#i will never forget this piece of fiction that made me YEARN so much and left me to continue yearning

[gyublues]

i experienced a whirlwind of emotions through this in incredible writing.

TO GROW LOVE (AND EAT IT TO THE CORE)

pairing: mingyu x gn!reader wc: 8.1k summary: your whole life, you've only wanted one thing. then you meet mingyu. suddenly you want too much, and you wish the summer never ended. notes: farmer!au, established relationship, angst/hurt/a little comfort

this is a birthday fic for my one and only cat @wuahae ! yes this is about half a year late but what can i say. all good things come with time. thank you for being so kind, funny, and thoughtful (and patient)! not a day goes by where i’m not thankful for our friendship :)

and a million thanks to hana @wqnwoos and jackie @97-liners for helping me with edits. literally you guys are insane writers and i will never stop looking up to you.

i. strawberries (the summer we were young)

When a strawberry is ripe, the seeds push out from the heart of the fruit, as if it's bursting from the inside out.

This is one of the few and only things you've learned by living in Seogwipo, where strawberry season comes like a supernova. The May sun, full and heavy, peels into summer, and the roadside farms open their doors, trying to catch stray vacationers from Jeju City on the other side of the island.

That being said, there are approximately two things to do here. One of them is farm. The other is pretend like you have a life, which is your childhood friend Yizhuo's favorite thing to do when she's back from university on summer break.

Today, this involved convincing her ritzy, too-good Seoul friends that they're missing out on this side of Jeju. (Missing out on what? You're not sure. Perhaps the chipped paint of the mural walls, or the endless flat-topped stretches of seagrass. Yizhuo isn't fooling anyone, but you've always liked stretching your legs out in the bed of her pick-up, even on the long drive to nowhere.)

Unsurprisingly, her friends quickly came to the same conclusion. Just one look at your local strawberry patch, with none of the glamour of the bloated tourist traps in the city, and they decided they'd rather spend the afternoon at the beach.

It was then, between the fragaria blooms, when you met Mingyu. He asked for your name, and the rest was history. Yizhuo and co. scattered like the grasping hands of an overripe dandelion and you learned that he was, one, the newly-graduated son of a pair of local farmers, and two, very, very attractive. Almost too much so, especially for a place like this.

Now he holds up a berry, a bright red murder between his fingers, and tells you to try it.

"You must be delusional if you think i'm taking food from a stranger," you laugh, perched on the fence bordering the field. It sprawls before you, melon stripes on the sunbaked ground.

"No, my name is Mingyu," he replies. "No idea who delusional is." His smile, all bright lip and snaggletooth, tears into the scarlet belly of a newly picked strawberry.

"We all know what happened to Persephone."

"Well, if the underworld was a strawberry patch, I wouldn't mind being stuck there for all of eternity."

"What're you picking all these for, anyway?" you ask, watching Mingyu struggle with his too-big straw hat between the vines. His woven basket bleeds over with little berries.

"Jam. I make it on the very first day of every summer."

"Why?"

"You ask a lot of questions for someone who trespassed on my farm. You're cute, but I won't let you off easy."

He laughs at how you balk, clearly red-handed. You're not sure how to tell him you don't think you were supposed to be here either. You don't do things like sit in the back of trucks, trespass, or talk to pretty farmer boys who take a fancy to you, but it's the summer before you graduate and you're not even sure how long you'll have to continue making bad decisions.

"Are you gonna take my first-born now?" you joke instead. The daylight runs down the rim of Mingyu's hat, trickles down his brow, and you wish you could pour the image of him into a jar and keep it forever.

"No, but I will invite you in for some fresh jam on toast. I baked a loaf this morning." and when you say nothing, he continues. "The strawberries are only good once a year. It's the best you'll ever have. Promise."

It's a whine and a half, and somehow you convince yourself this will be the last bad decision you'll make. You've been here long enough to know that good things don't come twice in Seogwipo, and he is unlikely to be an exception.

Yizhuo blows up your phone, you tie the gingham apron around Mingyu's tiny waist, and the basket turns to blood in the saucepan.

Mingyu is right. Love comes to you in that kitchen, high and red like the sun, and the jam never tastes as good as it does that summer.

ii. watermelon (hollowed out, like a magic trick)

"A good watermelon sounds like a heartbeat."

You watch Mingyu heave the fruit, small and striped, out of his grocery bag. It joins the array of egg sandwiches and banana milks you picked up from the store together earlier. (There should have been chocolate Pepero too, but you split the box on the walk).

You're on a picnic, sprawled out on the outcropping overlooking the water. The path up is basically right behind your house, but you had never cared to visit. It had always been the local makeout spot, a schlocky teen crawl for those with nothing better to do, and yet, with Mingyu stretched out beside you, it seems newer. More exciting.

You're still just friends, or at least that's what you told Yizhuo. But ever since you sat on Mingyu's kitchen counter and ate from his jam-covered spatula, you don't think you've gone a week without seeing him. It's been almost two months, which seems so long and yet not long enough—he makes it easy to be greedy.

"See?" He thumps the watermelon with the heel of his palm. "Try it."

You already went through this entire charade at the grocery store, right in front of all the local aunties, but you indulge him. There's little point to triple checking if it's still ripe, but you think he just likes hitting it.

"It sounds good," you say. "But how are we even gonna eat it? We don't have a knife."

"Watch this." Mingyu procures a coin from his pocket. "You didn't learn this in elementary school? I feel like everyone was doing it."

"Here?" you ask, incredulous.

"Yeah, here. I grew up here too, you know."

He holds the edge of the coin to the skin and slams his palm into it once more, so that it lodges itself into the rind, and begins dragging it around the fruit. You start to wonder if he bought the watermelon just to show you a party trick—not that you mind, though. The strain of his biceps peeks through his rolled up white tee, and you remember why he was able to stop you with just one look back when you first met.

"No way." The watermelon is so ripe, it bleeds around the incision. "I feel like I know everyone here. And I definitely would have remembered you."

"I was probably, like, two grades above you," he replies. "And my parents shipped me off to live with my cousins after elementary school. They said I should get out of Seogwipo and experience the real world."

"Good call. There's nothing here." You watch Mingyu spin the melon over to cut through the other side. The coin catches the sunlight, and it looks like gold. "I wish I left for university. The one here is so small."

"Really?" He pauses to show you his handiwork. The two melon halves roll over on their backs, their cut edge cruel and jagged. "Cool, huh?"

"Impressive," you say. "Honestly. I really didn't think that would work."

"I didn't either when I first saw someone do it. But I’ll try anything once," he replies, ripping open the packaging of the plastic spoon from the bag. "I can't believe you don't like it here."

"You do?"

"Yeah. A lot." He shoves the spoon in his mouth, and you watch the watermelon juice pool around his lips. "I missed home. The trees and the tall grass and the ocean. All the fruits. Everything. I learned to ride a bike, right down there by the water."

"Hm." He passes you the spoon. You don't want to hog it, so you carve out a piece bigger than you need. "Are you gonna work at the farm?"

"Maybe. Haven't decided yet," he says. "I think I want to be here, though. Maybe do something with food, but I want to be home."

"That's funny, because I think I’ve always wanted to live a different life. Or at least one somewhere else."

"You want to go to law school, right?"

"Yeah." Mingyu is right. The watermelon is all sugar, and you would almost feel guilty for eating it if it wasn't technically good for you. "I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer. It's something about the people watching, I think."

"That’s really cool," Mingyu says, mouth full but no less sincere. It's then that you notice your shoulders are almost touching, and your heart crawls back up to your mouth. "You know what you want. I admire that."

He makes it sound like a compliment, but you're sure it's a curse.

You think of your parents. There's a permanent wrinkle ironed into their foreheads, the paper crease of expectations and high standards. It's not that they didn't care, but their kind of care was a humbled sort, made heavy by a hard life. It didn't help that your big sister Seohyun went straight from Yonsei to work a big tech job in San Francisco and never once looked back.

But you can't blame any of them—wanting has always been a hereditary failing. Sometimes Yizhuo will catch you frowning at nothing, and then you remember that life isn't a performance and every day ends at the same time no matter how hard you work. But you don't know how to tell her that the only thing you can do sometimes is want, because otherwise you wouldn't really have much at all.

It seems like the exact opposite of how Mingyu lives—everything about him seems to pass like the seasons. Maybe that's why you can't seem to get enough of each other.

"Thank you. Really." You dig the spoon into your half of the melon. There isn't much left. "You're way too nice to me."

"It’s not hard to be," he laughs. "Maybe you're just too hard on yourself."

You're losing track of the distance between the two of you. You can almost feel the heat playing off his skin.

"Maybe."

It's then, under the veil of summer, where you meet Mingyu's gaze and, finally, things seem close to simple.

All you know are his eyes, heavy with sun, and then the slow, slow move of his lips against yours. He tastes like August, long and sweet, and for once you know what it's like to not only want, but to have, and to have again.

The ocean sings on the horizon, and the watermelon bellies weep.

iii. adzuki beans (or, the blood of a headless taiyaki)

Mingyu eats taiyaki headfirst because he says it hurts less.

"That makes no sense," you tell him, your pinkies linked. You never really liked holding hands, but yours fits so perfectly in Mingyu's and there's some girlish, childlike shine to it when you watch his finger search for yours after just a moment separated.

"What do you mean."

He breaks your gaze to eye a red bean taiyaki, like an unwilling predator sizing up their prey. It's the lamest, most embarrassing iteration of National Geographic you've ever seen, and yet you cannot find any fiber within yourself not deeply in love with the lion.

Fall is a forgiving place for your relationship to settle. You're now a senior at university and he's started his gap year. Gap implies he's in the middle of something, but in true Mingyu fashion, he leaves it up to fate, or chance, or something not nearly as kind (whim).

"Taiyaki isn't alive. And why would you want to pretend it is? Eating gummy bears would become an extinction event."

"It kind of is." He holds out the tail end of the taiyaki, the pastry almost explicitly flayed open, in front of you to eat. "Why does the Haribo bear have a face? Why do the gummy bears live in a gummy forest?"

"Great, so now I can’t even enjoy gummy bears without feeling like a serial killer?"

You dig your pointer into his shoulders, broad from all the time he spends on the farm. To think that his hands, big and weathered, were made to pick berries (and now wrap around your pinky finger) is bruising, if not ridiculously funny.

"It's a crime of passion. Gummy passion. Prosecute that."

He kisses your cheek and your heart almost squeezes into two.

The terrible thing about being with Mingyu is how seemingly endless his affection is. Now he's feeding you in public and buying the two of you matching socks (cat and dog, to be exact), although you'll admit it's a little charming, even if the neighbors do gossip.

He's sweet, too sweet, and his kisses stick to the back of your throat.

But you can't be fooled. There's an unsaid violence to the way Mingyu loves. (The meticulous spiral of the peel he carves when you ask for him to cut you an apple. The grind, decisive and cruel, of a knife against a cutting board. A pair of canines against your neck, your jaw.)

Even now, he bites the head off another unwitting taiyaki before stuffing it back in the bag.

"We're still splitsing, right?" he says, with perhaps 1% of his mouth available for speaking and the other 99% murder machine.

Splits, he always says before you share food. You never had the heart to tell him that it's in the same family as mines or sharesies or takebacks—silly childhood relics, ones that no one uses anymore because they don't mean anything.

This time, you don't hear him because you're thinking about the law school fair you went to before Mingyu picked you up. The future is so close, it scares you. A year from now, what ground would you be standing on? Would it smell like this—the peat, the thread-spool fields, the balm of the ocean? Would you still have Mingyu's finger wrapped round yours?

"Have you decided if you're staying at the farm?" you ask.

"Not really." He uses the back of his hand to wipe off his chin. "If my sister decides to take over, I’m actually kinda thinking of going to pastry school instead of getting a masters."

Mingyu had been toying with the idea for some time after you had talked about it on the outlook. It started off as a joke (September; a galette), then a what if (October; green tea mochi), and now it sits at a kinda.

"Kinda?"

The word gathers speed in the pachinko machine of your mind. You never liked being a kinda person. For Mingyu, it seems like a luxury of a word, but for you, it's really just another thing to hide behind. Kinda talented, kinda ambitious, kinda just there. You're always one foot in, one foot out of something better.

"Yeah, kinda. Why?"

"I dunno. What if we both end up leaving?"

"Maybe. You still want to, right?"

You would be lying if you said you didn't—it's what you always wanted. Seogwipo has been a sun-rot, too-small crutch for you, but you would also be lying if you said you weren't terrified that you'd eventually come back, limping like some doomed Icarus, unable to truly make it in the real world.

Then you think of the pockmarked farmland beside your home, lacy with the fall harvest. Even now, you can trace the endless blue of the coastline all the way there, cut through all the maybes and just let the sound of the ocean fold you into sleep like you were a child again. You wonder if Seohyun, all the way on the other side of the world, ever misses it.

"I’m not sure," you say, because, as much as you don't like it, it's the only answer you have.

"It's ok. You'll figure it out. You always do." He squeezes your cheeks together between his thumb and index, laughing at how they pillow out underneath his fingers. "Screw pastry school. I could come with you. Who else would keep you fed?"

Mingyu's complete and unfounded belief in you makes you feel something close to betrayal. How could he say any of that? With what proof? Only someone like Mingyu would be able to hold the wrinkled fruit of your unremarkable life between his palms and see something better than that. Maybe it's because he grew up on a farm. Either that, or he already cares for you too much, too painfully.

Secrets are easy to keep when they look like yours. At least here, in the pit of your stomach, you can keep count, take attendance of them, all your tittering, small anxieties. Some days it feels like your ribs are pressing out, but it's better than cutting everything loose to spill out over what little you do have control over.

You can handle a little pressure. You have to.

What concerns you is the hand Mingyu's got across your chest. With one look, he just might gut you. A twist of the heart-knife, and all those carefully wound insides carved out in an instant—maybe he'd pity you, but worse than that, he'd likely be disappointed.

For you, expectation has always stood taller than shame, and the idea that he sees something past you makes you want to run away.

"I could be a house husband," he says as easily as ever. "You'll be off saving the world, arguing with whoever, and I'll be there to run you a bath afterwards."

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves," you reply, binding up the strange, hollow feeling in your stomach with a laugh.

There's a scared little girl hiding inside you, and whether Mingyu sees her or not hurts the same. A spade is a spade. You can only pretend so long.

You look at the taiyaki floating in their wax paper bag, blinded and wrought open by the same grin that now peels you down, and you're not hungry anymore.

iv. winter pears (rotten, outside your parents' house)

Mingyu's family loves Christmas.

You think it's because of the pear trees they have in the front yard. They stand bravely before the house, all emerald ash and wisdom in the December freeze. Run your palms over the knobs and it's like you can see into a sleepy visage of simpler days past. (Below its heart, carved: 1982, the year the farm was bought. Along the tangle of the roots: gyu waz here, in an unsure, childish scrawl.)  

Winter comes to the countryside crawling on its hands and knees. On days it doesn't snow, there's a mist, boggy and clingy. You've come to realize the cold is more of a threat than a promise, and so the pear trees still bear fruit; the silvery branches hang heavy, faithful.

The first day of December, Mingyu's parents had tasked the two of you with decorating the farmhouse, a duty you took very seriously. You wrapped Mingyu up in string lights and watched him blink in and out like your own personal firefly.

It wasn't until you watched the rafters, the barn doors, the joyous vault of the ceiling all glow, like a spectacular firework, that you finally started to understand why Mingyu was so into the holidays.

It was in the yellow blush of the string lights that you had your first pear from the tree, which Mingyu insisted was a holiday tradition. We make poached pears, he said, mid-bite. You simmer the pear in syrup until it gets so soft, you can cut into it with a fork. Just like butter.

That same night, he kissed you, mouth hot and trembling and tasting of honey, and pressed you against the bark so hard, you could feel the grit of its veins against your skin.

You think December became your favorite month, and pears your favorite fruit.

So much so, that for the entire month, you try to put away your worries about law school applications to celebrate with Mingyu and his family.

You learn his mom makes the best hot chocolate (a cinnamon stick and a dogged devotion to the whisk), and that Mingyu has no clue on God's green earth how to ice skate. (He careens right into your chest the first time. You spend the next hour with him attached to you like a backpack—he manages to find the most impractical ways to do anything, which you somehow admire the most). On Sundays, Yizhuo ditches her Seoul friends and instead accompanies you to the mall two towns over, where she watches you compare different ties and watches and collagen creams as you decide on gifts for his family. (Lilac is so last year, she'd say, stirring the straw of a watered-down milk tea.)

It's not until the weekend before Christmas when you realize just how serious things have gotten. Your feet understand the meander of the dirt path to the farmhouse, your bones the scent of the yellow-skinned apple, the faded wildflowers. Your palms crave the plush of the rug they have in front of the fireplace. Hell, you can't even eat soondubu without thinking of the kind Mingyu's dad makes, with extra anchovies and green onion.

You don't think about what this means. There are ten days left in December and love poured from a full cup never seems to run out.

"Please let me carry some of those," Mingyu wheedles. "Oh my god. I'm like the worst boyfriend in the world."

"No, you are not." you make your way up to his doorstep, taking care to one-two step over the stray roots of one of the pear trees. It's second nature to you by now. "The moment I hand you a box, you are gonna start trying to figure out what it is."

He harumphs and plucks the big one off the top anyway, the one he knows you can't reach. "I didn't even know you were getting us gifts. You didn't have to."

"It's the least I could do. Who shows up to a holiday dinner emptyhanded?" You stop at the front door. "And stop shaking it," you laugh, using the tip of your boot to nudge his shin.

"Okay. Okay," he says, saccharine, adoring, before grabbing the doorknob. "Ready? Are you nervous? You shouldn't be nervous, right? It's not fancy or anything, if you were worried about that."

And that's the thing that wedges itself between your ribs. Mingyu and his whole family are like this. They love and worry and love again; it presses deep into you, fills you, and overflows.

So here you are, standing in your nicest dress and balancing a stack of gifts you hope will amount to something, never enough but something, to repay the people who you feel have loved you more than you deserve. It's all you really have. You do your best, and yet you know when that door opens, it'll all be washed away in a high-tide flurry of hugs and laughter and the familiar press of Bobpul's wet nose against your leg. They're just those kinds of people—they would be just as happy if you didn't bring anything at all, and somehow that makes you feel even more guilty.

"No, no," you wave him off. "I’m fine. Excited."

When Mingyu opens the door, everything goes just as you expected. His sister takes your coat, your gifts are whisked away to the tree (Aji has already figured out which one is his), and his parents descend upon you in a choking swell of warmth and charity.

We baked some fresh bread for your parents (—Thank you so much, but you really shouldn't have.). You look so beautiful in that color (—No, no, you flatter me too much.). Mingyu better be taking good care of you (—He is. He really, really is.).

The kitchen is gauzy with cinnamon, anise. They must be making their famous poached pears, which Mingyu remarks on, just like clockwork.

Dinner passes the same way. It bubbles over with affection, and you feel swallowed by an impossible yearning. This—a full table and a hand to hold underneath it—did you deserve this? And could you keep it?

For an instant, you picture yourself, years later, at this same seat. Mingyu would be fussing over the rice cakes, his apron still gingham because it reminds him of the day you two met. His parents, grayer but no less happy, bickering over the shade of tinsel on the tree. And the dogs, coiled at your feet like they are now. The vision laps at your bones like you're a raft in a storm.

You're pulled back into the moment when Mingyu squeezes your hand, grounding and insistent. "Mom asked how school was going. I told her I think you're basically the smartest person I know, and I’m pretty sure you're getting into whatever law school you want."

Mingyu's parents laugh, and they cut through their pears.

"Oh, sorry," you say. "Um."

Clink. Knife meets flesh, meets porcelain. Your cheeks are hot. You wanted to talk about anything other than yourself tonight. Clink.

"The top programs are a reach, but it'd be nice." clink. "I just want to get in somewhere."

"They’re all so far away," Mingyu's mom remarks. "So grown up. Any school will be lucky to have you. You'll get into all of them."

Clink.

"Or maybe you can stay here." You watch the prongs of Mingyu's father's fork disappear into the pear. "Keep us old folk company."

"No, no, I think Mingyu should take notes and get off his lazy ass," his sister says, teasing. "Going back to the city will be good for him."

"So you can, what, burn down the kitchen again?" Mingyu grumbles, and the whole table seems to boil over with laughter.

"We’re kidding," his mom tells you. "No matter where you go, I’m sure you'll do great. We can even throw you a party at the end of the year. For graduating."

Clink. Clink.

There's a horrible uneasiness writhing around in your stomach. It's pear and syrup and clove and a blackness, an anxious, selfish one that sucks up all the generosity of the evening and turns it into shame.

Mingyu's mom is talking about throwing you a graduation party, something you didn't even think to do for yourself, and here you are, thinking about the shaking moment you open your rejection letters and the lonely path you'll draw on your way back home.

It's ok. They missed out, Mingyu would say, pouring you a consolation drink, and then it would be over. You'd go home and sit on your bed and the trifold piece of paper would go round and round your head like it was in a washing machine.

Your heart, an inventory of tasks and goals and tally marks. Things you've taken and things you've owed. It's a soft, boneless excuse. Be grateful. Give them that, at least.

Clink.

Dessert ends before you can tell his family not to get their hopes up. Mingyu's mom sends you off with your loaf of bread and a kiss on the cheek, and the moment is gone.

"Gyu," you call out on the steps in front of the house.

There are words at the seam of your lips. You want to tell him you're sorry for worrying so much. For making the whole dinner about you and then very possibly having nothing to show for it when it matters. For the heaviness in your chest. Your cowardice. But none of it comes out.

Instead you watch Mingyu pull at the leaves of a pear tree, watching the frost-filigree they get at the end of the season. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at you, as if he's on the hazy cover of a magazine. His eyes bend so wonderfully at the corners when he looks at you, and it breaks your heart.

"You had fun, right?" he asks. "My parents like you a lot, you know. I think they really do."

But that's the problem, you want to say. You all do, and I have no idea why.

Some of the pears are beginning to rot now. You watch one drop off the vine, and it caves to the pavement like it was made of nothing at all.

v. wild barley (grows like weeds)

In March, you play house.

Your parents leave on a two week trip to see relatives, and Mingyu takes it upon himself to make sure you survive.

It's a kind, blinding charade.

(7 am, breakfast. You usually don't even eat breakfast, but you wake up to doenjang and a smile, one that presses itself to yours until you're wearing it on the long walk to school.)

(4 pm, the stretch between lunch and dinner. You're muddling through another useless club meeting when Mingyu sends you a picture of him in your mom's apron, making kimchi. Kiss the chef, he texts you. You promise to, over and over and over.)

It's good until it isn't.

That isn't to say that it's Mingyu's fault. In fact, it's never really Mingyu's fault, and that's the worst thing about your relationship. Sometimes you wish he was worse just so there was someone else to blame.

(1 am, a fridge-cold glass of water and a hand on the column of your spine. Can't sleep? He asks. Just had a weird dream, you say.

It's a lie. You're a liar.

You miss your parents and the first wave of acceptance letters comes out in two days. You're not like him. Sleep has never been a cure for the exhaustion you're feeling, and you have no way of telling him that however warm the bed is won't fix that.)

It's on a Thursday afternoon when you open your mailbox and see the tiny, thin envelope that you've been expecting for the past week. You don't need to open it to know what it says, and yet you do it anyway.

The sun is white, a ghost in the spring sky. The ocean bleeds into the overcast, the curly barley stands tall around your feet, and you let the worst letter you've gotten in your life fall upon your shoulders, word by terrible word.

Then you close it, pinching the seam shut, and draw up your brave face. Nothing left to do but be brave. You're convinced you've used up all the sadness in your relationship—spend in pennies and the well still runs dry. Mingyu will cup your cheek and call you darling, pouring into your emptying basin, holey and broken.

