#i like a colorful and dynamic post more than a wall of text

[highvern]

Home for the Holidays

Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x fem!reader

Genre: mature, romance, smut, angst, exes to lovers, Christmas!AU, fake dating

Warnings: Drug use (weed), alcohol, mentions of aging family members, unhealthy family dynamics, mentions of illness (reader is a doctor), cursing, dry-humping/grinding, kissing, oral (f. receiving), masturbation, unprotected sex, angst, poor self-esteem/self-doubt, pining, some threats of bodily harm, mentions of pregnancy

Length: ~27k

Note: this is a rewrite of this fic i posted for christmas last year. switched some things, updated my writing style and added some scenes. thank u @haologram for suffering through beta reading this. dedicated to my dearest @miniseokminnies

Summary: Wooyoung broke up with you months ago. In his own shame and embarrassment, he's never told his family. Now they're expecting you for Christmas, just like they have for the past 8 years. So he does the only thing he can think of: beg you to pretend you're still dating.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

June

“So I have some news. I know it hasn’t been easy for us going back—”

“I think we should break up.”

“...and forth so much but—What?” 

“I don’t think it's working out between us.”

Your mouth falls open, lips attempting to form words that don’t manage to make a sound. Eyes shifting around the room, the sheen of tears thickening as a few beads trail down your cheeks as you stand shakily; managing only a few steps away from the table before a choked sob wiggles free from an iron grip. People are staring as you nearly run out to the door. You don’t care. You’re already outside and turning the block, completely unaware that several whip around to look at the man left at the table.

Wooyoung doesn’t chase you down. Doesn’t call or text as you walk the twenty blocks to Lisa’s apartment in the thick humidity of the city night; snot and tears trailing down your face.

Wooyoung doesn’t say anything at all as eight years shatter to pieces in a matter of seconds.

December

…twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight.

Wooyoung staples the finished packets together, ears tickled by jazzy Christmas music leaking from his computer speakers in the corner of his L-shaped desk. Surrounded by colorful brick walls of a midtown elementary school isn’t where most people his age would find themselves on a Friday evening but where else would he go?

His roommates have their partners over, he’d rather avoid the frigid dampness of the park he usually smokes at, and Wooyoung isn’t interested in the crowds clogging anywhere else he’d think to visit. The usual comforting bustle of the city only serves to set him on edge, making him desperate for a true solitude he really craves. Getting ahead on his classroom prep for the remainder of the semester seemed like the perfect, albeit a depressing way, to spend the evening. The dulcet tones of Dean Martin are joined by an incoming call buzzing his phone across the wooden top of the desk. A familiar picture of his mom and him as a baby flashing across the screen before he answers.

“Hi sweetie,” his mom yells on the other line. Wooyoung can tell she’s driving home from work based on the poor audio quality.

“Hey mom,” he wedges the device between his shoulder and cheek, using his hands to continue organizing the worksheets for Monday, paper warm in his palms from the printer.

“I’m just calling to make sure you and Y/N are still coming for Christmas. I know the hospital is usually crazy this time of year, so I thought I’d double check.”

“Actually mom—”

“Bibi keeps talking about wanting everyone home for Christmas but if Y/N can’t make it she’ll understand. She’s always been her favorite,” she laughs.

Wooyoung’s grandmother is impolitely frank about her age and never hesitates to use it to her own advantage. How does he tell her that his girlfriend, who she liked more than her own grandsons some days, is no longer his girlfriend? And how he is the only one to be blamed for that. He might as well start digging his own grave.

“We’ll be there,” Wooyoung blabs before he can stop himself.

“Wonderful! I’m pulling into the driveway so I’ll talk to you later. Love you!”

“Love you too.”

Fortunately, on a cold winter night like tonight, the only other soul in the building is Mr. Rollins, a janitor with headphones permanently attached to his ears. The colorful combination of expletives pouring from Wooyoung’s mouth would make a sailor blush.

Typing in a familiar name to his message bar, Wooyoung realizes he hasn’t changed it in all this time; the string of emojis from the first night he got your number glaring back at him in mockery. A sting of bile blisters the back of Wooyoung’s throat as he steads himself for what he’s about to do. Who he is about to ask for the biggest mercy; one he didn’t deserve in the slightest.

Wooyoung: Can I call you?

Wooyoung inhales before hitting “send,” locking his phone and tossing it down like it’s possessed. Barely a full minute passes before it vibrates with your response.

Y/N🥰🍯💖: are you okay?

He can’t even type a reply before the buzz buzz buzz on an incoming call tickles against his palm. 

Tapping into the false chipper personality he reserves for strangers and his class, Wooyoung answers with a simple. “Hey!” 

“Hi,” you deadpan. “What do you want, Wooyoung?”

“How have you been?”

“I’m fine. But you aren’t calling to ask me that.”

Wooyoung wants to object but you’re right. “I’m not but I still care.”

“Sure.”

“Okay, so my mom called and asked if you were coming over for Christmas.”

“Why?” you drawl.

“Because I haven’t told them we broke up.”

A rush of clattering sounds from your end along with a few curse words sounding far away before you continue. “Are you fucking kidding me? It’s been six months!”

“I know! But I’ve been busy and there was never a good time and it’s just kinda snowballed.”

“Well, tell her now,” you insist.

“I can’t!”

“Why not?”

“Bibi keeps talking about how she wants everyone how for one last Christmas and with Kyungmin going to colle—”

He can hear your eye roll. “Please tell me you’re not suggesting what I think you are.”

“You know I wouldn’t ask unless I was desperate.”

“I thought us breaking up meant I didn’t have to deal with your bullshit anymore.”

“I can tell them you’re busy and the hospital is keeping you or—”

“No.” Wooyoung can picture the hand scrubbing down your face, fingers massaging your temples the same way you always did when his shenanigans stirred up trouble. “I’ll do it.”

Now he’s the one to pause. “Really?”

“Yeah, it’d be nice to see them all one last time.”

He can’t believe you answered his call, let alone agreed to this stupid plan. But he completely can because now matter what happens, you’re a better person than he’ll ever deserve. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”

“I actually need to get back to doing that so—”

“Yeah, I’ll, ugh, talk to you later. Bye.” Wooyoung bites his tongue to stop the habitual I love you from slipping in.

“Bye.”

As the line clicks and Wooyoung is left alone in his classroom, the space abruptly feels too big. With each minute ticking by, he convinces himself he hallucinated the entire exchange because there is no possible way his ex-girlfriend agreed to this ill-thought plan. Everything feels too normal for you to extend such undue kindness his way, especially after how he ruined their relationship in a moment of insecurity.

Wooyoung: My flight out is 12/21

Wooyoung: You don’t have to come that early 

Y/N🥰🍯💖: im off starting the 19th

Wooyoung: I’ll pay for your flight

Y/N🥰🍯💖: great. ill venmo you

Wooyoung: Cool, send me the details

There’s a weight on Wooyoung’s tongue at the new dynamic settling between you. Eight years of dating but now you’re a stranger, the last text messages arranging for Lisa to pick up a box of your stuff from his apartment. 

Six months and he didn’t know if you kept your hair the same way or what new book you were obsessing over in the sparse free time from the hospital; if your neighbor in Boston’s yappy geriatric dog finally kicked the bucket.

Lovers. Almost fiancées. And now strangers.

Wooyoung wakes up to the early morning bustle of the busy streets just outside his window. His phone clock reads thirty minutes past his normal alarm which means he’s late. And that means his boss is going to tear his ass a new one. 

In a whirl, Wooyoung rushes to the bathroom. He wets his hands with the freezing tap water, patting his face and attempting to style his bed ridden hair. The door shifts to catch his foot as he exits, stubbing his toe and forcing him to hop down the hallway to his room. Wrinkled khakis and a sweater are all Wooyoung manages before he throws on his parka and is out the door.  He sprints to the subway, just in time to see the doors closing on his train.

“Fuck me!”

“Too young for me buddy,” croaks the homeless man splayed on the bench in the middle of the platform.

Ignoring him, Wooyoug paces further down the station, anger filling him with restless energy. Glancing at his phone, he shoots an email to his principal that he’ll be late due to “train delays.” Thank god for the MTA being a regular piece of shit. Finally checking the stream of missed notifications during the night, he uses the lull to answer them.

Mom: Does y/n still like those chips we bought last time? I’m at the store getting a few things

Wooyoung: She said she’s happy with whatever you get!

Not a lie since you would be happy to have snacks of any kind.

SANNIE⛰️: YOU DIDN’T TELL YOUR PARENTS? 

SANNIE⛰️: U R SO FUCKED

At least he can always count on San to state the obvious.

Y/N🥰🍯💖: here’s my ticket 

Wooyoung does a double take when he sees you’re flying out of New York, not Boston. Why aren’t you flying out of Boston? There’s no way it’s cheaper than flying out of Boston and you wouldn’t go through the trouble of getting down here unless there was a good reason.

Wooyoung: Why are you flying out of LGA?

Y/N🥰🍯💖: Because I live here?

A lump of lead hardens in his stomach. You live here, in New York. You’d been in the city and he didn’t even notice. Questions race forward. How long? Where were you working? What neighborhood did you live in? Why didn’t he know you moved back?

The last question is more his own fault than he cares to admit.

Wooyoung: since when?

He doesn’t expect a response right away. It wasn’t the first time his messages went hours before being answered. You’re a doctor, and before that a med student, and before that pre-med when he met you at some dive bar and realized you shared a behavioral psych class. You always maintained a full schedule, only responding to the outside world when the night bled into the early hours of the day. Wooyoung would probably get an answer in the next few days but he needs to know right now.

Wooyoung: Did you know Y/N moved here?

Yeosang: Yes.

Well, fuck.

Wooyoung: You didn’t think to tell me?

Yeosang: You broke up.

Yeosang: ?

Even his roommate knew you moved back to the city.

Double fuck.

His train arrives without preamble, brakes screeching as it slows to a stop. Wooyoung crowds into the compartment, happy for it to be relatively empty. Finding a spot on the wall, he zones out of the chaos for the next twenty minutes. A group of highschoolers laugh obnoxiously in the corner, snatching one another’s phones as they share god knows what between them. A young mom tries to placate her crying baby, the older man next to her rolling his eyes as he devours his morning paper. When the doors open at his stop, Wooyoung pauses for a second as an elderly woman enters the train. Catching her eye, he offers her his seat; only standing when she’s close enough so no one else tries to take it from her. 

Wooyoung slithers out of the closing doors and bolts out of the station as fast as he can.

Panting and sweating under his black parka, Wooyoung arrives outside the red doors of the elementary school he teaches at. Principal Martinez is tapping his foot at the top of the steps, arms crossed in front of his chest, scowl etched deep on his face. “This is the third time this month.”

“I know, I’m sorry! But the train got delayed with repairs or something and—”

“Save it. You have a class to get to.”

Breezing past, Wooyoung’s boots clack against the linoleum tile as he careens towards his classroom. The rowdy cacophony of third grade voices echo beyond the doorway, only increasing in volume as he peeks his head in.

A dozen shrill voices scream something along the lines of “Mr. Jung you’re late!”

“You’re all just early!” Wooyoung goads back, sending a thankful look at the teacher who stepped in to watch them until he arrived.

The room descends into giggles, students finding their places as he settles at his own desk.

“So today, we’re starting with circle time!”

“Let me get this straight: your ex asked you to pretend to be his girlfriend and now you’re spending Christmas with his family across the country?”

Sparing a glance from the manilla folder containing notes on your next patient, Hongjoong eyes you skeptically. The ridiculousness of the situation isn’t lost on you. You’d nearly convinced yourself the entire exchange Friday night was some cruel dream if not for the string of text messages proving it’d been real. Wooyoung’s first real attempt to speak with you post-breakup, and he asks you to pretend he didn’t break your heart six months ago.

“That’s about as straight as it gets.”

Hongjoong’s eyebrows furrow, “And you said yes, why?”

“Because…” 

You missed him? Because you still loved him? Because when you saw his message you thought he was finally ready to admit it'd all been a mistake? 

Because Wooyoung always convinced you to go along with whatever he asked.

“I really like his family.”

“Oh, sweet child,” he tsks, leafing through his own case file.

“Look, it’ll be nice to see them one last time and I’d rather spend the holidays with them than cramped in my apartment to avoid the tourists.”

“Are you sure that’s the only reason why?”

“Yep.”

“This can’t go wrong at all!”

“Shut up,” you say before dipping into the exam room, shifting your face into an enthusiastic smile. “How are we today, Mrs. Haspin?”

“We’re doing okay. Harper hasn’t been liking the new medicine you prescribed.”

“She hasn’t?” You gasp sarcastically, staring wide eyed at the tiny brunette with braided pigtails sitting on the exam room bed.

“They’re gross!” Harper cries with all the sincerity a four year old can muster, her tiny hands wrinkling the paper as she slaps the bed indignantly.

“Well that’s no good. I’ll make sure to check if they have other flavors.” You type a few notes in her electronic chart as you turn over your shoulder. “Mom, have you noticed a difference?”

“She’s not having as many coughing fits.”

“That is very good.” You curl your stethoscope in your palm, attempting to warm the cool metal. “Can I listen to your lungs, Harper?”

She shakes her head up and down vigorously, the pink and gold beads at the end of her pigtails clacking together.

“Alright, take a deep breath in.” The woosh of air entering her lungs fills the room. “And out. In. And out.”

You prompt her to continue several times, gliding the chest piece along various parts of her back as you listen intently. A few crackles pop in your ears, mucus coating her airways; only made worse by the dry winter of the city.

“Very good, Harper,” you praise before turning to her mom waiting anxiously in the corner. “With the winter make sure you’re using the humidifier as much as possible but her lungs sound better than last time so I’d like to stay on the meds.” You swivel back to your patient. “I’ll check with the pharmacy if they can do something about the flavor. Okay?”

Harper beams, glad to be heard. Her mother beams for an entirely different reason. Her daughter struggled with respiratory issues since she’d been born and as she aged they’d only gotten worse. Harper was the first patient you took when you started two months ago and in that time you’ve grown fond of her.

“All right, I’ll walk you all to the front. I think we can push out our next visit until six weeks since she’s been doing so well. If anything comes up, please don’t hesitate to call us.”

Handing them off to the receptionist to schedule their next appointment, you return to your office for a quick lunch.

Y/N: Because I live here

Youngie 🖤: since when?

How do you tell him that you’ve lived here since the day he broke up with you? How that night at dinner you were planning to surprise him by moving back to New York and removing the distance that plagued your relationship for three years?

The benefit of no longer being in a relationship means you don’t have to explain anything.

Locking your phone, you scarf down the squashed sandwich you brought from home before rushing to your next patient. 

Another week passes before Wooyoung reaches out to you again. You’re set to leave in a few days but work requires all the energy you can manage thanks to a volatile respiratory season. 

Youngie 🖤: Our flights are around the same time. Do you split a cab?

You spoke with Yeosang frequently enough (once in a blue moon) to know they still lived in the dingy old walk up they could hardly afford downtown. The high rise you rented further up Manhattan would be on his way to the airport but did you want to see Wooyoung sooner than needed?

Misery still festered in your veins since the break up. Eight years you’d dated; through senior year of undergrad, four years of medical school, and just shy of three years of residency. And the asshole couldn’t give you a single reason for your break up. No warning. No fighting. The same bouquet of delicate pink tulips waiting in hand for you as you arrived at the train station for your last visit to the city before relocating permanently. Yeosang texted you that very afternoon about his excitement to have you back as if nothing was wrong.

A beautiful afternoon holed up in his room for a late nap before dinner, apartment silent in the absence of his three roommates who’d usually greet you enthusiastically as you returned to the city for a visit. Wooyoung hadn’t acted any differently than the other times you visited, seemingly unaware of the surprise you planned to unveil at the fancy dinner he planned to congratulate you on finishing your long years of training.

But then he sat down and said the six words that replayed in your mind like a curse.

And that was the last time you heard his voice until Friday night; as if Wooyoung dove off the face of the earth. The only proof of living were the traces of him in his friends’ Instagram stories or faceless photos of him in their posts.

You were never one to post much on social media anyway but his shock at your move back to the city fanned a sick sense of satisfaction. As if to say “two can play at that game.” Wooyoung cut you out and you’d done the same. Keeping your move under lock and key despite sharing the same friend group.

Y/N: no thanks

You’re toeing the line of rudeness but what’s Wooyoung going to do? Break up with you again?

Terminal C of LaGuardia Airport four days before Christmas ranks among the top destinations no one in their right mind would want to be. Parents attempting to keep track of hyper children, businessmen scowling down their nose as they scream into their cellphones, adults slamming down overpriced drinks in preparation for the endless questions holidays bring.

“Bringing home anyone special?”

“When are you going to get married?”

“Grandchildren?”

The last is Wooyoung’s grandmother’s new favorite. Myungho faces the brunt of it; married three years and in no rush to add another mouth to feed just yet. Back in April, when you and Wooyoung visited for her birthday Bibi decided to skip asking when you two would tie the knot and go straight to procreation. 

How fun it’ll be to answer those questions again with his temporarily not ex-girlfriend.

The line for security is long and laborious. One agent yells at him for keeping his shoes on, another rolls her eyes when he asks if his laptop needs to come out of his backpack. In front of him, a frail looking elderly woman struggles with placing the hard plastic bin on the rolling conveyor belt. Behind, grumbles of discontent regarding her holding up the line rise in volume as Wooyoung helps her with her things; sending a smile to her thank you.

And because no good deed goes unpunished, Wooyoung gets pulled for an extra search once he passes the large metal detector.

A burly pale skinned man with blue nitrile gloves sorts through his belongings with the gentleness of a bull in a china shop. Wooyoung’s wrecked and dusty backpack passes inspection easily enough but the contents of his carry-on end up spread across the shiny metal table for further examination under the sterile lights. Gifts for his family, some books he’s teaching next semester, and a navy velvet box he hasn’t left the city without in the past year.

That is apparently the source of interest for TSA as the man pops open the lid to scan the marquis cut diamond ring before putting it back in its place. “Congrats, man.”

Wooyoung gives a tight smile. “Thanks.”

Nodding his head to his colleague, the TSA agent steps away and allows Wooyoung to pack his bags.

He really needs a drink.

“I’m sorry ma’am, the flight is overbooked. But there is room on the next flight to Denver!”

“No charge?”

The flight attendant keeps her best customer service voice but something dies behind her eyes. “Not unless you would like to upgrade to business class.”

You have the money and Wooyoung paid for your seat so it’s technically cheaper than it’d usually be. However, you know Wooyoung would take it personally if he found out you sat in business when he paid for a last minute economy flight on a teacher's salary. In the end, a few hours of comfort aren’t worth adding to the awkwardness you’ll face over the next week.

 “No, thank you. But if there’s an aisle seat available that’d be great.”

She taps on her keyboard with manicured nails for a moment, the light of the screen reflecting on her face. “Alright, your new flight number is AYX287 and you’ll be flying out of Gate 98.”

“Thank you,” you say, reviewing the boarding pass she printed. Your new gate is on the opposite side of the terminal but you have a little over an hour to make it there.

Rolling your silver carry-on next to you, you weave in and out of the other airport goers heading in the opposite directions. A curse of any crowded space, people forget to walk with a sense of purpose. You dodge a young couple, probably teenagers, standing in the middle of the walkway oblivious to anyone else; only to end up behind an gaggle of older women surrounded by a heavy cloud of perfume and cheap wine. One of their shirts reads “Happily Divorced!” in glittery cursive.

More nimble footwork and multiple sign checks later, you reach the correct wing of the terminal with forty five minutes to spare. Confirming that your gate does, in fact, exist, you turn back up the walkway to find a drink. Preferably several. The first time you see Wooyoung in months will require the strongest alcohol you can finally afford now that residency is over and you're making the hefty salary you’d been promised at the start of medical school.

A friendly faced woman, old enough to be your mother, greets you as you take a stool at her bar. 

“Cranberry margarita.” You slide over your credit card. “And start a tab, please.”  

The first overpriced drink goes down smoothly, a little sweet and perfectly tart; the second and third much the same. Pleasantly buzzed with fifteen minutes till boarding, you cash out and shuffle back to wait by the gate.

And in one of the cramped pleather seats of the waiting area, sits your ex-boyfriend.

Wooyoung is hallucinating. Two gin and gingers and a THC gummy churning in his stomach make the mirage in front of him look incredibly realistic but there is no way this is happening. The world isn’t that cruel.

Even if he deserves it.

You stand twenty feet away in the usual flight attire, every bit as beautiful as the last time he saw you. Loose gray sweats, the same old hunter green crew neck with the name of his hometown in frayed golden embroidery on the front, sherpa lined short ugg boots, and glasses perched on the end of your nose. The silver carry-on you bought in the airport during the last visit to his family at your side. And a sour look of absolute disgust twisting your lips when you catch him staring.

Better he sees you for the first time since the break up now instead of later in front of the audience of his nosy family. In the safety of anonymity, you can kill him multiple times over with looks alone, and Wooyoung can grovel and pander like he usually does.

Or Wooyoung would if you hadn’t taken a seat along the bay of windows at the opposite end of the alcove.

You actively avoid looking in his general direction for the next fifteen minutes. An impressive feat given he’s directly in front of the help desk and TV screen displaying updates for the flight. But you keep focus on your phone, tapping furiously to who Wooyoung assumes is Lisa. If he wakes up to the tiny blonde in his apartment one morning with a knife to his throat, there’ll at least be a paper trail of evidence.

The gate agent booms over the loudspeaker, announcing priority boarding and first class to come forward. Wooyoung’s bank account weeps at the idea of flying first class during Christmas. Who flies first class domestic? A true mystery for the ages.

The familiar head of hair, full of murderous thoughts aimed at him, boards with group three; flashing a polite smile to the gate agent as you strut down the hall without a glance back. 

When Wooyoung is called with the last group, he’s first in line. The airport is a dog eat dog world and his good deeds end where the boarding line begins.

Nearly every seat is filled when he shuffles down the cramped aisle, full overhead bins already closed half way down the plane. He doesn’t find you amongst the faces of passengers preparing for the next five hours, some already knocked out with eye masks and neck pillows.

Seat 27A, a window seat Wooyoung paid an extra $37 for, sits next to a blissfully vacant middle seat. There’s also just enough room for his black suitcase to fit overhead, snug between a gray hard case, and a blue duffle. 

The aisle seat in the row is occupied by a man who looks a little younger than Wooyoung's age, a college hoodie and baseball cap similar to his own. He rises, allowing Wooyoung to shuffle by and plop into his chair. Stuffing his backpack under the seat in front, Wooyoung shoots a few last minute texts. One to his family group chat, letting them know the flight is about to take off; resending the flight number for his dad to anxiously track. Another to his roommate group chat, reminding them to cover the drains before they leave town. And a final one to San, begging for thoughts and prayers.

He barely hits send when the seat next to him jostles with the weight of a body. Turning, Wooyoung spots the man in the aisle seat a few inches from himself. On the other side, his ex-girlfriend.

Great.

Wooyoung’s familiar mop of dark hair remains unseen through each new rush of passengers, the plane slowly filling up more and more. You dread to think he got stuck the same way you did hours ago, forced on a later flight than intended. If that was the case, would you be stuck at the airport waiting for him? Given his parents had to drive two hours to pick you both up, the answer is probably yes. 

Two hours unsupervised with Wooyoung’s mom would ruin the entire plan. You can’t lie to her. It’s one thing for Wooyoung to play this entire charade in her face and you to go along. It’s another to ask you to look her in the eye and pretend you hadn’t spent the last six months pretending her son didn’t exist.

Nature calls you to the cramped bathroom at the back of the aircraft as passengers at the front continue trickling in. Hopefully Wooyoung is sitting far away from you when you return to your seat.

Stupid motherfucker. You think, rattling the jammed door of the airplane stall in an attempt to force it open. Just as you're about to kick the door down, a flight attendant shoves it aside, flashing a tight smile of displeasure.

Shuffling up back to your seat, you awkwardly wait behind struggling passengers putting away their belongings in the sparse overhead space. Thank the powers that be, your new ticket came with better boarding.

Finally catching up to the familiar faces of the rows around your seat, you turn to find two men in your row. One in your seat, and the other your ex boyfriend.

You stop dead in your tracks. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Sorry!” the man who is not your ex-boyfriend apologizes.

“No! Not you.”

Wooyoung stares blankly, glazed eyes bugging out his skull like he can’t believe the irony either. If habit and history were to repeat itself, he carefully timed an edible before stepping through security. Given his propensity for being obnoxiously early to the airport, he should be high as a kite.

And now you’re stuck next to him drunk as a skunk.

Great.

Taking the now vacant aisle seat, you attempt to ignore Wooyoung once again; plugging in your headphones and pulling out a book you’ve been trying to get through for months. Lisa’s recommendation of smutty fantasy romance with hot immortal faeries. You didn’t see the appeal but at her insistence, you gave it a chance.

“Hey,” calls a voice to your left. 

Nope, not doing this. You think, forcing yourself to read the opening paragraph again but registering none of the words. It might as well be ancient hieroglyphics.

“Y/N,” he tries again. In your periphery, Wooyoung folds over at the waist to look around the man sandwiched between you. 

“What?” you snap, ripping out your headphones.

“How’ve you been?”

Rolling your eyes with a groan, you sink back into your chair, headphones replaced and book in the pocket in front of you. It’s going to be a long flight.

Murphy’s law states that anything that can go wrong will and your flight is no exception. The packed jet is stuck taxing for almost an hour, courtesy of the trademark fog and rain of New York in the winter. You can feel the heat of Wooyoung’s gaze burn the side of your face, cheeks heating under his scrutiny. But the full scale meltdown threatening to unleash if you entertain him has no place in the sanctity of a last minute holiday flight of people just trying to make it to their next destination.

He doesn’t stop when the plane finally lurches forward, witnessing you brace for the worst part of flying; take off.

The loud rattles and pitch of jet engines skyrocket your blood pressure, flooding your mouth with saliva as a threat of vomiting everywhere; a sickening cold sweat pooling at your back. All you can do is close your eyes, and take deep calming breaths your guided meditation apps recommend. Running through the facts keeps you from descending into full panic. Airplanes are notoriously safe. The odds of dying in a plane crash are one in eleven million. You’re more likely to die in a car crash or from something one of your patients brings into the hospital.

But the brief suspension in time and space as you rise through the atmosphere unsettles you to your core. 

The panic steeping into your veins is temporary, eager to vanish the second you reach cruising altitude. It disappears like a late winter snow under early spring sunlight, leaving only trace evidence it ever existed in the first place. But it’ll be back with a vengeance under the screaming brakes and the sounds of wheels hitting pavement as you land. The seatbelt sign chimes off and the breath you’d failed to release follows the fading light that illuminated it. 

Wooyoung tries to talk to you another two times before giving up. The final instance is a plea for the bathroom, which you graciously grant; thrilling in the relief you feel at his absence.

The poor guy between you two looks worse for wear. Once Wooyoung is out of earshot, you apologize, excusing the strange behavior with a white lie that he's just a friend from college you didn’t get along with and hadn’t seen in a while after he offers to trade seats. You refuse. If you sat next to Wooyoung they’d need more than a few people to pull your hands from his neck.

The stranger, Jay, laughs. “That’s crazy that you two ended up on the same flight. Are you from Denver?”

“Oh, no. Just visiting some family in Lavensville. What about you?”

“No way! My mom is from Lanesville.”

“Small world,” you laugh. “So what took you to the city?”

“I’m in grad school at Columbia. Getting my MBA.” 

Wooyoung arrives over your shoulder. “Excuse me.”

When you rise, you notice his face is tense as he passes to return to his seat. He pretends to sleep the rest of the flight as you chat with the man next to you. 

Six laborious hours pass before you land in Denver. Exiting the plane, you leave Wooyoung behind in favor of waiting by the restrooms on the way to arrivals. You tap your foot impatiently as he stumbles over, clearly exhausted by the late arrival of your flight and the idea of another two hours in his mom’s cramped sedan.

Shuffling next to one another in somber silence, you wait for Wooyoung to speak first. He dragged you into this, and it’s his job to make it work. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine.” You stare straight ahead. His hand brushes yours by accident and you make more space between you so it doesn’t happen again.

“How’s work?” Wooyoung asks.

“Fine.”

“Okay, look.” He turns, stepping directly into your path and nearly toppling over when you bounce off his chest. “I’m sorry for all of this but you agreed to come so can we please at least pretend to act like we like each other?”

Unfortunately, Wooyoung is right. He might have put his foot in his mouth, but you didn’t take the chance to bail. He’s only fractionally more guilty than you are for this charade.

“Fine,” you sigh.

He pins you with a look, eyebrows arched as if asking “are you sure?”

Shuffling around him, you begin your journey to baggage claim once again, Wooyoung hot on your heels.

“I’m working at a hospital uptown, I live in Yorkville, and I still prefer the bus to the train.”

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” Wooyoung nods. “I’m at the same school, in the same apartment, and still living with San and Yeosang. But Mingi moved to Williamsburg with his girlfriend.”

You try to smother the snarkiness of your voice but a sarcastic “I know” slips free.

Even if you weren’t as close with the boys due to the break up, they’d been your friends as much as his; especially Mingi’s girlfriend, who’d you introduced him to. Lia invited you to their housewarming party when they finally settled in but you missed it due to work. A small blessing to avoid running into Wooyoung so soon after the break up.

The conveyor belt of remaining unclaimed luggage spins like the saddest merry-go-round in existence. Wooyoung jumps forward to snatch your suitcase before you can react, rolling it your direction before diving back in for his own. Once out of the way, he calls his mom to confirm she’s pulling around to pick you two up. 

The silver sedan whips to the curve, Wooyoung’s mom beaming from the driver’s seat.

“My babies!” she cries through the rolled down window.

Mrs. Jung always gave you the enthusiasm your own mother couldn’t feign. Waving at her before circling the trunk where Wooyoung packs away your bags, you snatch his hand before he can circle back to the passenger door.

“Should we tell them I still live in Boston?”

As if you’ve just spoken another language, Wooyoung simply blinks at you.

“How are we gonna explain separate apartments? It makes no sense.”

“Oh,” he gasps, as if the thought didn’t occur to him. “Ugh, yeah. Good idea.”

The security guard monitoring the pick up area begins striding towards the car, inhaling to yell a warning. Throwing your remaining luggage inside the trunk roughly, you both sprint to enter the vehicle. Wooyoung plants himself in the passenger seat, squeezing his mom in a tight hug as you buckle in the middle seat. Untangling from her needy son, Mrs. Jung peels out and joins the line of cars attempting to merge on the interstate. 

Reclining the seat back, Wooyoung knocks out immediately, leaving you to fend for yourself.

“How’s Boston, dear?” She chimes, voice light and bouncy despite the late hour.

You provide your stock answer for everytime someone asks over the past three years.

“Cold, wet. Lots of sick babies.”

“At least they’re consistent!”

You try to swallow the instinct to comb through Wooyoung’s hair as he naps. The first thing you learned about him in the early phase of your relationship was that Wooyoung needed some kind of physical contact at all times or he’d die. At least, he thought so. It’d been annoying at first; the constant hand holding, suffocating hugs that left your arms useless as you tried to study, the overabundance of cartoonish kisses anywhere his lips could reach at the moment. But over eight years, you grew to appreciate his special way of showing affection. When words failed the man who always had something to say, he relied on touch to convey the things he couldn’t verbalize.

Even if you say all the right things and act like nothing's wrong, anyone who has ever been associated with Wooyoung will know something is up if he isn’t hanging off you like a koala. If you’re going to pretend the last six months hadn’t happened, then you have no reason not to treat him the way you always had.

Your nails snag on a few invisible tangles in his shaggy hair that spills across the cloth seat. It’s longer than when you last saw him in the summer, top half pulled back in an elastic. Continuing to provide updates, you gently brush the bangs hanging in his face. Wooyoung whines sleepily when you pause, causing his mom to laugh.

“Nice to know the city hasn’t changed him.”

Quick to appease, you start again before responding. “Eh, I don’t know about that. Have you seen some of his shoes?”

“Still?” she gasps.

“Unfortunately, I think it’s terminal.”

Mrs. Jung’s cackly laugh is a perfect doppelganger of her son’s. Shrill and mischievous, compelling you to laugh along in pure glee even if you don’t find shared humor; bewitched by the pure joy.

Once the initial rush of reunion wanes, she insists you catch some sleep in the backseat during the long drive. The gentle caress of warm air from the vents, paired with the smooth carols from the radio, lulls you down into a shallow rest.

As his mom rolls to a stop in their driveway, the gentle glow of the car's cabin lights draw Wooyoung awake. Eyes only a quarter open, he stretches in the reclined seat with an obnoxious yawn, hands brushing your stomach. You shrug his hand off your thigh, burrowing back down into the collar of your sweater

His mom opens the driver's door, inviting in the chilly air from outside. “Come on, sleepy heads. We’re home.”

Home for Wooyoung is a cream two story Williamsburg Revival style home with royal blue shutters. His dad added the two car garage himself, meticulously matching the exterior to the existing home, blending old and new seamlessly under the watchful eye of his mom. The now gray and dead garden that usually bloomed wildly below the first floor windows was his grandmother’s contribution when she moved in before Wooyoung started highschool.

When his parents were both students at the obscure liberal arts college Lavensville was built around, his mom had been obsessed with the very house Wooyoung grew up in. According to his dad, Wooyoung’s mom talked more about the house than anything else; a true historic preservationist to her core.

It was an odd way to ask someone to marry you, but his dad always said “Some women wanted a ring. Your mom wanted this house.”

