#i hope you reflect and grow or whatever. that is my brand. BUT

[indi-glo-archive]

ppl who only conditionally care about child abuse based on whether the victim makes them uncomfy while they're being abused contribute to a real life child's abuse by sending hate asks regularly, attempting to gaslight them, calling them terrible names, accusing them of terrible things, telling them directly how much they hate the characters the child relates to and enjoys talking about, and being generally racist and ableist in a way that seriously might have scarred me for life, making a literal teenager hate their hobbies, favorite shows, and the people who enjoy those things, and ultimately cyberbullying a child out of multiple fandoms because they don't want to think critically or acknowledge their own faults, all while being 35 and really embarrassing themselves because someone half their age has a better grasp on the concept of nuance than them: more at 6

but noooo, y'all "love neurodivergent/disabled people," have "racists/ableists DNI" in your bios, and don't say slurs, which is all you have to do to not be racist/ableist, so *I'm* some psycho black bitch and you're a wittle angel like the fictional character you infantilize

(P.S. I swear to fucking god if people respond to this post with "but he sexually assaulted someone" and ignore literally every other personality trait/experience he had that could've been relatable to a child abuse survivor and the way people mistreated me, a real human being, which Charlie is not by the way, I will start doing the things you wanted to do to Ben)

[sturniolohouse]

That's Life - M.S

A.N: After the stream where Matt said he liked the name June– which has been a name on my baby list for YEARS now – I couldn't stop thinking about this scenario, so I decided to write it. Sorry if it's bad. (I'd also say they are still very young in this, maybe 23/24. But imagine any age you want, I don't really specify.) Hope you enjoy!

summary: dad!matt - a cute snippet of Matt and y/n becoming brand new parents and Chris and Nick meeting their niece for the first time. mainly fluff :')

warnings: none, really. maybe swearing and mentions of blood? (also use of y/n because apparently that is hated? idk)

word count: 2.4k

--

"Kid, hold her fucking neck." Matt panics as Chris readjusts in his seat on the couch.

"Matt shut the fuck up, I think I know how to hold my own niece." he retorts.

"No, you clearly don't you idiot."

I peer to my left, he holds her with one hand under her head and one hand under her butt, propping her in front of him on his lap. She's perfectly fine, Matt just worries.

"Look she's fine. She's with uncle Chris." Chris looks at her adoringly but Matt cautiously watches, biting his nails.

"How are you feeling?" Nick asks beside me, rubbing my shoulder as I eat my burger. I was starving and the first thing I wanted after giving birth was In and Out, so Matt made sure Nick and Chris brought it for me.

"I'm so tired but just relieved everything went okay."

It was a long labor, almost 20 hours and about an hour of pushing. I waited to the very last minute to get an epidural and Matt almost passed out once he saw what it actually was.

-

"That goes in your fucking spine?" He squeaks, his face turning pale as he nearly keels over.

I'm sat up with the anesthesiologist behind me prepping the needle. I grab Matt's forearms and bring him to stand between my legs so he's hunching in front of me before I collapse my head into his chest and groan.

"Don't fucking look at it, hold my hands." I seethe through the pain as I wait for the contraction to pass.

"I'm so sorry," He says into my ear as they stick the catheter into my spine and I stay as still as possible.

"I want In and Out after this is all over," I breath out, beginning to feel my lower half go numb.

"I'm getting you whatever you fucking want, sweetheart." He looks me dead in the eyes.

-

"It's kinda fucking nuts that she was just inside you, how the fuck did you like..." Chris speaks up looking between the baby and me. "Push her out..." He hesitates and I burst out laughing as Matt throws his arms up and shakes his head at him, stopping himself from knocking Chris' shoulder.

"Well, it wasn't easy." I wipe my tears from my eyes due to my laughter and Nick gives me my water so I don't choke on my dry ass fries.

"Women are the strongest people on the planet." Nick chimes and Matt smiles proudly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"That's fucking right. So much respect after all I witnessed." Matt rubs his eyes, seeming to be mentally reflecting the past 36 hours.

"She's so fucking cute, looks nothing like Matt." Chris comments, a small smirk growing on his face at the playful jab.

"Okay, give her back you're pissing me off." Matt quickly but gently takes her back even as Chris protests and pouts, sulking back into his chair.

"Lost your baby holding privileges," Nick points at him as Chris makes a face and sticks his tongue out, a throaty bellow echoing in the hospital room.

Nick immediately hushes him. "Can you not act like a barbarian? Fucking idiot." He scolds him.

Matt cradles her softly and my heart still melts at the sight of him holding her. It makes everything I went through so worth it. The both of them do.

-

I lay there in shock with a wailing baby placed on my chest. I look up at Matt on my left and he's got his hand over his mouth and tears brimming his eyes, staring at our baby with so much love.

My chest blooms with warmth and I look down at our daughter. Anyone else would look at her and think she was gross, being purple, covered in goop and blood, but she was quite literally breathtaking. Matt blubbers and bends down so he's more level to me.

"Oh my fucking god," he laughs through his emotion, wiping his eyes quickly and placing a hand on her blanketed back, her cries dying down.

"How the fuck did you do that? You're amazing oh my god." He rambles, kissing my sweaty hairline and I shake my head not really knowing how I did this either.

They let Matt cut the umbilical cord before taking her off me to bathe her quickly.

Matt grabs my face checking in on me. He scans all over my face,"You okay? You did so good, oh my fucking god." I nod quickly, feeling my adrenaline still rushing. It's a weird feeling to describe, but I am so happy.

"She was so tiny, did you see her?" I ask him, my voice a little shaky and he nods laughing, tears still shining in his eyes.

"I did, I did. She's perfect. Thank you." He kisses my lips this time and then looks over to the nurses bringing her over to him.

"You want to hold her, dad?" The nurse smiles and he visibly pales but nods nonetheless and takes her into his arms.

He looks at her and begins to tear up again, having to compose himself by looking up shaking his head. When he looks back at me, I'm sent me over the edge into my own fit of tears.

I would relive this day over and over again to just see that look on his face.

-

He walks over to Nick who's still beside me, bouncing her slightly.

"Nick, cmon. You've yet to hold her." Matt nods toward Nick to take her from his arms. Nick immediately shakes his head and steps back.

"No she's too fresh and tiny. I don't want to break her." He declines.

"Chris get him the pillow. Nick, hold her. You won't break her I promise you." I give him a reassuring rub on the arm and his eyes widen.

"I'm scared," He squeals quietly as he sits down in the chair and Chris sets up the pillow in his lap. Nick covers his mouth as he watches Matt walk over to him. 

Chris puts a hand on his shoulder, "Nick it's gonna be fine." He giggles at his antics and I stifle my own laughter.

"Dude c'mon, I'm telling you to hold my kid not a bomb." Matt rolls his eyes and Nick flips him off.

Matt places her carefully so she's snug in Nick's arms and he freezes immediately.

"What do I do?" He looks up at me in fear.

"Just that. You're doing fine. See, she's perfectly content in your arms." I tell him softly and grab Matt's arm so he stands next to me.

I kiss his forearm and he looks back at me with a warm smile, wrapping his arm around me and sitting beside me on the bed. He pulls me in gently before kissing the top of my head.

"I'm trying to see any real defining features in her but she quite literally just looks like a baby," he studies her face as Chris takes photos of them.

"She definitely looks more like y/n," Matt says, rubbing my arm lightly before stealing one of my fries from my tray.

"I think she has my nose for sure. She hasn't really opened her eyes yet, maybe you can try and wake her up. The nurse should be coming soon to help me feed her."

"I just realized, what's her name?" Nick asks, lightly rubbing her cheek with the back of his finger to try and wake her.

"Yeah, have you guys finally decided?" Chris sits down next to Nick on the couch.

Matt and I look at each other. We had been debating her name since we first saw her face. Of course we had a list prepared but we didn't want to settle on a name until we could match it to her face.

It was hard agreeing on names at first as we had very different tastes but there was one that kept coming back up in conversation and once we saw her it was a no brainer.

I nudge Matt, "Go ahead, tell them." I lean my head against his shoulder.

"Her name is June," They 'aw' in unison.

"June Iris Sturniolo." Matt tells them her full name and he can't help the smile that spreads across his face. 

"I love that, such a sweet name.” Nick smiles down at her.

"Does it have a meaning? Or did you guys just like the name?" Chris pulls back her hat.

"Holy shit, she has a lot of hair." he comments.

"Explains all of my heartburn." I huff and Matt giggles beside me.

"We liked the name and we were looking at lot of nature names, month names, classic names. We landed on June a few times when going over names but didn't want to make it official until we saw her." I start and Matt nods before speaking up.

"Well, we had some music playing during the whole labor and everything but after Y/N started pushing, our playlist ended and started playing whatever. And right before June came out, the song That's Life by Frank Sinatra played. And in the song, there's a line that goes: You're riding high in April, shot down in May but I know I'm gonna change that tune when I'm back on top, back on top in June. Right when we heard that and then we saw her face, we knew that was her name." Matt concluded and I tear up.

"That's so fucking cool," 

"Stop I have chills, oh my god."

"And Iris was my grandmothers name, but we also liked how it sounded with June. It was proven really hard to find a middle name that sounded good with June and Sturniolo." I laugh.

“I love that her name has a cool story behind it that you can tell her one day.” Nick says and I get emotional thinking about telling my daughter the day of her birth.

"Hi June, you gonna wake up for us?" Chris speaks softly to her. She stays put as Nick and Chris look at her expectantly.

"I wouldn't want to open my eyes either if I were just in a a warm dark place for almost nine months and all of sudden I'm in a bright ass hospital room with a loud idiot." Matt speaks looking directly at Chris.

"She must take that after you," I say playfully and rub his chest. He rolls his eyes.

"Aw, a little Mattitude." Chris uses a baby voice, tickling her belly playfully. “Look she even makes Matt’s stank face he does when he’s mad.” He points.

“Oh my god she does,” Nick exclaims.

"Not to be weird, but you are all basically her father since you have identical DNA. Also if you guys have children one day, they'll be genetically June's half-siblings." I state my fun fact and all their faces drop.

Nick gasps, "Wait, that's actually crazy because I was just going to joke around and say 'aw she has my eye-bags'." His eyes widen and I shrug at him proving my point.

"That's so fucking weird." Matt shakes his head in realization.

Chris acts repulsed, putting a hand up. "Yeah, I don't like thinking about that. I'm no one's father, thank God." He does the sign of the cross.

"Yes. Thank God for that." Matt says shortly.

"I don't know, I think Chris will be a good dad one day." I defend him and Matt gives the side eye. 

"Thank you y/n," He says with a hand over his heart.

He walks over to me and gives me a side hug. I kiss his cheek, offering him a fry and he takes it appreciatively.

"I'm definitely staying the fun uncle." Nick states, turning his attention back to June. "One day, you'll be big enough to stay at Uncle Nick's and I'll get you anything you want without your parents knowing," he says quietly to her but we can all still hear him.

She begins to stir in his arms and he freezes again.

"Oh no, she's waking up. Is she gonna cry?" he panics. "Matt quick, take her."

"She might want the boob," he says taking June out of Nick's hold.

She begins to fuss and squirm but Matt calmly shushes her and begins to bounce lightly.

"It's her feeding time in 15 minutes, should I try without the nurse?" I look up at Matt and he shrugs.

"I don't see why not. She's clearly hungry now."

"Uh, should we leave?" Chris says awkwardly and I wave him off.

"I'm gonna cover myself don't worry. Unless you want to leave," I say nonchalantly, not having a care in the world after just about everyone in this hospital has seen me naked. But of course I won't be flashing anyone.

"Junie don't cry, here's mama. She's got the food." Matt tells her quietly, bringing her to me as Chris clears my lap for me and goes to sit down next to Nick again.

"My baby," I pout as I grab her and her little cries die down once she's in my arms. "You already know the deal sister, let's see if we can do this." I talk to her confidently hoping I can do this on my own.

Matt stands beside helping me cover up and get June in the right position.

"There you go, all better." Matt speaks to her softly as she latches on and I exhale in relief. "Good job, mama." He runs his fingers through my hair and rubs my neck.

The nurse walks in mid-feed and praises me. "Looks like you've got it under control here." She smiles and checks my vitals quickly before stepping back out of the room.

Once June finishes eating I burp her upright on my lap, facing her towards everyone. At this point she's wide awake and everyone is staring at her.

"Oh my gosh, her eyes are like, gray," Nick says. 

"Can she see me?" Chris waves at her, shaking his head and sticking his tongue out.

"Her eyes will most likely change color, they can change up until she's a year." I tell them. "And she can probably see you as a blob, Chris. Stop dancing." I tell him and he stops mid griddy. 

"Oh..." He looks defeated and she burps loudly in that moment, making him laugh. "Why does she burp louder than me, she's like 12 hours old." he jokes.

I feel Matt's hand on my shoulder again and he gives me another squeeze. I look up at him and smile tiredly, he leans down to give me a kiss. Something we rarely do in front of others because we hate PDA. But we can't help it this time.

 I hear a snap of a camera and we both look to see Nick with his film camera.

"I couldn't resist. First family portrait." he smiles softly. "I can't believe you're a father, Matthew."

"Believe it, kid."

"Nick, will you actually take our family photos when we get home." I ask rubbing Junie's back. 

"The fact that you even asked that," he says looking offended and everyone laughs. "Of course I will, though."

[myouiminn]

Starry Promises

Percy Jackson x Reader

Notes: don't repost without my permission!

As the day came to a close, Percy and Y/n found themselves once again by the edge of the lake, where they had shared so many special moments. They sat together, letting their feet dangle in the cool water, as the warm hues of the sunset spread across the sky.

