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mymoonagedaydream · 2 years ago

Text

Part 9

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Language, anti-religious sentiment throughout, references to domestic violence

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8

---

You made yourself some coffee while you waited for Bucky, usually you were ravenous first thing in the morning but your appetite had been replaced by an uneasy knot that sat in your stomach like a rock. You had so many questions for him. It was troubling, really, how little you know about his increasingly complex past, but your determination to get him to spill his secrets was now stronger than ever.

You heard the door downstairs click open and slow footsteps crept up the stairs. Bucky appeared in the kitchen a few seconds later, looking like he was ready to call it a day on any and all matters involving deep emotions. Well, tough.

“Thanks for that,” he cautiously moved towards you, “although she does seem to think we’re all happy families over here.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. It was just easier if I went along with it, plus it seemed to cheer her up a little.”

He was trying to smother a smug smile as he leant against the counter in front of you. “S’alright, it cheered me up too.”

A brief silence fell, the sound of your teaspoon clinking against the inside of your mug resonating around the whole apartment. Your mind was occupied trying to think of the most inoffensive way to compose your next sentence.

“Buck, do you mind if I asked what happened between you and your mom? You said you barely speak but, I don’t know, your relationship seems pretty good.”

“It is. I just… choose to stay away.”

Christ he was fucking cryptic, it was like trying to crack the enigma code.

“Right. Just, from the way you spoke about her, I thought maybe it was drugs or something.”

“Nah. I mean she drinks like a fish, but she’s not nearly as bad as my dad.” He glanced over and saw you raise your eyebrows at him, prompting him to continue, which he did with a sigh. “She just won’t leave him, no matter what he does. I’ve tried everything.”

“I see.”

“I love her and I help her out when I can, but it’s too hard to just stand by and watch how he treats her. I gotta keep a distance or I get sucked back in.”

“That must be really hard.”

“Don’t worry,” he forced a smile, “I’m used to it.”

“Well, I’m glad you told me. It’s good to talk about these things.”

“Nah, you don’t need all my shit piled on top of yours.”

He dropped his keys on the counter and moved to walk away, but you swiftly reached out and grabbed hold of his arm.

“She’s really proud of you, Buck.”

The disingenuous smile was slowly swallowed as a beaming grin spread across his face. He turned and took your hands in his, pulling you towards him, looking pleasantly surprised at your lack of resistance. He was definitely still in the doghouse, but you were ready to cut him a little slack.

“She is? No idea why.”

“Cause you’re a good guy,” the slack was used up faster than you’d expected, “when you’re not throwing punches and getting yourself arrested.”

He chuckled and cautiously wandered his hands up to your waist, ready to be swatted away at any moment. That boy could do an entire figure-skating routine on the thinnest of thin ice and not fall through.

“You’re just gonna keep bringing that up, aren’t ya?”

“Yep.”

“You ever gonna forgive me?”

“Maybe, but only after I’ve had my fun.”

“As long as you stick around you can chew me out whenever you feel like it,” he slid his hands around your back and pulled you closer to his chest, “you can try to push me away but I’m not going anywhere.”

“Fine, but if you ever pull that shit and make me crawl back to my parents again I’ll chop your balls off.”

“That’s fair.”

You just stood there for a little while, eyes closed, head resting against his chest, savouring the contentment and safety you felt in his arms. These moments of peace were so rare for the two of you, when they came along you had to hold on to them for as long as you could.

Your serenity faded after a few minutes as you found his mother’s words bleeding into the front of your mind. You wanted to look after him, you wanted to heal and care for him the best you could, but you knew there was nothing you could do to make up for his past. You couldn’t fix it.

At least now, you thought, you were able to realise that everything he’d ever achieved, he’d done completely by himself. All his life he’d had no help, no support and no real reason to outgrow the life that people like your mother expected him to lead. At the very least, you were determined to change that.

Your eyes fluttered open when he eventually piped up.

“You hungry? I thought we could order food, there’s a really good-”

You cut him off by throwing your arms around his neck and pressing your lips against his, apparently shocking him a little, because it took him a few seconds to reciprocate. He eventually tightened his hold around you and tilted his head to the side, deepening the kiss while you moved your hands to cradle his face. You only pulled away when you had to catch your breath.

“-pizza place nearby.”

His stupid grin made you giggle, the grip around you staying firm as you strained to reach over to the drawer with the takeout menus. It was him who suggested ordering out but you weren’t able to read more than two words at a time before he’d insist on pulling your attention away.

The two of you ate in front of a movie before settling down and curling up on the couch for the evening. You were still holding onto this moment of peace, savouring every second, trying your best not to worry about how long it would last.

It was nearing midnight when Bucky’s phone started buzzing. He picked it up, giving you another forced smile and making his way over to the kitchen when he saw that it was his mother calling.

You tried your best not to eavesdrop but it was difficult in such a small apartment. He didn’t say much, he was mainly listening to her, but as the conversation progressed you could tell he was getting more and more agitated. You dreaded to think what she was saying. The only thing you could really gauge was that, at one point, she asked him for money. He told her he was pretty broke at the moment and didn’t have any to spare. You had no idea if that was the truth.

It was heart-breaking to experience the toxic side of their relationship in practice, especially after seeing all the love that his mother was capable of. He eventually said a short goodbye and trudged back to the couch. You waited for a second to see if he’d share willingly, but he just huffed, heaved his boots up onto the table and necked the rest of his beer. You were going to have to do this the hard way.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, fine.”

He gave you a short, tight smile and reached for the remote. You caught his arm. You didn’t want to force him into divulging more than he was comfortable with, but there was no way in hell that continuing to bottle up his problems would do anything other than make his anger worse. Being broke as hell just meant that you had to be each other's therapists.

“Buck.”

“It’s nothing, just…” He let out an aggravated sigh and rubbed his eyes. “She’s not pressing charges.”

“That’s not nothing. That’s a pretty valid reason to be upset.”

“It’s not like I expected anything else, this is what always happens.”

“Doesn’t mean it sucks any less.”

You shifted closer and interlaced your fingers with his, rubbing his forearm with your free hand, feeling some of the tension in his muscles settle under your touch. You were still very much testing the waters as far as talking Bucky down was concerned. You were sure that he’d calm down himself given enough time but, if you were going to move in here properly, you’d prefer not to have walls full of holes.

“Like I said,” he lulled his head backwards and let out an exhausted chuckle, “used to it.”

He was defeated. You weren’t sure if that was better or worse than angry.

“She’ll realise you’re right, eventually. She just had to take that first step herself.”

“Mhmm. I just hope she does it before…”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence, you both knew how it was going to end, and it wasn’t worth thinking about. You just needed to take his mind off it for now.

“You know, for someone who doesn’t know when to shut up half of the time, you’re surprisingly hard to get information out of.”

He let a reluctant smile spread across his face. “Good job you’re a ruthless interrogator then.”

---

The next few days were surprisingly calm. You were actually able to spend some quality time together and unwind a little, just about managing to ignore the sixty-four missed calls from your parents and the texts inquiring about spare money from his.

Bucky went out to work whenever repair jobs came up, leaving you with free reign of the flat for hours at a time. He never noticed the subtle changes you’d make while he was out. The decoration wasn’t particularly bad, it just didn’t really… exist. It was your typical bare bones bachelor pad, you were convinced he hadn’t made any significant changes since moving in apart from a pile of magazines and a couple of suspicious stains on the carpet.

When your parents finally gave up, and when enough time had passed since the visit from Bucky’s mother, it felt for the first time like maybe everything could turn out alright. All the problems you’d faced seemed to be receding further and further and you hoped they would no longer be able penetrate the walls of this cosy little life you’d built.

So it was all the more disappointing when that turned out not to be the case.

---

You woke to the sound of Bucky’s alarm. Stretching a little, you shifted and felt his body pressed up against the back of yours, arms firmly wrapped around you. He reached over to shut the sound off, groaned dramatically and buried his face in the crook of your neck. He did this every morning.

“Man, I do not want to leave this bed.”

His words were muffled against your skin. You rolled onto your back and brushed a few strands of hair away from his forehead, smiling at the deep marks left on his cheek by the creases in the sheets. The two of you must’ve slept like logs, barely moving all night.

“Stay then.”

“I’ve got places to go,” his head disappeared as he ducked down and started placing soft kisses below your ear, “there’s a big job today, could be a few hundred bucks.”

You frowned and abruptly grabbed his head, lifting it away from you. “Hundreds?”

“Mhmm.”

“Jesus Christ, go.”

“Didn’t peg you as a gold digger.”

You scoffed and tried to push him out of bed, eventually relenting when he ferociously clawed his way back to you. “You could use some restraint, Barnes.”

“I’m not a saint.”

His hands dove underneath your shirt and you gasped at the sensation of his cold skin against yours. He smiled, eyeing you intently, and you just melted under his gaze. It must’ve been fifteen minutes later when he finally got up and headed to work. You guessed it was that long, anyway, but you hadn’t exactly been counting.

You had a day of solid lounging around planned. You thought maybe you’d take a walk into town later, but you were only willing to risk it during the hours you knew your parents would be working. Bumping into them would be the cherry on top of a fucking stressful couple of weeks.

Maybe you’d just stay in.

---

Midday came and went. Bucky had been gone for hours, you’d cleaned the whole apartment and were swiftly making your way through the pile of dirty laundry when the doorbell sounded. You shuffled over to the window, straining to try and catch a glimpse of your guest. All you could make out was the top of a head. They pressed the doorbell again.

Psyching yourself up with a deep breath, you tiptoed downstairs and cautiously inched the door open. It was the blonde from the bar, the one who got Bucky thrown in jail.

“What the hell do you want?” The severity in your voice shocked you a little.

“Calm down, suburbs,” he gave a smug chuckle, “I wanna talk to Bucky.”

“About what?”

He narrowed his eyes and stepped forward, stretching his arms out and bracing himself against the door frame. You instinctively shrunk back, tightening your grip on the open door, ready to slam it shut at a moment’s notice.

“I’d rather just speak to him, sweetheart.”

“He’s not here, but if he was I’m sure he’d just tell you to fuck off.”

A sinister, calculating look spread over his face. “You’re here all on your own?”

The shift in his tone made your entire body tense up. You immediately defaulted into fight or flight mode, forcing the door closed as quickly as you could. Somehow he moved faster, shoving his foot into the gap and letting out an irritated grunt when the door slammed into it. You felt him pushing against the other side of the wood.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” you saw his fingers emerge through the gap and curl round the edge of the door, “I just wanna talk.”

Summoning strength from god knows where, you stomped down on his foot with all your weight. When it jerked out of the gap, you rammed your shoulder hard against the door, hearing the cracking of fingers followed by loud yelp. He pulled his hand free and you swiftly turned the lock.

He was still shouting and banging on the door as you scrambled upstairs, your shaky knees collapsing underneath you as you burst back into the flat. Crawling over to the window and peeking out, you saw him limping away down the street, cradling his injured hand against his chest. You breathed out for what felt like the first time in ten minutes, remnants of your adrenaline rush making your head spin.

Despite your overwhelming panic, you couldn’t help but feel a little pleased with yourself, cause that was pretty fucking badass. You felt like you could take on the world.

You considered calling Bucky, but figured that as long as you didn’t answer the door again, you should be alright until he finishes. You didn’t want him to rush home and miss out on a couple hundred dollars for no good reason. It would be much easier to fill him in after you’d had some time to think about it and to calm down a bit, anyway.

---

Part 10

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besidesitstoowarm · 2 years ago

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"Utopia" thoughts

unironically one of my favorite episodes of the davies era and the only reason it's not my fave of season 3 is that "blink" is in season 3

i LOVE the pacing of this one. i was so tense throughout like half of it, plus the doctor got to be cunty which is always a highlight. we see the return of cap'n jack tryna fuck and suck his way through the heat death of the universe. respect

alright let me get all my notes about the plot out of the way so i can talk about these characters. so the tardis takes them 100 trillion years into the future and "not even the time lords came this far" which is interesting, the doctor totally out of his element. they're on a dead world, the ruins of a society. the architecture left behind reminds me a lot of pre-contact indigenous cities out west. the sky is black because all the stars have burned out. there's a lot of places named in this ep that all sound like nature, "the wildlands" "the dark matter reefs" yana was found abandoned on a coast. the doctor makes a comment about if yana would have trouble navigating without the stars as a guide. it just felt very "the terror" i guess, very 19th century. and the futurekind felt very "the time machine" so we're at the edge of the universe, the end of everything, and there's all these little callbacks to the age of exploration. the beginning and the end of it all. i can't remember if it's contradicted in the next ep but for now i love that the rocket gets away and then that's it, we don't get an update. did they make it? is there a utopia, or anything else beyond the edge of the universe? it's up to you babes <3

jack gets to be very gay in this one, flirting like crazy. "oh, don't start" the doctor is trying to cockblock like his life depends on it. "i could meet myself/only man you'd ever be happy with" yeowch. i don't remember anything about torchwood so this is where we (viewers of the good show only) get to find out that jack can't die and it's bc the bad wolf brought him back too hard. "the last act of the time war was life" there is so much going on there

we get a lot of rose talk, obviously, jack and the doctor discussing what she did/where she is/what she was like. it's all good stuff and i like to see it but it keeps cutting back to martha's disappointed face and while i said a few writeups ago that i didn't like her romantic interest in the doctor, even without it she's still clearly the "rebound" companion for him. i honestly don't know how it would have been possible to avoid that; it would feel disingenuous to not bring her up or have her loss affect the doctor, and i've said before that i don't think any one companion has been so important to any one doctor than rose was with ten. she defines him, her loss and her life and her love. the tenth doctor without rose tyler doesn't make sense, her absence is as obvious as her presence when it comes to him. even companions that define their doctor's era (jamie with two, even rose with nine) don't have the same hold over the doc like she did. i maintain this is bc their love forced his regeneration and so he's imprinted on her. while this is very interesting, it basically left martha completely in the lurch. s4 avoids this by 1. basically having the doctor recovered from his heartache until the end and 2. donna has such a big personality that she commands space in the doctor's attention. this is not a slight against either martha or donna. martha deserved better that's all

the "hermits united" line is incredibly funny and i'd completely forgotten about it. the "indomitable" callback was nice to see as well. i found out just today that yana's outfit was inspired by the first doctor and that davies specifically told the costumer designer to "hartnell him up" which in addition to the indomitable bit feels like linking us to classic who in a subtle way, easing us along. using elements of the first doctor's costume to reveal the master, it's a little narrative link of how long these two have been in each other's lives

the slow buildup to yana's reveal, him talking about his past, martha noticing the watch, telling the doctor about the watch, realizing there's another time lord that survived, realizing he doesn't have to be alone, realizing "you are not alone" was the key all along. he opens the watch. the sound of drums is deafening. derek jacobi is amazing, i wish we'd gotten to see him as the master for longer. john simm is great but still. "use my name" "the master" what is going ON with you guys. we are so fucking back

this was really rambling but i love this episode so much, there are so many layers. i'm so hype for the two-parter and hobbit doctor <3. i love when the master says he was killed by "a girl. how inappropriate" we love a chauvinist <3

#doctor who #besides its too rewatch #dw s3 #Utopia

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olderthannetfic · 4 years ago

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I'm a Chinese, nationally and racially. Racial projection seems to be a common practice in western fandom, doesn't it? I find it a bit... weird to witness the drama ignited upon shipping individuals with different races, or the tendency to separate characters into different "colors" even though the world setting doesn't divide races like that. Such practice isn't a thing here. Mind explaining a bit on this phenomenon?

Sure, I can try. But of course, fish aren’t very good at explaining the water they swim in.

Americans aren’t good at detecting our own Americanness, and a lot of what you’re seeing is very much culturally American rather than Western in general. (In much of Europe, “race” is a concept used by racists, or so I’m told, unlike in the US where it’s seen more neutrally.) Majority group members (i.e. me, a white girl) aren’t usually the savviest about minority issues, but I’ll give it a shot.

The big picture is that most US race stuff boils down to our attempts to justify and maintain slavery and that dynamic being applied, awkwardly, to everyone else too, even years after we abolished slavery.

There’s a concept called the “one drop rule” where a person is “black” if they have even one drop of black blood.

We used to outlaw “interracial” marriage until quite recently. (That meant marriage between black people and white people with Asians and Hispanic people and others wedged in awkwardly.) Here’s the Wikipedia article on this, which contains the following map showing when we legalized interracial marriage. The red states are 1967.

That’s within living memory for a ton of people! Yellow is 1948 to 1967. This is just not very long ago at all. (Hell, we only fully banned slavery in 1865, which is also just not that long ago when it comes to human culture.)

Why did we have this bananas-crazy set of laws and this idiotic notion that one remote ancestor defines who you are? It boils down to slavery requiring a constant reaffirming that black people are all the same (and subhuman) while white people are all this completely separate category. The minute you start intermarrying, all of that breaks down. This was particularly important in our history because our system of slavery involved the kids of slaves being slaves and nobody really buying their way out. Globally, historically, there are other systems of slavery where there was more mobility or where enslaved people were debtors with a similar background to owners, and thus the people in power were less threatened by ambiguity in identity.

