#and it will be the same song and dance if we suggest that perhaps a city dealing with horrifying defecits on its transit system may not

[ottawacharge]

one day i will break and write a manifesto on ottawa and sports arena development and when that happens! please take me out back

[onlyswan]

summary: in which leaving the past behind is not as easy as forgetting, and you want to be everything jungkook wants to know.

idol!jungkook x f!reader, est. relationship / angst, fluff / wc: 7.9k

playlist: strange by celeste / sinking by clairo / manta rays by chloe moriondo / ceilings by beabadoobee / iris (cover) by phoebe bridgers & maggie rogers

content/warnings: [deep breath] no one will know the violence it took to become this gentle / it’s their first winter as a couple / oc’s ex bf slaps oc / jk beats up the ex / blood and bruises / crying :( / mention of cheating (not in our main’s rs we don’t tolerate that in this household :]) / mention of s*x / jimin as both their older brother and friend :(

in which masterlist!

note: greeting 2024 with angst woopsie… i literally ugly sobbed writing a particular scene T_T… anwww i hope it’s a good read <3 as always reblogs and feedback are appreciated! i’d love to hear your thoughtsss 🥺

—

the word VICTORY flashes across the screen.

with a proud smirk adorning his lips, jungkook pushes down his headphones to hang around his neck.

he rises from his seat, resting his crossed arms over the partition dividing the computer that you’re renting from his.

“hi, baby. are you almost done?”

he chuckles to himself when he realizes that you didn’t hear him, not with the music blasting from your headphones. you direct your attention upwards when endless song by no reply is abruptly put on pause; the cushions of the headphones are pressed up against your cheek by your boyfriend’s doing.

“what?”

“hi, baby. are you almost done?”

“oh, yes…” your focus returns to the screen, fast fingers dancing along the keyboard without an ounce of hesitation weighing on them. “i just… need to… send the file to my email.”

jungkook blinks at the long rows of words you’re masterfully curating, thinking to himself — how the hell do you think and type that fast at the same time?

it was his suggestion to stay at a pc bang tonight so you could be together while you each do your own thing. he spent his half of his day-off playing games, and during that time, you worked on your research paper and finished an essay that isn’t even due for another week. you took a break every hour, munched on some snacks, and cheered him on while he was diligently playing. perhaps he could’ve done something more productive today, but it couldn’t have made him happier.

he holds out the last slice of gimbap in between chopsticks, lightly poking your lips, and his heart flutters when you offer him a sweet smile after welcoming the big bite with some difficulty, cheeks full and nose scrunched.

“is there anything else you want to eat?”

you shake your head, and unable to speak while chewing, you gesture for water as if you’re playing charades.

a kiss is granted to your forehead.

when he comes back with a bottled water, all your tabs have been closed and you’re wearing your white beret again, re-organizing your belongings in your backpack.

“ready to leave?” he inquires as he hands your order.

you hum as a reply, standing from your seat as you swing the backpack over your head to wear it with little to no effort.

jungkook thinks you’re so cool.

you visit the restroom as he settles the bill. when you come out, he’s already pulling out a credit card from his wallet. you decide to head straight for the door then, wait for him outside as the air inside the room has started to feel a little too stuffy after you stepped away from the computer.

you’ve always thought about it— how time stands still when you experience something traumatic, how that moment feels stretched for eternity… how utterly barbaric that is. you’re forced to memorize frames of the origin of your scars, relive it over and over again, eyes closed and open. moments of happiness, on the other hand, are fleeting. they are sand slipping through the gaps of your fingers. getting out of bed is scooping them in your hands and praying that they will hold on to you in the following rotations and revolutions of the earth. they never do.

there he stood at the bottom of the stairs, just as horrified as you.

his face is the last thing you want to see on a winter night.

because you still recall the amalgamation of emotions in his eyes two winters ago. his skin was flushed from the cold, but he turned redder with anger and your stomach coiled in shame.

“juwon?”

the name felt odd in your mouth. it’s like when you eat a food you haven’t had in a long time, and it doesn’t quite taste like you remember it.

and to be honest, you didn’t know what you expected to happen when he carried on to climb the remaining steps that led to you. but it definitely wasn’t… this.

the first hand to carress your bare body, as if it was in disbelief of its existence, and the rings you used to blindly adore— they collide with your cheek with a sound that resonates in your eardrums.

the slap thins out into a ringing noise.

“are you insane?!”

it continues to assault your hearing even as you scream and hit him back.

it ends when someone bumps against your shoulder in a haste, and the next thing you register is juwon lying on the ground with jungkook sitting on top him, balled fist throwing unforgiving punches at your ex-boyfriend’s face. juwon is held hostage by the shock and is unable to reciprocate jungkook’s aggression. he attempts to fight back but your boyfriend dodges easily.

“jungkook! stop, stop, stop!”

you run down the stairs with panic thundering in your chest, nearly in tears as you forcefully grasp at the back of jungkook’s coat to pull him away, but with his strength and the adrenaline flowing through his veins, your efforts prove to be fruitless.

“you fucking bastard! i’m gonna kill you!”

“that’s enough-” you cry out. “please!”

“how dare you lay a hand on my girlfriend like that, huh?!”

he is furious, gripping the collar of juwon’s sweater and slamming him to the ground.

“your girl?” coughing, juwon faces the side to spit out the blood in his mouth, which then shapes into an arrogant smirk. “didn’t you know? ____ was mine first. i was the first!”

the next punch he receives cuts his lower lip open, and a stronger metallic taste assaults his tongue.

“jungkook!”

before jungkook could inflinct more permanent damage, you resort to holding back his arm with both of your hands.

your gazes connect, and your heart drops to your stomach. he is seething with anger. your blood runs cold and a thick haze clouds your thinking. you can’t move your limbs. what do you do? what do you do? what do you do?

“____, let go. i’m not fucking finished with him.”

“please,” you beg, ignorant of the tears that have begun to slide down your cheeks. “that’s enough. look at him!”

“and why should i care?” he spits out as he shrugs you off.

“ah, jungkook! i said that’s enough! why won’t you listen to me?!”

your desperate tantrum falls on deaf ears. you squeeze your eyes shut when he re-assumes his stance, tucks his thumb over his folded fingers, exactly what he taught you about making a proper fist to avoid injuring one’s self when boxing.

“stop it! you’re scaring me!”

that throws a bucket of ice over jungkook’s head. the anger in his eyes is replaced by vacancy, and with that, juwon seizes the opportunity to finally strike him with a jab and escape from underneath him. jungkook finds himself pushed aside on the ground with a throbbing cheek, mostly likely to be noticeably bruised in the next hours.

“love-” you gasp, and you rush over to him but your path gets rudely obstructed by your ex.

“is this the guy you cheated on me with?”

he is extremely near that you can feel him panting on your face. two years later, your stomach coils in disgust. your glare is venomous, and if only looks could kill, if only looks could kill…

“just leave, won’t you? what’s the point of all this?” you roughly push him away with your remaining shred of energy, driven by exhaustion and frustration. “it was so long ago! get a fucking grip!”

he huffs in disbelief as he wipes the blood from the corner of his mouth. it also drips from his nose and eyebrow. strange enough, you do not feel guilt nor compassion for this man. not anymore.

“are you seriously crying just because he got punched one time…? isn’t that a little unfair? you loved me too. once.” he snickers, but he is visibly pissed off. he can no longer look at you in the eye. “shit, is he that much of a better fuck than me?”

your skin crawls. bile creeps up your throat. technically speaking, this is the consequence of your own actions, but you can’t help but to be resentful.

“you are…” your voice trembles, but your glare remains unwavering. “still as despicable and shallow as ever… and i don’t regret what i did.”

and it may have been a long time ago, but you still know how to hit him where it hurts the most— his ego.

you purposely bump against his shoulder as you make your way to jungkook, leaving him speechless as he stares at the ground. the night the two of you broke up, you were crying and begging him for forgiveness… what the fuck happened?

“let’s go home.” you demand quietly while refusing to meet jungkook’s stare— a mix of confusion, offense, and rage.

but the thing about juwon? he always needs to have the last word.

“you better keep a close eye. you might think you know ____, but whores never change. especially those who became one so young.”

“dude, how are you still speaking?!”

it’s too late when you realize that jungkook has left your side. he swings at juwon’s face with a force that sends the man stumbling backwards. he completely loses balance then collapses on the ground with a curse that almost misses your ears.

“don’t ever go near ____ again! don’t even think of it! if you show your face to me again, i might really end up fucking killing you. you hear me?!”

—

jungkook doesn’t recall a time when he felt a rage this intense and consuming. witnessing you get slapped, his vision went dark and he was shaking with fury. everything was a blur after that, but he knew one thing: this man violated the most precious person to him, and he won’t allow him to get away with that unscathed.

and that must be why he feels restless until now. neither one of you has dared to utter a word for the past couple of minutes. he can’t see your face as you’re walking ahead of him, leading the way with his wrist in your cold hand. however, he can hear your sniffles, and he can see you wiping your tears dry with the back of your hand. he thought he has experienced heartbreak, but this pain cuts deeper than anything he has ever felt.

“baby, let’s go back.”

he breaks the silence, standing infront of you to stop you on your tracks. he almost reeks of desperation as he intertwines your fingers together.

“please? there should be a cctv camera infront. we can sue him.”

“are you even hearing yourself? you’ll also get into trouble!”

his insistence only fuels the urge to cry and scream and break things. it’s an understatement to say that you’re ashamed. it was foolish of you, really, to assume that leaving the past behind would be as easy as forgetting. it may be out of sight but it is everywhere, and it sneaks up on you without tell and mercy.

“you attacked him out of nowhere! he can sue you for that too!”

“out of nowhere?” he repeats your words slowly, hurt flashing across his face. “i was protecting you, ____! who knows what else he could’ve done? and the shit he was talking about you? was i just supposed to stand there and do nothing?”

“and i’m protecting you too! why did you even have to punch him again?! he was obviously just trying to provoke you! god, i-” you release the air in your lungs you didn’t realize you’ve been holding. “thank god he didn’t see your face.”

that struck a nerve for some reason. he harshly rips off the mask that has been concealing half of his face all along.

“he hit you! look- fuck, you’re bleeding-”

oh, his rings must’ve grazed you.

jungkook brings out a clean white handkerchief from the backpocket of his pants, pressing it softly against your cheek. the sharp sting forces you to grit your teeth. it’s not only the wound… your skin is still warm and tender from the assault. you’re terrified to look at the mirror. you don’t want to feel sorry for yourself.

“and that’s what you’re really worried about right now?”

“okay, then i’m sorry for caring about my boyfriend and his career! i’m sorry, okay?!“

he dies a little inside when you harshly push his hand aside.

so this is what it feels like to be at the other end of your anger… shitty. it feels really shitty. after what happened, there is no sadness or fear. the twinkle in your eyes have been replaced with sharp daggers and it is gutwrenching to watch. it clicks for him then: you weren’t scared of him. you were scared for him.

he doesn’t allow you to go further than ten feet away. he seizes your arm before sneaking his hand on your waist to tug you closer to his body.

“you think i’m letting you out of my sight again? it’s not happening!”

you click your tongue in exasperation, left with no choice but to admit defeat as he hails the approaching taxi. you cover your face to hide from the blinding headlights.

ever the gentleman, jungkook opens the door for you.

“get in, ____.”

and the first thought that enters your mind: the air freshener is nauseating. it has to be something mixed with lemon.

you roll the window down as your boyfriend dictates the address of your destination to the taxi driver. not yours, but his. you send him an unimpressed scowl, but he only looks back at you challengingly under the warm dim light. the soft cloth is placed over your wound again, rudely snatched as you turn away from him. you hold it on your own as you watch the world outside the window, streetlamps with blurry light streaks and homes you will never set foot into. in the midst of your musing, you register the weight on your head, or its lack thereof. your beret landed on the ground in the aftermath of the first strike. what is there left to lose?

you thought you could be happy at last, but beside you is another soul you’ve stained with your bloody hands.

juwon was right, you never change.

—

“i still don’t think it’s right that i know the password.” you whisper as you push the door open.

“but i have a key to your house. what’s the difference?”

“i don’t know…” you begin removing your boots, carefully placing each one in the middle level of the shoe rack. “you live with six other people.”

“namjoon-hyung and yoongi-hyung are in their studios. the others went home.”

you enter the living room with jungkook hugging you from behind. his cheek rests on top of your shoulder, and he doesn’t want to let you go. the ride here was suffocating. he thought you wouldn’t talk to him for the rest of the night anymore.

you blink at jimin who is sprawled out on the sofa, a gray blanket that matches his sweatpants is covering his naked torso.

“why does he sleep here? doesn’t he have a bed?”

“the sofa is more comfortable.” he mumbles loud enough for you to hear as he opens his eyes halfway, but then he gives up and closes them again, curling in on himself to resume his slumber.

“okay… now i know what to get you for your birthday.”

for a brief second jungkook assumes that you’re joking, but you sounded way too nonchalant.

“a sofa?”

“a new mattress,” you blankly stare back at him, before proceeding to break free from his embrace to search for the bathroom.

he follows you like a lost puppy, whining. “why does he already have a birthday gift and i don’t?!”

“quiet!”

he winces. “sorry, hyung!”

—

you’re perched in the space between jungkook’s thighs, legs swung over one of them as he tenderly presses a cold compress against your left cheek. you’ve changed into the pair of pink cooky pajamas he wore a few times and has kept in his closet specially for you. sinking into his mattress, drowsiness has also begun to seep into the depths of your bones. it’s been an arduous week, and you’re exhausted of fighting in every sense of the word.

“he deserves more than what he got away with.” he mutters through gritted teeth.

“jungkook, enough.” you chide at him with a sigh. “let’s just forget about this.”