His dad surprised her with the ring after she stopped crying about the house.

Golden string lights drip from the corners of the roof, casting the exterior in a buttery soft haze. Each window sporting a wreath with a thick red velvet ribbon. A heavy layer of snow coating the ground like powdered sugar makes the entire scene like something out of a snow globe. 

Another yawn before braving the outside, Wooyoung spots you in the rearview mirror; features curled in a sleepy scowl, eyes squinted against the sudden light.

He wants to pull you into his arms and kiss you back to sleep. Follow the slope of your nose and bow of your lips with his fingertips until you swat him away and hide in the warmth of his neck. Six months ago he could have. Now, he has to brave the cold himself.

Wooyoung joins his mom at the back of the car, shouldering her away from the trunk as she insists on helping carry everything inside. She manages to snag his backpack and your carryon before he can shoo her towards the path to the front door where his dad is jamming on an old pair of sneakers to come help.

“We got it!” You call across the icy lawn, bidding the older man to stay inside as you struggle with the luggage.

“I can see that,” his dad laughs, jogging down the salted sidewalk curving along the front of the house.

His dad lifts your larger suitcase out of the truck with ease, leaving Wooyoung to roll his own inside while you balance your tote bag and his carryon. Wooyoung manages to snag the canvas bag off your elbow as he walks past. The wheels grate against the uneven brick sidewalk as everyone rushes to return to the heated interior of the house.

It’s well past midnight, the faint glow of Christmas lights illuminating the climb to the second floor. Wooyoung’s room is just as he left it the last time he visited in the spring. The headboard of the tiny twin bed resting against the wall just under the window looking out to the front yard, posters from his childhood still tacked up crookedly. 

Wooyoung tries very hard not to think about the last time he shared the quilt covered bed. How the last trip here had been the last night you slept in his arms; the last time he laid you bare beneath him, giggled against your lips as you both tried and failed to stay silent; the last time he fell asleep tangled in you, with the blue velvet box he brought everywhere hidden in his suitcase only feet away, ready to ask you at the drop of a hat. 

Six months and the memories felt as real as they had when it first happened. 

The same blue velvet box with the same ring sits in his suitcase but he can’t think about it because if he does he’ll beg you to come back to him. You lay curled under the quilt like before except this time Wooyoung can’t glue himself to your back and trace shapes on your stomach for you to guess. He can’t kiss you good night and tell you he loves you even though he still does; he probably always will. He can’t do it. 

Because you deserve better. 

A better life, a better man. One who doesn’t rope you into this level of insanity instead of asking for a second chance and explaining why he ruined the best thing in his life. 

But Wooyoung is a coward. 

“I can sleep on the floor,” he offers, unzipping his suitcase for clean clothes to sleep in.

Digging in your own suitcase, you scoff at the idea. “Don’t be stupid, what if Bibi comes in?”

A tiny speck of hope you might want to share the bed for other reasons melts into nothing. Of course, you wouldn’t want him anywhere near you. The moment in the car when he was feigning slip just to feel the gentle scratch of your nails through his hair meant nothing. “She’s gotten better about knocking!”

“Yeah, after she saw us having sex!”

Not like that’s going to happen again.

“We can share the bed, it’s too cold up here to sleep on the floor.” You grab your toiletry bag and shuffle to his door. “You’re a diva when you don’t get good sleep.”

“I’m not a diva,” Wooyoung whines. But his rebuttal bounces off the piece of wood locking him alone in his room.

When you return from the bathroom, Wooyoung takes his turn to brush his teeth and wash his face. It’s just for a few days, he reminds himself. You leave first thing in the morning the day after Christmas and after he gets back to the city he can tell his family the truth. Or an altered version of events where Wooyoung hasn’t lied to all of them.

Until then, Wooyoung gathers all the patience he typically reserves for the army of eight year olds he deals with every day in an effort to not descend into insanity. 

This was his idea. He can do this. He can pretend everything is fine. He can share a bed with you and be totally normal; unlike every other time you fell asleep in his bed since the beginning of your now finished relationship.

He finds you balancing on the edge of the narrow mattress, a sliver of space open for him to sink into. His chest squeezes but he stays silent as the minutes tick by. He knows you’re awake. Your leg twitches and brushes back against his before you jerk away like his skin burns. 

Wooyoung wants to roll over and trace the dip between your shoulders like he used to when neither of you could fall asleep. It’d work in no time, he knows it. But he settles for counting backwards until his thoughts drift off.

You fall asleep somewhere around the second time he reaches the forties. When Wooyoung reaches zero again, he starts over. 

Shuffling into the cold kitchen, you barely crack your eyes open as you beeline for the coffee pot resting on the counter. Wooyoung’s mom greets you from the dining table, eyes scanning her newspaper as you reply with a mumble “morning.”

One would think years of twenty-four hour shifts and early mornings would make waking up easier but you’d sleep all day if given the chance; however, Wooyoung suffocating you like an octopus forced you from the heated sanctuary under the covers and downstairs. Already it was too easy to pretend you were still together. Waking up tangled in him, his face squashed against your sweater clad chest as he snored, blissfully unaware of the budding panic attack you’d calmed with a freezing shower full of choked tears.

Planting your rear in a dark oak dining chair around the table, the jolt of caffeine and sugar lulls your senses awake as you scroll your phone. 

You send a text to your little brother, confirming your parents had made it to their cruise safely while your flight crossed the country. Two weeks in the Caribbean, all expenses paid, sounded a lot better than a week in rural Colorado with your ex-boyfriend. Thankfully, there’s no cell service in the middle of the ocean; so you don’t need to explain to your mother why you were spending Christmas with Wooyoung, who she truly was never fond of to begin with.

Sometime after bed, Lisa sent a string of vaguely threatening emojis and a picture of her yorkie with the Christmas sweater you bought as an early gift. Assuring her Wooyoung had been on his best behavior so far, you switched over to skim your clogged work email.

“Do you want some breakfast, sweetie?” 

You tilt your mug towards her. “This is fine.”

“How can you be a doctor and try to tell me coffee is a healthy breakfast?”

“I have horrible news if you think doctors have time to do any of the things we tell people they should.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re here then because you have plenty of time now.”

Wooyoung hates waking up alone. It feels inexplicably wrong. Especially after sharing an apartment those four years you attended medical school. There’d been plenty of road bumps but spending every night curled up under the comforter with the woman he loved made it all fade to black. He never slept as good as those years.

Except this morning, he wakes up to your fingers brushing his hair like always, and for a second Wooyoung thinks the entire breakup must’ve been a horrible dream. Wooyoung hadn’t moved a muscle lest the passes of your short nails sending goosebumps down his spine stopped. Eventually, the lazy drags lulled him back into the land of sleep as your heart sang his favorite lullaby.

The second time Wooyoung woke up, you’d been long gone and he felt the familiar emptiness he thought he’d forgotten after all those months apart.

Trudging down the stairs with loud footsteps, Wooyoung spots his mom in the kitchen, mouth spread wide over laughter as you sit at the counter, cradling a steaming mug. If Wooyoung had to bet, it probably contained more sugar and milk than coffee.

“Morning,” he grumbles, forehead resting against the cool marble of the island as he continues to doze in front of the audience.

His mom pats his back as she passes to reach the fridge, “Go sit down, Woo. You're in my way!”

“Everyone is so mean to me,” he pouts, but rounds the counter to sit next to you nonetheless, resting his cheek on your shoulder, feeling you startle at the contact. Wooyoung hides a satisfied smirk in your sweater when a hand starts scratching his back under his hoodie. He can almost forget you're lying to everyone in the gentle passes of your cold fingers chilling against his hot skin.

His mom works to heat the pan on the stove. “Your brother is getting in this afternoon so we thought of letting everyone relax until this evening and then having a game night.”

“Where’s Kyungmin?”

“He went with Bibi to volunteer at the church this morning.”

“Sucker,” you mumble for Wooyoung’s ears only, sending him into giggles.

Wooyoung’s grandmother has a particular way of guilting everyone in his family to do exactly what she wants. It’s why he’s sharing his childhood bed with his ex-girlfriend, why his dad keeps the house unbearably warm all year round, and why his little brother is no doubt undergoing military grade interrogation first thing in the morning at the hands of nosey grandmothers.

Going to church with Bibi was less about being closer to God and more about being paraded in front of her old lady friends with single granddaughters. Wooyoung had been a victim until he met you, each summer at home more exhausting than the last with not so subtle reminders Ms. So-and-so's granddaughter was very pretty and very available, and Oh she also wants to be a teacher! Isn’t that cute? But the second Wooyoung sent a picture to his mom of you and him at the park, cheeks smashed together, announcing he was not so casually dating you, his grandmother ceased all effort to set him up. And after she met you at graduation, Wooyoung beamed with the knowledge his entire family not only approved but liked his girlfriend. 

Leaving poor Kyungmin to bare the brunt of Bibi’s well-meaning torture almost made Wooyoung feel guilty. Operative word being almost. Because Wooyoung survived it, their older brother survived it, and now it was Kyungmin’s turn to endure the special brand of Jung family meddling. It was good for him.

The second his family finds out he's technically single, Wooyoung knows it’s only a matter of time before Bibi smothers him in his sleep for breaking up with the girl she considers family. And after, when she resurrects him from the dead, Wooyoung will be thrown to Bibi’s friends like a sacrificial lamb to starving wolves.

Stealing a sip of your overly sweet coffee can’t clear his mouth of the sour taste of dating again. 

“Wooyoung, you need to make up the guest bed for your brother,” his mom says, dropping a plate of eggs and toast on the counter for him and Y/N to share.

“What about her?” Wooyoung asks, lips stretching as he stuffs his face.

“She’s a guest!”

Washing down a harsh swallow with another sip of coffee, Wooyoung mutters a “hardly,” under his breath.

“Get your own!” you snap, shoving the mug out of his reach.

Wooyoung responds with a high pitched whine, huffing similar to a toddler rather than a man who's almost thirty. “Why are you both being so mean to me? I haven’t even done anything yet.”

Rising to pour his own mug of caffeinated gold, his mom quickly claims the empty chair before she bats Wooyoung away. Claiming something about “girl time” as an excuse to get him out of the kitchen before he can truly annoy them to his fullest potential.

When the afternoon rolls around, Bibi greets you with a fierce hug and a grandmotherly pinch to your cheek, smiling up at you as she asks for any and every update since she last saw you in April for her birthday.

Luckily, Kyungmin unconsciously rescues you as he enters the house, boxes piled high in his arms of goodies from the other ladies at church trying to court him on their granddaughter’s behalf. Rushing to his aid, you give him a gentle side hug as you walk with him to the kitchen.

“So…” you start, eyeing the stacks of cookies crowding the counter. “How was church?”

A pained groan answers you, Kyungmin dropping his head to the marble counter with a thud. You can’t contain your snicker, snagging one of the deformed gingerbread men to dunk in your fresh cup of coffee.

“Only a few more months,” Kyungmin mutters under his breath, the reprieve of college clearly tethering him to sanity.

Wooyoung told you all about Bibi’s ways when you started dating, thankful to no longer entertain doting mothers and grandmothers interested in him only because he was single and knew basic manners unlike many of the men lurking around Lavensville. Poor Kyungmin didn’t stand a chance if Wooyoung hadn’t managed to charm his way out until he got a girlfriend Bibi approved of.

“At least we get snacks out of it!” You clap, continuing to sort his haul as Kyungmin hides in his arms.

A tan hand sneaks over your shoulder to steal the decapitated cookie still in your grip, turning to see Wooyoung nibbling on one as he observes the collection of cookies, fruit, and other treats.

“Come on!” You stomp your foot like a toddler.

“Tastes better when it’s stolen.” Wooyoung winks, forcing you and his brother to dry heave in unison. Your reaction isn't genuine, only an effort to hide the squeeze in your chest at how easily he can fall back into old habits after months of radio silence.

Wooyoung’s mom breezes into the kitchen, unbothered by your bickering as she types out a text message. “Myungho and Mia land in an hour. Your dad is already on the way to pick them up.” She rattles off, more to herself than anyone else. “Kyungmin, you need to tidy all of this up. Wooyoung you already put clean sheets on the guest bed? Great. Y/N, dear, would you mind helping with dinner later?”

“Of course.”

Dinner consists of chili you didn’t assist with other than pulling out extra toppings from the fridge for, and everyone chattering around the table. Myungho is sharing some story about his and Mia’s neighbor who refused to close their blinds, everyone laughing at Mia’s grimace when she recalled the horrors of the “tighty-whities” incident. Each time you stay with the Jungs you're shocked how well they get along, everyone slotting together perfectly like some cheesy sitcom family.

It’s not that your family didn’t love each other, but there was little bonding you together other than shared blood and memories. Your mom clearly favored your brother while your dad tried to make up for the snub by prioritizing you. Growing up with the invisible competition left bitter resentment to this day. At least now, after years of therapy and freedom from the suffocating expectations of your childhood home, you and your brother shared a mutual understanding that it was your parents fault for the animosity between you. Nothing could reverse the damage already deeply ingrained, but you’d become a more united front during family affairs. 

That’d been the first time you and Wooyoung fought in your tentative relationship. He hadn’t seemed to understand how you could talk about your brother with such vitrole, confused why you weren’t more excited to see him after living in the city permanently since sophomore year. Not that you’d explained your family dynamic prior to calling him in a full blown meltdown in Washington Square Park at midnight. But Wooyoung listened. And when you brought up how perfect his family seemed, he quickly corrected your assumption.

Wooyoung knew his parents loved him and his brothers equally. But they were helping him pay thousands of dollars in tuition out of state for him to be a teacher while his older brother made six figures fresh out of college as an engineer. Even if they were happy for him, Wooyoung struggled with the internal conflict of idolizing his brother and feeling like he’d never measure up.

It’d been the first time Wooyoung cried in front of you.

The tense conversation and awkward small talk of your childhood home didn’t seem to have space here at the Jungs, nothing but laughter and warmth filling each nook and cranny. Even the awkwardness of sitting next to your ex-boyfriend, pretending he was still your partner, seemed to be stifled with the company.

“So, Y/N, when are you planning to move back to New York? You finished residency, right?” Mia asks over her glass of wine, eyes bright.

“Ugh,” you stutter, unprepared for such directness.

“Or maybe you’re thinking of moving to Boston?” She eyes Wooyoung.

“We’re, uh,” Wooyoung pipes up, frantically looking at you.

“I’m looking at jobs in the city but nothing's come up yet.” 

“That sucks,” Myungho chimes, working to help their father clear the table for games.

Rather than answering, you take a long draw of your drink before rising to hide in the bathroom.

In the silence of the small half bath under the stairs, you attempt to control your stuttering breath. A few splashes of cool water on your face help shock your system but it does nothing to stop the  It’d taken years to perfect the stone-faced facade you presented to families when the outcome was less than favorable. 

A light tap at the door startles you from the nosedive your conscious has taken.

“I’ll be out in a minute.” You call, scrubbing your hands in the sink.

“It’s me,” Wooyoung chirps on the other side of the wood. 

Opening the door, Wooyoung leans his shoulder against the jamb, eying you warily. Pulling him into the cramped space, you press the door closed and lean against it. “I can’t do this, Woo. I can’t lie to them.”

 “Don’t think of it as lying! Just pretend you're back in that drama class in college!”

“Oh, you mean the class I almost failed because I couldn’t act?” you whisper harshly.

“Just let me take the lead okay? All you have to do is be normal.”

Another knock on the door startles you both. When you got so close to Wooyoung, you have no idea, but there are only a scant few inches between you and you can smell the peppermint schnapps on his breath.

“Wooyoung, Y/N. Is everything okay?”

Twisting around your stiff body, Wooyoung nudges you out of the way as he twists the handle and pulls the door inward.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung answers, opening the door to a concerned Bibi. “She wasn’t feeling well.”

Bibi brushes past him, the cool back of her wrinkled hand pressing against your forehead. “Are you okay, dear?”

“I’m fine, just got a little light headed.”

One arm curls around yours, the other gently patting your back as Bibi guides you back towards the kitchen with Wooyoung trailing behind. “You know, when I was pregnant with Wooyoung’s father I got lightheaded all the time.”

Bibi’s implication isn’t lost on you, or Wooyoung for that matter when you hear him curse as he trips behind you.

“Oh?” 

“Almost everyday I’d have to drink a gallon of ginger tea just to get out of bed.” She guides you into a seat before turning. “I’ll make you cup while the boys set everything up, okay?”

“That’s really not neccess—”

Bibi is already filling the kettle and rummaging in the cabinets for tea bags as if you didn’t speak at all. Wooyoung won’t look at you, not that you can look at him either. 

Kids.

Just another thing on the long list of wants you wouldn’t be getting. For so long, children were this amorphous thing you wanted some day. That was until Wooyoung came along and slowly changed those vague thoughts into real hopes. They had been discussed to death over and over. Wooyoung wanted as many as possible before he started teaching, then eagerly explained that two kids were more than enough after his first day of school.

All those nights snuggled in bed talking about baby names, Wooyoung offering to stay at home if you wanted.

“I’ve always wanted to be a trophy husband,” he told you. He smothered his face in your neck, sealing the offer with a gentle kiss. “Could be a trophy dad too.”

“You’d give up teaching to raise my baby?” you asked.

“I’d give up everything if that's what you wanted.”

He would have.

Cursing his grandmother for making an already tense situation worse, Wooyoung shakes his head as she flutters around the kitchen. He should be relieved Bibi moved away from asking when they were getting married and fast forwarding straight to asking for grandchildren. At least Wooyoung hadn’t been as close to being the dad as he was as being a husband. Kids were hypothetical, no matter how often you two discussed them; but marriage was almost reality.

Kyungmin is already setting up the Scrabble board and dishing out letters. Eight people was far too many so like every year they divide into pairs. Mom and Dad, Myungho and Mia, Kyungmin and Bibi, finally you and him.

Wooyoung tries not to think about Bibi’s comments but the mug of tea sits steaming on the table and the images are just there. You pregnant; a nursery decorated in greens like the one you told him about; celebrating Christmas in the city, the snow covering everything and requiring the little tyke to be wrapped up until they resembled an overstuffed dumpling.

His mind wanders as the board crowds with letters. Bibi and Kyungmin struggle to play anything worth more than fifteen points while his parents brush off challenge after challenge as they fill the board with words like “Paczki” and “Rudistid.”

“Quad, baby! Do you know how hard it is to get rid of a Q?” Mia asks everyone, high fiving Myungho next to her. 

Wooyoung exchanges a conspiratory smile with you before he ruins their celebration. “I know! And when you have a U and an A and every other letter I need for ACQUAINT on a triple word score. Plus bingo for all the tiles we don’t have…Boom one hundred and seven points.”

Arms thrown around each other's shoulders, he bounces up and down with you in victory; cheeks squished together, matching bright tipsy grins. Almost like everything is normal.

“No fair! You’re an English teacher!” Kyungmin protests, nostrils flared.

“Yeah to third graders, Minnie. You know just as many words as they do, I promise.”

You don’t move from his hold except to take another swig of the tea his grandmother made. Wooyoung tries not to think about what it means; having an arm curled around the back of your chair while you settle into the crook of his chest, watching his family over the top of your head, relaxing firm pressure of your body against his own. Taking the tentative peace for granted, Wooyoung greedily overindulges in the illusion of normalcy.

In the cool toned light of dawn, you wake in Wooyoung’s arms once again. This time you're both on your sides, Wooyoung pressed firmly behind you as he snores in your ear. A familiar lump pokes against your rear, scorching your skin through the layers of clothes that separate you.

Wiggling in his grip, you're ashamed of the quiet sound fleeing your lips as Wooyoung flexes his arms to hold you tighter, his hips rolling against you harshly to pin you to him.

Blame it on the months without feeling another person’s touch, or the liminal space that exists when the world is asleep and void of any real consequences, but a hollowness stings your core and dampens your underwear.

Years of dating meant years of exploring one another’s bodies, discovering every spot that drove the other mad and perfecting the balance of teasing and satisfaction. You still remember the first night in your shared apartment years ago; Wooyoung blindfolded and tied to the bed, putty under your fingers as you rode him until your eyes felt permanently crossed and your legs numb. And just when you thought the night was over, sated with his cum leaking onto the sheets, Wooyoung knotted the silk scarf around your own wrist and “cleaned up” the mess between your thighs until you actually blacked out.

The very memory has you arching backwards, clenching around nothing but disappointing emptiness.

It’s wrong – so so so wrong – to fantasize about your ex-boyfriend while he’s asleep next to you, none the wiser to your needs. But the way his hand on your stomach fists the fabric of your shirt, pulling you into him again, beckons you closer to the edge of temptation. Wooyoung told you to act natural. What’s more natural than enjoying some half asleep heavy petting? You’re already pretending to date him, why not reap some of the old benefits you’d missed in your time apart?

Just as you turn in Wooyoung’s arms, set on waking him with an offer even he can’t refuse, he yawns awake. Arms stretching high, he pushes you from the toasty covers and onto the floor with a bang!

“Jesus Christ!” you groan, jolting pain in your elbow shocking your system as it catches the edge of the bed frame.

Wooyoung’s head pops over the side of the mattress. “Why’re you down there?”

Scoffing, the back of your head thuds against the floor; eyes sinking shut as you fight the urge to murder him. Three more days and you’ll never have to deal with the ridiculousness that follows Wooyoung like a shadow. Three more days and you can go back to pretending he doesn’t exist.

You hear, rather than see, Wooyoung exit into the hallway. Stretching your lungs around another deep breath, you follow behind him. Passing the bathroom door as you pad down stairs, you're greeted with an empty kitchen. The stove clock reads just past nine so more bodies should trickle in soon. In the meantime, you turn on the coffee pot and wait as the kitchen fills with the comforting smell. Sending a silent prayer to the universe, you prepare for quality time with Mrs. Jung and Mia. Another day of lying to the people who treat you better than your own family. 

Wonderful.

“Morning, sweetie.” Bibi bursts into the kitchen, a whirlwind of activity even at the early hour. 

“Coffee?”

“That stuff's no good for you,” she chides, taking a spot at the dining table with her own cup. “Our appointments are in thirty minutes, better go get ready before the boys use all the hot water.”

Like a teenager with his first wet dream, Wooyoung hides in the sanctuary of the bathroom. Thankfully, his brothers aren’t prone to waking before noon and he stakes his claim by locking the door and entering the steam.

Maybe dry humping his ex-girlfriend while half asleep was a bad idea but Wooyoung knows you pushed back into him with a purpose. He’d heard that whimper, felt your legs squeeze together the way you always did when you needed his help. Wooyoung hadn’t meant to launch you to the floor but overdue break up sex with the rest of the house due to wake up any minute couldn’t be a good idea. And with three more days of this charade he needed less complications, not more. Sex felt like it would make things very, very complicated.

But the knowledge of how wrong he should feel doesn’t stop the memories of from placating his mind as he palms his aching cock. Months of abstinence fail to dissolve Wooyoung’s photorealistic memories of you in compromising positions; bent in half to take his cock, staring down your nose from on top of his lap. And his personal favorite, on your knees, eyes watering as your swollen lips stretch around his length, the flared head nudging the back of your throat.

The swiftnesses of his orgasm is a fatal blow against his fragile ego. Biting the meat of his fist, Wooyoung closes his eyes as the evidence swirls the drain. Unfortunately, the confusion pulsing through him doesn’t follow.

Out of the steam, he returns to his room, ready to throw on a pair of sweats and spend the day sleeping to avoid his feelings.  Too busy thinking about you, Wooyoung isn’t paying attention when he opens the door and runs straight into you.

Also half naked.

“Oof!” 

Wooyoung grunts with the impact from the floor. Arms caging your head, you stare up at him like you can’t believe he’s there. Bare chest on bare chest. His towel unties, leaving his right leg naked against yours, hips cradled against your own.

This is not happening.

“What the hell?”

“Why are you naked?” he stutters.

Very naked, and pressed against him intimately. The heat of your core is more than enticing. Even though he washed all the desire from this morning away, his body betrays him from years of habit. Maybe touching you wasn’t such a bad idea. What could it hurt?

“I thought I’d flash you,” you spit, eyes rolling. “I was changing.”

You’re still beneath him, squirming. Right against his dick. A pang of want rushes through him like a thousand volts, his nerves turning into individual live wires everywhere your skin meets his. The cold sneaking through the windows is all more evident by your pinched nipples pressing into his chest.

“I didn’t know you were in here,” he explains. Still, he doesn’t move. He couldn’t even if he tried.

“Cleary.”

You must realize he’s hard because you stop moving, staring wide eyed as his entire body lays heavy against yours. He should have let you talk him into whatever you wanted earlier, consequences be damned. Your gaze lingers on his mouth. He doesn’t want to make assumptions but your head tilts, breath fanning his chin. His own stutters, eyes flitting between your mouth and your eyes as he leans closer and—

“YN? Are you ready?” Mia calls from the door. “We don’t want to be late!”

“Just a minute!” you respond. “Get off.” 

Wooyoung scrambles to his feet, towel back around his waist to hide what little of his dignity is left. Which is, somehow, far less than when he entered the shower minutes ago.

He tries not to look but you're standing there, breasts on display, and Wooyoung is only a man who was in love with you for years and still very much is no matter what lies he tells himself.

“Turn around, this isn’t a peep show.”

He does, but an argument fizzles at the tip of his tongue. He’s seen you naked enough to draw you from memory; the mole on your shoulder, the scar on your hip from when you learned to ride a bike and fell into a ditch, the knobs of your spine. Wooyoung knows all of them like the back of his hand. A couple months ago you would have goaded him into looking as much as he wanted, teased him and in the process riled yourself up until looking turned to touching.

You clearly don’t want that as you race to throw on whatever clothes are nearby and rush out the room.

Stupid.

He can’t believe he nearly kissed you. He actually can but what he can’t believe is you seemed to want it just as bad as he did. But it wouldn’t make anything better. This wasn’t a movie where he could kiss you and all the problems plaguing your relationship would disappear. You’d still hate him and he’d still be hopelessly in love with you.

After dressing and basking in humiliation, Wooyoung descends to the living room where his dad and brothers watch a documentary on the Discovery channel. Sinking into the worn leather of their ancient couch, he cracks open one of the books he brought from home. Brave New World wasn’t light reading, but he’d been meaning to give it a try since Yeosang recommended it to him and what better way to spend his free time? 

Soon enough, his dad snores from his spot in the recliner, chin tipped back against the headrest. Kyungmin remains entranced by the colorful birds dancing across the screen while his other brother no doubt taps away at work emails cluttering his phone despite the holidays. It’s the kind of peace and content Wooyoung loved about his family. Co-existing without needing to interact, enjoying each other's presence while living their own lives.

The nail salon buzzes with conversation. The acrid sting of acetone and nail polish burn your nose under the harsh white lights, reminding you of the hospital. Mia is happily chattering away, blasting through any stilled pauses or awkward silences. Bibi and Mrs. Jung sit at the counter getting their nails painted by the attendants in calm silence.

You try not to kick the young woman scrub your foot as she brushes against your ticklish nerves, squirming in your seat as she gives a tight lipped smile at your discomfort. For a week off for Christmas you cashed in every favor, picked up every single on call asked of you, nearly breaking under the demand to stretch yourself so thin as the new doctor in your department. The horrific results of hours on your feet were being ground down and clipped before you. 

Relaxing was… difficult for you. Or other peoples’ definition of relaxation was. To you, the perfect day off was running around town, hitting an early morning pilates class followed by an overpriced coffee and finding something to do in the city that offered everything. Sitting still was a necessary evil to get to and fro but it left you to stew with your thoughts you preferred to drown in an overwhelming weight of activity.

Wooyoung’s stunt this morning was perfect cannon fodder for your idle mind. It didn’t mean anything; biological reactions to seeing someone and feeling someone who knew your body intimately for years. Seeking closure in the most primitive way after months without any sort of gratification. It meant nothing.

“Y/N,” Mia calls, bringing you to turn and look at her. 

Her usually glowing face is apprehensive, lip worried between her teeth and eyes downcast. 

“Yeah?” 

“You work with kids, right?”

“All day,” you laugh, trying to break the tension.

Mia hesitates, struggling to find the words she wants to say. “After all the stuff you’ve seen, do you still want them?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you and Wooyoung think you’ll have kids someday?”

“I mean not anytime soon considering…” That we aren’t together, you finish in your mind.

But Mia assumes the unspoke truth is the fact you’re supposed to be living in Boston while Wooyoung is living in New York.

“I mean of course, but like you guys both work with kids and I feel like you know the worst that could happen! My friend Mina just had her baby and she says she can’t sleep. She just sits up all night watching him because she’s afraid somethings gonna happen.”

“Mia, are you and Myungho…”

“Not yet,” she smiles. “But we’ve been talking about it more and I know I want that with him but I’m just—”

“Scared?”

She nods sheepishly.

Hesitating as you weigh your next words carefully, you think about all the conversations you’ve had with worried parents. Most of the kids and parents you met were under less than positive circumstances. Babies with underdeveloped lungs, toddlers who couldn’t breath from just sitting up. You’d be lying if it didn’t make you question having your own. The powerlessness you felt when no matter how hard you worked to fix things only for it to be all for naught. 

But all of the bad days don't outweigh the good ones. When NICU preemies got to leave the ward with their families for the first time. Having a child take their first full breath because their medication was finally starting to work. The plethora of thank you cards hanging on your fridge and displayed in your office from the families you’d helped.

And you remember all the stories Wooyoung told you about his classroom. Kids who could barely read falling in love with the books he gave to them, hounding him for more stories. When he made way with a problem child, watching them begin to excel under his gentle guidance. Giggling at Wooyoung hiding his tears at the end of year advancement ceremony when all his third graders became fourth graders every year, toothy smiles wide as they wave at him.

“I think being scared means you care. You can always call me if you’re worried, no matter what happens.”

“I’ll definitely take you up on that.” Mia laughs.

“You’re gonna be a great mom,” you whisper, squeezing her arm.

Mia squeezes your hand back. “I always wondered what it’d be like to have a sister.”

“Me too.”

You look away as Mia blinks, breathing away the wetness glossing your own eyes.

Upon returning home, you find all four men passed out in various positions in the living room. Mr. Jung in the recliner that predates your birth, mouth wide open and glasses crooked on his nose. Sprawled across the floor is Kyungmin, gangly teenage limbs starfished to the edges of the carpet. Wooyoung and Myungho share a blanket across their laps, both with their backs on opposite sides of the couch. 

You four try to contain your laughter at the sight. If there was any doubt about who fathered the Jung boys, the shaggy black hair and symphony of identical snores would easily lay those rumors to rest. 

Bibi shuffles down the hall to her room, claiming a nap to be a great idea after the pampering from the nail salon. Mia and Mrs. Jung head into the kitchen, each teetering with bulging bags of groceries for tonight's gingerbread competition.

But you can’t take your eyes off Wooyoung. The only time he ever looked so peaceful was when he was sleeping, face positively boyish and missing the stress induced wrinkles from managing a class of eight year olds. The urge to cross to him and kiss the freckle on his lower lip floods your brain, pull him upstairs to tangle your limbs between his and find sleep together. But you’re able to stuff it down when he whines in his sleep, twisting to re-adjust on the lumpy couch.

Following the shuffle of plastic bags echoing from the kitchen, you busy yourself with unpacking the boxes of pre-made gingerbread houses, candy, and tubes of icing. Neatly organizing the contents on the counter, Mrs. Jung pushes you and Mia upstairs as she starts to prepare dinner. The clock on the stove shows it’s closing in on three, giving you enough time to shower and have a nap of your own – alone – before the mayhem of the evening.

Cranking the faucet to the highest setting, you waste no time waiting for it to heat as you jump under the cold water. Wooyoung called you a psychopath the first time he witnessed your shower routine but you’d been busy applying for medical school, working in the student health center, and tutoring in the biology lab, all while maintaining a perfect GPA in the fall semester of your senior year; you didn’t have time for the simple pleasures of wasting precious minutes while your apartment’s old pipes struggled to carry hot water through the faucet. And as they say, old habits die hard.

The chill brings sharp clarity with it. It’d only been two days and you’d already fallen into the same bickering as before, been tempted to kiss him when no one was around to fool, and nearly propositioned him in his childhood bed. And again on the floor.

Three more days, you think.

Then you can leave this entire maddening ordeal behind you forever.

The squeeze of Wooyoung’s heart threatens to topple him to his knees at the sight of you curled up in his bed. His old college hoodie circles your face, lips pouted and eyebrows furrowed at whatever dream world keeps you occupied. 

Wooyoung aches to scoop you against his chest and litter kisses all over your face, fingers ironing out the wrinkles creasing your forehead. To smile at your whines of protest of being interrupted from a rare opportunity to rest without worrying about work or some other responsibility.

But what Wooyoung wants, he doesn’t deserve. As bold and indulgent as he might be in front of the prying eyes of his family, he isn’t cruel. This morning was a mistake. Even thinking about you the way he has is a mistake.

Even if it kills him not to touch you like he used to be able to, Wooyoung won’t subject you to the torture of his feelings. It’s the least he can do for pulling you into this sham after ending their relationship without explanation. 

“Y/N,” he whispers, fingers prodding your shoulder. “Gotta wake up.”

You respond with a throaty groan, pulling the edge of the blanket over your head to hide away.

“C’mon, it's almost time for dinner.” 

“Youngie, it’s cold,” you protest as he tries to lift the covers.

Grinding his teeth against the nickname, Wooyoung continues to pry the quilt from your iron grip. “I can get Bibi up here.”

