#good riddance i’d say

[mazzy-rockstar]

Everytime i post about Palestine I lose followers.

[batnbreakfast]

And Matt Lucas has stepped down as GBBO host. *throws confetti*

This brightens my day!

[vexalia]

i have not listened to this week’s episode yet but i’m gonna go on the record right now and say i don’t care what all was going on while carpenter and hayward were having a good time they deserve it and whatever travesty was happening was worth it.

[kavehater]

Oh so I’m not blocked by her ? Huh

[milfzatannaz]

Carolyn Bryant died today. I thought I’d feel vindicated or at least be able to say “good riddance”. But I can’t. She died at 88 after living a long, full life. She got to pass away quietly.

Emmett did not.

Carolyn Bryant died without ever admitting any guilt. She never saw what she did as anything worth apologizing for. And it hurts. She got to pass away while the legacy of her actions lives on.

She outlived Mamie Till by decades.

[katakaluptastrophy]

Can we talk about Magnus in Harrow the Ninth? Because there's a tendency to paint him as this constantly cheerful figure and he's not - he's just very Fifth.

He's the only person who seems even slightly upset about the whole gun-toting horror thing:

“Did the Sleeper get them?”

“Only by assumption,” said Harrowhark, while Abigail’s dolt of a husband said, “I bloody hope so.”

“Magnus,” Abigail said, a touch disapprovingly.

“Well, if the Sleeper didn’t, that’s two maniacs with an ancient weapon and a love of blowing off faces, dear,” said Magnus.

And he's got a very low opinion of Silas:

"She won’t tell me what he said to her, just that he ‘was horrid.’”

“Cheeky little so-and-so,” said Magnus. “If he were my son, I’d give him something to think about. I’m not surprised he’s gone to ground.”

“I would hope your son might be of different character,” said his wife, half-smiling.

“Protesilaus should have biffed him.”

“It’s strange,” said Abigail, ignoring her husband’s exhortations to biffing.

Behind the jolly Jeeves and Wooster-esque talk of biffing people, let's remember that this is Magnus - who from Gideon's POV never saw a teenager he didn't want to adopt - earnestly wishing that a grown man had hit a 16 year old kid.

And when Harrow explains that she thinks she saw him jump to his death, Magnus isn't particularly sympathetic:

“We should have made him a greater priority,” said Lady Pent.

Magnus said, “I’m not certain.”

and

“We didn’t need him,” he said bracingly.

Abigail said, “We need everyone.”

“I never thought he was quite the thing.”

This "never quite the thing" line is the same one Abigail uses when she says Ianthe shouldn't have become a Lyctor and you get the sense it has a quite specific meaning on the Fifth. You get the distinct feeling Magnus is saying "good riddance" in response to a teenager's apparent suicide.

And then of course there's Magnus' conversation with Harrow as the River bubble collapses, as Harrow debates whether she should leave her body to Gideon:

She said: “If I go back, it will finally destroy her soul.”

It was Magnus who stepped forward and looked at Harrow face-to-face. And perhaps she felt that more keenly: that he was the man who had, in Gideon’s own words a lifetime ago, been nice to her cavalier. His mouth was hard now, but his eyes were as kind as they had ever been. And kindness was a knife.

He doesn't pull any punches in laying out his understanding of the situation to Harrow:

“This whole thing happened because you wouldn’t face up to Gideon dying,” he said, which was a stab as precise as any Nonius had managed. “I don’t blame you. But where would you be, right now, if you’d said: She is dead? You’re keeping her things like a lover keeping old notes, but with her death, the stuff that made her Gideon was destroyed. That’s how Lyctorhood works, isn’t it? She died. She can’t come back, even if you keep her stuffed away in a drawer you can’t look at. You’re not waiting for her resurrection; you’ve made yourself her mausoleum.”

His wife looked at Harrow’s face and murmured, “Magnus, you’ve made your point,” but he uncharacteristically ignored her.

He's trying to get through to her in a very fraught situation, but he's certainly not pulling his punches:

“You’re a smart girl, Harrowhark. You might turn some of that brain to the toughest lesson: that of grief.”

Abigail is also trying to talk her out of things, but she's much more discursive and apologetic. Magnus is kind, but it's kindness as a knife, not a cushion.

Magnus is so often written off as just a silly, goofy character, when he's more complicated than that. He's allowed to have a very real frustration with the River bubble and with Harrow, however much he does also care for her and want to help her.

And you know what, he's a CFO stuck in a horrorscape with his delighted ghost nerd wife and a bunch of soldiers. He runs with it - he cracks one of his House ordinal jokes while physically tackling a gun-toting ghost and makes a decent go at it before getting shot. But he's very much out of his comfort zone, angry, and no longer entirely held back by propriety.

[soundlessdreamss]

Lovely Riddance p2

link to part one here

the first post got a lot of attention so I finally decided to work on the second part. Lol.

Also I am sick rn so I’m trying to do all my requests, but they are still open if you’d like to request something!

Y!Alastor x reader x Y!Lucifer

If you ask me why I put the seal there, I honestly don’t know.

After you and Alastor had left the hotel he teleported the both of you to the hotel. It kinda scared you since you forgot he could teleport for a moment. He already made a reservation so it wasn’t that long of a wait. (The hostess was afraid of Alastor though since he has quite a reputation)

A waiter quickly brought the menu and gave you guys a couple minutes to find out what you’d like to order. When Alastor already picked his order you were still wondering what to order, so he looked around and he couldn’t help but notice at the corner of his eye, that someone was watching the both of you. He didn’t know who was stalking the both of you but he had a suspicion it was Lucifer.

Lucifer didn’t think that Alastor didn’t notice how he treated you when Lucifer first visited. He saw how Lucifer looked at you, how he spoke to you, and his aura around you.

So if Lucifer really was the one who is stalking the both of you right now, Alastor had to play his cards just right in order to manipulate you, and piss off Lucifer.

Once you finally picked what you wanted to order, Alastor called over the waiter and placed in both of your orders. During the time you both were waiting for your food you couldn’t help but realize how touchy and romantic he became.

He started brushing his hand on yours, pointing out your lovely features, what good taste you have in fashion, basically anything that would help him woo you.

Lucifer watching from a window was enraged, how did Alastor think he could just do that to you? He understands that you two haven’t met in a long time but you didn’t forget the bond you too had, did you?

He protected during your time in hell because he knew you were already there, and he couldn’t have you getting hurt now could he? (He was basically stalking you the entire time you were in hell.)

Seeing how Alastor treated you made him want to kill Alastor on the spot, but he worried that if he did you would see him as a monster. So he just had to wait a bit to cover up Alastor’s death as a disappearance. It would make sense anyways, since Alastor had left for 7 years prior.

Alastor was trying different ways to woo you, and it was working. You felt your face heat up a bit during times where he brushed his hand on yours, pulled away some hair strands from your hair, and when he gave you tons of compliments.

He kept doing this until both of your orders came and you guys took a small break to eat what you ordered.

Once you guys finished you meals he paid for it and then took you somewhere that he said was “special”. (Lucifer followed behind you guys without you knowing)

He took you somewhere beautiful and led to you a bench to sit down with him and admire the scene. His plan was working. Now the last thing he needed to do was to propose his deal to you.

“My dear, [y/n] you should probably know how I feel about you by now. Especially after all those hints I gave you. So may I ask you of a favor?”

That was very unexpected for you to hear from Alastor, but it “made your heart race. “What favor would you like to ask from me?”

“I would like to propose a deal for you dear. Yes I’d own your soul, but in a way you’d technically own mine as well. What I’m saying is that we’d both be at each others beck and call.” He then offered his hand to you. “So do we have a deal?”

This was a deal that was hard to resist, the idea of it made your heart sink but also squeal with joy. Did that mean he like wanted to be yours officially?

You found yourself almost about to shake his hand to confirm the deal, but before you could someone interrupted.

“DON’T SHAKE HIS FUCKING HAND!”

….

PART THREE COMING SOON.

TAGLIST: @slimeygirlowo @pooplyface1423 @fabii275 @killer-nightmare0 @caniseethefourthsword @myluckymoon

[cookinguptales]

Can I ask you to do a post about Disney & disability please? You mentioned it and I’d love to know more!

Well, my notifications can't get any messier, so why not?

This post got very, very long because I ended up talking about a lot of the accessibility solutions in detail (and... ranting about how accessibility at Universal was so bad that I got physically injured there) so I'm putting it under a cut for you.

To preface this, I have mobility issues (as well as a lot of food intolerances/allergies) and general chronic illness, my sister is Deaf, and I have friends who regularly attend the park with autistic family members with high support needs. These are the disabilities I have experience with, so while I've heard a bit about others (such as portable descriptive devices for visitors with visual impairments) I can't speak as much about those accommodations.

I have also traveled quite a bit, mostly as a disabled adult. I can work from anywhere and my family enjoys traveling, so I've been very lucky in this regard. I also used to live in central Florida, not too far from Disney, and benefited from their FL resident rates.

So I'm coming at this from a person who has a lot of experience traveling while disabled and a fair amount of experience going to WDW, though I haven't been nearly as often since I moved out of Florida.

(Good fucking riddance.)

So know that I am speaking from experience when I say I have never, without exception, been to a single place half as accessible as Walt Disney World. It is literally the reason my family would go there; it was one of the only places we could all safely go together. One of the only places I've been on earth that even approached their level of thoughtful accommodations is Barcelona, which apparently did significant renovations throughout the city in order to prepare for the 1992 Paralympics.

(Hey, if anyone is reading this from Barcelona: I teared up the first time I used one of your curb cuts in my wheelchair, just so you know.)

Going through those parks in a wheelchair is a breeze, though you will probably have to fight a lot of clueless parents with strollers who are hellbent on using resources intended for wheelchair-users and then glaring at you when you try to use them yourself. Level ground, spacious sidewalks, accessible transportation, well-kept gradual ramps, roomy buildings, lots of accessible restrooms, alternate entrances at many rides for wheelchair users, special wheelchair rows in movie theaters that we're loaded into first, accessible queues in most rides designed or renovated in the last fifteen years, special viewing areas for shows/parades/fireworks so you don't end up staring at able-bodied butts for a half hour...

Like, structurally-speaking, the parks are very easy to get around in if you're a wheelchair user. That was built in and you can see a lot of very mindful design choices. As far as the rides go, most of their rides actually have special cars that you can load into while still in a wheelchair. They're pretty neat. I can transfer, but that means often leaving my wheelchair and/or cane with a cast member during the ride. They are always, without fail, waiting for me on the other side of the ride, no matter how far the exit is from the entrance. I have never once had a problem with this. A cast member will be there to put my assistive devices in my hand before I even have to think about getting up. Guaranteed.

Wheelchair users always used to be able to skip the line, but there was unfortunately a problem with able-bodied people pretending to be disabled to skip lines (because god forbid they not have access to a single thing we have to make our lives livable) so now there's a system where if you cannot wait in a line, they'll basically give you a special time to come back that's equivalent to the length of the line. Which feels fair to me as someone who often cannot be in even an accessible line for extended periods. (I have problems with sunlight, heat, and often need emergency food or restroom.)

More important than all this, though, is the fact that cast members are impeccably well-trained in all of this. Any disabled person can tell you that the most accessible design on earth isn't worth shit if the people working there aren't well-trained. (More on this later, when I take a giant shit on Universal Studios.) But Disney trains their employees, many of whom are disabled themselves, incredibly well.

Every employee will know where the accessible entrances are. Every employee will know the procedure for getting a return time. Every employee will know about first-aid centers, and every employee will know where the quiet areas are for people with sensory issues. Every time you make a reservation for a meal, hotel room, transportation, etc. they will ask for all accessibility needs and they'll be ready for you.

Every waiter you have will be incredibly careful and knowledgeable when it comes to special dietary needs, and chefs will often come out to discuss them with you. They often have specific menus for different dietary needs, and they are scrupulous when it comes to allergens. I have a few intolerances that suck and allergies that could kill me and I have always felt very safe in their hands. This ranges from fancy sit-down restaurants to quick service burger places.

And -- honestly, I have just always been treated with respect. I know that sounds like a low bar, but most people do fail to clear it. Disney has their employees very well-trained on how to interact with disabled guests. People speak directly to me, never to the able-bodied people over my head. They never treat me like I'm a child. They never ask invasive questions or make uncomfortable jokes. They never, ever get impatient with my accessibility needs.

The few times I have misjudged things and have injured myself or gotten extremely ill, they were professional and caring as they provided much-needed first-aid. It's kind of embarrassing to be doted on by a costumed character while you wait for a doctor to come help you sit up again, but also kind of endearing, I'll admit.

They also, in addition to captioning all videos in the park, have some of the best sign language interpreters in the world, bar none. They're very personal and professional, they're easy to reserve, they will always be in a visible place during shows, and they're incredible performers as well as being very technically proficient. In addition to the professional interpreters, many cast members, performers, and characters can sign as well.

In addition to that, and this brings me to my next point, you'll meet a lot of disabled employees throughout the park. In front-facing positions. Deaf employees, employees using mobility aids, etc. They're well-known to hire disabled people and treat them well. This is. Fuck, this is incredibly rare, I say as someone who was never able to find a job in Florida with my health conditions. It's the moral thing to do to hire disabled people, but also -- selfishly, there's something so heartening and normalizing about seeing people who look like you working at the park. I'm happy every single time.

I have a little less personal experience when it comes to accessibility for neurodivergence, despite being neurodivergent myself, but I've been told that Disney is very, very accommodating for people on the spectrum. A lot is done to lessen crowding, waiting, sensory overload, etc. for autistic guests. Cast members are usually super good at this; finding designated quiet areas, helping autistic guests avoid more crowded areas, keeping them out of long lines, making sure they have access to any particular experiences that are special to them, etc.

For folks who need help from their group, whether that's an autistic child who needs to be with a parent or a disabled adult who needs someone to push their wheelchair or anything else, Disney has a rider switch-off model. In other words, if you're there with both of your able-bodied parents, for example, and you need one of them to be with you at all times and you don't want to be on the ride yourself, Disney will allow one person to go on the ride while the other waits for them to finish, then will allow the second person to go on without any additional wait. This makes sure that everyone in the family gets equal access without leaving disabled people alone. (Which... can be a very shitty feeling, I assure you.)

I know that Disney has also pioneered a lot of assistive technology. The accessible rides, obviously, which can be ridiculously cool (like Toy Story Midway Mania has an accessible car with alternative "guns" for people with dexterity limitations so they can play the carnival games as well) but also handheld assistive devices for visually impaired guests, etc. Like they are literally inventing new forms of accessibility technology, which is so cool.

And honestly, I'm always learning about new ways they assist disabled guests. I've stayed in Disney's accessible hotel rooms before (they're very nice!) but I don't like to swim so I've never been in the pools. But even just this week, someone told me that Disney has pool lifts for disabled guests, which I had never even considered. That's so cool.

The best part about accessibility at Disney is that in some ways it's very casual. A lot of their design decisions are so intuitive that you never even notice how accessible the parks are until you go somewhere where that's... not the case.

Like -- just so you don't assume that any of these things are industry standard, let me tell you about the two times I went to Universal, a park very close to Disney. I went there once for an event and once with my family.

The first time I went was for an event at the opening of the Harry Potter park. (This was before JKR made her most appalling views public, to be clear.) It... was frustrating. Guests asked if there would be food and drink available for people with special dietary restrictions (such as sugar-free butterbeer) and were pretty much told that no, that was not something they were interested in pursuing. It became very obvious very quickly that the park itself was so narrow that it only barely fulfilled ADA standards -- when empty. We were told that JKR had actually specifically insisted that it feel "cramped". Which is a nice way to say that I couldn't actually get around in any of the stores while people were in them.

It was overall a frustrating experience, but it was like. One night. I figured it was probably a fluke and they were still ironing out all the details. So I ended up going back with my parents later.

Y'all, it was a shit show.

Broken elevators that prevented disabled guests from accessing rides. Performers being up on raised platforms/sidewalks so disabled guests couldn't get to them. Sidewalks being made inaccessible by putting movable signs directly in the middle of them. Stores (even outside of the HP part) that were so damn narrow that I actually ended up getting hurt trying to navigate one of them. And no -- it was not easy to get first aid.

And my god, was the training bad. We went to one of the new HP rides, asked if there was a specific entrance for disabled guests. We were told no. We waited for a very long time in a line that honestly I shouldn't have been waiting in, but I wanted to be a good sport. I was pretty sick by the time we got through it, and the line itself had some very dangerous inclines/turns for wheelchair users. We get to the front of the line -- and the employee asks why we didn't just use the accessible entrance. 🙃

(Side note: several of their rides are also just unrideable if you don't fit within a pretty narrow body type of thin and able-bodied, so... there's that.)

We'd asked repeatedly and gotten incorrect answers, and I'd been put in physical danger as a result. Wild. I started to notice that if you asked different employees, you'd get different answers about almost anything, really. Just exceptionally poor training. Even stuff that should've been a no-brainer, like loading wheelchair users into a stationary movie theater, ended up creating chaos when they did it incorrectly and we had a giant wheelchair pileup.

Like -- let me stress to you that many of the things that happened could have caused actual injury to people. Some of these situations were dangerous. And some of them were just alienating, like when I'd have to wait outside a store while my family could go in.

I never went back after that. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ We just kept going to Disney.

One thing that'll probably show how good Disney is at accessibility is the whole Make-A-Wish thing. A lot of people know that it's a popular Make-A-Wish request, and you're likely to see at least a couple kids with Make-A-Wish buttons during your visit if you keep an eye out. One reason for this, is that, y'know, Disney World is fun. Kids want to go there. But more important, I think, is that Disney can accommodate people with at-times severe medical needs. Those kids can safely go anywhere and do anything in those parks that able-bodied kids can, and that's important.

All in all, the parks are just so accessible and you will never, ever be made to feel like you're lesser for needing those accommodations. You will be treated so well and you will not have to worry about accessibility because the cast members are always doing it for you. They'll usher you into the correct entrance as soon as they see a mobility device, and they'll do it with a very warm welcome. It's one of the very few places on earth where I have never felt like a burden.

Again, y'know, I know that Disney does not have a perfect track record on a lot of issues. I would never defend them from rightfully earned criticism. I strongly support labor action against them, and I do think they should be criticized whenever they fuck up. I have been uncomfortable with the sheer amount of power they have both in Florida and in the entertainment world just because no one should have that much power. But I am far more uncomfortable with that power being stripped away for blatantly discriminatory political reasons.