“your face is going to be bruised for atleast a week! how am i supposed to ‘just forget’? are you hearing yourself?”

your rhetoric question from earlier comes back to gnaw at your thread-like sanity. you feel backed into a corner. you can’t think of a solution that will put this issue at rest, much less make either one of you feel better.

“he’s not worth it.”

“you are to me.” he declares.

it’s impossible to argue with that. you want it to stay true. you want him to keep believing in you.

“i’m tired.” you whisper, removing yourself from his lap. “let’s go to sleep.”

he gazes at you with longing.

you are lying on his bed but you have never felt so far away.

“are we really not going to talk about this?”

“not now. i’m tired, jungkook.”

“baby…”

“juwon is a terrible person, but i had it coming…” you mumble. “that’s all there is to it.”

foreboding silence falls upon the bedroom. you can’t bring yourself to look at jungkook, so you close your eyes and pray that when the sun rises, this night will simply turn out to be a nightmare orchestrated by your wicked mind.

“whatever that is, it doesn’t warrant what he did.” he plants a gentle kiss on your forehead, and it takes everything in you not to fall apart into a thousand shards. “and i’m sorry that i couldn’t stop it from happening.”

—

jungkook returns after his shower, not yet done with drying his dripping hair with a towel. you’ve drifted off to sleep in the time that he was gone, lips slightly parted open as you breathe out puffs of air in a steady rhythm. your hair is a halo and you’re an angel snoozing on a cloud.

he heard it loud and clear, and you haven’t denied it either, but there’s not a part of him that believes it. is he blindly in love with you? is this what he was warning him about? are you not an angel, but a siren?

wary of waking you up, he attaches a bandaid to your cheek. he flicks the lightswitch but he turns on the night lamp so you won’t have to manuever the dark incase you wake up in the middle of the night in need of the bathroom.

shit, shit, shit. he curses in his head when you begin shuffling as soon as he settles himself on the bed, but it’s just you unknowingly seeking for warmth in your sleep. he gathers you in his arms and your pillow is abandoned in favor of his naked chest. it always feels fitting, like his heart is the stuffed toy that you can’t go without at night.

he swallows the lump in his throat, brushing your hair away from your face to gently caress your soft skin. you look so serene. but your ex’s fingers can be traced on the red bruise that has tainted your cheek and his jaw clenches, hand momentarily balling into a fist to release the leftover anger still boiling in his blood. everyday, you feel the need to act tough because of people like him, and you are… but deep down, he knows, that you just crave to be loved.

“you loved me too. once.”

however, that has lost its meaning when juwon didn’t love you the way you deserved to be loved.

and jungkook admits it’s not as easy for him to do in a whole different dimension. he leads a kind of life not everyone survives, but that never stopped him for trying his damn hardest.

—

you’re awoken in the middle of the night by jungkook’s forehead accidentally knocking against yours. his snoring doesn’t cease, however, and you had to remind yourself that this is the same boy who continued sleeping despite rolling off his inflated sleeping bag on camera.

you slowly sit up as you rub the sleep from your eyes. you spend an unknown amount of time spaced out, barely blinking. afterwards, you force yourself to leave the comfort of the bed, taking the cold compress along with you. you drain the melted ice over the kitchen sink before opening the refrigerator to refill it with ice cubes. you can’t help but to allow your eyes to wander around, which then leads you to contemplate on whether to cook ramen or not… but then again, it’s already 3am and most likely, you won’t be able to sleep again if you do.

“yah! why are doing just standing there?”

the deep voice echoes throughout the kitchen. you yelp in shock, nearly dropping the ice bag as you tap on your pounding chest.

“i told you to stop doing that!”

jimin bursts into a fit of too delighted giggles, hunched over the kitchen counter as he places a hand over his belly. he’s fully clothed this time, fresh from the shower, judging from his hair.

“it’s not funny!” you whine. “one of these days i might be holding a knife when you do that!”

“ey, what would you be holding a knife for? jungkook never lets you lift a finger while you’re here.”

that’s just because he knows you’re not very talented in the kitchen.

the wide smile on his face then fades, expression morphing into one of concern as he studies your face bathed by the refrigerator light.

“what happened to your face?”

fuck, you’ve completely forgotten about that.

“it’s a long story.” you sigh, closing the refrigerator.

“it’s alright. i have all the time in the world to listen.”

“you know that i really appreciate that and i’m grateful but…” your smile borders on a wince. “no, you don’t. get some more sleep, please.”

your unexpected response causes jimin to scratch his head shyly. the two of you stare at each other for a few seconds before laughing at the same time.

“oh, that’s right!” you pause on your tracks when an essential item pops in your mind. “do you have healing ointment? for cuts and bruises and stuff?”

“it’s for jungkook,” you add.

“doesn’t he have that?”

“it’s not here,”

your sweet smile tells jimin everything he needs to know.

“ah, that kid really comes home to different houses now. he’s all grown up.”

“…and how many exactly?” you arch an eyebrow.

he purses his lips together, jokingly pretending to think hard. “the dorm… and then his family… then there’s you?”

“anywhere else?”

“nope!”

“sooo, do you have it or not?”

“i’ll go downstairs and buy it right now.”

he offers you a kind smile and pats on the head. a protest dies down in your throat as he goes straight for the front door.

“thank you!”

“you’re welcome!”

—

despite your active efforts to avoid making any sort of noise, the door produces a small ‘click’ as you cautiously close it behind you. you discover that jungkook has flipped over to face your side, his arm outstretched as if he was reaching out for you. you almost feel bad for leaving him alone in bed, so you sit next to him, positioned on the lower half of the bed since he took up your space.

a short snore escapes him, one that rises then falls so abruptly, like a note on the piano pressed on accident. you cover your mouth to muffle your giggle.

how adorable. you have grown to tolerate, and even adore, his snoring.

stolen kisses on his bruised knuckles, tiny and featherlight, apologetic most of all. their bad condition brought upon by boxing worsened when he used his dominant hand bare, knuckles of his two longest fingers ripped. it seems that he did the bare minimum by putting a stop to the bleeding then washing them clean, then nothing else. he didn’t even tell you, didn’t complain or show any sign that he was in pain.

you hold the cold compress over his bruises, switching between his cheek and knuckles, mindful of not touching the wounds as to not aggravate him in his sleep.

you’ve been stripped down bare— your pride and dignity dismantled into pieces that create a picture of you that you do not like… but could be the love and sincerity in your heart be enough to live by? even if no one is awake to witness it?

you’re saved from drowning in your thoughts by the front door being unlocked. for the second time, you tiptoe your way out of jungkook’s bedroom.

“this is for wounds, and then…” jimin returns the tube inside the paper bag to grab the other. “this one, for bruises.”

“thank you. i’ll pay you back.”

“yah!” jimin expands his eyes threateningly, which you mimic in challenge as you hug the paper bag to your chest. “i’m also your older brother, okay? i should do these things for you.”

you scrunch your nose, to express disagreement at first, but later on it only makes your smile appear brighter.

“doesn’t it hurt you to smile? please use them well too, ____. do you understand? that’s why i bought the biggest ones!”

it does hurt.

“thank you…” you reply shyly.

you’ve forgotten how it feels like to be taken care of by family.

—

“baby, where did you go?”

jungkook’s raspy voice is music to your ears.

he woke up a mere minute ago, caught in the middle of sitting up on the bed once it caught up to his sleep-muddled brain that you’re no longer beside him.

“nowhere,”

you sit at the edge of the bed without another word, putting his hands over your lap to apply the healing cream to his afflictions.

his eyelids flutter in sleepiness as he watches your every movement.

a small dollop at the pad of your finger, transferred over his torn knuckle and smeared with the lightest of touch. occasionally your finger pauses, unsure, calculating— the last thing it wants is to hurt him.

he kisses your lips— he feels suspended in time—hasn’t quite reconnected with reality and with his body. wide-eyed, you seem taken aback by the display of affection. his mouth then softly curves with fondness.

“i love you.”

“i love you, too.” you whisper timidly.

your actions have become hurried, but jungkook is far too drowsy to notice your discomfort.

for the final part, you rub the cream on the bruise on his cheek. you press a kiss on the corner of his lips. “all done. go back to sleep.”

“let’s go,”

he hooks his arm under your knees, eager to carry you over to your side of the bed, but he gets interrupted by your protest.

“wait, wait, wait- i need to pee first.”

“wha- hurry!” he complains with a peeved frown, which you fail to catch a glimpse of because he has squeezed you taut against his body. “i won’t be able to sleep without you here.”

—

eternally cursed with the ability to feel too much of everything.

you push your back against the bathroom door, breathing heavy and labored as you blindly pat around for its lock. the click serves as the cue for your salty tears to drip from the edges of your eyelashes, cascading down, down, down your chin. some of them crash on the collar of your pajama top, the rest on the white tiled floor. this room is a stranger to your shipwreck, but old habits die hard.

the intense pressure of the water collides with the porcelain sink. rain and thunder and the gusts of wind being your gasps for air. an isolated storm undetected in the city of seoul you’re forced to brave alone, on the floor, tucked into yourself to protect the beating sacredness inside your ribcage. the sobs claw their way up your throat rather than soaring like exhales do.

no one has ever raised their hand at you. not even your parents. not even when you broke your grandmother’s precious china, or lost their big paper bills to the wind, or cursed at them for embarrassing you infront of your friends.

you want to be mad and say that juwon deserved what he got. you want to say that you hope his nose is broken. but you don’t know how one is supposed to react when something like that happens. you don’t know if it justifies everything after that. if the roles were reversed and you slapped him, won’t no one bat an eye?

…and you know jungkook has questions you still haven’t figured out how to answer. you know he now has reasons to doubt you. you know in his eyes, you may now be a hypocrite and not the advocate he adored. these days, you don’t really want to be seen as anything less or more than who you are, but you so desperately wish to be someone he is proud to love.

you feel mocked for even daring to dream of it.

“i’m tired, i’m tired, i’m tired.”

incoherent mumbles further stirs the unbridled chaos.

“i’m so sick of this. why… why do bad things keep happening to me?”

you don’t expect an answer but you yearn for some sort of meaning. you don’t mind suffering but you wish it could only be to an extent where you don’t have to fear.

echoes of rumbles and thunder. you’re nearer the sky but farther from heaven.

—

it’s been more than a week. you’ve been waking up with a gaping hole in the middle of your torso. you climb out of bed, cover up your cheek with make-up, good as new, and go about your day as if nothing happened. life on its own is already too much of a burden for you.

jungkook checks up on you everyday, though, despite his busy schedule. mostly through the phone, and whenever he can, he goes straight to where you are after work to dote on you no matter the time. he kisses you on the cheek, claims himself to have healing properties, and says i love you. and during those periods of time you were together, he hasn’t said another word about the incident. and it has been driving you absolutely insane.

you glance down at him, sat on the floor with an ipad balanced on top of his propped up knees, wearing one of your anti-radiation glasses as he finds himself absorbed in drawing the view a foot away from him. you.

“why do you keep looking at me?” he scolds you lightheartedly. “go back to studying so we can go to sleep.”

“can’t help it,” you mumble as you reposition your pen over the paper. you’ve been reorganizing your notes the whole night for your upcoming tests, but your mind keeps flying everywhere else. “my boyfriend’s too pretty.”

“ah, it can’t be helped then. sorry about that.” he smirks cockily, pulling the dramatics by switching his eyes between you and his back. “should… should i turn around then?”

“did you box again?”

the accusation is spat out before you can think twice.

“oh, you did. your knuckles are all messed up again.”

he pouts, crossing his legs. “but baby, i have to train... i wrapped my hands properly!”

“still,” you sigh. “can’t you just let them heal for a little while?”

you turn to the cabinet on your other side to bring out the pouch of healing ointments you’re now suspecting he brought and didn’t accidentally leave behind.

you lay out your hand, and jungkook puts his on top of yours, dragging himself close.

you both smile when you see that he has laid his hands over your thighs like he’s getting a manicure. silly boy. you pull them closer by his fingers so you can reach his red knuckles.

“why are you trying so hard?”

your finger is stained with his blood. your voice is as gentle as your touches, and that’s why it hurts.

jungkook doesn’t know either. he’s been trying to extinguish his leftover anger and bitterness through work and boxing— suppressing the onslaught of negative thoughts threatening to poison what the two of you have. jungkook doesn’t want to know. he doesn’t want anything to change. right now, he can’t afford them to.

“there’s no one to fight.”

“turns out there is,” he argues.

he regrets it as soon as your hand trembles.

“it’s okay… to ask. we’re in a relationship. you’re entitled to know things like that.” your eyes are unafraid again, and it scares him, like you’re always prepared to let him go. “i won’t get offended, or anything like that. if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“i trust you,” he says simply. “so i don’t need to know. especially if talking about it makes you uncomfortable. it’s okay… we’re okay, baby.”

stillness washes over the room like a tide that swallows everything up, and for a moment jungkook is convinced that the two of you will never bring it up again.

but the words you utter next are a punch to the gut.

they almost sound like a plead.

“but i can’t live my life that way, jungkook.”

strands of your hair descend to your face, framing it perfectly, but your eyes become hidden from view. you rip a bandaid open and blanket it over his two knuckles, still wounded as before, if not worse.

“if you intend to be with me for a long time, then i need you to need to know…” because there will be things i’d want to tell you, but wouldn’t feel the need to.

“then tell me,” he replies, prompted by a renewed determination. “i don’t just intend to be with you for a long time. i want way more than that.”

—

jungkook fiddles with the hello kitty bandaid using his thumb, mind reeling and grappling to process the overload of information told by your storytelling voice. all of a sudden, he’s grateful that you decided to lie down on the bed for this conversation.