You see him now through the kitchen window, Venus in his clamshell of a kitchen. Galbijjim day, he had said this morning. Now, he waves at you, glittery with recognition.

Your throat feels like crumpled paper.

Mingyu smiles at you, hazy through the glass. Your cheeks hurt and your mouth is paper mache, but you smile back anyway.

///

The letters come one after another.

You know what the envelopes hold and yet you keep opening them. The little folder you keep stashed in your bottom drawer gets fatter every passing day because you can't help but revisit your misery, almost as if you need to remind yourself it exists.

Mingyu is none the wiser. Today he decides he'll put off pastry school for one more year. "It doesn't feel like the right time," he says, rolling a log of burdock kimbap up. "You know what I mean?"

No, you don't. You never really do.

You do know, however, that it would feel really fucking bad that, come the end of the year, to have nothing. All your friends would be going somewhere—even Yizhuo opened her acceptance to an MFA program in Shanghai yesterday—and you would be here, still, feet firmly planted in the muddy Jeju dirt like they always had been.

"Hey, don't look so disappointed." he jokes. "Don't tell me you're already trying to get rid of me."

You're not, you really aren't. But part of you wonders if it's just a race to the bottom. If you got rid of him before he decided he wanted to get rid of you, maybe it would hurt a lot less. One less letter for the folder.

"Never. But imagine if you picked up a French accent at pastry school. Then I’d consider it. Maybe."

You watch his knife rock back and forth on the cutting board as he cuts the kimbap.

"Some for you. And more for me," he says, in what you can only describe as someone attempting to speak French when they've never heard it before. "Unless you want more, mon cherie."

He brings the plates to the table, his grin nothing short of dizzying.

"I’m irresistible, huh? Still wanna leave me now?"

"You're gonna have to try a little harder than that, I think."

The words roll off your tongue, easily, traitorously.

You watch the kimbap disappear off of Mingyu's plate.

Going, going, gone.

///

Seogwipo is always dark at night, only kept alive by the glow of the moonlit sea.

You can't sleep. Again. And so you sit out on the steps in front of your house, letting the twilight wrap around you like a blanket.

You got your last letter back earlier today. You held your breath and tore it open like you would a birthday card with money in it.

Waitlisted.

It was surely better than a rejection, but some naive, child-eyed part of you thought that if you had just closed your eyes and hoped hard enough, things would work out the way you had planned. Tragically, it wasn't enough this time. You wanted and wanted and you thought maybe that would mean you'd come close to deserving it.

Your parents called today. After managing to sideline the issue of basically the rest of your entire life, they had finally cut through your sad little charade. No good news yet, huh?

No, but—

It was always like that with you. No, but it's not as bad as you think. No, but give me a chance. No, but I’m trying. I've been trying.

You wish things didn't come out of you so complicated. That you could be like Seohyun, who could go through school with her eyes closed and still graduate at the top of her class. Instead, you parade around your little failures, trying to convince people it all could mean something only if they squinted. See? It isn't so bad.

You think you're past the point of crying about it. Your stomach hurts, you're cold, and most of all, you just want to go back to bed. Plus, although Mingyu sleeps like a log, you think he's developed a sixth sense for whenever you get up too early.

Time to be brave, you've been telling yourself, although you don't know who you're pretending for anymore.

So you nudge the front door open—it's so old, it wails if you come at it with any more force—and, to your surprise, see the light above the kitchen sink turned on.

It's not very bright, but it's enough to make out Mingyu's broad silhouette, back turned to you as he makes a cup of tea. He's humming one of his made-up songs.

"Mingyu?"

"There you are," he says, turning around. "Just came out to check on you. And make you some tea."

The kettle whizzes. Your gut twists.

You still haven't said anything to Mingyu. To manage your own disappointment was one thing—you don't think you could handle another person's. And yet when he stands there, Pororo mug between his huge hands, you feel as if you are holding a knife, big and guilty and bloody.

"I-I'm fine, Gyu. Honest." you watch his expression flicker, unreadable in the persimmon lamplight. "Sorry you had to come out. It's chilly out here."

"You know, you can tell me what's going on. I won't judge."

No, no, no. This is the last conversation you wanted to have, with the last person you wanted to have it with.

You feel feverish. You think your hands are shaking.

"Mingyu, I swear—"

"Whatever it is, we can fix it. I know we can."

That almost makes you want to laugh if you didn't want to cry so bad. Of fucking course he would say that. Mingyu, who treats life like it's the watermelon trick he showed you on the outlook, wants to put a bandaid on this whole thing, as if that could come close to fixing it.

He'd tell you to curl up on the couch with a bad movie while he orders takeout. Kiss you on the top of the head. It's ok, baby. Just another bad day for the person who has the worst luck in the world. Another lump of problems for him to try and make better. If he isn't sick of you now, he sure would be soon enough.

"It’s okay," you say, steeling your voice. "It really isn't a big deal. Let's just go back to sleep."

You try to walk away, but the hardness in Mingyu's eyes roots you down to the tile.

"Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Pushing me away," he swallows. "Like you always do. I know something's going on."

"I’m not, i just—"

"You just what? You can't help it?"

"No, I—"

"Because you like to know that you can? That you can say whatever and then watch me come back?" A fragmented, heavy silence thrums between you. He's looking at you like he's daring you to say something, anything. His gaze is black. "What am I good for if you can't tell me anything?"

There's that familiar, stinging pressure behind your eyes. You think you're crying, but you're not sure. Maybe you've been crying this whole time.

"Fine," you bite. Your blood feels like hot metal. "You really wanna know? I didn't get into law school. There. Happy now?"

Mingyu looks stung.

"W-why didn't you tell me?"

Because I thought you would stop loving me. I thought you would have finally had enough.

"Because it's not all about you, Mingyu."

The words, selfish and damning, burn your tongue. Mingyu is right. This is what you always do. You fuck up and then make everyone else hurt for it.

"I'm sorry," Mingyu says. His voice doesn't sound like his. Instead, the words seem to hang in the air, trembling and holding their breath, waiting for an apology you can't give yet. "I shouldn't have—"

"It's ok." You swallow hard, and it hurts. "Let's just go back to bed."

It's getting colder and colder. You think there's a little hole in your sock, right above the cat's whiskers.

Mingyu doesn't reach for you as he passes to get to the hallway. Maybe he doesn't know how to anymore.

The Pororo cup is left abandoned on the counter. You walk over and read the label on the tea bag—barley, because you have class tomorrow morning.

You pick it up, let the ceramic buzz between your hands with whatever warmth it has left, and hold it to your lips.

It's cold now, but all you can think to do is drink it. Erase all the evidence that tonight ever happened, and maybe it'll be nothing more than a bad dream in the morning.

There's honey at the bottom of the cup. It sears the back of your throat, but you drink until there's nothing left.

vi. the peach blossoms (without fail, bloom every August. I miss you.)

You broke up the next day.

Even now, you remember what happened. You had woken up early that morning to make your own breakfast because you couldn't allow Mingyu to give you any more of himself. Your hands could only hold, shatter, so much.

"Mingyu, I think we should...." You looked at the zigzags of jam on your toast, angry and uneven. "I think we should stop seeing each other. For now," you had added, as if that made anything better at all.

Somehow that seemed more merciful at the time. Really, you think it just showed your cowardice. If you were going to break his heart, you might as well have gone all the way the first time.

Maybe it was a good thing that Mingyu saw right through you. He always did.

"So that's it, huh? You're just gonna give up on us?"

"No, i just...need some time."

"How long?" he asked. "Be honest with me. Because you know I’ll wait."

"I don't know." You couldn't meet his gaze. His eyes reached and reached over that kitchen table and you denied him even that.

"Don't you always know?" he asked, pitifully, desperately. "Don't you want this to work?"

And you did. In fact, you don't think you had ever wanted anything more, and it was that that scared you. You had already lost law school—you couldn't let the only other thing in your life let you go. So you pulled the trigger first.

"We should just end things. I'm sorry. I can't give you what you need."

He packed his bag within the hour, and you think everything, from then on, froze inside you. You didn't move from your seat until your parents came home from the airport later that day and asked why there were two plates of toast still on the table.

You think you knew, someplace, inevitably, this would happen. You, who only knew hunger, had reached deep inside Mingyu and rooted out a love you didn't think you were worthy of having. And yet you still ate from the vine, bite after guilty bite, until you couldn't take any more. The only time he asked you for anything at all, you couldn't give it to him—such was the irony of your relationship.

Maybe you were doomed the moment the first strawberry hit your tongue, just like you had said, all that time ago.

About a month later, you got another letter in the mail. Chungnam National University Law School, it read. This one was fat, in one of those brown envelopes lined with bubble wrap. Somehow, miraculously, that position on the waitlist had turned into an acceptance. You held the package to your chest and cried, loud and with abandon, as if taking a deep breath after almost drowning.

Ironically, the first person you wanted to tell was Mingyu. But the good news you needed to save your relationship came too little, too late. Perhaps that meant it had no legs to stand on in the first place, but that didn't stop you from missing it. Instead, you told Yizhuo, and she drove you to Jeju City and treated you to dinner. "You should just call him," she had said. "Hey, don't look at me like that. He'd probably pick up on the first ring."

The city is swathed in August's crimson summer—peach season. The narrow streets are lined with peach trees, the fruits glowing like fat drops of sunlight. All you do these days is plan for your eventual move to Daejeon and the start of a life that seems newer and shinier than your own. But surrounded by the cicada song, the velvet treeline, the rain-soaked asphalt, somehow you think you're going to miss Seogwipo more than you think.

(Fickle, fickle heart. You always needed things to be taken away to really be able to appreciate them. Somehow, all that wanting had boiled down to something more satisfying, more filling.)

You wonder how Mingyu is. Now that you think about it, he seems just as much a part of Seogwipo as the farm he lives on. It was only last summer when you had first met him in the field, set on fire by the strawberry harvest. You think about him now, peddling around that ridiculous wicker basket to make jam. Maybe talking to another pretty girl, someone as naive, cruel as you had been.

Not long ago, you considered calling him to apologize, but that'd just be another thing to be selfish about. A little time and some warm weather, and I’m calling to finally wash my hands of you. That's what it would sound like, no matter what you said. Still, it didn't stop you from thinking of him, every flower, every season.

"You know, I always wanted to grow peach trees. But I think we've always been a pear kind of family."

Mingyu. If a voice could cut through air, it'd be his.

You whip around, half-believing you're hearing things. Certainly that would be easier, but you're learning that there are some things you can't run from.

And like a picture, Mingyu stands tall, golden, framed by the peach blossoms. Not a thing about him has changed. Not even the way he looks at you.

"Mingyu," you breathe. Unfortunately, none of the times you replayed your last conversation with him help you come up with something to say, because in none of them did you anticipate him coming back. "W-what are you doing here?"

"I live here, silly."

"No way," you reply, scrambling. "Crazy, because I live here too."

You both laugh nervously, a silly, bubbly thing, but you feel like you're going to throw up. It's only now that you realize you're kind of on the walk to his place. Seogwipo has never had places to hide.

"I...um." you try and disentangle the guilt from the nostalgia from the scent of the peaches and the warmth on his face. They all look the same. You missed him. "I got into law school. In Daejeon."

"I heard," he says. "Not surprised at all. I always knew you would."

"Thank you. I mean it." The cicadas buzz around you, as if they know they have an important silence to fill. "You're staying in town, right?"

"Actually, I decided to apply to culinary school. It finally felt right, you know? I'm leaving at the end of the summer, but it's just in Jeju City. I couldn't leave the island."

"Thank goodness. I don't know if you could tell, but I kind of always hoped you would. I don't think I’ve ever eaten better food." Your voice wobbles, but it gets there. "You'll do amazing."

Then time stretches and forces you to recognize, reckon with, the moment you're in. You wonder if he feels the same way you do—bruised, overripe. If there's still a space in his heart for you.

Deep breath. Life only gives you so many chances.

"Mingyu, I’m sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't make us work. You deserved better." Saying it feels like peeling the skin of your heart back. There's still a palpable distance between the two of you—you think that had always been there—but it feels more comfortable in a way it never did before.

"Don’t apologize," he says, easily, as he always does. Everything seems to flow off him like water, and you think that's the part of him you loved the most because it was the one thing you couldn't touch. "We loved each other. I think that much was true."

A jasmine breeze curls through the trees, sending the blossoms fluttering around you like ink in water. The very first time you met Mingyu, you thoughtthe image of him, haloed with the sunset, was the one you wanted to keep forever. And yet, somehow, you don't think you'll ever forget the way he looks right now.

"Will you ever come back to Seogwipo?" you ask.

"I was gonna ask you the same thing—you were always the one who wanted to get out of here." He grins, ear to ear. "Of course I'm coming back. There's nowhere I'd rather be."

"Yeah. I think I know what you mean."

The sea, the clay dirt, Mingyu. Even yourself, clumsy and care-worn. You think, somewhere along the line, you forgot how to love. But you're learning—one step at a time.

"Friends," you say. "Let's be friends. If you'll let me."

"Thought you would never ask. Gladly. Always." The space between you seizes, like it's holding in a breath. Maybe one day, you'll think of closing it once more, but you like where you stand now. You can admire him better from a distance, without your fingerprints all over him. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, something he does before he gets ready to leave. But before he does—"I'll see you soon, okay? You better come back. Promise me."

For the first time, you see the honesty in his eyes and you really, truly believe him.

"Promise."

The Seogwipo sun is high and red in the sky when you wave Mingyu goodbye. It feels like you're coming to an end of a long summer, but you're not afraid. You watch the wind dance through the peach blossoms, their branches never searching, never wanting, and you finally feel as if you've arrived home.

[queer-and-dear-books]

Title: Red, White, & Royal Blue

Author: Casey McQuiston

Genre: Fiction | Drama | Romance | Friendship | LGBTQ+

Content Warnings: Homophobia | Drug Usage | Sexual Assault Mention 

Overall Rating: 10/10

Personal Opinion: Outrageously hilarious. The interactions between Alex and his friends will have you cracking up. But the steamy romance growing between Alex and Henry will have your heart melted into a pile of goo. There’s just no way to put this book down as you read the way Alex, son of the first female president of the US, and Henry, heir to the throne of England, fall in love with each other, creating the hottest international scandal in decades.

Couple Classification: Alex X Henry = Nerd/Prep X Prep

Do I Own This Book? Yes! It was one of multiple Christmas gifts that I bought for myself!

Spoilers Below For My Likes & Dislikes:

Likes:

- First and foremost, this book is ridiculously funny. The witty and intelligent banter between The White House trio as well as Alex and Henry is truly top- notch. Zahra also delivers the best lines in regards to giving lectures to Alex. But one of my favorite pieces of dialogue has to be when Alex came out to his mother, Ellen, and she just made a whole Powerpoint to discuss the possibilities of international scandal when it came to him dating the prince of Wales. She even got some pamphlets on safe sex from Planned Parenthood! It killed me!

- Nora and her chaotic bisexuality is just beautiful. “I don’t know. I touched a boob. It wasn’t that profound.” “If you let me, I will show you one boob. The good one.” “You’re so hot when you get indignant.” Like babe, I just love you so much. She’s also so brilliant. The moment when she burst into the Oval Office after disappearing for two days with proof that Alex was set up to be outed by Republicans is just amazing. I loved her sleep deprived ass so much at that moment. I will also never forget how Alex went to London and instead of being worried about him, she just let June freak the fuck out before texting, “Hey, has anyone seen my Chuck Taylors?” She’s a comedy genius.

- The email and text convos between Alex and Henry were honestly so romantic. And so steamy too. You could feel the desire and yearning in their words. They have such distinct writing styles too. It matches their upbringings and overall demeanor. They opened up a lot more too in the emails than in person, in my opinion. I mean, they got really horny in each other’s presence and I do not blame them but that’s why I appreciate how much they just open up in their texts. But also, that first phone call will forever have me rolling. Thanksgiving, Alex persuaded his mother to let him keep the turkeys in his room, and he is terrified of the birds. He and Henry have such a cute conversation and Henry does an amazing job at just being there for him. Also their insults and jabs at one another are honestly so cute. Like, you can tell that they’re enjoying it and like each other’s company even when it’s poking fun at one another.

- The horny scenes were truly something else. They were so sexy and steamy and utterly captivating. From the moment Alex took Henry away from the dinner at the White House to furiously make out with him? I had to fan myself. Poor Amy, having to be dragged into it. I do love the inner circle of the ones in the know though.

- Alex being repressed is so funny because it’s not from any homophobic upbringing. He’s just stupid and it never even occurred him. He casually had thoughts about Shaan, Luna, and even Henry’s dad as these hot men and it just never once occurred to him that it was not admiration and in fact, sexual attraction. Then, when he does realize it, he’s flabbergasted as to how he never realized it. He was like the last one to realize it! Nora knew and June also had suspicions. His dad could tell right away when Alex and Henry were in close proximity to one another. His mom was not the least bit shocked by the coming out (only the fact that his “special someone” was the heir to the British empire). For God’s sake, Alex even made out with his friend Liam and it just never occurred to him that it meant more than just horny teens being horny teens. I truly think that this is the funniest form of repression.

- Bea and Catherine being in Henry’s corner is so fucking important to me. Especially as someone whose mother has been absent for most of his life. In Henry’s case, he knew what it was like to have a mom who wasn’t checked out. She was capable of it. But she shut down after the passing of his father to cancer. But as soon as he was in a crisis because he had been outed, his mother came back to him. She did all she could to protect him from Queen Mary’s iron fist and I’d cry tears of joy for her if I really wanted to. Because when her son was in trouble, she finally found the strength to stand up and that was just so admirable.

- The whole cast is so diverse and colorful. They all have such dynamic personalities even if they don’t talk much. Amy is an Asian trans lesbian (with a wife too!) with many confirmed kills and likes to knit. Cash is also a secret service member and he very casually comes out to the reader as pansexual with the flag stitched into his jacket, a gift from Amy. Rafael Luna is a Senator, he’s gay, he’s Latino, and he really infiltrated the guy running against Ellen to take him down from the inside. He’s a hero. Then we also have Pez who is black and rich and needed more screentime honestly. This book has sexuality, POC, women in positions of power, blended families, and even covers drug addiction. It’s such a wide range and I truly love and respect the hell out of it for that.

- Something else I love is the acknowledgment of so many queer historical figures. They did not shy away from the love letters passed between those of the same sex and calling the letters romantic. I especially love the reminder of the very blatant gayness of King James I and his romantic relationship with George Villiers. Henry, as a repressed gay, had to find all new avenues to explore his identity. And turning to history and living vicariously through his ancestors/people from his country is exactly how I do it too so that makes him very relatable to me.

- The last chapter is kind of everything to me. It was totally intense and enrapturing. I love Alex and Liam reconnecting after all these years. Especially after their last interaction when Liam was annoyed with him. But he was always on Alex’s side and he even has a handsome boyfriend to parade around. I truly loved it. Good for all of them, honestly. They deserved that happy ending.

Dislikes:

- The pacing is kind of choppy in the beginning. From the moment they get into this arrangement of pretending to be best friends, it feels like the events of the day just zip by. Even when they were suddenly pushed into the closet because of supposed “gunfire” at the hospital. They also become rather used to each other kinda quickly. Although I suppose they hadn’t actually contacted each other afterward until much later. I am willing to let it pass though. Because once you hit a stride, it flows much better.

- Ayyyyy, fuck you Queen Mary and Rep. presidential nominee Richards. You’re both assholes for very different reasons but of course, they were meant to be asses. So this isn’t really a thing to hold against the book. It is very infuriating that Richards violated the privacy of the First Family and the Royal Family and still somehow managed to almost win the election. But I guess that also reflects reality in a way. Because oh my god, 2016-2020 in reality has been a nightmare. Not only that, but Richards also preyed on young interns in their teens! Also regardless of gender. And this guy is out here spouting fucking nonsense about the sanctity of traditional values and also saying the security at the White House is too lax. A hypocrite, a liar, and a complete douche. God, what a relief he fucking lost.

- I’m not sure how I feel about the nickname “H” for Henry. I mean, I get that the first letter of a name can be a nickname but H is such an unsexy letter to say. “Z” for Zahra is way better. But “H”? I mean, really? I thought it was just a nickname to use in the start of emails and texts but no, both Alex and Bea used it in person! I don’t get it. Personally.

- I think it was kind of a missed opportunity to not address June’s concerns about their family. She was right in the end. It really felt like their mother and father cared more about work than them as a family. But I do think Ellen came to the realization that she needs a better work-life balance with the conversation she had with Alex post-outing. I think it was meant to be this big revelation for June as well. That their mom would be there for them when it came to it and even the presidency or the election could be side-barred if need be. So while I think it works, I wish we saw more of June’s reaction to it rather than leaving it open-ended.

- Kind of wish we knew the fate of Pez and June. I also just want to know more about Amy and Cash. I just love them. But I don’t think it’s a bad thing to not focus on them. I mean, the story isn’t even about them. I just love them so much. Anyway, I’m basically out of complaints already. And most of these were barely complaints, in my opinion.

[sombreboy]

Quality time⇢kth x jjk

⇢18+ ⇢pairing: Taehyung x Jungkook ⇢genre: Smut, fluff, mxm, married couple ⇢word count: 3.7k ⇢warnings: Profanity, fluff, smut, daddy kink, sub!jjk, dom!kth, dirtytalk, masturbation, anal, please its fiction use lube and be safe, creampie in da ass

A/N: Serves as a oneshot within the Love Maze series AU, however can also be read on it’s own. Co-written with my lovely @velvetwicebang​​ <3 Banner made by lovely @chimoona​ <3 Thank you xoxo

Jungkook & Taehyung absolutely loved and adored being fathers to little Taeyeon. There's no amount of riches in the entire universe that'd make them even consider trading their lives away. But... they'd be lying if they said they didn't need a break.

Ever since their little girl joined their family, both men have been busier than ever. With Jungkook being a very high demand tattoo artist, he spends the majority of his day putting art on people's skin. Sometimes he'd be able to bring the small one to work with him, but only when all he had to do was sketch-- and even then he'd get less than the ideal amount of work done. But he refused to let Taehyung take all the responsibility by himself. Luckily, Tae's job was not nearly as demanding. He could work on edits of his photos from his very couch with a baby in his lap without issues. Except for when the child was insatiable and wanted her other daddy. Adding to their exhaustion, when they both were actually home, all their energy went to keep Taeyeon happy, fed and clean. They love her so much, but... They've barely been able to show this love to one another.

With all this in mind, Jungkook had decided to plan a surprise for the night dedicated to his husband. From the amount of times he's been babysitting Joon and Jisoo's kids, they finally helped convince Kook to let them take Taeyeon for one night to let them breathe. Jungkook was very hesitant until he finally gave in; only with Taehyung in mind. He needed it.

Jungkook knew Tae would be waiting at home, as Koo had brought their baby with him to work to let the elder get some peaceful work done. After leaving his child at Joon's, he drove home feeling excited. On the way, he picked up some pizza. A simple luxury they've also rarely indulged in lately. Tonight was going to be simple, yet not. Jungkook felt his mouth salivate as he pulled up in the driveway, and it was not because of the pizza.

The exact moment Taehyung heard the familiar squeak of the doorknob, he dismissed his computer to the empty side of the couch. The elder was expecting to be greeted by Jungkook and Taeyeon— like always— but instead, he was met with a box of pizza in place of their baby.

“Kook, where’s Yeonie?” The little girl has been with them for months, it felt out of place not seeing her cute face after a long day of work, “Is she okay? Did something happen to her?” Tae’d been so busy thinking of the worst, that the rare box of pizza in Jungkook’s hold was momentarily forgotten. It was only when his husband had explained to him about the night’s plans that Taehyung visibly relaxed.

