blobs.”

“blobs?”

“abstract hearts,” he clarified with a grin. “call it modern—trendy, if you will”

kuroo’s coffee was as much of an experience as it was a drink. the surface of the latte was crowned with an ambitious attempt at foam art—what could generously be described as a heart. a faint dusting of cinnamon kissed the frothy top, swirling faintly as the steam rose.

it definitely wasn’t perfect, but it was him—warm, unpolished, and just a little disordered. you could already imagine it in your head, the endearing way he would’ve tilted his head, squinting at the cup like an artist critiquing his own masterpiece.

you laughed, shaking your head at the thought. kuroo must’ve thought you were laughing at his response because he was quick to be defensive.

“hey, all hearts are beautiful,” his arms were sternly crossed against his chest as he stared down at you. “besides, you drink it—not frame it.”

so with a nod, you sipped the coffee in your hands. to no one’s surprise—he’d made it perfectly, nailing everything down to the faint sprinkle of cinnamon you always pretended not to want.

“okay,” you clapped both your hands together enthusiastically, setting the mug down and pushing all the coupons into your pocket. “you’re on the clock for the rest of the week. let’s see if you can actually make seven cups as good as this one.”

kuroo smirked, holding the cup up like it was his greatest triumph. “challenge accepted. but don’t get used to this level of service. i’m not planning on opening a café any time soon.”

you feigned a groan of anguish, already mourning the image you had of him in an apron with his name embroidered across the front in your head.

“oh, you’re definitely opening a café,” you teased. “i’m making it my eighth gift request.”

“dream big, babe,” he laughed, sending a pinch to your cheek before walking towards to living room. “for now, enjoy the best coffee in town, made by the best boyfriend in the world.”

it was silly and over-the-top. yet, as you watched him carefully pour milk into another mug for himself, you couldn’t help but smile into your own coffee; there might be something dangerously romantic about a man who knows your drink order better than you do.

on the eighth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—eight slices of your favourite pizza. the pizza box was waiting for you on the counter unwrapped. the unmistakable aroma of your favorite pizza in the air—an irresistible invitation. kuroo, sitting at the dining table, watched you approach it with an excited smile.

“eight slices,” he gestured grandly as he stood up, both hands present the box to you. “one for each day of christmas so far. thoughtful, isn’t it?” he pretended to flick back a long piece of hair in an attempt of confidence.

“you know i’ll eat this entire thing in one sitting,” you felt like you could cry from happiness, already reaching for the lid.

“exactly.” he tapped his temple. “a gift that vanishes is a gift you can’t overthink. i’m saving you from existential dread.”

you laughed, thanking him as you opened the box. there it was: your favorite pizza, glistening like a treasure chest filled with molten gold and perfectly crisp toppings. the ultimate kicker? each slice had been marked with a sharpie inside the box.

“tetsuro… what are these labels?”

“guided eating,” he straightened up.

sure enough, written beside each slice in his looping handwriting were notes:

slice 1: for courage, because braving multiple years with me deserves a medal.

slice 2: for patience, because i’m pretty sure i’m still not folding the laundry right and you fix it every time without any complaint.

slice 3: for joy, because watching you smile is better than any christmas lights.

slice 4: for forgiveness (in advance), for what i might say during monopoly later.

slice 5: for luck, because you’ll need it to beat me at monopoly later.

slice 6: for love, because i can’t put that in words so i’ll give you pizza.

slice 7: for adventure, in case you want to try pineapple on your pizza next time.

slice 8: for tomorrow, unless you eat this one too. which honestly, i think you should.

you couldn’t decide whether to laugh, cry, or throttle him for being such an over-the-top sap.

“this is such an odd gift, tetsu!,” you couldn’t stop laughing, though your eyes stung and your chest ached in that intimate, tender way he always managed to conjure.

“oddly perfect?” he sheepishly replied, grabbing a slice and handing it to you. “come on. start with courage.”

immediately you took a bite and sighed. it was exactly as good as you remembered. somehow knowing he’d gone through the trouble of this strange display made it even better.

“you’re quite weird,” you said, wiping your lips with a napkin.