“juwon was your boyfriend before me, no?”

“no, no, no. he was…” your lips part as if you have something more left to say, but you eventually give up. “yup, no.”

“so you found out that he’s been cheating on you for-for two mo-”

“three-”

“three months, and you…” he blinks. “slept with a stranger and let him catch you?”

“i was really petty. i was seventeen after all… my pride couldn’t take it. my friends- they tried to stop me but… but all i could think of was how to make him feel the way i was feeling.” your voice sounds small, smaller as you squeeze yourself into his side and curl up to hide your face. “so i let him think i was the bad guy.”

he understands that you were vengeful, but he doesn’t know if you comprehend the scale of what you have done.

“he looked so sad and hurt that i started to feel guilty. i don’t know if i was still acting when i was apologizing to him.” you scoff with eyebrows knitted together. “i felt so dirty… i still feel like a bad person, you know?”

you took the face of juwon’s demons and he didn’t like what he saw.

“i had it coming,” — he now has a grasp of what you meant before.

“so how has he been doing this to me for such a long time? how does he stomach it? knowing what i was going through? that’s what i thought… it makes me so upset…”

jungkook doesn’t try to assess you as you speak. he only listens, until your voice cracks. his heart is split into two as tears flood your eyes, escaping past the corners and slipping down to soak the fabric of his t-shirt.

you sniffle. “and the sex wasn’t even that great. i regret it even more.”

he flinches, abruptly squeezing his eyes shut. not that great? okay… okay. the mental image of you being physically intimate with someone that isn’t him definitely doesn’t sicken him to his core. at all. nope, nope, nope.

“fuck, baby, please,” he groans as if he is in pain, putting an arm over his eyes. “hearing about you have sex with other guys is making me want to punch something again. fuck.”

“that’s what you took away from the story?”

“yes!” he exclaims with conviction. “we should’ve met a year earlier. i would’ve let you use me!”

you gasp, scandalized. “oh my god! jungkook!”

“argh-” he animatedly clutches at his chest that caught your fist.

“you’re crazy!”

“uhuh, about you.” he proudly replies, pulling you closer to his side, as if that was still possible.

the subtle upwards of the corners of your lips gives him a sense of relief. he tenderly cups your cheek, his thumb ghosting over the bruise that has turned a darker shade of blue and purple.

“listen to me, i- i’m not here to tell you what’s right or wrong. i’m not that type of person. but what i can do tell you is that this…” he briefly shakes his head. “didn’t change the way i see you at all. he hurt you. he cheated and you were hurt, ____.”

your eyes gleam with uncertainty, a fresh wave of tears threatening to escape. “are you sure?”

“of course i am. why wouldn’t i be sure?”

“because you’re crazy about me.”

the sweet innocence of your eyelashes fluttering elicits a chuckle from him. you’re so fucking cute.

“that’s the reason i’m sure.” he tilts up your chin to plant a kiss to your lips, mumbling. “i’ve never been wrong about anything i’m crazy about.”

“thank you,” you say quietly, melting into his embrace. you nuzzle your face against his chest, and at last, you grant your eyes rest. “i can finally sleep peacefully again.”

fuck, it’s been weighing on you this whole time and he didn’t know.

“i’m sorry i only dated assholes before you.”

“aish, why would you be sorry about such a thing?” he kisses the top of your head, gentleness contradicting his following sentence. “i’d crush each one of those assholes for you.”

and he’d beat himself up the worst if he ever becomes one of them.

you yawn, sniffling right after. “mhm, i bet you will.”

he carefully rolls over to the side so he can wrap both arms around you, and you keen in contentment.

“jungkook?”

“yes, baby?” he coos.

“i… really… love you so, so, so much. you are… the one person i’d die for before i hurt.”

goddammit, it’s an angel sleeping in his arms.

“that’s a relief to hear. you’re very smart and scary when you’re mad.”

“eh, jungkook! i swear i’ve grown up! i’m not like that anymore!”

“okay, okay!” he laughs at your childish whining and squirming as he ushers you back in his embrace. “i believe you! i trust you! i love you too!”

—

although you spend more nights together in your apartment for your safety and convenience, in all honesty, you like staying over at jungkook’s more. his smell evokes the sentiment of home, and when you stay long enough, it becomes a temporary part of you. you’re gradually more well-versed in the organized and unorganized corners of his room. you like that you know where he keeps the safety pins and you know to be careful when walking so you won’t trip over his dumbbells he leaves lying around. and it’s a little ridiculous but… you like that his mattress is on the floor and you don’t really know why.

your boyfriend is still blissfully asleep as you climb over him, landing on the floor without a sound like a veteran spy. however, you rush to step out of the room before the rumbling of your empty stomach could wake him up.

“yah, thief! what do you think you’re doing?!”

“fuck!” the pack of ramen hits the floor when your hands fly to your chest to clutch at your painfully pounding heart. “i swear to god, you’re going to kill me one day!”

and unsurprisingly, your chagrin is countered yet again with jimin’s all too pleased laughter.

“____, you look so suspicious! why are you using a flashlight? we have electricity! we can pay for it!”

“i don’t like it too bright, okay?” you grumble as you pick up your supposed midnight meal.

“let’s just turn on this one then.”

“uh-” the objection dies down in your throat when the light over the dining table was switched on.

“i’m hungry, too. grab two more packs of ramyeon, please.”

“who’s the other one for?”

jimin fills the pot with water from the sink while you pick up two more of the same pack from the pantry.

“just us. don’t you agree that one pack is too small for one person?”

“it’s just enough for me though?” you rip open the packs one by one to retrieve the packets of seasonings. “with your job, though, i’d definitely have a bigger appetite.”

“alright,” he pouts, pretending to be upset. “let’s have just two then.”

“no, no, no-” you chase his hand, tightly gripping the last pack that he stole. “let’s have three! let’s have three! i didn’t eat dinner!”

—

“my mom brought a lot of kimchi yesterday. there’s an entire box in the fridge. i’ll pack you some before you leave later.”

“put some more in,” you say cutely as you peer down at the pot of ramen beside jimin. “please?”

he chuckles, adhering to your request before handing the container to you.

“thank you!”

you hop on the counter infront of the stove, chewing on a mouthful of kimchi with a joy akin to a child receiving a sweet treat. leaving the ramen to cook for the next five minutes, jimin sits a few feet away.

“aigoo, are you that hungry?”

“this is so delicious!” you praise his mother’s cooking instead of answering the question. “i can really eat this on its own.”

“ey, don’t fill yourself up yet! we have a lot of ramyeon to eat!”

“sorry, sorry!”

your giggles fill the apartment with warmth during this freezing winter. jimin didn’t doubt it when jungkook said that you light up every room you enter, he just didn’t expect that he would also gain a friend.

“how’s your cheek?”

“as you can see,” you motion at your face. “yellow. soooo… uglier.”

“that means it’s healing well.”

“i know,” the apples of your cheek become plump as your lips curve. “it no longer hurts to smile.”

“that’s a relief to hear,” he returns your kind smile. “jungkook has been worried about you.”

that’s the end of what he can tell you. jungkook won’t be pleased if you learn that he cried when he talked about the horrible thing that happened to you.

“thank you,”

“huh? for what?”

“being jungkook’s happiness.”

from his peripheral vision, he perceives your surprise. however, he is too flustered to meet your eyes while he is speaking from the bottom of his heart.

“the past year was physically and mentally draining for the team. as you know, we… we were considering giving up and disbanding. and of course it’s hard on all of us, but i’m really, really worried about jungkook. but!”

he chuckles at the dramatic rise of his own voice.

“i’m less worried now that you’re in his life. and i’m not saying this to put pressure on you or anything! but you see, when he’s tired, he bounces back quickly because of you. he’s smiling more because of you. and i know it goes it also goes the other way around. mhmm… i-i guess what i’m saying is that i hope you can continue being each other’s strength? be each other’s cheerleader?”

you have begun to feel emotional as you listened to his sincere and heartwarming words, but you can’t help but to cackle at the fact that you just witnessed the park jimin say the word ‘cheerleader’ while daintily waving his hands around as they were holding pompoms. how awfully endearing.

“…or something like that.”

uncontrollable giggles vibrate his body, dramatically slipping down the counter and onto the tiled floor to enshroud himself in extreme sheepishness.

“ah, ____! this is driving me crazy! don’t laugh!”

“what are you doing lying on the floor?” you playfully scold him, recording with your phone in secret. “why do i suddenly feel like the older one?”

“what’s with the noise?”

you whip your head around, wide curious eyes greeted with a shirtless jungkook who is still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“is that ramyeon…? i want some too.”

jimin groans when he feels your foot poke him lightly.

“mister, can we add more? my googie is hungry too.”

—

“hyung, ____ told me something recently that really put a lot of things into perspective.”

and with that, jimin pours another bottle of beer in his and jungkook’s ice-filled mugs. “let me hear it.”

“if you intend to be with me for a long time, then i need you to need to know. at first i didn’t understand what it meant? then after we talked, something clicked for me. ahhh, i see it now. ____ didn’t want us to trust each other blindly… because that… that isn’t a good… foundation? for something that i want to last for a very long time. you, me, the members… don’t we all trust each other because we know that we’re good people to our core and we’re good at what we do? isn’t that why we have come this far, and why we keep going? besides army, of course!”

jimin blinks lazily, glossy eyes from the alcohol underneath it all. “that’s right. we wouldn’t have started this anyway… without that kind of trust. i don’t think it’s a connection you can just build with anyone too.”

“oh, that’s it. that’s right!”

“living together for a long time doesn’t guarantee it.”

“exactly.” jungkook nods repeatedly, probably too passionately, a guaranteed ticket for a hangover later on. “we talked about that last time too.”

“right? so we should protect it… maintain it… never lose sight of our purpose…”

the lack of words that follow does not equate to silence. glasses clink against each other and teeth rip bags of chips open and noodles are slurped. they’re overseas and they can’t go to a korean restaurant and grill their own meat. the hotel steak would take forever to arrive and quite frankly, they had it yesterday and it was not good. this is not exactly ideal, but it has its own charm.

jungkook takes another swig of the bittersweet alcohol, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand afterwards.

“____ has become an important part of my life that i would do anything to protect too. how do i say it…?” he exhales to relieve the heavy weight on his chest. “i feel like i gained more purpose in life, hyung… to be honest, i might have a harder time because of that. i know it but… i’m happy. seriously, i’m happy.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[lainsshop]

Tears To Shed ୭ৎ

Pairing: Alastor x Zombie ! Reader

Tags: angst(?), fluff, out of characters(?), established relationship, corpse bride n probably more..

Song: Tears To Shed - Corpse Bride

A/N: I need more Rosie and Alastor interactions to be honest like.. I already miss them😭 anyways please enjoy this!

“Why so blue, dear?” Rosie asks as she puts a cup of tea onto the table. You were currently sitting at Rosie’s lounge feeling melancholy over someones comment to your relationship with Alastor, most of the time you didn’t care but this one- stung in your imaginary heart.

You see, you met Alastor when you two were alive, somehow and someway you both got together and your relationship bloomed to the point he proposed to you but- you got killed before your wedding even started. So, imagine the joy you felt when you encountered him again in Hell.

“Maybe.. he’s right, maybe we’re too- different.” You sighed. “Maybe he should have his head examined,” She suggested as she took a sit in front of you. “I could do it.” You wanted to smile at that but- “Or perhaps he does belong with someone else.” You looked at your cup of tea. “Someone who isn’t lil’ miss/mr non hearted,” You mocked yourself as you stand up to look at a mirror near you two. “Someone with rosy cheeks and a beating heart.” You murmured sadly.

“Oh, those people are ten a penny,” Rosie rolled her eyes as she follows you behind and puts her hand on your shoulders to try to comfort you. “You’ve got so much more, darling! You’ve got- you’ve got..” She looked around to try to find the right words for you. “You’ve got a wonderful personality!”

She smiles to you through the mirror. You truly wanted to feel better after hearing that but negative thoughts were still ruining in your head, Rosie sees this and sighs.

“What do those wispy lil’ brats have that you don’t have double? They can’t a candle to the beauty of your smile!” She croons as she places you down onto the chair, placing her index fingers in the corners of your mouth to make you smile.

“… how about a pulse?” You looked at her. “Overrated by a mile-“ She slightly scoffs. “Overfed, overblown!” She makes a gesture making the idea of a pulse uninteresting. “If only they knew the you that we know—“ You sighed as you stand up again, crossing your arms to think. “And those silly little creatures don’t even have a ring! And they don’t play piano or dance or sing!” She carefully grabbed one of your hands, and with a graceful motion, she twirled you into a seated position.

“No, they clearly don’t compare,” “But they don’t look like they’re decaying-“ “Who cares?” She interrupted. “Unimportant! Overrated, overblown! If only they could see how special your relationship with him can be,” She drags you through the mirror and adjusts your wedding clothes. “If only they knew the you that we know..” You gently push her away.

You went to Rosie’s balcony and hug yourself to try to find comfort. “If I touch a burning candle I can feel no pain-“ You begin to sing plaintively. “If you cut me with a knife it’s still the same..” You moved your hand to the sky, fingers curling into a determined fist, as if reaching to grasp it.

“And I know they have a heart and I know that I don’t-“ You placed your hands on the railing, feeling the cool metal beneath your fingertips. “Yet the pain here that I feel, try and tell it’s not real.. it seems that I still have a tear to shed.” You touched your right cheek, feeling your eyes water a bit.

Rosie couldn’t help but feel sympathetic for you but she couldn’t just give up on cheering you on! “The sure redeeming feature from those little creatures is that they have a heart! Overrated, overblown, my dear friend!” She grins a bit wider as she stands next to you. “Everybody knows that they don’t know how to use that heart but you, sweetheart, even without a heart you can express it well with him!” She pointed out.

