#off in a way that neither of them fully realised was Messed Up at the time but completely was

[loveinourowngrave]

the thing is. i’m a proponent of samdean starting precanon. not always but in a lot of contexts i like it. it just makes so much SENSE. the reason they act Like That in the first episode. deans constant nostalgiaing about wanting things to go back to the Way They Were Before. two teenagers kept continually isolated from the world (in terms of being unable to build lasting connections) sharing a room in a motel their whole life their only model a guy who’s excellent at blurring lines. but their age gap is 4 years that’s a lot for teenagers. immediate insane power imbalance. icl in any form of weecest sam is a victim on some level no matter how you spin it

[runariya]

Crash Course in Love • 3

pairing: snowboard instructor!Jungkook x ex-gf!reader (feat. platonic OT6) genre: rom-com, Exes 2 Lovers, slow-burn, angst rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: strong language, slow burn, angst, tension, bad communication skills, heartbreak, hangover, doubts, emotional rollercoaster, fight against nature, being stranded, crying, verbal fighting and screaming, explicit sexual content, bit of dry humping, fingering, scissoring, unprotected sex, breast play, hickeys, scratch marks, love bites, lmk if I forgot smth word count: 15.3k

a/n: i'm absolutely knackered now, completely worn out. BUT it was sooooo worth it lol hope y'all enjoy it to the fullest bc next update probably won't be until the new year...sooooo...have funnnn!

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

01 • 02 • masterlist • 04

Day 4

“Fuck.”

You think you’ve woken up in hell—it must be—because, oh god, you feel like death. Your eyes are crusted shut, and you can’t feel your legs. But as you rub the sleep out of your eyes and prop yourself up on your elbows, you realise it’s just Namjoon lying across them, snoring away.

You try to take in the room, piecing together the hazy puzzle of last night. The party, the song, you running off only to drown yourself with Yoongi and Namjoon in alcohol, throwing your own little after-party. You remember crying, remember singing your heart out to sad love songs blaring through Dionysus. What a fucking mess you’ve become…

But after all that chaos, there’s only blackness. And seeing Yoongi and Namjoon still here with you in the suite, all of you fully dressed and reeking of alcohol, tells you enough. And as you groan, not just from the bottomless pit of stupidity, but from the pounding in your head, you let yourself collapse back onto your pillow.

You fight back another wave of tears, wishing the last 24 hours could just be erased, wishing you were back at home. You fumble blindly for your phone, finding it on the nightstand nearby.

2:56 p.m.

Just brilliant. Though, at least you’re spared from spending the whole day on the slopes. Not that you’d be able to walk straight with how you’re feeling, but a win’s a win.

You need to get up, though, so you start stirring both men awake. Yoongi’s not blocking you, but if you’re up, he has to be as well. Much to your surprise, both of them wake without protest, getting themselves into a sitting position on the bed, looking like zombies straight out of The Walking Dead. You reckon you look about the same.

“Sorry,” Namjoon mumbles as you begin massaging some blood back into your legs, which feel like they’re fighting for dear life.

“S’alright,” you croak out, unable to manage much more.

“Painkillers.” Yoongi just sits there, staring at his blanket, the rise and fall of his chest the only proof he’s still alive, though barely.

You and Namjoon both nod, but no one actually moves until, eventually, Namjoon rises—slowly, hands leaving the mattress only at the last second before he somehow straightens up and makes his way to the door, though it’s anything but a straight line.

You’re the second to get up, staggering into the bathroom to wash off everything clinging to you. You’re not sure if it’s just dried sweat or a bit of alcohol still on your skin, though you have a vague memory of Tae pouring something over your back. Either way, you’re in desperate need of a full shower to feel human again.

The only upside to this hangover is that your mind has finally shut up. Every bit of energy is focused on basic bodily functions, like breathing without throwing up and blinking your bloodshot eyes now and then. You’re not even fazed when Yoongi stumbles in, taking a piss that seems to go on forever; he clearly couldn’t give a fuck, and neither can you.

When you’ve finished rinsing your hair and are wrapped in a towel that’s too soft to absorb any actual moisture, you quietly switch places with Yoongi, both of you unintentionally making a point not to make eye contact.

You’re not entirely sure why you’re still here—not just in this town but on this entire trip. There’s no real drive left in you to give Jungkook closure, no fight in you at all, and definitely no desire to ever see him again.

So, you decide to get the hell out of here. Not right this second, no, your blood alcohol is likely still sky-high and will take a nosedive soon, taking you down with it, but tomorrow, you’re leaving. It’s the healthiest thing you could do, because frankly, you lost Jungkook years ago, and that realisation sobers you up more than anything else could. 

It doesn’t stir the same emotions it once did as you pull Jungkook’s old hoodie out of your luggage—or maybe you’re just too tired to care—as you tug the oversized black fabric over your head, the only comfortable thing you’d brought on this trip. Some leggings on, with your phone stuffed into the front pocket of the hoodie, you make your way to the main area, letting your eyes roam to maybe spot your missing phone case.

Jungkook’s already lounging in a single armchair, poking absently at the fire with an iron stick, his gaze tracking you as you move around the room. But you ignore him. It’s not like you’re being petty this time, and he can probably tell from your posture that you’re just not in the mood to interact at all.

You’re especially glad he doesn’t mention your—or rather, his—hoodie, and when you give up the search, realising the case isn’t lying around here either, you shuffle over to the sofa, collapsing onto it and immediately pulling out your phone. Scrolling through YouTube, you pull the hoodie’s hood down a bit further to block out Jungkook entirely, settling on a spa video promising a very satisfying blackhead extraction.

If your life’s this miserable, you’re at least going to give yourself this kind of satisfaction, even if it’s short-lived. And anyway, there are millions of similar videos waiting for you and your lonely ass. 

Namjoon emerges midway through your video, nudging your legs to make space for him. You shift, but only to let your legs settle in his lap as soon as he sits down.

“Here,” he offers, handing you two painkillers, which you take like they’re sweets, chewing them up so they might kick in faster. He pulls a disgusted face, but it quickly fades—probably can’t be bothered to waste any energy as well. 

“Jimin brought food,” Jungkook breaks the silence, still poking at the fire. “Should I get you some?”

You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or Namjoon, but you answer anyway. “I’m good, thanks.”

Maybe he expected a different answer, as his stick pauses for a moment, but you couldn’t care less. The chance to talk things out has passed, along with your will. It’s on him now. You’ve seen and heard enough.

“Why did you leave the party so early?” he tries again.

“It was because of me, I just—”

You cut Namjoon off; he really doesn’t need to do this for you. “Stop lying, I wanted to leave, and Namjoon and Yoongi didn’t want me to be alone.”

“Why?”

You pause your video, turning to meet Jungkook’s eyes. He’s bouncing his leg and chewing on his lip ring again, but it’s not your problem if he’s anxious or whatever. “None of your business.”

Namjoon gives your knee a slight squeeze, and while Jungkook turns his attention back to the flames like you’re the one who’s hurt him, he can go fuck himself. You’re not dealing with him right now. Not when he’s got Hara pregnant and sings love songs for her. 

Yoongi enters at that moment, settling into the armchair beside Jungkook and just managing to catch the two painkillers Namjoon tosses his way.

Silence returns, and you restart your video, losing yourself in the meditative extractions.

“Can I get a haaaawyeah?!” Tae bursts into the hostel, bringing Hope and Hara with him. Three of the four present groan in agony at the sudden noise, and you’re one of them. Still, you shift to sit up, making room for them to join.

You’re not sure why Hara chooses to sit next to you, quietly handing over a takeaway box of food with that warm, familiar smile of hers—you know it’s got to be from Jin’s. 

“I’m not hungry,” you mumble, the bite you had a few minutes ago already feeling like it never had been there to begin with.

“Please, eat something. Your body needs it.”

She’s right, but you can’t bring yourself to even lift the lid, staring blankly at it as if it’ll somehow reveal yet another surprise you’re not ready for. You know it’s not Hara’s fault you’re feeling like this, or that Jungkook chose her, but right now, all you can feel is bitterness, and her kindness only multiplies it.

Almost unconsciously, you glance up and find Jungkook’s eyes fixed on you, his leg still bouncing lightly, clearly tuned out from the lively conversation between the other guys.

You’ve kept this empty space in your heart reserved for him for so long, never realising he’d never fill it again. You just don’t have the energy for this anymore, the will to keep playing his game where he pulls you back into his world only to remind you you’re no longer really part of it. Not properly.

You wonder if Jungkook even realises what he’s doing, if he has any clue about how his actions come across. Or maybe he’s just as stuck as you, caught up in his patterns and too blind to see beyond them. The care and worry in his eyes when he looks at you, when he notices you making poor choices for your health—maybe, you reason, it’s just because he doesn’t know how to be any other way and nothing more. 

But that’s the thing about Jungkook: he genuinely cares. And that’s why he’s going to be the best dad on this earth—just not to your children.

“I’m really not hungry.” You think you see Jungkook’s jaw tick just a bit, but he again chooses to say nothing, his gaze, though, never wavering from you.

“I didn’t mean to, but damn, that woman was something else,” Tae bursts, sprawled on the floor in front of you, accidentally nudging your knee as he laughs with the others.

“Who?” you ask, trying to tune into the conversation just to get away from the other. 

“That woman who was sitting by the bar all night. Tae pulled her,” Hope bursts out laughing, especially at your disgusted, shocked face.

“Was she any good?” Namjoon inquires, like it’s the most normal thing to ask about a one-night stand.

“What can I say? She taught me things I didn’t even know existed.”

Yep, that info’s enough to make you gag for real, and judging by Yoongi and Jungkook’s expressions, they’re feeling the same.

“Want some?” you offer Yoongi the box, hoping to steer the conversation away from…whatever this is. But he just shakes his head, clearly not ready to risk upsetting his stomach as well. 

He’s pale as it is, and you can see the colour drain from his already bloodshot eyes at the sight of food. Poor man. 

“Jungkook, you hungry?” Hara offers softly, and you can’t help but glance at him again. 

His bouncing leg stills the instant she speaks to him. And even though it’s true—Jungkook can eat like a bottomless pit, never saying no to food—you don’t really want to interact with him right now. But, some things haven’t changed at all it seems, like you not being able to say no when it comes to him. 

Jungkook looks at you with those big, hopeful eyes, as if to say just eat it yourself—he’d never, like all those years ago, take food from you when it’s clear you’re barely eating yourself. But you just can’t, and with that, you get up, lean over the small coffee table separating you both, and offer him the box with both hands, a small, shaky smile on your face.

Jungkook stands up too, reaching for the food between you. You think he’ll just take it, but his hands cover yours, brushing over them until they settle on the container, and then, finally, he takes it. It catches you off guard, not just because he touched you first and not the box, but because it was absolutely deliberate.

Why he did it, you don’t know, but all you can think about is getting away fast before all your bottled-up emotions explode in your face.

“Can…uh…can someone drive me to the nearest petrol station?” you ask, standing there rooted to the spot, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment as everyone looks up at you.

Jungkook’s half a mind to put the box back on the table and get up again, but Hope springs up from his spot beside Taehyung, fishing his keys from his pocket. “I’ve got you.”

“Thanks, I’ll just get ready.” You cast him a quick, grateful look and head to your room, eyes down.

Hope just saved you there, because if Jungkook had offered to drive, you don’t know what you’d have done. Sure, you want him to be happy—you’re not some heartless person who wishes bad things on people, especially those who are…were…close to you.

 But what about your happiness? Don’t you deserve to find peace too? To protect yourself? So yes, you’ll take every bit of help you can get, even if it’s just a lift to the petrol station.

You didn’t mean to startle so violently when you turned to close the suite door, but honestly, you hadn’t even heard Hara following you, moving soundlessly like a ghost.

“C…can I help you?” You’re gripping the door until your knuckles turn white under your sweater paws, the door not even fully open anymore.

“Can I come in?”

It’s like something out of a nightmare, knowing you can’t turn her away just because Hara’s never done anything to hurt you. You have to remind yourself again and again that she’s not the villain here, chanting it silently in your head, trying to drown out the hurt that won’t go away whenever you look at her.

So, you nod, opening the door a bit wider, then turn around to let her in and busy yourself with “looking” for your phone case, just so you don’t have to face her.

“Are you okay?”

Her words break through the sound of the bedding as you give it a shake, hoping your case might fall out, but of course it doesn’t. Just like the right answer isn’t coming to you now, not to her question.

Maybe you’re okay, as okay as you can be. Maybe you’re not. Either way, you’re definitely not making her your therapist—not when she’s involved in all this stupid mess. 

“Yeah, sure. Are you?”

“Yeah, the sickness finally went away. I just hope I start to show soon—it’s getting weird at this point.”

You move around the room, checking every corner, stopping only when you spot an edge of your phone case outside on the porch, half-buried in the snow beside the jacuzzi.

“How far along are you?”

“Seventeenth week…we’ll find out the gender soon.” There’s a subtle cheer in her voice that makes your heart soften for a moment.

It must be incredible to be expecting, especially to finally know the baby’s gender and go a bit mad with shopping. You’re sure you’d be the same, and Hara likely will be, too.

You glance her way, offering a small, warm smile before opening the door to the porch. “Got a feeling what it’ll be?”

Hara comes closer to the door as you step outside, staying in the warmth while leaning against the frame. “Yes? No? Maybe?” She laughs. “Some days I swear it’s a boy, and then others I’m convinced it’s a girl. Tomorrow’s the appointment, so…I hope mini-me reveals its gender and isn’t shy.”

You giggle, fishing the icy case out of the snow and brushing off the clinging flakes. As you come back inside, Hara moves aside, settling herself on the edge of the bed while you grab a discarded shirt of Yoongi’s to dry the case off.

“Hey…uh…I don’t quite know how to start this, but…I know you’re not doing alright.”

The glance you throw her way is wary rather than hostile, but still, you don’t want a pep talk from her.

“Please, just talk to each other.”

Biting your lip, you really don’t want to say anything. Yes, you probably should talk to Jungkook, but then again, maybe you shouldn’t. He’s had countless chances to say something, to open up if he had any thoughts at all—and he’s used none of them. Not even when you broke up with him. He stayed silent, like he is now.

Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk, not really, and you’re done waiting and being the one to start things.

“There’s nothing left to talk about. But I appreciate your concern.”

Hara just nods, staring down at the floor, rubbing her hands together between her knees while you pull on your coat and tuck your phone safely into its case.

“It’s a nice case. Did you paint it yourself?”

You glance at your phone, rubbing your thumb over the faded paint that was once so bright. You couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of it after the breakup, even though it reminds you of everything good about your time with Jungkook. Maybe there’s some masochistic streak in you that wants to punish yourself for everything you did and didn’t do. Maybe it’s time to let go of all the memories that keep pulling you back to a time that’s long gone.

“No.” You sigh, tucking it away in your coat pocket with your purse and heading to the door. You pause with your hand on the handle, checking to see if Hara’s following, which she is. She’s right behind you again, and this time, you just let out a startled scream internally, hoping you don’t flinch too visibly.

Opening the door, you let her pass first, just to keep her in your sight this time, but as soon as you’re near the entrance to the main area, she stops, raising a hand. You give her a puzzled look, but she only points to one of her ears, so you lean in, trying to make out what’s being said.

First, you catch the voices of Taehyung and Namjoon, Taehyung’s voice too loud and distinct not to notice. But when you listen a bit harder, you pick up Hope and Jungkook having a different conversation, probably a little further from the others.

“I know! I know you’re a good driver. Just…”

“Just? C’mon, what’s going on with you, C?”

“Just… take care of her, okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re acting like I’m some boy who’s just got his licence and can’t be trusted—”

The rustling of your coat drowns out the rest of their conversation as you step into the room, deciding not to eavesdrop any longer. You glance around briefly, and of course, Jungkook’s eyes find yours again, but you quickly turn towards Yoongi, resting your hands on his shoulders from behind where he’s still slouched on the one-seater. He wraps his hand around your wrist, his thumb gently brushing over your pulse.

“Why was my case out in the snow?” you murmur into his ear, which earns a lazy laugh from him. He peeks over his shoulder at you, his voice still raspy from his hangover as he murmurs back.

“You thought you could yeet it away and be done with it.”

Your cheeks go warm again; drunk-you is really ridiculous in every possible way. You’re just grateful it was only Namjoon and Yoongi who saw your breakdown, and no one else.

“Right.”

“Stay safe, yeah?”

He gives your wrist a gentle squeeze, and when your eyes meet again, even though his are still glassy from last night’s antics, there’s that quiet care in them only real family can have. 

“I will. Thanks for being there for me, Yoongs.” You press a quick kiss to his head and give him a brief squeeze around his shoulders, only for him to dramatically fake his own demise.

Straightening up, you meet Hope’s eyes, give him a quick nod, and head towards the door. Jungkook moves with the two of you, holding the door open without taking his eyes off you. His gaze is so intense that you can’t keep eye contact, mumbling a quiet, hurried “thanks” and “bye” as you follow Hope to his car.

You wouldn’t have thought Hope would drive a brand-new car, especially a vibrant red one. You wonder if an equipment rental shop really makes that much of a profit or if everyone in this town is just batshit rich. At least you’ll be safe—much safer than you’d be with Tony.

“So, how long’s the drive?” you ask, taking in the car’s interior while buckling up in the passenger seat. You notice the soft leather under your bum and the chrome trim around the touchscreen on the console.

“Maybe twenty or thirty minutes, depends on whether the roads are clear or still covered in snow.”

You hum in acknowledgment, tucking your hands under your thighs—not only because they’re still cold from the short walk outside, but also to avoid the urge to touch anything and risk breaking something you’d never be able to replace.

The car’s rolling down the steep hill you came from a few days ago in no time, and Hope’s both hands are steady on the wheel, which helps you relax in your seat. He’s definitely a good driver, like Yoongi, Jungkook, or your dad—the kind you can actually relax around without fearing for your life.

“So…would you be a kind soul and tell me what you’re all talking about in that group chat, especially about me?”

Of course you had to ask—why wouldn’t you, now that you’re alone with someone who’s clearly in on the whole scheme?

“Sure, why wouldn’t I?”

“Dunno…maybe because of Namjoon.”

“Oh, I’m not scared of him.” Hope laughs heartily, but his eyes don’t stray from the dark, snow-covered road ahead.

“Sooo…?”

“So, you should just talk to C. That’s what we’re all talking about.”