“oh come on, you love me,” he bumped his hip with yours.

you glanced at the box and then at him. you thought about how much of yourself he’d somehow folded into this simple, silly gift—your personality and your habits.

“i do,” you admitted, because how could you not?

as you grabbed the next slice: patience—you decided that eight slices of pizza might just be the most romantic thing you’d ever been given.

on the ninth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—nine random, sweet text messages that pop up randomly throughout the day. the first one buzzed into your phone just as you were pulling on your coat, the frosted morning sunlight bleeding through the blinds.

tetsu: on the 9th day of christmas my true love gave 2 me

tetsu: one notification 2 make u smile.

tetsu: good morning, 2 my favourite person ever.

it was simple and playful—and it did its job. you did smile. giddily tugging your scarf tighter against the chill, you headed out the door.

the second one came while you were waiting for your coffee, a notification cutting through the quiet of the café.

tetsu: if i were a latte, i’d want 2 b the one in ur hand rn

tetsu: u always pick the good ones

you almost rolled your eyes but found yourself chuckling into your sleeve. he had a knack for being perfectly timed and charming simultaneously.

by the third, you realised this wasn’t a coincidence. he was going to send you nine, sweet, little messages throughout today.

tetsu: just saw a dog wearing a little sweater and thought of u

tetsu: not sure why

tetsu: both equally adorable.

it hit your phone as you walked past a store display of knitted scarves, the kind you knew he’d wrinkle his nose at and insist were “over-engineered neck warmers.” you texted back a sarcastic ‘wow, smooth’ and almost swore you could hear his laughter from wherever he was.

the fourth through sixth arrived like little spoonfuls of sugar in your coffee, scattered throughout your day.

#4 tetsu: if i told u i missed u, would u roll ur eyes or tell me 2 hurry home?

tetsu: asking 4 science

#5 tetsu: totally random fact

tetsu: u’re the best person i know

tetsu: not random enough?

tetsu: fine. penguins have knees

#6 tetsu: it’s scientifically proven that texting u makes me 87% happier

tetsu: i just ran the numbers

by the seventh text, you were incredibly flustered. not because they were overly romantic (he always balanced it with his wit), but because they were clever, thoughtful, and wholly attuned to you in a way that felt almost unfair.

the eighth came as you were locking up for the evening, fumbling with your keys.

tetsu: i’d offer 2 carry the world for u but u’re doing a pretty good job carrying it urself

tetsu: don’t work 2 hard

it was such a simple set of words, but it hit you in a way none of the others had. its tenderness slipped through your defenses. naturally, you stopped—fingers tightening around your phone wondering how someone could make you feel so seen from miles away.

the ninth and final message arrived when you were home. you were peeling off your layers and finally sinking into the couch when you felt the vibration in your pant pocket.

tetsu: if love was measured in words then nine texts wouldn’t come close

tetsu: but hey, it’s a start

tetsu: c u soon

the doorbell rang almost immediately after and you couldn’t help but giggle as you opened it to find him standing there with snow in his hair, a grin on his face, and two cardboard cups of steaming hot chocolate in his hands.

“nine texts weren’t enough,” he said with a shrug. “thought i’d deliver the tenth in person.”

you let him in with a kiss. still laughing, you decided that no matter how odd or cheesy his efforts were, you wouldn’t choose to have him any other way.

on the tenth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—ten silly little drawings of you. the tenth day of christmas came as quickly as the past couple days had. after dinner had been packed away—dishes done and table cleaned, you and kuroo sat across each other at the dinner table with bowls of ice cream in front of you. it was then that from under the table, kuroo pulled out and handed you a mismatched stack of papers tied together with a velvet ribbon that looked suspiciously too elegant for something he’d own. you gave him a look, one eyebrow arched. “did you steal this ribbon from one of my gifts?”

“i repurposed it!” he defended, nudging the stack closer to you from across the table with his spoon and air of mock grandeur. “quick! my magnum opus awaits.”

you untied the ribbon, and the first thing you saw was a piece of cardboard with what appeared to be a stick figure rendition of you sitting cross-legged on a couch. above it were the words, “my muse, lost in thought (translation: watching trashy reality tv)”.

