#no matter how much he's lost along the way and no matter how he's irrevocably changed. he's still A Person.

[moe-broey]

One day. I will be able to find the words. To explain what the difference is between Lif and Mani. There is a Core Difference between them. Of what they Are. Today apparently is NOT that day though.

[thef1diary]

Baby Jr | Four

— Meticulous Avoidance

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work.

Series Masterlist

pairing: carlos x fem!reader

wc: 2.8k

The sun slants through the blinds, casting elongated shadows across the room. You sit on the edge of the bed, your hands trembling slightly as you stare at the tenth pregnancy test you've taken, still in disbelief.

"No," you murmur as two pink lines stare back at you, confirming what you've been fearing for the past couple days.

You're pregnant.

Carlos's face flashes through your mind, his smile, his touch, the intensity of those nights spent together. It was supposed to be casual, fun, a temporary escape from the reality of the world around you.

While trying to escape reality, you've been hit in the face by it.

You and Carlos were reckless, that was a given, but now you also had to face the consequences of those moments shared.

You attempt to push back the wave of panic threatening to engulf you. Your vision blurs as your eyes fill with tears and your hands tremble, still holding on to the test.

How could this happen? How could you let it happen? What are people going to say? What is he going to say?

Your mind races, trying to grasp onto some semblance of control amidst the chaos of your thoughts. But deep down, you know there's no escaping the truth.

You're carrying Carlos Sainz's child, and everything is about to change.

Rising from the bed, your movements are mechanical, as if you're navigating through a foggy haze.

The room feels suffocating, the walls closing in on you with each passing second. You need air, space, a moment to breathe and collect your thoughts. With trembling steps, you make your way to the window, dropping the pregnancy test on the floor. You push the window open to let in a rush of cool morning air but even the fresh breeze fails to dispel the suffocating sense of unease that grips you.

Outside, the world carries on, oblivious to the turmoil raging within you. Birds chirp in the distance, cars hum along the street below, and somewhere in the distance, the low murmur of voices drifts through the air.

But in this moment, none of it matters. All you can focus on is the life growing inside you, a tiny, fragile being whose existence is now irrevocably intertwined with yours.

You lean against the windowsill, your gaze fixed on the horizon, lost in a maze of swirling thoughts and emotions. Despite how much you try, you cannot stop thinking about the new situation you've found yourself in.

How will you face Carlos? How will you tell him the news? And more importantly, what will his reaction be? The questions echo in your mind, unanswered and unsettling.

But for now, there's only one thing you can do: keep it to yourself. You remind yourself that the next race is two weeks later, offering a temporary reprieve, a brief respite from the inevitable confrontation that looms on the horizon.

As you draw in a steadying breath, you steel yourself for the challenges that lie ahead. Tears still continue to flow from your eyes, but as you peer down at your stomach, you can't help but feel a tinge of hope in between the fear of your future.

—

As the days pass, the weight of your secret presses down on you like a lead blanket. Every time you meet someone whether it's a stranger or a close friend, you feel the guilt internally shaming you just for keeping the secret to yourself.

You try to bury yourself in work, throwing yourself into your duties as a media personnel with a newfound fervor. You weren't needed at the track since there weren't any races, but you did need to step up the team's media presence and engage with the fans during the brief break.

Although you weren't required to see Carlos in person, your work required you to view the images and videos in which he participated in along with his teammate. You wanted to bury your face in your hands as you watched the videos again because you could hear his laugh and voice.

From considering Carlos as a distraction, now you needed a distraction from him and unfortunately your job did not allow that.

It didn't help that he would still text you, because after all you were still friends before it became physical. He sent you photos of the sunset from whichever country he decided to fly to because you once told him that you loved sunsets.

He was unaware of the turmoil of stress you experienced every time a notification popped up on your phone with his name. Your first thought was that he found out, even though no one else knew the secret but you.

You couldn't ignore his messages or else he would know that something was up, and that was the last thing you wanted him to know especially during the break.

No matter how hard you try to distract yourself, thoughts of Carlos and the impending conversation linger at the edges of your mind, a constant, nagging presence.

Finally, the week of the next race arrives, and with it, the inevitable reunion with Carlos. You stand in the bustling paddock, surrounded by the frenetic energy of the Formula One world. The air is thick with the smell of rubber and gasoline, the sound of engines roaring in the distance while the fans cheered every time they spotted a driver.

As you continue walking through the paddock, you notice a crowd of reporters and fans circling a couple drivers. You couldn't see their faces until you craned your neck, and as soon as you did, you wish you hadn't.

You caught a sight of Carlos in the distance standing alongside Lando which in itself causes an uproar as their friendship is infamous. However, in that moment, you couldn't care less about Lando, instead your eyes were drawn towards Carlos, as always.

He looks every inch the confident, charismatic driver you've come to know, his easy smile and charm putting those around him in a trance.

For a moment, you consider approaching him, but then you wonder what you'd say. It's not like you could tell him the truth in front of the crowd and there was no other topic you could think of.

Instinctively, your palm rests over your womb, and once you realize your actions, you quickly avert your gaze from him, turning away before he can spot you.

You slip into the shadows, dodging behind equipment crates and team trailers as you make your way through the paddock. Every instinct screams at you to run, to hide, to avoid the inevitable confrontation that awaits. And so you do, weaving through the crowds with a practiced ease, your heart pounding in your chest.

But no matter how hard you try to escape, you can't shake the feeling that Carlos is watching you, his eyes boring into your back with an intensity that sends a chill down your spine. You quicken your pace, ducking around a corner and into the relative safety of the media center, where you hope to find refuge from the storm brewing outside.

The noise from outside disperses away which you were thankful for but it only magnified your own thoughts. Fortunately, you spotted Ava but as you walked towards her, you noticed that she was speaking to Charles.

You gave her a nod in acknowledgement when she spotted you and turned to sit at one of the further tables, taking a moment to sigh. She notices the tension in your demeanor, the way your eyes dart nervously around the room, and she can't help but raise her eyebrows in concern.

You offer a tight-lipped smile, attempting to brush off her concern, but Ava isn't one to be easily dissuaded.

She pats Charles' arm and smiles at him before wrapping up the conversation she was having with him. You watched from afar, noticing the easy camaraderie between them, a hint of something more lingering in the air. Perhaps you were just seeing things and overthinking it because you were involved with Carlos.

You discarded that thought as you saw Ava approached you, her gaze filled with genuine concern.

"Hey, everything alright?" she asked, her palm resting on top of your hand.

You nod, "yeah, just a bit stressed with work." You hoped that she wouldn't press further on the matter since she also knew about those stressful days at work, having worked in the same field as you.

But, she furrowed her eyebrows, "is it just work, or is something else bothering you?"

Her gaze fixed on you with a mix of concern and curiosity. The weight of your secret pressed heavily on your chest, each breath feeling more constricted than the last. You toyed with the idea of confiding in her, of sharing the truth that had been gnawing at you for weeks. But the fear of her reaction, of the potential consequences, held you back.

Ava reached out and squeezed your hand, her touch a silent gesture of support. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" she said softly, her voice filled with warmth and understanding.

You nodded, your throat tight with unspoken words. How could you burden her with such a heavy secret? What if she reacted poorly, or worse, felt betrayed by your silence?

But as you looked into Ava's eyes, seeing the genuine concern and compassion reflected there, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. Maybe she would understand. Maybe she would offer the support and guidance you so desperately needed.

The silence stretched between you, each moment filled with the weight of unspoken truths. Finally, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. "There's something I need to tell you," you began, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's... it's not easy, but I trust you, Ava. And I need you to know."

You had to tell her the whole story, start from the beginning from the night Carlos stopped by your hotel. You reassured your thoughts with a nod, racking your mind for the best way to explain it all.

As you gathered the courage to confide in Ava, Carlos' voice cut through the air, interrupting your moment of vulnerability by calling your name. You turn to see him approaching you, stopping once he reaches the table.

"Hey, can I borrow you for a moment?" he asked, eyes flickering between you and Ava.

You hesitated for a moment, glancing at Ava who gave you a reassuring smile. "I'll catch up with you later, yeah?"

You nod at her before looking at Carlos and standing up. He motioned for you to follow him, down the halls and away from prying eyes. As you walked with him, your mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions — frustration at the interruption, anxiety over why Carlos wanted to see you, and a lingering sense of guilt for keeping secrets from both him and Ava.

When you reached the secluded corner, Carlos turned to face you, his gaze ever so watchful. He had a smirk playing on his lips and for a brief moment it reminded you of the time you spent together before finding out life changing news.

You rolled your eyes once you saw how quickly his expression changed, now only a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes. Yet, you still asked, "why did you need to 'borrow' me?"

Carlos leaned closer, resting his palm against the wall like he's done before, his smirk widening into a playful grin. "Well, I just wanted to see you," he said, his tone laced with amusement.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise at his unexpected admission. "Just to see me?" you repeated, a hint of skepticism in your tone.

He shrugged and stated, "it's been two weeks since I saw you last."

A rush of conflicting emotions washed over you at his words — relief that he didn't suspect anything, guilt from earlier, and a flicker of something else, something you couldn't put a finger to.

His fingers trailed down the length of your arm, settling on your waist. With his proximity, a sudden wave of nausea washed over you. The scent of his cologne, once familiar and comforting, now felt overwhelming, almost suffocating.

"Carlos, what cologne are you wearing?" you blurted out, unable to mask the discomfort in your voice.

Carlos pulled back slightly, his brows furrowing in concern. "It's the same one I always use," he replied, his tone tinged with confusion. "The one you always liked."

You blinked, trying to push past the nausea and focus on his words. "But it smells...different," you managed to say, your stomach churning with unease.

Carlos' expression softened, his concern deepening as he stepped back but still reached out to steady you. "Are you okay?"

You took a deep breath, trying to quell the rising tide of nausea threatening to overwhelm you. "I think I just need some fresh air," you murmur, your voice shaky.

Without waiting for a response, you hurried away from Carlos, the scent of his cologne still lingering in the air of the hallway like a heavy cloud. You found it odd, as it was never this overpowered to the point where you could smell it from afar, instead it was fairly faint, only smelling it when you were snuggled up next to him in bed.

As you step outside into the cool breeze, you take a moment to collect yourself, the nausea gradually subsiding with each intake of breath.

The fresh air also gave you a sense of clarity, able to think about the situation without it becoming too much to bear.

The realization hit you like a tidal wave — you almost went right back into his arms as if the pregnancy never existed. You would've willingly gone back to your old ways, spending time with him simply because he smiled at you and wanted to see you.

The temptation to bury the truth was strong, to pretend as if nothing changed between you two. But it was wrong, you can't possibly deceive him like that. He would find out one way or another, especially as the months go by and your pregnancy can no longer be hidden.

You softly press your hand against your stomach, a sad smile growing on your face. You wouldn't have to tell him if you didn't plan on keeping the child, but having to live normally again, as if nothing happened, would eat you alive.

Plus, you didn't even think about that option thoroughly, already feeling a blossoming connection to the little life growing in your womb.

You shake your head, discarding such vile thoughts. With a heavy heart, you made a decision to avoid Carlos until you built up the courage to tell him the truth. It wouldn't be easy to tell him right away, because this news could shatter the state of your relationship with him, whether it's friendship or more.

As you returned inside the paddock, you spotted Ava who was rushing around, holding a large stack of items you couldn't see from afar. Watching her hurried movements, you found yourself lost in deep thought again, this time, strategizing how to share the news with her, how to confide in her. The weight of the secret you carried felt unbearable now that you were back at work, and the thought of continuing to hide it from Ava was driving you to the brink of madness.

You consciously straighten your posture, a silent reminder to yourself that you were in a professional setting. The familiar sights and sounds of the workplace surrounded you, pulling you back to reality. Here, amidst the hustle and bustle of the paddock, there was no room for distractions from your personal life. Each moment was precious, each task demanding your full attention and focus. So, with a determined resolve, you pushed aside the turmoil of your personal struggles, channeling your energy into the demands of your professional responsibilities.

As the day wore on, you found yourself avoiding any encounters with Carlos as decided, darting down different corridors and finding excuses to linger in secluded corners whenever you caught a glimpse of him in the distance. It wasn't necessarily hard to avoid him, which made you realize that your job didn't entail being around him as much as he made it out to be. However, it did send a pang of hurt through you every time you heard his laughter or his name uttered by other people.

With each passing hour, you grew more resolved in your decision to keep your distance until you found courage to tell him the truth, after telling Ava.

Speaking of, your phone pinged with a text from her. 'I'm coming over after work, be ready to tell me everything'

Fortunately, the first race after the break was in your home city, which meant that you could show Ava the pregnancy tests you've taken.

The warmth of her friendship offered a glimmer of solace amidst the chaos of the day, and even the past couple weeks, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief at the prospect of confiding in her about everything that had been weighing down on you.

Taglist OPEN: @xoscar03 @pierregazly @rowena-ravenclaws-diadem @lilymurphy03 @the-ghost-lovwr @ilovethefruits @lewlew44 @luvvtrent @hc-dutch @khaylin27 @lillyssh-tposts @thatgirlmj @ladyoflynx @tcfanmania @customsbyjcg-blog @sltwins @nonstopbookworm @glitterquadricorn @charizznorizz @mrs-bunny @moonliightbabes @likedbygaslyy @booksandflowrs @teamnovalak @formula1mount @gaviymarcsbride @gotthemilk-69 @bwormie @llando4norris @ellesssssxzxz @arian-directioner @lou-bean28 @depressedgiftedburnout @halleest @amberpanda99 @borapsycho @cosmoscoffeee @mycenterfold @67-angelofthelordme-67 @sugarvibez @mehrmonga @aadu2173 @bokutos-babyowl @teenwolf01 @presidentdangdang @mrswolffs-blog @amyfelix14 @seasonswinter @amalialeclerc @amandadesantasworld @ystrolllll @xisab @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @pedrohoe04 @yagirlhayes @jadaaasworld @mmack23 @shimmermotorsport @darleneslane @mderby03 @jinimon-tr @landoslutmeout

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 5 part 5

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7])

jen just shakes her head, bitter and not in the least surprised at what agatha did

meanwhile agatha is... she's just devastated

billy is the only person in the room who has never experienced and still doesn't comprehend the finality of death

agatha runs, she can't do anything else. rio is the only one that cares.

she looks so pathetic in that getup. her behaving like a little girl is not so funny anymore, is it?

as always, rio watches her. she has a lot to think about after this trial.

but alice needs her undivided attention now. lady death has to clock in.

I'm glad that we keep focusing on agatha's reaction. she used to be able to kill people and shake it off (or at least pretend to). she cannot shake alice off

and it was all for a tiny spark of magic. that is all that's left of alice on the mortal plane

when billy confronts her she visibly recoils and shrinks in on herself, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar

one hand on her own heart, one on billy's heart. like she's begging and willing him to understand

it's not: you lied. it's you lied to me. it's personal. it's the trust he had in a mentor and mother figure, irrevocably broken

agatha never lies to billy. she's shitty with him in many other ways, but she doesn't lie

billy, honey. you set out on a road trip with a literal serial killer.

agatha had this mad fantasy of billy and her becoming a family, a coven two. and of course she went and ruined it. she always does

jen has all her walls firmly up, she won't allow herself to grieve for alice. she's still on the verge of walking a dark path, and agatha is the one pushing and pushing her toward it

lilia, who has lost and grieved so many, is just numb with pain. Death is unstoppable. hey guys, remember the first three episodes? when everything seemed so fun and carefree?

to billy witches were spellbooks and broomsticks and hot topic eyeliner. how do you explain to a kid the ugliness and violence and trauma that will inevitably fester in a marginalized, repressed community?

from the mouth of a child. she might have killed alice by accident. she has been deliberately and systematically killing many more to serve her own agenda.

and what agatha does, when confronted with ugly truths? she runs, and if she can't run, she goes all in with the spectacle and the cruelty

she could have picked any moment to talk about wanda. she could have broken the news gently, eased billy into understanding what he's been doing. now she's just lashing out in anger and fear and pain. billy did just put her through hell, but she's still the only adult of the two, no matter how immature she wishes to act

when push comes to shove, when it all becomes too much, agatha will latch to her self-preservation instincts and choose to protect herself over anyone else, even the people she loves. She's doing it with billy, she's doing it with rio. I'd argue that she did it with nicky, too.

hey, hey agatha, remember what happened the last time you poked a chaos witch with a stick? you dumb idiot.

fucking around meets finding out etc etc etc etc

boy is she SCREAMING. this bitch will never go down quietly, she'll snivel and cry like the sad pathetic creature she is

and the parallels and the irony of billy hurting jen and lilia in his grief.

do you guys laugh too when bille ellish pops in?? I love how agatha later says that billy is dramatic because he's a maximoff. honey, wanda was only ever coming up with cute sitcom scenarios. this is all your doing, you and your dramatic ass. this is your son. drama queen and drama queen in training.

go to episode 6 part 1

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐢𝐟 𝐰𝐞'𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲.

──────────── 𝐰𝐜 — 1k 𝐜𝐰 — fanon!rafe on a one-way flight to simp city, some spice but nothing graphic or excessive, mention of drugs/being high (it's rafe, what did you expect?), 'kid' as a pet name bc he is that guy + cliffhanger? 𝐚/𝐧 — this was originally posted on @holy-pucks for my nov 23 slumber party, but i've decided to upload it here because it never showed in the tags. if you've already read this, i would very much appreciate you showing it some love here as well :) thx a mil in advance, besties! ────────────

main masterlist | MDNI

RAFE CAMERON knew the risk. He just couldn't be bothered to give a shit. 

if one of the loud-mouthed busybodies took issue with his behavior, that's their prerogative. they've been at it so long, drunk and overzealous, their flippant chatter is mere static in the background of his life. 

it isn't his fault their stale lives and expired marriages pale in comparison to the pocket of paradise he carved out of figure eight. rafe didn't ask for their attention, nor did he solicit their opinions — and he certainly didn't invite an audience; his girlfriend writhing in his lap will never be a spectator sport.  

it would be too generous to call it sympathy, but rafe can understand how they might get confused. once you catch a glimpse, you're as good as gone. a lost cause, irrevocable, and clear as day. beauty that effortlessly captivating is impossible to tear your eyes away from, and the original kook princess is bathed in excess. 

of all people, he knows the breadth of her magnetism and is just as weak for it, if not more. egotism drains along with reason when they're simply in the same room, his carnal preoccupation more than happy to fill the vacuum of power. 

rafe commands the island and its inhabitants — with one paramount exception. he wields power because she allows for it. she, who is his indisputable sovereign and to whom he pledges his undying allegiance with innate reverence. 

it was his wandering hands, after all, which led the pair to an empty veranda overlooking the bustling midsummer festivities. 

a laurel of fresh blooms became collateral damage soon after, having been unceremoniously knocked to his feet by her fervent desperation to feel his sun-kissed skin against her lips. 

rafe certainly had no objections. 

with a heap of silky fabric rucked up around her waist and her wrists pinned taut to the small of her back, rafe's girlfriend works him over with both teeth and tongue, the affection carefully choreographed to sync up with the sway of her hips. each nip, suck, or kiss accompanies her precise labors, and any marbled evidence left behind he'll wear with pride, much to the island's chagrin and his sisters' disgust. 

rafe previewed the evening's fireworks display as she bore down on his aching bulge, never once ceasing the light nibbling of his earlobe; it's the tell-tale, strained whimper diced by gritted teeth that incited action.

his hips jerk up in search of sweet relief, inadvertently finding her bare heat well beyond wet and wanting. 

rafe commends his past self for confiscating the lace as they neared the valet podium; the garment fares better as a pocket square. 

close proximity amplifies all those delicious, needy sounds, robbed of their potential prematurely; she is not yet immune to gossip.

it doesn't matter, rafe would know if his girl was close donning earplugs and a blindfold. her pathetic attempt at modesty is hardly an issue. much like how there isn't an inch of skin he hasn't traversed; there isn't a bluff of her's he can't immediately see through. no matter how soft or sudden, rafe can feel his girl teetering on the brink. 

the faint wobble of her bottom lip might as well be a formal declaration; she's trying and failing to keep herself from falling over the edge — the polite little thing knows the price of gluttony.

as he reclines in the stately patio chair, he pulls her down with him. in anticipation, rafe tips his mouth and angles his hips while relishing in the spoiled musings of a person who's never wanted for anything.

rafe relents, mercifully rutting into her as his thumb rubs a certain finger. 