“Wow, wouldn’t have thought of that.”

“So why’re you asking if that’s not the answer you wanted?”

You fall silent.

“Listen. You and C are both hurting. And the only way forward is for you both to learn how to communicate properly, aka talk to each other.”

“There’s really nothing left to talk about.”

“Why’s that?”

“He’s clearly moved on, no?”

Like, duh.

“Has he now?”

Duh?…

“Yeah, with Hara…and the baby on its way.”

Were you wrong all this time? It can’t be.

“Oh, boy…”

“Don’t ‘oh boy’ me.”

“Why do you think he’s with Hara?”

You’re trying not to show how hard it is to think clearly in your state, but the time it takes you to respond says it all. “It’s obvious.”

“Is it? Because it sounds like you’re seeing things how you want to, not how they actually are.”

“Rude.”

“It’s true.”

“You’re really forward for someone I barely know.”

“We’re not strangers, __.” Hope side-eyes you pointedly, making you scoot a tiny bit deeper into your seat.

“Basically, we are.”

“No, we’re not friends yet, but we’re not strangers either.”

So what does this mean for you and Jungkook? He’s not exactly a friend anymore, but he’s not a stranger either. Or…maybe he is. God, your brain feels like it’s about to explode any minute now.

“People change, Hope. Jungkook’s changed.”

Hope lets a short silence settle between you, his fingers tapping softly against the leather wheel as if he’s thinking about what to say next. Only now do you realise there’s no sound from the engine, and you clock that he’s driving an electric car—even though he lives in the mountains, in the cold.

“Have you?”

You’re half-tempted to just say yes, but is that really true? You’re not sure. Maybe you’ve matured a bit, but not enough to feel like a different person. What you do know for sure is that any growth you might have had stopped the moment you left Jungkook. You’ve been so caught up in trying to heal and be someone you’re not that you haven’t really evolved into the person you could have been.

Anything really—maybe a better person, but somehow still the same you. So, what have you become in the last few years? Are you the same? Or not quite?

“Not sure.”

Hope just nods, not as if he’s simply acknowledging what you said, but as if he already knew your answer. It’s uncanny how much talking to him reminds you of Yoongi, both of them having that same no-bullshit approach.

“Listen, I’m not here to play mediator,” yep, definitely like Yoongi, “nor are the others. You need to talk to him, get things sorted before it’s too late.”

“What if it’s already too late?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re so positive.” You whine pathetically. 

“And you’re a chronic pessimist.” He mimics you. 

“I’m just cautious.” You pull your hands from under your thighs and throw them in the air, more to get your point across than anything.

“No, you’re scared of what might never happen.”

Ouch. But he’s not…not right.

“I’m not. I’m doing snowboarding now, aren’t I?”

“So why are we heading to the nearest petrol station if you’re meant to be snowboarding all week?”

You shut your mouth and slide your hands back under your thighs, as if that might help you disappear. Maybe you weren’t as subtle as you thought, and not only Hope but everyone else—including Jungkook—has seen right through you. Is that why Hara wanted to talk to you earlier? Urging you to finally talk to Jungkook?

“Gotcha,” Hope giggles slightly, though when he sees your sad pout, he reaches over to give your knee a quick squeeze before returning his hand to the wheel.

“Alright, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.” Okay, maybe not exactly like Yoongi. “But from what I’ve seen and heard, you liked snowboarding. And I’d say you probably enjoyed everything else you’ve done before, too.” He glances over at you. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”

You just give a noncommittal shrug.

“You need to trust yourself and your capabilities a bit more. Start having faith in the positive outcomes, not just the negative ones, yeah? You’ll never be able to live without fear if you overthink everything…especially things with Jungkook.”

Your pout deepens, a light sheen of tears coating your lashes, which you tell yourself are just from the hangover crashing down on you now, not from facing the uncomfortable truth of your very persona. 

“I know it’s hard, ___. But sometimes thinking the worst makes it real, even though the outcome could’ve been different if you’d just had a bit more faith.”

“Are you talking about snowboarding or Jungkook?”

“Both.” He giggles again, and you can’t help but join in, sniffing your nose a little.

When just then another small town and the petrol station come into view, you straighten up in your seat, realising you’d been slouching more and more throughout the drive.

Even though you’re not looking forward to stepping outside into the cold, you’re glad for a bit of a cooldown, just to ease your exhaustion.

Hope parks his car right next to the petrol pump, and as soon as he turns it off, you both get out and head to the boot where two big empty canisters are waiting.

“Here, I’ll go to the one right behind this one.” He offers you one of the canisters, and while you take it, you’re still confused.

“I only need one, though.”

He’s already unscrewed his, pumping petrol as he leans to the side to look at you.

“Yeah, this one’s for me.”

You’re still confused, but you start filling your canister anyway.

“Isn’t your car electric?”

“Yeah, but I need emergency petrol for the generator in case there’s an outage and the baby’s coming.”

You freeze. Is Hope…? Oh god, you were so wrong all this time. Relief floods through you, so intense that tears spring to your eyes. Jungkook’s not the baby daddy.

“You’re Hara’s baby daddy?” you squeak.

“Gosh, no!”

And now you think you might throw up, the tears shifting back to the heartbreak of yesterday.

“Areum, my wife, she’s seven months pregnant. You missed her yesterday with your epic escape.”

“Oh. Uh, congratulations.”

But you only hear a snort from behind the pump.

Not wanting to fill the canister completely, you settle on half, afraid you might not have enough left in your bank account. You’re not exactly broke, but you’re worried your employer hasn’t transferred your pay on time. Again.

“I’m off to pay,” you mumble as you pass Hope and head into the small, warm station, where a young teenager plagued with acne stands behind the counter, his eyes barely lifting from his phone throughout your whole exchange.

“Your card’s declined, miss.”

The remaining colour drains from your face at his words. This really can’t be happening.

“Could you…could you try again, please?”

The teenager just rolls his eyes, and if you weren’t so mortified, you’d probably give him some shit for being so rude. But again, the familiar sound of your card being declined fills the little station, and when he hands your card back, you just mumble, “Just a second, please,” before stepping to the far corner by the cooling systems and getting your phone out.

And sure enough, your banking app shows you’re completely drained. Fuck. So there’s only one option left, then.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up.”

“Yo,” Yoongi grumbles, and you’re pretty sure you can hear Jungkook’s panicked voice in the background, asking what’s happened.

“I need your help,” you whisper, glancing over at the teenager to check if he can hear, but he’s already engrossed in his phone again.

“What do you need?”

“I’m short on cash. I can’t pay—”

“Why?”

Yoongi’s tone isn’t accusatory in the slightest, just genuinely surprised. Hope comes into the station now too, cocking a brow at you, which you try to ease with a shaky smile.

“My employer’s late with my pay. Again. And the trip and, uh…it all just…”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi says, flat, almost monotone, but you know he feels awful now, realising you’re actually struggling, not just joking around. It’s not his fault though; you never talk about money, and maybe he’s apologising not just because he let you pay for everything, but because you haven’t had these conversations before.

“S’alright. Can you just transfer some money quickly so I can—”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you.”

You hear him sigh—one that says, Don’t make this a thing now. Hope’s already paid for his, waiting by the door with his hands in his pockets, scanning some nearby magazines.

Knowing not to waste any more time, you hang up, open your banking app again, and refresh it every few seconds until there it is: a transfer of ten fucking thousand dollars from Yoongi, with the note, Should’ve told me sooner.

You make a mental note to give him a piece of your mind regarding the sum later as you pay for the petrol, and dash out of the station, dragging Hope with you to escape the embarrassment as soon as possible. 

“Slow down, will you?”

You let go of his arm once you’re by his car, rubbing your hands over your face in frustration as you mumble, “Sorry. God, I’m such a mess.”

“Come on, we’ll talk in the car. I just wanna get home.”

And you do, silently, closing your eyes as the car winds through the woods back the way you came.

You know Hope doesn’t want to pressure you, but you want to talk about it, just because bottling it up any longer would fry your brain.

“My employer still hasn’t transferred my pay,” you mumble. “I had to call Yoongi to borrow money.”

Hope lets out a long breath through his nose, shaking his head slowly as he listens.

“Again, as in this isn’t the first time?”

“Yeah, as in he owes me several thousand dollars by now.”

“Thousands?”

You tap your knuckle against the window, doing a quick mental tally of how much has piled up since you started working for this guy. “About fifty. Maybe a bit more.”

“No. Fucking. Way.” Hope glances over at you with each word, then back to the road. “___, that’s insane. Fifty thousand?! Why haven’t you sued him? Or quit?”

“I…” Yeah, good question. “I actually don’t know.”

It’s not like it’s a brilliant job worth hanging on to, but working from home has its perks, and finding another role in your field? That’s practically impossible without connections, which you definitely don’t have, seeing as you work from home and have done for years.

“You’re an accountant, yeah?”

“How do you know?” you ask, stopping your gentle tapping against the window to look over at his profile. 

“Oh, who d’you think told me?” He gives you a side-eye, looking slightly annoyed, and you just nod. “Areum’s an accountant too. She works for PwC, all remote. They’re looking for someone to cover her on maternity leave, and she gets to pick who fills in for her, soooo…”

“Sooo…?”

“Woman, I’m not spelling it out for you. You’re not that thick.”

Ouch. “Hey! Stop being so rude to me.”

“Then stop acting daft when you’re not.”

God, you want to strangle him. No wonder he gets along so well with Yoongi. You thought he was just this little ray of sunshine with that stupid bright laugh, but he’s feisty as hell.

“I’ll think about it,” you mumble, knowing decisions like this aren’t made right now, especially as the painkillers wear off and your mind’s about to shut down along with your eyelids.

Eventually, sleep takes over, and if you’re honest, you don’t bother fighting it.

“___, wake up.” Hope’s voice and the gentle push of his hand against your shoulder rouse you not long after. And even though sleeping, even just a bit, should have done you some good, you feel worse after a fifteen-minute nap.

Reluctantly, you straighten in your seat, trying to wake up properly, and smack your lips to get the awful taste off your tongue, but it’s no use. You’ll need to brush your teeth as soon as you’re in the suite—there’s no way around it.

“Thanks for driving me,” you rasp, glancing out of the windscreen to see Jungkook hopping from one foot to the other in the cold, his breath rising in small clouds in front of him. “What’s he doing outside?”

“He’s waiting for you.”

“Oh.”

It’s a mystery why Jungkook would do that, seeing as you’re clearly not on good terms. You’ve been trading jabs and whatnot with every interaction, so the fact that he’s not fed up by now is really baffling.

“I’m heading straight home if that’s okay.”

“Oh. Sure, yes, of course, sorry.” You unbuckle your seatbelt, knowing you shouldn’t overstay your welcome, especially as Hope is snickering again. “Thanks again and goodnight.”

“Goodnight. And…talk to him.”

Well, you don’t really have a choice now. Especially when, after closing the passenger door, you walk to the boot to get your half-empty canister, only to find Jungkook already beside you.

“Here, let me help.”

He doesn’t meet your eyes this time, which feels strange after he spent all afternoon staring at you.

“I’ve got this.”

You heft the canister out of the boot and start walking straight to Tony to fill him up, letting the canister rest by your legs, you wave Hope off as he drives away, then clear the side of Tony of snow.

“What are you doing?” Jungkook stands beside you, arms crossed, chest puffed out. He looks intimidating—hotly so—but you’re still pissed and very much not in the mood for a chat.

“What does it look like?”

He just shrugs with a smirk, and as you finish clearing the snow, you realise you’ve done the wrong side of Tony. 

How embarrassing.

“Don’t say anything.”

And he doesn’t, aside from a quiet snicker as he follows you to the other side, where you finally start clearing the right bit of snow. This time, you find the cap and pull out your car keys to open it.

Ignoring your wishes, Jungkook picks up the canister and starts pouring the petrol into the car, biting his lip piercings again.

“Talk,” you snap, wanting to get this over with—whatever it is that’s bothering him so much he’s biting his lip bloody.

Jungkook glances briefly at you, and while you’ve seen that sad expression on him countless times, it still stings.

“Why did you leave?”

You sigh, glance towards the hostel, and look back at him. “When? When I broke up with you? On the slope yesterday? From the party? Or to the petrol station?”

Alright, it sounded cooler in your head, but you’re now realising you might have a bit of a tendency to run off. Oops.

“All of them, I guess.” He muses, shutting the cap and screwing the canister lid back on as he turns to you fully.

“Jungkook, that’s a conversation I’m not having with you right now.”

“And when would be the best time for it?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe not outside, not in the middle of the night, not when I’m batshit hungover, and especially not when you’ve built a new life for yourself.”

That last bit wasn’t really what you wanted to say, but it slipped out anyway, the perfect proof that it’s indeed not the best time. 

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair for you to treat me like this, Jungkook. I’m not doing this anymore.”

You turn while watching him run a hand through his hair, then stomp through the deep snow towards the hostel to stop yourself freezing out here.

“Stop running away!”

“I’m not running away. I’m going to bed. You should too.”

Jungkook catches the door at the last second and steps into Dionysus right behind you.

“You are running away.”

You turn to face him sharply, causing him to nearly bulldoze into you, but he catches himself in time, stepping back a bit with his hands on his hips, still clutching the canister in his reddened hand.

“Why did you need petrol for Tony, who’s been out of it for days? Why now?”

You purse your lips, mirroring his stance instinctively, staring each other down. You’re stubborn, but so is he, and you’re not backing down. He wants to start a fight? See who breaks first? See if you’re really running away from him? Well, you’ll prove him wrong.

“Safety. Caution. Responsibility. Take your pick.”

There’s a familiar glint in his eyes—the one that says he knows you’re bullshitting him. God, you’ve missed this. Missed him.

“So, not fleeing the scene, hm?”

“Not fleeing the scene.”

And you’re not. Change of plans: you’re staying. You’ll stay, and you’ll whoop his ass by becoming the best snowboarder on the planet.

Jungkook just nods, and you nod back.

Usually, this would be the moment he’d tackle you and fuck the truth out of you in no time. And though you can vividly picture it, you need to keep your distance. So before the tension builds too much, before Jungkook becomes too much, you stop nodding and let your arms drop to your sides.

“Goodnight, Jungkook.”

He mirrors your stance, and though his eyes dim with that usual sadness, you refuse to see it as longing. Because why would he?

“Goodnight, ___.”

You nod, and while you can’t quite tear yourself away from his gaze, you eventually turn and head up to your suite, finding Yoongi already silently and fast asleep, you can’t help but to leave a tiny gap in the door, just enough to watch as Jungkook disappears into his own room.

Day 5

You feel good.

No, scratch that—you feel absolutely pumped, energised, and oh-so-ready for the day. There’s a wild fire blazing through your veins, just waiting to be unleashed, and you’re absolutely down for it.

Sitting alone in the dining room after that little talk with Yoongi about the sum he transferred to your bank account, only to be met with an eye roll in response, you’re busy preparing the most protein-packed breakfast Namjoon’s buffet has on offer. You’ll definitely need it—not just because your body’s craving nutrients, but because your brain needs to be at its best so you can finally beat Jungkook at his own game.

No, not with his petty remarks and actions, but by getting your answers with carefully placed, strategically even, questions so he doesn’t even realise you’re grilling him. You’re brilliant, so of course you can pull this off. The sulky victim era of ___ is over—here comes the new, improved you.

Though, if you’re honest, you know there’s a pretty decent chance that Jungkook might catch on to your plan. He’s always been good at that, always been just as brilliant as you. But his competitive side usually has you beat by the end of the day. But not today. Today, you’re determined to win.

Especially when the man himself strolls in, looking sinfully good. His hair’s damp, falling messily over his forehead and eyes, while his thin white shirt hangs loosely off his shoulders, clinging slightly to his skin where he didn’t dry off properly.

“Morning, Kook,” you chirp, practically singing it, intentionally calling him by the nickname you lovingly gave him all those years ago.

Jungkook slows his steps, one eyebrow raised and lips pursed. The confusion’s painted all across his face exactly as you’d hoped. Excellent.

“Morning.” He stops at your table, glancing at the empty chairs next to you and opposite you, and when he takes the one right beside you, you’re doing a little celebratory dance on the inside.

“Did you sleep well, Kook?” He eyes you as he gets his plate ready, and while he answers, you take a small bite of your food, your overly cheerful grin firmly in place.

“Uh, yeah, did you?”

“Of course! Snuggly kept me company all night.”

The confusion in Jungkook’s eyes deepens, and you’d give anything to know what’s running through his head right now. You keep your face just as innocent and cheerful as possible, though it’s getting harder by the second.

“So, what’ve you been up to these past five months?” If your math’s right, Hara’s now a little over four months along. So, if Jungkook was around back then, you’ve got your answer.

“Five months?” He raises an eyebrow again, biting into the sandwich he’s just thrown together. There’s far more ham than bread—probably more to keep his hands clean than for actual taste.

“Yeah, where’ve you all been, then?”

“Uh,” Jungkook chews, blinking at you. You can practically see the gears turning in his head as he tries to figure you out. “I’ve been to Bangkok, Hawaii, and, uh… before that, I was here for a few months.”

No. Fucking. Way. So all those mixed signals, not only from Jungkook but all his friends too, weren’t so mixed after all.

“This town’s pretty small. Is there anything exciting to do off-season?”

“Well, Hara had a huge birthday celebration. So there was that.”

“Hara’s birthday’s in August?”

“Yeah, why?”

So he gave her a baby for her birthday. How pathetic it makes you feel, realising you’ve been too busy being still his to fall for someone new all this time. But you don’t let the heartbreak show this time. You swallow it down because shutting down won’t help you now.

“Just asking.”

Jungkook just nods again, still contemplating your words, trying to read your motives like he always does, though you’re as blank as can be beneath your smile. It’s not that you’ve lost your determination to get through snowboarding—no, you’re way too competitive and stubborn to back down now. Still, you kind of wish you were as drunk as you’d been two days ago.

The upside of being fully sober again is that you feel fantastic. Physically, anyway. The downside is that your brain won’t shut up.

You vividly remember the night you ended things, the exhaustion, the desperation in your every word as you tried to explain yourself to him. It wasn’t that you didn’t love him; you did and you still do, maybe even more than you should. But back then, you’d grown tired of always feeling like you weren’t enough, of feeling like you were someone he didn’t really need.