"I never thought I'd find someone like this, someone who understands this crazy demigod life," Y/n admitted, looking at Percy with a tender smile.

Percy nodded, also gazing out at the water. "I never thought someone could dive so deeply into my world. But you... you're special, Y/n."

She looked at him, her eyes shimmering. "You're special to me too, Percy. You've shown me that even amidst the chaos and dangers, it's possible to find love and joy."

Percy reached out and held her hand, their fingers intertwining. "Y/n, I don't know what lies ahead, but I know I want to face everything with you by my side."

Y/n smiled, her expression brimming with emotion. "I want to be by your side too, Percy. No matter what happens, we'll face it together."

And then, with the tranquil lake as their witness, they sealed their promise with a gentle kiss, full of tenderness and hope. The magical world around them seemed to be in perfect harmony with the love they shared, as if the gods and destiny were celebrating this special union.

And so, beneath the starry canopy, Percy Jackson and Y/n embarked on a journey that would lead them to incredible adventures, unimaginable challenges, and a love that would only grow with time. Together, they would navigate the highs and lows of life as demigods, always remembering the power of the love that bound them and made them invincible.

~~~~~~~~~~~

As their lips parted, Percy and Y/n exchanged a knowing look, their hearts in sync with the promises they had just made. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in that moment, wrapped in the warmth of their feelings for each other.

As the night deepened, they remained seated by the lake, sharing stories, dreams, and laughter. Their conversations flowed effortlessly, each word strengthening the bond that had formed between them. It was as if they had known each other for a lifetime, and yet every moment felt brand new and exciting.

"You know," Percy began, breaking a comfortable silence, "I used to think being a demigod was a curse. But meeting you, Y/n, has shown me that it's also a gift. It brought you into my life."

Y/n smiled softly, her eyes reflecting the moonlight. "I used to feel so out of place before I came here. But you and this camp, it's become my home."

Percy reached for her hand again, his touch reassuring. "No matter what challenges come our way, no matter how tough things get, we'll always have each other."

Y/n nodded, her heart swelling with affection for the green-eyed demigod beside her. "Together, we can face anything."

And so, under the celestial canopy, Percy and Y/n continued to talk, to share, and to build their future together. They watched as shooting stars streaked across the sky, making silent wishes that their love would endure whatever trials destiny had in store.

As the night drew to a close, they stood up, reluctant to leave the tranquil lakeside. Hand in hand, they walked back to the heart of the camp, where their friends awaited and new adventures beckoned. The journey ahead was uncertain, but with each other, they felt invincible.

And as the first rays of dawn broke through the horizon, Percy and Y/n knew that their love story was just beginning, a tale of bravery, magic, and a love that would transcend even the boundaries of their mythical world.

[sco07ut]

i’ve got like 20 mins until my bus shows up and i’m bored so, at risk of being mobbed by that specific brand of over-30-cishet-female-mat-baynton-stans, i would like to talk about why i think transfem thomas thorne could actually be a good route for his character growth !

(but it’s below the cut bc it’s long discussion </3)

so obviously being infatuated with alison is an integral part to thomas’ character, aside from being a terrible poet it’s one of his most identifying traits. even in episodes where he’s tried to ‘grow out of it’ (see: s4e2) he’s still back to his original state at the end of the episode (and while this could be chalked up to the fact that you stays how you dies and therefore can’t grow as a person i would like to raise you this: he obviously was not obsessed with alison when he died, therefore i think there’s still some hope for him yet) anyway ! got off track a bit there,

thomas can’t ‘grow out of’ loving alison until he recognises why he loves alison - or perhaps, the idea of alison (now this could lead onto a talk abt why i also think and hc that tom is aromantic but people have covered that before)

let’s backtrack for a moment and review what exactly we know and/or can infer about thomas: he’s unlike the other men we see in the thomas thorne affair, his interests, opinions on romance and accumulated skills aren’t particularly masculine.

he’s very creative (just because he’s bad at it doesn’t mean the drive isn’t there), adores the arts (written word, paintings, songs), he clearly values women for who they are as people (and to a degree, their looks) and bases his affections on that, as opposed to financial gain (squints at francis button), and he clearly hasn’t had any experience when it comes to duels or fights in general and his general ‘layabout’ personality would definitely reflect the fact that rich women in the 1800s had very few responsibilities and obviously weren’t expected to work.

now, all of these aren’t inherently feminine traits, this is obvious, we all know this, i’m not saying that men can’t do these things. kindly don’t take my words out of context, but in the case of a man who lived in the 1800s, they can be seen as pretty feminine. this also isn’t the basis for my argument, i just want to point out a few things before i get into the meat of it !

and slightly less solid reasoning: mat baynton just plays him really fruitily. if you asked me to explain it i don’t think i could, but cmon just look at him

anywa, it’s pretty much an accepted part of the fanbase by now that thomas is bad at recognising what sort of love he’s feeling, and i raise you this: what if the desire he’s feeling for alison isn’t romantic, but is instead, desiring to be her.

(if you’re a lesbian, this is a familiar concept: do i want to date her or be her?)

he could potentially see elements of himself in alison, her own appreciation for art, and maybe even traces of the physical self (slim, white, dark haired? - this could also support the reasons why he was such a strong interest in lucy, who also shares these features, but hasn’t expressed any canon interest in fanny or kitty. mary is a bit of an outlier here but it’s whatever, my hc just has pockets ig). and when we have a great appreciation for someone we can tend to idolise them a little. in thomas’ mind, alison could potentially just be an idealised version of who he wants to be, and in his own confusion when it comes to recognising that fact, he could be mistaking admiration for adoration.

thomas is very clearly an idiot, the entire series is proof of that, and generally unless the facts are laid out right in front of him he doesn’t Get things. when we consider the fact that transgenderism was extremely uncommon and likely incredibly underground, thomas probably doesn’t even know it’s an option outside of the way that literally everyone ponders what it would’ve been like to have been born the opposite sex at least once in their life.

so why do i think this would be an effective way to fix thomas’s weird infatuation with alison?

well, at this point in the series it’s obvious that thomas isn’t just going to stop ‘loving’ her, there needs to be some big wake-up call that makes him stop. however, i feel that the longer ThemThere keep dragging out this part of his character, the harder it’ll be to bounce back from it. right now we’re lucky that thomas is such an avidly romantic character, his obsession with alison is uncomfortable enough as it currently stands but at least we know it’s innocent and emotional. but as the series goes on i just worry that that line could start to blur.

at this point, thomas suddenly moving on from alison seems entirely unfeasible and he would definitely need to have some element of identity rocked to really consider what it is about alison that he’s obsessed with. of course i’d be completely happy if that happened to be the fact that he’s aromantic or aroace but i just think thomas ending up transfem would be an interesting route to go down as an alternative (bc i know some people are very much ride and die when it comes to certain ships. and i’ll admit, i do appreciate a bit of romance between tom n different characters)

i feel like it would also be a better justification for his infatuation with her aside from just ‘too much love’ (thomas thorne=ashfur.?), obviously all obsessions are a bit iffy but i feel like if it came from a place of ‘i really want to be her and don’t know how to express that’ instead of just ‘i want her’ it would be a bit less weird. less creepy i think? and it’s an issue that can actually be worked through and addressed properly with ways of helping thomas transition instead of telling him to simply stop loving alison.

plus it would make all their interactions just so much sweeter !! whenever they talk i’m always on the edge of my seat waiting for thomas to make some weird remark but augh!!!!! they could b girl best friends !!!!

and it’s not like the cast is adverse to playing trans women ! gabriel and ho-tan are such beloved characters, gabriel gets her happy ending and even though ho-tan’s wish is reversed it’s still very much implied that they respect her identity (i do wish they had explored or at least addressed this more though) (however, ho-tan’s femininity is never the subject of a joke like gabriel’s is, so i suppose they even each other out)

anyway my final reason for tom being transfem is that dear god i’m jsut a simple lesbian please please let me have this i won’t ask for anything else i swear

[katealpha]

Raya simply couldn��t believe it had really worked on her. After her idol and best friend Sisu ate a dragon gem and became pregnant, she felt the urge to join in and help grow the dragon population since all in Kumandra was well. For the most part at least. Sisu took out a little bit of her rain magic and formed it into a gem, the size of a gum ball, and gave it to Raya. With a glass of water, she gulped the solid dragon magic down, and waited.

Nearly nine months later, after Sisu had already given birth to her litter, Raya was now a month away from when she would be bringing her own baby dragon into the world. The princess of Heart wobbled slowly through the forested gardens behind her palace home, rubbing the small of her back as her blue dress swayed in the nighttime breeze. Below her ample chest, her belly stuck out between the curtain-like parting of the dress’ midriff like a sore thumb, bare to the cool air and swollen like an overripe jackfruit.

With a grunt, Raya found her favorite place to sit down out here, the big rock just at the edge of the fish pool. After resting her bosom on the stone, she leaned back some with her left hand to balance herself. Raya finally let out a sigh and looked down towards the water which caught her reflection. She was in awe every time of how she’d transformed over the months. Raya had gone to one of the most athletic women warriors in the entire land of Kumandra, to having to waddle about her home with a baby dragon in her belly. It was a magical miracle that Sisu’s magic not only responded like this within her, but so effortlessly formed a brand new dragon inside the body of a human.

Seeing in her reflection, she saw a paw gently push out above her outtie of a belly button before receding back inside. Her right hand moved to rest upon her tummy as the little baby dragon inside wiggled around within, making several bumps about the belly they held it safely. Her hand rubbed up and down the upper regions of her gut, trying to keep the upbeat unborn pup calm.

“Woah, alright you little swimmer, calm down before you ram into my bladder again. That was not a fun time…” Raya couldn’t help but chuckle. As much as she didn’t expect to become pregnant from her and Sisu’s experiment, she felt incredibly special and lucky to be the first human to ever carry and give birth to a baby dragon. Once again, she was making history, and her clan practically worshiped her with the same reverence given to the dragons that lived among them. To Kumandra, she was a dragon in all but outward appearance.

Raya had studied up on the pregnancies of dragons and got inside help from Sisu and her family on what to expect now that she was expecting a dragon (or two) of her own. How it would effect her body was still a mystery. She was nearly at what would the final month of a human pregnancy, and she looked the part to be sure. However, Sisu’s pregnancy lasted 12 months. An entire year, spent half the time in her human form. The princess wasn’t sure if the same would apply to her, and she wasn’t even sure if she was even carrying just one dragon pup. Sometimes when she felt movement, whatever was inside didn’t move as one.

So here Raya sat in contemplation before she’d head back inside for bed. Her mind wandering about what the future held for her and the life growing within her. Would she go into labor in a few weeks, or four more months. Would she keep growing, or stop soon? Would she keep having the urge to grab the carp swimming in the pool in front of her and eat it raw? Only time would tell, and all she could do now was trust in her family, her friends, and now the passenger that stirred within….

—————————————-

Hello everyone! I really hope you enjoyed this one, featuring the first (and certainly not the last) human character to be featured on my account in a pregnancy scenario. I’m aware the movie has issues, but Raya and the Last Dragon holds a special place in my heart. Just like with Diane, I’m thinking I’ll make this into a three part little series, though this time we’ll definitely be seeing Raya having a growth spurt between each part. The art of course shall be done by the amazingly pleasant and talented Julius-Rocks. All the credit for this image goes to them.

[alyjojo]

Love Reading 🎇 - April 2024 - Capricorn

Singles:

Who is Coming In: Queen of Swords, Page of Cups, 3 Swords rev

Regarding: 9 Swords rev

Long-Term Potential: 2 Wands

You already know who this is, there’s so much Libra here it’s like they’re raising their hand, right here! ✋ Nothing ever goes anywhere with this person, ever. Not forward, not backward, if you left an energy of 2, you’d probably shock yourselves into backpedaling because it’s all you both really know. Constant going back and forth. Will they/wont they? Should they/shouldn’t they? Shit’s exhausting. One of you are going to ultimately make a final decision in this connection, probably them with Justice. They’re doing it nicely, apologizing and everything, or if they’re coming back (for some it’s a Twin), then they’re hoping to heal things and start afresh. But. Long term is STILL at a crossroads!! Lord. Just let this one go, a whole lifetime could go by whole chilling out with a 2.

Messages:

- Living My Life

- Superficial

TWIN FLAMES 🔥

- Yang/Yang & Balance

- Union & Duality

- Complement

- Polar Opposites

Signs you may be dealing with:

Heavy Libra, Gemini & earth 🌴

Couples:

Them: 2 Wands, 9 Swords, 6 Wands rev

Regarding: 10 Wands rev

Your person is going through massive anxiety 😥 right now, and that will probably continue, because their life is changing in a big way. Both with you and outside of you it feels like. They’re Ascending to new levels, following a new path, one that leads to happiness, but they’re constantly questioning themselves. Are they good enough? Are they just going to fail? Can they handle this? Are they going the right way? And then there’s you…whatever this new path is, doesn’t really feel like you’ll be joining them on it, at least not going by this reading. They have “going in different directions” and you have “we aren’t compatible,” you’re both aware that something is brand new and maybe can’t fit both of you. Not how things were. Right now neither of you can envision a future together, which kinda matters. This person just wants to be happy, but they’re feeling like they have the weight of the world on their shoulders and constant anxiety about failing. This relationship and everything else, I don’t think it’s just one lane with them.

Messages:

- Excellent Cook 🍲

- Going in different directions.

ASCENDING 🎈

- Learning & Expansion

- Transcending

- Preparing for Union

- New Phase

If you’re worried about being on your spiritual track, don’t be, because the fact that you’re thinking about it means that you’re on the right path.

You: The Star rev, The Magician, Ace of Cups

Regarding: The Hermit