I do have some loyalty to Disney just because there is no other place on earth where I've been able to safely have fun with my friends with so little agony. That's... I mean, it's important, really. To be able to just exist in public without getting grief for it. And I have some loyalty to them because they were a safe space for me as a young, queer kid who was not safe being out in other areas of my life.

(Like, I am talking about actual literal safety. I kept seeing notes on my post saying that Disney didn't care about creating a "safe space for queer people" but as someone who lived in Florida for the entirety of my teenage years? It was the safest goddamn place there.)

I do not have enough loyalty to defend them when they do immoral bullshit, but I do have enough to make sure that people know the good that they do as well.

I want other businesses to follow Disney's model for disability. I will praise them forever for what they've done in that regard because if I don't, there's no reason for other companies to follow suit. I want to praise them for the good things they've done so they have incentive to keep doing it, and other companies have an incentive to do it as well.

Like bro, I just wanna be able to move around and be treated with some dignity, y'know? My bar is so low. lmao

But yeah. That's why you always see so many disabled guests at Disney. It's literally the only place some of us can go to have fun.

[tortillamastersblog]

𖣂 Not My Commander - Prologue | Lexa kom Trikru 𖣂

Pairing: Lexa kom Trukru x reader

Warnings: Blood, violence, injuries, cursing and some steamy scenes

Summary: Sending a hundred underaged prisoners down to Earth to find out if it’s inhabitable again is undoubtedly immoral, so The Council decides to send you down first, rather than float you for your crimes.

If you survive for more than a couple of hours, they can ���in good conscience— send down the 100. If you don’t, well, then good riddance.

Next Part | Masterlist

________________________________________________

How the hell did I get here? I think, as I’m being dragged through the woods half-conscious.

A moment ago I was still in my pod, hurtling through space and now I’m here with a giant gash on my temple from when my head slammed against the control panel upon impact on the ground.

I thought I could take a moment and gather my thoughts once the pod had turned off, but no. The door had been yanked open a couple hours later and I was pulled out by the people who are now dragging me to who knows where.

They’re covered in thick furs and menacing-looking war paint and apart from the short-lived surprise I felt at seeing humans somehow inhabiting Earth, I’m shaking like a leaf now, not knowing what they’re going to do to me.

For all I know they could eat me? I mean, have you seen them?

I scoff internally, watching the forest floor pass by beneath me.

I knew as soon as I was arrested on the Ark that I’d die for my crime of finding out something I shouldn’t have, but I never imagined it would happen like this.

Now that I think about it, this isn’t “mercy”, as Jaha put it. Not at all. . . It’s cruel and I honestly would have rather been floated than be grilled and eaten like a shish kebab.

I don’t know how much time has passed when we finally stop near a stream, but I’m tired beyond belief and my legs are covered in scratches and bruises from being dragged around all day. The sun is about to set, bathing the forest in orange light and if it weren’t for my current situation I would have marveled at the sight.

The Grounders, as I’ve decided to call them, tie up my hands and feet and shove me against the bottom of a tree before setting up a fire and some sleep furs.

I watch longingly as they begin passing around some bread and dry meat, but they don’t even think of sharing with me as they settle down, talking in a foreign language around the fire.

My lips are chapped and my mouth is dry and even though I know they won’t share their food, I’m hoping they’ll share some of their water.

“Excuse me?” I speak up, my voice cracking. “Hello!”

They don’t acknowledge me. They don’t even spare me a glance.

Assholes.

I let myself fall sideways and wiggle toward the stream as best as I can with my hands and feet bound.

My clothes get all dirty and a couple of branches scratch up my face, but I keep pushing until I finally reach the water.

I take a big gulp, shivering at how cold it is before taking another sip, and another, and another.

I drink until I almost feel sick, not having had anything all day. Then, out of nowhere I’m yanked backward.

I look over my shoulder at the Grounder who’s got ahold of my sweatshirt and glare at him. “Hey! What’s your problem? It’s not like I was going to escape! How could I. . .” I whisper that last part dejectedly, but the grounder only grunts and throws me back against the tree.

It makes my back sting and I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent a curse from slipping off my tongue as the grounder gets another rope, wrapping it around my middle and around the tree to keep me kn place.

“What do you even want from me?” I ask, tugging against on restraints.

No reply.

“Where are you taking me?”

Again, nothing.

The Grounder makes sure all my bindings are secure before rejoining the others around the fire.

As frustrating as it is not to get any answers, I’m starting to think that they might not understand what I’m saying. After all, they haven’t spoken anything other than their own language and whenever I ask them something, they just ignore me.

I lean my head back against the tree and close my eyes, trying my best to ignore my aching body.

It’s been a very long day and I feel myself falling asleep to the sound of the Grounders’ chatter and the crackling of the fire.

What is this place? I look around with wide eyes taking in my surroundings.

We’re in a bustling city which has a huge tower right in the middle of it.

The tower looks like a remnant of the old world, falling apart but still intact, while the buildings around it seem to be fairly new. They’re small and look primitive being made out of wood and metal scraps, but they’re sturdy nonetheless and function as a multitude of things. I’m pretty sure we’ve already passed a forgery, a food stand, a butcher shop and a couple of stalls that sell clothes.

Impressive. . .

After a restless night of sleep, the Grounder that tied me to the tree cut me loose at dawn and pulled me to my feet. Then, they wordlessly dragged me through the woods again until we got here.

We’re pushing through the crowd of people gathered in the streets who eye us curiously, and if the direction we’re going in is anything to go by, I’m guessing we’re headed for the tower.

Why? I don’t know, but it seems like they don’t want to kill me just yet. Otherwise they would have done it the moment they found me.

Unlike yesterday, the sky today is covered by low, dark clouds. The wind has also picked up, carrying a metallic smell with it which I’m thinking might be the smell I’ve read about in books that’s associated with rain.

I’ve always wanted to know what rain is like, what it looks and sounds like, and what it feels like on the skin, but now I’ll probably be dead before any of that happens.

What if they throw me off the tower in some sort of ritualistic sacrifice?

My heart drops at the thought, but I’m too hungry and weak to dig my heels into the ground to stop our advancing.

I haven’t had anything to eat since being hauled out of my cell on the Ark, and the only thing I’ve had to drink was the water I managed to sip from the stream last night before being so rudely interrupted.

We enter the tower, the Grounders holding me nodding at the guards stationed next to the doors, and my eyes widen at the sight of the seemingly working elevator we get on.

We descended, the elevator creaking as it moves slowly before the doors open once again, revealing a dimly lit hallway.

Metal cell doors line each side and before I can protest I’m shoved into one of the cells.

The dirt-covered ground is cold and unrelenting as my knees collide with it and I wince in pain, curling up in one of the corners as the door gets slammed shut.

Great, from one cell to the next.

The Grounders leave, chatting animatedly and I drop my eyes to the metal bracelet on my wrist.

It transmits my vital signs to the Ark and because I’ve been down here for more than a day now I’m sure it has already proven that the Earth is survivable which means the 100 will be prepared to be sent down here as well.

I don’t know how long it will take for them to get here though. A day maybe? Or a week? A month? Several months?

I just don’t know, all I know is that I’m on my own and no one is coming to help me.

There’s no window in the cell, the only light streaming in through the spaces between the metal bars of the door is from the flickering torch in the hallway.

I sigh, shivering slightly, and close my eyes. My legs are pulled up to my chest and I protectively wrap my arms around them, pulling them even closer to my body.

No one is coming to help. . . I’m going to die here.

I must have fallen asleep because I wake up an unknown amount of time later with a start when I’m roughly pulled to my feet by the same Grounder who dragged me through the forest.

“Get up,” he growls and the fact that he speaks English after all stuns me so much that he has to shove me to get us moving.

“Where are we going?” I ask weakly. I’m lightheaded from not eating in so long and my tongue feels like sandpaper.

The Grounder grunts and wraps his hand around my upper arm, his grip so harsh I’m sure it will leave a bruise.

“Hey! I asked you some—“

I cringe when the back of his monstrous hand harshly collides with my cheek, sending a sting through the entire right side of my face.

“The Commander is ready to see you now,” he snarls. He pulls me into the elevator with him and I raise my hand to my throbbing cheek, closing my eyes to will the tears that are threatening to spill away.

Who the hell is The Commander?! And why does he want to see me? Why didn’t they just kill me when they found me. . .

________________________________________________

This is just the beginning of the story, people!!

[metalomagnetic]

WIP Snip Monday

let's pretend it's Monday, and not Wednesday.

Thank you so much for the tag @mundrakan

Here is a snippet from "It runs" (This chapter is so stubborn! I promise I am working hard on it, but it's complicated and real life is Hell, so please, bear with me).

----

“Come back to me, yes, there you go. Breathe," his mother's voice soothes him, drags him back to reality. "Everything will be alright.”

“I-”

Sirius doesn’t understand what happened to him, how seamlessly his mind slipped away, one moment in his home, the next in Azkaban, and now his mother is there, and he's confused-

“It’s alright. I’m here. I know I wasn’t always, but I am here. My Sirius, my brightest star. You’re home, you’re safe. Your brother is safe. That monster is dead. No one will ever hurt you again. I won’t allow it, yes? Breathe.”

He rests his head on her shoulder, tries to breathe normally. He shivers, cold and miserable, but one of her frail arms wraps around his back, draws him closer.

“You will heal,” she tells him. “You will have the best Healers in the world, the best potions, and you will heal. You weren’t there that long, the damage is reversible still, I asked, I asked many experts. You will heal from this.” It sounds like an order.

Sirius always disobeyed her, even if he didn't want to, didn't set out to hurt her. He always ended up disappointing her. He doesn't want to do it again, but that word- 'heal'- it sounds foreign, impossible. It sounds like she's setting him up for failure again, because how can Sirius accomplish it?

“And what potions will heal me from finding my best friend dead? From knowing I had a part in his death?” he whispers, terrified that he has to live with that, forever. That he'll have to find a way to accept it.

How can he? How? It's impossible.

“His son will heal you,” she says, determined, her fingers combing through his hair. “Little by little. You’ll see. You’ll have a piece of him with you. The best piece. Trust me when I say, our children are the best parts of us. What survived of Potter, is the purest part of him, the brightest. And you’ll raise him, do right by him, won’t you? That boy needs you stable, needs your love and care, and he’ll love you back, as only children can love.”

Harry. Yes. That’s true. Sirius will see him soon, will hold him. Tomorrow.

“He killed Voldemort,” Sirius whispers, finally voicing it. It doesn't sound real. “Harry.”

His mother snorts, but she keeps her fingers so gentle in his hair. It makes Sirius remember he once felt safe in her arms. Long ago. So very long ago.

He was sick with dragonpox, so sick, and scared, but she never moved from his bed. She stayed with him, wiped his brow with cold cloths, sang to him, held water to his lips. She hugged him when he shivered.

“Mama, will I die?” he asked, because he’d never felt as sick in his life, and he leaned people can die from feeling sick.

“My brightest star, how do you think I’d let you die? Who would dare take you from my arms? Death? I’d destroy it if it even glances your way.”

Sirius looks into her fierce eyes, and for a moment he thinks his mother is just as strong as his father, perhaps even more, because she seems capable of anything, of scaring death away.

“I may not be the most learned woman in the word, I didn’t go to any Institute, but I have lived for some dozens of years now, Sirius, and I have traveled far and wide, read many books, met many people, heard many things. A baby cannot kill a grown wizard."

Sirius knows. He does. And yet-

“He died," he says, and he shivers savagely. His mother's arm clings harder to him. "I found him there. Dead. In front of Harry’s crib.”

He sees it, all over again. Voldemort's body, his empty eyes, the wand between his fingers.

No, no, no. Stop. Sirius can't, he can't think of it. He bites his tongue, hard, he leans even more into his mother, inhales, and her perfume brings him back from the memory.

“Good riddance," she spits, venomous.

All over Britain, people celebrated Voldemort's death, Sirius knows. 'Good riddance'.

'The monster is gone'.

'Let him rot.'

It's fair, Sirius knows it's fair, that Voldemort caused so much pain, to everyone, his enemies or allies alike.

But it hurts. It hurts so much. He was always alone, that beautiful boy from the picture, the angelic child Sirius imagines, in some muggle orphanage, the fiercest dark lord in the world that cooked for Sirius, that held him in his arms at night. It hurts. It's beyond painful.

“I loved him,” Sirius confesses, and his mother goes still, stiffens all over. “I slept with him. Ate with him. Lived in our- in his home. Will you abandon me, too, now?”

She should leave him. Sirius doesn't deserve anything. He doesn't understand why he still has his family, his sanctuary, when James is dead, when Voldemort is gone, alone and terrified somewhere.

Sirius deserves to be alone, too. They should have left him to rot in Azkaban. It's what he deserves.

She takes a long time to answer. First, she resumes petting his hair, and eventually she rests her chin on his head. She sighs.

Just from that, Sirius can imagine how broken and pitiful he looks, exactly how he feels. He is in such a deplorable state, that she doesn't spit on him, doesn't call him a deviant, a disgrace, a stain on her family name.

“That takes longer to heal from,” she whispers. “Loving a hard, cold man isn’t easy. Even when they are heartless, even when they betray you, over and over again, it still hurts when they die.”

“How long?” Sirius asks. “How long does it take to heal from that?”

She hums. “I will tell you when I have an answer,” she says. “I’m still waiting. You can wait with me.”

[pricelessemotion]

sweet dreams, tennessee

summary: [4.5k] Upon visiting your grandma for the summer, you're greeted by more than one familiar face.

pairing: cowboy!steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: references to alcohol and death of a parent, childhood friends to lovers, slow burn (?)

series masterlist | navigation

Chapter One: Welcome home, Honeybee

An hour or so outside of Nashville is a town called Sweet Dreams, too small to show up on any map. The ones who want to make it out, bask in the irony. They say this town is exactly the place where dreams go to die. 

Most people who have the privilege of leaving Sweet Dreams don’t come back. They watch the dust kick up in the rear-view mirror and say good riddance. But you’re not like most people. 

You tip the taxi driver extra, even though he’s dropping you off at the edge of the property and you have to tug two suitcases and a backpack through a quarter mile of dusty road. The walk gives you time to think. Time to breathe. The air is different here, fresher. You can’t remember the last time you got to walk outside in the middle of the day and only have birdsong to keep your thoughts company. You’d thought that the vast emptiness would be a good change of scenery. You’d thought that the neverending din of the city was clogging up your brain, making your thoughts scramble like eggs in a hot skillet on Sunday. Now, they echo back to you, sung back in the form of mockingbirds. You don’t know if it's better. It’s just different. 

By the time you make it to the paved driveway, your arms are aching and there’s a current of sweat making its way down your back. You’re barely twenty feet from the door when Nana appears in the open front doorway. Upon catching sight of you, she’s barreling down the porch steps, holding her sun hat to the top of her head so that it doesn’t fly off. Dropping the handles of your bags, you allow the woman who basically raised you to engulf you in the best hug this side of the Mississippi. She smells like fresh soil, powdery perfume, and everything that’s good about the world. 

“You’re here! I told you that I’d pick you up at the airport! You didn’t have to call a cab,” She admonishes, before smacking kisses all over your face. “I missed you sweet pea.”

She looks older now, and the thought tugs at your chest. Her hair is more silver than anything and the lines around her eyes and mouth are deeper than in your memory. It’s only been a few years, but your grandmother wears an entire new lifetime lived without you on her face.

“I missed you too.” You let out a laugh but there’s a melancholy feeling to your words. You know that if you stir on them just a little bit more tears will start flowing out and never stop. You bury your face into the collar of her blouse, willing yourself not to cry.

“Well,” She says, taking a step back and putting her calloused hands on your shoulders. “Let me get a good look at you.” 

You smile, doing a little spin for her amusement. 

“Just like I thought. Even more gorgeous than the last time I saw you.”

Heat rises to your cheeks in response. You never quite knew how to take her constant compliments. Not only about your beauty, but your intelligence. 

“How’s your daddy doin’?” Her words are casual but her tone is clipped. Her lips curl in and she busies herself with brushing imaginary dust off your bare shoulders, looking at you like she’s trying to commit the sight to memory. 

You breathe out a sigh, “As good as he’s ever doing.” Which is usually not good, you think but don’t say. 

Nana only purses her lips, nodding in agreement. 

Both of you know that your dad hasn’t been the same since Mama died. Mama was a realist. That’s why she left Sweet Dreams in the first place. Your dad was a dreamer. Without your mom to anchor him to this world he was adrift. He was careless with what he had when he had it. Now, he doesn’t know what to do now that it’s gone. 

You fiddle with the strap of your backpack, feeling the weight of everything you brought with you digging into your shoulders. You should probably call him to let him know that you got here safely. 

“You must be exhausted after traveling,” Nana says, breaking you out of your reverie. “Let me just put my gardening stuff aside real quick, you can go ahead into the kitchen and I’ll fix you up something to eat.”

You nod and step inside the house, taking your baggage with you.

—

The fridge, or as Nana likes to call it the frigidaire, looks exactly the same as you remember it. Magnetic alphabet letters are used to hang up reminders and photos. She still has the same drawing that you gave her for Mother’s Day all those years ago, the crude crayon stick figures of the two of you standing side by side in a wide-open field. Now, there are signs of aging, the paper yellowed and curled at the edges. 

Aside from your childhood art, there are wedding announcements and Christmas cards a plenty. You recognize one of the faces. James wasn’t related to you but that didn’t matter. In Sweet Dreams, everyone was family. He was getting married to a woman named Elizabeth at the end of the summer. You can’t help but smile at the picture of him, his future wife, and his daughter. 

The last time you saw Winnie, James’ daughter, her mother had still been alive. The news of her untimely demise and James’ sudden status as not only a young widower but a single father had caused aftershocks that made their way all the way out to you in California. It was nice to see how happy the three of them looked together. You remind yourself to let Nana know that you want to see them soon. 

“Miss Mellie? I’m done with the car. There was something wrong with the fuel tank.” A man comes into the kitchen through the back door, dressed in a white tank top and blue jeans, wiping the grease from his hands with a rag.

He stops, eyeing you curiously. “You’re not Miss Mellie.” 

“I’m not,” You say, dropping your backpack onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table. 

Just then the screen on the kitchen door bursts open. The bottom has been busted for years and never repaired, for the benefit of the four-legged basset hound that’s bounding towards you. You light up at the sight of him, but your joy is cut short by the comment of the strange man who has yet to introduce himself.