“what the—?” you interrupted yourself trying to suppress a laugh as you turned to the next page. a receipt from your local grocery store confused you, but once you flipped to the back, you saw it. kuroo had sketched a profile view of you mid-yawn, the exaggerated swoop of your hair curling over your head like a wave.

“it’s art, obviously,” he chuckled, leaning over your shoulder to get a closer look. “it’s called ‘ten views of my love in her natural habitat.’”

“oh my god, you’re impossible,” there was a familiar warmth growing in your chest—one you had been feeling every day this week.

you flipped through the rest:

a coffee sleeve: sketched was you, deep in concentration with a mug in your hand, sitting on the couch with the caption, “she said she wasn’t a morning person, but look at her with that coffee. magnificent.”

the back of a to-do list: sketched was you, mid-argument with your stick-figure arms dramatically flailing with the caption, “terrorising me because i forgot to do the laundry (but she’s right).”

a post-it note: sketched was you, reading a book with the words “too pretty to be distracted” written at the top in kuroo’s terrible handwriting.

by the sixth drawing, it was on the back of an old takeout menu—you stopped trying to hide your grin. “you’re actually pretty talented, you know that?”

“ridiculously talented,” he grinned back. “and ridiculously smitten.”

the seventh was your face, exaggerated into cartoonish proportions and drawn on a torn piece of fabric. the caption read, “she said i couldn’t draw so i gave her big eyes. now she’s anime”

by the time you reached the tenth which was a hasty sketch of your hand holding his, drawn on a napkin from your favourite restaurant—you felt the laugh catch in your throat. beneath the image, he’d written: “a masterpiece: her, letting me love her.”

“it’s dumb, i know,” kuroo slowly started, suddenly shy and scratching the back of his neck. “but i seriously couldn’t help it. i see you everywhere—on receipts, on napkins, in coffee sleeves. you’re just…always there.”

“it’s not dumb,” you said quietly, holding the napkin like it was something precious.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

you leaned into the chair, kuroo’s head resting atop your own and the stack of silly little drawings sitting in your lap as you went through everything again—your ice creams long forgotten as they melted under the light of the kitchen.

on the eleventh day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—eleven “i’ll do it” moments. he appeared in your doorway that saturday morning, sleeves rolled up and hair a little disheveled. there was an air of martyrdom with his presence so exaggerated you almost thought violins were to start playing.

“i’ll do it,” he announced, almost parallel to delivering the opening line of a shakespearean tragedy.

you looked up from your laptop, alarmed “do what?”

“whatever it is! dishes, laundry, taking out the trash, assembling that ridiculously complicated shelf you bought because it “might come in handy.” ” he punctuated the last word with air quotes, tone laced with theatrical suffering. “today, i am your humble servant. point, and i’ll fix.”

you guessed your skepticism must have obviously plastered over your face because he was quick to add, “no catch, promise.” he held his pinky finger up, “it’s my eleventh gift to you—eleven ‘i’ll do it’s.’”

leaning back with your arms crossed, you gently nudged your laptop aside. “this feels suspicious.”

“suspiciously romantic,” strolling into the room and perching on the end of your bed, he continued. “think about it. eleven acts of selfless service—that’s love language gold.”

“this feels morally wrong,” you both laughed.

kuroo stood abruptly, gesturing to the room like he was on a game show. “okay, quick demo. that pile of laundry in the corner? i’ll fold it. the trash bag sitting by the door? out it goes. oh! and because i’m feeling generous…” he paused dramatically, turning to you with a grin. “…i’ll even organize the pantry.”

you swear your jaw dropped so hard it hit the ground. “no… the pantry? seriously?”

“the pantry,” he repeated solemnly much like a knight vowing to slay a dragon. “i know how much it bothers you when the bowls in there aren’t lined up in order of size. don’t think i haven’t noticed.”

you felt equal parts amused and touched as he grabbed the laundry basket and made good on his first “i’ll do it.” kuroo knew you well enough to know that you’d recognise this wasn’t just about chores. he knew you knew that was his way of showing you he saw all the little things—your frustration at the overflowing trash, or your quiet sigh when you couldn’t find your favourite tea.

by the time he had reached the third task which happened to be untangling the mess of cords behind the tv—you were leaning against the doorway, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“you know,” you began quietly, “you could’ve just gotten me something easy… like socks.”