Flying into a seated position, you blink against the overhead light. “I’m up!” 

“That’s what I thought.” Wooyoung smirks, crossing to the door. “Let’s go sunshine.”

You mutter empty threats the entire way to the kitchen, so close your cast in his shadow under the threat of Bibi’s wake up methods. Nothing like a woman pushing eighty banging pots over your head to get the blood pumping.

Everyone else already crowds the table, picking apart the trays of snacks as they organize their supplies kits. 

Jung family tradition requires everyone, sans Bibi, to decorate their own house according to the year's theme. After an hour, she picks her favorite and the winner has the honor of opening the first present on Christmas morning. You demolished Myungho’s long standing winning streak the first year Wooyoung brought you home; Mia claiming victory in your absence the year after. Since then, Kyungmin reigned supreme despite his creation looking like a haunted house no matter what the theme was.

“Alright.” Bibi stands once Wooyoung and Y/N have taken their seats at the end of the table. “This year's theme is movies. On your mark, get set. Go!”

A room full of adults, plus Kyungmin who's only a few months short, should act with a sense of decorum and dignity. A fair and clean competition in the name of holiday spirit, family, and comradery. But Jung house rules mean cheating is not only expected, it’s encouraged.

The table is warzone. Icing dripping off the sides and onto the tile floor. Candies trailing everywhere like shrapnel. Mia hides a piece of Myungho’s roof in her lap, and their mom steals the level their dad insists on using every year. Even Kyungmin slowly starts hoarding the bags of colorful royal frosting one by one in the pocket of his hoodie before anyone can notice.

Wooyoung catches you attempting to eat his bag of gumdrops in his periphery. They're half gone by the time he’s noticed but he simply laughs under his breath. What you don't know is that those are your gumdrops and his are stashed under the table.

The little sugar addict is nothing if not predictable.

Most of the houses are beginning to take shape, albeit much more loose definitions of whatever each person decided to do. Kyungmin’s house is poop green with a red roof, streaks of color patchy against the brown cookie sheets. His mom sticks with the traditional decorations instructed on the packaging, no doubt prepared to argue it somehow fits the theme despite being the same every year. Mia’s is laced garishly with pink and pastels, while Myungho crumbles pieces of his for whatever godforsaken reason.

Wooyoung focuses on decorating his tiny gingerbread man with black slashes and stripes.

“Time!” yells Bibi as she whacks the bottom of a pot with a wooden spoon, everyone drops their last piece of candy before hands fly up.

As always, his mom manages to be the only one to finish due to years of practice. Everyone else’s houses are… interesting, loose interpretations of houses.

“Mine’s the Grinch,” Kyungmin says.

“The Grinch?” you ask. The horrendous green and red abomination resembles nothing Wooyoung has ever seen before.

“See, you get it!” 

Shaking your head, you point at the monstrosity sitting in front of you. “Okay, so the yellow skittles are the yellow brick road and the green on the house is meant to look like the Emerald City from Wizard of Oz.”

Perhaps… if the Emerald City burned to the ground and became ruins but everyone nods at the vision.

“Mine is supposed to be Barbie's Dream house.” says Mia, gesturing to the mound of pink frosting sliding from the roof.

Myungho slams a toy dinosaur from their childhood on top of his pile of cookie pieces before declaring, ��Jurassic Park.”

“Home Alone,” his mom chimes. A chorus of groans around the table answer. 

His dad’s is covered in chocolate bars and marshmallows. It looks decent but Wooyoung doesn’t get it until he tells them it’s Willy Wonka.

Nodding in appreciation, Wooyoung presents his. “Nightmare Before Christmas.”

The gray and black icing swirl to make a ugly blob, but Wooyoung will argue it’s exactly what he was going for. Especially with his miniscule Jack Skellington perched in the yard. Bibi circles the table, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at each entry. She shakes her head at Kyungmin, clearly disappointed in his failure this year. Doesn’t even pretend Wooyoung has a shot.

“Eunkyung wins!” She cheers, raising his mom’s hand like she won a boxing match. Claps and whoops fill the kitchen as she beams, proud to win a second time in the history of the competition dating back to his earliest memories.

“Wooyoung, put the winning house on the mantel please,” his dad asks, already moving towards the pantry for trash bags.

“Your majesty.” Wooyoung bows in front of his mom, laughing when she slaps his shoulder.

What he fails to realize is your leaving through the same door he is, and that a menacing sprig of green leaves sit just above in wait.

“Mistletoe!” his mom squeals.

“Huh?” you grunt.

Wooyoung looks up and spots the infuriating piece of decoration, another pair of eyes trailing after his own. 

If you were still dating, Wooyoung would swoop you into his arms and make an entire production of giving you a short peck on the cheek – his parents were watching after all – while you laughed at his ridiculousness. But now he hesitates as he looks into your eyes, barely missing the nod as you leave a brief kiss on his lips before turning and leaving the room.

Even under the passing contact, Wooyoung’s lips feel like they’ve been zapped with lightning; his entire body on high alert. So lost in his own world, Wooyoung doesn’t realize you’ve walked away until you’re turning a corner and are out of sight. 

Remembering the gingerbread house still in his hand, Wooyoung continues into the living room to place it front and center on the mantel like nothing happened.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! you think, watching yourself in the mirror as you brush your teeth.

One stupid, G-rated kiss and you act like a bumbling teenager. Wooyoung’s morning wood was pressed against you twelve hours ago and you can’t handle a peck. 

What was wrong with you? 

It was like the butterflies of the beginning of your relationship were waking from dormancy, demanding to let loose in your chest. All those tightly stashed feelings you swore would never have a home in your heart settling back in like they never left. Honestly, they hadn’t. Six months was nothing compared to eight years together.

But none of this is real. Wooyoung only reached out so Bibi wouldn’t be upset over a last-minute cancellation. He didn’t ask to explain why he ended your relationship so suddenly. Didn’t try to weasel his way back in and kiss everything better. He didn’t give any answers to the questions you were dying to ask. All the touching and joking you’d missed so much were nothing more than an elaborate plan for Wooyoung to not be seen as the bad guy by his family. His way of delaying the inevitable. And you’d fallen right into the mess subconsciously hoping it might have meant something more. 

Toothpaste splashes against the porcelain sink as you finish washing up. Hiding in the bathroom can only buy you so much time before you have to face Wooyoung again, a new feast of tension waiting for you on a silver platter. He stayed quiet after the mistletoe. Not that you had much to say yourself.

When you return to his tiny room, it’s notably empty. Wooyoung nowhere to be seen as you burrow into the blankets alone. Hopefully, he stays away until you're fully unconscious and able to avoid the entire ordeal.

A draft of frigid air invading the warm haze under your mountain of quilts wakes you. Wooyoung shushes your indignant protest, pulling the top layers off. His weight doesn’t dip the bed behind you. Instead, you listen as he shuffles around, the dull thud of pillows and blankets hitting the floor. When he quiets, you turn to see him curled into a ball on a makeshift sleeping matt next to the bed. 

The questions burn on the tip of your tongue. Why is he sleeping on the floor? Was he that upset about the kiss? Or was it this morning? But you don’t ask and Wooyoung doesn’t provide an answer.

Christmas Eve is Wooyoung’s favorite part of the holidays. Not even a poor night's sleep on the freezing, unforgiving floor can dull his excitement. He woke early, sneaky out of the room the second the sun peaked from the horizon and illuminated the space while you slept soundly.

Part of the reason he slept on the floor is the knowledge that if he woke up with you pressed against him again, he’d agree to whatever you wanted from him. He was too selfish to say no a second time.

A fresh powder of snow fell sometime in the night. So, with a hot cup of coffee and a need to get lost in something mindlessly physical, Wooyoung heads to the garage for a shovel to clear the sidewalk and driveway.

Wooyoung knows he should apologize. You’d basically avoided him after the mistletoe, scurrying upstairs the second it was polite to do so. Technically, you kissed him. But the entire situation wouldn’t exist if he didn’t put his foot in his mouth. Plus, the entire ordeal of yesterday morning couldn’t be ignored. And Wooyoung was ashamed he didn’t feel ashamed about it.

Mind numb in the cold monotony of moving slush from the concrete to the yard, muscles burning at the strain, Wooyoung loses track of time as the sun moves across the sky. His dad finds him shoveling the end of the driveway, pants soaked and breath heaving. 

“You okay, kid?” the older man asks, sipping his thermos.

“Fine,” Wooyoung pants. “Why?”

“Because you’re out here.”

“Just helping out.”

“Wooyoung.” A sharp sternness to his tone as his dad’s gloved hands halt the shovel.

He hates that voice. Wooyoung’s dad was soft spoken and good natured, the quietest member of their boisterous family. Always gentle with three rowdy sons that constantly pushed the endless bounds of his patience. Wooyoung can count on one hand the times his dad used this voice on him. Apparently, now is one of those times.

Wooyoung looks his dad in the eye before lying to his face, “I’m fine. Really.”

Eying his son skeptically, Wooyoung’s dad clearly doesn’t believe him.  “Alright,” he drawls. “But come inside, your mom made pancakes.”

“Come on Kyungmin, we don’t want to be late!” Bibi calls from the hallway.

In front of you, Kyungmin blanches; terrified of another day surrounded by prodding grandmothers. He pleads you for help, but you can only offer a sympathetic smile and a shrug of shoulders. If only he knew how much torture you were being subjected to in the name of keeping Bibi happy.

Wooyoung had been scarce since the early hours of the morning, slaving away at clearing the driveway alone. He made a brief appearance at breakfast and lunch but found any excuse to stay faraway from whatever room you planted yourself in. 

Taking the hint, you set up camp in the kitchen. Laptop screen reflecting off your blue-light glasses as you skimmed another journal article about forced oscillation technique and impulse oscillometry. Fascinating as it was to you, it’s just boring enough to anyone else to keep them away; allowing you to waste away the entire afternoon in the most productive way possible.

The sun is already setting by the time others begin to trickle into the kitchen. Mia begins filling snack trays for the trademark movie night; half sweet, half savory. While Myungho sets to work on a batch of mulled cider they picked up at the market on the way home. The house is peaceful as everyone works in quiet content.

Until Kyungmin stomps into the kitchen with a fuming Bibi hot on his heels.

“They’re nice girls, Kyungmin. There was no need to be rude!”

Your wide eyes meet Mia's twin expressions of shock. Kyungmin was a sweet kid; he had an attitude sometimes, but he was a teenager. It’d be weird if he didn’t have one. But to hear he’s been out right rude, and in front of Bibi no less, comes as a surprise.

“You’re crazy!” Kyungmin yells, arms waving wildly before he flees to his room.

The sudden silence of the kitchen is rattling. No one moves or speaks as Bibi starts organizing random objects and mail on the counter, clearly uncomfortable with her grandson’s outburst.

Slipping from your chair, you turn to follow in the direction you know he’s bound for.

Winter in Colorado is brutal enough, but the wind slicing across your cheeks as you teeter out a tiny window onto the roof at the back of the house makes you regret wearing only a sweatshirt and matching sweatpants. 

Kyungmin’s lone figure is illuminated in the silver moonlight. A telltale stench fills your nostrils despite the thick smoke evaporating in the wind the second it leaves his mouth. Waddling towards him on your butt, you stop next to him. He passes the glass bowl into your waiting hand without a peep. 

You take a long hit before speaking, allowing the tingle of THC to flutter through your veins. It's been months since you let loose, too tired from the hospital. But in the quiet cold, the fuzziness bubbling in your veins is exactly what you need.

“Wanna talk about it?” You ask, cradling your knees to your chest in an effort to conserve warmth.

“No.”

“Okay.”

The thick woods fencing in the backyard bends in the wind. Pine trees shake the fronds like feathers, fluffing up as the wind flutters by. A lone swing, attached to a rickety playground set, swings back and forth. It’s beautiful and eerie. Only your breath and the occasional cough from Kyungmin disturbs the fragile place.

“I can’t wait to go to college,” Kyungmin mutters from under his hood.

“Have you heard from anywhere yet?”

He takes another hit, coughing twice before answering slowly. “No. But I don’t care where I go as long as I’m not here.”

“Was it that bad?”

“She’s crazy! All of them in that fucking church are insane!”

“Wooyoung told me the same thing,” you chuckle.

Wooyoung spent all his high school years and college breaks as Bibi’s helper; coincidentally meeting some long friend’s granddaughter each time. It all stopped when you came around. 

Kyungmin goes to light the bowl again and you snatch it from his hands, some big sister instinct taking over. He lets you and flops back into the snow covered roof. “They just stare at me. It’s creepy.” 

“Yeah, that sounds pretty creepy.”

“And Andi just laughs whenever I try to tell her about it.”

“Who’s Andi?”

“A friend.” Kyungmin’s tense response tells you Andi isn’t just a friend at all. He staunchly ignores your raised brow.

“What's she like?”

“She’s nice. She’s in my history class at school,” he admits. “And she got a scholarship to play soccer in Georgia.”

“That’s cool,” you nod. “So you like her?”

Kyungmin flounders for a second, caught red handed. “I mean, of course I do. She’s my best friend.”

If your eyes rolled any harder, they’d pop out of your skull and launch off the roof. “Kyungmin…”

“It doesn’t matter. She’s so out of my league,” he sighs.

He sounds a lot like Wooyoung. Back when you first started dating and he learned you were applying for med school, there was an air of unworthiness that rolled off him. Wooyoung never explicitly told you he felt that way about himself but he didn’t need to. 

“Why do you think that?”

“She’s smart, and she’s athletic, and she’s funny. She wouldn’t see me like that.”

“Okay.” You nod. “Well, when Bibi started pimping you out at church, what did Andi do?”

“She got really mad when I went on a date with one of them.”

“Oh, really?”

“She didn’t talk to me for like two weeks. I thought she was just, like, on her period or something.”

Shaking your head, you turn to face the ignorant boy. “Alright, first things first. Never, under any circumstances, assume a girl is mad at you because she’s on her period. Ask your brothers or your dad how that's worked out for them. Second, how would you feel if Andi went on a date with someone?”

Face twisting in disgust, Kyungmin grabs the piece again to take a hit. You let him this time.

“Exactly. Maybe you should ask her on a date.”

Kyungmin snorts at the idea, “Yeah, sure.”

“Party out here?” Myungho calls from the window.

Turning, you spot Wooyoung and Mia peaking around his broad shoulders. “Yeah, but it’s B.Y.O.W.”

“Perfect,” he responds, folding in half to climb out the window.

“Just think about what I said, okay?”

“Okay.” Kyungmin promises as he links his pinky with yours.

Mia and Myungho land on Kyungmin’s other side, a joint visible in Mia’s dainty fingers. Wooyoung plops down next to you, lifting the bowl from Kyungmin and dumping the ash on to the roof. 

As he focuses on packing it, you get your first glimpse of him all day. The tip of his nose is red and he keeps sniffling, no doubt from the hours he spent outside or in the garage doing who knows what, hair a mess of tangles, sticking this way and that in the wind and you choke on the urge to straighten it for him.  You’ve never been good at staying mad at him, even when he’s clearly in the wrong. And what’s worse is Wooyoung knows it. 

Wisps of smoke pour from his nostrils before he passes you the bowl again. Shaking your head, Kyungmin plucks it from his brother’s fingers.

Wooyoung’s breath caresses the shell of your ear before he speaks. “What are you guys doing out here?”

You resist the urge to shiver for an entirely new reason.“Bibi.”

Wooyoung nods lazily, eyes glazed already. Landing on his back, he looks up to the sky. 

The pale light sharpens his features. Strange how all three brothers looked so similar yet different. Kyungmin still had the round cheeks of adolescents, limbs gangly as he towers over his brothers at only seventeen. Myungho was broader than both but only a fraction taller than Wooyoung, square jaw and cropped hair. But Wooyoung was all angles and sharpness. Even from the first night he approached you in that dingy karaoke bar near campus, you knew he was handsome. But now he looks ethereal. Like some beautiful demon coming to take your soul and laugh all the while. 

Eventually you all end up shoulder to shoulder, each lost and thought and staring at the lonely full moon above. Wooyoung’s hand brushes your own, sending throbbing jolts of electricity through your body. One of your fingers slips around his, hooking them together briefly. Wooyoung doesn’t squeeze back but he doesn’t move away either.

It somehow hurts worse than if he would have let go.

Exhaustion and pot nearly knock Wooyoung out as he passes his bedroom door. An early night, lost in the land of dreams where he doesn’t have to think about why he can’t look you in the eye; why he felt a punch in the gut when he spotted you on the roof with his little brother, taking care of him like Kyungmin was your own family; how he wanted to cry when your fingers circled his own. 

Wooyoung’s attempt to uncomplicate his life only seemed to tighten the noose around his neck.

Jung family tradition dictates a Christmas movie with gross amounts of sugary snacks on Christmas Eve. The tradition started before Wooyoung could remember but it’d been his favorite all the same. What little kid didn’t cherish the opportunity to wake up to Santa dropping presents under the tree? Not that he or his brothers managed to stay awake more than half way through whatever movie his parents pulled from the dusty DVD collection on the bookshelf. But as he grew older, Wooyoung appreciated the uninterrupted time he was gifted to spend with his family, especially with each of them living in separate corners of the country.

The new set of matching pajamas every year were simply a bonus.

This year’s boast a deep green with a vintage Christmas light pattern. The inner flannel is positively delightful against Wooyoung’s freezing skin, lulling him into a light doze as leans against the couch between your spread legs. 

Kyungmin sprawls in his usual place on the rug in front of the coffee table, glazed eyes glued to Will Ferell terrorizing New York City in yellow tights. Mia and Myungho are off on the other side of the couch, Bibi taking the middle seat. His parents are snug in his dad’s recliner, resembling two teenagers rather than the fifty year olds they really are. Adorably disgusting how in love they still are. 

He doesn’t think twice about dropping a kiss against your knee until you stiffen. Idiot. Every time he swore he was going to be better, his body acted on autopilot. Falling into old habits and thoughts like they were second nature.

Resting his cheek against your thigh, Wooyoung twists his hands in his lap. He can’t touch you anymore. Not sober and absolutely not high out of his mind like he is at this very moment. Because if he starts, he’s too weak to stop himself. 

Considering the way you keep staring at him every time you think he isn’t looking, Wooyoung doesn’t think you would want him to stop either. 

Bedtime is the same awkward dance as before. His entire family pulls each other into tight hugs, mostly aided by the edibles Myungho slipped them before they all descended downstairs. Calls of “Love you,” and “see you in the morning,” land against his back as he trails behind you up the stairs. You both get ready in the dark, flashes of bare skin visible in the light trickling in from the cracked curtains covering the lonely window. Turning to face the wall, Wooyoung plugs in his phone while he listens for you to land on the mattress.

When the shuffling ceases, he finds you in a nest of pillows and blankets on the floor, back towards him.

“What are you doing?”

“You took the floor last night,” you explain.

“You don’t hav–”

“Just go to bed.”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” he huffs, temper rising as he crosses to the other side of the mattress.

“I’m fine.” 

“Just take the bed.”

“No,” you protest.

“Why not?”

Sitting up, Wooyoung barely makes out your scowl. “Why do I need to explain everything to you?”

“Why are you being so stubborn?”

“I’m stubborn? Me?”

“Considering you’re the one on the floor while the bed is empty, yes, you’re the stubborn one.”

“Because I’m fine here!”

Wooyoung wades through the quicksand of his brain for a response. Upon finding none, he flops on the pile of blankets next to you.

“What are you doing?”

“Sleeping. Now, shut up.”

No more energy to fight, Wooyoung burrows deeper into the mound of quilts; set to sleep on the floor if you continue to refuse the bed. If he was a diva on poor sleep, you were a menace. You’d cave eventually when your hips ached from the painful stiffness of the unbending wood.

Except Wooyoung can’t sleep. All of his nerves are heightened next to you. His entire left side burns in your heat, acutely aware of every shift of weight or rustle of the blankets. Wooyoung’s lips still burn from the kiss. A childish brush against his mouth but he can’t stop replaying it in his mind over and over. And when he thinks about yesterday morning, when he dreamed about her and then woke up flushed against her, when he jacked off to old memories and then ending up tangled with you half naked on the same floor he now laid, it all makes his blood rush to his head and a weight settles on the back of his tongue.

It’s freezing. That’s the excuse he tells himself as to why you snuggle closer, leg splayed across his hip and face buried in his neck. It’s reflex, is what he tells himself when he presses his lips to your hairline and you grab a fistful of his shirt.

He doesn’t have an explanation when you slide over him, taking a seat in his lap. He doesn’t need an explanation either once you kiss him, closed mouth and gentle. Wooyoung quietly accepts every touch you bestow. Hands strictly at his sides, he refuses to initiate anything more. It’s all up to you. He wants to give you whatever you want without even considering himself.

His brain floods with a fuzzy feeling as your fingers itch up his chest. Under his shirt, you sluggishly trace the lines of his stomach. There is only one way this ends because he cannot let you touch him any more or he’ll ruin everything. 

“Wooyoung?” you ask, nose to nose when he pulls your hands out of his clothing and holds them between your bodies.

Twisting until you lay side by side, Wooyoung lets himself be a little more selfish as he gently sucks your bottom lip between his own. He finds the strength to pull away when you deepen it. He won’t be selfish. 

You both fall asleep with tangled limbs, Wooyoung’s nose buried in your hair and your lips against his neck.

Christmas morning brings Bibi through the upstairs hallway with a familiar wooden spoon and small tin pot. You hear the first crash slice through the door, an ice bath to your system.

You’re still curled tightly against Wooyoung’s chest. 

On the floor.

“Get up,” Wooyoung shakes you, not wasting a second as he stands to dive into the still made bed.

You groan in the morning light, burrowing back down into the still warm pillow.

Another shrill beat sings through the hall, much closer to Wooyoung’s door than last time.

“Shit!” 

You tackle him into the mattress, forehead to chin and an elbow in his stomach. Attempting to look natural as the door rebounds against the wall, a well rested Bibi stands in the doorway.

“RISE AND SHINE!” his grandmother wails, drumming a rhythmless beat and she turns to stalk towards Kyungmin’s room at the end of the hall.

Your position against his body, legs bent awkwardly, covers lopsided, only last as long as Bibi is there to witness. You stumble over the memories that remind you too much of the time she waltzed in two Christmases ago, you and Wooyoung scrambling to hide exactly what was happening beneath the sheets.

Now, the only thing you’re rushing to make it look like that was exactly what you were doing. The smallest trickle of relief slips in at the fact he brushed you off last night. The consequences of trying to hook up with your pretend boyfriend are clearer in the harsh daylight. 

You rise and stalk to the bathroom without looking back, a handful of clothes in tow to avoid the same debacle as yesterday.

You feel a little pathetic settling for meaningless touches. All you want is to pretend a little harder, let your mind believe Wooyoung still loves you, still wants you. Not just to avoid awkwardness with his family but because he knew he made a mistake and just needed the courage to admit it. 

That wasn’t going to happen. He was content with his choices, so you have to be too. 

Wooyoung is already downstairs when you descend the stairs. There's a mug waiting for you on the coffee table, perfectly sweet and milky. It doesn’t mean anything.

Mrs. Jung’s victory grants her the privilege of opening the first present this morning. Everyone gathers around, matching states of messy hair and bed-wraggled pajamas, to shred shiny wrapping paper at ten in the morning.

Her first gift is the large rectangle box addressed from her sons, all of them failing to stifle their matching laughter as she slowly unwraps the picture frame. You and Mia had helped arrange the picture last time everyone was together for Bibi’s birthday, sneaking out of the house with the excuse of seeing a movie when you drove to the mall for an old school photoshoot at the department store. 

Wooyoung’s parents join in the giggling bouncing of the walls as they take in all three boys dressed head to toe in denim, arms wrapped around on another’s waists prom-date style as they stare dead faced at the camera. The cherry on top is their matching bowl cuts, making them resemble a nineties boy band. Another frame slips out of the paper, a similar photo of you and Mia except her chin rests on top of your head, eyes obscured by yellow tinted sunglasses.

“Oh my god,” Mrs. Jung guffaws. “You all are ridiculous.”

Passing the frames around the room, Mrs. Jung takes turns hugging her sons along with you and Mia. 

“Oh, my girls. Thank you for putting up with them,” she whispers into your ears, Mia on her left and you on her right. 

You refuse to think about how tomorrow you’ll leave their house for the last time as you squeeze her back tightly. 

As the youngest, Kyungmin is charged with passing out rounds of presents while Mr. Jung collects the discarded ribbons and paper. Thankfully, bringing a gift for Wooyoung wasn’t an expectation. Why sacrifice sacred luggage space to exchange gifts with someone who lives in your backyard? Mia and Myungho never brought their gifts for one another, and you and Wooyoung followed suit.

But that didn’t stop you from braving the horrors of Midtown in an effort to last minute Christmas shopping before flying out. Bibi loves the fancy lotion you brought her, and Kyungmin is more than satisfied with the promise of whatever new video he can afford with a Playstation gift card. Wooyoung’s parents leaf through the books you bought in a last ditch effort to provide some sort of parting gift. Myungho screams as he unwraps the mug with “IBS: I be shitting” blasted across the front and Mia opens each tin of specialty tea for a whiff of the herbal scents.

Hours later, surrounded in the disarray of boxes and bows, Mrs. Jung announces it’s time for brunch. Everyone takes turns washing up or teetering upstairs to brush their teeth but she pulls you aside before you have a chance to follow.

“Y/N, we have one last gift for you,” she says, removing a small box from behind her back. “I didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone just in case but I want you to know how much we all love you.”

You pull out a cardboard box and a thick card.

“To my future Daughter in Law,

There isn’t a single day I don’t thank the stars for how lucky my son is to find someone as incredible as you. He’s a better person because of you and our family is so blessed to have you in it. I was lucky enough to be given three amazing sons but now I’m fortunate enough to have two daughters as well. 

Love, Mrs. Jung”

Each word is a new punch to the gut, tears swelling in the corner of tight eyes. Focusing on opening the box in an effort not to break down in the hallway, you unveil a simple silver chain with a knotted pendant. The same you’ve seen Mia and Mrs. Jung wear on special occasions.

“I can’t—”

“Nope. I won’t hear a word of it! It’s family tradition. Bibi gave me mine, and now I get to give you yours.”

“No, I really—”

But Wooyoung’s mom is a force to be reckoned with. Removing the delicate piece of jewelry out of the box, she slips it around your neck and straightens it before you can stop her. When she’s happy, you fall into her arms in a fierce hug as you weep into her shoulder.

“Oh sweetie,” she coos, clearly thinking you're overcome with emotion at officially being a part of the family.

You don’t correct her. Why ruin such a heartfelt moment by shattering the illusion now that you're so close to the end? Instead, you take comfort in her embrace, willing the tears to stop with the same principle you use in the hospital: save the crying for the shower.

Stepping out of the hug, you allow her to wipe away the trails of tears staining your cheeks with gentle swipes of her thumbs, a soft smile at her tutting over you. Mrs. Jung pulls you into one last bear hug before pushing you upstairs to compose yourself. Wooyoung stares as you pass him on the stairs, evidently alarmed at the evidence of your crying. But you keep your eyes down as you trudge by. 

Wooyoung can’t help but worry at what happened between presents and breakfast to make you so upset but his mom keeps squeezing your shoulder and Bibi just smiles knowingly in your direction. The new necklace circling your neck is familiar but Wooyoung can’t place why and he hasn’t had the opportunity to ask. 

Maybe it had nothing to do with the necklace. Maybe it’s because you’re finally free of this entire ordeal tomorrow and never have to see him again.

Crowding into the living room as the sun sets, he doesn’t miss the way Mia intertwines you into a fierce squeeze, practically bouncing off the walls with giddiness. He doesn’t have time to ask what it’s about before another movie is starting on the TV to wind down for the evening.

He can feel the tension rolling off you in waves. Muscles locked and leg jittering the same way it did before taking your MCAT or opening exam results. When the screen fades to black, you bolt up the stairs and out of sit before he can blink.

Following, Wooyoung finds you perched on the edge of his bed, fingers stroking the pendant resting between your collarbones. Shut in the quiet of his room, Wooyoung asks the question that’s buzzed in his head all day.

“What’s the necklace about?”

“Your mom gave it to me.”

“I thought so.” He nods. “But why was everyone acting weird about it?”

Rather than answer, you hand him a note. Wooyoung recognizes the tight cursive of his mom’s handwriting. Regret trickles down his spine and bubbles over with each word. He’d never meant to be cruel when he asked you to come here but then again he didn’t think about how hard this must have been. To secretly say goodbye to his family and the relationship you had with each of them after already working through it on your own. He should have known you bottled it all up, the same way he was prone to.

“I didn’t realize she’d—”

“Why did you break up with me?” you ask, still staring at the floor.

Regret transforms into the shame that’s eaten him alive for months. Wooyoung’s mouth won’t form the truth for what he did so he lies.

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit!” you bite, glazed eyes blazing as you rounds on him. “Eight years. We dated for eight years and you think you can tell me you don’t know why?”

“We dated for eight years and you didn’t even say anything when I did it! You just left.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! What was I supposed to do? Beg you to stay?”

“You just gave up.”

“No, you gave up!” your voice cracks, finger pointing accusingly. “I didn’t even know we were having problems.”

“Boston was always a problem!”

“Which I was already planning to fix.”

Wooyoung recoils from the invisible smack against his face. “What?”

“That night I was trying to tell you I got a job in the city. That I was moving back.”

“You’re joking.”

Shoulder sagging under the weight of the mess, you fall back onto the bed. “It was gonna be my last weekend trip down.”

Sniffles and desperate breaths fill the space. He can’t breathe. He can’t think. 

“I was planning to propose.” He can see your head turn in his peripheral, but he’ll lose the gaul if he has to look you in the eyes and admit he’s a coward, so Wooyoung stares at the wall ahead. “I had the ring for a year. And I was gonna ask you but I…” he trails off.

“You what?”

It’s painful to swallow the knot of embarrassment in his throat but you deserve the truth. He owes you a lot more but all he can do is give you an explanation for why he blew up both your lives. “I got scared.”

“Of me?”

“Of everything,” he admits. The crushing weight resting on his shoulders lightens a little at the confession. It feels good. So he keeps talking. “I thought of how much we’d have to change, and I didn’t want you to feel like you had to give anything up to be with me.”

“Wooyoung, I never felt like that,” you objects, cupping his face and forcing him to look at you; at the tears he’s responsible for. “I hated Boston. Do you think I was moving back to the city for you?”

“Kind of, I—”

“I have my own life there. I lived there for seven years! I was always planning to move back,” you say quickly. “Why do you think you get to make decisions about my life like you know better than I do?”

Panic sets in. “Then why were you being so secretive about it?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise. I knew you’d been stressed about something but you never wanted to talk about it so I didn’t want to add something else to your plate and… because I was worried if I brought it up too soon something would go wrong.”

An awkward silence unfurls, so thick he could choke on it.

“I still have it by the way,” he finally says.

Surprise flashes across your face as you stare at him. “Have what?”

“The ring.”

You blink through fresh tears and something in him breaks. Cracks into a thousand pieces he’s forced to hold together because this is all his fault. “Why?”

“I think…” Wooyoung sniffs back his own cries. “I think some part of me feels like if I let it go then it’s really over.”

“Are you trying to tell me you want to get back together?”

“I didn’t want to break up to begin with.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

“Because I’m not good enough for you! I’ve never been good enough and I know you say it's not true but it is. I’m a public school teacher with shit pay and an apartment I can barely afford. That’s all I can offer you and it isn’t close enough to what you deserve.”

“Do you think I’m that shallow?” You fume, clearly not understanding what Wooyoung meant. “Why do you think you get to decide what's good enough for me?”

“Because someone has too! One day you’re gonna wake up and realize you can have anyone you want.”

“Not anyone.”

The suffocating atmosphere of Wooyoung’s room pushes you into the chilly shower stall. In the steam and perfumed bubbles, you quietly let all the emotions of the day run wild; eyes puffy, face swollen, and snot dripping from your nose to be washed away by the boiling streams of water. You hide for as long as possible, shivering as the heated water runs out and frigid ropes blast your skin. Unable to endure anymore of the stinging icicles, you exit the stall red nosed and blue lipped. 

Wooyoung sits on the edge of the bed with his back to the door. You watch his shoulder tense, rising closer to his ears as you pad closer to lay down. 

You’re too tired to sleep on the floor, too exhausted to fight with him again. So you curl under the covers, body sliding back when Wooyoung joins you. 

“I’m sorry.” he whispers, tracing his index finger along the knobs of your spine, attempting to comfort you the same way he always had.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.”

You both stay there in the silent darkness, their breaths and the hum of the heater keeping absolute stillness at bay. The tears you split in the shower followed you to the pillow, running down your cheeks as you try to keep the worst at bay. Wooyoung doesn’t stop tracing shapes between your shoulder blades, the worn cotton of your sleep shirt rubbing against your heated skin. How is the source of your distress the same as the source of your comfort?

Turning to face him, you realize how close he’s moved. Scant inches separate your chests, the heat of his legs licking your own bare ones under the blankets. You spot his own tears, eyes swollen and red, thick lashes clumped together as they fall.

If your love for Wooyoung was an ocean, you’d be lost at sea for years. 

He watches you watch him, hands finding one anothers and tangling together. When Wooyoung opens his mouth, pausing as a sniffle breaks free, you surge up to connect your lips.