“Careful. Jackson gets nervous around strangers.”

Jackson only pants in response to the man’s statement, gleefully sniffing your shoes before licking the exposed skin of your calves. 

“Well then, it’s a good thing I’m not a stranger.” You mutter leaning down to scratch the dog behind his ears. “You don’t have to tell me about my dog, I was there the day he was born.” 

Jackson was the runt of the litter. You had picked him out, seeing how he was weaker and smaller, being trampled over by his brothers and sisters. Your father had given you a funny look when you pointed at the weak little thing and said that one! The look quickly went away once Nana gave him a look of her own.

“No shit.” The man leans back on the counter with all of the comforts of someone who knows this house like the back of his hand. He puts down the greasy rag, running a now clean hand along the sharp line of his jaw, his expression a mixture of disbelief and recognition. 

“Now,” You huff, standing straight again much to the chagrin of the dog still panting at your feet. “Are you gonna tell me what you’re doing in my house?”

Your snippy attitude doesn’t seem to have the desired effect because he only looks right back at you with an easy smile. 

“Y’know, I’m a little offended that you don’t remember me, Honeybee.” 

Despite the heat of the Tennessee summer, you’re frozen. Only a handful of people have ever called you that. One of them bursts through the kitchen doors, holding a stack of mail in her hands. 

“Steven!” Nana exclaims, confirming your suspicions. “You all done with the car?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“Oh please Steven, you know you don’t need to call me that.” Her tone is lightly scolding but from the curl of her lips, you can tell that she likes it. Nana has always been a stickler for good manners. “I see you’ve found my grandbaby. Isn’t she a beauty?”

His smirk only grows deeper as he tips his head. “Must run in the family.” 

She turns her attention to you. “You remember Steven, don’t you sweet pea? The truck was making a noise that was something awful. He offered to fix it up for me.” 

Steve looks decidedly bashful, shaking his head and casting his gaze down to the floor. “It was nothing.” 

Nana doesn’t even take into account his modesty, instead barreling through the rest of the conversation like she always does. It’s a wonder that she’s thrived in such a slow and peaceful town all her life when she constantly lives and talks at twice the speed of everyone around her. Everyone else is left trying desperately to keep up. “The two of you used to be thick as thieves, I swear. Could never find one without the other.” 

“I remember,” You murmur, only chancing a glance at the boy across the room who seems to have turned into a man overnight. You guess that’s what six years apart will get you.  

You remember Steve’s mother. She was a sweet woman when she wanted to be, if a little self-absorbed. Every summer they spent in Sweet Dreams her accent would fall into its natural rhythm and syncopation, annoying the hell out of Mr. Harrington. He always had a sneer on his face, screwed up like he had just taken a bite out of a lemon and was waiting for the sting to subside. He only showed up for the first and last week of the season, to usher his family in and out of his wife’s hometown. 

Steve always acted a bit tougher with his father around, puffed out his chest, and forced his voice to go deeper. You once pointed this out to him and he gave you a nasty look and told you that he had no idea what you were talking about. 

You apologized and Steve forgave you in the way that kids do, over brown lunch bag trading sessions, with plastic-wrapped treats being exchanged between sticky fingers. You never brought up his father again. For all of his father’s watchful eyes, his mother was the complete opposite. She was one of those people who believed that children shouldn’t be seen or heard. So, she pawned Steve off to the dusty streets of Sweet Dreams, knowing that whatever trouble he could possibly amount to was limited by the fact that the town was so small. 

But Sweet Dreams didn’t always feel so small. In fact, when you were a kid the entire world seemed only to exist in a twenty-mile radius. 

Steve clears his throat. “Well, if that’s everything I’ll go get cleaned up.” 

“Oh! Actually, could you be a dear and take the luggage that’s by the front door into the guest room?” Nana asks. 

Steve flashes an award-winning smile. “Anything for you, Miss Mellie.”

Nana shoos him out of the kitchen with promises of a good dinner and even more thanks. You’re still stuck on the fact that Steve Harrington is in Sweet Dreams and apparently has been for a while if the way your grandmother was interacting with him was any indication. 

“He’s staying in the old shed.” She explains, sensing your confusion. She’s already opening the fridge, pulling out a pitcher of iced tea that immediately starts sweating in the Tennessee heat. Your mind is stuck on the soft thudding of heavy footsteps on the wooden staircase. The sixth step still creaks after all this time. “Fixed it up and everything. It already had a bathroom and a waterline, so all he had to do was make it livable.”

You can only think of offering a hum in response, grabbing one of the floral glasses from the cabinet, and pouring yourself a cup. It tastes like home. 

“I’ve got you all set up in your Mama’s old room. Figured you’d like the sunlight. I pulled out the yellow bedspread, I remember that one being your favorite.”

Tears collect in your eyes. It’s been a while since anyone has paid attention to you long enough to remember anything insignificant about you. Nana collects every small detail like they’re precious, saving them for a rainy day so she can show you just how much you mean to her. 

“Thank you, Nana.” You manage to choke out. You want to say more. You want to give her an explanation for why you dropped everything and showed up at her door. You’re not ready for any of that. 

“Of course, darlin’.” She says simply, planting a kiss on the top of your head. “It’s good to have you home.” 

“It’s good to be home.”

—

Nana tells you to go upstairs and unpack–she purposefully set today aside for you to relax and unwind, knowing that you would probably be exhausted after traveling for so long. The reprieve is temporary, though. She’s assured you that the entire town has been informed of your stay and that her birthday party will also serve as a welcome home party for you.

Despite your insistence that you don’t want to take away the spotlight from her, she only winked and told you no one can take the spotlight from me, sweetie. Everything’s been prepared for the party tomorrow night. You’re already dreading the questions that you don’t have the answers to. 

You make your way upstairs, avoiding that creaky sixth step. The walk to the room is daunting. The bedroom door has been left slightly ajar, and rays of sun are peeking through the crack, the only source of light in the dark hallway. 

Taking a deep breath, you push the door open. It looks exactly as you remember it. The curtains are drawn, allowing the north-facing windows to showcase the wide-open fields and dusty roads that you know and love. 

The yellow bedspread is there, just like Nana said it would be. It’s sunbleached after so many years, but it still feels soft and comforting. 

Your mother’s painting is still in the same spot. Looking at it, you can tell it’s never been moved the way the corners of the wallpaper around it give it away. Anyone with a keen eye can see how the pale sage green walls were once deep and rich, having faded away like so many other things in Sweet Dreams do. By sitting right where it always was.

Taking a deep breath, you move to unpack everything. The drawers in the vanity are all empty, except the one in the very center. It’s locked, and despite your best efforts, remains that way. 

On the vanity, there’s an old picture frame. The photograph inside is of a memory you cannot believe you’d forgotten. You’re sitting cuddled up next to your mom. It was the day that you’d gotten Jackson, and he was so small you could still hold him in your little eight-year-old hands. 

You’d refrained from smiling for weeks at that point, utterly mortified at the gaps in your mouth from losing your two front teeth at the same time. In that moment, though, you were smiling so wide. Jackson had gone from sitting quietly in your lap, to jumping up to lick you on the chin. The shock and subsequent squeal of laughter had been captured and kept. 

You move the frame to the bedside table. It’s good to be home, you tell yourself. For the first time today, you’re not quite sure if you mean it.

—

“Is James coming tonight?” You ask in between bites of fresh strawberries and buttered toast.

The temperature in the kitchen is nothing less than sweltering. You’d been spoiled out in California, living near the bay and rarely having to worry about the weather climbing above seventy-five degrees. The room is in a state of organized chaos, with all of the food being prepared and cooked for the party. Nana stands at the back end of the kitchen, her back to you. She’s been up since the crack of dawn, placating your insistence to help her with food and conversation.

“Oh, I’m sorry honey. He called this morning. Winnie’s got a toothache and he and Betty decided to stay home with her. I know you were looking forward to seeing them.”

“It’s okay,” You assure her. “Just would’ve been nice to see a friendly face.” 

She turns the dough on the counter before folding it over and kneading it. There’s flour all up and down her forearms and most likely butter under her fingernails. “Steven’s coming,” She reminds you as if that fact is supposed to be reassuring.

“Right, of course.” You try to keep the apprehension out of your voice. “Steven.”

The truth is that you don’t know where you stand with him. You’d heard his voice from the top of the stairs last night, all full of polite regret that something had come up and he couldn’t attend dinner. The next sight you caught of him was his back as he rode off into the distance.

“He’s single, y’know,” Nana says, punching circles into the dough and setting them onto a baking tray. “He’s been working on the farm for about a year now. Real helpful.” 

You know the farm isn’t what it used to be. After the passing of your grandfather, a lot of the acreage was sliced up and sold off to neighboring farms. They give your Nana tiny cuts of the profit, something to do with southern hospitality and it being a widow’s homestead. She’s still gardening, though she probably shouldn’t given her old age. Trying to take gardening gloves from Nana Monroe is like trying to wrangle a wild horse. Still, Steve’s wage must be meager, all things considered. No wonder why he’s living in a shed. 

“Nana, I didn’t come here to date.”

“Well, what did you come here for?” She says, turning around and crossing her arms. Then, realizing the harshness of her words, she sighs. Dusting flour off of her palms and onto her worn apron, she rubs her thumb across your cheekbone. You can’t help but revel in the gesture. “You know I love having you around darlin’, but I know you didn’t decide to come spend the summer with your grandma just for kicks.”

The truth of the matter wasn’t easy. It was hard to swallow and tasted a lot like failure.

“I haven’t figured it out just yet, but when I do I’ll let you know.” 

—

Drinks have been poured, food has been served, and the birthday cake has been cut. It seems the entire population of Sweet Dreams has overtaken the living and dining rooms, and you wouldn’t be shocked if that ended up being the case. If you had to count the number of inane conversations where you repeated the same five facts about yourself to people who haven’t seen you since you were fifteen, you might combust.

Everyone assumes that just because you go to school in California, you must be living the high life. Beaches and parties and sunsets on the West Coast seemed like a dream to those who live and die in land-locked states, yearning for the smell of salt air and sand beneath their toes.

You know better. California does have all the glitz and glam and charm that they seem to think it does, but it also is an agricultural state. The cities that aren’t highly populated, with bustling nightlife and celebrity mansions, are mostly cow towns. You’ve seen these places while driving down the 5 highway. It doesn’t escape your notice that the exact places that remind you the most of home, are the same ones that people pass by in hopes of getting to somewhere better. They sit in their air-conditioned cars and breathe through their mouths, hoping to drown out the stench of cow manure. 

Never mind the fact that the curtains for your dorm were too sheer to block out the city lights, leaving you up for all hours of the night. Or the fact that, while you loved the beach, sometimes you longed for freshwater and mud between your toes rather than salt and sand. You still brought back pictures from when you and your friends decided to take a weekend trip, forking over small amounts of gas money and bartering meal plans in lieu of cash. The pictures spin a different story. One of a girl who knows what she’s doing and living her best life. Never mind that the thread being spun felt more like you were coming unraveled. 

The back porch has always been your refuge when parties get too loud and the temperature inside gets so hot that it seems like even the floral wallpaper has started wilting. You sneak out through the kitchen door, relieved that there’s no one there to catch you. Nana usually would have noticed your absence by now, but she’s distracted. Uncle Chuck brought out his acoustic guitar and your grandmother has never passed up an opportunity to perform for others. 

You sigh, taking one last bite of rhubarb pie before setting the paper plate down on the ground next to you. Testing the porch swing, you’re delighted to find that it’s still just as sturdy as ever. It used to be that you’d have to sit at the very edge of the seat in order to get it to swing without help, the tips of your sneakers barely grazing the ground. Now, you lean back and your feet are planted steady on the wooden planks below. 

You and Steve used to play pirates here, pretending that the sway of the swing was the rocking of the ocean against a mighty ship. You’ve never felt more unmoored.  

The screen door creaks as it swings open, and you brace yourself for Nana’s lilting voice, telling you to come inside and entertain guests. It doesn’t come. Instead, a deep timbre casts itself out into the night air. Despite the lingering warmth of the day’s heat and the lack of a night breeze, you feel goosebumps rise up on your arms. 

“Not having a good time?” Steve asks. His figure is backlit, bathed in the golden light of the kitchen.

“No, I am. Just–” You take a moment to think of an explanation that won’t give too much away. “Needed a breather, I guess.”

He hesitates. “Maybe I should go then.”

“Why?”

“I’ve been told I take people’s breath away.” 

You roll your eyes in annoyance, but you can barely hide the smile that tugs at your lips. “You are insufferable, Steve Harrington.”

The smirk on his face grows into a full-blown grin. “It’s one of my better qualities.” 

Steve sidles up next to you, hand wrapped around a beer. It’s amazing to think that the last time you saw him, the two of you would have to bend backward to sneak the bitter liquor out of the coolers without anyone noticing. Now, you’re both of age to where nobody blinks an eye. The thought makes your chest feel tight. 

“So why are you out here?”

“Do you mean why am I in Tennessee? Or why am I on the porch?”

He shrugs. “Either one.”

You shrug your shoulders, sitting back and letting your feet swing and scrape across the wooden floorboards of the porch. “I just felt like I needed to come back. Remind myself of some things I felt like I was forgetting.”

Steve nods like he gets it, and opens his mouth as if to say something but decides against it. What instead comes out is an olive branch. 

“I’m sorry if I offended you with the whole Jackson thing yesterday.” He offers sincerely. “And about missing dinner. I was so busy working on the car yesterday that I forgot I had to fix the Tillman’s chicken coop.”

You put on an air of faux contemplation. “I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you.” 

“Thank god, I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t.” He playfully puts his hand over his heart before letting it drop to his side, lingering in the limited space between you. “Took me a second to recognize you–you look so different.”

Steve looks different, too. Baby fat has melted away to reveal high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. Once gangly limbs have filled out into broad shoulders and muscles that strain against the cotton of his t-shirt. He was always cute, you’d be remiss to pretend that he wasn’t. But the year in Sweet Dreams seems to have been treating him well because now he resides on this side of ruggedly handsome. 

“Good different or bad different?” There’s an underlying current of something in your question, but you’re not sure what. 

“Good different.” He casts a sidelong glance at you before looking out at the backyard, saying the next statement into the lip of his beer bottle. “Same bratty attitude though.” 

“Hey!” You squeal in mock offense, lightly smacking the back of your hand against his chest. The movement comes like a second nature, remnants from childhood squabbles. In the microseconds it takes for you to draw your hand away, you take notice of the solid mass of muscles hidden underneath his white t-shirt.

He’s full-on smirking now. “Nice to know some things never change.” 

“You’re one to talk,” You retort. He quirks a brow at you. “You’ve always been such a charmer. I’m pretty sure you’ve got the entire female population of Sweet Dreams wrapped around your finger.”

He gives you a meaningful look. “Not the entire female population.”

You have a sharp reply sitting at the tip of your tongue, pointing directly at Steve, when someone calls his name from inside. It’s Uncle Chuck, insisting that the man sitting next to you join him in a duet.

“Well,” He stands up, brushing his palms on his denim-clad legs. “I should probably head back inside.” 

You hum in acknowledgment, only ever so slightly disappointed, but make no move to leave your spot on the porch swing. “Don’t let me keep you.” 

Steve opens the screen door but props it open with his foot. The golden light from the kitchen is on his face now, and you can see the soft edges of the boy you once knew.

“Welcome home, honeybee,” He says simply, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

With that, he steps back inside and the screen door slams shut. You’re left alone on the back porch, breathless. 

—

likes are appreciated, comments and reblogs are cherished ♥️

taglist: @corrodedseraphine

[c0wb0ylikem3]

I Miss You, I’m Sorry

•summary: in which y/n l/n joins her childhood idol on tour as she sings about her heartache, she just didn’t know the man who caused that heartache would go to one of her shows… (part 2/3)

•authors note: not proofread and very rushed there will be a pt 3!!

•pairings: (mick schumacher x fem!reader)

y/n.l/n

Liked by landonorris and others

y/n.l/n currently ten year old Y/n is screaming that she gets to open for her idol @taylorswift. I’m so grateful for this opportunity see you guys soon 💕

user1 excuse me what

taylorswift so excited to have you open!!

user2 I NEED ERAS TICKETS RN

gigihadid so proud of you my love

y/n.l/n love you 💋

user3 Taylor literally picked the best openers.

oliviarodrigo Y/n + Taylor = my favs

y/n.l/n you’re my fav

landonorris interesting you’re coming to Monaco…

y/n.l/n you’re not invited

landonorris as if I’d spend my money on you 🙄

y/n.l/n you’re gonna regret saying that the swifties are gonna get you

erastourupdates

Liked by user1 and others

erastourupdates Y/n L/n has yet to sing her hit single 21, however Y/n has announced she is working on her latest album during the tour titled Good Riddance.

user1 when did she announce a new album??

user2 during last nights show!!

user3 I NEED NEW Y/N MUSIC

user4 she needs to add 21 to her setlist or I’m boycotting (i don’t even have eras tour tickets)

user5 the way she started to tear up during Mess It Up

user6 whoever broke her heart I’m come for you…

Y/n.L/n

Liked by mickschumacher and others

y/n.l/n adream come true 💓 so happy I got to sing my new song I miss you, I’m sorry with THE Taylor Swift.

user1 i don’t know who has more surprises y/n or taylor..

user2 she learned from mother

landonorris i was so happy you weren’t opening then you went and did this 🙄🙄

y/n.l/n dont act like you weren’t crying

user3 CANT BELIEVE THEY GOT 3 SURPRISE SONGS

mickschumacher 🤍

this comment was liked by y/n.l/n

user5 WHAT IS GOING ON

erastourupdates

Liked by user1 and others

erastourupdates y/n l/n seen leaving the eras tour after party with someone…people speculate it’s formula one star Mick Schumacher

user1 isn’t he mr I missed your 21st birthday 🤨

user2 he’s also Mr I miss you,I’m sorry

user3 ARE THEY TOGETHER???