“Who cares? Unimportant! Overrated, overblown! If only they could see how special your relationship can be,” She grabbed one of your hands again and lead you inside the building. “If only they knew the you that we know..” She put you in front of the mirror again as she handed you a bouquet of flowers.

You looked at yourself, you imagined yourself walking through the aisle but- “If I touch a burning candle I can feel no pain, in the ice or in the sun it’s all the same,” You handed the flowers back to Rosie. “Yet I feel my heart aching—though it doesn’t beat its breaking,” You looked at yourself in the mirror as you fixed your hair and dust off your attired.

“And the pain here I feel- try and tell me it’s not real, I know that I don’t have a heart..” Rosie couldn’t help but hug you.

“Yet it seems that I still have some tears to shed..” You sang.

୭ৎ

You were now at the hotels lobby after your visit with Rosie, sitting at the pianos bench playing a few keys letting your mind wonder around.

“Ah! There you are, my dear!” A familiar voice you know enters the building, Alastor, your lover.

He walks towards you, the radio static getting a bit louder. You didn’t looked at him though, you continued to with what you’re doing. Alastor tilted his head a bit, curious about your reaction just now.

“Something wrong, my dearest?” No respond. Usually he would try to poke you just to get a reaction of you but your mood seemed different to him, he could read you like a book!

Since you’ve met when you were alive till now. He could sense that you were upset with something and he knew exactly what so he took a seat next to you and started to play a few notes.

You perfectly recognized them and looked at him with a surprised soft look and he just smiles at you as he continues.

You looked back at the piano and started to join in little by little, playing the song that used to play together when you were alive also being the song that was suppose to be played at your wedding.

You both looked at each other with soft eyes and- “Whoever made that comment will pay for what they did, I’ll make sure of that and also,” He paused for a bit trying to look how to say the next words that he’s about to say. “How do you feel about the possibility of marrying again, not in the sense of a second attempt, but in embracing the chance we never had when life took you away before we could say 'I do'?"

You froze at that moment, you didn’t know how to respond right away, you felt so many emotions blooming as he asked that. “… you serious?” You inquired. “You know I’m always honest with you, darling.” He grins a bit wider as he took one of your hands and place a small kiss on it.

“So?” You wanted to cry tears of joy at that moment. This is the same man who known for being a huge narcissistic, sadistic killer who also liked, and still does, to est his own people but yet- he still fell in love with you where you were alive.

Even if it took awhile to figured out his feelings for you, he absolutely adores you. You accepted all his flaws and even his weird habits, and even deep down he blames for your death but here you are.. next to him, forgiving him and still loving him the same way when you were alive together.

“Absolutely.” You smiled as a tear rolled down your cheek.

© LAINSSHOP 2024

[andyxcds]

rosekiller microfic -- liar (aug 5) | @rosekillermicrofic

(๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧ Word Count: 941 tags: none but slight suggestion of nsfw

part two

ᓚᘏᗢ ...

“I’m here with Barty’s?

To that, the bouncer looked Evan up and down, noticing that a short-sleeved white button-up and a pair of tan shorts were more appropriate for a vacation rather than a nightclub. Then the bouncer held the door open, and quickly sent over for a server to lead Evan past the floor of dancing girls and booming music, and into to a red booth.

In that moment, nostalgia became a song he remembered so clearly as he took in the signature blue seats that were his colour.

The colour was a staple in every bar or club in the city. It was the trademark of a big spender, a ruthless party king, and perhaps a self-glorified nepo-baby. It was also the trademark of one of Hogwarts' finest students and a mayor’s son with prestige. It was the colour of Evan’s first and true love.

It was Barty’s colour.

He admired this color as he watched the empty seats, eyes hovering over the tall order of drinks that littered the table. Barty wasn’t there, but he had been there. As he was every night, he was sure. Barty partied like a demon. Regardless of how energetic the club was. If he was holding a bottle of alcohol, any drink, he’d dance naked on the streets with only the humming of the birds as music for free.

“Would you like me to get you anything? Start a tab?” The server asked sweetly behind him. She was a pretty girl, not with that harsh attitude those girls down in the suburb bars were. Her perky breasts also added to the attraction. But Evan was disappointed to see her. There was nothing comfortable about her posture or altered voice. She was like a doll that he had no interest toying so he sent her off as he slid into the booth.

Interesting is what is was as Evan sat down and inhaled the cologne Barty wore. He didn’t know the name exactly, credit to Barty’s need for originality; mixing four different brands to make his signature scent. But all Evan knew was that it was a bit musky and dry like a desert.

He peered at the dancefloor, disco lights going haywire and loud electronic music blasting in such high volume that Evan felt from across the street. The floor was packed with white guys who placed their hands either up in the air or super low on a girl’s waist. Nothing about that looked fun, not for Evan watching them, but he knew that there was a time where all he wanted to do was be apart of that. Barty hadn’t grown out of it.

Yet it seemed so when Evan spotted him leeching out of the crowd with a tall blonde girl on his arm. She was gorgeous, Barty had a taste for the good-looking. But there was something so familiar about her; maybe it was the way she laughed and cocked her head to side; or the way her eyes wrinkled; or the way she felt like a mirror of Evan.

Clearly, she thought the same when she caught eyes with a stranger sitting in the booth she was headed for. The brunette, Barty, had not caught onto this, his lips were whispering things into her ear as they both approached the booth and Evan was shocked to say that jealousy and disappointment were the first to touch his heart.

The look on Barty’s face was priceless, it was a mix of shock and confusion and Evan waited for it. Regret. That was an expression that Barty didn’t let show for any more than a second. Luckily, the blonde woman had tapped his arm to let herself go.

“You’re here.” Barty stood across Evan on one end.

“You called.” Evan started, looking at his fingers fidget atop the table. “Didn’t know you were going to be snogging someone else. Wouldn’t have showed up.”

“I didn’t snog her.” Barty said this with a strained expression that make the suit he wore quite dreary when paired with him. He was handsome, that was certain, and Evan couldn’t dare to look him in the eyes.

Evan remained quiet for a while. She looks like me.

“Can we go outside? It’s pretty loud here,” Barty offered. They went outside to the back of the building where no one could have possibly seen them.

“How are you?” Barty said as Evan took his seconds to pace away from Barty, displeased at the small distance between them. Barty’s heart shattered and sunk.

“I’m okay. Didn’t know you cared to be honest,” Evan tucked his hands into his pocket and stared into the starless sky.

Barty sped up to stand before Evan, forcing himself into Evan’s line of sight and dropped to his knees. He felt Evan’s breath hitch and felt Evan force his from meeting his.

Evan was slightly shocked, having this man at his feet, on his knees. A spark of a very vivid memory sparked in Evan and he felt his cheeks tinge at the thought of it. He didn’t look but he enjoyed that thrill of power that sped through him.

He ran his fingers through Barty’s hair as he felt the man press his forehead into his thighs in prayer.

“I cared. Evan, I cared. I still do.” Barty begged.

“Liar.” The blond’s eyes remained on the sky.

“Please believe me. Forgive me.” Barty took Evan’s fingertips down from his hair to his cheeks.

Barty was a sweet liar. Evan knew this. Barty swore to tell the truth. He hated lies. But God, he lied like the devil.

[okaerina]

𖥻 zb1﹎my love playlist 🪡 ˒𓆩⠀⠀⠀

tw! ; angst, fluff, a bit suggestive, lowercase intended.

jiwoong— try again (by jaehyun x d.ear) ˒ ꙳

despite you and your lover both being from two different worlds, you two still try to stay together forever. all those little arguments and making up only makes your long distanced relationship stronger, pulling each other closer, growing up more mature as you two learn and love everything together. step by step, little by little.

❛ I'm always on your side, we'll be alright ˳ ⋆

zhanghao— old love (by yuji x putri dahlia) ˒ ꙳

dating hao was the most beautiful thing that has ever been done by you. he was the epitome of lovely. just like him, dates planned by him were the best too. that summer night where he stole your first kiss under the full moon or when he ditched the prom with you just so he could slow dance with you at a secret place in the school's backyard, constantly showering you with kisses and muttering how pretty you look in that dress. he surely made you feel all sorts of love.

❛ come on and hold me, I want you right here ˳ ⋆

hanbin— only (by lee hi) ˒ ꙳

he was your dream love and you were his. shy sneaky glances, lingering touches, countless daydreams, sleepless nights thinking about one another and all heart eyes. but none of you were confident or sure enough to confess until you initiate your proposal first and things become so much dreamy and lovely as both of you dwell in eachothers warmth ever after.

❛ my only one, everytime i see you, i want to have you ˳ ⋆

matthew— 10 months (by enhypen) ˒ ꙳

your childhood friend that's a mix resemblance of a cute puppy and the bright smiley sun has been confessing to you ever since you two learned to talk properly. being the mature yet younger one you couldn’t help but giggle at his desperate attempts and defending pouts. but as you two grow up your feelings become more and more prominent and so does his attempts of proving himself that he's your dream man now and your left with no choice but to accept his cute love.

❛ starting tomorrow I'll protect you, all day all night ˳ ⋆

taerae— double take (by dhruv) ˒ ꙳

sleepless nights he spends writing verses of love songs dedicated to you, his friendly classmate. his crush on you is so obvious yet shocking to everone. you’re his muse, his little happy love and he's planning to make his move this prom night with the specially readied song before anyone elss claims you.

❛ tell me, do you feel the love? ˳ ⋆

ricky— beside you (by keshi) ˒ ꙳

no matter how hard you try to deny it, it seems like you’ve taken a bit more interest in that crazy rich heartthrob who's trying to court you, constantly seeking for your attention and perhaps some love. (ps. your ex crush long that you were planning to confess long forgotten) he declares that It's love at first sight and tries to prove he is the best one for you. your the best thing that happened to him and lover boy is absolutely whipped for you. he's never felt such devoted love hehe. so will you be able to ignore him and your blooming feelings? spoiler : you wont ;)

❛ you say this ain't love, but it's the same love ˳ ⋆

gyuvin— every summertime (by niki) ˒ ꙳

you never knew your usual normal summer would be romanticised by a certain goofball and become this exciting and lovely. that summer left a strong warmth in your heart as you fell for him harder than ever and you knew that was it, that this boy named kim gyuvin wss the only one you’ll ever need in not only summer but the whole year, wishing to grow up in eachothers loving embrace.

❛ every year we get older, but I'm still on your side ˳ ⋆

gunwook— love story (by taylor swift) ˒ ꙳

that evening was a truly magical one. you on the balcony watching the sun go down the horizon as your new neighbour's son's figure across the street underneath attracts your attention, meeting eye to eye and suddenly your stomach feels all funny as your pulse rises. that was the start of your little romeo-juliet story but with a happily ever after. sneaking out at the middle of the night with him, skipping classes for quick picnics and doing all sorts of funsies you swore you’ll never do.

❛ It's a love story, baby, just say "yes!" ˳ ⋆

yujin— softcore (by the neighbourhood) ˒ ꙳

being in a secret relationship with an idol wasn’t so easy as you were stuck in the four confines of your room, occupied with studies and yujin on his run around the world doing various promotions and practices to secure his position as a qualified idol. but even in amidst of all you two survive on eachother, comforting and strengthing one another, keeping eachother alive from this hell of a life and healing the wounded souls of one another beacause everything's okay on nights where he sneaks into your room and you take a break for him.

❛ i might need you or I'll break ˳ ⋆

© aenfilmz / 2023

taglist ; @solarwoniii @shiningstar-byulxx @wtfhyuck @ichiibunztwt

[sweetteaanddragons]

Stepford Smiles and Time Travel Wiles

Another fic I never got around to crossposting!

Featuring time travelling. Unfortunately, for most of the characters, they don't know that.

The door had scarcely closed when Feanaro rounded on Maitimo, eyes blazing. “You see?” he demanded.

Maitimo, for his part, was too busy blinking at the door his mother had just departed through to answer for a moment. “I see,” he agreed when he had gathered his wits. “Or I glimpse, at least. Atar, what happened?”

His father had abandoned his chair at the dining table to pace furiously in front of the windows. “She returned two days ago,” he said, gesturing toward the hall. “She has been like this ever since. About everything.”

”Everything?”

“If I declare Nolofinwe treacherous, she decries him and his mother. If I say the Valar are untrustworthy, she rants on the foolishness of giving ear to Melkor. If I speak of making swords - “ There Feanaro paused. “There we disagree,” he conceded. “She has been scolding me for not practicing with mine enough. She demanded one of her own and has been devoted to it since; she wonders that I do not do the same.”

When he had first learned she had left his father, Maitimo had felt as if the world was opening beneath his feet.

Somehow, this was not the relief he would have expected.

“Perhaps she changed her mind,” he said tentatively.

“I admired a song of Lauriel’s, and she praised it to high heaven,” his father said harshly.

Ah. His mother would never be rude enough to publicly express an outright distaste for any work made by a protege of Makalaure’s, but Maitimo was not the public, and he could be trusted to know what to keep from his brothers.

His mother could, of course, change her mind on multiple things at once.

But.

The energy that had propelled his father left him in a rush, and he crumpled against the wall, running a hand over his face. “I know she still wrote to you,” he said wearily. It was the first time he had acknowledged this. “Did anything she write . . . ?”

“We didn’t write of politics,” Maitimo said carefully. “Her art, mainly. Tyelpe’s latest projects. That sort of thing.”

His brothers’ projects as well, though that was a more careful line to dance; some of them would not be happy to know news of them had been passed on.

He had written of his father’s work, what little of it wasn’t political. She had never commented on it.

“But she was well?” his father demanded. “The separation didn’t - didn’t burden her fea?”