“Shit.. I’m so stressed out these days.” The elder sighed, finally looking into Kook’s soft eyes once he’d gotten a hold of himself, “You did this for us?” He looped his arms around Jungkook’s neck, “Baby, thank you. That’s so thoughtful of you..” Taehyung took the box of greasy pizza from his husband’s hand, careless as he sat it down on the coffee table. He plopped down onto the couch, forgetting about his ‘parent image’ for the moment. Tae brought a slice of pizza to his mouth, outwardly moaning at the forgotten flavor. He’s missed this, that’s for sure. “I missed pizza, thank you.” He was clueless as to what Jungkook’s motive was, “Want to watch TV? We still need to catch up on that show.”

"Sure, let's." Jungkook grabbed the remote as he plopped down next to Taehyung, turning the tv on to resume where they had previously attempted to finish half way through a show on Netflix. Kook reached for a greasy piece of the blissful garbage food of his own and quickly had it devoured, all while glancing over at his husband more than he was focusing on the movie. Without their child, it seemed like Taehyung really savored the moment to just be. It was like pieces of the old Taehyung seeped through the cracks of his father persona. Jungkook didn't really need nor want any more pizza, letting Tae eat most of it. The youngers appetite was for something else entirely.

As time passed, Kook allowed Taehyung to enjoy the relaxation of digesting and watching his show, but when deemed enough, Jungkook's patience ran low. Now that the elder got some time to breathe, it was Jungkook's turn to get what he's been yearning for.

"Daddy," Kook murmured coyly, knowing this specific word stirred something in his husband. He reached to caress Tae's cheek with his tattooed knuckles, a gentle way of asking the elder to look at him, "I have something else for you."

The elder found it exceptionally hard to digest his bite of pizza, so he sat the half-eaten piece down, now more intrigued by his husband’s daring words. It’s been so long; his needy cock was extra responsive compared to a few years back. It was obvious he’d been starved of sexual intimacy, every graze of Jungkook’s knuckles drove him mad with lust.

His inviting words were simply the strawberry on top. It was the extra boost the elder needed to finally attend to his own needs. And by the looks of it, his husband desperately needed it too. It was about time they looked after one another.. “Oh yeah?” Taehyung’s tongue swiped over his lips, “What is it?” Excitement was an understatement, and the growing bulge poking at his sweatpants proved that.

Jungkook had Taehyung exactly where he wanted him, aching with anticipation and excitement. It was endearing how easily affected the elder was-- but he couldn't blame him. Kook was just as needy after this long without any intimacy aside from kissing. ''You've been a bit tense lately,'' Kook's words were innocent as he leaned in to place one last sweet kiss on his lips. Now, he wanted anything but sweet, ''Let me take care of you.'' He murmured as his kisses traveled down Taehyung's sharp jaw, groaning into his tanned skin as one hand eagerly tugged at the button of his husband's pants to undo them and slide his long fingers underneath the waistband, ''Missed your big cock,'' Jungkook's words grew filthier, his hot breath moving to caress Taehyung's ear whilst his hand firmly gripped the hardening length, ''Did it miss me?''

Taehyung didn’t know when, but he threw his head back in a moan; the mere touch making him breathless. He’s been deprived of any kind of attention, and with Jungkook’s sneaky hand tightly holding on to his length, Tae felt like he could cum right then and there. The elder held himself back, though. Something told him they wouldn’t have time to themselves often, he wanted to make the moment last. “It missed you so much.. fuck. Wanna be inside my gorgeous husband..” The last part came out breathy, still heavily affected by the younger’s sudden need to take care of him. Hell, Taehyung wasn’t complaining in the slightest, “Bet it’s so tight too after all this time. Lemme get a feel, babe..”

"Anything you wish for," Jungkook cooed as he tugged the elders pants down to pull out his heavy length, grasping Taehyungs hand to place it on his own girth, "Touch yourself slowly." He ordered as he stood up to undo his own pants and pull them down with his underwear in one go, shamelessly exposing his already turgid cock. He pulled his shirt off too, making sure his husband could see everything, "You love seeing me like this?" Kook smile playfully as he grabbed his own length, making a show out of the way he rubbed circles on the wet mushroom head with his thumb. "Wanna help stretch me out with your cock, baby?"

“Mhm..” A strong gulp rippled in Taehyung’s throat, feeding off of his husband’s undivided attention as he stroked himself— slowly, like Jungkook had ordered. He didn’t want to upset the younger; Taehyung wanted to please, “Fuck, I wanna stretch you out like old times, fill you up with my cum..” An excited groan excited past Taehyung’s slightly parted lips. He couldn’t help it; he pumped himself faster. His brows knitted closer together, the wet sounds of his throbbing dick now more alive. “Baby sit on my cock, please.. wanna be in you again.” Taehyung didn’t care about how pathetic he sounded, if it’d get his point across, then he was pleased.

''Ah, how I've dreamed of hearing you say that.'' Jungkook whined as he firmly squeezed his cock, earning an aching throb from it. He felt his ass clench around nothing just from the mere thought of being stuffed full; the memory far from faded. He would never forget how good Taehyung feels, and he couldn't wait to refresh his memory further. Kook let himself go, his rock solid length wet and needy as he leaves it untouched and bobbing while straddling his husband. using his strong hands, he quickly makes work of taking Taehyung's shirt off to make it more fair in terms of nudity, ''Ah, my gorgeous husband... my sexy daddy.'' Jungkook purrs when he feels Tae's cock twitch against the skin of his ass, allowing his large tattooed palms to smooth over the elders soft stomach; less firm these days, a little plushier-- but no matter, it only made him sexier, and a perfect cuddle pillow. Kook's hands continued to travel upwards over Tae's still firm chest as he leaned forward to kiss him deeply, tongue finding it's way to slip into the elders mouth.

Taehyung’s wandering eyes throughout his husband’s face ceased their wandering, now fluttered shut whilst he drowned himself in the heated kiss; not failing to take notice of the bundle of unspoken emotions behind every brush of their tongues. His hands settled on Jungkook’s hips. They itched to pull him down— to give him a taste so he’d return the favor, but instead his warm palms ran along the curve of the younger’s ass, groping the rounded, firm skin. Tae pulled away from the kiss, rosy lips now a small trace of what’s to come, “Sit on daddy’s lap, baby boy. He also wants to take care of you..”

Taehyung roughly parted his husband’s flushed cheeks, flashing Jungkook’s pathetic little hole; just begging to be filled to the absolute brim.

Jungkook's eyes darkened with his growing need to feel Tae's cock stuff him full to the brim, a gasp pushed through his lips when he felt the elders rough, warm hands spread him open, his little hole clenching and unclenching around nothing--but not for long, ''Please, take care of me well..'' Jungkook's words were breathy, he'd spit in his hand before reaching back to wet Taehyung's cock, aligning the thick head with his needy entrance before slowly pushing himself down, far too eager to care about proper preparation-- it was worth it any future discomfort. A drawn out, breathy moan rumbled in Kook's throat at the stretch, eyes never wavering from his husband's expressions, observing and visually devouring every sign of pleasure in his face, ''I'm so tight for you, fuck...''

“O-oh..” Taehyung’s brows knitted closer together, and his eyes vaguely dimmed once Jungkook’s chamber of warmth fully settled in. His cock throbbed inside of his husband, trying to get accustomed to the tightness he once knew so well, but now lacked. “God, you’re so gorgeous..” Taehyung squeezed the younger’s ass, controlling the latter’s movements as he slowly rocked Jungkook’s hips into his own, holding eye contact throughout it all, “My fuckin’ husband, shit, I missed this.” He hissed out loud, drawn to every twist and tug of Jungkook’s face.

"We're g-gonna have to do this more often..." Jungkook's voice broke into a whine when he sunk deeper down on Tae's length, slowly but surely until he's fully stuffed, halting his movements to adjust to the stretch. He took a deep breath to relax his muscles, placing his hands on Taehyungs chest for leverage, "Can't go this long without feeling you again. It's too fucking good.." Kook's eyebrows furrow as they're drawn together, his expression a mix of the pleasure and faint pain. He gently started to grind his hips on his husband, moaning when he feels the bulbous tip brushing against his prostate, his own cock dribbling with beads of precum, "I missed this so much, god.. it feels amazing."

The elder peeked one eye open, his sealed lips twitching as if he was trying to conceal a smile, “Of course it feels amazing, it’s my cock.” A hint of the old Kim Taehyung peered through the cracks, and he had to admit.. it felt fuckin’ great to have zero responsibilities even if it was just for the time being. With his beautiful husband on his dick, Tae was reminded of their earlier; less demanding years. Suddenly, the ‘perfect father’ façade he’d built up in front of everyone else came plummeting down; he felt the most comfortable when faced by Jungkook.

“You good? I know it’s big.” A small smirk quickly shifted into an ‘o’ the moment his husband willingly rocked his hips faster against him, deteriorating Tae’s composure little by little, “Ah shit.. n-not too fast, don’t wanna cum in you yet..”

"I'm great." Jungkook's eyelids fluttered shut in bliss every time his small movements had Tae's cock prodding just the right spot, keeping his hips slow, simply rocking back and forth to still get himself used to the stretch his husbands blessed girth provided. Kook stopped for a moment, letting Taehyung truly feel the warmth embracing him tightly. His eyes opened once more before he leaned forward to cup his husbands face in his hands, stroking his thumbs on the soft skin of his cheeks, "I love you... please fuck me now." Jungkook begged, his doe eyes sparkling with need, "please, baby." Jungkook didn’t have to strain his voice when begging, or get down on his knees— Taehyung was already sold a while ago. He sensually traced the sharp outlines of his husband’s tattoos with his fingertips. And as if the responsive shivers from Jungkook’s painted canvas transmitted from the younger’s biceps to the rest of Taehyung’s body, the elder bit back an eager moan at the familiar sensation. “I’m gonna fuck you so fucking hard for all the other times I couldn’t..” With a feather-like touch, Tae’s bottom lip grazed upwards against the slope of the younger’s neck, gently sucking onto the latter’s unsteady Adam’s apple, “You’re gonna take all of it like a good boy, aren’t you?” His words came out as a low growl, and Taehyung’s hips teasingly grinded into Jungkook’s ass. “You’re gonna make daddy feel so fuckin’ good, there’s no doubt in my mind about it.” The elder pulled back from the other’s flushed skin, seemingly proud with his creation, “gorgeous.” The sweet moment didn’t last long, as Tae grew even needier from the way Kook’s walls closed in on him. He quickly flipped Jungkook over so his back laid on the couch, staring him down like a predator would his prey. Everything about the younger was so... addicting. Even after many years, Taehyung found himself throbbing from his husband’s expressions as he slowly thrusted into him, bending Jungkook’s legs down to his chest for better access, “F-fuck..” Tae bit down on his lip, the small scar on his forehead visible whenever he ran his fingers through his hair, wanting to see the younger clearly. “Want me to go faster?” He raised his brows, “beg then. I love it when you beg for me..”

''Yes,'' Jungkook's dark curls fell off his face to expose his glistening forehead, eyes blown out in the pure admiration and lust that swirled in his dark pools of brown, ''Please go faster, I need it so fucking bad... please." Kook cried out, his hands settling on Taehyung's lower arms in a tight grip to stay grounded, his ass clenching down harshly on his husband's thick girth. The initial pain from the stretch faded with every thrust, instead replaced with nothing but pleasure and feeling so full it makes his heart want to burst out if his rib cage, ''It feels so good, I want more, harder... Don't be gentle.'' His last words came out like a gasp when he felt his cock throb at a particularly angled thrust, pressing his head back against the couch with gritted teeth.

‘Harder’, ‘Faster’, ‘More’... Jungkook’s breathy moans in the shapes of incoherent phrases urged Taehyung to do just that. The man slammed into him— harder. “Wasn’t planning on being gentle, sweetheart,” The elder groaned at his increase of pace, faster like his husband wanted. Like how he wanted; Tae was only playing the superior part, he would’ve drilled into Jungkook minutes prior. But then again, it wouldn’t of been anywhere near as fun.. or thrilling. Taehyung fancied this best, he enjoyed hearing the younger plead for his utmost attention.

“T-tight... so tight.” More. Taehyung's hair dangled over his narrowed eyes, showing Kook no mercy whilst their sweaty skin continuously slapped against one another, the striking sound echoing throughout the empty house, “Tell daddy how you feel, baby..” The muscles in Taehyung’s chest clenched closer together, further showcasing the small tattoo layering his heart; one Jungkook had formerly etched onto his honey skin. Three daffodils; a smaller one in the middle.

"Feel so full, it's so good.." Jungkook's throaty words come out shaky every time Taehyung slams into him, causing his body to jolt upwards. With one hand, he reaches to smooth his palm over the pretty, small tattoo on Tae's chest, his heart swelling with the love he feels for his husband. After everything they've been through, ups and downs-- many downs, here they were still as head over heels for each other as they've always been; now with a family. Another thrust brought Kook back to the present, his blunt nails digging into Tae's arms as a loud cry in pleasure was forced out of the younger. Jungkook's hands travelled to run through his husbands hair, moving the sticky fringe away from his face, "you make me feel so good, so loved. I love your cock." Kook was greedy, and a glutton for being manhandled, and he wanted Tae to really fuck him dumb, like only he could. Both men have pent up stress, and what better way than to fuck it out. “I-I love you— fuck..” Taehyung’s brows furrowed in concentration, jaw slack as he moved his hands to each side of Jungkook’s head, still tightly engulfed by his husband’s radiating warmth. The elder hazily gazed down at Kook, putting a momentary pause to his hips’ rhythm before leaning down to press a sweet kiss onto his forehead, nose, cheek, chin— and lastly, lips. Taehyung knew he was supposed to be fucking him dumb, but he couldn’t help it. They rarely spent time alone, Tae felt guilty for not expressing his love more often.. Shit, he was being annoying. The movement of their lips turned less sweet, moving eagerly as it muffled their reactive moans when Taehyung began putting his hips to work once again, hitting Jungkook’s deepest places and rubbing against his prostate. Tae pulled out halfway only to ram into the younger, his movements slick from the sweat found all over their bodies. A low grunt followed after every sharp thrust; Taehyung felt like he’d lose his mind. He was deprived of sex, and now that he got it, he was far more sensitive. “‘M gonna cum soon baby boy, y-you close?”

Jungkook's haste nodding followed by short, clear chants of the word 'yes' served as his only reply as he was unable to form any coherent sentence. He was too far gone, too drunk on the pleasure he was experiencing with every loud snap of his husbands hips. The younger reached between their bodies with one hand to squeeze his aching length, too weak to ignore the almost painful need throbbing between his legs. He began to stroke himself in tandem with Taehyung's thrusts, doubling the speed to where his upcoming orgasm was building up, "I will--- slow down, just a bit..." Jungkook suddenly asks for the opposite, his free hand settled to cup Tae's cheek, the other still working his own cock, causing his insides to clench down harder on the elder, "I'm gonna cum so much, fuck... please fill me up."

Jungkook's warning only lasted for a mere minute before his whines grew higher, jerking himself off at a torturous pace until he finally reached his peak. A raspy moan-- almost a scream erupted from his throat at the intensity of it, letting go of his cock to let it pathetically gush hot ropes of his cum between their bodies, his insides spasming and gripping Taehyung like a vice grip, "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Taehyung couldn’t handle his husband squeezing down on him with such force. It was as if Jungkook’s fleshy walls were pleading to be filled up with his cum, as if they’d missed squeezing every last drop out of his pulsating cock. Despite Jungkook reaching his climax, the elder still chased after his own. He was close, so close.. His hips snapped sloppily into Kook, losing the drive they once had. With every harsh slap of his balls against the younger’s ass, Taehyung felt himself gradually crumble down as he dug deeper into Jungkook’s clenched insides. “Gonna cum—“ Spurts of white shot into Kook, catching them both off guard, “shiiit, fuck yeah..” Taehyung threw his head back with a strained shout, tensing up as he disposed of his warm load into his husband. He pulled out to watch it dribble down out of his hole, only to push himself back in; not quite finished, “Fuuuck, it feels so good.. you feel so good..”

Once he was sure every last drop was snug deep inside of Jungkook, Tae withdrew for good. His slick tip came out with a ‘pop’, and a low whine slipped past his lips at the cool air that clashed against his wet length.

“That was amazing, I really needed that.” Taehyung leaned down to press a kiss onto Jungkook’s lips, unbothered by the pool of cum on the younger’s stomach, “I love you, you know that?”

© sombreboy 2020. Do not repost, edit or translate.

[blueprint-han]

stay tonight — bang chan.

↪ why, you must be in love, then. oh trust me, i know.

— new years’ with Chan is spent confessing known feelings to each other and getting back at him for what he did to you on your first date.

pairing: chan x (gn) reader [while this was written with a fem reader in mind, i do think this can be read with a gender neutral perspective]

genre: fluff.

⇥ warnings: nothing at all! a little bit of kissing here and there, but this is completely sfw.

word count: 2.6 K

type: drabble. 

⇥ disclaimer: this fiction does not represent the activities of the real Bang Chan, nor is associated with JYPE in any form. Events are pure fiction. ♡

song: this was inspired by Stay Tonight by Chungha! Highly recommend listening to it when reading this fic <3

↯ note: This is actually shit™ because I was very writers blocky with this fic and had to rewrite it many times to develop a decent plot </3 still, hope you have a lovely Christmas! 🥰 Happy reading <3 this isn’t very well edited so please excuse any errors <//3 ⇥ dawn.☀️

“You know you’re not supposed to be sitting there, right?” 

You straighten up and turn around at the familiar sound that rings through your ears, content when it’s exactly who you wish to see standing there. The smile exchanged between the both of you is simple, sweet and relaxing as you get off where you’re seated on the compound of the building. Walking towards him, your hands go around his waist and he chuckles in response. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You revert back. “I was just about to call you.”

Chan quirks a brow at you, silently grabbing your hand and leading you to the two random chairs placed at a convenient angle — one where you can both bask in each other’s presence and do some stargazing at the same time.

“Why? Did you miss me that much?” His tone is very cocky at the moment, and it makes you want to kiss that stupid grin off his lips. Sadly, he knows you well enough to know that such comments only fluster you when spoken — and that’s exactly what happens — you feel yourself go warm from the inside, a dizzy expression taking over your face as you sit next to him.

Love. The first time you’d encountered the term was in first grade — yet you’re almost certain it’s nothing like what you feel when he’s around you. This kind of love is different — it’s special. It’s the kind of love that causes a fiery sensation to bubble through you when you spare as much as a glance at him, yet it’s also the kind that keeps you calm and running like the waves washing against the shore of a golden beach. 

You can’t put words to explain what love means after you met Bang Chan. It’s more than just a feeling or sensation — it’s like the warmth that flows through your insides when you sip on hot chocolate during cold winters, it’s when your whole life turns into shy smiles, delicate giggles and nervous glances exchanged towards each other. That could perhaps, only outline what you felt around him.

A small tug on your lips and flutter of your eyelashes is all it takes before Chan places his warm hand over your own, lacing fingers together as his thumb runs over the soft skin of your hand. There’s no need for words right now — just soft gazes lingering on each other and the chill air that clouds itself around you, making you yearn for the warmth that you know only Chan can provide.

You take a brief moment to let your eyes quickly run over Chan’s features — his black hair falling over his temples, his eyes peering into your own, his lips slightly parted open. He hasn’t taken the face chain off, yet. He looks like he’s taking you in too, and you want this moment to freeze right here. Because the way Chan’s looking at you right now almost sweeps you off your feet.

But of course, there’s your goofy side coming out when the feeling gets to the point where all you wanna do is just lean in and close the gap between the both of you.

“Close your mouth, mister.” You give him the most obscene-looking pout ever. “I know I’m too pretty to resist.” That (very cringy statement), paired with a wink thrown with each eye causes Chan to break eye contact from you and start laughing, hysterically.

“Y/N.” You can’t even see his eyes because of the tiny™ crescents that have taken their place. “What, in the name of lord, was that?” Chan clutches his stomach, his loud giggles very prominent in the quiet surroundings around you.

“Oh, come on, it’s the end of year. There should be harmony—” The last word is in a singsong voice, spreading your arms out to enhance the dramatic tone. “— everywhere possible. You just can’t appreciate my comedy.”

Chan only coos at you, leaning in to kiss your cheek ever-so-lightly before giving you the most beaming smile you’ve ever seen. He pinches where your cheeks feel hot. “Yes my little comedic genius, you’re adorable.”

“You love it.”

You pout at him, and Chan immediately leans in, cupping your cheeks and squishing them together before kissing the pout right off your face. He pecks lightly once, twice, thrice before pulling away, eyes glittering under the stars — you could see a whole universe in his orbs, and they seemed to be dragging you in.

You’d met — no, you’d properly seen Bang Chan for the first time when you passed by him in the MNET Countdown for their Miroh comeback. You’re forgetful enough to not remember what song you were promoting at that time, but you do remember bowing down at all the members of Stray Kids multiple times as you exited the stage. It was also the time you felt that tug on your heart’s strings, all because Chan’s lips pulled into a smile when his eyes fixated on yours. 

You’re again, forgetful enough to not remember anything about your surroundings, but you do remember staring off into his brown eyes, even if it were for a mere second — yet it felt like you were swept off your feet. You do also remember when Chan reached out for your shoulder, and you froze. You weren’t capable of words as Chan brushed off a piece of tinsel off your top; throwing you a beaming smile.

“T-thank y-you,” You remember saying, stuttering, rather. You could feel his radiance clouding your brain as you scrambled along your route, trying to calm yourself down of that unfelt rush of emotion you’d just felt. The loud applause and the bustling crowd, the members singing their parts of the song, the other groups making their exit — you couldn’t bring yourself to focus on anything except that smile. Those eyes that crinkled into the finest of crescents, that flash of his dimples that softened your heart and then that final brush of his fingers against your shoulder, enough to take your breath away.

Call you lovestruck, but Bang Chan had you in his grasp the moment he laid his eyes on you.

The second time you met Bang Chan was again, at a show, but this time. You were an MC instead of a performer. You don’t need to dwell on the lot of details again, but you can still feel that shock wave that ripped through your fingers when Chan borrowed the mic from you. Your fingers only barely touched, yet you could feel all the blood rush to your face in that very moment, biting your lip slightly as you allowed him to do the talking.

You did pray and hope that he, or anybody else for that matter, didn’t notice how red you were, because hell that was embarrassing. 

“You look at him like he’s an anime character come to life.” Ah, typical friends. Using your love for anime boys to tease the way you kept blushing every time Chan even so happened to walk past you. 

Of course, by the third week of this happening, you were almost certain you’d fallen head over heels for the man — that man who you’d never talked to before, if you didn’t count the awkward hellos and bows you’d shared. You didn’t understand why or when or how he managed to catch your attention so much — all you knew was that you were hurled headfirst into the vortex of love, and you were only plunging deeper and deeper in, with no way out.

But did you want a way out?

“I can feel you staring.”

Oh shit. You awkwardly straighten yourself before shifting your gaze two degrees to the side. Chan’s dorm (he’d made sure all the boys were out) was a less-than-ideal-location for a first date, but being an idol has its own repercussions, you like to believe. 

“Y/N!” He exclaims, giggling at you as he shakes your arm, like he’s trying to pull you out of a trance or something. It only makes you very obviously shy of the fact that he’s caught you red-handed.

“I have something for you…” He drags, his eyes looking curiously into yours, scanning for a response. Your own widen and a smile takes over your lips — you don’t care about the gift in all honesty, just the fact that he thought of getting you something for something like a first date warmed you up.

“What could that be, hm?”

“Wait here.”

He runs into his (shared) room and you hear sounds of him rummaging through something, and he returns with a small object in his hand. You try to get a glance at it but his hand is covering it up majorly, and he cheekily smiles as he sits in front of you.