"sooner or later, i'm putting a ring on this hand." 

giggling despite herself, she abruptly leans back to inspect his pupils.

"how high are you?" 

the friction of shifting pressure reluctantly betrays a soft spot in his chainmail cloak. the levity of the moment envelops them in warmth. a brilliant rarity peeks through between the velvety curtain of annoyance: contentment. 

even so, rafe doesn't allow the foreign state of mind or the white-hot burn of pleasure to distract him from his prior ambition. 

"kid, if i was high right now, we'd be halfway to the courthouse." 

she simply shakes her head and buries her face back into the crook of his neck.

rafe has an affinity for grandstanding. she hardly, if ever, took him at his word, simultaneously too smart and too skeptical to make his words into something more than he meant. sometimes, he said things because he needed to know how they tasted, and others, her on-again-off-again boyfriend just wanted to hear the sound of his own voice.

he is impulsive and unreliable, and no amount of love will change that.

rafe relinquishes her wrists in favor of her neck. his palm burns the nape as it keeps her a prisoner to his greedy, electric gaze.

the dull throb mounting under his touch cannot hold a candle to the heartbeat palpitating between her thighs. major and minor, the muscles twitch in anticipation as they, too, are overwhelmed by the casual display of dominance. 

he brings her forehead to rest against his. a novel softness in his voice fans across her gently parted lips. "i know you think i'm bullshitting you, but not this time. i'm so fucking serious, kid. the proof's at home in the top right drawer of my desk."

her disbelief persists, manifesting in an uncouth snort. 

"yeah, right." 

rafe scoffs at the sarcasm-dipped quip; the unwavering effort to make his life more difficult at every turn was actually sort of endearing, he hated to admit. 

"i've had it since our graduation... just never found the right moment, i guess," he shrugs, quieter now.

rafe knows a smidge of feigned ambivalence won't detract from the heated, earnest implication beaming behind his irises. 

the claim is substantiated by her quirked-brow baiting, an act that leaves him frantically fishing for his keys.

if they’re lucky, they might make it to the driveway. 

but the stars underestimate the proprietorial hunger of the kook prince, because they get three lights from the club before rafe parks the ford by the roadside. 

────────────

💌 if you liked it, pls lmk! 💌

⬸ back to the catalog  (masterlist) 

⬸ back to the main blog 

[kaseyskat]

hi it's nyx here once again to talk about lark vs henry and what that meant for sparrow because i swear every episode that shows even a Little bit of sparrow's actual personality is controversial.

"nyx what do you mean by this" well it's a very blatant fact that sparrow does not get much nuance in the fandom: this is especially prevalent when examining hero's conversation with normal where she explicitly calls out lark and rebecca alongside sparrow and yet sparrow is solely blamed. because of this, every time we do see sparrow be his genuine self in the show - from talking to scary and shielding her from violence to taking charge of grant and lark and wanting to help the teens to the most recent episode's case of him not believing in animal captivity - i've noticed people quickly jumping on him for being hypocritical but nobody asking why he would be hypocritical, or why he's made choices that clearly do not reflect his actual beliefs.

so let's talk about that, shall we?

i know i've talked about this before but it bears repeating: sparrow is complacent. he has consistently made decisions that go against his own beliefs, bottling up his actual thoughts on the matter in order to "keep the peace". we know this, this is a canon fact, he said as much about lark and rebecca's affair!

why does he do this? well to me, what makes the most logical sense is that this stems all the way to lark and henry's conflict. if the rogue card is only predicting anger and not enforcing it, that means there is more to lark's anger than just what happened with walter. part of that is his fear of being unable to protect the people he cares about, being helpless in situations where he could've done something, yes, but i do believe there's another root cause to his anger, one that would fuel him for decades: sparrow.

...well, more specifically, how henry changed sparrow.

we know that lark wasn't the happiest about the lovewolf split. after the lord of chaos arc, sparrow starts very slowly developing a separate personality, enough so that he and lark aren't necessarily the same kid, one unit, the same person twice. sparrow tried to teach lark his new philosophy, it was ultimately rejected. lark doesn't understand it! but he loves sparrow regardless. that disappointment, that resentment of how sparrow had changed... it goes back to henry, to henry giving sparrow that speech and reinforcing those beliefs!

we also know that originally, sparrow didn't want to pick a side. he wanted them both to get along! to reconcile! and we know that lark didn't tell him about what he saw on the throne, which has me believing that there were, perhaps, other things that lark didn't tell sparrow in crucial moments: such as his decision to release the doodler, since we really don't know if sparrow knew. sparrow would've been happy to reconcile the two, and it makes sense if this was something he didn't know but something that shakes his perspective: aka, what happens if lark doesn't confide in him. to get lark back on his side, he has to be on lark's side irrevocably, which means abandoning his peacekeeping and mediation to choose lark wholeheartedly.

so by the time the ep23 flashback happens... sparrow has lost that bit of personality he had started to form in s1. he's lark's other half again, helping him with plans, sharing his ideas. he has... you could say, lost his confidence in being a lovewolf, because despite his best efforts, it only brought more strife to his family and he doesn't want to lose lark. we know this! he doesn't want to lose lark!

and then, they find out the prophecy, that one of the twins will have a kid who will save the world. think about everything we know about lark, how stubbornly persistent he was on fixing things Himself since he puts the weight of the world on his shoulders alone. lark doesn't blame sparrow or henry, he only blames himself. would he jump at having a family to fix his mistakes? no.

but sparrow would.

so sparrow takes that burden from him. sparrow has hero when he is twenty, and lark gets to be the cool uncle who helps around the house and hero blames both twins equally so we know they did this together. sparrow doesn't want to lose lark again, he doesn't want to be himself, he adapts to rebecca's views because it's easier than admitting that maybe he shares some of the same- definitely makes him marrying a vegan centrist make sense, right? he can use rebecca as a scapegoat and it Works. his own personality gets shafted in favor of being the same man twice with lark, he bottles everything up, he disapproves but never says as much.

and he fucked up with hero. clearly, he knows that. hero has a regular life now at a private school with a job and an internship and she's a massive dweeb and i don't think any one of you could look me in the eye and say that lark approved that. it was sparrow's decision! and we know what lark thinks about sparrow's parenting: i need every one of yall who truly believes that lark would be a better father to normal to go and relisten to normal's introduction scene in ep1 and then to the end of ep24 again where lark explicitly tells normal that being the mascot is a waste of his time when he could be learning "actually useful" skills (like hunting and survival- and yall still think sparrow was the one having hero kill deer?) and that he's too soft-hearted and naive and that is sparrow's fault for being too nice. normal would not be the same kid if lark was raising him and that is NOT a good thing lmao

all of this to say. i am so tired of people understanding lark's nuance and understanding grant's nuance and understanding the s1 dads and their nuance and how their trauma fucked up their relationships with their kids and yet sparrow is the one yall bash every other week repeatedly without ever wondering like. huh. maybe it is strange that his actions now don't hold up against his actions in the past. maybe there's something else going on that is consistent with literally every other aspect of his character. it is so tiring to go into his tag and see the same things over and over and over again repeated on loop every time we see sparrow's actual personality slip out beyond him perpetuating the "same man twice" persona. he's nuanced! they're all nuanced! and that's a good thing!

sparrow's biggest issues are his complacency, the way he upholds decisions that might not really be the best decisions because it's easier. his love for lark and his desire to fix things clouds his judgement and yeah, that means he goes against his own morals frequently; or at least, he did. so far in the season though, with how he's treated normal being in the line of fire and getting into his mess, he's definitely already realized this and is putting in the work to ensure that normal doesn't go through what hero did- something that lark is not doing. sparrow's also been the best towards the other teens consistently, the most willing to listen and change his perspective (as demonstrated again in ep24- really i just think people need to relisten to ep24!) and he's definitely not the best dad but that can be said not just about all the kiddads but also about literally every dad in this podcast, because that's what this podcast is about. thank you for reading and i hope i don't have to make this post again in a few weeks <3

[heartofspells]

Holli... How am I supposed to choose between crush, you and along the broken edge?? 😭😭😭 (also a working sentence that. Crush you along the broken edge, yk)

But I'm going with along the broken edge bc I miss the boys

Ahahahaha! I might use that at some point, I won't lie.

But YES, you can have some Broken Edge! I also miss the boys and I'm going to be getting back to them very soon now that things have calmed down in my life (and head, ha!). Have a best boy Remus Lupin speech.

--

Remus remembers, once, when he was younger, too many days and questions in between, thanking the universe for the unthinkable, the never in his wildest dreams imaginable boy it had presented to him like a reward for hardship. He'd never stopped thanking it, not once throughout the years, no matter the pain that had come with all the loss. Never going away, Remus has been willing to fall on his knees every day since, overcome with gratefulness for having simply been allowed to lay his eyes on that dark head and those shining eyes. Even with losing him, with all the heartache that had come after, with that forever pit dug out in the depths of his stomach and the way his heart had always felt lodged just at the base of his throat, Remus had been indescribably better for knowing him, for hearing that ringing, barking laugh and watching that face light up like the first glimpses of the sun after a devastating storm.

Sirius Black – Padfoot – had altered him irrevocably, set his life on a path Remus had never anticipated, crafting his coming days in a way unfathomable before he'd existed within Remus' orbit, even if only for a while.

"Do you believe in soulmates?"

Staring at him, grey eyes guarded but sparking with curiosity, Remus isn't sure what he expects to come from the question. Possibly a bitter, head-tossing laugh raking out of a constricted throat, or maybe a sharp denial, claiming Remus to be mad. Whatever he may have guessed, it would have never been silence.

"Do you, Sirius?" he presses, leaning forward the smallest amount, barely a shift but still there, present and needed in the moment. Remus doesn't wait for an answer. "I never did. I never believed in most of it. Heaven and God, fate, some sort of predetermined destiny. Why would I because what have I ever been given to make it feel logical? Every good thing in my life always got ripped away in the cruelest, roughest way, you most of all. I lost you so completely, just like everything else I could never hold onto, and I told myself that was fine because…none of it was real. Nothing was ever meant to happen, sculpted into existence for a specific purpose. The strings of fortune were never on my side, except maybe for only a handful of months when I was thirteen."

Swallowing thickly, Remus chances a step forward, surprised when Sirius stands still, not offering to move. It seemingly shocks him as well, eyelids blinking over a mystified grey gaze.

"I still don't believe in any of it," continues Remus, voice soft, every part of him open, nothing held back, not ever again. "Not a paradise once we're gone from this world, not in some…some being watching every move we make, judging us, as if anything would ever care that much. I don’t believe things are meant to happen one way over another. I don't believe one part of it, but…soulmates. That feels different, somehow. It feels different because of you."

Shaking his head as Remus steps forward again, Sirius says sharply, "It's just pretty words. It doesn't mean anything."

"Maybe," agrees Remus vaguely, conceding a bit, "or maybe not." Sirius scoffs loudly, eyes shifting away briefly, but Remus doesn't react, watching him closely, cataloguing the pinch to his brows, the crease forming between them, the way his mouth wobbles so faintly that it's barely noticeable but there all the same. "What else could it be except that? We keep getting thrown together repeatedly, bodily running into one another, as kids, in the shop, through acquaintances that shouldn't exist in such a large place but somehow do. You get injured after years of nothing, no major accidents and here I am, searching for exactly you in everyone I've ever accepted, armed with the specific skills you needed in that moment all because of a…a fucking tragedy that tore us apart in the first place.

"None of it should have lined up, not even once, but it did and has, over and over again. You shouldn't have been exactly what I needed in that moment on that wall all those years ago, but you were, and you never stopped," pushes Remus plaintively, feeling breathless now, hands twitching to reach out and simply touch, just to reassure himself Sirius is still real and here. "The universe keeps tossing us together except it's not, it's giving, and for once in my life all I want is to be selfish and take because I want you more than anything else, past, present, or future. All I have ever wanted is you before I even knew you existed. I laid in my bed as a kid, staring at my ceiling, trying to keep the dizziness and sickness away, praying to a god I don't believe in for you, Sirius. Only ever you."

Want a snip?

[vipier-a]

∗ 87﹕ sender  shows  receiver  evidence  of  a  lie  they  told . 👀

TRISTAN CAN TELL HE’S FUCKED SIMPLY BY THE STEELY LOOK IN CASSIAN’S EYE FROM ACROSS THE ROOM. they’ve been estranged for a while, so far from each other that they believed the other irrevocably lost, but still he knows what @k4ssa’s expressions mean, still he can read his face, his hands, even the smallest adjustments in his posture. it should be a comfort ; this evening, it feels incriminating. the blast door to the captain’s quarters hisses shut behind him, muffling the sounds of voices drifting in from the common area of the ship. the sudden near-silence, the quiet anger boiling in the space between them, melts into tristan’s bones as he stands there, unyielding, as though cassian’s unblinking stare does not feel ice cold, chilling his very bones. the offending item hangs pinched between cass’s thumb and forefinger, a familiar little bag containing a bright purple material tris certainly recognizes well : gree spice.

maybe he shouldn’t have it at all. maybe he’d promised he wouldn’t keep any of the stuff, that he was done with it, now that he wasn’t running it anymore. maybe he’d also decided that cassian wasn’t his fucking keeper after all, that after everything they’d done, after all the ugliness between them, he wasn’t going to simply roll over and let whatever new version this was of cass tell him what to do. what does he care if tris uses a little of it on occasion, recreationally? he deserves an occasional little boost of joy and power. his jobs certainly provide none of it and, given the current state of things, it’s not as though he is guaranteed much in the way of either between them. maybe they’re back to sharing a cot, maybe they’ve fallen to the temptation of indulging in each other’s bodies again — but the climate remains unpredictable, sometimes welcoming and sometimes frigid, their walls as firmly in place as possible, given that nobody knows them better than each other. maybe that’s how cassian knew to look for the damn stuff in the first place, knew where to find it. all his life, tristan has remained an intentional mystery to everyone else in the galaxy, but andor decoded him years ago, and as infuriating as it is, there’s no turning back from that now.

“ so, what, you’re going through my shit now? trying to show me what it would have been like to have parents or something? actually, thanks, I feel loads better about being an orphan now because this is fucking annoying. ” somehow, tris’s tone hovers somewhere between casual and annoyed. as he speaks, he strips off his jacket, tossing it over his duffle in the corner, packed and ready at a moment’s notice for his next departure. next comes the shirt, revealing a litany of newer scars along his torso they haven’t discussed aloud, yet for which they both know cass certainly wasn’t present. he can still feel the other man’s disapproving, simmering stare on him, and without looking, tris rolls his eyes. “ fine. what do you want me to say? I said I wouldn’t and I did. you win, congratulations. that make you feel better, cassian? ”

he turns then, bare chested, expression half bored, as though utterly unbothered by the entire situation. the annoyance — the anger at the blatant invasion of privacy — is rising to a boil within him, though its progress is slow enough to still be stopped, depending on how the rest of this conversation goes.

“ is that all? ” he tilts his head, quirking a brow, appearing for all the world as if the issue could not possibly matter less to him. frankly, he’s still not even sure how angry cass is with him for having it in the first place, whether it’s really the lie rather than the spice which offended more greatly, whether it’s really tristan’s cavalier yet defensive response that will really set things off. but for the things about him which have changed since departing ferrix three years ago, one of them certainly is not that he’s lost his practically pathological desire to needle, to press his fingers into wounds better left alone. “ or do you have some other grievance you suddenly think we need to talk about? because I need a shower and don’t have the patience to stand here and talk about my personal habits that are none of your fucking concern. grow up, cass, it’s just a little spice. ”

[endeavvor]

There is one thing Kirk readily admits to himself as he continues to learn all she is willing to teach him of her people and her planet: he was naive in his thinking that this planet was a gift to be given by the emperor. It makes the pointed jab more obvious to him, that there is some larger play here against the S'Chn T'Gai house that none of them truly understand the scope of. Houses and equipment to handle the spice trade can be given, but planets - this desert and her people - were not slaves or items to be traded.

It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and raises things from his past that he'd rather remain dead and buried.

Though he shares none of these things unless prompted to, for he knows for rapport to be built, communication must go both ways. It is just his general approach to learning new terrain - listen and observe. Absorb as much as he can while making himself seem as small as possible. He's attempted to keep his head down since the Tahaddi Challenge, the necessary evil, showing just enough of his talent to impress, but not the full extent of skills in case he needed a swift escape if things went sideways.

He knows enough about their common enemies to not risk exhibiting the same behaviors. Head down. Gaze adverted. Though he is still James T. Kirk. Which means he smiles easily and disarmingly.

Layla's religion still remained mostly an anomaly to him. Though he did not ask her too many questions regarding it, and he mostly left her to her whispering when she made pointed references. He knew in time these answers would reveal themselves to him, he just hoped he was ready and receptive to what her people believed - especially when it hit so close to his heart. A nerve, once struck, could result in irrevocable damage.

Kirk did not stop himself from reaching out, running his hand along the carved walls as he openly gaped at the structure he was lead into. He squinted against the slants of sunlight, as if it would help his gaze sharpen and read the words. Pausing was not an option, this was the furthest into the depths of the Sietch Tabr he'd been allowed, and it relied solely on Layla's good graces, but perhaps later he could return. Perhaps later he'd understand.

"Is this a deathstill?" He asks when they come to a stop at the edge of the pool. The reflective surface of the water, so much like glass, is unsettling to him in a way he cannot explain. Maybe it's how out of place it seems, when you get so used to the dryness of the planet, anything liquid is truly precious. Kirk will never be able to look at water or the ease of access of it the same again. But his curiosity is momentarily halted as he realizes that what he says next is really all that matters. It could make or break Spock's entire existence on this planet, and the gravity is not lost on him.

He crouches down at the edge of the pool, head dipped to his chest, hands draped at his knees and resists the urge to reach out and place his hand over the water to feel a shred of coolness coming off it.

"Listen, I've lost people to them too." For once, he hated being a straight shooter for an inability to make his point as poetically as her. How desperately he wished the Vulcan were here. "My father was first. He wasn't a soldier, or even a fighter. He was just the captain of a transport ship in the wrong place at the wrong time." The Romulans intercepted his ship, thought he had Spice on board, and saw an opportunity to make money. George Kirk had gotten as much of his crew off the ship as he could before they were overrun. He never came home. He never met Jim, born the same day as his death.

Somehow this marred his existence to her for the rest of their time together. Which was admittedly a short few years before he and Sam were packed up and shipped off to Tarsus to be with his aunt and uncle. When the crops got sick and started to die, resulting in a famine, half the population were then sold into slavery to the Harkonnens for money and supplies.

"My brother was - " Abused and his body sold to the highest bidder. Somehow it feels wrong to say these things in what feels like a holy place, so Kirk just shakes his head. He stands, and walks back towards her. "We don't want to hire you to fight for us. We want to reach a peace that if we have to fight, we can fight together. For your people and mine and for the sake of the planet so it can stop being passed around like some kind of token. I know it's naive, but I don't want to lose anyone else."