Startling for only a second, he eagerly kisses you back. Tears and spit gloss your lips as you dip your tongue into his mouth, licking against his teeth before retreating to bruise his lower lip with your own. Wooyoung manages to roll on top of you, pinning you to the mattress as if you plan to up and leave at any second. You respond by crushing your lips together a fraction harder, attempting to communicate the longing and hurt words can’t convey.

The hem of his shirt finds its way between your fingers, moving further up his stomach with each insistent tug. Wooyoung’s own hands busy themselves, one buried in the hairs at the base of your scalp, cradling your head to move you this way and that as he continues exploring your mouth. The other wrinkles the pillow case beside you, muscles rippling as he holds himself over you. 

When you wiggle your hips, thighs spreading to cradle him between, he dives to your neck. Blood rushes to the surface as he nips and bruises the delicate skin below your jaw, scorching pants raising goosebumps in its wake. He shudders when your nails scratch down his abdomen, thumb dipping under the band of his pajama pants.

It's been nearly eight months without this. Two months before your breakup, in this very bed while the rest of the house was asleep as Wooyoung laughed into your neck while you drunkenly whined for him to touch you. As familiar as those memories are, this time is entirely new. 

Wooyoung’s thumb, knowing and skilled, brushes across one of your nipples over your shirt, using the rough fabric to his advantage; stiffing it to a tight peak before allowing the weight to settle in his palm. Arching your back, you remove the piece of cloth separating you. Wooyoung barely allows you space to slough it over your head before he’s back on you, latching to the side of your neglected breast as he curls his hips into yours coursley. Your body reacts on nothing but instinct; back arching closer, thighs spreading wider as his knees carry him further down the mattress.

Reverent caresses of his hands lead him to the apex of your thighs, his breath fanning the damp patch of your shorts just before Wooyoung tucks his thumbs into the elastic to nudge them down, breathing deeply as he bares you for his eyes.

A tentative lick up length of your slit pulls a pathetic whimper from the back of your mouth. The flat of his tongue lave against your engorged clit, slow and torturous as Wooyoung indulges in your taste. Rough palms slide beneath the meat of your thighs, lifting your legs to rest on his shoulders. A harsh suck against the bundle of nerves locks your muscles tightly around Wooyoung’s head but he takes it in stride as he drops a hand to slip his fingers inside your clenching hole. Curling the pads of his digits upwards, you feel him in your throat as you bite back moans. Your fingers twist in Wooyoung’s inky hair at the delicious torture, hips rocking into his eager mouth as he pants against you; refusing to separate from your drenched center. 

When his unoccupied hand slips into your own, a death grip on your entertwined fingers, you fall apart. Your chapped lips nearly bleed from effort to remain quiet, writhing in Wooyoung’s hold as he continues to lap up everything you offer him.

A final suck against your clit has you scrambling to pull his mouth to your own, tasting yourself on his soaked cheeks and tongue.

“Please,” you whisper into his mouth.

Wooyoung responds by kissing you gently, the passion curling your toes while he fists his length before allowing the flared head to nudge your entrance.

Finally presses forward, fitting inside you as he always has, another tear burns down to your face. It all comes rushing forward, never ending waves rolling over you after you’ve been knocked down into the surf. Memories, good and bad, race through you at a breakneck speed. The tingling elation of the night Wooyoung asked you to be his girlfriend, the nerves of when you asked him to move in together during medical school. Sadness when you moved away for residency with the promise to come back. The numbing despair you felt the night you thought would be a turning point in your lives. The straw that breaks the camel's back is Wooyoung's admission that you’re too good for him. Choking your own pain down, you try to hone in on a spot on the ceiling in an effort to stay grounded.

Several seconds pass before Wooyoung notices the fresh bout of sobs, mistaking choked whimpers as whines of pleasure after such a long time apart. His nose traces the tendon of your neck as he cants his hips slowly, one hand still tangled in yours, the other pressing your knee up and around his waist to stretch deeper. When the dig of your nails into his shoulder turns from a sting to a cut, he leans back and realizes his mistake.

Eyes find one another through the distorted haze your sorrows create, his rounded with concern still glazed with evidence of his own tears. Staring at one another in a silence broken by sniffling and staccato breaths, a second set of tears mix with your own as he rests his forehead against yours. Locking your arms around Wooyoung’s broad shoulders and hooking your knees around his back, you try to seal him into your skin. 

“I’m sorry.” he whispers, voice broken and cracked. “I’m so sorry. I–” he hiccups. “I didn’t–”

What he’s apologizing for is a mystery. Forcing you into this charade? Telling you he was planning to propose? Breaking up with you in the first place? 

Perhaps it's all those things. Maybe it's none of them. Maybe it’s for some other secret he’s convinced himself to hide from you because he isn’t good enough; because he doesn’t trust you enough.

“I love you.” He whimpers into your hair, lips branding the words into your skin. It’s not enough. But for tonight, you’ll let it be.

“I love you, too.” you whisper back, straining to brush the tip of your nose against his own.

Tomorrow, you’ll fly back to the city and hide in your apartment and pretend to be okay. Dive so far into your work that you forget the way Wooyoung has ripped the healing wound on your heart open again.

Tonight, you’ll pretend the missing piece has finally been found and can stay forever.

Tensing your thighs, your locked ankles nudge at the dip of his spine to remind Wooyoung he’s still inside you. He hesitates for a moment but your lips silence his objections, just as eager to indulge in the fantasy as you are.

The pace is bruising, stomachs firmly pressed together as he reaches for the top of the bed frame to provide more leverage. Wooyoung’s back ripples and flexes as he pounds into you, the vibration of his weak moans tickling the sensitive pads of your fingers as they etch down his ribs.

Consumed by an overwhelming need to touch him everywhere, you cradle his face between your palms. Wooyoung flashes his eyes open, as if startled you’re still there, before leaning into one of them. Thumb tracing his lips, he drops a searing kiss to the crease of your knuckle. The tenderness burns the remaining oxygen out of the room.

His next word is so quiet your ears fail to detect them over the gentle slap of your bodies connecting or the squeak of the old bed frame. But Wooyoung’s said them against your skin enough times over the years for you to know the feel of his mouth forming around the sound.

You come with a muted whimper. So worn from tears, pleasure fizzles in your veins like the gentle ripple of the wind across a lake. Wooyoung marvels and shakes above you, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks before kissing them away with a hitch in his breath. But he is truly done for when you lean up and whisper his words back into his ear.

Wooyoung wakes to an empty bed, cold sheets, and the pillowcase squishing his cheek already damp from the tears he shed while sleeping.

A tedious drive to the airport grants Wooyoung ample time to stew in discontent, replaying the events of the past week over and over in his head.

Was he insane to think you wanted him too? All the moments he nearly forgot you two were barely more than strangers after months of silence, how every part of him still fit together so perfectly with you. Wooyoung knew he’d been a mess after the break up but the past week made him realize how lost he felt without you. Like the ocean without the moon to guide the tide; like he was missing half his heart. How many times had he opened his messages to text you something mundane from his day, just to close them and realize he’d ruined the best thing in his life in a second of weakness? And now having you next to him again, knowing he can’t fix what he did?

His mom turns off the radio. “When were you planning to tell us you two broke up?”

“Huh?”

“Wooyoung,” she sighs. “I know.”

“How… she told you?”

“Poor thing was crying the entire way to the airport. I told her I wouldn’t let her fly by herself if she was that upset until she explained.”

“What’d she say?”

“That you two broke up a few months ago but you didn’t want to disappoint us.”

“Did she say anything else?”

“You know Y/N, always keeps her cards close to her chest.” His mom looks at him from the corner of her eye. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“I made a mistake.”

“If you two weren’t happy then it wasn’t a mistake. Sometimes two people don’t fit together and it isn’t because you don’t love them.”

“But we were happy! She’s the one and I messed it up because I’m not good enough for her.”

“Where is that coming from?”

“I know you and dad wanted me to be an engineer like Myungho, okay? Even Kyungmin wants to be a lawyer! I’m the family disappointment. It only makes sense I’d disappoint her eventually.”

Wooyoung’s mom is notorious for going under the speed limit, waiting to turn even if the oncoming car is five hundred feet away, using her blinker religiously. Which is why Wooyoung thinks she’s having a seizure when she veers off the road and onto the shoulder like an F1 driver.

Throwing the car in park she levels him with a look so stern he feels like he’s a kid getting scolded again. “You are not a disappointment! To me or your father or anyone. You are my son, and I have always been proud of that. I’ve seen you teaching, the way those kids look up to you. You’re doing exactly what you were meant to. And if my worrying has made you feel that way then I am so sorry. All we’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

Crossing his arms, Wooyoung flicks away the beads of moisture tracing down his chin. “You’re my mom, you have to say that.”

“I’m not Y/N’s mom but I talk about her the same way.” Another comparison where he doesn’t measure up no matter how you look at it.

“Yeah, well she’s a doctor, saving kids lives and all that.”

“You don’t think you do the same thing? Those kids come to school excited to learn because of you. Just because you’re not finding a cure for cancer doesn’t mean your job isn’t important. And Y/N isn’t disappointed with you either. She loves you, Wooyoung. Why don’t you let her decide what she wants?”

“Yeah, well I think it’s too late for that,” Wooyoung mumbles, eyes on the toes of his shoes.

“Maybe you should ask her if she thinks so.”

Rather than give into his impatience, Wooyoung stews on his mom’s advice. Each passing hour conveniences him more and more she’s wrong. Especially when San and Yeosang sit with him in their cramped living room, bottles of beer and empty takeout littering the coffee table.

“You’re pathetic,” Yeosang says.

“Fuck you,” Wooyoung responds. There’s no bite in it. He doesn’t disagree, he’s told himself the same thing over and over again.

San, red faced and tipsy, slaps the leather armrests of the chair before rising.“Fuck you! You broke up with her over nothing and instead of trying to get her back you have a fucking pity party? Grow a pair.”

“She doesn’t want me!”

“Did you ask her?” 

“I don’t have to!”

“You’re an idiot,” Yeosang butts in.

Wooyoung knows his hesitation speaks for itself when Yoesang keeps talking.

“You can ask her to pretend you’re still dating but you can’t tell her you wanna get back together?”

“It’s not that easy!”

“Yes it is!” San argues. “You love her right? You care about her?” San doesn’t continue until Wooyoung nods. “Then she has a right to know.”

“What if she says no?”

“Then she says no. Cross that bridge when you get there. You’re already broken up, how much worse can it get?”

Surprisingly, Wooyoung agrees. He sits forward, looking at his roommates before asking. “So what do I do?”

When Wooyoung’s messages go unanswered and his calls fall into the abyss of your full voicemail box, pulls out Plan B. Unfortunately, Plan B has no moral or ethical oppositions to castrating him.

Lisa doesn’t even let him speak. “Go fuck yourself!”

“Lisa, please!” Wooyoung begs into the phone.

“No! Not once but twice I’ve had Y/N crying on my couch because of your dumbass. I’m not letting it happen again!”

“I need to talk to her. Please just help me!”

“What makes this time so different?”

“I—,” Wooyoung freezes. What does make this time different? Could he promise he’d never let whatever tiny trickle of self doubt plague his brain wouldn’t flare up again? No. He can’t.

He hears Lisa sigh on the other end of the phone, almost as if she’s disappointed. “Just leave her alone, Wooyoung.”

The line clicks dead.

Walking back into the kitchen from the worst call of his life, Wooyoung spots San’s downcast face while Yeosang watches him from the table; both clearly overhearing his exchange with your best friend. The vinyl tabletop shakes as Wooyoung drops his forehead down with a bang, groaning in frustration. 

“She’s working at New York-Presbyterian.” Yeosang mentions, returning to munch on his bowl of cereal.

“What?”

Yeosang chews his next bite thoughtfully, like he isn’t sure he wants to share the information a second time. Wooyoung almost believes he hallucinated his friend speaking at all until Yeosang repeats himself.

“Y/N works at New York-Presbyterian.”

“How do you know that?”

Shrugging, Yeosang takes another bite and swallows before explaining. “She told me she got a job there when she was planning to move back.” 

Wooyoung has Yeosang’s shirt in his hands in a flash, nose to nose with his lifelong friend. Never in his life has Wooyoung been so furious with the man before him. He wants to kick his ass.

“You knew this whole time?” He bites, his eyes so wide with anger the whites show.

San is at Wooyoung's back, winding his arms around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him off their other roommate.

“You knew all of this and you didn’t fucking tell me? You’re my friend!” Attempting to shake San off, Wooyoung keeps pressing forward. 

Yeosang rises to his feet, hands wrapping around Wooyoung’s wrists and squeezing till the pain forces him to let go. “Yeah, and you’re acting like a real asshole right now!”

“Guys calm down!” San yells, managing to pull Wooyoung back now that he’s no longer attached to Yeosang’s shirt.

“Why didn't you say something?”

“You ended an eight-year relationship out of the blue, I wasn’t about to let you get back with her just because you decided being single wasn’t your thing anymore.”

The words slap Wooyoung in the face. Even his own friends don’t trust him not to hurt you anymore. “I’m not— I wouldn’t…”

“Come on, Woo. All you could talk about was how excited you were to ask her to marry you and then you come home and tell us you broke up with her. She’s my friend too and I don’t want to see her hurt.”

“So why are you telling me now?”

“Because you were desperate enough to call Lisa. If you fuck up again she’ll actually kill you.”

“And we’ll help,” San adds.

Wooyoung isn’t going to mess up again, not if he can help it. And if he does, he’ll walk straight into the river before anyone can force him. But for now, he focuses on getting you to listen to his apology.

Chief complaint: Father reports patient’s fever and cough have become more severe since previous visit. Reports child is refusing solids but drinking well and taking soft foods such as apple sauce. Sleeping okay.

One of the residents pops her head into your office, “Dr. Y/L/N you have a delivery at the reception desk.”

“Thank you!” you call, not missing a beat as you continue your notes. 

Plan: Amoxicillin prescribed, five day follow up with p.r.n. at PCP.

Finishing your chart, you rise and head out towards the receptionist desk. A familiar bouquet of blush pink tulips greet you, a silk white ribbon knotted around the dip of the crystal vase. A small envelope is tucked into the spread, sending a terrified jolt through your system.

“I wish I had someone send me flowers as pretty as this!” Jessica sighs, eying the arrangement enviously.

“Yeah,” you laugh, unable to muster an ounce of false humor. You snatch the bouquet before turning back the direction you came. 

Once back into the safety of your office, door shut and blinds drawn, you open the note.

If you don’t want to see me ever again, I’ll let you go. But I can't say enough how every time I ever put my arms around you I felt that I was home. I’ll be waiting at our spot on Saturday. As long as it takes. – W

You don’t realize you’re crying until the ink of the note begins to bleed. 

Wooyoung is the first customer to enter the cozy coffee shop overlooking the southeast entrance of Tompkins Square Park at nine a.m., claiming the tiny wobbly table off in the corner that provides the perfect view of the door. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. It feels wrong to scroll through his phone as he waits so he snags one of the artsy newspapers sitting on the counter while the surly barista prepares his order.

After an hour, adrenalin maintains the pleasant buzz through Wooyoung’s system, fueled further by espresso on an empty stomach and jittering nerves. Each chime of the bell over the door results in awkward eye contact with a stranger that certainly isn’t his ex-girlfriend. Unless you shrunk, or grew two feet, or suddenly had a beard.

After three hours, his butt is numb and Wooyoung’s abandoned the newspaper he’s nearly memorized. The Times mini crossword archive isn’t as extensive as he thought.

After six hours, he’s had enough coffee to power a jet plane and his leg twitches aggressively beneath the table. He’s started people watching through the window, making up stories for passersby entering the park and crossing the street. Half his heart hopes they’re happier than he is, the other half hopes he’s not alone in his misery.

When he’s been at the shop for eleven and a half hours, burned through every source of distraction possible and can describe in vivid detail the features outside the glass wall that separate the inside of the cafe from the sidewalk, Wooyoung accepts that you aren’t coming.

He stays till close, every minute that ticks on a drop in the bucket of regret in his heart. The barista starts stacking chairs, passive aggressively swiping the frayed broom in a ring around his table, so Wooyoung does the sensible thing and waits outside. 

The bitter wind wafting through the city finds home in his bones despite his thermals and padded parka. Wooyoung desperately clings to the last tiny drop of hope. Shaking from the chill and overindulgence in caffeine he watches as the clock hits nine. 

You aren’t coming.

You don’t want him back.

And he has to accept that it’s his fault.

Wooyoung watches a couple laugh in each other's embrace across the street, clambering over one another in amused content. There was time that would have been you and him, high from the intoxicating joy of one another’s presence and the city lights in the winter. Fingers interlocked while trapezing through crowds, ignoring every other soul in favor of focusing on each other.

Eyes stinging, he turns to head for the train station but nearly shouts as spots the woman in question ten paces away.

Your hair is a mess, nose and cheeks blushing from the cold, breath obscuring your face as it fogs in the cool air. But you’re here, looking every bit unsure as he feels.

“Hi,” he says, dumbfounded.

“Hi.”

“You came.”

You nod. “I did.”

Wooyoung might faint. His heart is beating a mile a minute, breath shallow and labored. You’re here. You’re here and you’re looking at him like that. And the fear creeps into his pause.

“I’m sorry,” he warbles.

“I know.”

But you can’t so he says it again.

“I’m so sorry.”

“You keep saying that.”

Because he can’t think of anything else. Nine hours of going over the grand speech about how he missed you and how breaking up with you was the greatest regret of his life flies out the window now that you’re in front of him and willing to listen.

“Is that all you wanted to tell me?” you ask.

“No.”

“Then talk to me, Woo.”

The only thing you’ve ever asked him for is the truth. Wooyoung’s been so afraid that if he tells you how he truly feels, you’ll think less of him. That being so in love it terrifies you is disgusting, pathetic. 

“I don’t know where to start,” he admits, staring at the icy sidewalk covered in slush. 

“How long have you been here?”

“Since they opened.”

“Why?”

“Because if you came I didn’t want to miss you.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“Why did you?”

“Because—,” you pause, shaking your head. “I don’t know.”

“I had a whole speech prepared.”

You smile shyly. “Really?”  

“Yeah, but now that you’re here I don’t remember any of it.”

“Then just tell me the truth, Woo.”

“I’m an idiot.”

Laughing at his outburst, you nod at him. “That’s a start.” 

And the space between them grows a little warmer. Gives him the confidence he needs.

“That night at dinner, when I went to the bathroom, I got an email.” Wooyoung starts, stepping closer. “I’d applied for a grad school program and I thought I was gonna get in but … I didn’t. And I think that and the nerves from proposing just caught up to me. I thought you’d want to stay in Boston after all and I didn’t want you to feel like you had to move back here. And it snowballed and all those feelings of not being good enough came back and— When you didn’t say anything, didn’t ask why or try to argue with me I thought it meant it’s what you wanted too.”

Shame flushes through him, a tsunami of disgust for allowing himself to think so poorly of you. You never made him feel less than. The only person who thought he wasn’t good enough was himself and he let that destroy everything in a second of self doubt. 

“I tried to convince myself I did you a favor. That you’d be better off without me and you’d meet someone better. Find someone good enough for you. But I was wrong. I am wrong. There hasn't been a single day since we met that I don’t think about you. Even when I try not to, you’re always in the back of my mind. And then I think about how selfish I am for wanting you back. But when it comes to you I’ve always been a little selfish because I love you. And—” he breaths for the first time. “And I don’t know how to be me without you.”

The humor is gone from your face. Beautiful eyes brim with tears, rimmed red not unlike his own; chin shaking. The wind is louder than ever now, cars wheel sloshing across the wet pavement crashing between them.

“Please say something.”

“How do I trust you again?” Your voice cracks, and it knocks the air from Wooyoung’s lungs.

“I don’t know.” Wooyoung looks at the ground, guilt-ridden.

Everything, all of the pain and heartbreak, was his fault. He dug you into this mess and now he doesn’t know how to get out. 

Seeing Wooyoung, the man with an answer for everything, admit for once he doesn’t have an elaborate plan in motion to win you back is refreshing. You didn’t want Wooyoung who’d fix everything, Wooyoung who’d carry the burden of your relationship by himself even if it killed him. All you wanted was for him to tell you the truth.

And now that he has, you’re done being apart.

Nearly topping to the ground as you tackle Wooyoung in a fierce hug, you focus on inhaling his cologne and basking in the feel of his body pressed firmly against you. He barely manages to steady your combined weight, feet scrambling to regain his balance on the icy sidewalk.

“Don’t you ever do that shit to me again!” you yell, arms squeezing around his waist.

Wooyoung hesitates for a moment, clearly shocked at the turn of events. Rising out of his chest, you look at his gaping mouth and furrowed brows before his arms knot around your shoulders. 

“I missed you,” you whisper into his lips.

“I love you,” Wooyoung responds, forehead resting against your own.

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

Central Park in May is a bustle of people enjoying warm days following months of slushy snow and gray skies. Shrill screams bounce off the trees, children dart across the walkways, giggling groups of friends crowd around blankets on the dead grass, and a menagerie of dogs zigzag around their owners in the fresh air.

Today is a rare day where you and Wooyoung both can spend interrupted hours lounging in one another’s presence, eager to make up for years of long distances and the months neither of you like to talk about. Wooyoung woke you with innumerable kisses across any sliver of skin his lips could find. No different than all the other mornings spent together since January.

You tried to take things slow, ease back into the comfort of the relationship. But it’s Wooyoung. There’s no half measures, only the full rush of feelings that never went away. A few awkward weeks of dancing around one another, unsure how to fit back in when there’s so much history, but the dam broke the first night Wooyoung stayed at your apartment and woke you up with bagels and coffee in bed.

He stayed over almost every night since.

Sprawled across an old throw blanket, skin warming in the afternoon sunshine, a thick book obscures his face from view as your head rests in his lap. Wooyoung’s been fidgety all morning. You chalk it up to the first nice day following a freezing, rainy winter. Too much energy and finally a suitable outlet that isn’t people watching from your living room window.

You look up at him, his face visible just above the edge of the book pages hiding your smile. He’s already looking at you.

Plucking the book from your grasp, he carefully marks the page before setting it down on the blanket. Wooyoung folds in half to silence your protesting “hey!” with a kiss, humming as you give in all too easily. 

“I was reading that,” you mumble into his bottom lip. You tug his shirt, kiss him a little firmer before he leans back.

“Wow, you’d rather read some smutty book than kiss your real life boyfriend?”

Laughing, you press another peck to his mouth before answering, “Glad you understand.”

“What about your fiance?”

Your smile melts into shock, mouth gaping and staring at him like a deer in headlights. 

Fiance.

His fiancee…

Wooyoung smoothly maneuvers you up and out of his lap, pulling the jewelry box from his pocket as he kneels on a lone knee.

“Y/N. You’re my favorite person in the world. The only person I can ever imagine spending the rest of my life with. I love when you sing in the shower, and how you put way too much sugar in your coffee. I love how smart you are, and how you’re nice to everyone even if they don’t deserve it, me included. And how everytime I look at you my palms get sweaty and that just thinking about you makes my day better. You are the love of my life. Will you marry me?”

Wooyoung is shaking so violently he fumbles the velvet box twice during his speech but you hardly notice, shaking so hard yourself. He drops it a third time when you tackle him in a fierce hug, tear filled laughter spilling from your lips and into the field where they lay. 

“Yes!” you squeal into his neck, “Yes, I’d love to marry you.”

At dinner with all your friends, he holds your hand so the diamond glints at anyone looking. When Wooyoung walks you home, to the apartment that’s become his second home, giggly from champagne and love, he kisses your knuckles a ridiculous amount of times just to feel the cool band under his lips. Each time you chest squeezes like its the first. Once inside the doorway, Wooyoung crowds you against the door; his thumb focusing on the bevel of the diamond sitting on your ring finger as his other hand pushes the strap of the sundress off your shoulder so his tongue can etch your collarbone from dip of your throat where the locket he gave you for your first Christmas together rests to under your ear. 

“So, future Mrs. Jung, now that we’re alone, how would you like to celebrate?” he asks, nipping against the sensitive skin until you sigh, chest arching into his own.

“What if I wanna keep my last name?”

“Is that what you’re focusing on right now?” Wooyoung asks, a strong thigh moving between your parted legs.

“Yeah, future Mr. Y/L/N. I don’t think there’s anything else to discuss right n—fuck, Woo.”

Wooyoun can’t help but giggle at your reaction, rocking again just to hear you moan his name once more. 

“What were you saying?”

“Don’t,” you huff, whimpering at another torturous drag. Wooyoung can feel the heat of your cunt through your panties and his jeans. “Don’t be mean to your future wife.”

“Love when you talk dirty.” He bites against the strained muscle raising from the side of your neck.

“That turns you on? Calling me your wife?”

“Feel for yourself.”

You do feel it. Shifting in the tiny space he’s allotted, you feel him hot and hard against your stomach. You’re caught between wanting to savor every moment and ripping both your clothes off. 

“And if I call you my husband?”

Wooyoung doesn’t dignify your question with an answer other than tugging you towards the bedroom to demonstrate just how much he likes the new name.

You don’t make it that far. Between pulling at his clothes and tripping over your own, the hall floor becomes the alternative; Wooyoung’s lap your new perch. His teeth close around your nipple, timid until he’s not.

He keeps you like that for a while. Squirming in his lap until you're not naked enough with your dress pooled around your waist and bunched up your thighs. You whine and he switches to your neglected breast, tongue flitting teasingly. 

“Wooyoung,” you keen. 

The bastard laughs but makes no move to give you more. You’re at his mercy. The way he touches you makes you blush, still new and exciting after years but he treats you like the most interesting thing in the world; remembers even the most insignificant details that have you sweating.

You try to pull him off your chest but he ignores the desperate pleas; eager licks so good your hips kick against his crotch for some kind of relief. Fingers pinch at the abandoned one, keeping your back bent in a painful arc.

He bites a little too hard, shoves a hand between your legs and touches with raw force. You can’t think about anything. Hopped up on champagne and engagement bliss, your body rolls hot and wet against his fingers until you come with wrecked sounds.

Sagging against him, Wooyoung slows, lets you take a few weak breaths while he noses against your collarbone. He kisses the hollow of your throat, a simple brush of his lips that lingers deep in your veins.

“I think that might be a new record,” he quips. The fingers buried beneath your underwear pop into his mouth before he reaches back down with softer strokes, teasing all those worn nerves back to attention. You don’t care about anything other than the way he touches with brutal reverence. Worshiping your body the way that sets your soul on fire.

His body gives under gentle caresses, fingers cataloguing everything in meticulous detail. His hair, his neck, shoulders. The plains of his chest. How his stomach dips beneath your nails. You rub his cock through his pants before impatience takes over and you both work to shove them down his thighs.

You rock down, pulling at those short hairs at the nape of his neck with just enough sting. Wooyoung loses himself in the feeling, mouthing your name across your sternum. “So fucking beautiful.”

Whatever response rests on your lips dies as he rolls you next to him on the floor. You leg over his hip, his cock between your walls with little resistance. The kind of intimacy that makes you bubble out your own skin.

The floor isn’t good for sex. Your hips ache. Sweaty limbs stick. Your fiancé has you bent like origami to fuck as far as his dick can reach. His eyes are locked on the way you fit together, but you want them on you. “Baby, l-look at me.”

He does; hooded eyes hazy. Something simmers hot in his gaze, something you can’t name but know well because you feel it. Wooyoung doesn’t look anywhere else but your face as he rolls again and again and again.

“Feels so good,” you pant.

Wooyoung hoists your leg up higher, pushing until your back flattens to the floor and he’s crowded over. You want him to fuck you hard, nasty. Something in between those romance movie references and the way he makes you feel like the only person in the world; perfectly made to take him. 

He groans from the new angle. “I love you.”

The hand shoved between your legs is ripped away. The hand with the ring. The one Wooyoung kept by his side at all hours like an idiot. But you don’t care. Not as he pulls your fingers to he faces and kisses it like a promise, cups his hand around your own one his cheek. You shake. Thrash beneath as stars explode and everything melts into absolute nothing.

Wooyoung manages a few more thrusts before he loses it, pace uneven from champagne and giddy pleasure. The messy of his cum spills with each jilted thrust, trickling where your ass meets the floor. 

Shuddering, Wooyoung collapses. “Jesus Christ.”

You grunt something like ‘I know,’ eyes wet, body vibrating with leftover dopamine. You’ve never had married sex, and any form of nuptials remains far off in the horizon for the time being. But tonight, he’s as good as the real thing. Maybe even better.

“I think I passed out for a second,” you whisper airily. 

“Just some proactive marital bliss.”

He lays on the floor next to you, shoulder to shoulder, hands wound gently together. The pressure of his lips rains over your fingers. Again, and again like he still can’t believe this is real.  You can’t remember ever being this happy.

Hooking a leg over his hip, you cuddle down into his chest. “Bibi is gonna see that ring next weekend and start asking for grandkids.”

“Well, it’s a good thing Myungho called me this morning.”

“Wait, really?”

“Surprised?”

“No,” you laugh. “Mia called me last week.”

Wooyoung presses his nose into your cheek with a whine.  “How come you got to know before me?”

You're both still half clothed. Your dress ruined, his pants the same. Like the so many times you’ve had together where nothing can get in the way of the deep seeded need for one another. Almost poetic. 

You kiss his cheek teasingly. “Because you can’t keep a secret to save your life, Mr. Jung.”

A displeased huff is all the warning you get before he’s back on top of you, fingers bent into your waist, your neck. All the worst tickle spots that have you screaming for mercy.

“You were surprised today, weren’t you?” He pulls you tighter, levels your gaze and whispers like it’s the best secret he’s ever been a part of. “Mrs. Jung?”

“Not one bit.”

[r-eatyourfriends-n]

SMOKED | l.hs 이희승 | Collide pt. 2

bestfriend!heesung x bestfriend!reader

READ PT 1 HERE.

warnings: smut (mdni), pwp (plot's there if you look hard enough), unprotected sex, overstimulation (sort of?), no use of "y/n", light switch!dynamics from both reader and heesung, car sex, unsafe driving lowkey, dryhumping, minor argument, heesung is down bad honestly.

wc: 3.8k

synopsis: days have passed after your first hook up with Heesung, though neither of you have said anything about it. Instead, you continue your search for a good one night stand somewhere else, but your mind and body know where you should be.

a/n: wow! the moral obligation I had to finish this before posting anything else was crazy, but after a huge block it's finally here. If you think this is better than pt1 it's because it is, but it's also because it has been approved by the one and only @molloygendered !!!!! my bestfriend and editor. he wanted to review this again before posting it but I'm a kid on sugar so I held him at gunpoint to approve this. any feedback is appreciated !!! hope you enjoy.

4 unread messages.

sorry to bother u so late

can u pick m up? pls

[Address]

idk if ure awake sorry

Heesung's screen lit up on his desk, breaking his focus from the heated game in front of him. He unlocked his phone, the other hand still gripping the controller tightly. His eyes moved quickly from the texts popping up and then back to the screen, which nearly got him killed. 

The team won eventually, but just barely. Heesung logged out as soon as it was over. He spent the whole time wanting to check his phone.

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing?”Jake yelled at him through the call. “We almost lost."

“My bad. Gotta go,” he said in a monotone voice, showing no remorse as he hung up the call despite Jake's groans.

He looked back down at his phone and texted back a short "omw" before getting up from his chair, stretching his arms. His bones cracked, so loud it made him wince at the sound.

With quick steps, he changed into something a bit more decent, just a plain white t-shirt on top of his cargo pants, which had been slowly losing their black tone after each wash. The chains on his thick belt dangled as he walked out of his room and began to head out of his apartment, taking his keys from the cat-shaped key holder you had put on his wall. He had been surprised the first time he hung his keys and a white cat popped up. It was supposed to be a prank, but Heesung never found it in him to take it off despite the fact that it didn't match with the overall vibe of his room one bit. The kitten disappeared inside the box as he left.

The distance to your location was short, or perhaps Heesung was driving a little too fast. Either way, he arrived about fifteen minutes after telling you that he was on his way to pick you up. He parked in front of a small, black gate which led to some stairs. The complex seemed fairly little, but somewhat cozy, with small balconies filled with pots and all kinds of houseplants. Although it was past midnight and dark, he could still make out the colors of the flowers that were placed by the edges of the windows, leaves moving along with the wind.

Leaving the car on, he hopped out, leaning back against  the driver's door to wait for you. Admittedly, it was ill-intended. He hoped your date would see him and would be thrown off. 

The wait felt like eternity. When the door opened, your figure finally appeared in a white dress with black dots, just a bit above the knee. The cleavage allowed for the black choker to stand out, your name's initial dangling softly. Heesung had always wished it was an H instead.

You smiled at Heesung when you saw him, tilting your head in confusion because why was he out of the car? Heesung smiled back at you, a soft beam on his lips. Then looked to your side when a boy appeared next to you.

He eyed your guy up and down as he said goodbye to you. He was tall like you liked them, with flawlessly tan skin and a face that was nothing short of charming, with a sort of boyish appeal to him, and it was obvious why you had said yes to a date in the first place. Heesung swallowed hard, his own jealousy burning down his throat.

You didn't seem too enchanted by the guy, though, looking almost uncomfortable as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. You fake-giggled (at least, he thought you did) and grinned at him politely before making your way to Heesung. The guy appeared to be a little turned off by you getting picked up by another man, for he did not take his eyes off of Heesung as he walked to the passenger's seat to open the door for you, a gesture that you were used to. Before hopping back in, Heesung winked at him, a smug grin forming. After that, you two were off speeding down the road. He'll take the long way home, he decided.