Post-slavery, this shit hung around because it was in the interests of the people in power to maintain a similar status quo where black people are fundamentally Other.

A lot of our obsession with who counts as what is simply a legacy of our racist past that produced our racist present.

The other big factor in American concepts of identity is that we see ourselves as a nation of immigrants (ignoring our indigenous peoples, as usual). A lot of people’s families arrived here relatively recently, and we often don’t have good records of exactly where they were from, even aside from enslaved people who obviously wouldn’t have those records. Plenty of people still identify with a general nationality (”Italian-American” and such), but the nuance the family might once have had (specific region of Italy, specific hometown) is often lost. Yeah, I know every place has immigrants, and lots of people don’t have good records, but the US is one of those countries where families have on average moved around a lot more and a lot more recently than some, and it affects our concepts of identity. I think some of the willingness to buy into the idea of “races” rather than “ethnicities” has to do with this flattening of identity.

New immigrant groups were often seen as Other and lesser, but over time, the ones who could manage it got added to our concept of “whiteness”, which gave them access to those same social and economic privileges.

Skin color is a big part of this. In a system that is founded on there being two categories, white owners and black slaves, skin color is obviously going to be about that rather than being more of a class marker like it is in a lot of the world.

But it’s not all about skin color since we have plenty of Europeans with somewhat darker skin who are seen as generically white here, while very pale Asians are not. I’m not super familiar with all of the history of anti-Asian racism in the US, but I think this persistent Otherness probably boils down to Western powers trying to justify colonial activities in Asia plus a bunch of religious bullshit about predominantly Christian nations vs. ones that are predominantly Buddhist or some other religion.

In fact, a lot of racist archetypes in English can be traced back to England’s earliest colonial efforts in Ireland. Justifying colonizing Those People because they’re subhuman and/or ignorant and in need of paternalistic rulers or religious conversion is at the bottom of a lot of racist notions. Ironic that we now see Irish people as clearly “white”.

There are a lot of racist porn tropes and racist cultural baggage here around the idea of black people being animalistic. Racist white people think black men want to rape/steal white women from white men. Black women get seen as hypersexual and aggressive. If this sounds like white people projecting in order to justify murder and rape... well, it is.

Similar tropes get applied to a lot of groups, often including Hispanic and Middle Eastern people, though East Asians come in more for creepy fantasies about endlessly submissive and promiscuous women. This nonsense already existed, but it was certainly not helped by WWII servicemen from here and their experiences in Asia. Again, it’s a projection to justify shitty behavior as what the party with less power was “asking for”.

In porn and even romance novels, this tends to turn up as a white character the audience is supposed to identify with paired with an exotic, mysterious Other or an animalistic sexy rapist Other.

A lot of fandoms are based on US media, so all of our racist bullshit does apply to the casting and writing of those, whether or not the fic is by Americans or replicating our racist porn tropes.

(Obviously, things get pretty hilarious and infuriating once Americans get into c-dramas and try to apply the exact same ideas unchanged to mainstream media about the majority group made by a huge and powerful country.)

Politically, within the US, white people have had most of the power most of the time. We also make up a big chunk of the population. (This is starting to change in some areas, which has assholes scared shitless.) This means that other groups tend to band together to accomplish shared political goals. They’re minorities here, so they get lumped together.

A lot of Americans become used to seeing the world in terms of “white people” who are powerful oppressors and “people of color” who are oppressed minorities. They’re trying to be progressive and help people with less power, and that’s good, but it obviously becomes awkward when it’s over-applied to looking at, say, China.

Now... fandom...

I find that fandom, in general, has a bad habit of holding things to double standards: queer things must be Good Representation™ even when they’re not being produced for that purpose. Same for ethnic minorities or any other minority. US-influenced parts of fandom (which includes a lot of English-speaking fandom) tend to not be very good at accepting that things are just fantasy. This has gotten worse in recent years.

As fandom has gotten more mainstream here, general media criticism about better representation (both in terms of number of characters and in terms of how they’re portrayed) has turned into fanfic criticism (not enough fics about ship X, too many about ship Y, problematic tropes that should not be applied to ship X, etc.). I find this extremely misguided considering the smaller reach of fandom but, more importantly, the lack of barriers to entry. If you think my AO3 fic sucks, you can make an account and post other fic that will be just as findable. You don’t need money or industry connections or to pass any particular hurdle to get your work out there too.

People also (understandably) tend to be hypersensitive to anything that looks like a racist porn trope. My feeling is that many of these are general porn tropes and people are reaching. There are specific tropes where black guys are given a huge dick as part of showing that they’re animalistic and hypersexual, but big dicks are really common in porn in general. The latter doesn’t automatically mean you’re doing the former unless there are other elements present. A/B/O or dubcon doesn’t mean it’s this racist trope either, not unless certain cliched elements are present. OTOH, it’s not hard for a/b/o tropes to feel close to “animalistic guy is rapey”, so I can see why it often bothers people.

A huge, huge, huge proportion of wank is “all rape fantasies are bad” crap too, which muddies the waters. I think a lot of people use “it’s racist” as an easy way to force others to agree with their incorrect claims that dubcon, noncon, a/b/o, etc. are fundamentally bad. Many fans, especially white fans, feel like they don’t know enough to refute claims of racism, so they cave to such arguments even when they’re transparently disingenuous.

Not everyone here thinks this way. I know plenty of people offline, particularly a lot of nonwhite people, who think fandom discourse is idiotic and that the people “protecting” people or characters of color are far more racist than the people writing “bad” fic or shipping the wrong thing.

But in general, I’d say that the stuff above is why a lot of us see the world as white people in power vs. everyone else as oppressed victims, interracial relationships as fraught, and porn about them as suspect. Basically, it’s people trying to be more progressive and aware but sometimes causing more harm than good when those attempts go awry.

#Anonymous

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cathedreal · 4 years ago

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𝔽𝕠𝕣𝕓𝕚𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕟 𝔽𝕣𝕦𝕚𝕥 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟙 ℂ.ℍ

ೄྀ࿐Corpse x Female Reader ೄྀ࿐Genre: Dark Academia ೄྀ࿐Warnings: Mention of: blood, knife + small wounds inflicted, alcohol, smoking/cigarettes, a toxic relationship (not with Corpse) ೄྀ࿐Word count: 3.1K+ ೄྀ࿐Summary: Willow Creek Academy is full of mysteries, or so you find out when you are unwillingly iniated into a secret society with none other than your boyfriend’s best friend, Corpse. Secrets are kept, tensions rise high, and you are in the middle of it all. Together with Corpse, you have to find a way to leave the society and make it out alive while staying under the radar when you find yourselves the primary suspects in a murder case.

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AUTUMN, SEMESTER 1

“Where the fuck am I?” you mumble, your voice loud in the silence of the room. Warm skin brushes against your own. It makes you shiver. A blindfold is tightly wound around your eyes and your arms are restrained in front of you, trying to move doesn’t help so you stay seated on your knees.

The air is stifling and you wonder if it’s because of your panicked state or because of the dustiness of the room itself. It smells like spilled wine, cigarette smoke, books collecting dust on the shelves. You wonder if you’re in the academy’s library but you doubt it. The librarian would have never agreed to holding hostages in there, the books were too precious to risk ruination.

Your boyfriend, James, had invited you to meet him under the big oak tree on the campus’ edge in the late evening. You often study there, a red pen between your teeth for taking notes, the grass pricking into your thighs familiarly. James rarely sits with you there to study; he finds the grass stains not worth the peacefulness of the rustling of the wind through the leaves, the birds happily chirping in the background to keep you company. He rather studies elsewhere and you wonder if this was the place he frequents.

You should have realised that when James asked you to meet him there, it was suspicious behaviour. But you had trusted him wholly and now you’re here, on your knees, another person next to you in probably the same position. You wonder if James had something to do with this. You don’t have to wonder for long. The blindfold is ripped away from your eyes and you blink rapidly to get rid of the spots that float in front of them. You don’t see much but hooded figures looming over you dangerously, objects in hand that you can’t quite make out. You glance to the side then and make out curly hair, a collared shirt with a chain dangling against the brown sweater layered above. It glints in the light of the candles surrounding you.

“Sol Omnia Regit.”

“What is happening?” you ask, thrashing around a little in your restraints. A hooded figure suddenly leans close and shushes you. There is a split second where you think you recognise the figure’s eyes but then the person is moving away again, leaving you with a pounding heart.

Someone leans forward again, sticking out a hand behind themselves to signal something. An object is pressed into their hand and then held out to you. For second, you think it’s a knife or a gun, something to kill you with. There was no other explanation for why you were here but some crazy ritual that you fell victim to. But then...

"Drink," the person tells you and a crystal glass filled with a dark liquid is pressed to your lips. Blood? you think but when it’s finally pushed past your lips and tilted so you can’t do anything but drink, it proves to be wine. The bitter taste doesn’t leave your mouth even though the glass does.

Another figure crouches down in front of you then, something long glinting in the candlelight. It takes you a few seconds to recognise the object but it’s unmistakably a knife and it’s inching closer to your bound hands. You look up to the hooded figure in panic and the familiar eyes are back, this time they’re closer than before and you can place them easily. “James?” you whisper, your voice hoarse and shaking. James would never hurt you, right? He is your boyfriend, he loves you…

Does he?

Did he ever?

Your mind races as your hands are tugged up so your wrists can rest in the familiar hand which you hold daily. It usually doesn’t feel quite as malicious, sometimes it does, never with other people around.

The person next to you, Corpse, you’re guessing, is holding his breath when you hold it. He can probably see the knife too, twisting expertly in James’ hand. Without deigning you with a response, James cuts into the palm of your hand and you hiss at the sting, You want to say that it is stupid to cut someone there, the palm of a hand has too many nerve endings and you could do a lot of damage but the deed has already been done.

Your palm is pressed against a sheet of paper with writing that you can’t quite make out and you realise that it is a contract. It’s unethical, you try to protest, you can’t make someone sign something they haven’t read, but you’re pushed back again and Corpse sucks in his breath next to you.

"Welcome to Sol Regnum, Y/N and Corpse. You have completed your initiation."

The lights are turned on and you squint against the sudden brightness blinding you. It takes you a few moments before you can finally look around again, the figures clad fully in black with golden threads running through the mantels they’re wearing finally take off their hoods and James is smirking down at you both.

“My girlfriend and best friend, finally initiated,” he says, opening his arms as if he has just won the greatest victory. It feels nothing like that.

You exchange a look with Corpse, one filled with confusion and worry, before you let your eyes wander around the room. Heavy curtains hang in front of the tall windows, blocking out every possible source of light from the outside. Even the moon can’t shine through. The room is cast in shadows from the now dulled lighting. Your eyes are used to the light again and it is not as bright as it was when someone had snapped them on. The lights have a yellow cast over them, making everyone look just a little bit sick. There are books strewn around the room, the bookcases, which run along one big wall, are all stuffed full so the makeshift piles of books in the corners are there not for aesthetic purposes, but for necessity. Broken busts sit on the floor sadly, some missing a nose, other half of their head. You wonder if it’s a metaphor for something, if the busts represent the brokenness of the secret society you were now initiated in.

Everything is starting to make sense now. How James had often disappeared at night, leaving you alone in his bed, wondering if he was with another girl. How there were whispers in the hallway wherever you went as of late, something you had blamed on your own insecurities haunting you rather than real people doing so. How James had looked at you in a way that sent shivers down your spine and not in a good way. It had felt malicious, like there was something waiting for you that you didn’t know anything about. But he did, he probably planned the whole thing.

Corpse is back up on his feet before you are and he rounds up on James, pulling him into a corner of the room with a firm hand. You blindly follow, avoiding the glances that the other members of this society throw you. It feels like they’re evaluating you even past your initiation. You want to scream at them that you never asked for this, that you didn’t even want to be initiated in a society that you know nothing about. You were forced here but you doubt they would care.

“No warning, nothing,” you hear from the corner. Corpse’s hand is still pressing into James’ shoulder, his other hand drumming restlessly on his thigh. There is a lone cigarette sticking out from Corpse’s curly hair, balancing dangerously on his ear. You step closer, take your place next to Corpse where it usually was next to James. You’re on Corpse’s side in this matter, though, and James can know that, no matter what the repercussions were.

You shake your head at James as he laughs good-naturedly. He is the star of the university, the golden boy, the popular guy everyone wants to either have or be friends with. After a year or so of being in a relationship with him, however, you know better than to trust his charismatic laugh, the crinkle in the skin next to his eyes that solidifies his position as the good guy. There was danger in his smile, a certain sense of disingenuousness in the sound of his laughter.

You step closer to Corpse.

“I agree, James. What were you thinking? You never even ask-”

“Why would I?” James asks and steps closer to you, the shadows casting over his face are making him look like he is the villain of a big play, ready to kill the main character.

Corpse, cast as the hero, places himself in front of you, half-shielding you with his body. Corpse’s hands are shaking next to his sides but he’s still there, back straight, shoulders down, his head raised which gives him the advantage of a few inches over James.

“She’s right, you should have asked if we even wanted this.”

“It’s the opportunity of a life-time! This society will ensure that you will have a good future, something to pass down to your children.”

You let a hollow laugh escape and the both of them turn to you. “We’re rich, James. All of us are. There was no need for a fucking society, we’re ensured a good future whether we even graduate or not.”

James shrugs and your hands clench into fists at his nonchalance. You gasp softly when you feel the wound in the palm of your hand. When you open it again, blood rolls from your fingers and drips onto the carpet, just barely missing your shoes. “I’m going back to the dorms,” you say, desperate to get away from the claustrophobic feeling this room gives you. James shakes his head, though, and you stay in place, waiting for him to come up with one good reason for you to stay.

“The party is just getting started,” he says and music begins playing. It sounds as if it is played from an old record, the scratchiness that you would appreciate in other situations doing nothing but grating your ears. James pushes past you and Corpse both and returns with three glasses of the same wine you were forced to drink just minutes ago. It’s pushed into your hands before you can protest. The other members raise their glasses, their eyes on you and Corpse who twitches uncomfortably next to you. It’s a toast but it feels more like a warning of what is to come.

“Come on, Y/N,” James says and wraps an arm around your waist. You shy away from the touch a little but his grip is hard, his fingertips possibly pressing bruises into your skin. “Corpse?” he adds, waiting for Corpse to hesitantly fall in line next to him. You briefly wish he was on your side instead of James’ but shake it off again. There were more important things to focus on.

James insists that they meet the others but every person you meet is not the type of person you would want to be friends with. Arrogance and coldness roll off of them in waves, sending you the clear message that you’re not wanted here. From the way Corpse barely answers the few questions they have for you both, you realise that he feels the same.

You met Corpse when you started dating James. He is James’ best friend after all, or was, depending on how Corpse feels about this all. He was a little shy when you met him, didn’t say a lot but when he opened up a little, he was charming, funny. Most notably, his voice is low, something that is whispered about in the hallways of Willow Creek Academy. Despite what others say about his voice, to you it’s not weird or unusual, it’s soothing, like melted chocolate. A balm for the soul.

Minutes pass by and as the alcohol flows freely, the inhibitions of people are lowered. There is a couple making out on the couch next to you, hands roaming each other’s body in a way that seems too private to be doing in front of a room full of people but nobody even bats an eye.

Corpse is nowhere to be found for a little while but eventually comes back to the loveseat you’re sitting on, pointedly taking James’s place next to you. “When can we leave?” he asks, sipping his wine. You wonder how many he had but you can’t fault him for drinking. You wish you could stomach it yourself.

“I don’t know, soon, I hope,” you answer and look around. There are people dancing to imaginary music that doesn’t match the one playing, people laughing in corners, hands pulling others behind furniture so they are just barely out of sight.

You hear Corpse curse and when your eyes meet his again, they look slightly panicked. There are manicured hands roaming down his chest for a second before Corpse is standing again, holding out his hand to you in a clear message that you happily read correctly.

Corpse helps you up and let’s go right away, something you unconsciously mourn. You would have liked to have Corpse’s hand in your own for a little bit longer. The touch of someone semi-familiar in a room filled with strange people would keep you from freaking out as you wade through the partying people.

Something in this all reminds you of a bacchanal; wine, freedom, ecstasy. It seems to live in the various people here, even James isn’t untouched as his tie is halfway down his chest when you find him, his body moving close with someone else.

You rarely get jealous but something about this leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

“We’re going,” Corpse announces and tries to pull away when James reaches out to catch his arm, he’s too slow. James whispers something to Corpse and you watch as his expression changes. You don’t dare to ask when you are led back outside. Corpse’s expression is thunderous and it only relaxes when he pulls out his cigarette from behind his ear with shaky fingers and lits it.

You watch as the smoke bellows and floats up to the sky in figures you try to form recognisable shapes out of. Corpse passes his cigarette to you and you happily take it, feeling the pressure of an impending migraine disappear a little.

“That was… Something,” you say for a lack of better words. Corpse nods but doesn’t say more. He doesn’t need to. You both know that it was insane what happened, you’re both scared for what this secret society will bring in the future, you both worry about the contract you couldn’t read in the privacy of your own minds.