@lalamoon

“𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏’𝒕 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒂𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒆𝒏𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒚.” ― 𝐅𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐋𝐞𝐞,  ’Jade City’

THIS OUTWORLDER WHO SPOKE OF PEACE bearing Vulcans. This Outworlder who seemed as equally wise in battle as naive he was in the machinations of people in power. There was no kindness in the Emperor’s choice to exchange the hands of her Dune, her people’s home, from the Romulans to the Vulcans. Or maybe he did understand. The better part of two weeks was hardly an intimate relationship by any metric, however he was still alive and among them. It was no secret their trust was tenuous, but with Kirk came signs that Layla was not willing to ignore. While she had not discussed this with many beyond Stilgar and her son, lines of prophecy were not something she was willing to toss back to the desert. “ – a herald will speak to the coming of the Mazhiv Saralashek and his Father’s House, with eyes that are kin to Ibad.” The words came out hushed, spoken in her native Fremen tongue, but audible enough for James to have heard her, as she made no effort to conceal it from him. She could not, and moreover would not, ignore these signs. The Elders have been quick to remind her in the past how her faith played tricks with what she was perceiving to be holy foreshadow of their prophesied Mahdi. Their Messiah. However, this was different, she could feel its singularity thrumming under her skin and pulling at every fiber of instinct in her body. This held more power than anything that had been perceived by her before or anyone. Though she was still Naib to their Sietch, something she won in combat, as Kirk had won his life and freedom among her people under the Amtal Rule in his Tahaddi Challenge. He was an impressive combatant, he fought with honor and intrepid skill. This man’s presence since has been nothing but unobtrusive, useful, and an effort to forge civility between their two peoples. Layla and the others of Sietch Tabr could not ignore the dignity of these actions, particularly in how stark they are in comparison to all they have ever known from the Romulans, and secondarily, the Harkonnens.  A suffering they had shared, which lended itself as a boon to the budding alliance which Kirk was exerting no small effort into rendering between the House of S’Chn T’Gai and the people of Sietch Tabr.

It was hard yet to say if he would succeed, but she could definitively say that he was not failing.

They walked, and spoke very little, and while she did not readily speak to his loss. She felt his grief and gripped the ball of his shoulder, for he was among countless others with whom could share in his grief.

Her hand fell back at her side as they turned a long corridor, with high arching ceilings, holy writ scribed all the way up and over their heads, while they walked between thick beams of sunlight peppered overhead.

Finally they came to a grand room, in the far depths of Sietch Tabr, with a tremendously long reflecting pool filled with water so still the surface could have easily passed for glass. Layla stopped with him right at the edge, at the far end a group of women quietly prayed, accompanied by the sound of an intermittent ringing bell.

“ Thirty-eight million deciliters of water, James Tiberius Kirk – and if we were dying of thirst? We would die beside this without ever touching it. This water is sacred. This water is my people. My people who have been taken by illness and old age, but my people who have also been slain like animals in their own desert, by the rabid dogs who rape our land and insist we stop to watch. How much water will your Vulcans put in here, James Kirk?

Our rebellion is fought for us, for Arrakis. We will not be the hired swords of your Lord Sarek. ”

@endeavvor

[say-al0e]

Honestly just need some tooth rotting fluff for Eddie. Feels like all I find for him is smut. Perhaps it could be them being together after s4 and they’ve graduated finally. Them not worried about what the future has in store for them both and just enjoying moments like these for right now. ( xfemale! reader pls🥰)

Soft fluff with Eddie and reader, under the ‘read more’! Not explicitly female reader (I believe it’s gender neutral, someone let me know if I’m wrong). Right at 1k words!

Eddie couldn’t remember the last Fourth of July carnival he attended.

It was sometime before high school, back when he had buzzed hair and still cared way too much about what guys like Steve Harrington - and girls like Tammy Thompson - thought about him. It was when he still lived with his parents, before his uncle took him in, that much he knew. But specifics from that period were all a blur.

With the town’s general attitude toward him, toward people that looked like him, he tried to avoid large gatherings. It wasn’t because he cared about whatever they had to say, it was more because he just couldn’t be bothered. The attention never bothered him but their whispering could get exhausting.

He knew that if it weren’t for you, he would’ve happily continued avoiding places like the carnival altogether. 

However, Eddie Munson had fallen completely, utterly, and irrevocably in love with you. You had him wrapped around your finger - willing to do absolutely anything you asked of him, no hesitation, no shame - and, because of that, he found himself wandering through his own personal Hell.

Eddie was sure you were a sight - him, with his ripped jeans and ratty band t-shirt, cigarette between scowling lips as you wandered the fairgrounds; you, with your pretty pink linen shorts and sleeveless top, lips grinning wide as you took in the sights - but he couldn’t find it in himself to care about the heavy stares he felt. 

The near constant smile you’d flashed since climbing into his van was all that mattered and Eddie realized as he trudged on, oversized unicorn plush in one hand and yours wrapped in the other, that he was well and truly fucked. His heart was yours - cradled in your hands, something fragile you could shatter, if you were ever so inclined - but, instead of terrifying him, the realization brought him a startling peace.

For as brave a face as he put on, Eddie spent a great deal of his life afraid. He’d been afraid he wouldn’t graduate, afraid he might go to jail, afraid he might die in some bizarre alternate Hawkins, afraid he might never amount to anything more than a burnout. More than anything, however, Eddie spent a good deal of time afraid that he might never be truly content.

Weed and music made him happy. Sex made him happy. Dungeons and Dragons made him happy. Shitty horror movies and fantasy novels made him happy. But nothing filled the void he feared would one day consume him. He was constantly searching for something, chasing a high he could never quite reach, and it wasn’t until he found himself lost in an alternate dimension - with a group of people he’d never once considered could become so important to him - that he thought it might be within his grasp.

It wasn’t until he found himself curled up beside you, physically and mentally exhausted from battle, that he realized what he’d been missing all along.

Eddie swore that he knew how to flirt, swore he could be considered charming, but all sense of decorum flew out the window when he realized how he felt about you. The crush he’d harbored in high school, a teenage dream shattered by harsh reality, bloomed into love so quick that he didn’t have time to process before he was asking you to see a movie with him.

Immediately - from the moment you gripped his hand near the Upside Down Skull Rock, smile soft and reassuring even as he shook with fear - your presence calmed the too-fast beat of his heart. Immediately, Eddie felt content. 

With you, there was no fear.

There was no worry that he might not graduate - with your help, he did; by the skin of his teeth, but he still walked across the stage and flipped off the principal in the process. There was no worry that he might go to jail, no worry that he might die. There was no worry that he might never amount to anything, no worry that he was wasting his life.

With you, Eddie was content.

Eddie squeezed your hand, unable to help himself, and grinned when you glanced at him. “You wanna ride the ferris wheel before the line gets insane?”

Neither of you cared about the fireworks - you’d even promised him a makeout session in his van, hidden away from the kids and Robin and Steve and Nancy and Jonathan, as a thank you for enduring the torture that was a town event - and you knew the line would be unbearable, just for a chance to see them from the top.

From the top of the ferris wheel, you could see the entirety of the fairgrounds. Hawkins wasn’t what either of you would’ve considered beautiful - though, you both had to admit there was a certain charm to it after living through the alternative - but, from the top of the ride, it wasn’t half bad.

Eddie wouldn’t miss it at all when you moved to Indianapolis together in the fall, though.

Before he could voice that aloud, you turned to him with a bright smile.

“Can we get funnel cake after this?” Neither of you needed the sugar - Eddie had a joke about you tasting sweet enough without it on the tip of his tongue - but before he could so much as inhale, you frowned. ”On second thought, maybe not. You’re wearing all black, the sugar might make a mess.”

Mumbled thoughts like that - little acts of consideration, things other people might consider trivial - made all the difference in the world to him. You cared, enough to worry about getting powdered sugar on his jeans, and suddenly his calm made all the sense in the world.

When there was someone to worry for him, someone to care, the burden didn’t feel quite so heavy.

Eddie leaned over, reached for your chin with practiced ease, and pressed his mouth to yours in a kiss that had you seeing stars. Your vanilla chapstick was sweeter than any powdered sugar, more enticing than any carnival food could’ve been, and Eddie hoped the entirety of Hawkins heard as he declared, “I fuckin’ love you, sweetheart.”

He couldn’t remember the last Fourth of July carnival he attended but, when you grinned - repeated those three words back just as strong, just as steady - Eddie knew he would remember this one for the rest of his life.

[sadinasaphrite]

Whumptober Day 28 - Vil

Post-Overblot, Vil doesn’t like what he sees in the mirror. Rook helps him pick up the pieces. Rook/Vil

No. 28 IT’S JUST THE TIP OF THE ICEBERG

Anger Born of Worry | Punching the Wall | Headache

Read on AO3!

Fic under the Cut!

Ugly. There was no excuse for Vil’s behavior except that he had been absolutely, irrevocably ugly. He’d humiliated himself in front of his peers, came seconds away from committing unspeakable irreversible atrocities, and on top of it all, he’d lost to Neige. Again.

Vil stood alone in his bathroom, applying foundation with a shaking hand. Even if he didn’t feel ready to face the world after the hell that had been the SDC, there was no reason not to look the part. Perhaps he should plead illness and lay in bed like some wilting damsel in distress. Those who didn’t know what happened surely wouldn’t blame him for wanting to rest after the competition. And for those who did know… well. They wouldn’t blame him, either.

They’d been embarrassingly forgiving already. Even when Vil awoke after the incident, blot still dripping from his lips and fingertips, his companions had immediately done their best to assure him that the only person he’d hurt was himself.

As if that made things better. So what if no one was hurt? What mattered is that Vil tried to kill them all. If the others had not stopped him, Neige would be cold and dead at this very moment. And not just Neige, either. Epel, Kalim, Ace, Deuce, Jamil… even Rook, his beautiful hunter, all would be dead by his hand if he’d succeeded. To say he was still beautiful only because he failed was naive.

Vil let his hand fall, foundation only half applied, and looked in the mirror. Skin too pale, lips cracked and chapped, bags under his eyes, angry red scratches along one cheek… this wasn’t beauty. This was the face of a sad, pathetic man unable to own up to his own faults, and so resorted to lashing out at those around him. What had been his logic during the Overblot? The only way to become the fairest of all was to eliminate the competition? How foolish. That wouldn’t have brought him beauty. It would have only brought him solitude.

He was a monster.

His reflection wavered as tears filled his eyes. Vil covered his face with his hands, as if hiding his image would hide what he’d become. Nothing would ever change what he’d done. What he’d tried to do. He would always know the darkness he was capable of, and so would those closest to him.

What was it Rook had said? ‘The strength and pride to believe in yourself is what marks the true fairest one of all.’ Vil didn’t feel like he could believe in anything right now, much less himself. Which meant…

He looked back at the mirror. Pale skin had turned so red and blotchy that even the foundation couldn’t hide it. Bloodshot lavender eyes looked back at him.

Ugly.

He couldn’t stand to look at what a monster he’d become any longer.

Vil clenched his hand into a fist and struck the mirror as hard as he could. Glass shattered under his fist. Cracks sprouted along the mirror like spiderwebs and broken shards fell to the ground, tinkling against the tile. Pain seared through his fist and Vil let out a sob.

“Roi du Poison?”

Fear seized Vil’s heart. He couldn’t let Rook see him like this. Not after yesterday.

“Don’t come in!” He’d meant for the words to be harsh and cold, an order from a Queen to her Huntsman, but even Vil heard the panic that leaked into his voice. In a desperate move, he locked the bathroom door just in time for Rook to jiggle the knob.

“Don’t. Just… go away. Leave me.”

The doorknob fell still. Blood dripped from Vil’s tapered fingertips and splattered into the sink. His heart pounded in his ears, and he waited for Rook’s next move.

“My fair Vil,” Rook’s voice was soft and earnest as only Rook could express. “Neither heaven, hell, nor anything in between will stop me from coming to your aid when you are in need. Not even you.”

Vil knew a paltry bathroom lock would not stop Rook for long, but still he hesitated. Rook had seen him at his worst yesterday. The way Vil was acting now was no better, lashing out like a child having a tantrum.

“Please open the door,” Rook asked. “Let me help you.”

“I’m hideous,” Vil said, his last feeble defense.

“Let me be the judge of that.”

Vil unlocked the door.

Rook didn’t make a scene when he entered the bathroom, for which Vil was grateful. Sharp emerald eyes flicked from the mirror, to Vil’s bloody hand, to his tear-streaked face. Without a word, he tenderly took Vil’s hand and cleaned the wound under warm running water. Soft, leather gloves stroked his skin between picking slivers of glass out of his flesh. Vil remained silent through all of it, staring at the wall as Rook worked, though the tears continued to run down his face.

Rook inspected the wound closely, then broke the silence.

“I think that’s all the glass. Do you feel any more? Flex your fingers for me.”

Vil did so. The lacerations stung, but no more than any other cut. He closed his hand into a fist and didn’t feel the telltale stab of more glass shards in his skin.

“No,” he said, and hated how thick his voice sounded.

Rook washed his hand once more, then patted it dry with a white hand towel. Vil’s blood shone starkly against the white cotton. Rook wrapped the towel around his wound and held his hand tightly between both of his own.

Vil hissed at the pressure and Rook stroked his wrist in apology.

“Désolé,” Rook said, “A little pressure to help the bleeding slow, then I’ll bandage it.”

“...The towel will stain,” Vil said.

“Then let it.”

“It won’t be pristine anymore,” Vil continued. “We’ll have to throw it out.”

“It will still be a perfectly good towel, stained or not.”

“No,” Vill pressed, “it won’t. Even cleaned, the stain will make it look filthy. It will be a blight on any bathroom that hangs it. It’s irreparably damaged. Disgraced. Ruined.”

A fat tear rolled down Vil’s cheek.

“Vil.”

A gloved thumb wiped away the tear. Vil choked back a sob and Rook gently cupped his cheek.

“You are not a dirty towel,” Rook murmured.

“How can you say that? How can you look at me, knowing what I’ve done, what I tried to do? How can you stand to touch me? I’m vile, I’m hideous, I’m—”

Leather fingers pressed against his lips and Vil fell silent.

“You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen and I will tell you why,” Rook said, his gaze locked with Vil’s.

Vil tried to protest, but stilled as Rook stroked a thumb across his lower lip.

“Perfection is not beauty. A perfectly white towel may look nice, but it is no different from every other white towel beside it. To seek perfection implies there is a state of flawlessness that is attainable by any human, which is an impossibility destined to end in tragedy. You are not perfect, mon roi. Nor will you ever be perfect. But you are trying to be better. Every day, you wake up and try to be a better man than you were the day before. Even now, you want to be better than you were yesterday. Not only that, but you inspire the same in others. Myself, Epel, all of Pomefiore, we follow your example and strive to improve ourselves every single day. Because of you. And that, my fair Vil, is beautiful.”

The raw honesty in Rook’s voice cut Vil right down to the soul. Something inside him cracked and the last of Vil’s barriers gave way. He fell forward into Rook’s waiting arms and sobbed.

Vil cried like he hadn’t since he was a child. Ugly, wracking sobs shook his shoulders, tears smeared across his blotchy cheeks, snot ran from his nose, and he howled his misery, shame, and pain into Rook’s chest. Rook’s arms wrapped around him and held him close in a warm embrace, rocking him gently as Vil released the flood of emotion trapped in his aching heart.

When Vil’s tears finally ran dry, he sagged against Rook, utterly and entirely spent. He started to pull away, but Rook held him close. He gathered Vil into his arms and carried him to his room, laying him to rest in his bed. Vil lay exhausted and unresisting as Rook tenderly cleaned his face and bandaged his hand, then combed his hair. Vil only stirred when Rook began tucking him into bed like a child.

“Rook,” he said, his voice raw and hoarse, “no… I… I can’t. I have to get up. I—”

He started to sit up, but Rook stopped him with a firm hand on his chest.

“Non,” he said, gently urging Vil to lay back down. “Rest. There is nothing you must do today that I cannot do for you.”

“But I—”

Rook’s lips pressed against Vil’s forehead, and Vil finally stilled.

“Rest,” Rook whispered into his ear, then placed a gentle kiss to each of his cheeks before pulling away.

Vil let him, and watched as Rook tidied up. He only spoke up as Rook opened the door to leave.

“You’ll come back. Right?” His voice cracked. It was a foolish question, but he needed to hear the answer.

Rook turned and gave him a smile as brilliant as a sunrise.

“My dear Vil, nothing could ever keep me away.”

Then he was gone, off to put out the fires that Vil’s absence left burning. Vil relaxed into his bed and mulled over Rook’s words until sleep claimed him.

He wouldn’t let Rook down. He would be better.

[bestworstcase]

lying on the floor thinking abt how ironwood embodied and was corrupted by the ugliest characteristics of the god of light; the desire for absolute control, the latent hostility and disdain for human emotion, the absolute inability to see beyond his own designs for the world and his perceived creations—even ironwood’s obsessive single-minded focus on getting penny on a leash no matter the cost echoes the way light responded each time salem defied him—

& like. ozpin is absent throughout v7 but oscar devotes most of his time on screen to prying ironwood away from that path, with negligible success—there’s the beginning of a turn after jacques’ arrest, yes, but by the end of the volume it’s crystal clear that ironwood went for the “tell the truth, protect and rally mantle” plan because it made him feel in control of the situation again and the instant cinder and salem shattered that illusion of control, he recoiled from it and lashed out at the allies he perceived as having tricked him into letting his guard down—and ozpin doesn’t return until oscar’s effort in this regard has finally and irrevocably failed. which keeps sticking in my brain as important, particularly in light of watts in 6.4 saying that ozpin is the only person who stood a chance of getting through to ironwood.

(sidebar i think watts was being overly pessimistic there, about the possibility of ozpin foiling them by talking sense into ironwood. even before ozpin died and ironwood entered his fascism death spiral, ironwood marched into an allied kingdom with his armada in tow without so much as a courtesy warning, chafed openly when ozpin declined to blindly deploy that armada on the basis of hearsay from a fifteen year old kid, politically stabbed ozpin in the back by freezing him out of his own council, and throughout it all moped about ozpin not trusting him enough. like,, lmao)

and then of course there’s the fact that atlas was specifically a project that ironwood and ozpin shared—and atlas itself is and has always been used narratively as a symbol for the hollow promises, failures, and illusory progress of the post-war society ozma designed—and the entire story up to this point was a slow inexorable build towards the fall of atlas.

it just seems like a microcosm of what’s going on with ozma and the god of light and the divine mandate? in that ozma’s loyalty to the gods (or at minimum, the inertia of his original loyalty to them) feels reflected in his choice of ironwood to guard the relic of creation and shepherd the floating city meant to represent the ideals ozma thinks humanity needs to achieve to earn salvation—he picks a champion who resembles the god of light himself!—and then, when the budding tyrant he trusted spins around to shoot him he’s not even present to—like his self-imposed isolation inside oscar’s head renders him powerless to even try to change this situation for the better! ozpin later claims that he was secretly there all along, but the only times he resurfaces are when oscar is in immediate mortal peril so i’m not sure that i buy that, at least not in the sense of ozpin having full conscious awareness of what was happening around oscar throughout v7; but either way, his miserable isolation blinded him to the developing crisis—either literally or willfully—and he roused himself just a little too late to prevent catastrophe. again.

(gestures vaguely at lost fable, at ozma trying so hard to have it both ways with salem, to be with the apostate and manipulate her into serving the gods so he wouldn’t have to choose, for years and years and years until his lies and passivity metastasized and they destroyed each other, gestures vaguely at the v5-6 promising not to lie in one breath and immediately lying again in the next, until his secrets got squeezed out of him by the avatar of knowledge who palpably holds him in disdain and his house of cards imploded in his face; also gestures vaguely at ozma the heroic knight errant who faced down an army alone to save one person, and how thousands of years have whittled him down to a morally bankrupt shell of what he was and how that slow putrefaction of his character has been driven every step of the way by refusal to act in some form or another. waves hands it’s about the paralysis of being caught between his conscience and his god-given task)

anyway

i think a normal amt about the blinding of rapunzel’s prince and the exile in the desert and the restoration of his sight when she finds him there

ANYWAY, with the way things are resolved re: ozpin’s return in v8 and the fall of atlas having set the stage, narratively, for a massive paradigm shift in the immediate future and the kids who didn’t fall being in vacuo now—kingdom of destruction, presumable home of the maiden whose fairytale theme is “dont view the world at a distance, take an active part in it,” and the place where eighty years ago ozma won a war with a magical sword nuke and sculpted the world into what it is now, stagnant rotting husk of his ideals that it is—on top of the structural change in salem’s role in v7-8… i just. i just,,

hhhhhh

[robininthelabyrinth]

The Quiet Room

- Chapter 6 - ao3 - (previous tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5)

The Lan sect’s rules said Learning comes first, and that was because learning was the root of all things.