I’m seeing two things with you. You have no hope of saving this connection, having a positive new start and actually working together. I’m not sure if you’ve tried or not. An apology is unspoken, no deep healing has occurred just yet, you’re basically just running away from this person and the situation entirely. With that, either you’re terrified this person is going to create a new relationship with someone else, and you think about apologizing for that reason, but don’t; or you aren’t emotionally available even if you wanted to. You don’t see a deeper purpose for this connection in your life, you recognize that you’re growing apart, or just too different. If this person is heading down a new path, you may not be very encouraging about it, you don’t have faith in them? Or this. The whole of the relationship even. Some of this is projecting negativity that really should be reflected on inwardly - The Hermit - because something this person is doing is triggering something in you that makes you feel hopeless. You can’t so they can’t, obviously. Something like that. Alone time and reflection is necessary, running could be good for you. Idk how much they’ll appreciate it but it’s what you need.

Messages:

- Nothing is an accident 💯

- We aren’t compatible.

THE RUNNER 🏃🏻‍♀️

- Fear of Intimacy

- Running Away

- Intensity & Letting Go

- Turmoil & Fleeting

Don’t blame others for what you don’t like about yourself.

Mutual: 5 Swords, Page of Swords, 3 Swords

Regarding: Ace of Pentacles rev

This is liable to get messy. Money becomes the focus, whether splitting up assets or who does what, who pays for what, it’s tit for tat energy, both of you trying to stick it to the other one. The things you say to each other are probably very mean, there’s conflict and heartbreak at the center of all of these things, on both sides. A major loss of money is being shown, vengeful or bitter attitudes over a missed opportunity or lost financials. There is a lot of confusion over an ending, and possibly a lot of material things to split up, which of course no one will agree over what and how. It’s definitely not over yet, but at this rate you’ll likely both be glad when it is. With a sour taste in your mouth. I don’t see this improving. It’s minor arcana so…it’s up to you two.

ABUNDANCE 💰

- Positive Mindset

- Manifest

- Gratitude & Bliss

- Blessings

Plant silver columns of light around everyone who is negative. You will see the world get brighter.

Signs you may be dealing with:

Heavy Gemini, Leo, Virgo, Aquarius & Scorpio

[crowandmoonwriting]

Sci-Fi: Dreams and Nightmares, an Essay

You know, I have a problem with sci-fi. That isn't to say I dislike it, I just have a problem writing it, conceptualising it, and enjoying it. I'm a historian, and a traditional medieval historian at that, and I find most of my comfort in the past. My ideas about the future are very dark, and although I explore darkness and even horror in my writing very often, it's a darkness for once I'm not comfortable with. It's a little too close to home, I think. The further into technological advancement we go as a species, the worse I feel about the future. I have a few cyberpunk ideas I came up with in high school or even middle school that I doubt I will ever finish. I can't do it anymore. I feel vaguely sad about it all, and maybe I can work on them someday, even if I just adapt the characters and situations to a genre I'm more comfortable with.

I used to love sci-fi in all incarnations. I have always adored Star Wars and Star Trek. I favoured Star Wars for a while because it smacked more of fantasy, being a space opera and completely unrelated to Earth. It was escapist, it was mystical, it was just a bit closer to my true fictional love, Lord of the Rings. Star Trek I fell in love with later on, as I came to appreciate the social and political commentary and the intricate hard sci-fi aspects (I should note, I only adored the original series, and the other Star Trek media never captured me quite the way it did). When I found Dune, it swept me away, another fantasy, another mystical technicolour dream, and I loved it. When I first saw Bladerunner I was obsessed, and when I first read Asimov's Robot Series I was fascinated.

But something happened when I was in high school. Something that has ravaged my mental health and sense of well-being, my sense of self and my faith in humanity. It's something most of us rely on now, and it's something I can't escape (unless I do finally run away to the woods and live in a cabin as though it's 1470, growing and raising my own food and hunting to have furs to keep warm in the winter etc, as I long to do). I have to be online. I have to be on social media. I have to promote my brand, my writing. I have to be here to be aware of the news (I don't watch live TV at all). And worst of all, most crippling of all, I have to find inspiration. My desire to find media that will take me away (media I don't have to make myself) is what keeps me coming back. It's one of the things that keeps me here.

But I admit, I'm getting very tired. I'm traditional in several senses, and I'm tired. I miss dearly how I used to look at sci-fi. It was a wonder. Even dystopian sci-fi had its charm, its allure, its fascinating aspects. But then whatever electric sheep dreams I had became nightmares. And waking up, I found the nightmares all around me. It's painful that something I used to love I now avoid. Something I used to turn to for fun or pleasure is something I now fear.

But I am determined to love what I can. I am determined to have hope. As someone who's suffered from great mental illness in my life, and has come to a place finally, finally of stability, I think I can now reflect on things. The truth is, whether a dusty tome-perusing historian like me wants to hear it or not, the future is not a nightmare. It's not a dream at all, but reality. And fiction is not reality. Sure, I see things in real life I thought were just nightmares from Orwell's 1984. But I also see dreams, the iPad in my hand filled with hundreds of books, the stylus gliding brilliant colour over a smooth screen, the little device at my side an Alexandrian library of writing and music the likes of which no one in previous centuries could have imagined. I can type up a few words and my friends can respond to me within seconds. Through the gleaming portals at my fingertips I can learn about the entire world. I am connected. And connection is terrifying. It's vulnerable, and I think we're all just trying to figure out how this new type of human connection works.

I do have hope for the future. And I think it's time we saw that in sci-fi. Now I do note, there is some utopian sci-fi media. Star Trek the Original Series being my favourite. But I want to know what you have to say. Writers, artists, musicians, whatever you do, I want to see some hope.

I am not exempt of course! I need to change the way I think about sci-fi too. I need to take that hope in me and make something that will give someone else hope. Or at least let them have a little fun with a book, whether it's a paperback or leatherbound copy, or an intangible but nevertheless legible file. The interesting thing about sci-fi is that it's always somewhat based in reality (in science, of course!), but it's the 'fi' of sci-fi that's the best part. It's fiction. It's the dream. And as we have seen before, the dreams of one generation can become the reality of another. So it's time to write sci-fi with hope. It's time for me to stop being afraid of the future, and start looking forward to it.

[crabs-but-better]

every time i’ve sat down to write a memoir of some sort i can’t because it’s just So Much. I do have a few stories in mind tho that i would definitely include (this post is mostly for me to come back to at some point) but uh. if you’re interested in my over sharing specifically on the topic of overly verse-like reflections detailing the journey i took to get to where i am now then read under the cut i guess (tw suicidal ideation)

“I haven’t seen my own chest in over two years. The mirror in my room has a towel over it and the bathroom fan stays in a permanent state of disuse in hopes that the steam will cover the body I don’t dare look at.”

“In third grade, I don’t recall if it was through an article or the news or an offhand comment from my parents, I learned of the existence of some sort of surgery to make you a boy. The next day, I -not even knowing the words that described me- proudly told my classmates that I planned on getting those surgeries. For some reason, the looks I got from nine year olds who we are supposed to be ‘protecting’ from ‘this kind of stuff’ lent me kinder and more understanding looks than my own therapist.”

“My school concert in 5th grade was one of the best I ever had. I showed up wearing a white button down and black jeans, proudly sporting my late grandfather’s favorite tie. When Tyler asked me if I wanted to be a boy, I said, without hesitation, “Yes!” and didn’t hear a single thing after that. They didn’t know that just an hour before, I was on the floor groveling, begging for my parents to let me wear this instead of the sparkly dress we had picked out a week ago.”

“Through some feat of repression, after three years of proudly declaring I was a boy, I simply forgot. I forgot about the surgeries and I forgot about Tyler and I forgot about grandpa’s tie and I lived a middle school life as daddy’s little girl, mommy’s perfect straight A student. I wore those tight striped sweaters and put my hair up in flannel colored scrunchies and wore whatever necklaces were trending at the time. Somehow, none of it felt wrong. Until it did. When I started skipping homework and paragraphs in my favorite book, I cried. It was all wrong. And nobody told me. Nobody told me that I shouldn’t have thrown away my favorite cargo shorts. Nobody let me know that listening to sad songs when you’re sad is a bad idea. Nobody held my hand as I begged myself to put the notebook away and stop writing my will. Nobody noticed when I went to bed six hours early hoping that when I woke up, if I woke up, everything would be right again. I’m sure everyone, instead, was breathing a sigh of relief. A, “thank god that phase is over and my daughter is normal again” prayer. The world was upside down and backwards and somehow I still hadn’t remembered who I was.”

“I don’t think some people realize how freeing it is to finally have an answer to a burning question. My uncertainty sat like bile in my throat. It burnt through my skin, branding me as an outcast. They looked at me, curled up in the corner of the library with whichever book happened to whisk me away from everything, they all looked at me with a revolting pity in their eyes. My forehead read “queer” but the problem was I never looked in the mirror. So when two little non-binary kids joined me in my little corner of despair, they brought with them, cradled in their words of encouragement, my answer. The word hurt at first, like when you finally spit out something you were choking on and it leaves behind the sorest of throats. But eventually it washed over me, soothing my burns down to the very core. There it was, at last. “Transgender”

“Of course, it took a few years for me to grow into it. First it was agender, then it was demigirl, then it was non-binary, then genderfluid, but eventually I hit the nail on the head. I’ve found that umbrella labels are the most freeing, I’m allowed to move within and change over time.

I remember a game I used to play all the time. It was called “Pikmin Adventures”, I believe. It came with the WiiU. They were relatively short levels, but the soundtrack intrigued me. All J remember is that once you reached the end of a level, the once dark and stressful score ended off with a dispersing of all that energy. Cymbals gently crashed and led way for a calm piano melody. I breathed a sigh of relief every time I heard it. After a level, when the little Pikman climbed triumphantly into the spaceship, I always felt a sense of accomplishment. That’s how I feel now. There’s the calming melody in the background and I’m climbing triumphantly into my metaphoric spaceship. I breathe a sigh of relief. I survived the level. I made it through. I’m blasting off! And I know, inevitably, I’ll come to the next level. But just like those funky little Pikman, I’ll make it to the end, I’ll hear those cymbals crash again, and everything will be okay.”

[bodyswapmischief]

Holiday Special: Twelve Months of Transformation

[Part 2 of 12]

February

As January came to an end, Nick's graying hair problem worsened. The dye that he used on his hair became less and less effective. By the beginning of February, Nick had to literally dye his hair everyday.

It would be the first thing he did every morning. And, by night time, his salt and peppered hair would be back. In just a week he spent over 100 dollars on hair dye. I can't keep going like this, he thought to himself. But, I have to. I can't let whatever is happening to me... beat me.

He hated that this was bothering him so much. He wished he could just except that his hair was going grey. But, he couldn't. He even brought it up to his younger girlfriend. "What it's natural for and old man to get grey hair." She jokingly laugh.

"I'm not old... I'm only 35... 5 years older than you." Nick replied in frustration. He was upset that his girlfriend wasn't taking this seriously.

"Calm down... you just gotta make sure to by permanent hair dye. Not the stuff that can just wash out." She tried ti reassure Nick.

Nick just sighed feeling crazy. I have been buy permanent hair dye, he thought to himself.

The next day he woke up to start the daily hair dying process. More hair on the side of his head was turning white. The hair on the top of his head was losing more sheen with more white hair starting to sprinkled in. Instead of the jet black hair he once had, it was now a dark charcoal gray. He sighed feeling defeated.

He looked around for his dye. But, he couldn't find it. Amongst the choas, he noticed something. Maybe he's been to stress to see it before. But, his hair was a lot longer and shaggy than it should have been. Making his graying hair more prominent.

The it hit him. He wasn't sure why he hadn't thought of it before. He decided to go to his barber. Maybe he would have a solution for his gray hair.

His hair raced as he realized this was the first time seeing his barber with his now graying hair. "Damn what kinda of dye job do you get." His barber shouted as Nick walked into the shop.

"It's not a dye job... my hair is going grey." Nick's face went red.

"That's not possible... I just cut your hair in December... you couldn't have gone this gray... this fast, naturally." The barber exclaimed.

The two men continued talking and settled on it being cause by stress.

"I was going ask. The dye I've been using... it seems to only hold on my hair for a day. Do you have any recommendations for hair dye." Nick asked.

"Yeah, actually I do." The barber said, as he pulls out a jar. "You can't use those cheap brands from the store. I got this shipped directly from China. I dyed someone's hair with this a month ago. Forgot to wear gloves. The color is still on my hands." He raises his hands showing so find black markings. Nick bought the jar of him, hoping thisbwould be the answer to his problems.

The next day he dyed his hair. To his excitement the dye stayed on his hair the whole day. He woke up the next day, expecting to have to dye his hair again, but his hair was still jet black. A week goes by and the color was still holding strong.

For the fist time in a long time, Nick felt relaxed. He could finally focus on work, his girlfriend, hanging out with friends. But, all good things come to an end.

Late one night. Nick jolted awake. His body and face was extremely itchy. He itched at his body through the clothes he wore to bed. But, it didn't help. He reach for his face and felt a thick beard on his recently hairless face.

He ran to the bathroom and his heart sank as his eyes where hit with his reflection. His graying hair was back. But, that was the lease of his worries. On his face was a thick graying beard. His arms were now cover in forest of dark hair. As, dark gray hair also poked out of the neck of his shirt.

He began removing his clothes revealing that hair now covered almost every inch of his body. A body that for his entire life has been relatively hairless. He couldn't even grow a beard, just a day ago. Worst was the dark body hair was already beginning to go gray in different places.

If he already looked 40 with is graying hair, now he looked like he was well into his mide to late 40's with his graying beard and body hair.

In a panic, Nick's eyes began to tear up. "What the fuck is happening to me." He screamed. He felt like collapsing into a hairy ball of self pity. But, he buried his sadness. He had to do something about it. He rushed to a convenient store. And, bought everything he need to make himself hairless, again.