You’d always been the one to soothe your doubts on your own, to make excuses for him and his choices, to tell yourself it was just a phase, that he’d eventually grow out of it—that he’d grow out of it for you. Not that he’d never do anything risky again, but just enough for him to see that some things are too dangerous to try.

Losing him was completely your fault, you know that, and even though he’s going to be a dad—even if it’s not your child—you’d crawl back to him in a heartbeat if there were any chance. Not that you’d ever be a homewrecker; that’s something you’d never do, and you’ll respect any relationship on earth as it is. But if he’s only going to be a father, if he’s only co-parenting with Hara and they’re not together, you’d try to make it work somehow.

Or maybe you’re just delusional, thinking you’d be okay with him having a kid that’s not yours. Because deep down, the thought of him being with someone else after you—even if you weren’t together anymore—makes you want to throw up. Not just because picturing it is one of your worst nightmares, but because all the love declarations he made, and will probably make again in that scenario, would be empty in their truest form. At least in your eyes. 

There’s nothing you can do about it; it’s not like you’re some grandma who thinks virginity before marriage is a must. But if he was with you and says he’d want to be with you again, there’s no chance if he had someone else in between.

Jungkook sniffs beside you, and you’re not exactly proud that, since learning he’s staying here at the hostel too, you’ve kept spare napkins nearby, just like the good old days, and you’re not proud as you hand him one with a small smile, still chewing, knowing his rhinitis is worst in the morning.

“Thanks,” he’s smiling, though there’s still that look of doubt in his eyes, as if he’s still trying to work out what you’re up to. “So, how about you?”

You’ve half a mind to exaggerate again, but you know you’ll need to save your energy today, especially since you’re spending the whole day with Jungkook. So you stick to the truth. “Nothing really. Mostly work, and a few activities I’ve tried.”

“It’s weird.”

“What is?”

“You doing all that stuff.”

Jungkook doesn’t look as accusatory as he did the first day; this time, he actually looks…sad.

“Didn’t you want me that way?” You keep your tone light, friendly even, but deep down, that old pettiness rises to the surface.

“No.” The word slips from his lips without a moment’s hesitation, his sad eyes fixed on yours, and suddenly, you can’t breathe. It just doesn’t make sense.

“I…why?”

He slowly swallows his last bite and reaches for his coffee, just to toy with the rim of the mug. Then he lifts his gaze to meet yours, boring into your irises as if to tell you more than he’s actually saying. “That’s not you.”

You just stare at him, trying to understand why he’d want you to change all those years ago, only to now tell you, indirectly, he doesn’t like the person he’d pushed you to become. No words form in your brain, again too overwhelmed by it all, so you just nod, because quite honestly, he’s right. It’s not who you are, even if some of the less riskier activities, like snowboarding, turned out to be more fun than you’d expected.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to handle the silence well as you quietly finish your meal, as his leg starts bouncing under the table again, occasionally brushing against yours. You’re sure he doesn’t even notice it, but you do and while you think about shifting your leg slightly away, that faint touch of his somehow soothes the intense longing you have for him.

How many times you’ve thought about calling him, only to remind yourself he was the one who let you go without a word, is beyond counting now. Trying to count would be like trying to reach infinity without breaking down as the despair catches up to you and you simply can’t do either. 

You need, with all your might, to pull your mind out of this endless void and focus on the good. You’re able to have a normal conversation with Jungkook. He’s fine. You’re fine. And if you can make it through these next two weeks, you tell yourself that you’ll be fine too, even if it’s without him. Because that countdown in your head has shifted—from thinking you’ve got time to work things out, to savouring these last moments with him as much as possible, hoping to make memories you can hold onto as fondly as the ones you made all those years ago.

“So, today’s blue slope day?”

Jungkook nods with a smirk, eyes still on his cup, clearly lost in thought. “Yeah. You ready?”

“Sure. I was born ready.”

The snort that escapes him mirrors your own, letting the sadness fade into that playful light in his eyes you’ve always adored when he finally looks back up to you. 

“Then let’s head out, shall we?”

“Yes, sir!” You salute playfully, downing the rest of your or rather his iced Americano—sneakily poured into a regular mug—in one go and standing as soon as Jungkook does.

It doesn’t take long for you both to get fully geared up and leave the hostel, Jungkook closing the usual distance between you by walking much closer than he has on any of the previous days, though you welcome it this time. 

“Give me your board.” Jungkook stretches out his free hand towards you when you’re just a few feet away from Dionysos.

“I can handle it.”

“I know you can. But you don’t have to.”

Wondering whether you’re about to be stubborn again, you decide to let him help you. It’s a nice gesture, and knowing his strength—which has clearly grown over the last few years—it’s no bother for him to carry your snowboard too. So you hand it to him, mumbling a small, grateful “thanks” and fall into step with him, the rustling of your gear and the dull thud of your boots the only sounds breaking the otherwise silent streets.

“It’s such a lovely day.” You marvel at the first rays of sunlight shining down, making the snow-covered streets steam ever so slightly, looking straight out of a fantasy.

The town’s not fully awake yet; a few people are setting up their displays outside, greeting you both with warm smiles and friendly faces. It’s easy being here, so welcoming when you ignore the chaos that’s crashed down on you since you arrived.

You’d like to imagine living here, spending the rest of your life in this place with Jungkook, befriending his friends too, all in some alternate universe. You daydream about a winter wedding, teaching your kids how to build a snowman, and everything else.

It would be nice, it would be perfect. Because in that universe, you’d still be with Jungkook, and you’d be not only happy but fulfilled.

“It is, the slopes should be perfect too.”

A small group of kindergarteners crosses your path just before the slopes, and as your gaze drifts from them to the shop windows behind, you catch the reflection of you and Jungkook side by side. He’s looking at the kids, full of adoration, with that same endearing smile you fell in love with all those years ago.

His hair’s just as shiny and healthy, his eyes sparkling in that familiar way. You’ve always known how much Jungkook wants a family—he always has, just as you always did. It’s one of the reasons you connected so quickly. His values and hopes for the future aligned so perfectly with yours that falling for him and picturing a life together was almost inevitable.

You knew back then that having different hobbies wasn’t the most important thing in a relationship, that differences in those areas wouldn’t decide its downfall. But somehow, you both let those differences take centre stage.

It wasn’t just poor communication that damaged things; you lost sight of what truly mattered, letting the good become tainted with doubt, trust begin to crack, and your hearts bleed in ways they never should have.

Standing there now, side by side, you realise that everything that happened, the way you both handled things, was so unnecessarily foolish. You wish you’d made different choices. You look perfect together, like one of those couples you see and just know they’re meant to be, like they’re soulmates, like they’re fated.

Jungkook’s eyes lift up, catching yours in the window, and his smile grows just a bit wider. There’s still that adoration there—or is it just nostalgia? Or maybe it’s the inner peace he feels, knowing he’ll soon have a child of his own? You’re not sure, and you’re afraid to let yourself think too deeply about it. Because, honestly, if it’s anything but adoration, you’d spiral so much, so irrevocably, that you might just break all over again.

Switching your board to his other hand, where he’s already holding his own, he lifts his now free arm and wraps it over your shoulder, pulling you into his side. Your head doesn’t even reach his eyes, and your shoulder aligns perfectly with his arm, like you’re a puzzle piece fitting into him. You can’t help the broad smile that breaks over your face when he says, “I’m glad you’re here.”

You turn away from the window, tilting your head up to look into his beautiful brown eyes, taking in this small, pure moment that you’ll lock away in the deepest parts of your heart and cherish for the rest of your life. “Me too.”

Simple moments like these with Jungkook have always been so beautiful. It’s always been like this, just the two of you in a bubble where nothing else matters. The ache in your heart should ease in moments like this, but instead, it grows, the longing building until it’s nearly unbearable.

How perfect it would feel to kiss him now, how your heart and soul would sing if he kissed you back. The realisation—the overwhelming certainty—that he truly was the one for you hits you like an avalanche, burying you so deeply you’ll never find a way out.

Still, you turn your face away, and he lets you go.

“Let’s get it.” Jungkook cheers, and you echo his words, because you don’t know what else to say, walking side by side to the lift. Thankfully, this time without any annoying interruptions from his fangirls.

The first ride up in the ski gondola is equal parts terrifying and beautiful. The trees below look like miniature toys, and the mountain peaks seem too stunning to be real, like a picture painted by an artist. The gondola is empty except for the two of you, Jungkook sitting across from you, both of you gazing outside. But every now and then, you can’t help glancing at his reflection.

Jungkook talks the entire way up, going over everything you should know about snowboarding by now. His calm voice, his solid presence right in front of you, and his patient review of the basics settle the last of your nerves, along with Hope’s words, still ringing loudly in your mind.

Fear is faith in the negative.

And you don’t want to live like that again—not now, and not when it’s just snowboarding. You trust your own abilities, and you trust Jungkook to keep you safe, like he always has. Well, aside from that one camping incident—but you’ll turn a blind eye to that for now. You have to, because one lapse in his judgement all those years ago shouldn’t undo everything else he’s proven to you.

The morning is spent making descent after descent, each one becoming easier and more fun, especially with Jungkook staying close. You manage to fall less and less, and when you do, he’s always right there, reaching out to help you back on your feet.

And while you’re laughing and joking like old times, it feels as if no time has passed at all.

Just before lunch, you both find yourselves back at the gondola, though this time it’s a different one.

“There’s this restaurant way up there.” Jungkook points into the distance, and you squint, trying to follow his finger, but the sun is too bright to make out exactly where he’s pointing. “The food’s amazing, and we’ll be able to take a way longer run down. It’ll build your stamina and get you ready for the harder slopes tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.” You smile at him, excited not only for the food but also for the chance to push yourself a bit more.

When you step into the gondola with a few others, it’s so packed that you have to squeeze in beside Jungkook, pressing against his side. With his broad shoulders and your thick coat, there’s not much room and after a few minutes, Jungkook shifts and lifts his arm, draping it over your shoulder to give you both a bit more space.

You frown. Even though it’s more comfortable this way, you don’t like it at all. If he’s with Hara, this is crossing boundaries left and right. You know that if you were still together and he did this with another woman, it’d be a dealbreaker.

The gesture sours your mood instantly, letting your thoughts spiral in a way that has you dangerously close to snapping at him. But you hold back. You won’t start a scene now, not here; you’ll wait until you’re at the restaurant and talk things through.

When you reach the top and leave the gondola, heading toward the small restaurant by the lift, Jungkook keeps his hand resting lightly on your back.

It’s ironic, really. You left because you wanted him to find happiness, to be with someone who wouldn’t bring conflict, someone he wouldn’t feel the need to change. And here he is, supposedly happy, yet acting like you’re still his, clinging to old habits like they’re the only things he has left with you. 

Maybe that’s the saddest part of all. He’s got everything he once told you he wanted, yet he’s still holding onto pieces of the past, unable to let them go. And maybe he’ll never fully move on, just like you haven’t, even if he thinks he has. But that’s not something you can fix. You tried—more than once—to help him keep his distance, to let go of whatever still kept him wounded. Even if it wasn’t the perfect approach, pretending to be with Yoongi, you thought it might help him move on. But he has to handle that himself now; you’re done being the one to guide him there.

You deserve peace, too. You deserve to be able to look back on your time together without feeling unresolved tension. If that means keeping your distance, letting him live his life with Hara without stepping in, then so be it. You’re done making excuses for him, done justifying his behaviour to yourself. He’s made his choices, back then and now too, and now it’s time for you to make yours.

You take a deep breath, letting it all settle within you as you step into the restaurant. The hurt, the sadness, the longing—sure, it’s all still there, and maybe it always will be. But now, it’s just that: memories. Moments you once cherished, now filed away in a part of your heart that no longer needs to cling so tightly. Or at least, that’s what you hope.

As you sit down across from him, letting go bit by bit, you realise that maybe this is what closure should feel like. Hurtful, and not freeing at all. 

“You’re kinda touchy.” 

Jungkook looks up from his menu, running the tip of his tongue over his lip piercing. “I always am.”

Your lips press into a firm line, shoulders tensing even more. Jungkook’s eyes dart over you, and he realises too late that your mood has shifted. As he catches on, his nervous habits start to surface in an instant. He fumbles with his menu, his leg bouncing so hard that the tablecloth shifts slightly with each movement.

“Doesn’t it feel wrong to you?” You ask, your tone so accusatory it even startles you.

Jungkook gulps, actually gulps, and you feel the urge to laugh or maybe storm off altogether.

“No?” He sounds uncertain, though there’s a strange conviction in his voice, even with his nerves. “Does it bother you?”

“Yes.”

You stare each other down, Jungkook nodding but tilting his head slightly, eyebrows drawn. “Is it because of Yoongi?”

Should you come clean and tell him you’re not dating Yoongi, that he’s just your cousin? But you can’t see the point. It wouldn’t change anything now, you’re sure of that. Though you’re not sure if the snort and shake of your head is more because of how absurd it all is, or if it’s meant to answer his question. Either way, it fits. And as Jungkook exhales sharply through his nose, his jaw clenching in a steady rhythm, you don’t say anything more.

The tension between you feels like it’s growing and the silence between you both is almost suffocating you. You try to distract yourself by looking at the scenery outside the window, but it’s no use.

“I never wanted to do all those things,” you mumble, as if you can somehow lift a bit of the weight off your chest. “But I felt so…so unworthy…so empty. I needed to do it, even if I hated most of it.”

The waiter sets down your plates and drinks, wishing you a pleasant meal. Still, you don’t look up at Jungkook, maybe out of embarrassment, maybe because you just can’t. Instead, you stare at your food, forcing yourself to eat, even if it’s only a little.

“You shouldn’t have.” His voice is gentle, and you feel his gaze burning onto your face, though you try to ignore it. “Not for someone else, at least.”

Is he talking about himself? Or does he think you did it all for Yoongi? Either way, he’s right, though those words would have made more difference if he’d said them years ago.

“Maybe you’re right.”

It’s unusual to see Jungkook eating so slowly, and it’s not like you to keep so quiet, either. It’s not that you can’t handle silence, but sharing a meal like this without any connection feels so pointless.

“Was it easy?” Jungkook eventually asks, and your eyes involuntarily snap up to him.

“What was?”

“Moving on so fast…”

Sometimes, looking at Jungkook like you do now, you marvel at how much he’s matured. His features have lost that softness, his smooth skin now showing faint lines from laughter and time you weren’t there to share.

You’d always imagined growing old with him, and even though it hasn’t been that long, your heart aches for all the time lost.

The faint, bluish shadows under his eyes, something he didn’t even have during his finals, make him look not just tired, but drained off life. You can only hope it’s not because of you.

“I never did, so I can’t say.”

You both go back to eating, letting silence settle again as you try to process it all. Maybe you need a whiteboard, or even a list, something to help you make sense of it all, thinking you’ll definitely do that later, once you’re back at the hostel tonight. 

More than half your plate is still full, but you can’t seem to eat any more. As you set your cutlery down and tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, you notice Jungkook’s already finished his meal.

“You should eat more.”

“I’m full. I’ll just take it to go.”

And after Jungkook sighs and nods, you do just that, quickly insisting you’ll pay for your own meal, refusing to let him cover it for you.

Finally back outside, the sky has shifted, like your mood, from sunny and clear to dark, with low-hanging, heavy clouds.

“That’s odd,” Jungkook mutters, fishing his phone out and typing quickly. “Forecast didn’t mention a downpour.”

“What should we do?” Your nerves flare, body tingling and palms starting to sweat as that familiar panic creeps in, the kind that takes over any time things veer off-plan.

Jungkook’s eyes dart over his screen, only adding to your unease.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath and puts his phone away. “So, uh, there’s a thunder cell that’s come up out of nowhere, and there’s a warning for a severe snowstorm. But it’s all good. We still have time.”

Just then, the first big snowflakes start falling from the clouds, and the wind picks up. As you look up at the sky, your voice trembles, “Jungkook?”

“Alright, okay, maybe we don’t have as much time as I thought. We’re going to head down this way quickly, but safely.” He points toward a fork in the path where you can see a sign with a blue dot in one direction and a black one in the other—the black meaning it’s the most difficult and dangerous run there is.

“Okay.” You don’t sound entirely convinced, partly because, while you believe in your skills, you know that in these weather conditions, even the best skills won’t count for much.

“Strap on your board. We need to go.”

And you follow his instructions because, at this point, there’s no other option. The wind has picked up dramatically by the time you straighten up again, and you have to strain every muscle to stay upright against its force.

You’re terrified, and Jungkook’s focused, hurried pace isn’t doing much to settle your nerves.

“You’re leading, so I can keep my eyes on you.” 

You nod, shifting your weight forward to start descending, but keeping control of the board proves not just difficult, but almost impossible. Your vision blurs with the flurry of snowflakes, even through your goggles, you can barely make out the slope or see the fork ahead.

“To the right!” you hear Jungkook shout from behind, his voice frantic to its core. But as you pick up speed, the wind shoves you beyond the limit of what you can handle, pushing you towards the left, dangerously close to the black run.

“To the right, ___!”

You try, you really do, but you can’t seem to manage it. Like a leaf in a gale, you’re pulled in the direction you don’t want to go, helpless to stop it. Lungs burning with each short breath, you think you scream the moment you realise it’s too late, skidding down the steep, black slope.

You try to brake, just like Jungkook taught you, but your knees are weak, your muscles not trained enough to regain control.

Jungkook rushes up beside you, and even though you’re in full survival mode, his presence brings you a tiny sliver of reassurance, even if it’s just for a while. 

“You’re doing good, keep going!”

And you do, tears streaming down under your scarf. The storm keeps pushing you off course, pulling you again and again in directions you don’t want to go. But Jungkook’s right there, sticking close beside you, trying to block out some of the wind’s blasts and guiding you as best as he can.

It feels like an eternity—fighting against nature, fighting to stay upright, fighting the fear building stronger and stronger in your chest. Somehow, even though you left the marked slope ages ago, heading somewhere unknown and unsure if it’ll lead you to safety, you spot a small, abandoned-looking hut in the distance.

“Try to stop!” Jungkook yells, his voice barely reaching you through the howling wind.

“Now?”

“Now!”

You manage to stop, though clumsily, falling hard onto your bum, every muscle aching so painfully you’re barely able to move. Jungkook ditches his board in seconds, crawling over to help you with yours as the frozen clips stubbornly resist coming loose.

“You good?” He glances briefly at your face, breath visible in short puffs matching yours, his lips chapped and slightly split.