Humans were changeable and ever-changing, molded by their heritage and their environment; it was through careful education that they learned to comprehend goodness – it was only through constant learning that they could keep themselves walking on the path of righteousness.

Learning from books, learning from others, learning from one’s own mistakes; it didn’t matter.

What was important was that you couldn’t stop learning.

You had to keep moving forward.

Lan Wangji had for some time entertained the thought that his life had stopped when Wei Wuxian’s had. It had felt as though it had: it felt as if his heart had been irrevocably shattered, like a priceless vase that had once contained all his tender feelings – all those feelings that, lacking their container, would now slip through his fingers forever, leaving him as empty as a soulless puppet. He’d thought he was doomed never to love again, never to learn again, all his mind consumed with nothing by memories.

He’d been wrong, of course.

Even with Wei Wuxian gone, he was still learning.

There were his recent meditations on the subject of silence and noise, for one.

There were his wards, for another.

Lan Sizhui was a polite and thoughtful child, inquisitive but a little shy and hesitant, a little fearful to assert himself – a little too quiet, in a way that Lan Wangji was starting to be able to recognize as being not good, a silence and reticence born of concern and anxiety rather than genuine introversion. Luckily, there was also Lan Jingyi, who was and had always been the liveliest and most spirited of children, and yet he, too, was just a little bit too loud in a way that reflected his own method of displaying anxiety, another startling realization that was brand new.

Lan Wangji had always associated quiet with reserve and self-control, noise with carelessness and recklessness, but being in the controlled chaos of Qinghe and really sincerely listening to it, accepting it, came with its own set of revelations. He found that there were people who were naturally loud and those that made themselves be loud, just as there were those who were quiet and those who were forced into quietude. Lan Jingyi worried just as much as the next person, but he displaced those feelings through distraction rather than through the force of his willpower, taking on the role of clown or hero as suited each moment, unafraid to cast himself in the role of aggressor if it would allow Lan Sizhui the chance to play the mediator. The subconscious division of roles allowed Lan Sizhui to feel useful and in control, reducing his anxiety, while Lan Jingyi got to feel taken care of, which reduced his own – it was good, in a way, but after some consideration Lan Wangji carefully took them both in hand and told them that they would need to be more thoughtful about it.

Lan Sizhui could not, should not, always have to be the peacemaker, always yielding and kind and gentle and quiet: he deserved to be loud, too. He deserved to be assertive, to be heard, to feel entitled to take up space regardless of his utility to those around him. He should never feel like he had to pay in service for the right to exist.

And by the same token, Lan Jingyi shouldn’t feel burdened to always have to be the one to take the first step, always acting as the driving force, the loud and opinionated one. He should have the opportunity, and the obligation, to think through what he was doing or saying, to be thoughtful and careful, to sometimes yield if he wished; he should be granted space of his own to make sure that his actions were what he wished them to be rather than some impulse.

Lan Wangji only wished he’d had the wisdom to tell Wei Wuxian the same thing while he’d been alive.

He’d been so short-sighted when he was younger, at first unable to recognize how he felt about the man and then unable to figure out how to speak with him – he’d been unable to break his own habitual silence, and equally unable to see the depths concealed in Wei Wuxian’s brash arrogance, especially towards the end. Like Lan Jingyi, Wei Wuxian’s reckless courage was genuine, especially in the happy days of their youth; like Lan Jingyi, when things got bad, Wei Wuxian had taken refuge in more of the same, building himself walls made of noise that were designed to keep everyone out.

Wei Wuxian might have been noisy and loud, right to the very end, but in his own way he’d been just as alone as Lan Wangji in his excess of quiet.  

The next generation, Lan Wangji thought fiercely, would do better.

He felt comforted by that thought.

The children were chewing over Lan Wangji’s words as they walked along the outmost ramparts of the Unclean Realm, already inured to the glittering barrier that hung in their sky, full of arrays and inscriptions – they were accompanying Lan Wangji on his daily walk.

The Nie sect’s doctors had a very different regimen for curing illnesses than the Lan sect’s, he’d found. Thirty-three strikes of the discipline whip: in both places he’d gotten stitched back up, but while the Lan sect doctors had allowed him to retreat into seclusion, prescribing medicine and rest and self-reflection, the Nie sect doctors insisted on coupling medicine and meditation with exercise. Intermittent and gradual exercise, meant to increase flexibility and reduce muscle atrophy – it wasn’t really that different from what Lan Wangji had been left to do on his own back at home, but he found that it was easier to struggle against his stubborn body when he had company to encourage him to take that extra step beyond his limits, their voices pushing him when his own willpower was insufficient. Even the silent presence of the two children, walking beside him, helped him find the reason to keep going.

Truly, there was much to consider on the subject of quiet and noise, of loud and soft, of loneliness and isolation and how no amount of either introversion nor extroversion could alone save you from them.

Lan Wangji was still thinking it over when he heard a new noise.

It was also an old noise, painfully familiar from all those days of war – before he even consciously identified what the sound was, his back had straightened, his legs sinking into a prepared pose, his mind already summoning his spiritual energy to the forefront in case he needed to defend himself.

Cultivators, flying on swords at speed.

Lan Wangji looked up and saw them: men and women both, a small group – a forward scouting troop, small enough to be subtle and sneak ahead to see what was happening but large enough to ensure someone would be able to return to the main force and warn them if they did find something.

They were dressed in the colors of Yunmeng Jiang, and it was Jiang Cheng leading them.

Lan Wangji’s back stiffened.

He had not seen Jiang Cheng since the massacre at the Nightless City, although he’d heard the stories of how he had turned against his own shixiong and led the greatest of the forces that besieged the Burial Mounds. He’d decided then that he’d never wanted to see Jiang Cheng ever again – he hadn’t been able to comprehend how Jiang Cheng could do a thing like that to Wei Wuxian, who he’d loved.

He still didn’t understand, but he thought, perhaps, that he ought to be a little less hasty in judging others by his own standards.

He’d done enough of that.

“Hanguang-jun!” Jiang Cheng called, seeing him, and pulled ahead of all the other Jiang sect cultivators, leaving them hanging back warily. Lan Wangji turned to face him, conscious of the two young children still clinging to his hands and now half-hiding behind his robes – conscious, too, of the shimmering but translucent barrier that divided them from Jiang Cheng, the barrier that had been raised to protect the Unclean Realm from Lan Wangji’s own brother and all the mistakes he had made, well-meaning as they were. “Hanguang-jun, good, you can tell me, what is the meaning of…”

Jiang Cheng trailed off, his eyes suddenly wide and almost bulging from the force of how hard he was staring at Lan Wangji.

“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Wangji said politely in greeting – or, well, politely enough.

“Lan Wangji,” Jiang Cheng said in return, his voice sounding strangled. “What…happened?”

Far too much to explain, so Lan Wangji didn’t, just waited for Jiang Cheng to continue with a more specific question.

“I mean, uh. The beacon went off,” Jiang Cheng said. He was still gawking, looking as though he were about to fall off his sword any second. “The – you know the one, the one that shows when a sect’s barrier defenses have been activated. I thought...”

He’d assumed there was an invasion, Lan Wangji realized, and had rushed over at once to try to help forestall it. It was a reasonable assumption, and a noble response: having once lost everything without being able to rely on the help of others, Jiang Cheng now sought to be the help that he had not had.

It was the sort of thing a righteous person would do, and in line with what Lan Wangji thought he’d known of Jiang Cheng’s character.

And yet…Jiang Cheng had still turned his back on Wei Wuxian.

Time and time again, he’d turned away fro him.

“I came to find out what happened, why they put up the shield,” Jiang Cheng continued. “I brought people with me to help, though I left them back a ways so it wouldn’t be an insult. And now I’m here and – and you’re here – and you’re…just…it’s…Lan Wangji, what happened to your forehead ribbon?”

Lan Wangji arched his eyebrows. “Is that your primary concern?”

Jiang Cheng waved his hands around, almost flailing, and Lan Wangji couldn’t quite help but feel a sudden stab of amusement – and then of sorrow, because the flailing was almost painfully familiar. He had seen Wei Wuxian do much the same when he encountered something unexpected, whether some threat or some new maneuver by the Wen sect or, in one notable instance, the unanticipated appearance of a fish in a place where one would not normally expect fish to be.

“I have taken a leave of absence from the Lan sect,” Lan Wangji finally explained, deciding to be magnanimous and take pity on his former comrade in arms. “The Nie sect has permitted me to remain with them while I determine my next course of action. As for the shield, there is no imminent invasion. The situation is – complicated.”

Jiang Cheng huffed. “You don’t say!”

Still, the explanation seemed to help steady him, somewhat, and Lan Wangji observed that Jiang Cheng did not look his best: tired, with circles under his eyes and an unhealthy skin tone. Too much work, too little rest, and probably nightmares…because of what had happened to Wei Wuxian, perhaps? But if so, why had he done it in the first place?

“I cannot let you in,” Lan Wangji added, even though technically he had one of the only remaining guest tokens that still functioned. Jiang Cheng nodded, seemingly having expected that. “I can escort you to the sect leader’s quarters to have your request for admission approved.”

That the person approving the request would probably be Nie Huaisang, Lan Wangji did not say – not so much out of caution, which would probably be justified, but rather out of a completely inexplicable urge to see Jiang Cheng start flailing once again upon finding out.

Was this how Wei Wuxian felt all the time?

Interesting.

He began to walk again, the children at his sides slowly coming out, and Jiang Cheng did him the courtesy of not mentioning how slow and stiff he was, although Lan Wangji thought he remembered enough of Jiang Cheng’s mannerisms to interpret the twisted grimace on his face as he glanced over time and time again as a look of concern.

After a little while in which Lan Wangji walked and Jiang Cheng floated alongside him on his sword, the Jiang sect cultivators lagging behind by a respectable distance, the children getting over their fear to start looking around again, Jiang Cheng finally cleared his throat.

“There’s a medicinal blend of herbs that can counteract the anti-clotting effects of the discipline whip,” he said. Lan Wangji glanced at him: Jiang Cheng was staring forward, not looking at him at all any more. “It makes it heal faster. I can pass the prescription along to the Nie sect’s pharmacists, if you like.”

Jiang Cheng had also been struck by the discipline whip, Lan Wangji suddenly remembered. It had been a matter of deep embarrassment for him during the war, making him reluctant to remove clothing even when they were rancid with blood and poisonous fumes.

“Thank you,” he said, and for some reason the children took that as their cue that Jiang Cheng was actually all right and burst out in a flood of questions.

Lan Jingyi wanted to know how Jiang Cheng’s clothing had gotten to be such a vivid shade of purple, while Lan Sizhui was more curious about his sword and how shiny it was – the concerns of children, unburdened by the memories or concerns of adults. Their questions made Jiang Cheng smile, and Lan Wangji thought briefly of the orphaned Jin Ling, who had been temporarily given to Jiang Cheng’s custody to pick up some of the traditions of his maternal sect. A fancy way of saying that the Jin sect wanted him out of the way for a few years until he was worth teaching their own ways to, but Lan Wangji suspected Jiang Cheng would have taken any excuse at all to remain close to his kin.

“What, now children aren’t too noisy for you?” Jiang Cheng asked Lan Wangji, and for the first time it occurred to Lan Wangji that the tossed out words, broken off and abrupt, might be meant as a friendly tease.

“I am reevaluating my relationship with silence,” he said, and Jiang Cheng smirked, amused.

“I bet you are,” he said. “Nie Huaisang alone would drive a man to distraction…”

Lan Jingyi laughed and clapped and that, and, inspired, Lan Sizhui followed suit.

And then, suddenly, Jiang Cheng frowned.

“A-Yuan,” he said, and Lan Wangji was suddenly cold from head to toe, the chattering of the children suddenly too loud in his ears: he had forgotten that Jiang Cheng had also visited the Burial Mounds. “That’s – that’s A-Yuan, isn’t it?”

“Jiang Wanyin…” Lan Wangji started, his voice sticking in his throat, then trailed off. He did not know what he could say that would work to convince Jiang Cheng that he was wrong when he was right, but neither could he admit to the truth. Even if Nie Mingjue had been kind enough to allow Lan Wangji to come to the Nie sect to stay, and to bring the two children with him, that had been under the premise that they were Lan sect children. If he ever found out that Lan Sizhui had been born surnamed Wen…

Nie Mingjue would not hurt a child, he was too righteous for that. But he might not be inclined to let that child grow up in his sect, either.

Jiang Cheng’s face was twisted in a strange sort of way, as if he couldn’t decide to be angry or relieved. “I thought he’d died,” he murmured, more to himself. “I thought…what is that?”

Lan Wangji was momentarily confused by the question, focused as he was by the terrifying implications of Jiang Cheng’s discovery, but then he saw that Jiang Cheng’s gaze went further into the distance.

He turned to look, then felt twist of unpleasantness deep in his belly: there was his brother in the sky, flying to the main gate on Shuoyue, and beside him was Jin Guangyao.

Why did you have to bring him? Lan Wangji thought, unhappy, but he already knew the answer to that. His brother trusted Jin Guangyao. Why wouldn’t he bring him?

If only he would trust the rest of them as much as he trusted that liar.

“We can discuss Lan Sizhui later,” Lan Wangji said, careful to emphasize both the surname and the courtesy name he’d given him – painfully obvious now that he thought about it, though at the time it had seemed only appropriate, the only name he could bestow that fit – and quickened his steps. “Now that my brother has arrived, things will become difficult.”

He wondered, a little bitterly, if his brother had even noticed that he was gone, or if he had been so thoroughly forgotten in his enforced ‘seclusion’ that it hadn’t even been thought of as a possibility.

“Lan Wangji!”

Lan Wangji came to a stop at Jiang Cheng’s shout. Suddenly full of anger, he turned his head back – surely Jiang Cheng didn’t hate Wei Wuxian so much that he wouldn’t let the matter of a small child go, even in the midst of a crisis?

Jiang Cheng was pointing into the distance. Strangely enough, it was not in the direction of the main gate, where Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao were even now landing, but somewhere even further beyond.

“Do you see it?” Jiang Cheng demanded, and his eyes were suddenly wild, his breathing disordered; he seemed far more disturbed than he had when he’d recognized A-Yuan. “Lan Wangji, tell me that you see it!”

Utterly lost, Lan Wangji focused his gaze on the far horizon. It was the same scenery as he’d seen there the past few days, the interspersed richness of the low valleys that quickly arced up into the mountains that surrounded the Unclean Realm. There was nothing there that was unusual…

Lan Wangji spotted a very faint glimmer.

Sun, he thought, the reflection of sun – sun off steel.

All of a sudden, he wasn’t on the ramparts of the Unclean Realm but standing beside Jiang Cheng on a rough-hewn fortress barely worthy of the name, watching the horizon grimly as the damned Wen scout’s flare did its work and the amassed forces of Wen Chao’s troops began to move inexorably in their direction. They would come, he had known, and they would kill them all if they could; it would take everything they had to stop them, and to survive long enough just to retreat once again.

For some of them to survive.

“Invasion,” he heard someone say, their voice hoarse, and only a moment later realized it was himself who had spoken. “Invasion…it’s an army!”

“It’s the Jin sect,” Jiang Cheng said, staring blankly as if he couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him. For once, Lan Wangji understood him completely; he was similarly shocked. “They’re wearing gold, you can see it from here…the Jin sect has sent their armies here? How could they even think to dare? Chifeng-zun will annihilate them!”

Lan Wangji’s throat worked, and for a moment he felt drowned in the quiet once more, his voice not wanting to cooperate with him, his entire being willing or even wanting to return to the solace of seclusion if it would only mean that he wouldn’t have to hear the horrible din of war once more. But he was not a coward, and would do what he must – even speak of things that felt impossible to be spoken.

“That complicated situation I mentioned,” he said, and Jiang Cheng turned to look at him. “My brother has either conspired with or was duped into assisting Lianfang-zun in an attempt on Chifeng-zun’s life through destabilizing his qi and inducing a qi deviation.”

Jiang Cheng’s jaw dropped. “They did what?!”

“Chifeng-zuns remains alive, but is confined to his bed,” Lan Wangji continued, ignoring the interjection. “Nie Huaisang was the one who ordered the shield raised, saying that there might be an attack – I thought he was overreacting, but apparently not.”

“If Jin Guangshan can take over the Unclean Realm while Nie Mingjue is incapacitated, he can say that the incapacitation is worse than it really is,” Jiang Cheng said, abruptly getting it. Lan Wangji had forgotten how much he enjoyed working alongside those from Yunmeng Jiang, Wei Wuxian most of all but also in his absence Jiang Cheng, who was smart and did not require too many words to understand. “Everyone knows Nie Huaisang’s a good-for-nothing – it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for the Jin sect to claim that they came here at the invitation of the Nie sect to ‘rescue’ them, and remained in order to manage the sect on their behalf. Better that than have Chifeng-zun recover and come after you in vengeance!”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“But surely they didn’t think they’d be able to get away with it? Even if they could manage it for a while, as soon as the confusion cleared up, all the other sects would throw a fit…”

“Jin Ling,” Lan Wangji said, and Jiang Cheng blanched, seeming to realize the problem at once. His beloved nephew legally belonged to the Jin sect; if he dared to protest their actions, wouldn’t they be sure to take him away? As for the Lan sect, Lan Xichen would have been implicated through his actions – they could hold his participation over his head, forcing him to pick between supporting them and losing face for the whole sect, which would in turn weaken it. And that was assuming that Jin Guangyao didn’t somehow manage to talk Lan Xichen into thinking it was all for the best regardless…

There were only four Great Sects left, now. If the Lan and Jiang did nothing, who would be left to stand up for the Nie?

“I have to get inside. Nie Huaisang will need my support,” Lan Wangji said, but instead looked down at the children beside him.

“Go,” Lan Sizhui said, releasing his hand and stepping back away from him. “I’ll take Jingyi and hide in the room we’re staying in. You won’t need to worry about us – go, do what you need to!”

Jiang Cheng flinched as if he’d been struck.

Lan Wangji glanced at him. “The Jin sect army,” he said. “However unlikely, there’s still a chance that we are misinterpreting their motives.”

“I’ll go find out what I can,” Jiang Cheng agreed at once. “How many there are, what can be done…I’ll find out and report back.”

Lan Wangji tossed him the guest token he’d been given. “Be cautious,” he said. He still hadn’t forgiven Jiang Cheng for what he’d done in the Burial Mounds, but he was willing to wait until a better time to talk it over with him – now was not the time to try to gain understanding.

Jiang Cheng nodded and left at once, and Lan Wangji saw the children off, then hurried to do the same.

By the time he made it to the main hall, his brother and Jin Guangyao were already there, and Nie Huaisang was confronting them with nothing more than a fan gripped in white-knuckled hands and a glare.

“– dare you talk as if he’s gone mad, as if he can’t be trusted?” Nie Huaisang was shouting. “You should know how seriously we take such words here!”

“It is because of that that we are worried,” Lan Xichen said, and now it was Lan Wangji’s turn to flinch. His brother’s voice sounded just the way it always did, comforting in its familiarity: he sounded calm and patient, thoughtful and wise, sure of himself. He sounded as if he knew better than anyone else what was right and what was wrong. “Huaisang, you don’t know how much your brother has been worried about suffering the way your father did. He knows that qi deviations can be subtle as well as harsh – he understands that his reason might be the first to go –”

“And so you took it upon yourself to decide that for him?” Nie Huaisang sneered. “You keep saying that he understands, that he would understand, all that. But that’s a lie, isn’t it?”

“Huaisang, please,” Jin Guangyao said, his voice just as gentle as always. “You know we only want what’s best for your brother.”

“Do you?” Nie Huaisang said, but he was still looking at Lan Xichen. “You knew he hated the quiet room, er-ge. You knew that he’d never wanted anything to do with it – it’s not like that was anything new! That was something he’d said repeatedly, year after year, month after month, for his entire life. You knew how he felt about it, and you decided to ignore what he wanted in favor of what you wanted. How is that wanting what’s best for him?”