[hanzajesthanza]

“what does geralt get from that friendship…”

another post examining the weight of geralt and dandelion’s friendship… because i don’t think people recognize how painful and debilitating loneliness can become.

the witcher as a deconstruction of the genre takes fantasy tropes to their most logical ends—it asks us to consider what The Lone Swordsman feels, looks into the humanity in a Cold-Blooded Killer. and it turns out he’s not cold-blooded at all.

that despite some superhuman abilities, he laments and worries and curses himself, just like any other worker of any other profession. just as the farmer is scorched by the sun, the washerwoman’s back aches, and the scholar goes half-blind studying, a witcher deals with all of the pains and annoyances and dangers of his job in a mundanely human way.

but the farmer, the washerwoman, and the scholar have something the witcher does not have—they’ll always be seen as human and part of their society. at the end of the day after enduring all of their labor, they have their wife to caress, festivities to attend, and taverns to frequent. but for a witcher? after the killing is over, what does he have? no one and nothing. not even a thank you. he is met with fear and hatred everywhere he goes, baseless bigotry and dislike.

I did my job. I quickly learned how. I’d ride up to village enclosures or town pickets and wait. If they spat, cursed and threw stones, I rode away. If someone came out to give me a commission, I’d carry it out.

so he faces not just loneliness, but being deliberately ostracized and cast out from society. geralt can’t even find a polite word in most settlements, much less a friend.

‘(…) Tell me, where should I go? And for what? At least here some people have gathered with whom I have something to talk about. People who don’t break off their conversations when I approach. People who, though they may not like me, say it to my face, and don’t throw stones from behind a fence. (…)’

this kind of loneliness is not a mere inconvenience. it’s completely altering to your self-perception and ability to see the positive in the world.

each day is not lived, but endured.

day in, and day out—forced to the most difficult and lowest labor in order to survive, and knowing that were you to die, no one would search for your body, few would miss you, hell, they might even spit “good riddance”.

in this situation, to find a friend, is not only friendship, but a rescue.

without dandelion, geralt may have drowned—drowned in solitude, amidst a sea of strangeness.

‘(…) And I’m alone, completely alone, endlessly alone among the strange and hostile elements. Solitude amid a sea of strangeness. Don’t you dream of that?’

No, I don’t, he thought. I have it every day.

because dandelion is not only a bright soul, characteristic rippling laughter and the strum of a lute, but someone who will intently listen to geralt, someone who mutually enjoys his company.

‘(…) you almost jumped out of your pants with joy to have a companion. Until then, you only had your horse for company.’

someone who doesn’t see him as strange and at the fringes of society at all, but as an utterly normal man.

and doesn’t impose demeaning, sappy sympathy onto him, but sobering and realistic “quit your bullshit” which ridicules the very thought that he should internalize societal hatred.

Do you know what your problem is, Geralt? You think you’re different. (…) [You don’t understand that] for people who think clear-headedly you’re the most normal man under the sun, and they all wish that everybody was so normal. What of it that you have quicker reflexes than most and vertical pupils in sunlight? That you can see in the dark like a cat? That you know a few spells? Big deal.

dandelion isn’t “willing” to accept geralt for himself—he already has accepted him. and to him, it’s no difficulty, it’s nothing worth discussing, because he sees no abnormality and no strangeness in him.

while others “prefer the company of lepers to witchers,” dandelion has already offered geralt to share his room and board. not out of sympathetic pity, not out of fetishizing curiosity. because… they’re friends.

and what else does this friendship save him from?

not only from others, but from himself.

worse than enduring others’ apathy and hatred is one’s own thoughts—the darkness and negativity which builds from witnessing and experiencing such behavior.

dandelion’s ability to counter and dispel geralt’s pessimism and self-flagellating tendencies—again, not out of pity, but out of friendship—is undeniably invaluable. someone to rescue you from your darkest thoughts, when you begin to spiral.

and in this darkness, all you can do is cry. you cry, beg for someone to help you, please—

Help! Why doesn't anyone help me? Alone, weak, helpless – I can't move, can't force a sound from my constricted throat. Why does no one come to help me? I'm terrified!

to be alone, the saga reminds us, is worse than a death sentence. to be alone is to “perish; stabbed, beaten or kicked to death, defiled, like a toy passed from hand to hand.” to be alone is to suffer, and to be with someone is to save them from that suffering.

'(…) I wouldn't like anything bad to happen to you. I like you too much, owe you too much-'

'You've said that already. What do you owe me, Yennefer?'

The sorceress turned her head away, did not say anything for a while.

'You travelled with him,' she said finally. 'Thanks to you he was not alone. You were a friend to him. You were with him.'

it is true that geralt has saved dandelion countless times, helped him, gotten him out of some scrape… but to ask what did geralt get in return? are you kidding me?

did you ever consider that it is dandelion who saved geralt?

by being with him. by being by his side. by being his friend.

indeed, dandelion has rescued geralt, countless times, from the yawning jaws of endless loneliness. he’s helped him, chased away the danger of geralt’s own rumination. and he’s gotten him out of scrapes, his own insecurities and bitter helplessness.

so what does dandelion give geralt? what does geralt get from their friendship?

an amusing question. what one gets from friendship is the friendship itself. and that is more than enough.

[faithshouseofchaos]

I’d say good riddance to Daniel leaving formula one I never like him once. If I’m being honest I wish he never came back to formula one in the first placed he’s washed out and a bad driver and excuse for a person. He also doesn’t deserve that red Bull seat and Daniel ricciardo fans are delusional for thinking that he deserves it.

You are aware that I’m a Danny ric fan right?RIGHT? So what on gods green fucking earth possessed you to jump in my fucking inbox and say this shit? Are we fucking 12 years old I thought we were all adults here but no apparently not. That’s on me for thinking for thinking that everyone was raised to keep their fucking mouth shut.

I’m so sick of f1 fans berating people for liking a certain driver. It’s fucking childish behavior and rude as fuck. So do everyone else a favor and keep your opinions to yourself.

That also goes for everyone else who sees this.

[jeonqkooks]

our beloved summer | jjk (04)

You made a vow to hate Jeon Jungkook ever since he packed up and left you without a single explanation, but when he shows up at your door after years of radio silence, it turns out that maybe your resolve isn’t as strong as you thought.

pairing: producer!jungkook x songwriter!reader

genre/warnings: exes au, fluff, angst, eventual smut, drinking, swearing, the word "dick" is mentioned a few times lol, jeon jungkook (yes, bc at this point he's annoying even to me), yoongi is a menace, oc is fighting with everybody asdfgjkl girl 🙄, inaccuracies about music making !! and i hope obs readers aren't music majors bc that'd be really embarrassing for me lol, idk i think that's it

rating: PG-15

word count: 16.3k

note: a major thank you to @daechwitatamic for beta-ing this for me and for doing it so fast!!, you are a gem ily jo 🥺🥰 aaaaaand omg yeah! i can't believe the duck is here. he's finally here!!! ah we love to see it hehehehe :') it feels fitting that obs4 is the one to close off 2022 <3

series masterpost / main playlist ; interactive playlist ; moodboards ; taglist

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

Ask your new lover what it's like to be given A real fighting chance before you wish her, "Good riddance,” Did anything ever really count Or was I just a two-year practice round?

Before - NIKI

Ah, the grand opening of Jimin’s own dance studio. It’s been in the works for a while now, ever since he quit his job as an instructor at that fancy academy downtown. 

When you arrive at the venue, the event is already in full swing. You would’ve come sooner, to see Jimin before things get too hectic and more people would want to steal him away to say their congratulations. You could’ve come sooner, had you accepted Jungkook’s offer to drive the both of you here. It’s the less time-consuming option, and one that’s more environmentally conscious, but you didn’t want to be left alone with Jungkook – not after what Namjoon had unintentionally revealed to you – in a space where you couldn’t force him to just talk about work while Jimin went to mingle with his guests, and Taehyung couldn’t get off work any earlier than 6:30.

You have to hand it to Jimin. He really went all out for this. The venue he booked looks amazing, and so much bigger than you expected, but that’s probably to accommodate the shit ton of people he invited tonight. There’s catering, cutesy party favors, and most importantly, an open bar that you absolutely would die for. Bless Jimin and his excessive spending heart.

Although, the photographer that he got for tonight can’t exactly be considered great. He looks young, maybe early 20s and still hasn’t learned how to lose the attitude yet, just walking around with his hefty camera and looking like he has a stick up his ass. He’s definitely being underpaid. Jimin must not have taken this factor into account until he had already exceeded his budget.

“Oh, Jiminie,” you mutter to yourself like a mom whose child just won the school talent show, making a beeline for Jimin and pulling him into a hug, not caring that he’s holding a flute of champagne that could’ve easily spilled onto you. “Jiminie, I’m so proud of you. I know how hard you’ve worked, and you deserve this so much. I love you. You’re going to be amazing.”

Every single syllable that slips from your lips is genuine. You’ve seen how passionate Jimin is, and you know how long this has been a dream of his. In your eyes, he deserves the absolute world and more.

You kiss his cheek to emphasize the meaning behind your words. You’ve never been the sentimental type with your friends except for rare occasions like these. On birthdays, you're not the one to shoot them the first happy birthday! text at 12AM on the dot, nor are you the one to plan surprise parties and go all out on extravagant presents.

You have your own way of showing your friends that you love them without any grand, tacky gestures. You like to think that you’re a good friend, and you hope they think that too.

But… you feel guilty today. You feel guilty for even toying with the idea of not going just because you didn’t want to face Jungkook in a setting that wasn’t the studio. When Taehyung asked if you had gotten the invite and you couldn’t confirm your attendance right away, he looked at you like you were out of your mind. He looked at you like Why wasn’t dropping every single one of your plans not the first thought that comes to mind when you received the text. Because this is Jimin you’re talking about. One of your closest friends. The incredulousness on Taehyung’s face that night made you feel small because really, you were being selfish.

After the breakup, you repeatedly assured Taehyung that he should still be friends with Jungkook, though the petty part of your brain wanted nothing more than to have Taehyung cut off all ties with your ex and tell him to go shove it.

If you weren’t in the picture, they still would’ve bonded the way they did and developed that kind of brotherly connection. Just because you and Taehyung were closer doesn’t mean that he and Jungkook weren’t close. They were close throughout college, and it had nothing to do with the fact that one was your best friend and the other was your boyfriend. That’s why you weren’t particularly fond of making Taehyung lose someone he considered family, even if that man did stomp on your heart to hell and back.

You just had to make it crystal clear to Taehyung – and Jimin by extension – to not put you and Jungkook in the same place ever again.

And that’s exactly what Taehyung and Jimin have been doing these past few years. Birthday parties, nights out and celebratory dinners multiplied by two to keep you and Jungkook separate. It was like you were strangers who never knew each other existed. Different worlds that can’t ever collide. You all got used to this certain arrangement. It works out for everybody: You don’t have to see your ex, and Jimin and Taehyung get to keep their friend. If it isn’t broken, don’t fix it.

The barrier that you forced between you and him worked, but sadly it did put a strain on Taehyung and Jimin’s wallets. You were always a group of five though, until Hoseok moved abroad the very week before college ended. He didn’t even attend graduation. That summer, you weren’t the only one left heartbroken. Hoseok’s parents had turned a 180 and decided to make him pursue another degree to take over the family business instead of continuing to let him follow his dreams, which have always been music and dancing. When he broke the news, you all gathered around and cried together. You were beyond upset for him; you knew how Hoseok shined the brightest when he got to do what he loved.

Since then, he only comes back a couple of times a year. Every time, you would all try and make the most of it, wanting to relive those college days that you cherished so much. But during each of these visits, there is always something bittersweet that you think you all could feel. Because Hoseok wasn’t a constant in your lives anymore. The five of you were thick as thieves. You were there for each other through every high and every low. It’s somber to think that you will never have that ever again.

Hoseok wasn’t there to personally witness what the breakup did to you, but you were certain that he knew about it. Taehyung and Jimin must have told him at some point. You don’t think you’ve ever had a proper conversation with Hoseok about how your relationship with Jungkook ended. He only visits as seldom as it is. You don’t want to spend every reunion wallowing in misery, or make everything about your baggage when everyone has their own shit to deal with.

“Shit, Y/N, why are you being sappy?” Jimin mutters as he blinks at you, eyes glassy, all shy and adorable when he sniffles. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

It isn’t until then that you notice Jungkook standing next to Jimin, having watched the whole interaction with an identical champagne glass in his hand and a small smile on his face.

“Hi,” he says, even though it has only been a couple of hours since you last saw each other. 

You send him a nod, merely to acknowledge his presence. Taehyung pulls Jimin into a hug of his own too, swaying him from side to side like they’re in their own little world. 

You can feel Jungkook’s gaze on the side of your face but you keep your eyes trained on Taehyung’s back, watching your two friends be dramatic and goofy and happy.

When you deem that they’ve had their fun, you tug Taehyung back by his jacket. “Okay, that’s enough, lovebirds. You’re acting like you don’t see each other every other day. Stop being so clingy.”

“No!” Jimin swats your hand away but lets his friend go regardless. He’s smiling so big that his eyes have turned into narrow slits, pearly whites on full display, cute pinchable cheeks turned rosy from the champagne and euphoria. “Do I look weird? I feel like I look weird. I can’t stop smiling.”

“You don’t look weird,” you say, booping his nose affectionately then ruffling his head of blond hair. “You look perfect.”

Jimin blushes, which makes him even cuter. Then his eyes light up when he spots someone behind you. His hand shoots up to wave the person over to your table as he calls, “Hobi hyung!”

Hobi– what?

You and Taehyung turn around, four eyes flying wide open.

Slapping a hand to Taehyung’s chest, you gasp. “Holy shit. Did you know about this?!”

“No! I’m as shocked as you are!”

Hoseok skips the pleasantries. He just grins brightly and yanks you and Taehyung into him, crushing you two in his hug as he shakes you enthusiastically. When he lets go, he kisses both of your cheeks. He diverts his attention to Jungkook then, yelling out Jaykay! so loudly that people turn to look. He does the same thing to Jungkook as he did to you, enveloping the younger man in a very Hoseok-esque embrace.

“Hobi!” you squeal, completely overjoyed. Taehyung looks about the same as you, the two of you practically bouncing like golden retrievers. “Why didn’t you tell us you were going to be here?”

Hoseok shares a look with Jimin, and they both break out into a fit of giggles. “Obviously I wasn’t going to miss tonight,” he says. “But I’m disappointed in you, Y/N. You should’ve surprised Jimin with me, not the other way around.”

“Wha– Jung Hoseok, you blocked me last month after I sent you that jumpscare video.”

“Oh, right,” he laughs. “In any case, it’s always so good to see all of you simp over me every time I come home.”

“Hobi, I implore you to stop saying ‘simp’ as a grown ass man.”

“Y/N, this grown ass man implores you to stop calling him Hobi.”

It isn’t until now that you start to relax more. Everything feels so much simpler now that Hoseok is here and all of you are together. Catching up with him, you’re always enraptured to hear the stories he has to tell. Even if it’s brief and the bubble has to eventually burst, he never fails to give you that odd sense of peace you’ve been craving since you got older. Hoseok has a way of making time stretch on forever, in a good way. 

At one point, he stops talking, noticing something out of place. “Oh? You two…” he gestures between you and Jungkook, and the conversation seems to end here because even Hoseok doesn’t know what to say or what to ask. Clearly Taehyung and Jimin haven’t been doing a very good job at keeping him up to date. Then things just start getting kinda awkward again.

You feel partly to blame. After all, you’re one of the two people making this weird for everybody.

For most of the night, you manage to avoid talking to Jungkook. It’s not that difficult really, with Taehyung practically gluing himself to your side (per your request) and catching up with Hoseok, Jungkook could hardly get a word in with you.

You pat Taehyung on the cheek. “Thanks for sticking with me,” you tell him.

“Of course,” he says. “And y’know, it’s not like you really gave me a choice.”

Your hand that’s still on his cheek goes to pinch it. His cheek is so squishy, it feels like you’re kneading dough. You can’t help but squeeze your fingers a little harder.

“Ah! Okay!” he squeaks out. “Sorry!”

You giggle at his frowny face before giving him another affectionate pat. “Seriously, can you imagine Jungkook seeing me drunk without you to hold me back? That’s one of my worst nightmares.”

Taehyung bites his tongue, remembering the night he had put Jimin on pick up duty and Jungkook had tagged along. Taehyung even recalls the morning after, when he was walking on eggshells around you, trying to figure out if your memory would serve you. When he was positive that it didn’t, he had to thank the heavens for letting him live to see another day.

Because if you ever find out, oh you would kill him. You would knock him to the ground and strangle him with your bare hands. He’s absolutely certain that you would. Knowingly letting your friend’s ex see her absolutely shitfaced and crying over said ex? Now that is heinous.

“Hold this,” Taehyung says now that it’s just the two of you, handing you his glass of whiskey. Hoseok got pulled somewhere so Jimin could introduce him to some of his staff, and Jungkook is… well, you have no idea where he is. “I have to pee.”

“What, now?”

“No, two hours from now. I’m just announcing it in advance,” Taehyung deadpans. “Yes, now!”

“I literally just thanked you.” You glare up at him. He starts to get sassy a couple of drinks in. “I’ll come with you.”

“What, to the men’s bathroom? Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N. I don’t even see Jungkook anywhere. He’s probably mingling. C’mon, I’ll be gone two minutes, tops, okay?”

“No, no, no, wait–!” Aaand he’s already jogging away. Great.

You sigh, take a sip of Taehyung’s drink and immediately grimace. You really don’t like whiskey. You find an empty table nearby to put the glass down and loiter. To anyone, you must look like you’ve got a bad case of social anxiety, standing alone and fidgeting like that, but no, what you have is Jungkook anxiety. 

As you keep your head down and pull out your phone to make it seem like you actually have something to do instead of waiting for your friend to return from the bathroom, your head bobs gently to the faint music coming from the speakers. Peace lasts for about thirty seconds. You turn to look when someone nudges your shoulder.

“You look beautiful,” Jungkook tells you with a smile that almost blinds you. You have to admit, he’s so handsome tonight, and it’s part of why you’ve been avoiding looking at him since you got here.

You glance down at your outfit. You tend to dress more casually at the studio, but today, you wanted to up the ante a little bit for Jimin. It’s nothing fancy, just a smidge more put-together than what you usually go for. Knee-high boots, a black skirt, a cozy sweater and your favorite winter coat. Actually put on some blush for once  to top it all off.

“I’ve looked like this since the morning.”

“I know,” he says. “I’ve been wanting to say it all day.”

It’s the compliment, the sparkling eyes and the soft, warm smile making your face heat up. You bite the inside of your cheek, urging yourself to snap out of it.