“Thanks for picking me up,” you broke the silence after a few minutes of driving. “You didn't have to wait outside though, it's freezing.” 

"I was trying to scare him off,” Heesung chuckled, a half joke that managed to pass as just something playful, making you laugh and hit his arm.

“I don't think he liked that,” you said after your laugh subsided.

“I think it was you who didn't like him.” 

You went silent for a bit, sulking on your seat.

“So, how was it?” 

“I liked him,” you mumbled, biting your lip in thought. “It was good, yeah.”

“But?” Heesung inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“I guess I was hoping for something more... intense?”

Heesung turned his face, pretending to check something on the rearview mirror so that you wouldn't notice him biting his lip. He hoped you were referring to him, about the intimate moment you two had shared a few nights before, about the bite that was still decorating your shoulder so beautifully. A purple light enough to resemble a bruise; poor clumsy you, tripped and hit yourself with his mouth.

“Intense how?” he asked.

“To hell if I know,” you shrugged.

He furrowed his eyebrows, glancing your way quickly. 

“You clearly do know.” 

“I don't. If I did I would tell you, Hee,” you said, confused.

“Like how you told me you were off to see another douchebag?” Heesung spat. 

His words made you quickly turn your head. And although he wasn't looking at you, you knew he could feel your glare burning through his skin. The sudden change in attitude had been nothing short of baffling. He seemed to keep his eyes on the road to avoid your stare rather than for safety. You couldn't tell if bouncing his leg was anger, anxiety, both, or something entirely different.

“How do you know he was a douchebag?! I told you it was fine!” you whined.

“Did he even make you come?” he asked. 

You opened your mouth to fight back, but the only sound that came out was your breath hitching. It had been such a simple question, but it ignited the memories of your one time affair with him. The soft promises, the surpassed expectations, the sweet, sweet release. Your body began to tingle in the places where his hands had lingered, and you found yourself shuddering on the seat. Of course Heesung had asked that, while knowing your answer, too.

“Sex is not all about that.” you said finally, voice low with uncertainty. 

“Oh, so that's why you fuck every idiot with a mushroom cut.” Heesung mumbled.

“What the hell is your problem? You don't even know him!” your ears rang as your voice raised in pitch.

“Oh I know him; clerk job moron who thinks sticking it in is enough.”

You tried to ignore the fact that he was a receptionist at your esthetician’s clinic who you happened to make conversation with during a long wait. He had been bold enough to ask you to grab dinner and two days later you were kissing in the elevator of his one-bedroom apartment. 

That kiss had set your expectations through the roof, hoping that you had landed your perfect match. And it had been nice, sort of, but not like you had wished for, or had imagined. The way you had envisioned things and the way said things happened were complete opposites. Maybe it had been your fault for already having something in mind.

The conflict his words caused reflected in your face, a turmoil evident as you stumbled out your next words.

“I still don't understand why it bothers you so much. I know I'm sleeping with a bunch of idiots.” 

“You're hellbent on letting these assholes touch you.” he grunted.“ I can't stand it, I don't get it. It's pointless, it's…”

You were barely able to make out the words; he was just rambling, or so you concluded.

“How is that your problem?” you cut him off, bringing him back from his thoughts.

Only then, Heesung realized the slip up. Yes, you were right, and regardless of how close the two of you were, it was ultimately your call who you slept with, which bothered Heesung to no end. Why were you so against calling him again? Why didn't you ask to have sex again? Why did he finally have you, only for you to slip through his fingers? 

He hoped you hadn't caught onto it, but you knew him too well not to. Everything made sense after; his seemingly sudden offer, waiting for you outside of the car, this angry fit.

“I said, how's that your problem? What about it?” you pushed, in response to Heesung's answer, which had been silence.

“You can do so much better than that.” he finally said.

“So,” you smiled at him. “Think you can be my better?”

Heesung pulled the car over, so quickly your body flew towards the door, and he almost hit his chest with the steering wheel. His grip on it was tight, and he began panting. You thanked god about the empty, dark road, otherwise it could've ended in a nasty crash.

Both of your eyes meet, his pupils blown out with a hint of a gleam in them. There was hope, a tad bit of anger, and an undeniable desire. His hands were twitching, itching to touch you, and you didn't remember ever feeling so wanted.

Heesung's gaze slowly drifted to your lips, almost involuntarily. Your mouth fell open to breath, uneven and quick. The car was cold, but your temperature went up like a fever.

“Are you going to kiss me?” 

His gaze met yours once more. “Can I?”

You nodded. It was all he needed to pull you in, holding your face with both hands as gently but firmly as he could. Afraid, in a weird way, that you would disappear if he let go. That this was all a sick dream from his hungry mind and that he was soon to wake up alone, in bed, with you far away from his grasp.

Despite how much he wanted to keep it slow, the kiss was just plainly instinctual. It had started soft, as if he wanted it to last forever, which he did. Then it was relentless, like nothing was enough, with your faces pressed so tightly together that you almost felt you couldn't breathe properly. Heesung allowed you a few seconds of air before he was onto you again.

It was hard to keep up with him, but you managed, because this was what you wanted anyway. It was hard to tell if you would ever get to feel something like this again; the desperation, your blood pounding in your ears from the anticipation before he made the move, and your whole body shaking in excitement as if it had a memory of its own, and could recognize the touch. 

“Backseat,” you muttered between kisses. 

He heard you, loud and clear, he just couldn't stop himself. He wanted more. Heesung wanted to do so much with you, and to you, that he was unable to do anything at all. He couldn't bring himself to separate his mouth from yours despite needing the air, and his hands roamed mindlessly and only for the sake of getting a feel. The once deliberate and calculated Heesung was now a wreck in your hands, melting in the heat like a popsicle. Sweet.

But you really had to pull him off, otherwise you'd turn blue. Your nails scratched his scalp as you yanked him back, making him whimper in the process. The way he looked burned in your memory; eyes half-lidded, lips pink and swollen, parted, panting. Even with his eyes nearly closed, you could see his darkened eyes.

“I said backseat, Heesung,” you repeated, letting go of his hair. “Do you want to fuck me or not?” 

In every single position there was. Fingers, tongue, cock, he wanted to give you everything and more, so he scrambled to the backseat as you had ordered. 

This is who you were; demanding and controlling. That one time he manhandled you? Only that, a one time thing, now you wouldn't give in so easily. Not after the little jealousy number he pulled, at least. You weren't all that resilient yourself, but you would drag it as far as you could.

Heesung thought that he had chosen the worst type of clothing possible. Had he kept the sweatpants instead of changing into something else, then maybe the friction would've been more bearable. The rough material of his pants brushing against his cock made him groan whenever he slightly shifted. And when he finally found comfort, you seated yourself on his lap and grinded, hard. 

“Ohfuck,” he whined, his hands flying to your hips to find some leverage. His nails dug into your sides. “You're gonna— I'm not gonna last.” 

You grinded down again. And again, until you set your pace, ignoring his cries. The nails trying to claw at your skin drove you further despite the sting. As much as he tried to slow you down in the name of ‘lasting longer', he still thrusted his hips up to meet you halfway, though his eyes were tightly shut, and lips pressed in a straight line.

“Please, please baby, I don't wanna come yet, please.” 

“Did I just hear The Lee Heesung begging?” 

He looked up at you, teary eyed. His bangs were stuck to his forehead, as sweat had already begun to drip from his hair. That had been enough of an answer.

Yes, you had. It had been about the hottest thing you had ever heard as well. Usually confident Lee Heesung, always took the lead Lee Heesung, would rather die than humiliate himself Lee Heesung, whining and whimpering about coming too fast after some kissing and humping. That same Heesung that had been able to get not one, but three orgasms out of you before even getting close. It was a sight to see.

You stopped, and Heesung sighed in relief, although the calm didn't last long. As a smirk formed on your lips, his eyes grew panicked. 

“If you come, I'll leave this car,” you said, rolling your hips again.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he whimpered. He squeezed his eyes shut again, the shape of his fingers imprinting onto your skin. Back then, when the two of you first had sex, this was the reality of what Heesung felt, even when he did a good job at not letting himself seem so desperate. 

He'd be damned if he looked like a loser in front of you, or so he thought. Because now that your wet underwear was soaking his pants, he was a mess. A hard, pathetic mess, desperately trying not to burst in his jeans from having you on top of him.

You yourself didn't believe you could keep torturing him, only because you were also torturing yourself in the process. His hard length along with the rough fabric of his pants brushed against your clit in a way that sent jolts through your body. It was harsh and uncomfortable while still feeling good enough not to stop.

Heesung's hips twitched with a mind of their own, searching for release against his wishes. You halted, leaning your body back to unbuckle his belt. He groaned at the loss of contact though didn't complain any further, and instead helped you get rid of his restraintments quicker. His breath ghosted over your skin as he sighed in relief, which made you shudder. 

His fingers went down to tease you under your dress, rubbing over the wetness seeping through your panties, and even with the layer in between, he could feel his fingers dampen. Heesung continued until you were left whining and attempting to grind your hips harder onto his hand. Only then did you feel him push the fabric to the side, and the tip of his cock pressed against your cunt.

After Heesung had you the first time, he knew that he couldn't let you go. Days went by where he would still feel your lips against his; the skin of your thighs, hot and sweaty, burning his cheeks as you closed your legs around his head while you came on his tongue. Not one day went by where he didn't fantasize about pushing himself inside you, and in some dreams, he would just stay there. 

But nothing was able to prepare him for when it actually happened. He thought the desperate way in which you lowered yourself on his cock might be too much for you. In reality, it was almost too much for him, as it forced a deep moan from his throat.

It was a little painful, walls tightening and loosening around him to accommodate the quick stretch, though the sting was worth Heesung's debauched expression. You wondered why,despite the uncomfortable, small space, it felt so much better than the first time. Maybe it was how much both of you had seemed to crave it, or the car forcing even more proximity between you two, as the things you could do were limited. Regardless, you could feel your lower region sticky and warm with the slick that had, apparently, dripped out of you and spread around your thighs and ass. 

You could barely hear your over breathing over Heesung's heavy one. His hands massaged the skin of your waist where he held himself, mostly to ground himself to earth, or so you guessed, because he looked completely gone. His cheeks cherry red and his lips a peach pink, and you succumbed to the urge to kiss him. 

This time, it was slow and calculated. He took the time to feel the rest of you, from threading his fingers in your hair, to ghosting his fingers over your spine from under the dress. You didn't fall behind, though, raising his shirt as much as you could to run your nails over your stomach, stopping to feel his muscles tense beneath your hands as you began to move your hips.

“Slow, baby, please,” he breathed out, it came out way more high pitched than he intended to. 

As much as you wanted to keep messing with him, the world had seemed to fade away, leaving you two alone with the car and the small piece of road that you were parked in, and you didn't feel like breaking the moment just yet. You placed your hands on his shoulders for better stability, and rested your forehead on the crook of his neck.

Whispers of praises poured from his lips. You're beautiful, you're amazing, could stay here forever, and another handful that got lost between all the shit's and fuck’s that also came nonstop. He followed all of his words and phrases by kissing your neck, sometimes even biting. You might find a mark when you look in the mirror, but you cared little about that. Instead, you decided to leave a mark of your own, sucking and biting on the most visible place that you could think of. That's when he began to meet your movements, thrusting up messily in an attempt to pick up a pace. 

“Say you're—,” he gulped, interrupting himself. “You're mine.”

“Always have been,” you smiled against the light red bite mark. 

Your voice as you rode his cock kept driving him closer to the edge. Every moan and whine just made him go faster, having already been close to his orgasm from the grinding before. And as you grew tired, it felt as if he was regaining some form of control. Heesung smirked when you laid, practically limp, against him, allowing him to set the speed that he wanted. He remembered that he loved being in control as much as he had loved giving it to you.

“F-faster,” you pleaded lowly.

Heesung pouted, even when you couldn't see him. “No manners, sweetheart?” 

Most likely, you were about to pay a small price for threatening him to leave. 

You swallowed, so loud you were sure he had heard. “Please.” 

“What? I didn't hear you.” 

“Go faster, Hee, please!” you nearly yelled. It had been hard to get the words out after getting him where you wanted.

“There we go!” 

Were you being pushed down on his cock or was he pushing up into you? By this point, you weren't really sure. What you were certain about, though, was that he reached wherever you needed him to, and the squelching sounds were at its loudest.

“Was he good like me?” Heesung asked, grunting through his teeth. “Were you thinking about me while he fucked you?”

He wasn't expecting to get answers, and he didn't. You were too focused on the feeling of your body overheating from the inside out, and all of your muscles tensing. Your walls clamped around him involuntarily as pushed you closer to the orgasm that you had been chasing since the beginning of your date a few hours ago.

Heesung wanted you to finish first, he truly tried, but there was no way to stop the waves of pure pleasure that hit as he came, and the fact that he got to come inside of you just made it hit harder, and you had to help him ride out his climax because he really couldn't move, just kept himself there with his brows furrowed.

You were close as well, so you didn't really stop despite Heesung reaching his orgasm first. Even through his over sensitivity, he helped you reach your own high. He sneaked his hand between your bodies to rub messy circles on your clit. You kept it slow on him, but he went fast. 

It didn't take long for you after that. Feeling you on his cock as you orgasmed almost made him hard again, if it wasn't so late and you hadn't been going at it for what felt like forever—not that he was complaining—. He got to watch your face contort into pure pleasure, better than any daydreams.

Heesung pressed his forehead against yours, unable to do anything other than show you something, whatever that something was. It lingered in the air, in the way he looked at you through his teary gaze. He kissed you, slower than ever before.

Whatever was going through his mind was deeper than lust, you could feel it in the way his lips moved so softly against yours, holding your face with both hands. You wondered if he knew that you didn't plan on slipping away again.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Please, talk about the Gom Jobbar scene

Oh hell yes.

So this is one of those posts that really should be a short video essay of me talking over the scene but instead it is gonna be a loooooong wall of text and screenshots. Maybe it will assume its final form some day if I'm ever in possession of the free time and patience to make video essays. I also highly recommend watching Denis Villeneuve's own breakdown of this scene from 2021. I'll try not to duplicate things said there.

We have to start with the setup, which begins with this scene:

We see Jessica on her knees, in the rain, waiting for an arriving ship. These are the first shots in the movie where we see Jessica when no one else is watching her, and this woman who stood calm and composed before representatives of the Emperor of the Known Universe is terrified. Which creates an immediate sense of dread over whoever is coming in that ship.

Whomst in the fuck now?

We also get this shot where we're alone with Jessica. It's a little hard to see in a still frame but there's a moment where she, like, steels herself before she wakes Paul up.

Holy fuck tho, I just noticed the similarities between this shot and the one of the Bene Gesserit arriving, with the almost monochromatic color palette and the shafts of white light.

Once Paul wakes up we shift to his POV. He immediately knows something is off ("What's wrong?" is the first thing he says) but gets no information about what's happening.

Then we get this short scene, where Paul is told he is going to meet the Reverend Mother and but not much else about what's going on. The whole "She wants to know about your dreams." "How does she know about my dreams?" [no answer from Jessica] exchange, I think, implies that she knows because Jessica told her about Paul's dreams, which is this little tiny betrayal of confidence that gives Paul the first inclination that his mother may not be someone he can fully trust in this situation. Which is exactly what Dr. Yueh warns him about immediately after.

We also get two new languages used in this scene. Dr. Yueh speaks to Paul in Mandarin, which he understands and presumably Jessica does not. This gives us a piece of information about Paul's curiosity toward other cultures and his facility with languages. And Jessica uses the Atreides battle sign, which Paul also understands. Outside the library, Jessica pauses to give Paul one more silent warning, although she still hasn't told him what's about to happen.

This is just the setup. So before we've even entered the room, we've created this sense of unsettled foreboding dread (the Denis Signature Vibe) without a clear understanding of why things are happening--which is exactly how Paul feels.

I should also add that in the book, this scene takes place during the day, with the Reverend Mother sitting in front of a window. Shifting it to the middle of the night not only makes it way creepier but also tells us that (1) the Reverend Mother is the kind of person who can command Jessica's attention at any time of day or night and (2) this is all somewhat illicit and possibly is happening without Leto's knowledge.

Whomst in the fuuuuuuck?

We get this sort of weird POV shot of Paul crossing the room when it's not actually happening:

which I think is supposed to suggest some subtler form of control than the Voice, which Paul resists.

Before they've even properly entered the room, Mohiam manages to insult both Paul's parents ("defiance in the eyes, like his father" and dismissing Jessica with a curt "leave us"). And the first thing Paul says is to defend his mother's place in the social hierarchy ("You dismiss my mother in her own house?") with all the haughtiness you would expect.

The power dynamic gets rapidly clarified.

Momentary aside to say that I love the composition of this shot. Neither of them are quite on the third--they're just a bit too close to each other to make the shot look balanced. But neither of them are in center frame either--the box is in the center. They're not exactly aligned to the light gray columns between the bookshelves behind them, either, and the bookshelves are just slightly asymmetrical. It all makes things feel just a little claustrophobic and unsettling. Denis Villeneuve frequently uses this technique of creating unbalanced shots and intentionally leaving too much space in awkward parts of the frame to create a sense of unease.

Paul isn't kneeling in the book either--he's standing beside the chair in a setup that I don't think would actually work given the heights of the actors here, or would look awkward as hell. So they've solved a practical blocking problem and done some storytelling with it as well.

This is where we get our first look at the Voice at full power, and it's one of only two scenes where we get some subjective POV of what it feels like to be Voice-controlled (the other one being Feyd-Rautha and Lady Margot's interaction which deserves its own post). I really like that they didn't go for Voice Slow (zombie shuffling across the room) because Voice Fast is much more disturbing. The subjective experience of it seems closest to like, blacking out and waking up in a place or doing a thing and not knowing how you got there. The camera effect is just a really fast dolly and a slick edit, but Timothée really sells it with his split-second moment of confusion and shock before he realizes what happened and gets angry about it.

So now we're here, with the poison needle and the pain box.

"No need to call the guards. Your mother stands behind that door. No one would get past her."

This is a slick fucking piece of editing. Because just as Paul is learning that his mother has not only trapped him in this situation but is ensuring it continues uninterrupted, we cut to Jessica for the first time since she left the room and we see how absolutely terrified she is.

Also from this point, the sound in the film starts crossing the barrier of the door--we hear some of the dialogue between Paul and Mohiam when we're on shots of Jessica, and when the pain sound effect starts up, we hear it continuously on both sides of the door. So even though Jessica is not literally experiencing the pain, it feels like she is vicariously.

It would be really easy to tip the balance of sympathy in this scene one way or the other--toward Paul who's realizing his mother has handed him over to a painful and potentially lethal test, or toward Jessica who is listening to her child scream in pain and not only cannot stop it but is tasked with making sure it continues. But Denis Villeneuve is an absolute master at controlling and directing your POV in a way that allows you to feel sympathy for multiple characters at once and engage with complicated, contradictory emotional landscapes, and this is a little demonstration of what he's going to do on a much larger scale later in the story.

Timothée's pain acting...is excellent, that's all I'll say about that. Love that he's allowed to get all gross and drippy with it.

Now we get to the litany against fear.

Jessica starts it specifically in response to hearing Paul scream on the other side of the door. So, practically, she is using it to control her own fear. But the way the scene is intercut, it plays as if she is almost coaching or guiding Paul into controlling his own reactions. With every line that she says, we cut back to Paul as he is starting to master the situation.

"I must not fear." Paul is not in control here and seems about at his physical limit for keeping his hand in the box.

"Fear is the mind-killer." This is the one where it really seems like he could be reciting the same litany in his head or under his breath.

"Fear is the little death that brings obliteration." We don't really see Paul's face in the accompanying shot, but the pain sound effect really goes into overdrive, like she is pushing him harder.

"I will face my fear and I will permit it to pass over me and through me." Seems like Paul is getting to some kind of Zen place or whatever where he can withstand the pain.

This is when the first flash of vision pops up and the balance of power starts to shift in Paul's favor. We realize it at the same time both he and the Reverend Mother do.

Then we have this great moment where he looks up at her and we don't quite know what is happening but somehow Paul has started to win this interaction. And we go through a whole Face Journey with him that's intercut increasingly rapidly with Jessica's lines, flashes of the visions, and Mohiam's reaction as she starts to realize she's lost control of the situation.

"And when it has gone past--"

"I will turn the inner eye to see its path--"

"--and where the fear has gone, there will be nothing--"

"Only I will remain."

This part is great because like...nothing is happening. He just looks up at her. But we know that whatever battle is going on between them, Paul is winning now.

(Side note: this is a duel, right? This is his first of three duels, and like the duel with Feyd, he wins it on his knees.)

Then as soon as she says, "Enough," the facade cracks again a little.

And then he does the thing!! That is one of my favorite Paul physicalities!! Where he tilts his chin up so he can look down his nose at someone. Which is particularly audacious when you're on your knees.

It looks arrogant but there's also something a bit...childish? about it. It's something that he does specifically when he feels he does not have control of the situation and he's trying to regain it. He does it to the Emperor at the end of Part Two.

Anyway I LOVE the whole section of intercutting between Jessica and Paul because like. They are physically separated by a door but emotionally they feel connected. She put him in this situation, but then it's almost like she is reminding him that she also gave him the training to survive it. Which like, isn't that a microcosm of their whole fucked-up relationship?

"...You inherit too much power."

"What, because I'm a duke's son?"

"Because you are Jessica's son. You have more than one birthright, boy."

Almost all the dialogue from this scene is taken word for word from the book (although sometimes condensed). This is one of the few lines that got changed. In the book, Jessica is the one who reminds Paul that he is a duke's son--not her son. In general the movie dialogue is more faithful to what's in the book than you might expect. But every once in a while there is a line that feels like it's talking back to the original text like this.

There's another little emotional reversal right at the end of the scene, when Jessica comes in and her face just floods with relief at realizing Paul is still alive. But meanwhile you can see that Paul is really processing how betrayed by her he feels.

And then, after all that, they do talk about his dreams.

Denis has said in interviews that this was one of the very first scenes they filmed. Which is. Insane to me. This is an iconic scene from the book that every fan will come to with expectations and it's a really hard acting job! For everyone involved but especially for Timothée, because so much of the scene turns on him having an intense reaction to something that's not real and generally just...doing stuff with his face, and hoping that the sound design and the score and some scenes that haven't been shot yet will sell what's going on. Usually you would want to work up to an intense emotional scene like this, give the cast and crew a little time to get comfortable with each other. Nope! Anyway Denis has also said that he knew after this scene that he had cast correctly and yeah. I would say so.

[cybertron-smash-or-pass]

A bit of a loaded question, I know, but do you have any TF ships you prefer and would like to share?

I need you to be aware that you're opening pandora's box here. The vibes range anywhere from "god this is hot" to "god this is cute" to "their dynamic is so fucking interesting and i want to study them under laboratory conditions" to "this hurts so much and I need the drama, I am CRYING" to smashing barbie dolls together. I have crackships you ain't even THOUGHT about. I throw ships at the wall just to see if they stick. I like a lot of ships. Arguably too damn many. So many that I'm putting this under a cut to spare people from the long post. So many that I have to sort them by continuity so you're not staring at an unorganized list longer than do you love the color of the sky.

TFA

shockbee I feel has a lot of the potential for shockwave fearing what happens when bee finds out he's not longarm. Like a lot of the scenes in auto boot camp read to me like shockwave really did want bee as an ally while he climbs the ranks, and there's some juicy potential for shocker starting out as just using him until he actually catches feelings. Especially in aus where bee really did join the elite guard. Like can you imagine the drama. The heartbreak. The trust issues. Bee realizing he never really knew the guy he could trust most. Wondering if he's even safe to be around. If anything was even real. Shockwave wondering the same things. Hhhhhhhhh.

I do enjoy shockblurr conceptually but I'm not crazy about how they're usually portrayed in the fandom bc I feel like we're all forgetting that shockwave is a ball of anxiety and murder, and Blurr is a straight laced fuckin nerd who can't shut his mouth. An overpowered, highly capable nerd, but a nerd still. I like what the artist katzske does with them a lot tho.

I'm also a blitzbee enjoyer but on a less "bee can fix him and itll be so sweet" level and more "god imagine how annoying they'd be together." Looney Tunes levels of fucking with people. Either that or bumblebee is just horny on main and really likes the thought of bagging a con, but then he goes and catches feelings.

prowlbulk owns my entire heart. They're so sweet on each other and prowl really respects and appreciates bulkhead way more than bulky's used to. And bulkhead admires so much of prowl's skill and perspective. They work so well together as a couple and it's fucking adorable. With a hint of tragedy bc. Well. You know.

Bulkbee is also incredibly cute bc I'm a sucker for besties that very slowly realize they love each other so much it makes them look stupid. Good in romantic or qpr flavors. Bee already climbs all over bulkhead like a squirrel, they're so fuckin affectionate and very very stupid in social settings.

I like Optimus and blackarachnia from a drama standpoint bc God. They are tragic. They are MESSY. I genuinely think there's no happy ending for them. The trust is gone. But they still miss each other so much and they just CANT move on, so they keep stringing each other along. They're just hurting themselves and each other every time one does anything nice for the other. It's the kinda shit that just slowly rips your heart out. OP please don't text your ex. OP pLEASE

Megop is a classic but I feel we as a fandom underutilize how much Optimus pisses off Megatron. He is an asshole cat knocking shit off the counter for attention. Megs lets him be worse when he is so so fucking tired of being good. He loves that he hates him and he hates that he loves him. Full on "my esteemed rival" "dearly detested." Fighting each other is cathartic and addictive. Megatron finds it infuriating but he can't deny how much he likes having a worthy opponent, how fitting it is that the cosmos sent him so deadly a nemesis, and yet how lame it is that he was so forgettable at first so now he feels dumb being mildly obsessed with him. Optimus is just glad he has someone who doesn't expect him to be perfect and nice and upstanding. He can vent out a lot of his less noble feelings or impulses that he's had completely repressed for ages. The pressure's off in a lot of ways. And I think in an enemies to lovers sense, watching them figure out how to make that setup and that very odd mutual desire to be in each other's lives into something healthier could be really compelling. Or tragic in a "why did I let myself need you? Why the fuck did I let myself need you?" way.

Beeprowl is funny but I only really like it in a "you annoy me SO MUCH let's make out about it" way. Nothing committed, just dispelling the tension without having to kill each other. It is just kinda nice seeing them have genuinely sweet moments though. Squidbob ass relationship.

Lugnut and Strika are the perfect Decepticon power couple and I love them so much. So very much. Lugnut loves his big terrifying wife capable of leveling cities, and she loves her sweet devoted husband who could throw her across the room. I think they break chairs over each other's heads for fun and have been trying to seduce Megatron into a threesome for ages.

Shockwave and Megatron are also incredibly good. The loyalty. The "I commit my whole existence to you. I am yours, in mind body and soul. I will go wherever you need me to, I will put myself in immeasurable danger for you, just please say I'm doing a good job" and "all my efforts would be lost without you. In a world where I have been vulnerable and terrified, where I have been stabbed in the back by people I thought I could wholly trust, I can look at you and know, unwaveringly, you won't do the same. I trust you completely." It's Delicious. It's absolutely codependent but god it's tasty.

Also honestly? Bulkhead and the constructicons could make a pretty cute throuple. He wants them to be better. They want him to be worse. He just wants them to do honest work and they want him to stop letting stuffy, elitist autobot society control him so much. They love each other, they're friends (even if the constructicons don't totally remember the first night they met him). And they really do enjoy each other's company. They're just guys being dudes. Just dudes being guys. Just guys being gays. (It's also just nice when bulkhead gets to be the smaller one, scrapper totally carries him around like a big ol' cat).

I really like prowl being torn between lockdown and jazz. They're the devil and angel on his shoulders. Lockdown tempting him into relapsing, feeling himself fall into old habits, forsaking everything he's learned about patience and respect and being conscientious of the world around him. Jazz picking him back up when he slips, making him WANT to keep being better. And prowl can't decide if he wants to be loved in spite of all his toxic traits or BECAUSE of them. It's got me in a chokehold, your honor.

Megastar is fun in tfa because 1. It's implied Megatron never actually abused starscream while they were on the same side (the first thing starscream says after waking up from being shot is "YOU DARE STRIKE ME, MEGATRON?" which reads to me like this is a new development). Megs doesn't actually hurt anyone working for him other than Sumdac, who he fucking hates (at least not on-screen), and the only reason he was as aggro to starscream post-revival was because he knew screamer is the reason he spent all that fucking time as just a severed head. He used to actually trust him, sort of, even if he was a scheming, sycophantic little weasel. And 2. It's pretty obvious they have history together. I genuinely truly believe they were exes and Starscream only planted a bomb on him because he couldn't be fucking normal about the divorce. You look at how they bitch at each other in deep space and then immediately fall into what is most likely their old dynamic of getting things done and shooting the shit and tell me they never had an intense romantic stint that went horribly wrong. Starscream calls him Meggy in his internal logs for fucks sake.

Oh also sumdac x megatron. It started as a crackship of mine but I really love the idea of sumdac feeling legitimately guilty for taking Megatron apart and unknowingly violating him the way he did, even if Megatron is terrible. Like the dynamic of "you lied to me" "if I told you who I really was, I would be dead. I don't owe you the truth when you held me captive. I was vulnerable. I was TERRIFIED. I did what I had to in order to keep myself safe. And you come to ME with accusations of doing you wrong? When YOU held all the power? And then when I'd taken back the power you left me without, made you feel what I felt, I'm a monster?" "I never meant to hurt you" "Well you did. And now you know just how much damage you did." Like it's such an interesting angle, ESPECIALLY when you consider that sumdac probably grew to legitimately care about Megatron while he was in his lab. He wanted to do right by him. He wanted to see him restored and thriving. He was his robot buddy that made a birthday gift for his kid once. Some part of him probably misses him after he's gone, some part of him probably feels guilty too, even through all the rage and hurt and fear and betrayal. That's complicated feelings!! That's juicy!!!!!

I like the thought of Shockwave and Optimus but that's mostly for sexy reasons. Something about a big, smooth talking, scary cryptid monster, very well spoken and elegant, seducing Good, Upstanding Autobot Optimus to The Dark Side. This is mostly because Optimus is a huge nerd and so is Shockwave. I think Shockwave could potentially pique his interest with uncensored versions of the history Optimus is already a huge dweeb about, and seal the deal with a few gentle touches and honeyed words. From Optimus's perspective this is Very Obviously a Honeypot Trap but the trouble is Shockwave is very hot and very sweet on him and starting to seem less and less evil so he's not sure how long he can keep his guard up when the temptation is this strong. He has a duty to fight Decepticons and shut out their lies but man. He's so tired. And Shockwave's berth is very warm. There is something satisfying about seeing him choose to be selfish after nearly a whole show of him taking the high road. (It's even better if he gets attached when eventually Shockwave's Cool Sexy Collected vibes falter and he sees how much of an anxious, panicky dork he actually is)

Ratchet x Arcee are also very very cute together. Old married dorks. Ratchet's so soft with her and he wants her to be okay. She genuinely likes him and he makes the nightmare she's subjected herself to bearable. "Don't call me sir, I work for a living!" They're both horrifically traumatized, they understand each other on a level most bots can't, and they can ground each other when it gets bad. God. You know they're slow dancing in the kitchen together. You know they're sickeningly domestic with each other. They are holding hands in the park on a comically small bench on earth right as we SPEAK.

I also just kind of like the idea of team prime being a polycule (other than ratchet, who is just watching the young bots having relationship drama and rolling his optics (the age gap and mentor role make me personally a little uncomfortable but I have nothing against people who do include him, they're all adults, its chill)). I like the thought of these losers getting home after a long day and collapsing into a cuddle pile, either on the couch or on the floor. They all love each other so much already, I think they should kiss about it, but they're super repressed so it's So Very Shy and Cautious and Sweet.

The same goes for the Decepticons but more in a "cons are pretty casual about sex anyway, they're in close proximity, and they tolerate each other at least so nearly everyone has a fuck buds setup with each other" way. I feel like the autobots are super repressed in that regard so the cons started leaning into being sluts to stick it to the mech along with all the other freaks shit they're cool with. God help Blackarachnia, she goes from Autobot repression to all her coworkers being sluts on main and she Does Not Know what to do about that (also it would make a lot of sense if that's why she started leaning into the femme fatale thing so hard)

TFP

Optiratch my beloved. Gay old men who would do anything for each other, even when they really don't agree on how to proceed. They're best friends, they're husbands, they're crushing on each other and they think it's unrequited, they just started dating, they've been married for eons. All of it works soooo well. They know each other well enough that they can communicate by just kinda grunting in specific ways. I need them to hold hands SO bad.

Megop is also Very Good here. Literally the most divorced robots to ever exist. Megatron NEEDS Optimus back and Optimus still holds a torch for megs, but it's so fucking funny because they're clearly on fundamentally different levels of "I miss you." Like Optimus is kinda sad and he does want the old Megatronus back, but Megatron does these whole fuckin elaborate stunts to get Optimus to pay attention to him again and then locks himself in his room with a pint of ice cream and dark energon to cry about him. Mans is NOT coping. Alternatively, Optimus is coping just as poorly on the inside and he really does still love Megatron just as much but he knows that's a selfish desire that he quiets with everything else he sacrifices about himself in the name of being a good leader. Least repressed Optimus.

Bulkhead and wheeljack should get to kiss on the mouth I think. If Arcee can call Wheeljack Bulkhead's boyfriend, and bulkhead does not deny it, logic dictates they should in fact French kiss sloppy style for a whole minute on live TV. It can happen. Only on the hub.

