#or the 'can't think of a full story to put these in' ones

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Return to office and dying on the job

Denise Prudhomme's bosses at Wells Fargo insisted that the in-person camaraderie of their offices warranted a mandatory return-to-office policy, but when she died at her desk in her Tempe, AZ office, no one noticed for four days.

That was in August. Now, Wells Fargo United has published a statement on her death, one that vibrates with anger at the callously selective surveillance that Wells Fargo inflicts on its workforce:

https://www.reddit.com/r/WellsFargoUnited/comments/1fnp9fa/please_print_and_take_to_your_managersite_leader/

The union points out that Wells Fargo workers are subjected to continuous, fine-grained on-the-job surveillance from a variety of bossware tools that count their keystrokes and create tables of the distancess their mice cross each day:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/24/gwb-rumsfeld-monsters/#bossware

Wells Fargo's message to its workforce is, "You can't be trusted," a policy that Wells Fargo doubled down on with its Return to Office mandate. Return to Office is often pitched as a chance to improve teamwork, communication, and human connection with your co-workers, and there's no arguing with the idea that spending some time in person with people can help improve working relationships (I attended a week-long, all-hands, staff retreat for EFF earlier this month and it was fantastic, primarily due to its in-person nature).

But our bosses don't want us back in the office because they enjoy our company, nor because they're so excited about having hired such a swell bunch of folks and can't wait to see how we all get along together. As John Quiggin writes, the biggest reason to force us back to the office is to get a bunch of us to quit:

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2024/sep/26/in-their-plaintive-call-for-a-return-to-the-office-ceos-reveal-how-little-they-are-needed

As one of Musk's toadies put it in a private message before the Twitter takeover, "Sharpen your blades boys. 2 day a week Office requirement = 20% voluntary departures":

https://techcrunch.com/2022/09/29/elon-musk-texts-discovery-twitter/

The other reason to spy on us is because they don't trust us. Remember all the panic about "quiet quitting" and "no one wants to work"? Bosses' hypothesis was that eking out a bare minimum living on from a couple of small-dollar covid stimulus checks was preferable to working for them for a full paycheck.

Every accusation is a a confession. When your boss tells you that he thinks that you can't be trusted to do a good job without total, constant surveillance, he's really saying, "I only bother to do my CEO job when I'm afraid of getting fired':

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/19/make-them-afraid/#fear-is-their-mind-killer

As Wells Fargo United notes, Wells Fargo employees like Denise Prudhomme are spied on from the moment they set foot in the building until the moment they clock out (and sometimes the spying continues when you're off the clock):

Wells Fargo monitors our every move and keystroke using remote, electronic technologies—purportedly to evaluate our productivity—and will fire us if we are caught not making enough keystrokes on our computers.

The Arizona Republic coverage notes further that Prudhomme had to log her comings and goings from the Wells Fargo offices with a badge, so Wells Fargo could see that Prudhomme had entered the premises four days before, but hadn't left:

https://www.azcentral.com/story/news/local/tempe-breaking/2024/09/23/wells-fargo-employees-union-responds-death-tempe-woman/75352015007/

Wells Fargo has mandated in-person working, even when that means crossing a state line to be closer to the office. They've created "hub cities" where workers are supposed to turn up. This may sound convivial, but Prudhomme was the only member of her team working out of the Tempe hub, so she was being asked to leave her home, travel long distances, and spend her days in a distant corner of the building where no one ventured for periods of (at least) four days at a time.

Bosses are so convinced that they themselves would goof off if they could that they fixate on forcing employees to spend their days in the office, no matter what the cost. Back in March 2020, Charter CEO Tom Rutledge – then the highest-paid CEO in America – instituted a policy that every back office staffer had to work in person at his call centers. This was the most deadly phase of the pandemic, there was no PPE to speak of, we didn't understand transmission very well, and vaccines didn't exist yet. Charter is a telecommunications company and it was booming as workers across America upgraded their broadband so they could work from home, and the CEO's response was to ban remote work. His customer service centers were superspreading charnel houses:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/18/diy-tp/#sociopathy

That Wells Fargo would leave a dead employee at her desk for four days is par for the course for the third-largest commercial bank in America. This is Wells Fargo, remember, the company that forced its low-level bank staff to open two million fake accounts in order to steal from their customers and defraud their shareholders, then fired and blackballed staff who complained:

https://www.npr.org/sections/thetwo-way/2016/09/26/495454165/ex-wells-fargo-employees-sue-allege-they-were-punished-for-not-breaking-law

The executive who ran that swindle got a $125 million bonus:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2016/09/wells-fargo-ceos-teflon-don-act-backfires-at-senate-hearing-i-take-full-responsibility-means-anything-but.html

And the CEO got $200 million:

https://money.cnn.com/2016/09/21/investing/wells-fargo-fired-workers-retaliation-fake-accounts/index.html

It's not like Wells Fargo treats its workers badly but does well by everyone else. Remember, those fake accounts existed as part of a fraud on the company's investors. The company went on to steal $76m from its customers on currency conversions. They also foreclosed on customers who were up to date on their mortgages, seizing and selling off all their possessions. They argued that when bosses pressured tellers into forging customers on fraudulent account-opening paperwork, that those customers had lost their right to sue, since the fraudulent paperwork had a binding arbitration clause. When they finally agreed to pay restitution to their victims, they made the payments opt-in, ensuring that most of the millions of people they stole from would never get their money back.

They stole millions with fraudulent "home warranties." They stole millions from small businesses with fake credit-card fees. They defrauded 800,000 customers through an insurance scam, and stole 25,000 customers' cars with illegal repos. They led the pre-2008 pack on mis-selling deceptive mortgages that blew up and triggered the foreclosure epidemic. They loaned vast sums to Trump, who slashed their taxes, and then they fired 26.000 workers and did a $40.6B stock buyback. They stole 525 homes from mortgage borrowers and blamed it on a "computer glitch":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/29/jubilance/#too-big-to-jail

Given all this, two things are obvious: first, if anyone is going to be monitored for crimes, fraud and scams, it should be Wells Fargo, not its workers. Second, Wells Fargo's surveillance system exists solely to terrorize workers, not to help them. As Wells Fargo United writes:

We demand improved safety precautions that are not punitive or cause further stress for employees. The solution is not more monitoring, but ensuring that we are all connected to a supportive work environment instead of warehoused away in a back office.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/27/sharpen-your-blades-boys/#disciplinary-technology

[ghouldtime]

Neighbor! König Part 2

Follow up to this:

After you expressed interest in his miniature collection, he actually actively OFFICIALLY invited you over one evening (and inside!)

It may not sound like much to most to be invited into someone's house but for him, it's the ultimate trust. His house is his private space, his sanctuary, where he goes to be without other people

He doesn't ever invite anyone inside unless necessary or they've truly gained his trust and being invited INTO his house, and actually into a shared space of one of the hobbies that matter the most to him?? Yeah, that's how he says he likes you

He's been working on his models and dioramas for so so long he's incredibly proud and can't help but to want to actually show them off to someone who wants to see

Usually most people don't care :( or think it's weird

But you've embraced it! You're so excited and he's over the moon, he's having the best day ever, if you do research and bring him gifts or show him some new ideas

He has exquisite attention to detail and INSISTS on everything being exactly the way he envisions it. And you notice! You actually notice. Which means you care about his hobbies, the work he puts in, and therefore him

It might be a bit early to say the L word but he's feeling certain ways

He may be a big dude but that doesn't mean he lacks fine motor skills. He's laying those tiny pieces of moss onto the cobble stones like a PRO

Miniatures allow him control over the environment, even if it's on a smaller scale, and offer a way to keep his hands and mind busy so he often throws himself into it

It also helps him relive happier memories. He's afraid of forgetting them and when he's stressing, it's his happy place because he can look at them and simply remember the things in life that matter

He'll ask you about a story you like or a favorite show or book or movie. That's his next miniature planned (in secret. Can't ruin the surprise, he needs to have it all perfect. He will either read the book, watch the movie, will study EVERY detail)

He will start to invite you over when he's having a painting night or is working on them. You don't have to follow his rules or do what he wants! He's just happy you're there and appreciating it

He will always have your favorite snacks and drinks in stock too. Need to make it fun and can't have you going hungry

If you want, he'll put on background noise! He's happy to make it immersive and to light a candle or put something in a diffuser to really set the scene you're going for. But he's perfectly happy to hangout with you as is

You'll finally get to hear him laugh and hear his really, really bad jokes. He has a dry sense of humor and most of what he says isn't even close to funny, he's awkward like that

But if you laugh? That's it, he's sold.

Time flies so fast when you're over, you don't even realize it's 3am

You don't need to go home! I know it's right across the street but he has a guest room and it saves you the trip in the morning. You have a whole nother round of characters to paint :)

Okay maybe it was an excuse so you could see the curtains he'd made and the pillows and he decorated the guest room with! Like actually tried decorating. They're made with love, that's what counts right?

Did he spray the pillows with his cologne before you came over? Maybe, but he won't ever admit to it

You can't complain. Not when he insists it's no trouble at all, you should stay over, and he does everything he can to make you comfortable.

And you're certainly not complaining when you wake up to breakfast in bed

He's so happy to finally have someone to share his life with, even if it's nothing official. He might not say it because words are hard, but he'll always show it in every way that he can 💚

If you look closely at the replica he made of his childhood home, you'll notice two figures in the kitchen who just so happen to look like you and him

Proud believer of König being just a guy! A guy with hobbies! A guy with a calm domestic life! Just because he's a private military contractor doesn't mean he's a constantly violent dude or a guy who lacks an immense amount of respect for boundaries. Sure, he gets really into his job when he does it, but that's his realm! That's his zone. That's why he's confident and having fun, he knows he's good

Outside of work, he's just a guy with a troubled childhood making the best of life and trying to find his own sense of belonging, happiness, and peace

Justice for König, he's not an insane perv or some freakytron or some stalker :(

[terukotime]

thinking about Ace and Eden again and how i really don't want either of them to be the culprit lol. i just feel like either one being the blackened would be a waste of their potential. i know in Danganronpa that's bound to happen with some characters, but Ace and Eden both have traits and arcs that could run through the whole series, or at the very least, to the next chapter. while a big part of any killing game story is losing characters quickly and having their arcs and growth cut short (we've already seen as much with Arei, rest in peace queen), Eden and Ace have a lot of prominence in the Trust vs. Distrust theme of drdt, on either side respectively. and they both have a lot of potential for their views to change. i can totally see Eden's optimism finally starting to crack, and she begins to lose hope in trusting others and thinking they're good-intentioned, especially since she was put in virtually the same place that Teruko was in in the last trial, with everyone distrusting her and thinking she's the culprit. though Ace hasn't had much of a catalyst to alter his beliefs yet, there's still hope for his views to change. he's a lot like how Teruko began to behave after the first trial, thinking he can't trust or rely on anybody and pushing everyone away as much as possible.

[giant-ass analysis under the cut. i didn't expect myself to go on such a huge rant, but i realized i have quite a lot of thoughts on the matter lmao. there are probably a lot of hot takes in here and i know there will be people who won't agree with me, so take this all with a grain of salt, pls & thx]

while Ace's role in the trials is mostly confined to causing conflict and being a comedic relief, he's expressed being committed to investigating the scene of Arei's death. while sure, if Ace is the culprit, his desire to investigate could very well be a ruse. but for the sake of his potential, it'd be far more interesting if him being innocent results in him going on to investigate more thoroughly and contribute substantially to the trials. Arei did have potential for a full redemption arc, but her death doesn't feel narratively unfulfilled. its tragedy not only allows the audience to further sympathize with Arei and see just how nuanced she was, but it's also meaningful to the members of the cast, and will serve as a point of motivation for them, whether that be to maintain hope in escaping or giving into despair.

at least, that's how it's set up to be. i feel that if either Eden or Ace are the culprit, Arei's death loses a good deal of its weight and meaning. especially if the culprit is Eden; even if she had "well-intentioned" motivations for killing her (as well-intentioned as murder motivations can be, anyway), Arei's breakdown, desire to change, and tragically short path to redemption is rendered pointless. her want to be a good person will have affected virtually no one. her death will have only held significance to David, as most of the cast didn't care for Arei or hated her, much like Ace.

while Culprit Ace won't render Arei's death *as* meaningless as Culprit Eden, it sure would make Ace's own death feel pretty meaningless. he'd be dying in a trial where he fully believes everyone is cruel, everyone hates him, and no one cares about him at all. his shift in his belief can't really be considered much of an arc or even a regression; he just descends further into his hatred and paranoia until he dies doing exactly what the killing game expects of him. Ace, a character who has prioritized his self-preservation all throughout the series, will have thrown that away for...what? revenge against Nico? would he really place his hatred for them over his fear and will to live? Ace is impulsive and narrow-minded, but he's not without *some* sense. if Ace were to be the culprit of this chapter, what would he have contributed to the story? what would his existence have meant? what would he have provided that the story can't progress without? he'd have zero growth, zero stakes, and zero relevance to the ongoing plot, aside from unrevealed backstory (most of which will likely go unsaid in the main story if he were to die now). do i think Ace is going to play a significant role in the overarching story? no. not as much as characters like Xander and David, anyway. but he still has so much to offer as either a survivor or later victim/culprit, as we'll have spent more time with him, gotten a better understanding of him, and possibly be able to sympathize with him, like we do with Arei.

and here's another thing i've been thinking about, too: all the deceased so far have a point of significance to the story. Xander has a connection to the larger-scale mystery surrounding the killing game and a complex relationship with David. he continues to be relevant in the story even after his death and will likely always be.

Min is not only a cautionary tale to the rest of the cast, but her story follows a very cohesive path:

she's a girl committed to her academics and has been led to believe it's the only thing about her that matters ->

while not a social butterfly, she still enjoys spending time with others and making the most of the situation she's in ->

she forms a bond with Teruko, someone who has shown to value both her intelligence and her personality ->

she finds Teruko being murdered by Xander, and instead of being a bystander, she takes action to save her friend ->

she realizes that what she did has jeopardized her own life, a life that she does not center around herself. her family depends on her having a successful future, a future she has been groomed to achieve since she was little and has made several sacrifices for ->

though Teruko is her friend, Min prioritizes her self-preservation. there are too many things that are objectively more important to her than the life of a girl she's known for a couple days ->

still, she cannot shake her guilt and chooses to remain at Teruko's side throughout the investigation ->

she's desperate to maintain her lie, even if it means framing the friend she tried to save and getting everyone else killed. she fights and fights until she can no longer ->

she loses everything. her life, her future, the trust of her friends, the trust and bond she had with Teruko. Min always had good intentions. but even good-intentioned people can do terrible things.

Min's story throughout Chapter 1 alone is very digestible and easy to follow. even without knowing the greater contexts of her life, like her family's financial situation or her groomed future of being a Hope's Peak student, her motives and actions make complete sense. you don't come away from it feeling like she acted out of character or that her death was hasty or sloppily written. her death has a lot of meaning and impact on the other characters.

and that alone makes Culprit Eden or Culprit Ace unsatisfying. Culprit Eden would not only undermine Arei's death and potentially lead her into character derailment, it'd also just be Min's story regurgitated in a much less compelling manner. Teruko has already had her trust broken, and while it seems like she's slowly starting to see the value in relying on others again in the Chapter 2 trial, what good would Eden's death do for her? even if it causes Teruko to regress, what will change? wouldn't Teruko go back to being the way she was acting at the start of the chapter, undoing whatever growth was already beginning to happen? will she be unaffected by Eden's death, or at least act like it? will it somehow strengthen her desire to trust and rely on others again? (it won't.) Eden's role as the chapter 2 culprit really won't do much good for the story, regardless of what her reasons are. everything we've learned about Eden and Arei, both together and individually, will be irrelevant. the significance of Arei wanting to be Eden's friend unconditionally, something that we learn is so significant for her because of her secret, will turn out to actually be pointless because Eden will have killed the one person who expressed they'd be her friend her regardless of who she is.

Ace simply hasn't done enough in the story to establish his deeper character. with Xander, Min, and Arei, we already got glimpses into their core beliefs, their true selves, their moral standings. if those aspects of a character are only revealed after they're confirmed to be the culprit, then honestly...that's just bad writing. i don't like saying that, but i firmly believe it. not only do we hardly know anything about Ace's backstory, we just don't know a whole lot about him other than surface-level things the show outright tells us: he's fearful and paranoid, he doesn't like being a jockey, he's hotheaded and unsociable, he developed an eating disorder due to the strict requirements of his talent, he's hardly ever had any friends, he doesn't think anyone cares about him. and while a lot of inferences can be made from that information, it's still very speculative, and even a bonus episode after his execution wouldn't be able to cover enough of his backstory and personal life for it to feel justified narratively. you simply can't kill him off without letting us see another side of his character and have it better the story.

if either of them do, unfortunately, turn out to be the true culprit of the case...i will be very disappointed. i won't drop drdt or criticize drdtdev for their decisions, but i will still personally believe it to be a bad choice. nevertheless, it's not my story, and i will continue to support and enjoy the show regardless. i have a lot of faith in drdtdev's skills as a storyteller, but no story can be completely perfect. Ace or Eden being the true culprit won't destroy the show as a whole, and i'm not trying to imply that it's a fundamentally bad choice, i just think it'd be very difficult to pull off and have it feel natural, organic, and satisfying for the ongoing story. i will neither be optimistic nor pessimistic about what happens in the next coming episodes, i will simply wait and see. i just wanted to get all my thoughts out here, and hopefully i didn’t come across as aggressive or snobbish or anything. this is a free to watch series, after all, and i enjoy and appreciate all the hard work that has gone into it and made it possible.

[taegularities]

colour me in: the starry night | jjk (m)

Summary: You anticipated the trip to Jungkook's hometown with a thrilled yet nervous heart – and upon your arrival, your emotions prove justified: because as the days pass, you realise that gentle joy awaits just as much as ancient pain.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; angst, fluuuuuff, smut ➳ warnings: fluff fluff fluffluffulfufluf, flirting, daddy issues, arguments with his father, his dad is pretty much an ass and almost as bad as oc's mom, but his mom and brother are <3, ria <3, oc being a light in the dark, oc learns many new things, cursing, fighting, a lot of crying/tears, neglect, mental breakdown, panic and anxiety, anger, insecurities, too many mentions of nostalgia lmao, jealousy, mention of therapy, nara, christian yu lmAO, WEDDING TIME!!!, oc is so pretty (that jk loses it), alcohol/drunk stuff, more confrontations, making up, he loves loves loves her, childhood coping mechanisms; explicit sexual content: kissing, making out, oral (f. & m. receiving), teasing, eating out against the wall, bit of wall sex, drunk sex, manhandling omg, impatient koo, big dick!jk, dom!jk but this timeeee also sub!jk lowkey!!, tears of pleasure, masturbation, fingering, handjob for a bit, squirting, creampie, literally their orgasms are a MESS phew it's kinda hot lmao, moany/whiny/super turned on jk; no 'the ending' warning this time… just the whole chapter 🥺 ➳ word count: 45.9k lmfao pls do still read it tho ➳ a/n: this was supposed to be 30k i can just never shut up lol sorry <3 but this chapter honestly got me good. i cried sm writing it and i love them and i never want this story to end :') i hope you love it, too. thank you for supporting me at all times <3 i can't wait to hear what you think 🤍 ➳ listen to: dance me to the end of love by the civil wars (alt. version) | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

It’s going to be okay — Jungkook’s hand gently clasping your thigh wants to convince you of this, you know.

But you can’t deny that the presence of the family you so long awaited is affecting you — your pulse is quickening to a heavily uncomfortable pace. You know his mom; you don’t fear his brother; but his father… his eyes are inscrutable.

They scare you to no end. There he is; the power continuously shattering your boyfriend’s heart. And Jungkook must be well conscious of your distress; because a mere moment later, he of all people, the one who's supposed to seek comfort, says—

“Angel? Breathe.”

Your eyes swerve to the side and remember to blink; you only now feel that you're jabbing crescent moons into your palm, just when you realise the sharp impact. You uncurl your fingers and nod, letting him cover the faintly scarred skin with his hand.

Sighing, you ask, “Are you okay?”

“I am,” he says, nodding, as if he’s practised and polished this answer over the years, “nervous, but… it’ll be okay.”

“Yes… I know.”

“Let’s go?”

You pull the handles on your respective sides at the same time, setting foot onto the stranger soil for the very first second in your life. You can’t quite discern your gut feeling right now, but you hope it’s not the last.

Waiting next to the car, you watch Jungkook round the vehicle, squinting your eyes; the noon sun is burning right above you. He heaves the suitcases with a faint groan and you join him right away to fetch the rucksack you brought.

Holding it between your knees, you flash his family a smile and a slight wave, awkward and unsure about what to do until his mother steps down the porch and towards you. She’s elated, and you see the same sprinkle in her eyes as in her son’s when she closes in enough for an embrace.

Her arms are comforting around you; somehow, you’re startled by it. Takes you a second to reciprocate the hug, hopefully not long enough for her to question your receptiveness. But then you put your chin on her shoulder, shutting your eyes for the briefest of seconds until you open them to a side hug between Jungkook and his brother.

In the slowly cooling weather, she feels warm, a motherly love that blasts heat to your cheeks until she lets go. “Finally a woman, huh?” she breathes, her voice so sweet and kind. “A great alternative to all the testosterone.”

“I can imagine,” you respond; the thought isn’t too much of a stranger to you. “I spent most of the week amongst men. They’re barbarians.”

She laughs, just in the moment that Junghyun, Jungkook’s brother advances towards you. He offers you his hand and a radiant smile that resembles your boyfriend’s. In fact, he does look quite a bit like his younger sibling. Lopsided smirk, fluffy dark hair, handsome features.

Not a lot older. Kind as he greets you with a, “Miss Novaura herself, yes?”

The name makes you beam, inundates you with pride. You appreciate that he doesn’t revert to Charmante as most people have done throughout your life, but sees you as what you are and what you do now. The manager of Novaura, damn it.

Yes.

Has he been keeping up with stuff?

“And Miss Novaura meets the second Jeon himself!” you respond, but as he grimaces, you bite your tongue immediately. What did you say?

“When,” he starts, overly dramatic, a little like Jungkook, yet somewhat more extroverted, “was I demoted to the second Jeon?”

“Oh, I’m…”

Jungkook clicks his tongue from the side, shoving his brother aside in the most sibling-like manner you can possibly imagine. Then, he threatens, “Don’t do this, or I’ll take her away from you guys again.”

“What’s that mean?” you ask.

“It means,” Junghyun interjects, “that everyone’s been dying to meet you. Mom and I even told Jungkook not to spill too much about you, so we can see ourselves.”

Oh, the pressure. The nervousness from the past couple of weeks skyrockets. Yet, your charming self conjures, “Then I hope I don’t disappoint.”

Jeon Junghyun speaks on, babbling something reassuring that you’re certain could warm your chest if you had the capacity to listen. But you drift off quickly as the side of your eyes follows a movement in the back: Jungkook timidly, almost fearfully nearing his father.

You’re alarmed and you can’t tell why — perhaps because you don’t truly know their situation yet. You haven’t seen them interact. But at this very moment, you’re surprised when Jungkook and his dad share a light side hug, too.

The occurrence is frigid, but somehow, you expected even more frozen behaviour. Rare glances, absolute ignorance. Your mind envisioned a world that harboured true enmity, but you don’t think that’s quite what these two have been maintaining over the years.

In some sense, it’s worse.

Because rather than pure silence, there’s a deep distance that is still disguised as a surface level of closeness in a family. Faking it might just be more difficult after all.

There’s no conversation between them. Nothing much as Jungkook comes back to his mother to give her a warm, genuine hug, a rainbow to a drizzle in comparison. As if to receive what his father didn’t provide.

You follow.

You’re not entirely keen on a too affectionate interaction between his dad and you, but you still smile when he lifts his hand, shaking it kindly. From here, as the corners of his lips raise, wrinkles around his eyes that he passed onto his next generation, he looks like a terribly nice man.

He gestures into the house and you follow, listening as he asks, “Was the journey okay?”

You nod joyfully, mustering up all kindness for somebody you know hurt someone you love for so long. After all, Jungkook has done the same for you, no matter how many times your mother shattered you.