“Close your eyes.” He says in that adorable, pouty voice that can have you do almost anything for him. Sure, this is your first date, but it took you two weeks after the confession to clear up your schedules and set a timing and place for you to meet up.

“Channn, just show it already!” You counter, groaning at his secretiveness.

“Nope, you’ll have to close your eyes.” 

If he wasn’t so freaking adorable, you’d have snatched that thing from his hand, owing to the amount of curiosity you had.

“Ugh, okay fine.” You squeeze your eyes shut, sighing when you feel Chan’s soft hand engulf your own before placing something cold and… is that plastic?

You open your eyes to look at the small, rectangular object in your hand.

“A cassette tape?” You raise an eyebrow — not mockingly, but rather in a questioning way. As far as you remember, cassettes weren’t something used regularly to play music. 

“Mhm, we had a lot of time before our first date, you know? So I thought I’d try to make it special.”

“Awh, how are we gonna play this?”

“Behind you.” 

You frown, turning behind you to look at the massive, ancient cassette-player sitting on a table.

“How did I just notice that now?” Chan shrugs. 

“Let’s l-listen to it then.” A small smile graces your lips.

And of course, you were crying by the end of the tape.

You do remember the contents of the tape. It had four songs — all of which were supposedly written for you — you didn’t bother to ask, but the mere thought of him going through all that to record and immortalize them into a tape had you touched.

The thought invokes a heavy feeling of nostalgia — suddenly you wanna go back in time, one year ago on your first date, just to relive the experience. Looking at Chan has always made you want to give everything you could to the man — yes, he was handsome, he was pretty, but moreover you could never, ever get over how much of a kind hearted and empathetic man he was. He’d pulled you out of your most vulnerable state and shown you how the true world was really like — filled with love, joy and exhilaration.

“Hey.” You hear the whisper and shake yourself out of your thoughts. “It’s thirty seconds to midnight. They’re gonna release the fireworks.”

A nod, and the both of you rush to move to the edge of the compound and gaze at the night sky.

“Don’t you think they’ll be looking for us below?”

“Nah, I told Hyunjin and Jisung where I’m going, they’ll take care of it.” Like usual, he intertwines your fingers together once again, looking up at the sky and then at his watch. You only giggle at his words, nodding before leaning to rest your head against his shoulder.

“Twenty seconds.”

This was it. In twenty seconds, the year would come to an end — while all the memories you’d made with Chan, and everyone for that matter, would remain, a small part of you would miss this year and all it’s days. Yet, you could be either excited for the year that was to come, or be sad that an amazing one was going to end — and you were leaning towards the former.

“You know,” You feel a sudden burst of emotion cutting through you — almost like you’re starting to tear up. 

“Yeah?”

“I’m-I’m really glad I met you.” 

The bustling of the city grows louder, and you can hear the collective chats echoing throughout the space.

Chan isn’t amused, but you can tell he’s taken aback by the sudden vocalization of your thoughts, especially when you tend to keep yourself on the more silent side.

“O-Oh…” 

You smile, still holding his hand when you turn to face him and he does the same, eyes filled with curiosity, a hint of confusion, but he nonetheless let’s you speak. 

“I don’t know, every time I look at you, I just think about — how grateful I am to have you standing next to me like this. And I might sound a little cheesy or dramatic here, but I’m really, so happy when I’m with you — you really make me smile without doing anything, you make me feel safe and it’s just… you’re so special to me.” 

Perhaps it’s just the sudden surge of emotion you feel when you look into Chan’s eyes, but you can’t seem to stop yourself from saying anything. The words just spill out and string themselves into a confession that leaves Chan breathless.

A soft sniffle leaves your lips and Chan’s eyes gloss over too, he silently brushes his thumb under your eyes to collect the tears that fall out. 

The loud sound of ringing resounds throughout, signifying that there’s only ten seconds left. The chants pour in, one by one. Ten, nine, eight, seven…

Chan really doesn’t know why he’s gotten emotional over a small confession, but to him it feels like a weight lifted off his shoulders. Not that he had any doubt in the first place, but the reassurance you give him is more satisfactory than anything he’s ever felt. While Chan knows you’re happy being with him (and vice versa), moments like these are what make your relationship lively and exciting, joyous.

Six, five, four.

“Why, you must be in love, then, Y/N.” He feels himself say. You look up to him and your eyes meet and it feels like a world’s united together. You love him, he loves you, and tonight, that is all that matters.

Three, two…

“Oh trust me.” You say, and at that moment, you hear nothing, except for the thudding of your quickened heartbeat and Chan’s voice catching in his throat. “I know.”

One.

You barely notice the luminescent firecrackers that start bursting behind and all around you high up in the sky when Chan’s gentle grip on your cheeks tightens and he pulls you in, chest crushing against yours as his lips engulf your own in one of the warmest, softest kisses you think you’ve ever received.  

Because in the end, this is where you like being the most — in his arms, feeling his presence beside you building your confidence. You think it’s destiny, it’s fate how the both of you seem to click so much and fit with each other so well — indeed, you’re in love with Bang Chan. Because with the start of the new year,  you can feel yourself forgetting about everything negative, everything except the light of your life, him. Your thoughts are fuzzy but still coherent, and you want to drown yourself in everything Chan, Chan, Chan.

When you pull away and rest foreheads against each other, finally, it all seems peaceful. There’s the distant chattering from below, but you and Chan are trapped in your own world to notice that.

“Happy New Year…” It’s a tiny whisper, yet you catch it quite easily.

“Happy New year,” you say, smiling at him lovingly before pecking his lips, leaning into his chest and humming when his hands wrap around your shoulders, engulfing you in warmth. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

You smile to yourself. In your head, you know what you’re gonna do is half to revive past memories and half because you want to get back at Chan for almost making you cry on that first date with his dimpled smile and his thoughtful gift.

“I have something for you.” You playfully word, feeling that wave of nostalgia hit you when Chan raises an eyebrow.

“I thought we didn’t get each other gifts for new years.”

“Yeah, but this is special. Close your eyes.” Chan does as you say, though reluctantly, holding himself back from tangling his fingers with yours again. You snicker at how he bites his lips and stiffens his fingers, leaning to press a soft kiss into his palm before placing the gift.

Chan frowns and opens his eyes to peer into your own, fiddling with the cassette tape in his hand.

“A cassette tape?” he probably doesn’t remember in explicit detail, but you try not to laugh at how he mimics the exact same way you acted on the first date.

“Yeah, it’s something I made for you.”

“Oh,” He looks at you sweetly, making your heart swell as you nod in agreement. “I’ll listen to it when I get home, we have the cassette player there.”

You shake your head. “Mhm, nope! Lucky for you, I contacted the right people so you could listen to it.”

Chan raises both his eyebrows in amusement, chuckling to himself as he turns in the direction you point.

“Behind you.”

And just like the old times, that cassette  player was still there. It had taken you a whole two trips to McDonald’s to convince Minho to help you sneak it in, but if it all worked out, everything was set.

“How did I just notice that now?” Chan seems amused at the level you’ve gone to present your gift, and a tiny bit mellow at your actions.

And this time, you were the one who had him tearing up by the end of the night.

*:･ﾟ✧ find the other fics here ! ​

[365days365movies]

May 9, 2021: A.I. Artificial Intelligence (2001) (Recap: Part One)

Welcome to the future.

At this point, we’ve mostly looked at the past, present, or the near-future (as in, the next ten years, if that). Additionally, we’ve looked either at nonexistent technology in a contemporary setting, or an extension of existing technology taken to a logical next step. But no more. No more realism, no more real-world rules, and nothing that we’re even close to in this reality.

Well...mostly.

That’s genuinely impressive, not gonna lie. Anyway, yeah, from here forwards (for a bit), we’ll be looking at the future and futuristic technology. Now, there are a couple of ways in which these films tend to go. The first big way that we tend to represent the future in film is the same way we always have: flying cars, futuristic technology, smart houses, and robots.

Now, there are countless examples of this future, and it always changes a bit depending on the present. Which, yeah, makes sense. After all, what I’m doing right now, at this moment, would’ve been seen by many people as a massive technological achievement, even around the time that I was born. Which, yes, I’m old, deal with it (because I can’t). Anyway, the way that this begins is with the first major filmed view of a seemingly idyllic future: Fritz Lang’s 1927 film Metropolis.

The overly mechanized (and politically dystopic) society seen in this film, as well as the visuals and technology, would inform our ideas of the future throughout the next century. Multiple themes and common objects reoccur throughout futuristic fiction. You know the stuff I’m talking about. Flying cars, automatic food machines, robotic assistants, video watches, holograms, jetpacks, so on and so forth.

But here’s the thing about the future. It’s always ahead of us, and eventually...well, we’ve gotten to most of those things to some degree. Either they already exist...

...or is currently being developed.

Well, one of them we’re still working on. And the development of more advanced AI is something we have yet to perfect, or even fully develop. However, the development of A.I. (and the consequences of that technology) are ALL OVER science fiction. Sometimes, they’re merely used for flavor to help establish the futuristic setting.

Sometimes, they’re characters with their own agency and conflicts, which may or may not define the plot. In these cases, they’re often simply there to back up the main human characters, and help with their development, and sometimes their own. You know, manic pixie dream robots.

And then, possibly most often, they’re the abject villains of the piece. they can be mysterious alien technology, like in The Day the Earth Stood Still, or a man-made danger that turns on the race that created and/or abused it.

But then, on occasion, an A.I. is given the chance to develop as a character, without being used to define the development of a human character. Sometimes, the question of what life truly means is raised through these characters, and we become attached to them outside of any other character. This isn’t nearly as common as the others, but it’s definitely not unheard of.

And for the record...things don’t often go well for those AIs. But still, some of those characters have quite a lasting impact. So, there’s quite a lot of potential for this type of character, from a dramatic standpoint. And that potential leads us to the guy who made this.

I WILL MAKE A JURASSIC PARK REFERENCE AS OFTEN AS POSSIBLE

Steven Spielberg gives us today’s entry, and this director of a classic science fiction story about science gone awry teamed up with the director of a science fiction film where an artificial intelligence went awry. You know, this thing.

I didn’t forget about HAL. And I won’t forget about him later, either.

Director Stanley Kubrick is pretty well-know for his mind-bending films, especially The Shining and 2001: A Space Odyssey. But he also worked with Spielberg on this film before his death in 1999, as this was one of his dream projects for many years, and the two directors were well-known friends.

And so, eventually, Spielberg was given the reins from Kubrick, and results were...mixed. It’s funny, because I’ve never actually seen this movie, but I remember it through its surprisingly widespread ad campaign. I used to go to NYC as a kid a lot, and there was a massive building-side plastered with the iconic logo of this movie. So, I’ve been hovering around this movie for a long time. Enough navel-gazing!

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (Part One)

It is, unsurprisingly, the future. A marrator informs us that climate change has caused the ice caps to melt, and global flooding drowns several countries. You could say that it’s a...Waterworld.

I genuinely considered watching that movie at some point, and then I decided I liked myself to much to watch 2 hours of Kevin Costner’s emotionless acting. Granted, it’s not much better now, listening to the emotionless acting of...

Professor Allen Hobby (William Hurt) is a straight-up sociopath. OK, technically, he’s a robotics engineer, but dude’s making a speech, right? He talks about how far robots have come, dissing my boi Deep Blue in the process, and notes that pain-memory response can also be demonstrated by robots. He proves this by stabbing a woman in his audience, like RIGHT through the hand. Jesus, man! Why the hell would you do that?

Oh. Holy shit, I got fooled. Advanced technology indeed. But OK, so Sheila’s a robot, and a very advanced one...to us. But Hobby wants more, and proposes to his workers to make a robot that can really TRULY love. And through love may come a true subconscious, which means making a robot that can dream. And what better robot to make than a robot child? After all, all child conception requires a license in this futuristic world, so many childless couples are yearning for a child.

Which is why, twenty months later, the first robot child is offered to Henry and Monica Swinton (Sam Robards and Frances O’Connor), a couple...with a child. Um. Guys. You JUST SAID that there are legit childless couples who need a child, and those people would be best suited to love that robot child back (a VERY GOOD question raised by one of Hobby’s subordinates). So why give it to a couple whose son is still alive? Yeah, he’s got a rare disease that they don’t have a cure for yet, and is currently in cryostasis, BUT THEY HAVE A KID! Surely, that’s going to be a potential emotional conflict! And what if the kid wakes up or some shit? This is a TERRIBLE goddamn idea. Think this shit through, guys.

And yet...

This is David (Haley Joel Osment), Cybertronics’ first child robot, brought home by Henry to essentially replace their son. Which is AMAZINGLY FUCKING TONE-DEAF AND INSANE, GODDAMN. That’s extraordinarily messed up. And, for the record, I totally get what Spielberg’s going for, but Jesus Christ, man. This was a terrible way to go about this. And it gets fucking WORSE.

See, Henry (who actually works for Cybertronics) tells Monica that, once they sign the papers and complete the updates, David will imprint on them and see him as their true parents, loving them unconditionally. Which...yeah, fuck, that’s an entire DUMP TRUCK of ethics issues right there. And, while we’re at it, David is...creepy as shit. I mean it, dude, Haley Joel Osment is a VERY good child actor, but he’s laying on the creepy robot child thing THICK. And yeah, this is BEFORE he imprints on them. Jesus fuck, man, there’s a scene where the still uncomfortable Monica is outside of a glass door, and he looks back at her THROUGH THE DOOR like a goddamn SERIAL KILLER.

And I gotta tell ya, dude does not lay off that creepy-ass dial one iota. And for that matter, the music by John Williams ISN’T FUCKING HELPING. LISTEN to this shit, and imagine a robot child that you don’t know wandering around your house. It’s amazingly fucking creepy.

AND IT JUST. KEEPS. GETTING. WORSE. There’s a scene where they’re all at dinner, right, and David’s just staring at them as they eat, mimicking their actions. After all, he’s a robot, he can’t actually eat or drink anything because of his internal working. And then, out of FUCKING NOWHERE, he starts laughing like the FUCKING JOKER, and it scares the EVER-LOVING SHIT OUT OF ME. And somehow, they laugh alongside him, in the never-ending Stockholm syndrome that is this movie! And as soon as its over, he just STOPS laughing, spontaneously. Fuck me, man, I’m tempted to stop watching here and now, and I’m only TWENTY MINUTES IN! I need a fucking break.

And after that...OF COURSE she decides to activate his imprinting protocols to make him, let me remind you, LOVE HIM FOREVER! She reads out a series of words, and after “FREIGHT CAR”, he knows his mission is to kill the Prime Minister of Sokovia. But first, he’ll settle down and love Monica unconditionally (again, FOREVER), calling her Mommy and making me shit my pants in fear. IT WASN’T ME, IT WAS FUCKING DAVID

Oh, and by the way, isn’t it kinda shitty to do that without Henry being involved AT ALL? Like, cool, he has unconditional maternal love, but Henry wasn’t a part of that conditioning at all! And he still refers to him as “Henry” instead of Dad! However, Henry definitely doesn’t care about that, because he still sees David as only a robot. Hey, guys, maybe using these two as your first experiment with a robot child WAS A TERRIBLE FUCKING IDEA, YOU IDIOTS! No wonder William Hurt was cast as Thunderbolt Ross in the MCU. Already shown he can play a character with shitty ideas before.

Anyway, after this terrible series of events, David prevents the parents from leaving one night due to his childlike antics. When Monica goes to comfort him, he asks how long she’ll live, and tells her that he hope she never dies, a COMPLETELY NORMAL THING TO SAY. Look, I get that he’s a robot, but only a goddamn emotionless sociopath would program emotional responses like this into a robot. Which, given what we’ve seen of Hobby, makes sense.

In response, she gives him Teddy (Jack Angel), a technologically advanced teddy bear with sentience, a personality, and the voice of Astrotrain from The Transformers TV series. Because, yes, I am THAT MUCH of a goddamn nerd.

Soon after, the house gets a phone call, which David receives...literally. He takes the phone and allows it to speak through him. It turns out that, shock beyond shocks, THEIR SON IS CURED! Yeah, fuck. Maybe giving David to a family with a STILL LIVING SON is a fucking ABSOLUTELY TERRIBLE IDEA, for about a thousand reasons.

And, fucking understandably, Martin Swinton (Jake Thomas) is a little upset to find out that he’s essentially been replaced by a robot kid. Although, to be fair, he’s also kind of a dick to David, holding his humanity over him and treating him as a toy that he attempts to manipulate and bully. My Lord, this is a massively stupid idea. And Martin immediately shows his dickishness by asking his mother to read Carlo Collodi’s The Adventures of Pinocchio to them. Which is meant to be a punishment for Pinocchio. However, of course, David loves it.

Still, however, there’s trouble in paradise for David, as he tries to compete with Martin for being a real boy, and eats spinach at dinner one evening. Despite Teddy’s mildly ominous warning to him (”YOU WILL BREAK”), he keeps eating until he basically has a stroke and breaks, forcing him to be repaired by some of Cybertronics’ technicians. Monica has a bit of a break down as a result, which Martin notices. This causes Martin to go pure supervillain, manipulating David to do creepy things in order to insert doubt into Monica about David. Jesus, Martin’s a creepy kid, too. No wonder Monica grew to be cool with David, her actual son is a FUCKING SOCIOPATHIC MONSTER! Are there ANY truly normal people in this world? IS THIS WHAT THE FUTURE IS?

Martin convinces David to cut a lock of Monica’s hair while she’s sleeping. And lemme tell ya, a little boy holding scissors over someone while they sleep is not exactly comforting. Henry agrees, and after stopping him, believes that they need to return him. Monica disagrees, knowing that they’ll destroy him if brought back. But David, ever the semi-sociopath himself, ignores any signs of humanity in David and dismisses Monica's feelings for him entirely. He also says this thing about “IF HE CAN BE PROGRAMMED TO LOVE, CAN NOT HE BE PROGRAMM-ED TO HATE?”, which...no. No, he cannot. He didn’t learn to love, he was programmed to. And, again, that’s ethically FUCKED, but taking that into account...no. HE WASN’T PROGRAMMED TO HATE, HENRY. Goddamn, buddy, use your head here.

It’s Martin’s birthday, and his friends at the pool party expose David to the fun world of anti-robot (or Mecha) racism, and test to see if he has Damage Avoidance Systems by threatening him with a knife. And he does. Buuut, when those systems kick in, he goes to the nearest point of safety to keep himself safe. That point is, unfortunately, Martin, whom he gets behind...and accidentally drags into the pool.

Thing is, because of Martin’s recent illness, he can’t exactly swim, meaning that David almost drowns him. When Henry and other partygoers go to save him, they abandon David in the pool completely. And now, David’s fucked. Because although this situation isn’t even a little bit his fault, he also just nearly killed Martin. And so, after seeing notes that he’s been writing to her, Monica offers to take for a “ride in the country”. Which definitely means something good. In reality, she’s planning on taking him back to Cybertronics. But once in the car, there’s a change in plans. And hear me out...it’s arguably far more horrifying.

She decides to abandon him in the woods completely, despite how hard it is for her to leave him. She’s sparing him from death, sure, but also throwing him into a world he doesn’t understand, and for reasons that he doesn’t understand. It’s genuinely terrible. And then...yeah, she leaves him forever, to an uncertain future.

End Act One.

I think this is a good place to stop. It’s early, and I need more coffee to handle this shit. See you in Part Two. Of Three. Yup. It’s a long one.

[sohin-ace]

I’m not trying to be rude but can I just mention that your adhd/add hc thing was really hurtful (at least for me as someone with it) it just stinks because most people with those things have to deal with being called stupid and being infantalized by having their abilities to do things constantly questioned. I know you would never try to offend anyone I just thought I’d give you a heads up that talking about characters seeings people with adhd/add as “stupid” is kind of harmful

Hello my gangster. Thank you for bringing this up. Like I said in the HCs:

I don't know a thing about these disorders. I don't have them, I hold no familiarity with them.

The request was centered around it and Ghiaccio/Reader being forgetful, so I had to make the HCs revolve around these two, well, being forgetful and unattentive. I do not find pleasure in making someone's disorder their only defining trait.

Maybe the term 'airhead' or the comparison to these two with kids felt offensive, but the narration hinted that Prosciutto and the gang were the ones thinking that, and I believe they would canonically make those kinds of comparisons or even mock them, knowing the men's canon personalities. I was also positive that my readers would catch on that those were merely jokes/not to be taken seriously, since I wanted the scenarios to be comedic.

I do not doubt ADD/ADHD people's abilities, potential or competence, and neither does La Squadra, or else, they wouldn't even have Ghiaccio/Reader in the gang working with them in the first place.

I did not mean to insult a certain category of people and those are not my own beliefs pushed onto those characters (to be fair, I'm pretty patient and reclusive towards hyperactive people because of my calm nature, so I do not personally care, we all make mistakes sometimes, I wouldn't hold them accountable for anything).

I was not sure about honoring this request, just as I was when making my Tourette syndrome and FTM Transgender HCs because, as someone who does not qualify as those elements, I was bound to misrepresent at some point, or harm, for the faints of heart.

Do not worry, I will not get these kinds of specific requests often, and I already refused a lot for that exact reason.

I just try my best as a fanfic author to give visibility to minorities or to people who feel invisible and forgotten. That is not safe of risks, obviously.

I may be a little disappointed that such a small, made-to-be-harmless piece of fiction was taken in such way. I truly expected my readers to take into consideration that I just try my best to give content to people who yearn for it, even though I can not understand everyone's point of view and struggles. And on the other hand, I truly expected myself to be much more cautious about my choice of words, which is the one thing I spend the most time on when creating a piece.

I apologize if you felt insulted or belittled in any way. I'm sure you know that was the least of my intentions. As a fanfic author, my motivation is to give love to people and make them feel loved, not the opposite.

On that, I hope you don't take my HCs to heart too much. No, you are not a stupid person, nor are you childlike. Prove wrong those who dare tell you otherwise by making your disorder your strength. Don't undergo your own personality and situation. Stay as lovely as you are.

Of course, I kindly request that you all gangsters let me know whenever I do something wrong and educate me so I can improve in the future.

Take care my gangster.

[ohsweetflips]

share your mama thoughts!!!! (if you would like to)

you’re gonna look at these and, within 2.5 seconds, say “wow jords the self-projection is strong tn”

or more so “wow jords we really see the dynamics that u yearn for and yet cannot find so u project them onto fictional characters who u look up to in a way u can’t quite understand”

post-writing notes: this got way longer than i expected (the jords ohsweetflips story), so this is going under the cut, but enjoy my huge mama backstory headcanons!!!

first things first, i hc mama as a lesbian, bc i am a lesbian, and i feel very attached to mama, so i hc her as a lesbian (but also i believe that anyone can hc her to be anything that they damn well please)

and, forgive me, i don’t know shit abt west virginian geography, but i think she grew up in a town like aubrey’s? like i know we didn’t get a lot of description of aubrey’s younger life outside her home, but i kinda see mama as having this “old money” type homelife

and bc i, jords ohsweetflips, wish i had a group of lesbian friends so that i could’ve had some guidance in my teen years, i hc that, in her town, she found her way into the small yet secure lesbian “scene” that was just a couple girls around her age (i see her as 15 at this time, with others ranging 15-18) along with a couple who were, like, 19/20

and tbh, just the vibe i get from mama and how she seems much more inclined towards found family than blood relatives, i don’t think she had the nicest folks so, when she came out, that was it, you know?

and tbh i completely see mama (well, madeline at this point) as someone who is very like “i don’t need help, i can do things on my own,” even as a young teen, so i think for, like, a week or two, she did the whole “on her own” things

but bc her friends were absolute angels, and also found out that she had been essentially homeless, two of the girls who are 19 and 20 and have an apartment are like “fuck no, you’re staying with us”

and madeline is at first like “no, really, i’m fine” but the thought of an actually loving home is too tempting to ignore

so from the ages of 15 to 18, she lives with her friends!!! she was fairly good at art at this point so she was able to get some in to the local galleries and shops and make some money off of it, and then when she was around 17, her friends were able to get her a job bussing at the bar they worked in

she also liked to whittle a lot!!! she made a lot of ducks

she was 18 when she decided to move out, and that’s when she heard of kepler. or, more so, she heard of it from another one of her friends who dubbed it as “a place fit for you, mads”

so she managed to save up enough money for an apartment and she moved out of her hometown and absolutely the friends she lived with cried their eyes out when they were helping her move in and tbh even madeline got a bit teary eyed bc they were like family, you know?

and so basically, from the ages of 18-24, she lived in kepler and got her bearings and this was when she started to get really into wood carving!!! she was able to get some pieces out there and get some recognition and, by her mid20s, she was actually making decent money, or at least enough to not be living paycheck to paycheck

in this phase of living in kepler, i think she was in a very “people knew her but she didn’t know them that well” just bc i don’t see her as the type of person to be a “social butterfly”? i think she mostly, tho, became friendly with the man who ran kepler’s local coffee shop, and the wives who owned the little dipper back before it was the hornet’s nest. she’s also def met leo and thacker, but only in passing, mostly. i think, once she got closer to her late 20s/early 30s, she would have heard of duck and juno but, in her being 18-24, they were probably still kids/young teenagers.