KOBD are adorable together, they are so unhinged and stupid and they love each other so much. Like the team rocket of the nemesis. Breakdown loves his husband soooo much and knockout misses him so bad when Silas gets him. And you KNOW they're freaks bc knockout is totally convinced that breakdown would've loved seeing how he torments Silas in bd's body. He's probably right about it too.

I also wholly support Ms. June Darby for trying to seduce Optimus. Me too girl, get that robo ass. Go get jack a new cooler dad. It's also very cute to imagine Optimus, the bigass 30 foot robot, the stoic leader of the Autobots who keeps stonefaced through just about anything, flustered and crushing on a very small and very flirty human.

For some reason the show was kind of trying to tease Bulkhead x Arcee for exactly one episode and then never again and like. Look. I understand it was a forced het ship that was there to distract people from how gay they accidentally made the show. I know it'd probably just be Arcee rebounding after losing Cliffjumper. But I think them having a fwb type relationship while she works through her feelings could be interesting. Though this could just be because Bulkhead is big sweet and comforting and him holding anyone and making them feel safe while they're Going Through it is enough to get me saying God I Wish That Were Me.

Bumblebee and Smokescreen appeal to me in the same way seemingly very hetero frat bros who are apparently a very sweet and affectionate gay couple do. It's an inherently funny irony and also theyre just both cute himbos.

TFP Megastar is horrifically unhealthy in general and there is absolutely no way in hell it could work out. Not pre-war, not post-megs-redemption, nada. Which is why it has my brain in a chokehold. This is one of the ships I like because it's fascinating and because god it HURTS. Like I have my gripes with how the show portrayed the abuse overall but there were some things they were cooking with. Starscream being an obvious victim but then turning around and inflicting it on everyone around him? Girl no, the cycle of violence and abuse!!!! Girl no, you're refusing to do the complex emotional work of accepting that what happened to you wasnt okay and thus you carry out the behaviors you've gaslit yourself into thinking are normal!!!!!! Girl no, society has failed you and you have no support systems to help you break the cycles, but you also simply refuse to try in the first place because your pride wouldn't allow it!!!!!!!!!!!!!! No girl!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The cortical psychic patch was literally my fave showcase of their dynamic in the whole show. "I don't want to play this game anymore!" Like jfc ouch. Also the thought of post redemption Megatron lamenting how he treated Starscream, not having considered the damage he's done to him before now. Trying to make it right and only making it all worse by inserting himself into Starscream's life again and realizing how badly he's broken him, how fucked it is that Starscream seems to revere him after EVERYTHING. God. GOD. I'm in agony.

Speaking of starscream in the cycle of abuse, KOSS has postcanon potential. (Post Predacons Rising, rid does not exist 😌) Like. They've proven they feel some type of way about each other. "I've always admired your lustrous finish." "😏" But Knockout was the first person in starscream's life to set a boundary in a healthy way. And when starscream inevitably ignores those boundaries and knockout leaves, you know how much it fucking hurts starscream to realize how badly he fucked up. But of course, the pride. He can't apologize. Can't admit he's the reason knockout betrayed him. So he'll choke back the tears. He'll try to, anyway. But he can't stop the agony in his voice while he feebly spits out "Fine! I hope Unicron eats you too!!" You know the second they shut the door on him, the waterworks started, and so did the closest thing to self reflection Starscream's ever done. He Has the Potential to be Better with Knockout, but he NEEDS to put in the work, and the suspense of wondering if he WILL fucks my whole shit up.

Rescue Bots

It is so close to canon that blades and bumblebee are boyfriends. Hell I believe it pretty much IS canon. He loves that bug so much. He gets jealous when he hangs out with Dani and not him. He hugs him for a photo the first chance he gets. And since we know blades is confirmed as being into dudes, I think we all know what they were getting at. TFP bumblebee has an anxious twink boyfriend that lives in Maine and we have no idea whatsoever if the rest of team prime knows.

Graham and boulder pine for each other like you would not believe. Once again, pretty much canon. You can't just have boulder keep telling Graham "well I like you just how you are" when Graham's trying to impress a girl and expect me to not think he has a big stupid gay crush on his best friend. They love each other so much as partners and as friends, I know damn well they'd be SICKENINGLY cute together as boyfriends. They'd probably try to stealth it at first bc a human and a giant robot alien in love? What'll the others think?? Gotta keep it secret. Sneaking off into the woods so Boulder can work on his "art projects" but in fact they are kissing. They're not as slick as they think they are, Chief Burns 100% picks up what's going on but he lets them think they're sneaky. Nobody actually has any problems with it other than Kade making fun of them a little but don't worry that's just him projecting.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, Heatwave and Kade are the worst fucking tsunderes about crushing on each other. Between heatwave refusing to let down the brooding tough guy persona and kade being so insistent on staying hyper masculine (to the point where mild internalized homophobia is inevitable), neither of them can just be honest about how much they mean to each other and they gotta resort to getting each other's attention by being mean in very low stakes ways. I am drowning, there is no sign of land, you are coming down with me, hand in unloveable hand, except they're not drowning and they're just dunking each other in a kiddie pool repeatedly.

Heatwave and quickshadow are fun for similar reasons but with less shit lord pranks and/or lowbrow bitching, and more classy verbal sniping and sparring with each other because heatwave thinks it's hot when quickshadow kicks his ass. They're insufferably competitive and I think that could be very fun and incredibly messy, especially since they both need to learn how to communicate. Very bisexual, they are forced to share the brain cell, 10/10

I also just enjoy the idea of all the bots being in a polycule the same way I like the idea for TFA's team prime. They're very sweet together and they clearly care about each other a lot. Its just kind of nice when they all hold hands together, you feel me? They're sneaking off to kiss in the bunker bc they don't know if the humans know dudes can like other dudes. They are also not as subtle as they think they are.

Oh also doc Greene and chief burns dated once when they were teenagers and it didn't work out but they stayed besties, nobody can change my mind on this.

Beast Wars

Dinobot and Megatron are exes, 100%. Dinobot is probably the only being in the known universe that Megatron actually kind of cares about other than himself and his rubber duck. Otherwise he wouldn't keep trying to fucking clone him to make a version that will never leave him. There's also some implications here and there that Megatron really did want the world to be better for Predacons (along with the desire for power, anyway) and that preds are genuinely treated unfairly, so there's a pretty compelling angle of dinobot having been drawn to megatron because he saw someone with noble goals and a way to fix their fucked up world before becoming disillusioned with the dishonorable tyrant he turned out to be.

Dinobot and Optimus are also very good together bc it really truly feels like Dinobot finally found the guy with honor he thought he saw in Megatron. And he's infuriating half the time because he isn't nearly as bloodthirsty as he's used to, but GODDAMN does he make him Feel Things. The entire episode Gorilla Warfare has me obsessed with them. The bitching. Dinobot freaking the fuck out and Optimus tenderly removing the seed pod stuck to the back of his neck that was freaking him out and only laughing at him a little. Dinobot constantly trying to choose violence. The stupid smile when Optimus also chooses violence and Dinobot realizes he fucked up. THE BEDSIDE VIGIL. "It was my shift" AND YOU KNOW THEY WEREN'T TAKING SHIFTS. THE FLOWER ON THE BEDSIDE TABLE. "it is good to have you back." "Back home or back to normal?" "...both." THEY'RE HOMOSEXUAL, YOUR HONOR.

Dinobot (shit maybe I just really like dinobot) with Rattrap is good for similar reasons but the vibes are totally different. DoOp is all soft and sweet and patient and light ribbing, Dinotrap is talking shit at each other as a love language. Dinobot is a good guy but he's also, fundamentally, a bitch. Rattrap has proven he can match his freak by bitching right back. They love each other by pretending to hate each other. To the point where if Rattrap doesn't hear any comebacks he genuinely starts worrying because "oh, we aren't playing the game, why aren't you playing, are you okay?" They have so many soft tender moments where they prove they actually love each other. Their last conversation is talking shit!!!! "You're just a slag spouting saurian, but it's nice to know where you stand." "Upwind of you for preference, rodent." They loved each other!!!!!! Rattrap is fucked up over losing him!!!!!!!!!!! It's bittersweet, it's tragic, it hurts so bad and I love them so much!!!! They're stupid your honor!!!!!!!!!!!!

On a much sillier side, I do love Rattrap x Rhinox. Rattrap kissed that man twice. On the mouth. On screen. Annoying little gremlin who goes "nyehhhh" x big stoic dude who goes "hn." And they're both tech guys so they probably work on projects together a lot. And they all survive and are fine bc beast machines isnt real 💖

I have my problems with Silverbolt in general but I cannot deny that he and Blackarachnia are pretty damn cute together. He loves his girlfriend, they trash her shitty ex together, she loves that he doesn't try to change her. She gets to be the bad girl and the sweet knight in shining armor still loves her. "Dark poison of my heart" like c'mon.

Airazor and Tigatron are also pretty cute AND they have the honor of being the first canon gay couple in the tf franchise bc of the Japanese dub, which made Airazor a dude but left the romance unchanged (the Japanese dub was also just generally fuckin insane tho so it's not all that shocking).

Waspinator and Terrorsaur are boyfriends for real and for canon, John hasbro told me himself.

RiD 2001

I ship skybyte with that one girl that lives in a state of constant talking-car-based torment. Why? Because when I watched rid with my roommate we had a running joke that eventually they'd meet and have a whole robotfucker romcom arc and it kinda just stuck. This is my only rid ship and I will not be taking criticism on it.

Cyberverse

Bumblebee, Hot Rod and Cheetor are in a polycule together and nobody can tell me they aren't. Just how it's gotta be.

I want Perceptor and Dead End to kiss so badly. They're technically canon already given how hard the creators ship them. They hold hands your honor. "only a bolthead would go out there... UGH I'm such a BOLTHEAD" HES IN LOVE YOUR HONOR.

Hot Rod and Soundwave are great as enemies to lovers, they're so annoying 💖. I feel like they'd start playing gay chicken and be married with three kids wondering when the other guy is gonna back out.

SHOCKWAVE AND WHEELJACK OH MY GOD. fellas is it gay to program your drones which are just tiny versions of your own altmode to dance funny to Tetris music specifically because it makes your lame ass boyfriend laugh and then keep that function eons after you break up and still remember exactly what the command is? Fellas is it gay to get kidnapped by your ex and then get really excited about all the cool shit he's been making while you were separated? I wish they could've gotten a happy ending man, they could've been so cute together.

I don't ship it romantically but I believe in Grimlock & Arcee qpr. They love each other so so much they would've readily died for each other. I love their dynamic, they're insane 💖

Same goes for Shadowstriker and Soundwave tbh. Decepticon besties, and Shadowstriker being aro kinda just feels right. I like to think they cuddle and talk shit about Shockwave while Sounders blasts heavy metal. They play cod as the most insufferable duo.

Megop in cyberverse is so good because it really feels like they Had a relationship but it was unstable and moved too fast and they just assumed they were on the same page about things without communicating properly until suddenly they were in serious disagreement, and TRIED to work it out in a mature way but they were simply Doomed From the Start. And then it culminates in a whole fucking war but it rages so long, and they are so tired of fighting, and they realize they want to try again because nobody was really to blame for how things ended because they both handled it poorly. I wish they got that chance to try again properly. I wish when Optimus retired to just fuck around and vibe, he could've taken Megatron with him. I wish they could've fallen in love all over again.

Oh also Slipstream and Windblade being lesbian enemies to lovers bait was Fucking Phenomenal and I Love it So Much. They're smug and terrible and I want them to make out. They can make each other worse 💖

G1

I have not seen that much of g1 but I do know a few things are absolute truth.

Soundwave is gay for Megatron. This is arguably reciprocated.

Shockwave is gay for Megatron. This is not reciprocated but it is taken advantage of.

Starscream vacillates between gay for Megatron and trying to kill him. Megatron seems to reciprocate but only a little bit. Enough to keep him alive because he's cute. But megs also gets a lot of cuteness aggression so he feels the need to chuck starscream against the wall every now and then.

Powerglide and Astoria are tied for the pinnacle of robot on human romance in the entire tf franchise with Tracks and Raul, and if none of them come back in ANY tf media, I will riot.

Cliffjumper and Mirage have fucked at least once.

Wheeljack and Ratchet are gay married.

Optimus is bisexual and he loves elita-1 but there is something distinctly homoerotic going on with Megatron.

Conclusion

I like when the robots kiss <3

[matixv]

Domme Lena Luthor x Female Sub Reader

Summary: you had been walking on thin ice from the moment you woke up, the previous night being the reason for the tension between you and Lena. She is strict about respecting her rules, and you definitely decided to break every single one in the last couple of days. Last night you took Lena to her limit, but she handled you coldly, taking you to your room for a sleepless and empty night. You want to push her even more tho, you want a reaction, the type of reaction you would expect from your Mistress.

Warnings: spanking, strap-on, size kink, kneeling, teasing, rough language, insulting.

Words: 2k

A cold, lonely and sad breakfast, that was what you were welcomed with as soon as you woke up. Looking down at the busy city, you questioned your actions but found nothing wrong… well, there was something wrong. Lena had been giving you the silent treatment since the evening before, ignoring your pity cries during the night.

She was usually more than happy to spare a couple of minutes to text you while she worked, but not today. Looking at your phone, you only found some comfort in your lock screen, a sneaky picture you took of her in one of the fancy restaurants she used to take you to.

A pale post-it note on the fridge reminded you to clean after yourself after having breakfast. But why were you supposed to follow the rules while she could do everything she wanted? That didn’t sound right. “Clean your own kitchen” your reminded her by text.

The tension between you and your Mistress didn’t go unnoticed even while you were going to work: your private driver was more than aware of the dynamic between you and Lena, and he wasn’t shy about asking questions about your relationship status. “We had a small fight yesterday, her fault obviously, I didn’t do nothing wrong” you repeated more to yourself than to him. “She is just being dramatic about it”

“This morning she looked quite guilty and worried to be honest, Miss”. Finally. She was about to give up.

The past month had been so full of work that she apparently forgot the special attention you need once in a while. She’s been coming home so late, just to find you asleep in your bed, holding her pillow as if it was her. There was no doubts she was feeling guilty about that, and you were kind of pushing on that sense of guilt.

You’ve been hitting her with the usual: “You forgot how to be a Mistress? Do I have to show you?” Or “It’s okay, I will fulfill my needs in some other way, I don’t need you”, but nothing seemed to upset her in the way you wanted.

Yesterday almost seemed like the day.

You teased her so much during her meetings, texting her naughty thoughts and naughty pictures, enjoying yourself a little on her couch, right in front of her macbook. Your fingers disappearing inside of you almost tempted her to stop everything and run to you. But that didn’t happen.

At the end of the night, the only thing u got was a fresh bruise on your arm. It took all your strength not to oppose to her while she was pushing you inside the bedroom, stopping all your fantasies with a cold “Go to sleep and don’t you dare do that again”

“Can you please take me to LuthorCorp? I need to talk to Lena” you asked the driver. Your work could wait, you worked for Lena after all.

People were not surprised to see you inside the building, it was like your second house. At the beginning of your relationship, you spent more time in there than you actually spent at your own house. It was a beautiful building, a little too white since you liked colorful walls. Lena’s office was obviously on the highest floor, she could see the entire city from her windows.

The elevator gave you time to breathe and to think about your next moves. You weren’t a brat, never had been one, but lately it seemed like the only way to have some kind of attention. “I hope she isn’t in a bad mood” you prayed to yourself, hoping for some needed contact.

When the elevator doors opened, papers were flying in the air, people were screaming and nothing was in a good mood, not even the heating system apparently. “I told you like seven times! I do not like those plans! Get out of my office!” She dismissed her assistant.

“Hello, Miss” she greeted you with her head bowed.

“Hello” you smiled with compassion at that poor woman.

You entered silently, sitting on one of the armchairs near her desk. You weren’t allowed there and you perfectly knew that, but you also knew that in stressful circumstances, you were welcomed. She was looking down at her screens, arms stretched forward and legs straight. She was wearing her usual work attire: black blouse and black pants, hair pulled back in a tidy bun. You always found yourself staring at her perfection, even if she reminded you yours wasn’t that different from hers.

Her face was so scrunched that her eyebrows seemed to be joined, her nose seemed slightly wrinkled, and even her lower lip couldn’t escape the clutches of her teeth. She wasn’t used to screaming at her employees, but stress could lead her to be a different person, a much meaner one… and you perfectly knew that.

“You should stop with that expression, or you’ll get wrinkles before you turn forty” you whispered loudly enough to be heard. “Too much stress will bring you nothing”

She slowly raised her face enough to send a cold stare in your direction, silently telling you to shut your mouth until it was too late not to face the consequences. “And who are you precisely to tell me what should I and shouldn’t do?”. A cold gust of wind seemed to break down your perfect hair.

At that point you could only do two things: apologize for your behavior and go back to the usual rhythm or keep teasing her until she gave in. The second option seemed like the only one for your needy mind, you couldn’t take another day without feeling her.

You decided to hit her with the one and only sentence she hated the most, the one that gave her a palpable sense of rage and lack of power: “Me? Oh, I’m definitely someone you do not own”

The clicking of her heels on the wooden floor felt like the proof it was working. Wetness started to spread between your legs as soon as you found her standing in front of you, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. She bent a little bit, just to be at your level. “If I do not own you, tell me why I have your naked ass with my handprints on it as my lock screen, tell me while I carry your little collar as a bracelet and please, tell me why I could easily go into your panties and find nothing but your nasty cum, you little useless petty bitch”

You were so desperate that you found yourself strangling a little moan as she stared at you, waiting for your next move. It took you a minute to recover, but your answer wasn’t late to arrive.

“Well, you haven’t touched me or anything in a month, so I guessed you didn’t own me anymore”

You were ready for everything, you have been preparing for a month. In her office there was everything you needed: the paddle, the cane, whips, chains.. everything you would have liked her to use on your body.

“I’m sorry sweetheart” she sighed reaching for the other armchair. “Work has been drowning me into a never ending spiral of nightmares and overthinking. I noticed you were asking for attention, but I couldn’t give it to you yet, not with a full head. Come here…” she patted her lap, a small gesture you were waiting for.

You happily sat on her lap, finally feeling her warmth and smelling her strong powerful perfume. God how much you waited for those simple sensations.

“I’m sorry Lena”

“Lena? A month of zero discipline made you forget I’m not one of your peers?”

“I’m sorry, Mistress”

“That’s better”

She lowered her head until it was on your shoulder, smelling your skin while thinking about what to do next. A part of you knew she had to go back to work, but the other half hoped for different things. She made you stand up to reach her computer, only to close it with a swift movement. “We are going home, I think you relaxed for a little too long… work can wait”

The smile on your face was enough to tell her she made the right choice.

The ride home was the happiest you’ve ever been in a month: soft music playing, her right hand on your inner thigh, the sunlight and the warmth only a happy environment could bring.

You enjoyed her silence, she was getting ready for what was coming next. She needed a couple of minutes to gather her thoughts and her ideas. “We haven’t done something in a while, you want soft or hard? It’s completely your choice, I do not expect you to own me sex or whatever you want to do already, we can start soft…”

“You perfectly know what I want, Mistress”

“Then I do not want to hear a sound coming from your mouth until I say you are allowed. You will do what I order you to do, and do not complain, you are not in a good position already, do not make it worse for yourself”

“Yes Miss”

“You know what sweetie?”

“What?”

“You can start your punishments by cleaning the kitchen, since you had fun this morning”

Of course she read the message.

When she opened the door you followed her orders while she sat comfortably on her couch, crossing her legs and observing you carefully. You loved her eyes on you, she made you feel like the strongest yet weakest person in the world. It didn’t take long to clean what you left that morning, but knowing you could be on her knees already was thrilling you a lot.

“I’m done, Miss” you said reaching her on the couch.

“Kneel”

You fell on your knees, desperately waiting for more, thriving attention for your poor neglected body. You were careful to kneel right in front of her expensive shoes, a beautiful pair of shiny Louboutin.

“You are even more perfect like this”

She pulled your hair so hard you didn’t even have time to realize she was taking you to your bedroom, harshly handling you like the toy she repeated you were. “Just a fucking toy”

She asked you to take off your clothes until you were fully exposed to her sight, right on the bed in front of her. She handcuffed you to the bed headboard, giving you no time to complain or resist… you wouldn’t have done it anyway, you waited too much.

“I counted every single hateful, disrespectful and rude text you’ve sent me in the past days… around eighty five if I remember well. Let’s see… should I give you the same number of… I don’t know… ruined orgasms? Spankings? Slaps?”

“Whatever you think it’s the right choice,Miss”

She turned you around with a swift movement, interlacing your arms almost painfully. You felt the pain before the sound, her hand coming down on your ass time after time, again until you started crying and panting for a break, a break that didn’t come.

Your ass was covered in bright red handprints, giving your skin a nice shade. “It hurts, Miss” you cried.

“Does it?” She replied sarcastically.

Before you knew it, she disappeared in the dark walking closet, coming back with one of your biggest strap on and a tube of lube. “I guess you don’t need that” she laughed helping you on all fours. “Look at you, pathetic”

“I can’t take it”

Well, she didn’t care a bit.

She fucked you mercilessly, reminding you of who was in charge. Every trust was enough to hit you in the right place, making you see stars every time she entered you.

After what it seemed hours long, she finally let you come, giving you what you have been asking for. You fell on the bed, limping body, you felt a cold washcloth being carefully pressed against your back and your neck, softly washing away all the sweat from your hard night.

“Thank you” you whispered while she removed your handcuffs. “For everything”

“I wish you would brat more often sweetie, I had fun” she smiled laying beside you.

————————————————————————————

Let me know if you liked it and if you want to read more :)

[shinymisty-blog]

The Triplets (Sonic, Sonia, and Manic)

When I first took the journey back in early 2023, I was expecting I wouldn’t like two-thirds of the trio. But, after the journey, I only disliked ONE-THIRD of the trio! But they are all the main characters, even if one has more plot armor than the others.

Disclaimers and notes for this particular post: •Be warned: These posts are often just MASSIVE walls of text! I have the "Keep Reading" tab there for a reason! •While there is no real order to these, I’ll try and keep things in order of relevance. •There will be times when I'll reference something that involves things that would be more relevant after the 40 episodes. During these headcanons, I'll place a nice little ✨ to indicate that it is one of those headcanons. (Everything mentioned will have some sort of explanation if needed). Think of it as a sneak peek at the story I am working on. •If I happen to update anything within this post, I’ll reblog it with the tag #Sonic Underground Project Update, along with a note on which information was updated. 

Links: Master Post | The Origin’s Arc 

·.¸¸.·♩♪♫ The Trio Together ♫♪♩·.¸¸.·

Together, the trio seem tightly knitted and FEEL like siblings. I love that about them. As the youngest sister of three, I get the dynamic, even if we aren’t twins. I want these three to be happy. I want to see them succeed. I want them to reunite with their mother. 

Although, ironically, I also kind of wish we had more with them separated, or mingling with other characters. But, ah well. That’s what writers are for. 

•♫•♬• Headcanons •♬•♫•.

➣The triplets are 15 in the Origin Arc, Wedding Bell Blues, and To Catch a Queen. They turn 16 in Mobodoon. Normally, I’d wait till Mobodoon to put this down but I feel it is too important not to have it right at the start. This makes plot points in other episodes (and wikis) a lot smoother. And it is all thanks to Sonia. 

➣Originally the siblings would take turns keeping a lookout while the others slept, they realized quickly that the van worked as their lookout, as it would let out an alarm if someone attempted to enter. Manic still sleeps pretty loosely, however. 

➣They also take turns being in charge of driving, though Sonic is least willing to do so.

·.¸¸.·♩♪♫ Sonic ♫♪♩·.¸¸.·

Did you guess that Sonic was the one I didn’t like from the three? Congratulations, that’s exactly right! He was also one of the two I didn’t think I’d enjoy going into the journey. So I was 50% right. 

Yeah. I felt Sonic was bland. Although, it could be my foggy brain playing tricks on me, covering up all of Sonic’s development and character…but I doubt it. All I remember from him being impatient, obsessed with chili dogs to an alarming degree, and seemingly being the leader of the trio. (His name is in the name of their band, you cannot tell me he wasn’t the leader).

HOPEFULLY, things will change as I add more information here throughout the series, I’ll be pleasantly surprised with what I come out with. Here’s hoping. 

•♫•♬• Headcanons •♬•♫•.

➣Sonic was born first out of the three. (I believe this is canon, but I’m putting it here anyway)

➣Though this is technically canon, Sonic’s eye color is green, parallel to Manic’s fur color.

➣Sonic is the unannounced leader of the group. He didn’t want this, it just kind of happened. 

·.¸¸.·♩♪♫ Sonia ♫♪♩·.¸¸.·

Did you guess that Sonia was one of the two I felt like I wouldn’t like going into the journey? Congratulation! I was surprisingly shocked by how much I fell in love with Sonia throughout the journey. 

I feared I’d grow very tired of Sonia’s “rich” and “the girl” characteristics…and I did, but her growing up within the highest class also helped give her so much character. She had lost so much and had the hardest adjusting to this new life. It helps that I came in already liking Bartleby, the character that is closely linked to Sonia. 

Her voice is the most annoying of the three. I can’t blame Jaleel White, though. Wasn’t his fault.

•♫•♬• Headcanons •♬•♫•

➣Sonia was born second out of the three. (I believe this is canon, but I’m putting it here anyway)

➣Sonia’s eyes are blue, parallel to Sonic’s fur color.  

➣Out of the three, Sonia is the only one who has a driver's license. While she is originally greatly upset over learning her brothers were driving without one. She quickly realized that having a license for anything was expensive, which made it impossible for any normal mobian to get one, and quickly dropped her judgment. In their spare time, she teaches her brothers the things they still need to learn to help prep them for their eventual driver's test. 

➣A young Sonia often went out to do self-defense training, much to Lady Windermere’s dismay. Unbinounced to her, Sonia encountered Dingo when they were both kids during one of these outings, mistakenly kicking him.

➣She and Bartleby grew up together. The duo would get into trouble that kids would usually get into. 

·.¸¸.·♩♪♫ Manic ♫♪♩·.¸¸.·

…I like Manic… I knew jumping into the project that, even if I didn’t like his siblings, I’d like Manic. And I was right. Out of the three, Manic was always my favorite by just what little I knew before the journey, and he is still my favorite by the end of the journey. Nothing has changed. 

I genuinely believe Manic was the character with the most development out of the trio and took second for the most development out of ALL characters in the series. Even if he often falls back to his character tropes, I still feel that he grew as a character by the end of the series. He came from living the worst out of the trio to realizing he was taken away from a luxurious life at birth. This boy needs therapy after this is done.

•♫•♬• Headcanons •♬•♫•

➣Manic was born last out of the three. (I believe this is canon, but I’m putting it here anyway)

➣Manic’s eyes are Fuchsia, parallel to Sonia’s fur color. 

➣He doesn’t let it show, but Manic holds slight resentment over Aleena and how she handled splitting him and his siblings up, thinking that they could have all stayed in Mobodoon together.

➣While Farrell tried to teach Manic that he should have some trust in others, an encounter with a shady mobian made him question if he could trust strangers or not. Encounters with mobians like Stripes and Luke didn’t help with his lack of trust. 

[daringdoombringer]

HI HELLO YES HERES A RESURFACING CHILDHOOD MEMORY THAT IM OBSESSING OVER AGAIN!

During my last Power Rangers hyperfix (when i was 11-13 maybe?) I made a team called Power Rangers Jungle Thunder. As far as I know, it never went past the initial concept besides doodles on my school notes, as I didn’t know how to draw humans at the time.

Brace yourselves because this is a very rare loooong text post from me.

So here’s everything I remember about it along with some new stuff me and some buddies came up with!

Jungle Thunder was basically a cross between some of Megaforce’s mechanics and the ranger colors along with Jungle Fury’s theming. The Ranger’s attacks were likely magic based.

Their headquarters was this massive temple shrine ish place deep inside a distant jungle.

The colors and Zords were as followed: Red Jaguar, Blue Cobra, Yellow Macaw, Pink Cheetah, Black Lemur. They were kept in what was basically the temple’s backyard/back garden?

The bad guys were this reptilian ailen race called the Sintonians who understandably trying to take over Earth like every other Power Rangers villain. They interestingly used the traits and morphing energy of past Ranger teams to make each episode’s bad guy. The main antagonist was this dude called Lord Fury who I don’t remember a whole lot about. Other than he was blue.

The sixth ranger was this nonhuman White Ranger, who the team affectionately nicknamed “Buddy.” I forgot what animal he was, but he was created by the Sintonians to attack our heroes with. Of course, they end up befriending him. He had feral form that I’m struggling to remember how it worked, if any?

And the Pink Ranger’s name was Emmie. That’s the only one of the human Rangers whose name I can remember.

Ok. That’s all the original stuff 12yo Daring came up with. She got the concept down, now it’s time for all all the new juicy lore and tweaks. :3

The mentor/sensei character is this tree/dryad deity called Mother Gaia. (Kinda basic but it’s what me and the squad on discord decided on) She’s rooted to the center of the temple (name of said temple still pending) and is very curious about modern humanity, as she hasn’t seen humans in over a thousand years. Also she’s like a mom to them because I love found family dynamics ok

Another supporting character will be Esteban, a jungle spirt who is essentially Mother Gaia’s assistant. Basically Alpha-5’s role compared to Zordon. Don’t know what he’s gonna look like yet, but he’ll be a big help to the Rangers by teaching them their new abilities.

The Zords are pretty interesting.They all look like normal animals apart from the fact their eyes are their respective Ranger’s color. They’re actually the Spirt Guardians, who were sent by Gaia to find the Rangers. Each animal can transform into a giant Zord upon their Ranger’s command. Makes the back garden thing much more manageable if they’re not always giant robots.

If Jungle Thunder were an actual show, there’d sometimes be bumpers before and after commercial breaks with cool jungle and animal facts. :)

Buddy will likely have a basilisk or some type of reptile as his animal, being able to run really fast and stick to walls. Basically he’s the fucked up cryptid the team ends up adopting and I love him.

Ok. so here’s what I have of the lore and basic gist of the first episode. It’s still a wip so bear with me here✨

Long long ago, an ancient civilization in the jungle worshiped Mother Gaia and the Spirt Guardians. All was peaceful until Lord Fury (another deity) attacks, as he was very jealous that he wasn’t getting any attention. Gaia, Estaban and the Spirt Guardians managed to seal Lord Fury away deep underground, but not after he and his army had driven away and destroyed most of said civilization in an intense battle. The jungle itself had to be sealed off from the rest of world so Gaia could maintain the sealing spell that kept Fury at bay.

Fast forward to modern day. (dunno if it’s gonna be in 2024 or mid 2000s)

The Sintonian aliens land on Earth looking for a place to stay, and find the chasm in which Fury had been sealed. They make a deal with Fury, agreeing to follow him in exchange for their services, as they knew how to harness Morphing Energy. This pleases Fury greatly, as he may have a chance at getting vengeance on Gaia and humanity.

Gaia gets news of this and sends the Spirt Guardians to find five descendants of the past civilization with pure hearts to be the next heroes. Unbeknownst to five midwestern college students on a hiking trip, their lives are about to change. Their names are Reno, Isiah, June, Emmie, and Braxton.

The Jaguar Guardian steals the soon-to-be Red Ranger’s backpack. They are led by the animal guardians into a cave that is later how they get to and from the jungle. They meet Mother Gaia and Esteban, who explain the whole situation. After learning they were indeed not getting sacrificed, they agree to serve Gaia and protect humanity. Anything to get away from student loans tbh.

Spirt Guardians proceed to beam spiritual power into them via a ritual. Totally not trauma inducing at all. This power is how the Rangers morph, or are alerted to any of Fury’s shenanigans via Gaia’s telepathic power.

After some more debriefing from Tree Mother and her son, the newly formed Rangers get an alert. The Sintonians are terrorizing the local park in their generic midwestern town. The Rangers suit up and use their super cool new magic powers to kick some butt! :D Hooray!

Ok. Wow. That was a lot of words.

There are still some holes and other things I missed but that’s pretty much everything! It’s always so fun to find something I made as a kid and breathe new life into it! As if I didn’t have enough Ocs already :’) will soon be thinking of everyone’s designs.

That was a certified DaringDoombringer infodump about a nostalgic childhood interest. Thank you for reading and have a good day!

[violet-prism-creatively]

good omens s2 episode reaction: 1

hi! i've been watching good omens season 2 with my family, one episode a day, and writing down my reactions. it occurred to me that it would be better to post the reactions individually rather than all in one post. so here's the first one, from a few days ago! spoilers for s2 e1, obviously, but not for any of the other episodes.

[the rest of my reactions: e2, e3, e4, e5, e6 - links will be added as i post them]

starmaker crowley!! he's so happy! seeing him get excited about the universe is so cool! the dynamic where he's annoyed about his work and creativity going to waste and wondering why the plan is like that, and aziraphale is enchanted by the stars but warns him not to ask questions, is exactly how i would have pictured it. the wings moving to express emotion is a nice touch. the sheltering wing same as eden!!!! when they met on the wall of eden, they didn't seem to know each other, so i would guess their memories were erased but the instinct to shelter the other beneath their wing remained, which is so sweet. i didn't get a good look at how crowley's eyes were when he was an angel, obviously not snakey yet. 

the next time we see crowley being on the bench with shax where he's asking what's the point of it all hits even harder in contrast to his pre-fall self. i wonder why he's so cynical and why he hasn't spent as much time with aziraphale! did something happen between them?? i hope future episodes explain. 