You nod, though you’re still trembling, trying to steady yourself as adrenaline surges through you without much mercy. 

Jungkook gets up with your board in hand, offering his free hand to you in a heartbeat and pulling you up effortlessly. After he picks up his own board, jointing yours, he clasps your hand with his free one and bolts towards the hut, dragging you along with him. 

Thankfully, or rather miraculously, the hut’s indeed abandoned and open. And while Jungkook pushes you inside first, letting the boards clatter onto the wooden floor as he leans against the door, both of you are panting and gasping for air, needing this break more than anything. 

The hut’s not really windproof, small gaps in the wooden walls still letting the cold wind whistle inside.

“Seriously? What the hell were you thinking?!” He rips his helmet off and throws it to the boards on the ground.

You try to straighten yourself, though the ache’s nearly too much. “I… I tried. I… it…���

“You just never listen, do you? I told you to turn right back there, but of course, you went your own way. Always have, always will.”

The storm outside’s picked up even more now, and the cold has seeped into your bones, though you still fold your arms, doing your best to keep your voice steady despite the burn in your lungs. “Oh, please, Jungkook. Don’t act like I’m the only one who doesn’t listen. You’ve got selective hearing when it suits you.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh, running a gloved hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “Selective hearing? I spent years trying to tell you things, but you were always too stubborn to actually listen.”

“Right, yeah, I’m the stubborn one,” you snap right back. “You still can’t even talk to me unless it’s about some bullshit like snowboarding.”

“Oh, as if you’re any better.”

“I am! You didn’t even say one word before I left!” you explode, ripping off your helmet too, followed by your gloves, yeeting them across the hut.

“Oh, fuck off, ___! I wanted to, but clearly, you couldn’t wait to fuck Yoongi as soon as you got rid off me!”

“Yoongi’s my cousin, Jungkook. Family. But I wouldn’t expect you to know that, since you barely know anything about my life anymore.”

Jungkook’s face falls at that, and you can clearly see how his whole world view crumbles in his eyes, leaving nothing behind but a hollow sadness you’ve never seen before. Though you’re sad too, you’re hollow too, and so you continue, “Don’t pin this on me when I never moved on, when you were the one fucking Hara and giving her a baby.”

His unfocused eyes snap to you, lips still parted as he breathes, “I never slept with her. She’s Jin’s wife.”

You feel like you’re falling, falling so hard and fast you can’t stop. The tears that coat your eyes are nothing compared to the agonising realisation ripping you open. All those years, even all this hurt you’ve been experiencing these last few days, were unfounded.

If you weren’t this close to Jungkook, you’d think his red nose was just from the cold, but the silver lining his eyes carry shows just how broken you both are, what you did to yourselves without even realising it in the first place. 

“You moved on,” you press out, fighting the sob that threatens to spill.

“I haven’t.”

How foolish all the assumptions were, how foolish of him to assume just as much. How utterly foolish that you both lost the ability to talk to each other long before your relationship ended.

But maybe it had to come to this for you to learn what it’s like to be separated, to learn how to communicate… but have you really? You reckon you haven’t, not given how things went down. Maybe it’s too late, just as Hope warned you, though a small, fragile part in you clings to the delusion that things might still turn out right.

“Let’s… let’s call for help.” You turn, unable to keep looking at Jungkook, and you’re sure he needs time to process the bomb that’s just dropped.

“Yeah,” he’s taking out his phone again, though the breath he lets out is nothing short of concerning. “My phone’s dead. How about yours?”

By now you’ve sat down on the small, bare bed, as standing any longer would have had you fainting by this point. While you rummage through your inner coat pocket to pull out your old beaten-up phone, Jungkook stomps over with his snow-covered boots and sits down beside you, leaving enough space between you that it feels like miles.

Lighting up the screen, you see your phone’s battery miraculously still well over 90%, but there’s absolutely no signal. “Nope, no signal. We’re stranded.”

Just as you’re about to put your phone back, Jungkook stops you with his voice. “You still got the case?”

You pause, looking over at him, only to meet hopeful eyes you can’t quite place.

“Uh, yeah. You clearly got rid of yours though.”

You hate sounding so bitter, but it is what it is. Years of feeling the way you did can’t be undone with one revelation.

“I lost it… my phone, too, when I was in the Caribbean shortly after we…”

You hum and nod because what else is there to do?

“Why did you keep it?”

Your eyes stray from your phone, where you’re running your thumb over one of Jungkook’s doodles on the case like it always does, to him, though he’s not looking at you this time, just fiddling with his gloves in his lap.

“I can’t get rid of memories. You should know that.”

“Even if they’re bad?” He turns his head to you, though his eyes are fixed on your phone. The way he’s slouching is so unlike him, and it hurts to see what you’ve done to him.

“They aren’t bad.”

Jungkook nods a few times, as if he’s trying to cement your words in his mind, rewriting everything he thought was real but never was.

Eventually, Jungkook stands up and walks over to a small closet, pulling open the doors to see what’s inside.

“No way.” He breathes out a laugh, and you crane your neck to look past his broad shoulders, though it’s no use.

When he turns, arms full of vacuum bags stuffed with blankets and pillows, you feel like you might scream in delight. Especially when Jungkook rips them open beside you and a waft of freshly washed fabric hits you.

“That’s like hitting the jackpot.” You look up at him, your grin as wide as his as he just laughs. “Can you light the fireplace too?”

Jungkook furrows his brows as he looks around the hut, likely because he hadn’t spotted it until now. But as soon as he clocks it, along with the stack of dried wood beside it, he’s off in a flash, inspecting the chimney and everything else.

Meanwhile, you gather all the bedding and spread it out on the bed, purposefully ignoring the fact that there’s only this one bed in the hut and not even a couch. It shouldn’t be a big deal—you’ve done more than sleep in the same bed as Jungkook before, and you’re both clearly single, so there’s nothing your conscience can protest about.

Still, time has passed, and you’ve clearly drifted apart more than you would’ve liked. It’s an unusual situation you’re in, an emergency really, and you’ll have to adjust to it without reading too much into it.

“Got a lighter on you?”

You pull it out of your pocket, leaving Yoongi’s cigarettes in your pocket that you nicked this morning alongside before leaving, and toss the lighter his way which he catches effortlessly with one hand, lighting up the kindling he’s set, framed by a few larger sticks of wood.

Jungkook watches the fire intently, and soon enough the hut’s heating up, allowing you to take off your coat. Not wanting to keep your boots on any longer—by now, they’ve cut off all circulation in your feet—you pull them off as well, then crawl onto the bed, settling against the headboard under the layers of blankets.

You’re absolutely knackered at this point, and as you check the time on your phone, you realise it’s already past dinnertime.

“You can join me, you know?” you smile as Jungkook turns around, muttering an “okay” and starting to peel off his gear too, though you don’t miss the flush creeping up to his ears.

How endearing he can still be.

The bed’s clearly not meant for two—especially not when Jungkook’s become this buff. He’d probably struggle to fit on his own, let alone with someone else. And though you’re fairly petite next to him, you’re both squished together, personal space nonexistent. Still, it’s better than freezing to death outside.

“I’m so tired,” you yawn.

“I’m so hungry.”

The pout on Jungkook’s face makes you giggle; it’s just so him. Without thinking, you lean over him to fetch the food from your coat. Only when you settle back beside him do you notice how stiff he’s gone.

You don’t comment on it, just hand him the leftovers, which he reluctantly takes, though this time he doesn’t engulf your hands like he did yesterday. Not that you’d admit it, but you’re a bit sad he didn’t do it again.

“You hungry too? It’s your food.”

“I’m good, Jungkook, please just eat.”

You’re starting to read him again, just a bit less hazy than it was the last few days. So before he can start arguing with you, those sad boba eyes pleading for you to eat when you’re genuinely not hungry, you lay your hand over his arm, giving it a light squeeze. “I’m not hungry, promise.”

With that, Jungkook starts to eat and you lean back, slumping more into the blankets as he eats in silence, your eyes growing heavy with each passing minute. 

“You can sleep if you want.” Jungkook gently pulls the blanket higher over your shoulder as you lie down fully, your head nearly resting against his hip.

“I’m still cold,” you mumble sleepily, though there’s no chance you’ll really fall asleep while you’re still shivering like this. The storm’s really taken it out of you.

Jungkook shifts, and when you open your eyes, you realise he’s finished eating and is lying down facing you. “Turn around.”

Lying beside him like this, faces just inches apart, is something you never thought would happen again. And while it’s hard to look away from him—the slope of his nose, the Cupid’s bow of his lips making them almost too inviting—you fight against the blankets draped over you both and turn around. Jungkook slips an arm around your waist without much care, pulling you fully against him until there’s no space left between you.

Heart racing like a hummingbird’s wings, you try to relax into his hold, but the thin layer of fabric separating you makes it feel as though you’re bare. You’d seen the contours of his body when he stripped off his gear, the black thermal shirt and pants clinging to his muscles like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. But feeling his solid body against yours like this, after so long, leaves your head spinning in circles you can’t seem to stop.

You haven’t noticed how your hips press back against his crotch, haven’t noticed the way your body instinctively moves against his until Jungkook’s breath hits your ear.

“Sorry,” you breathe, but somehow, you can’t bring yourself to stop. His large hand, which had been resting on the mattress beside you, slides up along your stomach, stopping just before cupping your breast from below, and you know you’ve stepped through a door that should’ve been left closed.

Heat rises within you, making you shiver with something far more pleasant than the cold. You need more of him, more of his touch, and your hand slips from beneath the blankets, reaching back to tangle in the hair at the back of his head, willing yourself to just feel and nothing more. 

His quick breaths ghost across the part of your neck that’s bare, just enough to spark more want not only in your heart but your cunt too. You tug gently at his hair, urging him down, igniting a fire you know won’t be put out easily.

Before his hand fully cups your breast, he pulls you even tighter against him, hot lips kissing and sucking at your skin as you press yourself back, trying to ease the ache between your legs against his growing cock.

The low moans slipping from Jungkook’s throat are music to your ears, and the realisation that he likely sang that song not for Hara, but for you, sends another wave of arousal out of your cunt.

“Jungkook…” you rasp, basking in his touch, but as soon as his name leaves your lips, he pulls back.

Thinking you’ve done something wrong, you turn your head, only to see him tugging off the last of his clothes. Relieved and more turned on than you’ve ever been, you strip off your own gear, leaving the blanket draped over you. It’s been years, your body’s changed, and while you know it shouldn’t matter, you still hope he doesn’t notice.

In a blink, he’s back, resuming where he left off, though now it’s his warm, smooth skin against yours. The ridges of his abdomen press along your back, and the feel of his cock—hard and oh so hot—against the cheeks of your ass is pure bliss.

You turn your head, trying to catch his gaze, maybe even hoping for a kiss, but when you catch sight of the familiar chain around his neck, it stops you in your tracks.

Jungkook pauses too, his eyes questioning, but as soon as he realises what you’re looking at, he gives you a lazy smirk, his hand cupping your face to turn you towards him and with it your whole body. 

You expect him to kiss you now, hungrily like he always did, but instead, he brushes his lips along your cheek, your neck, shifting to settle between your legs while the cool metal of the chain’s grazing your tits with every shift of his body.

“I don’t have a condom. I could…eat you out.”

His thigh pressing against you doesn’t lessen the ache, but you remember the one scare you had together, that time you thought you might be pregnant not long after you’d started dating. It wasn’t that you wouldn’t have wanted it, but you’d both been so young. Even now, the thought makes your heart skip, but not as violently as it used to. You’d be ready and willing to take the risk, though, would he? 

“I’m clean, on the pill.”

Jungkook lets out a low groan against your neck as you press your thigh gently against his cock, needing to give something back.

“I haven’t been with anyone since you. So clean.”

Is he serious? The thought hits you hard, and though you know he never lied to you before, you still can’t help but pull back, needing to see his face.

“You haven’t?”

“No.” His voice is barely a whisper, and the same love you remember shines in his eyes, making you tear up.

“Me too.”

“Fuck.” He returns to your neck, his fingers tracing your lines until they find your weeping cunt, slipping between your lips to spread your juices in gentle, familiar strokes as he preps you, every touch an echo of the love that maybe never faded.

The first stretch of his middle finger inside you is nothing short of insane, drawing you higher with a single stroke than any toy has managed in years. The way your cunt clenches around him seems to drive Jungkook on even more as he pumps with precise motions, soon adding his ring finger, bringing you dangerously close to euphoria.

Jungkook’s free hand roams from your neck to your tits, back and forth, squeezing, mapping you out like he forgot how you felt like, though finally resting on your jaw as he nestles his head between your shoulder and neck, leaving soft love bites in his wake.

It’s when he picks up the pace, the base of his palm hitting your clit relentlessly with each thrust, that you come undone, your orgasm flooding over his hand as he continues, determined to not stop just yet. 

A muffled whine of your name slips from his lips, softer than you’ve ever heard, and while you long to hear him call your pet name like he used to, it only amplifies the fullness in your heart for him.

Jungkook keeps his fingers inside you, now scissoring them to stretch you further as you cling to his back, not caring if you leave angry marks. 

“Think you can take it?”

“Yes,” you mewl, not caring if you couldn’t. You’ll take him, you need him, need to feel as if none of those years apart ever happened.

Once again, you think he might finally kiss you, but instead, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your damp forehead. You momentarily frown, but it’s forgotten the second his cock aligns with your still sobbing cunt, dragging up and down to coat his entire length and even his tight balls.

The sight of Jungkook when he finally pushes in is nothing short of mesmerising. He’s so perfectly sculpted, every muscle cord defined, and with his piercings and tattoo sleeve, he looks like a fantasy you never dared dreaming of. 

You’ve always had a weak spot for tattoos, but seeing them inked across Jungkook’s skin? That’s your ultimate downfall. A glorious downfall, as the burn of his thick length pushing deep inside you sends you reeling, until he’s so far in that you can’t tell where he starts and you end.

“Oh my god,” you choke out, overwhelmed by everything Jungkook is—and everything he’s become.

He’s unusually silent, though you barely notice, not when he begins to rock his hips, leisurely sliding his massive cock in and out, low grunts and moans escaping him as his gaze locks onto yours and not dares to stray. 

Jungkook leans back, increasing the intensity of his thrusts, sweat forming in small beads along the ridges of his chest and abs, dripping down despite the cold. His nipples are hard, and your mouth waters with the urge to suck on them. But seeing his own mouth slightly parted, breaths quickening in time with the rhythm of his hips, you’re sure he’s thinking the same, drawn to your own nipples, standing proud on the jiggling flesh of your chest. 

And while you wish you were the flicker of firelight dancing across his skin, you’re not far behind, as his hands find their way from your hips to your tits, caressing them like he always did, giving you everything and far more. You need something to ground yourself, a way to keep from shattering under the emotions running wild in your mind, intensified with every thrust Jungkook drives into your core. So, you grip his wrists, not to stop him, but to urge him on—to make him pinch harder.

Maybe you need the bite of it, maybe you want him to not just take away the ache, but be the reason you remember this night years from now.

“Jungkook, I’m so close, oh my god.”

The grunt that escapes him reverberates through you, nearly pushing you over the edge on its own, but he slows, setting a gentler pace as he shifts so his mouth can worship you from your breasts to your neck, leaving a trail of hickeys across your delicate skin.

You know the two of you will be marked by the end of the night, and right now, that’s all you want. You want to leave yourself etched into his skin, to reclaim your place not only in his heart but in every part of him.

In this moment, it’s like you’re finally whole—not just because Jungkook fills you completely, but because he completes you. He always has, and while you’ve both been damned by what happened before, it feels like redemption might be close.

“You’re…” Jungkook murmurs against your skin, his warm breath searing into you, though you need him to finish his sentence, need to hear it.

But as you cradle his head in your hands and he lifts his gaze to meet yours, his eyes are hooded, yet glistening, and your throat tightens at the sight too.

Face to face, you share the same breath, as if you share one heart, your small hands gripping his face as if you never want to let go, his hands cradling your small head with the tenderness that once meant everything. It’s as though you feel what he’s trying to say—but somehow, you don’t.

There’s still a wall between you, still something unsaid screaming in the silence that just can’t seem to go away, and you’re sure he feels it too. He feels it as your orgasm builds, feels it in the desperation of his own thrusts, in the matching, agonising, wordless ache in both your eyes, feels it when you both shatter together in a burst of all colours and stars in existence. 

And then, all that’s left is pain.

He hasn’t kissed you, and you didn’t kiss him either.

And as he pulls his now-softening length from your still-pulsing cunt and reaches for a tissue from his trousers off the floor to help you clean up, he silently gets dressed. 

Dresses as if he’s ashamed, dressed as if he regrets it, dressed as if you’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

So you do the same, slipping into your clothes before lying back down, shifting as close to the wall as possible, facing away from him to give him some peace where none is found. 

The tears falling silently onto the pillow should only be from the shivering that’s returned, a byproduct of the cold that momentarily disappeared but is now back as if you were never meant to feel warm again.

Finally, exhaustion sweeps over you. Physically. Mentally. And everything in between. 

And as Jungkook lies down too, once more pulling you close and wrapping you in the warmth you crave more than you can bear to admit, your eyes fall shut almost effortlessly.

Maybe sleeping it all away will make it better, forgotten as a dream that never was.

Forgotten, like everything good that once was but now isn’t anymore.

Forgotten, like the tear you feel slide down the back of your neck, disappearing into the fabric of your shirt where all your sins and failures lie buried.

01 • 02 • masterlist • 04

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[lightsoutletsgo]

gotta go my own way — ln.4

pairing: lando norris x reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: angst to absolute crack and stupidity that makes no sense

request: Hi, can you do an angsty fic inspired by “I gotta go my own way” from HSM2. If can either be Charles or Lando or Charlando and they fuck up or something and reader leaves them? Maybe hurt/no comfort? It’s okay if you don’t want to

I fully thank @norrizzandpia for the hot mess that is the end of this fic. we couldn't stop cry laughing once we pictured the rest of the grid watching them sing the song and thus the end of the fic was born. (also credits to them bc I stole some of the dialogue lines they sent to my dm's!) happy reading! mimi 🤍 (I'm so so sorry if this isn't the request fill you were hoping for 😭)

taglist (all works): @arieslost - babe I'm so sorry I'm tagging you in this mess

“Y/N wait!!” You heard Lando call your name from the opposite side of the hotel courtyard and you turned to see him sprinting after you. You stopped and rested your suitcase next to you as he reached you, “Where are you going? Baby we can talk about this!” His hand reached for your arm and you stepped back with a sigh, “Lando… Listen…” He looked at you, pleading as he searched your face, “I guess I just need to say it straight right?” Your heart clenched, god knows this wasn’t easy, “Something about us just… doesn’t seem right these days…” You tried to speak as gently as possible, wanting Lando to understand you weren’t mad at him. “Neither one of us can help it, I know that, but it feels like whatever we try and do somehow the plan is always rearranged…” You trailed off, stepping back towards him and taking his hand gently. You didn’t look up at him, instead choosing to look at where his hand was now gently squeezing yours, his thumb rubbing back and forth in a soothing motion. Whether it was to soothe you or himself you weren’t sure but you took a deep breath to calm yourself. 