Corpse passes the house which holds the male dorms and keeps walking next to you to the other end of the campus. You thank him softly, he nods in recognition. No place is safe for a woman to walk alone and with Corpse you feel strangely safe.

The early autumn leaves crunch under your shoes when you walk, your footsteps loud in the quiet of the evening. Your pace matches Corpse’s, though you feel like he’s letting you set the pace so you can keep up with each other.

The building of the women’s dorm is becoming more and more visible the further you walk down the path. It’s sitting stately behind a lush garden you often tend to in your free time, as do the other girls in the building. It brings liveliness into the place which is made solely out of brick outside of it. It’s an old building, you don’t know for sure what it was before it became a campus but you think it must have been a guest house on the castle grounds.

Corpse walks you to the door and takes a step back when you retrieve your key. You almost invite him up to take care of his hand. Instead you make him promise to take care of it himself.

“What do we do about the society thing?” you ask, stalling a little. You’re scared to be left alone with your thoughts right now. Corpse seems to guess it and leans against the pillar that holds up the front of the house, making no movement to leave.

He shrugs a little and looks off into the distance. You follow his gaze but there is nothing there. “Not much we can do. The contract, though… We need to know what was on there. Maybe we can get out of it.” “I doubt it,” you laugh humourlessly but you nod anyways. “I’d rather see it first than give up immediately. I’m just not sure how to get to it.”

“We could ditch class,” Corpse suggests, a smirk now growing on his face. You know already that Corpse didn’t attend half of the classes that he should but you laugh a little anyways, this time it’s genuine.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumble and Corpse’s smirk grows wider, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “A smart one, though. I don’t think any of them will skip classes, even after a party like tonight.”

“What can I say? I’m a mastermind,” Corpse jokes and pulls out his phone, handing it to you demonstratively. You put in your number on automatic pilot. “Text me when you wake up, we’ll decide on a class together then.”

You accidentally leave a smear of blood behind on Corpse’s phone but he either hasn’t seen it or doesn’t care enough to mention it. “I’ll text you,” you promise and open the door fully now.

There is still laughter in the hallways, soft voices that make you relax a little. You suddenly feel bone tired now that you’re in a place that signifies comfort and rest. Corpse notices and waves you inside.

“Goodnight, Y/N. Take care of your wound.”

You watch Corpse walk away and become one with the darkness before you finally step inside. You sluggishly climb the stairs and make your way to your dorm room, an action that takes longer than it should have. You shrug off your coat and drop it somewhere, you’d care about the crinkles you put in it in the morning. You find your first aid kit in the bathroom and pour some alcohol on the wound. It makes tears spring in your eyes but it’s necessary so you get through it on pure willpower alone. After bandaging the wound, you shed most of your clothes and finally climb into bed. You don’t even have the energy to put out the light before you fall asleep, nightmares dragging you down with them.

𝕋𝔸𝔾𝕃𝕀𝕊𝕋 𝕆ℙ𝔼ℕ:

@headcannonsforlife @katyasrussianaccent @boiled-onionrings @satanhauntedourcats @ravennightingaleandavatempus

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captainmazzic · 4 years ago

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Happy Halloween.

So it’s about time I gave a real fucking update instead of just dicking around being cagey about shit. I’ve mentioned a new project repeatedly. So let’s sit down and actually talk about it, friends. Pull up a chair, grab yourself some hot cocoa and strap in. Welcome to Sarc’s emotional roller coaster.

Bear with me. This is hard to talk about for so many reasons, but mostly because I’ve been belittled and ridiculed so many times in my life for liking “cringy” things or wanting to do things that other people think are stupid or childish. I hear the voice of my father telling me to “make something of my life” and “don’t squander your talents”, I hear the voice of my mother telling me I have “so much potential” and “one day I hope you get some ambition”, I hear the voice of my ex telling me to “stop wasting time with stupid shit” and “nobody is interested in failures”. I hear old teachers telling me honor roll students should go to college and study high-demand majors and anything else would be lazy and detrimental and won’t contribute anything worthwhile to society.

It’s the same shit that prevented me for a long time from posting art online. From posting writing online. From making ocs and showing them to other people. And now it’s preventing me from starting this project, and I’m so, so tired of it.

My biggest fear right now is that once I start talking about this project I’ll lose this tiny little community of people vaguely interested in my stuff that have somehow stuck around. External validation and sharing the things I love are my primary motivations with everything I do online, and while screaming into the void is all well and good, I need feedback and interaction and community. I need it so, so badly. I wouldn’t post jack shit – ever – if I didn’t need that, to be honest.

So anyway.

When the pandemic kicked into high gear earlier this year I got laid off for a few months. It gave me a lot of time to think about who I am and where I wanted to be in life, what mattered to me, what dreams I still had and which ones had fallen by the wayside.

Some of them are huge – once upon a time I was very religious. I went through seminary, got my minister’s certification, and was slated to be an associate pastor in a mega-church and rake in a six-figure income within 3 years. But I lost my faith and couldn’t stand the idea of being disingenuous.

And there was also a time when I received a full-ride scholarship to a very prestigious university that would have spanned a 12-year program and resulted in me having several doctorates and masters degrees by the end of it, in the fields of geology, palaeontology, and cladistics. But the scholarship program that was supposed to sponsor me went bankrupt the very semester I was supposed to capitalize on it. I was still accepted into the school, but the $1.2 million price tag would have all been out of my own pocket. So obviously that didn’t happen.

Those were the “acceptable” dreams. Those were the ones that parents and teachers and the general outside world approved of and thought were worthy goals. But neither of them panned out, and all I have left are the cringy ones. Like homesteading and sustainable living (can’t start without land, can’t have land without money). Like making comic books and doing art commissions for a living (it has to be steady to support myself, and I’m far too slow an artist for things to be steady). And like… playing video games.

Ha.

What’s funny is I can already envision the eyerolls and hear the snorts of laughter. What kind of dream is that? Only a handful of famous youtubers and twitch celebrities play video games for a living, and breaking into a field like that is pretty much impossible unless you already have friends in famous places.

Yeah, but… it would be so much fun. Right?

It WOULD be fun. I don’t have to become a super popular celebrity for it to be fun, right?

I don’t have to make it my day job and rake in piles of cash for it to be fun, right?

… I don’t have to actually be successful for it to be fun… right?

… Right?

… I love video games.

I’ve loved them ever since I tried and failed so many times to win The Empire Strikes Back on Atari 2600. I’ve loved them ever since I played Mortal Kombat with my cousin in his basement with the sound down super low because it was ultra-violent and I would have been in so much trouble if mom caught me playing it. I’ve loved them ever since I tried and failed to finish Strife and Hexen and Heretic without the computer crashing and rebooting to DOS. I’ve loved them ever since I had to cheat-code my way through Jedi Knight: Dark Forces II just to get past the first boss fight but then no-clipped through the wall and died anyway. I still love that game.

But I stopped playing video games for a very long time. I was intimidated out of them by an ex and a somewhat toxic friend group who were Real Gamers™. I was brought to LAN parties but not allowed to play, because I slowed down the team and didn’t know the controls. I was banned from commenting on other people’s moves or cheering people on because it was distracting and I could cost them a win. I was even kicked out of their online D&D campaigns because I couldn’t be serious enough or roleplay well enough for their standards. Even if I was playing a game on my own, I couldn’t play with anyone else in the house because I’d be ridiculed for dying a lot, or for going the wrong way, or for picking the wrong game because only certain games are “good” and most of the ones I wanted to play were “stupid” or “trash” or a “waste of time”.

That kind of thing sits with me for a very, very long time. I didn’t really play games at all for over a decade. Even after I ended up on the opposite side of the country, with a new circle of friends, I couldn’t bring myself to play much of anything.

And then I had an extended visit with a friend of mine, and he introduced me to an early version of a ridiculous little game called Minecraft. My friend was an avid gamer but also a very kind one. In the ten years before this, I had told myself that I just preferred to watch other people play games instead of playing them myself (a lie. I mean, I absolutely adore watching other people play, but I also want to play too lol), my friend saw through that and very gently encouraged me to take a stab at playing Minecraft myself. He moved his laptop over to me, and I played a whole ten minutes with him watching before my nerves failed me and I promptly died. But miraculously it wasn’t a big deal to him. It was just a game. I might have cried in relief, I don’t remember.

After my visit I shelved playing video games for like another year, despite buying a whole mess of them because other friends online loved certain titles and wanted to talk about them with me. (I never played them, just bought them. I couldn’t even handle the thought of playing by myself in my own house). But for some reason I mentioned to my brother-in-law my old visit to my Minecraft-loving friend, and he just… up and bought the game for me. My brother-in-law is also an avid gamer with a lovely and patient disposition, and he suggested I just play in creative mode and build things to start. So I did that (behind a locked door in the RV that I lived in by myself, with the lights off and the sound down low) and Minecraft was my sole video game for another several years.

Then a couple years ago another friend of mine (hi Char) introduced me to Star Wars: The Old Republic, and I fell in love. It sparked a renewed interest in video games that I thought I would never really have the opportunity to satisfy, because games were still intimidating.

Let me clarify: I… SUCK. At video games. I’m terrible at them. Learning controls is a nightmare and a tunicate evolving its own brain would learn faster than me. If I’m aiming, I can’t hit the broad side of a barn. I have the direction sense of a whirligig beetle on the back of a drunk pigeon. I die fast and I die often. I can count the number of games I’ve actually finished on one hand. Even less if we don’t count the ones I had to use cheat codes to get through. But none of that diminishes my love of experiencing them, and over this whole pandemic and quarantine thing I’ve had a lot of time to unpack and mull over my thoughts and feelings and passions about them.

… I moved my RV to a new spot literally the day before the lockdown in my state first initiated. Before this I was in a spot that had no internet other than what reception I could get on my phone, with severely limited bandwidth and patchy, unreliable service. The new spot has a steady wi-fi connection, and while upload speed is utter shit, downloading and streaming video are just this side of manageable. So I spent the first three months of the quarantine lockdown doing pretty much nothing other than watching Jacksepticeye, CrankGameplays, and Markiplier play video games on YouTube. (I honestly had no idea before this that people even did let’s plays. My internet access/speed has been shit for so long I’m totally out of the loop).

It… for fear of sounding utterly stupid yet again, it inspired me.

Like. These people really love what they’re doing. They just. Play video games and have fun with it, and I mean yeah they make money hand-over-fist doing it but the main thing is they HAVE FUN doing it. They have fun! Playing video games! In front of people! It’s wild. And the thing that REALLY got me was… they have feedback on it too. They have a COMMUNITY. They have people they can talk to about it. They have people that they can play games WITH, even, who don’t yell at them or tell them they suck every five minutes or tell them they can’t play with them because they’re worthless as teammates. They can fuck up in a game and their friends are laughing along with them on Discord instead of screaming at them to get it right or get out. They can play games by themselves in their house and then upload videos on the internet and then they can talk to other people about it! They have fun! It’s awesome! They have fun!!

I just. It meant so much to me. It meant so much to me to see these videos of these three, and then another dozen or so that I’ve followed since, play all these games and have such a good time and also be such a positive and kind and encouraging source of energy.

I know all of this is not exactly about video games specifically. It’s about coming to terms with how I’ve been treated as a person and as a friend, about how other people respect someone’s interests and passions, about how it’s okay to share your interests with other people and it’s okay to like things that other people might not care about or think are important.

And I’m so, so tired of not doing the things I love because I’m afraid of what other people will think.

So I, uh. I invested all of the stimulus money I had into a new rig and equipment like a camera, lighting, acoustic panels, all that shit. I dug out all the games I bought but never played, I made accounts on all the big gaming services like Steam and Itch.io and GoG, and I made a YouTube channel. And I’m going to be making my own let’s plays. And it will suck, and it will be cringy and awkward and badly done, and it won’t make me money or be a valid career option or be anything but another very expensive hobby, but it will be mine, and it will be something I can share with people and (hopefully) have fun with, and it will (hopefully) be an avenue for some of this positive social interaction I’m craving.

I know YouTube can be toxic and super negative and full of trolls and cancel culture fanatics and people just waiting to find something to tear you down for, but like. Come on, y’all. I’m posting this on tumblr dot com. Toxic is everywhere anyway. I just want to try, you know?

I just want to love video games again.

Someone famous that I look up to so, so much told me – without knowing that I was even listening, without even knowing that I even exist – that if I enjoy doing something, to just go for it. To just jump in and do it, and if it works then it works, and if it doesn’t, what have I actually lost?

And I’m lucky enough to have four whole offline friends that I’ve mentioned this idea to, and each of them has said encouraging things like I’d have a good voice and face and style for making let’s plays. I honestly don’t know how true that part is, but on my good days I believe them. And they also said that I should go for it, to just try.

So that’s… that’s what I’m doing, I guess. I just want to try.

I know it’s not Star Wars fanart. I know it’s not Star Wars fanfiction. I know it’s not Star Wars meta or essays or ranting about the Sith and the Jedi and the Force. I know it’s not what y’all want from me. And that’s utterly terrifying. I’m bracing myself to be alone on the internet again, because I know that when I dive headfirst into this thing, it’ll eat away into the time that I normally might be spending doing writing or art, and it’s going to be something no one else wants to see and no one signed up for. And that’s partly why it’s taken me so very, very long to get started.

The other part is more physical. Of course as soon as I decide that I’m going to put my face on a camera is when my entire face goes to shit. I’m currently waiting on a potential diagnosis for mouth cancer, while already dealing with a severe jaw infection that’s causing my teeth and gums to rot inside my mouth. They already took part of my jaw, I’m missing teeth, others are turning black, if I open my mouth even just a little it is so obvious and I look like a very, very literal zombie. I have never been more grateful that masks are socially acceptable. I have a series of twelve appointments scheduled to treat this shit now that I have dental and health insurance (goodbye paycheque), and I might qualify for reconstruction surgery too. But that doesn’t really help how I look right now.

So I just can’t bring myself to start this project just yet. I’ve been sitting on it for months now with all the other pieces in place, but I just. Can’t. Start. It’s driving me crazy, because I want to start so badly. I feel like I’m wasting time. I feel like I’ve already wasted so much time, because I haven’t even done anything else in the meantime. I haven’t done hardly any art or fanfic, nothing. My anxiety is spiking so high right now because I have all these expectations of myself, but I can’t do anything about it. I’ve been told that I could just start without a camera or wear a mask on screen, and I’ve actually done some recording doing exactly that, but I just… can’t seem to make anything I want to finalize.

It’s also frustrating because I have no way of uploading anything at home. I’ll have to go over to my partner’s house which is nearly an hour’s drive away in order to get internet good enough to upload videos, which means that upload schedules are going to be shiiiiiit and that’s also frustrating.

But. But. BUT. I want to do this.

I want to do this so badly. I want to share let’s plays and experience a love of video games with other people. I want to actually play games with other people too. I also just acquired a piano keyboard, and I want to play again on the regular because I miss it so much. I used to play piano for hours every single day, it’s so relaxing and fun, maybe I can post that too. Maybe I can post let’s draws or something, where I ask y’all what to draw and then make a video of me drawing it while bullshitting to the camera I don’t know it sounds like fun. Maybe I can post videos of my cooking because the shit I make seems to be everyone’s favourite thing on instagram, and maybe I can take my camera with me when I go to the ocean or hike up into the middle of nowhere in the mountains and film how beautiful everything is up there. Or maybe I can do none of that and just focus on one thing, I honestly have no idea what I’m doing or how to do it, but I just… I want to try. I just want to try.

I don’t know where any of this is going anymore. I’m sorry I haven’t responded to messages, or opened up commissions. I’m sorry that this isn’t what y’all wanted. I’m still going to continue drawing and writing, I’m still going to be around, I’m not going anywhere, but I have no idea how prolific I’m going to be and I have no idea even when I’ll start uploading videos, to be honest. But I just. I’m just gonna try. It might still take me a while but I’m gonna try. Wish me luck. I love y’all.

#long post #psa #sarc speaks #sarc speaks a LOT #3k words worth of a LOT #I'm so sorry #OTL

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medranochav · 4 years ago

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my moms been living with us for 4 months now. her stay was initially tolerable but is now triggering and I find myself regressing in a lot of ways. Her grief has evolved into torment and per her m.o. she'd like for her issues to take first priority. Except, my sis and I are grown now, and as a therapised household (literally we've all been in counseling, babies included) though we still lean on each other for support, we ultimately don't function codependently.

And beeecause that's not how we grew up, I think my mother is now having to contend with the reality that she has to do the emotional work of surviving her many traumas (and currently her many dramas) on her own. We support her but we can't fix it for her.

Currently, it's a crisis a day and she's spiraling into mini catastrophic states everytime. Which was sufferable at first because despite my labored support, I still maintained my boundaries and didn't adopt her distress as my own. The problem now is the increasing frequency with which these crying spells are taking place. Not to mention the fact that she's been doing so in front of the kids; something that would normally be acceptable because my sis and I make space for feelings (even our own) in our home. The difference being, we do so responsibly. We listen, we talk, give affection and/or space but always with the fundamental knowledge that our emotions belong to us individually and only we can be accountable for them. A gentle reminder that though part of a unit, they still have agency and accountability.