And in the end, it’s still his dad.

“Oh, yes, pretty pleasant,” you answer, clearing your throat when you hear the formal tone in your voice. “We took turns driving. And since I fell asleep, I guess I can still seize the rest of the day… if you want to?”

You turn to Jungkook as the sentence fades out and he nods with raised, stirred eyebrows. “Yeah! It’s what we’re here for.”

His father smiles, a flat hand signalling towards the living room to invite you to rest for now. Matters seem normal so far; for a moment, you allow yourself to believe he isn’t so neglectful after all. Even with all your trust in Jungkook, you try to imagine a scenario in which he perceived his father’s distaste as something wrong.

You’re incorrect.

It doesn’t require more than a couple minutes and a bit more mingling until you recognise amidst the smalltalk that he doesn’t behave the same with his younger son as he does with Junghyun. There’s lightness in the way he converses with the latter.

Jungkook only moves around you and his mother; no particular intention to really connect with his dad. Understandably so. Their gazes barely meet.

Not even when his father’s tone drops as he approaches Jungkook, uttering a seemingly obligatory, “You alright? Is the job good?”

“Mhm,” Jungkook merely responds.

The interaction is awkward and quiet, yet too noisy for the lovely room. You focus on the homely furniture and small-town-vibed interior as you wait for the brief dialogue to conclude. You’re not at a place to intervene yet.

There are pictures of the family, yet fresher if you could judge. The ones showcasing memories are probably somewhere you can’t see yet; you’re buzzing to finally skim through his childhood pictures.

You listen in. Quiet again, conversation already at an end.

Jungkook’s fingertips graze yours, giving a short head tilt, wondering what you’re thinking about. His beam is different when he looks at you now, a much more blissful alternative to the timid words he voiced just a couple seconds ago.

But you can’t really answer when his mother emerges in the room to wave you towards the kitchen, eager to converse, yet suggesting, “If you want, you can freshen up before dinner.”

But you reject the idea kindly, flashing your best smile as you respond, “I’m excited to be here, so we can just talk a little for now. I’ll go wash my face after dinner!”

She nods slowly, politely, a the-guest-is-king-sort of gesture before you add, “How have you been?”

The family joins at the dinner table one by one; nobody interferes or barges into another’s turn. Only listens. You’re used to chaos from events and parties you used to attend, everybody dying to have the last word, to outsmart another.

This family is as patient at a conversation as you’ve witnessed in your boyfriend. They’re lively, interested; maybe there’ll be more of an ecstatic family tumult when you get used to them or when more people join. At the wedding, probably.

You’ve seen something like that with your friends, too. Especially on this vacation. You did fall into disorder quite often.

Yet, it differs from your usual experience. No discomfort. No fear of odd questions.

The Jeons aren’t out to reveal your little secrets, but to understand you as a person; so you appreciate the natural flow of the dialogue when Jungkook’s mother answers, “Just tired. The wedding preparations are tedious, and it’ll probably only get worse.”

“Yeah? You’ve been helping out a lot, yes?”

“Yes, somewhat. The bride… Gayoung, she’s close with us and relies on us a lot. And on top of that,” she shakes her head at this point; rolls her eyes as she turns on the stove, stirring and heating up some meal, “she’s getting cold feet.”

“Oh man,” Jungkook adds, chuckling a little, unsurprised, “wedding is definitely on, though. She always gets nervous. Almost missed her first day at work years ago,” he turns to you, “she’s a vet, and she was terrified of hurting the pets, but… everybody trusts her with their pets’ lives now.”

“Awh,” you voice, “I can imagine how stressful that must be. I’m pretty good at managing stuff, though, so if you need any help—”

“No way, you’re not here to work. You can do something else?” His mother looks over her shoulder, pondering. “Paint?”

“Oh, I do paint sometimes, but I’m not very good at it.”

“She is,” Jungkook argues, hand lifting to rub your back, “but she’s an even better writer.”

His father chimes in, arms folded, “Oh, I think you can get a ton of inspiration here, then. There’s a flower field nearby if you’re interes— what?”

Stopping when Jungkook interrupts with an exhale, he tilts his head at his son, and you follow his gaze, watching thick eyebrows kiss. “I already took care of that, but… way to spoil a surprise.”

Ah. You see the hostility increase with each second. You wish you could diffuse the moment; tell Jungkook to ignore everything that might irk him.

Instead, you only sneak your palm to his knee, imitating his rub to calm his nerves. He must be tense. He always must be.

“I wasn’t spoiling,” his father argues, “was just an idea.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” you intervene, patting Jungkook’s thigh. He looks at you just briefly, but it suffices for some of his muscles to relax. “I don’t know much anyway. Spoiler-free zone!”

It’s the best you can do. So you keep trying; diverge the topic to other aspects of your life when Junghyun asks about your job and the efforts connected to it. About the joys and hardships of it. About how your parents are doing — burdensome topic, yet a must to master. 

Then they speak about the passage of time in the city, and how it compares to this place; how the family perceived the differences and how their current life differs from their past here.

You learn that they still feel more connected to their hometown; obvious when considering the fact that they spent most of their years here. Initially uncertain about moving, they still decided to be closer to their children and the world’s opportunities.

The city called and it kept them.

You know it kept Jungkook the most; or maybe it was you who shackled him there, too.

“Apart from the obvious differences,” you start, “I can’t comment much on it yet, but… I’ve been really interested in being here. Super nervous.”

His mother coos, scrunching her nose the way he does, assures that there’s no need to be nervous; that this wedding might end up being the kindest you have ever been to. Adds, “Speaking of. Brought a pretty dress?”

“Oh, of course,” you say; your toes curl in excitement. “I’d show you right now, but I promised to keep it more or less a secret from Jungkook.” You wiggle your eyebrows at him. “He’s seen it, but not me wearing it.”

“Ah. Is it that pretty?”

“It’s pretty amazing.”

She steps closer as the dish simmers, playing with a couple strands hanging in Jungkook’s eyes. His lips twitch upwards, and his cheeks colour in a blush when she says, “Well, knowing this guy, you’re out to give my boy half a nervous breakdown, I see.”

“I’m trying to, really.”

Your answer is light-hearted, but a mere moment late. You can’t help but wonder what she means by knowing this guy. Then again, you presume a mother usually witnesses her children’s lives; watches them fall in and out of love.

You don’t like how the realisation makes you feel, but you smile it away either way.

And it doesn’t help when Junghyun seems to catch onto her statement, too, saying, “By the way… I’ve heard that at the wedding, we—”

But the interruption is sharp. Unnatural, abrupt, his mother’s voice strange when she interjects, “Ah. Listen. Let’s serve dinner, and we can talk more when we eat. A hand?”

You don’t know what it’s about, but you attempt your best to not be nosy. You can’t even guess it, so it’s probably easiest to let it go. To only stand up to help a little, Jungkook and you handing things around until you’re seated again.

She still scolds Junghyun silently, eyes wide when she sits next to him; perhaps it’s a surprise for Jungkook or for you.

You won’t spoil it. Focus on the food.

And despite the early tension, you survive dinner, albeit occasionally cut by things Jungkook’s father remarks and by Jungkook’s responses of retaliation. Like—

“Honestly, you not liking these is a perk,” Junghyun comments when Jungkooks puts the green beans aside, snatching them immediately.

His father is quick to deduce, “Didn’t you love them?”

Jungkook’s smirk is immediate, accompanied by a shrug and a click of his tongue, and a somewhat passive aggressive, “Yes. Fifteen years ago, though.”

It’s odd, the mixture of anger and fear. He reveals his agitation in his short answers, but he never extends them to something that might provoke a bigger fight.

His father then says, “I’ve never seen you put them aside.”

To which Jungkook mutters, “Should’ve looked more then, right.”

“That’s unnecessary.”

“Okay.”

Tense. Quiet. Gulping.

But you get it over with, breathe and touch through it all until the plates are cleared, stuffed in the dishwasher, the clock ticking. Jungkook leads you to the porch that his family greeted you at earlier. You intertwine your fingers deeper, hoping for some solace between the irate words exchanged.

His shoulders stand slightly higher than usual, eyes a little unfocused. You squeeze his palm, and he laughs when you bump your shoulder against his. Tapping his foot against the porch, he says, “This is where we were having a barbeque this summer. Remember when I called you?”

As if you could forget. Those calls got you through messy, forsaken summer days. He lets go of your hand to tug you into his side, tight in his embrace, and your voice grows a pitch when you answer, “Yeah. You were drunk.”

“I was.”

“And you still called me. Burned your finger, right?”

He scoffs. “I barely remember that. I just remember seeing you on the video call and… missing you really bad.”

You glance into his face, opting him to do the same. Eyes half on his lips, half on his pupils, staring to and fro, you ask, “You don’t miss me now, though, right?”

“Hm… I don’t hope I’ll ever need to again.” As he presses into your arm, you cuddle in. He nods towards the small front yard, “They were playing Linkin Park here. And way back, when I was like seventeen, I’d smoke here sometimes.”

Your eyes blow wide; you can’t imagine his gentle fingers holding a cigarette between them, but then again, you kind of can. He laughs at your surprise before he continues, “I know. Rebellious phase. It was stupid, because Mom would smell it right away and then ground me.”

“Damn, Kook.”

He nods, lifting a shoulder as if to say my bad, and then kisses your temple. Asks, “You feeling good?”

“Yeah. I really like it here so far.”

“Good.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. It’s okay.”

“Good,” you echo, just for him to do it, too.

“Good. I think we cou—”

Pause. 

Because the feast of interruptions continues still. A sudden, shrill call of his name reverberates across the streets, and you flinch, following the sound on the right before detecting somebody walking up to you.

You haven’t seen her yet, but she’s glowing; hair open behind her, just the top half held at the back with a butterfly claw clip. The breeze swirls her bangs, and just from the exhilaration in her voice, you can tell who it is.

Jungkook lights up equally when he squints his eyes and recognises her, loosening his grip around you as he exclaims, “Hey!”

“Helloooo!”

And then he lets you go. You watch the endearments unfold. He says, “Didn’t expect you here today.”

“Me neither,” she says, and he laughs; you join in, already curious. “I was going to binge some show, but Junghyun texted saying you’d arrived.”

She catches up with a somewhat heavy breath, widening her arms when Jungkook steps down from the porch and engulfs her in a firm, heart-warming hug. Loving, decades old.

They oscillate on the spot, and she rubs his back until they let go. She doesn’t waste a minute until her eyes drift to you; they’re so expressive, dark yet glimmering. They prove your assumption when you see her joy towards you immediately.

The moment begins a little awkwardly as the stranger approaches you with uncertainty about what to say, but then she asks, “Is it okay if I hug you, too?”

You giggle. Goodness.

“Gosh, sure!”

And you’re delighted to the bone. Her touch is warm, inviting. They all are. You’re not used to it; why does it make you sentimental? You don’t know her. You’ve never spoken to her. Why the clump in your throat?

Weird.

“Ria,” she introduces, “I’ve heard so much about you. Really, it’s a common thing to say, but I’ve been really excited like… man, why did you come so late when he was sooo whipped in the summer already and—”

Your face heats up impossibly; this thought of a passed summer that called upon a million unknown emotions and words and encounters and yearning… you might never get over it.

Jungkook gives her a playful whack on her clothed arm, eliciting a prolonged Owhhh. You lift a protective arm over her to jest back, and she gasps, infinitely pleased. It helps her open up more, because it seems that she doesn’t need more than this to suggest, “Can I take her?”

Wrinkles form on his forehead as he raises his eyebrows in confusion, and she, nearly jumping at her spot, explains, “Show her around a bit. We’re having dinner soon and then I won’t be able to move, so…”

Jungkook blinks, unsure, looking between her and you until you urge, “It’s okay. You drove most of the time, too, so try and rest a bit.”

Your reassurance helps; either way, you don’t think you would’ve gotten to much more today anyway, no matter how much you hoped to seize the evening. You’re beat from the last day and the terrible night and the tiring journey and the filling meal.

Taking a walk is all you can imagine to do right now.

Maybe he’s on the same wavelength as you, because the nods come slowly but surely. “Sure. Go. I’ll come later to bring her back.”

Ria places a sweet hand on your back, urging you forward and speaking back, “Gotta make sure I don’t kidnap her, what?”

Her house is nearby. The first of the conversation goes by similarly as it did in Jungkook’s house, but the moment she announces the arrival at her own home, your calm demeanour changes to a rather terrified one.

She’s not going to…

No.

Because she promises, “I’m not taking you inside, no worries. I wouldn’t overwhelm you like this.”

Your chest relaxes. You guess meeting one family officially, as if you’re being evaluated for marriage, might suffice. While sure her family’s as lovely as the other, you don’t want the overstimulation.

So instead of urging you inside, she takes you to the small cottage next to her house. Their property is a little bigger, the area spacier. You soon find out that the little house she’s taking you to isn’t some guest thing, but houses dozens of farm animals.

You didn’t think there was something to the cliché you heard about small towns; yet, the reality is much more endearing. How oddly cheerful the animals seem, even though you know the fantasy is just a fabrication of your mind.

You don’t know what they’re thinking or feeling.

One of the hens clucks as Ria picks it up, looking at you with big eyes as she says, “I thought you guys would come early in the night and then just sleep. I didn’t know you’d arrive so much earlier.”

“Oh yeah!” you say, hands in the back pockets of your jeans, “We left the hotel at noon.”

“That’s crazy.”

She bends, letting the hen go, and the little thing instantly rushes away. You flinch, stepping back. You’ve never done this before; you try to keep your cool, but you’re so inexperienced, mesmerised by your surroundings.

This place is so different, so much quieter, more serene. You understand the nostalgic vibe of romance movies set in towns like this. You’re suddenly thrown into The Notebook and into Footloose. Into everything that evokes warmth.

“What is?” you ask.

“Just. It’s so nice to meet you. We have so many guys here, so it’s cool to be with a girl for once.” She takes a deep breath. “And I love Kookie and I trust his judgement. So when he told me about you, I told him to get you here right away. It took you so long.”

Her tone is frisky, but you feel bad. Not quite because you let her wait, but because of why you waited yourself. Because of the breaks and pauses and the split hearts that you needed time for to sew again.

The weeks of insecurity and then the trials of life.

Something in the pit of your stomach stirs at the memories; you can’t believe you’re standing where he fell for you first, despite the distance. Where he reached for you through the rain and the clouds and the stars, and called to listen to your tears and your pleas to return.

You can’t believe it. In fact, yes, you believe it as little as her.

“I get it…” you say, “we have quite a few guys in our group, too.” You wait, watching her nod as she inspects the last of chickens running into the cottage. Then you ask, “What did he tell you about me?”

“What he told me? Mmmh. I mean, it’s difficult to say. He spoke of you highly, but I think his main focus was on not hurting either of you. Very, very worried about how things might play out.”

Yeah… yeah, it sounds like him.

You don’t answer; shift your eyes to the grassy ground. You hear her voice lift a pitch as she says, “Man, too many guys is simply too much, though, seriously. And then having to deal with Kook all the time must be so exhausting, too.”

Laughter erupts out of you, and you shake your head, “I mean, he’s a brat sometimes. But he’s the best man I know.”

“He is a good guy, yeah? I’m so glad.” She nods again, affirmative and positively confirming. “He’s always been. It sucks sometimes that he lives so far away.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, but she shrugs her shoulders, waves off your concerns. “I take it you’re not interested in living in the city?”

Her eyes narrow when she looks into the distance, met with the lowering sun as if it entails the entirety of her beloved town. It’s probably part of it, though; the one sun she’s known all her life, despite the same star rising and setting everywhere in your vast world.

“Not really,” she says, “I like it here… Even though so many left.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Some people I knew…”

You can imagine. Two faces flash into your mind, at least. Not that you like half of the thought; but it’s automatic, and so is your statement, “I feel like I know at least two.”

She seems surprised. Tilts her head, blinking, hands on her hips. “Really?”

“Yeah, well…” You avert your eyes, fearing an abundance of transparency. “Jungkook and Nara.”

“Oh.” Ria’s blinking fastens. She didn’t expect this; neither did you. But in some sense, it was inevitable, dropping Nara’s name here. “You met Nara, huh?”

“You say it so… weirdly.”

Her hands lift and she immediately works on objecting to your assumptions, “No, I mean. She’s nice! I liked her growing up. I just wouldn’t have mentioned her unprompted. There’s no need…” She studies your face. “He doesn’t either, you know? Talks about you mostly.”

You don’t know what to say. You gathered this much; but a very strange feeling in your chest presses against your heart, and you can’t quite decipher why. You shove it aside as best as you can, and then breathe it out, thankfully admitting, “That’s relieving.”

“There’s no need to worry. I think he and you will have a good time here and bond more than ever.”

You nod. You don’t feel like responding; not because you don’t like her or don’t want to. Your throat is tied, and you can’t really think of or form a productive thought. So you just keep nodding, smiling until a hen pops out again.

Ria, pushing away a stray strand of her dark hair, points to the little, excited animal, wondering, “Hey, have you ever held a chicken?”

“No!” Ah. Good tactic to distract you, considering how many times you mentioned this minor wish in the past weeks. “But I want to! Told Jungkook like a hundred times.”

“Okay,” she waves you closer and you dare to approach, hoping to neither hurt the hen nor yourself. You have absolutely no clue about these things. “Come here then. It’s not hard.”

It’s not. In fact, the process sounds logical, facile; but your hands are shaking, and often enough, animals seem to understand negative emotions when targeted. But Ria proves a good teacher.

Shows you to near the hen calmly, moving slowly to not startle her. She instructs you to soften your voice as much as possible, kindly noting that you’re soft-spoken enough to not worry about it. And then, once close enough, she demonstrates placing a hand around the tiny body, securing the wings to prevent flapping.

You imitate. Or try to, at least. It doesn’t work right away, your nervousness intruding; but at some point, you manage. You use your other hand to support the body, lift the hen gently. Hold it close to your body to give her a sense of security, much as Ria lectured.

Ria is patient, amazing, despite having done this probably a thousand and million times. Adjusting to your lack of knowledge, praising you, acknowledging your effort.

Her giggle is mellifluously sweet as she watches and hears you gasp; she applauds, but stops right away when she detects the third presence amongst you.

She calls, “Ah! You’re finally here.”

Your eyes follow hers, heart lighting up as you hold up the chicken carefully and nearly shout in uninhibited excitement, “Kook, look!”

His hands are in his jeans’ pockets; his walk idle. One of his eyes is squinting shut until he steps into the shadow, a tender smile playing around his lips before you realise that it looks… sad. Doesn’t reach as far. No crinkles around his eyes.

“Aren’t you the cutest, munchkin?” he responds before dropping into a crouch next to you. He seems brighter upon seeing your face, but you still keep wondering… What just happened in the house?

You don’t know. You don’t want to ask yet either.

So you only set the hen down, lowering her until she’s balanced and waddling — waddling? — away. You wrap your arms around him, providing a flicker of warmth. You don’t know what made his face fall like this, but you want to at least attempt to lift his chin again.

God. What a start to the first day. Is it odd to feel scared?

“Wanna go?” he asks, a thumb brushing the corner of your lip.

You hum, “I’m getting tired, yeah…”

“Then we can go and rest? And sleep if you want to.”

It’s early… but laying down and staring at the ceiling doesn’t sound too bad right now. Maybe he needs it, too. So you agree, pressing Ria to your heart once more and promising to return to her.

She’ll be at the wedding, too. You guess you’ll see everyone multiple times anyway; but as rude as it may sound, the thought of warming into this man’s body doesn’t allow you to bother with the world right now.

His steps are slow as you walk to the house. Eyes drooping. He might not notice; he’s been here so many times. But his presence, combined with the things you see, make your heart swell.

Maybe because you want to be there for him; maybe because you still can’t believe you’re here. But you perceive everything as if for the first time.

The cosy garden and the flower beds. A small-town house sitting on a quiet, tree-lined street. It’s more on the simple side, painted in warm hues, a light beige. Charming. You remember everything being charming.

The snug living room, the tender, partly wooden and partly modern kitchen, the clearly old and handmade dishes. A fireplace. Wooden floors. 

You haven’t seen the rooms yet, but as he leads you upstairs, you imagine him doing the same this summer as he approached his bed. He walked these same steps, a narrow and short hallway, opening the door to an inviting childhood bedroom with you present in his device.

Yearning.

But the man from the summer isn’t all you see. In fact, the place reminds of time travel; you soon recognise just how signature Jungkook everything is.

Because the moment you enter, you see him in everything. Like, in the soft quilts on his bed; he wouldn’t use them today, but you imagine a shy Jungkook and you imagine big eyes, small hands pulling the sheets over his body to cuddle into a warm night.

The window overlooks the backyard; the sunlight filters through the sheer curtains. It’s still just the middle of the evening. But you find it hard to want to leave this simple comfort. Lived-in, sweet.

Reminiscent of a youth.

Like a soft tune of a ballad. You don’t know what it is that makes you feel this way.

The cosiness? The pictures on shelves? The slightly tilted roof of the room? Or the posters reminding of a world a decade ago. It hasn’t been this long, if you think about it, but to you, all of this still tells a story.

“What’s this?” you ask, opening a random drawer and grazing rolled up paper, large, stowed away.

“Posters, I think? I haven’t seen or opened them in ages. Maybe we can—”

He pulls and rolls them out, glancing for a bare moment before he undos the action with a sudden bright red on his cheeks. You try to catch a glimpse, “What?”

He doesn’t answer, so you take the poster from him, only needing to open it halfway through to see a pretty face, followed by a swimsuit and a snatched body. Ah. Is this…

“Victoria’s Secret?”

“Shut up,” he instructs, and you hold yourself back, watching him, blinking until—

You puff out some air, nearly spitting as you laugh, teasing, “You were that type of guy, yeah?”

“Shut up,” he repeats, prying it out of your hands before he throws it into a corner. “I had this up for like two weeks. Forget it.”

“Never threw it away, though.”

“Never thought of it.”

He scratches the back of his head, a tilted smirk on his face, and you can’t help but want to keep annoying him. But he needs far more than this right now, and you’re not here to get on his nerves. So you walk up to him until determined arms wrap around his waist, kissing his chin.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Well…” He’s quieter than he’s been in the last few days and it disheartens you. Somehow fatigued, eyes halfway closed. “You know.”

You do know. Or perhaps, you don’t, but you can well imagine.

You’re not sure how he took all of this day in, day out for so many years, but you understand the weight of the situation a lot better now. Of course your mind would be rewired if you hurt this much all the time.

Whatever you’re seeing now is a fraction of what he experienced.

“It’s going to be okay,” you remind him again.

“Yeah.” He sniffles. “Hey. I have a little surprise for you tomorrow. It was spoiled a bit, but you’re right.” A peck to your nose. “You don’t know anything yet. But you’ll like it, I think.”

You don’t doubt it; you guess it helps, not being aware of much at all. Waiting for the surprise.

But then again…

When you look at him again, excitement flickering in those tired eyes of his and a hand pushing against the small of your back lightly, you think that you know a couple things at least.

“Okay. Hold on. You’re definitely going too fast!”

“This is too fast? You should’ve seen Junghyun and me racing years ago.”

You lower your head in an attempt to hide it from the wind, seeking his sweater; it’s impossible from this angle. You’re at the front, surviving between his arms as he navigates the bicycle recklessly. 

The wind slaps your face, cooler this noon than yesterday. The bike writhes on the road, and you yell out, “Man, I’ll die!”

“Baby!” he exclaims back.

His laugh is louder than the gust as you hold onto his moving thighs and then realise it’s of no help. You shift your hands to the front of the cycle, wondering when it’ll hit an unforeseen rock and tip over.

“Hey,” he tries again when you only scream back, “have you never been on a bike before?”

“Of course I have!” You resist the urge to add a curse. He’ll kill the two of you. The streets are steep, probably a hill, going downwards. “Just never two people at once.”

“I did it a lot! With friends, and mostly with Gureum.”

Gureum… his dog. You have yet to meet him.

“Gureum?” you repeat.

“Yeah! He’d sit in the basket and… and enjoy the wind. Eyes closed.” He pants between cycling. “I told you, no?”