He didn’t say a thing, just gave you the space to continue talking, “I knew what I signed up for when I started dating you and if I went back and did it all over again I wouldn’t change my mind. I guess I just didn’t expect that it would affect my life so much? My job, my friends, my family?” Your eyes flitted up to his and you noticed how there were tears now pricking the corner of his eyes. “So what are you saying?” Your bottom lip trembled as you shrugged apologetically, “I’ve got to move on and be who I am…” It was so silent that you hardly dared to breathe. “Lando I’ve tried, I really really have but… Losing my privacy? Losing my time with the other people I love? Sacrificing my job? I just-” Lando scoffed and took his hand away from you “But what about us? What about everything we’ve been through?” “Well what about trust and everything that I’ve given up for you?!” You couldn’t help the way you raised your voice, Lando flinched at your words, seeming to realise how blind he’d been about your struggles, 

“You know I never wanted to hurt you…” You nodded and almost shrunk in on yourself, “I know…” Lando approached you slowly, not wanting to make you feel pressured or smothered, “I just need to know… Do you not love me anymore?” You let out a forced laugh as your eyes welled up with tears, “Do I not love you anymore? Lando I still love you so much that it’s killing me to do this but I know I have to-” “Why? If you still love me then why?!” “Because if I don’t leave you now then I’ll continue to give up everything else for you because I love you that damn much but maybe for a while I need to love myself!” You ranted, panting when you finished. 

He inhaled sharply and you couldn’t help but let the tears fall as you spoke quietly, “I’m sorry- “Don’t apologise. You have nothing to be sorry for.” His voice was firm,  “I have to go, my flight is in a couple of hours.” “I’ll miss you.” His voice was even softer, barely audible even though you were so close to him. “Who knows… maybe we’ll find our place in the world someday?” Lando gave a weak smile, “Yeah, maybe we will… Can I hug you? Just once more and then I swear, I’ll let you leave.” You nodded, unable to speak as you started crying harder.

Lando pulled you into his arms, as he too felt the tears start to fall, “I know you need to do this but it still really fucking hurts…” “I know Lando,” You pulled back to gently cup his face, “I gotta go my own way…” You smiled with a shrug. He pulled you closer to him and gently pressed a kiss to your forehead, your eyes closing as you inhaled deeply. “I’ll see you round?” “Yeah,” You grabbed the handle of your suitcase and started to walk towards the door, “I’ll see you around.” ✩ ♬ ₊.🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩ ♬ ₊.🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩ ♬ ₊.🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Alex sat on the balcony of his hotel room that overlooked the courtyard, enjoying the cool night air. The door opened and out stumbled Oscar and Logan, their eyes glassy from the alcohol they’d been drinking at the afterparty. Alex chuckled, “Steady on guys.” Logan gave him a hazy half-lidded smile, “I’m okay!” Alex snorted, “Sure you are.” He turned his attention back to his laptop where his movie was paused. “Oh look! There’s Lando and Y/N!” Alex followed where Oscar was pointing to see you dragging your suitcase and Lando running after you. “Oooo I missed them! Should I call them over? HEY LA- MMPH!” Logan’s shout was muffled by Alex darting to cover his mouth, “I think they’re fighting?” Oscar looked sad as Logan tapped Alex’s arm to release him, “Surely not? They’re the perfect couple?” Alex leaned over the balcony, thankful that it was quiet enough that they could hear some of the conversation.

“What’s up guys?” The door on the balcony of the room next door slid open and out stepped George and Charles, “Lando and Y/N are fighting?” “Lando and Y/N? There’s no way! They’ll work it out.” Charles said confidently shrugging. Oscar’s brows furrowed suddenly, “Are you guys hearing that music too?” George frowned and craned his ears, “Why does that sound like High School Musical?” “Alex, is your film playing?” Logan asked innocently, “You were watching High School Musical?” Oscar snickered, “NO!” “I don’t know if I should be more concerned that we’re hearing music coming from nowhere or that George knew what it was straight away…” George scoffed at Charles, “Excuse me but the second movie has the best songs.” 

“Is no one else concerned that it’s coming from where Lando and Y/N are?” Oscar pointed out. “Oh God they’re singing.” Alex’s jaw dropped open, “Shut up they’re not?” “I promise you they are.” George and Charles paused for a moment to look at each other before scrambling out of George’s room and down the hallway to Alex’s. They burst into the room and pushed their way onto the balcony, squishing in between Oscar and Alex to lean over the railing. Charles slapped a hand over his mouth as he heard Lando sing the next line very loudly and out of tune, “Are they high?” George pondered out loud, “What exactly is going on?” “Well it can’t be a fight, there’s no way that’s a fight.” Logan spoke matter of factly, “Do you think they’re aware of what they’re doing?” Their expressions varied as you warbled out a somewhat high note, 

“More than that, do you think they know we can hear them?” Logan’s hand came up to cover his ear, “Should we stop them?” Charles asked, “Nope!” “Absolutely not.” George and Alex spoke across each other as Oscar’s phone appeared out of nowhere in his hand and he held it up to start filming. “Are they okay?” Nobody answered Logan, instead just watching you and Lando, until they heard a cough from above them. Leaning back against the balcony and tipping their heads to look up they saw Carlos looking down at them, “That, my friends, is debatable. But it is entertaining, no?” Everyone’s attention turned back to the two of you as the song came to an end and you walked away from Lando, “Oh my god guys, I think that was actually them breaking up.” Logan stated as everyone stood there in shock. Nobody spoke for a moment until Carlos’ voice filtered down from the balcony above, “Also I’ve been out here the entire time and would like to let you know that Alex was actually watching Camp Rock.” 

[melodic-haze]

Hello, this is gonna be a bit different from my other asks, but if I don't ask now I will forget and regret it. I stumbled upon your brat Columbina sample--don't ask how I managed to find something so far back I just have my ways, loved it btw-- and I feel like Sparkle will be exactly the same way.

Now Imagine having to deal with both of them; Each fighting for your attention while also working together to push your buttons. Columbina using her voice and Sparkle doing Masked Fools shenanigans. Only for when you snap and "handle" one of them. The other gets a bit scared and tries to run away only to get grabbed and "dealt" with too.

Do with this however you would like, I just would like to get this off my chest and written down to help me remember this somehow lol. May everyone reading this have a great day and pulls.

-🍎

My backlog wild as hell huh hi gang 💀💀💀 to this day I'm still impressed and flattered at the fact you singlehandedly dug through my entire page for all the stuff I wrote BUT ANYWAYSSSS THIS IS CRAZY I COMBUSTED.....

Tbf I think out of the two of them, Sparkle would be the one to actually scare more. Columbina would put on a facade of fearing for herself while in the presence of such a feral mortal, sure, but like little to nothing would faze her I think. Though this MAY BE be due to how she's a LOT more...durable??? No that's not the word, but neither is insatiable, smth like that though. She can take a LOT more than Sparkle can imo, so she eggs you on to fully snap and take it upon yourself to ruin her COMPLETELY, no holds barred

Granted, she DOES feel that spike in adrenaline, but rather than fear it's probably from the thrill of witnessing just how wild and barbaric you can possibly get in such a situation. Columbina loves testing you beyond your limits and yout patience, and she doesn't mind getting roughed up in the process—actually, she rather enjoys it

Sparkle, however, absolutely LOVES messing with you to high heaven, yeah, but even SHE has her limits. The moment she realises she's gone perhaps a bit too far, she shivers bc she KNOWS something's off something's wrong she should go, such dangers is NOT fit for a Masked Fool as her (not when she's facing it anyway). Realisation be coming in TOO LATE though, and she realises this when you yank her arm back and push her on the mattress after discarding Columbina like some ordinary ragdoll. She'd be LOUD just saying 😜

Though there is that sort of twisted feeling in her that makes her realise that holy shit maybe she DOES like being roughhoused and put in her place like this????? You're DANGEROUS right now......but maybe she likes that. A lot. Helps everything in her mind vanish anyway, cuz a little death never hurt anyone! 😊

Both of them do make a point to do this again though. And that credit where credit's due, the other person did well......though Columbina would probably tease Sparkle for her fear

[forgeofthenine]

Not a request this time, just a little fic based off the song 'Mrs Hollywood' by Go-Jo. Reader is Tav and they/them pronouns are used throughout.

Hopefully you guys enjoy, next one up will be a set of headcanons :)

The three times you leave Dammon, and the one time you stay

the first time

The excitement reaches its peak around the forge, tieflings bustling to and fro as they prepare. Dammon pauses at his forge, wiping the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand before turning towards the familiar crunch of gravel.

"Hey stranger." He jokes, turning towards you. "Or maybe I should call you 'our hero' now." The correction comes as he turns fully, eyes taking in the figure before him.

God he wishes they could stay, that he and his forge could be enough. But they have their destiny ahead of them. Dammon is already sure he'll be but a small part.

"I heard you weren't coming to the party, I wanted to say goodbye to my favourite blacksmith." His chest tightens as you say the words, not wanting to let you leave, but Dammons knows this is how things need to be.

"It's hardly goodbye, you'll see us again soon, won't you?" The question is one neither can really know the answer to, but they smile and nod anyway and that's enough for Dammon.

The second time

They'd been lounging on the hay in his forge, two days of idle chatting as he worked and asking that ox with much to human eyes random questions.

The assault on Ketheric Thorm has kept them all busy, Dammon at his forge, them trying to form a plan. "What if I just have Gale disintegrate him, Dammon?" The question comes from the corner of the room, where they sit by the open arches.

"Can Gale disintegrate him?" Dammon asks, pulling back from his whetstone. "Maybe you should just use this." He gives the sword a little flourish, holding it out to them. Jumping from the mess of a hay bale, they reach for the sword.

"Oh, this is beautiful..." hands delicately take it, admiring it before stowing it away safe in it's sheath. Just as Dammon thinks nothing they do could surprise him, they're already pulling him into a hug.

Arms wrap tight around his chest as they press in close to him. "Thank you Dammon, I feel like my words just aren't enough." They murmur, Dammons own arms looping close around their waist.

"Just come back alive, that's enough, don't keep me here waiting."

The third time

Rolans words pause as the footfalls of boots echo up the stairs to Dammons new forge, and the blacksmiths attention turns towards the potential customer.

Excitement courses through Dammon as he sees them crest the top of the stairs, a bright smile adorning their face as they wave. "Hi Dammon! Oh, is Rolan here too?" They ask, looking between the two tieflings.

"A few things broke at his new tower during your fight, I'm just giving a quote at how much it'll be to fix." Dammon explains, seeing the way Rolan eyes how his tail sways as he focuses attention on them. It's hard to contain himself, but they'll never know or realise, the way his body reacts only obvious to other Tieflings.

"Well, I know you're busy, but I needed someone to look at my sword. It took a bit of a beating while we were, uh, doing an errand for Astarion." The end sounds more like question than fact, but Dammon hardly minds as he carefully takes the sword from their hands.

"No problem, I'll have it done by tomorrow. So long as the absolute don't invade the city by then." He winks at them, smiling as they laugh and turn away.

"I'll be back, then!" They throw up a hand as they start to walk away. "See you later Dammon, bye Rolan. As they leave a steady silence falls over the two men, Rolans eyebrow raising slightly.

"Still waiting in line for them, then, prince charming?"

Dammons only reply is to hang his head in his hands.

The time you stay

Parties rage through the streets, the celebration of the absolutes control finally being destroyed. Fireworks fizz and pop outside, children shout and squeal, men sing merry drinking songs.

It's no surprise Dammon stays inside. He's never been one for parties, that much is obvious. What is less obvious is why someone is knocking on his door so late.

Opening it with a stifled yawn, he soon sees the very object of his affections. Standing up straighter, opening the door wider to let them in, one question runs through his mind. "What could bring you here on a night like this?" He's in near disbelief, almost wondering if he nodded off as is dreaming.

"The parties are great and all but..." they trail off, looking down to their feel as they toe the wooden floor. Glancing up again, they finish their thought. "But they don't include you, Dammon."

He can't help the way he pulls them in by the arm, this time being the one to start the impromptu hug. Tail wrapping loosely around their leg as they sigh against his chest, Dammon feels the way their body sags against him.

"Stay." He tells them, face pressing into their hair, bodies curling around each other. "Stay with me this time, I've been waiting so long." The hands gripping his clothing hold him tighter, their face pulling from his chest to look him in the eye.

"Kiss me Dammon. I won't be leaving again." They barely get to finish their sentence, a hand finding the side of their face as Dammon does the very thing he's dreamt about for so long.

Even the fireworks outside can't compare to the ones when they finally kiss.

[totally-crash]

Bluepulse headcannons!!

(pre-dating) (sorry if grammar is bad)

- Jaime is big on affection in whatever way he can show it, so when it comes to physical touch he can accidentally get into Bart's personal space way too much for people considered friends (not that Bart cares). He loves pressing their foreheads together before and or after hugging. He always has to be touching or be close to Bart.

- When they walk through crowds together they tend to not just hold hands but grab onto each other's arms or onto each other's clothes.

- Bart likes to mess with Jaime as much as he can before he's stopped. He unbuttons or buttons up random buttons on Jaime's shirts, pokes him, pulls at his clothes, tries to trip him from behind the knees, tries to step on his feet, undoes his shoelaces or just straight up tries to joke gaslight him.... Etc

Jaime is extremely tolerant about it all but eventually he will tackle or grab Bart to tickles him or pretends to try and kiss him until Bart fights him off.

- They cuddle a lot, it got to the point where Bart was sleeping over almost every single night at Jaime's house.

- Jaime packs (extra) snacks with him every time he does something with Bart so Bart can't even be a little bit hungry. Even if they're at a restaurant, if the food is taking too long Jaime always at least has an chocolate for Bart.

- they go really far when it comes to defending themselves around them not dating, it's the most rubbish rubbish you'll ever hear in your life but no one can stop them from saying it. Neither of them realise how much there's no point anyway.

- when they're not with each other;

Bart feels like there's something constantly missing and he always feels the need to run to it but he doesn't realise what it is. Jaime feels like there's something he needs desperately but he doesn't realise what it is so he just goes around feeling pointless and kind of empty.

- Milagro really likes Bart but refuses to talk to him or go near him, whenever she's doing something with the two of them she just watches Bart and goes silent, which Jaime thinks is really odd but he doesn't question it.

- They dream of each other in a romantic light and sometimes even dream they're married or something like that. When they wake up they're disappointed that it wasn't actually real but instead they just laugh about it and go on to text each other "dude you were in my dream" without saying what fully happened in the dream.

(season 3 specific)

- Even though they are both happy in their relationships they still think about each other an concerning amount to the point where they're always talking about each other.

- they become more separate because they both know deep down that how they are with each other isn't quite right when they're both in relationships... but they still end up doing all the same stuff they did before and don't end up thinking much of it.

Dating!!!

They get together when they're both in college.

[theemporium]

[1.6k] your co-worker eddie munson had a knack for making you blush so it was only fair to return the favour.

.

Nobody was a bigger flirt than Eddie Munson.

Whether it was intentional or not, at least everybody who had ever spoken or interacted with the boy could vouch that he was a flirt. It was like a switch he couldn’t quite turn off, or a dial that was turned all the way to full. He was a flirt no matter who it was or what the situation was. 

And despite the reputation he held around town and what people whispered when he thought they couldn't hear, nobody was immune to Eddie Munson’s flirting because he was just so goddamn good at it. 

You didn’t quite understand how or why, but he was. 

Hell, you had seen a lady pushing her eighties fully fucking blush because Eddie apparently had enough game to even catch a senior citizen if he wanted to. 

Eddie Munson was a big fucking flirt and the reason you knew that so well was because you worked with him. 

You had both started around the same time at the record store. It was a small establishment, based downtown but it was loved and a staple in the community. From second-hand records to new tapes, to old instruments donated in to even some half decent equipment, the store had everything you’d want as a music fanatic for an affordable budget. 

You guessed pretty quickly that was why Eddie loved it. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the boy loved nothing more in his life than music. He treasured his tapes like they were his most prized possession, he treated his guitars better than some people treated their kids and he could ramble on for hours if you let him (and sometimes you did let him because you liked the sound of his voice). 

For you, it was more so that you needed a job and a vacancy happened to pop up. You were nowhere near as passionate or well-versed as Eddie was, with your instrumental skills going as far as being able to play a solid two chords on the piano without it sounding too bad. But you clearly knew enough to be hired, plus you were more in charge of the genres Eddie didn’t really dabble into. 

It took a solid week of working with Eddie Munson for you to realise he was a flirt.

It took a solid five minutes for Eddie to work out that nothing got you blushing like some good ol’ cheesy pick up lines. 

And as the weeks passed and you two continued to work and share shifts together, an unspoken game had sort of settled between the two of you. One that neither of you ever really established, nor did you set down any rules. But it was a game you both went along with for reasons neither of you were quite sure of. 

“Hey, sweetheart?” 

You let out a small hum of acknowledgement, not looking away from the pile of vinyls you were currently sorting through. Whatever asshole that had taken the shift before you had done it all wrong and now you were left cleaning up their mess. 

“Are you a parking ticket?” 

You paused what you were doing, lifting your head to stare at the grinning boy who stood on the other side of the counter from you. “What?” 

Eddie’s grin only seemed to widen with your obliviousness. “Because you’ve got ‘fine’ written all over you, baby.” 

You let out an amused snort, tucking your chin against your chest in hopes that he wouldn’t see the blush growing on your cheeks but he always did. He always fucking did. 