“It pained her, of course,” Maitimo said, even more carefully than before. “But I had no thought it would drive her to Lorien. It is not as if the bond was broken.”

“No,” his father agreed, abandoning the wall to slump into the closest chair - the one across from Maitimo, instead of his usual place at the head of the table. “No.” He frowned at where one of Grandmother’s tapestries hung on the wall, staring at it as if it held all the secrets of Amil’s heart woven within. “It is not like her,” he said plaintively.

It wasn’t, Maitimo agreed fervently, even if it was only in the privacy of his mind. When his father had half invited, half demanded his presence at supper tonight and said it was about Amil, he had expected anything but this.

“She may have just wished to reconcile,” he suggested soothingly.

Too soothingly; his father looked up sharply, biting words all but visibly forming on his lips before he swallowed them back and waved dismissively. “I should not have involved you in this,” he said instead. “It is not your burden to carry.”

His mother had expressed similar sentiments to him before in one of her letters. Maitimo heartily wished she had not; it had preceded a significant restriction in the information she passed on, and he could not fix what he did not know about.

“If something is wrong with Amil, it is all of our concern,” he said, retreating from ‘soothing’ to ‘rationality.’ “Or if something is right, it is all of our joy. I’m very glad you invited me to supper tonight; even with this . . . puzzle . . . it was good to see her again.”

This reassured his father as his other statement had not. “She wanted to see you,” his father said. “Desperately.”

This was not a surprising revelation. His mother had flung herself at him as soon as he entered the doorway and had not let go of his arm throughout supper. He thought she would be here still if Lauriel had not stopped by with word that Makalaure had safely returned from Alqualonde and was back at his own house in the city. Amil had not been content to wait for his and Aranel’s inevitable morning visit and had immediately gone to welcome them back.

His other brothers, he suspected, would receive a similar treatment when they returned from the various tasks their father had sent them on. He would have to see if he could send word to them first; he trusted Makalaure’s reception of this turn of events, but some of the others might need a few gentle nudges not to let their feelings about Amil’s departure get in the way of her return.

“If she is feeling so agreeable, have you tried asking her about this change of heart?” he tried.

His father shrugged defeatedly. “She said she had thought about what the next few years of her life would look like, and that she had decided that she couldn’t afford to waste time on the ice.”

Maitimo knew poets sometimes compared difficult relationships to ice. He had never considered his parent’s relationship in those terms, even over the last few years; he had tended to lean more towards ‘volcanic.’

“I wrote to Mahtan,” his father added abruptly. “She must have said something to him and Liriel before her departure; if it gave them reason for concern, surely . . . “

“Of course,” Maitimo agreed and made a mental note to write himself. His grandfather had retreated from Atar as tensions rose, but he wrote to his grandchildren as often as ever.

Or perhaps he should write to his grandmother instead; that way if Mahtan chose not to reply to his father’s letter there would be less of an obvious contrast.

There was reason for concern, as much as he hated to admit it, whether or not his grandparents had caught it. Amil had been almost as manic as Atar in one of his moods tonight, her usual quiet passion transformed into something too loud, too bright, too fierce.

Like magnesium burning so, so bright for just a moment, and then -

No. She was in Tirion again; that was good. She was back, and she was talking to Atar again, and Maitimo could set to work smoothing the way for everything to fall back into familiar shapes.

“I’ll talk to Makalaure in the morning,” he told his father. “He might have picked up on something. We’ll work this out; you’ll see.”

Things were one step closer to being as they should be; he wouldn’t let them fall apart again now.

Notes:

Meanwhile, Nerdanel’s perspective: Do I agree with Feanaro? No. But did arguing with him work last time? Also no. So if I am going to save my idiot family, I am going to have to go with them, and I am not risking getting left behind when they take off, so . . . time to let my husband pretend he married Farande. Feanaro, not so quietly sulking: I don’t want to be married to Farande. Nerdanel, oblivious: This is going great!

[spadesofgrass]

The Raven's Song

Character: Sebastyan Thorne (Crimes of Passion)

Premise: Just a small character essay about Bas pursuing change at the cost of love for his family.

Word Count: 656

Rating: No warnings + Gen

__

Can you recite the national anthem for me, Bas?

No no. Not like that. You’re doing it all wrong. Your voice is hoarse, perhaps you aren’t trying hard enough? Always so close and yet so far. I’m disappointed. No, you can be better. You are a special, special child with such a good heart. Maybe if you are lucky, you might be reborn as a ruler.

Then again, you have always been so stubborn. You’d rather change the national anthem so it can dance to you. Curious. Foolish. Trusting. You want to dance with everyone.

There we go. Beautiful. You never get the ending right, but we will try again and again. Persistence has always been your strongest suit, but alas, it has never found a way to be seen. If only you loved your family with no malice in your heart and soul, the anthem you sing will reverberate with the same love and devotion.

Don’t you love your family? You are supposed to. You have to dance with everyone. Stand up straight. You’re doing it all wrong again. Perhaps we should let you compete. Nurture that persistent fire in you and let it turn into hate. We can have Marguerite step on your feet, have Vasili tie your shoelaces, Trystan lead by example. Dance then.

You’re so full of love for this country. Why don’t you love the family? We are the only ones who will listen to you as you sing the anthem ever so tunelessly. We love you for who you are. Pure soul. Good heart. 

Do you know who wrote the anthem? It was your ancestor. Your father’s great-grandfather. It was more of a love for you and me. He will lay down his life for you. He has. If you must die, let the song die on your lips. Let the music that you breathe in be a eulogy sung by your family.

Let it be a dance where you are sitting still, obediently, because that is perhaps, the least you can do for us.

Love us. You will be reborn again, found in birds that sing. You will keep loving us through your chirps and somewhere, you will sing the national anthem in perfect harmony. This is your life, darling. It’s perfect. Take it. It’s one tune. One masterpiece of a tune. You cannot change it. You cannot add anything to it. You are surrounded by it. Take it.

Now. Shall we begin again? Remember, this is love. This is pure love. Anyone who says otherwise has never known you. Perhaps they still think of you as a fragile outcast who can’t carry a tune to save his life. No Bas, you are better. You are one of us.

The love we have for you runs deep in your veins. You can sing that anthem and you will sing it until the end of your days. There is no greater love than getting something utterly perfect and your beautiful, naive persistence will show us the way. A martyr with the ghost of your ancestor’s ballad in your lips - wouldn’t you want to be one? 

There’s a mausoleum with your name in it. Birds all around you. A marked grave. Remembrance days. Justice. Peace. Love. So much love. So much love we forget what happened to you and remember just the love. A boy with royal blood dies, you would be nothing more. Forgotten. But it could be something better. A loved hero with a lost cause. They will only focus on the love, the song, the birds, the flowers. Never the cause. 

Sing louder. I need this entire hall to echo. Louder. Hands to your sides. Straight up. No smiles. Eyes full of love. Good. Good. No, don't look at the paper. You don’t prepare your vows, do you? You say it from the heart. You look into my eyes and sing.

Good, Sebastyan. I can feel the love already. 

___

A/N: If you want to be tagged for more drabbles like these let me know! It's a very chill non-committal tag list so feel free to opt in/out whenever you'd like.

Expect more such character essays with narration like these in the future! I love working on them. If you have a specific theme or prompt to suggest, my askbox is open for all.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

Okay here I am again because the Grima brainrot is particularly intense rn and I just saw a post talking about.

Grima but as a woman. Like genderbend. Nothing changes, same looks, same personality, same behaviour, same ambiguous feelings for Eowyn. (I’d smash.)

I think it’s actually interesting considering that Grima’s flaws in the movies/books are hinted also to be rooted from his “unmanliness” (as Tolkien presents a lot of characters with honour and values considered “male”.)

But I think that even if he were to be a woman, there is a great deal of traits Grima wouldn’t possess to be considered conventionally “feminine” by Tolkien’s and many’s standards. (Such as beauty for example).

So yeah, it just occurred to me and now I’ve been thinking about this since 3am. This is the reason why I’m pansexual. We don’t care about gender. We care about silly evil pookies okay.

As always have a great day/night ! ^^

Yesssss!

Grima & Gender is a super interesting thing that I think about all the time. I love thinking about him and manliness, femininity, secret third and fourth options etc.

I know I reblogged the ask/reply that I had about Grima on Gender and Magic, so you have the gist of most of my thoughts as it relates to Grima performing gender (or not, as the case may be) within the context of masculinity.

But Grima straight up as a woman would be very interesting. Particularly because Rohan is quite gendered when it comes to the wielding of power - and quite binary in who wields what power.

(E.g., when Theoden departs Edoras to fight Saruman, he despairs over leaving the city leaderless because Eomer won't stay behind. It doesn't occur to him that Eowyn is even an option until Hama suggests it.)

Therefore, Grima being in a position of power that is traditionally masculine would be very interesting. Indeed, her entire performance of gender would likely be impacted by the uniqueness of her position. Queens, historically, were more passive in Rohan than in other countries so it's not like she would have someone to model herself on. Nor would there be a model for other people on how to receive and perceive Grima.

(Morwen, maaaaaybe, but honestly her epithet of Steelsheen is more about her appearance than anything else. Though perhaps her personality could be inferred from it... But truly, we only know her in the context of being wife and mother.)

Given the absence of models, would Grima into the more masculine aspects of how people would be reading her? Would she do the whole performance of "I may have the body of a woman but I've the head and heart of a man"? Or would she hyper-perform the femininity song and dance as a way to balance it out/make her more palatable to some?

Aside from the occupying a masculine position of power within the context of Rohan's society, Grima's other personality and physical traits would absolutely count against her being seen as appropriately feminine.

Good qualities for a Rohirrim woman to have is height, slenderness, fairness of face, and youthfulness. Grima's tall...and that's all she's got going for her.

Grima is also neither high-hearted nor noble in bearing let alone in birth (because nobility of birth is very important to one's perceived Goodness and Worth in Tolkien's world).

Grima is a sneak, a liar, a thief, and power hungry. Grima would be, fundamentally, a Woman Who Wants Something. And what she wants are things women shouldn't want.

Wanting Things in general, for both men and women, is a dangerous game to play in Middle Earth and the texts punish many of the people who do any major "unacceptable" desiring (or creating) of things outside their purview.

Grima's obvious foil, Eowyn, is a prime example. Eowyn wants to be a warrior, she wants to be queen, she wants to be part of the Gondor noble family (and assume the power and privilege that comes with that), she wants to be seen and heard and to have an impact on the fate of the world.

Some of her wanting was out of a selfless desire to save her home and her people, but a lot was also just her having dreams and desires.

Eowyn may have been named as Shieldmaiden of Rohan but it is evident that this was meant as an honorific that wasn't meant to be actually acted upon. Save, of course, in the gravest/most dire circumstances when all is lost and only women remain to defend the land because the men are dead. This is, indeed, the gist of the conversation she has with Aragorn and you can see her resentment and anger about what her expected role is to be compared to that of her brother and the other men in her life.

I think the fact that Eowyn reflects, in many ways, the ideal of womanhood is what saves her from being punished too hard. Eowyn is tall, fair, slender, young, high-hearted, daughter of kings, and has selfless and noble motives (alongside the more human ones).

She is allowed her transgression. She gets her great moment of battle against the witch-king. She gets to make her mark, to save people, to change history.

But, she also receives a bit of a personality transplant as a result of it. She gets to be a wife - but not a queen. She gets to be a mother who heals people. She gets to be a Proper Noble Woman and live, once again, in a gilded cage. The very thing she was so furious about initially.

I know there is the idea that she is healed and she has overcome her anger and has changed - but it still feels like the text punished her and robbed her. Of course, a huge part of the problem is that Eowyn is the only women we spend any real time with - if we had more women with diverse journeys and endings, it would be different.

It's subconscious to a certain degree, I think, also heavily informed by Tolkien's Catholicism alongside the culture of the time. The importance of the Marian archetype of womanhood etc. And we know Tolkien loved Eowyn's character and thought about her a lot, wanted to write a good story for her, but some of that stuff sneaks in regardless.

But all of this to say - if that is Eowyn's ending...what would happen to Grima? One who would be committing greater transgressions against gender performance let alone the whole Light Soupçon of Treason.

Because aside from wanting material wealth and power, we know that Grima potentially desires Eowyn. In the movie it's explicit but the books are more ambiguous. We are told, via Gandalf, that Eomer was concerned about Grima ogling his sister and threatened to kill him over it. Crucially, we never hear from Grima about this specific item and we certainly never hear from Eowyn.

Indeed, Gandalf's line to Eomer about how his sister is "safe now" says far more about Eomer's fears and concerns than it does about the reality of the situation. We know in ROTK that Eomer didn't know his sister's heart or mind - he didn't know she was unhappy with her position in the household and broader society, he didn't know she wa so angry and resentful, he didn't know she was in emotional pain, he didn't know what she wanted, he didn't know jack. Therefore can we think him reliable when it comes to being a fountain of knowledge about his sister's desires?

I mean...considering no one was paying much attention to her, and when they did they were reading their own things onto her (coughEomercough), perhaps Eowyn liked having Grima pay attention to her? Like, who knows. Someone who may have seen her and may have known what her fears and desires were might have been novel/nice (before she realized he's selling everyone out for a corn chip). Heck, Gandalf implies that Grima had a pretty good handle on Eowyn's innermost dreams and wishes, so take that as you will.

(I now have this image in my head of Eowyn and Grima getting wine drunk out back of Meduseld and bitching about people.)

All pure idle speculation for the sake of pot-stirring. Anyway, I keep getting distracted.