But your thoughts are elsewhere, chin dropping to your clavicles as if not looking could save you. “Fucking hell—”

“Okay. Okay…”

The bike stops abruptly, and you yelp, shutting your eyes tight and preparing yourself to die. But death doesn’t come; a tap to your hip does. His fingers hold you, calming you, words the opposite as he orders, “Alright. Get off my bike. You can walk the rest of the distance.”

Between the sniffling and the reclaiming of control of your trembling legs, you register the surprising command, and mumble, “What?”

“You heard me, sweetheart. I’ll wait at the flower field.”

You dare a look over your shoulder. His expression is serious, an eyebrow cocking. You want to retort something snarky, tell him you’ll stay on if he just slows down, for the love of God; but instead, you look ahead, and decode the view immediately.

The grass is high and the place wide. You’re right where the field begins, the road more narrow here, only really enough for cyclists and walkers. You roll your eyes, getting off as you tell him, “You’re terrible. We’re already here.”

He laughs, dropping the bike to the side carelessly before he reaches for your messed up hair. Fixes at least the front of it, flattening it in the back. You’re glad there’s no mirror around.

Then, he proceeds to grab your hand, a finger pointing to the place and says, “Look around.”

You do. It’s widely open and empty. A decent amount of flowers; you imagine a plethora of them in the summer and the spring. Now that fall is in full effect and it’s a little colder here than on your coastal vacation, you reckon that this isn’t usually all how the field looks.

But it’s beautiful. In the far, far back, you see the forest expand. Slightest traces of autumn foliage. The leaves will fall and entirely bare the trees soon.

“This is so pretty,” you say.

“Right?”

“Was this the surprise?”

“I mean,” he cards his fingers through his hair, but as he grabs the willow wicker from the larger cycle basket, the mane is blown back into his sight just a moment later, “yeah. But the actual surprise is a bit further down the field. Come.”

He guides the way, and you put your all into deciphering what he might be hinting at, only for him to say, “Don’t look so hard. You will see it in a moment anyway.”

The laugh he elicits is sweet, a thumb touching the back of your hand. Your shoulders drop in relaxation, and you shift your attention to the grass and the flowers, trying not to stomp on any of those that are still left for this fall.

A couple feet forward, you tell him, “You know I still need to meet Gureum.”

“I know. He was with Ria since we can’t really take care of him when we’re away.”

“You could take him to the city.”

“I’d do anything to be able to. But Gureum is… a free dog. He wouldn’t enjoy life in a smaller apartment after running around for so long.”

Ah… You feel the opposite still; jumped from a large cage into a homey, sheltered cube happily. But you get it; the freedom here doesn’t compare to a crowded city, does it?

“But,” Jungkook continues, “Ria said she’d bring him over this noon, so he should be there when we get home.”

“Damn. Why am I more excited about this than necessary?”

“Oh, you should be. I am, too… he’s my old boy.”

The oxymoron grants you a smile; to a parent, a baby stays a baby. Most of the time, at least. Jungkook feels something for Gureum, and even a stranger, lost and unknowing, could piece this bit together within a heartbeat.

“He’s old?” you wonder.

“He’s twenty years old. A bit slower now but… the same amount of love in his heart.”

One shall learn how to love and be kind from Jeon Jungkook. Then again, he’d be an excellent example, but a bad teacher. Wouldn’t know what to say. Wouldn’t be able to really pick out what makes him so pure-hearted.

He just is… He just is.

“I can’t fucking wait,” you say, inspirited.

The sight changes along with his expressions as you walk down the field. From happiness to a smile to excitement and then contentment. The flowers mostly disappear, giving way to something you don’t really recognise.

Orderly rows, bright green leaves and… more plants? As you inbreathe the air, however, you swear you recognise the sweet and fresh scent. Even from here, it’s distinct and special.

And when you trudge closer, finally glancing down, you understand.

Jungkook…

He took you strawberry picking.

You see them low on the ground, clustered, ripe and red. Pretty. Enough to warrant a dozen adjectives; yet, you only whisper, “Wow.”

He waits… then waits more. Lets your eyes scan the area and the fruits, permits you to take in what he probably reckons you’ve never seen before in this form. And he’s right — you haven’t.

“You like it?” he questions. “I was unsure, like… maybe you’re underwhelmed?”

Your head turns towards him at light speed. “What? I’m not. I’ve never seen anything like this before,” you confirm, repeating your thoughts, “I am definitely not underwhelmed. This is… this is something my younger self craved.”

“Oh— Really? How so?”

You hum. Think back to late nights in the back of your bed, a room larger than what you needed, yet smaller than your imagination. Smaller than your heart.

“I read stories,” you tell him, “fairy tales. Watching tales of love in the countryside. We don’t have these places in the city, do we?”

Jungkook’s hand, on your back a second ago, travels up to the back of your neck, touching it gently. “I guess you’d have to find a farm.” He stares ahead where you do, still standing there, unmoving. Then, “Angel?”

“Yeah.”

“You said you went on a field trip to a farm, right?”

“I… can only really remember once in school. Kids were shitty.” You spoke about this once; last month, he promised you’d see Ria’s farm, too. Funny that she actually did show you. “And my parents weren’t really interested in that stuff. Which I do kinda get because many city people aren’t.”

“Mhm, I can understand.” He shuffles his feet, presumably a little sad for you, regarding the long row of strawberries stretching to his right. You’re about to crouch and try without a clue what to do when he, instead of commenting on things much more, asks, “Okay, so. Wanna pick strawberries?”

“Yes!” You rub your hands, taking a step forward, but pausing again; you could start anywhere. “Will you show me how?”

“Of course.” He hums, looking for an easy spot with an accumulation of easy-to-pick fruits; then, he lifts his jeans by a couple inches and lowers his body. “Look. You can crouch or kneel.”

You give your clothes a lookover. Just some everyday jeans; they should be able to take some dirt. In actuality, though, you might’ve joined him on the ground anyway. So you do, kneeling with your hands on your thighs, obediently listening.

“You look so cute.” He chuckles, the back of his fingers barely grazing your cheek for a moment. As he sniffles, his chin nods towards the plants, hands reaching for them. “So. You gently pull the leaves aside and just pick the strawberries. Avoid those that aren’t red, though, okay?”

His pinky touches parts of an unripe strawberry still in the ground, and he explains, “You’ll know that one’s ripe when it comes off easily. Like this,” he tugs at it, “isn’t ripe. Won’t come off so well. Mmmh. Let’s try this one.”

You follow his movements until he settles for a particularly pretty and seemingly juice berry; with ease, he plucks it off by grasping the stem and twisting a little, and says, “See? You could eat this one right now. But… basket?” You shove it towards him and he throws the berry inside. “We’ll wash it before that.”

It’s quiet and sweet here as he works on explaining the process to you. An atmosphere you haven’t ever witnessed anywhere before. It’s probably different in the spring, but you’re alone here; even if someone’s around somewhere, you can’t see them from where you sit.

And it helps you focus: on how concentrated he looks, lower lip pouting, crouching easily with his sweater sleeves rolled up. It’s unusual how his tattooed hand works on the plants. Your first imagination of such a task always involves straw hats and dungarees.

“Try it, too,” he then instructs.

He puts a gentle palm on your back as you get up from kneeling, now crouching as he is, and cast about for a couple good pieces. Whenever you think you’ve found one, you seek confirmation in his eyes, repeating, “Is this okay?”

And he always promises, “You’re doing well. Look,” he inspects one of your choices, “picking the best even.”

“You’ll have to eat mine, then.”

“Sure will. I knew you’d be so good at this.”

You’re surprised; you never saw yourself doing this, even though you yearned for a life so different than the one you lived. Until you stepped off his bicycle twenty minutes ago, you had never come up with such an idea. All the more reason to be thankful to him.

But you do wonder why he’d perceive something like this far before you did, so you ask, “Really? Why?” 

He uttered the words so casually, pupils fixated on the basket; he might not have noticed how immediately you reacted. Because he hums now, looking at you with immense eyes, matter-of-factly spelling out, “Because you’re gentle. This called for you.”

Because you’re gentle. Because you’re gentle.

The reasoning, so clear to him, repeats in your mind. It’s not as obvious to you; it’s been a while since you thought of your qualities, and in the last months, being gentle often meant the same to you as quietly enduring.

So you’re touched, silenced by the lump in your throat; such an easy sentence, but so filled with  knowledge about a person that only truly occurs with the purest of affections.

As you stare at him, you feel the fondness spreading over your countenance as much as the leaves tickling your ankle; you hold the current strawberry delicately as you conclude, “That’s why you brought me here, yeah?”

“That too.”

Oh.

“What else?”

“You can’t do this every day,” he argues, “I want to show you new places and things.”

You graze the vulnerable skin of the strawberries collecting in the basket, watching it fill enough to feed a couple people. Grabbing it, you lift your body with a smile. For a minute, your knee aches from the crouching, and your brain gathers the sensations into one to create another core memory.

Lost for words, you merely tell him, “Thank you, Kook, I…” You heave the basket to your chest, touching his hand as he rises, too. “How do you even come up with all this?”

“How I come up with it? Hmm… I guess you make it easy to do.” He laughs, and you follow, reading your mind as he voices the same thought flashing through your brain. “I know I’ll be so nostalgic about this someday. In ten years, maybe.”

Cheeks hot despite the autumn wind, you register the butterflies immediately. Right under the basket, underneath your skin, like a swarm awaking from metamorphosis. The fact that he thinks ahead like this, paints a distant future with you… wanting you for this long drives you insane.

Jungkook’s voice always lacks uncertainty when it comes to you.

Mellow when he speaks to you, gentle even when he asks, “More?”

“Mmmh… yes. Can do a few more. And it’s fun.” So you do; picking and plucking until you can barely carry the basket anymore, already wondering what to do with the bunch until you pop the idea, “Can we eat some of these?”

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course. Gotta wash them, though.”

Which isn’t as easy as it sounds. It takes you a good moment to find a water tap on the wide field; one only crosses your way when you travel back to where the bike stands, proving as dysfunctioning and broken.

And only once you’ve reached nearly the end of the field and already detect the narrow path that you cycled along from afar, your luck strikes. You wash a handful of your harvest and place them neatly at the top of the rest, right above a handkerchief Jungkook whipped out from his pocket.

The grass isn’t high everywhere; you find an ideal spot for a brief, spontaneous picnic, pleasant and comfortable; a fluffy blanket of nature. You watch ladybugs and ants crawl over blades of grass; not too much more, considering the season.

Jungkook works through the content of the basket, soon holding a piece to your mouth, “Take this,” he says, pushing it through your parted lips; waits until you’ve chewn most of it. “And?”

The initial taste is good, but the aftertaste dramatically makes your world quiver. Whatever you’ve known about food and fruits so far must have been a hoax, because you can’t fake the way your eyes widen and your voice raises in pitch, delighted as you say, “This is… so damn good.”

“Right?”

“They don’t taste like this in the city!”

“Yeah,” Jungkook chooses a smaller one from the collection, throwing it into his mouth as a whole, “these are fresh. No bullshit berries.”

“No bullshit berries indeed. So good.”

“You picked good ones!”

“But this is a curse, too!” you exclaim, urging a laugh out of him that he transforms into a kiss to your temple, observing as you munch the strawberries as though encountering them for the first time. And you pout as you say, “ Keep me from eating them all. I want to take the rest home.”

“Sure, don’t worry. We can put them somewhere and take them back on the last day.”

“Hm? Oh. No, I meant today. Home, your house…” You realise your mistake. “Sorry.”

Only, he doesn’t deem it a mistake for a moment. He didn’t think you’d feel this cosy this fast — but it was what he’d hoped and opted for, so it’s a win either way. His family as your home, him as your home.

He thinks, you finally do feel at home. It took you years of endurance, didn’t it?

“Home, yeah?” he mutters. “An apology is the last thing I’d want, angel. You’re home, alright.”

You wish you had an equally meaningful answer; whatever you might babble now, you don’t think you could do justice to the soft tone he settled on. You can’t even outdo his gaze, so round, eyes so big on his otherwise clear-cut face.

What you can do is smile. Draw closer until your shoulders touch. About to taste the strawberry-flavoured, red tinted lips before a sudden motion drowns your plans.

The bunny flits over your feet; you’re sure it jumps onto yours for a moment and then uses them to push itself off into the grass, journeying on. The yelp it elicits out of you merges with the startled sound Jungkook emits.

His elbow lightly hits the side of your breast, and you pull your legs into your chest as self-defence. But it’s gone as fast as it appeared, and barely a second later, you’re watching it hop away, little ears disappearing in the distance.

“Well,” Jungkook breathes, “at least that’s normal. I’ll tell you about my snake encounters later some day.”

A hand on your chest, you exclaim, “Oh my God. You know what?” You calm down your lowkey panting, hand falling back into your lap, “Maybe you were right. We’re home for sure.”

“Oh… yeah?”

“Yeah! Totally looked like you… thought we were back home.”

Jungkook laughs out, head throwing back, and then, amidst his giggle, he throws a “Shut up” at you. The tackle nearly pushes you to the ground before his lips attack your face all over; making out on a countryside field wasn’t on your bucket list, but you sure as hell will add it only to tick it off.

His tongue really does taste like strawberries. His lips are sweet; the hand on your waist careful yet explorative. If the grass wasn’t this cruel, tickling all over your body, you’d probably remain here for the next hour.

Let him strip you bare. Kiss you into the earth. Nobody’s here; you don’t think you’ve ever fantasised of such a moment before, but suddenly, you don’t mind loving him right here.

But maybe he’s fostering the same thoughts as you, pulling back with a little groan when the blades prick his cheeks and closed eyes. Endurance isn’t easy right now; and you have a lot planned for the rest of the day anyway.

So you pull yourself together, and nod when he finally asks, “Wanna go?”

Somehow, it takes you a little longer to get home than it did to reach the field. Perhaps because he’s cycling uphill now, or maybe because the sun is at its zenith, warming the colder day. The comfort makes you want to stay in this moment, have his voice laughing next to your ear.

On a bike swaying when he loses focus, rolling dangerously to tease you on purpose.

And when you get back to his house, you’re greeted with yet another surprise. It’s fluffy and sweet and white like a cloud, living up to its name. A tongue sticks out, tail wiggling, right at the door when Jungkook opens it.

Gureum is small, smiling as far as you’re aware of a dog’s joy. You once heard that upon seeing their owner, the same hormone floods their tiny bodies as a human’s when they fall in love. Gureum must feel much like you do when Jungkook comes home.

You understand.

Understand when Gureum jumps up to Jungkook’s legs, licking his human’s face when your boyfriend picks him up. Jungkook’s voice changes so much that you barely recognise it; you’ve never heard him talk like this. Higher, lovelier, slurred to imitate the language babies speak.

The affection is unfiltered and crystal clear.

Jungkook’s smile brightens until it reaches its maximum, bunny teeth flashing, the laugh erupting so deeply from his chest. Authentic. Eyes nearly closed as he calls Gureum’s name, plays with his face, as if communicating with a child.

Twenty years, and he still thinks of him as his baby. Sometimes, all golden stays.

“Baby,” he says after a while once Gureum has stopped licking his face, introducing, “this is my Gureum.”

You set the basket down next to the door, reaching a careful hand to Gureum’s head; but he’s cooperative. Lets you easily. “Hi Gureum,” you whisper, “nice to finally meet you. You’re so cute!”

“He’s a little sick these days, but,” Jungkook gazes down again, kissing Gureum’s ears. “He gets through it so well, doesn’t he? Yes, he does.”

The laugh is real. The affection is real. Tender and deep-rooted. He smooches him again, and then puts a cheek to his warm fur. You’ve never seen him like this. You’ve never fallen deeper.

“I missed you so much, too, buddy,” he says, “so, so much.”

You swear you see Gureum cuddling into Jungkook’s chest. Doesn’t move even when you’ve settled in the living room, resting from the journey. You’d drafted plans for the rest of today, but it doesn’t seem they’ll separate, and you don’t want them to.

You can wait. Things can wait.

You sit by Jungkook’s side as he pets him, his head soon on your shoulder, one hand in the white fur, the other holding yours. It’s how you remain for a bit.

In hindsight, albeit never having plucked strawberries before, today wasn’t some grand adventure across the world. You didn’t strike a deal at work or fight off some paparazzi hiding in an unexpecting corner. And you didn’t climb a mountain.

But you guess that’s what you craved all your life. Somehow, this is better than any crazy escapade.

The serenity that comes with a mundane moment. A love that consumes you and a love that helps you commit the most casual of acts to memory.

Maybe this is enough. An old couch lightly creaking as you move; a cloud blinking as you caress its head. Surprises to help you experience saccharine afternoons.

You remain for a bit, and then remain a little longer.

Ria came through the door not too long after you’d returned, ready for the evening plans. She’d promised to accompany the two of you to the centre of the town, giving you a tour of the most important and ancient of places.

You learned about the town’s only drapery seamstress and the best flower shop. Much as it so occurs in 70s and 80s movies, you met the son of a mechanic. He told you he’d be inheriting the company one day, and that it was okay because he never intended to leave anyway.

Ria’s eyes suspiciously widened as she spoke to him, and she lingered for a moment longer than you did after your farewell. The guy had forgotten that there was work to do by the time she finally bid him goodbye.

Jungkook’s eyes squinted at the sight, but not even he could hide his endeared smile. Pressed into Ria’s shoulder with a teasing hum.

You rewarded yourself for the day’s many steps with some soft serve in front of the city hall, talking and delivering anecdotes until the sun started setting.

As the evening concludes, you’re the last to appear at dinner. His family is already sitting here, politely waiting and sweetly welcoming once you’ve washed up and hopped into the dining room with a vibrant smile.

You’re in a good mood. Evidently so; the scent of strawberries and the taste of his mouth still linger, and you’re still coming down from the high when you chime, “I’m sorry for being late.”

“Don’t worry about it at all,” his mother assures, “we just sat down.”

“I really wanted to help, though.”

It’s true. His mother has been nothing but the ultimate host. You wanted to prove productive and useful, but then Eun had called to check in on you and delayed your plans.

“Hmm, you know what?” his mother utters, pouring you some Jjamppong. “The wedding isn’t until one, so we could get up earlier and make strawberry jam in the morning? If you’d like.”

The wedding has been in the back of your mind constantly, slowly sneaking to the forefront with an intense nervousness. You’re timid because of how it’ll turn out, how people will perceive you, if they’ll talk to you. How Jungkook will look at you.

How much love might spread; how much certain people might tone down their resentment.

Learning yet another skill such as making jam might just be the best distraction. So you nod wildly, only interrupted when Jungkook asks, “Can I join, too?”

But you change the movements of your head to a shake, jesting about quality time and whatnot until he surrenders, “Alright. Way to shut out the boyfriend and son, I see you.”

“Speaking of food,” you say, pausing, slurping a big bite of noodles; they’re spicier than you’re used to from city restaurants. Better, too. You point your chopsticks to your dinner. “May I have the recipe?”

As his father and brother indulge in their food, acting as quiet listeners, his mother answers, “I’m sure Jungkook has it. I’m offended he never cooked it for you, since they had it a lot growing up.”

“Offended indeed. You learned this?”

“Oh, this?” Jungkook’s eyebrows, hitherto sporting a crease between them — a telltale sign of a well-eating Jeon — relax. “Yeah! I was learning when I was like, what, fifteen?” He seeks approval from his mother, who soon nods. “I fully butchered it when I tried it for the first time.”

Junghyun chuckles. “Even I remember.”

“Yeah, you refused to help!” Jungkook complains, whining when Junghyun hits his brother’s elbow with his own. “And I burned my wrist and had the wound for ages. Couldn’t do much in P.E.”

Much as yesterday, it seems his father hasn’t learned; because as you feared, it’s only now when he melts and intervenes. You almost surmise he’s provoking on purpose when he queries, “When you were fifteen when? I can’t remember any wounds.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Are you telling me I’m making it up again?”

“No, I’m just saying I don’t remember.”

“That’s because you were at work and didn’t pick up my many calls. Mom was sick that week… It's why I wanted to cook and learn at all.” He nods towards his brother. “Junghyun remembers because he went to a friend and then rushed home to bring me to the hospital. None of it sounds familiar to you, does it?”

Jungkook lists and narrates the happening with a flat voice, as if recalling items still left to purchase for tomorrow’s meal. He’s stirring his soup and his father is stirring everyone else’s, uncaring as he responds, “I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine. You probably didn’t care.”

“Nonsense.”

Another, “As much as the last years,” added to the mix, you opt for his hand under the table again, but he pulls away. You’re left dumbfounded, looking at him in surprise. This has never happened before; he’s never been upset in such a way.

As if to signal, “It’s fine. It’s whatever. Let me deal with this.”

But he can’t deal with it; you see the beginning signs of a rising chest and a decreasing appetite. Nobody just plays with the content of such a rich soup for this long; least of all a foodie like him. He’s busy looking at it, propping his elbow on the table.

You stare for a little longer, and then turn back to your food.

It sounds like it’s over. And it’s quiet; maybe you could interrupt with something else, change the course of the conversation. But his father isn’t done yet.

No. You notice everybody else’s irritation when he opens his mouth to speak again. They sigh, forming a line with their lips when he emits a question that leaves even you in disbelief, “Why are you saying this?”

“Come on,” his mother tries, wanting to ease the tension, but Jungkook is faster.

“What? I mean, I don’t know?” he starts, once again an equal amount of fear and annoyance in his voice. “I barely ever hear from you, Dad.” With each word, he grows more daring, at the end of his capacities when he eventually curses, “We live in the same city, for fuck’s sake—”

“Jungkook—” Junghyun interrupts.

“What? It’s true. Even the last hundred times, Mom visited alone. Could’ve at least come over and said Hi to my girlfriend.”

“I’m here now and saying Hi, though,” you try, weakly smiling.

“And he’s here, too. How grand of him.”

Fuck.

“Stop the attitude,” his father warns, “you could’ve come over plenty of times, too.”

“Are you hearing yourself? News flash, I did. I tried to talk to you, too. If I was still fourteen, I’d still be apologising. Oh, or is that what you want? Is it what you want?”

“What are you talking ab—”

“I’m talking about how I really wanted to tell you about a shit ton of things. Like when Nara and I broke up,” amidst the already tense moment, your heart pains for a second, “or when I graduated. Or when I was having a really fucking hard time this summer and needed somebody and then when I fell in love and needed to tell somebody, and… where are you all the time anyway? Who fucking knows — I don’t!”

It worsens and worsens. Crashes and burns; every word splits the air in the room. You don’t know how to save the moment anymore; maybe you’re not supposed to. You can only lend him courage. Perhaps he’s supposed to finally say all this.

But it’s hard to listen.

Because as the waterfall of grief cascades, you hear Jungkook’s voice quiver. He’s about to break. Right here, in front of everybody, you’re about to witness the woe this man inflicted on him all his life.

And you see it; see parts of this very torture when his father reveals who he’s become over the decade. The one Jungkook described to you; empty of empathy and understanding.

Because again, he renders you in shock when he speaks again. Fucking nasty, nitpicking and focusing on only one aspect, attacking somebody’s pride.

“Get a grip over yourself! You graduated in arts — you didn’t conquer the world. And you hold a grudge when—”

“I hold a grudge? I do? You’re the fucking one who shunned a kid because of a mistake and—”

“I do not want to hear about this. Not again.”

As their voices grow, so does your heartbeat. The anxiety is unbearable; you can barely imagine the one spreading through Jungkook’s chest. His face is red, neck hot, veins about to pop. If you could, you’d slap your hands over your ears.

But you can’t listen away; can’t ignore the panic, either.

“Please, stop,” you say, moving, but Jungkook frees himself of your grip again, stands. You attempt again, “Stop it, baby.”

But he won’t listen, mind somewhere else entirely.

“You won’t blame me for shit you did years ago, you can’t—” his father insists, but…

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Watch your mo—”

“Or wha—”

His father’s face, similarly scarlet as his son’s, grows a shade darker at the shameless counter, and his large hand lifts in slow motion for you. Comes down with a thump, intending to slap the wooden table, but hitting the edge of his small kimchi bowl again.