He shave his beard with a trimmer, followed by a razor. He smiled as he saw his clean shaving face. It just something else I have to add to the list of things I need to do know, he told himself. He continued to trim, shave, and put hair removing cream on different parts of his body. It took hours but he was finally done. He finished up with dying his hair one again.

He smiled as he looked like himself once again. But, the smile faded as he noticed a thick 5 o'clock shadow sat on his face again. His just laughed at how absurd everything happening to him was. And, he shaved his face again, twice in one morning. By the time he was done it was time to got to work. He brought extra shavers with him, just incase.

As the day went on, Nick noticed that a thick 5 o'clock shadow would come back every hour. And, ever hour he went to the work restroom to shave. Around lunch time, his body started itching. He went to the rest, again, as show his body hair was starting to grow back. Making his body very prickly and uncomfortable. What the fuck, he screamed in his head. There has to be something wrong with my hormones. He proceeded to reshape his face and any body hair that was covered by his suit, mainly his hands amd knuckles.

Later on, one of his coworkers walked in to hand Nick some paper work. "Oh, it's good to see your embracing the gray."

"Oh, yeah, thanks." Nick instinctively replied. He was a bit confused by what his friend meant. He pulled out his phone to see the dye was already out of his hair. What it doesn't even last a day anymore, he questioned himself.

Something was really wrong and Nick no longer could hide it. Instantly he dailed his medical insurance. "Hello, I would like to make an appointment with a hormone imbalance specialist." The operator replied that the closest appointment possible would be in the middle of March. Nick feared he could wait that long but, with out no other choice he booked the appointment.

But, would I be able to survive whatever is happening to my body until than, he asked himself.

[vi-trying-to-survive]

Juice Box

Peter Parker x f! Reader

Warnings: None, not really, is mostly just cute fluff

Summary: Some of Peter and (Y/N)'s movie night shenanigans, when she won't let him get to the fridge.

A/N: I really hope you guys like it 💖💖💖 Please let me know if you do and if you like my writing feel free to leave a request 💖💖💖

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Water dropped onto the cold, yellowed tile of the bathroom floor, the chill air surrounding him, made him quickly wrap the fluffy towel around his body, cocooning himself, sighing at the warmth it brought. Unfortunately, for Peter's sake, spider powers did not include temperature control, promptly drying off the excess water, pulling on a pair of, what (Y/N) called unique, pajamas, covered with illustrations of bats, pumpkins and potions, very on brand for Halloween, according to her. He chuckled, recalling her excitement at school when she handed him the carefully wrapped package, eyes glittering when they looked at him, at which he knew he would love whatever was in it, for her sake, as he pushed the door open, creating a large creak that drifted through the strangely quiet space. Eyebrows raised, the boy walked through the short corridor, questioning the silence, knowing his girlfriend was not the most quiet of individuals, feeling his stance relax and lips curve upwards into a smile as he spotted the oblivious girl jumping about in the kitchen.

He leaned against the wall, admiring the way her hair flew aggressively, strands slicing jaggedly in the empty space around her, hands flailing around, up and down, mimicking an ungrateful wave. To most people this would probably be an awkward scene to watch, seeing the way she moved around was more likely to resemble an octopus wiggling around the depths of the ocean than a ballerina twirling strategically, but Peter supposed he wasn’t most people.

Her moment of peace was interrupted when she felt a sock-clad foot lose balance, sliding slightly further than she intended, almost causing her to collapse onto the stained panels of the wooden floor, her arms reached out aimlessly, just snatching hold of the corner of the smooth, pristine surface of the counter top. Snapping out of her daze, she noticed the boy who was now much closer to her, palms grabbing unsuccessfully in the air, an attempt to save her from another debacle, which wasn’t really necessary, much to his dismay, evident by the frown plastered on his face at the lost opportunity to be her hero. Stifling the giggle that dared rise from her chest, she steadied herself up carefully once more, turning softly to face her worried boyfriend, forehead creased with concern as he calculated her every move, the palm of her hand gently cupping his cheek, stroking the warm, flushed skin, before planting a delicate kiss, “Don’t worry Pete”, she smiled softly, “you’re always my hero”. Her words made his lips instinctively curl upwards into a beaming grin, hands sliding down to intertwine with hers, rubbing circles into the back of her palm gratefully.

Taking in her outfit, reflective of his, the same odd pajamas that she insisted on, he twirled her around, chuckling at the way she but her lip unconsciously to contain the growing smile from spreading across her face, strands of her hair spinning along with her, like a crown around her face.

Stopping he helped steady her, before reaching out behind her frame to reach the fridge, frowning in annoyance when his hand was swatted away from the rusted, red-brown handle, tilting his head to find the culprit, (Y/N) giving him a mockingly stern look, “Babe I was doing something important”, waving her finger in front of his face, “before you interrupted”.

Snorting, he rolled his eyes playfully, crossing his arms across his chest, as he fixated his gaze on hers, “Baby I didn’t interrupt”, he lamented, trying to contain the growing laughter in his throat, watching her eyebrows furrow together in frustration, “You just almost fell and I so happened to be present for the show”.

Frantically laying her palms across her chest as she shut her eyes, she gasped comically at his response, opening them slightly to take in his reaction, almost breaking character as he pressed his lips together tightly, making his laughs turn into high pitched wheezes. Giving him another serious look, she blocked his pathway to the fridge, “I have decided”, she declared, voice echoing through the empty apartment, mixed with the sounds of cars passing through the streets of the city that never sleeps, “you shall not reach the fridge”.

He smirked moving closer towards her, ending his head down low, so that his lips reached her ears, warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of her neck, as he whispered, “Baby I can lift a bus with my bare hands", her breath hitched, feeling his arms circle her waist, her head reflexively tilting upwards to meet his for a passionate, desperate kiss, allowing her hands to latch behind his neck, gently tugging at the strands of hair, "What makes you think I can't get past you". Much to her shock, she felt herself being pulled off the ground, as he tossed her across his shoulders, securing her tightly with one hand, grinning innocently, imagining the scowl on her face, as she huffed and wiggled around in his hold, "You know this is just unfair". The fridge door sent a cool breeze past his face as it shut with an almost silent puff, holding his juice box triumphantly towards the girl, who now lay still, sulking, seemingly having accepted her captive state, "No, keeping me from the fridge was unfair".

Poking the plastic straw through the brightly colored box, he took a sip as he brought them to the living room, plopping her down onto the couch, laughing as she crossed her arms furiously across her chest, face almost turning red, refusing to look at him. He pouted, laying his head on her lap, attempting his best puppy eyes with her, knowing she couldn't resist as she groaned tilting her head down to look at the boy, "You have to admit it was kind of funny", he grinned up at her. She glared at him, yet positioned her fingers in his hair, tangling them in the soft, fluffy curls, occasionally tugging, "Your lucky I love you", making him sigh contently. He reached out to the coffee table, fingers running across the rubber buttons of the television remote, hitting play to start the movie, enjoying the normalcy she brought to his life.

[anywherebuthere]

we were both young when I first saw you || f.w.

Fred Weasley x fem slytherin!reader

"you burn me away until there is nothing left for you to hold."

Wordcount: 986

A/N: Shakespeare wishes he was me 😩🙏 this is a joke I'm very sorry. But uhhh, I wrote this cause I was feeling sad and it's not great but whatever 🤸‍♀️ title has no real correlation to the fic, it's just there because of Taylor's new album hehe.

Warnings: mediocre writing, angst but really bad, self destructive fred (only shown in relationship context), maybe a wee bit toxic </3 no happy ending

Please do not repost this!! I do not consent to this piece of fiction being published on any other site besides tumblr unless it is by my doing.

wanna be tagged? join my taglist!

It wasn't that Fred had never noticed her.

On the contrary, it was rather hard not to.

She was always there, at the center of every class discussion, the embodiment of angelic grace in the eyes of their peers. Gazes followed her wherever she went and he would be lying if he said he was an exception.

The difference was that she noticed him back.

Moments in which they lingered on the outskirts of their circles, though far and few in between, existed. Quick darting glances and the brush of fingers as they passed in the halls were the extents of their interactions, neither daring to cross the perpetual divide between them.

In his eyes, the chasm of difference was unbridgeable. They were separated by opposing forces and as time passed, the abyss became endless in their polarity.

While she wore green, he wore red, the colours contrasting against each other in the segregated rows of classrooms.

While her robes were brand new and tailored, his had already been worn by all three of his older brothers.

While she sat serenely, he fidgeted, never feeling content in the stilted quiet.

She was creation, a paragon of life, flouncing from experience to experience, friendship to friendship.

He was ruination, determined to live a life of destruction, leaving chaos in his wake so long as it brought him laughter.

Cautious, calculating.

Callous, carefree.

But what was more temptatious than the impossible?

So the flitting gazes persisted. Brushing hands became the briefest linking of pinkies, palms meeting in the smooth press of a palmer's kiss as they passed. In their prolonged touches, their world of difference closed, the rift seemingly gapped.

Secret passageways became the center stage for whatever it was they shared; the scraps of feeling and sweet nothings exchanged under dim candlelight and damp corridors.

It wasn't much but it was enough.

And to her, it was everything.

How cruel of the universe to so fervently push two souls together only to rip them apart as fast as they came.

-

A life of hardship and struggle had not allowed him to grow accustomed to nice things. Fred resented things he didn't have and when he did have them, he did not understand how to look after them.

Some things were meant to be handled with care, and in the aftermath of their heated touch, a purgatory free of sin, he would forget that she was not another thing for him to break.

"You didn't think I was taking you to the Yule Ball did you?" he snorted, aiming his gaze to the low stone ceiling of their passageway, perhaps subconsciously avoiding the look of hope that had adorned her face. One of which had crumpled at his harsh tone just now.

His palms grew clammy and he sensed her shifting away from him. He snuck a glance down at her and felt a pang deep within his chest at the sight of her slowly folding into herself.

"Yeah no, it was uhm- just an idea," she responded, lip pursed, her voice whittling down to a trace of a whisper.

"I was actually thinking of asking Angelina. Johnson? You know her right?" he continued. He wasn't sure what compelled him to say this. He hadn't been thinking of asking Johnson.

In fact, for the last week, he had thought of nothing but what it would be like to dance with her under the night sky. Of how the moonlight would reflect off her silky skin. So why was he twisting the knife in her heart further?

She had been the one that had taken the first jump across their chasmic divide. Despite the lion crest adorning his jumper and the snake on hers, he had been the coward. His bravery was nowhere to be found when it came to the unknown.

She knew that she wanted him.

All he knew was fire and his innate ability in burning away the beauty around him, bit by bit until nothing remained but ash.

She didn't return the next night.

Or the next after that.

-

"Look I said I was sorry, I don't know what more you want me to say" Fred exclaimed, exasperated.

She refused to meet his gaze, her face flushed in frustration and he swore he caught a glimpse of tears in her eyes. He faltered.

She had returned to the drafty hall after a week. A week in which he continued to show up, waiting in hopes that she would come back and they could resume whatever semblance of a relationship they had shared.

Pride and dignity be damned, he was ready to grovel at her feet. When the time came, however, he was left stuttering, unsure. The unknown loomed over him, awash with uncertainty and insecurity.

He had made her cry.

In the midst of this realization, she mumbled something, though it was lost to the buzz in his ear as he witnessed himself destroyed yet another perfectly good thing.

"W-what?" he mumbled, dazed.

"I asked why you're ashamed of me," she said, louder this time.

For the first time tonight, under the heavy cloak of shadow in their corridor, she looked him in the eye. Her lip was quivering, eyes shining with unshed tears, though her voice remained clear.

Creation, clarity, control. She was the very essence of everything he was not and would never be.

He will never be enough for her.

Taking his silence as an answer, she turned away from him for the last time.

He will never be able to stop hurting her.

Suddenly the bridge across their divide crumpled and he watched her crumble with it, the ashes of their time together blowing away in the wind as she stepped forward.

He will never be able to cross the rift between them again.

His answer to her question died away on his tongue.

"It's me that you should be ashamed of."

taglist: @mollysolo @gxtitobxby @anchoeritic @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts

[maxwell--lord]

The Devil Speaks in Tongues (Part One)

Pairing: Dio Morrissey x f!reader, no use of Y/N

Rating: M

Word Count: 1507

Warnings: DARK!Dio, implied demonic possession, mentions of panic, implied dark magic, slight sexual tension, implied ritual summoning, implied paranoia, ANGST. Let me know if I have missed anything.

A/N: Slow burn for part two. Comments and Reblogs are appreciated! Dio baby, this is for you. I love you and I hope you enjoy my interpretation of our little dark heart.

Beta-readers: @hnt-escape , @pedrocentric​ and @diomorissey 

Editing: @hnt-escape, myself.

The rain hits the pavement, splattering against the dark figure walking up the empty 5th Avenue sidewalk. In passing, his eyes glimmer and a chill runs down your spine, like your soul was just snatched from your being. Every hair on your neck stands on end as the wind picks up, blowing through your damp hair, your body tucked completely under the big, black umbrella that you’re wielding. It feels like the man’s eyes trailed you, boring into the inner crevices of your mind, settling against the acidic pit of your stomach, as if they were branding you. Suddenly you shudder, stopping in your tracks as you hear the faint sounds of ancient chanting, a language you can’t recognize but the shallow, haunting voices tingling the nerves of your inner ear.

The voices creep through your mind, tantalizing a part of you that you haven’t shown in years. It feels like the devil’s tongue is lapping over your neck, teeth teasing your pulse point, and your heartbeat echoing in your ears. You don’t even notice you’ve stopped walking and that the aura around you is dark, cold, and breathless. Your body tenses, and your eyes rip open, wide-eyed as your gaze slowly drops to the hands on your arms, the warm breaths puffing over the shell of your ear, easing you into a deep descent into the darkness of his world. Like a trance, you’ve become his possession, his toy, his little plaything. 