This interdependency makes way for a more compassionate exchange. Whenever they see us cry or be vunerable, the kids have the wherewithal to approach us without attaching themselves to our emotional circumstance. It's an empathy that perceives our emotional reactions as relatable but still not their responsibility. I've seen our work proven time and time again.

One example is when my sister's [redacted] died and the boys spotted her crying on the couch. Without being prompted, they approached her independently, commiserated, hugged and kissed her and shortly after went back to playing on their electronics. It was such a graceful display of emotional validation that demonstrated their love for her without sacrificing their own desires in doing so. Truly remarkable, that at ages 5-8 they maintained boundaries while still being there for their mom.

They're also there for one another but it's seldom a sinking ship. And when emotional support is rejected they respect that as well, without taking it personally [tbh that has more to do with concepts of mandatory consent that we impart on them, but as is evident, it applies. #intersectionality] It's an ongoing practice that I'm proud to be a part of, considering the kids have codependent figureheads in both their maternal and paternal families. WE'RE TRYING TO BREAK CYCLES HERE.

Yes, our home is a safe space for emotional processing but always leveraged with the emotional balance of self reliance, awareness and resiliency. The kids have proven to have the capacity for this and through teaching them, so do we.

It's human to have outbursts, but my mother's pattern is proving to be less intrinsic and more deliberate. She needs an audience in order to experience catharsis. A potentially reasonable behavior except for it's her only one. So it's imbalanced and seeks refuge in the reliance of our total empathy.

Furthermore she's disingenuous in her emotional performances. When approached out of concern, she responds with the proverbial, "I'm ok." Like, its subtle but super manipulative to say that, when we can CLEARLY see she's not. The kids see and hear her, the least she could do is not gaslight them. And I'm not saying her tactics are successful but it exposes the bby's to unnecessary dysfunction and covertly teaches them to assume the responsibility of communicating her emotion for her. She's also non verbal and unpredictable and tho not at her best rn [like, literally who is? this year has wrecked us all] she and we deserve proper communication.

The mind games are soul sucking and triggering for me in a way that is not for my sister. Though we share a mother, the repective versions of her that we experienced as children differ greatly.

My sister's the eldest and spent the first couple years of her life as the only child to a very young mother living alone in America after being displaced by the civil unrest in her native El Salvador. By age 3, with the addition of a new baby sister (my moms 2nd) she was sent to a country fully at war. My sisters would spend the next half decade of their lives in sunny wartorn tropics, watched over and raised by our family of four women. A blissful antithesis to their future with our mom. Upon the return to their forgotten country of origin (USA) and severed from the only family and community they've ever known, the girls were whisked away by a mother they barely remembered and a baby brother they had never met... marking the beginning of my mom's descent into single motherhood.

My mom resented having a brood of kids, namely her 2nd and 3rd, who's father was abusive and absent. Don't know much of the facts outside of what she would ritualistically berate my siblings about during her brutal tantrums -as if it were their fault they simply existed. The second born, my other sister, left home at 12 and has been estranged ever since and the third, my brother, has recently severed bonds abruptly claiming a new life with a woman he's known barely a year yet now calls wife. Proving that despite being raised by the same woman we all had different mothers.

Since my siblings endured a childhood with a volatile, violent woman who managed her emotions thru physical abuse... when she wasn't, she was neglectful of them, turning her attention onto me... the youngest (four years removed from the rest of the pack). I bore witness to said abuse until I was 5, when it was litigiously exposed, forcing her to abandon corporal punishment and rely solely on mental/emotional abuse. That's the version of my mom I got.

I was 10 when my sister left for college. Just my brother and I remained. Similarly to each other we both lived in service to our mother. Whereas his duties were more physically laborious, mine consisted of full on emotional labor. I spent most of my childhood navigating a homelife that was so saturated and occupied by my mother's opera of a life, that there was no room for my feelings, thoughts, desires or identity. I was her plaything, a person sans agency. My age and vulnerability proved advantagous when grooming me. I learned to behave in ways satisfactory to her needs. I was made to react to (and collect) her emotional distress, endorse her judgements of others, perform well in school as a testament to her rearing, and accept her violations of me as normal. I was a shackled spectator, whose own emotions were mere reflections of her dramatizations. I was tailored to be the MOST convenient. So I kept secrets and coped alone. I knew just enough abt myself to remain human but lacked the vision to actualize it. And because emotional abuse is so insidious in its indoctrination, I was really none the wiser until I too moved away years later.

I'm almost 30 now and I'm a mess. I can't establish enduring relationships, I'm fat, I'm broke, I'm debilitatingly avoidant, socially inept, codependent, confused and lack significant self worth. I spent the past decade delving deep into undoing all the work done to me to keep me a reliable supply for my mother and coming to terms with all the time lost in doing so. I've had glimpses and proof of another life but this year sent me back to old coping mechanisms and devastatingly familiar relationships. I read that by its very nature, all pandemics have to end and I thought I was strong enough to share a definite time&space with my abuser for the foreseeable future.... but with no end in sight, I kind of really wish I had established a clearer version of myself and where I stand in this family, to her.

Similar predicaments flung us both to the south and having her here is like a screen forging images of the same dysfunction I exhibited upon my arrival 7 years ago. There's so much I wish I could tell my former self, namely, "it's not your fault. you're not alone. you don't have to try so hard and tomorrow is another day" And perhapz it's this layered vision of myself as seen thru her that compels me to want to save her, but doing so requires me to get too close to a flame I've yet to extinguish. Im not foundationally sound enough to go up in flames and rebuild afterwards, I need a few more rounds of therapy for all that. I'm a stitch away from coming apart at the seams. Weak construction, but I'm still standing. I have more life to live and can't risk the breeze of my mother's chaotic whims to topple what's taken years to forge. I love her, because she's the only mom I got and because she's the kids' only access to our motherland. How can I reconcile this version of me with this version of her?

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rkxsungwoon-blog · 6 years ago

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☆ MGA5 EPISODE TWO ; JULY 4 #5008 HA SUNGWOON ; interview

much like the last episode, the ceos retire to discuss the results of the performances while the contestants are ushered one by one into private rooms to be interviewed on the day’s events. sungwoon wonders if this will become a staple from now on. if so… he’s not entirely sure how to feel—the interviews broadcasted last week were interesting, to say the least. he supposes it adds some excitement to the broadcast along with giving viewers a glimpse into the personalities of the contestants. it also feels like russian roulette, like the producers are waiting for someone to inevitably say something damaging during their interviews and metaphorically shoot themselves in the foot.

but maybe the moment of reflection is a good thing too. sungwoon appreciates getting the chance to reorient, to breathe and consider the day’s events and performances in one go. he never truly struggles to answer, so his complaints are probably less valid than most. rather than being truly worried, he’s eager to get this over with and get to the results.

when his name is called, sungwoon rises and gives his friends a double thumbs up before following the staff to the interview room. a quick touch up of his hair and makeup later, he’s seated in a familiar chair in front of the interviewer in a set-up not much different from last week. he greets the interviewer with a smile and makes some idle small talk about the weather and how their day is going so far until the cameraman indicates it’s time to begin.

showtime.

so, welcome back, sungwoon. you’ve managed to survive the first cut, but what did you think of the results last week otherwise?

ah. he expected this one. cutting fifty people from the competition at one time is a lot. of course they’d be asked about it. “i didn’t expect there to be quite as many eliminations from the beginning, so it was a little nerve-wracking, to be honest.” sungwoon is grateful his friends survived alongside him, but admitting as much might sound like rubbing salt in the wounds of people who were separated from their friends.

he decides to keep it neutral. “all my predictions for who would make it to the next round came true, though! well, except one.” poor chan. sungwoon really thought he was good, but his opinion doesn’t count for much when it comes to rap. “i guess that disqualifies me as a psychic? unless i make sure to include a disclaimer that there’s a 16% error margin on all predictions?” he laughs, embarrassed as he realizes his mental math might be a little off. “actually, don’t fact check me on that number.” math isn’t his strong suit, but he refuses to be make a fool of himself over numbers on national tv.

shaking his head slightly, he taps his fingers against his knee in thought. “it was disappointing to see so many talented people go home,” sungwoon adds slowly. “but it’s a competition and, well, i have to believe the ceos made the decisions they did for a reason.” they clearly know what they’re doing, and it’s not for him to question them yet.

how did you feel when you realized you were through to the next round?

“i was relieved, mostly,” sungwoon admits readily. a sigh escapes his lips as he thinks back to the moment his name was called—he’d felt weak and weightless at the same time, even more so when the others made it through safely. sungwoon would like to say he never had any doubts, but that isn’t entirely true. there’s always room for doubt. “i would’ve been mortified to get eliminated so early in the competition.” honestly, he’d be equally mortified to get eliminated now, but it feels unnecessary to add that into his answer. “it also felt right, you know?” he continues with a sheepish smile. “i felt acknowledged by the judges, and that went a long way towards boosting my confidence for today’s performance!”

many people have expressed concern about the number of previous mga contestants participating in this season. as one of the people highlighted as a former contestant during the episode, how does the backlash make you feel?

well, this is one he didn’t expect. of course sungwoon is aware of the backlash—the previous episode literally broadcast one of the contestants’ thoughts on the subject, and the netizens seem united in the opinion that this year has too many old faces. and as one of the old faces, his opinion on the subject should be pretty clear: it sucks, and he doesn’t agree that just because they’ve been on the show before, they have no place on it now. he’s not sure why the interviewers would ask this, unless they’re hoping he gives them something juicy to air? sungwoon is determined to avoid that trap, to think carefully over his response before he gives it.

honesty is the best way to play this, in his opinion. “it’s not the greatest, i’ll admit.” wringing his hands together, he shoots the interviewer a distracted, what can you do, kind of smile before raking his fingers through his hair. “i think it’s disingenuous to act like being on the show one year means we can never come back or to claim we’ve used up our one and only chance. it’s not like we stopped dreaming just because it didn’t work out the first time.” for many, including sungwoon, participating in the mgas increased his desire to stand up on stage.

“i also believe people might be under the impression that we’ve had tons of opportunities for success following the show last year?” being on tv might’ve brought a little bit of localized fame for a brief period of time last year, but all that is gone now, leaving old contestants as forgotten relics of a different time. “but i can tell you that’s not really true—personally, at least. no companies were looking to sign me, and i didn’t have any other prospects.” a bitter pill to swallow, but there it is! he chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “compared to a lot of other competitions, the mgas are accessible, so yeah, i gave them a shot again, but because this might be the only way i ever make it. i’m sure others feel the same way.”

god, he said a lot more than he intended to. sungwoon takes a deep breath and shakes his head, forcing a smile he hopes looks natural. “if the new contestants are worried about facing the old ones, well, a little healthy competition never hurt anyone, right?”

i see. moving on, how do you think you did this week?

“like i said, i’m never satisfied.” he feels like this will be a familiar refrain if this question continues to come up again, but it continues to be true. he needs the persistent buzz under his skin, the nagging voice that tells him he can do better. it drives sungwoon to improve, and that’s worth the temporary discomfort. still, his feelings towards today’s stage is largely positive overall. “i know my performance wasn’t as exciting as some of the others. that’s always the risk when you do a ballad, right?” sungwoon was well aware of it from the beginning. “and for once i didn’t play an instrument. that was nerve-wracking, let me tell you.”

he straightens up in his seat. “but i wanted the focus to be on my voice today.” no bells and whistles, just sungwoon showing the judges what he’s capable of. “so i chose to sing a korean song, one that ended up becoming pretty personal for me. i think… i did all i could up on the stage, and i hope it resonated with everyone who listened. that’s all i can really ask for.”

who do you think is the best under each skill?

oh, now that’s an interesting question. sungwoon wouldn’t have been able to answer it last week due to the sheer number of people performing, but after watching the episode and sitting through today’s stages, sungwoon is in a better position to judge the rest of the contestants. the interviewer catches the grin spreading across his face and asks him if he’s thinking of naming himself, to which sungwoon responds “oh, no. no,” with a laugh. he wouldn’t dream of it. “i’ll try not to name only empty enigma members either, but you can’t blame me if a few slip in.”

for singers… sungwoon feels like quite a few of them are strong. this is the only category he feels qualified to talk about at length, in any case. “i think heejin is a strong singer, maybe the strongest in the competition. i enjoy her vocal color, and i think her voice is powerful. she has a strong stage presence too, so i definitely think she’s someone to watch for.” he wants to mention a few other singers as well, but he’s determined to keep his picks to one each this time. or… maybe two. two picks, maximum. “hyojin too! he sang one of my favorite day6 songs, and his range is insane. i can’t wait to hear more from him.”

dancers are harder to comment on; sungwoon doesn’t know enough (or feels confident enough) to choose the best in this category. “uh, i think i’m only qualified to talk about who i liked the best, so take all this with a grain of salt.” he probably shouldn’t say park woojin, but the first name that comes out of his mouth is—”park woojin, for sure. though to be clear, i would pick him even if we weren’t friends. his performance was powerful and captivating—i think he’s easily the best dancer here.” he wants to mention kenta as well, but he doesn’t want to come off as too biased either. “i also think yugyeom is a good dancer. i don’t know how i feel about him in general, but i won’t deny talent when i see it.”

rappers are possibly harder to talk about than dancers, so sungwoon takes his time running through the list of performances before answering. “i think the number of female rappers in the competition this year are pretty cool, so i’d have to pick one of them. sakura, maybe? i was surprised by her performance, but in a good way.” his second choice is so obvious, sungwoon wonders if he even has to state it out loud. “and mason, obviously. he’s a good rapper, maybe one of the best, but that’s a given.”

were there any performances you liked?

sungwoon hates questions like these, mostly because he never has enough time to mention everyone he wants to. just saying ‘all of them’ would save a lot of time, but he’s pretty sure that isn’t allowed. also, it’s not truthful either. there are performances he definitely didn’t enjoy. the question is about ones he did, however, and sungwoon runs through the ones he remembers well enough in his mind before blurting out the first one that stayed with him. “daniel’s!” wait, that really isn’t going to help him sound less biased. his face warms and he scratches his cheek while rushing to gather his thoughts. “okay, honestly. i know he’s not the best of the rappers, but he wrote his own rap and the lyrical content was straight fire. his performance had me hyped up. how can i not mention it?”

aside from daniel, there are a few others he wants to mention. “eunji’s dance was… i know i mentioned her last week as a talented singer, but she’s a phenomenal dancer as well. her performance was really powerful and compelling. park jinyoung—i liked his voice, and i thought his song choice was very appropriate for his tone. personally, he’s one to watch for me as well.” pausing, sungwoon leans back in his chair and rubs his chin in thought. “yeji? i thought she did a great job too—really, a lot of the girls have been killing it this year. i wish i could mention them all because they deserve it.”

were there any you didn’t like?

“guys, seriously,” he laughs, letting his arms fall to his sides. “have people answered this?” how many have taken the bait and actually said something negative about their fellow contestants? the interviewer won’t answer that for him, so sungwoon is left wondering when he should bite or not. maybe he should, but gently? “there were a couple of performances i was let down by,” he admits. “kyungsoo, for one. i really enjoy his voice, but i wasn’t sold on his song choice, so i think that colored my opinion of his performance.” toxic isn’t a choice he’d make personally, and while he respects it, sungwoon isn’t sure it’s appropriate for this stage of the competition. “i also enjoyed suwoong’s performance last week, but not as much this week… i don’t know, i think he could’ve taken it a bit more seriously?” sungwoon shrugs. “they’re both good performers; just not my cup of tea.”

is there anyone you are certain will move onto the next phase of the mgas?

“is it time for sungwoon the psychic’s predictions again?” he taps his forehead, thought he’s… not exactly sure why. “uh, well, i think everyone i mentioned as the best of their categories will go through. special shout out to mason, because he’s going all the way to the finale! mark my words.” he doesn’t know if he has any solid picks outside of those. “yuri? she has a powerful voice and the necessary star power.” hm, maybe that’s all? no, wait, he remembers one of the dancers leaving an impression and struggles to pronounce her name properly. “jieqiong? she’s pretty and talented; i would expect her to go through.” sungwoon figures he’d better stop there—or he’ll end up naming half the contestants in the competition. “let’s see how many of these work out! remember, 16% error rate!”

is there anyone you are certain will be eliminated today?

“my third eye broke; i can’t answer that,” sungwoon says, completely straight faced. several moments pass before his expression cracks into a distant smile. “no, seriously—i’m not sure what criteria the judges are basing their assessments on, so i can’t answer. you’d think it would be straightforward, but someone who’s average in a skill can get far based on their sheer charisma and stage presence, right? so i think it could be anyone’s game.” he won’t speculate further; it’s not his place. and he’s worried that if he does start to consider who might be eliminated, a few familiar names could potentially pop into mind.

that’s all for now. thank you!