And you never understood why you reacted the way you did. The pickup lines were nothing short of horrendous or bad. They were funny, sure you would give them that and you were almost certain he was reading them from some bad book or magazine, but you never quite understood why they made you blush. 

That never mattered to Eddie, because he loved to see the way your cheeks grew pink and the way you tried to act like they didn’t affect you. He liked pushing your limits, seeing how flustered he could get you in different situations, to see if you’d ever tell him to stop—but you never did. 

“We have a new shipment coming in later this week,” you told the older man on the other side of the phone, leaning against the counter as you went through the same speech you had already given him three times. “I would be happy to note down your name and reserve a copy for you to come and pick up. 

Blah Blah Blah

“Yes, I know this is frustrating, sir, but it is all we can do at the moment.” 

Blah Blah Blah

“Yes, I can give you a few moments to think over your options.”

You had been so caught up in the phone call that you hadn’t even noticed Eddie approaching you until you felt the heat of his body pressed up against your back, an involuntary small noise squeaking past your lips when his hands rested on either side of the counter, essentially caging you in. 

He didn’t say or do anything at first, his mere presence driving your senses into overload as you tried to act like the proximity didn’t bother you, that you were fully capable in acting like he wasn’t there. And you probably could have lied to yourself if it weren’t for the fact you weren’t even totally sure you were still holding the phone or not. 

And then he leaned his head down, the curls of his hair tickling against the skin of your neck and his breath warm against the shell of your ear as he leaned close enough so his lips were almost touching your skin. And then, only after holding that position for what felt like hours, did he finally fucking speak.

“If you were a fruit, you’d be a fine-apple.” 

And just like that, he was gone. Fucking gone. Leaving you with burning cheeks, a thundering heart in your chest and a very pissed off customer on the other side of the phone. 

It wasn’t until the three month mark when it became clear to you just what the game between you and Eddie was—and then again, you only realised it because it was spelt out to you by a mutual friend, Steve Harrington, who had all but enough of the runaround games you two were playing.

Because yeah, Eddie was a pretty boy. And yeah, he made your heart feel like it was gonna beat out of your chest and your stomach erupt in butterflies. And yeah, sometimes you just wanted to pull him closer and drag your fingers through his girls and down his shirts where you knew he hid a slightly toned stomach from the times you ogled him when his shirt rode up and—

Yeah, it was honestly a little embarrassing that it took Steve saying it to you for you to realise you had a crush on your co-worker.

And even more embarrassed when your friend told you that all those cheesy fucking pickup lines were Eddie’s stupid little way of trying to ask you out, to get your attention and see if you reciprocated any of his feelings. 

So, with some newfound determination and an urge to reimburse the three months of running around in circles over the stupid little game that formed between you both, you had a plan set in place. 

A plan that seemed to work perfectly on the next shift you shared together. 

It was the closing shift, the sign had already been turned over at the door and you both were just cleaning up the shop for the morning shift. The radio was humming with music, filling the space as you shuffled around each other until you had to move some boxes into the storage room in the back. 

You could see the glint in Eddie’s eyes that told you he had a pickup line planned, that there was one on the tip of his tongue and he was excited to use it on you. You couldn’t remember when you started noticing it, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your chest warm at the mere sight. 

Grabbing the last box, you shuffled into the small storage room, struggling with a small huff to get the box on the shelf until a pair of arms wrapped around you, easing the box onto the shelf like it weighed nothing. 

Letting out a small sigh, you turned to face the boy and flushed him a grateful smile. “Thanks.” 

“No problem, sweetheart,” he said with a grin, and you knew he was gonna say it. You knew it was right there, ready to spill past his lips but you bet him to it. 

“Hey Eddie?”

He paused for a second. “Yeah?” 

“Kiss me if I’m wrong, but dinosaurs still exist, right?” 

Eddie blinked. And then blinked again. And then blinked a third time because he was still not sure he heard you right. 

“What?”

A grin slowly started to spread across your face. “I said, kiss me if I’m wrong but—” 

“Yeah, you’re fucking wrong,” he grumbled before he reached to grab your face in his hands, his lips on yours before you even had the chance to say anything. 

Your hands tightened on the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer until your back was pressed against the shelves of boxes and his body was pressed completely against yours. You let out a soft moan when his tongue swiped over your lip, teasing you, taunting you. 

“Guess those pickup lines worked after all, huh?” he whispered against your lips and you could feel the smile on his lips. 

You snorted, slapping his chest lightly. “Don’t push it, Munson.” 

“Oh baby, it’s only gonna get worse now that I know you can kiss like that,” Eddie said with a grin that told you he was pretty damn serious about his threat. 

“At least take me on a date first.” 

His grin widened. “Deal, sweetheart.”

.

[tonydaddingham]

how in the world do you do it? i sent that ask yesterday and i'm still making my way through your masterpost kind of reeling- almost every moment i paused the show (s2 especially) and thought, that's weird, but couldn't put my finger on why, you've talked about, and expanded on, and it's all so well put. you're slowly curing the countless little ⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️ bouncing around in my head. it's so satisfying, too, to see all those asks with LWA disagreeing with popular fanon. i'd been thinking it was only me.

i'm curious about your interpretation of the bullet catch, specifically aziraphale's motives. i scrolled through a few of your tags and didn't find much about it, but i might have missed something.

i've seen people say it was retaliation for the holy water request (ooc?), or some deliberate test of crowley's willingness to go through with it (and so go through with their relationship, in spite of the danger, or something). then, of course, there's the generally accepted afaik "elaborate trust fall, general aziraphalean ridiculousness" version, but convincing somebody to nearly shoot you seems like a lot (understatement), even then.

it comes across to me as a bit cruel, if that makes sense. this isn't reliant on crowley not wanting to shoot him, or just doing well under pressure. if he's never even shot a gun before, this is almost entirely luck, and i don't buy that the only thing at stake is paperwork, however much they repeat it to themselves. crowley's hands wouldn't have been shaking so badly. if he messes up, he's gonna hurt aziraphale, or have to watch his human body die. it's so fucked.

maybe it could be said that, without their miracles working, they knew they were being watched, and had to continue, but i don't buy that either. aziraphale didn't act like he felt threatened afterwards until furfur showed up- was doing the complete opposite.

that's all i've got for now, but yeah. this blog is awesome and i'm so here for your sideburn theories. have a nice day pls

oh anon✨ you're so sweet!!! i really dk about all that, i just like chatting shit and trying to spot patterns/contradictory stuff/things that don't make sense beyond the script (if that makes sense), so whilst you all might not get Smart out of me you will at least get Passionate🤌

(also YES for LWA appreciation, they deserve it 💕 - still dont know why they do it but im just happy to be involved)

ooooh okay bullet catch. couple of thoughts from me:

aziraphale was happy to go on stage and try to ameliorate the situation between crowley and mrs h (my beloved), but reticent to scope out any Showy-Offy tricks from goldstones shop

crowley hyped aziraphale up enough to go into the shop and find a new trick to perform; hes the angel who fooled nefertiti and is performing on the West End Stage, after all!!!

aziraphale is taken in by the bullet catch trick upon seeing it, but was previously happy to consider another trick. he also, presumably, wasnt aware of the element of trusting a stooge until it was told to him

aziraphale persuades crowley to perform it, even when crowley is obviously uncomfortable, and crowley isn't truthful with him re: firearms experience

crowley agreed, providing that they make use of their miracles if it goes tits up

aziraphale doesnt inform crowley on any of the plan; crowley is notably caught unawares when called out in the audience

miracles don't work, neither of them stop the performance. crowley once again still very uncomfortable, literally shaking on stage, and yet seems to calm at aziraphale ploughing on ahead.

so okay, yeah, ive basically just recited the scene - but a few conclusions:

aziraphale doesn't want to let crowley down or embarrass him by backing out of the act, or indeed by messing it up

i think there's probably some element of aziraphale doing it for himself (self-esteem), but in a way that, post-Realisation, he is showing off a bit... it strikes me that crowley wasn't fully cognizant of this little hobby of his, and aziraphale is taking a moment to do something that (bless him, he thinks) he's good at, and wow crowley as a result

i don't think the holy water request came into his motivations at all, for the same reasons you said. however, it is an appropriate mirror to the holy water request narratively; i think it will come back up in s3, and i think the bullet catch will at least emotionally inform aziraphale on whether to give crowley the water or not

as for crowley's motivations in going along with it; i think to some extent he's paying back the favour, but mainly that it's truly just to make aziraphale happy. a step beyond that; to him, aziraphale is in need of something, and that is something aziraphale is only trusting crowley to deliver. crowley of course assumes miracles will be their safety net, so agrees to be aziraphale's knight in shining armour (*cough* playing hero)

when the miracles fail, aziraphale still has trust in crowley to do it properly. crowley however is left to trust in aziraphale's trust in kind. he still wants to do this for him, but the stakes are a bit higher in that he could shoot his best friend (?) in the face and not see him again on earth for any number of years (imo, it's never, ever been about the paperwork). but aziraphale isn't backing down; is crowley about to disappoint him? of course not.

tl;dr: they're both arseholes for their respective lacks of transparency with each other, deliberately put themselves in harm's way, and it was by sheer luck that they pulled it off. but it is a huge seismic shift in how they see each other, and i don't think we've been shown/suggested the full implications of the whole thing just yet.

thank you so much for your kind words, they honestly make my day!!! hope you have a lovely day too!!!✨💕

[bungobble-my-balls]

Dollhouse Siblings AU: Backstory

('Dollhouse Siblings' are Nikolai, Lucy, and Q. I thought these characters would be interesting together as secret siblings, so I made up a backstory for them).

So I've decided, since it's gonna take a LONG time to get to the key moments with these three in BITB (dollhouse siblings is more likely going to be an Arc 3 plot point), I'm just gonna post content of them anyway and just not mention any key plot points to avoid spoilers. I originally wasn't even gonna reveal that dollhouse siblings happens in the fic but oh well, I want to have fun with these guys now and not wait years for it.

Good thing is, the dynamic and backstories I made for them aren't BITB exclusive, so they can still be enjoyed outside of the fic. Anyways,

Nikolai and Lucy:

(Lucy is trans in this AU, so I'll be referring to her as 'he' while she's a child. Also Lucy isn't her original name but for ease I'm just going to keep calling her Lucy here)

- Neither Nikolai or Lucy were born with their present hair colours. The two are naturally pale blond, with the same turquoise eyes. Their hair matches their mother, and their eyes match their father. Lucy especially matched him, considering she also sported the same ring shape in her eyes that her father had.

- Nikolai and Lucy were born and raised in a small closed off village in Ukraine. The village was essentially a cult, but their father denied this heavily. He believed the leader of their village was a great man and that he was helping that man achieve great things with his research. Neither of the siblings knew exactly what this research was.

- The youngest children of the village would be taken away every midday-evening to the 'research facility'. Nikolai was no longer young enough to go, so he'd attend the nearby school while his younger 'brother' was taken by his father.

- Lucy was an obedient child, but was also fussy when it came to his appearance. He always complied, up until the point someone tried to cut his hair. In this traditional village all the young boys are meant to have short hair, but to make sure Lucy complied with the 'research' they allowed him the exception of having long hair.

- Nikolai adored the hair his mother had, the beautiful braid, but whenever he asked her to teach him how to make one she just tried to keep to herself and passively ignored him as usual.

No one touches Lucy's hair because of how agitated he'll get about it, so it would usually hang in a long tangled mess in front of his face if not for Nikolai looking after him.

He tried to braid Lucy's hair to look like their mother's, but it ended up coming out not 'quite' right. It was a bit loose and spiky looking. Nikolai instead decided to name the style as his own style, as their own style. He tried to teach Lucy how to braid it, but he could only reach the lower half of his hair, so he usually had low twin braids when he did it himself. Nikolai often did it for him, and the small bonding activity was always nice for the two of them.

- Nikolai was raised to be obedient, but he realised very young how curious he was about the world outside the village. It started when he saw some birds from the nearby forest suddenly fly overhead and far from the village. There must be something else out there, a place they were going to. It was unfair that they had the freedom to just fly away from everything and see more, while Nikolai was trapped here with just his legs and no way of knowing what else is out there.

- When he's able to sneak his little brother away, he takes him to the forest and they play games. He's done this since Lucy was only a few months old. He also teaches Lucy about the birds, and freedom, and how he shouldn't accept a life forever in this place. He doesn't want his younger brother to become brainwashed. He's still young enough to not be fully affected, and it was already rare for Nikolai to 'wake up' and see the truth. He wants to prepare his brother. Maybe one day they can escape together and see what's out there. He doesn't know when, but maybe one day he'll see an opportunity.

- One day, when Lucy is 4 years old, he goes missing. The village stops what they're all doing to search for the missing child. Nikolai goes to the forest, and he runs into a single door. When he opens it, he finds his younger brother inside. Lucy looks like he's playing happily, an unfamiliar expression for him, and he excitedly brings Nikolai into his 'new play room'. Nikolai convinces Lucy that they need to leave wherever 'this' is, not yet realising that his younger brother is causing it. He believes it's some kind of monster trying to lure his brother away. When he opens the door again to leave, it opens not into a forest but into Lucy's room, and they're now facing their mother and father.

- Their Father is absolutely thrilled at this discovery, and Lucy is suddenly praised as 'a blessed child'. He says something about his research finally showing results. Lucy is not the first 'blessed child' this village has had, but they are extremely rare. The few blessed usually join the researchers as they get older. Nikolai is not thrilled to find out that his younger brother will now be taken away by his father even more. He worries that this might cause him to get too involved and stuck here.

- One day their mother approaches Nikolai, and asks him to tell her what he knows about his brother's 'ability'. Nikolai is hesitant, considering it's unusual for his mother to speak to him, or anyone besides their father. She's usually just as quiet and reserved as the two siblings. She eventually convinces him by explaining that she's also worried about Lucy, about their father taking him away too much recently. She says she wants to understand what's going on so she can help, but their father won't tell her anything. Nikolai makes the mistake of believing her, and trusting the maybe his mother is finally deciding to act like a parent and wants to help them.

Nikolai tells her what he understands of Lucy's blessing. He says she can create doors to 'a room', and the doors seem to make Lucy and anyone in the room teleport.

- Not long after, Lucy and his mother are missing. A letter was left for their father, explaining only that she has decided to leave for good. Lucy's ability could help her, so she had no choice but to take his 'blessed child'. She wished the two of them well. Nikolai's mother had left the village for good, and she had taken Lucy with her. Lucy was free, but Nikolai was still trapped. He wanted to be happy for his brother, but all he could think about was the fact that he was still trapped. That they could never go together because he would never be able to find him. That his mother had tricked him.

- After their mother leaves, Nikolai's father is in a pathetic state of grief. He talks about how she was 'the love of his life' and how 'he'll never find a woman like her' (despite the fact that he never acted this way while she was here. She seemed more like his property). Nikolai never liked his father entirely, but he at least respected him, even if he internally disagreed with him. But his father's attachment to someone else has now caused him to crumple into something utterly pathetic at the loss of it. Nikolai can't even stand to look at his Father anymore.

- Nikolai's desire to leave only grows with time as he gets more restless, and as his resentment for his father grows. The stress of everything starts to turn his hair white, and on the day he realises its fully turned white, he also realises he has an ability. Despite now being 12, Nikolai still ends up developing an ability later than expected. (Most people gain their abilities before they even reach 7 years of age). It's a manifestation from his pain of being trapped in this place, the perfect power to finally free him, a teleportation ability. It manifests from one of his own bed sheets. He plans to leave as soon as he figures out how to use it.

(In actuality, Nikolai's father had been secretly experimenting on him in the way he did when he was younger. With Lucy now gone, his father still wanted to have a child that was a success. The village rules didn't allow for children past a certain age to go through the research, considering it a waste of resources, so he did this in secret. Nikolai's hair was turning white over time because of his father injecting him while he slept).

- Nikolai left as soon as he could, but not without causing a bit of havoc first. This village trapped him for his entire youth, it would only to continue to trap every other child that grew into it. He freed them from the cursed cycle. He figured out a way to use his ability to kill multiple people at once. He unfortunately didn't manage to kill everyone, but he was able to free most of them, and the village was so destroyed that he could at least be satisfied with the knowledge that the cage was broken.

This was empathy. He bloodied his hands and soul to set them all free. He was freeing them from the cage they didn't even know they were in. This was a mercy.

His father, unfortunately, got away.

- Nikolai figured that it didn't look right to just be carrying around a bedsheet everywhere. He had worn it around his shoulders as a cloak before, and came up with the idea of turning it into a proper cloak. A little bit of threatening towards a seamster he found, and he had his new look. Despite Nikolai growing as he got older, he never had to adjust the cloak because it would grow with him, as if it was now a part of him.

- As Nikolai got older, he let his hair grow out, considering his village was always so strict about keeping his hair short. He eventually started to tie it in the same way he tied his younger brother's braids years ago. His younger brother was the first person to escape the village, wearing those same braids. He now considers this style to symbolise freedom, and he wears them himself to show that he is also free. From the village, from their brainwashing, from everything. It's also a way to still feel connected to the sibling he lost years ago.

- Now that he was free, he finally left he village to explore the world outside of it. Instead, Nikolai found himself in an even bigger cage. So many people were still trapped, and they didn't even know it. Nikolai set to work freeing whoever he could, and his work eventually caught the attention of a man named 'Fyodor Dostoyevsky'. The man talked with him, and understood him in a way no one ever has. He agreed to join his organisation.

-

So what happened with Lucy?

I'll make another post on that, going into detail on some Lucy backstory and her time at the orphanage too.

I might not go into Q's backstory and how they connect to these two though, considering that might be a more plot relevant reveal for the fic. I will say though that in this scenario, Q is their half sibling. Same father, different mothers.

[thecoolerliauditore]

PLEASE post ur self harm etc. headcanons, for i do not have the courage (and i really like ur takes)

Hi sorry this spawned that other out of hand post. Thanks for liking my takes it's purgatory in here.

Anyway:

Pearl in Double Life is pretty much the most straightforward example I can think of in the series, Scott hurts her in multiple different ways and the only thing she has within her power to get back at him with is with hurting herself. Despite that it definitely does impact Scott, I'd argue this ends up hurting Pearl more in the long run because Scunt Smajor emotionally waterboards himself into not giving a fuck.

While her physical habits stop with Double Life, I'd argue emotionally she still has some lingering feeling of self-hate she expresses through her need to die for her teammates in both Limlife and SL. Since this is less straightforward than DL, however, she doesn't view it as self harm and is taken aback when Bdubs, for example, insists on refusing her offer.