Your eyes dart between his, the words you want to speak lost on the chords of your throat, freezing against each deep, exasperated breath you take. A conceited smile peeking at the corners of his lips as he presses his thumb into your chin, two fingers hooking slightly under your jaw, drawing you closer and closer to the door of the cathedral. You snap from the trance you’re in, almost as if you’ve reached some sort of holy stage of euphoria. Your eyes drag over the man’s features, tall, dark, handsome. His inky hair soaked, laying against his brow, the peaks of his cheeks defined by the way his lips curled into that smug little smile, and all you could do was stare, entranced by the wayward drifter in front of you. Your body swayed in the breeze, curiosity wracking through your mind, while waves of looming warning washed over your celestial being. His black-diamond eyes stare into yours as he lifts his brows expectantly for an answer, his being bisecting in front of you, the dark-clouded aura encompassing him.

The rain patters harder against your umbrella, and the sounds bring you back to the forefront of your mind, your pupils drawing back in, reflecting in the light of the lightning cracking across the sky. In that moment, you realize that he wasn’t holding onto you, and the strangers passed you without a thought in their mind. You take in your surroundings, feeling as if something is attached to you, following you, cursing you. There it is, your salvation, a safe haven from whatever it is that just consumed you; St. Patrick’s Catholic Church. The last place you would think that an entity would follow you into, linger in the shadows of your growing distaste, the burning sorrows that slither through your thoughts.

As you step under the large archway, you pull your umbrella down, gently shaking the water off and closing it up. You’re greeted by an oddly familiar voice, the same voice whose chants tingled through your ears. Your heart begins to palpitate, the growing lump in your throat rises with the fear intensifying as your blood violently rushes through your veins. You quickly realize that is the wrong thought, that this being, this haunting feeling is going to penetrate you, no matter which direction you run. It doesn’t fear a church, nor a God.

“Are you afraid of me, little dove?” the dark voice coos, almost drowned by the sound of the pounding rain. His fingertip immediately smoothing across the high point of your cheek, chills spreading down your face, and to your core. He curls his fingers under your jawline, cocking his head to the right, his dark eyes now meeting yours, and an evil, inviting grin adorns his face. He knows just how his presence penetrated into your soul, how his black-cloud aura is leeching off of your delicate innocence, aching to taint every pure essence of your being. It’s almost as if you could feel his heart thumping through the pads of his fingers, especially in his thumb, the way it barely twitched against the soft tissue of your cheek. The stillness in your body felt as if your bones melded into cement, like you’ve been suffering with ankylosing spondylitis for the entirety of your life.

You shake your head, pulling yourself from the midst of chaos that trails the fiber of his being. “Uh, n-no. I’m.. I’m just looking for….” You stutter, fighting the lingering pull that screams through your inner thoughts, screaming at you to run. Your words fall silent on the tip of your taste buds, and your face twists into confusion, unable to understand what dark succubus is feeling you out. “...Dio…” You mutter, the pang in your throat burns through your body, pushing you further into his arms. This stranger whose name you’ve never known, the twisting pit of darkness closing in around you, his being like gravity pulling you ever closer, until you are against his chest, his arms around you and you relinquish into the ancient chanting, drawn to this figure, this entity that binds you. This isn’t coincidence; no, this is divine intervention, deep-rooted, dark magic playing with your soul, praying on the weakness in your mind. You’ve never met this man, only seen him in passing. Always passing, lingering around the cemetery gates, sitting against the marbled arches of the century old cathedral, cigarette in hand, nothing more.

Your head is spinning, reeling, body aching as the entity attached to him begins to draw from you, draining you life force without you even noticing. Your breathing begins to settle from a panicked state, into a flutter as your mind accepts the bitter cold warmth that emanates beneath the surface of his perfect disposition. The thoughts swirl in your mind, questioning your morals, your compass, your faith. What could have brought you so in touch with the devil’s right hand man himself? Your heart thumped in your chest with each deepening question.

Suddenly the gravity of your situation washes over you, the tensing of your muscles aching throughout your center, and your mind finally telling you what this is. Dio wasn’t just a vagrant lingering between the cemetery and the cathedral, he was drawn to you. Whatever it is that has consumed him was looking for you and he was just the puppet on the string that reeled you into his arms.

“Let’s take shelter in the church.” Dio cooed, tracing the pads of his fingers over your cheeks, coaxing you to follow him into this holy sanctuary, this home for safety and protection, but so easily bent and passed by the prince of darkness, unholy warfare tugging at every direction of your denomination. Dio pulls you closer, draping himself over your shoulder, openly dragging you into the cathedral, leading you right into his pit of temptation. You follow him into the large foyer, decorated with marble, gold, and statues of the six saints. You audibly gasp at the beautiful sight, allowing the entity to finally claim you for itself.

Dio offers you his hand and your eyes are drawn to the ritualistic summoning circle tattooed on his palm, the faint feeling of understanding beginning to fall into place. The stagnant air of the cathedral begins to tingle against your damp skin, the voices whispering into your mind again, the lingering motive of his darkness embodying you, but you can’t shake the need to pull yourself closer to him, to remain in his welcoming presence. You take his hand, clasping them together tightly, and with a flick of his opposite wrist, his thumb and forefinger snapping together, all of the candles ignited, and a wisp of wind encircled you both before falling silent around your ankles.

“Little dove, are you afraid?” Dio coos, his movements quick as he’s leaned over you, lips grazing over the shell of your ear, and his large, ring-clad hand cradling your cheek, sweeping his thumb over your lower lip.

You swallow thickly, your lip trembles under the warmth of his digit. “No, I’m intrigued. Why me?” you whisper, feeling the desiccated air escape along your throat. Your hand moves to wrap itself into one of the chains dangling from the man’s neck, pulling him into your space, drawing on his need to explore you.

Dio puffs out a little groan, as a wicked grin flashes over his features and his tongue licks down your neck, flattening to keep a firm, wet, warmth on your pulse point. “Because Little Dove, that is what he requested. You.”

(Part Two)

Permanent Taglist:  @starlightmornings @asta-lily @greeneyedblondie44 @diomorissey @daredevilstar @pedrocentric @pbeatriz @just-here-for-the-moment @inlovewiththetenthdoctor @littlemisspascal​ @manndo​

[animefreak1145]

The Irony of Adler and Bell

Call of Duty: Black Ops Analysis of Adler’s Brainwashing

It’s me again. And I’m here with another analysis! This time based solely around Adler. It’s always about Adler. But also Bell.

And this is about the brainwashing of not Bell, but Adler.

We have all had our theories since we first saw Adler getting tortured in the Cinematic Warzone Trailers, shown in Season 3 of COD:BOCW. Our suspicions growing when we see Sus Adler™️ doing what he does best in Season 4 by stealing an important looking chip within the crashed satellite that was taken down. (Also, Hudson, what is wrong with you letting Adler be cleared for a mission when he was just rescued like two weeks ago?!)

And although we did not see him in Season 5, we can all gather that anyone could be potentially brainwashed if you have a certain brand of earpiece. (Woods and Stryker appeared unaffected despite having their own earpieces). So the naive hope and calming words to others that Adler being different and strong is out the window. All it takes is hearing the numbers. What do the numbers mean, Mason?

Besides Bell wasn’t your average run of the mill agent either. An amazing decoder and created codes(I am with the theory that Bell did create the codes for Perseus that we have to decrypt in the game for Operation Chaos and Red Circus) with a brutal close combat skill as well as charming based on how one could talk to everyone and be a social butterfly. Also, able to handle and withstand torture after one hour of leaving Cuba despite previous injuries AND be able to go to Solovetsky/Duga and able to aim and shoot despite having a needle shoved in their eye a few hours earlier.

Bell had crazy skills. Just like Adler does. Bell was brainwashed. So is Adler.

Confirmed with this bundle that will be released. Thank you to @reclaimedbythesea who first found it and pointed it out.

We have the confirmation—the amazing, horrible, war criminal man we all love has become an agent of the man who he swore to chase down and capture/kill for longer than a decade. (Adler said thirteen years in COD:BOCW universe, so 1984 it would be sixteen years. Sheesh. Correct me if I’m wrong. I may be mistaken.) Is it wrong I kinda find it funny? Especially since he did the same thing to Bell—believing it to be necessary. Just as Stitch I’m sure finds it necessary.

It’s just a big brainwash back and forth between these two countries, a race to see who has the most mindless agents on their side in the end. But we’re not focusing on that.

We’re focusing on how Adler’s karma finally caught up to him with all his war crimes. We can infer that he hasn’t just done a cruel action like that to Bell, but to others. “Whatever it takes.” That’s his motto. He’s messed up other’s lives—hundreds, maybe even thousands. The Vietnam War has a deep dirty history, such as the real operation of Fracture Jaw, Operation Ranch Hand with the use of Agent Orange, the Mai(My) Lai Massacre and who knows how many other operations that would/did affect civilians. Not that I would see Adler doing anything like the massacre, but you can’t expect me to not believe that he may have been involved with Agent Orange somewhat? And who knows what other operations and missions he’s done as a CIA agent after the war?

My point is, the man has been gathering karma for awhile. Not just with Bell(I am aware he had his orders in the war, I’m just saying I’m not sure if he feels much guilt about some said orders. Guilt I believe he may has, but I’m not sure it’s a high degree.) Of course, Bell isn’t a saint either. They were willing to kill millions with Perseus after all. A wayyyy higher body count than Adler. And who knows what Bell did with Perseus even before the Greenlight plan? Didn’t seem to mind millions blinking in an eye, so must be pretty cold or delusional about the whole free world killing their country thing. Thank you @yunatheintrovert for this post pointing out and showing a hint of just how not good a person Bell was.

I’m not going to say they deserved what happened to them due to Adler. I feel for Bell. I really do. Just like I can’t say if Adler deserves it for everything—just can’t say that because I’m not at liberty to judge other’s actions and claim what is deserved and undeserved. Leave that to judges.

But now I’m going to point out certain things—other things. Such as what I think to be Adler’s “new” name. At least to those in the Perseus Collective/Stitch.

Do I realize that “Cipher” may just be what this awesome skin is called? Yes. Will I rather ignore it and rant about the name for two ten minutes? Also yes.

On to the analysis!

ci·pher/ˈsīfər/: a secret or disguised way of writing; a code.

This first definition is what we can all gather of what the numbers represent—the code and simultaneously the key of brainwashing others in earpieces with just a certain order of number together.

Stitch and co. used said numbers on Adler, so why not call him Cipher? The Code? Funny, cause he killed Bell—the Decoder. Maybe Bell would’ve helped him out if he didn’t kill them.

Another hammer to the irony of between these two.

But no. The name gets better. Second definition!

ci·pher /ˈsīfər/: a person or thing of no importance, especially a person who does the bidding of others and seems to have no will of their own.

PAHAHAHAHAHA! *clears throat* Now, this, this is what I think Stitch calls some true vengeance. Not only did he get to torture the man who did the same to him before, but made Adler a shadow of who he was before. A husk. Nothing really there. “Whatever it takes” indeed but for the opposite side now—a puppet with numbers for strings. Stitch did a good job in naming Cipher—I mean Adler. We don’t even know how far Adler shall go now, will the CIA have to kill him or will they be able to recondition him when/if they capture him? Will he even be the same? Nope.

Why do I find that definition funny? Well, I think Adler had a multitude of reasons for naming Bell, Bell. Just like Stitch did with Adler. And not just the obvious reasons of him ringing the bell at them to condition them as he was torturing/brainwashing them(we love Pavlov!). Let’s get the first definition out the way.

bell /bel/: a hollow object, typically made of metal and having the shape of a deep inverted cup widening at the lip, that sounds a clear musical note when struck, typically by means of a clapper inside.

I wonder if anyone knows where I’m going with this or I’m starting to seem like a madwoman.

I’m going to ask you guys to focus on the word, “hollow” for me. Hollow, as in not filled. There’s something in the bell alright, but it doesn’t do enough to fill out the hole does it? Like Cipher is now made a husk. Bell was made hollow—only a little bit filled with the little memory they got back before they were killed(maybe they weren’t, let’s just go with it for now). Or perhaps just a bit filled with false memories of Vietnam, of camaraderie. I doubt Stitch did anything like that.

Also, Bell is just an instrument for someone else to play. Play the right tune, and the Russian agent will do anything for you. Right, Adler?

Cipher is the puppet, just doing what he’s told when they give the orders. No will or thought. Just how Stitch likes it.

I’m not done yet! Second definition!

bell /bel/: a. A stroke on a hollow metal instrument to mark the hour.

b. The time indicated by the striking of this instrument, divided into half hours.

Another play on words of Bell being struck(jabbed with needles) to do what needs to be done. But it also represents the limited time that Bell has. Bell needs to help to stop Perseus and quick, Adler will make them go faster if needed by putting the highest dosage as possible without killing them to accomplish it. Or maybe it’s also a representation that Bell does actually have limited time left—Park did say MK—Ultra will be hard on the body physically and mentally. Perhaps MK-Ultra was slowly killing us and Adler just decided to give us a mercy kill while he was at it as he “tied up our strings.”( @cryinginthebackseat does point this out in their Adler/Bell story, go check it out!)

Let’s focus on the instrument thing again though, but back to Cipher. The third definition!

ci·pher /ˈsīfər/ : a continuous sounding of an organ pipe, caused by a mechanical defect.

Oh man. Sounds like Adler is being played like an instrument too, continuously due to all the numbers and how the numbers can be everywhere if one is in the armed forces since they all use earpieces. Interesting shape too, a pipe. Long and thin and has two holes, a beginning and an end but which one is the top or the bottom? The beginning and the end? We don’t know how far Adler will go like this—as Cipher. It will eventually come to a point, where something squeezes within the pipe and manages to get out. Maybe. Or maybe Adler is just forever defected, like the definition suggests.

Not quite Adler anymore and just Cipher.

Just like Bell will always just be Bell. The other self practically gone.

It seems these two will always somehow reflect and affect one another, whether one is dead or not.

I swear I love Adler, so don’t mind some of my dark humor about him and this situation he’s in. It is pretty funny. At least to me. Stitch is funny. And petty.

Hope you guys enjoyed!

@salvija @smokeywhalee @quizzyisdone @efingart @samatedeansbroccoli @weirdoartist21 @tr1ppylady

[kodzukyan]

the long way home (to you)

notes: happy belated birthday, rissa! cheers to our tokrev momster, the baby of group therapy, and the light of my life!! words can’t describe how much joy you bring to my life, and i’m thankful every day for you. thank you for putting up with all the dumb shit i say on the daily HAHA. i love you so much. 🥺💖 @seishue (also thank you to annette and ilayda for putting up with me as i overthink every thing HAHA 🥺) 