It flies up inches into the air before suddenly rolling off the table, aligning with you and soon falling onto your lower arm with a painful impact. It topples down onto your knee before it meets the ground and shatters into a handful of pieces.

You gasp and shriek, more out of surprise than pain; but Jungkook’s reaction is immediate. He bolts towards you, protecting you from whatever danger might be left. Pulls you off your seat and away from the shards as dead silence befalls the room.

It’s filled with your shaky breaths and the way his mother and brother shove their chairs back, hands reaching for you. Jungkook keeps you out of their reach. Looks at his father for a couple seconds; then to the kimchi on the ground; then back to him.

You can’t see him properly until you move to glance at him, wanting to keep his anger low, but… you don’t think you can do much anymore.

The fire in his eyes is blue.

And his voice is strained but furious when he finalises through gritted teeth, “You are fucking insane.”

This time, the man doesn’t answer. You hear his wife utter something as if scolding him before she speaks up and offers to clean up the mess. But Jungkook shakes his head, “No need. He can do it.”

Then, turning to his father, he repeats, “You’re fucking insane. You’re a terrible parent and we all know and only you can’t admit it to yourself. I just didn’t think you’d develop into a terrible person, too.”

Still long fingers around your wrist, he moves you towards the stairs, rounding off the fight with one more, “Don’t fucking get near me or her, do you understand? Fuck.”

So many words exchanged, but it was the stupid kimchi covering your pyjamas to make him topple over the edge. You feel guilty, but you don’t. It’s the man downstairs that has so fucking much to reflect on.

God. You wanted this vacation to relax Jungkook, to soothe you, to turn the first painful half of the year into something glorious.

But…

Then again, didn’t you expect this? Weren’t you scared of this?

Didn’t you fear the exact manner in which he now leads you to his room, in which the slamming of the door rings in your ears, his hands in his hair?

He’s let you go and stranded in his room. It’s odd, the way you stand here, clothes dirty and the grief dirtier. 

You walk towards him cautiously, watching him shiver, and reach for his wrists in turn this time. It’s a featherlight touch, but you feel the tremble underneath your fingers. And you instantly notice when he starts coming undone. When his lips shake, too.

Even with his head lowered, you recognise the wet waterline, and how it takes a handful more heavy breaths until you hear the first sob. You hug him. You hug him right away. Hold him close and closer.

You make a weak attempt at pulling him to the bed, but he’s already in the process of breaking down, his body getting heavier, falling. The carpet offers solace as his knees suddenly hit the ground. His arms hold onto your hips and his face buries in your chest.

When his breathing turns irregular, so does yours; you feel like the world is splitting and the sky crashing down. 

His leg comes in touch with your messed up clothes, and when he looks up into your eyes, he’s already crying. A trail of tears courses down his cheeks as his pupils suddenly shake, looking for something, asking you, “Did he hurt you, baby?”

“Kook…”

“Let me see, you must be hurt, you— you were just wearing these thin ass slippers without socks, right? The fucking bowl shattered and…”

“I’m okay, Kookie. I’m not hurt, I promise.”

“No, but… it fell on you, it must— did it bruise your knee?” he continues hectically, inspecting you, never seeing anything. He cradles your face, still crying and sniffling, shoving his pain aside to make sure, “Please tell me if anything hurts, ‘kay? I will get something, I’ll— dunno, fucking smash his fucking face, I’ll—”

His mind is going haywire. A proper downward spiral, and you don’t know how to stop it. What the fuck— what the fuck…

“Jungkook— Jungkook, please,” you try, lowering his hand, but he won’t stop searching for signs of injury. “Baby, please.”

“Why is he like this? I just… man, I am trying, angel.” His voice falls at the last word; your heart fractures at the same time as it tries to keep his intact. “I am trying so hard in life for him to like me, and you… you’re here, so I thought he’d behave and instead—”

“I know. It’s okay.”

It’s not, but you can’t say it. Can’t say how much the meaning behind your stained clothes hurts. How much it connects to what the weeping man in your arms feels; how he looked forward to this, planning ahead, a surprise for everyday without anticipating such ruin.

And he’s as clueless as you. More broken than you ever anticipated. Resembling the burst dish one floor beneath you, holding you like an anchor, crying into your chest.

He keeps repeating the same things as you repeat yours, soon mumbling his words of trying and trying and constantly trying. Of wanting to be loved. Attempting to understand if it’s too much to ask for. Is it?

Why can’t he love me?

And you whisper back, He loves you. He does.

It’s easy, falling into such misery. There were moments not too far in the past where you were on the receiving end of such pain, and he was your life vest. You don’t know if you’re keeping him above the surface as well as he did, because you keep susurrating the hopeful mantra to him.

But he keeps believing—

“No… no, he never fucking did. Wh—who treats someone like this?”

“Some people forget, you know… how to show affection. Sometimes, they deem their pride more important. It says nothing about you.” You lift his chin, heartbroken upon detecting his reddened eyes. “Everyone else in this stupid world loves you.”

“Your mother doesn’t either…”

“My mother? The woman who hates literally everyone?” You smile, trying to make him imitate it, but he doesn’t. You brush his cheeks and then his hair. “I do. I love you. I knew who you were even when I was unbiased.”

“Didn’t you… hate me, too?”

Once again, you try a faint smile. Not for him to join in, but because you’re reminded of a foolish friendship; it had already long bloomed into more when you’d finally named it one.

“Not for a second,” you say.

Break in discussion. He’s still shedding tears, snivelling. Stays frozen like this, all of him unable to move except for his lips. They mutter, “I don’t ever want you to get hurt. He can do whatever the fuck he wants with me, but…”

“Yeah. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

“I love you,” he maffles weakly, “I love you. I love you.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

You feel as though offering solace to a child. As if he’s shrunk into what he used to be, in the very room he used to sulk. The trauma still belongs to a kid, and when hurt, he’ll turn him into one, too.

You hate it. Hate that his sorrow still belongs to such a young heart. That he never processed it.

Before you came here, you spoke about it. And once you’re back in the city, you’ll have to figure things out further; the time constraints just before you drove away didn’t allow you to take much into consideration.

You can only cry now, can’t you? Detest the dampness in your own eyes. Stay right here until some sign occurs, lifting you up from the ground.

And it does fifteen minutes later.

The knock is gentle, just two of them, and you tell Jungkook to wait, that you’d be back in a minute. As you stand, his back is bent, his head lowered. As if he’s sleepwalking or slowly fainting.

You shut your eyes for a second; then open them again.

Behind the door, his mother awaits. In her soft hands, she’s balancing a tray holding some food. She lifts it towards you, tells you, “The two of you barely ate.”

Upon a closer look, you realise that her eyes are swollen, too. The view nearly forces you to tear up again, your face seethingly hot. You want to hug her. Want to tell her you’re sorry. Instead, you only touch her shoulder, and mutter a grateful thank you.

“It’s okay.”

She sounds so pained. You wonder if she said something to her husband. Reprimanded him, cried for his son, grieved a childhood and life that could’ve been.

But she doesn’t say any of it, and neither do you mention it. You only agree, “It will be. Are we still making jam tomorrow?”

“Yes. Tell Jungkook he can come if he wants to.”

“Yeah… I was thinking that, too.” You stare down to your food, never noticing how she peeks past your shoulder. Sees her son unmoving on the floor; she knows she can’t do more than you are right now. So she only nods when you repeat, “Thank you so much.”

You wish her a good night, bringing the food to where your boyfriend sits. Put it down in front of him.

“Sit upright, baby?” you ask him, crushed by the sight of swollen cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. His lips are parted, his breathing still stagnant; he only stares at his food until you push the tray closer to him and say, an attempt at a smile, “Let’s eat a bit. Mother-in-law brought it for us.”

No smile back, but a sniffle. The crying subsides just a bit as a shaking hand grabs the spoon, slurping the soup before he can even think of the noodles. He eats a little, slowly, surely. You help when he needs it, feed him a bite, encourage him to one more.

Every other minute, he cries again. You wipe the tears away, try to make him eat more.

His father fucked him up. You knew about the issues and demons Jungkook combatted. Of course his mentality suffered; of course there are parts of him that might never heal… But you never quite understood the full effect. 

His father fucked him up good; got him so bad. Parts of both of them are so ultimately ruptured, aren’t they?

Whenever he winds down, you eat in silence, right there on the ground on top of the old carpet. When he can’t swallow anymore, still some left in his bowl — Jungkook barely ever doesn’t finish his food — you move up to the bed with him.

You kiss his hair repeatedly, as if it could heal him just a little, to even the tiniest percentage. You don’t know how much of an effective bandage you are to him, but you know you’re doing at least something.

Because he whispers another I love you before the gut-wrenching sounds of his sobs have finally faded out, still echoing in the room. His tiny, shrunk voice says, “I’m looking forward to tomorrow with you.”

And somehow, it pains you even more. The hopeful tone; the wish for a day to not hurt.

“Me too, baby,” you say, “it’s nobody but us, okay?”

“Yeah… yeah.”

And that’s it. It’s all you can do for now; understanding the heavy heart the night cursed you with.

But as you drift away, you keep pleading. Pleading and pleading and pleading for a better tomorrow without getting a promise back.

To your chagrin but least of your surprise, Jungkook doesn’t join your jam-making session the next morning.

When you stirred awake for a little bit, eyes still sleep-drunk and body falling, your phone flashed seven thirty in the morning. Not ready to start the day yet and doubting anybody else had gotten out of bed, you cuddled into his body, and he, while deep in his slumber, must still have noticed.

Pulled you in more, smacking his lips and sighing a little, a warm hand at the back of your head. Secured in his embrace, you fell asleep again.

Only to awake two hours later without him by your side. You’re already washed up and somewhat sobered up from sleep, and you’ve looked on the first and ground floor. You can’t find him.

His mother informed you that she and her husband would be leaving to join the wedding earlier, to help out with the preparations and make sure the plans all sit. You offered your help, but she claimed they’d be okay, and that you can still use the morning after the jam lesson to rest.

Perhaps Jungkook has embarked on a journey then, using this time to do something in the early morning. 

Once you’ve walked into the kitchen, greeting his mother with a smile and a good morning, you ask, “Nervous for the wedding?”

“Mmmh, kind of,” she answers, locking the phone she held, putting it aside to sip her tea, “but it should be good since we took care of most of the stuff pretty well. It’ll be wonderful. Except the damn Wedding March — we couldn’t settle on any song but this.”

“I can’t wait. I bet it’ll be beautiful.” You take a seat in front of her, hearing the sounds of the TV and quiet conversations. Among the voices, you recognise two, but his is neither of them. You’re not interested in joining. So you look at her, scratching your temple as you inquire instead, “Where’s Kook gone?”

Her forefinger points downwards, another blow to the tea and another swig. “Basement. I brought him some coffee, but he seemed busy and quiet, so I left him there. But,” her voice grows louder, enthusiastic, “you can go! Maybe he’ll be okay with that?”

Hmm…

“What did he go down for?” you ask.

“I think he was looking for something.” Now, she lowers her tone again, lower arms on the table. “He also just… did that sometimes when he was younger, or after a fight.”

After a fight.

Like the breakdown last night. You understand.

You should probably walk down and check — but then again, this has seemingly been a coping mechanism ever since he was younger. So perhaps, you need to let him be for a little; give him a chance to entangle his thoughts and regain some peace.

You repeat your decision to her and she nods in understanding, throwing a glance to a huge jar on the kitchen counter. You’re ready to deliver an answer before she even asks, “Want to help out then?”

“Sure!”

The process is a patient one. Reminds you of when Jungkook told you how to pick the strawberries yesterday; gently, sweetly, with a tender touch and an even more delicate voice.

Jungkook’s mother takes the fruits out of the jar with care, explains to you to mash them and cook the jam with absolute soothing composure. The minutes pass so serenely that you imagine preparing meals with her on a cold winter evening, pleasing your soul to ensure not only a good night’s sleep but lasting quiet of the soul, too.

You add the sugar and lemon juice to your mix, stirring and boiling the delicatesse before you put it in sterilised jars. She shows you how to sterilise them at all; you didn’t think or know that such a step was necessary at all.

The making of it doesn’t take too long; forty-five minutes tops. As you scanned the internet just before entering the kitchen almost an hour ago, it said it takes barely half an hour. But she demonstrated it all to you slowly, unrushed.

You’re thankful.

“Have you ever made jam before?” she asks as you admire your creation.

You shake your head. “No… I don’t think I’ve tried such a thing at all. It’s fun making things on your own. I mean, I do like to cook sometimes, but I’m nowhere on Jungkook’s level, I don’t think.”

She chuckles, nodding as if to confirm. Then clarifies, “Yes, he’s enjoyed being involved in the kitchen ever since he was a teen. Especially before he left town and realised he’d have to cook on his own.”

You giggle with her, like with a friend or a trusted figure. It’s so consoling, talking to her. Fun, smiles intact, still present when she asks, “How are the two of you doing? I mean, you did move in together quite fast, so I’m just wondering.”

Yes; she doesn’t need to spell it out. You get it — you’ve heard about this.

So-called relationship experts claim that taking decisions in the honeymoon phase isn’t too healthy, warping your sense of reality and perception of the other person. You don’t disagree, but you guess in this case…

“Honestly, it’s been good,” you respond. “We have a couple heated evenings where we argue about stuff, but… it’s been healing. And he offered to move in when I really needed it.”

“Yes, Jungkook told me.” Oh. “You weren’t at a very good place before. Please don’t mind.” You shake your head in reassurance, urging her to go on. It’s his mother; it’s fine to tell her if any of you is struggling. “I’m glad you’re there for each other because he wasn’t at a good place either.”

You nearly don’t dare to ask; in a way, she might know her son better than you know your boyfriend. Maybe; maybe not. You fear a disheartening answer when you ask, “Do you think he is now?”

But she, careful as ever, tells you honestly, “It’ll probably take time to get over things, but— it’ll be okay. Things seem a little better, though, if you want my neutral POV.”

“Ah… okay. That helps.” You play with the white-dotted red band around the jar. Your mind circles around a million questions that only she might be able to answer; yet, cautiously, all you query is, “Do you ever… have you ever spoken to him? Or his dad? About all the things…”

You reckon that if he’s talked about the two of you before, he probably mentioned spilling his secrets to you, too. At least from your perspective, it’s obvious that he entrusts her with his heart.

And once again, she affirms, “I have. Often. Even before the two of you came. It’s why I told you to take your time getting here.”

Ah… Makes sense now. So that’s why you had to roam the hotel until noon a couple days before. You sigh.

She continues, “It just doesn’t end well most of the time, so… And I’m not a good talker. I don’t know what to say anymore after so many years. Both want me on their side, though Jungkook never persists on it.”

She’s so wrong. Both she and him.

Jungkook has told you for months that he’s bad with words; yet, he comes in with every word ever written by any bard, singing poetry to you and bandaging your heart when needed.

You remember…

I’m not good with words, baby. And I don’t know how to ever properly verbalise something like this.

You sigh again. Tell her, “I understand. I also wouldn’t expect you to go against either of them.”

“Sure. But… It's difficult sometimes. Seeing how broken some of our bonds are.”

You’ve used and formed this word so many times before. Broken. For him, for you, for the world. Hearing somebody else share these sentiments and confirm your fears hurts.

And you’re out of words, wishing for a higher power to grant you a curing skill. If you could lift somebody’s burden with a single touch, just the way you’re reaching out for her hand now, you’d be busy circling the globe at all times.

“I’m so sorry,” is all, however, you can offer.

You hate how helpless she is. You urge to say something more, to hug her and promise that the world always regains its colours at some point. But you remain like this, watching the jam in the jars; hearing her say—

“You know. Jungkook has my number. I don’t know how much you and your mother still talk, but… you can talk to me, too, if you ever need to. I mean, I’m a mother.” She laughs at this part, raising a shoulder to her chin in pride, “And you’re part of him, so you can be part of us, too.”

Your eyes, locked onto the jar until now, flit up to her, and you blink to keep them dry, admitting without another thought, “I might actually cry.”

“Oh. Awh,” she voices, lifting her hand from underneath yours to cover it again. “Don’t. I didn’t mean to be all kitsch. I meant it.”

Gathering your prior thoughts into words, you puff out a breath, sporting a reprimanding look as you say, “You’re so wrong. You and your son, you always know what to say.”

Teeth flash again as she grins; she looks so innocent and pure. “Well, where do you think he got it from?”

Shit…

“Thank you…” you mutter, body already twitching, yearning to bolt forwards until you finally dare to ask, “Okay. May I… Can I hug you?”

“My goodness, love. You don’t need to ask! C’mere.”

You instantly tear up when she pulls you in. Last time you met, she left a fleeting touch. You barely knew her then; in some way, you don’t know her much now, either. But this… this is impactful.

The way she presses you into her; her chin on your shoulder. The slight pat and then the following rub up and down your shoulder blade. So warm; so salving.

One or two more pats, with a little more impact this time, she gently moves you back by your arms again, sucking in a breath as she suggests, “Alright. Wedding time, yes? We should start getting ready.”

“Yes. But…” You hesitate, wonder how much you can interfere. But then you diminish your mental concerns, and simply utter, “If you don’t mind. May I suggest something?”

You walk down the steps to the basement.

The light is on; other than what mainstream movies might suggest, they’ve set up the interior of the basement prettily. The few furniture — a table and a couch chair, as well as a couple common chairs — is a light beige, the wallpapers light, flowery.

He’s in the middle of the room, on the ground despite the many options to sit, sifting through pictures and objects lying around him. When he detects you, he flinches a bit, eyes big, moving suspiciously as if to hide something.

But you guess he’s just startled; and once he catches himself, he calls your name, wishing a sweet, “Morning, baby. Sorry for leaving the bed.”

“Oh, hey. It’s your house, you can do whatever you like. Besides, your mom and I had the time of our lives.”

He smiles brightly. You love, love, the wrinkles around his eyes. “Made some groundbreaking jam, yes?”

“You’ll see when you taste it.” You walk closer, recognising photo albums and frames. Yet, you ask, “What are you doing?”

“Uhmmm, just looking through old stuff.”

The pictures are flipped, upside down from where you stand, so you round his body, legs folded on the floor. You come to a kneel, and just when you’re close enough, you see the pure sugar spilled in front of him.

It’s in the form of fat baby cheeks. An open, surprised mouth. Then, in form of a photograph of a toddler crying. The same tremendous eyes and the same curve of his upper lip. A tilted smirk on one of them, just the one you know.

They’re adorable. You dissolve at the sight; at seeing him in a red vest, holding a half chewn corndog, tiny fingers forming a peace sign, and an unsure expression as if he’s seeing the world for the first time.

He does this often. Zone off like this.

Not rarely do you tease that he’s trudging through his first life, but he often refutes your theory with an immediate expression of shock. Chuckles back that it never feels like he’s loving you for the first time.

“Why are you looking at these, Kook?” you ask, hands on his shoulder before you settle your chin on one of them, cheek to cheek.

“Just so. I knew there was a picture of my cousin somewhere, too. Look.” He shoves aside some of the photographs on top, fishing out a very old one. “This is her. Gayoung.”

A lovely girl next to him, clearly older. They’re both holding car toys; he’s busy indulging in it, laughing, not noticing the flashing of the camera. But she’s staring right into it, caught off guard, eyebrows high and mouth open.

“I can’t believe she’s getting married today,” Jungkook says. “She’s like a daughter to my parents, but… I didn’t get to talk that much with her anymore when she grew into an adult. Was more with Ria. And then I moved, too. But… it’s still crazy. I still remember her as a young but older sister.”

“Of course. Time’s pace of passing is pretty strange. Very fast.”

“Yeah…”

He throws it back into the pile, shutting two of the handful of photo albums. Humming, he flips a couple pages of a third album; your eyes follow as he combs through them. You almost don’t notice when he pauses, and when you do, you understand why.

It’s another old picture, Jungkook tiny, mouth wide open to say something as he points towards the camera slash photographer. And he’s in the arms of somebody who’s undeniably his father. The man looks more like Junghyun than Jungkook.

But they seem happy here. His big hands are firm on Jungkook’s body, holding him lovingly and smiling at him with even further tenderness.

Jungkook remains on it for only a split second, but you get it.

You replay his mother’s words in your mind, and suddenly, you remember; a revelation clears up like a sunny day after a fog, and God… you remember.

And still, you act like you don’t. Like you haven’t understood that he’s here to reminisce about a life when things were still okay; when he still felt loved. Reliving moments when shit hurt less. Of course he’s here; it makes sense, so directly after a fight.

He seeks comfort in moments he barely remembers to escape the pain he recently suffered.

You’re out of damn words. This shouldn’t be happening to anybody.

You hug him from behind, arms around his chest. Attempting to ease his possibly disturbed soul, you ask, “Hey. Do you know that you’re the sweetest being alive? These pictures cause cavities. Good that you kept them from me.”

“Oh, yeah?” He turns his head slightly, lips grazing your nose, warm breath falling on it. “Coming from my munchkin herself.”

“I mean it! You’re so cute. And look at these cheeks,” your finger gestures towards a chubby baby, “they’re still so soft, by the way.”

You press your face against his, squishing his scarred cheek, and he states under a laugh, “You’re too much.”

“Too much of a fool for you, yes.”

He clicks his tongue, though playfully. You hear in his voice and see in his beam that he’s delighted, flattered, loving and loved. You ask, “Are you feeling okay now?”

To your relief, he nods. “I’m feeling better, I guess. Looking forward to the wedding. And your dress!”

“Oh, I am, too. I was going to show it to your mom just before, but… I want you to be the first to see it.”

“And then you say I’m not the luckiest man alive.”

“I just said Ashton Kutcher is. Mila Kunis is pretty cool.”

“Shut up.”

You pause, watch him tidy up; after a minute, you tell him, “You should’ve joined when we made the jam. Could’ve been fun, too.”

“Yeah… I mean I thought about it, but. Then I was like, maybe it’d be good for her to get to know you, like, unfiltered. She’s always careful not to be weird around me.”

“Ah. That’s kinda sweet, though.”

“Isn’t it?”

You nod against his cheek; then, drum lightly against his chest, a peck to his ear, getting to your feet a second later as you ask, “So… are you coming up? It’s a little after eleven. We should probably get ready soon.”

“Yeah, I’ll be up in some. You should go first, though. I’ll need a bit less time.”

You’re already taking steps towards the staircase leading up, but you can’t refrain from throwing one last tease, “You sure? Not sure with your skincare routine. Have you even eaten?”

“Yes, I did. Don’t be a brat.”

You lift your lips to a last provoking, tight-lipped smile before you ascend to his room. The dress is still almost flawless between your clothes. You heavily worried about damage in the few days you travelled, but aside from a few spots that need to be ironed out, it’s as gorgeous as ever.

Flattening out the creases with a borrowed iron, you soon rummage in your suitcase for the curling iron and the rest of your make up. You look at the mess scattered on Jungkook’s table, wondering where to start.

Make up, probably.

Okay. you have one, two chances max to try what you want to achieve. The goal is to remain casual, natural and humble; considering your dress, you cannot overdo it. You don’t want to look excessively over the top. Want to keep your essence under the make up.

So you keep it lowkey, pretty much content with the results before you slip into the dress.

And when you look into the mirror, you nearly squeal. You don’t struggle with your appearance. But while you’ve largely been satisfied with how you look, you did occasionally find things to possibly improve.

Normal. Doesn’t everyone deem certain spots flaws, regardless of whether they actually are?

But today… today you’re sparkling. You’re happy; in love with what you accomplished.

If you could, you’d immediately rush down to him again, show you the results. But it seems you don’t need to — because half a minute later, you make out his voice outside. He’s talking to his brother, laughing about something; seems the rest of the family is leaving. The door shuts just before you hear him moving up the stairs with quick steps.

And… when he finally opens the ajar door to his own room, his body locks at the spot, as if somebody screwed his feet into the wooden floor.

The reaction is easily imagined; most often seen on TV. You didn’t know how real it was, but then again, clichés always have an origin in real life, don’t they?

You’re surprised, a little shy by how he looks at you. And how he looks in general — black trousers hugging his snatched waist and well-formed hips. The white dress shirt is still in progress, collars up, suit jacket not yet on.

And he’s olding something in his hand that you can’t recognise.

He looks breathtaking and mesmerising, despite missing half of the preparation still. Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck.