“I was only concerned for his health,” Lan Xichen said, sounding injured by the accusation. “I had nothing but good intentions…”

“Your intentions are immaterial compared to your actions,” Lan Wangji said, and they turned to look at him, both of them surprised – maybe they really hadn’t noticed he’d left the Cloud Recesses.

Well, he thought bitterly: they’d notice now.

He took a step into the room, then another.

“Your actions are this,” he said, ignoring the way his brother stared at his forehead, unadorned by the ribbon that had been there ever since he’d been a small child, receiving it for the first time from his uncle as a precious gift. “You did not trust or respect your elder brother’s word. You disregarded his decision, treating him like a child who can’t be trusted to make up his own mind – you put your own desires ahead of his, and in doing so, betrayed him. Did you really think he’d thank you for it?”

Did you think I’d thank you one day for authorizing our sect’s attack on the Burial Mounds without ever having to explain yourself? Even our uncle respected me enough to tell me at once what he had done and let me decide how I felt about it, accepting the consequences of his actions!

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen murmured. “You’re still healing, you shouldn’t be wandering around…where is your self-restraint?”

Where is your forehead ribbon, he meant, and Lan Wangji shook his head.

“Wangji, you don’t understand,” Jin Guangyao said, and Lan Wangji stiffened at the unasked-for intimacy of the address. “Whatever da-ge said to you, whatever he did, you cannot allow others to guide you by filling your heart with incomplete echoes of what you have lost. You will never forgive yourself.”

Lan Wangji was so furious that he could not speak. Was Jin Guangyao implying that Nie Mingjue had, what, seduced him? That Lan Wangji held his love for Wei Wuxian so cheap that he would have his head turned by the first person willing to make up to him in such a fashion?

“I should hope you know my da-ge better than that, er-ge,” Nie Huaisang said coldly, still speaking only to Lan Xichen. “Or is this something else where you will believe the words of that lying dog over everyone else and the evidence of your own reason to boot?”

“Huaisang, that is unwontedly cruel, and uncalled for,” Lan Xichen said, tearing his eyes away from Lan Wangji. “Whatever Wangji has decided, I do not blame Mingjue-xiong for it.”

Implying, Lan Wangji supposed, that it was Lan Wangji that was to blame for it.

“Put the blame where it belongs,” he said stiffly, staring at his brother as if looking at a stranger. “Was I to leave Chifeng-zun where I found him, half-dead and dying in our jingshi where you left him at Lianfang-zun’s incitement?”

“You think I don’t recognize that I’ve done wrong?” Lan Xichen demanded. “I will speak to Mingjue-xiong and apologize – I will explain my reasoning and let him decide how I can make it up to him. But please, there is no call for you to be cruel to A-Yao. Do not blame him for my mistakes.”

“What about for his lies?” Lan Wangji asked. He took a breath, sharp and unhappy, and suddenly it was desperately, urgently necessary to know the truth. “Brother, tell me you didn’t know. Tell me you weren’t in on it – that you didn’t try to kill Mingjue-xiong in order to cover up your affair.”

“What, kill, you think I would try to…Wangji! Affair?” Lan Xichen exclaimed, and he seemed genuinely shocked. “No, Wangji, you’ve misunderstood entirely! It’s not like that at all. Mingjue-xiong and A-Yao, they were once lovers –”

“No, we weren’t,” Nie Mingjue said.

They all turned at once. He was standing at the door, all but clinging to the doorframe to keep himself standing; he was swathed in bandages and still stuck with needles. None of them had heard him or seen him approach – he must have heard them shouting and dragged himself over.

He sounded tired. He sounded quiet.

He looked at Lan Xichen.

“I was never Meng Yao’s lover,” he said. “Not now, not before, not ever. And Xichen…you knew that, didn’t you?”

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 4 part 6

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7])

(I can't believe I squeezed six entries out of this dang episode!!!)

agatha sees billy waking up and takes her usual moment to wipe all genuine emotion from her face and put on her mask. it's getting increasingly clear that this wretch of a woman is always wearing a mask and playing the larger-than-life uncaring witch she wishes she could be

not that she cares about you or anything.

billy does that thing children do. he doesn't say thank you or ask why she's crying, he asks about himself, his current troubles and fears, looking for guidance. that's the wonderful thing about a parent, they give a child a safe environment to grow and make mistakes and explore. A parent is, or should be, selfless. That billy feels safe doing this with agatha tells you he instinctively trusts her much more than he realizes.

agatha never lies to billy

and the way she's always drawn to teaching and explaining and guiding despite herself. deep, deep down agatha is a nurturing person who only ever got to nurture for a short time

I just realize agatha cannot actually say the name billy, can she? because of the sigil. so this is her going, I know it's still you kiddo, behind all that. I see some people arguing that agatha might actually think he's Nicky at first and personally I don't believe that's the case, the dialogue is muddy only to mislead the viewers before the big Wiccan reveal.

Two reasons agatha knew this was billy all along: she's had three centuries to sit with nicky's loss now. nicky is gone for good, no matter all her tricks and her pleading and her endless pit of sorrow, that is the one irrevocable fact that she will never be able to change. that is the cornerstone, the whole core of who agatha is today. she has lost nicky, she has committed unspeakable horrors to cope with that loss. she is afraid to die because nicky is on the other side and she cannot face him.

The second reason is that agatha loves billy for being billy, not just as a nicky stand-in. she was uniquely equipped to understand and empathize with wanda, and that's even truer for billy because he's a little boy and agatha's whole heart is wired and predisposed to reach out to him. she saw the miracle that was his birth, she saw first hand what chaos magic can do. this is a child flung out in the world carrying an immense power and no instructions on how to use it. he's capable of terrible things that could easily turn him into a monster and a pariah, and agatha is, besides wanda, the only person in the world who truly understands what that means. do you remember what happened to agatha at around the age billy is now? everything in her is demanding to guide and help. selfishly, because all that power would be hers to control. selfishly because he reminds her of herself and she wants to undo what her mother did to her. and selfishly because helping billy would in a way redeem what she did to nicky.

and also, selflessly. because she wants to help him grow and be successful and be happy.

billy created the Road to find tommy, sure. but what he's been doing on the Road is finding community. or rather, getting close to witchfolk to find out who he is in relationship to them, exploring the identity he was born with that he cannot express with his adoptive parents. he started with a lot of silly ideas on what witches should and shouldn't be and created trials that are, let's face it, rather stereotyped and demeaning. next trial is agatha and he is puzzling her out now, willing her to become the ideal witch and mentor he's looking for. he's doing it with the grace of an elephant in a china store, but that's just what being a kid is.

aaand the wall is all the way up and she runs away. but we made some progress there, didn't we?

oh to be a vampire and getting to bite patti lupone's neck

rio looks so engrossed and fascinated listening to lilia! rio just loves people, you know? she loves life in all its multifaceted forms, and that's not at odds with her job description at all. she is The Green Witch, she has embraced nature, which is to say life, so completely that all of it is important and precious to her. my headcanon is that as the original green witch she started ferrying souls because she deeply understood and accepted death as natural and organic and sought to help it along. it's funny, lilia is terrified of her but if asked, rio would have such a long list of things that make lilia special.

and that such a being would fell in love with agatha of all people?? god that is amazing. that is how you write a beautifully doomed epic love story. billions and billions of humans throughout history, and agatha is who caught her eye. and not because agatha is a serial killer mind you, that's just foreplay. it's because she is the most intense, the most interesting human Death ever came across. while others saw a damaged girl, rio saw poetry in her extraordinary complexity

and then, through agatha and nicky, rio experienced grief from a new point of view. Death, no longer impartial.

a wiser future Lilia pays another brief visit

and she's gone. her puzzled little face!

from being awkward and fearing her oddities to laughing with her about it. another step toward a deeper understanding, and acceptance, and love.

look at agatha's body language when she approaches. uncertain, arms crossed. these people have seen her without her mask now, openly weeping about billy

and then she puts her hands in her pockets and postures, ready to underplay things. pppft, crying? moi? you guys must have dreamed it.

alice with her big compassionate heart will never be able to think of agatha as cruel and distant again

agatha picks up rio's flower

rio looks at her

pretends she wasn't looking when agatha looks back

you could cut the damn tension with a knife

jen trying to include agatha??? man they did really see her cying fr

look how interested lilia is! I wish shows could just be 15 hours of women hanging out and chatting, no plot, just vibes

agatha glances at rio as if saying, you know exactly which scar this is. and rio chuckles because she remembers the story. THE INTIMACY BETWEEN THESE TWO. I'm going feral again.

what is this, camaraderie? community? perhaps even, dare I say it, friendship???

agatha doesn't know what to do with herself!

behold the textbook definition of 'awkward turtle'

oh rio's DETERMINED

'no you don't' 'yes I do' STOP IT YOU STUPID GAYS

agatha all casual like honey I've seen every inch of that body

just... the way they fell into a rhythm. the doMESTICITY.

lol jen's and alice's gaydars pinging at the same time. like somETHING FRUITY IS AFOOT. AND WE WOULD KNOW.

and fuck fuck fuck fuck I cannot believe I've run out of space again and I need to do a part 7

LOOK WHAT THESE LESBIANS ARE DOING TO ME (it'll be up in like an hour guys don't worry)

go to episode 4 part 7

[eureka-its-zico]

Irrevocably Yours

Request: hey! can i request a scenario of jungkook being a rich kid who has ome of his legs is leg failure , basically can't walk without a cane , And he falls in love with a normal girl , and they end up running away , happy ending plz , also if u can , LIT IT Up with smut ' thank u ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

A/N: So. This request was sent to me a long ass time ago. I mean a LONG time ago, and I spent so much time working on it...it became too long. So I broke it up in half. Just to see if anyone actually becomes interested in how this ends. Just to see if anyone still reads anything I write. So if you end up enjoying this, please let me know and I’ll post the last of this. I have so many things buried inside my google docs that need to be set free from hibernation. 

Also, I’m sorry if this isn’t any good. I’ve rewritten this a thousand times trying to fix it, and I’ve done all I can for now. I hope someone out there enjoyed this craziness. And to the original person who asked for this, if you ever see this, I’m sorry it took so long. P.s. I also took creative liberties and changed it up a little. Much love, Jenn

Jungkook x Reader

Word count: 13,756 (yeah I know, it was longer before I halved it. Sorry!)

Genre: fluffy/Smutty(later)/First Love drama sorts mess

A part of you would always remember the first day you’d met Jeon Jungkook. His presence standing in the doorway to the classroom held every single one of your classmate's attention along with yours. Jungkook silently demanded to be noticed, even though in a way he wanted no one to notice him at all. The classroom felt louder than usual, or maybe that was just how you recalled it. Maybe it's what caused the ringing in your ears when the room was swallowed up in silence. The sound of his cane hitting the stained linoleum; ticking like a time bomb with every step. 

At first you couldn't see why he necessarily needed it. Jungkook was a master of hiding things. Even pain. It wasn’t until he’d reached the teachers desk, his hip moving to rest against it to ease the extra strain off his good leg, that the stories of his accident became true.  Not one of you were willing to look too long at the challenge in his face. Defiance turning his soft features bitter as he glanced out across the room. Jungkook wanted to appear strong; to dare anyone to mutter even a word that he wasn’t. That he wasn’t the same person he was before the accident. 

He must have been able to fool your home room teacher into forgetting. His eagerness to introduce Jungkook only caused him to accidentally come too close to his legs in passing. The teachers’ waist moved and harmlessly bump against Jungkook’s bad leg. A small movement that was enough to change Jungkook’s entire demeanor for just a second. 

The whole room collectively took a breath; waiting for him to scream out in pain. To turn savage and yell or curse at the stupidity of the teacher. Jungkook did none of it. He continued to look out into the room with his chin held high. 

You could see, however, through the crinkle by his eyes and how heavily he now leaned on his cane that it’s caused him a great deal of pain. A brief moment in showing what he tried to hide and if you weren’t staring so hard at him, you were sure you would’ve missed it.

An infamous legend among other schools as his face showed up on Sports articles that featured proud features of parents beaming excitedly at cameras. Taekwondo and track metal’s around his neck by the dozens. Grades to match the intensity of his athletic drive with a rumor that if he tried something for the first time, Jungkook would still be phenomenal at whatever it was. 

Even without ever actually meeting him - everyone in that classroom knew who he was. Jeon Jungkook was a hard man not to hear about. 

In the beginning of the year there’d been a different headline for him, however. He’d been the passenger in a friend's car that was struck by a drunk driver. The ferocity of the impact leaving the car looking like a bow. Jungkook lost a friend that night, and part of the mobility in his left leg. The driver himself died instantly and you weren't sure if that was justice enough for the two boys who’d lost so much in a matter of three seconds. 

And with so much, yet so little known about him you found yourself unable to join the others in measuring up the boy in front of you. 

Jungkook was taller than you thought he would be, or maybe you’d silently been hoping the universe wouldn’t be so cruel to give someone talent and every single attractive feature known to man. He’d been played up like he was a god among the rest of you feeble mortals. You figure’d girls were overacting, I mean it happens. Imagining after listening to all their swooning, you’d somehow shockingly find out he was nothing more than your average - ordinary - boy. 

Jungkook was anything but ordinary. 

His lean frame still retained years of training that wasn't so easily hidden, even under the layers of the school uniform. You could see the care he still placed on his outward appearance. The rising star who was still handsome, even underneath all his brooding. His school uniform strained against tight muscles in his arms and, worse, was his legs. Your cheeks heating into an embarrassed blush as his eyes landed on what seemed like your desk. It was silly to think he’d caught you gawking. Everyone was gawking at him, but even a millisecond of his gaze made your cheeks light up with embarrassment at the idea of being caught. 

There was gossip of him not wanting to go back to his old school; his old life. You didn't really blame him. Why be stuck in a place where there were millions of memories of a time you had with a close friend? Of having the ability to walk down the halls without everyone looking at you like you were damaged goods. 

“Everyone pay attention!” Mr. Choi shouted. 

It all seemed unnecessary. Your attention was already on him whether he wanted it or not. 

“I’d like to welcome our transfer student, Jeon Jungkook. I expect you all to be on your best behavior.”

“I don't need you to defend me,” he snapped. 

He started moving his way down the aisle towards the only empty seat in the room: the one next to you. 

You quickly turned away from him and started cleaning up your space. Jungkook got to the desk faster than you thought and dropped his backpack down on top of the desk. His long body slumped down into the seat, placing his cane next to the window seal. 

“We’re going to continue with our previous lecture from yesterday. You can share with Y/N until you get your own books.”

You flipped to chapter eighteen with your many notes scattered inside. Your eyes giving him a sidelong glance before sliding the book neatly between the desks. Jungkook didn't bother to look at the pages: his gaze was locked elsewhere. Somewhere outside the window with the freedom far beyond the gates of the school. 

The enter class you’d spun a hundred different sentences in your mind. Each one playing out in your head as pure idiotic or unnecessary. You just couldn’t shake the feeling that it felt wrong letting him sit there like no one cares. To be a part of the prying gazes of the class; to know his name and him not knowing yours in return. You weren't sure why you gave a shit so much, anyways, but you did. 

At the sound of the bell he was the first one to hop back onto his feet. His hand instinctively taking hold of the cane to keep him propped up as he moved to situate his backpack over his shoulders. You’d followed close behind him and gathered up your things. 

You didn't see him again until fifth period. His brooding presence in the back of the class hung like a dark cloud you couldn't shake. You knew you weren't necessarily the most cheerful person in the room, but even Jungkook’s sour puss attitude was making you want to throw glitter at him. 

He didn't acknowledge you when you came to your usual seat at the window, and it didn't bother you. No one usually acknowledged you anyways. What did bother you was that he was sitting in your window seat. Statistics was by far your least favorite subject this year, and the one thing that kept you sane was that window seat.

“That's my spot.”

Your voice didn't hold any hint of malice. It was just definitive: you wanted your seat. Jungkook didn't look at you straight away. His eyes still daydreaming through the window and the world beyond. When he did finally look at you, you were sure the annoyance in his face was meant to send you packing. Too bad for him you’d seen worse. 

“Is that look supposed to scare me? It doesn't change the fact you're in my spot.”

“I don't see your name on it.”

Your laughter turned to a scoff; cut short by your disbelief. 

“What are we in middle school? If you want to get technical, it was assigned by the teacher aka my name is theoretically on that seat. So -” 

You acted like he was a pet you could shoo off your bed. The hand motion earning you his brow to raise in return. 

“You’d really make a cripple get up?”

“Is that what we’re calling you? A cripple? Because it looks to me like you’re still capable of doing things, oh say, a paraplegic can't.”

The anger rolled through him suddenly like storm clouds. All the possibilities of playful mischief disappeared as he regarded you with so much hate, it was as if he’d struck you. 

“Oh, really? I didn't realize that they were giving away M.D titles in high schools now.”

Your mouth opened to - to what? Apologize? The sensitive part of you told you that you should. His accident hadn't been a full year yet, and here you were badgering him. Yet, you knew if you continuously babied him like everyone else it was only going to do more harm than good. Your next choice of words were cut short when your teacher walked in and asked why you were still standing. 

“He’s in my spot.”

God, now who sounded like they were in middle school? Your teacher seemed to draw a blank. His gaze moving from you to Jungkook then back to you. 

“Just sit down, Y/N.”

You did so with a huff. Your arms pulling your backpack you’d sat down on the desk closer to you like a pillow. Just so you could rest your chin on top of it and tried to ignore the smirk that was now on Jungkook’s face. 

After you’d gone to your next class you couldn't stop thinking about your exchange. It  turned your mood sour the rest of the day, and you couldn't understand why. A part of you wondering if it was because of your choice of words or the defeat that shown all too bright in his doe eyes. 

The end of the day couldn't have come fast enough. You just wanted to get home and out of your uniform and maybe get a chance to go take some photos before your parents got home. You were too preoccupied with thoughts of where you wanted to go, and what coffee shop you wanted to stop at, when you collided into the back of someone else. A loud curse followed suit of the sound of a cane dropping on pavement making your eyes shut tight and your throat constrict around a groan. 

“Jesus, can't you watch where you’re goi- oh, it's you. Enjoy attacking cripples, do we?”

You opened your eyes to see a less than amused smile on his face. He acted more like a judge at your hearing and whatever sentencing he was giving out, it wasn’t in your favor. 

“I’m sorry I wasn't paying attention.”

You moved to pick up his cane for him when his hand angrily swatted yours away making you jump back a step. 

“I don't need your charity. I can do it myself!”

“No one said you couldn’t! I was only trying to be nice.”

“Yeah, well, go and be nice somewhere else.”

He situated his weight on his good leg and bent at the knee low enough for his hand to reach out and grab his second form of support. The movement so graceful that it left you stunned, but not as much as his words did. 

“You know, just because something bad happened to you, it doesn't give you the right to be an asshole. You aren't the only person to lose someone or something important. Get over yourself.”

With your hands latched underneath the straps of your backpack you stomped around him. Not caring that you left him standing stone still. His mouth slightly agape as he watched you take your exit. 

During your walk home, somehow, Jungkook plagued your thoughts. Your mind unable to comprehend why you were still thinking about him. It was the first time you’d met, and yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. If you were being honest with yourself you knew from replaying the last thing you said to him.The look on his face saying plainly that you were an asshole.

Everyone’s pain mattered. Grief and loss wasn’t measured by anyone else’s pain but the person who experienced it, and to diminish it in any way was unfair. Regret was building inside your chest and it was all you could do to keep your feet from sprinting back in his direction. 

When you got home you went directly to your room, throwing your bag on the bed, and sulked to your desk. You had more pressing matters to attend to than a boys’ possible hurt feelings. No matter how many times you tried, however, you weren’t able to write out theories on government history or explain anatomical questions.

The only thing your brain appeared to focus on was how to apologize. 

You thought about Jungkook while you showered and brushed your teeth. You thought of him when you laid in bed and struggled to find a way to sleep. Your mind playing out the million different possibilities of how your apology would be taken from him. You didn't necessarily understand what it felt like to have your dreams stolen from you. To be forced to cope with a new life you hadn’t asked for and the emptiness of losing someone you loved all in one go. 