The strategy is to deflect. You practically shove your phone in his face with the Gmail app open, making him squint in reflex at the sudden brightness assaulting his eyes. “So Namjoon just sent me this–”

Jungkook takes a step back and brushes your hand away. “Honestly, if it’s fine with you, can we not talk about work?” he chuckles as he says this. “I just got out of the studio. I’d rather not think about it for a minute.”

So it would appear that deflecting is not a viable option.

“Oh, okay.” You nod slowly, putting your phone back into your bag. You are so awkward, and too sober for this, and desperately need your Taehyung-shaped buffer. “Uhm, so… what now?”

Jungkook gives you a quiet chuckle, trying to go over this as nonchalantly as possible. “Friends can talk about things. I’m sure we can figure something out.”

Your brows furrow slightly as you recall what you told Seokjin before. Friends… Jungkook still doesn’t seem to know the definition of the word. Does he think you meant it? That you were actually friends now? He can’t be that fucking dense, can he? When he came knocking at your door not that long ago, has he forgotten that look in your eyes and the door closing in his face when he uttered this exact word to you?

From the start, Jungkook was never your friend.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to do this at the studio and I didn’t want to do it here, today, Jimin’s big day, but I have to ask. What are you doing?”

He blinks, seemingly confused, and it prompts you to continue.

“What is this? What am I supposed to talk about with you if it’s not work?” you say slowly. “You know I was just saying that to not make things awkward for Seokjin and Namjoon, right?” Too slowly, like he’s stupid and you need to enunciate every syllable. You can’t help it.

Jungkook puts his champagne glass on the table. He looks a little lost, and it’s clear that this is a turn that neither of you expected. See, you think, wishing Taehyung would come back right this second to witness this, This is why I need to drink.

“What happened? I thought we were doing fine.”

He took the words right out your mouth, only a few years too late.

Is he serious? He really is that dense?

Your mouth falls open, trying to gauge if you are actually on the same topic, or if you’re even speaking the same language. It can’t be more painfully obvious that you two have been living completely different realities.

“You happened,” you snap, amazed by the fact that you even have to tell him.

You stop short of saying: Fuck you. You unraveled my life like a hurricane and now I have to be the one to remind you of it? You wanted nothing to do with me the last five years and now you’re trying to get me all to yourself?

You can’t help the next question that slips out either. Blame the small part of you that’s been dying to know this since you found out the news from Namjoon. “Why would you think that we’d be fine? Who do you think I am to you?”

Jungkook’s lips part but he doesn’t say anything for nearly half a minute. His face falls just a tad, and you don’t really know what to make of that. His eyes glimmer under the lights. With what, you can’t know for certain. It must be shame. Is it possible that there’s guilt swimming in those irises? Underneath the surface of those brown eyes, is it too much to ask that there be some regret too?

You think the question nicked him somewhere you can’t see. Call it wishful thinking, but you hope it’s the same place that he has always cut into you.

Bleed. Bleed like you made me bleed.

Finally, he says, “You’re…”

Then, Jimin practically shouts into a mic that he has procured somewhere. Wonderful timing, blondie.

“Can everyone gather at the front for a group photo please? I’m going to hang it on the wall!”

You don’t know if you should be frustrated or grateful for the interruption. That void that you used to fill with anger and resentment is now bubbling with something else. No matter how hard you try to swallow it all down, you know it won’t stop until you overflow, until you’re swallowed whole by that grief again. You feel foolish. Cheap. Hard to love, hard to keep. He meant the world to you but to him, turns out you were merely replaceable.

You turn away from Jungkook in favor of another chaos. In the midst of the grand Park family – Jimin’s many cousins, bubbly nieces and nephews who all want to be in the center of the photo – you get pushed to the side. There’s too many people here. It’ll probably end up looking like one of those company pictures where at least half the people have their eyes closed and the other half look like they can’t wait to get out of there. You don’t know where Taehyung is, if he’s even back from the bathroom. You’re so tired. So drained, all of a sudden. You miss your bed and your comfy pillows and your warm fluffy blanket. You want to sink into it and melt like a piece of marshmallow on hot chocolate.

You stand there awkwardly on the very edge, aware of Jungkook loitering a couple of steps from you as you both wait for people to make up their mind on where to stand. You can tell that the photographer is getting frustrated when he finally steps in to guide the older people when they start looking like buffering Sims. You don’t even know where Jimin and Hoseok are either.

“Okay, is everyone ready?” the photographer asks, his voice unamused as he raises the camera to look through the viewfinder. He doesn’t even wait for any confirmation and just starts counting down. No doubt about it, Jimin is definitely underpaying this guy. “Three, two, o– Wait. You on the left. No, my left. Yes, you, guy in the black coat. Could you stand closer? You’re almost out of the frame.”

Jungkook – “guy in the black coat” – shuffles closer until you can smell his familiar cologne over the overwhelming floral scent radiating off the woman next to you. He moves until the photographer gives his nod of approval, until your arms touch. It makes you nervous, even through the layers of clothes. What was he going to say? What did you want him to say? What could be a good enough answer?

You all smile as the camera clicks a few times. You might’ve had your eyes closed in one of the shots. Seriously, you have to make Jimin show you the picture before he commemorates his wall with it. If you have to be immortalized on a wall next to your ex, then at least you should look good.

Everybody disperses after that; some going to bid Jimin goodbye as they end the night and go home, some returning to their previously established groups to chat some more. You feel like now is probably a good time to leave.

You move to go find Taehyung, but someone stops you. A warm hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you back. You glance at where Jungkook’s skin touches yours, then your eyes flicker up to meet his. They don’t let you move, and neither do the words he says next. His face is softer than you’ve witnessed in a while. No teasing, no bravado. Just honesty.

“You’re someone important to me.”

Oof. Two strikes in one night.

It makes you angry for some reason – his honesty. Because it really looks like he believes it to be true.

This is the last thing you wanted, fighting when you’re supposed to be celebrating Jimin, but you suppose it’s happening. “I can’t tell if you mean it or if you’re just playing with me,” you say.

Jungkook pales a shade as you stare at him with hard eyes.

“I do mean it,” he says. He looks down at your hand, his fingers on your wrist twitching. 

“If that were really the case, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” you tell him. “If I were really important to you, you wouldn’t have screwed me over like that. If I were really important, you wouldn’t be here right now, acting like I’m something you can throw away whenever you feel like it, and pick back up like nothing ever happened. You know, I was starting to be okay. I was starting to get used to it and you just had to come waltzing back into my life. Do you know how important this is to me? That this is my dream I get to live but I’m just trying to survive it and never have to see you again? Why can’t you just– Fuck.”

You choke on the last of it, knowing that if you keep going, you will cry, and your pride won’t let you break down in front of your friends and strangers alike. In front of Jungkook. You count each breath in your head to steady yourself until your lungs feel less like they’re going to burn out of oxygen. 

You’re surprised that you were able to say that without much liquid courage. You’re glad that you’re standing near the corner of the room where nobody is really paying attention to you. Jungkook lets go of your wrist, visibly gulping as he does so. It feels like there’s an entire orchestra in here – people talking, music playing, all echoing around the room – and you suppose you’re thankful for that. He can’t hear your heart screaming over the noises. If you weren’t sure if he was feeling ashamed before, then you’re sure now. He should be ashamed, for everything he put you through. If you could, you would give it back to him ten times worse.

Quietly, Jungkook says, “I’m sorry,” and then nothing else.

You swear you can hear a clock go tick, tock, tick, tock… The passage of time is so palpable, like something you can hold in your hands. Minutes upon minutes, hours upon hours, days upon days - they sit in the palm of your hands but amount to nothing at all. They slip through your fingers again. Nothing is guaranteed, you realize belatedly then, certainly not closure. You’re never going to get it right. He’s always going to blindside you.

And no matter how hard you try to keep him at bay, he’s always going to get under your skin.

Stop slipping. Stop slipping. Stop slipping.

“Huh,” you mutter to yourself, bitterly, confusedly, amusedly, “I thought that would feel better.”

“What?” he asks.

“Hearing you say sorry. Did you know that you never said sorry to me?”

“It’s not– I–” he stutters. How could he possibly object to that? It’s the truth. It’s the absolute and pathetic truth. He leaves the sentence unfinished like the history of the two of you, half written until he decided that he was done with it. Time would not tell the rest, and all you were left with were blank pages that no one could fill. “I’m sorry,” he ends up saying again, as if repeating it would make the words have more gravity. If that is his intention then you suppose he succeeds, because it makes your heart heavier.

“I’m trying to do right by you.”

You consider it for a second. When you turn away, you find Taehyung across the room, already looking at you, though you don’t think he can hear anything from where he’s standing. Your friend has ‘worried’ written all over his face.

“Are you trying to do right by me? Or by you?” you ask, and then something starts to sink in. You spent so much time thinking about it, wondering where everything went wrong. Going around in circles, dwelling, trying to put together puzzle pieces that just won’t fit. That’s time that you can never get back. You’ve always known that at some point, you would have to let it all go. Maybe now is that point. Let go of things that you have no control over. You’re only burning yourself by holding on. Isn’t it better to let it scar than to keep picking at the wound and making it bleed? “Actually, it doesn’t even matter anymore. What’s the point? I’ve come to terms with it. You can do whatever you want to feel better. Just do it by yourself. Don’t use me.”

Jungkook frowns. “I’m not using you.”

You manage to suppress the urge to scoff. “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing? Thinking you could come back and sweet talk me and then you’d be absolved just like that?”

“I know you must hate me,” he says. “...for everything.”

“I do.” No fucking shit. “If you know that, then why are you doing this?” Don’t push it, your brain says, but the way he’s staring at the ground, unable to meet your eyes, looking like a puppy you just kicked makes you annoyed. “Did you know that the first time I ever saw you, I hated you?” you ask, making his eyes flit up to yours. “I wish we could’ve left it at that.”

When his face flashes with hurt, you almost feel bad even though you wished for this. His jaw clenches as you walk away, leaving him there by himself.

“Wanna head home?” Taehyung asks before you have to even say anything. He regards you with soft and apologetic eyes, with a gentle hand on your arm and concern still etched onto his features. Taehyung is a warm summer’s breeze compared to the desolate winter that Jungkook has made of you. You answer with a simple nod.

“Wait for me by the car. I’ll say bye to Jimin and be right out,” Taehyung tells you.

“Okay.”

He puts an arm around your shoulder and squeezes you once. “Sorry about that by the way… There was a line for the bathroom.”

Monday comes too soon.

You have to face Jungkook again too soon.

“Unclench your butt.”

You snap your head to the sound of Yoongi’s voice right next to your ear. His tone is teasing, and his face even more so. The man’s got way too much energy for 9 in the morning.

“Excuse me?” you grumble. You’ve been standing outside the studio for almost ten minutes now, letting your nerves eat away at you because you know Jungkook is already here. You saw his car earlier. 

“Your butt,” your friend says. “It’s too clenched.”

“You were looking at my butt?” You give him a disapproving look.

“Only because you look like you’re trying to hold in a shit.” Yoongi shrugs indifferently. “Why are you standing out here anyway?”

Your fingers twitch around the strap of your bag as you try to give him a nonchalant answer. “Trying to manifest the death of capitalism before you interrupted me.”

“Mhmm,” he says, eyeing you suspiciously like a distrusting cat. “Spill. What happened?”

“What happened with what?”

“I know you went to your friend’s thing on Friday. And I know Jungkook was there too. So what happened?”

You debate whether or not you should tell Yoongi. It’s not like you have anything to hide; he already knows about your history anyway. But he’s been the most insufferable toward Jungkook in the short time that he’s been here, and giving him the goss on your little conversation the other day would only give him another reason to be an even bigger menace. You bite your tongue, and put on the most neutral expression you can manage.

“Nothing happened,” you say. “You’re being nosy, Min.”

You push open the door to be greeted by an incredibly cheerful Seokjin and Namjoon. Why is everyone so bubbly on a Monday morning? Have they always been like this, or do you just feel like everything coming out of their mouths is sunshine and rainbows compared to the black cloud hovering over your head?

Seems like you aren’t the only one dreading the new week though. Jungkook visibly stiffens as you enter, completely devoid of that easy-going smile he always greets you with. “Hey,” he tells you.

“Morning,” you reply. To him, to Seokjin, to Namjoon. You take a seat at your usual corner, setting down your bag and pulling out your pen and notebook. 

Seokjin launches into conversation with Yoongi about a basketball game. Apparently there was one last night, but you don’t really care about that. Namjoon doesn’t seem to have much interest in the topic either, choosing to weigh in with an occasional hum here and there to be polite.

Like you, Jungkook is quiet. He knows enough about basketball to hold a conversation but you know it’s never been his favorite thing in the world. Normally though, even if he isn’t particularly knowledgeable in the matter at hand, he would still act like he’s genuinely absorbed in whatever everyone was talking about, just to be friendly and sociable. He was always very good at networking; that’s why people loved him in college. From what you’ve seen, that trait carried over into adulthood as well. 

From the corner of your eye, you could see Jungkook fidget in his chair. He turns his head every once in a while to glance at you, which doesn’t go unnoticed by you, nor Yoongi for that matter. Yoongi nudges your knee with his own, prompting a curious look from you. He leans closer to your ear and lowers his voice so that nobody can hear.

“Jungkook looks like his butt is pretty clenched too.”

Your grip on the pen loosens as you swirl it around absentmindedly, humming to yourself the melody off the page as if it’ll summon words to the sheet, where it’s mostly blank beneath all the squiggly music notes. The men – with the exception of Namjoon; he’s out for the day – gather around, discussing the first demo track. You drown most of it out. Your job here isn’t to wring out the kinks with the technical aspects anyway.

“We could record something for the rough demo today,” Yoongi thinks out loud.

“Today?” Jungkook asks as he arches an eyebrow. “For what track? We don’t have a single thing completely finished yet?”

“Buddy, are you a glass half empty kind of guy?” Yoongi jokes. “From what I see, we have at least four tracks halfway done. That’s enough for us to record.”

The younger man leans back in his chair and crosses his arms in front of his chest, highly annoyed but he still tries to keep a straight face and an even voice. It’s his first big project, and this fucking person is coming in and stepping all over his toes. To Jungkook, Yoongi is just some guy. He has never understood what the hype was about with Agust D, why he has always been a massive media darling and why everybody seems so enamored with him. Seokjin talks about him like Jungkook should feel so privileged to have the opportunity to work with such talent. Namjoon, his own freaking mentor, practically idolizes Yoongi. He almost passed out from glee when he heard that Yoongi would be coming on board. Even when the label was trying to get the rapper to sign with them, Jungkook never got what all the fuss was about.

It’s almost frustrating to watch people around him fawn over Yoongi like he hangs the moon in the sky. If you feel the same way about him, you don’t let it show, but Jungkook can tell that you admire and respect the guy a lot. He just can’t figure out what the deal is between you and Yoongi. Something is there. If not from your side then definitely from Yoongi’s. He seems too protective of you. Taehyung is the same way, and so are Jimin and Hoseok, but with them, Jungkook understands. They’ve been friends with you since forever, and he can’t imagine that your friendship with Yoongi can ever be that special.

“I disagree,” Jungkook asserts. “It’s a waste of time to make a demo now when we’d have to do it all over again later. At this point, all we’ll get is scraps. It wouldn’t help us get anywhere.”

Yoongi glances at Seokjin, who’s been watching but not really contributing, and they both share a look. It makes Jungkook want to get more fired up because he is supposed to be in charge here, but Yoongi is clearly more in tune with what Seokjin wants and how he operates. Jungkook will be the first one to say that he is not the best team player, but at least he tries. It usually works out just fine in the end, once he can get his ego out of the way to actually get something done, but this time it’s proving to be quite the challenge when it seems like Yoongi is constantly trying to hinder him.

“Jungkook, look.” Even the way he says his name is irritating. “I’ve been doing this way longer than you have, buddy. I was a producer before I became a rapper. I think I know what I’m doing here.”

“And I see why you would think this is a good idea, but I’m saying it’s a waste of time and effort to do this when we’ll just have to redo the whole process later. You want a summer release. We don’t have the time, and do we even have enough budget–”

Yoongi tilts his head to one side with an amused smile. “Are you sure this is the right business for you? Should you be in risk assessment instead? Why are you here worrying about budgets and timing? That’s the whole point of doing preliminary demos, to help you see what direction to take and guide the creative process–”

“Okay, okay. Retract the claws, fellas,” Seokjin jumps in this time. “I’m with Yoongi on this one, JK. Take it easy, man.”

Jungkook tongues his cheek and nods begrudgingly. He makes it seem like he’s taking it in stride, tucking his chagrin behind a mask of indifference. Yoongi shrugs with a triumphant grin, clasping his hands together as he gestures both Seokjin and Jungkook to the soundbooth.

“What?” The younger man stares at the other two. “You want me in there too?”

“Yeah, just to test some stuff out. You have a nice voice,” Yoongi admits, and even though he’s being genuine for once, Jungkook still feels like it’s condescending somehow. Anything that comes out of Yoongi’s mouth is patronizing to him. “Couldn’t hurt to see how it would sound like with Jin hyung. Maybe we could even use it later.”

You’ve been trying to keep your head down and shut out all the sounds. Sounds of Jungkook fucking singing. Why did Min Yoongi have to force him into the box?

Back then, you used to tell him that he’s good enough to be a singer. He’d sing you to sleep whenever you were plagued with insomnia, or when you were sick, or just whenever you wanted him to. His voice always soothed you, made you feel warm all over. 

As if ignoring him today wasn’t difficult enough already.

“You’re bleeding.” You hear someone say a while later. 

Your head snaps up to see what’s going on. Somebody’s bleeding? How did that happen? But Seokjin and Jungkook are still in the booth, both looking at the paper that Jungkook is holding, talking to each other about something you can’t catch. You scan the room, brows furrowed, until you see Yoongi looking at you.

“Huh?” He points toward your hands. “You’re bleeding.”

Your eyes follow his line of sight until they land on what he’s staring at. You put the pen on the table and flex your hands. He’s exaggerating, they aren’t bleeding. Well, technically, they are if you count the reddened patches of cracked skin between your knuckles as bleeding. Your hands are just dry because the weather is cold. It happens. Dramatic Yoongi.

You wave him off with a smile. “Eh. It’s fine. I’ll put some lotion on it when I get home,” you lie. You don’t even have any hand cream. You’ve only tried using a dollop of body lotion on your hands once, but you didn’t like how your skin just felt so sticky afterward that it would leave visible prints when you touched your phone screen.