Does he feel the same about you? Probably.

Because he curses, “What the fuck.”

Like a statement, not a question. You touch the silky soft material of your dress, widening your eyes as your quiet voice asks, “What?”

“What are you even?”

You burst out into a brief, fleeting laugh at the question, repeating, “What I am?”

“Like, a fairy or something. Shit, it’s as if I’m getting married.”

Another near-squeak falls out of you. But you can’t blame him this time; you chose this attire carefully.

The sheer chiffon fabric, light and airy, sparkling; it called your name the moment you saw it. Floor length, lavender, spilling to the floor like a waterfall; a spicy slit on the side that Jungkook’s eyes remained on for just a tiny heartbeat longer, you know.

And off-the-shoulder sleeves; most of the back bare.

Sheepishly, you ask, “So you like it?”

“Like, I—” he starts, yet stops. He blows a raspberry. “You’re so pretty. You’re the prettiest. Oh my God,” he exclaims, dramatically touching his forehead, “I need to keep other’s eyes off you. Look at you!”

You laugh out loud, a hand on his wrist to keep your balance, no other productive response in your bright pink entangled mind than, “Babe—”

“No, seriously. Okay, I concur. It was right for me to wait to see you in the dress. Getting a heart attack as we speak.”

Your cheeks still glow brightly when you wiggle a finger at him, disappointed that there is no reality show camera pointing at you to hear you say, “If your boyfriend doesn’t react like this, girl, you don’t want him.”

You instinctively move to the buttons of his sleeve, helping out, resisting the urge to give in and fix his collar, too. You want to see the end result so badly, but he’s still missing the tie and the jacket. 

So you settle on merely touching the buttons over his chest, nodding as if approving before you say, “You already look so good, too. You know, maybe it’s you who should hide behind me today. What if some middle school girl crushing on you jumps you?”

He chuckles. “They can try.”

“They? Well, shit.”

“I’m kidding.” He lowers his chin, bringing your knuckles to his rosy lips, kissing one or two of them. “Hide me, then.”

“Mhm… Do you need help getting ready? With the tie or something?”

“Oh, it’s okay. You can lean back for a bit, tell me a story or something? I shouldn’t take too long.”

It’s a ritual of sorts. Sometimes, when you wait for the other on a date or dinner night, the faster one acts as the night’s entertainer. Sings songs or tells stories or plays DJ or serves the latest, hottest work tea.

You tell him, “Okay. But before I do,” your hand wanders down to his; it’s stubbornly closed around an object, dangling on his side. You uncurl his fingers. “What’s that you got there?”

“Oh, I…” He comes to life, as if he forgot that he was holding it at all. He lifts it between your faces, straightening his palm, and presents you something incredibly sparkly and nostalgic. “It’s part of the reason I went down at all. With my mom’s permission since she wore it at her prom…”

Damn it. Both of them deceived you.

“You were looking for it?” He nods; your heartbeat accelerates as you urge, “And…”

“And I got it for you.”

Words, you notice, are only your specialty when you’re jotting them down and narrating a story from within your mind. When it comes to answering to the grand gestures he always makes you fall in love with, you’re such a zero.

Odd, considering how he, in contrast, has claimed over and over again that he’s not as eloquent as he’d like to be. But you’ve long figured out that if he was to preach the truths he holds in his heart to an audience, the stage would drown in a flood of tears within minutes.

You reach for the shiny, pearly, flowery accessory. It’s rose-gold, a little vintage, clearly older, and so strikingly beautiful. It looks like…

“A comb… for me,” you say. Not the one to untangle your hair. The decorative type; fancy and gorgeous. He nods again, lets you take it between your fingers. “Why?”

“Just,” a shrug of his shoulder, “I wanted to give you a little something to remind you of this place and the love you got here. Besides, it’d look so pretty on you.”

A reminder that you’re loved. You wonder — who thinks of these things? Does anyone else in this universe heat up their girl’s chest like your boyfriend does?

They can tell you what they want; you’re the luckiest being alive. And in return, you want to love him as much as nobody has ever loved before.

You whisper, “Thank you, Kook… Your mom is okay with this?” Another enthusiastic nod of confirmation. “Thank you so much. I— I wish you could see yourself the same way.” You squeeze it in your hand to feel it properly, then open it again. “This is so pretty.”

“It’ll suit you.”

“Yes?” Softly, you hand it back to him, turning to the mirror, with him right behind you. “Do you want to put it in?”

“Ah… I can try.”

“Right there?” You point to the back of your head; to the braid in your loose half updo. “Near the hair pins I used. The comb might hide them well, too.”

And he does his best. Regards your hairdo focused, eyebrows knitting in concentration, so gentle with it. No getting stuck, no intentional tugging.

“Wait,” he then says, tapping his trouser’s pocket, and then fishes out his phone for a picture. He shows it to you; the accessory sits there perfectly, not crooked or ruining a single wisp of hair. “How’s that?”

“You did it so well. Thank you, Koo.” You face him again, smile bright and endless. “Your turn?”

“Yes.” He rubs his hands, looking around. “Let’s get this over with. Give me feedback, okay? And tell me a story?”

You take a seat at the edge of his bed prettily, coming up with a short tale about personified instruments and what they’d symbolise. The guitar for the heart and the love in it, the drums for thunder and the excited pulse of the soul.

“The flute for the breeze and dreams?” Jungkook adds.

And you urge in a thrilled tone, “And the violin for the rain and longing. They’d learn from each other, right?” You sigh. “I’ll think about the piano, too. Can’t figure it out yet… it could be a lot.”

Jungkook nods, distracted and interrupting the story when he asks for brief comments on his progress. Barely any feedback, though; praises largely.

You watch as he slips into the rest of his clothing and gels his hair back — it’s grown quite a bit since the press conference in September. You get to your feet, amped up when he finally claps and rubs his hands in anticipation a bit later, announcing that he’s ready to leave.

And you’re still euphoric when you jump into your car, letting him drive through the streets he knows much better. His fingers wander to the passenger seat every now and then; minutes after the last scolding, you keep reminding him to keep his hands on the wheel.

I want to kiss you so bad, but your damn make up won’t let me today, huh?

A tease here, a flirt there.

You feel like you could do anything. The sky's the limit. And it soon proves that the statement has never rang truer, even if in a vastly different context now.

Because once you reach the wedding — your metaphorical sky —, Ria is already standing at the parking lot, waving the moment she spots the two of you stepping out of the car. From afar, you already see the wedding’s venue; a lake in the back, a huge tent and a field at the front.

The parking lot right next to it, but still a couple minutes of a trek away.

Ria’s parents indulge Jungkook in a conversation about something you barely register right away, and she gestures towards herself, hugging and greeting you with an odd half-smile.

“You look so pretty,” she says, and you beam benignly, returning the compliment.

She’s rocking a dark blue dress, sleeveless, her hair in a loose bun. Wavy strands frame her face. But somehow, she looks demotivated. Worried to the slightest, though still mostly cheerful. So you ask, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah! I just wanted to tell you something. But don’t freak out, okay?”

Well, shit. Doesn’t start as you imagined, does it? You glimpse over to Jungkook. He’s laughing from the heart, button nose crunched; why is she not telling him, too?

Your chest feels tighter; the usual human response to a menacing statement such as hers. You upright yourself, take a deep breath, ground yourself as you encourage, “Yes? I won’t. What’s up?”

“Well… we’re in this town and like, people know each other. And since we’re all in a very close circle here, I just wanted to say that,” her face changes; she kind of grimaces, as if apologetic for something, “Nara came, too.”

Ah.

Ah…

The sky's the limit, and you reached it, and now you’re kind of crashing.

Well. You never thought about this; but it makes perfect sense, doesn’t it? Of course she’d be here. She was part of this town and Jungkook’s life for so many years, so naturally, she’d be familiar with his relatives, too.

Besides, even if she hadn’t been with him… Didn’t Jungkook and Ria already establish with you just yesterday, when you were inhaling your ice cream, that this small town strives on familiarity?

Meetings at the town hall, the shop owners’ affection for most of their year-long customers. The Stars Hollow vibe you already recognised.

Ahhh…

So that’s what Junghyun might have been trying to tell you on the first day, too. You remember his mother interrupting.

How annoying. You did not want to feel annoyed. Maybe it would’ve been better if Ria hadn’t told you; if you’d bumped into Nara randomly and suffered the temporary heart attack. Or perhaps, you wouldn’t have seen her at all…

Come on. Unrealistic.

Fuck, you feel childish. There shouldn’t be any burning in your chest or an uncomfortable warmth in your cheek. You shouldn’t be feeling the urge to run over to Jungkook, to actually hide him behind you.

To rush to his ear, whisper your worries, make him promise that he only loves you and won’t ride into the sunset with her.

Delusional, paranoid concerns that you wouldn’t entertain on any normal, sane day; then again, the news Ria delivered wasn’t going to leave you unbothered anyway. This whole thing around exes really sucks.

“I… I shouldn’t spiral, though, right?” you answer, your voice a little weaker. Ria immediately nods, though still not relaxing the wrinkle between her eyebrows. “I mean, of course she’d be here. This is her place, she was born here and…”

Ria takes your hands in hers, assures, “I promise you it’s nothing too bad, okay? Nara and Jungkook have been here at the same time before and literally nothing happened.”

What? When?

“When?” you echo.

“Uh, like last summer? He only came down for a couple days, though. College exams and stuff.”

Ah… you wouldn’t even know. Back then, you’d only encountered him once, at the blurry frat party that you spent in locked rooms and on tiled roofs. When you sang together and spilled your hearts to each other.

For the very first time.

Whatever he did before or after that… how would you know?

Only, you feel even sicker at the thought that after that party, and after he allegedly met Nara here again without anything literally happening, he still linked with her back in the city. Still shared his nights and sheets with her.

Does this count as nothing happening? What if the time here evoked something? What if it happens again?

Fuck, what if it happens again?

“I’m going to panic,” you tell Ria.

“What? No,” she exclaims, though instantly lowering her voice, rubbing your arm soothingly, “it’s okay, I promise. He didn’t even think of it. Either that or he doesn’t care ‘cause he didn’t mention her once.”

“But now I might keep thinking about it.”

“Seriously. Fuck, I feel bad for saying it—”

“No… no, it’s okay. You should’ve.”

“Okay, look. It’s honestly fine. She’s nice, she won’t do anything shady; not if she knows about y’all.” Another caressing touch to your shoulder. “I just wanted to warn you. Please don’t feel startled. I’m here, okay? I’ll smash his nose if anything happens.”

She looks to the side. The other conversation has seemingly ended, too, and you swallow as Ria’s parents wave her over. She says, “Okay. Gotta go, but I’ll meet you guys inside and reserve seats, okay? There’s just limited assigned seating.”

She pats your coat-clad arm, and then walks away. 

Well. Okay.

You guess you’ll have to get over this one way or another. You focus on your clothing. Focus on how you look, how Jungkook looks. The weather, the tent many many feet away. Your boyfriend’s gaze on you as he walks back to you, offering his hand.

He pauses when he sees you, asking, “Is everything okay?”

“Hm?” you hum. “Yes. Just nervous, I think.”

“Me too.” He flashes the sweetest grin known to mankind, genuinely excited, childlike joy. Tilts his head at you. “You seriously look so fucking pretty. Like really, really.”

You smile.

Okay…

It should be alright. Jeon Jungkook is so in love with you; damn it, he even peels your oranges for you when you don’t feel like doing it. You need to trust the process; need to hold onto your excitement.

Okay.

You glance at the event warming up in the far. Halfway through, people have gathered, standing on the grass or the man-made path. There’s still a bit of time; so naturally, they’re still busying themselves with conversations.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You’ve met her before. This isn’t different.

You look down to where his and your fingers intertwine; put particular attention to the way he holds you. Firmly, as if protecting and loving and keeping you close at the same time.

His smile lifts your spirits a little, the wind enclosing your mind and easing it. You nod only slightly, telling yourself it’ll all be good — and then, let him tug you towards the wedding.

The wedding is as bustling as you expected. It’s bright, colourful, flowers draped over the place in abundance. Even before you enter it, the huge tent leaves you breathless, gasping.

They put so much effort into this; it’s clear as day. Jungkook’s mother isn’t around, but the moment you lay your eyes on her again, you’ll praise her for what she helped mount. Somehow, the beauty nearly makes you forget that you’re among pure strangers.

But that at least one familiar face is roaming here somewhere.

You take a deep breath.

All these people know each other. They probably grew up together, know the ins and outs of the town, have gathered at weddings and funerals and school events. You don’t know how well you’ll be able to integrate, but you do hope for their support.

It’s not too much to ask, you reckon.

At least not when Jungkook pulls at your hand and the two of you into certain directions, coming to a stand multiple times when he sees a person or two calling him to them. Some are old school friends; some adults he knew when he was a child.

Candy store owners. Somebody who sold him his first scooter. Or a pal he used to share his banana milk with.

The sentiments are clearly there and they bask in them, but none of them ever forgets about you. Jungkook introduces you, tugs you into his side, enskies you with praise. And they respond with kindness and interest; tell you he’s mentioned you before.

You remember. Jungkook told you how his friends spoke about you or saw you on TV, eager to meet you — they react according to the excitement he foretold, and you reciprocate it with ease. Very sweet.

Yet, it seems that even in a small town, or especially in a small town, enmity runs just as deep as affection. Some people remember friendships, others still resent rotten memories.

You soon meet the first one of the latter kind.

He’s standing near the entrance of the spacious tent; you glance inside, unsuspecting, not a single familiar face in sight. You don’t notice him until Jungkook does, coming to a stand, walk interrupted as the guy exclaims, “Jeon Jungkook! My goodness, Jungkook—”

You meet thick eyebrows, long-ish dark hair, full lips. He’s handsome, his smile bright. 

And his voice is mellow and sweet, and at certain tones, it reminds you of Jimin’s; then again, some syllables come out much deeper. You don’t know who he is; of the pictures Jungkook has shown you, he wasn’t in any of them.

“Hey,” Jungkook greets, somewhat distant. You don’t think standing here is his first choice, but your boyfriend is as polite as can be. Even waves towards the guy, and tells you, “This is Christian. Barom, but he lives in Australia now, so.”

“Hi,” you reach out a hand, “nice to meet you.”

The accent is heavy and somehow cursive when he responds, “Likewise.”

Jungkook is definitely not delighted about him. Follows the touch of your hands, then your gaze up to Christian’s face. You notice it before Jungkook can probably even think of it: the odd look the stranger throws at you.

Up and down. Smile telling. Uncomfortable.

And when Jungkook suddenly does catch it, he intervenes, “You came all the way from Sydney?”

“Yep. And you came over from the city?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook answers. You barely register it, but you’re certain he’s been pushing you behind him inch by inch; but you remain at your spot. You can deal with this. “We were on vacation before, but I was gonna come anyway.”

“Nice. And wait, sorry, you were…?”

You recall never introducing yourself; but you’re positive he’s figured out your relationship to Jungkook just by the steadfast grip around your palm. But Jungkook still officially voices your name and informs him, “My girlfriend.”

Christian must be seeing or hearing something you aren’t — strange since it was him who asked — but he laughs, teasing, “You’re being defensive.”

“I’m not. I literally just told you she’s my girlfriend.”

“Lucky. You look pretty together.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

You have not a single clue what’s going on. Jungkook is never really rude, so there must be something about this Barom or Christian — he’s never mentioned him before.

Then again, you guess growing up in a tight space comes with all sorts of relationships. Christian is probably the sort that never earns a mention until actually met with the person themselves.

It’s funny though — in some way, the rejection seems one-sided. As if Jungkook is still holding something against him and Christian remains uncaring; while it might not be a universal truth, you’ve experienced that those utterly calm are often the ones at fault.

And Jungkook isn’t an angry human being. He’s kind. Patient. Needs a reason to be mad.

Christian doesn’t take the hint when he smiles, a heavily tattooed hand patting Jungkook on his shoulder as he suggests, “See you later then? Let’s take a picture or get a drink afterwards.”

Jungkook only stalls for the tiniest seconds, but you know him — he’s probably already made up his mind. You look between the men, baffled by the nearly visible bolts shooting from one pair of eyes to the other.

“Sure,” Jungkook eventually says, your hand still in his, and works on moving to the coat check and then to the chairs without adding anything else.

You don’t inquire yet what this was about as you walk, catching glimpses of the priest, of the stranger guests and of the people lingering at the front of the tent. You’re busy gauging Jungkook’s eyebrows, observing as they relax more the further he gets away from the guy.

And neither do you need to pop the question when you’ve settled somewhere in the middle-ish, you on his right side, Ria on the other. Next to her, her parents that you briefly met when you brought her home yesterday.

Previously turned on her seat, she now uprights her body, hooking her arm with Jungkook’s as she whispers to him, yet clearly enough for you to hear, “Was that Yu Barom?”

Jungkook nods. “Christian Yu now. Yup.”

“Right.”

They nod, understanding each other wordlessly, but you’re still floating in between a couple theories and the actual sentiments. So you lean in; you’ve become one of the gossipers at a wedding, you guess.

“Okay,” you start; the two of them stare at you with the same big puppy eyes. “You don’t seem to like him.”

“Oh, we don’t,” Jungkook bluntly admits.

“Why?”

Jungkook smacks his lips. Eyes drift to the roof of the tent, the polyester fabric swaying in the gust. Then, they shift to his cousin, presumably seeking approval, because she shrugs her shoulders, gesturing with her hand and says, “Oh, go ahead.”

So he explains, “His little cousin was a constant problem for Ria. Same age… harassed her and all. Constant flirting and phone calls and didn’t take the hint, just an uncomfortable dude in general.” He pauses, shaking his head. “I had to threaten him for him to get lost. And Christian didn’t like that.”

Okay, now you definitely feel like somebody indulging in tittle-tattle. Some more and you’ll be one of the aunties. Your mouth gradually opens as he speaks, and you emphasise, “No way.”

“It’s true— the guy was on a break from college for just a month and decided to argue with a fifteen-year-old.”

“What? Did you get into a fight with him?”

“Nah.” He pauses when a group of random three girls in green dresses walks along the aisle, even though they’re barely facing you, sending a perfumed breeze towards you. Then, “Not a physical one. But it was a bit messy. Didn’t like that night.”

“Me neither,” Ria confirms.

Of course he didn’t like it.

He’s largely non-confrontational. You’ve learned this much in the time you’ve known him, and have given the fact utmost sense ever since he revealed his innermost fears. Jungkook keeps quiet; he dreads repetitions of a direful past.

Yet, initiating and risking a conflict for his baby cousin increases the respect you harbour for him.

People are cruel; but Jeon Jungkook is good-hearted to his core, no matter how flawed.

You touch the back of his hand, caressing it when he says, “Stay with me tonight, okay? And if you can’t, then do come to me when he nears you.”

“Okay.”

His eyes meet yours, concerned but also suspiciously fiery when he states, “Because like, I really didn’t like how he was looking at you.”

Ah…

“Hm?”

“You didn’t notice?” he asks, his voice higher, thick eyebrows closing into each other again. You lift a thumb, clearing the crease and his stress. “I almost plucked his eyes out.”

Of course you noticed. You just didn’t think it irritated Jungkook to this point.

“Oh— Kook—”

“No seriously,” he stresses, turning his hand to get ahold of two of your fingers, “guy was sweet half his life and then tried stuff with so many girls. I wouldn’t be surprised if he approached you again, so please stay away from him, okay?”

“Yes, baby. But I wouldn’t let him do shit anyway. Don’t worry.” You nudge his shoulder. “And don’t be jealous. Have you seen yourself?”

He rolls his eyes at the accusation, but there’s a sliver of a smile on his face and relief in his gaze. You guess hearing you say it does wonders to him; sometimes, you truly praise the connection between you, based on a clear foundation of trust and communication.

Well… at least now.

“I’m not jealous,” he insists, “it was just gross how he looked at you. Fuck this. Not with my girl.”

You can’t help but break into a chuckle, way too loud for your row. You slap a hand over your mouth, careful not to ruin the lipstick, and nearly give into the urge to release his pout. But it’s too sweet — it can linger for a second.

Removing your hand, you near him until your mouth grazes his, assuring, “I love you,” before you peck his lips curtly. He still looks a little grumpy, though. Your man. “It’s okay, baby.”

The grip around your hand intensifies. It doesn’t seem it will vanish for the rest of the night. You sure hope it doesn’t.

And you’re immensely grateful for the luck you’re enjoying. Not only because of this place’s beauty and the palm holding onto yours — but you haven’t seen Nara either. In fact, you become hyper aware of how much you’ve been thinking of her.

Like; what is she wearing? How is she doing? Is she thinking about Jungkook; expecting him here; feeling a sort of way? Is she imagining his smile and how she saw it in this very town so many times, dedicated to her?

And did Christian ever flirt with her, too? Did it irritate Jungkook?

You’ve been thinking it all dead.

Unnecessarily so if Jungkook hasn’t even mentioned her, never sought her out. Instead, he’s busy protecting his girl from past bullies.

In all honesty, you’ll probably cross ways with her still. The guest list isn’t endless; the place vast but not infinite.

But for now, you forget about her, trashing all thoughts and possibilities. Shake your head. Breathe it out. Relieve your chest.

You diverge into conversations about anything and everything, reminiscing about yesterday and the places you saw. Listen into stories Ria and Jungkook tell: about injuries, about pleasant nights and about the fights they had.

Ria was like the sister Jungkook never had; Junghyun was a good older brother, but when seeking another opinion, she was on speed dial. Sometimes, growing up in a certain environment makes all the difference — hearing a girl’s thoughts at all times might have made Jungkook the way he is.

Thoughtful, respectful. You have encountered sexism a million times — not to mention just minutes ago, checked out so shamelessly — but you don’t think Jungkook has such a notion even in any crevice of his heart.

You’re fond and happy when they laugh together; her crinkles match his. Their laugh contagious.

It still echoes and fades, slowly and lovingly when the tent quietens. All heads turn, but you don’t see much from here. Maybe a couple moving bodies at the entrance. Someone coughs, interrupting the silence and lowering their head, and the moment allows you a peek at the sensation.

The bride is waiting, holding a bouquet. Her father is touching her veil to fix it despite having nothing to fix; but she doesn’t notice.

Gayoung is glancing ahead, breathing in. Everyone’s eyes remain on her, but your head turns to follow her eyes. The groom is already standing there in a standard groomesque position, hands folded, upright like a post.

He looks insanely nervous. His shiny boot taps the ground, lips parting and unparting. And he’s blinking; then forming a circle with his mouth, releasing the pent-up tension.

She hasn’t moved yet. The ceremony is yet to begin.

But even before all that, as people indulge in the sight and wait for their eternity to start, Jungkook has already mimicked your turn, fingers still intertwined. When he speaks, you flinch; you didn’t notice his voice this close.

He’s looking at the groom, too, before he settles his gaze on you. Stares with affection in his gems that bursts your heart, splinters your ribs and implodes your chest. You know he’ll say something to fade out the entire crowd before he actually says it.

“Can I tell you something mainstream?”

You hum, “Hm?”

He regards your digits, plays with them. “If you ever choose to marry me…” Your heart stops. “I’ll look just as tense as him.”

“Would you… want to marry me one day?”

“It’s just a thing people do, right?” he questions. “Whether it’s like this or in any other way— I’ll spend my life with you anyhow.”

I’ll spend my life with you.

Not a question. Not a need.

But a confession. A goal. A plan. 

You don’t get to answer when the first tunes of a guitar play. It’s a song you recognise; paints a smile onto your face. The melody is soft, slow, so gentle. They didn’t choose an orchestral track or the usual Wedding March after all.

It’s a song.

Jungkook’s eyes blow wide, and he immediately seeks yours. Mutters into your ear, “Do I know this?”

“You probably do.”

“Wait—” He listens in. Pupils roll up as he ponders. Then, “Didn’t someone sing this in the lobby this week?”

Almost. It’s why it delights you so. You already had half an idea back then, and you managed to somehow incorporate it into this wedding without really being part of these people.

“Yoongi played it on the guitar,” you clarify, “I suggested it to your mom this morning. I guess she liked it enough to forward the request so spontaneously.”