WAIT I CAN’T FORGET 1980S MAMA AESTHETIC: whole lot of jackets. she did a lot of thrift shopping so she has so many huge jackets. lot of denim. and leather. work boots. flannel. patches. are you picking up on the self projection yet.

and then, in november of 1988, when she was 24, the gate went up. she encountered her first abomination by accident. she had been out in the woods, just trekking back to her apartment and deciding to take the scenic route, when all of a sudden.... one of the smaller trees started moving? and she was like “well that’s not what trees do” and then she saw that the tree had a jagged mouth dripping with sap and branches acting like long, clawed hands, and she was like “well that ain’t no normal tree”

i don’t have my Big Brave Madeline “Mama” Cobb Origin Battle Story yet but she definitely just chopped the shit out of the tree and it managed to work

i think it would be Very Funny if, very shortly after that, her first sylph was barclay. like, i have a feeling that age works a bit different for sylphs, and honestly i have no clue where they would get the disguises from? maybe heathcliff? but the thought of madeline running into Literal Bigfoot and barclay, maybe like 20yo in sylph age, being like “WAIT DON’T KILL ME” bc this young woman already looks ready for leather is very entertaining

and that’s when mama learns abt the sylphs, and how they’re not abominations, and barclay shows her the gate 

and also yes barclay absolutely stays in her apartment except he is So Hidden bc imagine the chaos of Literal Bigfoot being in her apartment! hysterical!

but, soon, mama crosses over into sylvain and figures out Everything that has gone on and knows abt the crystal shattering and the wars and she realizes that there have been sylphs exiled to earth and she’s like “well that ain’t gonna fly”

so she starts the pineguard and, for that first year, it’s mostly just her? and, at that point, it’s harder to locate sylphs, so she only has barclay and one or two others staying with her and it’s cramped but they’re safe so she’s happy

she meets thacker around... april 1989, i think? i know it was spring. so he helps out, and then they recruit another guy, mike (canonically mentioned in the water arc), and a couple others, and, suddenly, the pineguard is turning into an actual thing

and then, one of the ski lodges up on topside closes, now leaving a completely empty inn just... taking up space...... and it’s only a half mile from the gate........... and she has been making a decent amount of money from her sculptures

before the end of 1989, amnesty lodge is set up and running and, all of a sudden, it’s like she has another real home again. she loves the sylphs she meets and they can be safe with her!!

thacker absolutely has a bunch of “home videos” where, really, he’s just messing around with madeline. it’s almost like a “madeline cobb nature documentary” as she finishes up the lodge and treks through the woods. there’s also some of barclay and moira, and other pineguard members, and other sylphs that show up. he also has his journals and pictures and other books and, at one point, the cellar looks like thacker’s library

also the ballad of bigfoot is absolutely canonical and, after stephanie & griffin & C.M. leave the lodge, thacker has never seen madeline go off like she did on barclay that night. barclay still has some residual fear for hearing mama (who’s a big woman but he is Big Foot so he is definitely just Big) scream up at him “I WILL PUT YOU BACK IN THE WOODS WHERE I FOUND YOU, DON’T YOU TEST ME, BARCLAY”

even tho the two of them don’t talk abt it much, and might not even realize it that early on (picturing like late 20s/early 30s), thacker and mama really are best friends and, tbh, every sylph can see it in the way they bicker yet unconditionally care for each other

madeline almost kicked thacker out of the pineguard when she first found out what he put in his gorp

dani showed up in 2009 and, at the age of 12, she was the youngest sylph amnesty lodge had by a fucking landslide, and that made madeline so angry yet so sad bc this child had been exiled from her home and that was just a thing that could happen

(madeline never got along too well with woodbridge but, after that, knowing that he is the one in charge of the exiles, she could never even be civil with him)

she was immediately protective of dani and was ready to really step in as a parental figure bc she wasn’t abt to let this young girl be without guidance

and she gave dani handmedowns and took her shopping and would make sure that she felt safe and comfortable bc, really, she was the only sylph in the lodge who wasn’t an adult. and, fortunately, barclay was basically an older brother to her and moira looked out for her and i think dani coming into the lodge was what really gave everyone a very big reality check bc, like. she’s a kid

(is it obvious that i’m a bit attached to mama and dani)

and so it should come as no shock that, within a year of dani being in amnesty lodge, madeline became “mama”

and then, in 2011, jake, age 16, showed up, and by then mama was like “alright time to adopt him”

but also, real talk, mama looks out for all her sylphs so much, she’d lay down her life for any of them

when thacker leaves in 2013, she’s at first okay, doing just fine. he promised that he would come back, and she has faith in him. and then months pass. and then a year. and then two. and, all of a sudden, it’s the spring of 2016 and kepler expeditions is officially shut down and mama realizes just how much she misses her best friend.

and, not to mention, the waning of the pineguard.

by the time it gets to the summer of 2018, it’s just her and barclay, the both of them hoping things stay the same, but hope hasn’t gotten them too far

and then they have a fire magician, and a forest ranger with a talking sword, and ned fucking chicane

and now we have reached canon!!! thank u for coming to my ted talk!!!!

also tho, post-finale during the big reunion, thacker is just talking with aubrey and all of a sudden is like “holy shit, you really are like her, aren’t you?” and aubrey is just like “???” and thacker says, “don’t go tellin’ her, because she’ll kick my ass, but talkin’ to you is just like talkin’ to maddie when she was your age” and aubrey is a bit :’)

[jkottke]

Highlights from Circe by Madeline Miller

I've been enjoying sharing the highlighted passages from the Kindle books I've read lately. Going over your notes is a good way to solidify a book's themes, ideas, and plot threads in your mind, especially for someone like me who tends to forget a lot of the earlier bits of what I'm reading. So I thought I'd go back through some previous reads in the same fashion, sharing some of the best bits of favorite books and refreshing my memory.

First up is Madeline Miller's Circe, which was recommended to me by my friend Alaina. In the NY Times, Alexandra Alter called Circe "a bold and subversive retelling of the goddess's story that manages to be both epic and intimate in its scope, recasting the most infamous female figure from the Odyssey as a hero in her own right".

I'm starting here because I recently finished her debut novel, The Song of Achilles (the highlights from which I will share soon). I loved both books -- Miller's prose is somehow both spare and chock full of lyrical analogies and clever turns of phrase. Many of passages below highlight those qualities in her writing.

Page 3:

My mother did not argue further. Like everyone, she knew the stories of Helios' temper when he was crossed. However gold he shines, do not forget his fire.

Page 14:

You cannot know how frightened gods are of pain. There is nothing more foreign to them, and so nothing they ache more deeply to see.

Page 37 (I am already bracing myself for the "you don't understand..." of my kids' teen years):

That is one thing gods and mortals share. When we are young, we think ourselves the first to have each feeling in the world.

Page 48:

All I knew was that I hated her. For I was like any dull ass who has ever loved someone who loved another. I thought: if only she were gone, it would change everything.

Page 66 (on useful fictions):

"Yes," he said. "That is how it works, Circe. I tell Father that my sorcery was an accident, he pretends to believe me, and Zeus pretends to believe him, and so the world is balanced. It is your own fault for confessing. Why you did that, I will never understand."

Page 67:

All those years I had spent with them were like a stone tossed in a pool. Already, the ripples were gone.

Page 85:

You can teach a viper to eat from your hands, but you cannot take away how much it likes to bite.

Page 90:

He stood up -- I will not say gracefully, for he was too solidly built for that -- but easily, like a door swinging on a well-fitted hinge.

Page 129:

I had not thought him so bold. But of course he was. Artist, creator, inventor, the greatest the world had known. Timidity creates nothing.

Page 129 (Reminds me of the quote "From the moment we are born, we begin to die."):

I yearned for his hands, for all of him, mortal though he was, distant and dying though he would always be.

Page 132:

In a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. Such a constellation was he to me.

Page 138 (a metaphor for inequality in America):

Every moment mortals died, by shipwreck and sword, by wild beasts and wild men, by illness, neglect, and age. It was their fate, as Prometheus had told me, the story that they all shared. No matter how vivid they were in life, no matter how brilliant, no matter the wonders they made, they came to dust and smoke. Meanwhile every petty and useless god would go on sucking down the bright air until the stars went dark.

Page 186:

And Odysseus, I thought. The spiral shell. Always another curve out of sight.

Page 186:

But there is a hand that must gather all those pieces and make them whole. A mind to guide the purpose, and not flinch from war's necessities."

"And that is your part," I said. "Which means you are like Daedalus after all. Only instead of wood, you work in men."

The look he gave me. Like purest, unmixed wine. "After Achilles died, Agamemnon named me Best of the Greeks. Other men fought bravely, but they flinched from war's true nature. Only I had the stomach to see what must be done."

His chest was bare and hatched with scars. I tapped it lightly, as if sounding what lay within. "Such as?"

"You promise mercy to spies so they will spill their story, then you kill them after. You beat men who mutiny. You coax heroes from their sulks. You keep spirits high at any cost. When the great hero Philoctetes was crippled with a festering wound, the men lost their courage over it. So I left him behind on an island and claimed he had asked to be left. Ajax and Agamemnon would have battered at Troy's locked gates until they died, but it was I who thought of the trick of the giant horse, and I spun the story that convinced the Trojans to pull it inside. I crouched in the wooden belly with my picked men, and if any shook with terror and strain, I put my knife to his throat. When the Trojans finally slept, we tore through them like foxes among soft-feathered chicks."

Page 190:

It was a trick of his, to set a sentence out like a plate on a table and see what you would put on it.

Page 191:

Sometimes, I would see him watching me. An intentness would come over his face, and he would begin to ask me his casual, sideways questions. About the island, about my father, the loom, my history, witchcraft. I had come to know that look well: it was the same he wore when he spotted a crab with a triple claw, or wondered over the trick tides of Aiaia's east bay. The world was made of mysteries, and I was only another riddle among the millions. I did not answer him, and though he pretended frustration, I began to see that it pleased him in some strange way. A door that did not open at his knock was a novelty in its own right, and a kind of relief as well. All the world confessed to him. He confessed to me.

Page 194:

I held off as long as I could, but in the end she was the scab that I must pick.

Page 208:

Odysseus, son of Laertes, the great traveler, prince of wiles and tricks and a thousand ways. He showed me his scars, and in return he let me pretend that I had none.

Page 214 (there's a relief in knowing, no matter how dire the details):

My madness in those days rose from a new certainty: that at last, I had met the thing the gods could use against me.

Page 217:

Do not listen to your enemy, Odysseus had once told me. Look at them. It will tell you everything.

Page 220 (reason != wisdom):

I looked into that shining gray gaze, her eyes like two hanging jewels, twisting to catch the light. She was smiling, her hand open towards me, as if ready to receive mine. When she had spoken of children, she had nearly crooned, as if to lull her own babe. But Athena had no babe, and she never would. Her only love was reason. And that has never been the same as wisdom.

Page 243 (endurance is also a virtue of mine...and a detriment):

But endurance had always been my virtue and I kept on.

Page 271 (I still remember reading this passage for the first time. It devastated me and I had to put the book down for awhile. Like much else in life, parenting is a struggle with yourself.):

Two children he had had, and he had not seen either clearly. But perhaps no parent can truly see their child. When we look we see only the mirror of our own faults.

Page 274:

I looked at her, as vivid in my doorway as the moon in the autumn sky. Her eyes held mine, gray and steady. It is a common saying that women are delicate creatures, flowers, eggs, anything that may be crushed in a moment's carelessness. If I had ever believed it, I no longer did.

Page 279:

Once we were his again, he wanted something else. What is that if not a bad life? Luring others to you, then turning from them?

Page 286 (on the responsibility of perfection):

I remembered what Odysseus had said about her once. That she never went astray, never made an error. I had been jealous then. Now I thought: what a burden. What an ugly weight upon your back.

Page 294 (Telemachus is the main speaker here):

"That is how things go. You fix them, and they go awry, and then you fix them again."

"You have a patient temper."

"My father called it dullness. Shearing, cleaning out the hearths, pitting olives. He wanted to know how to do such things for curiosity's sake, but he did not want to actually have to do them."

It was true. Odysseus' favorite task was the sort that only had to be performed once: raiding a town, defeating a monster, finding a way inside an impenetrable city.

Page 313:

But he was a harp with only one string, and the note it played was himself.

[joshbentley-blog1]

2018, A Year in Film

Much like my love for music, I use the end of the year to compile a list of my favorite films, films that affected my life and altered my perspective and appreciation for the arts. Here are a list of motion pictures that I consider impactful in some shape or form, transformative to a degree, and worthy contributions to the medium. Enjoy.

Honorable mentions:

Roma

Alfonso Cuarón’s return to Earth since 2013′s Gravity finds itself in 1970s Mexico, backdropped by the political turmoil of the time and laced with the mundane yet subtly beautiful comings and goings of every day life. It is an intimate and sincere look into the struggles of surviving day by day, but also a gorgeously emotional ode to the resilience of those entrapped by the life’s unprejudiced judgement.

Director:  Alfonso Cuarón

Distributor:  Netflix

Genre:  Historical drama

Isle of Dogs

Wes Anderson returned to the beloved medium of stop motion animation this year with Isle of Dogs. His previous work, Fantastic Mr. Fox, was a charming and quirky story of a fox father trying to provide for his den in the midst of a heated human versus animal dispute. But where Fantastic Mr. Fox lacked substantial depth (not a bad quality by any means), Isle of Dogs builds a narrative of love and hope, eloquently animating the unimpeachable love humans and dogs so equally share. The set design, animation quality and Wes Anderson quirks are all at their very best. A must-see for any Anderson fan, or appreciator of stop motion animation.

Director:  Wes Anderon

Distributor:  Fox Searchlight

Genre:  Stop motion animation / sci-fi / dystopian

Sorry to Bother You

Directorial debuts were bountiful this year, and one such standout is Boots Riley’s Sorry to Bother You. An apt and absurd social commentary, with enough laughs to punch through the somewhat dark depths it veils. The film starts off vanilla enough, but you soon find yourself in the midst of a dark, fever dream that won’t end. The phenomenal writing and cast make this original an extremely hard film to forget.

Director:  Boots Riley

Distributor:  Annapurna Pictures

Genre:  Absurdist / dark comedy

Top 10:

10. Disobedience

When New York-based photographer, Ronit (Weisz), learns of her father’s unexpected passing, her past life and all its troubles are brought to the forefront. Returning back to the Orthodox Jewish community in London in which she grew up, Ronit is faced with various extremes. From the turmoils of having to explain herself to the Jewish community, to the re-kindling of her relationship with Esti (McAdams), to facing her own faults and desires, Ronit’s life is crumpled and staggered. Disobedience is a heartfelt and organic story of love finding a way through all the dark and uncertainty.

Director:  Sebastián Lelio

Distributor:  Bleecker Street

Romance:  Romantic drama

9. You Were Never Really Here

A heroic yet traumatizing narrative finds Joaquin Phoenix’s Joe in the midst of unfolding the inner workings of a crime ring that stretches further than anyone could have comprehended. Joe is a former military and FBI operative, now a hired gun whose job it is to rescue trafficked girls. Director Lynne Ramsay expertly maneuvers the chaos and violence of the film, often subverted our expectations in various means. Phoenix gives one of his best performances to date, and Jonny Greenwood’s original soundtrack is the icing atop the cacophonic cake.

Director:  Lynne Ramsay

Distributor:  Amazon Studios

Genre:  Psychological thriller / crime drama

8. The Old Man & the Gun

If (500) Days of Summer were all grown up is how I would begin to describe this story. But The Old Man & the Gun is much, much more than a simple romantic comedy. Much like the director’s project from last year, one A Ghost Story, David Lowery once again explores the fabrics of time and how they shapes us as a species. The story is a contemplation on time’s inevitability and its relationship with our feelings of love and yearning. Beautifully backdropped by an America long passed, Lowery’s film finds two characters especially intertwined, strung together by the fickle hands of time itself. Robert Redford and Sissy Spacek have undeniable chemistry, and it is this chemistry that acts as the driving force of the film. Redford’s swan song is one to be seen and remembered dearly.

Director:  David Lowery

Distributor:  Fox Searchlight

Genre:  Biography / romantic comedy

7. First Reformed

A deep meditation on faith and all the uncertainties it brings with, First Reformed is an imaginative and exhausting look into the vitriol we have brought upon ourselves, and how God and Man meet at such an abyss. Reverend Toller, once a chaplain in the Armed Forces, now resides and serves in an old Dutch Reformed church, serving a diminishing congregation and existing in the shadow of the neighboring megachurch, Abundant Life. Toller is forced to deal his own morals and understandings, while also supporting those in his congregation. As his service becomes increasingly darker and more difficult, Toller looks deep within himself and looks to God for an answer, any answer.

Director:  Paul Schrader

Distributor:  A24

Genre:  Drama

6. Eighth Grade

Bo Burnham uses his directorial debut to discuss the Internet in its current context. From his discussions on the A24 podcast, Burnham wanted to find a proper medium for such a discussion, because many who try to judge the Internet and its culture do so miserably. It is understandably difficult to critique such culture without sounding tone deaf, but Burnham executes it to perfection. What better way to critique the Internet than by doing so from the perspective of an eighth grader, a person who has grown up in the shadow of the digital age? Elsie Fisher is a breakout star, nailing the timid courage of her character. Through excellent and organic performances and modern comedic writing, Eighth Grade is a coming-of-age story unlike any other.

Director:  Bo Burnhma

Distributor:  A24

Genre:  Comedy-drama / coming-of-age

5. Annihilation

2018 was admittedly a weaker year for science fiction, but one project that rose above the rest was Alex Garland’s Annihilation. Garland’s no stranger to science fiction or horror, having tackled the genres in 28 Days Later, 28 Weeks Later, and Ex Machina. But with Annihilation Garland is able to capture horror rooted in science, incomparable to any other film. Based on the novel by the same name from author Jeff VanderMeer, the story follows a group of scientists venturing into a quarantined zone known as “The Shimmer.” Once inside, the scientists are faced with the supernatural horrors they studied from afar. Garland’s work is immense and vivid, deserving of so much more praise than it has received.

Director:  Alex Garland

Distributor:  Paramount Pictures & Netflix

Genre:  Science fiction horror

4. The Ballad of Buster Scruggs

The Coen Brothers are no strangers to the subversions of classic film. Their tangled narratives, inconclusive conclusions and ponderings on the workings of humankind have made them standout directors, enemies of conventional filmmaking and pioneers of darkly comedic explorations of humanity.

"A song never ceases to ease my mind out here in the West. Where the distances are great, and the scenery monotonous."

The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, the Coen Brothers' first true western since 2010's True Grit, is anything but monotonous and certainly a welcome addition to the genre. Additionally, it is a triumphant return to form for the Coen Bros. Buster Scruggs is unlike most films, and again finds the Coen Brothers subverting the western genre, in its anthological form. Six vignettes tell the tales of settlers, outlaws, cowboys, and every sort of man and woman in between in the days of old, when the West was formed, and includes every bit of gruesome and grim detail.

It is not secret the Coen Brothers are adept at macabre storytelling, and are avid explorers of what makes man tick and humanity tremble. Their iconic dark, dry humor, their gritty and off-center storytelling, and their classic subversions of film are all present in Buster Scruggs. But while Coen films of past contained these elements (e.g. Hail, Caesar!), I have felt that their recent works have lacked that classic Coen charm. That snappy dialogue, the witty banter between characters, the intricate storytelling, all have been present in their works, but not since A Serious Man have I felt the Coen's magic this potently. That is now, not since Buster Scruggs.

The film's characters and stories do not overlap. But the themes and lessons certainly do. The opening ballad of one gun-slinging, guitar-strumming cowboy, Buster Scruggs (aka 'The San Saba Songbird'), is a gruesome musical. Full of shootouts and gore, it perfectly sets the tone for how the remainder of the film will play out. Tim Blake Nelson is charismatic, ruthless, and quick as a whip in this vignette. And I would have adored an entire film devoted solely to his character. But the Coen's first subversion comes when our hero is gunned down in the street by a faster gun.

Near Algodones, New Mexico, we find James Franco's outlaw. Robbing a bank, he is retaliated against by a surly old man covered in pans. This vignette feels shorter than its predecessor but is equally humorous and grim. The third story, Meal Ticket, gives us a glimpse into the harsh realities that faced early western settlers. And how making a living does not always coincide with morality and ethics. Liam Neeson and Harry Melling gel so well together but share few pieces of back-and-forth dialogue. I've seen some criticize this vignette for straying from the classic "western format," but to me it perfectly captures what it meant to live such a life.

All Gold Canyon is among my favorite of the stories. Its beautiful shots, wide takes of a beautiful canyon, and the juxtaposition of a man searching for riches in the mud while the true riches of nature are set behind him. It's a simple story, but it leaves the viewer wanting more from Tom Waits' prospector character. One of the view stories to end happily (in a sense), I found All Gold Canyon to be a masterful work of minimalist storytelling.

The Gal Who Got Rattled is my favorite of the six stories. Zoe Kazan, Bill Heck and Grainger Hines have excellent chemistry and play off each other so well. Straying from the deep west, we are drawn northwards, on the Oregon Trail. The simple yet dangerous treck is beautifully captured by the Coens here, and the story envelops you in its charm. And finally, The Mortal Remains ends our journey. A story laced with symbolism and metaphors, it's the Coen Brothers at their peak. The skeletal format of this vignette is much like the morals explored in No Country and A Serious Man, and I found myself wondering how the story could possibly end. And then it does. The final subversion of the film is this vignette's untimely end.

The Ballad of Buster Scruggs may lack continuity in terms of character arcs and storytelling. But what it certainly does not lack is character, masterful writing, expert characterization, and a deep understanding of what captivates us as viewers. The Coen Brothers understand that sometimes, simplicity is best. There is beauty in minimalism, and I believe Buster Scruggs is a excellent envisioning of such a statement.

Directors:  Joel & Ethan Coen

Distributor:  Netflix

Genre:  Western / anthological film / dark comedy

3. Hereditary

They say the devil is in the details, and so such phrase would better describe Ari Aster’s debut, Hereditary. Perhaps the phrase shouldn’t be taken metaphorically though, instead literally; the film finds a family thrown into tragedy after a Satanic occult ritual, long in the works, begins to root itself in the foundations of the family.