"you only call me when you're bored, you want to tell someone about the good thing you've done, or something's wrong" (paraphrased). why doesn't aziraphale call more often??!!? or maybe he does, but crowley is interpreting his attempts at reaching out as boredom and wanting to brag about good deeds. either way, it's sad that their dynamic is so different from the fluffy post-s1 that most fanfic imagined. 

lots of focus on maggie and nina. i like them, but i wonder whether they'll actually be relevant to the story. they're so aziraphale- and crowley-coded though! dark color scheme/light color scheme, cynical/sweet, old fashioned/modern. from maggie's lines about not drinking, i already relate to her, growing up sheltered and deciding i'm not interested in partying because it's not the kind of thing a good girl like me would do. nina already being in a relationship is an obstacle to her and maggie's romance, but it seems like her current relationship is unhealthy from the type of texts that were showing. interesting effect to have them written on pieces of paper that pop up. 

the special effects on beezlebub are wonderfully creepy, and so is beezlebub zirself. (is neil gaiman's post about beezlebub using ze/zir pronouns canon?) the threat of being erased from existence entirely is especially threatening to crowley and aziraphale because if they never existed, they never would have stopped the apocalypse. 

gabriel/jim is delightful! i had already seen a lot of his funny lines in trailers and sneak peeks, but my parents and i definitely laughed. a lot of the lines have great meme potential. 

there's a lot of potential for angst in crowley's reaction to gabriel: crowley recognizes that gabriel was abusive towards aziraphale, but aziraphale himself doesn't recognize that. i wonder if crowley remembers being an angel and whether he has history with gabriel. 

i didn't love the michael and uriel in heaven scenes. it's cool that there's an angel in a wheelchair though! 

we got the song good old fashioned lover boy! unfortunately, not in the sweet way that so many animatics use it. although it blasting while crowley speeds toward aziraphale's shop is pretty good. 

good on aziraphale for demanding a real apology! the song and dance are hilarious. i've already started learning the dance just for fun. 

they seem to have dropped the narrator, which i didn't notice at first because the dialogue was very good on its own. it was a fun convention, though. i wonder if any of the main characters from s1 like adam and anathema will be appearing. 

my overall rating: 8.5/10. i think it would be a higher rating if i hadn't seen so much of the episode through sneak peeks already. there's an intriguing mystery set up! the dynamic between aziraphale and crowley is tenser than i was expecting- i hope we get an explanation for why- but i guess we still need conflict between them. seeing them again is like reconnecting with an old friend!

✅ discussion in the replies and reblogs - yes please!

❌ spoilers for the rest of s2 - no!

[cal-kestis]

creator tag game

i was tagged by @anewhope and @grogus-dad​ <3 ty valentina and emi!

rules: pick your 5 favourite gifsets of 2022 that got less than 1000 notes and then pick 10 gifsets of someone else’s from 2022 that got less than 1000 notes (it’s really easy to see note counts and lots of posts in the archive page)

mine:

music in the obi-wan kenobi teaser – this was the first time i did the soundwaves concept and developed this layout so it’s special to me. and i really like the addition of the music history!

max mayfield + black, white, and red – i made a soundwaves tutorial for usergif using this scene without plans to do anything else with the gif, but some members in usergif convinced me to do a whole set and i like how it came out! especially the rewind effect

bridgerton siblings x “best friends” by 5sos – i was inspired by gallery walls in home decor and this is my fav song off 5sos5 and i love their sibling dynamic so :’’’)

anthony bridgerton x tamagotchi – this gifset is literally all my fav things: anthony, teal, cute animations and graphics

kanthony + my top tracks from 5SOS5 – kinda niche of me i guess to combine two very different things but i think this is some of my best coloring yet. also, not my usual gfx style imo, so it challenged me a bit

others:

this kanthony x “crazy in love” by @darcyscarden bc the blending and that color isolation in the 3rd gif!!!

the haunting of bly manner by @anewhope – i remember valentina workshopping this in psc and how quickly and beautifully it came together. the gold is still so stunning to me <3

the mandalorian ch. 6 by @pedrorascal – this layout is still one of the coolest i’ve seen and i love the text animations!

rogue one color palette by @grogus-dad – idk how this layout hasn’t been trending EVERYWHERE since emi dropped this masterpiece!! the colors are stunning and the color swatches are genius

abednedo names referencing the beastie boys by @madeline-kahn – outer glow is such an underused text effect imo and i love how it looks matched with the gif colors in this beautiful set!

obi-wan and leia by @djarin – elio’s coloring is just on another level always and this set is no exception. these colors make me so happy!

the bridgerton bros as powerpuff girls by @wakandasforever – this set is 10000000% accurate and 10000000000% cute

wednesday s1 episodes by @seance – the blending! the purple & gold! the typography! deserves wayyy more notes tbh

kanthony in s2 by @kathrynshahn – this blue is so stunning like. i can’t even explain why this exact shade of blue is so perfect to me but it is. not to mention the super cool animated transitions!

fav media & blorbos by @jakeyp – every set ives drops is so unique and beautifully composed. i love the vibrant colors and the playful typography. more people need to rb compilation sets just for the sheer beauty of them. this set should be at thousands of notes!

tagging everyone above and anyone else who wants to do this!

[worldviewcast]

The Origin of Worldview

So this is going to be a semi-personal, but also a semi-explanation post about alot of the background info regarding Worldview.  Yes it’ll be a long somewhat boring wall of text for many of you, but to ME it’s words I feel need to be said and it would mean the absolute world to me if people would take the time to hear me out.  Even if its only gonna be the five of you that continue on after this. Anyway...

Worldview technically started forming in my mind when I was probably about fifteen. (For reference, at the time of writing this, I’m about half a year to thirty-one) I was really into doing comics, I had done probably a hundred pages of a really dumb fantasy comic I came up with when I was TWELVE, a Sonic fancomic, and every morning on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I would upload my micron inked and colored pencil story about some DnD characters into the school scanner to post on Drunkduck which is probably all still there today. Adventure’s Guild is missed in my heart, for sure.  But in between looking for my first job, the constant writing and doodling I was doing, and my schoolwork I was tossing another idea around in my head. A really DUMB idea, cuz ya know I was FIFTEEN. And I wanted to call it ‘My Big Brother the Ninja’. At the time I was influence by all the dumb anime I was watching and my best friend at the time who always wore black and stood about two feet over me. I don’t know if he’ll ever read this, but trust me if he knew I was talking about this he would recognize this story right away.  Well. My first job came around, along with my post secondary college work, and then a tech school I paid for, and.....life really started to get in the way of development. I was more focused on drawing Adventures Guild and other doodles for a long time, and soon enough taking care of my daughter took precedence over everything, and then I started sewing, and doing conventions....and the idea of ‘My Big Brother the Ninja’ was just stuck in the back of my head. Sitting. Waiting. Forming slowly as it waited for its existence - its time in the sun.  And at some point I decided I wanted Android/Robotic like characters too...some of my FAVORITE series are Kikaider : The Animation and Chobits (the books, not the infants show they try to pass a a fully written anime) - things like that. So I KNEW long before Worldview had a proper name I would be writing robot characters with a twist. But I couldn’t figure out what that twist was, what would make it work. The whole idea was still....building. It needed a push.  Right around the time My Hero Academia came around everyone with a creative mind seemed to be suddenly struck with a similar idea - what if unique powers WEREN’T so unique in a world?  This is fairly common now, but at the start of MHA I remember finding it weird that suddenly every half the new shows out had a whole population of super powered badasses in a world where living daily life with it was more the norm than the exception.  And I remember finding it REALLY weird this all came out the same time I evolving a similar idea for my own thing.... I wish I could prove I was evolving this ideas before I saw em but I can’t. I have a much deeper theory about the evolution of cultural art and how influences drive creative minds to similar conclusions but that’s a LONG mental dive for another day.  ANYHOW.

So my original idea in ‘My Big Brother the Ninja’ was the Ninja would be the weird super power in the normal world.  NOW I wanted the NINJA to be the ‘normal’ one...and the younger sister would be the WEIRD one because she DIDN’T have some sort of power or ability.  I fell in love with this new dynamic and now things were REALLY starting to come together in my mind, what kind of powers were people gonna have, just HOW mundane was it gonna be, how many fantasy elements did I want to have?  Because I already KNEW another element I really wanted to include was modern day Paladins - and YES I WILL be covering modern-day style Paladins in Worldview proper, but this meant the universe needed a Deity system, a hierarchy or pantheon.  And the world just started to grow....but something was still MISSING, the binding, the elements of what all I wanted to do -  Aaaaaaaaaand then came UNDERTALE.  And yes this ENTIRE long post is just me mini ranting about how WV came to be so people can TRULY understand just HOW much is inside MY universe so we can stop tagging it as part of the UT Multiverse please and thank you - it’s not that I don’t UNDERSTAND the confusion, but here is your ultimate ‘for the record’ post regarding mine and @little-noko ‘s personal frustrations. Undertale was obviously a HUGE part of pop culture, personal experiences, my life, MANY of my readers lives, I GET why the emotional connection is there and why its the first thing that comes to mind - but the ONLY part I truly was fascinated by with Undertale was the way the Souls were.  PHYSICAL Souls - an actual magical entity that represented a person - THIS idea.  This was my missing piece.  To say artists get inspiration from other artists is beyond an understatement - even Sans and Papyrus are references to Helvetica, right? If not references, inspired by, or ‘great minds think alike’, whatever your argument there....its not uncommon.  And Souls being PHYSICAL was the element I wanted to play with - the idea I wanted to expand on, and so much more I want to go into detail about but don’t want to go into spoilers yet so I’m not going to - and the absolute CRUX of my frustrations when dealing with ‘WV is just UT with different characters’.  Worldview has.....humans. Only humans, divided into four race. Mechanoid. Masic. Skeleton. Metazoan. (The last one exclusively because I wanted an excuse to draw cute cat girls, so sue me)  A pantheon of Gods. It’s own world map. Special BIOLOGY that I have developed to work specifically with the races I have built. Ability trees (diagram to come, don’t worry, we’re just still working out the kinks).  It’s own countries, nationalities, and even it’s own tangible form of afterlife which I blame watching WAY too much Supernatural on but HEY Reapers are freaking COOL man.  It’s absolutely gut wrenching painful to have people argue with me over a world that I have nurtured and slowly tended to for a good fifteen years...now that it finally, FINALLY gets a chance to exist and be worked on....I feel like the one binding element I finally found and played with and tried to expand on is the ONLY element that people care about. As if absolutely EVERY other element that I want to show just - doesn’t EXIST. We started with Finch because its a good transition from the old projects to the new and it’s the earliest event in the timeline - nothing more than that. But I’m almost starting to feel like that was a mistake because it’s TOO familiar.  There’s no going back now, and thats fine. But it does make me anxious to move on to the next ‘chapter’ we’ll be delving into.  MAN.  I hope that helps clarify a few things.  I love answering questions (those that I can) about  WV...so my ask box is always open.  For those that made it, thanks for listening. :) 

[my-emotional-self]

Toxic Love Chapter 5

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: Finding out your soulmates were Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes was one thing.  But when someone from your past comes back to haunt you, you have to figure out if a relationship with two super soldiers is something you really want to pursue or if you’d rather go back to your comfortable single life.

Series Warnings:  18+, Swearing, Angst, Fluff, past mentions of rape, self-harm, attempted rape, domestic violence, stalking, death threats, possible Dark!Steve?, Steve will be an asshole a LOT in this series but I don’t know how dark it will get, explicit sexual content, mental health issues, kind of A/B/O dynamics but not really (no they are not actual wolves, more like the hierarchy), mentions of suicide, flashbacks to suicide.  

A/N: There will be no taglist for this story!  I apologize in advance!

Two long weeks it had been since you last saw Steve and Bucky.  They had to leave on a mission but they checked in with you regularly through texts.  It was rather cute that they were checking in on you and you liked that they were protective of you.  

But also during those two weeks, you had gotten another five notes either taped to your door or shoved under your door.  Each note had gotten worse and worse.  At first when you started getting the notes, you knew you didn’t have anything to worry about.  You had called the prison and they informed you that yes, John was still locked up and hadn’t gotten out.  And you kept doing that with each note, just to make sure for your safety.  You also knew his friends wouldn’t harm you.  No, that would only throw John over the edge and he would probably murder any of his friends who put their hands on you in any way.  Possessive asshole.  He was possessive in a way that was deranged.  Steve and Bucky were possessive in a more protective way.  In a way you felt safe.  

But these five current notes you got started to make you feel on edge.  You had debated with yourself for quite some time if you should come clean to Steve and Bucky about it.  Yet you decided not to.  They were too busy on their mission and you didn’t want them distracted.  Instead, you put the notes in your little box and tried not to think about it.  In a few short hours, you would be moved in to the Avengers Tower and you wouldn’t have any more issues.

Another thing was nagging at you and it was the fact that you had become much more irritable over the last few days.  You hoped, no you fucking prayed, it wasn’t your medication that needed a dose increase so instead you chalked it up to the stress of having to move.  

The following day Steve and Bucky surprised you at your apartment to help you finish packing. They had even rented a moving truck to help move things quicker.  Almost everything was already packed; you just had the drawers left in your bedroom and the furniture.  

Steve opened up the top drawer of your dresser and you could hear the growl that left his lips. Turning around, you saw him take out a few of your toys.  “What the fuck are these?” he demanded, brows furrowed as he threw them on your bed. Bucky heard the commotion and came into the bedroom, eyeing you, Steve and the handful of toys on your bed.  “I thought we agreed on a rule that you weren’t to touch yourself Y/N.”

“I-I know Steve.  I was going to throw them out today.  I wasn’t going to bring them along,” you replied softly.

“Have you used these in the last two weeks?”

Shit.  You were caught.  But to be fair, you thought the rules took place once you moved in. Letting out a sigh, you replied, “Ok, yes I did.  But I thought the rules only went into place once I moved into the tower with you guys. I swear.”

Steve’s fists clenched as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.  It was his ‘authority’ stance and if you were being completely honest, he looked damn hot.  

“Fine.  You get this one warning.  No more pleasing yourself.  Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” you replied quickly, not realizing that the word ‘sir’ went straight to Steve’s groin.  He turned his back on you and walked out of the bedroom while Bucky helped you pack up the rest of your stuff.  

With both super soldiers helping you out, the moving truck was packed up in no time.  You rode back to the tower with Steve and Bucky, beating the moving truck there.  They wanted to show you both of your rooms before unpacking the truck.  

The first room that they brought you to was the hobby room.  Upon opening it, you cried on sight.  It was perfect.  Absolutely fucking perfect.  The walls were white but there was LED lighting around the bottom of the walls making the room light up in pink.  It was how you dreamed of your game room.  Not only that, but Tony had upgraded all of your equipment and there on a brand new desk was two brand new large monitors, bigger than you could have ever imagined.  White shelves ran along the opposite wall of your computer and they were completely spare; waiting for your knickknacks.  

“I’m speechless,” you breathed, your hand coming up to clasp over your mouth.  You never wanted to leave this room.  How you were only supposed to work two nights a week now was beyond you.  You would have to find a way around that.  

Both Bucky and Steve took one of your hands in theirs and they brought you up to their apartment. Correction.  Your apartment as well.  Your heart was pounding in your chest as the elevator door opened and they led you down the hallway.  They stopped in front of your door and let your hands go.

“We are going to let you go ahead and explore your new place on your own.  We will be in here soon.  The scanner on the door opens for us too, but it will only open for us under two conditions. One, if there is an emergency and F.R.I.D.A.Y will override the system to let us in.  And two, if we ask to come in and your voice states that it’s ok, the door will automatically open for either one of us.  We want you to know we value your privacy alright?”

You nodded at Steve, giving him a tight smile before he and Bucky walked back down the hallway and into the living room.  

Taking one more deep breath, you placed your hand on the scanner and the door to your new apartment opened for you.  

Again, you cried instantly as you took in your new apartment.  The kitchen stayed the same, you had no qualms with how it looked. Instead of the original hardwood floor, there was a light gray carpet.  You hated the hardwood floor.  It was always so cold on your feet and now the carpet would keep your feet nice and toasty.  

The living room was your dream living room.  The walls were now a dark gray and there was a black three person couch along with two black chairs on either side; a black coffee table sat between the couch and the television hanging on the wall.  It was dark, just the way you wanted it.  

Sure, compared to your game room that was all bright colors, that was for a job and you had a different personality on camera.  Something that the watchers wanted to see.  Now, in the comfort of your own home, you could be yourself.  You were drawn to the darkness, it was what made you feel safer.  The brightness of other rooms always gave you a headache.  Now, you had nice blackout curtains along the floor to ceiling windows that would keep the light out and if you did want to, you could easily open it up for some bright sunshine.  

Walking along the rest of your apartment, you came about your bedroom.  Inside there was a large king sized bed that lay atop a black four post iron bedframe.  The best part of it was the black tule fabric that hung like curtains to each of the four bedposts.  There were red satin sheets and a black comforter atop the bed, ready for you to lay down and relax.  Screw your game room, you never wanted to leave this bed!

Standing in the middle of the bedroom, you closed your eyes and took it all in.  Things were going to start changing and you were hoping for the better for once in your life.  Things seemed content and you couldn’t wait to start your life here with Steve and Bucky.

Just then there was a knock on the door.  “Who is it?” you asked as you made your way into the living room.  

“It’s Steve.  Can I come in?”

“Of course.”

The door opened up and Steve appeared before you.  God he was a dream.  Thick locks with a luscious beard.  You couldn’t wait to kiss him.  

“How do you like the new place?” he asked as he moved into the apartment.  

“Steve,”  you began to say, looking around at everything.  “This is honestly so perfect.  I couldn’t have asked for anything better.  Thank you so much for making all of this possible.”

A tint of blush appeared on his cheeks.  “It was nothing sweetheart.  Honestly. We just want the best for you.”

You couldn’t take it anymore.  Seeing the blush rise on his cheeks, you gave into your desire.  You walked the few feet to him, placed your right hand behind his neck and pulled him down to meet your lips.  

His lips were soft. So fucking soft against yours as his hands went to grip your waist.  Your fingers dug into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him close, not wanting to let go.  His lips parted and you took the opportunity to nibble on his lower lip; his grip on your waist tightening and you reveled in the feeling.  He was a good kisser.  God he was good as his tongue brushed against your lower lip.  You wanted to tease him at first, but you quickly threw that idea out the window as you just wanted to taste him.  And taste him you did.  Your tongues connected and it sent shockwaves straight to your core. It was the most amazing feeling in the world.  

Steve broke away from the kiss all too quickly, much to your demise.  You wanted to keep going, to keep tasting him, but it was going too fast, too quick.  

“I don’t want to stop,” Steve’s breath fanned your face.  “But if we don’t’ stop now, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop.”

You agreed with a quick nod, knowing damn well that you wouldn’t be able to stop either if things continued.   The two of you worked together to unbox the rest of your belongings.

~~~

Later that night you were in your hobby room unpacking boxes; your mind on Steve and the passionate kiss the two of you shared.  You were surprised how turned on you were just from the kiss alone and your hopes were high in regards to being intimate with both him and Bucky.  

There was a knock on your door and by the time you looked, you saw Bucky opening the door.  

“Hey Bucky,” you said with a smile.  

“Is it alright if I come in?” he questioned.  

Your smile became wider as you nodded.  “Of course you can.”

Bucky began going through some of the boxes, taking out your funko pops and handing them to you as you put them up on your shelves.  The two of you worked together quickly; box after box disappearing out of your room. Before you knew it, everything was unpacked.

You took a look around the room, happy with the way everything turned out.  It was perfect and you couldn’t wait for your first night that you would be live streaming.  

“Thank you for all of your help tonight Bucky.  I really appreciate it,” you beamed.  

Bucky was standing right in front of you and it was the first time you realized just how large he truly was.  He was so close to you and his smell was impeccable.  He smelt of the forest, of woods and pine and cinnamon and you wanted to taste every inch of him.  Luckily for you, he had the same idea.  

His hand cusped your cheek as he leaned down and connected your lips together.  As cheesy at is sounded, it was as if fireworks were lit off the second your lips connected.  His lips were just as soft as Steve’s and you craved every bit of him.  

Gripping the hair at the nape of his neck, he teased your lower lip with his tongue and you opened hungrily for him.  Your tongues tangled together and it was such a wondrous feeling, you didn’t want it to end. His metal arm snaked around your waist, pulling you close to him and you could feel his erection through his pants.

Your core grew wetter by the minute as you placed your right hand on his ass, wanting to feel all of him but just like Steve, he pulled away.  The two of you were gasping for air; each other’s breath fanning your faces.

Bucky smirked at you, his eyes searching yours before he spoke.  “Let’s go grab some dinner doll.”

As he pulled you out of your room, you couldn’t help but smile.  First, because you finally kissed both of your soulmates and damn were they amazing kissers.  And second, you were easily turned on by just their gentle kisses; no violet fantasies were running through your mind.  Maybe, just maybe you would be able to have a normal sex life with them at one point. Right?

[madam-melon-meow]

Bisexual Kyoshi is something that can be so personal, actually

Panel edit by @flagellasturbation

[image I.D. : An edit of a comic panel of avatar Kyoshi. On the left in the image is a close-up of Kyoshi from the torso up, contained within an upside-down trapezoid shape. She wears her full battle uniform of olive and emerald robes, dark gloves and bracers, and a golden headpiece in a fan-like shape. Her eyes are the same emerald shade as her robes, she has black hair billowing to the left edge of the image, and her black eyebrows have been dramatically lengthened by black face paint. Her face and neck are artificially whitened with chalky makeup, she has black winged eyeliner, red eyeshadow that sweeps upwards to her temples and down the sides of her nose, and red lipstick outlined in black. This is the classic Kyoshi makeup. Her arms are crossed, the left arm behind her head pointing a golden fan away from the viewer, the right arm extended in front of her face, another golden fan pointed towards the viewer. She appears to be looking upwards and towards the right of the image. Above Kyoshi’s eye level and in the top right of the image is a comic text box. It reads in all caps: “even avatar Kyoshi- who by all accounts loved men and women- was unable to effect any kind of real progress.” The background art and color has been replaced with the Bisexual Flag, a thick horizontal line of pink on top, stopping at Kyoshi’s cheek level, then a thinner line of purple ending at her shoulders, and a thick line of blue that extends to the bottom of the image. End I.D.]

(If someone does not find my image I.D. sufficient, please let me know. This is my first time trying to make such a thing, as i am a lurker, not a poster)

Rise of Kyoshi by F.C. Yee, page 99 (text copy / pasted from the b&n ebook version)

““Are those . . . fire lilies?” he said, a wide, knowing grin spreading across his face.

Kyoshi flushed beet red. “Stop it,” she said.

“That’s right,” Yun said. “The Ember Island tourism minister brought a bunch when he visited two weeks ago. I can’t believe you simply shred the flowers once they dry out. I guess nothing goes to waste in this house.”

“Knock it off,” Kyoshi snapped. But it was too hard keeping the corners of her lips from curling upward.

“Knock what off?” he said, enjoying her reaction. “I’m just commenting on a fragrance I’ve come to particularly enjoy.”

It was an inside reference that only the two of them shared. Rangi didn’t know. She hadn’t been there in the gifting room eight months ago while Kyoshi arranged a vast quantity of fire lilies sent by an admiral in the Fire Navy, one of Hei-Ran’s friends.

Yun had spent the afternoon watching Kyoshi work. Against every scrap of her better judgment, she’d allowed him to lie down on the floor and rest his head in her lap while she plucked deformed leaves and trimmed stems to the right length. Had anyone caught the two of them like that, there would have been a scandal that not even the Avatar could have recovered from.

That day, entranced by Yun’s upside-down features dappled with the flower petals she’d teasingly sprinkled over his face, she’d almost leaned down and kissed him. And he knew it. Because he’d almost reached up and kissed her.

They never spoke of it afterward, the shared impulse that had nearly crashed both of their carriages. It was too . . . well, they each had their duties was a good way to put it. That moment did not fit anywhere among their responsibilities.

But since then, whenever the two of them were in the presence of fire lilies, Yun’s eyes would dart toward the flowers repeatedly until he was sure Kyoshi noticed. She would try unsuccessfully to keep a straight face, the heat coloring her neck, and he’d sigh as if to mourn what could have been.

Today was no different. With a wistful blush on his own cheeks, Yun stared her down until her defenses broke and she let out a giggle through her nose.

“There’s that beautiful smile,” he said. He pressed his heels into the floor, sliding up against the wall, and straightened his rumpled shirt. “Kyoshi, trust me when I say this: If it turns out not to be me, I’ll be glad it’s you.”

~~~~~~~~~

Rise of Kyoshi by F.C. Yee, page 210 (text copy / pasted from the b&n ebook version)

“You think you don’t deserve peace and happiness and good things, but you do!” Rangi yelled. “You, Kyoshi! Not the Avatar, but you!”

She closed the distance and wrapped her arms around Kyoshi’s waist. The embrace was a clever way to hide her face.

“Do you have any idea how painful it’s been for me to follow you on this journey where you’re so determined to punish yourself?” she said. “Watching you treat yourself like an empty vessel for revenge, when I’ve known you since you were a servant girl who couldn’t bend a pebble? The Avatar can be reborn. But you can’t, Kyoshi. I don’t want to give you up to the next generation. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

Kyoshi realized she’d had it all wrong. Rangi was a true believer. But her greatest faith had been for her friends, not her assignment. She pulled Rangi in closer. She thought she heard a slight, contented sigh come from the other girl.

“I wish I could give you your due,” Rangi muttered after some time had passed. “The wisest teachers. Armies to defend you. A palace to live in.”

Kyoshi raised an eyebrow. “The Avatar gets a palace?”

“No, but you deserve one.”

“I don’t need it,” Kyoshi said. She smiled into Rangi’s hair, the soft strands caressing her lips. “And I don’t need an army. I have you.”

Psh,” Rangi scoffed. “A lot of good I’ve been so far. If I were better at my job you would never feel scared. Only loved. Adored by all.”

Kyoshi gently nudged Rangi’s chin upward. She could no more prevent herself from doing this than she could keep from breathing, living, fearing.

“I do feel loved,” she declared.

Rangi’s beautiful face shone in reflection. Kyoshi leaned in and kissed her.

A warm glow mapped Kyoshi’s veins. Eternity distilled in a single brush of skin. She thought she would never be more alive than now.

And then—

The shock of hands pushing her away. Kyoshi snapped out of her trance, aghast.

Rangi had flinched at the contact. Repelled her. Viscerally, reflexively.

Oh no. Oh no.

This couldn’t—not after everything they’d been through—this couldn’t be how it—

Kyoshi shut her eyes until they hurt. She wanted to shrink until she vanished within the cracks of the earth. She wanted to become dust and blow away in the wind.

But the sound of laughter pulled her back. Rangi was coughing, drowning herself with her own tears and mirth. She caught her breath and retook Kyoshi by the hips, turning to the side, offering up the smooth, unblemished skin of her throat.