“i know i said socks were day four material, but they don’t say ‘i love you,’” he didn’t look up as he wrestled with a particularly stubborn cord. “this does.”

and somehow, amidst the clatter of pots being reorganized and the triumphant “got it!” when he finally untangled the cords—you felt a quiet, glowing gratitude. love wasn’t always grand gestures or elaborate gifts. sometimes it was just someone rolling up their sleeves and saying, “i’ll do it.”

on the twelfth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—ten handwritten love letters, a diamond ring, and a promise of an eternity together. you were both walking home from a dinner out, the snow nipping at your nose in the late night. kuroo had insisted you both went for a stroll around your local park before returning home. as you both sat on a bench under a lamppost to take in the coldness of night, he handed you an envelope so unassuming that for a brief moment, you thought he might’ve brought you a pack of gum. the paper was a little wrinkled, and the whole thing seemed as if it had been wrapped in a rush. yet like all his other gifts, it was unmistakably kuroo—disorderly in execution and precise in intention.

he stood up and rocking on his heels, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets nervously. “open it.”

you cocked your head at him, confused and caught off guard by his sudden change in behaviour. “you’re really leaning into this whole romantic streak, huh?”

“leaning into it?” pitch rising as he parroted, mock offended. “i practically invented romance.”

“pfft—” you snorted, “—and humility, clearly.”

and then he was back as quickly as he was gone, grinning sharp and bright. though there was something else beneath it—a quiet flicker of nerves, but it was small enough for you to dismiss it. it was strange the way he wasn’t rushing you or teasing like he usually did. but you tugged the envelope open all the same, your hands suddenly clammy as you unfolded the paper and lifted the top open.

inside nestled neatly were folded sheets of paper. you could tell that one was numbered, the familiar slope of his handwriting filling the margins in messy loops. you tilted your head.

“love letters,” he replied, as if reading your thoughts.

“love letters?” you repeated it like it was a foreign concept.

there it was, that familiar feeling of your chest tightening as you pulled out the first letter. the paper felt heavier than it should have—like it was carrying the weight of something unspoken. you unfolded it carefully, your eyes scanning the page.

the first letter was a story written in his usual casual, boyish tone. it recounted the first time he realised he was in love with you. not in some grand, sweeping moment but in the tranquil stillness of a rainy afternoon 4 years ago when you’d fallen asleep on his grandma’s couch, clutching a bowl of popcorn like it was a lifeline.

the second letter was an apology for the moments he’d been too stubborn or too sharp-tongued—for every time he made you feel anything less than adored.

the third unraveled you entirely.

“if I could give you my eyes for a day, you’d see the world exactly as it is. beautiful, messy—and always better when you’re in it.”

you swallowed hard and set the letter aside. each one felt like a little piece of him, stitched together in ways he rarely allowed himself to be seen. by the time you reached the ninth letter, you were dizzy from it all, vision blurry and nose running.

the ninth letter was the shortest, just two words in his handwriting, “almost there.”

the tenth letter you found written inside the envelope, barely visible unless you were looking for it. it read:

“you’ve always had this way of holding the universe together without even realizing it. let me hold something for you in return.”

you hesitated upon finishing, fingers brushing the edge of the paper and heart thundering in your chest. looking up, you were confused when kuroo was not standing in front of you. it was then that you felt it, the feeling of knowing something impossibly sweet and devastatingly clever was present.

so you turned around, the paper slipping from your hands.

kuroo kneeled there, uncharacteristically still. between his two calloused fingers was an open box, and inside a delicate ring. the usual grin he had was gone now, replaced by something softer and steadier.

“i didn’t write this one,” he confessed quietly, looking away embarrassed. “because i wanted to say it out loud.”

he whispered your name, soft and certain like it was a promise in itself.

and just like that, the world shifted, tilting slightly off its axis as it stopped spinning.

all reblogs and likes appreciated!