Grima as a woman feeling lust, though - that would be another strike against her. Honourable love and the implied desire that might exist because of it is fine. But in the text overt desire of a clearly sexual nature is presented in a mostly negative light. Let alone, in this speculation, Grima is lusting after another woman! That's even more unnatural and contrary! What a freak /sarcasm.

Then there's the cowardice - which is shown as a negative no matter who is displaying it. Though, I think of all the aspects of Grima, this is the one that would get more of a pass as a woman than as a man.

So yeah - given that Grima's entire personality is one that is contrary to what is modeled as Good Femininity it would be very interesting to see how it played out over the course of the text.

Everything from the banishment, which was predicated on Grima being expected to do battle alongside Theoden in order to prove that he is still loyal - what test of loyalty would Grima as a woman be expected to perform and then fail because she's too chickenshit?

The relationship with Saruman would be construed in a different way, also the hold Grima had over Theoden - that would take on different implications. And those implications would also change how Theoden is perceived, too, which is interesting.

That Theoden is leaning on a woman for support in ruling would make him seem even weaker and more foolish. It would be so interesting to see it unfold!

Then there's the rivalry with Gandalf - the positioning of them as two sides of the Odinnic coin.

Also the being tortured and tormented by Saruman after Helm's Deep. Not to mention the Scouring of the Shire and Grima's ultimate end. If Grima is a woman, in this, I think Tolkien would have had her ending be different.

----

Alright, I've banged on for way, way too long about this and went no where in particular, and all has been said before in different ways so I'm not landing on anything new or insightful.

Just wittering...I love wittering about Grima so thank you for giving me the opportunity to lol

<3 <3

[libbee]

Lessons of Saturn in Romance?

I have seen in life of Leo risings (Aquarius in 7th house), Saturn placed in or aspecting 7th house, Saturn in angular houses (1/4/7/10), even Saturn in 5th house (aspects 7th house in vedic) that there is a strange thing that happens. Contrary to the idea of romance that it has to be love and display of emotions, these natives are living a relationship of responsibilities, duties, transactions, hard work. Their relationship is not unconditional, that you are "loved" because you are so cute and pretty and creative and funny; you are "loved" because of your usefulness, reliability and capacity to work hard.

A native I know who went into marriage hoping for dinner dates, singing, dancing, romantic evenings, luxury and aesthetics; but instead their marriage is all about work, work, work. Life keeps throwing challenges at the couple in one way or the other. "I have never relaxed in this marriage, there is always something happening" - the native said to me. I notice native watching movies and listening to romantic song, perhaps daydreaming how an alternate reality would be like, one where things were easy and they did not have to work so hard to keep the relationship going.

A native I know who lived in a lot of imaginations of marriage had to learn the hard way that marriage is not about looking pretty and doing romance, it is rather about you being helpful and useful to your partner, learning things to keep your brain sharp, putting intellectual effort into marriage. Intellectual effort is not easy, it is too hard work to read and learn and understand. Their relationship will only work if the native puts mental and intellectual hard work and also be disciplined because you cannot read and learn at your leisure.

What I mean to say is that some natives have it easier where they get married and travel, hang out, post pics on social media, chat with each other and they do not really challenge each other or put too much effort into relationship. After wedding, they set into their roles and adjust to it, it is a kind of leisurely marriage. On the other hand, Saturnian couples are the ones whose married life is all about discipline, hard work, challenges, figuring things out. Their life path is such that unexpected challenges keep happening all the time. Life keeps pushing them to the challenges even if they do not want to fight.

These natives even wonder why their reality is so different from that of other people they see around them or on media. Since they are not aware of Saturnian impact, they live with a sort of "grass is greener on the other side" feeling. Many natives do not know about astrology and their birth chart, they are caught up in the sociocultural norms but keep resentment because rather than being fun and lighthearted, their romance is all about emotional control and challenges. Maybe they just have too many financial, social, career problems or the partners themselves are too demanding and have high expectations that they have to keep working to fulfill them.

Lessons of Saturn are hard to figure out. Even the internet communities suggest that "love should be unconditional, you do not need to work hard for love, if they cannot love you for yourself then go find someone else". But we know that in real life, it is not so easy to go find another partner just like that. We know that even in the new relationship we will face the same challenges because we have not resolved them. And life is not really that full of opportunities that everywhere you go you find single people looking to date you.

Saturnian couples are the ones who are faced with so many challenges that they start disgusting at love. They cringe at the idea of it, they might even be repulsed by the idea of love because they realize that all this is mere fantasy, childish, narcissistic desires. It is strange, isn't it, how the romantic love is not the same for every couple depending upon their planetary placements? These natives are not necessarily born cold hearted but with age and life experience, they gain maturity and eventually realize that their life path is more challenging than the average.

Emotions associated with Saturn are that of guilt, shame, heaviness, tiredness, discipline, monotony, feeling trapped, feeling stressed and feeling restricted in expressing their desires out of fear that they will be shunned or that life is already so challenging then how can they desire fun and adventures.

There must be some value in hardships; unfortunately society and media do not talk about Saturnian relationships, they are rather seen in philosophical discussions.

[panlight]

What do you think the Denali Coven were like as humans, their interests or hobbies, or maybe do as a career? (Kate probably does martial arts or self-defense, Tanya could work in art, Eleazar in business, etc etc. They got that big mountain home somehow)

I'm skeptical of them having careers in the present day, given that they seem to have been staying in the same place since at least the 1930s. I guess now they could be doing some sort of remote work? Maybe in the past they wrote books or articles under pseudonyms, or just picked up odd jobs here and there. Or the sisters just had their boyfriends buy them things and pay for stuff?

(And I DO wonder about their house because Denali is a national park. Are they paying the government off to let them keep staying there? Is it so remote the government doesn't know about it? SM seems to suggest they live literally ON the mountain.)

As a human Kate seemed to be into martial arts and physical fitness, having served as a bodyguard of sorts to what amounted to a princess. I think she and Emmett would have had fun over the years testing the limits of vampire abilities. Maybe she does workout videos online.

Irina was from a small farming community, I imagine she had a quieter, more peaceful human life than Kate. Maybe she still likes to grow things? An Alaskan mountain cabin is not like, the most ideal place for a garden. Maybe she keeps an indoor herb garden? Or they are hiding a big greenhouse on the mountain too, lol.

I've imagined that Tanya was possibly from a more well-to-do background; Sasha was her great-aunt and had been watching over the family which makes me think the family was prosperous in some way. Maybe they were skilled craftspeople or involved in local government. We don't really get a sense of what Tanya's hobbies are (other than romantic pursuits), but she seems cultured and sophisticated, while still also fun. Keep thinking of her cannonball into the snow. Maybe becoming a vampire gave her freedom from the expectations of her family/society and that's part of the reason she so was so devoted to Sasha. She didn't feel like she robbed her of her human life, but that she gave her freedom from it. But I do like to think she is maybe into some sort of craft; maybe she remembers ancient weaving or ceramic techniques and sells them at craft fairs and on Etsy.

Eleazar seems like a scholarly sort, and Carmen gives musical vibes, although that might be because of the actress who played her in the movies. In my mind she sings, plays several instruments, dances. Eleazar enjoys these things too, but he is the harmony to her melody; he supports her, but it's her passion. Maybe she was a street musician when they met. Her siren song lured him away from the Volturi. I think Eleazar is like Aro and Carlisle, very curious, wants to learn and study, but perhaps more about history and culture than Carlisle's science/medicine angle.

[ingravinoveritas]

You've probably got a thousand things to say about the latest "The Kiss" info, but I have been thinking about it all morning, especially about the way there seems to be no need to acknowledge it between the two of them. They just went for it, and then they didn't feel the need to talk about it. Idk about everyone else but to me that just feels like to them, this was just a kiss among perhaps many. They knew the song and dance around it already, so there was no need to mark it as different other than it being in characters rather than out of.

But those are just my thoughts. So excited to hear about yours if you have any :3

Hi there! Oh, yes…yes, I do have so many thoughts about Michael talking about the kiss, and The Assembly in general.

Something I'm not sure I've mentioned on here (at least not in a long time) is that five years ago (in June of 2019), I wrote a thread on Twitter about fanfic and why it was so important to me as an autistic woman, as well as the role it played when I began to discover my sexuality. I received a lovely comment from Neil, and on top of that, Michael reposted it from me, which was entirely unexpected but delightful.

So when I first heard about The Assembly, I was anxious, apprehensive, and uncomfortable--mainly because of how the autistic/ND interviewers would potentially be depicted on screen. By the end of the show, however, I was in tears--and for once, in a good way. Michael did not let me down for one single second (which I did not think he would), and I loved how he and everyone else just held space for each other during the group singalong to "Here Comes the Sun."

(The only thing I haven't liked is seeing some of the response on social media that suggests Michael did an extraordinary thing just by talking to autistic/disabled people like we are human beings. It shouldn't be special when he or anyone else does that, but it's depicted that way because it is unfortunately still so rare...)

In terms of Michael talking about the kiss with David, it was of course so lovely to see his expressions and listen to him talk about what it was like. For me it was the fact that he actually didn't say that much that was so revealing. It was perfectly in line with what was reported about what Michael said a month ago, about it being "everything you dream of." With the Assembly, we could now see and hear him talking about it and that same carefulness with which he gave the previous answer--a carefulness borne not out of wanting to hide something, but wanting to keep something about the kiss private. Just for him and David.

I also feel like some folks might have misunderstood what he meant when he said, "We never talk about it," though. I think the unspoken part after that is, "We never talk about it, not because we don't want to, but because we don't need to"...

And I agree with you that it was exactly that--one kiss out of many, something so tried and true that neither David nor Michael had to give it much thought. It also makes me think of previous discussions about comments from David about how, between the sunglasses and the contact lenses for Crowley, he couldn't see shit, yet he only needed one take to find Michael's lips. It's like needing a GPS when you drive someplace new, but then it quickly becomes familiar, and after a while you don't need anyone to tell you how to get there. Because you already know the way home.

Talking about the kiss like this almost gives a feeling of domesticity, of something deeply intimate, beyond the physical. I'm thinking of it as well in tandem with David's comments from prior to the BAFTAs, about it being "another day at work" and saying that Michael had "brushed his teeth." There are so many examples from movies or TV shows where a couple wakes up in bed together in the morning and when one person goes in for a kiss, the other stops them and says "Not until you've brushed your teeth" (or something to that effect). And it just makes me picture them getting up to film that day and sharing a good morning kiss, after which David gently reminds Michael to brush his teeth before he gets to the set. (And he does, because Michael never forgets anything David tells him.)

The last thing that I wanted to mention that stood out to me was Michael talking about how moved everyone was--both the people who watched the kiss be filmed on set, and the fans who watched it in the show. You could actually hear the way his voice caught in his throat, hear him become emotional just from remembering that. And it made me think back to when GO 2 came out last summer, in the midst of the Writers Strike (and then SAG-AFTRA) and how Michael was probably reading all of the fan reactions online and feeling very much the same way, even though he couldn't say anything about it.

So it becomes even more poignant and compelling that now, when he finally can say anything he wants at all about the kiss, he gives us so little. Or maybe just enough, with a small, knowing smile on his face. Because he's found a boy he likes, and he has his photo.

Those are my thoughts on Michael talking about the kiss on The Assembly. I know it's been a week now, but hopefully everyone has had time to process it too, so I'd love to hear what you all think. Thank you for writing in! x

[avantegarda]

Razzle Dazzle

So it's been like 2 years since I wrote any Silmarillion stories, and like 4 since I wrote anything in my Victorian AU. But for @luthiendear's Luthien Week, I finally am returning to my roots and writing a short that I've been mulling over for quite some time.

Summary: Luthien duBois, Louisiana heiress and hopeless romantic, kickstarts the greatest jewel heist in American history.

---

San Francisco, 1899

The Angband Club

Luthien duBois was a great believer in positive thinking. It had helped her sail through plenty of trouble already, and no matter how terrifying the man in front of her was, she decided to believe her plan would work. It had gotten off to a decent start, anyway; Beren had gone in the day before and got himself hired as a barman, and the rest was in Lulu's hands.

Mr. Morgoth, frequently described as the most evil gangster in America, looked her up and down suggestively and stroked his luxuriant dark mustache. "You're a pretty thing," he drawled. "Only reason I let you in here, really. Tell me, young lady, what can I do for you?"

"I've come looking for work," she replied with a coquettish smile. "Word around town is, you run the finest saloon in this city, with top-notch talent. And I'm an excellent dancer."

"Oh, I can well believe that. But you must understand, miss..."

Lulu dropped into a curtsy. "Call me Nightingale."

"How sweet. You must understand, Miss Nightingale, I have very lofty standards for my employees. Simple talent isn't enough, nor are big eyes and pretty ankles." He set his drink down with a clatter. "Loyalty, miss, and discretion. The same a general might demand of his troops. Behind these doors, there is no law but mine. Have you the strength of character to promise this?"

I have enough strength of character to rob you blind, you old roué, thought Lulu fiercely. But she managed an innocent giggle. "Why, of course, Mr. M! It would be my absolute honor. For you, I'm as well-behaved as a schoolgirl."

"Oh, but I do hope you won't be too well-behaved. I like my girls with a bit of...spice."

Revolting man! "Why don't you let me audition," she purred, "and you'll see just how spicy I can be."

He gestured to the small stage across the room. "Do, please. I cannot wait."

She took a deep breath and pulled the pins from her hair, letting it fall around her like a cloak. "Play something lively," she ordered the man at the piano, and hopped up onto the stage. As the pianist struck up a jolly ragtime tune, she shut out her surroundings and danced.

She'd been trained in ballet, but this wasn't really ballet, not entirely. There were bits of flamenco, some calypso she'd seen on the streets of New Orleans, a hint of Irish jig, and plenty of whatever simply occurred to her in the moment. There was no point in being shy; she did have talent, and it didn't feel like a sin to show it off. Even in this situation.