If the tables were turned and it was you, wouldn’t you feel equally as bitter? 

The following morning in between toaster cooked waffles and fixing your uniform in the mirror, you’d resigned to apologizing to him. No matter how much thinking of it made your teeth grind and a growl rise in your chest at the thought. You imagined him sneering and replying with smart remarks and it caused your mind to waver, but you were better than the pettiness swelling in your chest. You were okay with knowing his prickled exterior came from something you couldn't ever understand. 

You made sure all the time you had while you walked to school was used up by mumbling the speech you’d made up the night before. At crosswalks practicing the best stance that didn't appear threatening, was friendly, but wouldn't be misconstrued as flirting. 

That was by far the last thing you wanted to happen in his eyes. Sure, Jungkook was undeniably attractive...as much as you would've loved to laugh sarcastically in his perfectly sculpted face that his obviously very masculine features did nothing to make you weak in the knees. That you hadn’t noticed when his elbows, still clad in his jacket, moved to rest on the desk it’d caused his biceps and shoulders to equally fight for whatever was left of the fabric. Or that small scar on his cheek caught your attention when he became annoyed; his tongue poking out at the side of his jaw. 

No, you hadn't been paying an embarrassing amount of attention to him at all (or at the ridiculous outline of his thigh muscles in his school uniform)  with every step he took. 

So, since you hadn't personally taken notice of any of physically appealing traits, why would you flirt? You were well aware of the vast difference of not only your social scale, but also of your class ranking, and looks overall. You were lightyears away from ever being able to consider being more than a female acquaintance he happened to get stuck next to at school. He wasn't the first boy who was out of your league, and Jungkook wouldn't be the last. Why it bothered you so much was a child's thought you refused to entertain. 

When you finally got to school you hurried up the steps and briskly made your way down the hall. Not stopping even after Jenny cursed after you for nudging her as you went by. As soon as you swung open the door for homeroom, your eyes landed on Jungkook’s position. His cane leaning against the desk, hands tucked inside the pockets of his uniform slacks as he leaned back against the chair. 

His gaze was focused somewhere outside the window, completely blank and motionless, and you wondered if he could've been having a thought at all. He was close to being marked as unreal in your book when he blinked and turned his gaze towards you.

You hadn't realized you’d been staring until that moment. Your gaze dropping to the worn linoleum as you briskly made your way down to your desk. A mumbled, “Good morning,” falling like a bad habit from your lips while you came around the side to slid into the desk chair. Nervous hands clutching tightly to your bag as you stared straight ahead, unwilling to glance in his direction. 

Somewhere between cursing your awkwardness and staring out the window like an escape hatch your teacher started the lecture. None of it to which you were paying attention too, which was probably why you heard him call your name. You jerked in your seat as he yelled it a second time. Your eyes no doubt wide from giggles that sounded around the room. 

“Y/N, since you're listening, you can go ahead and answer number forty-seven in the workbook.”

Panic sent your eyes wide as you stared back at his expectant face: waiting for you to fail. You hadn't even taken your book out since you’d sat down, finally moving to do so, when you felt a light tap against your bag. It was enough to jerk your gaze away from the teacher and down to a completed book of all the problems done by Jungkook. 

He cleared his throat and tucked his hands back inside the pockets of his trousers easily not understanding the severity of how his actions had left you wide-eyed in surprise. You were still taking too long, causing your teacher to prompt you with a grunt and Jungkook to casually reach out and tap the answer again. Your eyes trailing over the written answer before standing up and clearing your throat. The answer rolling off your tongue as easy as breathing; as if you didn't just steal it from a notebook. 

You made a silent prayer the teacher didn't notice the sweat threatening to break at your temple. The nervous ticking of your feet tilting from spot to spot. A rush of relief escaping your lips when his response to your answer was to continue class. 

You took your seat next to Jungkook; unable to acknowledge him just yet for saving you from whatever punishment your teacher would've no doubt thought of. The realization that Jungkook himself was the reason for your lack of concentration making your cheeks flush an embarrassing pink making your arms wrap protectively around your backpack. 

You’d never even brought out your textbook. Never dropped your bag from your desk and no doubt Mr. Choi knew you were given the answer. You buried your mouth against the coarse nylon in a weak attempt to stifle your embarrassment. 

“Thank you.”

Your eyes caught the soft tilt of his brow as it rose at the muffled words. You could make out his left shoulder leaning him down towards your huddled position, making your hands involuntarily tighten into your backpack. 

“What was that?”

The husky whisper of his words weren't anything you’d heard before, and they resonated up your spine to leave you staring starry-eyed.

“Th-thank you. For giving me the answer.”

He didn't respond. His gaze fixed solely on your face until you forcibly struggled to keep from fidgeting under its weight. After what felt like a small eternity, Jungkook nodded his head and faced forward. The sudden ghost of the death of your conversation causing you to blink at his profile. 

The rest of the class was spent with your focus lacking on taking notes. How could you focus with his presence commanding your attention? A small army of ants creeping along your nerves demanding to acknowledge him. It was so strong, when the bell rang you jumped up from your seat to try and escape into the freedom of the school’s hallway, only to end up with your knee connecting straight into the hardwood of the desk. Jungkook’s snort at your misfortune was enough to remind you how much of an arrogant pain in the ass he could be. 

“Wow - good job doofus.”

Your head snapped back in his direction; tongue rolling in your cheek as he hopped up from his seat. A hand snaking out to grab his bag and sling it over his shoulder as the other reached for his cane. You held your head high despite how awful your knee was stinging, and stood up adjusting your bag. 

“Seriously? That's all you've got? Doofus? Next time let’s try harder.”

Jungkook didn't seemed miffed by your retort, actually seeming more amused than anything, and for some reason it only bugged you more. Did you really want to get into another argument like you were in primary school with him? You discarded the thought as you tightened the strings on your backpack and decided to take the mature route and leave him behind. 

The hallways mass of bodies rushing to get to their next period giving you comfort; until you remembered you shared the same economics class. Today was also a field trip to a farm to learn the process of making soy products. It would take up the last few classes of the day. You’d been excited to spend the day out of class and enjoy the rustic scenery out of town. Your only hope was that he hadn't been able to get his parental slip signed; he’d just started the day before. How could he?

When the teacher walked in and asked Jungkook for his permission slip you wanted to howl. Why was the universe so cruel? But why did you care so much? 

It was a question you didn't bother to think about; you just grumbled the whole way to the bus. Your teacher standing at its entrance to put a check by your names every time one of your classmates passed him by like lined up cattle. You were the last checkmark: the last person to find an available seat. You rounded the final step and your stomach sank down into your shoes. The universe seeming to play a sick joke of musical chairs; your only options being Jungkook or Amber, the girl who actively struggled to make sure your life was a living hell. 

You’d rather be eaten by dogs than even attempt to sit with her. Jungkook it was, then.

Your hand clasped tighter around the strap of your bag as you moved it farther up your shoulder. A large sigh accommodating your steps as you side-stepped down the aisle ending with you in front of his seat. His cane taking up what was left of it. 

Jungkook didn't seem to register your presence or he just decided to pretend you weren't there. Either way you felt your annoyance grow as you cleared your throat to grab his attention. His chin barely leaving the perch of his fist as his head turned; gaze intimidating in a way that left your fingers pinching the fabric of yours clothes just to make sure they were still there and he hadn't stared straight through them. 

“Can I help you?”

“I need a seat.”

He looked back and no doubt noticed the open spot next to Amber. Jungkook’s giving the slightest nod as he retorted, “There’s one right back there.”

“Come on, Jungkook. What do you want?”

“You're bribing me now?” 

His smile was so bright, borderline adorable, and you hated how it threatened to make you retaliate with your own. 

“Stop being a brat and just tell me,” you snapped instead. 

Jungkook shot a quick glance back at Amber’s giggling figure. You were sure most people thought she sounded like wind chimes or something else cute and feminine, but to you it just sounded like a cat dying. When he looked back at you, Jungkook checked you out one last time. His eyes stopping at the lone earbud that sat against your chest. For a moment, you thought he was actually staring at your breasts making your cheeks burn and your gaze to look anywhere else but at his smug face. 

“Let me listen to your iPod there and back on this trip, and I'll let you sit with me.”

“What am I supposed to do?”  

Jungkook did a lavish hand sweep at the window. The motion reminding you of the showgirls on The Price is Right, making you believe maybe he’d somehow watched it, and one too many times. 

“You get to use your imagination while you look out the window.”

“No way. Joint custody.”

“Fine. Joint custody, but I get to pick the music the whole way. If you have shitty taste the deal's off.”

He stuck out his hand for you to shake and there was a moment, a minor second, that it felt like you were making a deal with the devil. However, the sound of Amber’s laughter practically had your hand bolting into Jungkook’s. You shook it harder than was necessary before dropping it and shooing him to move. 

Jungkook removed his bag and cane from the seat. Your legs giving out moments later so you could plop down in it, only to be greeted by his outstretched hand. The smile that spread across his lips shining brighter than the mischief in his eyes. 

“As per our agreement: the iPod.”

He wiggles his fingers and you wanted to smack him. Your own squeezing tighter against the metal until, reluctantly, you chose your fate by placing it into his hand. Jungkook didn’t seem to mind your current look of displeasure while you watched him begin to scroll through your assorted music collection. 

At least the seat was warm. 

The first few seconds were somehow more awkward than you thought possible. Eyes locked in a fifty-yard stare so intense a soldier would’ve been envious. The only movement you caught of him was from your peripherals. Jungkook’s thumbs picking up speed from the leisurely way he scanned through the artists you’d offered. And no you did not, whatsoever, happen to notice the way his bottom lip would dart inside his mouth just to be held gently between his teeth. All the while his eyes focused on the task in front of him.

Nope. You weren’t paying attention to him. Not even a little bit. So how he was able to make you jump twelve inches out of your skin, while you were most definitely not embarrassing yourself by gawking over a beautiful man, was beyond you.

“Ya!” Jungkook clicked his tongue in distaste. His hand wiggling the ipod in your direction, as if it had caused some great offense. “What is this?”

Your neck tiled as you regarded him like he’d grown two heads. You were also positive if your eyebrows knitted together any harder you’d end up with a unibrow. 

“Ugh, a mystical device that plays music.”

The look on Jungkook’s face faltered from frustration to annoyance. It was so sudden it ended up sending a bark of laughter in his direction. And just like that, the annoyed look was back again. 

“I mean, what the hell do you have on this thing. Who is The Dead Weather? City and Colour? Joji?”

“They are artists I enjoy.”

“They’re shit.”

You rushed to try and snatch it back from him. Jungkook’s reflexes proving to be faster than your growing urge to smack him.

“Excuse me, little miss,” he began. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He used his index finger to push gently against your forehead, but with the current level of irritation, he still proved faster than you. Your failed attempt to swat his hand away meeting only empty air. Earning you a smirk of smug satisfaction. 

“I’m trying to get my things back.”

“That wasn’t part of our agreement.”

You tried one last time to take him by surprise. Your right hand shot out too hard to grab at the object clasped in his large hands. The momentum carried you forward to land shoulder first against his chest. Leg nudging against his with enough force that it caused his cane to move an inch. It took everything you had to keep your head down to hide your flaming cheeks. 

“And now you’re assaulting me.”

If your eyes were capable of rolling back any father you might've seen brain cells.

“I was only trying to get my property back. Since the only thing that’s coming out of you is complaining.”

“I’m not complaining,” he snapped. “You’re acting like an Indian giver.”

“Is that all you know how to do: complain?” You continued, completely ignoring him. A slight smirk now etching your lips. Jungkook’s eyes flicking down to notice your amusement at his expense. “I believe they call it, ‘trying something new.’” 

His eyes narrowed on you and for a split second your pulse began to race. Sure, the agitation on his face at your teasing was obvious, but you could’ve sworn...maybe...just maybe he was smirking. Could you have possibly been able to make him smile? 

“I should make you go sit with Amber.”

The smugness in his voice and the cocky smile that joined it instantly made whatever fun you were having come to a complete halt. Jungkook was so pleased with himself he had the audacity to shimmy his shoulders like he’d already won. The rolls had reversed. It was your eyes turn to throw daggers in his direction. 

“Now who's the Indian giver.”

Even though he played up on what he felt like was a win, you could tell he was not as amused. His non-injured leg bounced to an incredible rhythm that he could only hear. Probably a furious count to a hundred to keep himself from saying anything else to continue your usual thrilling conversations. So when he handed over one earbud, and the iPod, but placed the other into his ear, it was fair to say it left you baffled. 

You were waiting so long for him to give an explanation, but all he did was continue to stare at you. It was starting to make your pulse race again. Why did he constantly have to feel so intense? Everything about him. Not even his current state made him seem any less notable. It just didn’t seem fair. 

It wasn’t until he cleared his throat did you realize you’d been staring. For god knows how damn long. 

“You gonna play something or not?” he asked. 

His hand motioned towards the music while his fingers adjusted the earbud he’d kept. 

“I’m so confused.”

“You look it,” he retorted, causing your earlier thoughts to remember, although handsome, he was an incredible pain in the ass. 

“Ten seconds ago you complained about my music. Now you want me to play it for you.”

Jungkook turned his gaze away, his body relaxing back against the hard foam of the seat. His eyes still cast outside the window as if he was trying to find some way to escape. 

“Either I can spend the next couple hours listening to you talk, or “try” out some new music. If I have a choice, I’ll pick the music please and thank you.”

Oh, how you wish you could’ve shoved him out that tiny window. But as much as you hated to admit it, Jungkook was right. Music was the only reasonable escape from possibly having either of you commit murder. 

It was your turn to try and get comfortable. This time your thumb scanning down the list of artists until your eyes caught sight of one he’d mentioned. Without giving him warning you pressed play. The haunting melody of Joji’s “Dancing in the Dark,” flooded the earbuds. His voice melancholic as he began to sing a sad tale of not wanting to be the hidden second option. 

The song choice was enough to finally get Jungkook to look back at you. Somehow already having enough with the song choice before it’d barely even reached the chorus. 

“Just listen.”

It was the only advice you could give him, and hopefully the reassurance you’d tried to ease into your tone was enough. Whether it was or not, by the time the chorus began he seemingly relaxed again into the seat. His arms moving to cross lazily against his chest. He seemed to actually be taking in the song while he watched out the window. The passing of the steel and concrete that was Seoul into the rural areas of green and forest. 

The music itself was calming. It was enough to let yourself fully relax back against it and close your eyes. With your eyes closed you could easily fade out the sounds of the sporadic conversations on the bus. Even though you only had one ear bud, all you needed was to concentrate on the music to drown out the world. 

It took a few seconds for you to be pulled into a Joji’s song about terrible longing and being left behind by a lover. I mean, you didn’t really know too much about the latter, but hey, a girl could daydream. His voice was seconds away from heading into the second verse of the chorus, when you heard the sound of the melody being lightly sung beside you. 

The voice was beautiful. The most startling part, not the fact of its softness, or the way it swelled in perfect harmony with the song, was that it came from Jungkook. Your eyes flung open with your head snapping to gaze at his serene expression. He continued to face the window, daylight playing along the profile of his face, and his gentle voice singing perfectly in tune. 

It wasn’t loud enough that anyone else could’ve heard it over the dozens of bursting conversations being spoken throughout the bus. That the only conclusion you could come up with to why he would be singing at all. He thought no one would be able to pay attention. You probably would’ve stayed gawking at him if his eyes fluttering open didn’t send you crashing back against the seat and clutching your eyes shut. You needed to pretend you hadn’t noticed. Or else he would stop. He would hide this part of himself that showed he was more than what he tried to portray. 

You didn’t have to open your eyes to know he was glancing in your direction. To see his eyes gaze over you with suspicion before settling back and listening to the next track. Khalid’s intro of “Talk,” beginning to play into your earbud. 

You spent the rest of the trip staying beside him, close as you could get without looking creepy, just to hear him gently sing. He breathed a gentle version of each one he knew, or came to like, and made it his own. Even being a few times were his nerves got the better of him. His voice rising ever slightly when he drew too deep into the song. He would quiet after each outburst, but to your pleasure Jungkook would start back up moments later. 

After all the bickering, you could definitely say the trade was worth it. You were so taken with listening to him that when the bus came to a stop, you didn’t realize it until your earbud was yanked from your ears. Your eyes heavy from sleep fluttered open and closed a few times before they focused on Jungkook’s face. 

“Ya, didn’t you hear them call us off the bus?”

Your response came in the form of slow blinks and a mouth half-hung open. You wished more for a nap than going out to explore a farm, but your limbs were screaming to be stretched. You went to answer him when, instead, Jungkook grabbed his bag, cane, and started to try and scoot over you.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Trying to get by! So excuse me!”

His backside rubbed against your arms and, to your horror, your chest. Without thinking, your hand lashed out to smack across his bottom causing both of you to go as still as the dead. Your heart was thundering as you looked at your hand like it’d just finished committing murder. Maybe it had. But the only person it’d murdered was you with your eyes roaming up to see a shocked Jungkook gawking down at you over his shoulder. 

“Did you really just smack my ass.”

“It was an accident!”

“An accident?” He questioned.

“Self-defense!”

Jungkook tried to hide the amusement your no doubt panicking was causing him. His mouth struggling to keep the frown that was tilting ever so slightly at the top of his lips. 

“If anything needed to be defended, it was my honor. Over here just smacking people’s ass’s without a warning.”

You knew by now your face looked like a fire hydrant. 

“Self-defense from you dragging your ass all over me! I’m not a seat, ya know.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

This time Jungkook didn’t try to hide his smile. To your surprise, it wasn’t a malicious one that showed he enjoyed your embarrassment. No. This one decorated his face in something softer that made your heart thunder to a different rhythm entirely. 

“Oh, look you guys. Shit Stain and The Cripple are flirting.”

Amber’s grating voice was one you’d grown painstakingly accustomed too. The sinister way she spoke impossibly loud just so everyone was forced to hear her. Whether they wanted to or not. You were used to her coldness and the constant way she harassed you. What you weren’t so used to, was having Jungkook as part of the punchline. 

Immediately, you felt his legs tense where they touched you. The muscles ramrod straight and flexing under the skin. The lighthearted tone you’d heard seconds before in your banter was now replaced with an aloofness that made you stiffen in your seat. Jungkook’s jaw held tight as he regarded Amber as if she were no more than a pest buzzing at his ear.

“Ya, fix your nose before you bother talking to me. I can see half the planet up there.”

Amber’s eyes flashed hellfire as she glowered over her shoulders to stop the giggling that ensued. When all grew quiet enough to where she felt like she would be heard, a harsh smile spread her lips. Her legs began to take a step to move away from the two peasants who’d held enough of her attention. 

“Whatever, Cripple. Try not to get your stick in any holes.”

She was passing the front of your shared seat when, suddenly, Amber’s legs gave way. A tumbling mess of shrieks, bleached hair, and her arms flapping rapidly a solid indication of her mysterious attempt at taking flight. The only thing that moved to catch her was her face. The minute the laughter began to bubble up inside you, you quickly placed a hand over your mouth. Least the she-devil hear it escape. 

You took a second to inspect what could’ve possibly taken down the ice queen. Even when she wore ridiculously high heels, Amber walked with a grace you knew you’d never pull off. Not without looking like a newborn giraffe, that is. Glancing down you noticed Jungkook’s cane strategically placed right where her foot would’ve landed. The culprit in making Amber a freshly minted carpet on the bus’s floor. Somewhere on the bus you knew she was up from her tumble and huffing a few choice words. You were sure she knew, just like you did, that Jungkook was the one who’d done it. You paid no attention to her tantrum and kept a transfixed gaze on him. 

He’d finished scooting the rest of the way to get to the middle of the bus and was situating his cane and shoulder bag. His hand suddenly reaching down into view and patiently waiting for you to take it. 

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s go.”

You knew you looked like a fool. Your eyes mirroring the thousands of silent questions that threatened to make you ill. A part of you hoping he understood your dumbfounded look simply begged him to find some way to answer you. You’d stared starry-eyed up at him for so long you half expected the patience of Jungkook’s open hand to fall flat. Instead, he continued to surprise you. His gaze gentle, and hand openly waiting for you to take it when you were ready. 