“thank you! you’ve worked hard.” sungwoon rises and bows to the interviewer and the staff before returning to his seat. he steals a bottle of water from one of the empty enigma members and polishes it off with a cheeky smile. “i need this, guys. i talked a lot,” he complains when they ask. when do you not? someone answers, and sungwoon glares at them playfully before promising to buy another bottle during their break. it’s much easier to stick to smiles and lighthearted conversation before eliminations, and sungwoon does his best to keep the atmosphere cheery.

it’s all he can do for them right now.

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koszmar-zycie · 5 years ago

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💎 18. Is there anything you really wish you could do, character-design-wise, that you feel is outside your current skillset? A concept that you wish you could pull off but are uncertain about?n✒️ 11. If you have characters that embody certain traits of yours—good or bad—has writing them changed how you view those traits? Has it affected you in any way? 📌 7. Do you have characters that you know you’ll never use, but can’t bear to get rid of/recycle?

💎 18. Is there anything you really wish you could do, character-design-wise, that you feel is outside your current skillset? A concept that you wish you could pull off but are uncertain about? -

It’s kind of funny, because I feel like I’m capable of a decent amount, but at the same time, I see a lot of characters and types that other people do, and I feel like there’s no way I could handle them. I feel comfortable with brash girls and classy guys, and nearly every trope character-wise, but there are those that elude me. One I can think of is probably seductive characters. At least in the sort of expected sense of seductive. I have a Succubus character that’s bound to Koszmar, and she’d tried for ages to seduce him, but he wasn’t weak willed enough to care, so her wiles never worked.

Which story-wise is great because it fits, but it also was an unintentional “get out of jail free card” for having to write her. - On the other hand, if anyone wanted to RP with Koszmar, especially someone with magical, and namely warlock based power - then she might appear, and I’d sort of be forced to. lol I think I’d be afraid that it would sound disingenuous. And for RP, especially for such a character, the disconnect is solid, I wouldn’t want her writing to sound cheap and not committed to her nature, or as though it was copied from other similar characters.

✒️ 11. If you have characters that embody certain traits of yours—good or bad—has writing them changed how you view those traits? Has it affected you in any way? -

I’ve mentioned a couple times before that most of my characters have me in them in some way or another, but a few sort of embody certain parts. Taima, for example, is the down-to-earth, new age side of me. Koszmar is sort of my core persona (carrying most of the negative as well :\ ), Rahab has a lot of my looks, oddly enough (only handsome lol) and my pride. Being proud of who I am and unrepentant about my efforts and positivity, while also bearing some judgement. (nothing serious, of course, but that kind of “why can’t everyone just stick to their word, not be petty, etc - which of course, he bears less hypocrisies than I, being fictional!)

And it somewhat has changed me, I’d say. The benefit to having yourself in your characters when in an RP, is that writing with someone else lets you experience their character’s reaction, which is often more fluid and natural, since you’re getting someone else’s perspective on that trait or traits. Even if it’s not that person’s own perspective, their character’s perspective and opinion is obviously being written by someone else. That lets you understand a different angle on the quality or trait. Something that can easily be skipped when writing solo, as you’re just writing everything on your own.

I definitely value my RP partners quite a lot for that as well. Even if we don’t talk, or don’t talk often. I try to be a friend, and I appreciate getting to look at things differently. Since whether it’s meant to be in depth, or just a casual RP, you can learn some interesting things by just having fun with a buddy.

📌 7. Do you have characters that you know you’ll never use, but can’t bear to get rid of/recycle? -

I hate to say it, but probably Tirithon. He was based on my DnD character I had for yeeeears(/have), and I really love the Hell out of his mog and character. But I think he’s fallen pretty far out of favor and the limelight, and probably won’t be used. On the other hand, I like him so much, that I couldn’t just leave him out.

Reason that it sucks, is because for most Horde interaction, it’s Koszmar, Taima, or Willow. (sometimes Xiuying, but in reality she’s only ever interacted with @jadeblossom-journeys. Which is nice, due to the Pandaren nature of them all!) For Alliance, Haytham is my star. I love that Gilnean to death. That said, even though Tirithon was and is a top tier favorite, I just don’t see him being used. There’s sadly no call for it. D:

Anyhoo, thanks so much for the asks! <3 I really appreciate it, @foxfictioncentral!

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webcricket · 6 years ago

Text

Looking Glass

Chapter 25 - Corollaries

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 1683

Summary: Tragedy derails halcyon days in the bunker and forces everyone involved to reevaluate their notions of safety. Warning for minor (canon in ep 13X23) character death. I’ve decided to stop pretending I know how many chapters this beast will end up being - this isn’t the final chapter as I originally intended (mostly because I want to keep them at the original 2K word limit and there is too much story left to cover and clearly I have no concept of what will make it beyond the final edit).

Miss a chapter? Have a Masterlist Link!

Raining cats and dogs. Under the weather. Flying by the seat of one’s pants. Speak of the devil.

Castiel never fully appreciated the expressionistic origin of idioms peppering human speech until he glimpsed the vibrant magenta of your jacket fitted to a lifeless female form lying on the leaf-littered trail ahead and he experienced the resultant precipitous leaping of his heart into the upper echelons of his throat.

Swallowing hard against the ‘What if it were you? What if I failed to protect her?’ rise of anxiety to relocate the obstinate organ back into his vessel’s ribcage where it belongs, he closes his eyes in concentrated effort; in the lidded distancing from the light of day, he reminds himself the shattered shell, limbs limp and radiating residual heat, crumpled in the mist of cooling rain belonged to some other unfortunate soul, not you.

He left you safe in the bunker’s kitchen, breathing, physically intact, and very much alive, as you helped prep a mass lunch for the multitudes mere minutes ago. The knowledge, the fresh imprint in his mind’s eye of the slight questioning smile hovering on your mouth soundlessly saying you expected to hear the story later as an agitated and secretive Sam dragged him away from the task of scrubbing dishes to help handle a situation – this situation – however comforting in recollection, barely makes a diminishing dent in his reflexive fright at the sight of your jacket and the scent of you still lingering in the damp cloth mingling with the unmistakable odor of raw death.

The hitch and pause in his gait, the sharp gasp and blanching of pink lips as they press tautly together – the outer projections of disquiet as he battles to suppress his rebellious nerves and rapidly beating heart – presents the split-second opportunity for Jack to sprint past the distracted seraph.

“Maggie!” the boy shouts. Surging ahead, he circumvents Mary and Bobby on the well-worn path where they stand sentinel, gravely watching over the dead girl. Ruddy cheeks paling, his sneaker slips in the mossy earth, smearing through bloodied mud as he stumbles around the boulder where she drew a final breath and collapsed.

Sam’s lengthy stride and rational senses move him to the site in time to prohibit Jack from disturbing the scene further; grappling with the Nephilim’s shoulder to hold him back from kneeling to take the girl up in his arms, he manages to keep the boy from eroding what little detail remains that might clue them in to what happened.

“I-I said I’d protect her, and,” Jack’s guilty lament suspends fog-like in the air as he speaks, fingers uselessly flexing and balling into fists, “Sam…”

Cas forces his feet to convey him closer to the carnage. Blinking between Jack’s anguished aspect and the waterlogged coat, he tears his focus from the more personally emotionally unsettling elements to study the statically fixed girlish features of Maggie’s corpse; the peaceful ghostly skin-shade of pre-rigor smoothing the minute muscles of her face is perverted by brightly painted crimson where the bone cracks cleanly at her temple; rivulets of blood and rain mat her hair, the latter diluting the congealed edges of the fatal wound.

“Stop, Jack. This isn’t your fault,” Sam consoles in the rain-pattered hush, stating what they all – save the grief-stricken Jack – are thinking.

A pang of empathy at Jack feeling personally responsible for whatever befell her resonates in Castiel’s heart; the angel knows from long practice it’s often easier to assume self-blame and contend with the tangibility of failure in place of the seemingly unsurmountable impossibility of accepting that senseless tragedies do happen no matter how many vows one makes to prevent their occurrence. For all the fight for a righteous cause, free will and destiny coalesce into unpredictable outcomes. It’s a hard lesson to learn – one with which the angel constantly grapples and one made bearable by the bonds of friendship and love.

“What happened to her?” Dean huskily murmurs the question as if uttering it aloud will provide an instantaneous answer.

At the thought, Cas casts his blues skyward at the roiling grey abyss of clouds above; tiny droplets of rain smatter and collect on his unshaven cheeks, blending with the brimming brine of unshed tears to pool in the divot of his chin when his gaze again drops to settle on the distraught boy. If he could, he’d take this pain from Jack; he knows, in their way, Sam and Dean feel the same; since that feat is not within the realm of possibilities, perhaps Dean’s on to something and they can relieve the burden some by figuring out what really happened here.

“I don’t know. Doesn’t look supernatural,” Mary supplies to flesh out the unknowable.

Cas silently concurs with the assessment; someone, not something killed Maggie. Given the ambient air temperature, the wicking capabilities of water to rapidly cool core body heat, the angel determines the girl can’t have been left here more than a handful of hours ago.

Always ready with a surly remark in any incarnation, Bobby pipes in, “Looks like some son of a bitch beat on her until…”

“Who would do something like this?” Interrupting, regard drawn once more to the magenta fabric, remembering your walks together on this very same stretch of trail, the solitary outings you’ve taken since trusting in your safety, Castiel masks the fear in his tone with anger.

A lesser being might call it a tragic case of mistaken identity; for Lucifer, it was a fairly typical Thursday evening with a dash of prodigious fate thrown in for fun. The single regret clouding his glee and veiling the red glow of his pupils as the girl’s skull broke with a satisfying pop and an even more gratifying gurgle against the unforgiving mass of the boulder on the third strike was that – although she initially tricked his senses into thinking she was you wandering in the wilderness on account of outerwear absolutely reeking of his brother – she was not actually you.

Unfortunate for fulfilling his nefarious need to revenge an innocuous smack upside the head back on the bus, certainly; although he wouldn’t characterize it as a mistake. He knew before he throttled the scream in her throat and flicked her – sputtering for air like a boneless fish – onto the ground he had the wrong refugee. Too bad for her, on he devil’s non-existent moral compass, wrong exists as just as compelling a direction as right.

Finishing up the last of the dishes in the sink, you lay a gleaming plate carefully on the pile with a clink to dry and swipe the wetness coating your hands across the towel tucked into the waistband of your jeans. At the familiar bass angelic utterance of your name, you turn toward the doorway.

“Cas!” The smile skirting your mouth falters into a frown at the serious etch of lines hardening his countenance. Yanking the towel free and tossing it aside, you navigate the counter between you with an arm extended to meet him halfway. “What happened?” Your fingers delve beneath the hem of his coats, flattening to the rigid plane of his torso.

“We need to talk.” He peers beyond your fretfully widening eyes at the two other apocalypse expats currently inhabiting the space to aid in lunch clean up. One of them averts her inquisitive gaze back to the tabletop she’s polishing. “Leave us,” he growls; the order emerges significantly less kind than he is capable of being. “You too.” He gestures at the young man organizing a shelf.

“Cas,” you hiss chidingly under your breath, prodding his side. You’ve made great strides these past weeks in terms of angelic PR and here he is throwing everything out the window with rudeness.

He rolls his eyes almost imperceptibly. Almost. There isn’t time for niceties given the circumstances, although he knows you’re right. “I need to speak to Y/N alone. Leave us, please,” he amends and softens the request, punctuating his words with a strained smile for their benefit. It’s disingenuous, yet you appreciate the effort.

You mouth a polite thank you to your nodding cohorts for their understanding as they abandon their chores to slink out into the hall.

Upon their exit, Castiel engulfs you in a hug.

“Hey, I’ve got you,” you whisper, acquiescing to his tender demand for contact; rubbing circles into his back, sliding a palm to comb the chestnut curls at his nape, you wait for an explanation for his strange behavior.

Standing there, he lets the heat of you sink into his shrouded skin; he listens to the steady thrum of your heart and shallow respiration of life moving in and out of your lungs until nothing but the grounding succor of your body and soul quiet his senses. Exhaling a sigh into the crook of your neck, he shudders against you and pulls away to look into your eyes. Grey glints of somberness gild his irises. “Maggie’s dead.”

“Wh-what?”

“Mary and Bobby found her body in the woods, on the trail leading to town. That’s what Sam-”

“An accident?”

Regard falling to the sliver of space between you, he shakes his head.

You suck in a juddering breath. Choking on a wave of guilt, you remember your conversation when she took over your living quarters. “I-I told her it was safe here. I promised her-”

“This isn’t your fault. This isn’t anyone’s fault.” Repeating Sam’s earlier assertion to Jack – the words sounding no more reassuring to his ears than before – Cas folds you to his chest, tangles his fingers in your hair, and angles to kiss the top of your head. “We need your help. You’ve gotten to know these people better than any of us – is there anyone she was close to? Anyone who would know why she was out alone?”

“Yeah-” You nod in the solid casing of his embrace, sniffling back tears– “Allene. They’re friends.”

“Good, that’s good.” He balances a prickly cheek on your crown; feeling the warmth of your tears saturate his shirt, he resettles his arms to envelope you tighter.

Next: Ch. 26 - The World Ender (Final)

#castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel reader insert #spn x reader #castielxreader #castielxyou #castiel series #castiel fanfiction #castiel fanfic #spn reader insert #cas x reader #cas x you #reader x castiel #you x castiel #cricket writes cas

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dancing-sword · 6 years ago

Photo

Athal-Pati and the Fold

Kinda sucks that tumblr’s gonna compress the hell out of this image so it might be hard to see that small Halona in the foreground. This is some Balatog concept work I had started way before the “map” I did and is connected to an important character to Balatog.

Since this is probably one of the last posts I’m gonna be making for my plane, I wanted to do something special for it. There’s a little short story after the break that goes along with the picture and a write up throwing out my thoughts and troubles I was having with the this whole leg of creating the custom plane and story. Hopefully I’m able to get the next and last post for Balatog out quicker than this one.

Halona’s small boat, barely a raft, coasted gently through the calm and clear water. Nestled in the gravel bed of the shallow water were crystals of all colors, glowing and fading as the boat came and went casting a soft rainbow spotlight from underneath, the only source of light in the inky black, never ending darkness around her. She knew she was underground, far farther than she thought was possible, but the only ends to the water she ever found were the entrance she took and her destination and the only sounds she could hear were her own breath, the soft ripple of the water, and the occasional creak of her boat in the void.

The gravel rose in a subtle, painfully slow pace that, after a near eternity of drifting, ground the boat to a stop. As she hopped out of her boat and continued her journey trudging through the now ankle deep water, the scattered crystals at her feet became more and more sparse as a source-less shaft of light slowly started to shine down from above following her. Eventually the gravel bed became a gravel beach and that too soon thinned and broke into solid stone. The water and her boat disappeared into the darkness behind her as the stone disappeared into the void in front. Still, she continued on her path.

The landing itself eventually started to vanish as well, thinning first slowly into a road before coming to a point. She stood near the cliff’s edge, the light gray outcropping jutting out into the vast ever present nothing that had accompanied her through her journey so far. She took a second to compose herself, her eyes wandering as they found less than nothing to focus on. She took a long, full breath before calling out at the top of her lungs.

“Athal!”

For a long moment there was only silence, not even her voice echoed back at her. Then she heard it. It started as a low hum, a silent almost inaudible thrum that reminded her more of a distance machine than something natural. It started to build into a rumble coming from all directions as the stone at her feet started to shake. Two points of light suddenly appeared in the distance, widening slowly into long thin lines and hissed liked arching lightning. Cracks of bright light spilled from the growing lines turning the darkness into a cracked black mirror as a howling and buffeting wind kicked up. With each sudden fracture, the world around her strained under the unseen force and the unnatural base-filled groan of miles of rock around her pierced her skull and shook her to the very core.

The world settled into a moment of silence, but Halona already knew what came next. The two lines suddenly opened in all their splendor, one last gust of wind blasted forth and almost made her stumble back. Two eyes stared down at her, shining bright as they seemed to vibrate with color. Although there was no way for her to judge distance in the darkness, her gut told her they had to be more than a hundred paces from her and yet it was near impossible for her to keep both in her field of view.

Legends say when Balatog was sealed and hidden, the world’s guardian pleaded with the land, the sea, and the sky to protect it in their absence and Athal-Pati answered. Athal-Pati the Waking Dream. Athal-Pati the Ever Watcher. Athal-Pati the World’s Voice. Halona composed herself once again, standing tall and defiant in front of the behemoth. She cared little for their titles and they had much to discuss.

The Setting

The original spell cast over Balatog was not a singular spell done at a specific time. Instead, the original planeswalker had taken centuries studying multiple planes; the Ban of Ulgrotha, the fold over Ravnica, the split planes of Theros and Kamigawa, the Shard of Twelve Worlds, and even smaller occurrences like Zhalfir’s phasing and the hedron prison on Zendikar. Each time they would take a bit and add it to their spell, weaving and layering a thicker barrier over the plane. The layering of hundreds of spells made the barrier redundant and practically impenetrable, but its shear immensity distorted the plane.