The song ended at last, and it took a moment to remember she was in a dank gentlemen's club being leered at by a slimy old criminal. She bowed gracefully, trying her best not to shudder in disgust.

"You weren't lying, my dear," Morgoth breathed. "Consider yourself hired. And perhaps I can tempt you to give me a private performance from time to time.

"It would be my pleasure," Luthien lied. "But golly, this is such an honor! We ought to celebrate, don't you think?"

"We certainly should." Morgoth snapped his fingers at the pianist. "Boy! Two brandies, double-quick!"

The pianist- a young fellow with curly dark hair and olive skin-nodded obediently and scurried to the bar, returning with two glasses. Morgoth raised his to Luthien.

"To you, my pretty Nightingale," he said, and drank.

Three...

Two...

One.

Morgoth's dark eyes grew wide and confused, and he let out an undignified burp before slumping to the floor. Luthien sighed with relief as the pianist hurried to her side.

"Nice work," she said. "Where's the real pianist?"

"Out cold behind the dustbins. He'll be fine." Beren glanced down at the unconscious gangster. "What an old pervert," he muttered, shaking his head. "Sorry you had to do that, Lulu."

Luthien, who had been rummaging around in Morgoth's pockets, withdrew her hand with a grin. In it was a tiny silver key. "Don't be too sorry, darlin'. We're halfway there."

[elektrischemaidchen]

Lisztober #10: Virtuoso!

Warning! Before you all get the shakes, @franzliszt-official: This song is largely based on original quotes (!!!) So it didn't just spring from our sick brains.

So, come on, let's fire up the beats again to crash yesterday's grave mood. And then we'll get back to doing what we do best: Naughty- wayward Victorian Lady - songs. How many did we do already? Can’t remember. If there's one thing I've learned from my other band, it's that going over and over the same sexy theme ALWAYS leads to success ;) (Haha. Ha.)

„Lisztomania” is probably the most discussed topic from Franz's virtuoso years. There's even a movie about it, by Ken Russell. I haven't watched it yet, by the way, because I'm extremely scared of it... For those who don't know: Lisztomania began around 1841 in Berlin (where else…freaks ;)) and soon spread throughout Europe. And it was a kind of collective St. Vitus' dance in which people (i.e. women) went as crazy as possible, fought over Liszt's cigar butts, licked out his empty glasses and also offered themselves to him in other ways. Remember, this is the middle of the 19th century. And, of course, there was also the medical view: too many people and candles in one room, “Cantharidin of a musical nature” (really cool!) and female hysteria per se, which was later cured with “vibration therapy” - this is also not our imagination. Ah, good old days. <3 Dear doctors, perhaps it was simply because Liszt was a hot as hell, a gifted musician and a really good showman. Cantharidin, Cantharidin.

It has often been suggested that this may have been the first ingenious music marketing coup in history. That may only be true to a small percentage. The small percentage: Have any of you ever seen a picture of all the merch items that were supposedly there? I collect a lot of Liszt stuff, but I've never found a lock of his hair (or his dog) in a museum, nor brooches, nor any other item anywhere, not even a picture. I'm really interested. If you know anything, please let me know. Shut up and take my money.

As someone who has been bobbing around in today's music world for far too long, I have actually experienced this kind of mania myself on a tour with an internationally successful band (not on stage, thank God, but behind the scenes). That's really really bad. Not for the band, who usually take full advantage of it, but for those who witness it. I've never had so many strange conversations in my life as with groupies. Incidentally, these letters written in blood, which are mentioned in the song, come from my own experience and, for once, are not from a Liszt biography. Dear ladies: Please bear in mind that when you do something like this, it's usually not your adored artist who opens the mail, but some poor bastard who scrubs his hands over the sink for six hours afterwards. I'm just saying.

My doctor explained it to me Miss, you have a problem And I look at him And sob quietly I don't want him to know Of my secret He says it's unfortunate „Histrionic epilepsis“ I don't even know Whether it's contagious Doctor, I think it's not hysteria Doctor, I'm afraid It is Lisztomania What commands me I only suspect Cantharides Of a musical nature Two weeks ago At a concert it began So I can think of nothing Else since then He is a master of the keys The Don Juan of the boudoirs I wish he'd take me Me here, for fun Everything about him is Pure physiognomy I smoked his cold cigars Till I spat I write him Letters in blood Break into his hotel suite Anything to be close to him Doctor, I also have Diphtheria Doctor, it's Nothing compared to Lisztomania And I'm sure I'll go mad soon Because a lock of his hair So enraptured It hangs in a locket On my bosom Then I will cuddle with His handkerchief For which I fought With other girls Even before it Slipped from his fingers When I, with wet hands On his tails, licked out his empty cognac glass Mr. Doctor, I believe it's not hysteria Doctor, I'm afraid It is Lisztomania My doctor nods With a knowing look Miss, please leave The smelling salts be We're going to introduce something something new Against your Lisztomania Unfortunately, the only thing that helps is... Vibration therapy Vibration therapy

[astralis-is-typing]

We lost the Summer

⚝fic type: Y/A (coming-of-age)

⚝genre/contains: huening kai x reader, fluff, angst, gn!reader, non-idol!au, friends2lovers if you wish on your lucky stars haha

⚝warnings: quite a few mentions of food (mostly ice-cream), one mention of alcohol (beer), brief mention of bullying (unspecified)

⚝word count: 2.5k, pt 1/2 (part 2)

⚝A/N: To help combat the lack of stand-alone hyuka fics on here ꒰⁠⑅⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠꒱⁠˖⁠♡ As the title suggests, this is inspired by the song of the same name by txt! Hope that helps explain why I'm posting a winter-themed fic on the onset of summer lol.

You always seemed to be missing a piece of stationery in 5th grade. Every time a lost pencil was replaced by your exasperated mother, there went your ruler the following week. It wasn’t until halfway into the term that you realized it was your plushie-loving deskmate, Kai. His speciality was pickpocketing your array of coloured glitter pens. Those were his favourite. It boiled your blood immensely but your teacher refused to change the seating plan, no matter how much you pleaded.

Between this and his penchant for tearing up pieces of paper to bits, you don’t even know how you and Huening Kai became friends.

It perhaps started as a result of one of his hushed comments about another classmate. He reminded you a lot of one of your aunts who loved to gossip. He even eagerly leaned in just like she did whenever you quickly whispered the latest playground drama into his awaiting ear. Kai would be stifling snorts as you exchanged notes under your shared table while your unsuspecting teacher jotted endless notes onto the whiteboard.

Sometimes, you thought he did this to make you feel better about the bullying you went through. If Kai ever found you sitting alone in class, sad after someone taunted you, he’d immediately crack a joke to make you feel better. All the kids were a little mean to each other, you’d try reason to yourself that way in a bid to keep what you thought was self-pity at bay. You just never really learned the art of sticking up for yourself. Kai took your mind off it. It was the best he could do as he hated confrontations of any kind.

Eventually, your friendship grew firm enough to bloom outside the confines of your school’s walls. It was a surprise to find out you lived on the same street. You’d never seen him while playing outside, but he explained his family would go visit his grandparents in another part of town on most weekends.

To add to that, Kai was quite the homebody and preferred to hole up in his room playing video games (while being surrounded by a hoard of stuffed animals) during his down time. This gradually changed the longer you two were friends. You lured him out of his den to be your dance buddy with promises of mint-chocolate ice cream and skittles as a reward.

You’d spend your weekends in each other’s company, bouncing between each other’s houses. You had been formally introduced to all his plushies, and your mom always served Kai extra helpings of whatever she was cooking when he came over.

The memory makes you sigh as you stand outside an ice-cream shop deciding what to order. The cool November breeze feels delicious as you stretch your legs after a long morning of studying in your university’s stuffy library. Your habit of eating ice-cream no matter the season had extended to your adult life. Other customers– bundled in their winter coats– eye you weirdly as you determinedly go over the shop’s ice-cream menu. Exam season was around the corner and the hours you had been putting in were starting to catch up with you. It showed through the eye bags sagging underneath your tired eyes and the yawns you barely manage to stifle under a gloved palm.

You’d moved to a different city after high school following your acceptance into a university there. The institution had been your second option– you’d narrowly missed your first and that fact had left you sour for months. Nevertheless, the classes were going good and the people you had met so far were nice enough… but when it came to finding a place that suited your niche for some much needed ‘me time’, you weren’t in luck. You missed your happy place, the record shop back home. No place in the city had offered you that comforting familiarity so far. It was quite a daunting experience to have to find new spots outside of your dorm to unwind.

You’d sometimes pop into that corner store even when you didn’t have the money to buy new music– just to look at what albums were up. The owner who’d come to know you well had gifted you an album when you graduated. You’d been saving up for the vinyl version so you could listen to it on the record player Kai got you for your thirteenth birthday.

He bought it for himself, really– because within a few months your shelves were filled with more of his albums than your own. He claimed he was tired of using the old gramophone his grandmother had given them, and would stumble into your room on a Saturday afternoon with his arms stacked with albums.

Sometimes, they were so many he’d have to cage the top of the hoard in with his chin. He’d be leaning back from the weight, his long black bangs obscuring his eyesight, and by the time he got to your doorstep the stack was teetering so precariously your mother had to relieve him of nearly half the collection as the two of them lugged the heap into the house.

Almost all your childhood memories contained Kai.

It made you dimly think that it wasn’t the places back home you missed. Rather, the memories they held. And if so many of these memories were about Kai then you should probably stop beating around the bush, and admit that you indeed missed him. You'd catch yourself checking your calendar more often than you cared to admit, having randomly remembered a date that was important to the two of you.

Every lunar eclipse, the Wednesday specials at your favourite restaurant, all his plushies’ birthdays, rock collectors’ day… all these silly little events that brought you two joy in between your harrowing school life. At the end of a long week- no matter what any of your classmates had said or the tests Kai had flunked– the two of you would still be able to scramble to his or your dining table with smiles, eagerly waiting for dinner.

You and Kai had unfortunately drifted apart towards the end of high school and over the course of the months spent in a new city you’d been convincing yourself that it didn’t bother you as much as you knew it did– deep down. You reckoned that even when you went back home at the end of the semester, the two of you wouldn’t have much in common. You had matured over time and you were sure Kai had too.

A big part of your moving away was about becoming a better version of yourself– away from the influences you grew up with. Initially, it had been a real struggle to find your footing; you subconsciously felt that you had something to prove to the kids you went to school with. They were always putting you down and you had ended up changing so many aspects of yourself at the time and sucking up to them to be more likeable.

You’d started hanging out with a different crowd around your senior year, ironically containing some of the people who would bully you. It was easier to ignore that fact than the spurts of serotonin you got every time you said something witty enough to make them laugh. Your school didn’t have much of a social hierarchy, so you wouldn’t necessarily call them the ‘cool kids’. That was far too cliché. They were just… different. Wholly unlike your small group of friends that you’d had previously.

It irked Kai, seeing you put up some type of façade. Granted, he had begun to change too, becoming more temperamental in his late teenage years. To you, he was far too moody and snapped too often. So many of your little arguments turned into big fights and eventually there was an ice wall between the two of you.

The tension had really stressed you out at first, but your mother had told you to give things time to cool down. Your family was still wholesomely pleasant to Kai, even though his visits became few and far in between. She’d said that the two of you would still be friends in the end, that if it was ‘meant to be’ it would work itself out. You had been sceptical about that take, and even more so when her advice didn’t work.

He stopped coming over, the few albums he’d left on your shelf abandoned and gradually gathering dust as you couldn’t bring yourself to listen to them without him. The two of you were exchanging nothing more than rushed pleasantries in the hallways by that point.

Wandering through the city alone reminded you strongly of those lonely lunch time hours following your fallout with Kai. You would usually run all your plans through him and the two of you would figure out what to do together. Nevertheless, the loneliness taught you to have some individuality, and there were no ‘if’s or ‘but’s about that. It was the trait you admired most in Kai. His ability to block out all the noise and do whatever the heck he wanted.

Kai never succumbed to peer pressure, even at a young age. More so during the onslaught of crush culture, when he simply laughed (unnecessarily loud) at the antics your classmates pulled to impress their desired guy or girl. Huening Kai would be caught dead sacrificing his lunch money to woo someone with a gift he bought instead. When he was on the receiving end of such bestowals, however, his boisterous laughter would be replaced with a bashful giggle as he amicably thanked whoever gifted him.

You’d caught yourself gazing at him rather too fondly yourself… noticing little attributes that endeared him to you in a way that sparked a foreign sensation in your gut. The way his lips puckered when he had his cheeks stuffed with a cupcake, the faint smell of his mother’s favourite detergent that lingered on your pillow long after a sleepover had ended… the teasing lilt his voice would adopt as he called out your name while messily tying his soccer cleats’ laces...

Some days you would run ahead of him just to hear it, leaving him to struggle as he hunkered down in a corner of the grassy soccer pitch. However, your older sister had advised you against making any kind of move. Having been the victim of unsuccessful confessions herself, she’d warned that you would be ruining a good friendship. And so your budding infatuation simmered to an eventual halt.

—

Walking the familiar path back to the university, you were drawn out of your reverie by a dog running up to you and wagging its tail at your feet. The poor thing barely reached your shin and your heart swelled at the sight of its tiny brown frame. Its owner smiled at you cordially as you reached down to pat it, its fluffy fur comforting you even through your gloves as you hold your ice-cream at arm’s length with your other hand. The best part about winter-time ice-cream sprees was that you didn’t need to worry much about it melting and dripping onto the pup.

As it merrily trotted back to its owner you took a short lick of your treat with a smile on your face, marvelling at how such a small encounter could change the course of your day for the better. It was these little excitements that reminded you of why you’d taken the chance and moved.