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thatbitchery · 2 days ago

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Given everything you want will come from people just learn how to people. Exposure therapy and whatnot. Remember to learn to manipulate and gaslight bc are you even a woman if you cant? Manipulation is natural even nature does it why do you think ripe fruits are red and children are born cute with irresistible googoo gaga cartoon eyes lol authenticity on the outside is unnatural. We literally used to have camouflage be fr.

Remember to just have a superiority complex it's better than having an inferiority complex. If it has nothing to back it up ie. If you do not have tangible evidence then it will obviously crash its delusion but so is the inferiority complex and one of them feels better so.

Looking down on people >> looking up to people. Better to be on the pedestal than to hold people on the pedestal no? Being dominant >> being submissive obviously. Again, these are unbalanced positions and YOU WILL crash but better to crash from a high than a low, don't you think?

Master your masculine before you master your feminine. Creation is once in a while, sustenance IS FOREVER. Yes I know what the guru that wants you to speak in a baby voice and giggle once every two minutes said but forget her listen to me. Femininity is NOTHING without masculinity. It's useless. What's the good in creating if you can't sustain? First, Master your masculine. Then, master your feminine. Whether you like it or not no matter how much pink and Long hair you have and how many men provide for you , you will be in your masculine longer than your feminine. Again, what good is creation with no sustenance? And no sorry it's not supposed to come from outside you. Girly is not feminine, okay? Two different words.

I'll say this again, take the red pill, live like you're on the blue pill. Why escape the matrix when you can just dominate it?

It is, in fact. All in your head. This is an advantage.

Detachment. Seriously. When you stop wanting it, that's when it comes. Unfortunately that is how it works. Detachment IS abundance. It's not *there will be more* its *there will be*. It's not *Everything happens for the good* no, it is *Everything Happens* . It's not *God/ The Universe / Mythology of choice figurehead is on my side* it's *I am God/ The Universe/ Mythology of choice figurehead in a human body* . Detachment has no quantification, things just are. No good no bad no more no less no- just- *There Is* and *I Am* . That, that is when it all happens. Detachment is indifference. Detachment is femininity. Femininity is abundance.

Going ghost to work on yourself is like going to the curb to work on your driving skills. Isolation is death get this now againnn social species. That's like going away from water to learn to swim you are a cowarddd work on yourself in crowds THEN you'll be unstoppable. In face when you want to work on yourself throw yourself into people. Phobias are treated in presence of their triggers not absence? If you want to work on yourself as a gf get a boyfriend then work on yourself as a gf, how will you do that when you're single how does that work. Isolation is cowardice okay? No going ghost no sigma LEARN to survive with people and thrive, not despite them, but because of them. It's not like you're a cow so.

#ok ill put my phone away now #but since no one asked #Noww that I've mastered my masculine and maxxed that cointainer out #Waittt till I get this feminine isht down muahahahaha #I'll thatbitch so hardddd bye

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barblaz-arts · 8 hours ago

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I know you've been making a lot of art of it lately, but out of curiosity, what's your opinion on Hazbin Hotel in general? I'm referring to both the show and the fandom here. Just curious.

God. What a loaded question. Are you ready? Bcuz I'm fresh from Vaggie discourse on twitter and I have a lot to say.

I think that Hazbin Hotel seems worse than it is for people who know the fandom but haven't actually watched the show. Honestly, I think it's a fine show. It isnt super incredible and I'm not gonna sing praises about how deep and thought provoking it is or whether it's an artistic masterpiece. It never tried to be that and was never advertised as such(to my knowledge) anyway. I just had a lot of fun. Like, yeh sure the cussing in the dialogue can be a bit much, especially in ep 1, but there are different writers in other episodes, so it gets better. It can be super crude yeh, but I grew up watching things like the Scary Movie franchise and other dumb american movies (yes, i was too young for them. yes, i still watched them), so it's pretty tolerable for me. It also helps that Charlie is the main character. That's one of the main reasons why I watch HH but dont watch HB. It's probably a fun show, but without a sweetheart like Charlie to balance things out, I'd just get tired of the sex jokes and mean jokes.

Compared to my last hyperfixation, I think I have more things to love about Hazbin Hotel, believe it or not. With Netflix's Wednesday, I had already been an Addams Family fan for a while and hung on because I loved the family and eventually Enid and wenclair. The show itself was honestly meh... so far! I'll give season 2 another shot.