The Fold is the edge of this distortion. It is essentially impossible to planeswalk into, similar to Theros’s Nix, although it does have many entrances on the plane’s surface, a few permanent, well guarded ones and many more that appear and disappear seemingly on their own accord. Inside, it appears as a seemingly endless underground lake surrounded by a black void with the only landmarks inside being the entrance and a single long cliff extending out into nothing. The distance between the surface and the lake always seems to change, but the distance between any entrance and the cliff almost always stays the same.

The Idea

When Halona first returned to Balatog, several months and many planes after her first planeswalk from her home, she didn’t appear back at her home town like she hoped and instead found herself on the cliff inside the Fold. She didn’t have much time to be confused however as Athal-Pati appeared suddenly and struck at her, unleashing a torrent of spells and raw magic on an unthinkable level and power to her. After a tense moment, Halona humbled by the display and Athal confused by her resilience, Athal started their questioning. Athal eventually calmed down after finding out more about the young walker and after some deliberation, revealed a deeper nature of the world.

As Halona had guessed, Athal-Pati was the legendary monster from the old legend, a formless guardian connected on a metaphysical level to the plane left to protect the world when the old walker had disappeared. Athal seemed to have most if not all the old walker’s knowledge and power believed they had the plane figured out. However, Halona’s first planeswalk had damaged the Ban in someway, a fact that Athal had trouble wrapping their proverbial head around, and because the Ban had been so integrated into the nature of Balatog, the damage had a rippled out. The natural balance of the plane had been upset and as far as Athal could tell, could lead to near apocalyptic damage to the world.

The main premise would be that Athal and Halona had teamed up after this to safe the plane. Athal tasked Halona with not only keeping the plane secret, hoping to minimize any further damage, to replicate their creator’s experiments believing that the relatively recent Mending had changed enough of the Multiverse that some new information could be gleaned from it. The main conflict was supposed to be that on one side, Halona did not truly believe in this cause. She was not sure if fixing the Ban and sequestering Balatog was the best path and keeping the secrets from her friends hurt her deeply. On the other hand, Athal wasn’t as confident with their plan as they tried to seem. They didn’t have the perfect knowledge they thought they had, not knowing what happened to the old walker, the full extent of the spells they cast on the plane, nor how the further inner workings of the plane worked. In truth, they were unsure of their own path, but did not think any other way was viable either. Halona would eventually try to go behind Athal’s back and discover deeper truths of her world.

The Problem

I think the first problem, which I talked about in a previous post, was that the kind of setup I was going for just didn’t work out. Writing and acting as if it were some long form D&D or comic couldn’t mesh well with the kind of work flow and audience I have. Trying to set up the story in role playing just felt disingenuous and quickly felt like it was trying to force Halona as “the main character”.

The second problem was that having Halona stress over if what she was doing was right, trying to decide if having Balatog be free versus having Balatog be safe, seemed less relevant as she grew as a character. When the story’s original plot was created along side Halona, it made more sense, but as I wrote and drew and role played her, it didn’t feel like something she’d struggle with as much. Now, she’d probably have made her decision pretty quickly and wouldn’t think that free and safe had to be mutually exclusive.

The final problem was that I couldn’t really nail down what Athal-Pati nor the actual damage to the plane were going to be. Was Athal a piece of the plane’s worldsoul, the plane’s own consciousness? What were their actual power limits? They were a more or less formless being, but were they aware of everything going on on the plane? Could they even be tricked? What was the actual damage to Balatog going to be? Where the aether storms just going to get out of hand or was something much worse going to be? Would the damage to plane change Athal? Ultimately, I never really could hammer out a definite answer to these questions.

#art #Balatog #Balatog Art #mtg custom plane #Sorry that it's all a bit rambling #I feel like if I keep trying to organize it and make it perfect I'll never get it finished #so better now than never

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jiminshoney · 6 years ago

Text

Where You Belong (Part 3)

Word Count: 10,773

Warnings: language, cheating, brief mentions of black mirror’s black museum episode (spoiler ig if you haven't seen it?), a cliffhanger, and angst but you knew that

[ tumblrs a jack*ss and links are broken, pls check my blog to catch up on the first three parts ]

Your body betrays you by waking you up agonizingly early, before your alarm has rung and before the sun has even had a chance to rise. The glaring numbers on your phone reveal that it’s barely 5 AM. You groan into the cushions beneath you, frustrated because you have to be at work in three hours and you were just robbed of a potentially meaningful last hour of sleep.

Opening a single eye to look back at the device’s bright screen, you can’t ignore the top notifications which continue to blink and beg for your attention. 15 missed calls and a somewhat impressive 28 unread texts all from Jungkook. It’s more than he sent in the month alone.

Your first thought is to ignore them, you want to ignore him, it’s too early to even think about processing what he has to say or replaying last night’s events. A sharp pain spreads through your chest, stretching until it meets your rib cage where there lies an almost forgotten void. There’s always those few seconds the morning after something terrible has happened, a moment of ignorant bliss, until your mind and heart remember and everything hurts again. The ache reminds you why last night went the way it did.

You don’t know that you can handle whatever he has to say, though you are curious...

Curious if someone who’s still in love and terrified of losing their girlfriend sends 28 texts and calls 15 times. Is that what it meant? Was he scared, desperate, remorseful? Or did he only offer a pathetic apology in twenty-something streams of the word sorry?

Driven by curiosity, you press a thumb to unlock your phone and open all the unread messages from last night.

From: jungkook♥ [5:19 PM]

Y/N

Can we please talk about this?

can you jus t come back please??

From: jungkook♥ [5:21 PM]

hello?

Y/N please answer

From: jungkook♥ [5:22 PM]

please pplease please

From: jungkook♥ [5:27 PM]

Where did you go

????

Im outside just tell me where you are

From: jungkook♥ [5:30 PM]

If not can tou answer?

Please answer the phone

From: jungkook♥ [5:32 PM]

fuck

Hello? Where did you go

Tell me where you are

From: jungkook♥ [5:33 PM]

Its fine if you decide to hate me for the rest of your life btu let me talk to yo about this first

Just give me a chance to explain everything

I mean there is no excuse but i wanna talk about this

From: jungkook♥ [5:35 PM]

pick up!!

From: jungkook♥ [5:37 PM]

I am begging you rn justsay something

Im outside, Please?

From: jungkook♥ [5:40 PM]

If its too soon i get it just let me see you for a second

If its too soon just tell me

but atleast tell m where you are?

From: jungkook♥ [5:45 PM]

Do you want the apartment? I’ll leave nd get a hotel

From: jungkook♥ [5:50 PM]

???

ffs just let me know you’re safe ok?

Please thats it

From: jungkook♥ [9:36 PM]

I love you y/n. Whenever you see this, you don’t have to call me back jus let me know that you’re somewhere safe alright?

“You love me? Right.” After a click of your tongue you chuck the phone back onto the table. Out of sight, out of mind, you think with a throw of the blanket over your head.

His messages didn’t offer any relief, all they’ve done is overwhelm and mildly irritate you because he acts as if you at least owe him the status of your location and quite frankly- you don’t owe him shit.

How dare he act worried about you and have the nerve to type out that disingenuous four-letter word like- I know you just found out my coworker sucked my dick but goodnight, love you. The audacity! Why should you have to tell him where you ran off to when he cheated on you and hid it for a week? Oh so well, as one may add, because there hadn’t been a sliver of suspicion. Had Taehyung not even been a factor, would he have ever told you? It’s unlikely and no one will ever know. It’s possible that he may have after much much time had passed, so maybe you’ll possibly tell him that you are in the safe confines of someone-who-actually-loves-you’s home… after much much time, of course.

All of this quickly reminds you that you don’t have any of your things. Your hygiene products, clean work clothes, fresh underwear, makeup, etc. You didn’t even have your purse after abruptly leaving your apartment.

A frustrated groan escapes you because now you must figure out how you’ll properly get ready for work the way you normally do. The last thing you wanted was to go back and run into Jungkook. Some days he left bright and early at 5:30 AM and you can take your chances and hope it’s one of those mornings, but it could just as likely be a day he’s decided to sleep in until 8. His app is finished so he shouldn’t have any standing reason to go in early, if not for the fact that he missed nearly a week of work, so he may. The odds were 50/50, it’s better to not risk it.

There’s also the option to call out of work, to stay in and sulk until an hour that he absolutely couldn’t be home, pack all your things and run away to a small town where nobody knows you until things get better. While tempting, you’re realistic and know that you cannot just uproot your life because you’re sad. The mere thought of having to go out and put on a brave face in front of the world today while you felt broken inside was tiring in itself, but sulking seemed exhausting. It wouldn’t make you feel any better, so you might as well go on like it’s any other work day. You could just shower here, pull your hair in a bun, stop at a Target for clothes and other necessities on the way and everything would be fine. At least you’d be able to busy your mind with something other than the fact the love of your life shit on a three year relationship for another woman no less.

-----

Around 9 AM, your work phone rings loudly against the desk. It sends your heart racing into a frenzy because the only person who ever called was your boss, and she only called for impromptu staff meetings or more specifically- to fire someone.

“Y/N~” To your surprise, the lobby receptionist’s voice sings at your pickup.

“Hyerin, good morning!” You smile, thankful that you aren’t losing your job too.

“You have a guest down here waiting for you.”

“What..?”

Your poor heart doesn’t get a chance to relax, there was only person who came to visit you at work. A person who shouldn't be visiting you right now.

“Mhmm! He brought you coffee~!”

“He?” Your jaw clenches, there could be no way. Jungkook could not be ridiculous enough to show up to your job first thing in the morning. He specifically said he understood if it was too soon for you! Why is he doing this? “I-- tell him I’m not in today!”

“He would know I’m lying!” Her hushed voice scratches against the receiver, tickling your eardrums uncomfortably.

“Then tell him I’m busy.”

“But he’s being so patient,” She says, her once melodious voice becoming sympathetic. “Shall I have him wait a few minutes?”

“Just tell him I don’t wanna see him, okay?”

“Oh but Y/N! I said he brought you coffee! Don’t be impolite and just come down, okay?”

Her end briefly goes silent before the endless dial tone beeps to indicate she’s hung up before you could utter another excuse. You mentally curse her because her greatest quality is that she’s the kindest person on earth, but her worst quality is that she’s the kindest person on earth and can’t tell unwanted guests to go away. In her defense, she doesn’t know that your boyfriend has been unloyal and you have a very valid reason for not wanting to see him.

On the way downstairs you are fully prepared to pour coffee over Jungkook’s head and curse him out for showing up to your place of work uninvited under the current circumstances. It’s disrespectful and he’s crossing a line by being here, you couldn’t wait to send him on his way. He couldn’t force you to talk if you didn’t want to. Though, that reaction would surely cause a scene. You will instead kindly let him know he’s being unprofessional and ask him to leave.

You practice the words again and again, it’s a must in order to not break the moment you face him. After all, the last time you saw him you were a bawling mess with mascara smearing on your fingertips and telling him you hated him while feeling like you might pass out. You couldn’t be the weak one this time.

Walking down the hall from the elevator your heart is still racing but you feel a sense of confidence even if it’s mild and fake, you’re just ready to get it over with. He’s leaning up against the front desk, distracted in a conversation with Hyerin as you approach. Heart thumping, the back of his head becomes clearer, strands of ash brown hair…

Your feet freeze against the marble flooring, “Taehyung?”

He swiftly turns at the sound of your voice, shoulders visibly relaxing when his eyes land on you. “Hey!” He pauses to turn, grabbing two concealed drinks off the edge of the reception desk, and closing the gap as he walks to you. “You left without saying anything.”

You should feel relieved but your mind and body hadn’t aligned, heart still shaken up over thinking he would be someone else. “Y-yea… I’m sorry. I left you a note, it was really early.”

“Oh! My fault, I didn’t see it. I came to make sure you’re okay.” He quirks a brow, letting you know his statement is indeed a question.

Not well given everything that’s happened, but that’s obvious. It wasn’t lunch time yet so it was possible in a few hours you’d be ready to slam your head into a wall but you’ve survived so far.

“I’m fine, Tae.”

His lips fall to an exaggerated frown, he is unconvinced and unimpressed by your attempt to not even sound dry. “How are you really, Y/N?”

You sigh, he would not be Taehyung if he didn’t at least try to get more from you. “Well… I’ve already cried once at my cubicle, I’m wearing $3 concealer that does nothing for the bags under my eyes, I have a minor headache and I just nearly had a heart attack because I thought you were Jungkook but other than that I’m okay, really.”

“You cried?”

You open your mouth to speak but get caught on an answer. Maybe you shouldn’t have slipped that part out not only because it’s embarrassing but now he’d just worry more than you knew he was. But it’s too late and the confession was made.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

A month or so after Jungkook you’d also gotten a job, specifically the one you had now. Like Jungkook it wasn’t at all what you wanted to do. The first few weeks after graduating were hard, all of the places you really wanted to work just weren’t calling back or would immediately send the dreaded thanks but no thanks email. Your mom had forced you to stop being so nit picky and apply wherever you could, passively sending you links to job openings she would spot online herself. Eventually you scored a job in the corporate world- lucky enough to make a decent amount of money, get home early, and not work weekends. Not so fortunately, you were stuck in some boring entry-level position in a finance department. It was the last thing on earth you wanted to be doing but you’d felt obligated to take it because up until that point your parents were helping with rent and other money related responsibilities.

The only person who really knew how you felt back then was Jungkook. At first you claimed it was different, like you’d said to him then, at least he was doing something related to his dream career. But no, really, he got it. He understood the fear you had of not being able to move away from this, the weight of life’s responsibilities, the overwhelming desire to just do what the hell you were passionate about, he knew it all too well.

On your first day of work he printed one of the hundred-something selfies you two had taken on graduation day and bought a frame for you to prop on your desk. He’d told you not to peak and to assemble it once you got to work, obviously you didn’t and couldn’t resist temptation, and the surprise was a short note he wrote on the back.

Baby, Congrats !!!

I know you’re not excited but I will be excited for you because I’m really proud of you still. You always remind me that bad days are temporary when I complain about work, ha ha, I want to remind you that too. I know nothing is perfect right now, a lot of things suck, but you still have me. I look forward to the future because I still have you. We may not have our dream jobs but we have each other so hopefully we can live our dream life soon. Just hang in there!

I love you more than anything - Jungkook

You couldn’t stop grinning the first time you’d read it. It was hard to find the words to say to him, hard to express your gratitude and how thankful you were you had him, you could only text him and say I love you so very much and that was enough for him.

Seeing that photo of your younger selves first thing in the morning was aggravating to say the least. You’d immediately slammed the frame down, picking at the back to take the pieces apart, intentions to tear the picture in half. But when you yanked it free from the slot and blue ink came to vision, you paused and read what he’d written less than a year ago. Tears were brimming before you realized. You didn’t have the guts to rip up the picture then, instead you shoved it in one of your drawers to be forgotten until you stumble upon it another day.

Taehyung looks at you worriedly, and it’s the same look he gave you yesterday before he turned your world upside down. A look you can now identify as the I-have-bad-news look.

“I saw Jungkook on my way here.”

“Okay?”

“He asked me if I’d heard from you.”

“Oh God... Taehyung please don’t tell me you told him I spent the night at your place.”

“I told him.”

“Why!? Why would you do that!?”

Hyerin’s only a few feet behind him, so as her head turns and her prying gaze briefly catches your eyes you glance around the two of you quickly, checking that no one else heard your brief outburst.

“I- I didn’t realize- I don’t know? I’m sorry?”

Taking a deep breath in you close your eyes to calm yourself. You don’t mean to yell at him, he hasn’t done anything wrong or gone against verbalized wishes. You know this. You’re just on edge, emotional, and you didn’t want Jungkook to know where you were.

“Is it because it’s me? You didn’t want him to know you were with me?” He asks.

“What? Taehyung, oh my God, no! It’s not about you.” You try not to raise your voice anymore, though you were sure you were probably scowling at him, annoyed with his assumptions.

“Forget I asked.” He’s good at keeping his voice level, manages to not react after you, but you can tell he’s just as annoyed with you when a muscle tenses in his jaw. “Which one do you want?”

He raises the two drinks in his hands, one’s holding a clear plastic cup with dark liquid chilled over ice, and in the other he has a large paper cup, presumably the same dark liquid but hot. It’s a harsh reminder that you’re being snappy with the wrong person. No matter how irritable you were, he didn’t deserve the back end of it. All he did was give to you, even now when you keep being rude to him.

“Tae, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay.”

“No, I’m sorry. I just got upset because… I’m not ready to talk to Jungkook and I don’t want him knowing where I am.”

“If you’re worried he’s gonna pop up on you, I don’t think it’s like that. He seemed really worried and I think he wanted to know you’re safe.”

Yeah, you think, that’s exactly what he said.

You finally take the hot coffee from his hand, finding a way to divert the conversation away from Jungkook.

“Thank you for this.”

“Of course. I have to leave soon. I’m shooting this guy for his acting portfolio. Then my friend is working a fashion shoot afterwards and invited me to help so I’m not sure when I’ll be done. I wanted to give you this.” With his free hand he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a shiny gold key. “Just got it copied.”

He smiles widely, giggling as you hesitantly take the key into your own hand. You don’t know why he’s gushing about this but it has butterflies floating in your stomach.