summary: the concept of home redefined through the years. - kokonui

wc: 1.6k

Home is an abstract concept, but it’s something Koko has always been able to define.

At eight, it was sitting in Seishu’s room and the sound of pencils scribbling on summer homework as the air conditioner hummed through the silence. At eight, it was the sound of his laughter as Seishu pouts about summer homework. At eight, it was Akane with her golden hair and sky-blue eyes as she brings in barley tea and snack cakes. At eight, it was the warmth that blooms in his chest as his heart thunders excitedly and recklessly at the sight of Akane’s pretty smiles and playful teasing.

At eight, it was the sound of fire crackling and tearing through the home he knew.

(All he sees is the painted reds and oranges of fire, burning, burning, burning through home as he knows it.

He runs into the fire anyway because he promised. He will save her, save love as he knows it. As if he’s running on autopilot, he just bulldozes through the building of burning wood and flaming memories because he purely has one end goal. He runs, runs, runs, and finally sees her, sees the promise he vowed to protect.

He doesn’t think because all he cares about is Akane, his promise, and he grabs her and runs. He sighs in relief as they make it. As he breathes in the fresh air, he sees light blue eyes staring right back at him, too light to be paired with the soft smile that flutters his heart, and he feels like he can’t breathe. He stares vacantly at Seishu, and as pain reflects back from his blue eyes, Koko hates himself for feeling upset that he saved his best friend instead of his sister.

His eyes drift from downcast eyes to the blazing building, and his heart stops. He’s breathing, but his body is frozen and his mind is dazed. The forbidding feeling in his chest swells into a looming shadow, and he feels crushed as it devours him whole.)

At eight, home burns. All he’s left with is Seishu’s hand clutching his as they stand in a white room. The love of his life laid still, and the steady beep of the heart monitor drowns out their cries.

-----

At fifteen, home was found through crimes and bonds built through money and blood. At fifteen, it was wistful thinking and forcing the image of Akane onto his best friend, hoping, praying that she will still smile at him all the same. But she doesn’t because all he recognizes is Seishu and his steady eyes as he looks forward. In contrast, Koko feels increasingly aware that he was the only one running in circles with no destination.

Seishu has constantly seen him, always looked at him as him. And despite conventional belief, while he still detects traces of Akane, he sees Seishu too. He cherishes him too, in a different way than how he loved Akane, in a way that reminds him that love is steady.

He loves Seishu in a way that he will always, always choose him. Like the consistent beat of his heart, love flows softly, tenderly, subtly. Unlike the blazing flutters of his heart he felt with Akane, it's more like the stars that twinkle night after night. With Seishu, he doesn’t have to be the Koko who exclusively knows how to break things and make money. With Seishu, he can completely just be Koko. A gentle lull, rest stop, a stronghold against the world where he doesn’t have to run, where he can finally sleep.

Seishu deserves better, though. He deserves someone who isn’t chasing after the image of a dead girl while being half in love with him. He deserves someone who isn’t running in circles, both mentally and emotionally. He deserves someone who loves him fully instead of his half-baked feelings that grow and surface with every moment, but he refuses to acknowledge.

(Because if he does, what will he have left? Who is he without money and his feelings for the one who commenced it all?

He’s a little more lost than found, so he just keeps on running, running, running in hopes to discover some answers, to finally reach somewhere he can just be.

(He doesn't know how to stop.)

Somehow, he thinks Seishu knows all along anyway with the way he still squeezes his hand and looks at him like he’s still worth it. He still enables him to lean in and tuck himself in between the crook of his neck and breathe in the scent of home.)

But home, Koko thinks, becomes a little more undefined when they part ways. Because he can no longer protect Seishu, who keeps on going and facing forwards while he’s still stuck on a repeated loop. Because he knows he’s gripping Seishu back from growing and becoming someone who can take on the world.

(Because he loves him.)

So, he lets go of home and wonders since when did it become so cold without Seishu’s hand holding his.

-----

At eighteen, he is completely lost. The sight of Akane’s smiling is long gone and the warmth of Seishu’s hand in his has gone cold. The looming shadow that has been following him is always ready to overtake him, but he fights on anyway because he has to see it through.

(See what through? He doesn’t know exactly.)

Ironically, it has incessantly been the bleakest moments when Seishu appears beside him. He’s still running loops on repeat, but he thinks an alternative path opens up when Seishu extends his hand out. He wants to take it, wants to altogether stop running because he’s so tired.

“Koko.” Seishu prompts as he holds his hand out, “I’ll give you half of my burdens, so give me half of yours too.”

He grasps Seishu’s hand, and Seishu pulls him up. Koko leans into the crook of Seishu’s neck like he did before, and as if all the years of exhaustion finally caught up to him, he cries. He cries for the loss of Akane, cries for the loss of what could have been, cries for the loss of home.

Seishu just stands still and supports him tightly in his arms as he breaks.

“I’m with you.”

He used to think he was the one who supported Seishu, but he thinks he’s been proven time and time again that it’s the opposite way around.

“We don’t talk about this,” Koko sniffles as he leans into Seishu’s hold.

“Okay,” Seishu promises and places a tender kiss on his temple.

Koko has never believed in God. God wasn’t there when he needed him; God still isn’t here when he needs him. But as their bodies press together, limbs tangled and eyes locked, he wonders if this is what heaven feels like.

("Koko," Seishu starts. A conversation that has been lingering in the back of his mind; a conversation that has to be said. He pauses, wandering eyes hesitant to confront black ones before he inhales sharply. "I’m not Akane."

Koko's teasing smile fades, intense eyes meeting crystalline blue ones that are slightly lighter than the girl he loved once. He used to imagine the boy in front of him as his sister, the one he swore he would protect, but he can’t even fathom the thought now. He can see her traces, but he thinks he never desires it to be her anymore. He just wants his best friend, his comfort, his home, him. "I know."

His callous hands reach for Seishu’s burn scar, caressing it gently before he trails down and brushes Seishu’s soft cheek. He cradles it for a moment before he presses his forehead against Seishu’s, softly, fondly. He’s earnest as his eyes staring straight into blue ones, a vulnerability in his gaze. A realization, a truth, something he’s long figured out but didn’t want to admit because he didn’t want to let go of all that he knew.

But he notes the man in front of him now, feels the warmth of his cheek and the softness in his glance, and Koko finally smiles and feels like it’s okay to stop.

“I only see you, Seishu. You, and only you.”)

At eighteen, he comes home after wandering the world, thinking maybe he can ultimately stop his journey to obtain something because he had someone all along.

-----

At twenty-one, home looks a lot like the one from his childhood. A modest one-bedroom apartment with an equally small living room and kitchen, but there’s still the sound of pencils scribbling as Seishu writes down the grocery list and the air conditioner still hums through the summer daze.

Life feels so calm that everything before this moment feels like a fever dream. He wakes up next to Seishu, drinks coffee — black for him, two sugars and heavy on the milk for Seishu — together before they part ways for work or whatever they have for the day. They take turns picking dinner or leave it to the roulette when they can’t decide, and sometimes they go out with their friends for drinks at night.

Within these four walls of the apartment, there are memories immortalized as pictures, and furniture far too expensive for a little place like this. Heels line up in the doorway, name-brand jackets fill the closet, a set of matching silverware picked out together.

A home meant for two, and love blankets every crevice in this small home and his heart.

Home, Koko thinks, perchance is a person all along as he stares at Seishu, who only smiles and holds out his hand as he catches his eyes. Koko reflectively smiles back and laces their fingers together.

“You ready?” Seishu asks, a grocery list in hand and his heart in the other.

“With you? Always,” he responds back with a grin, knowing he equally holds Seishu’s heart too.

Home, Koko thinks, is definitely Seishu all along. 

[httpcottagewitch]

💫Winter Solstice & Great Conjunction Realsing Ritual 💫

This ritual is intended to open you up to the positive energy & countless possibilities available at the beginning of a brand new year. Leave behind negativity–anything that’s holding you back–leave it behind with the old year, and make your new year dreams come true.

Winter Solstice Journal Qs 

First, spend some time reflecting on the year ending & your hopes for the new year. Answer these questions in your journal:

1. What do you want to leave behind with the old year?

Think about any limiting beliefs you’re holding onto, that you’re ready to let go off. Is there any negativity weighing you down?

Autumn was all about reflecting on the things you’re ready to release from your life. What are the last things you’re shaking off?

2. What are your hopes & wishes for the new year?

What are you already starting to dream about? What ideas are coming up for your life in the new year?

Get really clear & very specific about what you’d like to draw into your life. (The clearer you are the more power the ritual will hold.)

Winter Solstice Ritual

Supplies Needed:

• A candle you can safely burn to the end

• Crystals*

• Essential oil*

• Incense*

 *suggestions for crystals, essential oils & incense with properties that suit this ritual discussed in the steps below. But don’t let this distract you from performing the ritual. Use whatever you have. Improvise. The real power of the ritual is the intention you place behind it, not the accoutrements. 

Take a few deep breaths to ground & center.

Take your time here. Don’t rush. Take several deep breaths and use any grounding technique that work for you.

I like to imagine a root extending from my the base of my spine& growing deep into the Earth. I picture it anchoring onto giant, powerful crystal.

Spend a few minutes feeling the Earth energy traveling up your root, through your body & all your chakras. Imagine that energy bursting through your crown chakra & extending far into the heavens. Feel the Divine energy entering your body through your crown chakra.

Sit here for a few minutes, feel yourself to connected to the Divine above & Mother Earth below.

Cleanse & empower your crystal.

Light your incense & hold the crystal over the smoke to cleanse it. This clears space & empowers the crystal to absorb the negative energy you want to leave behind.

Crystals that are ideal for absorbing negativity are: black stones like hematite, obsidian, smoky quartz; rose quartz.

Incense ideal for this work include: sage, sandalwood & sweetgrass



Hold your crystal in your hand.

Close your eyes. Feel its vibration.

Ask the crystal to help you, and absorb the negative thoughts & limiting beliefs you want to leave behind with the old year.

Think about what you want to leave behind & let it flow into your crystal.

Close your eyes & think about all the hopes you have for the new year.

As you hold your candle say out loud your hopes & dreams for the new year. Read what you wrote for the Qs above. Don’t hold back. The clearer you are, the more energy you will give the candle.

Rub several drops of essential oil in your hands & onto your candle.

Ideal essential oils for this work include: Cypress, brings transformation & change; Frankensense, helps ignite your relationship with spirit & lifts depressed energy; Myrrh, opens your mind to receiving the Universe’s gifts

As you rub the candle, ask the Universe to hear your call. Ask for help bringing your dreams to life; help in realizing your own power.

Place your candle somewhere it can safely burn all the way down.

Light your candle and and set your intention

Say a prayer that all your hopes will manifest with the flame of this fire. Ask for all your limiting beliefs & negativity to be burned away. Ask for this Yule flame to light the spark of your hopes & dreams for the year, and to give you the strength & power to bring them to life.

Welcome this new turn of the Wheel with an open mind & an open heart.

Spend a few moments in meditation.

Close your eyes or gaze into the flame of your candle. Send a silent prayer of thanks to the Universe.

 

(found this on a website and tweaked it to my preference)

[ephemerlskies]

of honey and cinnamon | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

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

⇢ word count: 14k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, where are you going?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, are you going home?"

"Yes... are you?"

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

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

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

"You already asked that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, sorry. I didn't-"

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

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

Just this once, you thought.

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

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

"Am not." You muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Quietly? This process is anything but quiet."

"Then try your very hardest."

"I'll try. Emphasis on try."

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

"What's a time signature?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That sucks.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I suppose you hate everything I love.” 

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

“What are you looking for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“___? Are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. It's okay.”

“But-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was right again. Your smiles have always been punctuated lately, but you were too busy paddling through every distraction available to even notice.

“Very funny.” Your voice was low enough for Jungkook to nearly miss it. Once the soft tone of your voice delivered to his ears, he looked away from his sheet music to mine through your face like a cavern, searching for the hidden bits of the treasure-like emotions strewn in along the subtle details. 

“What’s wrong?” It was a leap of faith, his question, a leap that sent him plummeting blindly into the depths of everything he craved to know about you. 

“That thing you said the other day.” Your expression was unreadable to the whole world. But inside the train, the whole world rested just on the other side of the window. There was no reason to come off as impassive, cold, or unconcerned, to care so much about trying not to care. “About going home.”

“Mhm?” You waited to see if he had anything to say, anything to stall what was about to escape from your lips. You knew it wouldn’t take long for your thoughts to go rogue, especially when he made you smile like that. 

“I’m angry.” He gave you a look that said ‘no shit’ without having to actually say it. It made you nervous, but still willing to go on. “You're right. I didn’t visit home ever until now. I thought I grew out of it. I thought I became someone too big to fit in a town so small and stuck in its way. But I was never too big, I don’t think I ever actually grew. Because when I got the call, after stupidly ignoring it a hundred times before, I felt like the same child. So scared of the idea of a world without their mother. So, yeah, I’m angry. I’m angry I could be arrogant and stupid enough to think I could live the rest of my life never looking back.”