But with Hazbin Hotel, it catered to a lot of things I've always loved. Found family with a bunch of misfits? We didnt get to see it much bcuz of the fuckass 8-ep per season format we have nowadays, but its fine its there! The juxtaposition of a kind hearted woman in a harsh world? Love love Charlie for that, I watched the show in the first place because of her. A canon lesbian lover with a "fuck the world cuz my world is you" type of love for the protag? Fuck yes. How very Pearl-from-Steven-Universe of Vaggie. And the music? The music is soooo good. I didn't know the songwriter prior to watching, so I was nervous about the songs, but I knew most of the theater actors they cast(still cant believe Jeremy fucking Jordan is Lucifer) so I figured even if the songs are mid, at least the performances would be topnotch. And they were! But the songs were a pleasant surprise. Sam Haft did real damn well. I still listen to the soundtrack to this day.

The fandom, however, is probably the worst one I've been in. And I've been in a lot in my big age... Just... lacking media literacy, and based on the replies I get when I say something on twitter, it seems a lot of them lack reading comprehension and just plain emotional intelligence too.

There's a lot of criticisms about this show that I honestly think is fair. Pacing, character design, overuse of the F word, whatever. But in my opinion, claiming that Hazbin is a male-centered show is an unfair misconception that is mostly the fault of the fandom.

Bcuz, sure, the male characters are uber popular. Alastor, Vox, Lucifer, Angel Dust and the many web of ships they're involved in went trending every few business days. But come on now. How often does a fandom even have their main protag as the most talked about character? This has been going on for ages. Just because the boys have the most merch and fics and fanarts and thirsty fans doesn't mean that they had the spotlight for most of the show itself. It only meant that they were the ones the viewers paid attention to, in a fandom filled with people drooling over the next tumblr sexyman and toxic yaoi ship of the month.

But if you actually look back at what the show gave us so far, the boys didnt outshine the women. I actually think the women got to do more and be more as characters than the men did. Let's take a look at the male characters.

Alastor was not in all the episodes. In fact, he was MIA in two out of the eight episodes. In all the episodes he was in, he was a mere side character. His purpose in season one was to stir the pot and be the intriguing mystery that occasionally quips. But he was not the one whose deeper thoughts were explored and whose character and goals was challenged THROUGHOUT the show, merely alluded to at the VERY END of the season, which is hardly him taking the spotlight away from Charlie. If you merely looked at the fan content of him, you'd think he were a father figure to Charlie(or a love interest. whatever) and that he has developed a soft spot for the Hazbins deep down in that cannibal heart of his. But if you pay attention to the show, he never had even a meaningful one on one conversation with the Hazbins. The only time that happened is when (a)he threatened Husk's life (b)when he constantly mocked Charlie while she was down in the dumps and used this as an opportunity to manipulate her and (b)when he told Niffty watching the crew sure can "make one sentimental", even tho he had taken no prior opportunity to bond with them! There's no foundation for all the fandom's claims that he could be redeemed bcuz of a budding fondness for the group, but that's all you see of his fan content(aside from the horniness). I dont have any problem with his lack of an actual relationship with the Hazbins bcuz I believe redemption for him is not what the show is going for, but it's frustrating to see people interpreting it that way BUT not seeing how horridly developed it would be if that is the case, meanwhile they turn around and say that Vaggie and Chaggie as a ship "had terrible development".

Then we have the male Vees. Vox was only ever in episode two, and was essentially a youtube reactor in episode 8. He was in ep 4 but had no speaking lines. We only know of his obsession with Alastor and the toxic relationship he has with Val. Val, meanwhile, is merely shown as the sex obsessed fiend behind Hell's sex industry and Angel's abuse. They did what they needed to do with minimal screentime. It was fine, but that's IT. Despite what little CANON gave so far, you have hundreds of people writing essays and fics and fanarts about them being complicated characters. But to reiterate, this does not mean that they are bad characters or that they don't deserve the fame. But to say that these men are better written within canon than the women is such a bold statement when most of the depth they knew of these characters were lore drops given before the show and their own speculations as they dug into the shallow soil of what the show has so far.