Yoongi shakes his head lightly. “No, you won’t. I’ve noticed that for a few days now.”

You level him with a look. “What are you, the hand police? It’s just dry hands. I’m not gonna die from that.”

“No, you‘re not,” Yoongi agrees, but regardless, he stands up and walks to retrieve his bag from where he left it on the couch. You watch with curiosity as he rummages through it until he pulls out a white tube of something. He crosses the distance to get to where you’re sitting and settles into the chair next to you. He reaches for your hands then, and says, “But do it for my sake. I don’t wanna look at your ugly witch's hands all day.”

“Yoongi!” you hiss, instantly scowling and failing to push him off when his stronger hand grasps one of your own. He pops open the tube and squeezes some of the cream onto your skin. “What are you doing?!”

“Hold still,” he says because you keep squirming. When the sheer weight of your glare on his face makes him look up at you, Yoongi actually glares back at you. Gasp. “Hold still,” he repeats firmly. 

You huff out a breath in annoyance. You glance at the booth to see if the guys are looking, but Seokjin still appears to be focused on the music sheet. You see and faintly hear him humming, his fingers tapping the air like he’s counting the beats. Jungkook, though… Jungkook is looking.

In the few seconds that your eyes meet his, you can tell that he’s trying to understand whatever the hell he’s watching here. You feel your cheeks heat up and you don’t really know if it’s because of Jungkook’s hard gaze on you or the feeling of Yoongi’s hands on your hands. You quickly turn away, missing the way the man in the booth pokes his tongue into a cheek.

You try to kick Yoongi in the shin but he manages to block your foot with his knee. He tuts at you disapprovingly. You watch him with a petulant frown as he rubs the cream into the back of your hand, between your knuckles, over each of your fingers. It feels expensive, though you would expect nothing less from Min Yoongi. The cream soaks into your skin right away, unlike that body lotion of yours that was obviously not made for this purpose. 

“You’re so overreacting over nothing,” you tell him.

“No, I’m not. Y/N, your hands were starting to look like coconut shavings,” he says casually, still focused on being your self-appointed hand masseuse it seems. “Is he looking?”

“What?”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi clarifies, his eyes darting up to your face for a brief second. “Is he looking?”

You exhale through your nose. “He was,” you say flatly, quite displeased with his shenanigans. “Yoongi, I told you not to do shit like this.”

His movements gradually slow. You don’t think there’s any more product on the surface left to absorb anyway. “I’m not doing this because of Jungkook, I promise,” he says, not pulling away just yet, letting his skin linger on yours. His head is still tilted downward, his gaze seemingly glued to where his thumb is swiping over your fingers. Jungkook used to do this too - absentmindedly playing with your fingers. It’s cute, and you hate to admit that the little things like this make you feel warm. You clench your jaw just once. Maybe it’s a guy’s thing.

For a moment, you actually think that he’s being sincere. About what, you don’t know. Then Yoongi looks up at you, eyes crinkling as he grins. “But pissing him off is definitely a huge plus.”

“You’re insufferable,” you tell Yoongi, rolling your eyes and shoving him away with your now moisturized hands. You gotta be honest, they do look and feel a lot better. Maybe you should pick some lotion up after work. You won’t tell Yoongi this, but you tried the exact one he just used on you a while back, in a store, and it smelled so good that you thought about it for two whole weeks. But when you saw the price tag, you immediately recoiled. It was one of the brands wherein the products were more expensive than the city’s median rent, so no wonder Yoongi would be the one to have something of theirs. Different tax brackets, you think.

Yoongi stumbles a little from your push. When he stands up, he takes one of your hands again, opening your palm and placing the tube there. “Use it every night before bed,” he instructs, like he’s a pharmacist and you’re just someone waiting to pick up their prescription.

“What?” You look at him, so serious and kind of offended. “Yoongi, I am not using your old shit!”

He sighs, wrapping your fingers around the tube so you would hold it there. “I don’t even use hand cream. I got that for you yesterday.”

Jungkook is so done. It’s been such a long week and it’s only the first day of the fucking week. After feeling so utterly helpless around you, losing to Yoongi and then watching Yoongi have his little moment with you right in front of him, Jungkook fully intends to drive straight to Jimin’s and raid his liquor cabinet until he gets a grip and figures out what to do on the you front. Especially since you called him out like that.

Jungkook hasn’t been able to focus in over an hour, after you left to go home, but he’s still cognizant enough to save the bits that he and Seokjin recorded earlier. He has witnessed how pissed Namjoon can get when they lose files due to carelessness, and no matter how level-headed his mentor usually is even in the most stressful of situations, Jungkook absolutely does not want to be on the receiving end of Namjoon’s scoldings when the man lets anger get the best of him.

Jungkook glances at the corner that you usually occupy with your nose buried in your notebook. It’s so empty in here; everyone else has already left. He sits there, heavy with so many realizations all at once. It feels like college all over, only this time, he isn’t just a stupid kid with a crush and a weird way of showing affection. He’s hurting you again. No matter what he does, he just keeps making it worse for you and him.

You were right, and it must’ve taken a lot for you to say what you said to him. It was crazy, and foolish, and most of all cruel for Jungkook to think he could patch things up with a smile. He knew how devastated he left you. Didn’t need to see the mess he made to know how much it fucked you up. Didn’t need anyone to tell him – even though his friends all tried – to know how unbelievably heartless it was to abandon the person who loved him the most. But back then, he believed he was doing the right thing. That’s how he coped with it, by trusting that it was the best decision he could make at the time. 

He still remembers that day like it was merely 24 hours ago.

The obliviousness in your voice when he told you he was coming over to talk and you said you had exciting news to share. The way he had cried in the car on his way over, pulled himself together just long enough to say “I’m breaking up with you,” and watched your eager smile drop. He could practically feel your heart in his open palm, crumbling to nothing as he gave it back to you. Like he was saying “I don’t want it anymore.” He remembers crying again on the drive after.

Everything is different now, but if he could go back, even with the knowledge of the fallout, he would still choose to do the same.

There was no point in telling Jimin, Taehyung, Hoseok, or just about anyone, why he felt like he had to do it. They would’ve just called him stupid and told you. He’s sure that if you knew then, you would try to reason with him, maybe you would even beg. And if you had begged him to stay, then there was no way he could follow through.

Jungkook locks up the studio and leaves. When he passes Jihyo at the reception, he hears her call his name but he pretends that he doesn’t. He’s too tired for this tonight. He just wants a drink, and he just wants to see you even though you were with him all day. 

Skipping the parking lot for now, Jungkook walks to the nearby store, wanting to bring something over to Jimin’s or else the older man will just grumble at him for coming empty handed. When he rounds the corner, he sees you walking by yourself in the small park across the street. Your hands are shoved in your pockets while you stare up at the starless night. Jungkook thinks you should belong in a painting.

He stands there curiously. If you looked straight ahead, you would see him. But you seem preoccupied with the clouds floating through the dark blue, too lost in thought to notice much. Your hand comes up when something lands on your face. A second later, Jungkook feels something wet and cold against his cheek too. He remembers.

He pulls out his phone, fiddles with it for a minute as he contemplates, and ultimately decides to tap on your name in his contacts. Pressing the device against his ear, he listens to it ring, and watches you fish your own phone from your bag. He takes note of the furrow between your brows, the fleeting clench of your teeth. He almost thinks you wouldn’t pick up, but you do.

“Hello?” you answer uncertainly. 

“Hey,” Jungkook says, “where are you?”

“Uhm…” There’s a pause. He wonders if you would lie. “Just out getting some air. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m just… in front of you right now.”

Confusion overtakes your features. When your gaze crosses the street to land on him, you let out a small Oh, and give him a small awkward wave. He ends the call and rushes over, even though he doesn’t know what to say to you. He watches you wince, because you always hated whenever he jaywalked. It makes him smile a little.

“Hi,” you say as Jungkook stands in front of you.

“Hi,” he returns. “Mind if I join you?”

You stare up at him for a few seconds before deciding, “Yeah, sure.”

“What are you still doing here? You left like two hours ago,” he says. You walk together further into the park, where lonely lamp posts dimly light your path.

You shrug. “I went to get dinner and just… I don’t know. Felt like I could use some fresh air.”

“In this weather? It’s snowing.”

You both watch the breath that you huff out. “Well, it didn’t start snowing until you got here.”

The first snow, or just snow in general, is never as romantic as they make it seem in the movies. Sure it’s pretty, and when the ground is covered in a thick blanket of snow, it makes for a good Instagram story. But in reality? Snow is so fucking dirty, and when it starts melting, it is absolute hell for everybody. Your weather app didn’t say that it would snow today, but you should’ve known better than to trust that damn thing.

Jungkook hums, and silence falls over you like the snow, making everything so damp and gross. You hope it stops soon.

When some snowflakes land directly on your cheek, you wipe the moisture away with mild annoyance. “I hate snow,” you grumble, pulling your scarf tighter. If you had known that it would snow, you would’ve worn something with a hood and your sturdier boots.

Jungkook chuckles lightly as he watches you hiss when some snowflakes land on your head, startling your skin with its frost and slowly dampening your hair. “You don’t hate it,” he says. “You just hate it when you’re walking in the snow. I know you.”

The universe doesn’t give you time to dwell on that last comment. The ground beneath you turns slippery as you keep walking. You yelp loudly when your sneaker-clad feet skid on the thin ice sheet that the snow has created. You’re fully prepared for your ass to hit the pavement and consequently bruise in about half an hour, but Jungkook catches you with both hands on your waist, pulling you flush against him so you don’t hit the ground. Unlike you, his shoes have more traction.

Your heart hammers from the suddenness of the last thirty seconds. You can see each heavy breath that leaves your mouth and promptly dissipates into the cold air. You don’t realize that your hands are gripping his shoulders to help steady yourself, as if he doesn’t already have his arms wrapped securely around you, and you realize then that wow, this is the closest he’s been to you in years. It’s unbearable just how much you’ve missed being in his arms.

Just two people on an empty street, tangled up in each other, the falling snow your only audience – you look like you’ve landed yourself right in a romance drama, but in reality, this is anything but that.

You clear your throat and shuffle backward, out of his strong hold, careful not to trip and make a fool of yourself any more than you already have. “Thanks,” you say. “I should head home. It’s getting late.”

Jungkook nods. “Do you want to walk back to the company? I can give you a ride home.”

You consider this. The street is steadily being swallowed up by layers of white, and you don’t doubt that it will only be more difficult to navigate the road by yourself as the night gets darker and colder. Cabs are running more sparsely. It would take you forever to get home, especially in weather that makes you feel like a calf learning to walk for the first time.

“Yeah,” you agree, “sure, okay.”

The walk back to the building’s parking lot is mostly silent, and so is the ride to your apartment. You’ve never felt the first snow on your skin before, having always preferred to stay indoors on nights forecasted to experience snowfall. There’s something so wistful about witnessing the inauguration of winter yourself, how these delicate flowers of ice not only herald the ending of a season and the beginning of a new one, but also signal that another chapter of your life is about to close forever. It prompts you to mull over the last 12 months, to see if you’ve accomplished anything you set out to achieve or if you’ve wasted an entire year of your life. To share a moment like this with Jungkook makes you wonder if the universe is trying to send you a sign.

When the car stops at a red light a few blocks away from your place, you take the time to watch the snowflakes twirling outside the window. They wander in front of you, free yet aimless, like they’re asking if they could come in and seek refuge from the freezing cold. Not knowing warmth would be the thing that kills them. Adrift with the gentle wind until they land on the glass, only to die a mere second later. You break the silence.

“It’s kinda nice now,” you say, eyeing the marshmallow-looking ice that’s starting to pile up all around while you’re sheltered by the warmth of his car.

“See?” Jungkook chuckles. “Told you you only hate snow when you have to walk in it.”

“Hmm.” It’s true. You don’t want to admit it, but he did know you. Knew what drove you and what made you tick. Knew how your brain worked and how your heart moved. Knew that you loved him long before you could say it out loud.

Even when you lied that he doesn’t know you anymore, deep down you’re very well aware that he still does. 

“Can I ask you this one thing, though?” you say calmly, but something must alert him that you aren’t looking to talk about the weather or some other meaningless shit. Jungkook doesn’t give you a verbal answer, nor any other indication that you can go ahead and voice your question. He just looks at you before the light turns green, like he doesn’t really want you to ask anything but he has no other choice but to let you. Like he’s scared of what you might demand from him.

It’s okay. You weren’t asking for permission anyway.

“Did I…” love you enough? Was there a single moment where you thought I didn’t love you? “Back then,” you swallow, keeping your eyes on the snowy streets that turn into ivory blurs as the car starts moving again, “did I ever make you feel like you weren’t enough?”

Your ears don’t pick up on much sound in the infinite pocket of seconds that follows. Not the low hum of the car’s radiator, nor the wind that becomes harsher right outside the window. Just his breathing and the beat of your own heart, drowning in the anticipation of his answer.

What if he says yes? Would it mean that after all this time that you spent blaming him, it’s been your fault all along? Were you the one that drove him away?

“No,” he says, interrupting that voice in your head. “Not once.”

You don’t doubt that he’s telling you the truth, but it doesn’t make you feel better. His tone tells you there’s more than he’s letting on, but it doesn’t matter now. Before Friday night, Taehyung had asked if you would ask Jungkook the question, and after some consideration, you had said no. Maybe if it were a couple of years ago, or even a few months back when you saw him again, you would have said yes. You used to think that if he ever came back for whatever reason, the first thing you would ask him is why. You would confront him, demand an answer, make him walk you through every single thought he had before he decided to ruin your life.

But no answer could change the fact that he did leave. There is no excuse good enough to justify how he left you so completely crushed. Sure, knowing would give you some of the closure that you were desperately seeking at one point, but what if it makes everything worse? What if he left because he was looking for something, something more than you could give? What if he found it, only to realize then that it wasn’t worth leaving you for after all?

Now, at least you know that your efforts were felt. You did the best you could, loved him the best way you knew how. 

The man beside you clears his throat. You only notice now that Jungkook has already pulled up in front of your building. You haven’t spoken much before tonight, not about what happened at Jimin’s party. You weren’t sure how to bring it up, or if you should even bring it up. He seemed like he was trying to avoid the topic too. You had the weekend to relive every moment of that night over and over, and you obviously don’t want to talk about it, but you have to address it sooner or later if you want to move forward in peace. 

“Hey, uhm, about the other night…” you start.

He stiffens a bit, and then sighs. “I know,” he says. “You were right. It’s not fair of me to–”

“I’m sorry,” you cut him off firmly. “Some of the things I said were harsh, and I’m sorry.”

Jungkook looks at you in surprise. His ears must deceive him, because, “Why are you apologizing?”

“I told you. I was harsh and it was uncalled for.”

“No, it wasn’t,” he says, frowning. He twists his body to face you. “I deserved it. You were right to call me out. Don’t backtrack.”

You stare at him with your lips pursed. “Why are you trying to argue right now?”

“Because I deserve your rage. Be mad at me.”

“I am mad at you,” you tell him but there’s no bite. You’re softening, loosening your grip while he’s the only one trying to hold on. “But I don’t want to be anymore.”

“Why not? You should. You have every right.”

“Jungkook, it’s been five years,” you chuckle without much humor, thinking back to what you’ve been doing in the last half a decade. Stalking your ex online, mourning your lost love every time he gets into a new relationship, holding out hope. And for what? What’s the point of it all? It’s not like you and him are going to get back together again. It’s a waste of time, time that you could spend trying to let him go and move on, whether he gives you that closure or not. “I’m tired and I just want to get on with my life. I don’t want to keep being bitter about it. What good will that do?”

His face is so serious all of a sudden, like he wants you to actually scream at him. Curse him out. Anything. “Then what do you want me to do?”

“Don’t feel like you have to make amends, or do anything right by me. Can we just, I don’t know, let the past remain in the past? I don’t want to make our friends feel like they have to act a certain way around me when it comes to you. It’s my problem, not theirs. I don’t want to make them uncomfortable anymore. So please, I’m not asking for anything else. I just want us all to… move forward.”

It’s then that he sees, oh, maybe you do belong in a painting. Sitting right in front of him but you’re so far away. He was once the artist but now, he’s merely a spectator.  “Do you mean that?” he asks quietly.

“Yes, Jungkook. I’m really tired,” you say. “Why would you of all people want to be reminded of what happened?”

He swallows thickly. You can tell that he isn’t too fond of the idea, even if what you’re proposing gives him a way out. It lets him off the hook. But for some reason, he’s hesitant to take it, might be resisting it even. You can’t bring yourself to understand why, but eventually, he says, “Okay. If that’s what you really want.”

He doesn’t put up much of a fight, though it doesn’t exactly sound like an affirmation, but who even cares?

“Right, then,” you mumble, unbuckling your seatbelt and gripping the strap of your bag. “Good night. See you tomorrow.”

He says it back, and lets you go with a strained smile.

Yoongi’s fingers tap on his knees to the beat of the music playing in the background. You were surprised when he called you on a Saturday, asking if you were free, telling you that he had something to say. You didn’t have any plans and Yoongi said he was treating you, and well, you don’t need to be convinced further.

Here you are, in a fancy restaurant, sharing a tiramisu with Min Yoongi. How nice. You thought he’d have better plans than just hanging out with little old you.

“Will you please just tell me now?” you say, looking at him with playful puppy dog eyes. You take another bite of the dessert, and practically have to stifle a moan when the sweetness melts in your mouth. You honestly think you have romantic feelings for this tiramisu. “I’ve been waiting for like two hours.” 

Yoongi swirls the wine in his glass before he brings it to his lips and takes a sip, all the while looking at you, so happy with the treat that you’re supposed to share but he doesn’t even touch. When he sets his glass down, he calls your name, making you glance up. 

“Do you still… y’know… Jungkook?”

You stare at him back, confused. “Do I still I know Jungkook?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Don’t make me spell it out. You’ll just beat me if I say it.”

“Oh, so it’s something annoying then? Then please, keep it to yourself.”

“Okay, then,” he says, smiling so obnoxiously because he knows you’re too curious.

Give it a minute.

“Oh my god, fine,” you give up, drawing out the sentence exasperatedly. “Do I still what Jungkook?”

Yoongi regards your face teasingly. “Do you still have feelings for him?”

Your entire body goes rigid. You don’t even try to hide the way your face falls upon hearing his question. What’s the point? He’ll just see right through you anyway.