Jungkook just watched you, with those eyes that held the world. His eyes were holding so much right now when they were looking at you. So much weight from a source he couldn’t define with his own intuition. So much weight, he couldn’t understand how you had been shouldering it on your own this whole time, if he couldn’t stand a few minutes holding it now. 

“Going back home.” You scoffed. “It's not about looking back. It was never about that. I think returning to something familiar is almost just as scary as fleeing somewhere new. All your past mistakes and demons that you have to face…”

“Demons. Is that any way to talk about your mother?” It was his way, unique to Jungkook alone, to litter in a bit of lighthearted teasing even when he was supposed to be serious. As if he couldn’t stand to let the air in Cart 102 become too damp with sadness, as if his heart wouldn’t have been able to handle it.

“I made a mistake. I spent too much time away, and now the last way I’ll see her is weak and sick. That’s my demon. My mom was just unfortunate enough to be the arbiter of it.” 

Jungkook wanted to tell you that if he could, he would take all your pain away and send it back into the universe to find someone else to harbor it. Someone who deserved to feel a loss so heavy, because he knew just by looking at you that you deserved none of it. But he held his overly romantic tongue for now in regards to easing you into him smoothly. Since he had come such a long way with you, making gentle strides to win your affection, it would be greedy of him to tarnish that by saying something as outrageous as that, even if that was truly how he felt.

“Come with me. I have an idea.” It would have been easy to refuse him, to swat his hand away and never speak to him again for the rest of the train ride. But what prevails after the wear and tear of expecting the worst and knowing the painful and permanent scars it will leave you is the trust of someone who turned scowls into smiles, who held his hand out to you and waited for you to take it kindly.

Those tales they tell about feeling sparks when you make contact with your soulmate were decidedly wrong. Wrong to you, because when you touched Jungkook’s hand, you felt those sparks nestling under your skin and learning its way through the rest of your body. Wrong, because Jungkook was no soulmate of yours, just an unlikely stranger you met on a train once. 

And yet, you couldn’t help but wonder, you couldn’t help but hope he too felt these sparks that supposedly meant nothing.

Jungkook pulled you into the hallway, which was brighter than the way it looked in your dreams. At the end of the walkway, there was no ghost resembling your mother, and the walls weren’t closing in, and instead of pushing through alone, you had Jungkook holding your hand tightly, and graciously guiding you down.

“This way.” He whispered, and you mimicked the stealth in his voice through the way you muffled the sound of your feet hitting the train floor, which felt less like water and more like sand with him; soft yet solid sand.

You arrived at an unattended area of the train. The only hint of what Jungkook was up to was that grin. That grin was too playful to be a grimace, and too mischievous to be a smile. That grin that you hadn’t noticed you were looking forward to seeing, the same one you could sense you would miss when the train arrived at its destination. That when he grinned, you finally found the courage to return it. Needing no conditions or second guesses, you were just you, somehow smiling on the train that was taking you to your sick mother. And it was all because of him and his stupid, lovely grin.

“What are you doing? Are we supposed to even be here?” 

“Shh, we’ll get caught.” He began to wriggle with the door handle until it opened. 

“So we’re not supposed to be here! Jungkook, let’s go before we get kicked off!” To silence you, he simply held his hand up. You pouted your lip but did as he commanded. 

Inside the door, there was a collection of all the food meant for purchasing. Your assumption was confirmed that Jungkook had no intention of paying for the bags of pretzels and packets of cookies he was stuffing into his pockets. Hands full with quite the assortment of foods, he looked to you and raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Come on, put these in your pockets! Hurry.” He held the food out towards you. There was no convincing him to put all the stolen goods back, and there was no convincing yourself to not go along with his sinfully sweet plan. 

The fast-paced walk back to Cart 102 was the most exhilarating thirty-five seconds of your life. Jungkook looked all too calm, like spontaneity fell into his hands naturally or like it was a birthright, belonging to his life from the beginning. Life with Jungkook, even if the short span of time he’d claimed part of yours was fleeting, was the most excited and fearless you had ever felt. 

Jungkook and you emptied the haul of food onto the table. For a second, they went untouched only for the two of you to admire your successfully pirated goods. Then, for the first time on the train you met eyes with Jungkook and laughed.

It was the sort of laugh that exercised muscles in your abdomen you weren’t aware that you had in the first place. The kind that began at the top of a hill, and with one push it was tumbling faster and faster, growing louder and wilder. 

Jungkook was laughing too, a sound which could qualify as the only competitor to surpass the beauty of his singing. And whatever music he was scribing onto the paper would have to be beyond masterful to sound anything close to as immaculate as his laugh.

“I can’t believe we just committed grand larceny.” The words came out of your throat between fits of laughter, eyes now with an abundance of happy tears.

“Woah there, “‘grand”’ is a stretch. I like to think of it as unlawful borrowing.” The rest of the afternoon was spent with celebratory feasting of your unlawfully borrowed goods. Your favorite was the packs of chocolate mints, and Jungkook had cleverly avoided eating them when he noticed how much you liked them. 

When dawn arrived, Cart 102 settled into a comfortable silence, now consisting of you reading your book tempered by a glance out of the window every few pages and Jungkook tapping his pencil against the wooden desk while marking up every blank space on his page. To anyone else, including the likes of you, the page was nothing but a jumble of incoherent scribbles. To Jungkook, it was his next masterpiece; the best idea he made tangible on paper and hopefully soon, audible when someone agreed to commission it.

“Done!” 

His remark startled you, being that there had been no warrant for him to exclaim his progress with the music he was working on. You chuckled softly, closing your book and looking back to Jungkook.

“Done with what?” 

“This song. I know this one will sell. I just know it! It’s perfect.” Jungkook’s passion was bursting past the seams of his body. “I just wish… I wish I had more time.”

“What does that mean?” Again, all he offered was the same grin, and that was all you needed in order to know he wouldn’t be dropping any more hints on the account of your curiosity. 

“It means this train ride is ending tomorrow, and I’ll have too much on my plate to work on anything else. So this right here,” He held up the paper with the same tact one would for a pile of pure gold, “Is my last chance to get my work out there for a while.”

For reasons born from an unidentifiable place, you felt like crying. Last chance. It sounded serious. Something you weren’t ready to know and something he wasn't ready to tell. So, instead of pestering the answer out of him, you let him have his secrets. You let him have all the secrets he had somehow gotten out of you. 

And somehow, you were okay with it. Just this once.

Jungkook said he was taking a quick nap. Quick must mean something entirely different where he was from since it lasted about three hours and counting. For someone who had nothing to do but sit on a train all day, he sure was tired. It would have concerned you had it not been for witnessing how much energy he exerted into writing his music, as if each tap of his pencil required the same amount of energy as running an entire mile.

You were looking out of the window, which looked like it had been coated with tar. The departing sun left no remnants of its light and the moon must have been situated on the opposite side of the train, so it was up to the stars to illuminate your view of the world. But, outside the train was dark. Dark, and almost pitch black.

The first few specks were thought to be a hallucination that bloomed from your own wishful thinking. But soon, there were more and more twinkling lights dusting the sky and that outshined any doubt you had before. The stars were so bright and glimmering clearer than you had ever seen. Only something so beautiful, something that ingrained itself into the grooves of your brain to keep forever, could elicit the gasp that came louder than expected.

“Woah.” It jolted Jungkook awake and you would have felt bad if he weren’t already supplied with three and a half hours of extra sleep. 

“What?” His voice was hoarse from being unused for such a long interval.

“The stars! I can see them! They’re so bright, Jungkook. So bright.” The tears began to form in part from the lack of blinking and in part from how happy you were to see the stars. The same stars your mother was probably looking at and the same ceiling of glitter that loomed protectively over you and Jungkook. They were more than just constellations tonight; they were a celestial map navigating you back home and an astronomical assurance that everything would be okay. Even if the worst happened, everything would be okay.

“They are. They’ve been bright for a while. It took you long enough to notice.” Your smile was not yours to control anymore. It was a small price to pay considering you had a world full of stars to last you a lifetime.

“I guess I haven’t been trying as hard to see them as I thought I was.”

And you turned to him, which was the only thing besides the starlit arena above you and Jungkook and the train you’d rather be looking at right now.

“I can’t wait to go home. I miss it so much.” It was the first time you said it out loud, as well as the first time you were able to admit that to yourself. 

“I’m glad you feel that way. You should feel that way.” 

“Thank you.”

There were a plethora of reasons that prompted that thank you. Far too many reasons that were decidedly unfit for just a single thank you. So, you concluded that the thank you was for Jungkook; for becoming a part of your life. For every decision he made on this train that rearranged your feelings towards him into something pleasant. Something that felt warm and safe.

Tonight, the last thing you saw before slipping away into sleep was all the stars that weren't at your disposal before. Every silvery diamond brandished along the expanding sky was so mesmerizing, you wished you could imprint them into the backs of your eyelids when they eventually lulled you into a calm slumber. That and the memory of Jungkook’s rendition of Dream a Little Dream of Me set on repeat in your head. 

This time, you weren't trapped in the confines of a dark train hallway. You were standing in the middle of a grassy field, laden with a diverse collection of wildflowers. The mellow green hues seemed to lift from the blades of grass, stretching into the air around you.

And your mother was there. She wasn’t being blown away by the wind. Just like the sturdy trunk of a tree, she stood with dignity and conviction at the top of the highest hill that provided a view of your hometown; it was the most beautiful you had ever seen her. 

“Mom!” The way you were running felt more like gliding, or flying even, because you moved through the wind without a bit of resistance. Your body was frictionless and unstoppable. And when you finally fell into your mother’s arms, it was the most freeing feeling in the world. 

“I’ve missed you so much. I thought you were going to leave me.” The blue sky that sealed you and your mom into the earth made a stunning partner for the fields of green underneath you. 

“I’m always with you, darling.”

It was difficult to decide whether the sound of her voice or the sentiment behind it made you cry, so you decided not to decide at all, and instead, you simply let yourself cry. Everything was so beautiful, but still not complete. 

“Mom, I feel like something’s missing.”

“There is.” She responded, but it wasn’t a question. Your mom was not your mom, just a figment herself cultivated by your own mind. She was one with you, and she knew exactly what was missing. 

“Where do I find it?” Her hands cupped your cheeks, just like she would when you were young and crying over a scraped knee.

“You know, love. You know.” 

The wind pulled a gentle melody from the spaces between the leaves. A melody you were quite familiar with and grew to love. It slowed, then everything was silent.

Day Three

Waking up came to you in a hurry, as if you shouldn’t spend another second living life through dreams because today was the last day on the train. The last day you’d spend with Jungkook, and possibly the last time you would ever see him.

It was uncharacteristic of you to feel this way. Disappointed at both yourself and your situation. You knew from the beginning that this was a temporary arrangement, and Jungkook was not a permanent fixture in your life. In fact, you used to be thankful for those circumstances because you hated Jungkook. 

But, of course, you went ahead and let him in. You let him buy you tasty drinks, hold you during thunderstorms, and offer you a coat, a smile, a laugh when everything felt cold. You let him ripple currents of fun into your life, but that would be giving yourself too much credit, you suppose.

Because it was never a matter of allowing him to do any of this. He did all of those things, and more, all by himself.

What was even more uncharacteristic of you was greeting the early morning before Jungkook. He was sound asleep, with skin being lightly freckled by the glints of sunlight shimmering through the gaps in the clouds. The morning sun was always docile, kindly shedding light in a way that wouldn’t pull sweat from your skin like it did in the afternoon.

You liked the sight of him sleeping, mostly because it was one of the few moments of the day when he was completely silent, and those were rare.

“Better take this opportunity.” You whispered to yourself before getting up, covering Jungkook with the coat, and heading to the concession stand you had raided with Jungkook yesterday. 

Wondering if the workers noticed the missing inventory, you idled by the counter before ordering but they all looked too tired to care to serve you let alone realize a quarter of the chocolate mint packs were taken.

“Hi, two warm milks with honey and cinnamon please.” The attendant seemed to appreciate how closely your voice was to a whisper. He sluggishly poured two steaming cups of milk and sleeved them before exchanging them for the money already placed onto the counter. 

“Honey and cinnamon are over at the self-serving station.” You followed to where his finger was aimed towards and nodded politely with the two cups in each hand.

You didn’t know why, but imagining Jungkook making this drink himself, instead of ordering it premade, ranked this act as something more motivated than customary kindness. Because getting these drinks wasn’t simply walking to a stand, purchasing, and walking back to Cart 102. There was now an erroneous step you hadn’t accounted for. The act of making milk with honey and cinnamon. 

As you scooped a spoonful of honey to mix into the creamy liquid, one of your mother’s many proverbs rang in your ears, as if she was standing right beside you saying it.

“When you make food for someone, it’s just another way to express that you love them!”

It froze you for a second. Recalling what she would say when you would throw together a meal for the pair of you when she was too tired to. She worked so hard as a single mother, so every shortcoming felt like a colossal failure, no matter how little it mattered to you. And she would always say that to you because ‘thank you’ just didn’t cut it.

This was the first thing you made for someone other than your mother and yourself. But, there’s no way it was because you loved him. 

Just this once, you thought. Just this once I’ll make food for someone that I don’t love.

You were relieved to greet a still sleeping Jungkook when you returned to your cart. The cart you studied closer, because you were about to leave it and wanted to retain all the details that you could before it became a memory you would only visit when you were feeling reminiscent.

The beige walls, the small table where you would read and Jungkook would compose, the stiff leather seats that you had surprisingly gotten used to, and the large window that gave you a glimpse of the blurry world waiting for you.