Aster uses the story to burrow into our pysches, to strike fear and discomfort into the viewers. He does so not only expertly, but in such original fashion as well. Sure, Aster’s influences can be indentified and picked apart by an experienced viewer, but his crafting of a narrative and his fleshing out of the characters is so unique and a welcome take to the horror genre, Hereditary feels like an entirely new breed of horror.

The film begins with the funeral of the mother to Annie Graham (Toni Collette). As guests pour in to the congregation, it is clear that Annie is shocked with the occupancy. She states in her eulogy that her mother was a very private and secretive women, and that she is shocked to see so many unfamiliar faces here to pay respects to her estranged mother. Once home, Annie and the rest of the family unwind to a disturbing degree of comfort. Annie does not seem shaken by her mother’s passing, as she begins clearing out boxes that belonged to her mother. As she is exiting her studio however, a vision of her mother briefly appears in the dim and dark corner of the unlit room. Annie steps back, wondering if what she saw was real or a fabrication of her mind. Thus, begins the Grahams’ descent into darkness.

Following the funeral, Annie’s only daughter Charlie expresses her worry over the loss of her grandma. Stating, “Who’s going to take care of me?” Charlie is at a loss. Annie comforts her saying of course she will take care of her, but Charlie responds by asking what will happen when Annie is gone.

Later, Peter (Annie’s son) asks if he can go out and visit friends at a party. Annie lets him go but on one condition, that he takes Charlie with him. Charlie begins having visions of her own, and begins tinkering and creating absurd and deformed sculptures. An obvious introvert, she is reluctant to agree to go to the party with Peter, much to the chagrin of Annie. At the party, Peter finds a group of friends to smoke marijuana with, leaving Charlie by herself. Alone, Charlie gets into trouble and her and Peter rush home. An unfortunate incident occurs en route, which only propels the darkness further.

Annie becomes desperate for answers and substance to her mother’s reclusive and secretive life. She finds hints of the truth through old belongings and an old friend of her mother. Visions keep recurring and stranger forces begin to act on not only Annie but Peter as well.

Soon, the family is tumbling down a slope of despair. Séances, rituals, occult castings begin to mount and the demons and darkness begin to unleash. The film is a gripping and horrifying look at what is perhaps most universally frightening, family.

Director Ari Aster is unafraid to explore and highlight the grotesque and grim. He utilizes shocking imagery and beautiful lighting to display these horrors front and center, while still relying on subtle scares to keep the audience in suspense. Not only is the film adeptly disturbing, its characters are compelling and interesting. None are thrown by the wayside, and the spiraling story’s success is hinged on the characters we come to love. Toni Collette gives her greatest performance to date, and Alex Wolff proves he can handle a broad array of material. Milly Shapiro is excellent as Charlie, rivaling Elsie Fisher for young breakout star this year.

The magnificent blend of cinematography, acting, writing, and horror imagery Hereditary the best horror film I’ve seen all year, and certainly one of the most gripping stories I have ever experienced.

Director:  Ari Aster

Distributor:  A24

Genre:  Supernatural horror / disturbing horror

2. The Favourite

It is often the case that period pieces take on a serious tone, dramatic takes on the facts and legends of old. Think Phantom Thread or Lincoln. Not too common are period pieces that extrapolate on the well-known, but also leave plenty of room for creative freedom from the production team. Even more rare are such projects that include elements of absurdity and dark comedy.

But it would not come to anyone’s surprise to find out that such a project exists at the hands of director Yorgos Lanthimos. Best known for his previous works, The Lobster and The Killing of a Sacred Deer, Lanthimos is almost Wes Anderson-esque or Tarantino-esque, in the marks he leaves in his films. His style is so distinct and his directions very much his own.

The Favourite follows suit, and Lanthimos’ quirks and trademarks are found throughout. From the monochromatic color palette to the dry, darkly comedic dialogue, the film is familiar in a way. But also true is that the film is nothing like Lanthimos has ever done before. It is grander, more gruesome, diabolical in a way, biblical in scope. His first film for a major production studio perhaps led to a grander scope, but I believe that this was a logical next step for the director. From The Lobster it was apparent that Lanthimos was willing and more than capable of tackling a monolithic project such as The Favourite, if given the right assets. It is inspiring to see such a film come to fruition.

The film finds three women in the royal court of Queen Anne:  Abigail Hill, Sarah Churchill, and Queen Anne herself. Churchill (known in the film commonly as Lady Marlborough) has serviced the Queen for quite some time, prior to Ms. Abigail Hill‘s arrival. Both as a political aid and as a lover, Churchill finds comfort and immense power in her role beside Queen Anne. Everything seems to be going well for the court; the Queen, while certainly inept, has the confidence of her subjects and the war with France is going better than expected.

But then Abigail Hill arrives. A cousin of Sarah Churchill’s, Abigail travels to the court in hopes of working under both the Queen and her senior, Lady Marlborough. Hill begins as a lowly servant, making meals and cleaning sections of the palace. But not soon after, she advances the ranks, eventually rivaling Churchill in terms of power and influence on the Queen and all of Britain. The two cousins turn on each other, a once subtle love quickly turns to angst and hate.

The relationship of the three women dips and ascends throughout the film; there are periods of immense joy and respect, but also grim and violent progressions of guilt, lust and jealousy.

All of these emotions are so vividly captured thanks to the unique cinematography and direction. Camera angles are unconventional, using low-lying cameras to peer upward towards the characters, or highly placed lenses creeping above the Queen and her court. All of these placements give the sense that the viewer is spying on the characters, that we are sneaking into their lives unbeknownst to them.

It is the performances of the three leads and the unique cinematography that gripped me so powerfully upon my initial viewing. Olivia Colman (Queen Anne), Rachel Weisz (Sarah Churchill) and Emma Stone (Abigail Hill) are all superb talents, free the stretch their acting chops and creative imaginations to bring such life to their characters. But the supporting cast is equally brilliant. In fact, no elements of the film come off as ill-planned or weak. The film is like a well-oiled machine, perfectly in sync and precise to a scary degree.

Director:  Yorgos Lanthimos

Distributor:  Fox Searchlight

Genre:  Historical comedy-drama / period piece / romance

1. Burning (버닝)

It has been quite some time since I have felt this looming questioning of morality, this cutting sense of dread from a motion picture. Burning is a Korean psychological thriller by Lee Chang-dong, and tells the story of three individuals caught in the unforgiving hands of lust. An ineffable sense of desire lurks throughout the film, as the three characters find themselves and their relationships with each other engulfed in tragedy. Love and desire quickly transforms into decay and wrath.

Lee Jong-su (Yoo Ah-in) is a part-time delivery man, who one day finds an old schoolmate working outside a department store. Shin Hae-mi (Jun Jong-seo) asks Jong-su out to drinks and the two quickly become entranced by one another. Hae-mi asks Jong-su if he remembers her from their shared past. He does not. She informs him that they attended middle school together, lived in the same village, and that Jong-su once called her ugly leading to her receiving plastic surgery. Still, deeply infatuated and perhaps a tad remorseful, Jong-su helps Hae-mi by looking over her reclusive cat while she travels to Africa in the hopes of some soul searching.

Hae-mi eventually returns to Seoul, this time bringing back a friend she met while in the airport, Ben. Ben and Hae-mi bonded over their shared heritage and nationality, being the only two Koreans in the airport at the time. The trio goes out for hot pot and drinks, where Hae-mi states in a drunken stupor that she felt incredibly lonesome while in the Kalahari desert. She describes a bittersweet lonesomeness that only such a vast expanse of desolation could bring. Jong-su seems unphased, almost detached from such a stark statement from a normally bubbly individual. Ben, looks noticeably concerned but then says he has never understood why people cry, he has never shed a tear himself. The three leave shortly after.

Time moves on, and Jong-su eventually moves back to his hometown to take over his father’s farm, as his father has come into legal trouble. Hae-mi and Ben become ever closer and Jong-su appears to remain detached from Hae-mi from the exterior. Deep down, Jong-su feels heavily for Hae-mi, eventually expressing his love for her to Ben at his farm.

Darkness sets in when one day Hae-mi does not respond to Jong-su’s calls. From there on out the story becomes a mysterious and incredibly riveting tale of love and the dangers of desire and inaction.

Yoo Ah-in is incredible as Jong-su, and nails the detached and perplexed characterization. Steven Yeun steals every scene he is a part of, reminding me of Heath Ledger’s Joker or Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem) in terms of menacing presence and subtle malice. But for me, the standout actor is Jun Jong-seo and her portrayal of Hae-mi. She embodies the character perfectly, and I felt for her character throughout the film. Hae-mi is clearly struggling to find her own way and desperately wants to find courage and power in some shape or form. I can relate to that struggle. Truly, this film is carried by its characters and the beautiful performances by their respective actors.

So many other elements come together to make this film a success though. The cinematography is masterclass. Using wide lenses to capture the claustrophobic chaos of downtown Seoul and the vast and desolate disconnect of the Korean countryside, cinematographer Hong Kyung-pyo is able to capture the diverse beauty of Korea. He uses intimate close ups and handheld camerawork to create cutting scenes of tension and discomfort, drawing the viewer into the experience, emboldening the story of Jung-su and Hae-mi. A wide variety of long takes and tracking shots are utilized as well, forcing the viewer to pay attention and highlighting the characters in an organic moment.

Perhaps my favorite scene of the year, and certainly my favorite scene of the movie comes about half way through the runtime. It involves Miles Davis’ song, “Générique,” and a particular character’s tribal, rhythmic dancing. It’s a beautiful moment of reflection in the film and still runs through my head.

I will refrain from discussing the film anymore, as I strongly believe this work is best experienced with as little knowledge as possible. Lee Chang-dong, Yoo Ah-in, Jun Jong-seo and Steven Yeun, and the rest of the production team have created something incredibly raw and thoughtful here. It is more than apparent that an immense amount of care went into making this story and adaptation of Haruki Murakami’s Barn Burning a triumphant success. What I love about this film is, in a way, it made me feel a connection to my home country in such a profound and unexplainable way. I haven’t seen many Korean films, but Burning was able to kindle a connection in me that I haven’t experienced with other Korean films before. For these reasons, I can decidedly say that Burning is my favorite film of 2018.

Director:  Lee Chang-dong

Distributor:  CGV Arthouse (Korea) & Well Go Entertainment (USA)

Genre:  Psychological thriller / romantic drama

[littlepurinsesu]

Waiting for Spring

Title: Waiting for Spring Chapter Title: Spring Fandom: Mystic Messenger Characters: Saeran (and Ray), MC Relationship: Saeran/MC Rating: General Warnings: None

*READ ON AO3*

Summary: If I opened my heart up just enough for one flower—just that one very special flower that is her—then maybe it will eventually bloom into the beautiful garden of my dreams, and spring will finally come to me.

Author’s Notes: Saeran Choi is the (fictional) love of my life, and even I couldn’t believe that I still haven’t written a fanfic for him. Now, allow me to rectify that! I actually started writing this on the day after the twins’ birthday as both a birthday piece and a late entry for @saeranchoiweek, but uni responsibilities and my own perfectionism when it comes to writing made the process a lot longer than I anticipated. At this point, I think I’m way too late to both parties, but I’m hoping this long overdue fic can still be counted as at least half an entry for our beloved marshmallow’s special week and a belated but heartfelt offering for his birthday. This will also be my first multichapter fic (that’s not a collab) since my re-entry into the world of fanfiction. It’s not an insanely ambitious project or anything, but I’m still hoping that I’ll see this to the end, because our flowery boy deserves it. (The rest of the chapters will be posted as I complete them. I just really wanted to get this published before the month ends!)

Spring has come.

It doesn’t feel like long since the last time it was here, but even now, as the world slowly comes to life around me, I wait.

I’m always waiting.

For what, I’m not even sure myself. There seems to still be a tiny spark nestled within the deepest parts of my heart. It flickers every now and then, shines clearer sometimes and dimmer during others, but it’s there. That light assures me that if I keep holding on and keep trying harder, maybe one day I could be reborn as a new me. Stronger, brighter, happier, like the flowers when spring comes around and breathes new life into their sleeping buds. If spring could do that for me as well, then I guess one could say that I am waiting for spring.

Gentle rays of sunlight cast their warmth over dewy leaves and velvet petals, and the buds unfurl one at a time, slowly, as though they had all the time in the world. They are free, and although I am not, I feel happy for them.

Actually, I often wish I could join them. Maybe then, I would know what it’s like to have people waiting for you to come to life, to have spring kissing you awake from your long and dreamless slumber. Perhaps one day, spring would reach my heart, too, and I could spread my own petals and open myself up to all the hopes and promises of the new season. Just like these flowers.

But this is their spring, not mine.

My life knew no spring. The seasons come and go, but I knew nothing of the brightness of summer, the tranquility of autumn, or the peace of winter. There is only endless darkness. Cold, empty darkness that threatens to swallow me up whole. And whenever I feared that I would plummet so deep into the darkness that no spring could ever reach me even if I dared to call for it, I would escape to the garden.

Here, spring flourishes. Flowers blossom and birds sing, colours fill my vision and the scent of life permeates the air. There is still no spring in my heart, and perhaps there never will be. But the illusion of it comforts me.

And sometimes—very rarely, but sometimes—it almost feels like I could become one with the flowers. Maybe, if I weren’t burdened with the weight and loneliness that was etched into every inch of my being, I could be free like them. Free to bloom, free to grow, and free to live.

Perhaps spring is not something I deserve. I’m used to never having what I want (Savior says it’s because I’m weak), but there is something about this season that I can never stop yearning for. And yet, I know that the only way to not feel further despair and hurt is to not have this kind of hope in the first place.

So this year, I tell myself that I will stop waiting.

Spring and I were never meant to be, and if I try hard enough, maybe I’ll be able to accept that. And if not, if I work even harder, I could at least forget. Forget the hopes of blooming with the flowers and being embraced by the warmth of rebirth. Forget the hopes of ever having spring in my heart.

But then she came.

With eyes like life and a smile like hope, she was the dream I never even dared to conjure in my cold nights in front of lifeless computer screens. She placed her trust in me wholeheartedly, as though I had actually earned it, and was always willing to smile in my direction, or at the mere mention of my name.

My name is a mark of my weakness. It is the emblem of everything I have learned to despise about myself, all piled together to form the shameful and useless excuse of a human being that is me. And whenever I look at her bright countenance or steal a glance at her relaxed and lively movements, I wonder if she would shower the other me with the same tender affection, too.

She was light itself—a light bright enough to embrace every bud and petal and bring out the most dazzling blossoms this garden has ever seen.

I, too, wished to bloom in her light. And wordlessly, her touch assured me that I deserve to do that. I deserve to bloom, to live. I deserve spring.

I don’t dare ask for much, lest I become greedy. Just a touch is all I wish for. Only a touch of spring, and I will be content to continue on with the guilty pleasure of having experienced something that is too good for me.

Yet every time I see how my presence manages to be the reason for her joy, or the way she seeks my company as much as I long for hers, I wonder if I could dare to hope for more than just a touch of the spring that had never been meant for me.

Spring comes and goes with each passing year, and yet I wait.

But as I breathe in the scent she leaves in her wake and listen to the sweet notes of her melodic voice, somehow I feel that my wait may be over soon. She bloomed into my life like the most brilliant flower I could only imagine in my daydreams, and if she were the one and only flower to blossom in my spring, I would be content with that.

As she nurtures the tiny glimmer in my heart, I feel its light grow brighter. Brighter, clearer, and warmer, enough to bathe me in a gentle glow so that spring will be able to find me and make its way into my heart.

My heart is filled with nothing but loneliness and hatred and despair, and I wonder if there will be room for the flowers that she may want to plant in there. I cannot so easily clear out all the darkness in my heart, but if I opened myself up just enough for one flower—just that one very special flower that is her—then maybe it will eventually bloom into the beautiful garden of my dreams.

And so I spread my arms and invite spring into my life, whispering words of newfound hope. Softly, so I don’t scare it away. But will spring deign to embrace someone like me? I think of her, and I feel the courage to believe that it will.

Spring will come to me, and as always, I will be waiting.

[thedefinitionofbts]

A Thousand Centuries

Pairings: Kim Seokjin x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Soulmate Au

Words: 5k

Description: A Seokjin soulmate au requested by  @marsmellowl85

A/N: My first Jin fic!!!! Mars, thank you for always supporting my writing so enthusiastically. I hope you like this one!

 Have you ever wondered if you were unknowingly looking for someone?

You were told as a kid that your perfect partner is out there somewhere. That one day they’ll come and take you away like a Disney prince or the male lead of every romantic movie, and that they would always love you for who you are, unconditionally. But as you grew older, you realized that the world is not that perfect dream-like fantasy and fairytales are just therapeutic stories, no more, no less. And that the existence of a soulmate, that thing that you’ve heard about since you were young and the idea that people continue to take delight in fantasizing over, is nothing but a simplistic adolescent dream.

You didn’t think it would be something you’d ever believe in, and certainly not after you grew out of daydreaming about fictional stories and imaginary scenarios. After all, it was just an idealistic concept, something that isn’t meant to be seriously considered because it went against all logic.

But then you met him.

A man as beautiful as the flowers that bloom in the middle of spring, their colors scattered throughout endless fields and vibrant meadows, telling centuries worth of emotions and memories that are as visceral as the ones located in that inexplicable place within yourself.  

   “Do you want to be partners?”

You lift your head to the source of the voice, eyes slowly tracing along the silhouette of the person standing next to you. He awaits patiently for your response, eyelids blinking gently as your lips part slowly at the sight of him.

“S-sure” You stutter, realizing you had been staring at him in silence for longer than you should have.

His face breaks into a gentle smile, one that makes your heart suddenly tug in a way that it has never done before. “Great! My name is Kim Seokjin.”

“Y/N” You reply lightly, still looking at him in mild disbelief.

He pulls up a chair and sits down next to you, the elegant scent of his cologne filling the air between you, instantly throwing you back to a dream you had experienced not too long ago, one in which you were wandering in a flower garden, holding the hand of a man whose face you could not see.  

“I was thinking we could design a park” His voice cuts through your momentary lapse.

Your thought bubble bursts, and you’re back to realizing you’ve yet again been staring at him for longer than you should.

“A-a park?” You utter nervously, mentally scolding yourself for being so out of focus one the first day of Architecture class. This was very unlike you’re usual on-top-of-things self, and the professor had even mentioned just moments ago that this project would count for 50% of your final grade. In your defense, you also hadn’t planned on having the most popular guy in your year to ask you to be project partners. 

“Yeah, like Central Park in New York City” He explains. The voices of the other students who were paired up in the classroom are drowned out completely as you observed the way he pulls a notebook and pen out of his backpack to make design plans and sketches. “I know it’s mostly landscape architecture, but I think we can get really creative with designing castles, bridges, fountains and other structural elements.”

“That sounds like a great idea!” You manage to say without stuttering and making a fool out of yourself for once. “Central Park was what actually inspired me to major in architecture.” You confess, using it as more of a conversation filler than anything.

“Really?” Seokjin’s eyes light up and his mouth opens in astonishment. “Me too! My parents took me there for vacation when I was young, and it was amazing!”

His full body reaction surprises you, making you forget how to respond because you were wondering how in world his demeanor had changed from being calm and collected to something so…animated. You actually have to suppress an oncoming laugh, opting to just let out a small giggle instead.

“So we should probably get started as soon as possible,” You suggest, feeling much more comfortable now that he’s made you laugh so effortlessly.

He takes a second to ponder over your proposition. “Are you free this weekend?”

“Yeah”

“Great!”

 …

 Kim Seokjin was everything you had expected him to be. His soft and delicate features were physical traits that would be the object of envy for anyone who had the fortune of laying eyes on such a breathtakingly beautiful man, but his playful and uplifting personality revealed a duality that could only be described as fitting for someone so unique. 

He was a man who carried a type of aura that gave off the undeniable impression that you’ve known him for a long, long time, like the scent of home or the warmth of companionship. And it made you feel like you finally understood what it meant to meet a person that you had an air of familiarity with, despite the fact that your encounter with him had happened only recently.    

“We should start from the edges and work our way towards the center.” Seokjin says as the two of you sit the in studio with your sketches splayed out on the long table. The glass walls of the building were crystal clear, allowing the sunlight from outside to penetrate into the room as masterpieces were born out of boundless imagination.

“What do you think the theme of this section should be?” You inquire, peering over at the piece he was working on.

“Young earth at the beginning of time” He whispers, gazing at his roughly drawn garden of shrubbery and small plants.

“Born in the desolate ocean,” You read the little note scribbled in the corner of his drawing, tilting your head as you examine the artistic meaning behind the theme.

“Oh yeah, that’s what I’ve sort of named this section of the park.”

You have a sudden flashback to a dimly lit cave, the atmosphere cold and damp. The rain outside is falling in sheets, with droplets twirling in the wild wind and dripping onto the frozen rocks. A human-like creature sits next to you hesitating to lean closer. You do not remember who it is, but you recall the feeling of him using his arms to embrace you, growing a human heart and learning how to love for the first time.

“I like it” You finally comment as your mind is brought back to the present.

“Oh good, I was kind of worried the idea would be too wacky for your taste.” He chuckles. “

“You would be worried about that?”

“Well, not that I would’ve doubted myself, because you know, my ideas are always brilliant.” He grins, exuding a kind of humorous confidence that you were just starting to get to know, but at the same time, you had sort of expected the exact response.

“I’m just surprised you chose me to be your partner of all people” You murmur, dropping your gaze shyly as you felt his eyes land on you, scrutinizing the way you were nervously biting your bottom lip.

“Well, you were the closest person in the room” He voices, not noticing the way his words made your heart drop like a stone being thrown in the water because he was too distracted by the his own design thoughts to pay attention to the way you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

“Oh…”

It was then that you felt the cathartic joy of finding that distant object of your yearning for the first time, only to be hit by the realization that no matter how close it was, it will always be just out of reach.

 …

  Do you know that you carry a perpetual feeling of loneliness despite being unaware of it?

Perhaps it stems from the ingrained yearning for something preordained that cannot be grasped, a set of emotions and memories so visceral that the even the time that carries them cannot help but to preserve such a gift through numerous centuries.

“Chaos”

You whip your head around to face Seokjin who had his eyebrows furrowed as he stares at his design for the next section of the park.

“A time in human history when things were sort of wild, and there were wars between empires that rose and fell.” He explains. “Making people even more dependent upon one another.”

You notice a distant sorrow manifest in your chest, or maybe it was always there and you were unaware of it until now, but Seokjin’s words ignite a constricting sensation to grip at your chest, one that makes the air in the room feel thin and insufficient. You vaguely see the figure of a man dying in your arms. The blood gradually seeping through his tattered soldier uniform makes you want to scream, but the faint smile on his face just before his eyes close tells you that was not the last time you would see him. And that thought somehow made everything ok.

You blink away the strange tears that are trying to form in your eyes. “I see that you’re trying to make this park sort of a walk through history.” You analyze with as steady of a voice as you can, attempting to piece together his relatively abstract ideas and making sense of it all.  

“This is the section where we can put a castle on a hill and stone bridges arching over streams.” He turns to you enthusiastically.  

You smile in return.

“Is something wrong?” He asks, noticing the tear quietly slipping down your face.

You quickly shake your head and reach up to wipe it away. “No, no, I was just thinking about a sad war movie I saw a couple of years ago.” You lie, sniffling one last time and averting your eyes for a quick second.

There’s a pause as he continues to gaze at you curiously, expression hard to read other than the gentle blinking of his eyelids.

“You must be hungry,” He suddenly states.

“What?” You breathe out in disbelief. “What makes you think that?”

“It’s late afternoon and neither of us have eaten all day.”

You glance over at the clock hanging in the studio, and to your utter surprise, t was almost 5pm.

“Should we call it a day then?” You query, turning your attention back to him who was already packing up the supplies.