With eyes wide and mouth agape, your body rejected your stunned silence and placed a small hand in his. His own quickly enveloped yours perfectly and gave you the added support you needed to find stable footing beside him. Jungkook finally looked away from you to stare at the remaining goons. 

The moment you stood beside him you became painfully aware of the noticeable height difference. Your gaze moving up inch-by-inch until your eyes were locked onto his face. The stubbornness of a hard set jaw and eyes that dared anyone to speak enough to make your heartbeat pick up in your chest. When he appeared to be finished making sure his presence was known, Jungkook’s eyes turned back to you. A silent request of reassurance to know you were alright making you answer with a quick nod. 

Your cheeks blushed furiously as you struggled to look away from his gaze. No longer were you so worried about Amber; your mind trapped on a repeat of questions. Did Jungkook always smell like Calvin Klein cologne? Could it be considered weird how you felt undeniable comfort pressed up against him? Or really weird if in your head you suddenly imagined recreating this scene a million times later with you being braver beside him, instead of being the damsel in distress.

He didn’t seem at all perplexed with your case of sudden shyness. His strong legs pulling you both forward and past the horde of Amber and her lackeys without missing a step. His head held high while the other hand helped him keep his balance without using his cane. For the small world that was high school, Jungkook showed them he was still that once popular boy who was known for not taking shit from no one. A demi-god amongst mere mortals that were somehow honored by his presence. 

And here you were. So close to the orbit of his sun and walking away unscathed.

Your train of rushing thoughts kept you from paying attention. It was something you soon were going to regret when he led you off the steps of the bus and onto the dirt road. Jungkook’s exit was obviously graceful while yours in comparison was a train wreck. Instead of your feet stepping off the last step and landing like a normal person, you lost your footing. Your clumsy feet sending you struggling to find a balance with the earth before you crash landed on the floor. Luckily, Jungkook’s back was there to catch you. 

The momentum of your fall sent his feet skittering to correct you both before you fell into the dirt. A few choice cuss words leaving his lips and crimson flaring up on your cheeks to make the dance of falling even more entertaining. You could practically hear the cackling of the witches echoing out of the bus like a cave. 

Jungkook made quick work of righting you both; his good leg furiously hoping to support the weak one. His cane dug into the earth a good inch to add some more stabilization. You let go of his hand and moved away from his side where you’d previously been planted. You weren’t worthy of being there. This boy who saw your distress and helped you. Only for you to ruin it in the process. 

“Well that’s one way to ruin an exit,” he huffed. 

He glanced in your direction and you could’ve sworn he was smiling. Or was that a smirk? Whatever it was, it was quickly washed away as his eyes took you in. “You okay?”

“I’m sorry!”

Your words rushed from your lips with your back snapping to bow a perfect ninety-degrees. Your hair a curtain to try and hide your embarrassment. 

“Ugh...for what?”

“For bumping into you like that. I should’ve been paying attention.”

A soft laugh bounced from between his lips and you were willing to beat his face lit up like pure sunshine. You moved to stand upright just in time to see you were right. Jungkook was either oblivious to the way you were looking at him, or was simply unfazed. His shoulder hiking the backpack where it’d begun to fall as he adjusted himself to get ready to move to join the rest of the class up ahead. 

“You did ruin one hell of a stylish exit.”

“I don’t know how stylish you can be stepping off of a school bus, but...thank you.” 

The both of you locked eyes with one another. A large part of you hoped Jungkook was able to see the sincerity or at least hear it. Maybe he wasn’t that much of a pain in the ass after all. That soft smirk you’d grown accustomed to etched back on his lips as he took the first step towards your waiting classmates.

“No problem. Plus, I figured I owed you for letting me listen to your music.”

You felt your brow shoot up in mock surprise. Your legs falling into step beside him. 

“I thought you said I had terrible taste.”

“I never said terrible,” Jungkook corrected. His eyes danced with a playfulness that lifted a smile to your lips

“You could’ve fooled me.”

“Well, it wasn’t the greatest, but thank you. I actually ended up liking most of it, at least.”

“Oh, what a sweet way of insulting my musical taste.”

“Hey! I said I liked most of it. It’s like a win-win. Kinda.”

You wanted to be snappy. Give him some more hell for always playing up on being a condescending moody jerk. In reality, walking next to Jungkook while the silence swelled around you without the awkward pressure; you knew that wasn’t all of him. He’d proven how sweet he could be at the memory of how easily you’d felt protected by a simple stretch of a hand. The look in his eyes while he waited for you to take his extended hand a plea to know you could trust him. Strangely, a part of you already felt like you could. 

You snuck a look over in Jungkook’s direction, and felt a smile begin to sweep up the corners of your lips. It was a different, but nice, change to have someone come to your defense. Yeah, most of the time you wanted to throttle him for seeming like he could care less. In that moment, however, he cared enough to help. That had to mean something.

“You’re welcome.”

You hoped your words conveyed the gratitude you felt in that moment. Prayed that Jungkook could hear it. When he looked at you, you made sure to give him a quick smile before you looked away. Your eyes struggled not to look back at him; to tell him all the things that were racing through your head. It took every ounce of your will to stay focused on the group of classmates that were growing closer. Somewhere along the way, you’d hoped Jungkook would’ve replied with his usual smart ass remarks. It worried you how sad a small part of you felt at his silence. 

Now, you worried maybe you were going a little nuts.

Instead, you came to the edge of the group in silence. Your ears struggling to grasp on to the middle of what your teacher gave out for instructions for the day. 

So what if that insane part of you didn’t receive a smart ass remark in return for your gratitude. You were more than happy with the fact Jungkook stayed by your side. The close proximity just enough to convey what you were both feeling without unnecessary words.

______________

For the past hour the farmer -Kim Sejung - had shown the class around his vast property. The beginning of this magical tour starting with where he manufactured the tofu once it was fermented then sent down to be processed for packaging. He was a man who took immense pride in his work. The next room where the fermentation took place and, his overeager explanation, spelled out how devoted he was to his craft. 

The whole entire backwards presentation was something your teacher decided became a chance for everyone to write down everything you’d been shown. A punishment you knew was coming when Kim Sejung lost half the class to their own conversations long before you’d hit the second part of his speech. 

Now, anyone could be wondering why all of you were taking the longest stroll of your life out in the middle of the farm. A fair question you’d been asking yourself since you realized your shoes were completely covered in mud. You’d been trying to understand why this hadn’t been the first place Kim Sejung would’ve taken all of you. Your only guess being he just enjoyed showing the process backwards. Or maybe he was secretly a  mastermind at torture. It was the only logical conclusion you could come up with at having the entire class now out in the muddy acres of his farm.

And sure, maybe your attention was being sent over your shoulder every five seconds. A certain boy with exhaustion creased in his brow making it harder for you to ignore. You were looking back so often you felt like you’d end up with whiplash at any minute. Really, it was all Jungkook’ fault for causing you to worry; becoming painfully aware with each glance at Jungkook’s struggling frame. 

How Sejung -, or anyone else for that matter, hadn’t noticed he was falling further behind the group with every step left you completely perplexed. You’d gave up listening to whatever the farmer or teacher talked about or what questions they were throwing around. You could bet it had to do about soil. 

If everyone else could ignore him why couldn’t you? It’s not that you hadn’t tried, cause of course you’d done exactly that. Your bottom lip now held a semi-permanent indent from your teeth. Whenever you felt that tick in your neck to look back to check on him: you bit down. When you felt like drawing attention to him by saying something: you bit down. A part of you willing to bet Jungkook would never forgive you if you did. 

Your solution? It was ingenious, really. 

You fell back behind every classmate. Patiently, you waited for everyone to pass you up. Your feet dragging in the muddy dirt until you were sure no one would notice when you inevitably stopped. 

With a soft count of three under your breath, you came to a halt at the back of the group. Your small count continued for another round before you were comfortable with the distance it’d placed between the group, Jungkook, and yourself.

You let out a huff of satisfaction as you turned around to give Jungkook your complete attention. Your neck thanking you for the small favor. What you found, however, greeting you was far from what you’d hoped to find. 

Jungkook’s current location became a solid five feet behind the group. His feet finally coming to the large puddle of mud that you and the class had easily maneuvered Jungkook had not. His struggle coming to a standstill at the muddy puddles edge. Jungkook’s face etched itself in harsh determination to no doubt allow him from moving forward. You told yourself you would stay back and wait for him. 

Just wait, You kept telling yourself over and over. A broken record having nothing on what you felt capable of standing there. Your pulse bonding in your veins and feet bouncing with anxiety as he assessed his options. All you were supposed to do was hang back to walk with him. That was it. You weren’t his nanny. You knew how he felt about being pitied, and yet, when he took his first tentative step out into the mud and his cane sunk deep and his bad leg followed suit, your feet deceived you. 

It appeared Mother Nature had her own way of pushing you past your reserved good intentions. Your feet sprinted forward fast enough that you were embarrassed at their quickness. The expected movement bringing Jungkook’s frustrated gaze up from his current dilemma to you.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?”

The annoyance held in his question didn’t go unnoticed by you. If it was you in his position, you’d be annoyed seeing you standing there too and not offering to help. 

“I came to help you.”

The words just streamed out with your running thoughts. Your feet willing to move forward back into the mud to help him. Jungkook noticeably began to struggle to remove his foot that submerged quickly underneath. 

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

“You didn’t have too, Jungkook. I want to help.”

“Let me rephrase myself.” His irritation was pure fire in his eyes as his words hurled in your direction. “I didn’t ask for it and I don’t want it.”

You wish you could say you handled his dismissal with grace. That you understood he was only being a jerk because he was embarrassed and angry at his current predicament. You really wanted to be that bigger person. Well...that most definitely wasn’t what happened. 

Your eyes narrowed in on him. Your previous desire to help evaporated as you watched his leg sink deeper. His other foot soon joined the first in a poorly calculated attempt to release the other. Your arms crossed over your chest as you took in the scene before you. 

“Well, Jungkook, I’m not sure if you noticed but you’re slowly heading towards being buried under that mud.”

“Thank you for that astute observation. Anything else you’d like to add?”

“Why are you being such an asshole?!” you snapped.

Your arms came loose down at your side and turned to clenched fists. You weren’t exactly sure what you expected his reaction to be. You knew Jungkook held a hatred for being pitied. Hell, you would too if it was the other way around. You knew he wasn’t helpless, but you also knew he couldn’t do everything alone. No one could. So what was so wrong with offering to help him?

You weren’t sure how you looked. Maybe crazy? Or did the desperation of not knowing how to handle the situation have you appear sad? Whatever it was Jungkook saw, it was enough to look away. His eyes dropping down to his covered feet. 

The space between the two of you swelled with tension. His hair perfectly covering his face, and kept you from being able to steal any glance. It was enough to make you unsure if you should prepare yourself for a verbal battle with him or if you should simply walk away. What if you’d made a mistake thinking Jungkook would want to be bothered at all with help. Especially from you. 

“God, this is embarrassing.”

His words were so light you weren’t sure at first if he’d spoken. A part of you wondering if you’d made up the sound of his voice as Jungkook’s face continued to be hidden by layers of hair. But, lord help you, you knew you weren’t imagining things. The sound of his voice is something you’d come to recognize with ease. You knew without a doubt it most definitely was him. And the sadness that reverberated from his words made your anger dissipate instantly. 

“What?”

Could you have picked a stupider response? When Jungkook lifted his head up to look at you, you knew he silently agreed.

“It’s embarrassing!” His hands motioned to take in his current predicament. The hurt shown on his proud features made your heart ache to comfort him. “How pitiful can I get? It’s so damn frustrating! The cripple unable to get himself out of some stupid mud.”

“Jungkook, you are literally the least pitiful person I’ve ever met.”

“And yet, it doesn’t make me any less stuck.”

You took a step forward and began to try and edge around what you could of the puddle. You knew there was no way you weren’t getting more mud on your shoes, but the purpose was worth it. 

“Why didn’t you just go around it?” Your question earned you a dead stare. One that reminded you of your mother when she felt like you’d asked the silliest question. You held your hands up in surrender and said, “Hey. It’s a fair question.”

“If I just go around it, it proves that I can’t do the simplest thing, Y/N. It proves…”

“That you aren’t like everybody else,” you finished for him.

You could’ve kicked yourself. How could you not have noticed it sooner. Jungkook just wanted to prove to himself that he could still do things like he did before his accident. Because even though he showed people bringing up his disability didn’t bother him, it did. He still hadn’t come to terms with what happened, and believed the current state of his leg deemed him less worthy. 

He looked away from whatever he saw in your eyes. His own fighting not to show the sadness that threatened to spill down his cheeks. 

“You aren’t like everyone else, Jungkook.” Your words tore his head back in your direction. His shoulders quickly squared up to take whatever verbal blow you were about to hurl in his direction. You were happy to convince him otherwise.

“You don’t need to prove anything to a single person. Yeah, you aren’t a hundred percent who you used to be, but it doesn’t make you any less you. You aren’t defined by a damn leg and if another human being does treat you differently because of it: fuck’em. Now, get your shit together and hand me the end of your cane.”

The both of you stared at one another for what felt like an eternity. Jungkook’s face unreadable as his eyes took you in making you squirm just the slightest bit. Whether he was looking for a hint that you were deceiving him; that something hurtful laid underneath, he wouldn’t find it. You made sure with your hand this time open and waiting for him, that he could see just how much you meant what you said. 

After what felt like a baby size eternity, Jungkook answered you in a way you’d grown to expect. In one swift motion, he picked his cane out from the mud and placed it, dirty end first into your waiting hand. Your face scrunched up in disgust, as the leftover mud squished between your fingers. The action enough to break the coldness of Jungkook’s blank expression into the smirk that was all too familiar. 

“Oh my god! You would do that.”

The amusement on his face was enough to tell you he’d most definitely done it on purpose. Of course, you’d already known that. You didn’t need his raised eyebrow or that devilish smirk to inform you of that.

“Oh, so you think you know me now.”

“I know enough to know, without a doubt, this is something you’d do. Brat.”

You saved the last word for good measure and it was met with a bark of surprise laughter. His reaction was not something you’d expected, but a welcomed one as his face instantly lit up brighter than you’d ever seen. Jungkook’s laughter and smile was genuine and good god, was it breathtakingly adorable. 

Who knew calling him a brat led to so many heart stopping possibilities? Like no longer having a permanent scowl. 

“Alright smart ass, how about we settle this for when I’m not stuck in the mud.”

“You got yourself a deal. Only if you stop pouting.”

“I was not pouting!”

It was your turn to laugh wholeheartedly while your other hand moved to secure itself to his cane. There was no way you’d be letting it slip free from you. Mud or no mud. 

“Tomato potato: pouting is pouting.”

Jungkook’s head tilted to the side. His brain noticeably trying to comprehend what it was you just said.

“That makes absolutely no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense, Jungkook now grab a hold of yo-“

Honestly, you should’ve seen this coming. He’d already given you a muddy end of a cane. It was the perfect foreshadowing moment that was leading up to this, and yet, somehow you were surprised when he pulled with full force. You figured he was strong - not freakishly. Not enough to send you flying face first toward the large mud puddle with the sound of a squeaking bird of surprise that you could only assume was yourself. 

The only thing that kept you from going face first was a split second decision to ruin just the lower half of your outfit. 

The impact with the mud was squishy and came with the weirdest sound effects that reminded you of pushing your hand into a container of slim. God, was it squishy. An immediate, “Ewww,” dragging out from your lips as your hands lifted up from where they’d been buried. Your eyes taking in the full extent of your lower half now resembles the Swamp Thing. 

Jungkook’s laughter brought you back to reality and flinging what was left of the mud on your hands in his direction. It only earned you another bark of laughter. 

“What in the hell was that for?!”

“Now whose pouting?” He teased.

You wanted to hit him but you knew you couldn’t reach. So you settled for flinging another round of mud. 

“Are you kidding me? You pulled me in here cause I said you were pouting!”

“Yup.”

“Unbelievable. You’re a child.”

“I thought you said brat?”

“That too! Ugh! Jungkook! You’re such a pain in the ass. I’m not helping you anymore.”

You moved to try and pull up one leg and found it way more difficult than you’d imagined. Seriously, was this shit superglue? No matter how many times you struggled to pull up either leg it wouldn’t budge; producing an agitated groan to seep from your body. 

You wanted to murder him. 

When you glanced up at him at least Jungkook had the decency to appear worried.

“Do you need help? I didn’t think it’d be so hard for you to pull yourself up.”

“Oh, so you’re worried about me not being able to pull myself up, but not about me covered in mud.”

The shrug Jungkook gave as an answer made you want to throttle him. You wanted to tell him to shove his help up his ass. Realistically, however, you knew there was no way you were getting unstuck without getting dirtier from crawling around. For a second time, his hand appeared, like magic, in front of you. 

Your eyes trailed up his hand to that devilish grin of his and found your earlier agitation disintegrate. What you hated the most, was how his eyes lit up to match his smile. This warm version of Jungkook wasn’t someone you were used to. You’d seen the cocky jock who knew he was good at everything. Experienced the real asshole Jungkook that made you want to rip out chunks of hair. But this side of him...was worth a heartache or two. 

Without another thought you reached out and took his hand and allowed him to start lifting you up. It wasn’t until you were half way you came up with your own plan. A devilish grin of your own spreading your lips wide as the idea grew into something worth doing . 

Jungkook had a moment to be confused before your free hand shot out and took fierce hold of his forearm. You made sure it was locked in place before your body went completely limp, and sent his body into an unbalanced mess. 

“The fu-!”

Jungkook’s descent, at first, made you feel like you’d accomplished a victory. One you didn’t get to relish in for long. Jungkook may not have been able to finish his earlier sentence, but you easily made up for it. A softened, “Fuck!” came pressed from your chest as he landed sideways on top of you. The angle reminded you of an awkward pair of scissors: if one part of the scissors was ridiculously muscled for a student. 

You’d had little time to move your hands up to brace yourself against his weight. The air from your lungs whooshing out in laughter with your body struggling to recover from underneath him. And no, no you weren’t painfully aware that your hands could feel every well lined muscle under the fabric of his t-shirt. And no, you were not blushing. Not even a little. 

You were sure when Jungkook lifted his head up to look in your direction, he’d see the sinful glee you took in your awkward positioning. Instead, your lungs erupted into laughter. One side of his face perfectly smeared with mud making one eye remain closed and his right doing most of the work. He looked ridiculous...and cute. 

“You think this is funny?”

“I think-I think it’s the best thing I’m going to see all day.”

It took a few tries to speak through your laughter, but when you finally got the words out you couldn’t have been more proud. Jungkook on the other hand, seemed to struggle to keep the annoyance on his face. The first sign of a smile cracking into the mud that began to dry on his face. 

Jungkook moved to prop himself up - the action giving you the room you needed to wiggle out from underneath him. You were about to call it a success, a retort to an unspoken comment he’d yet to make. All of it came crashing down, however, when Jungkook’s mud covered hand rose from the depths and placed a long streak down your nose with his thumb giving an artistic sweep across your cheek. 

The marks he gave reminded you of those old western movies you’d seen. Warpaint covered faces of men getting ready to square off to defend their home from invaders. The thought seemed to match perfectly with the beat of your heart thundering like a drum inside your chest.

It wasn’t just because Jungkook touched you - on purpose - in a playful way. It had nothing to do with the fact his muddy hand was currently resting against your cheek. Or from the denial that it brought out a spark of mischievous happiness to ignite inside you as your mouth fell open to expose the sound of laughter. No, your heart pounded against your chest purely for the look that passed behind chocolate eyes and the soft smile that followed close behind. 

So, sure. In that instance it could’ve just been a plan old look. You weren’t a hundred percent sure it wasn’t more than just a look though, either. There was that one boy in first grade, however, who did give you an aggressive teeth-clacking peck on the lips during recess, but this was completely different. 

And because you were so uncertain of what it all meant, your only reaction was to lift your hand up from beside you and slam it palm first against his face. 