Jungkook’s groan snapped you out of your trance. Before he regained full cognizance, you placed the cup in front of him so you’d be able to boast that you had woken up before him and had the morning all to yourself for a moment. That now you were the one sharing the world with him.

“What’s this?” He said groggily. 

“You know.” You tried your best to mirror his smugness, the way he would sip his drink after sending a witty one-liner through the air like it was no big deal to him. 

Before you became lost in the person you changed into with Jungkook, a person that felt more like a fun costume to wear when you didn’t feel like being yourself anymore, the more neurotic and controlling part of you fell back through when you remembered that the measurements of the ingredients might have been off.

Maybe you had gotten the drink entirely wrong, so your deed would shrivel down to a failed act of kindness. Nothing at all your mother would consider a gesture of love. And that was more frightening than any blast of thunder.

“It's delicious.” Jungkook said out of nowhere, almost as though he knew he was interrupting your thoughts. Breaking them down into a powder thinner than flour, so he could blow all your worries away with one puff of air. He wasn’t lying either, it was delicious.

You spent a gracious amount of time and energy avoiding the book you were meant to finish during this train ride. Instead, your efforts were fully consumed by the last person you thought would ever be the center of your attention. At least, you thought if he were going to be the focus of it, then it would have been because you were mentally berating him for reasons that didn’t bother you much at all anymore; in fact, they started becoming admirable.

“If you could run faster than a train, where would you go?” He asked.

“Paris. Or Italy. I'd just have to figure out how to run on water.” You earned a good laugh from Jungkook with that comment. And finally, you felt like you were beginning to find your niche in conversations, and it relied heavily on sarcasm.

“I’d love to see the day when ___ walks on water.” 

“What about you? Where would you go?”

“I would make my legs take me straight to Carnegie Hall and force the organization to play one of my pieces.” Each word was formed by his tongue as if he had that response rehearsed a hundred times over. Jungkook knew exactly what he wanted, and given the chance, he would use any and every asset to get him there.

That alone was why you fell into something deeper than attraction. Why you began to take notice of things about him that weren’t of importance before. And why your intentions to observe how the world designed this man to be so stunningly unique was less cryptic than you’d hoped.

Maybe if you noticed how his white button-up was undone down to his sternum and tucked into the waistband of his slacks tastefully, then your heart would have taken a quicker pace long before now. If you noticed how his jet black hair was gentle and fluffy when it draped over his eyes, then you would have been frustrated with yourself sooner for not seizing the chance to introduce your fingers to its texture. And if you noticed how the ridges along his palm looked perfect to be held in, then you would have savored every second he held you the night of the storm. There was an astonishing number of details about Jungkook, about as many as the stars in the sky, that would have made you mountains more intimidated to even speak with him. 

One of the attendants left all your observations of Jungkook scattered when she peaked her head through to give the two of you an update on your arrival.

“Looks like we’ll be getting in earlier than expected!” In theory, that was a blessing. You’d get to finally deboard the train and be with your mother. Though, you’d be lying if some piece of you wanted this train to continue west until there was no more land to travel on; and if you could, you would redistribute each part of this train to assemble a boat, so you could sail Jungkook across the seven seas. “Our arrival will be in twenty minutes! I hope you both enjoyed your trip.”

And if Jungkook felt the same way, he didn’t show it through his polite smile and nod at the attendant. 

“We’ll be getting off soon.” He said to you, though you could tell it was his way of interrogating your thoughts on the matter.

“Time moved by so oddly on the train. I didn’t even notice it was already day three.” You paused and took one last glance out of the window. “Funny.”

"It's funny,” He began, and you settled into what you knew was about to be another piece of Jungkook's mind served in the form of his delicate words, “when you're inside a train you don't feel like you're moving. Even though you are, of course. You're moving faster than you would outside of a train. But we feel like we are still because we are moving with the train. When you're in a train, you are moving with time too, so it feels rushed and stagnant all at once. When you're not inside, time moves past you. It feels better to move with time, don’t you think? It feels like you could outrun it if you wanted to, or it feels like you will never run out of time at all. That you and time are equals. But soon, we'll have to get back onto the platform, and time will move past us again, and it’ll feel like we’re running out already."

“You’re right.” You finally admitted. “We’re running out of time.” 

We’re running out of time— together, you wanted to say. However, courage and boldness was a currency you weren’t rich in. Unspoken desires and lost hopes were all you had left to tender. 

“Yeah, I guess so. Hey, I-” He hesitated as well, because when you looked at him with such wishful eyes, it made what he had to say entirely too real and all too scary. “I really liked being your travel buddy.” 

You could tell he was holding back too. That everything you wanted to say to him and everything he wanted to say to you wasn’t meant to be translated into words, that exchanging sentimental smiles was all you and he could afford. Instead, it was better to exist through the language of emotions, floating around the train, moving with time, and eventually, when you and Jungkook returned to the world, those emotions would remain with the train and travel beyond your destination. 

That’s why you let them go. Sometimes, a train is only meant to be a train. 

“Me too. Though, I have to admit I hated you at first.” 

“I know.” He grinned as you etched the most accurate memory of it in your brain as you could. 

His stance came unprecedented. The small radio tucked in his bag now sitting on the table, serenading an unfamiliar melody and overtaking the silent air inside Cart 102. Then, came his hand, extended to you just like he had yesterday. Only this time, you didn’t need to wonder what he wanted from you because you would give whatever he asked. 

You took his hand, or rather you gave him yours, and followed his gentle tug until it led you to his body, pressing away all the space once separating the two of you. Jungkook’s hand followed the curve of your waist until it landed at the small of your back while you instinctively rested yours on his shoulder. 

You and Jungkook swayed to the music until all those words about moving with time became real. The way he held you close had you immune to the passage of time. The soft brush of his breath against your cheek felt welcoming, and you would try your very best to remember the way existing felt when your skin was touching his. It was odd, dancing on a train with someone you didn’t know well enough to call a friend but weren’t estranged enough to call an acquaintance. Again, it felt like you were in between two walls, stuck, trying to out-think your way through a collapsing maze of judgement. 

Though, no matter how odd it was, it stopped neither you nor Jungkook from holding onto each other for the last few moments available. 

The train must have hit a rock, one you would like to thank because it knocked the two of you over until you had fallen into his lap, laughing so hard your bodies shook. You would have been uncomfortable in this compromising position if not for the sense of belonging fostered in the empty space in your chest while being in his arms.

Jungkook didn’t notice you were detangling your limbs from his until you were already gone, seated across from him in the same spot. 

Once, he learned in science class of this phenomenon called ‘afterimage’, which is when your eyes get so accustomed to staring at one particular thing that when you look away, the thing stained your vision in the form of a silhouette, like an echo of something your eyes grew so comfortable seeing that it stayed with you, even when you looked away.

And he knew, even when the view of you sitting across from him in this train wasn’t there anymore, he would carry that afterimage of you, always echoing in his vision like a beautiful melody he couldn’t get out of his head. Not that he wanted to let go anyway

It was sour, the cruelty of letting go. When the train began to brake, it felt like a lifetime of agony. A bitter, unforgiving slap in the face courtesy of the confines of reality, stealing you away from the shelter of a train; a place that made it so easy to be swept up in something as dazzling and impossible as magic. You were onto important things, you knew this, but it was nice to live, even if it were just for a bit, inside something as magical as Cart 102, where you could count on a generous supply of warm coats, milk with honey and cinnamon, and Jungkook.

“Well, our stop is here. Hey, how about we share a cab? Why not save some money, right?” You could only nod, because speaking would have led to tears, which would have led to a failed explanation of why you were crying.

Jungkook hailed the yellow vehicle over, the opening of his shirt widened just an inch too much to let your mind wander.

“You’re going to the hospital, right?” He asked.

“Yeah, the only one in town.” You said, knowing the driver wouldn’t need any more specifics than that. This town was so small there were a lot of singular facilities that made the layout equally difficult to be crammed into and easy to memorize. One library, one park, one church, and one hospital.

As Jungkook went to give the driver your destinations, you packed up the luggage into the trunk. Not too long after, you were side by side in the back of a cab. All you could bring yourself to do was gaze out of the window and watch all the familiar scenes of your hometown pass by, each landmark dousing you with a strong presence of nostalgia. 

No matter how sad parting ways with Jungkook was, it was good to be home.

The cab finally arrived at the hospital, and you got out not expecting the other person in the car to get out with you. Perhaps he was being polite and saying goodbye. You knew you would have done the same if his stop preceded yours.

The two of you stood in front of the entrance, gawking up at the tall building that was in desperate need of reconstruction. You turned your gaze over to Jungkook. 

“Where to now, Mr. Jeon?” You asked, since this town was small enough, and you were fluent in every secret hiding spot it had to offer, you might be able to visit him if that wouldn’t come off as too invasive.

“I'm here.” He responded just as ambiguously and ever so matter-of-factly as always. This time, you demanded to know more.

“What? What do you mean?”

“It took a long time to find a doctor that specializes in my condition.” Jungkook finally turned to you, his eyes crowded by tears. “My heart is weak, ___. I came here to get better, and hopefully, I do. I'm going to be a famous composer one day, and I’ll need a strong heart to get me to that point.” 

You felt angry at him again. For not telling you, because it felt less like keeping something from you and more like lying to you. For telling you, and making it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, that it wouldn’t break your heart into pieces weaker than his own.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It was the harsh snap he expected from you, but he was committed to keeping this a secret until he couldn’t because it was easier that way. 

“I didn’t want to admit it. I’m scared, ___. Really scared. If I don't get better…” 

“Well, you have to! Carnegie Hall is waiting for you and I didn’t waste my time getting to know you for nothing. So, you just go ahead and get better okay?” Your words were coated in anger but layered on top of something compassionate, sweet even. Sweeter than milk, honey, and cinnamon. 

“I’ll try.” He grinned again, knowing it would satisfy you for the time being. Grinning, like a goodbye gift. 

“You’re an idiot, Jungkook.” 

Before you could lose the last word, you gripped your luggage in one hand, the pillow in the other, and made your way into the hospital, leading to what you knew would be countless nights spent at the side of a hospital bed, eating foods you’d rather not eat, and watching daytime cable while taking care of your mother.

What you didn’t know was that a good portion of those nights would be spent with someone else. Someone who resided in the west wing of the hospital. 

Someone who would bring your hand to his heart, and ask you if it felt stronger, and you would always reply with ‘yes’, or ‘yes, you idiot’, even when you were terrified that one day your hand wouldn’t feel the tap of his heart against his chest. Someone who would sing to you in exchange for the times you would read to him. Someone who you would leave notes and small gifts for, his personal favorite being the packet of walnuts accompanied with a folded paper inscribed ‘for when you need to get out of class’. Someone who, when he would be having a particularly difficult night, you’d fall asleep holding hands with, and you’d wake him up with a warm cup of his signature beverage.

Someone you would inevitably begin to fall in love with. 

A month later, one of two people you loved dearly would walk out with you through those hospital doors. That person was Jungkook. And the melancholy of losing your mother to the battle between her and her cancer would also follow you, and stay with you almost as long as Jungkook had.

A year later, you would return, hand in hand with Jungkook. Every two months. It was the promise you sealed onto your mother's gravestone that you would always return every two months. Even if the weather dispatched the most terrifying thunderstorms, or your work piled a stack of paperwork high enough to reach the sky, you’d still return home.

You and Jungkook placed a bundle of wildflowers you picked on the way to her grave, sitting at the top of a grassy highland, at the base of the granite stone. She was overlooking the world, with a perfect view of you; it made you feel safe that she was watching over you, and she was watching over Jungkook and his slowly recovering heart. 

The weather was perfect. The sun blanketed everything beneath it with a generous warmth but didn't restrict the gentle breeze from tempering it. The leaves and grass moved with the wind, but your mother’s tombstone was strong and unmoving, losing no part of herself to the fluid motions of the spring air. 

“I kind of like it here.” He said softly, adorning the view of the hilltop with you. It was the morning, and it didn’t feel like he was sharing the world with you anymore. It felt like it was yours to begin with, and he was just lucky enough to be allowed a part of it. 

“Me too.” One hand was with Jungkook, and the other was with your mother.

“I think it would be a nice place to get married and raise our children. You know, after I become a world-renowned composer and all.” This would have shocked you if you had not been wishing to hear him confirm these dreams of yours for a while now. “Did that scare you? I didn’t mean to be too forward.”

“No, I think this would be the perfect place to live. Only if it's with you.” Because you knew, something was missing here without him. He made this hometown of yours finally complete in the wake of your mother’s passing. 

When you kissed him, he tasted like honey. And he would have told you that you tasted like cinnamon.

It could never scare you, because you were in love.

You were in a debt of gratitude that was deeper than the ocean. There was so much you wanted to say to him.

The town is milk. It is up to you and me, Jungkook, to provide the ingredients that will liven this town of milk into something sweeter, something survivable, something that will continue to sustain a force as powerful as love. Without the honey and cinnamon, all you have is milk. It seems we are the perfect blend of the two to make this bitter place palatable when it hits our tongues. This town needs us together in the same way milk needs honey and cinnamon. 

You didn’t say any of those words out loud. You didn’t need to. All you needed to say was:

“I love you.”

And all he needed to say was:

“I love you too.”