“You did? Then she must’ve…”

You can’t decipher what he’s thinking. His stare is fixated on the passing bride, her slow steps, the beam she wears as she nears whom she’s decided to be the rest of her life.

You can’t peep into his brain, but you notice when he tilts his head. See the tiny gap between his lips and the way he catches the groom blink away tears the moment you do, because Jungkook smiles at just the same moment as you do.

Gayoung lowers her head when she comes to a stand in front of his still-fiancé, and then delivers the most magnificent, most mesmerising grin. She’s happy, you know. You don’t think you’ve seen this intensity of joy a lot of times in your life.

You recognised it when Jungkook woke up still in your bed after the blue night. When he opened up to you, vowed to stay, brought you to his home. When you announced to the world that you’d be his to remain, that you’d do what you enjoy.

When you got home that evening, and he kissed you right against the door, deemed you crazy, deemed you his.

You haven’t seen this very happiness much in your life, but you’ve seen it in him. And you’ve felt it in your chest. Growing, blossoming, never wilting.

The couple at the front speaks its vows like a song. The words are melodic, poetic, and you’re almost entirely sure that they’re not rehearsed. It’s all real. The love in them and the memories in them, accompanied by the liquid bliss swimming in his and her waterline.

No, you haven’t experienced this too many times before. You’ve felt it. He’s felt it.

And you don’t need to know much more than this; don’t need to know what he’s thinking to understand what he means when he says—

“This… this is it.”

THE CHAPTER ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ 👇🏼

1k block limit as always!! you can read the second half of the chapter in this reblog!! the reblog begins with a new scene <3

[werewolfsister]

PSA: COMIC DRAMA

I've been slowly receiving critical, entitled, and passive-aggressive messages about the way I've been writing my comic! I wanted to address this behavior.

That being said, the majority of my readers have been nothing but positive! And when they spot a problem, they're kind about it. I really appreciate this; thank you to those who choose to be civil.

I'm making this post to address some issues, complaints, and questions I've seen. Let's take a look & see what we can discuss!

READ MORE UNDER THE CUT!

🦈-> I want you to use my character in your comic, but you're not using them! Sometimes, a character doesn't quite fit my vision for the comic-- even when they're designs that I love! I really do try to use as many people's characters as possible. I think it adds to the world & makes the comic feel more full of life! But I can't accommodate everyone's desires.

🐟->You're using my character in your comic, but you're not giving them enough screen time! Similar to the above issue, sometimes I don't think focusing on a particular character for any longer will serve the story well. Ultimately, I have final say on what happens in the comic. My advice is, if you feel your character isn't appearing enough, make your own content! Draw, write, craft, etc like I mention farther down below!

🐠->You said you were going to use my diplomat/character(s), but you only drew them in 1-2 panels. Why aren't you using them more? Similar to the points above! I was never planning on going into a TON of depth with the diplomats-- the comic focus also drastically changed, as I mention below.

🐡->You're using characters in the story that I don't like! Ahh that is too bad, but! In that case, you can always take a break from the comic & come back later to check if the characters are no longer being used, or maybe stop reading the comic altogether. However! If you have concerns with how the character is portrayed because of legitimate sexual/violence/illicit/illegal issues, then that's another issue entirely and you should let me know.

🪼->I thought this story was about rescuing Kenne, but now she's not even in the comic! I don't like the way this story is going! This is a big issue some people are having and I completely understand. There's been a lot of things going on behind the scenes that I haven't explained, which must be generating a lot of confusion. Originally, @kenneduck and I were collaborating closely on this comic. Recently, the dynamic shifted, and we're now working on the comic separately. @kenneduck is now responsible for the part of the story that heavily features her characters, i.e. Princess Kenne's perspective of the rescue, her rescue effort, and what's happening in the Domain of the Luminous trench. I am now working on a different angle of the story-- the diplomatic efforts of Zora's Domain in their attempt to negotiate for Princess Kenne's return. So, the story is still the same... the focuses have just changed and split!

🦑->You reblogged my fan art and/or linked it in your comic directory-- does that make my content canon? Oooh, this is actually kind of a tough one! Normally, if something is in the comic directory, I consider it to be canon to the story. So, if you've drawn something, and I add it to my directory for a comic chapter, I'll consider it to have happened in real time. THERE'S AN EXCEPTION! And it may be confusing, so I'm genuinely sorry! If you have drawn something where you are heavily modifying someone else's character--this means cosmetic changes, giving the character children/spouses/family, killing the character, altering their personality-- WITHOUT THEIR PERMISSION, then I cannot accept that as canon. It's still fantastic that you drew/wrote/created something and I will probably put it in the MISCELLANEOUS section of the comic directory. I'VE MADE MISTAKES ON THIS! So, I've since updated the directory. And, sorry for all confusion on this issue! If you've made something & intended it to be canon, let's talk about it!

🐳->I want to collaborate with you on your comic, can I do that? That's awesome! Maybe in the future, but right now I'm not taking on any more partners. Maybe you can make your own separate additions, with your character(s) like I mention below!

🐙>I want to make fan art, can I do that? You absolutely can. Go for it. This was originally meant to be a very interactive comic, so draw/write/create away!!!

🦀->I want to draw my character(s) doing something in the world of your comic, can I do that? You absolutely can. Go for it! Like I mentioned above, however, I may or may not deem it canon to the events of the comic. But even if I don't, I'll add it to the MISCELLANEOUS section of my comic directory! ...as long as you don't alterate someone's character without permission! If you've made something & intended it to be canon, let's talk about it!

🐬->I want to make a character based on a Domain you created/idea you drew/etc., can I do that? Of course! Go for it. I love seeing what people make!

I know this is a lot of text, but it's better to be comprehensive! Please, keep in mind, I'm just one hobby artist making a comic for fun, with the spirit of interactivity and collaboration in mind. But it's impossible to keep that spirit going when people feel entitled and demand things of me that I am not obligated to give.

I queue out my pages several weeks in advance with the help of the people I'm working with, so what you see in the comic is the product of a lot of thought and work. You're getting something for free here, y'all. It ain't so serious!!!!

Anyways, thanks for reading this! And for reading the comic! Peace out ✌️

[mykaelaaa]

lesson learned

✰ lee teaches you how to handle a weapon but you kept getting distracted

✰warnings: guns, crimes, suggestive

✰words: 2.2k

"we have the entire forest around us and live in the woods. who's even gonna catch us?"

it was just simple banter back and forth. except today it seemed a bit more unfair, mostly for you.

it sparked after you read an article about a break-in near your neighborhood.

"listen to this one," you announced the seventh reading session in the past five minutes to lee, not certain if she was genuinely immersed or lost track by the time you finished with the first story.

"a woman suffered life threatening injuries around late night hours while her husband was out of town. they stole cash and jewelry and left without a trace," you quickly passed through the story, turning head in disapproval.

"great, hope FBI has spare guns for the love of your life," you added jokingly, hoping she just might consider it an option.

with closed news tab and a slight bitter feeling left by the nearby crime, you run your eyes over to your unbothered girlfriend. post afternoon nap fashion on display. lazily done ponytail, chapped lips and one of your old hoodies.

she probably thinks she can just teleport from her office to the cabin if you're in danger only if she thinks really hard about it. so it doesn't concern her much.

and that's how it began. neither of you letting it slide easily.

how do you argue with an intelligence officer who holds the highest scores in top-secret exams out of the whole squad for years in a row? and the worst part is she wasn't even bragging, it was a walk in the park for her.

"no."

"lee, think about it-"

"-no, i won't do that. it's not safe and you might get hurt." lee led the conversation flowing with logic and as much as you wanted to exploit the girlfriend privilege and have her drop the attitude or else she can start planning her week on the couch, there are not many ways for you to win this argument.

your begging attempts didn't work for some unknown reason. you just wanted her to show you how to defend yourself, just in case you get caught up in a bad situation.

and who can be a better mentor than lee harker herself?

she bears the patience, the charm, the looks, the wit. all except one thing, she's stubborn loser that cares too much for you.

you were assured it would be no fuss because, in most cases, she lets you get away with many things and not much convincing. it usually starts with a fake, heavy sigh that tries to disguise the fact you already won her over the second you said "can we" followed by "fine, we can do that i guess".

the win-loss ratio goes heavily in your favor.

"i mean, lee, imagine this," you said, putting your phone down to be taken more seriously. "you, real deal FBI agent working overnight on top secret case and me, your average local barista home alone?"

"you're not average," lee stated convincingly, now her eyes locking with yours to further prove it.

modest chuckle left you but you can't falter. not now.

"what if something happens? the headlines being "officers cabin raided; partner had no idea how to defend herself". kind of embarrassing, right?"

she shrugged not fully convinced, again absorbed in the detective game on her phone you made her addicted to.

"not really. many people don't know how to defend themselves nowadays."

she both missed and had a point.

as you took the last sip of the coffee and softly slammed down the mug knowing it will make her look up from her phone, you said "well that settles it then."

and maybe if you add a touch of dramatic scenario, she'd get it.

"if someone hires a hitman, reason being me having super-important-intel-full girlfriend then i won't know how to defend myself and die."

which is partially your fault for wanting to know every single detail about the cases she is working on.

she frowned, putting her phone aside. disappointment clear by the look on her face at the terrible scenario you just made up.

"what? no. what? don't say that."

"it is kind of true, though." you got up carrying your mug to the kitchen. the look you shot over the shoulder made her sigh.

jackpot.

you caught lee looking around the house, chewing on her lip. hands fidgeting in the pocket of her hoodie. eyes searching for nothing in particular but her mind was.

her gaze lingered a bit longer at the fluffy, ruffled blanket near the fireplace she got from you with "FBI Agent Off Duty" sewn into it. even if it sounded incredibly corny she would take a bullet for it, quite literally.

chair screeched against the wooden floor and lee beelined towards her office without a word.

sound of drawers opening and closing slipped through the walls for a minute up until it got suspiciously quiet.

right when you were about to check if she needed helping hand, you stopped to find her figure leaning against the doorway.

jacket on and holster attached to her hip hanging loosely as she held two heavy winter jackets in each hand, presenting them to you. it was hardly that cold outside but she went that extra mile.

"which one do you want?" it's not much of a hassle choosing between her FBI jacket and yours, a bland one on discount.

your answer was fairly delayed because it took some strength to look away from all that officer look going on that often gets you going. her in strictly business outfits are reserved for the work-cramped mornings and nights, not on free days like this one.

"i-i'll take the one that wasn't on discount three years ago." it made her snicker like she saw that answer coming.

you reached to take the jacket first but she stopped you, "turn around first."

"what for?"

lee didn't care to explain why but instead turned you around swiftly by the hips and kept her hands there. her front against your back as she bent her knees slightly to adjust to your height. hair tickling you and cheek brushing against yours.

she can be sly if she wants to.

out of thin air, she pulled out another holster to wrap it around your waist. you concentrated on the way her fingers adjusted it, easy like breathing. speaking of it, lee's face was terribly close to yours. with just a little push forward you would have kissed the corner of her lips.

but you opted to tease her instead, squinting your eyes in suspicion.

"is this how you help interns too?"

that earned you a quick side glance and a pair of raised brows, sort of shocked you'd ask that. do you think she's all that immoral when away from home? does she need to prove it to you?

she turned you around again with more force, face to face with you. her bangs tickled your forehead and you swallowed nervously. looking down at her final maneuvers at strapping you in safely.

veiny hands that buckled the belt with precision, a blend of her unique feminine yet masculine perfume, the heat rising between you.

"i don't do interns."

"you don't do interns?"

lee either ignored you or didn't hear you. she raised her head but still kept gaze lowered, satisfied with her handiwork.

"here," she grabbed her thrown FBI jacket from the couch.

"so what do you do then? baristas?"

"you said you wanted me to show you how to handle a gun."

"i did. you know i'm just kidding lee." you pulled her closer by the hand while snatching the jacket with the other. high quality material hugged your body perfectly. plus points for smelling like her.

it's not often lee sees you in her clothes like this. she would be lying if she said it didn't make her feel warm inside. and whatever else love brings.

"shall we?"

✧ ✧

it resembled professional training, except you were surrounded by the comfort of your home.

and lee was far from just any typical instructor.

she was adamant about teaching you the basics and her dominant side was slipping through the cracks. you didn't mind, not one bit.

after scanning the forest carefully and picking a tree that will serve as the target, lee ordered you where to stand and what to do.

something about your girlfriend bossing you around did a toll on you.

"see where my fingers are? that's the good way to hold it," lee explained, using herself as a reliable example. she kept unnecessary long eye contact with you that made you feel small.

"did you get it?" she questioned with a steady tone.

you nodded too quickly, "yes, yes. i can do it on my own."

that was a lie.

perhaps this wasn't the best idea, and you should rather take classes with someone who doesn't have the same hands that make you see stars almost every night.

and thank god she doesn't do interns.

at first, you battled with the weight of it. lee moved quietly behind you, watching you struggle to recall the correct position. you felt her hands traveling all the way to yours and softly wrapping around them. they were warm to touch, a harsh contrast to the outside breeze and cold metal of the gun.

she guided your fingers to where they were supposed to rest. a shiver passed right through you and you knew who to blame.

"ease off on the grip for me."

you breathed out harshly, unaware you've been keeping it in this whole time. lee didn't notice, sound was muffled by the leaves rustling.

but she did everything else. your hands were trembling under her hold and you held your breath for too long. she didn't understand why. she owned endless patience, especially when it came to you.

she wasn't the most skilled when it came to comforting but at least there was a lot of effort present.

"it's okay, i'm here," her words brushed past your ear, causing you to nearly drop the gun. she can crack a decades old cold case but not comprehend the effect she has on you.

"i didn't know how to use it either but i learned eventually," lee added.

all you did was nod and she wasn't satisfied with that reaction.

"look at me," sounded more authoritative than she wanted it to be. but you didn't dare to turn your face in her direction or else you might end up kissing her. or something worse. and you knew it would come full circle to bite you back.

with inhuman manner and precision, she snatched the gun from your weak grip, simultaneously letting the other land on your cheek, making you face her.

"are you cold?"

"of course not, i got your jacket on," you stated as matter of a fact.

"what is it then?"

"what are you talking about?" you laughed maybe too wildly trying to avoid her gaze.

lee dealt with many liars and you got something similar going on.

"you're distracted," lee stated, not leaving any room for your excuses. it was a plain observation and a correct one.

what a genius. you rolled your eyes, suddenly finding a tree branch interesting to stare at, deciding you can't keep this facade up any longer.

"it's you lee. you're a distraction."

"me?" just a tad of hurt in her voice apparent. probably thinking she wasn't good enough of a teacher. if only you could swap places with her right now instead of explaining yourself.

"yes. you," your hands sneaked up to cup her face, dragging against a rough material and for a second you leaned in forward. you lured her in so effortlessly. she mirrored your movements, eager breaths meeting in the middle but you backed away. not allowing her to kiss you.

you chuckled meanly, playing with your lips she kept staring at like she was about to snap. you left the kiss hung in the air and lee was ready to chase it.

"i don't really care about the lesson right now to be honest."

"i figured," lee barely finished the sentence before she pulled you in. both lips cold and soft. it was simple yet such a complex mix of everything.

her shoulders slumped at ease right as and you deepened the kiss further. her hands gripping your sides. hunger was spilling out from both bodies and eventually someone had to bite the bullet and move it inside the house.

neither was down let go, too breathless from a brief makeout. much bigger shame for a trained officer with good endurance who got all her air knocked out by her girlfriend.

"i thought you'd take it more seriously, you know," you teased, smile spreading across your lips.

"i did. this is a reward for not shooting me," she shot back matching your grin. "and i'll have to keep that jacket under a lock."

"yeah? i recommend doing the same for guns," you flashed the stolen one in front of her eyes before making a run for the house.

lee gave you some time to enjoy your fun and find a hiding spot. preferably somewhere close to the bedroom before she's had enough of her lessons being ignored.

so you'll have to learn a few. it's weekend after all.

[onskepa]

What about ronal and tonwari watching their friends love story ? Like fem reader is nervous about choosing a mate when she has a lot of choices and goes to ronal for advice. Admittedly ronal doesn't want to decide for her but she does have someone in mind problem is tonowari also has someone in mind. Que the subtle love war!

Hiya! So this one I had a tad bit too much fun. Enjoy~!!

P.S: ronal and tonowari was years younger in this one! So expect them to be slightly out of character

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

Tiftxey

Ronal was tending to the young new born children, making sure they are healthy and strong. As well as the mothers. The mothers enjoy sharing anything new about their children, their first of something, a new trick, word, or something that caught their eye. It was always entertaining. She hoped one day she would have children of her own. It's only been 2 years since she became mated to tonowari and became tsahik. 

Many women her age have either already mated or are in the process of courting. Ronal predicts many children will be born around the same time. Perfect for them to be friends in a near future. 

“Ronal?” a hesitant voice broke her small train of thought. Looking up, ronal sees her good friend Tiftxey. She had a shy-like posture, her eyes glancing anywhere but her. 

“If you have a moment, can we talk?” 

Tiftxey, from infants to now adults, tiftxey and ronal have been the best of friends. Even their mothers were like them when they were infants. Close at arms, sisters in spirit. They do anything for each other. This situation is no different, the circumstances are however. 

“You…want me, as your tsahik and friend, to find a suitable mate for you?” Ronal repeated what her friend just said. 

“Yes,” her friend nods. 

“It is not that I am opposed to it but, what is the matter with finding one on your own?” Ronal had to know. Tiftxey is a wonderful woman in her own right, she passed all of her iknimaya with a strong head, earned her tattoos, and has a small reputation of her own. Who could ever resist her? 

“That is the thing ronal. I just CAN'T decide. There are many available men. All good and wonderful. But I also struggle with myself. What exactly do I want in a mate? A warrior? A fisherman? Someone strong and confident? Or someone who is in tune with their feelings and sensitive? I am stuck. And I know I do not have a lot of time, other women are having their eyes on others too. Please help me! I can't on my own!!” 

That was a lot that Ronal had to process.

Ronal put a lot of thought into it after conversing with her friend. In the end, she agreed to help. Now the problem is still open. Where can she start? Learning from her past experience, she was arranged by the previous tsahik. That is another thing she will have to do later in the future. Perhaps she can use this as practice. However, this is something that cannot have room for any mistakes. Tiftxey is relying on her for this life changing assistance. 

“What has gotten you so lost in your mind, ronal?” 

Ronal turns to see tonowari entering their home with a net full of fish. He sets them down near the fire pit and sits beside ronal. They hug and share a kiss. Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, Tonowari tries to read his mate's face. 

“It is tiftxey, she asked something…” Ronal mumbles. 

“What was it?” 

“She asked me to find a mate for her” was the answer. 

It did not surprise Tonowari much, yet couldn't help but feel intrigued. 

“Would that be an arranged marriage..?” he asks.

Ronal looks to the side, thinking it over. 

“Yes..? Well, I believe it will be like that. Choosing someone suitable for her. I thought it over, of course I agreed to help her. This is something that will occur in many years to come” 

Tonowari scratches his chin, silently agreeing. A question still lingers in his mind, “why does she need help?” 

“Cant decide. I can see why. But tonowari, she seems to be ready to mate. Who? Tiftxey cant seem to make up her mind” 

With a sigh, ronal collects some dried seaweed to weave. 

“And have you thought who might be worth of her?” 

“Not exactly, in the next few days I will need to observe all available men. I have to put into consideration her heart and spirit. Make sure no one hurts her, and treats her well” 

Tonowari nods at that, all mates should treat the other well, and equal. It takes two to be in unison. 

Though, the more he thought about it, it seemed like a big task for Ronal to take alone. Maybe she would like some help?

Today a handful of warriors would be out on the beach to train the little ones. It will be a good time for Ronal to observe who is the strongest, patient, and good with children. While it is good to find perfect traits in a lover, but tiftexy must also into account if the potential mate has good traits to be a father. 

To not disturb their work, Ronal stands at a fair distance, to “witness the upbringing of the clan's future warriors” was her excuse. Wasn't a lie either. So, for an hour, Ronal was watching only single males who are mated. Some were strict, some a bit more relaxed, some patient, all good traits. 

“Easy there little one, you must hold it like this” 

A strong, almost deep voice rang into ronal’s ears. 

A warrior was demonstrating how to hold a spear to a child. The male was grinning, flexing a bit of his muscles to impress the admiring little ones. 

Txurtu is his name. Ronal doesn't know much personally, he has his display of tattoos, telling his story. Many admire him for his good yet strict teachings, strong head, and a bit of confidence. He seems to be a good choice, but ronal would have to look deeper. There are more men to observe. 

For now, txurtu seems to be a perfect candidate for tiftxey, tonowari might agree as well. 

Over at the other side of the island was tonowari observing the young artists. Collecting shells and dead corals to make their new masterpiece. Be it for clothing, stories, no spec has gone to waste. Among the artist was a bright eye, warm smile, young male name zet. 

Zet is 2 years younger than Tonowari, but already has a place in the clan. Working closely with the elders, zet is becoming the next story teller. Continuing the old stories while telling new ones. He is good with people, gentle, very patient, and humble. Good traits for any female to fall for. He may not be a warrior or a strong type, but in the eyes of the olo’eyktan, zet is a good man worthy of a good woman. 

He will be perfect for tiftxey. 

So, with a slight smug grin, tonowari takes mental notes. Ronal will most likely be pleased, and hopefully her dear friend as well.

At sundown, both mates arrived at the same time in their home. Smiles matching, positive laughter. Preparing the fire pit, both work together to begin dinner. 

“You seem to be in good spirits,” Tonowari mentions, starting the fire. 

Ronal hums in satisfaction, “Indeed. I bring wonderful news” 

This piques tonowari’s interest, “what a coincidence, so do I” 

Tilting her head, Ronal cues her mate to go first. 

“I believe I have found a perfect match for tiftxey” tonowari proudly says. 

This made ronal lose her smile. And mood. 

“What? I was also about to say so have I” she says. 

Now both were slightly confused, “who did you see as a potential?” the tsahik asks. 

“Zet” 

Ronal almost wanted to scoff, “zet? The poet?” 

Her mate nods, “Yes, he is gentle, kind, listens very well” he lists. 

Ronal shook her head, not to be mean to her love, but secretly….was that the best he could do? Pick the softest male in their clan? Ronal could not imagine him with tiftxey. What would she think? Will she be disappointed? 

Tonowari catched her expressions and read the lines well. She is clearly not satisfied with his choice. 

“You look unpleasant when I mention zet” he pointed out. 

Ronal looks down a bit, then back at him, “that obvious?”

Folding his arms, tonowari nods, “well then, who did you choose ronal?” 

“Txurtu” she answers confidently. 

Now it was tonowari’s turn to almost scoff, “txurtu? The confident brute?” 

Ronal taps his forehead, “he is not a brute. He is strong, a good warrior, and will protect anyone including tiftxey” 

Tonowari shakes his head, slightly grinning, almost wanting to laugh. “He is aggressive, strong headed, stubborn at times. Do you truly believe he will be good enough for tiftxey? You must also take into account how she is. I bet his aggressiveness will push he away” 

Ronal leans a bit in, her eyes becoming a bit more intimidating. “And you believe zet is a far superior choice? Too soft, refuses to hold any form of weapon, his head stuck in the sands. Easily distracted, never truly focused. Tiftxey would be bored of his predictable ways”

Both narrow their eyes, as if in a more challenging way. 

“Well then my wife, it seems there is no other way than to settle this” tonowari says with a slight grit in his teeth. 

“Of course my husband,” Ronal growls. May the best candidate win. 

Tiftxey was enjoying her early morning at her home. It was nice and tidy, a good thorough clean. Cant have a messy home, wouldn't be very impressive to a potential mate. She enjoys her meal of roasted fish wrapped in dried, seasoned seaweed. Delicious in her taste buds, another thing she must perfect is her cooking skills. Have to show she can make tasty meals and provide a good meal. 

Sighing deeply, hope lingering in her eyes and mind imagining scenarios of romantic gestures. It has only been a day since she asked Ronal a huge favor. Asking her now would pressure ronal. From what tiftxey has seen from the previous tsahik, arranging is not an easy task. Have to make sure both partners are matching, yet balancing each out. Certainly there is someone on the island that can be her match. 