“Is this to your apartment?”

“Where else? I mean- this isn’t me asking you to be my roommate but... I wanted you to have somewhere to go even if I’m not home.”

“Tae! You didn’t need to go copy a whole key I- I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

-----

Taehyung’s apartment is empty when you get there after work, and while it’s not surprising because he did say he had work you still feel disappointed. Leaving work you were eager to get some alone time, but not like this.

All your coworkers actually showed up today, and being that it was the day after New Year’s, everyone wanted to talk about how great their New Year went. The universe was making a mock out of you, you were sure of it. A few of the girls priorly knew about your plans with Jungkook and had hopeful heart eyes as they asked about the cruise, and while the actual night was fine, yesterday was not something you even wanted to think about.

You’d always find a way out, excusing yourself to go make copies or apologizing because “I really need to finish writing this report.” Your sweet coworkers, they understood. Saying, “Right, I need to respond to a few emails” before running back to their own cubicles and leaving you alone. That is until a new question popped in their mind that’d have them strolling back over.

You were the only woman in your office with a standing long-term relationship, they all loved to live vicariously through you while struggling with their own love lives. You knew you’d break their hearts when you’d finally have to tell them the truth. At least for today, you omitted that bit of the story. Not only for their sake, but also for yours. It’s embarrassing to say the least.

You’re not sure yet what it says about you to be someone who got cheated on. Will people wonder what you did to push him that far? Will they pity you? Will they figure you must be a bad girlfriend and did something wrong?

Did you do something wrong?

Making your way to the kitchen you decide to scavenge Taehyung’s fridge for something to eat. Your stomach started grumbling a few hours ago after you made the silly choice of skipping lunch. Looking back, you’re not sure why you did because the persistent headache you’ve had since morning is likely due to the fact that you haven’t ate anything. Unfortunately for you and your pain his fridge is empty of anything edible, only stocked with a carton of milk, a pack of bottled water and a single bottle of wine.

“How do men survive like this?” You mutter, deciding to at least continue to hydrate your organs if you couldn’t feed them. You slump onto a chair at his small dining table thinking, Jungkook’s fridge would also look like that if it weren’t for me.

Across from you, his shiny macbook seems to wave hello, and beyond that you notice his camera bag is on the chair. If his camera is here then he can’t be at a photo shoot right now. Unless his friend told him not to bring it, then again why would you tell a photographer not to bring their camera? It’s possible he’s already been home, but you haven’t a clue where he’d be now.

The laptop shimmers in the light, begging for your attention once more, quietly reminding you about the interesting contents it holds.

“I know.” You grumble aloud. More to yourself because you are aware it’s an inanimate object that can’t actually communicate and it’s your own conscious taunting you. Yes, the pictures, I know.

The tempting voice asks if you’re even a little bit curious, if there’s a small part of you that wants to know what Taehyung saw in Jungkook that night? How he knew it before you, how he knows when he doesn’t even really know. It’s in the pictures like he’d said, and you could easily pass your fingertips over the smooth surface, you could open the lid, you could see for yourself.

But wouldn’t that be an invasion of privacy? Snooping through his laptop while he’s not even here just to see the way Jungkook interacts with some girl feels selfish and wrong. He probably has a lock on there anyway.

Oh but dear, the laptop says, he wanted you to see them after all! You could look through his camera, they might still be there. Taehyung wouldn’t mind at all! You should check!

It’s tempting, you think back, but I don’t know…

Don’t you wanna see the face of the woman who he found room in his heart for?

The words are way too personal, a blatant throw back of Jungkook’s confession. Another reminder that you definitely aren’t talking to a laptop and this is just conflicting dialogue in your own head.

Maybe there is a part of you that wants to know. It’ll probably hurt but you won’t stop wondering if you never look. Even just once.

You move from one seat to the other, placing his bag onto the table carefully. You’re gentle as you pull the Canon from it’s compartment, the weight of it shifting into both palms reminds you that if you do anything wrong your friend just might kill you because this baby costs (literal) thousands.

Thankfully, as the camera comes to life his, presumably, last photo taken appears on the small square screen which means you don’t have to press a million buttons just to find what you’re looking for. You scroll through the first photos, dozens of group shots of people wearing different hot pink garments, wondering briefly what the photo shoot was for. Eventually you land on close up photos of a younger guy, the head shots for Taehyung’s friend, you’re close. Until finally, there’s a photo of an older man and woman holding two thumbs up, the festive backdrop giving away they’re at a holiday party.

This is it.

You take a moment before continuing to scroll, preparing yourself mentally because you aren’t sure when you will finally land on a picture of the two in search, but you will reach them and when you do, you must contain your emotions.

It’s fine, it’ll be fine.

Moving on, you’re slower this time, carefully scanning each passing photo to be sure not to miss Jungkook. The first few ones, or rather last several, are group shots with the same old man as before, until they become more candid.

The first time you spot him, he’s in the background giving some guy a hug.

There’s another photo of him at a table, not alone, but not speaking to anyone. He’s completely unaware that he’s being captured in the background which makes his oblivious doe-like daze a little adorable. He’s so cute, you think. Also oblivious to the smile that’s perked on your lips.

That is until you skip to the next photo and noticeably feel it drop when you finally see her. Somehow, you just know. There’s a second woman in the photo who seems to be talking with her hands, Lia’s smiling and making eye contact, but Jungkook’s eyes are on Lia.

You pass it, moving onto something else. There’s another. This time, they’re the focus of the photo, sitting at a table with another you haven’t met, all engaged in laughter.

You skip a few more, until the next one with them is again in the background. He’s smirking but you can’t see her face because she’s sat at an angle and her hair’s in the way.

The next photo is captured from behind, but you know it’s them because of her red dress and the fact you can recognize Jungkook from any angle by now. One arm around his shoulder and her head leaning into him, what warranted her to come this close?

You pass many, many more photos until you see them again. A posed picture, with the same guy from the laughing one, and like this you can really get a good look at her. You’re not too prideful to admit that she is beautiful and she holds an enticing look in her eyes. Maybe that’s her special feature, but other than that what’s special about her? Past the pretty face and perfect smile, what separates her from you? What was there under her surface? How’d she win over Jungkook?

The next pictures you go through are mostly boring, just photos of everyone at the party eating and conversing. But there’s one common factor in all of them with Lia and Jungkook, he was always looking at her. Most of the time smiling while he did so. And most of that time, she was looking at him too.

There’s something obvious there, that maybe Taehyung also saw, they have a connection. That, even if you hadn’t known him, you would think they had something going on too with all the ridiculous googly eyes. But with that, because you know him, there’s something else you see- That he is absolutely fascinated by her, drawn to her, intrigued. Whatever special thing she possessed, he’s latched onto it and it’s pulled him away from you.

Tears begin to well and you have to set the camera down to wipe them away harshly. It’s annoying, this marks the third time today, and if you let yourself cry now it’ll only worsen your headache into a migraine. You don’t want to cry over him, he doesn’t deserve it. Crying means you care and well, obviously you care. You love him, but he doesn’t deserve that either. Why should you still love him after what he’s done to you?

It’s useless to keep rubbing your eyes, your knuckles pointlessly tug the skin just for them to become wet again. You didn’t want to cry but your body was intent on releasing it’s frustration.

It’s not fair that after so much time together this other person just gets to come in and move his heart- quite literally, like he said, making room inside of it. It’s not fair that just two months ago he said to you he couldn’t see himself with anybody else just to fall for another girl who knows how long after. Maybe it’d happened before he even said it. The fact that he was willing to explore how he felt about her should’ve been a dead giveaway that he was in denial at the time. Maybe you were too.

Could it be that she’s the reason your relationship spiraled in the first place? After he started work that’s when the distance between you two started to extend. There were a lot of other things you thought it could be. You thought he was depressed over the new job, closed off from you because he was closed off to the world. And at the time, you tried your best to be the optimistic one. You tried to lift his spirits and be encouraging but maybe it wasn’t enough. Where did you go wrong? Where did you fail at making him happy?

Why weren’t you enough?

You desperately want to know what it is about her- what is it that Lia has and you don’t?

Is it all because he felt you weren’t reciprocating his efforts to fix things? Maybe you didn’t try hard enough. You should’ve done more- you should’ve been more affectionate and caring. You should’ve loved him better.

You flinch at the soft thud of the door closing, jumping out of your seat because it’s startled you. It’s just Taehyung, standing there silently with a harsh expression of worry.

“You were crying.” He says plainly, a hint of guilt in his tone.

“No.” You lie, wiping your face once more and forcing a laugh.

He shakes his head as he makes his way to you, setting a white to-go box on the table before standing in front of you.

“You think I’m stupid? Your eyes are red.” His voice is unnecessarily gentle as he cups your face in both hands, thumbs wiping away left over traces of tears. The sound of his voice alone makes your entire chest warm- you hate it. “Also, I saw you.”

“I’m fine.” You push his hands away because his affections are way too much for your weakened heart to handle. He seems displeased. “What’d you get?”

He glances at the table and then back to you. The pierce of his brown eyes makes your lungs constrict, even his gaze is difficult to hold.

“Fried chicken. You saw the pictures?”

“O- y-yea…” You force yourself to look away- if you breathe properly maybe you can talk without sounding like a moron. “I’m really sorry for going through your things I just got curious and I shouldn’t have but that’s-”

“It’s okay, Y/n.” He assures you, “Are you okay?”

Your mouth forms to say yes and he already knows the lie to come, fixing his question before you can.

“I mean you’re not okay. I’m asking if you wanna talk about it.”

“It’s okay.” There were too many layers to uncover, between your emotions and the pictures and your anniversary and what really happened at that party, “It’s a lot.”

He shrugs at your words like they don’t matter, “I’ve got some time. And I’ve got food.”

“Tae-”

“Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I’m just confused. But I don’t want to ramble and get upset.”

“Why are you confused?”

“I just… I don’t understand Jungkook. I don’t understand why he likes that girl. I don’t understand why I wasn’t good enough. I don’t understand why he was so good to me if there was someone else, even after what happened, all the way until I found that he fucking let her-” You stop there, unsure what words to use to explain what happened other than the disgusting frank description that was there in your mind. Your stomach was already churning, you couldn’t say it.

“He let her…?”

“They… you know…” You vaguely wave your hands between your bodies, back and forth from the direction of your mouth to his crotch, hoping he caught on to the innuendo and wouldn’t force you to be explicit. He’d already successfully tricked in you into saying more than you originally wanted to.

“Ahh, wow um…” Surprised, he understands, but uncertain with himself if that’s really what you meant. If only he knew just how bad it gets.

“Yes, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright, alright.” He holds his hands up defensively, letting the topic go at once.

At some point over the last few months he’d stopped being passive and tried harder to pry information out of you when you were being closed off. Not too forcefully, but it was silently appreciated. You’d become grateful for his willingness to listen to whatever was weighing on your mind no matter the topic, it was always followed with thoughtful responses and advice. Now though, it’s a bit more frustrating. Something about this was different. This was not something that was easy to open up about and you wished he would say OK and let it be.

You know there’s an elephant in the room and at some point the healthy thing to do will be talking about it and having that conversation with him, your closest friend, but today wasn’t it.

He makes his way to the farthest side of the table, “Well, I’ll have to eat dinner with you quickly because I have to go check on a tenant downstairs. Their heater isn’t working and as you can imagine in the middle of winter they aren’t happy about it.”

“If you have business to take care of it’s fine. I need to go back to my apartment anyway to grab some things before Jungkook gets home and then find a hotel somewhere.”

“You’re being ridiculous, you don’t need a hotel. And you should at least eat first.”

“It’s okay, I’m not hungry.” Your prolonged headache would beg to differ but you didn’t have much of an appetite anymore. You’re not sure how to respond to his first remark because it’s obvious you don’t have anywhere else to stay. You’d stay here, but only if he offered. You weren’t going to ask since you had no plan and it’d be quite the favor to ask someone to crash at their place for an indefinite period of time. “Ah, also, I don’t have my key… would you mind helping me get in?”

“Not at all.” A moment of silence drags on for a minute too long as he stares at you sadly, worrying his bottom lip, until he speaks up again. “You sure you don’t want to eat something?”

“I’m sure.”

With that, he heads over to the cabinet below the kitchen sink and pulls out of a bulky rectangular safe. Upon unlocking it there’s nearly a hundred keys organized on rows of hooks- a key to every room in the entire complex. He plucks yours straight from the center and then begins to count towards the bottom before he pulls another one.

After locking everything back up and putting it in it’s discreet place he places the keys in your hands silently. One reads 503, the other 705.

“What is this?”

“There’s a furnished room on the top floor. It’s clean, it’s got running water and it’s all yours.”

“Huh?”

“We only use it for tours because it has extra square footage compared to the other one bedrooms- don’t tell anybody that. Also, please do not lose these because if Mr.Lee finds out I’m doing this-”

“I understand!” You sputter, gripping the cold metal tightly. “Thank you, Taehyung.”

He beams at you, “It’s no problem. You still have a key here so don’t feel like you’re not welcome to visit.”

To visit, right, not to stay.

You weren’t going to ask him, no, but you do feel disappointed that he hadn’t offered. And maybe that’s selfish of you to think considering he’s risking his job just to offer you a private place of comfort and here you are wondering why you can’t stay with him.

You can’t help but feel this is his subtle way of getting rid of you, which is fair, your moodiness is probably annoying. Still, he’s being nothing but kind and going out of his way for you, and yet for some reason it’s all making you sad.

-----

It’s been exactly 10 days since you’ve seen Jungkook, which is impressive considering you both return home to the same complex every day and have yet to cross paths. For the first time ever you were thankful for the difference in your schedules, by now assuming that he was likely back to his usual 10 AM to 6 PM shift and that’s why you two hadn’t. But, you’d be a liar if you said you didn’t wish to see him every day.

There were countless times you had to stop yourself from calling him, thinking I just want to see how he’s doing. In the morning, on the way to work, in the evening, on the train, at night- especially at night, especially when you had to lay in bed alone. Other times you instinctively pressed for 5 on the elevator, only remembering you were on the wrong level when the doors opened to familiarity, you would consider for a moment getting off and just going back home, but deep down you knew better than to make that mistake. Your self control was also impressive.

In your own defense, your moments of weakness were absolutely valid, you two had been inseparable since that first day of sophomore year over three years ago, you never went more than two days without seeing each other. Well, that’s not entirely true. There was the winter break before you started dating, and his family’s week long vacation two summers ago, but you still talked every day so it’s not the same.

This last year in particular your lives were built around each other- you freaking moved in together. Every day for a year you woke up and he was there, you went to sleep and he was there, right next to you. Even your body knew that something was missing as it tossed and turned at night, falling asleep had become difficult. Unless you cried, but you tried to minimize that to every other day.

The spacious apartment did not help your loneliness either, you tried to find comfort and treat it like a get away, but really it was unfamiliar and lacked personal touch. You didn’t even feel like a guest in someone else’s home, the space felt outside of reality, outside of your norm.

The only time things didn’t feel so odd were when you were with Taehyung. In his space he provided the consistent comfort you craved. The only problem was that the past week just so happened to be a week he was packed with gig after gig after gig. He’d been very busy with his photography and while he did his best to call you throughout the days and make sure you were simply surviving, the physical time you spent together had dwindled down significantly. Another hard pill to swallow since you’d gotten used to seeing him every day too.

Your loneliness was becoming suffocating.

Thankfully tonight some of the girls from your job made dinner plans that you were included in, which turned into an impromptu trip to a nearby karaoke bar afterwards. It was a nice break away from your usual routine to go out and spend time with friends rather than sitting inside alone on a Friday night. It was also the most you’d laughed all week.

Your plan for when you got back to the apartment complex was to go straight inside, change out of your work clothes, quickly go through your bedtime routine before your mind had a chance to start wandering through every reason you had to be sad, and go to sleep. That all becomes impossible the second you step into 705 and are welcomed by it’s freezing cold draft, it feels like you’ve just stepped back outside into the winter night.

The thermostat claims the heat is on, set to 70 degrees, but the current indoor temperature reads as 42 degrees fahrenheit.

“Jesus Christ, not me.” You groan at the ceiling, letting your bag thump to the ground before bending over to fish for your cell phone.

To: Tae [9:42 PM]

Please tell me you’re home :(

You hold the phone in your hand for a few minutes, waiting for his message to pop up on the screen but his reply is not immediate. You begin to worry because he’s typically a quick responder as long as he’s not working, and though it’s late maybe he was still at a shoot, or he also decided to go out tonight. Either way, you’d have to figure out what to do because there was no way you could sleep in this place tonight.

From: Tae [9:47 PM]

I’m here

Sorry about that I was making tea

what’s up angel?

A-Angel?

You’re not sure that he’s ever called you that before and don’t know where it’s come from and your face may be heating up at the pet name but there’s more important matters at hand.

To: Tae [9:48 PM]

Uhh hate to bother you but… I think the heaters broken

From: Tae [9:48 PM]

Nooo You’re the third person this week :(

From: Tae [9:49 PM]

I’m sorry, do you wanna sleep here?