“Definitely.” He confirms as he zips up his bag. You turn to do the same, but he isn’t finished talking. “Hey, do you want to come over for dinner?” You hear him ask as he continues to check that he’s packed everything.

Your heart skips a beat. “Umm, sure. Are you ordering take-out?”

He shakes his head. “I’m the resident chief in my group of friends.”

“Oh really” You raise your eyebrows in disbelief. “Am I suppose to just take your word for that?”

“Hey, just ask any of my buddies.” He defends. “They’ve all relied on me to feed them for years.”

It’s not that you would’ve rejected his offer anyways. Hell, he could be the worst cook in the world and you would still gladly eat anything he placed on the plate in front of you because it meant being with him for that much longer, which these days (or more like ever since you met him) you strangely harbored the urge to do.

You think it’s a just natural attraction, no different from any of your other crushes in the past, but of course you’re trying not to overanalyze the sudden onset of these mysterious flashback you keep on getting or the inexplicable feeling that washes over you whenever the stillness allows your thoughts to do as they please.

Seokjin drives the two of you to his apartment that he shares with two of his younger friends who are both, quote, immature little brats, end quote. Apparently they bicker all the time, but it’s mostly just the youngest that won’t seem to “let him live”.

“’Bout time you found yourself a girl” Jungkook comments the moment you and Seokjin step through the door. “At this age I was starting to worry you were going to die alone.”

“Ya!” Seokjin shouts at the boy lying on the couch with his eyes glued to the TV screen and hands wrapped around a game controller. “Show some respect or I’m not feeding you tonight.” He turns to you. “Please don’t take him seriously.” 

You nod, feeling your face heat up just a tad bit because you honestly weren’t expecting such a blunt comment, even if it was in the form of a joke.

“Hi, you must be Y/N” Another person pops up from nowhere, he had light blonde hair and his eyes formed a pair of half moons as he smiled at you. “I’m Jimin.”

“Nice to meet you” You greet him.

“And the little brat over there is Jungkook” Seokjin adds, nodding towards the guy on the couch.

“Hey! I heard that” Jungkook snaps back, despite his attention still drawn towards the game flashing across the screen.

“Good” Seokjin shouts back.

“Don’t mind them two. This is completely normal.” Jimin reassures you, noticing how awkward you were feeling in such a situation.  

“Oh wow…” You murmur, taking a deep breath. So Seokjin wasn’t kidding about the bickering, go figure.    

Seokjin also wasn’t exaggerating when he said he was a good cook. His culinary skills turn out to be excellent, and his tastes are refined. He prepares a full course meal for the four of you, complete with side dishes that barely fit on their moderate sized dining table. All you can see in Jimin and Jungkook’s eager eyes as they stare at the food splayed out in front of them are how thankful they are to have Seokjin as an older brother figure, and it is then you are able to understand how good-natured their relationship is, despite the bickering.  

“Noona, so are you and Seokjin hyung…” Jimin sneakily glances over to the kitchen where Seokjin was still finishing up the last dish, making sure he can’t hear what you guys are discussing.

“No, no” You violently shake your head, feeling your cheeks blossom into roses. “We’re just project partners.” You explain.

“Really…?” Jungkook butts in, clearly unconvinced according to the tone of his voice. “Hyung asked a girl to be his partner? Without any other intentions?” He crosses his arms and snorts. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I was the closest person in the room” You quickly interject, not knowing why you were getting so defensive. Perhaps it was a failed attempt at preventing your cheek color to deepen even more than it already was.

Jimin’s eyes disappear into crescents. “Kookie’s right, he usually stays away from girls because he doesn’t want to deal with unreciprocated feelings. Cause, you know, it’s hard not to fall for someone as handsome as hyung.”

“Please” Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Let’s not boost his ego more than it already is.”

“What was that about my ego?” Seokjin’s voice makes all three of you jump in your seats as he walks up to the table with a pot of boiling stew.

“N-nothing” Jimin quickly says. “We were just talking about how admirable your confidence is.”

Seokjin’s eyes narrow as he looks from Jimin to Jungkook and back to Jimin. He doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it slide because everyone was starving and ready to dig into the food before it gets cold.

“I’ll drive you home” Seokjin says as the two younger males are tasked with washing the dishes in the kitchen.

“It’s ok, I can just take the bus”

“That’s inconvenient and it’s late.” Seokjin insists, already grabbing his car keys. 

The drive to your apartment is a silent one, sans Seokjin’s occasional comments on the project and the 3-D software that you’ll soon be using to make your rough sketches come to life.

You’re not really paying attention to all of the details because technology was never really your thing, and you’re mind is dozing off after a long day. Despite your half conscious state, you’re still entranced by the way he’s expertly controlling the steering wheel, the way he drives so smoothly and how safe it all makes you feel.

Before you know it, you’ve reached the destination.

“Umm, thanks for dinner” You say as you unbuckle your seatbelt.

“No problem. I should be thanking you for putting up with those two.” Seokjin says, sighing and looking around as he debated how to phrase his next sentence. “So uh, maybe next time we could go out for dinner or something. Just you and I.”

For a moment you think you didn’t hear what he said correctly, but when you look up at him in surprise you notice a faint flush in his cheeks under the streetlight.

“Y-yeah, t-that would nice” You manage to respond, despite your heart pounding a mile a minute. 

“Great! So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah”

And then you’re watching him drive off, wondering why all of this felt so familiar and so right like it’s happened before in some far off land or the distant past.

 …

 “So this castle you’re designing…” You trail off, eyes tracing over the 2-D blueprint of the structure Seokjin was designing at that very moment, his hand hovering in midair as he waits for you to finish your analysis. “What inspired such a layout?”

It wasn’t that you were purely curious about where he got the idea because you know it’s probably not that significant and if it were any other castle, you wouldn’t have even battered an eyelash, but this, this particular castle was all too familiar, in fact you think you’re becoming delusional for equating it with the one you saw in your dream the night before.

There’s a long pause as he tries to form a response. “I don’t know,” He ultimately says. “It kind of just came to me.”

You can practically sense that’s there’s more to it than he is choosing to explain, but he’s holding back for some odd reason.

“The secret passageway” You begin to point out, walking over to examine the tunnel that leads into the bedroom in more detail. “someone has used it to meet with their lover.” It’s a confident statement rather than a passing comment or even a question, and you have no idea what invisible force has compelled you to declare something so absurd with such certainty.

“The prince and his secret lover, a female warrior who was not allowed to be with him but eventually became his queen.” Seokjin turns to glance at you, his dark eyes unreadable, making you question if it was a coincidence he knew exactly what happened in your dream.

Time stills.

And you can see the lovers on a bridge, watching the sunset together as they’ve finally vowed to change the ways of the old where status decided who you could and could not love, to build a better kingdom and rule over its people with justice and equality. The man standing next to you is your king. He was the man your birth proclaimed you could never be with, and yet you are by his side.

You have been acquainted with this man numerous times, despite not being able to recall who he is or why he is altered and unchanged at the same time. He is reminiscent of the figure in all of your ephemeral hallucinations, the creature in the cave, the dying soldier….

 Are they the same person? They can’t be… can they?

 …

 Kim Seokjin is sweet. He’s everything that is warm and inviting about a cozy home, the nostalgic tranquility of the calm sea at the brink of sunset, and he reminds you of dainty cherry blossoms in the spring, the way pink flower petals drift in the wind.

But Kim Seokjin is also humorous and lively, and he’s able to fill a room with his contagious laughter that initially seems like a mismatch to his elegant physical features, but makes him even more attractive and compelling.

You also find out he’s great at singing.

“Wow, I didn’t expect you to be good at so many things” You comment as you walk alongside him by the river after he had taken you out to dinner. The moon was bright on a clear evening, and the city lights were reflecting off of the dark water like dazzling gemstones.

“With a face like this?” He quickly does a modeling pose, and even under the guise of the night you can still see the self-satisfied look on his face.

You giggle. “What does looking good have to do with cooking and singing?”

He blinks blankly a couple of times, realizing his statement did in fact, not make any sense. “Aish, I said it at the wrong time.” He shakes his head in disappointment, making you laugh even harder.

“I’m not denying your good looks,” You say in between your muffled giggles.

“I’d be surprised if you were. I’m certified worldwide handsome.” He grins, and you playfully roll your eyes even though he probably can’t see anyways.

You smile and shake your head, not knowing why his arrogantly confident attitude comes off endearing and amusing when you know for a fact that if it were any other person you’d be annoyed by such a narcissistic proclamation.  

Maybe you were just blindly infatuated, or maybe…

“You’re really beautiful, you know” His unexpected remark makes your heat skip a beat.

You turn to look at him not knowing what to say.

“You remind me of a lot of things I can’t make out.” He continues, and you notice he’s not looking at you but is instead staring at the starry sky.

“Seokjin…” You murmur, drawing his attention back toward you. You see his lips curve up slightly when his gaze lands on you.

“It’s getting late, we should probably head back.” His statement makes your heart drop ever so slightly, and for once you’re glad there are no streetlights to illuminate the melancholic tint in your eyes.

Kim Seokjin is physically close yet so far away, and although all of your senses tell you he’s right there, well within reach, the imperceptible distance between the two of you remains unchanged.  

And it makes you wonder if you’ll ever find what you are looking for.

 …

 The following section of the park was intended to transition into the modern world, so the next few weeks of brainstorming was dedicated to experimenting with different contemporary elements.

“A cityscape” You suddenly voice as the idea pops into your head. “What says modern-day more than a high-tech city? We can use metal wires to depict the skyline of a metropolis using abstract shapes analogous to those found in contemporary art.”

“That sounds like a great idea” Seokjin concurs. “We could add decorative lights so that the area is illuminated at night.”

You nod enthusiastically, and proceed to jump straight into sketching. You were imagining a mall area lined with trees that guided park goers towards the center, using the metal fencing as the foundation for the lights Seokjin had suggested.

“The cement sidewalks in this area of the park are like empty city streets.” He comments as he hovers over your drawing, examining the newly conjured shapes on your sketch board.

“Empty city streets...” You echo slowly, seeing the exact scene he was describing in the back of your mind.

A man is holding a bouquet of baby blue flowers, wearing a perfectly iron suit as he gets out of his car. You don’t see his face but you know that he’s smiling wider than the Pacific Ocean, and your heart is swelling as you begin to make your way towards him. Then there are lights and the sharp squeak of tires against the pavement, and everything goes black. 

“Y/N?” Seokjin’s voice brings you back to the sketch.

“Huh?” You realized you had spaced out again.  

“I was just wondering if you had any ideas on what to put in the center of the park.” He says. “It’s probably going to be the most important section. The one that ties everything together.”

“The center?”

He was right. The center is what the two of you have been building up to, and whatever piece you decide to put there will ultimately define the meaning of the park, the meaning of the story your architectural elements were trying to convey.

Normally it would be pretty difficult to come up with such an essential portion, but you had a pretty good idea of exactly what should be placed in the center.

 …

 By the end of the semester, you and Seokjin had completed the entire park. It was breathtakingly magnificent, and even the professor was extremely impressed by everything the two of you had put so much time and effort into crafting, even referring to it as one of the greatest he’s seen in all his years teaching an upper division architecture course.

“A walk through a thousands centuries.” Seokjin sighs as he gazes proudly at the finished design displayed on the screen.

“It turned out really good,” You agree, smiling softly.

“I’d never thought I’d say this, but my favorite part is the sculpture you designed for the center piece.”

His compliment puts a satisfied and sentimental smile on your face. You’re eyes turn towards the precise piece that he was still examining, its three dimensional shape even more mesmerizing now that it was projected on the big screen.

The piece that you had designed was the culmination of your flashbacks and dreams from the past semester, a tangible portrayal of everything that you had felt but could not put into words or explanations. It was a statue of a round time portal, one that faces an area of planetary alignments dancing across the cosmos on one side and two faceless people standing in each other’s embrace on the other.

“What was the inspiration behind it?” Seokjin’s voice cuts through your brief lapse, and you realized it was the first time he’s asked you the same question you had been asking about his designs. Turning your attention towards him, you notice that he’s looking at you in a way he seems to have never done before, like he’s truly seeing you for the first time. He is exclusively focused on you in that moment, and truthfully you kind of wish he wasn’t waiting so intently for your response because it makes you too nervous to admit the real motivation behind your work.

You had actually considered the idea kind of silly, and you didn’t really know what compelled you to design such a structure, but the idea had taken shape throughout your semester spent with Seokjin and although part of you wants to brush off that strange feeling of overwhelming emotions you’re hit with when you are with him, it was a calling that spoke to your heart rather than your mind to create such a representation of what the park in its entirety meant to you.

“It’s just something that sort of hit me out of the blue,” You voice nonchalantly, clearing your throat because the room was awfully silent and you could literally hear the pounding of your heart. 

“What are you going to call it?” He asks softly, voice almost inaudible.

Your breathing pauses, and it was like all of your indiscernible, frenzied thoughts had been set aside to make room for one thing only.

“Reincarnated to be together.” You whisper, not in complete control of where your words were coming from, where such an impression had manifested into tentative form. Your mind might forget, but your heart will always remember.

“One day we suddenly remembered the past.” You hear the melodic tone of Seokjin’s voice dance over to your eardrum, sending a shock wave coursing through your veins.

Seokjin is rooted in place as he finally realizes the one thing that had eluded him all along. He had been searching all this time, for the girl whose soul was hidden behind all of his designs, but only now has he realized it was you. The stories that traversed over centuries of human kind, the fate written in the stars at the beginning of the universe was the unbroken link between of the two of you.

“You’re him,” You breathe out as your eyes flicker up to meet his, the identity of the faceless person in your flashbacks finally coming to light.

“Sorry” He finally whispers. “I should have known.” His parted lips linger as his gaze trace down to your lips and back up to your eyes.

You look into them, eyes that are conveying everything he doesn’t need to put into words because you already know.

“We found each other,” He murmurs, and that’s the last thing you hear before feeling his tender lips meeting yours, closing the gap that you had thought would never be conquered.

The feeling that you know all too well, the same motion you’ve felt many times over, like artistic brushstrokes on a clean canvas waiting for millennia of stories to unfold, crafting the masterpiece that it was always meant to create, a destiny that will always be fulfilled.

Kim Seokjin kisses you like he’s been waiting for lifetimes to do so. He caresses your cheek like he’s been searching for you since the beginning of time and he holds you in his gaze like you’re the only thing he can see because he was born to love you and reborn to find you in every century he has been alive.

  “Until civilization is destroyed once again,  On the first day after a thousand centuries In the Garden of Eden we’ll stand side by side And laughingly watch the sun be extinguished.”

...

[trickormemes]

8-BIT FICTION sentence starters

from 8-bit fiction 100 starters feel free to change gender pronouns ‘read-more’ added for length content warning: light sexual themes

“Waiting is wiser, but wiser is letting go.”

“Your eyes don’t lie, but the timing’s never right.”

“We are where we wanna be.”

“Hello, lovely. Have a nice time living.”

“I just do as I promise.”

“You’re my favorite part of staying alive.”

“I wonder which bad part of me I should fix so you’d love me back.”

“How dim do you want the lights to be when I tell you how I feel?”

“I forgive the world because it has you.”

“Don’t be afraid to hear your own voice, wild child.”

“I wish the road to you was bright and full of possibility.”

“You won’t ever find a fire like mine.”

“Let me love you louder.”

“I want some rest with you.”

“Between awake and my dreaming is a bridge of thinning memories above a pit of you.”

“I miss you. I need a little comfort today.”

“I adore you. Do you want me to yell it out or whisper it in your ear?”

“I look forward to you.”

“You’re a happy thought of mine.”

“I will burn bright and become unignorable.”

“In dreams where I age, there you are.”

“Never sure whether to run to or away from you.”

“Please take care today. I love you.”

“Think of me when you get drunk tonight.”

“Never too busy to forget you aren’t there.”

“I want you, all of you, more of you.”

“I’ll need a little love today, please, thank you.”

“Trying to be a better person. Please bear with me.”

“I miss you. I need a hug.”

“Maybe this time I’ll pick me.”

“Next stop, anywhere.”

“Kinda wanna reach for a star today.”

“I wish you were wherever you really wanna be.”

“I wake up most days, yearning, burning in the residue of my dreams.”

“I still look for you when I get good news.”

“My hand has been asking after yours.”

“They don’t matter, baby.”

“Letting go sounds suspiciously like giving up.”

“Hoping still sounds suspiciously like being a dummy, you dummy.”

“Don’t let the bad thoughts win!”

“Never will haunt us forever.”

“Stop choosing yourself last, please.”

“You make me forget me.”

“Was I easily forgotten or did you miss me too?”

“The sun rises somewhere, and I am waiting for my turn.”

“I am too much to bear by myself.”

“Who hurt you and made you this way, baby?”

“Taking care of yourself is not a waste of time.”

“Do it for you and no one else.”

“I miss you. All that I am longs for all that you are.”

“Aren’t you glad that the universe is strange enough for music to exist?”

“Be weird and love well.”

“This is not the final boss! I believe in you! You can do it!”

“My problem is that you are the solution.”

“Never give up! But takes naps in between!”

“Never ever blue with you, boo.”

“It’s okay to be sad. Let’s try to smile tomorrow.”

“Your smile is the warmest thing on the planet, baby.”

“It is only a house until you come home too.”

“I’d like all kinds of sleeping with you.”

“The only way to forget would be to lie.”

“Ugh. I love you, you piece of art.”

“Love is patient. I, however, am not.”

“To buy: cup noodles, cigarettes, bottles of water, condoms, pen ink, cheap wine, expensive whiskey, beer, new headphones, 15 ultra balls, cat food.”

“Hustler by day, cuddler by night.”

“Love most when you least understand.”

“I love the way you say ‘we.’”

“The world is full of exchanged glances between could’ve-been lovers.”

“And speaking of fleeting, ephemeral moments of utter and blinding rapture, can I kiss you real quick?”

“The less you do in life, the more you tire of it.”

“Being nice to everyone is quite difficult. But I do so like a challenge.”

“Judge no one except by the books they read.”

“Ah, darling, we will never be rid of our aloneness. But why don’t we share in it, and let our love ease its pain?”

“Shun the willfully ignorant and the wantonly hateful.”

“You are the best sort of bother, darling.”

“Anything is better than real life.”

“If I say I am not sad, I am denying a whole universe inside me.”

“I hated what I thought I should have loved.”

“You make sadness an impossibility.”

“Not until you say please.”

“The goal is not to live long, but to die happy.”

“Roses are red, violets are blue, insert clever line here so you’ll let me grope you.”

“Never want to sleep, never want to wake up.”

“You are the reason why I do not allow myself to fall apart.”

“The world is ruled by the most horrible of adults.”

“Why must I always concede to that smile of yours?”

“Love is never enough. We still need some pizza too.”

“No such thing as too much love.”

“Is there a cure for wanting things yet?”

“Were the underthings you left in my room the glass slipper of our dirty little fairy tale?”

“I adore you even on the days you hate yourself.”

“True love. My most deplorable fetish.”

“Being mean is only cool until you realize that the only people who want to be with you are as mean as you.”

“If someone doesn’t make you laugh, think, or come, then they’re probably a waste of your time.”

“It is always nice to have someone want you. Even if it is the wrong someone.”

“Blood relation does not make them family.”

“If you are trash, baby, then I’m the garbage man.”

“You insist that you miss me, your actions insist otherwise.”

“Let’s die together in the far, far, far future, babe.”

“I might never forgive the Universe for treating you so badly.”

[stunudo]

Teamwork Makes the Dream Work:

A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction Case 1 Part B

Featuring: Female Reader as she joins the Team

Setting: Early Season 12                Beginning

A/N: This is a piece about how someone with some quirks fits into the BAU. xoxo Stu

Your name: submit What is this?

They had a jet! She was a gorgeous example of engineering and simple luxury.

“Shiny! How can you fly commercial after using this beauty?” Your approving eyes were flitting through all of the leg room. Alvez and Jareau snickered behind you. You continued inside, quickly counting seats. You didn’t have to sit next to anyone! There were plenty of buffer seats for everyone.

You hummed pleasantly as you found a window seat towards the back. The relief of personal space made you almost forget the embarrassment of the morning. Rossi sat down opposite you, watching you observe the workers on the sides of the runway. His reputation was one of the most noteworthy on the team. But you always held personal interactions above gossip and, even, bureau legends.

“The jet is possibly my favorite addition to the team.” Rossi stated, “Just don’t tell the kids, they’ll be jealous.” He added in a mock whisper.

“Good to know, I would hate to have to live up to all she has done.” You teased. “Penny says you have quite the games collection.”

Rossi smirked, “Does she? Well, that’s it, all of my mysteries have already been revealed.”

Hotch was last on the plane, he sat beside Rossi with his tablet at the ready. “Garcia, what did you find?”

“Sir, sirs and sisters too! Waupaca County Sheriff just got word that state troopers located Abigail Brown’s car in, or near rather Pelican Lake.”

“That expands the comfort zone. It is 93 miles from her last known location.” Spencer jumped into the conversation, leaning down to speak to Garcia over Hotch’s shoulder.

“Alright, Rossi take Alvez to the victim’s car. JJ, I want you to take Y/L/N and Reid to the parents’ house near Waupaca. Lewis and I will coordinate with the locals. We will have rental vehicles, please behave with them.” Hotch emphasized, which made you wonder who was in trouble with “dad” for reckless driving in the past.

“For now, rest up. We have two hours in the air and another hour, hour plus on the road.” Hotch thanked Garcia and the team dispersed to different corners of the jet. You slid your earbuds in, picking up where Simon Pegg’s voice had left you giggling last.

The plane landed on a small airstrip in Oshkosh, WI located on the same campus as the world famous EAA Aviation Museum. The clear skies and bird’s eye view had left a beautiful impression of the surrounding lakes and towns. You waited in your seat to be the last off of the jet, so as not to have anyone behind and not to slow anyone down.

The stiffness of flying twice in such a short time frame left you yearning for a jog. Unfortunately the crisp autumn air rushed your face as you descended from the hatch. You shivered against the wind and followed your new team to the waiting assortment of rental cars. JJ had snagged the first set of keys for a dark four door sedan. You cautiously hauled your Go-bag and messenger to the rear of the car. As JJ popped the trunk, Dr. Reid tossed his bags inside the trunk before you registered his presence. The shock of having him there without catching him in your periphery locked you in place.

You shook your head to clear the unsettling tinge that remained on the air. You looked deeply into the trunk and slowly inserted your belongings while keeping your head down. You made your way to the back door and slid onto the leather seat. Reid was already sitting in the backseat behind Jareau. He glanced at you, surprised.

“Dr. Reid, you can sit shotgun. I prefer the back, backseat.” You tried to look reassuring. “With limbs like yours, I imagine, the front will be more comfortable. For you.” His big eyes taking in your slow to calm nerves. He made a half smile, accepting your offer with a nod. Once Spencer was situated up front, JJ typed in the address for the Brown family and headed out of town.

“So,” you began, “I’m going to pry, full disclosure. Why was the chief so huffy about the team having rental cars?” You leaned between the front seats, ensuring the other agents could hear you. You never meant to mumble, but it happened on occasion.

JJ laughed, “First off, it’s Hotch. Sir is fine, I guess. But everyone calls him Hotch.” You nodded, storing that detail for his approval later.

“You see, Y/L/N, our former colleague, Morgan, had a thing about “vibing” while he drove. There was a pedophile ring, we were on the task force near the end of the case. And Morgan, he, well he-”

“Derek drove into a marsh.” JJ concluded. “The car was unsalvageable and it set back the investigation-”

“An additional eight hours,” Reid continued. “Hotch was not pleased. He hates things that get us billed unexpectedly.”