I think she's mostly fine now with her refusal to die lying down against Gem or Scar being her final realisation that she can and should fight for herself. Now she is haunted by different demons (the demon is called scott smajor)

~

Scott is difficult because I don't think he views any of his self-destructive habits Ever has self-destructive. If anything, sacrificing himself is the noble and good and correct thing to do.

In my head, although I do think I may be giving him too much credit, it's a combination of losing Jimmy early in 3L and winning LL riding off of Pearl's coattails that has left him with some need to not feel grief again (dying before your teammates can, leaving them with the grief and guilt instead) and to mimic what Pearl gave him (her funneling him lives VS him having people Literally Kill Him)

I do think, like Pearl, he cared very little for himself in DL and that's why he hurt himself so casually so often. Although unlike Pearl I doubt he was aware of his own feelings of self-hate through any of it and viewed what he was doing as a Necessity to fight against Pearl.

Unfortunately he's now pretty much integrated his sacrifices as part of his identity and I don't see him snapping out of it anytime soon, neither is anyone going to question him on it since it benefits them directly.. (Cleo I will tear you to shreds)

Adjacently relevant I do think his last DL death is a suicide and wish more people called it that instead of a "sacrifice".

~

I mentioned before that I'm scared of talking about Scar and I still am but I think it'd be wrong to not at least mention him and his whole thing in DL.

In my head a lot of what Scar does is protecting himself through a persona (similarly to Pearl and Scarlet Pearl) and his "silly" behaviour is indeed a very genuine part of him but also a product of that. I have to stop talking now or else the snipers

~

This is more in the air (I'm more referencing stuff outside of the series so. Dubiously canon) and I'm sorry to my mutuals but I do think Jimmy self-harms but only in a very emotional sense. I'll be honest I think if he tried doing what Divorce Quartet did for example he'd mess up and just die.

That being said I do think him constantly throwing himself into romantic or sexual situations he clearly isn't fully onboard with is self-destructive, personally I attribute it to 3L trauma and him trying to fight back against his own naivete which has been used in the past to mock him (i.e. Scott infantilizing him during 3L or the "Timmy" stuff to a lesser extent).

Sometimes it ends up more or less harmless (e.g. his shenanigans in the last plate up stream they did where he was "only wearing an apron") and sometimes it does end up further traumatizing him (e.g. the maid dress thing in sos) but eitherway there's this deep desire for affection and respect in him that he deals with by expressing romantic desire (because in order to romance someone you'd have to treat them not only intimately but also As An Adult) that he doesn't really think through completely.

~

I could swear there was more but that's it for now. Cleo and Martyn could get their own paragraph but I talked about them in the last post where it kind of turned into me questioning how applicable it is to them so lmao

[jackriverart]

Heartstopper s2e7 spoilers!

Also TW parental abuse

This is a bit of a trauma dump so feel free to scroll if you need to.

I just watched episode 7 of Heartstopper season 2, and I need to vent about it.

The fight that Darcy had with her mom reminds me so much of how I left home, and it's really getting to me.

When I was 18, I had a stupid fight about nothing with my mom (I can't even remember what it was supposed to be about tbh), which got physical. I don't remember exactly how it happened but she ended up ripping off and breaking the necklace that my then bf had given to me, that's how bad it was.

She then screamed at me to "either follow her rules or get out" and left for work.

I then got some of my things and left.

First I went to my then bf, who introduced me to a really nice family he knew, who took me in.

(They were a family of witches actually and I had a really good time there but that's a whole other story)

Anyways, back to the point. Seeing something very similar happen to someone else brought it all back to me, as if it was buried beneath a whole lot of other shit I've been through, and I don't think I ever actually fully processed it. And seeing it from an outside perspective makes me realise just how messed up it is for a parent to behave that way.

And I'm turning 30 in like, a week. This shit happened OVER A DECADE AGO and it is still there, in the back of my mind. Shit like this can PERMANENTLY damage a child's brain, and I don't understand how any parent could be okay with doing that to their own child. Especially now that I'm a parent myself.

If anyone reading this is in a similar situation, I'm so, so sorry. Your parent should not be hurting you, neither emotionally nor physically. You deserve so much more than that, and there will be a time when you can live more freely. It won't be easy and it will probably never fully go away, but you will be able to breathe. In the meantime, I'm sending all of the digital parental hugs to whoever needs them 🫂

[rotten-games]

To prove someone wrong for Perci?

Perci, my beloved...

When Perci storms in like a bat out of hell and beelines toward her whiskey cabinet you know better than to get in her way. The darkness creasing across her brow and snarling in her face all you need to know it's about Adrastea. It always is these days, having to work with the diva she once dated like a stab in the guts; a slow, painful death.

"Perci," You say from across the room, the datapad landing with a clatter on your glass-topped desk (the horrible thing it is). She doesn't respond, her usually well-kept hair a mess and fraying at the ends. "Perci," Again, you try, and as you stand she turns with violent flames in her eyes. She's staring in your direction, but she isn't really looking at you. Taking a tentative step towards the woman, her muscles clenching and relaxing with each breath, your fingers snap in an attempt to garner her attention. "Percival."

"What?" Perci's eyes twitch, her teeth clenching around the overgrown fangs in her mouth. She's your average Ledalan citizen; she can't completely transform and break her body into something else completely like the military. No, instead she's a half-thing, only halfway there to being not-human. Probably for the best, considering her prosthetic.

"What is it this time?" There's never a day that goes by where your paramour isn't swelling with incandescent rage at her superfluous employer. There isn't a day goes by where it isn't at least a little bit warranted. "What did Adra do?"

"Ugh, don't give them a little nickname. Makes it sound like she's human." At least somewhat calmed, or close enough anyway, your hands land on Perci's shoulders. Her muscle and tech both are hard, but one has the warmth of flesh while the other is warmed only by thermal heating units just under the transparent plasti-flesh of her metal arm. Perci sighs, tips forward to let her head drop gracelessly onto your own shoulder. Her fingers twitch but don't reach out.

There's an eternity of silence before she finally takes enough deep breaths to properly speak. "Adrastea only wants me there as a plaything." Perci says, "Dangles little errands in front of my face and insults me when I get them done. I hate her."

"Not fully." You remind her.

"And I hate that too." Perci mutters, "What I want to do is wipe that smirk off their face, prove to them I'm not whatever they think I am."

"You don't have to, you know you don't have to." You reply, then, "... You do realise Saga would chew Adrastea out if they heard how she treats you."

"When has that ever worked?" And this time, Perci straightens up, her black eyes flicking over you with distracted interest. Never, you suppose. Adrastea has their ambitions and their faults, neither of which they're particularly interested in changing. "What I have to do is get Adrastea to see me as more than just a pet. Or stop caring, I suppose."

"When has that ever worked?" You parrot.

Perci laughs, something rough and tinted with hurt, "Never."

[pulverulents]

#30: on alternate universes and quarter-life crises

It’s crazy to think that the last time I did this, I hadn’t graduated from uni yet. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to journal since then, it’s just that I didn’t really have any headspace for any kind of non-academic writing or proper introspection until... now, I guess? Even now, after so long of not really putting my thoughts into proper full sentences, it’s kind of hard to write in a way that isn’t in a scientific capacity.

There’s been a lot of thoughts running through my head lately, though. And as always, I’m not sure where to start. But nobody reads these things except me anyway, so I guess it doesn’t really matter whether or not there’s any semblance of flow or logic to this. 

I’m glad the pandemic is pretty much over. Not that the virus has disappeared, but the world seems to have more or less returned to normal now. Which is great, because it would really suck to have to graduate into the job market of 2 years ago. I’m glad that I have a job that I like, and another job on the horizon that I’m excited about too. Most days whenever I think about it I can still barely believe that I somehow applied for 1 job and ended up being offered 2 (well, actually 3 if you count the freelance retainer offer thingy). And I’m glad that at least for now, I still have the time and bandwidth to continue with aca with The Lower Loungers. 

I’ve recently started getting a glimpse of the wider aca community in Singapore, though, and... honestly, a lot of people in it give me the ick. And like, in a MAJOR way. Maybe I’m the one at fault for vacillating violently between “oh shit I’m actually pretty good at this” and “holy shit I suck at this”, but my impression is that a lot of them have overinflated egos and will take any and every opportunity to show off, or will hype their “friends” up without really meaning it even though something their “friends” are doing may be objectively not-good. But I’m glad that in The Lower Loungers, I’ve surrounded myself with people who I can trust to be honest with themselves and with me, and who are driven by passion and not ego. Which seems (at least, to me) to be fairly rare in this industry. I’ve always had a theory that to be a good musician, you need a healthy balance of narcissism and self-loathing, and I guess as someone who more often than not sits on the self-loathing end, it really irks me when the balance is tipped towards the other end. Or maybe I’m just jealous of their confidence. I don’t know. I should probably be unpacking all of this in therapy, but I have neither the time nor the money for it right now.

I feel like I’ve been trying to be own therapist for a long time now, though. It’s always been a coping mechanism of sorts for me to intellectualise my feelings and pick them apart from the outside, so the next time I feel the same way maybe it won’t hurt as much. Does it work? Hell if I know. It doesn’t really make things easier in the moment, that’s for sure. But it’s definitely more convenient to just force myself to swallow it and then pick away at it later when it’s half-digested, rather than sit in it in all its fullness and dissolve into an emotional mess. I’m starting to realise that maybe this coping mechanism isn’t always the most healthy way to approach things. Sometimes I can move on by compartmentalising it and opening it up later when I’m in a more stable headspace. Other times it just feels like I’m always running away from myself. Maybe sometimes I just need to let myself sit in the emotion and fully feel through it. 

My sister mentioned something recently about “healing your inner child”. I’ve heard of it before, but I’ve never really felt the need to really dwell on it, I suppose. But maybe that’s because I don’t want to think about myself as a child. I want to leave her in the past, together with all the pain and hurt that she carries, whether or not she knows that she does. I don’t know how to look her in the face without shouldering all of her damage again. Running away again, I guess.

And maybe all this running away is what’s keeping me from emotionally availing myself for a relationship. I’m not ready to share my life so intimately with someone else, but I may never be. I don’t know. I don’t even really know how to identify, some days I don’t feel any need to label myself but other days it’s hard not to feel the pressure to do just that. It’s hard enough to admit to myself that I’m probably not straight, let alone commit to it by labelling it. Most days I get by by telling myself that I’d rather be happily alone with a bunch of cats than unhappily stuck in a loveless marriage. Still, it would be nice to have someone. I want to be able to say that I have someone. But that doesn’t mean that the prospect of opening up my deepest wounds to someone doesn’t still terrify me. And being openly not-straight also terrifies me. Immensely so. Maybe things wouldn’t be so difficult if I wasn’t such a late bloomer with love and sexuality.

To be honest, lately I can’t help but feel that I’m a late bloomer in... pretty much all of my interests apart from the one that I’m currently making a career out of. I’d like to think that in another life, I got singing lessons instead of keeping with piano, kept with choir instead of pin-balling between all the other performing arts, and would be more competent and more connected with the aca community now. Or maybe in another life, I’d have the guts to post covers online of me and my guitar, or I’d been allowed to bring my guitar to hall, and maybe I’d have gotten into Unplugged and would be a part of some band now. In yet another life, I’d like to think that I discovered musical theatre earlier and went to Lasalle or even somewhere in America to get a BFA in musical theatre and try to make it on Broadway, or honestly, I would even be content with regional theatre. In another life, I’d like to think that I stuck with softball through secondary school and JC, and would still be strong enough and athletic enough to continue playing it now. In another life, maybe I would’ve let my Taylor Swift edit-making skills turn into a passion for graphic design. In another life, maybe I would have pushed through being really bad at math and actually have become an engineer like Mr Lim Lee said I should. Or maybe in another life, I’d have gone overseas for uni and and have embarked on a myriad of academic or non-academic ventures that I can’t do here in Singapore. Maybe it would be easier there to figure out who I am.

I’m not saying that I’d rather live these alternate lives over this one. Or am I? I don’t know. No, most days I really do believe that I am where I’m meant to be, and even though at several points long the way I thought I was being derailed, they resulted in valuable experiences that shaped me into who I am. Even if I still don’t really know who I am. They were chapters of my life that served a purpose for where I was in life at the time, and once it was over it was time to move on to the next chapter and leave it behind, no matter how much I enjoyed it. It doesn’t stop me from missing those chapters and from mourning what could’ve been if certain things hadn’t happened or if I had actually been as competent as I would have liked to be, but it is what it is, I guess. Actually, on that note - do I really even want to live those alternate lives? Or do I just resent that I’m not competent enough to really live them out? Were / are they ever truly passions of mine or is it just that I can’t stand not being good enough at something that I even mildly enjoy? Is it that I would rather be a spectacular failure than put in the effort to strive for excellence and then fall short into mediocrity? Damn, I really should be unpacking all of this in therapy.

But I do think I’ve more or less made peace with the fact that I’m where I am for a reason. It doesn’t stop me from daydreaming about what could’ve been in another life, though I’ll never admit that to anyone.

It also doesn’t stop me from worrying endlessly about the future. I know, sounds like nothing has changed. I guess my life has always been marked by endless anxiety that surrounds me and everything I do like a tornado of static. And part of me doesn’t know where the static ends and I begin. But that’s nothing new, I suppose. For now, I’m just taking things one day at a time, one chapter at a time. Because it’s senseless to worry about someday not being ok when I am ok right now. 

Ok. Breathe.

-jo

[findlayccarter]

Tobacco and Turntables – Film Craft Disciplines

Shoot Prep:

Tilta Nucleus-M:

In hindsight I should’ve spent more time with the wireless follow focus before the shoot. One day wasn’t enough to full get a grasp of it but I practiced with it enough to be able to fix any problems we had. After collecting the equipment with Tom, we had a fiddle around with it, everything seemed smooth, but I wanted to take it home before the shoot early the next morning to check everything was working properly. When I was testing it, a big problem arose, one of the wires that looked like it had already been patched up wasn’t working. This was the one that powered the motor from the cameras power. Without this cable meant that we couldn’t use the wireless remote that it planned to give to someone on the day who could watch the monitor and try and pull focus. Looking back this plan would’ve made the shoot more challenging as it was a small area and the monitor, we got didn’t have a BNC cable long enough for them to be away from the camera. For the future If we plan on pulling focus with someone away from the camera, I’d investigate wireless monitors. However, a solution that I came up with was the second remote that the Nucleus came with. Basically, the handles that would go on a vocus rig but they had buttons and dials for pulling focus or operating a zoom lens. These had to be battery powered which I could then connect to the motor to power them instead of using the camera battery which was a relief. Using this method of focus pulling was challenging but more stable than pulling it manually. Using one scroll wheel on the handle of the shoulder rig was a lot better than I expected and for the environment we were in was a much better setup than the one we intended to have.  The problem I found with it was the motor and I think it’s down to experience. In the morning on set I realised that the Sigma Prime lenses we had for the Ursa didn’t fit with the tracks on the follow focus motor, this meant we had to add the larger rubber tracks that went round the lens. This worked but when changing lenses often it was quite time consuming to have to take it on and off again and check the motor was properly on the lens track. In future I think I’d need to see what lenses fit and if there’s a better setup you can do with the motor to make it fit different lenses. Looking back now though I don’t think it was the lenses problem, more the narrowness of the should rig poles not letting the motor reach the lens fully. Another element of the motor that was frustrating, but I think just comes down to practice and understanding was the torque and speed of the motor. Often the motor would go too fast for the tracks and come off mid take or the opposite would happen, and it would be too slow, and the lens wouldn’t reach all the way around to get the focus, especially if I had to change focus quickly to capture a moving close-up. It felt like there were a million different settings on how to manage the speed or power of the lens. If you were near the camera with the controls like I was you had to have it on a nearby mode and on top of that the amount of torque or power could be changed based on how fast you wanted to pull focus. This is something that I want to setup and test more, getting the ursa on a tripod and messing around with the focus controls to see what difference is made as I think in future it could turn out to make the process of getting good focus faster and more precise. Overall, I’m happy with the focus bar a couple of mess ups with the motor, and its something I want to experiment more with. Elements like setting marker points for the focus so you can track movement and the focus can only go in and out from a certain range. 

Lighting:

This was a part of the film that me and Tom in particularly were nervous about as neither of us feel like we have a lot of experience with lighting a scene. However, seeing the footage now I’m not unhappy with how it turned out. I think this is mainly because there’s no real boundaries being pushed with the lighting; our main aim was to keep the light looking consistent. In the living room we setup two of the Dedolights. One that was dimmed and slightly highlighted the records and wall behind the two characters. And the other that was dimmed and diffused with a small reflector circle that works for reflecting and dimming. This was pointed on a flood mode at the actor on the side of their face at the couch to add a slightly warm tone to the room as if it was a dreary Sunday or Saturday with a small lamp on. We also had a small practical light in the corner of the room that can be seen in some next to the record player in some shots that adds slight warm but mainly creates a more interesting depth of field along with the harsh white from the window. In the kitchen we setup the big 350W Fresnel light to light up the room and to make it seem more like a dreary day rather than it being late in the day as the shoot was. We put it on flood mode and bounced it of the ceiling which create an even light on each of the characters face. 

Shoot day

We didn’t have any major technical problems. At the beginning we were low on people, but we resolved it easily enough, the main stress we had was our time. We were against the clock as this was our only shoot day to film the entire film, that’s why planning everything was so crucial, and I think that me and Tom did this well as everything on the day went smoothly and close to the original plan. Talking with the actors beforehand for a couple hours and letting them add input really helped on the day, everything felt a lot more natural. On top of running through the basic shots so we all had an idea of what the day would entail. The main stress was time and more because of losing day light, we knew that If it got too dark it would be too hard to recreate daylight and have it be consistent with previous shots. However, we filmed everything by room instead of chronologically. Meaning that scenes in each room all looked the same lighting wise. 