Do you even have to ask?

---

When you arrive downstairs moments later he welcomes you in with a tight hug, as if it’s been months since he’s seen you but it’s only been three days. Regardless, the affection is much needed as you’ve been deprived of all physical forms, you feel yourself wanting to reach back out as he pulls away.

“I still have hot water, do you want me to make you some tea?”

“Hm, I’m okay, but thank you.” You were still fairly stuffed from dinner and the several virgin margaritas you enjoyed during karaoke.

Leaving your bags in the living room, you follow his path into the kitchen. Sure enough, there’s a kettle on the counter next to a small box and mug, he moves quickly to clean up the small mess and put things back into their place.

“Well since you’re here, do you want to watch a movie or anything? I think there’s a new episode of that weird sci-fi show you like.”

“First of all if you’re talking about Black Mirror, it’s not weird, but yes there’s a new interactive movie.”

He glances back to roll his eyes at you before dusting scraps into the trash bin. “You made me watch an episode where they trapped someone’s consciousness into a teddy bear… it’s a little weird.”

“There was so much to take away from that episode and that’s still all you talk about!”

When season four had first come out, you and Jungkook nearly finished it within a week, but life got in the way and you never got a chance to finish. One day you decided to just complete the season without him and enjoy the finale with Taehyung who’d never seen the show. You thought it’d be fun, thinking he’d provide insightful commentary, instead, he couldn’t get passed how cruel it was a character couldn’t express sadness beyond “Monkey needs a hug.”

“Would you rather talk about the guy who literally got off on murdering someone?”

“He-- no, please.”

He’s smiling as he walks back over to you and you can’t help but giggle because okay it is kind of weird and maybe you should��ve chosen a different episode to introduce him to but it was still really good!

“I’ll let you show me another episode, preferably one less dark.”

For whatever reason, he pulls your head against his chest to rest his own atop yours and wraps you back into his warmth. This time your heart immediately starts to race, nervous about the random affection, though your arms don’t hesitate to wrap around him either.

“It’s okay, I actually just wanna go to sleep.”

“Oh… okay...” He holds you tighter, sounding a bit disappointed.

You squeeze him back, a way of silently apologizing. You expect him to pull away then, but he doesn't, and neither do you because even with a jumping heart being like this was too comfortable. He was always so warm, and so cuddly, and his clothes always smelled like lavender. Which would confuse your brain at first when you’d get a whiff of him, the light fragrance so contrasting to that of your favorite- a warm blend of citrus notes and amber on Jungkook- but you also adored whatever floral fabric softener Taehyung used because you found it calming. In fact, you could stand here forever because the combination of all he had to offer was that relaxing. So relaxing that you can’t help but ask-

“Tae…” You release your hold so that you can step back and look at him but he doesn’t let you go, only slides his hands to the lower part of your back providing enough space for eye contact, responding with a yes? “Can I… sleep in your bed tonight?”

“I guess so? I don’t mind taking the couch.”

“No, I mean, with you.”

“Uh-” You catch the way his eyebrows almost raise with widening eyes before he can stop the reaction. You worry about the implications of your words.

“Unless it’s weird. Is that weird? I’m sorry.”

“No!” His hands abruptly fall away, swiping at the back of high thighs as he creates room between you two. “Not at all, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m- it’s just hard sleeping alone, you know?”

“Y-yeah, it’s alright.”

Not long afterwards, after you both had changed and freshened up, you found yourself sitting up in Taehyung’s bed with your back against the wall. It seems silly to you now that you’ve never slept together let alone even stepped foot in his bedroom. But before all this, things were different, and even though you’re only friends it definitely would’ve been inappropriate taking all things into consideration- Taehyung’s feelings, your relationship, maybe even your fleeting non-platonic thoughts about him.

Now, you don’t question it too much, it’s not inappropriate or weird. You’re the only one making it a little weird because you keep thinking about the fact that Taehyung still likes you, or at least you assume so, and that he could use this opportunity to make a move on you. Deep down you know he would never, he’s too respectable for that. Maybe you’d let him- ONLY because you’re vulnerable! He knows that. Which is why he shouldn’t, he’d be taking advantage of that. He won’t, but you still wonder if he will. Even as he rambles on about the earl grey tea his mom bought from Europe, a small yet very expensive Christmas present. There’s a reason why this French tea company is so special, but you wouldn’t know because see, you’re being weird.

How Jungkook would feel about all of this? What’s he up to anyway?

“Y/N? Are you listening to me?”

You’re startled by the sound of your name, but you nod furiously. “Of course, Tae. You were saying your mom and… amazing French company, great story!”

He shakes his head disapprovingly, “That’s how I know you weren’t paying attention. My mom bought the tea in France but it’s a Singaporean company!”

“Oh, see! I was close! I just missed that one little tidbit.”

He squints his eyes at you, knowing you’re telling a tale. Letting out an exaggerated sigh he rotates on his side to face you and props his elbow to rest his head in his palm. “Alright, what’s wrong? Spill the tea. No pun intended.”

“I know you’ll think I’m an idiot but I’m gonna say it. I miss Jungkook.”

“No I won’t!” He sits up fully in bed, seeing that the thoughts that plague you are deeper than he anticipated. He mirrors your image, crossing his legs before reaching to hold both your hands. “First of all you’re not an idiot and I would never think so little of you. It’s okay if you miss Jungkook, it’s expected. You don’t just forget about someone you love overnight or even within a week.”

Was that true, though?

“Why not? He did.”

Whether in the blink of an eye or months before you realized, he’d forgotten about you, forgotten what you meant to him, forgotten what you two had. Or is it that he didn’t love you anymore and that’s what made you so easy to forget?

“Didn’t I already tell you he’s a dumbass?” He grins, but you can’t find it in you to laugh, the insult doesn’t even make you feel the slightest bit better.

He sighs, rubbing his thumbs over the back of your hands. “Can I ask you something?”

You nod.

“Do you want to save your relationship?”

Your hands pull away, not because of him, but almost as if to brace yourself for the weight of reality as you press them into the bed on either side of you. You hadn’t really thought about that, your thought process never got that far. Would Jungkook even want that?

“I don’t know that it's possible. Jungkook told me he likes Lia, and if that’s true, then it’s serious. He isn’t easily swayed by pretty faces.”

Taehyung snorts, “Who said anything about her being pretty?”

Your arch a brow at him, unsure if he’s trying to insinuate something. “Well I saw her, she is pretty but… that’s just it, that's not the point. He actually needs to get to know someone if he’s gonna pursue them. I told you before how in college there were so many girls interested in him and he didn't like any of them. Not even me. Not until he knew me.”

“And now he likes her…”

“Exactly.”

“But that’s not what I asked. Put him aside for a moment and stop thinking about what he feels. What is it that you want?” He asks, pressing a finger into your knee.

What I want? That is still a lot to consider. A lot that you haven’t gone over. You’ve only focused on the current distance between the two of you, and keeping it that way until you felt strong enough to face him. You’ve only gone through past memories, you hadn’t thought of what the future held nor what you wanted it to.

“I don’t know, Tae. It sounds ridiculous but I can’t envision my life without him. The idea of going back to him feels daunting because I don’t know how to forgive him for what he did or how to trust him after this. Or even, how I could allow myself to love him. I don’t have answers but it’s like if I don’t then what? Where do I go and who do I become?”

“You don’t become anyone, if not just a better version of yourself. You don’t need him to have a complete identity.”

“That’s easy for you to say-”

“I know it’s easy for me to say,” His rebuttal is sharp, almost defensive. “No I didn’t just spend the last three years of my life with someone just for them to shit all over our history, but I’m right. You were somebody long before you even met him and you will still be somebody without him, if you choose to let him go.”

“I know that, but it’s not just easy for me to say, okay, bye Jungkook, and go on and be content with being alone.”

“You think you’d be alone?”

“Well, yes?”

It all circles back to what you first said, you can’t envision life without him. Even if you try, there’s nothing there, you, but nothing more. Maybe that should be enough, but that blank image in your mind feels empty, life would be lackluster and dull, something would always be missing.

“That’s not true.” He looks down for a moment, finding a loose string on his comforter to tug on. “You have me.”

At that, and as his eyes finds yours, the air in the room starts to thicken. The statement feels too direct. You know he means that as a reminder of his loyal friendship, you know it’s his way of saying hey I’m here, but it feels like something more.

“As long as I’m alive, you’ll always have me.”

“Hm, like forever.” Your own gaze slips away this time, unable to stop yourself from chuckling at the boundless promise of his words. An older version of you may have believed him, a version of you that believes love is timeless, the version of you with a committed boyfriend. You want to believe him because Taehyung is honest, he wouldn’t say it if he didn’t mean it. But words like this have been spoken truthfully to you before and look where it’s brought you.

“Jungkook and I are not the same.” It’s almost embarrassing how well Taehyung knows you, how spot on he is about what you’re thinking. “There was a point in time Jungkook couldn’t even see you, he didn’t see you then and he doesn’t see you now. Me?” He stops himself, you can tell by his tone that he knows he’s crossing a line again, about to walk past usual boundaries, about to say something he couldn’t have said before today, but he says it anyway. “The way I’ve felt about you has never changed. Every day I still feel what I felt the day I first met you… Even when you’ve confused me, even when you’ve cursed me, even when you’ve pushed me away, even when you defined the line in the sand and made it clear we could never be more than friends, even when you don’t see me… I feel it. So yes, like forever.”

You’re too afraid to look at him because you think you might crack the way you once had months ago, when a flood of emotion for him overtook you, when you considered giving into him.

“And I’m not asking you to- I’m not saying anything other than I’ve come with you this far and… whatever you do, nothing's gonna change.”

You have no words for him, nothing coherent, at least for now. You nearly throw yourself at him, sprouting up from your position on the left side of the bed to wrap your arms around his neck. He reacts quickly, thankfully, because as he falls sideways onto the mattress with a huff you realize you could’ve sent him tumbling backwards to the floor which would’ve been bad for the both of you.

You feel the soft laughter rumble beneath his chest as he tightens his hold around you, “Thank you?”

You’re overwhelmed with both gratitude and frustration, so much so that you think you could cry. How did you get so damn lucky to have this man in your life? It wasn’t fair. Logically, and karmically, it was not fair. Even as he said and listed reasons he’s had to pull back, to change his mind, to drop you, he hasn’t. He genuinely loves and supports you unconditionally and you don’t know how the hell that happened or why but there’s one thing you are certain of.

You are more than lucky, you are blessed to have Taehyung. And you hope that this friendship is eternal because you can’t imagine having to lose him too.

----

“Do you remember the first time we ate here?”

“Of course I do.”

You’d spent the first half of your Saturday lounging in bed, or rather Taehyung’s bed, all by yourself because he’d had an early morning shoot for… something you don’t remember because you were half asleep when he’d said. You’d stayed that way for a while, grumpily, because you were starving and too lazy to go out and eat and too stubborn to order delivery. By lunch time when your hunger hit peak aggravation you sent him a very aggressive text message in all caps to PLEASE BUY SOME FUCKING GROCERIES YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE BREAD. He promptly responded with a slew of laughing emojis, then letting you know he was already ten minutes away and to meet him downstairs.

He’d taken you the short walk to the taco truck around the corner, the very first place you hung out, a very telling choice after what he said last night.

“You never did thank me for showing you the best taco place in town.” He flicks at his bangs dramatically, turning a shoulder to you in faux offense.

“That’s because it’s not. I mean, it’s good but my favorite is this restaurant up north.”

“Why have you never taken me then?”

“They closed down last summer.”

“Must not have been too good.” He looks at you pointedly, flicking at his silky strands once more. You raise a fist, pretending like you might hit him, though you’re laughing at his obnoxiousness.

“I promise, you would’ve loved it.”

Just then, a lady pokes her head out from the wide window, calling your name for your order. Taehyung is first to run over and grab the small bag, though you take it back from him, offering to carry it on the walk back.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What was your first impression of me?”

“Oh…” His question comes as a surprise, but you don’t think much of it, reflecting back to the day last spring. The very first time you met. “I thought you were very polite.”

“What about the first time we ate back there?”

“Well,” That question takes a little bit more digging. You have to remember the things you talked about that night, how you felt, how he seemed. “You seemed so… so… normal. Like, before that, I guess I kind of put you on a pedestal, I don’t know. You just seemed so composed and confident and like you had everything together but then we talked and you opened up to me and it was like ah, we’re not so different. It was refreshing.”

You look over to him and smile, he smiles, but he keeps his gaze towards to concrete as you continue up the block.

“Why do you ask? What was your first impression of me?”

“That you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.”

You instantly stop in your tracks, it takes him a second to register but when he does the balls of his feet scratch against the gravel as he turns around.

“Stop it.” You say, squinting your eyes suspiciously at him because why is he trying to flirt and joke around right now it’s making me blush! “Tell me.”

“That’s it?” Even his eyes frown at you, confused why you won’t accept his answer.

You roll your eyes and push past him, taking a right at the corner as you continued ahead. His legs are long so it doesn’t take anything of him to catch up, and he asks why you don’t believe him.

“I thought you were attractive but I gave you a better answer than that.”

“Wait-” He takes a few skips to jump in front of you, forcing you to come to another stop as he blocks the way. “You thought I was attractive?”

“What? I said you were handsome.”

“No, you said attractive.” He says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Oh my God, did I?

“I- it doesn’t matter, it’s basically the same thing.”

You step right, he steps left, you step left, he steps right, refusing to let you go around while he dons a ridiculous smirk that you try really hard not to look at.

“What!”

“Don’t you wanna know my first impression?”

“...yes.”

“Don’t judge me.” He points a finger at you, waiting on your nod before he continues, tucking his hand back into his coat pocket. “When we were standing in the elevator together, my heart was beating so fast because I was so nervous, but I thought you were mean! You kept giving me short answers and you glared at me when I was just trying to be helpful!”

“Come on, you asked me where I lived, give me a break.”

He giggles, “I was just nervous and talking out of order. But then you relaxed after I told you who I was, and you even laughed at something I said and…”

“And…?”

“I felt really warm. My heart, my insides,” One hand moves from the left side of his chest then down to his abdomen. You can see that he hesitates, biting on the corner of his lip nervously, but he looks back to you and sees the harsh expression on your face. “It’s stupid.” He forces a laugh and continues to walk home. You’re only about 10 yards away, the front entrance is visible not far beyond him.

He’s misread your reaction, misunderstood your furrowed expression. You weren’t frowning at him because of judgement or because you thought it was stupid, you were frowning out of pure confusion because he’d described the same feeling he’s given to you.

And it was so simple, such a simple feeling, a simple word. But, warm, yes, you understood. You felt it too that very first day, you felt it the first time you hung out. You feel it when he looks at you, when he talks, when he hugs you, just being next to him in itself was like sitting by a fire. You were never sure what it was or what it meant, you never looked too much into it, but if the sentiment was mutual shouldn’t you tell him you feel it too?

You run ahead to catch up, he’s still standing outside the door, presumably waiting for you to go inside.

Taehyung had said before that you always know what to say, but you disagree. Maybe when it comes to uplifting others kind words come naturally, but you aren’t good with words themself, at least not when it comes to sharing and expressing your emotions.

That is precisely why you cup his face into your hands as he turns to you, unbothered by the tacos that get smushed somewhere between your arm and his chest, raising onto the balls of your feet and pulling him down the distance you couldn’t close to press your lips into his.

You’re not entirely sure why you’re kissing Taehyung, or rather you can’t explain why. It’s impulsive but it feels right as that familiar feeling overtakes your entire chest, replacing the vacant ache you’d grown accustomed to over the last week and a half and overwhelming you with so much desire for more. And at first, he gives in to you. His gentle hands find your hips, head turning as his mouth opens in sync with yours to deepen the kiss.

In that moment you place words on the purpose. Kissing him said way more than your grateful hugs ever could, and that was all you’d done before. But this wasn’t even about saying thank you, this was about admitting that maybe you felt the exact same way. This was easier than facing the fact that there really was no reason to keep suppressing your emotions. But then he abruptly pulls away, eyes wide as he sounds frightened when he says your name.

Your heart sinks because he’s looking at you like you’ve just done something you should not have done. Heat creeps up over your ears, this time because you’re actually uncomfortable, completely embarrassed because maybe you just made a mistake.

Your open your mouth to say something but nothing comes out, stuck on shock, you don’t know how to even begin saying sorry.

“Jungkook is inside.”

Wait… what?

If you couldn’t speak before, you definitely couldn’t now as all the air escapes your lungs, frozen and unable to breathe. You want to believe that you heard him wrong, or that he didn’t even say Jungkook’s name. But you’re too terrified to even look and confirm. You still aren’t ready, you don’t know what feelings will come up just by seeing him. Worst of all, you don’t know if Jungkook just watched you kiss Taehyung and you cringe at the thought.

You look right, and sure enough, on the other side of the clear glass Jungkook stands there just feet away looking right at you. The way your heart picks up speed is almost painful, you can tell by the disgruntled look on his face he’s seen everything.

TBC

#taehyung scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #taehyung x reader #bts imagines #bts fanfic

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