Jungkook’s face lit up in shock and you couldn’t stop the eruption of laughter that spilled from your lips. It was an immediate rush of joy at seeing his handsome face marked by your small muddy handprint that streaked itself across the plains of his face. Normally, you’d be mortified: waiting patiently to be scolded and made to feel small. Instead, the shock wore off his face in an instant. Jungkook’s eyes lighting up with childlike excitement as a giddy, “Oh yeah?” rushed between his lips. 

You didn’t have a chance to wonder what he meant before he reached into the mud and brought up a snowball version of the earth. 

“Oh, no you don’t!” 

Your eyes went wide and frantic giggles exploded free as your body struggled in vain to get out from under him. The previous joy of being pinned by his weight dissipating when that large mud ball found its new home smeared on top of your head. 

“Jungkook-ah!”

His own laughter rose up around you as your body began to move in earnest to get out from under him. When you finally realized it was pointless, another bright idea overtook you. If Jungkook noticed the renewed mischievous glint in your eye, he didn’t show it. 

He continued to smile obliviously down at you until the two fist fulls of mud you’d taken in both hands came crashing down on top of his head. It didn’t matter that your face caught some of the aftermath: the face he made was priceless. 

You didn’t get a chance to enjoy your tiny victory before the two of you were a mess of arms and limbs rolling feverishly around; the two of you playfully wrestling for dominance. The mixture of your laughter rising up until you weren’t sure where Jungkook’s ended and yours began. By the end of it, you were both resembling the pigs you’d seen earlier on the farm. Bodies fully covered in wet earth and lounging beside each other in exhaustion. Every few moments random fits of giggles overtaking the two of you until you realized you both needed to get back. 

This time, instead of the two of you refusing help from the other, you eagerly took it. The both of you worked together to reach the edge of the mud pit and, without further incident, pulled each other out. 

The walk back to the main barn was done in silence. In other circumstances, you would’ve been consumed with a need to fill it. The impending weight of anxiety would’ve flared across your skin until you would’ve blurted out anything. Small talk was never one of your strong suits, but a comfortable banter had somehow formed between the two of you. You knew if you started talking, Jungkook would respond. It was still a fifty-fifty on whether or not it would be a smart ass response or a real one, but a response nonetheless. 

You didn’t try to start a conversation. You chose to enjoy the reassurance that he was beside you. Your mind running through what exactly just happened and how you both ended up looking like bad impression art. You’d spent so much time stealing glances in his direction that you could’ve sworn you caught him doing the same. But who were you kidding. No one had stolen glances at you since middle school, and that was only to steal the answers off tests. 

There was no way Jeon Jungkook would be the one to break that trend. No matter how flattering the thought. So when you felt that knowable itch of being watched you found yourself surprised that Jungkook was indeed staring at you. 

“Are you cold?”

Jungkook’s question jolted you from your train of thought and sent you reeling into another. He was closer to you now. Close like you’d been while sitting on the bus with your shoulders brushing with every movement. Every bump helplessly sending you lightly banging into the other. 

On the bus you could easily play it off as something out of your control. But now? Now there was no good explanation that you could find to why Jungkook decided to walk so closely beside you. There was no way to explain away the way his gaze drew across your face like he’d save it to memory. 

“Well I am covered in freezing mud water.” 

You’d tried for sarcasm but your voice barely carried over a whisper. It made Jungkook’s head subconsciously dip lower just to hear you. The devilish smirk he was infamous for spread like wildfire across his lips. 

“I would offer you my jacket, since it’s the gentlemanly thing to do, but you see some crazy person pushed me into the mud.”

A scoff escaped you as your hand playfully whipped out to slap his shoulder. 

“Ya, Jungkook! You? A gentleman? That’s funny. What is also funny is the fact you got yourself stuck in the mud first. I just came to rescue you.”

“Rescue me?” He asked with an eyebrow coyly cocked. 

“I’m like your knight in shining armor.”

A throaty laugh came from between his lips; sending his head back exposing his face to the sun. You were mesmerized watching him as the sun kissed down across his face and weren’t at all ashamed at being caught watching as he brought his attention back to you. A smile of your own growing to match the one he wore along with your mind fluttering in wonder of how he was even real. 

“If you’re my knight, Y/N I’m in a lot of trouble.”

You feigned hurt but couldn’t hide the grin happily splayed on your face and, crazy thing was, you didn’t want to. It felt impossible that the two of you were so giddy with each other. A strange familiarity brewed heavily between you to the point it felt like the two of you joked like this for years. 

Jungkook’s own smile enough to warm the chill that began to creep up your arms to expose goosebumps on your skin. The two of you fell into a shroud of companionable silence and continued to make your way back to the main entrance of the farm. Your heart skipping a helpless beat every time you feel Jungkook’s fingers graze across yours. Your mind hopelessly wanting to believe maybe, just maybe, he was tempted to reach out and hold it. 

You came back to the main farm and found your teacher and classmates impatiently waiting. The immediate shock your teacher showed at your appearance seemed to grow more intense until he came storming over: hysterical at your current condition. 

“What on earth have the two of you been doing?!” 

“They’ve been rolling around with pigs.”

You knew that tart voice anywhere and wasn’t surprised it was Amber that spoke. What did surprise you was how much you didn’t care with Jungkook standing like an equally filthy calm current by your side. 

“We’re sorry, seonsaegnim,” Jungkook began coolly with a bow. When he realized you were still standing a hand shot out to the back of your head to bring it down. You quickly slapped it away but kept yourself in a bow. “We got lost from the group and found ourselves stuck in a giant mud pit.” 

“It seems to me like you were playing in it,” the farmer chuckled. “I could hose them off before they get back on the bus.” 

His offer left heat rising to your cheeks. The sound of a sea of giggles making your stomach ache in embarrassment. You used the curtain of your hair to hide and hoped they’d come up with a different suggestion, but with a small shrug of his shoulder, Jungkook brought your heated attention back to him. A soft smile cracking the now dry handprint you’d left across his cheek. 

It was ridiculous. You both looked ridiculous, and yet, he was still handsome. You probably looked like a troll. 

“Hey Knight in shining armor,” he whispered. “It seems we get to take a bath together.” 

The sun couldn’t be anywhere near as hot as your face felt. The heat spread from red cheeks and down your neck until the butterflies in your stomach were out of control. Jungkook knew what he had done. He could see it plainly on your face and he loved it. 

You, on the other hand, wanted to hit him. 

And just like divine intervention your teacher did it for you. His curled up pamphlet struck down on top of Jungkook’s head, but it only made his smile grow impossibly larger.

“Ya! I don’t think so! We’ll have you go one at a time to clean up. I’ll look for something for you both to change into.”

Jungkook went first to be hosed down. The farmer actually allowed him to have his privacy so he could get into his more...private areas in peace. The clothes that were found for both of you to wear were old gym clothes thrown in a box in the storage bay at the bottom of the bus. You imagined they must have been thrown there for a reason. The colors were sad and faded down to a color that resembled the mud you’d fallen in. An even sadder rim of yellow wrapped around the sleeves the only hope of color in the terrible outfit you were now forced to wear. At least it was warm with the added bonus Jungkook somehow ended up with the shortest shorts in the box. 

After the two of you dried off and changed you were shepherded onto the bus. The place that held Amber and her minions now vacant due to the teacher demanding you sit exactly in the far back in their spot. He must have imagined it would be like putting two naughty kids in time out. The only effect it really had was giving you the chance to breathe and enjoy the solitude. 

Jungkook dug around for your earbuds inside your bag. Finally finding the small container and lifting it open. His fingers pulling out the left and surprising you by placing it gently in your ear. Your face must have shown this but Jungkook paid you no mind. He was busy placing the other bud into his ear; flipping the case shut and throwing it back inside to forever be lost until you practically tipped out your bag to locate it again. Oh well. A problem for another time. 

“Put on something for the ride home, Y/N. I trust you to be dj again.”

You wanted to tease him. To joke about putting on the YMCA or Macarena . The only thing that stopped you was the relaxed features of Jungkook’s face. The lazy way his neck rested back against the seat and his head languidly gazing in your direction. You tried to squish back all the butterflies that look gave you and a hushed, “Alright. Lady Marmalade it is,” embarrassingly came from between your lips. 

Your eyes were too focused on your music list. You didn’t allow them to look as he chuckled beside you. The sound light and rough all at once - demanding you give it attention. 

“Don’t make me regret it,” he joked. 

You kept scrolling until you found Deans’ “D (Half Moon)”. The soft piano and tone of his voice quickly filled the ear buds and by the soft hum of the voice beside you, you knew you’d pick a good one. 

You allowed yourself to relax beside him. Your right hand placing the playlist down between the two of you. Your body was so relaxed you didn’t think about moving your hand anywhere else. Your eyes falling comfortably closed as you continue to listen to the acoustics of the song and the even softer, and equally pleasurable, song of Jungkook singing along. 

When his left hand found its way down beside yours, you didn’t question his reasoning. The music held between the two of you and maybe he wanted to change the playlist. You let your mind continue to think that even after his finger gingerly grazed yours and found a home beside them. Both of your hands stayed this way the entire ride back to campus. Neither of you moved to change positions; lost to the sounds of the melodies of the playlist.

[ellestra]

Home for Christmas

Not all resolutions were given the depth I hoped for (it felt like to much of it was cut and come on Disney nothing was stopping you from making it longer) but I was very satisfied that Tomas made up with his girlfriend. Even if it meant they went to Maroon 5 concert instead of Imagine Dragons. And it was nice of him to thank Kate.

And I suppose many of the theory channels were disappointed but I loved that Jack turned out to be nothing more than comic relief. And almost a hero (maybe even joining all the LARPers). The real villain in the family clearly is Armand the VII. The MCU's next big bad.

I was also glad none of the LARPers got killed. I loved that people only listened to them when they put on costumes. After decade and a half the civilians in the MCU know now that costumed people are the ones in charge in emergency and you should listen to them.

I was pretty sure that Maya’s story resolution will end up with her just cutting ties with the criminal world so this ending was fine with me. I didn’t expect her to kill both her main anchor points - Kazi and Uncle - but I suspected she would ask Kazi to leave with her (but he was way too much 2014 Nebula). This is what her father wanted so it had to end there before her own series.

Still, I suspect Fisk is not dead. We didn’t see the body and Echo series still needs a villain. Whether managed to block the shot or survived it he is going to be pissed and that conflict would be nice starting point of Maya’s trajectory of becoming a hero. But that Christmas Eve should teach him not to underestimate women.

However, his turn in this was a little disappointing.  The way he was so easily left unguarded and vulnerable. The way you can't really feel how big a threat he is without watching Daredevil. The way he is basically on the run from the police anyway because Yelena managed to get him and Eleanor on tape. All this ending with him being taken down with so little effort makes Hawkeye being all worried about him getting involved feel disappointing. He's only scary because I watched Daredevil on Netflix. But there was not enough of that intensity here to really feel the danger (and him using Tracksuit Mafia as henchmen doesn't help as they are to inept to ever succeed). It needed more time to at least properly set up him being there in person. Although the way Vincent D'Onofrio just threw Hailee Steinfield aground looked awesome and properly Kingpin.

Although it wasn't as fun as the fight where Yelena is trying not to hurt Kate too much but also gets more and more annoyed but finally respectful was really well done. It is a start of a beautiful friendship for the next generation of Black Widow and Hawkeye.

I was also certain Yelena thing would be resolved by talking. Yelena’s interactions with both Kate and Clint were great. Of course Clint knew about Yelena and the whistle. Natasha would've told him who else (besides Laura and the she was hoping to get back and why it mattered so much. She already regained family that seemed irrevocably lot once (and saw that love isn't just for children) so she kept the hope it could happen again when Clint lost it. Of course she told him why. She kept Avengers going through the Blip all the way to getting means to reverse it even if it meant never seeing people she lost again. The important part was that they will be alive even if they had to deal with her loss afterwards. That they didn't get enough time together breaks my heart but I appreciate show taking the time to show us how much she mattered when Endgame didn't.

And I loved how in the end Clint admitted he and Kate are partners. Even if every time he says "Kate - no" she says "Kate - yes" they work really well together. It was great he took her in along with the dog (who got his proper name Lucky off screen - one more proof this episode left too much on cutting floor). Adopting new family members is a Burton family thing. Especially ones with really messed up family (although I was a little disappointed Yelena didn't come too). And now that he burnt the Ronin suit and got Laura's SHIELD watch too (he did marry Agent 19) he can properly retired (despite that great new outfit) and pass the name (Lady Hawk is a good movie but bad code name).

I just wish that Clint's time as Ronin didn't got swept under the carpet again like it never happened (yes, I'm complaining about lack of consequences). Kate sends her mother to jail for doing bad things but she doesn't even bat an eye when she learns about Clint. Yelena was right - just being one of Avenger is not a reason to ignore the bad shit they do. And yet, in the MCU, they never suffer any consequences (I suppose it's true to life but this is supposed to be a fantasy).

Still, I loved how Kate explains why Hawkeye mattered to her so much as a hero. The way he showed that you can still matter without superpowers or a suit. Just a guy with sticks and string fighting aliens and helping save the day and making her believe she could be a hero too. New Hawkeye even.

[bigskydreaming]

I’m a big believer that Dick’s independence and self-reliance isn’t in any way rooted in him just being stubborn, prideful or self-destructive. I view it as being in his eyes a necessity….because on a deep, fundamental level….Dick doesn’t trust anything to be permanent. 

I’ll always go back to the fact that his character archetype isn’t that of the everyman, because he was of lower class origins compared to Bruce’s extreme upper class background.....but rather that given that Dick Grayson was allegedly exceptional from his debut, a child prodigy capable of feats of acrobatics few in the world could match....he could never actually be classified as an everyman. Rather, his core archetype is that of the fish out of water. The individual taken from the comforts of his original pond and thrust into a limelight of an entirely different nature from the one he grew up in, with the two not at all being interchangeable, and necessitating he change and adapt in dramatic and often unanticipated ways just to keep his footing in his new environs.

Its not incidental that his initial tragedy wasn’t JUST the loss of his parents, but rather the loss of his old routines, extended family, environment, way of life, expectations for the way his future would play out....it ALL vanished on the same night, never to return again. The loss of his parents was tragedy enough all on its own, but its really only one part of what Dick lost that night. He lost his entire footing. His frames of reference. Everything his life had previously prepared him for and everything he could have used as a familiar comfort or source of stability to lean on, if it had been ‘just’ his parents that he lost.

And I fundamentally don’t believe you ever get over THAT loss, no matter what peace you make with the loss of your loved ones or specific elements of that. Once you’ve experienced a shake-up of that size, once you have a bone-deep, visceral awareness of how completely your life can change in the blink of an eye, how you can effectively be set back to zero as though nothing you’ve previously accomplished matters (remember, he went from a kid whose name drew crowds on its OWN merits, based on what HE was capable of due to his own work and skills, the youngest of the Flying Graysons, capable of an acrobatic feat barely anyone else in the world could master......to being a kid who was only ever identified as in the context of Bruce Wayne having taken him in, as though his existence and worth were defined by someone else’s act of compassion rather than based on anything he’d ever done on his own, when the fact of the matter is even by age eight, he’d already accomplished a LOT)....

Like, the point is, you can’t go through a shake-up like that and ever fully FORGET how complete and total a change it was, how big a rewrite of your entire life story. 

That’s a trauma all its own, one that goes largely unacknowledged, and one that I don’t think Bruce and Alfred or anyone else fully realized was even there TO need addressing in the first place. So of course how could they ever fully address it, without realizing a need?

And I think Dick’s constant moves and self-reliance are actually born of that primal awareness that there are no guarantees, that nothing is truly permanent, that anything can be taken away in an instant.

He’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for everything to be taken away again - as people have pointed out in other posts, Dick can never seem to have nice things. Even the apartment building he lived in while in Bludhaven….that wasn’t some height of luxury by ANY stretch of the imagination…was lost to him, along with all the friends and neighbors and community he’d built among them, something evidenced by how highly they all spoke of him, even to a total stranger. And that’s not even getting into how even the CITY he sought to establish himself as a guardian over, like, he lost the city itself. The CITY!

Dick, I believe, insists on holding down 9-5 jobs and paying his own way and only touching money that comes from Bruce originally, when like…he has no other option or its to help someone else….just like he’s resistant to ever fully putting down roots, at least none so deep that he can’t uproot himself and quickly relocate without ripping off a piece of himself and leaving it still buried in the ground behind him. 

Because deep down, he’s always bracing for the next seismic event that’ll rip everything away from him, and he wants to be prepared. He WANTS to make sure he never takes anything for granted. That if he loses it all - hell, if he and Bruce fight again and Bruce decides once and for all to take it all away from Dick, cut their ties, something that would very much be a deep-rooted insecurity for a kid with as massive of abandonment issues as Dick must have given his childhood and a number of events after that…

Dick I think needs to trust that he’ll be capable of surviving, of standing on his own two feet, if the worst should ever happen again and he’s left on his own again. His self-reliance and obsessive need for independence aren’t a REJECTION of anyone else or anything Bruce or others have ever done for him.

They’re simply the defense mechanisms of a boy who was once upon a time torn away from everything he knew and in certain origins was then on top of that plunged into hellish circumstances before finding a refuge with Bruce….

And the man that boy grew up to be, who is determined to never be caught in a situation like that again, where his very survival might otherwise require the kindness of a stranger….with Dick knowing better than to count on lightning striking twice there, and him getting lucky a second time.

So in a lot of ways, my core perception of Dick having spent more time growing up in the luxury of Wayne Manor than any of the other kids is that its largely irrelevant to who he grew up to be. Because he was still more than old enough by the time he arrived that he had formative experiences all his own that no amount of time was sufficient to overwrite and exchange for new ones.

His experiences are so extreme in terms of the loss of all forms of stability, that the SHAPE that stability takes in the periods where his life IS stable, is largely unimportant. Because its the absence of stability that’s the defining recurrence in his life. Even the stability offered by his childhood in Wayne Manor eventually gave way to canon where he left the Manor before he was even eighteen, as well as canon where no matter how it was ultimately reversed, he was for a time affected by having the ability to call the Manor his home STRIPPED AWAY FROM HIM. Thus even when Bruce did ultimately welcome him back, there still retained an awareness that even the fact that this had happened in the first place was a reminder that even THIS was something Dick could lose, that no matter how stable his childhood there had been at times, it couldn’t in and of itself be COUNTED as a source of stability due to the simple fact that his ability to call it his home HADN’T turned out to be an irrevocable constant. 

And so this is another of those areas where I think its fundamentally an oversight to have members of the family commenting on Dick’s self-reliance or tendencies to relocate himself, let alone in any kind of critical capacity......

If there’s not going to be an acknowledgment within the family or by the people raising these criticisms like, what kind of a role the family themselves have played in Dick feeling a NEED to have these tendencies in the first place.

If someone doesn’t trust in any place he lives in to ever truly be a constant in his life, truly permanent, that anything can be taken away in the right circumstances....and you yourself have done something that has made him feel or given him reason TO leave a place he’s found stability in at some point in the past....you kiiiiiinda forsake your right to be critical of his inability to see any place as permanent or constant, y’know?

Like, insert Miranda Whatshername gif or Meryl Streep peering down her glasses and going oh I see, you think this has nothing to do with you.

So I’d argue that Dick’s insistence on simulating the average person’s reality of livelihood, even when he has other means and funds available to him….just as his insistence on being as solely responsible for the well-being of the place or people he sees as his responsibilities, being single-minded about relying only on himself for tasks that he sees as ultimately having nothing to do with someone other than himself, etc....

All that is in my opinion BECAUSE he’s so firmly attached to the reality that anything and everything can be taken away, at ANY given moment. That he can be reduced to having nothing and no one he can depend on BEYOND just his own innate skills and experiences, the only things he trusts to be truly unable to be stripped from him by others.

If you ask me, one of the core aspects of Dick’s characterization throughout his adulthood in canon is SPECIFICALLY his fear that everything he cares about, or trusts, or relies on…can be taken away from him or lost. 

And his determination to make sure that he’ll be able to survive even if that should ever happen again.