“Tiftxey?” 

Turning her head around, tiftxey see's txankrr, her long time neighbor. She has known txankrr just as long as she has known ronal. Not close as best friends but still close. 

“Hello txankrr, care for some roasted fish?” she offers, her neighbors nod. Handing him the most recent cooked fish, she gently wraps it in a leaf so as to not burn his hands. Accepting it, he begins to eat, savoring its delicious flavor. 

“What brings you here early?” tiftxey asks, txankrr hums at remembering his reason. 

“I was making my way to the ilu pens when I saw the tsahik speaking to txurtu. Seemed didn't pay attention until she said your name. Have you finally asked her to help you in finding a mate?” 

Tiftxey nods a bit enthusiastically. 

“Yes! I'm surprised she found someone so quick” 

Txankrr tilts his head slightly, “what do you think of txurtu? Be honest” he asks. 

Tiftxey is silent for a few seconds before answering, “well, I cannot say anything at the moment. To be fair, you did spoil a potential surprise. So, until our tsahik brings him up, I won't say a word” 

Fair. 

So, txankrr lets it go for now.

“Tiftxey, I would like to introduce you to zet” tonowari says as he gestures to zet. The na’vi in topic smiles as he greets tiftxey. This slightly confused her, did ronal tell tonowari of the situation? If so, did they choose together or what is going on? 

“Hello zet” she greets, not wanting to be rude. 

“Zet here is rising to be a storyteller and poet. Knowing his way around the arts and very creative” tonowari proudly lists. This made zet blush a bit. 

“Olo’eyktan, please, you praise too much” he shyly says. Tonowari chuckles, slightly pushing zet forward. “I shall let you two speak alone, get to know each other” he leaves without giving them any room to speak. 

So zet and tiftxey stand in front of each other, smiling and chuckling a bit nervously. 

“Let me be the first to speak, what exactly did our olo’eyktan say to you…?” tiftxey couldn't help but ask. 

Zet rubbed his arm nervously, “he visited my home the other day. Wanting to seeing how I was doing, we spoke until I mentioned that I was in the midst of looking for a mate. He said that it was a coincidence since he knew someone who was also searching for a mate, and then…well, we are here” 

“I see….”

This is an opportunity that she didnt expect but won't deny. It be very rude to both zet and tonowari. So tiftxey will try to make the most of it. 

“Well, why not give it a try? Walk with me?” she asks. Zet nods, still nervous but begins to walk beside her as they start to chat. 

Tonowari is by no means a stalker, he will never invade someone's space and/or their lives. He is respectful, knows to keep a distant, and above all else, knows better than to stoop so low. 

“So what are you doing?” an all too familiar voice asks. 

Tonowari was hiding behind a lushfull bush until he heard ronal’s voice behind him. He turns to see her not so pleased face. 

“Snooping around like some young boy, you are above this tonowari” she colds. 

Before tonowari can explain himself, her eyes drifted and widen slightly. Do her eyes deceive her? Zet side by side with tiftxey? 

“So…you went through it after all” it wasnt even a question. 

“I knew zet is a good fit, I meant it ronal. He will treat her good” he says 

Both silently observe as zet was chatting while tiftxey was paying close attention. They were painting something together, too far to see what it was exactly. Though from what they can tell, they seem to be getting along fine. This however, does not sit well with ronal. 

“Enjoy your small victory husband, tomorrow things will change” Ronal says as she walks away. Tonowari knows she can be stubborn once she makes up her mind. Well, he may not be as stubborn, but he isnt one to give up. 

Dinner was shared between tiftxey and txankrr, chatting anything that comes to mind. 

“How was it with zet? Is he what you are looking for?” txankrr asks before sipping some broth. 

“Hmm…its too soon to say. Today was the first day of getting to know him. However, I do like his artistic views, he chats a lot. Expected since he is on his way to be a story tell to the village. But he gets a bit distracted, and easy too” tiftxey says as she recalls spending her time with him. 

“Dont get me wrong, he is a good man. Perhaps with time I will see more sides of him and fully understand” 

“Reasonable” txankrr agrees. 

Without needing to ask, he silently pours more broth into his friends bowl while adding some meat as well. 

“Are you going to meet him again tomorrow?” he asks. 

“Yes, though I get the feeling something will get in the way…” 

More like someone. 

Mid morning was an agreed time tiftxey and zet agreed to meet, when ronal appeared almost out of nowhere. 

“Tiftxey my friend. I have found a suitable man for you” she says. 

Not giving tiftxey a moment to speak, beside ronal was a tall and muscular na’vi. 

“Hello tiftxey, I am txurtu. I know we barely know each other but hopefully that can grow” txurtu says. His stance was a bit intimidating, strong presence and sharp look. Very different from zet. 

“I looked high and low, in my eyes, he is a potential one. Why not spend some time with him? You will see what I mean” ronal says, and just like tonowari, she leaves them alone. 

“Come, I know a good spot to speak” txurtu takes the lead. Not that tiftxey minded, well, a bit. She didnt want zet to get the wrong idea of ditching her. But she also doesn't want to leave txurtu like that either. 

“Please, tell me about yourself” txurtu asks. His voice strong yet gentle, in hopes to ease her. 

“Look at her, she is admiring his beauty” Ronal says rather smugly. Tonowari rolls his eyes. 

“Is beauty all that matters? Whatever happened to personality and skills?” 

This time it was ronal that was snooping. Silently following txurtu and tiftxey, seeing how they are interacting. In her eyes, they already look perfect for each other. 

“Yes my husband, but a womans eyes enjoy seeing something beautiful. Like how I see you and admire your tattoos. Tiftxey is no different” 

“Are you sure about that tsahik?” 

Tonowari and ronal quickly turn around to see the fisherman, txankrr. 

“Pardon me for startling you, but I couldnt help but notice you two observing a bit too keenly over tiftxey and txurtu” he says. 

The mates look at each other before quickly fixing their posture. 

“Before anything, tiftxey has shared with me what is going on. May I speak in words of advice?” 

Ronal nodds, granting permission. 

 “Tsahik, you know tiftxey just as long as I do. Olo’eyktan, you have known ronal for many years. However, while yes tiftxey has asked to help in search of a mate, it seems you two have taken it in a way that won't do any favors for her” 

Ronal took a slight offense to that, tonowari didn't but also did not like where this is going. 

“You believe I do not know what is good for her?” ronal hisses. Txankrr in her eyes was also passive, not really taking possible chances or opportunities and just let things be. 

“No, in fact, I believe neither of you do” 

Tonowari had to place his arm over ronal before she can jump on txankrr. 

“Please, explain” he urges txankrr before ronal would tie his tail in a knot. If it is even possible. 

“Zet and txurtu are two good men. They are becoming experts in their owns fields of skills and both are contributing to the clan in their ways. They have good traits that a woman would love to have in her partner. I am not saying they are terrible choices. What I have noticed is they are more suited to your ideals” 

Ronal stopped struggling, her ears twitching at txankrrs words. 

“How so?” she asks. 

“Zet is passive, kind, soft, gentle, and chooses words over weapons. Olo’eyktan, if you were not our leader, your ideals would fit almost exactly like zet. Your words are soft, kind, and gentle. You know many stories and would share with those willing to listen. Ronal, txurtu is more like you. A bit brash, stubborn, bold, a warrior and not afraid to hold a weapon to fight. They are ideals because you are putting your interests first, not tiftxey. 

I know this is for her, but you are forgetting her desire, traits, and what she really needs in a mate. Please think this through before either of them gets hurt. For I am starting to notice this is becoming more like a game to you both” 

Silence fell between ronal and tonowari. Letting txankrr’s words echo in their minds. Perhaps he is right, using their own liking traits over the one who should be their priority. 

“It seems….there is much to think over” ronal says. 

“Yes, and fix as well” tonowari agrees. 

Meanwhile tiftxey was having an interesting time of her life. 

“See? I told you, seaweed when seasoned just right, it will compliment the fish” she says as she, zet and txurtu all have an early lunch at the beach. 

“Kelp would make a good substitute if seaweed cannot be contained” zet gives tips. 

“Though this reminds me of that one story about a fish with shiny reflective scales” he goes on. 

Tiftxey gasps happily, “I think I know which one you are talking about” 

“That is a good story, my brother would say it to his children every night” txurtu says. He has pieces stuck to his mouth, tiftxey gently wiped it away for him. 

“This might sound odd, but I have always wondered what an akula would taste like” he confsses. He expected mocking laughter but none came. Zet and tiftxey had thoughtful expressions. 

“We might never know, they are dangerous to capture. Even our olo’eyktan struggled with one” zet mentions. 

“Well, we can only dream about it. But I hope the pincer fish will do it for now?” tiftxey asks as she offers more fish to which zet and txurtu happily accepts. 

“If you two are available, perhaps tomorrow you can come by to my place? I have something that might help with going into the sea” zet offers. Txurtu was the first to accept, tiftxey gladly did too. 

“Maybe after, let's ride on our akula’s? The tides are low enough for good hunting” txurtu offers. All accepted and already planning out the next day will be. 

Okie this one took me a bit, had to think how will the scenarios play out. Happy with how it turned out, hope you all like it! Until next time! See ya!

----------

Tiftxey = choice

zet = treat emotionally, display an attitude towards

Txurtu = strong man

Txankrr = for a long time

[p5x-theories]

Have you gathered any other fun i guess quirks that could be considered characterization for Wonder? Like how many outfits he has meaning he may have an eye for fashion for example

Hmm, good question! It's hard for me to remember anything unprompted, heh, but I will say I personally believe all the Persona series protagonists have quite a bit of characterization present in their games (despite being alleged blank slates), so in general I do try to pay attention to this stuff, because I like putting that picture together in my head.

I try to factor this into my story summaries, too, especially if I mention that the player doesn't really have a choice with something, or if I think it's interesting that the player has a choice at all. For instance, when Riko collapses after awakening her Persona, the player doesn't get to choose whether Wonder offers to help her, just what specifically he says when he offers. This one is particularly interesting to me because Cattle's response treats this as Wonder not properly reading the room here (Closer was offering to help because she (and Cattle) thought a girl should help her, not because all three of them were going to lend Riko a shoulder), but the player is essentially "forced" to read the room wrong because evidently there's no way Wonder wouldn't also offer to help her. In general, Wonder seems very open to helping people; the fact that he has all these side quests is proof of that, especially since a lot of them kind of start as "Wonder sees someone having a problem and tries to help with it, or at least find out what's going on".

Oh, the gachapon machines could be taken as another quirk of his! You can collect the toys from them as Joker as well, but Wonder has a deliberate display case/shelving area for setting up each of the full sets, with layouts that make it obvious which ones he's missing (implying, to me, that he likes to have a full set on display). But on the flip side, so far I've never see Wonder get a souvenir while hanging out with someone, so he doesn't display any of those in his room like Joker does.

Not exactly a quirk, but another thing that stood out as really interesting to me (maybe especially because Wonder's team isn't as well-known as the original Phantom Thieves were, even by this point), is that Wonder can kind of imply that the Metaverse/shadows/etc. exist in a couple text conversations with Kiyoshi during his Confidant, when Kiyoshi brings up something supernatural that he wants to "investigate". I know it happens more than once, but not super often. But then later, in Kiyoshi's rank 15 event, when Kiyoshi kind of admits he has an active imagination, but he really does see things others can't sometimes (his implied ability to see Personas, or at least see two/multiple of someone if they have a Persona), while Wonder seems to realize this is Kiyoshi being able to see Personas or something related to the Metaverse, there's never any option to tell him about it, or even imply it exists here. It kind of makes it retroactively seem like Wonder's willing to "joke" about that stuff in a text message, but not actually tell anyone, even a close friend, even when there don't seem to be any consequences because the police don't believe the Phantom Thieves exist? It is also possible Wonder's just not a very good liar, so he's only willing to "joke" about it in texts, where he doesn't have to be a particularly good liar to play it off, heh. But I keep thinking about it.

Merope's another interesting Confidant interaction, because while many of her rank-up events allow Wonder the option to express doubt/distaste/a general unwillingness to go along with Merope's idol obsession, ultimately in her rank 20 event he seems to be along for the ride. Even a bit before that, the player can't make him turn down her Mementos request, and when interacting with the Shadow of Narumi's producer, none of his response options give the impression that Wonder's only doing this for Merope. While it's the player's choice whether Wonder is relatively on-board with Merope's idol obsession from the get-go, by the later ranks of her Confidant he seems to have been won over (at least to some extent) regardless of what the player wants.

Oh, another tidbit that comes to mind- we know Wonder's been living in his house at least since he was little, probably his whole life, meaning it's most likely that he attended Kokatsu last year (as a first year) as well, but he notes that he's never been to Kokatsu's annual beach event before. We don't know how long this desire-stealing stuff has been going on, but considering Riko says attendance for the beach event was much, much higher in previous years, and in general the desire problem seems to be getting worse over time, Wonder probably still had his desires (or at least, more of them) as a first year. If so, it says something about what he was like prior to the start of the game that he "obviously" (his words) still didn't attend the beach event that's apparently so popular with students.

This is more general, rather than specific instances/quirks, but I've gotten the impression that Wonder's generally a little less confident than Joker, but gets attached to people quickly and likes to help them. Not to say that you can't read Joker as being similar, but like I said with the side quests, Joker doesn't even have those. At the start of the game, when he didn't have desires, Wonder doesn't know what he wants for the future, and doesn't seem particularly bothered that Ms. Katayama's worried about him because of it. But in Chapter 3 (sorry I'm still typing this story update!), he's right there with Riko, Shun, and Motoha blaming himself for causing Katayama more stress, and when they can't steal her Treasure because they're not sure what'll happen to Akashi sharing her Palace, he's so clearly bothered by it that Ruferu gives him a pep talk about how he's a good leader and they still saved Katayama's Shadow today.

Wonder's reaction to his visions also feels like a point of characterization to me. While he clearly is alarmed by the bad ones (jolting awake after the nightmare at the start, most obviously), already by Chapter 2 he doesn't seem to doubt that they might be real in some way, because he uses information from them to help (asking Yamagoshi the right question, designing their Phantom Thieves logo, understanding what they need to do while fighting Shadow Katayama), and starts to wonder if he's lost memories like Ruferu did. A lot of people might've brushed them off for longer, or been more suspicious of where they're coming from or what they mean, but Wonder seems to trust them by this point, and in general seems to trust people quickly. He questions where they're coming from and what he's seeing, but I don't get the impression he doubts that they're in some way real.

Heh, sorry, that might've been a longer and (especially towards the end) more generalized answer than you wanted, but like I said, I like thinking about this stuff! I hope it was at least an interesting read, and maybe covered at least some of the stuff you were hoping to hear.

[eri-pl]

You are a great believer of the only Eru can create true life theory it seems from your posts- what origins of dragons do you subscribe to then in how they were made from something else? How much personhood do you ascribe to individuals among them with variation/free will?

Thank you for the ask! I love asks!

First, maybe I am pedantic on words, but I like to be on the same page, so:

I don't fully agree with the word "believer" in context of a fictional setting, especially given that they are people (I've seen one on YT) who genuinely seem to believe in the Legendarium as mythology/religion/I'm not sure what word to use. I don't.

I respect (or sometimes hype about maybe too much) some of Tolkien's ideas on hot his legendarium ties to the real world, can't internalize some others, but at the end of the day, it is fiction, so the question is less "what is true" and more "what makes sense with the story and world", "what Tolkien intended".

And I do believe (based on things I read and watched on YT) that Tolkien did intend to "evil cannot create true life" and "only Eru can create souls". Does "true life" mean "sentient", or "alive in general"? If "sentient", how is that different from "having a soul"? I have no idea. But anyway yea, "Morgoth can't make things that have free will" is a very safe bet about what tolkien thought of it. And does make sense with the story.

(Still, I will take this wording as a compliment. thank you.)

I don't have a single strong HC about how dragons were made. Made from lizards? From big snakes? From dinosaurs which he somehow stole from Valinor (unlikely because siege)? Probably mutated some big lizards.

Personhood? Hmm. the text is tricky there (even a bit contradictory), but I would go with the "they have bits of Morgoth's will in them, a bit like the Ring had Sauron's". No personhood.

My default assumption about various types of more-or-less monsters is:

deeply corrupted Elves/Men: full personhood, but extreme mental issues due to trauma / generational trauma and probably their free will is, how to say it, imprisoned deep inside their minds, so very unlikely to behave in a good way (think: very strong addiction, some extreme mental ilnesses): all variants of Orcs. (Yes, it makes killing them complicated, I can live with that) (Also I did a post on Orcs and how would I try to make them more metaphysically coherent. TLDR they revert after some generations of not being moderated)

fallen spirits: full personhood, self-inflicted (+ some help from evil superiors) trauma, more effective free will, could get over their bs, yes it is hard but also they aren't willing: Morgoth, Sauron, the Balrogs, some various "demons", I'm not sure about some beings. I like to see Thuringwethil here, even though it's probably not canon.

Elven ghosts who agreed to be bound by Sauron (with coercion!) or Morgoth (if he bothers to do necromancy at all), put into various (animal or engineered from parts) bodies: free will fully bound inside, because of the magic. they can regret but they can't escape: werewolves, vampires, stuff like that, also Thuringwethil

bits of Morgoth's will/mind/whatever put into modies of mutated animals: dragons, I'm not sure what else. As they are various bits, they do have some indyvidual character, something like personality, but they aren't persons. Think: OCs. The dragons are Morgoth's OCs. ;D

They (dragons) could be type 3, but from what I remember the text more suggests 4. Or was it just the musical?

And yes, dragons being active after Morgoth was thrown out doesn't contradict this. Ending of the Quenta Silmarillion says that bits of his will still circulate in the world.

I hope this answers your question.

[ineffablelara]

Bringing here a quote that changed my whole perspective of s2:

"This is the true joy in life, being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one. Being a force of nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances, complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy. I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community and as long as I live, it is my privilege to do for it what I can. I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work, the more I live. I rejoice in life for its own sake. Life is no brief candle to me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations."

So, Tom said in an interview that this quote really stuck with him after he heard it and it really inspired him in the making of the show, and tbh as soon as I heard it the only thing I could think about was Loki and the ending of s2, the themes of purpose and giving everything of yourself for your community are central to the story, not to mention: "Being a force of nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances"

This sums up Loki's development as a character from s1 to s2 imo, and while and I don't think Loki was just a selfish little clod of ailments and grievances we can't deny that he was selfish and full of grievances in the beginning of his journey, it was absolutely justified imo, he was the product of the environment he was raised in and that's okay, but by the end of the show Loki is one hundred percent a force of nature and this is beautiful, Tom took this quote that he loves so much and made Loki's journey revolve around it bc he also loves Loki very much

"I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community and as long as I live, it is my privilege to do for it what I can."

This is also exactly what Loki is doing for his community (and for the whole multiverse but you know what I mean), I think this quote single handedly inspired the ending of s2 and seeing it being put in such a poetic light makes me emotional bc there's a tragic, shakespearean beauty to it

Anyway, I just wanted to share it here bc it warms my heart and makes s2 even more poetic imo, I never run out of things to praise it ❤️

[galaxy-fleur]

What did you think of Leon and Ada's new relationship in the remakes? Meta wise

I think it's an interesting and more nuanced take on their relationship! Which I definitely like. I see no point in judging OG RE2's love story between them, no matter how cliché and nonsensical it is. It's a product of its time, and it's charming in its own cheesy way. Teenage me cried over Ada's death in there, so I do have a soft spot for it.

But the Remakes offer a fresh interpretation of what happened between them, and I'm definitely interested to see where they will take their relationship in the future (that is if they do, because I wouldn't mind them just having separate story arcs from now on).

If we're talking actual analysis, I'll put down my thoughts. I don't know if you can call it a full-on analysis per se, as it's more just me writing out my personal interpretations on things. So keep that in mind please!

Long post under the cut. I'm talking almost 4k words and way too many shitty gifs (I have no time to make them all polished). I have way too much to say. I'll basically be going over their entire relationship throughout RE2R and RE4R so... yeah.

RE2R and RE4R are two games that offer a full story for Leon's character, and that's a very awesome thing that Capcom has done. I'd even say it's one of the best things they've done with RE recently. Making RE4R feel like a direct continuation to Leon's arc in RE2R makes total sense, and it makes many scenes in RE4R that much more satisfying to play through.

While RE2R does end on a somewhat positive note (much like every RE game has to), Leon's arc in it is very much negative. He loses more than he gains, he's unable to save anyone, and his good intentions end up being used against him. Claire ends her RE2R story by saving a little girl she has come to care for. Leon ends his RE2R story by losing the G-sample, 'losing' Ada without getting much, if any, closure from her, and not saving even a single person he has encountered. Claire and Sherry don't really count in Remake-verse (which I kinda don't like) because their storylines mostly happened separately from each other.

And that's not mentioning that he gets (assumedly, and I am very much hoping we'll finally see more concrete scenes of how it all happened in Remake-verse) pretty much kidnapped and forced into a life he never wanted right after. To say that Leon can't get a break in RE2R is like saying nothing at all. Poor guy gets put through the wringer on every level.

Now, onto his relationship with Ada, and how it ties into everything... It should be said that, while he obviously grows to care about her throughout their short time spent together, he remains suspicious of her. RE2R Leon is naive, but I often feel like people make him too naive. He's not an idiot. He tries over and over again to get answers from her, and he clearly feels apprehensive with her. And I mean... that makes sense. While she does save him multiple times, she keeps her distance from him.

I'd say he starts opening up to her on an emotional level after witnessing Robert having to kill off his own daughter. He directly confronts her, demanding for answers and voicing his drive to do what's right. In a way, that's him showing his vulnerability to her. And Ada uses it against him. After all, it's a perfect opportunity to play on his (rather naive) determination to be the hero to help her achieve her own goals. Ada is also the only figure of 'authority' he has at the moment. Even if her claim of being FBI seems kinda off, she's the only one he has.

And I'll go over Ada and how I interpret her later. For now, just keep in mind that her using Leon is more of a gray area than just some horrible, disgusting thing. I'm just going over the events from Leon's viewpoint here.

So, they team up. Ada starts softening up to him. They share light banter with each other: 'A: After you. L: Gee, thanks.' She expresses concern over his safety (the alligator scene). I'd say that's the point where he starts to care for her on a more personal level from before. As you would.

Him taking a bullet for her was instinctual. I'd say it's a more pivotal moment for Ada's character here rather than Leon's. In Leon's case it's moreso her taking care of him right after that matters. He directly mentions it to her later on (at least I'm pretty sure his 'you protected me' referred to that). I'd say him waking up to find himself tucked in with her coat and his wound taken care of was the moment his 'I care because it's another person who's in this with me' turned into 'I care because I feel genuine attachment to this person'.

Was it romantic? I'd say that's left for you to interpret how you wish. I like to think of it as him just caring for her as a person. Leon is someone who cares very deeply for others, and he's always striving to be the protector to those around him. I kind of think that someone caring for him when he's weak and vulnerable is something that is very meaningful to him. Now, Ada saves him multiple times at that point. But that's the first instance of her arguably going beyond what's needed. Sure, taking care of his wound was necessary, although she could have just let him be as he was for all we know. But tucking him in on top of that? Yeah, that's an obvious 'I care' gesture.

From then on, Leon is following Ada because he wants to trust her. And I do want to ring this home. He wants to trust her. Doesn't mean he does trust her. Because even though he shows genuine care for her, it's clear that he knows she's might not be telling him everything.

He wants her to trust him, so that she'll tell him what she is keeping from him. So that he can trust her.

The kiss scene is a perfect representation of exactly that, I'd say. Honestly, I'll just link this analysis right here, because I pretty much interpret it in almost the exact same way. But I'll go over it in my own words as well.

Leon's growing frustration is in full display here. He turns around from her, he paces, he tries to appeal to her. To just trust him enough to be honest with him. It's clear that he knows Ada might not be telling everything, but he chooses to believe her regardless.

Hence the exchange that follows this:

Ada: 'Hey Leon, trust me?'