“You took me out to dinner just to ask me that?”

He nods. “Yeah, among other things.”

“I mean…” You set down your spoon. No one has ever asked you that before, and it’s not a question that you yourself have considered. Jungkook still affects you, that much is clear. Thinking about your relationship still affects you. Does that mean that you have lingering feelings for him? You’ve yet to solve this, and truth be told, you aren’t sure if you would like the conclusion it leads you to. You give Yoongi a vague answer, because even you yourself don’t know what the truth is. But it doesn’t matter, now that you’ve made the active decision to let it all go. “I’m trying to move on.”

“Hmm.” He doesn’t seem very satisfied with your choice of words. “Do you still hate him then?”

This, you don’t really need to ruminate much on. “I think part of me will always hate him for what he did.” And part of you will always love him in spite of what he did.

Yoongi leans forward with both of his arms on the table, contemplating how he should word this. You deserve flowery words and romantic grand gestures, but alas Yoongi is blunt, and sometimes rough around the edges. He has great timing too. Just as you raise a glass of water to your mouth to soothe your dry throat, he says, “Let me be your revenge dick.”

It makes you choke, sending water down every wrong pipe as you cough harshly. It dribbles down your chin and a few drops plop! onto your light wash jeans. You’re glad it wasn’t wine. You would’ve killed him if he made you stain your newly bought trousers. While you try to hold onto dear life, he has the audacity to fucking laugh. When you kick his shin under the table, he hands you a few napkins. It takes you another minute to calm down.

“What the actual fuck?” you hiss. The little “incident” earns you a few weird looks from people sitting nearby. It’s so embarrassing, but Yoongi is acting like it’s the funniest shit he’s ever seen.

“Let me be your revenge d–”

“I heard you the first time, Jesus Christ. Please don’t say the word “dick” to me ever again. In fact, please stop talking altogether. Please don’t open your mouth ever again.”

He does not abide by your request, opening his stupid mouth again and thus cementing his place as your least favorite person in the entire world right this minute. You lost half your brain cells listening to that one singular sentence. Jesus fucking God. Who in their right mind would utter something like that? And to you, no less? Fuck. Men.

One of these days, you swear you will pop an aneurysm. It’s so ridiculous that it’s not even funny. But Yoongi just keeps talking like you’re asking him to elaborate.

“What I’m saying is… use me.”

“For what?” You’re genuinely so perplexed as to what the point of this conversation is, or where it’s even going. This man has a way of surprising you more and more each day.

“For revenge dicking purposes.”

You do your best to suppress a shudder. Where did that term even come from? “Oh my god, why do you keep saying that? We’re in public! What if someone hears you?!” 

The man sitting across from you grins, showcasing his pearly whites, clearly very amused by your reactions. “You gotta show Jungkook what he’s missing. Make him regret it.”

“Min Yoongi,” you say slowly. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“No. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been this serious,” Yoongi answers. “Let me be your arm candy. I’m very good at that.” You’re very curious about who raised him and how he turned out to be this way. You can’t believe you have to tolerate him sometimes.

You give it another minute before you say, “I’ll have you know that Jungkook and I had a very productive talk. We’re in a much better place now, so your… whatever services won’t be necessary.”

He leans back, eases up, and stares at you thoughtfully. Like he doesn’t really believe you. Like the cogs of his mind are once again turning. “Okay, that’s even better. I don’t have to be the rebound. I can just be your main piece.”

Looking at him pleadingly, you bemoan, “Yoongi, why are you doing this to me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“It absolutely is not obvious!”

“Seriously?”

You cross your arms, raising an annoyed eyebrow at the man. “Listen, I don’t know what kind of people you’re hanging out with, but my friends don’t go around offering to–”

“Because I like you.”

You could practically facepalm. As he stares at you, not even blinking anymore, you reach for the salt shaker on the table to pour some onto your hand. When he opens his mouth to ask what you’re doing, you flick the miniscule white crystals in his direction. 

“Wha–”

“Yoongi, I can’t believe you wasted a whole evening for that lame ass joke.”

“Did you really just…” He throws his head back, laughing in both disbelief and amusement. “Wow. You tell a girl you like her and she throws salt at you. That’s definitely a first for me.”

“It’s not funny. Stop saying that.”

“Stop saying what?”

“Stop saying you like me!”

“But I do like you,” he says, voice softer now. “I’ve always liked you.”

You mentally groan, sucking your teeth before you reach for the salt again. He grabs your wrist before you could hold it up. 

“Quit it and listen to me. I’m serious.”

When you look at Yoongi, he’s wearing an expression you don’t think you’ve often seen, or ever seen before. There’s no trace of that familiar teasing smile that’s almost always on his lips, nor the mischievous glint in his eyes that he usually sports. This side of Yoongi is new to you. This side of Yoongi makes you hold your breath for some reason.

For a second there, you believe what he’s saying.

“Come on. You’re taking this too far.”

“Why do you keep thinking this is a joke? You know I would never do that, Y/N.”

You pull your hand back to pinch the bridge of your nose. “Because you keep using me to mess with Jungkook even though I’ve asked you multiple times to–”

“Can you not mention his name?” Yoongi straightens in his chair. This is the closest he’s ever come to being annoyed with you. “I’m trying to tell you how I feel and you’re thinking about Jungkook.”

You liked it better when he was cocky about it.

“You can’t possibly be serious right now.”

Yoongi purses his lips, his eyes telling you that he’s irritated with you too, only he’s much better at containing his frustration. You both stare at each other for god knows how long because neither one of you understands what the other is trying to say.

When Yoongi speaks next, his voice is so calm, so low that it makes your spine run cold.

“You were always so oblivious.”

“Oh my god, pick up, pick up, pick up,” you mutter to yourself like a deranged person on the sidewalk, telepathically urging Taehyung to answer the phone before you’ve even called him. His phone filters through your speaker after the third ring. Kim Taehyung, always so quick to answer your calls.

“What’s u–”

“Oh my god, Kim Taehyung, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, you will not believe what just happened,” you rush out in one breath. “Where are you? Are you at home? I’ll come to you. Oh my god!”

“Jesus, did you mix coffee with Red Bull again? Slow down,” Taehyung says. “I’m at Jimin’s now.”

“Oh? Okay.” This is even better. Jimin’s apartment is much closer to the restaurant than Taehyung’s place is. “Is it boys’ night? Nevermind. Doesn’t matter. I’ll come over right now. Be there in 15!”

“What? Wait, Y/N, no, Ju–!”

You hang up before he can say anything else. You bounce on your heels as you flag down a cab, so awfully restless and you just want to tell someone. On the ride over, the driver keeps glancing at you through the rearview mirror every few seconds; your nervous energy must have infected him because you look like you just found out that someone is freaking dying. When you arrive at your destination, you take a deep breath before you hurry up the stairs. Jimin’s building is old and has no elevator, which normally sucks because he lives on the fifth floor and you absolutely despise stairs. But right now, you have so much adrenaline coursing through your veins that five flights feel like a piece of cake.

You have no doubt that the men inside know it’s you from the way you ring his doorbell repeatedly. Jimin opens the door with an exasperated look, to which you pay no mind and just press a quick kiss against his cheek in greeting before you barge into his home in search of Taehyung.

“Kim Taehyung! Where are you? This is an emergency, I need y–!”

When you do find him, however, he isn’t alone. Sitting next to Taehyung on the couch and holding a bottle of beer to his lips, is none other than Jungkook. You all look at each other awkwardly as the words die on your tongue, killing some of the nerves while you bite your lip to keep your mouth shut. Jimin waddles into the living room after he shuts down the door and plops down next to Jungkook. Now there are three pairs of eyes on you.

“Oh, uhm, hi,” you say to Jungkook. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Hi,” he says, and offers you a beer on the table. “Want one?”

What you said to Yoongi at dinner wasn’t exactly untrue. You and Jungkook are kind of in a better place now. In the last few days, since you had your little chat in his car, he’s let up on the crap that he was pulling before. Something still feels off to you though. Feels like his head isn’t really in it, that he’s still doing this for the sake of trying to ease his guilt by going along with what he thinks makes you happy. Whatever. It’s at least a little progress, you suppose.

“No, that’s fine.” You wave Jungkook off before inching closer to Taehyung and pulling him up by the arm. “Uhm, I just needed to talk to Tae and I’ll be on my way!”

You drag your friend into the guest bedroom that Jimin has recently turned into an office, all the while ignoring his shout of “This better be good! Don’t forget to tell me later!” as you shut the door.

You glare at Taehyung. “Okay, why didn’t you tell me that Jungkook was here?”

“I tried to!” He raises his hands in surrender. “You hung up on me. I texted you about it.”

You rummage through your bag for the phone that you so hastily shoved in there before getting into the taxi. The notification on your screen glares back at you.

[21:42] Taebear 🐻: jungkook is here btw. dunno if you’re cool with that

“Right…” you mutter. “My bad.”

“Well?” Taehyung prompts, then his face turns worried as he gives you a once-over. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

You inhale deeply, holding onto his wrists and staring him dead in the eye. Even with the door closed and with Jungkook and Jimin all the way in the living room, you keep your voice low. “I think I just got propositioned.”

Your friend blinks slowly, or rather, he closes his eyes for five whole seconds before he opens them. Taehyung visibly relaxes when he comprehends that you are, in fact, okay and healthy, and that you’re just being overly dramatic.

He pushes your hands away. “Fuck off. I thought something bad happened.”

“Something bad did happen!”

“You are literally the worst person.”

“I’m serious!”

He groans and looks at you like a disappointed parent. “Fine,” he relents, “what happened?”

“I think Yoongi sort of pimped himself out to me today.”

Taehyung opens his mouth, closes it, and does it again a few times. “You can’t just say that and not elaborate.”

“He said he likes me.”

There comes that slow-ass, neverending blink again. Taehyung looks like the meme, like he’s seeing the world in nothing but equations.

“I fail to see how that would be considered pimping oneself out.”

“Well, you have to hear what he said after–”

A mop of fluffy blond hair materializes out of thin air, startling you both. You didn’t even hear him come in. That sneaky little thing. “What are we talking about?” Jimin asks, lowering his volume to match yours. “Why are we whispering?”

“Why are you here?” You look behind him at the door that he left ajar. “Where’s Jungkook?”

“He’s in the living room.”

“By himself?”

“Well, there’s no one else here, so duh.”

You exhale exasperatedly. “Now it’s gonna look like we’re talking about him.”

“Aren’t we?”

“We’re talking about Yoongi,” Taehyung says, casting his eyes to the ground briefly.

“Yoongi?” Jimin asks, glancing between you and Taehyung with a slight frown. “Your Yoongi?”

You raise an eyebrow in question. “What do you mean my Yoongi? There’s only one Yoongi. He’s the Yoongi.”

“Okay. So what’s up with the Yoongi?”

Taehyung turns to his wonder twin with an unamused look. “She’s doing that annoying thing where she gives you a single detail of the story and you have to ask her to keep going every time.”

Blondie makes a face. “Oof, yeah, that’s annoying. Don’t do that.”

You gape at the two of them. “I’m giving you tea and you’re complaining about my storytelling skills?”

You should’ve expected it, should’ve known what was coming the second that question left your mouth. The guys don’t even need to look at each other to be in sync when they echo, “Yes.”

“But seriously,” Jimin says, “what about Yoongi?”

“We went to dinner tonight and he… said he likes me…” you tell him, and physically recoil at the memory. Oh… the horror. “And he said, oh my god I can’t even repeat it without wanting to jump off a bridge, he said to let him be my revenge dick.”

Jimin gasps. Taehyung chokes on his own spit. They both sputter out, “What the fuck?”

“Right?!” you cry, still so fucking mortified by the experience. “I almost died just sitting there. I can’t believe he made me listen to that with my own two ears.”

Taehyung is the first one to turn serious. “What happened after that though?” You don’t know what you would do sometimes if there wasn’t a Kim Taehyung to ground you.

“Well, I came here.”

“So…” he drags out the single word, “you ran away from him?”

Jimin looks at you expectantly too, wearing the same question in his eyes. You frown at them. “What? No. I threw salt on him and told him to stop fucking around and then I lef– Oh my god, I did run away.”

Shit.

Shit.

“Hold up, what the fuck,” Jimin cackles, like this is all just so funny. “You threw salt on him?”

You let out a nervous laugh, and point finger guns at your friends idiotically. “But it’s fine. Because obviously he didn’t mean it.”

“Why would you think he didn’t mean it?” Taehyung asks.

“He’s an annoying little shit sometimes! And,” you keep your volume under control again, “he hates Jungkook. He’s only doing it to piss him off.”

Taehyung purses his lips, regards you with a look you don’t like because you’re trying to sort through this logically, convince yourself that it isn’t real and that Yoongi is just missing April Fool’s day by four whole months. Why is your friend making this more difficult?

“Is it so hard to believe that someone can like you?”

“Yes,” you say seriously, “when that person is Yoongi.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s Yoongi!” You throw your hands up. “He’s not like us.”

“I hate to break it to you, but celebrities aren’t above having crushes.”

You look at Jimin for help, but he just shrugs, choosing silence as the neutral option or maybe staying silent is just his way of agreeing with Taehyung. This isn’t the reaction you expected when you rushed here to give him the goss. Taehyung doesn’t blindly support your every decision or try to rationalize your every move just because he’s your friend. He tells you to your face when you’re being absurd, so you really don’t get why he’s the one being unreasonable right now.

“Oh my god, please,” you say. “Yoongi absolutely does not have a crush on me.”

Jimin chimes in. “Well, he did literally just admit that to you.”

You send him a glare that says, Oh, so now you’re talking?

You turn to Taehyung again. You can’t believe this is happening. Are you two really arguing? About whether or not Yoongi actually likes you? While Jungkook is sitting by himself in another room? You bet nobody has this on their bingo card.

“I told you. He’s just trying to fuck with Jungkook.”

“Why do you keep saying that? Why do you think he’s trying to fuck with Jungkook?” Taehyung challenges.

“Because he’s my friend!” you groan. It’s the most obvious thing in the world, but no one seems to believe that Yoongi is just your friend. “You’re my friend too. But you’re being so fucking annoying now.”

He narrows his eyes at you, as if to prove a point. “Yoongi is that good of a friend that he would go out of his way to mess with someone he hadn’t even met until a couple weeks ago?”

“I– well– maybe!” you stammer, blinking up at him. The height difference is clearly not doing you any good. “He’s a very petty person. And when he isn’t being a little shit, he can be a very good friend.”

Taehyung scoffs, seriously getting on your nerves. It isn’t even any of his business. You just wanted to tell him for the sake of sharing with your best friend, not ask for his opinion on any of it. He doesn’t even know Yoongi, never even met him.

“I know what people are like when they’re in love with you,” Taehyung mutters, eyeing the ground. Jimin makes a noise and nudges his friend in the rib, shaking his head while he does so.

 You, petty little you, want to fire back. “Oh, so Yoongi is in love with me now?”

Taehyung opens his mouth, prepared to continue his assault on your sanity when Jimin has to step in, waving his hands in front of you both. “Alright, that’s enough,” he says. “Why don’t we just call it a night and let’s reconvene when everybody is thinking straight, yeah?”

Taehyung doesn’t even look at you. You try to release your frustrations through a loud exhale, but it doesn’t do much. When all of you venture out into the living room to leave, you remember that Jungkook is still here. He looks at yours and Taehyung’s disgruntled expressions, then at Jimin’s face as he not-so-subtly shakes his head, silently telling him to not ask any questions. Poor guy, this was boys’ night after all. You couldn’t have spent more than 30 minutes in Jimin’s office. He was just quietly drinking his beer and watching TV out here, unaware of everything going on in the room just down the hall. Now everybody seems pissed and the night is spoiled.

You bid Jungkook and Jimin a curt goodnight before you head for the door, saying nothing to Taehyung because he clearly doesn’t deserve any pleasantries after tonight. You end up going home with more questions than answers.

You hate this. You hate it so much.

Now that you’re finally starting to actually coexist with Jungkook – of all people! – the other men in your life have to come for your head?

You haven’t spoken to Taehyung since that night, which was only three days ago, but still. It’s the longest you’ve gone without talking to your best friend. You don’t know what was up his ass, and Jimin has just been telling you to not overthink it, that Taehyung will reach out when he’s calmed down. It makes zero sense to you, because how does your situation affect him in any way? What does he even have to calm down from?

With Yoongi, on the other hand… Well, you’re still convinced that he was just being good old insufferable Yoongi. This is how he has always been – teasing, easy going, and has a good rapport with you. That night was just a fluke. Maybe he had too much to drink and didn’t know when to stop the joke from getting too carried away.

You are not fighting with Yoongi. You are not fighting with Yoongi. You remind yourself of this, so that when you see him in the studio next, everything is okay.

Yoongi arrives some time after lunch and brings everybody coffee. You expect him to be lighthearted as always, which he is, and you expect him to sit next to you as always, which he does. He laughs with Seokjin, chats with Namjoon about the art scene, pokes “friendly” fun at Jungkook every now and then. You two work side by side, bouncing ideas off each other like you normally do. He doesn’t mention the dinner, which makes you feel a whole lot better about that night because see? Everything is fine. If everything is fine with Yoongi then everything is fine with Taehyung too.

Some time around 5pm, Yoongi asks if you should all go out for drinks tonight. He gets shot down by the guys though. Apparently no one is up for after-work drinks on a Tuesday night.

“You’re no fun,” Yoongi grumbles before turning to you with hopeful eyes. “Y/N?” he whines, “Indulge me like you usually do, please?”

“No, thanks,” you decline. You glance up in time to see Jungkook quietly chuckling to himself. “Today is my self-care day.”

“Tuesday is your self-care day?”

“Because tomorrow is Wednesday. I have a pre-Wednesday routine.”

“Did I ever tell you that you’re very weird about Wednesdays?” Seokjin asks.

You hum in thought for a moment before answering him. “You did. And then you told me a really bad dad joke.”

He makes an exasperated Ahh noise as he recalls the very moment, then blasts his booming windshield wiper laugh when he remembers the joke he made. “Hey, that joke was killer!”

“It absolutely was not! The only decent one that I’ve heard from you is–”

“No, no, hey,” Yoongi cuts in, “don’t entertain him and his stupid jokes. Come onnn, you know I hate drinking alone. Go for a drink with me, princess. You used to be my drinking buddy all the time.”