“That side of my face is busted up, stupid,” she whispered in the darkness. “Kiss me where I’m not hurt.”

~~~~~

I include both these quotes because i've seen a few posts about the “gigantic lesbian” avatar, and although i am glad my sapphic sisters feel connected to Kyoshi (as well they should!), that doesn't mean i wish to simply be quiet on the matter of her textual bisexuality. I understand that not everyone has read her novels, nor has everyone read legend of Korra comics, but Kyoshi is *textually* bisexual.

Kyoshi had a loving romantic relationship with her firebending friend Rangi, but this does not erase her feelings for her earthbending friend Yun, even if neither of them were able to properly express it due to their respective “status”. (For context if you haven’t read, the masters believed that Yun was the avatar, and though he was bodyguarded by Rangi, and though Kyoshi was his servent, the three of them were simiar ages and thus close friends until the discovery of Kyoshi’s true ability destroyed their former lives). Hell, Kyoshi and Rangi do not become intimate until after fleeing their former lives. Who is to say what would have happened, had Yun not been captured by father glowworm ?

I know that there is a chance you will scoff at this, will write this off as comphet, accuse me of disproportionately weighting an almost-kiss with a true relationship, but these above quotes (as well as the comic panel from “the legend of korra: turf wars- part 1”) serve as proof that Kyoshi, “by all accounts loved men and women” (see panel directly below)

[image I.D. : the same comic panel as the edit above, this one without the bisexual flag edited in. Directly behind Kyoshi, within the upside-down trapezoid shape, is an olive to lime gradient, darker around her head and lighter near the bottom. Around and to the right in the image, outside of the trapezoid, is an aerial shot of buildings within an Earth Kingdom city, and what appears to be the lines of troops on the ground far below. the text box in the image is the same, but I have underlined the word “men” in blue, the word “and” in purple, and the word “women” in pink, to reflect the bisexual flag. End I.D.]

I am making such a big deal over this because Kyoshi is a massive figure, her long shadow cast over Aang’s life alongside Roku’s, and even before her novels came out there were often jokes about her “bloodthirsty” nature. I implore you to read the novels and see why Kyoshi believed in deadly justice at times, but also so you can see what a dynamic, loving, and beautiful character she is.

Some members of fandom have taken a “step on me” attitude towards Kyoshi, who has, even if the 7 feet tall thing is more fanon than canon, been explicitly described as “exceptionally tall”, and “towering” over others. This “strong woman who will break me and I thank them” attitude is one that butch &/or physically imposing sapphics, as well as trans women with similar statures to Kyoshi have expressed discomfort when applied to themselves and characters like them. I would love for more people to acknowledge her flaws and multi-faceted nature, that she is more than a “warrior goddess”, just as Aang is more than a living relic. Flattening her out to the easily-fetishable parts erases the depth of her character and the complexity of circumstances that led to the instances of deadly force.

There are very few bisexual characters in media, especially women, and especially in children’s media. Bisexual women have often been caricatured as loose, promiscuous, good for a threesome and not much else. (This is mot to say that i think any lesser of my fellow bisexuals who are proudly promiscious, nor can an actual live bisexual person be considered a stereotype for living their life, but media’s portayal of us as obsessed with desire is incredibly harmful). Knowing that a strong, beautiful, and important character in the avatar universe is a bisexual woman is amazing, even more so to have her first lady-love described in the novels with such care. F. C. Yee, the author of these novels, has my eternal gratitude. I sincerely hope that the new generation of fans, whether they are drawn to the cartoon or even the hypothetical live action show, will pick up these novels and discover the kind of bisexual character that I wish existed in my early days as a reader, and if a small fraction of them resonate with Kyoshi’s reciprocal on Yun and love for Rangi, then the world becomes a little bit brighter for it.

I mentioned her importance for the simple reason that Kyoshi IS important with the text of ATLA. As one of the avatars, she is one of the most historically important figures in that universe, one of the few avatars that Aang knows by name, and one of the only avatars to speak through his body. The fact that she has two whole novels to herself testifies to that effect, making her bisexual representation all the more important than a simple background character might be. 

If or when the ATLA live action tv show occurs, we can expect some mention of Kyoshi. After all, there is a whole episode dedicated to exploring one of her missions, and the way that the descendants of her enemy have recolored history. It is my sincere desire that enough discussion is made about her canon bisexuality , that fandom trumphets it from the roof with as much force as crackshipping zukka, that when she does make it to the screen, there is some subtle nod in her bisexuality’s direction, even if it is something as meta as casting a bisexual actress for her. Thank you for taking the time to read this.

edit by @flagellasturbation​

[image I.D. : An edit of a comic panel of avatar Kyoshi. This is like the first image, Kyoshi and the text box of the comic panel untouched, the background color and art replaced with the bisexual flag. However, this version has the words “by all accounts” blown up large and placed diagonally in the image, directly under Kyoshi’s face and stretching from one side of the image to the other. The bottom third of the image is similarly obscured, the words  “men” , “and” , “women” blown up large enough to fill the panel and cover most of Kyoshi’s torso, as well as the purple and blue areas of the background flag. End I.D.]

[wordsinwinters]

Then Again, Part 26 (Peter Parker x Reader)

Masterlist (with AO3 links)

Total word count: 50,293

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25,

Summary: After an intense argument and a forced-to-share-the-bed situation during their junior year decathlon trip, Peter and the Reader examine their faults and failings. As they attempt to fix their mistakes and improve their friendship, that friendship quickly begins to evolve into something else.

Slow burn fic in which all characters are included and their dynamics explored; multiple character POVs.

Betas: @girl-tips-from-satan and @fanboyswhereare-you

A/N: This isn’t my favorite chapter, but it’s been sitting in my drafts for over a year and I figured if I don’t post it now, I’ll never move on to the next. Additionally, as always, I live for feedback. 😉

Without further ado,

Then Again Part 26:

(Words: 2,825)

The bus ride will probably get boring soon, or at least as long as the girls stay asleep, but even as quiet as it is, it’s almost a perfect morning. Being early (around 6:00, I think?), there’s barely any light except street lamps and car lights, but some of the clouds on the right have caught a pretty bluish purple tinge. It reminds me of that Rainbow Fish book Aunt May used to read to me as a kid. To make it better, the morning air is chilly enough that the driver turned the heaters on low so it’s wrapped-in-a-blanket-while-it-snows warm in here. Although that also might be why, apart from general dirt and old gum, the strongest smell on the bus is salty grease— since the nearest heater is under the seat Flash spilled french fries and chicken nuggets in yesterday. It could be worse, though. I mean, it’s not necessarily a bad smell and the traffic isn’t horrible. It’s not the best, but it could definitely be louder and a lot slower. The field of flowing red tail lights ahead of us is oddly comforting, like a snail-slow pasture of mechanical color. 

All in all, it’s a pretty cozy start for a dreaded five hour bus ride. It’s giving me quiet time to think. So that’s where I’m at. Or should be. I got some stuff organized in my head last night even if I keep getting distracted now. Well, it was more like a couple hours ago, since I wasn’t able to get to sleep for so long after we said goodnight. But anyway, I’m trying to focus. It’s just hard, even with both of them sleeping.

From my and Ned’s spot behind them, watching the girls’ heads gently shake and bump against each other as the bus shudders through potholes is kind of calming. They seem so peaceful from this angle, like two people who’ve never pranked me and Ned to the point we were nearly suspended, or kept us awake and annoyed by asking paradoxical hypothetical questions because they know how Ned and I will argue for days if we don’t agree on an answer, or anything else like that. It’s like finding two mischievous cats sleeping, curled up on a chair. It’s easier to appreciate them when they aren’t causing chaos. But it’s not that hard to appreciate them when they are anyway.

Though Ned and I won’t admit it when they’re fully awake, seeing their heads smack into the seat in front of them each time the bus lurched to a halt at stoplights (during the first ten minutes after they’d fallen asleep) was funnier than it should’ve been. Even knowing then that we wouldn’t mention it later didn’t stop us from exchanging silent laughs when they leaned back up, muttering unintelligible complaints before settling their heads back onto one another. For the last couple stoplights before the highway, at least, we decided to be better friends. We both stood up with one leg on the floor and one knee on our own seat so we could easily hold their foreheads back each time it happened. Again, I wouldn’t admit this out loud, even to Ned, but it’s a little bit funny that Ned was a split second slower than me, so while I kept catching MJ’s head before the stop, he half-smacked Y/N’s forehead, like a really-close-to-the-floor basketball dribble, and made a wincing face each time. A lot of times. But it did stop her from colliding with the seat, and she didn’t wake up or complain. 

As nice as it is with them and almost everyone else sleeping through the dark, quiet first hour of the bus trek back to New York, I am excited for her and MJ to wake up. Whenever that is. I’ve missed them. 

But anyway, I really need to focus. God. I’m not doing a great job of that this morning. Apparently. So I’m focusing now. It’s like Ned said. I need to be honest with myself. 

Okay. 

Alright. 

No distractions. 

I’m going to set myself straight now, before we get back, so I can make a game plan and be more decisive and make less mistakes. Fewer? Yeah, fewer mistakes. She’s told me that half a dozen times this since she read that grammar book last summer. But that’s not important.

If I’m being honest... I think I’ve avoided the real possibility that things could work out between us because it felt too risky. And I make some dumb, impulsive choices. So that’s saying a lot. If she said no, what’s the worst that could happen? May and Ned have been asking me that for months, and it’s been so frustrating. The answer should be obvious. The worst thing wouldn’t be the rejection, it’d be if it made her uncomfortable and she broke off our friendship. Or, even if she stuck around, if our friendship changed and I had to watch her get more and more distant, knowing it was my fault and nothing would ever go back to normal. 

Those were the worst — and, I thought, most probable — possibilities. For months I’ve been certain that if anything changed, everything would, and it’d all go to shit. So I kept dodging it. And dodging her before the trip. But, then, things did change this weekend. Things are changing. We fought, and it was super shitty and awful and a total nightmare fiasco, but we made up. And she seemed almost as relieved as me when we did. Now we even have this pact about spending more time together. I know it’s officially only in the name of friendship, but something’s… different. I feel it, and I think she does too. And it doesn’t seem bad. That’s the craziest part. I mean, she even kissed me last night. On the cheek, but still. “Keep it.” Maybe May’s not ridiculous: she really might feel the same way. 

I’ve been texting her this morning, actually. Aunt May. I had to admit that I’m happy she forced me to do the forehead kiss thing last night. As annoyed as I was that she and Ned ganged up on me like that, I can’t dispute the results. She kissed me! Kind of. (To be fair, she did hit my mouth a little bit even if it was an accident.) At first it made me wonder if she heard any of Ned’s shout-comments before I could turn the t.v. up to cover what he was saying. But I doubt it. Even if she felt the same way, I know her too well to think she wouldn’t freak out more and enough that it’d be noticable. Yeah, no, I’d definitely have been able to tell if she’d heard him saying things like, “Nobody’s saying you have to tell her that you googled the probability of high school sweethearts getting married that time she saved your ass on that Bronte essay, but yeah, Aunt May’s right! Just ask her to come over and either talk to her or do the hair/forehead thing!” Anyway, May’s on board with her coming over a lot this week and next week and giving us some space. So are Ned and MJ. Ned said they agreed on giving us two weeks (starting tomorrow) without them hanging out after school. And who knows, if the dance goes really well, maybe it’ll be normal for us to hang out, just us, without the whole group. Because… well, I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself. 

I’ll admit, they’re the best friends I could ever have. All three of them. 

And it’s nice to have them all here now, Ned to my left and the girls in front of us. It’s even nicer to be outside of class or the city or crazy study sessions and have had a short breather from all that (despite the shitshow before we smoothed things over and could enjoy it). To be somewhere chill together. Yesterday and today probably feel even better because the last few days, or even weeks… no— months, if I’m being honest— have had me in a kind of less than happy place. But that’s over now. We’re all here and things are finally good. I just wish the girls would wake up, especially since Ned’s back on his phone. Again. 

Yesterday, everybody hung out for most of the afternoon, but being in the whole decathlon group isn’t the same as just being the four of us. Or two. 

Speaking of two— Ned being away during this next week or two is going to make everything so… unfiltered. New. Without his interference and being able to talk to him as often as normal, it’ll mostly just be her and me. Nobody to distract attention or blame stuff on or help me out when I’m doing something dumb (which is often). Like, for example, last night when I maybe let my excitement get the better of me and I might’ve jumped on the bed and thrown a pillow that accidentally broke the lamp on the nightstand. While I don’t really think writing that “Bill Mr. Harrington” note with the school’s address was Ned’s best idea, it helped me not care too much, enough that I didn’t do something dumber like actually tell Mr. Harrington. It might come back to bite us, though. Still, he was genuinely helpful this morning when Flash showed up too. 

While we were hanging out in the girls’ room waiting for them to finish packing, there was a knock on the door. I figured it was Mr. Harrington about to yell at me and Ned for the broken lamp, so I motioned to Ned to shut up and move closer to the head of the bed we were already sitting on where, courtesy of the wall between the bedroom and bathroom, he wouldn’t be able to see us as long as he stayed by the doorway. MJ gave us an odd glance before she got up to answer it. Her annoyed, “What are you doing here?” didn’t immediately disqualify Mr. Harrington, but the sound of Flash’s voice saying, “I, uh, brought you guys some muffins,” made me tense at the first syllable.

“The free muffins they give us for breakfast?”

MJ’s dripping sarcasm nearly made me laugh even though I couldn’t see her, but Y/N turning from her suitcase and walking over to join them killed it still in my throat. 

“Nope,” he said. “They’re fancy muffins from a bakery a few miles away.”

I wanted to roll my eyes out of my skull.

She may not like him, but that doesn’t mean I was wrong about him being into her. What a dumb way to impress someone. “Fancy muffins.”

“Expensive?” MJ asked. Even without seeing her face, I could tell she was giving him the squint death stare. It’s scary to have to respond to that face if you don’t know what the right answer is.

“Yes, especially with the delivery fee,” he said, sounding prepared for the question, “but they’re from a small local place, not a chain, which I figured you guys would appreciate. Actually, I think you’d like the woman who owns it, she was super grouchy and hard to convince.”

“Convince?”

“They don’t normally deliver at 5 in the morning.”

“Oh, so you thought you could just—”

“What kind did you get?” 

That’s one of the things I like about Y/N. She knows how to manage tempers and when to jump in; she has Flash and MJ down to a science. In that moment, though, I wanted MJ to fire her most confrontational questions at him with no mercy.

“Well, they’re all apology muffins—” I heard MJ scoff. Exactly. She gets it. “But I got blueberry, chocolate, obviously, coffee, cranberry orange, maple, I think that one has chicken in it or something, and banana nut.”

Ned and I turned towards each other with silent smirks at the last one. It’s a dumb joke, but under normal circumstances we’d never resist—

“Cool. Since you’ve brought so many, you can come in.”

Sometimes MJ drives me up the wall. This was one of those times. 

I mentally took back my agreement with her scoff.

The three of them came into the room, and for a couple seconds, Flash didn’t see us. The girls were closer to the window than they were to the wall and the bed Ned and I were sitting on, and he didn’t look behind him. Until MJ pointed us out directly.

“You can give them some too,” she said, her expression bordering on smug. “Apology muffins, right?”

Flash froze for a second. I straightened my back. Neither Ned or I said anything.

“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded. “Of course.”

Surprisingly, he shook his shoulders like a bug just buzzed by his head and walked over, opening a giant rectangle of a box up to us. 

“Take however many you guys want.”

I stared at him, not moving. Nobody flinched. Then I realized he was tapping the side of the box with his thumb. Not in an asshole come on, hurry up way, but in an anxious way. Just as I started to reach toward the box, Y/N asked:

“Why’d you get so many of the coffee ones?”

Flash looked away at just the right second. 

Did I technically cave first by reaching into the box? Yes. But did anyone see? No.

Although, I guess he technically caved by offering us the muffins in the first place. Ha. All the same, I took a blueberry one. 

“They’re my dad’s favorite. I wanted to surprise him, you know? But I can’t even get a hold of.... Um, are your guys’ parents going to pick you up when we get there, or are you actually staying for school?”

“Staying.”

“All of you?” 

He looked around to ask all of us, even me and Ned. We all nodded. When he looked at me, though, his eyes twitched. It’s a face I’ve gotten a lot before. He realized he said parents. 

“You said these are orange cranberry?” Ned asked, pointing. 

Flash nodded. 

“They’re solid, though the banana nut ones are probably the best.”

As I said, under normal circumstances, like if one of the girls had said it, I would’ve laughed right then, but I’m not used to laughing around Flash. Ned, who usually follows that same rule, shook his head and grinned, if a little bit... nervously?

“Hell no!” he said, pretending to be mildly outraged. “I’m not eating banana-bust-a-nut muffins.”

A second surprise: Flash tilted his head and paused, clearly as stunned to be told a joke by Ned as the rest of us were to witness it— and laughed. So did everyone else. It was only for a few seconds, like literally three quick seconds, but for the first time for as long as I can remember, all of us were laughing with Flash. It stopped almost as soon as it started. 

Tension crept back in soon so he left pretty quickly after that with an awkward, “See you guys in a few.” Thank god. 

The girls finished tidying their room and going over the homework that’s due today (which we did last week since we knew we’d never get it done on the trip), before forcing me and Ned into the hallway so Mr. Harrington wouldn’t need to check our room for us and potentially find the broken lamp. 

And then, pretty soon, we ended up on the warm bus, loaded in with everyone else. It seemed like everybody but Ned and I were too quiet and sleepy and squinty to be able to talk much before dozing off or staring blankly out the window or scrolling social media on their phones, the latter two options leading to the first in most cases. At this point, I think Ned, Flash, and I are the only ones still awake. 

I’m going to work at tolerating him. As long as he doesn’t cross any lines with anybody from now on, I won’t bait him either. (Admittedly, I’ve been guilty of that, especially recently.) I mean, his comment about his dad was hard to miss. And even when he said it, it wasn’t a shock. Everyone in our grade at some point has had to listen to Flash’s rambling excuses for his parents ignoring or forgetting to show up for school events. Maybe being a dick is just hereditary for him. Or a family tradition. 

I don’t remember how I got so off track. Where was I before? Oh yeah. Risk. Possibilities. The almost-worst case scenario that turned out not so bad. It’s been a messy weekend with plenty of re-evaluating, but the point is simple: I think I’ve got to give a few new things a try, and I’m excited to have a chance over the next couple weeks.

Next update: God only knows.

Tag List: If you’d like to be tagged, send me a(n) ask/message or reply* to this post!

*Notice: If you reply, I may not respond back; if you need/want confirmation, send me an ask/message instead :) Also, there are a few blogs whose tags aren’t working and I haven’t been able to contact them. For the time being, I removed most of the dead tags. If you weren’t tagged and should have been, or if you’ve changed your url, send me a quick message and I’ll put you on my message list!

Tagged: (If I’m missing anyone, send me a message!) @spideymood @solarspidey @tiffanypooh @carrotsunshine @breebree1198 @idontlooklikereginageorge @stumb1ing @bit-bot0711  @justthatshortlittlenerd  @avzuzu   @melonmochi   @happysynonym @the-redthread  @i-love-superhero @ohgloryyy-blog @nicunty @pxrrished @shugr12110629 @realitykilledtheteen@thehanneloner @lionfart   @tryn25 @slythergirlimagines@twentyjuanpancakes @littlekay15  @hi-mishamigos @eversweet-imagines  @thisisthetragicstoryofme @augurydemon@daisy-john @siriuspadfoot14 @debiwolf-t @casual-vaporwave@swimmeranxiety @dangerousluv1   @ghosthiam @homecomjng @deep-thoughts-in-the-shower @bughead-isendgame @qu3en-of-letters @brightcolorsoffendme @cutehollands @enoumen-t @dottirose @justthatshortlittlenerd  @thatgirlthatlikesmarvel@moonofmy-life @royal1958  @ashleyhearto   @pinkleopardss @cutie1365  @spideyschmood @dragoste-lunes @peterparkley @gold-masks @stonesandskeletonbones @myhealingstar  @a-typical-antisocial-fangirl   @love-and-protect-bucky-barnes@fangirldreamsandstuff  @fandom-stuff @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @jellzu  @aussie-mantle@stevieboyharrington  @septicquill @thingfromlove  @dude-whatawave   @me-a-hopeless-romantic @condy-wants-a-cookie @susurrantsoul  @kawaii-girl-101  @lxstneverfound  @ukulele-tea-and-ocean @tepidtrash @emilymarie0422 @styles-bucks@shortstack-ofpancakes @lilbeatlebear @imyourdadssideblog @the-introverted-loner-art @marvelcuties @lesdragly @atomic-chickenwings  @reanne @schwankyblock @nedthegay @kateelyse96@outsider-underwater @omg-lexiloveyou @le-yona  @desteweirdo@thingfromlove @madasameg @bookish-and-shy @lowkeyfriggason @arya-and-sansa @hot-pocket01 @icantthinkofanyusername0 @ajkenwo

[raevenlywrites]

Skill and Difficulty Levels (in writing diversity)

Think of it as a difficulty setting in a video game. The more you add variables that you are unfamiliar with, the more you’re raising the difficulty level. Writing a story set in your home town in the present day with characters who share your background and life experiences is playing on easy mode. (There’s nothing wrong with playing on easy mode. In fact, until your skill level increases, I recommend it.) Writing a story set in the 12th century on a different continent with characters who are nothing like you? That’s a lot harder. And will require a lot more effort, and care, and research. If you go about it carelessly, you’re bound to get things wrong, and the story won’t be very good.

This also applies to writing characters of color as a white person. Especially as a white person who has little to no interactions with people of color in your daily life.

I wanted to pull this section out of writing with color's main post (found here ) because their articles can be a bit daunting to take in all at once (bless them for putting so much thought, care, and variety of perspective in their answers, but it can be so hard to digest those massive walls of text sometimes (which is why I then added all my own massive wall of text afterwards oops XD))

I found this an exceptionally helpful way of framing it, and also wanted to add on that when drafting, easy mode is super duper your friend. All the care, concern, and research (and fear) can stop you from getting your story written in the first place.

Draft in easy mode, so that you get something down on. You can't edit and improve what never gets written.

This is how the advice "just write people" and "do your homework" intersect. The first draft of your character needs to be grounded in their basic personhood. But you can't stop there and call it a day, when writing someone of a different background than your own experience. After you've gotten that first draft down, then you can approach the research and reader feedback section. Having this "just a person" draft down gives you something concrete to approach sensitivity readers with, so that you're not just bombarding them with open ended questions (something I'm guilty of myself - it didn't get me very far XD). It gives your research direction, and gives your story the foundational backbone of a a dynamic character rather than a one dimensional, no matter how well-intentioned, cardboard cut out with a list of things you've learned about X group scribbled on it.

This will mean lots and lots of re-writing as you learn about how your original idea of the character doesn't reflect a realistic experience.

That's okay.

This is just flat out part of the writing experience. If you want a polished piece, you have to come it again and again and again. Writing unfamiliar experiences just adds in more layers to polish off. It's no different than polishing off your spelling mistakes, grammar mistakes, or pacing or clarity issues.

(if you don't want a polished piece, that is absolutely okay. Just don't be surprised if, when sharing, an unpolished piece is met with backlash. You're allowed to do as much or as little work as you please, but folks are also entitled to not being pleased with work that's meant to reflect them that didn't consult them. Just something to keep in mind)

[stranger-who-writes-fiction]

Aaaanyways, I wanna put on my comic-art-nerd hat and talk about panel-to-panel action in that Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow preview because yes, I have been staring at it for days, and yes, I will continue to do so until it is released next month! XD

LET’S GO:

I apologize in advance for the funky formatting, there’s an art to tumblr text posts and I...have not mastered it. XD

It’ll go image, then analysis.

Also, just to be clear: I’m not doing this so much to be like, ‘WOW THIS IS GROUNDBREAKING, STUNNING, NEVER-BEEN-DONE!’ In fact, many comics do the things I’m gonna highlight/geek out over! Rather, it’s more about, like. Appreciating the construction of the pages, panels, etc.

Okay, so! Page 1, the SPLASH PAGE

Okay, so, admittedly, I don’t have a ton to say about this opening image, largely because it is one single illustration as opposed to a series of panels. But even then! It quickly establishes that we’re not on earth--the foliage, rock formations, and GIANT WOOLY FRIEND(?) give that away. Also! Said rock formations and wooly friend’s horns frame our new character RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PAGE, letting you know that even though she is tiny, she is important. And, I will just say, I love the dust effects on the ground. The repeated semi-circle shapes evoke the feeling of rhythmic, galloping hoof beats, even without actual movement or sound. Lovely.

And now, PAGE 2!

So, I’ve highlighted panel 3, but before I get there! Panels 1 & 2 do such a nice job of giving us an idea as to the actual, physical size of these two characters, as well as the power dynamic at play. This random dude takes up the WHOLE DANG PANEL with his bulging muscles and is framed in an up-shot; in panel 2, Ruthye is not only shown from above--we’re literally looking down at her--she is also relegated to the bottom half of the panel. Additionally, it’s a great way to show the action of her turning to pull the sword from her belt, obscuring it from both our view and his, to bring out the ‘big reveal’ in the next panel.

Speaking of! Panel 3! Our establishing shot! We’re introduced to the full interior of this tavern. We see where everything is placed--walls, furniture, and perhaps most importantly, the various patrons!

Establishing shots are so important to have in visual media because they help us, the reader/viewer, to orient all of the various components within a sequence or scene.  

It’s also helpful for the artists because then they can better maintain things like screen direction and continuity.

If we don’t have a shot like this, then subsequent action can become confusing to the point of distraction.

YOU WOULD BE SURPRISED how often this is neglected or forgotten in comics! Scenes will change abruptly and it’s like, ‘wait, wait, where are we?’ 

ADDITIONALLY, the establishing shot not only gives us basic spatial information, it ~sets the mood~ XD Setting! Atmosphere! Genre! It’s all here.

I mentioned this in my prior post, that the art gives off some intense fantasy vibes, what with the organic shapes, rough textures, and color palette.

Folks who’ve read advanced copies have described the book as a fantasy/western; that extends even to the series title design! The designer revealed that the western look of the text is deliberate.

So A+ to the art team for NAILING IT!

Okay, on to page 3!

Not a ton of notes on this one, but that’s only because the prior page has done such a solid job of laying out the space, as well as the relationship between these two characters WITH JUST WITH THE ART. (Okay, okay, the words help too. XD) Once more, we see this big brute tower over Ruthye, panel- to-panel; he’s always ‘large and in charge’ regardless of the angle. Even in that final panel! Ruthye is the largest element because she’s closer to us, but the guy is still positioned ‘above’ her, literally talking down to Ruthye from over his shoulder. 

(And HMMMM. That unassuming stranger in the back there, underneath the lanterns that seem to act as an arrow pointing right at her...could she be...important?)

(Her tiny size would seem to imply that she isn’t...AND YET...)

PAGE 4!

MMMM them FRAMES within FRAMES!

Okay, but before I get into that, I do wanna briefly mention panel size and shape.

All of these pages (save for 1 and 7, which are full-page illustrations) pretty much stick to a very traditional panel structure. Each panel is completely enclosed, and there is zero variety in terms of shape. It’s all rectangles.

BUT. The size and orientation change--take, for instance, that ‘skinny’ horizontal panel up top, the way it perfectly suits the ‘shape’ of the elements/action being shown. It’s a close on Kara’s wrist/hand, reaching out for the sword in the guy’s belt. 

I mention this because often, writers don’t dictate stuff like panel layout in a script. They will give the artist the number of panels, and what needs to be included in each one, but the actual, overall organization of the page? Totally up to the artist.

So! Really knowing what you want to highlight and convey is key, because you can use the panels’ size/shape/relation to other panels to ENHANCE those images, like that sword grabbing up top!

AND! Another thing I love about that panel in particular is the way that Kara’s hand and the sword make a tiny frame for Ruthye! Who is, again, VERY TINY! 

I keep mentioning the size thing because it’s a nice bit of economical visual storytelling; the child character is going to be smaller than the adult characters anyway, but by calling attention to it repeatedly, we as the viewer are constantly reminded that this kid is small! She needs help! She needs to be protected! Which is like, the whole premise of the inciting incident. XD Good stuff!

(Also more dot eyes in comics that aren’t humor comics, please.) 

There’s another frame down in panel 3 as well! Evely uses this device several times throughout this sequence; it’s such a great use of the multiple swords in the scene, AND shows that she can really pack all of the characters in there without cutting any of them off/obscuring them behind various objects.

And like, NO TANGENTS, which takes some serious skillz.

ESPECIALLY when you consider all that beautiful linework. LOOK AT THEM INKS.

...In particular, look at them inks in panel 5! The shading on the booth is done in such a manner that the ‘grain’ of the ink defines the perspective. We’re looking down at Kara, from above. This is a helpful little bit of orientation, as there’s not a ton of room around Kara to have any other perspective lines to help sell the angle. 

ALSO, NOTE THE POSITION OF MR. BRUTE IN PANEL 4, AND THEN KARA’S EYELINE IN PANEL 5. It will be important in...

PAGE 5!

Allow me to explain:

In panel four on page 4, we see the guy reach for his sword, his body language revealing that he’s intent on moving towards Kara.

In panel 5 on the same page, we get that lovely down shot of Kara looking right up at us, the viewer. But also, the implication is that she’s ACTUALLY looking at Tough Guy, because in the next page, we see that he’s positioned himself right above her to swing that sword down!

(My apologies for the poor attempts at drawn annotations.) 

There’s no action lines cluttering up the beautiful art; Not-Conan’s hair, rather, acts as the action line/guiding ‘arc’ so that we can better follow the movement.

Kara, likewise, doesn’t have any action lines on her, but her posture and hair act as visual cues to tell us that she slides over in the booth, out of the way of the sword.

In particular, the way her right shoulder/arm draws closer to her body, and the way her left hand comes up to offset the way she’s now positioned, really sells the ‘slide’. 

More beautiful indicators of movement in panel 2; the hair, the action line on the sword, the torn fabric of Kara’s shirt.

Panel 3 brings more FRAMES WITHIN FRAMES! And, actually, as I’m looking at it? I think it could be argued that we actually have a FRAME within a FRAME within a FRAME!

First frame: Panel border, natch.

Second frame: Goofus’ sword, arm, and face frame Kara.

Third frame: Kara’s arm and sword work with Goofus’ head again to frame tiny Krypto.

LAYERS.

And now, a note about colors!

I said before that I love the palette at play. The earthy tones give the entire setting an organic feel--this is not a high-tech locale! We’re dealing with natural materials here.

BUT THEN THOSE BLUES!

Not only do we get that nice split complementary thing happening with the yellow, but it also signals the blue of Kara’s costume, a little hint of which is revealed in the final page.

And, like. It’s night time. XD

(I just gotta say, love the cold blue outside the window next to Kara’s table, contrasted with the warm yellow of the interior. Even though this is a bar, there’s still that element of like. Coziness.)

Also! Even though the overall palette is heavy on the yellows, Kara’s hair is more saturated and leans towards a warmer yellow, while the rest of the yellows in the scene are cooler. Thus! We have CONTRAST! Our eyes are drawn right to her.

And I know--I KNOW--that SG comics twitter already hates King because Kara’s DRINKING and personally I want more of the story/context before I pass any judgement but I must admit, the shapes? In panel 5? With Kara drinking in the foreground? 

I kinda love it.

Also mmmm-MMMM, more of them SOFT BLUES.

Okay. PAGE 6!

Now THIS PAGE is what inspired this whole endeavor.

Because, okay. If I’ve not made it clear by now: I read a lot of comics.

And I generally enjoy all of the comics I read!

But, what I’ve found lately, is that if I don’t enjoy a comic, it’s because I, as a reader, find myself confused by the art.

Confused as in, the art is hard to follow.

That can be because the color design/ink work doesn’t have enough contrast, or the composition is muddled, but most frequently?

It’s poor panel-to-panel action.

When there’s no flow/connection between what’s happening in one panel vs. another, suddenly it’s on you, as the reader, to do a lot more of the work as you go through the scene. And sometimes! We don’t even have enough visual information to DO that work!

So when I read this, I was like, ‘ah, thank you, an easy flow of action for my brain to appreciate.’ XD

AND SO. Panel 1! Same stuff we’ve been seeing! The ink work, hair, clothing details, etc. all work to show us which direction each character is moving. Kara’s arm and jacket all point to her slamming that mug in the dude’s face; dude’s sword serves as a GIANT ARROW illustrating the path of his stab.

Not much to say on panels 2 and 3 other than: FACIAL EXPRESSIONS! And also, HAIR!!!

PANEL FOOOOUR!!!!

Love. This. Panel.

Again, I really love that there are no action lines slapped on top of this gorgeous art, all of the movement is conveyed in the inks, body language, clothes, and so on.

Like. There’s a conscious decision, here, to not have Kara’s hair obscuring the dude’s torso, and that’s good! Because his belt/uhh...kilt? Skirt? Is showing us the speed and direction of his jab; if Kara’s hair were in the way, it would break up the flow.

BUT THEN HOW TO SHOW THAT KARA’S DIPPING FORWARD???

Note the ties on her cuff, and the inks on her jacket!

There’s nothing special happening with Krypto, BTW. I just circled him because he’s a Good Boy who deserves to be noticed.

Panel 5, more of the same, the inks telling us how these characters are moving through space. ALSO, the length of the lines conveys speed without needing to add something distracting/obscure the art with a ‘blur’ effect.

Final panel! I. LOVE. THIS.

Particularly the movement in Kara’s hair, just. Beautiful shape language.

But in addition! You’ve got that LOVELY line of action in Kara’s spine as she flips him over, the sword likewise curved in the direction of the throw.

And of course, the dude is crumpling in the appropriate direction, bent in the middle as he collides with the table to--quite literally--complete the circle.

Also, just. The characterization here, is PHENOMENAL.

People (read: irate fans on twitter) have expressed concern (read: complained) about Kara having a sword. Some have even gone so far as to suggest that Kara’s basically a murderer now, because she’s using a weapon.

Never mind the fact that in an episode of JLU, Supergirl used both a sword AND a gun to defend herself while in Skartaris because she had no powers. 

Except we see here that Kara DOESN’T USE THE SWORD to take the guy out, she uses his own force against him. She only uses the swords in the FINAL PAGE in a type of ‘yield’ fashion.

(This particular ‘fight’ sequence reminded me of Brainy’s fighting style in the show so of course that added to my overall enjoyment.)

Like, Kara’s got no powers here, she very well could have used the sword to defend herself, and would...kinda be justified.

But she didn’t! 

Like. Even drunk and therefore out of it, Kara 1.) Steps in to help that kid and 2.) doesn’t use superpowered lethal force on the guy. (I mean, she can’t use her super powers anyway, what with the red sun, but you get the idea.)

And like, the flourish there, of the arms, the way the jacket swirls around her, like a gymnast sticking the landing, GAAAAAHHHH I just love it. It’s great.

Okay, FINAL PAGE, #7:

I mean. What more can I say? EVELY AND LOPES, MAN.

Just some top notch art.

(Also get it guys, it’s a LITERAL shirt rip! XD)

(And look! There’s that tiny bit of blue!)

But anyways, if you’ve made it this far, I applaud you, and thank you for indulging my desire to just. Geek out over one of my favorite comic artists drawing one of my favorite comic characters.

And just to like, reiterate, I’m not suggesting that this comic is THE BEST EVER or that it’s going to redefine the medium, or anything. XD Everything I’ve mentioned here is...pretty basic storytelling mechanics. Watch any movie, and you’ll see all this same stuff at work.

RATHER, this whole post is more about...admiring two artists who clearly know what they’re doing.

And they’re doing it so well! :D

TL;DR: I’m so excited that the Supergirl book has Evely and Lopes, guys. So. Excited. 

[plasticflowering]

DEVIL TEASER ANALYSIS FOREWORD AND PART 1: KEONHEE

I’ve decided to do these analyses in parts, because I don’t really want to just throw a wall of text at everyone. 

First, a Foreword. Keep in mind I’ve done literary and film analysis for a long time and one of the hallmarks of that hobby is being able to make connections where none may exist. I guess that’s the devil in those details. I’m also just writing up these little essays for some fun, so there may be typos and less-than-stellar examples of coherency. 

Anyway…The teasers posted to ONEUS Twitter on January 2nd had pre-teasers posted on the fancafe. I strongly believe that these pre-teasers were purposefully posted so that ToMoon would know which member was symbolized by which teaser card, but I also believe they hold their own strong significance if you look at the graphic design. 

I’ll start by noting that the teaser cards were posted in two different batches: The first batch feature a red/warm colored borders on the oracle cards, and warm colors schemes. The second batch feature blue/cool colored borders, and cool color schemes. Now, immediately what comes to mind when I look at all these together is that there is an obvious stand-out in design: Xion. I’ll get to that. Let’s take this member by member. 

PART 1: KEONHEE

Okay... there’s a lot going on here, symbolically. First of all, the element that’s all over his card is water. He’s half-submerged in water, and there are waterfalls drowning the other chess pieces in the full teaser. What does water represent? As a water sign I could just toss my hair and be like “um, the best things,” but water is traditionally a symbol of cleansing, renewal, life. Beyond that, though, especially in astrology, water is all about adaptability, depth of emotion, and resilience. I’m going to focus on resilience, adaptability, and renewal for Keonhee a little later. But let’s look a little more at the other symbols here first, because they’re crucial. 

Being half submerged on his fancafe pre-teaser makes me think of someone halfway between death and rebirth. There is another chess piece - the rook, specifically, floating in the water next to him. Contrary to what many people think, the rook does not represent a castle among the chess pieces. Its etymology (it comes from the Persian word for “chariot”) as well as its movement on the chessboard represents a war chariot. 

Movement. Dynamism. Moving straight ahead into battle.

What in the world, then, is a piece representative of movement and progress n doing floating in the water - the water that represents renewal and emotional depth? Perhaps this means the Keonhee’s character in this storyline is unable to completely move forward until he can complete his renewal, and accept life.

What has he accepted instead? Well, there’s that symbol in his oracle card itself, which took me OUT the first time I saw it. It’s the King, which is the piece in chess that has the least potential for movement (it can only move one space at a time), but the most power (the game ends if a King is captured).

Then, we look at the final teaser posted to ONEUS Twitter, and we can see that not only is the rook joined by the queen under the waterline (if we’re considering that the overarching lyrical theme is one of love lost, this makes sense), but here also the King is fully submerged. 

Skkrrrtttt. Rewind. Let’s think about how we saw Keonhee in TBONTB. He started out blindfolded in flowers, in a way that suggested innocence to me - ignorant of certain things, but with symbols of purity obscuring his vision. He took off the blindfold, the screen turned red, and next thing we know he’s being brought back to life by Xion, despite what appears to be a struggle. To stay alive? To stay dead? I don’t want this to turn into an analysis of TBONTB, but keep in mind that Keonhee seems to have had the most blatant struggle between life and death, even before this comeback. By the end of the TBONTB video, he’s donning the crown. Even among the monarchs, he is the supreme.

So now we have Keonhee as king. AND BOY DO WE EVER HAVE KEONHEE AS KING. Every single thing about his MV teaser screams power, superiority, and control. Let’s not forget, though, that in order to move forward and progress, Keonhee, the king, needs to allow himself to be fully reborn. What is he still clinging to, that keeps him only half-submerged, half-cleansed? Is it the power? Is it the control? LET GO, MAN.

In his teaser you also see Keonhee seemingly in possession of the symbols that, in TBONTB, were larger than life and holding the six monarchs in their clutches. The hand, the bust, even the moon/sun itself (at least that’s how I’m choosing to interpret the sphere he’s holding). 

This dude’s control is so tight on everything around him that he even has the keepers of the flame at his command, surrounding him but obviously waiting for his word.

Keonhee, LET GO. Or don’t!!! You look really awesome like this (like... really awesome... I am looking R E S P E C T F U L L Y)!!! But let yourself grow and move past this!