You sensed the closeness between Reid and Jareau, interpreting their relationship to be greater than simply teammates. As Jareau was clearly married and Reid did not give off any sexuality hints you assumed they were “besties”. Riding in the backseat was refreshingly entertaining. People watching was a specialty of yours, as you tended to fade to the background anyway. You learned about JJ’s family. Spencer’s mother was mentioned briefly, but you could tell it was a touchy subject. He was studying a map, marking it diligently with details from the case.

“Y/L/N, what’s your story? Besides transferring from cyber crimes, of course.” Jareau asked after a patch of quiet. “We’re going to find out eventually. Might as well spill.” Her eyes caught yours in the rear-view mirror, prodding yet kind.

“You tell me, between Reid’s eidetic memory and your past profiling and negotiation experience. I am quite obvious, I suppose. I am curious what you’ve gathered.” You leaned back, waiting for the inevitably judgmental insights.

Jareau and Reid exchanged a look. “We don’t, uh, we have an unspoken rule not to profile each other.”

“Alvez says you all do it. You just don’t talk about doing it.” You explained. Reid pursed his lips, from where you sat you couldn’t deduce if it was in amusement or annoyance.

The family was a mess. Their emotions in dark contrast to their small, cookie cutter, ranch style house and manicured lawn. The Brown’s house interior had no visible blemishes as well. Abigail was their oldest child. Missing her were her father, Mark, her mother, Sandra and brothers Danny and Benji. The boys were at school, so there were more of your agents than family members occupying the cubical shaped dining room.

“Ma’am, would it be alright if Dr. Reid and I see Abigail’s room?” You asked rather abruptly after being introduced by Jareau, the question had been burning in your mouth. You wanted to get to work, but had to tell yourself to be considerate of the family.

“Why would you need to go in there?” Sandra asked defensively. “It’s not like she is hiding under the bed.” You glanced up at Spencer, letting him take over.

“I know you are upset, but we are trying to get to know Abigail. When we investigate we start with the victim. Why her?” Reid explained, his crisp reasoning held both parents’ attention.

“Hey, Doc?” Mark Brown chimed in, “When you figure that out, let me know. I want to reason with the bastard as it is.” You watched Reid hold the father’s stare, knowing words were not involved with his intentions. Reid cleared his throat and Jareau resumed the standard victim’s family questioning. You stepped widely around the compact table, waiting until Reid was in the hall before following his puff of hair.

Abigail Brown’s room was fairly standard college freshman material. She had a Klimt poster on one wall and a bookshelf dedicated to YA novels. The girl had good taste: Clare to Riordan, Steifvater to Rowling. Her desk was cleared of her laptop, as she would have packed it with her to return to school. Dr. Reid’s hands loomed over her dresser, the vanity astonishingly bare for your modern, small town young woman.

“Y/L/N, what don’t you see here?” Reid quizzed you. Your eyes glanced over the space once more before answering.

“There is no jewelry, make up or anything personally or monetarily valuable.” You concluded.

“She wasn’t coming back home.” Reid agreed.

SPEAKERPHONE

Rossi: Everything this girl owned seemed to be jammed into her hatchback.

Hotch: Reid and Y/L/N are suggesting she knew she wouldn’t be coming back.

Alvez: There was no sign of a struggle in or around the car. Maybe she was meeting someone?

Garcia: Sir? Once we get Abigail’s laptop connected to WiFi, I can start digging. Rossi please don’t let the new kid hurt the tech.

Rossi: Y/L/N’s with Reid and JJ.

Garcia: You know who I mean! But, now that you mention it, if Y/L/N is close by, she can dig too.

There was no good place for the team to sync up. Victims went missing counties apart from where their cars were parked. Evidence was in three jurisdictions. According to Reid, the eye of the storm was in Shawano County, but Hotch booked the hotel in Antigo, one county north. Fortunately the hotel had internet access, unlike every restaurant, diner or cafe you had come across.

You plugged your headphones in to Abigail’s lap top and got to work uncovering this victim’s dirty laundry. While you did your “tech thing” the team round tabled. You overheard the highlights, comfortable to be invisible and an eavesdropper once again.

-Victims had all packed above and beyond the usual weekend laundry run of a college student.

-Parents hadn’t heard much from the victims over the few weeks leading up to their disappearances.

-No signs of struggle and no more bodies had been found.

Dr. Lewis was extremely insightful, pulling references to human trafficking rings that ran from Green Bay to Chicago. You reminded yourself to touch base with the sultry voiced agent once you had a decent question for her brilliance. Abigail’s computer was full of malware. But other than that she had an active, yet not obsessive level of social media profiles. She checked her school email inbox between each class.

This victim was a good kid, you didn’t know why she was targeted. It wasn’t until you found reoccurring references to Night Owls that you felt the computer was a dead end. Night Owls was a evening group chat that Abigail had found on a banner ad. It was a chat room coupled with a confessional. It was in Night Owls that Abigail started communicating with a Nocturne1995. It was in one of these very emo and very lengthy chats that you found where Nocturne1995 suggested that they go to the Cabin for an Escape from Everything.

Finally turning off Abigail’s most listened to list on iTunes, you returned to your awaiting teammates. Hotch and Rossi watched you approach the table. Their dark eyes held you and you fumbled trying to wipe the sweat from your palms.

“Sir?” You began, whispering just to Hotchner. “I am going to call Garcia to trace a chat ID, its a long shot, but there are mentions of an escape and a cabin in their conversations.”

“You do what you need to, Y/L/N.” Hotchner agreed. “Y/L/N? Good work.”

To Be Continued...

[jhope-seok]

You Are My Song (Pt. 7)

Summary: You meet Kihyun in psychology class and can’t stand him.  Outside of class is a different story.

Disclaimer: All of the things mentioned in this story are all works of fiction and have been made up by me, the author.  I did not intend to make anything based on real life, and any coincidences to real life are purely coincidences.

Members: Kihyun x Reader

Rating: PG-13/Fluffy fluff/minor angst?

Length: 2,209 words

Notes: Y/BF/N = Your best friend’s name

<-Previous | Next->

You couldn't stop blushing for the rest of dinner. Your hand was still burning from where he had grabbed it and you wanted nothing more than to have his hand in yours again.

At the end of dinner he paid, like a gentleman, and stood up, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair. You were trying to push your chair out before he could come get it for you since he had done a lot for you tonight and you didn’t want to make him do anything else. But, as you were pushing it out, he rushed over to your chair and said, “Oh! Let me get that for you!”

“You really don’t have to you,” you said as you stood.  “You’ve done enough for me tonight already.”

“Oh no no no, don’t think like that. You deserve to be treated right,” he said sincerely, gripping your arm, making you blush yet again.

You couldn't meet his eyes, so instead of saying anything more, he turned to lead you away from the table towards the entrance with his hand on the small of your back.  You couldn’t help but focus on your breathing so you didn’t show away how much that small gesture was making your heart race. When you made it out into the cold again he lead you to his car and opened the door again for you.

“M’lady,” he joked.

You laughed and thanked him, getting in out of the cold. He once again ran around the front of his car, quickly climbing in.  He started the car and looked at you, and you thought to yourself how you wished that this date and this moment didn’t have come to an end. You were really enjoying this time with him and could feel your heart yearning to have more of these moments with him. But when he asked if you were ready to go, you offered a small smile and said yes.

Kihyun leaned his arm on the console as he drove, and you couldn’t help but look at his hand out of the corner of your eye, wishing you could freely hold his hand. Almost as if he was reading your thoughts, Kihyun wordlessly turned his hand over, with his palm facing upwards, as an invitation for you to hold it.

You quickly glanced up at him. He was staring at the road, his other hand firmly gripping the steering wheel. You could hear his breathing get deeper and you caught him steal a look down at your hands out of the corner of his eye.

Your could tell your whole face was red, matching the color of your dress, but you reached over slowly and placed your hand in his, not wanting to lose this chance. You heard him take a deep breath and quickly exhale as he interlaced his fingers with yours. You smiled, not caring if he saw you and leaned on the console, trying to get as close to him as possible. He lightly rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb and began humming that same song again. Your head cocked to the side slightly and you were unable to stop yourself from asking the question that came out of your mouth next.

“Hey, what’s that song you keep humming? I feel like I’ve heard you sing it a lot,” you asked turning towards him slightly in your seat, extremely curious to know where the song came from.

You saw his face light up bright red, which made you even more curious. When he spoke he voiced cracked slightly. “Oh, um, it’s a song I wrote,” he cleared his throat.

“That’s so cool!” You exclaimed, eyes widening. “You wrote it yourself?”

“Mmhmm,” he nodded.

You thought about all of your past conversations with him where he had mentioned how he wrote music, and you remembered the keyboard he had in his room, as well as the music he occasionally worked on in class. But you realized you never knew why he was writing it, or what he was writing it for. “Do you write music for fun, or do you have to write music for your classes?” you inquired.

“Both. We have to write short pieces for class sometimes, but for the most part I do it for fun,” he quickly turned to glance at you and you couldn’t help but notice that his hand had gotten warmer.

You decided not to question it anymore, but couldn’t help but saying, “Well, I’d love to hear your music sometime.”

His hand was definitely hot now.  He cleared his throat several times before sheepishly saying, “Yeah, sure. Just not the song I keep humming.”

“Aw, why not?” you pouted a little. The song he was always mindlessly humming had a really nice melody to it and you really wanted to hear him sing. It was very calming and every time you heard it your heart got warm and you got slight goosebumps from the emotions it brought on. And plus, you could tell he had a nice voice and you wanted to hear him sing.

“Because...it’s not finished yet,” he said more confidently, shifting in his seat, with a curt nod of his head.

“Oh,” you paused. “Okay.”

You rode the rest of the way home in silence, Kihyun still mindlessly rubbing the back of your hand, except he had stopped humming. When you finally got back to your apartment building you had to keep yourself from pouting too much because you really didn’t want to leave.

He reluctantly let go of your hand, pushed open his car door and walked to open your door one last time. You thanked him, a little solemn, since this meant the date was officially over. He interlocked his fingers with yours as he walked you to the front door of your building. You stopped him halfway there and turned around to face him, your back to your building. His face had become confused, and his eyebrows furrowed down making him look extremely cute.

You smiled at him, which he returned, although his eyes still held a hint of confusion. “Kihyun,” you started, “I had a really nice night with you. Thank you for this.”

His smile only grew wider at your words, the perplexed look fading into joy. “Oh, no need to thank me. Thank you for saying yes. I wanted to ask you the night after we, um…” he coughed, “...hooked up, but I thought it wasn't the right time,” he laughed quietly.

You closed your eyes for a second and chuckled to yourself, thinking back to how rude you'd been to him that morning. If he had asked you out then you definitely would have said no, but now you knew he really meant what he was saying and it made your heart swell.  

When you opened your eyes, Kihyun was staring intently down at you. He let go of your hand and slowly wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you in tight against him. You rested your hands against his chest, keeping yourself steady in the sudden change of position. You could feel his heart racing against his palms, and it matched the rhythm of your own heart.

“Y/N,” he whispered.

“Kihyun,” you replied just as softly, moving your hands until your arms were resting on his shoulders.

“I,” he paused, biting his lip. You inhaled deeply, sensing that his words were going to take your breath away. But, instead of finishing his sentence, he leaned over and lightly kissed you. He kissed you once, twice, and then a third time. The third was deep, but short, his lips lingering slightly over yours before he pulled away. His nose was only inches from yours and he was looking you intently in the eyes. Your eyes moved between his, having a silent conversation with him.

“Please say something,” you were begging him with your eyes.

Instead of finishing his original sentence, he answered your mental plead with another kiss. This was deeper than the last, and he was leaning into this with his full body. You moved your arms until your hands gripped the sides of his face, anchoring his lips on yours. He responded by pulling you closer to him, his fingers spreading on your back to steady you against him.

His tongue pressed against your lips, asking for entrance into your mouth. When you parted your lips, his tongue instantly intertwined with yours and it was surprisingly sweet. Your head was spinning from the intensity with which he was kissing you, but his hands were steady and strong, ensuring you weren't moving from this spot.

You stood outside of your apartment for several minutes, kissing like this. Your brain was relishing in every movement his lips and tongue made against yours. The last time you had kissed it had been in a drunken, desperate state. While this kiss also felt desperate, it was a different desperation. You never wanted to let this moment end, and you wanted to engrave these seconds into your brain forever, never forgetting the soft feel of his lips on yours.

You could feel the cold nipping at your cheeks, tempting to cover your body with goosebumps, but the heat from Kihyun was keeping you warm. You ran your hands through his hair and you could feel his body shiver under your hands, from pleasure or the cold temperature you weren't sure.

Suddenly, he broke the kiss, leaning his forehead on yours. “Y/N,” he was breathing heavily, and the warmth from his breath was sending shivers down your spine. “I,” he paused again and you prayed to whatever god was listening that he would finish his thought this time. Luckily, a god was listening and he completed the sentence. “I like you, Y/N,” he breathed.

You pulled your face away from his a few inches so you could look into his eyes.

He repeated himself, “I really like you, Y/N.”

You could hear how serious he was in the tone of his voice and your heart stopped for a moment. Your heart was telling you to kiss him again, and to tell him how much you liked him. But, your brain was yelling at you that you didn't know him. It was reminding you that you had barely spoken outside of class and outside of this date, your text conversation the weekend prior, and that night you hooked up, you didn't know a lot about him. Your brain was also screaming that you shouldn't trust him that easily and fall for him, for fear of repeating the past.

“I...” you started to speak while your brain and heart were still fighting about what to say. “...like you too, Kihyun.” Your heart had won the battle.

He smiled so wide, you thought his cheeks would burst. He kissed you again, this time you could feel him struggling not to smile while he kissed you. You couldn't help but smile a little into the kiss as well. Your brain was still screaming at you to not jump into things so quickly, though, so you pulled away and looked at him with a solemn look in your eyes.

“Y/N, will you…” he started, but you interrupted him.

“Kihyun, I like you, I do, but I don't want to be your girlfriend,” you said.

His face fell. “Huh?”

“I mean,” you let your hands fall to hold his upper arms, and looked down. “I really think you're a great guy and I mean I had a great time on this date, and, that night but,” you looked back up at him. “But, I want to get to know you. I want to have more dates like the one we just had, I want to spend time learning about you and what you like and don't like. I don't want to rush this,” you said returning your gaze to his eyes.

His eyes had lit up with every word you said and he surprised you by pulling you into an embrace, his hands gripping your head and back. He leaned his head against yours. “I'm glad you said so. I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend, but I will go on as many dates as you need, and tell you as much about myself as you need to hear until you are ready.”

You smiled into his chest, wrapping your arms around his torso. “Thank you,” you muttered.

“Also,” he started, pulling away slightly to look into your eyes. “I want to learn about you. I want to hear about what makes you happy, what makes you annoyed--besides squeaky clarinets--and I would love to take you spend as much time with you as you need before you're ready.”

You stood there for a few moments, eyes locked with yours. Suddenly your body was racked with shivers and you spoke up, “Okay, I would love to stand outside with you all night, but it's very cold and I need some sleep,” you laughed.

He dropped his arms and chuckled. “Alright. Sleep well, Y/N,” he whispered before leaning in to give you one last quick kiss. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Kihyun.”

[jasfhercallejo]

Pan De Amerikana Bakery and Restaurant is one of the target restaurants foodies wandering in Marikina would want to dine in. This place has a truly incredible, one-of-a-kind setting where you can find and enjoy pan de sal, ensaymada and other breakfast items all day.

The décors are effortlessly classy, bringing a sense of nostalgia without the tackiness. I was especially fascinated by the giant chessboard with 3.5-feet high plastic chess pieces imported all the way from New York City, life-sized wind-driven Netherland windmill, rope bridge, koi pond, traviesa benches, calesa, Italian colonnade European ruins, frames on a wall and the indoor tropical rainforest plants that serve a purpose—to give a nice feel-good factor as they lift your spirits while blending well in the background.

The luxury of its interior is breath-taking as it almost looked like Wonderland. There’s a lot of quirky stuff that should pique your interest, so keep your eyes open and don’t forget to bring a camera. Service of the staff needs upgrading, but food selection and prices will never disappoint. 

Ang Bandang Shirley completely filled Blue Bay Park Garden with music magic as it launched its new album Favorite last March 25. As early as 4pm, the lines for the merchandise (albums, shirts, and exclusive stickers by 8-bit fiction, Apol Sta. Maria, Hulyen, ManixAbrera, and Rob Cham) occupied the scenery while the stage was being prepared. The album is priced at P500 and it comes with lyrics sheet, plus 3 sticker sets.On the venue’s vast stillness, people chill by the banig blankets eating the food they got from surrounding food stalls. At night, it was transformed to a dreamy paradise brimming of bright lights, and heartwarming (I was about to say heart breaking, but the songs easily healed them) songs from Ang Bandang Shirley.

Got my album signed! Happy kiddo here. *fanboy scream

So what’s so great about this new album? Let me give you a preview of what’s in store for you.

Maningning  -this first song is a warm hug that will greet you, “Welcome. I hope you discover yourself.”

Umaapaw – As one of the first released, this piece of gem will leave you yearning for a hand to hold one Saturday afternoon while watching the sunset in front of the balcony. It’s a gift of hope to everyone, as it celebrates the love found, built on trust and contentment.

Karamay – contrary to its upbeat tempo, this song can slowly kill your martyr self, and will help you move forward. Love better be a strong thing, for we are more fragile without it.

Makahiya – Have you ever felt the need to tell someone of your feelings, but you always move one step backward because you might not like the way they will react? Yup, that’s that song.  

Alam mo ba? (Ang Gulo)– I personally think this song is to pay tribute and homage to all our efforts to people who can’t even see us. Dude, come one. Just look around. Maybe true love is just around the corner?

Siberia – I’ve never felt personally attacked, until this song.This song taught me that you outgrow people, and it’s okay. You’ll always be there for yourself. After listening to this song, you’ll promise yourself that staying up until 3 am on a school night with tears running down your face will make you a better person. 

Maginhawa–This song will make you miss how foolish and impulsive things were before. Truly, young love is the most spontaneous (sometimes wrong, but no regrets) memorable decision we’ve ever made.

Relihiyoso–this is something completely out of your typical AngBandang Shirley sound, but this experimental song will develop on you, and the high feeling will be there forever.

Favorite –This will be one of your favorite songs in this album. No questions asked.

Actually- Clicking on the repeat button felt forever, and that is an understatement.  This is a gentle reminder to choose the person who actually stays. Stop cherry-picking memories. If you made the wrong choice, then memories are pretty much all you have to turn to.

Ilang Ilang–Staring at the eyes of the person you love without saying anything, the world simply stops. It’s that fleeting sensation of loving someone without demanding to be loved back. And yes, it’s our favorite type of pleasure in pain.

Ono – Great play of words and symbols, but is also great with playing with our emotions. Don’t be fooled. You’ve been warned.

Palindrome–This song is a proof that whatever the Band Shirley will offer us, may it be a song something new to our ears or to our hearts, the feeling would still feel the same – love, hurt, and longing.

Karagatan–This song is a lullaby which will lureyou to go to the seashore, feel the waves as they gently touch your feet, andjoin the waters eternally.The sea will keep all your secrets and inhibitions away.

Track 15 – Yup! There’s an additional song in the album, and that’s a treat for everyone who bought the Favorite Album. Definitely a fitting period to all the tears and smiles this album has brought us.

The third and final set was a stroll down the memory lane. The crowd went wild when the first notes of “Nakauwi Na”, “Di Na Babalik”, and “Patintero” played. People were singing along, jumping, taking photos, and crying all at the same time. Roller coaster ride of emotions! From that first touch of the much anticipated album, to listening to the songs live for the first time, until that final bow – when all of us know that Selena Davis will not be singing with them the next time we listen to them, I know all of us wished we could freeze that moment and probably stay there forever.  The feeling is wild, yet soulful. The waves of emotions are active, yet whimsical. Long story short: this band is arguably the best OPM band we are blessed to have.

Live on, Ang Bandang Shirley.

[whaq]

Things that go bump in the mind: a creative non-fiction story

In my final Literature class, I was given a writing prompt to fulfill by the end of the day: we were to write about real events related to death in the style of creative non-fiction. I had always wanted to tell the story about how I ended up having an existential crisis on my way to get ice cream as a child and so I wrote a whole story around it. This is the first narrative piece I've made in years so it's a little amateurish. Enjoy!

I’m seven years old in the back of my father's car, knees on the seat ahead of me to counter the inertia of the moving vehicle. We’re headed home, the details of the events prior to this moment escape me, affirming their insignificance. Little was on my mind, just a never-ending craving for ice cream and an ache in my palms that yearned for a game controller. Without warning, my elementary grade mind found itself in a spiral. The image of a darkness that was blacker than black, coupled with a deafening static only I could hear that shrieked my attention to it. I shed a single tear, this movie star moment unceremoniously ruined by the snot that began dripping down my nose. I didn't know what to do. How do you expect a kid to deal with an existential panic attack? As I wiped my eyes, the words escaped my mouth before I knew it "Dad, I don't want to die." I looked at the rear view mirror, and saw the eyes of a man who just had an essential parenting moment stolen from him by his son's intrusive thought. "Everyone dies," he told me. We drive the rest of the way home in pregnant silence.

Years go by, the car my dad used to take me home that night was the same one he eventually packed his things into before driving away one day, never setting foot in my house again. I’m 10 years old, relying on my mother more than ever. Not as a mother, just a provider. The emotional distance between us was only dwarfed by the distance from her place of work in the Middle East, where she’s expected to return from this afternoon. Just like before, dread springs from a place far beyond my mental periphery. Unlike last time, I’m finally able to process the wave of grief that drowns me, to my detriment.

“People disappear overseas all the time”

“What makes you think she’s coming back?”

“Sometimes planes miss the tarmac”

“What makes you think she’s coming back?”

“When she’s gone, she’s gone for good”

“How are you so sure she isn’t already dea--”

I hear the familiar honk of her SUV, heard even from inside my own head. But I don’t rush down to greet her, embrace her, tell her how much I missed having her around, because that would be disingenuous. It wasn’t that I wanted her there, I just didn’t like the thought of her being gone. I refused to reveal my fear. Some might say I learned the wrong lesson, dodging the Dickensian moral aimed at me. I didn’t learn to hold my loved ones close, I learned of object impermanence.

I stopped taking death seriously when I was 18 years old. I was already desensitized to the daily soap opera that occurred below my bedroom, having been a background extra in it all my life. I go downstairs to find the living fossils at each other’s throats once again. I walk over to my jaded 29 year old of a sister and ask, “what’s all this about?” She allows a sigh to escape from her mouth before she says, “some dirt.” The adults walk over to us, sniffing out the cynicism in the air like a blood trail, and proceed to lecture us on inheritance. “You’re going to have to settle this when we die,” they nag. “We don’t give a shit,” we slur in unison and walk back to our rooms.

I draw a bath, submerging myself into the makeshift womb. As their nagging words drill into my head, it cracks the surface and unearths the trepidation once again, bursting like a geyser of the morbid. My focus lingers towards my legacy, what I’d leave behind, or what I leave to rot. It shifts to my confidants, is there any room in their hearts to grieve for me, in their minds to never forget me? It hovers over my family, if my passing would be a weight on their shoulders or a discount on their suffering. It all melds into a terrifyingly harmonious white noise in my mind; it’s almost... calming. I’m outside, the cloud of finality still over me. I sit on the sidewalk, giving the intrusive thoughts some time to stew for a moment. An unfamiliar white car pulls up in front of me, a more familiar hand wave from the man who raised me peers from the window. “Sounds like they’re at it again, I’m sure they won’t notice you gone for a bit. Wanna go kill some time?” I rush on over to the front passenger seat, it’s a newer model than I’m used to seeing him drive. I settle in, breathe a sigh, and, without thinking, I tell him, “Sure, let’s go live a little.”