“Uh huh,” you scoff. “And look where drinking with you got me.”

“I allow fraternizing in the workplace as long as I’m still the priority, guys,” Seokjin chirps in. 

“That’s not what I meant,” you say quickly. “No one is fraternizing with anybody!”

Yoongi hums quietly. He drops his volume, just for your ears. “No? Is that your answer then?”

“What?” you whisper. You don’t know why you’re whispering. You just do it because Yoongi is doing it.

“You kinda ran out on me the other night.”

“I didn’t–”

He gives you a look.

“Okay, maybe I did… but only because you were being ridiculous!”

Yoongi licks his lips and tips his head toward the door. He’s the first one to stand up and head out of the room, followed by you half a minute later. You appreciate him wanting some privacy for you two to talk, but you don’t like that this is a conversation that needs privacy. You were all just joking around in there. If this is still a joke, why is he leading you out here?

Walking out the door, you hear Seokjin call after you, “Fraternizing!”

“That is not what’s happening!”

You find Yoongi in the empty breakroom, leaning against a counter.

“You can drop it now, Yoongi,” you say.

“What?” he tilts his head, looking at you curiously. “You still think I’m messing around?”

“Obviously.”

“Why is that?” he asks. “What makes that so hard to believe?”

It’s what Taehyung asked you the other night too.

Because you’re you! is what you almost say. It’s the same answer you gave Taehyung, because, well, do you even need another explanation? You don’t tell him that though, thinking it might offend him somehow. Instead, you throw him a question.

“Okay. Sure. Let’s say that you are serious. What happened? When did you even start liking me? Why are you telling me now?”

Yoongi exhales gently, straightening up to walk closer to where you are. He stops when he’s right in front of you, looking right into your eyes and using the same voice he did that night. “I always liked you. I liked you last year when we first worked together and I like you now. The only difference is then, you weren’t trying to move on,” he says, so unwavering that it makes you stagger.

That… is not what you were expecting. You blink up as he smiles down at you fondly. You feel lightheaded. Maybe even scared, because what if he means it? He sounds too sincere for it to just be all fun and games. You remember the way he held your hand when he made you put on that stupid fancy lotion.

His voice keeps lowering, and you hate that it makes you nervous. Your stomach twists, your heart pounds against your ribs.

“If you’re moving on now, can’t you do it with me?”

Looking back now, were there signs that you should have noticed?

You stand there, processing, not knowing what you should say to him, not really even breathing anymore. Yoongi must interpret your silence as realization, recognition, because he chuckles, again amused by your reaction.

“Yoongi…”

He stops you, though you weren’t going to say anything else. You feel like you could cry. Maybe he sees it in your eyes. Yoongi pats your arm gently, still smiling. “I’ll let you sleep on it, princess.”

When he leaves the room, you keep standing there by yourself. So Taehyung was right? Your friend who has never had a single interaction with Yoongi, who has only heard about him from the stories you shared, could tell that there was something there? That Yoongi had feelings for you all along?

At the dinner, Yoongi said you were always oblivious.

Is it possible that you really had no idea, or did you just force yourself to look the other way?

That night, was he hurt? After you repeatedly dismissed him and eventually walked out?

Oh, Yoongi…

When someone enters the room after you’ve been standing here for what feels like forever, navigating the sea of your own thoughts, you startle to life.

“You okay?” Jungkook asks, eyeing you as he goes to fix himself a cup of coffee.

“Yep, mhmm,” you respond. You try to shove away all of your unraveling emotions. They could wait until later.

You have no idea why you’re still standing here, watching Jungkook make coffee with his back to you, but that’s arguably a better idea right now than to go back to the studio where Yoongi is. 

“You know,” Jungkook starts, pressing the buttons on the fancy coffee machine that you don’t know how to use. “I don’t think it’s very professional. Y’know, Yoongi flirting with you all the time.”

You stare at his broad shoulders with your brows furrowed, already on edge even though you don’t know what he’s referring to.

“What?”

“I don’t think it’s professional,” he repeats. “Yoongi flirting with you all the time.”

“When has Yoongi ever flirted with me?” you ask. It’s meant to sound sarcastic and defensive, hoping he’ll take the hint to back off but really, now that you’ve said it, it’s a question that you yourself would genuinely like the answer to.

“Admit it,” Jungkook says, turning around to face you. “It’s not like he tries to be very subtle about it. All the nicknames, always complimenting you, even when he put his hands all over you the other day right in front of us! There’s no way that you’ve missed the way he looks at you sometimes.”

You blink a few times, not sure if you heard him right. You hope your brief silence gives him a chance to backtrack when he sees how offended you are, but he just stares at you. Jungkook really does have the worst timing, and it doesn’t take long for your anger to overflow. Moving forward together in peace lasted a whole week, huh?

“Even if Yoongi is flirting with me, how is it any of your business?”

“It kinda is my business, though, isn’t it? Considering he does it at my place of work.”

Oh, he’s gotta be kidding. 

“Okay, it’s your place of work,” you hiss. The steam rising from his fresh mug of coffee might as well resemble the cartoon-like smoke churning from the top of your head. Jungkook seems taken aback by your reaction, but honestly, what the hell did he even expect when he said something like that to you? “So you fucking the receptionist must be so professional, right?”

Paling about a hundred shades, he looks like you just poured a bucket of ice cold water over his head. The gulping throat, the parting lips, the guilty eyes and his whole demeanor exuding shock and embarrassment, because Jungkook didn’t know that you knew, let alone foresee that you would throw it in his face. He stands there, dumbfoundedly muttering, “How– Who told you about that?”

You ignore his question. Why does it even matter who told you? If you were less angry, you would be more curious as to how he thought this was going to go. Why would he say something like that out of nowhere? 

He said he deserved your rage? He wanted you to be mad? Fine. Be careful what you wish for.

You feel sick to your stomach and he would come to you and say shit like that. Like Jungkook can dictate anything about your life. Like he has the right to fuck things up and leave when he’s had his fun.

Your sinuses burn when you speak next. “You don’t see me running to you, whining about how Jihyo always looks at me like she wants to gouge my fucking eyes out. How she’s always so nice and bubbly to everyone but then when it’s me, she acts like I ran over her fucking dog.”

Yeah, he definitely wasn’t expecting this reaction.

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I didn’t–”

“No, just save it. You talk a big game about trying to do right by me and then you go and say shit like this. How many times do I have to tell you? I’m so fucking tired.”

People often say that you should never make decisions when you’re angry. No one wants to end up regretting something they said or did in the heat of the moment. You’ve always thought that this is good advice, and you always try to live by it because you know your temper can get the best of you sometimes.

The keyword here, though, is try.

You run a hand through your hair, feeling infuriated at this point because Jungkook keeps fucking explaining himself, even though he’s the one who started this whole thing. You can’t even properly hear what he’s saying, all of his words going into one ear and out the other. Something about it not meaning anything and ending it with her months ago. 

You take a deep breath and look into his panicked eyes.

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite.”

You think he’s apologizing again, from the way his lips form the words I’m sorry, but your pulse is ringing so loud in your ears that you don’t really catch the sounds. The anger inside of you still simmers despite having spilled over. Your face is so eerily calm that you hope it scares him. When you turn on your heels to leave, you know he’s following you back to the studio. You sit back down beside Yoongi but you don’t meet his eyes. You keep your gaze trained on the open notebook, nursing that anger.

You should’ve known that there’s no moving forward with Jungkook. If anything, he just wants to tie you to the past and never let you leave. Is he that immature, that selfish that even after all this time, after what he did, he can’t stand the idea of you and someone else?

You briefly make eye contact with Jungkook from across the room before you turn to Yoongi, your voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

“On second thought, that drink does sound nice,” you tell him with a smile. “Pick me up at 9?”

— all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted december 31, 2022]

[honeypiehotchner]

Devil's Backbone (Unsub!Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part seven

It's so fun to relive this fic as I post it because when I tell y'all I've been writing it for MONTHS I mean it

Warnings: more unsub!Hotch in action

Follow @honeypiehotchnerlibrary and turn on post notifications to be “tagged” when a new part goes up!

Seven: I've fallen in love with a man on the run -- "Devil's Backbone" by The Civil Wars

A week later, you found yourself on the BAU jet once again -- awake this time, and headed to Florida. It was a run-of-the-mill case, nothing too special, but you remember it because of the call Rossi got when you landed.

“Really?” he asked, turning around, walking to the back of the plane. A smart move, to keep his face and expressions away from the rest of the team. “Alright. Do they know who did it?”

You shared a look with Morgan and Emily. Reid was listening intently, and JJ was typing furiously on her phone.

“What is going on?” you whispered.

Emily shrugged.

“Alright, okay. Thank you. Uh-huh. Bye.” Rossi returned to the main cabin and took everyone in. “Issac Holman is dead.”

“How?” Reid asked before you could say, who?

“He was beaten and shot in his home in Washington,” Rossi replied with a shrug. “They don’t know who did it. It looked personal, but he wasn’t liked in his neighborhood. It could’ve been anyone.”

“If they even try to look,” JJ added, gesturing with her phone. “I’m hearing that they saw it as a good riddance case.”

“Who are we talking about?” you asked.

“I think it was the year before you joined us,” Morgan said. “Holman murdered his friend’s family. Mom, dad, and a little girl.”

“Madison,” Reid said quietly.

“Why?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“Because he wanted to,” Rossi shrugged. “His words.”

“We found him when he was seconds away from killing another family,” Morgan continued. “He tried to create a hostage situation, but we got them out.”

“God,” you groaned. You found yourself not that upset that he was dead, but something still felt wrong. No one deserved to be brutally murdered, even if they had murdered a family. “Well. On to the next one.”

“Yep,” Emily nodded, exhaling. “Let’s go.”

+++

Hotch made sure to be long gone from Washington by the time the news broke about Issac’s death. He had another job to finish, one closer to Virginia, so he decided to stop back at his place near Quantico first. 

He needed a rest after the drive to and from Washington. He needed to sleep for a full twenty-four hours if he wanted to feel awake again.

Before he could do that, though, he tossed everything in the washer. 

Hotch’s phone remained on the kitchen counter, only a few texts from Rossi and one voicemail from him, too. He picked his phone up to listen.

“Aaron, hey-- I got a call a few minutes ago from a friend up in Washington. Issac Holman is dead. They think it happened last week, but they don’t have any suspects. Just thought I’d keep you in the loop. I hope you’re doing alright. Call me if you’re not. Bye.”

Unexpected, but fine. He should’ve known Rossi kept tabs on almost everyone. 

He decided to call him back, regardless of if he answered. He needed to curb suspicions before they even began, so he dialed.

Dave didn’t pick up, so Hotch left a voicemail in return. “Hey Dave, got your voicemail. Thanks for keeping me updated, I hope they figure out what happened. Sorry I’ve missed you, I’ve been leaving my phone in random places around the house,” he chuckled. “Thanks again for checking in. Talk soon, bye.”

He ended the voicemail with surprising calmness. Indifference. How easy was that? This would be easier than he thought.

Once his laundry was done, he put it in the dryer, and then went to bed. He slept like the dead.

+++

Rossi listened to Hotch’s voicemail in the conference room of the police precinct in Sarosota, Florida. Hotch sounded good, better than Rossi was expecting, but not off the deep end, which left Rossi relieved.

You heard every word. Because Rossi wasn’t aware of how loud the speaker was, and you didn’t want to tell him. A foolish part of you wanted to hear Hotch’s voice. And he did sound good.

Hearing his voice made it all hit you like a ton of bricks. You missed him more than you previously thought. Everyone saw you missed him more than what felt normal, but no one mentioned it.

Rossi did, though, after he caught you listening to the voicemail. He gave you that typical Rossi smile.

“I know you miss him,” Rossi said, nudging your shoulder with his. “He sounds like he’s doing good.”

You nodded. “Good.”

“I know things ended…badly between you two,” Rossi started again, “but he’s going through a lot.”

You scoffed. “I know that.” But did he really have to end things with you so abruptly and fiercely? Like he wanted nothing to do with you in the first place? 

Despite that, you don’t blame him. He lost his wife and child to a serial killer. They were divorced, sure, but should you really have been sleeping with him so soon? How much of this had you caused by not giving him more time?

Part of you wanted to apologize, but didn’t know if that was right. If you had the right to apologize.

“Do you think I could go see him?” you asked, not expecting an answer, but Rossi still gave you one.

“I think he’d like that,” Rossi smiled. “But I don’t know for sure. I can’t speak for him.”

“I know,” you said.

But you wanted to see him. Even if it was just to say you were sorry.

+++

Aaron woke after nearly eighteen hours of sleep. His head hurt like fucking hell. He needed painkillers. Or something.

He went stumbling into the bathroom, pawing open the medicine cabinet. He steeled his face when he saw the various vitamins and over-the-counter cold medicine from when Jack was here. Hotch grabbed them and tossed them aside. The bottles clanged loudly in the bathtub. Whatever.

Aaron found the Excedrin and wrenched the cap off, grabbing two and then a third. He swallowed them dry and shook his head, waking himself up.

He had plans for the day. He had a new unsub to catch.

This one was particularly disgusting. This unsub murdered his wife, nearly murdered their son, yet was never convicted, and even retained custody of their son after it all. The evidence, the profile -- none of it was enough.

Hotch needed to do some surveillance work first. He needed to make sure the son was nowhere near the home when he acted. He would never put a child through something like that.

Not like Foyet did to Jack.

Hotch smacked the doorframe of the bathroom as he left, hearing the wood crack underneath his force. He kept walking.

He threw his clothes in the dryer, surprised by how little blood was left on them. The few that weren’t redeemable, he threw in a separate trash bag to burn somewhere. At some point.

Back in his bedroom, he rummaged through his closet for a black shirt and dark blue jeans, preparing for a long day of surveillance.

+++

Strauss called Rossi on the third night of the Florida case, under the guise of a status report. It didn’t take long for Dave to realize what she really was calling for.

“He’s fine, Erin,” Dave chided lightly. “You could call him yourself.”

“I tried. It went to voicemail.”

“He’s been off his phone more, like you suggested,” Dave added. “I just talked to him a couple days ago. He said he’s been leaving his phone around the house instead of staying attached to it, which is a good thing, if I say so myself. Quit worrying.”

“Alright,” she conceded. “I do hope this time off helps him heal.”

“I think it already has,” Dave said.

“And you haven’t discussed any cases with him?”

“Nope.”

“Has anyone else?”

“I just told you he’s off his phone,” Dave paused to chuckle. Who knew Strauss would turn into an overbearing mother over Hotch. “No, Erin. No one has.”

“Good, good,” she said, pausing. “How are you?”

Dave smiled. “I’ll call you later.”

After hanging up with Strauss, Rossi decided to send a quick text to Hotch. Strauss is worrying. Give her a call when you can, would you?

Hotch replied about half an hour later. Just saw she called, about to call her back. I was out on a run

Rossi smiled, wishing he still had Strauss on the line so he could say See? He’s doing just fine.

+++

A day of surveillance taught Hotch a few things. 1. The unsub lives alone with his son. No other family members means no unnecessary casualties. 2. The unsub is home alone most of the day while his son is at school. Presumably working a remote job. 3. This will be easy.

Or so he thought, because the next day took a turn.

Everything went according to plan, until the unsub ruined it.

Hotch parked down the street. Went up to the unsub’s door, knocked. The unsub answered. Hotch, prompted, “I’m a retired FBI agent, Jason Gideon. I’m writing a book.”

The unsub’s eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowed. “No you’re not,” he said.

Hotch narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“I remember Jason,” the unsub laughed, good-natured. “You’re the other one, right? Morgan? No, Hotchner. That’s you. You were younger back then.”

Hotch was caught off guard from the start.

“You said you’re writing a book? Come on in.” 

Hotch took the opportunity and went inside, joking with the unsub that he introduced himself as Gideon in case he recognized him.

“No hard feelings,” the unsub joked back. “Want something to drink?”

Hotch didn’t answer. The unsub made the mistake of walking ahead, giving Hotch ample time to smack the unsub on the back of the head with the butt of his gun.

The unsub went down to his knees with a groan, but quickly regained his footing, spinning around to stare wildly at Hotch. “What the fuck?”

“Shut up,” Hotch hissed, barreling closer and swinging a punch, but missing. The unsub bolted for the back door and Hotch followed.

“You’re crazy!” the unsub yelled, twisting the back door’s knob. It didn’t budge. “What the fuck!”

“You killed your wife!” Hotch yelled back, cornering him against the door. “And you kept the kid. Do you hit him too?”

The unsub stared, bewildered. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play stupid with me,” Hotch growled, grabbing the unsub’s shoulders and slamming his head back into the door, forming a dent. “You know what you did.”

In one sudden move, the unsub lurches forward, knocking his forehead against Hotch’s, causing the latter to stumble backward.

“Shit,” Hotch cussed, anger brewing closer to the breaking point. “Oh, you--”

The unsub yanked the back door open and ran, the door shutting behind him just long enough. By the time Hotch wrenched it open and sprinted into the backyard, the unsub was gone, hiding in the woods.

“Fuck!” Hotch screamed, the sound coming from his chest. Not only was he recognized, but the unsub got away. Once he got his hands on him--

But for the next two days, that didn’t happen. The unsub fled the home, but Hotch knew, at least, that he wouldn’t dare go to the police. Not if he was as guilty as Hotch knew he was.

+++

Once the Florida case was over and the jet touched back down in Quantico, you knew you had to visit Hotch.

With flowers in hand -- that you nearly threw away five times on the way because you thought you looked ridiculous -- you knocked on Aaron’s door, not expecting him to answer. If he didn’t you planned to leave the flowers on the welcome mat. Either way, you were here to drop off flowers, check in, and say goodbye. That was all.

Hotch answered the door, shock covering him when he laid eyes on you. 

“Hi,” you said, holding up the flowers.

“Hi,” he echoed, standing in the doorway. “What can I do for you?”

You grimaced at the professional tone. “Just wanted to drop these off,” you handed him the bouquet. “And apologize for how things ended. For ratting you out.”

He shook his head. “It’s alright.”

“We miss you,” you said, smiling sadly. “But I hope you’re doing better.”

“I am,” he said, smiling softly. It almost looked too genuine, but you supposed that was a good thing. “And I’m sorry too.”

“It’s alright,” you echoed. “Don’t worry about it.”

And you left. Said something about how you just got back, didn’t get much sleep. He knew the drill. He said goodbye. And you left.

You left.