The city isn't all bad, you muse, looking into the buildings you pass that are buzzing with activity as the day wears on. As you’d previously established, the people around here were nice. You’d made at least one good friend this semester. A lanky, fluffy haired boy named Soobin. Oh, how you wish you could stuff him in your pocket! Sure, you had to crane your neck up to look him in the eye and his hands were so big that your face could fit in one alone, but his soft disposition absolved your initial intimidation.

Soobin was in your economics class and had approached you in the cafeteria two weeks into the term, offering you a seat at his lunch table with a few of his friends. The space was so huge and it was jarring trying to find a place to sit. You remember shyly agreeing; silently kicking yourself for managing to give off a ‘lost puppy’ kind of vibe when you were supposed to be making a shot at being independent. By now, however, you had gotten sufficient time to practice– there were so many decisions you had to make for yourself now... socially, mentally and especially financially.

Hacking this new chapter of your life solo had been a tempting plan, but Soobin was fun to be around. Between your shared love for gaming and his seemingly aloof personality that complemented your over-analysing one, the two of you made quite the pair. On top of that he was a great wingman on the rare occasion you met someone you found cute at a fair or convention.

You hadn’t yet been swept up by the notorious college night life (not with the workload your major came with), but Soobin was still with you the few times you’d actually attend a party. He’s the one who would get you invited anyway; you didn’t know how he did it since he was such a homebody. Him sticking with you had more to do with keeping you from escaping than anything else, though.

“You really need to enjoy this time while you’re at it,” he had tried persuading you on one such occasion, switching your mocktail for a beer. You’d been quick to shove it back in his retreating hand, spilling a little of your drink on your shorts in the process. He’d laughed at you rumbustiously for what felt like forever until you nagged him, calling him by his full name and ordering him to go get you a napkin.

“You’ll miss these opportunities sorely when you’re like, forty and have kids to feed.” He’d called back ominously as he disappeared into the crowd. He was still rambling on about how these were the ‘prime years’ of your life while being swept up into the sea of swaying bodies and you struggled to hear him over the bass of the pop song blaring through the speakers. You vaguely recalled that it was your sister’s favourite and raised a glass in her honour. Somehow, you managed to spill even more of your drink in the process. Soobin just happened to return at that moment, and your dimpled friend could barely contain his amusement even when shot with the deadliest glare you could muster.

The pleasure Soobin derived from your misfortunes strongly reminded you of Kai, who’s favourite misgiving of yours was your clumsiness. You vividly remember a day when you were rushing from math to P.E., attempting to tie your shoelaces while standing. As you tumbled to the ground in a hazardous heap, his laugh echoed down the hallways, causing teachers in the nearby classrooms to peep through their respective doors and glare at you two disapprovingly.

⚝A/N: I've been working on this story for quite a while and I'm happy with the way it's turning out :) I'd love to hear your thoughts xx

[vinghen-tmblr]

Random banter Amidst Chaos:

A Flirtatious Battle

Probably somewhere on start of 2act, but there's no specifics or spoilers. They still thinks that they are playing their Game.

The battlefield was a chaotic symphony of clashing weapons and roars of combat, yet amidst the chaos, Astarion couldn't resist the allure of their usual banter.

"Well, Elowen, it seems our enemies are dropping faster than your excuses."

Elowen, her focus divided between foes and flirtation, raised an eyebrow. Without missing a beat, she changed the tune of her enchanted songs. Her voice carried a playful tone as she responded:

"Oh, Astarion, my dear undead friend,

Your biting wit won't be the end.

For in this fight, we stand so strong,

While you're just singing the same old song."

The other companions chuckled at the exchange, entertained by the verbal duel amidst the physical one. As blades clashed and spells were cast, Astarion continued, "You know, Elowen, your singing is almost as deadly as your flirting."

She grinned, accepting the challenge. Astarion had asked for it. She was a charismatic bard and an adept player of their manipulative game. She replied with another verse, mischief dancing in her eyes:

"Astarion, darling, don't you see,

My charm's as sharp as it can be.

You might evade the morning sun's light,

But my words will pierce your heart tonight."

Astarion, his eyes smoldering, leaned in closer to her amidst the turmoil, his voice low and suggestive:

"My darling, it's a shame we're so busy right now. I had other plans for those lips of yours."

She leaned in as well, their faces dangerously close, her lips almost grazing his ear as she whispered, "Do you now..?" But before he could react, she leaned back and sang:

"Oh, Astarion, you flirt with such style,

But you'll have to wait, just a little while.

In the heat of this battle, our desires must wait,

But, darling, you'll find I'm well worth the date."

Their companions watched in amusement, with Karlach giggling and Shadowheart rolling her eyes. Lae'zel grunted in disapproval. Gale couldn't help but smile at the exchange.

Astarion smirked, "Elowen, you're playing a dangerous game. One of these days, I might not resist."

Elowen, her voice dripping with sensuality, teased back:

"Astarion, darling, danger's my thrill,

But patience is key, and I have the skill.

When the time is right, our passions will ignite,

And we'll set the night on fire, just right."

Astarion couldn't resist the playful challenge in Elowen's verse. His lips curled into a seductive grin as he leaned in closer, their faces inches apart, the tension between them palpable:

"Well, Elowen, it seems you think you've mastered the art of teasing. But remember, darling, patience isn't the only key to unlock a fire."

He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch lingering for a tantalizing moment. "And as for danger, well, we're quite the match in that regard, aren't we? But setting the night on fire? I look forward to seeing if you can keep up, my dear."

With a wicked glint in his crimson eyes, he pulled away, leaving Elowen with a knowing smirk and a promise of fiery encounters yet to come.

Elowen, unwilling to back down, sang in response:

"Astarion, darling, you're quite the bold one,

But patience is key; let's have some more fun.

As we dance in the shadows, our secrets take flight,

Our desires unspoken, burning hotter than night."

Their exchange of words was interwoven with parries, dodges, and spells cast in the midst of battle. As they continued their flirtatious banter, Gale finally chimed in, attempting to refocus their attention on the battle at hand.

"Perhaps, my friends," he said, "we should concentrate on our current predicament and save the amorous exchanges for a more suitable time?"

Wyll, with a smirk, added, "Or perhaps you two should find a room if you're so eager to continue."

Elowen and Astarion, despite the interruptions, couldn't help but share a mischievous grin.

Oh, they loved that game of theirs so much.

[steveshaped]

i knew you'd come back to me

a/n: i was searching for a christmas fic with steve, a little bit of fluff and a whole lot of angst. this is just me scratching that itch. btw this is a sideblog which i'm using to write and i don't know if i will continue using it or not.

anyway, this is entirely inspired by my obsession with cardigan by taylor swift so... here we are.

pairing: steve rogers x reader

content warnings: angst, fem! implied reader but can be read as gn! too. the snap didn't happen but time travel did, go along with it, would you? kinda sad ending maybe.

you stare at the pumpkin cookie dough as thoughts of last december creep in. snow, spaghetti, sparkling champagne, shortcakes, silver on the table and these cookies.

those were the kind of dinners you had with steve.

gooseflesh erupted on the back of your neck as you felt the cold air seep in through the door as someone walked in, snapping you out of the memory.

"good evening, would you like to order a coffee?" you ask customarily as you get ready to take his order.

"uh, yeah, can i get a pumpkin spiced latte with vanilla?"

you look up at the guy, almost hoping to see someone else. steve always ordered that since the first time you suggested it to him.

white snow and black coffee, that's who he was before he met you. until you started adding more spice to his life.

it was the middle of december and for some reason you've had steve on your mind all day long. the last time that you had thought of him was when a memory popped up on your phone with a picture of the two of you. you've since deleted all the pictures from your phone (of course, after taking a backup) but that was when you'd finally taken a step to put it past you. that was when you'd decided to stop making yourself suffer in the tiniest of ways. 

today was not helping.

today had been full of coincidences. if that's what it still was, a coincidence. you had gone to pick up your dress from the dry cleaners after your daily run in the morning and you'd seen the exact pair of levi's that steve owned. perhaps not the exact one because this pair had a huge stain on it. so you wound up thinking about the night when he'd been wearing those when he took you out on a date and you both ended up drinking a lot of wine with dinner. he was barely intoxicated, obviously– but being around your silly goofy drunk self made him less sober. and when you both stumbled into your home, unable to locate the light switches– steve opened your curtains whilst you played some music from your phone and took out the good wine for the both of you to have. then your favourite song came on and steve asked you to dance– the streetlight streaming in– illuminating his face– he almost looked younger, carefree, more than you'd ever seen him. you leaned your head on his shoulder as he placed his hands on your waist, both swaying with the beat.

you remember that later when you'd changed into your sweats and crept into the bed with him, you were grateful that it was a sunday the next day and you'd be lucky enough to wake up next to him rather than be greeted with an empty bed as usual. steve adjusted as you climbed under the covers with him and his hand crept up your back, under your sweatshirt, trailing your spine– always at the same spot. as you tried to fall asleep, you spent some time tracing the stretch marks on his arms. the ones he said he had gotten when he was treated with the supersoldier serum and his body grew too quickly, too soon. he wore a thrifted vintage tee, the one he'd found when you took him to your favourite thrift shop down the street. not quite as old as him, but then again, only a few things were. somehow he gravitated towards them, feeling a kinship towards the lost things of the world. it was the same tshirt you'd seen a dad wearing in the park you'd gone to for your morning run.

normally you didn't have time to notice your body when you got ready for work. but today you noticed the constellation of stars tattooed on your knee. the ones he'd drawn after you slipped and fell in the shower and ended up with a large bruise and swollen knee. steve took care of you the whole day, he gave your knee kisses 'to make it heal faster', the way his ma used to. when he was finally leaving the next morning to go on a mission with nat, he drew those stars– a kiss that would stay with you. you waited for your knee to get better, wrapping it up and making the ink last longer on your skin till you could finally make it permanent.

but it was inevitable, you always knew you'd loose him. every time he went on a mission, every moment he wasn't with you, you were preparing yourself for it.

only when you had started to feel more secure– only when you'd catch yourself daydreaming of a future with him– that was when you'd lost him. you remember the car ride to the train station when he was leaving again for new york that week. you'd been feeling odd that day, for no apparent reason. you assured yourself that steve will come back soon. he'd been living with you for the past couple of months until he got a call from tony (only that it was bruce) telling him about some infinity stones.

the steve you knew, listened to you. when he left, he'd grown out his hair and beard on your suggestion– that was your steve. not the version that everyone else knew. the steve you knew was a human being who sometimes made mistakes, occassionally had mood swings, on some days he loved you more and other days not so much (on days you'd had another one of your fights about his retirement) but at the end of the day, he was yours. that's what you thought.

everyone else thought that if anything, steve was loyal. but when the war was over and steve left with the infinity stones, you sat in your home waiting. for days and days you had waited. but there was no news of him. had something happened to him? did he need saving? if so, why didn't anyone go back for him? and no one would say anything. not even bucky. you weren't sure if you had to grieve or not. the only thing you knew was that steve was alive. he didn't come back to you though.

until tonight, when you came back home to find someone sitting on your porch, waiting for you. it took you some time to register. it was steve, it really was him but, he was older. much much older than the steve you knew. 

"y/n"

"steve" you said, surprisingly with a steady voice. you didn't know if that made you look brave or detached. would it make him think that what you had was not real? but if he really went back to live his life then did he ever think of your relationship as something real?

"can we talk?" he asked. his voice was heavier, older too. you let the man in. made him a fresh cup of coffee. 

"the cold really hits you at this age" he says and you laugh out loud. steve was never cold, even when you'd be shivering with teeth chattering cold, you could still find him to be perfectly warm. on occasions you have used him as a human heat regulator. you hand him a hot cup of coffee as you sit down on the couch.

he explains what happened. he explains how he chose peggy. he was a loyal man after all, he had to show up for the promised dance. and he stayed, he wanted to. but he didn't want to hurt you. you'd only been together for how long? you let him finish because you didn't want to fight him. you don't even know how to anymore because this man wasn't the steve you knew. this man had lived his life.

so you let him finish his story. about how he'd passed on his shield to sam. how he needed to come back a last time to explain everything to you because you didn't deserve what he did to you. it took him months because he was sorting out legal stuff. and then some more time to decide what to say to you. and here he was.

last christmas you had steve, tackling you with kisses. a dust of sugar on your nose that he licked up for you. and the sweet aftertaste in his mouth when he kissed you right after. of steve, of sweet vanilla and pumpkin spice from his coffee that he'd had earlier.

you had met him on the train from new york. you'd get to talking around when he way eyeing your cookies (which smelled delicious, who wouldn't?) and so you ended up offering him some. you had some pretty good laughs on that ride, and you didn't mind that he finished up your snack. you'd only known him as steve. so when he asked you out on a date while geting off on the station, you weren't surprised– he was a charming man. and you weren't afraid of admitting that he had your heart right then.

and it's hard to believe that it was only last year that steve was here, putting up the ornaments on the tree for you, massaging your feet after you came home from a very busy day at the cafe, him kissing you at midnight on new years. why is everything so different now? you couldn't help but wonder, what if it wasn't? what if that steve was still here?

but he wasn't. and for that you forgive him, you had to. for your own good. he chose peggy and you forgive him because what you had with him was enough for you. 

you never did hope for a lifetime with him. 

what you had was a lifetime. 

"it's okay steve" you said. and he knew that you were okay then, that you will be okay without him.

that night was the last you saw of him, you sat beside him with your head on his shoulder, breathing him in for the last time as you held his warm hand between your cold palms. and before he left, you kissed his cheek for the last time. you had him at last. he came back to you. and your's was the last kiss he would hold.