I'm not gonna speak about Angel and Lucifer. Because I think they were characters who were legitimately well-explored so far.

Now onto the women. So many of them were given the opportunity to have their characters challenged or given the agency to push characters and the plot forward or give you intrigue about implications of what's to come for the characters and the plot. I've talked a lot about Charlie and Vaggie. So let me talk about the other, terribly underrated women of Hazbin.

Velvette and Carmilla were the ones who advanced the subplot in the war against Heaven. Because of Carmilla's love for her family despite being a demon, an angel was killed. It gave Heaven the excuse to escalate things, but it also gave Charlie hope later on in the season that they're not powerless. Carmilla was also the first demon shown to make selfless actions that is contrary to what is expected of demons, making it proof that Charlie's belief that demons deserve a second chance isn't unwarranted. She's an interesting character, as an overlord who hangs on to power but clearly has morals. But how often do you see people writing essays about her? Eating up the fact that she's a powerful overlord but would sacrifice anything for her daughters? If Carmilla were a man, hundreds of girlies would be drooling over the crime boss who has a soft spot for his daughters.

Meanwhile, Velvette got to demonstrate why exactly she's an Overlord despite being the youngest demon in there. She's calculating and observant. She gives off a haughty vibe and constantly boasts about how she's young and fresh, but she isn't naive. During that meeting, she paid attention to Carmilla and Zestial's relationship. In order to find out who killed the angel, she riled everyone up, and when she got the feeling it was Carmilla, she mocked Zestial so that Carmilla could slip up. By playing these Overlords who are older and more experienced than her, Velvette showed what exactly her asset was to the Vees and why she's a threat, something that Vox and Val have yet to be given the opportunity to do when they were busy eye-fucking Alastor and literally fucking Angel. But in fan content about the Vees, Velvette is almost treated as an after thought to the boys...

Then we have the Seraphs. Not only were their designs gorgeous, their dynamic and presence as characters had impact to the plot and main characters.

Emily is a much needed character to show that this story isn't meant to tell you that Heaven = bad; Hell = good. There is good and bad in both, and it is so important for the protags to know that they have an ally in Emily who represents the true virtues that heaven is supposed to uphold. And I love the confrontation she had with Sera when her own view of what's right and good was challenged. We got to see the strength of her character and started the seeds of what could be heaven's acceptance of Charlie's goals.

Sera is such an interesting character to me. She was also important to show that not all angels were sadistic like Adam and Lute, but not in the same way Emily was. I have no idea so far which direction this show would go with her. But I'm intrigued by the fact that she seems to be driven by fear, unlike Adam and Lute's cruelty. She knew Lucifer and was there when he was cast out for his disobedience. Whether everything she's doing is to prevent that from happening again remains to be seen, and I'm looking forward to this kind of subplot for her.

And then Rosie! I really really look forward to seeing more from her. Spoilers aside, something I barely see people talk about is how interesting it is that Rosie is every bit the leader that Charlie hopes to be. Rosie is able to be a respected overlord in her own faction without needing to sacrifice her love for showmanship and music and her positive disposition. When we were officially introduced to her, they show how she seems to care about actually taking care of her people, not JUST ordering them around, by talking to them personally and giving advice. That's exactly what Charlie wanted to do for her people, isn't it? The hotel to Charlie was what the emporium was to Rosie. They have a lot of similarities that could set up for Rosie to be the one to teach Charlie in becoming a leader. Now whether that's a good thing or a bad thing remains to be seen, but it is rather compelling.

So yeah! With all that said, I really dont think this show ignores its women at all. Just because a bigger part of the fandom gravitated towards the men doesn't necessarily mean its a misogynistic show so far. But if certain people are claiming that the women are badly written, then I hope they also own up to the fact that their blorbos are just as shallowly presented within the show, maybe even more so. Which wouldn't even be a bad thing! Since when did a show or character have to be amazingly written for a person to like them? That's just no fun at all. All I'm saying is... Fuck this fandom's double standards, hiding behind claims that it's the writing's fault when the problem is they couldn't be bothered to think about the women.

#asks #long post

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