Handheld 

Filming handheld is something that I enjoy, and I always like the intensity and feeling it brings to a film. Especially using the follow focus this year meant that everything was a lot more accessible and precise I think despite some difficulties. However, there are sometimes where were filming a static shot and we still want it to be handheld. These can be tricky as the Ursa plus a Sigma lens and the motor for focus is quite heavy especially after a day of only handheld. After looking at the footage of the static handheld it feels like the handheld just creates a lot of micro shakes that I don’t think adds to the cinematography and can be quite distracting. However, I’ve been told that it’s not distracting and people like it so I might just be looking into it too much, for me it’s a lot more distracting when the camera isn’t moving, and it can make the footage look like its mistake. In future this is something I want to consider more and either find a method of image stabilisation with the camera or using a tripod for areas that are meant to be more static than handheld. 

Post-Production

The edit is still on going and Jake is making good headway with putting everything together. After seeing the first two scenes that had been edited, I’m even more excited to see a full rough cut, I’m especially happy with a scene that’s almost all in one shot that goes up to 40 seconds. Ever since ‘The Cactus’ last year our group loves a one shot. After picture lock I plan to do the colour grade while Aimee is working on the sound design, I don’t think this will be too tricky of a process as there nothing that’s an extreme creative choice to be made in the grade. My intentions are more to exaggerate the colours we can already see from being shot in ProRes and hopefully create a dreary rainy atmosphere from the outside but a warm students flat inside and hopefully distract the viewer from how white a lot of the scenes look.

[the-darklings]

Matthew calling Wanderer "Lady Dream" killed me dead and the only thing that can resurrect me is a drabble of Dream himself saying it (please)

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 1.2k+

warnings: jealous!Dream if you count that as a warning.

notes: got an idea that's too potent when I saw this, so LETS GO!!!

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

“I messed up.”

Dream Lord doesn’t pause in his measured stride at your edgy words, his flame-kissed coat trailing after him. The Dreaming castle is abuzz, accommodating additional visitors from different domains, and you can’t recall the last time everyone was this frazzled. Everyone has come together as a well-oiled machine would, but tension hangs thick in the air. No one is happy about the new visitors or their purpose for being at the Dreaming. Dream himself hasn’t had a free second since; indeed, neither have you.  

“I highly doubt it,” he replies.

“No, Dream. I did mess up.”

“You have wandered realms for millennia, Wanderer,” Dream reminds, slowing to peer at you over his shoulder. His features soften a touch from their near-permanent rigidity lately. His voice, too, eases into a husky, gentle drawl, “You are familiar with royalty and courtiers from countless kingdoms. A great number of them regard you highly. Your insight and advice in navigating this situation have been greatly appreciated.”

Your unease quells briefly, soothed by his sincere comments. It’s still too easy to be caught off guard by Dream’s attempts to be more open, more appreciative of those around him. 

“You’re welcome,” you say softly, forcing down a gulp. “It's hard enough to remember a dozen different customs not to insult the guests. But I wanted to bring this to your attention first. Personally. So you don’t hear it from someone else first or, worse, the narrative gets twisted.”

Dream Lord rotates your way fully, moving closer. You’ve paused in a gallery. A new addition to the castle with multiple tapestries stitched from thick, luxurious cloth that hang across previously barren walls. Each one depicts various panoramas from different domains across the cosmos. It’s been a small, self-indulgent project you’ve undertaken in between travels, but given your recent company, it has gone down better than expected. Everyone relishes their kingdoms being paid homage to in the land of dreams. 

“What happened?” Dream questions somberly. “Did someone hurt you? Threaten you?”

Your hands wring together at the seeping darkness in Dream’s voice, fingers knotting. You swallow under his steady, hard scrutiny. 

“No, nothing like that. Certainly not with Cori around. It’s just… Cluracan invited me for a walk in Fiddler’s Green and, well, you know how he is. A flirt and an outrageous one.” A forced chuckle escapes you. Dream doesn’t smile or laugh with you. Some emotion pulses through his regal features, tucked from sight in seconds. “He’s a bit odd for a fae, if I’m honest. Surprisingly, he wasn’t drunk this time. So we got talking, and he was rather charming. It took me too long to realise he was, you know, hitting on me.”

You clear your throat, dragging your stare from the walls back to the Dream Lord standing in front of you. Dream’s bearing is stony, tense, his gaze hooded and mouth flat. Those pale irises seem to glimmer in the dusky light of the setting sun. 

“Hitting on as in… courting,” you rush ahead, examining the strain in his jaw. “He asked if we were mates. And I think I’ve spent too much time around Hob because I figured he meant pals, you know? Friends. I forgot fae have a different definition of ‘mates’. So I immediately laughed and said: Well, of course, Dream and I are mates. We’ve been mates for centuries. So Cluracan got this intense look on his face—I mean, he gets under peoples’ skin even more than Cori—then actually bowed. And then, well…”

Dream seems to glide closer—close enough to touch, to breathe in, his words a cold caress, “Then what?”

You swallow. “Cluracan said: I must apologise, Lady Dream. I meant no insult with my offer. I now understand why Lord Morpheus refused my sister. I would appreciate it if you did not mention this to him. I would not wish to complicate this matter further.”

A shiver races down your spine when Dream’s arm slips lightly around you, settling on your lower back. “And then?”

His words are impossibly soft, but there’s something about the way shadows pool around Dream’s sloping, sharp features that set shivers skittering down your spine. His hand seems to burn through your coat. There’s something about the tension you discern in each digit, as if he’s holding himself back from dragging you nearer and pressing you to him. He’s done so in the past numerous times, tucking you from sight in the folds of his starlit coat. Quiet, peaceful, cold and hot like those raging stars you sometimes glimpse in his eyes. 

“Then he, uh, left.” You don’t dare to move, curious to see what Dream Lord will do next. “And tripped in a creek. Which is weird because I’m certain there’s never been a creek there to begin with. It’s like it appeared out of nowhere. But anyway, I just… I thought I’d better tell you personally because Cluracan seems set on calling me Lady Dream now, and I don’t want you to overhear and take offence to it.”

“Why would I take offence to such a thing?”

You blink at his unhurried, probing question. Dream’s thumb strokes gently downwards—it’s so light, the contact, a mere graze, but there’s such potent power imbued into it you’re as good as naked beneath it, sensing the gesture through clothes and down to your marrow. Your breath wobbles before steadying. “Well, the implication…”

“Implication.” A deep, considerate hum vibrates from Dream’s chest, followed by a weighty, “Does this implication bother you?”

Does it? You’ve never cared for labels. Dream, to you, is everything. Those who matter most are aware of that, so why would anyone and their opinions matter? But they do. Deep down, you’re well versed with power that comes merely from what names you can evoke—whose favour in this vast cosmos you hold. But deeper than that lays a simpler sentiment: if you are his, in soul and name, you cannot be anyone else’s. Until you declare you are taken, then you are open. The brimming, dark scowl and icy, caressing whispers from his lips are displays of discontentment but not at any misstep on your part. But, rather, at the thought of another holding you so close. Another leaning down to touch their lips against yours. At the idea that you would permit anyone else this intimacy.

But there’s a more reticent sentiment to be read in the ancient, weary lines of his unchanging face: if you wanted another, he would not interfere. He would not hinder your happiness if you moved on and found someone else. He would not hinder you even if he wanted to. 

You slant yourself closer. “No, I suppose it doesn’t bother me.”

As if you could ever want anyone else but him. Sullen, stubborn, flawed, but yours despite it. 

Old ghosts flee from his regard, the weight on his shoulders lightening—a tiniest of smiles curving one side of Dream’s mouth.

He slants closer, his breath fanning against your ear. “Good. Because the title rather suits you, Lady Dream.”

an: Cluracan is a canon character that should appear pretty early on in S2 once Netflix stops being cowards. anyway, here's to hoping and hope you enjoyed : )

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

I’ve been reading these for at least a few months and I’ve been really enjoying them! Can you do something where husk, Charlie, Octavia, and loona(all done separately) with a reader who doesn’t have the confidence to ask them out so they do the whole “secret admirer” thing with letters and stuff?

Your Secret Admirer~

Husker

Now, when you first joined the Hotel, you never intended to fall for someone. And you certainly never suspected youd fall for an alcoholic, scruffy cat.

But with you spending each evening at the bar, and him being the only real companion you had, you'd quickly fall for him, especially as he warmed up to you.

Of course, you hadn't the guts to confess, especially with someone as blunt as him. As such you did the next best thing.

You wrote him a love letter.

Now the first letter was accidentally ignored, the Cat dropping it and when you'd tried to broach the subject, the cat seemed oblivious.

So, you kept it together. Keeping a level tone, never acting out. But still feeling... well, down.

But a week or so later, the Cat would find the letter, and after pulling it out and reading it he'd be a blushing mess, totally unsure of how to handle the letter.

Now, when you'd speak to him again, you'd see the letter, realising he'd finally read it, and with that your hope was renewed.

So, you wrote him another letter. Leaving it on the bar, the same place as the last.

And this time, he found it the next morning, blushingly reading it as he genuinely had no idea how to handle the affection.

And after the first few letters, and a bout of sober contemplation, the cat derived an ingenious plan.

He'd drink again, as he always did, but this time he'd go extra light on drinks, the cat sneaking by on only a drink or two.

And due to him actually being semi sober, he'd finally realise how nice it was having you around, you keeping him company much of the night and honestly, the cat was surprised at how much he enjoyed having you around.

Of course, imagine his surprise when as he laid across the bar, pretending to be out drunk, the way he often ended up at night.

And imagine your surprise when you 'carefully' approached him, placing down the letter, only to be snagged by the cat.

He'd pop up, and this wasn't a 'drunken knee jerk reaction' he'd given on other occasions.

No, this was a 'clear eyed, fully sobber standing', the cat popping up before you.

You stared at each other for what felt like hours, neither of you daring to look away.

He'd hold your wrist for several more minutes before he'd ask simply. "W-why?"

And so, after Blushing up a storm, you'd tell him. "W-well, Uh, your pretty cool. You spend time with me without treating me feel like an idiot and your funny... your nice to me."

Youd look away, scratching your cheek before adding. "Plus... your really hot."

At that the Cat would blush, scratching his neck as he looked away, commenting how he liked you too, the Cat asking if maybe you'd like to go out or something.

To which you'd beam, eagerly snatching up one of his paws, telling him eagerly that you'd love to!

The date itself was at the Hotel, the cat, with a good bit of help from Nifty, would set up a meal for the two of you.

He'd even get all clean, showering off his usual heady scent of alcohol, the cat all anxiously awaiting you.

If the cat was nervous, you were freaking out, awkwardly stumbling over yourself to try and keep it together.

Your first date would end less than spectacularly, the both of you blame yourself for its failure.

So, after half a bottle of Alastors good wine, he'd show up at your room, the two of you sharing the bottle as you spoke.

Youd both reach for the bottle, pausing as your hands touched, the two of you staring at each other before well, instincts kicked in and you began making out.

You spent the night together. Joined in hot, passionate sex together as you both poured everything you had into it.

The next day you'd wake up, groggy from the bottle of vintage you'd shared. But unlike some shameful one night stand, you found yourself comfortable against his furry form, the two of you basking in your morning glow, despite the hangovers.

Youd begin a somewhat casual Relastionship. Neither of you wanting to force anything, wanting to give the other space.

But you found you just... didn't need to.

You got along excellently, and well, that transfered naturally into your relationship.

Youd spent most your time with the other, usually at the bar, since he was the Hotel's bartender.

But you also spent most your time when not at the bar together, your relationship quickly getting deeper and deeper, the both of you coming to love each other.

Of course, it took a while for you to come to terms with this sorta stuff, particularly Husker, as he'd basically forgotten how to feelings.

But given some time, you'd develope a deeply intimate and loving relationship.

Of course, the Hotel would discover it. Angel would be upset Husker ended up with you. Charlie and Vaggie accepting it, but also kinda upset at loosing a patient.

Alastor... was an issue, as he basically owned Husker and wasn't above manipulating the both of you, so you'd just endure it, hoping to wait out his contract so he'd be free to be with you.

But I imagine you could reason with him, although Husker would probably have to play nice with the radio demon, at least till he was free.

Charlie

Charlie watched as Angel looked over the letter for what was likely the seventh time

She was quite shocked upon waking up and getting ready for the day, only to find a letter had been slid under.

She was even more shocked to find the letters contents to be a declaration of aduration, the letter essentially singing her praises.

Now, she had initially taken the letter to Angle to see if it had been some prank from him, something he himself admitted was right up his alley, but after reading it once more, he'd tell her bluntly. "Well, someone wants ya."

Charlie, through a Blush, sputtered out. "Wh-what?!"

To that, Angel laughed, propping his head up on one of his many arms as he tossed the letter back to her.

"Simple toots. Someone has the hots for you but don't got the balls to tell ya in person."

Charlie just held the letter in her hands, a gentle flush on her cheeks as she wondered who it could be.

She already eliminated Angel, and she doubted it could be Alastor and Neither Husker or Nifty seemed viable options.

She doubted it was Vaggie, her best friend was too up front to waste her time writing her a letter.

So that left... you.

She blushed thinking about it.

And she blushed every morning, when she woke up, finding a new letter waiting for her.

Each one was better and sweeter than the last, and reading your letter quickly became the highlight of her day.

She would, of course, let her best friend in on the secret, Vaggie promising to keep it to herself. And when the moth would ask if she was sure it was you.

But all it took was a little snooping to find definite clues leading to you. You weren't that subtle.

Now, while Vaggie kept it together well enough, hiding her knowing it was you. Charlie wasn't so good at it, and while she was never too blatant, she did start treating you differently.

She was nicer to you, spending more time with you and generally acting more friendly.

And this went on for a week or two until, after a particularly loving letter, she'd finally act.

Now, you'd honestly expected to find your first love letter in the garbage, if not burnt to cinders.

There was no way you'd expect someone as amazing as Charlie, let alone the princess, to like you back.

But since you started writing them, Charlie had only seemed to get even friendlier, spending even more time with you.

This only fuelled your affection, and after your most loving of letters, you'd be sat in a lounge room, reading a book when Charlie walked in.

Youd greet her, happily welcoming her.

Only for her not to say anything back, the girl approaching you with rosy cheeks. Well, even rosier than usual.

And after stopping before you, she'd hold out a letter.

Seeing it, you'd instantly blush, shakily reaching out and grabbing the letter, pulling it back before looking up at her.

Youd look down, shakily opening the letter.

Youd find a heartfelt letter, the girl telling you she'd love to go out with you.

And so, through an absolutely blushing mess of a face, you eagerly agreed. Blushing even harder when she hugged you close, telling you she was looking forward to it.

Youd go out together, first to dinner, then to a movie, the girl acting as a fairly regular teenager and of course, you were a blushing mess the entire time. Blushingly following after her like a puppy, the two of you blushingly holding hands.

Youd walk her to her door. In the hotel. Which felt a little odd, not that you could tell, youd be freaking out the entire night. The two of you confessing you really enjoyed your time together.

You both agreed with the others assessment, agreeing to do it again. The both of you smiling ear to ear as you parted.

Octavia

Octavia was sat in her family kitchen, the girl mid way through a bowl of Greed Seeds as her father walked into the room.

He'd be perusing the mail when he'd find one for her, pausing before walking over and handing it to her.

The girl, seeing the letter, quickly snatched it up, jumping up and kissing her fathers cheek before rushing off, leaving Stolas a bewildered lamp post.

Octavia rushed to her room, jumping onto her bed with a very teenage giggle before she carefully opened the letter.

She found another love letter.

It was beautifully written, as they all had been, the page a beautiful poem of your adoration.

The girl just laid there, red faced, grinning ear to ear.

The letter ended with your usual 'with loving adoration, ~your secret admirer.'

But this time, at the very bottom it said, 'I hope I'll be seeing you at the next gathering.'

With that revelation, Octavia eagerly awaited the next Royal gathering.

Now normally, she despised these gatherings, being stuffed in a room of stuffy and stuck up A-holes isn't her idea of a good time. But now she had you, her secret admirer, to look forwards to.

And she was looking forwards to it, after several weeks of getting love letters, she was eager to finally meet you.

So, after a few days, the gala came around, the girl eagerly dressing up, doing her best to make herself presentable.

Entering the ball room, desperately hoping you weren't some creepy old guy sending her letters.

She acted naturally throughout the night, being pulled into the occasional conversation and ignoring the teenage nobles that seemed to gravatate towards her, most smug teenegers that thought their status meant they should instantly be allowed in her pants.

It'd be as she sipped punch at one of the tables that she'd glance up, only to lock eyes with you, you breaking into the biggest Blush she'd ever seen.

You stared at each other for several minutes, neither of you looking away.

She'd stand there for another minute before she'd take the initiative, approaching you, the girl standing before you.

Now stood before you, she'd ask simply. "Are you my secret admirer?"

And after several seconds of pregnant silence, your face getting even redder, you'd nod, pulling out another letter, you holding out to her.

She'd look down at it, finding it identical to all the others.

Pulling it open she found a simple question written out as all your writing was.

"Will you go out with me?"

At that she'd smile, nodding her head before grabbing your hand, the two of you walking off, sitting in a nook as you got to know each other, the two of you turning out to have a lot in common.

Youd spend much of the night talking, the two of you friending each other on your mutual social media, just spending the time together until the gala would finally end, you and Octavia parting with a gentle kiss, promising to meet up soon.

You just blushing up a storm, eagerly nodding your head.

Loona

Now, your whole 'secret admirer' shtick really didn't last that long with Loona.

The first one, she'd chocked up to a prank from Moxxie, Loona know full well the Imp was too much of a pansy to do anything serious to her.

But then when she got the second letter, this one being far more straightforward with your adoration, the girl was left a blushing mess.

Of course, she quickly pulled herself together, and after only a few moments of thought, she realised it simply had to be you, you were literally the only person it could be.

But, upon reading over the letter again, she found it was nice having someone complimenting her like that, so she let it go on a few more days, just enjoying the praise.

But after the first week she'd confront you, and while you tried to play it off, she'd literally compare your hand writing to the letters, finding it a perfect match.

And so, faced with undeniable proof you'd concede. After that, Loona would ask why you hadn't just asked her out, to which you'd tell her bluntly she was way out of your league.

She was attractive and confident and she was the most deadly and incredible woman you'd ever met and well, you couldn't contain yourself any longer. But you hadn't the balls to tell her In person. So, you wrote it down.

After suppressing a blush, the girl almost giddy at your complements, Loona would ask if, well, if you'd eanna go out?

To which you'd instantly break into a blush, something Loona thought was cute before timidly agreeing.

The girl plaid it of, trying to keep her cool, but in reality, she was giddy inside, tale actually wagging as she left, wondering where you should go on your first date.