Leon, walking up to her: 'Trust me?' (Reversing her question)

Ada: 'Honestly, if I didn't, you'd probably be dead.' (A genuine answer as far as we know, but it's not one Leon wanted to hear, so he shakes his head, mutters 'Right.' and walks off.)

And I do feel like Ada knows that Leon is suspicious of her here. Her reaction once he walks off comes off as kind of panicky to me. She knows she might be losing him, and she can't have that. So, she once again appeals to what she knows is his weak spot. His drive to help others and 'save' the city. It does work. Somewhat. But he's still swaying, so she does the first thing she thinks of. She kisses him.

She, quite literally, cuts off his line of thought so he stops thinking about it. Because him thinking is dangerous for what she's really doing here.

I think it would be very disingenuous to say that that was a kiss of love or affection. It is not presented as such, nor is it addressed that way in all. It was Ada's last attempt at stopping Leon from questioning her any further. How much of it was her focusing on her goals, and how much of it was her effort to 'protect' him from potentially figuring out the truth, is left to your interpretation. But whatever intentions she had, good or bad, it was a kiss of manipulation.

It does shut Leon up, as he's visibly stunned. He doesn't even say anything at that. He just stares at her, then at her hand on his knee. Now, here's the tricky part of it all. Do I think Leon felt romantic affection/attraction to her here? On some level, I'd say yes. But it's definitely no 'love at first kiss' or anything like that. He's confused, mostly. While he spent arguably little time with Ada, it was a time full of meaning. Surviving side by side and protecting one another is no small feat. And Ada did show her care for him.

I think, he chooses to trust her in that moment, because he, once again, wants to believe in her. Even if her kiss felt out of nowhere, and so much of what she says (or rather doesn't say) makes no sense. He chooses to trust her because he wants to think that she's a good person who cares for him.

And so, we come to the pivotal bridge scene once he learns the truth. I do like how he confronts her in a blatantly emotional manner rather than logical. It's not so much about her being a mercenary itself, as it is about her using him and lying to him. That's what he's actually confronting her about, whether he realizes it or not. That's exactly why he tells her to shoot him, fully resolute as he holds her gaze. He wouldn't do that if he was just trying to apprehend a criminal like a good cop would (as he tries to present it at first).

But, he never gets that closure or resolution he was aiming for. Ada lowers her pistol. He breaths out shakily, probably wanting to continue talking, to figure this out. But he doesn't get that.

I do think Ada telling him to take care of himself as her 'last words' is a very painful thing for him. Because it leaves him with no actual closure on what happened between them. Ada chose to not harm him, and her last words to him are ones of selflessness. But she also lied to him and used his vulnerabilities to achieve her goals. And it's not like Leon knows anything about her occupation, and just how much she's involved with it on an emotional level. Maybe she's someone forced to do this against her will. Or maybe she enjoys doing such dirty jobs for all he knows.

That's the thing. Leon doesn't know. And that must be both frustrating and painful. He's basically left questioning all of his interactions with her, how much of it was genuine, whether she was honest with him at all.

And, most importantly, his time with Ada basically proves to him that his drive to protect and save, his willingness to give people the benefit of the doubt - is a flaw, and a weakness. It directly ties into his arc in RE4R. (And his relationship with Krauser, in a way, but I won't go over it here.)

He throws away her bracelet on the train, and I think that kind of shows that he chooses to believe in the pessimistic way of interpreting their time together. He throws it away because he doesn't want to hold on to something that reminds him of her. And, simultaneously, of his mistakes.

Now, let's go through the same events from Ada's POV, shall we? It's a bit more challenging, since we don't get to be in her shoes, but it's still a fun exercise.

Ada's initial interactions with Leon are ones of annoyance. She basically scolds him like a kid for always getting in danger and acts like saving him is a chore. But chooses to help him out regardless. I think it speaks of her humanity despite her line of work. It's an interesting dichotomy that follows her every single appearance pretty much, though not much is done with it (thanks Capcom). But yeah, despite her visible annoyance with him, she saves him time and time again.

She doesn't visibly soften up to him up until that same Robert scene. She's pretty observant from what we can tell, and she probably already had a good idea of Leon's righteous nature, but it's the first instance of her actively playing into it instead of making small snide comments about it ('Trying to save the world?' 'Good luck with that.'). That doesn't mean she doesn't care, though. It's subtle, but the little sighs and changes in her facial expression do show that she's at least a little bit conflicted at the prospect of lying to him on such a huge level (though you can't see most of it with her sunglasses).

It's one thing to say a passing lie about you being an FBI agent, and it's completely another to play the long game by using someone like that. But she needs to accomplish this task, and it already proved to be more difficult than she expected. Remember, Racoon City was Ada's first time dealing with anything of this sort, too. She might be a mercenary, but it's not like she had to deal with zombies and B.O.W's before that. She's out of her depth, and she has someone pretty much offering themselves to her as her assistance.

So, she takes the risk.

While she does join in some passing banter with Leon after that, she still keeps her distance. She's dry and mostly unemotional in her mannerisms. Remember how I said that Leon taking the bullet for her was more pivotal to her in the story? Let's go over that.

It would be disingenuous to say that Ada is a complex character, unfortunately. Most of the complexity she does have, we pretty much have to add on to ourselves. Hell, I'm doing it right now with this entire section! Capcom is doing a way better job with her in the Remakes, but she's still pretty flat as a character. Maybe this'll (hopefully) change in future installments. But for now, we work with what we have.

Either way, we do know that Ada is someone who's self-sufficient and chooses to work alone. She keeps her distance from everyone, and she lives by 'everyone for themselves' ideology. Basically, a total opposite of Leon's 'protector' role. All that to say... someone taking a bullet for her is definitely not something she would expect. On some level, specifically because she would never do that herself. Especially for someone she basically just met. But Leon risks his life for her. Furthermore, telling her to go ahead instead of anything else.

I think that's the moment Ada starts caring for him on a personal level. Maybe she feels like she should repay him for this. Or that she owes him a debt. Regardless, she takes care of him and tucks him in, before proceeding further.

That care only grows once they reunite. Now she's the one injured, and he takes care of her, despite her protests: 'I can do it myself'. Ada is self-sufficient, but Leon offers her his companionship time and time again. We don't know whether that's something she lacks in her life or not. We don't know enough of her as a character to say that. But she's obviously someone who's not used to getting help from others. Again, on some level, because she doesn't do that herself.

Remember, while Ada did save Leon numerous times before, she always acted visibly frustrated by it, like it was a chore she was forced into, despite her choosing to help him herself. Leon, on the other hand, is quick to offer and insist on helping out, very much eager to do that for her. She already made the choice to use him, but now she learns that he's a genuinely good person with a kind heart, and not just some stupid naive rookie.

And so, the kiss scene, again. I already said that her kiss feels like a last-ditch effort to stop Leon from questioning her any further. And I do think she acted on impulse. Thus why she follows up with a hand on his knee and the: 'I'm counting on you'. And I, personally, think she kind of regretted doing that right after. Or maybe felt extra conflicted about the whole ordeal as a whole. The way she slouches and sighs heavily once Leon leaves is very reminiscent of that. It's kind of a mix of 'Fuck, I messed that up, didn't I?' and 'What the hell am I going to do after this?'

It also should be noted that Ada never meant to tell Leon the truth. It would be convenient for both of them. Leon would feel like he did something good, and she would complete her mission with no further issues. Both sides win. But... things go haywire. And she's confronted with the consequences of her initial choice to use him.

It'll be silly to say that Ada doesn't care for Leon. If she truly was this heartless mercenary some would like her to be, she would shoot him on the spot. Her pistol being empty doesn't really matter, either. Leon was basically offering himself up to her, again. Even without any bullets on her hands, she could have easily knocked him out or something.

But, she can't bring herself to hurt him. Because Leon really is a good person that doesn't deserve that. And she knows that, and she cares for him on a personal level on top of it all. We don't know what she was going to do, before Annette shot her. Maybe I'm actually talking out of ass here, and she really was planning on knocking Leon out cold. But, we'll never truly know.

And her last words for him are to take care of himself. Because, in a way, Ada, more than anyone, knows just how selfless Leon is. On some level, it's a wordless 'I'm sorry', if you wish to interpret it that way.

Boy, was that a lengthy mess! Their first introduction to each sure was tumultuous. But we still have RE4R to go through! Though it'll be more about Ada than Leon.

Nevertheless, let's talk about Leon's interactions with Ada. I think we all know he's noticeably harsher and colder to her. It's an interesting change, and it does show that he feels resentment towards her for what happened in Racoon City. We don't know how his initial conflicted feelings morphed into this resentment, but they did.

I don't think nearly enough people mention that he's genuinely being very damn rough with her in their little sparring session. While yeah, you could make an argument that he's holding back, he's not being careful either. Ada has to put in actual effort to fight him off, which she doesn't even succeed in because he takes her off-guard with his intensity.

And he also puts the sharp end of his dagger to her throat. Just to rub more salt into the wound.

I don't think this was him wanting to hurt her or threaten her, though. It was more of a show of strength. Ada approaches him by taunting him and teasing him, like she can do whatever she wants to him. But he's not that same naive rookie anymore. And he shows her exactly that.

A kind of: 'Don't think you can play the same trick on me twice, or you might get burned' message. A message that I think Ada does get.

As for him smirking at her, I don't think that's him being 'happy' to see her or anything. I think that's just him being amused that she still thinks she can play him like that. He grows all cold and distant with her right after.

Leon obviously has a grudge that he hasn't let go of. I actually like how he's almost needlessly petty with her in RE4R. Making snide remarks, calling her heartless and dismissing her on numerous occasions. It shows that he does care. If he didn't, he would cooperate with her with no further complaints on his part. He's purposefully being cold to her to show that yes, he is still upset about what happened, and he will use every opportunity to demonstrate exactly that. It's petty and kind of childish, in a way. But it makes sense for him, and it adds extra flavor to their relationship at this point in time.

Though, he does offer an opening to her in the boat.

'Have you changed, Ada? Or are you trying to use me again?'

It's a good parallel to his: 'Trust me?' In RE2R, and both phrases are used for a similar purpose.

He gives Ada an opening to trust him and be open with him. One that she doesn't take, again: 'What do you think?'

She gives him no answer. Just like she didn't in RE2R. I think, in a way, that kind of gives Leon an answer by itself. He trusts Ada and relies on her when push comes to shove, but he doesn't give her any more openings from then on. I'd say that's his 'I think we both know this is where we go our separate ways' moment.

With Ada, things are way more complicated, in a good way. Separate Ways gave us so much to work with, and that's amazing.

Throughout Separate Ways, we see Ada bouncing back-and-forth on what she wants to do. She's initially very cold and resolute in her job, helping Leon out more like a passing convenience than anything else. She does still help him, though. She's still dealing with the dichotomy of what she presents herself as, and what she actually acts as.

I really like her confrontation with Luis in particular. She's cutthroat and blunt. Almost chillingly so. And she only relents once Luis mentions her own infection. Him telling her of Leon's infection has little effect.

'And why does that matter to me?'

I think that's a question she's asking herself just as much as Luis here. Though, she's still in her cold, self-sufficient mercenary role here. To be honest, I find her relationship with Luis in particular much more interesting in RE4R, but since we're talking about her and Leon here, I'll just say that Luis is the catalyst to her change (so to speak, Ada doesn't really change as a character per se, I'll elaborate on that later). Not Leon.

She confronts Leon face-to-face, quickly being met with the truth that he is not as easy for her to push around now. And I do think she has zero bad intentions there. She was genuinely just playing around and teasing him. Only to figure out that that approach won't work at all. It's kinda cute, honestly. So, she gives him an opening of her own instead. She tells him to leave Ashley, to prioritize his own safety over hers. Because that's what she would have done in his place. Leon is quick to shut that down. Something that Ada probably expected, as she just huffs and gives a knowing 'Right.' to that.

That's the moment Ada knows Leon hasn't changed. Not really. He might be colder, more ruthless and dangerous, but he's still that same guy, wanting to protect others, no matter what. She knows she'll have no success in swaying him at that point. Hence why she tells him exactly that on the boat later.

The next pivotal scene, I'd say, is her watching Ashley wake up and learn of Luis' death. Ada mostly treats Ashley like a nuisance, something Leon has to protect. Because that's his job. But in that moment, she sees the genuine connection they share with each other. She sees that Leon cares. And not just because Ashley is an innocent person he has to save, but because it's Ashley.

Ada's arc throughout Separate Ways is not that connected to Leon, which is a good thing. Similarly to Leon concluding his story from RE2R by saving Ashley and proving to himself (first and foremost) that he can protect someone he cares about, and that his humanity is a strength, not a weakness, Ada learns to accept herself, too. She's visibly conflicted at the start of SW, but by the end of it, she knows what she has to do, and she made peace with that. Her hesitating before going against Wesker in the facility is one of the last moments of her hesitating with her intentions.

But, again, that scene is more about her and Luis. Luis is very important to Ada's character in SW, and I think that's neat.

While the scene itself is kinda awkward, her encountering Ashley during the final battle is another arguably important one. Her watching Leon and Ashley before that was about her witnessing Leon's care for her. Now she sees that Ashley fully reciprocates that care. They are on equal ground with each other.

And so, the final scene between them. I already said that Leon settled on his answer concerning Ada before that. But Ada makes one final opening to him. It's a selfish one. After all, what exactly would happen if Leon agreed to come with? Would they just leave Ashley to die and fly off into the sunset? On some level, I think Ada knows that what she's asking is unrealistic, especially for Leon. But I think it also speaks of her progression throughout Separate Ways. Ada learns to be more genuine with herself, even if it means being selfish or asking something that she knows will be rejected.

So, she shoots her shot one last time. Leon gives his answer. Ada is not surprised by it. But she is visibly upset by it. She knew it was coming, though.

So, they do exactly that. They go their separate ways. At least for now.

[rojacatmisa]

Chapter 10 ➺ Not a cloud in sight

Hey readers! I think this chapter can almost be read as a one shot as long as you read the summary first! It's a shorter and very fluffy chapter, still minor DNI sorry. Thanks, tough ones, that are keeping up with that really long story! It's still not the end of it!

Starting over in Madrid

Misa Rodriguez x Reader (Nicky/first person)

After moving to Madrid as the new Real Madrid photographer, Nicky's eyes can't look away from the pretty face of Misa Rodriguez. But how is she going to handle her growing desire for the Canarian goalkeeper when her working contract's strictly forbidding her to date players?

Chapter 1 ➺ A harder job than I thought Chapter 2 ➺ Clearly on a bad slope Chapter 3 ➺ Calmly panicking Chapter 4 ➺ Hell Clasico Chapter 5 ➺ Valleys and peaks Chapter 6 ➺ Paris est magique! Chapter 7 ➺ In the haze Chapter 8 ➺ Confusion and directions Chapter 9 ➺ A place for words

TW: smut +18, mention of periods 4,5K words

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"Ladies and gentlemen please remain seated and attached during takeoff ."

My fingers squeezed the hand she had let out for me on the armrest.

"I’m glad I’m not seated next to you when we travel with the Real or I’d have a broken hand by now!" the goalkeeper chuckled lightly and winced, my grip crushing her palm as I focused on the cover of a magazine stored in the back of the seat in the front row. "Relax and enjoy your fight to Formentera" the title said provocatively. I was nowhere close to being relaxed, Misa’s poor hand being the proof of my fear of flying right now. 

I had never been an air person, afraid of highs, planes, and even of kites when I was young. My two feet had always felt right on spot when being firmly on the ground or at least less than ten feet above it. That was why I couldn’t even answer the goalie when the plane quitted the earth and took off toward the sky at full speed. 

I closed my eyes and tried hard to concentrate on the warm and large hand under mine. My grip loosen slightly, my palm was sweating and I wiped it on my jeans before taking Misa’s hand back. Her skin felt soft, her fingertips attempted soothing motions and succeed at making me loose my focus on the speed, the high and the feeling of being trapped. Misa’s fingers were always distracting.

The plane stabilized and the now familiar "seatbelt is no longer required" sound rang out and my eyes flung opened. "Respira, Cariño. Estoy aquí para ti", Misa left my hand but only to lift the armrest so she could wrap her arm around my shoulders. Her other hand found my chin and lift it, and I could do nothing but dive in her brown eyes as she led her face closer until her plump lips pressed lightly onto mine. 

I closed my eyelides again to let her kiss take me away from the plane. The feel of her lips ghosting all over my face sent shivers in my body, followed by the first itches of desire. I briefly thought of how easily Misa could work me up and wondered if there would be a day the tiniest contact of her lips wouldn’t make me want her at once. To put a stop to my growing excitement, I preferred to snuggle up to her. Breathing in her sweet perfume helped me finally relax a bit. 

"I know it’s not obvious right now but I’m like, really really happy we go on holidays together, Mis’", I murmured. 

"Oh… I was precisely thinking I should have left you at the airport…"

"I don’t believe you, nasty girl…" 

The young woman wrapping arm pulled me closer and she kissed my forehead, "En verdad, I can’t wait you meet Jenni, Ale and Laia, Cari!"

"You know, I’m a bit anxious to see them since you told me you and Jenni jumpscared Alexia so much once, she almost threw up…" 

"Don’t be scared, you’re perfectly loca para nosotras, you’ll blend in no time!" We both chuckled until a shake of the plane made me tense again and I sunk deeper into the goalie’s cuddles. 

***

The taxi parked in front of a large modern villa with the biggest bay windows I’d ever seen. The house was juste above one of the many beaches of Formentera island, framed by many pine trees and colorful flowery bushes, the hard sun of noon perfecting the chic summer decor. 

We picked up our luggages and went to the front door, Misa rang the doorbell while I twisted my fingers nervously, feeling so intimidated by meeting her closest friends. 

"¡Estan aquí! Ya voy!" I heard from behind the door. I stepped aside, half hiding behind the goalie as the door opened in front of us. 

Jennifer Hermoso was one hell of a woman, no, it was more than that, it felt like a hurricane was about to swept us both when Jenni saw us and jumped on her friend with many hugs and excited words of welcome. 

After what, she turned to me, so tall and muscled she could have been really intimidating if wasn’t for her large and warm smile. "Nicky! Por fin nos conocemos!" As Jenni hugged me eagerly, two other faces appeared in the door way. 

"Jenni, acaba de llegar, déjala respirar", said a blond sturdy woman who could be no one but the charismatic and famous Alexia Putellas. 

The third one, Laia Codina, added "La estás ahogando, Jenni."

But Misa interrupted the chatty women, "Hey… chicas, habla ingles porfi, Nicky entiende algunas frases pero no habla corramente español", and the three of them nodded in agreement before we followed them inside the villa.

"Nicky! So it is you who snatched the heart of our bromista Misa!" Jenni wave to me to come to the kitchen bar as she pulled a bottle of tequila from the cupboard. The other footballers quickly joined at fetching the different cocktail ingredients. 

I pulled a nervous smile "Yeah, it’s me. What does bromista means?" 

"It means prankster!" Laia exclaimed from across the kitchen. "Chicas, do you realize Misa la malota has found a girl ? How do you stand her, Nicky? Everybody here knows she’s disreputable." 

With a little smile on her lips, Misa huffed and rolled her eyes as she aligned five glasses in front of the striker, who was pouring tequila into a big shaker. 

"I’m keeping an eye on her", I said, looking proudly at the goalie leaning on the bar beside me, and I patted the top her head.

The three footballers simultaneously released a tenderized "Ohhhhh". 

"She’s the good one for you, Misa", said Alexia. 

"Yes, she hasn’t even argued with the fact that you’re a mean girl", Jenni pointed out.

"She’s got what you need, I say you should married her now", concluded Laia. 

That made me laugh, the nonsense of the three friends but especially the goalkeeper’s exasperated pout.

"I knew it was going to be like this…", Misa sighed, resigned. 

Jenni handed Misa a few limes, a knife and a juicer, "Exprima las limas, porfa. We wouldn’t let you get away without checking Nicky’s alright, we know you, Hermanita", she said before turning to me, "Nickita, swimming pool or city tour this afternoon?" 

"Pool’s great", I answered, too tired from the flight to really enjoy a long walk in town. 

I couldn’t suppress a yawn. "You want to take a nap? There is no rush", Misa asked me while putting the freshly pressed lime juice into the shaker. 

Laia and Alexia leant onto the bar and whispered to each other, peering at us mischievously. "She’s so soft when she’s talking to her"

"Lover Misa is back on board!"

"Look at her sparkling eyes!"

"¡Basta! Chicas!" Misa grumbled, "It’s getting annoying!" 

Jenni laughed, "You’re such a joke! You’d be doing ten times worst if you were in our position!" 

"You don’t know, I was never in that position", the goalie shrugged. 

Jenni precisely divided the shaken beverage between the glasses, handed each woman a cocktail and a friendly shove at the goalie.

"Sabes que te queremos Misa! Bienvenida a Nicky ! Salud Chicas, holidays has just started!" she said, lifting her glasses, and we joined her in a profusion of joyful exclamations.

***

Holidays weren’t just holidays. 

It took me a moment to realize I didn’t have to drop Misa’s hand or tear my eyes from hers as soon as I’d heard footsteps approaching. I didn’t have to abruptly stop a kiss like we often did when we’d snatch an intimate moment in the looker room. 

During the first days, I couldn’t be close to the goalie, the kind of closeness that means more than standing next to her, in front of her friends, jumping or twitching uncomfortably with the feeling of being observed. 

Misa, on her side, didn’t seem to have internalize our hiding habits. She often came to hug me or put a swift kiss on my lips every time she had the occasion, causing her infernal friends to gossip more each time. It was true Jenni, Alexia and Laia quickly made me feel confortable, mocking and teasing everyone like I had always been part of their groupe and even Jenni’s amused and tender look began to feel like a caring presence. 

A few days passed and I barely hided when my eyes devoured the goalie dripping body climbing out of the pool. I only tempered myself by modesty and to avoid being the target of new mockeries. The next day, the way I giggled when Misa pulled me on her lap while sun tanning even made me feel light, her mouth grazing my bare skin only a cute demonstration of affection. 

So slowly I got it, being here meant being free. 

I could feel being both her friend and lover when she would absentmindedly put her hand on my thigh, grab my waist when I’d passed by or whispered something silly in my ear as we chatted all together by the pool. We could hold hands when our little groupe wandered around the streets of Es Pujols. We could dance pressed together in a tender making out at the club, surrounded by people who didn’t give a damn about Real Madrid and who was kissing its goalkeeper. 

But the best part of it was to be with her, all day, all night, days after days. There were no goodbyes, no being appart, even for a day or so, no moments in between. Just moments with my girlfriend, living with my girlfriend and enjoying every little bit of it, from her burned morning toasts to her loud snores having me to put earplugs every nights. It was like an endless day off in Madrid where not only a city but a whole island stood ready for us to explore as a couple, surrounded by friends, with no other things in mind than planing our next cruise or booking a local speciality restaurant we wanted to try.

Being Misa’s girlfriend was easy and flowing like the waveless sea of Formentera. 

***

“ … and they found the guilty vein and burned it”, Misa finished, smiling mildly at my astonished expression.  

I reset my position on the stone bench, crossing my legs, the screeching of cicadas filling our last night on the island. “And it healed your tachycardia?” 

“Yes, I was healed and able to play football again!” she concluded with small laugh like going through conscient heart surgery at the age of thirteen was nothing more than buying bread. 

I was gagging, impressed by her courage at a young age and by the strength and determination it gave her since. "Woaw, I’m speechless. You already loved football back then".

"Football is my passion for life, I can’t live without it. Like… you couldn’t live without chocolate chips cookies".

I slapped her shoulder, "Tsss, silly girl! You’re just bummed because you can’t eat my biscuits!"

"No, I swear you have a problem with sweet food, Nicky! Your cupboards are always full of it! Like, your kitchen is stuffed with several boxes of the same biscuit, it looks like a shop!" Misa laughed, looking at me tenderly. 

"You never know what could happen, I don’t want to go hungry in the middle of the night and have nothing to eat…"

"It has never happened since we started dating. I’m telling you, you’re addicted to sugar! I should call you Azúcariño from now."

And Misa took me in her arms, love in her eyes so visible I blushed and was happy for the darkness of that part of the garden. "You would not!" I chuckled, moving a strayed strand of hair from her face. 

"I surely would, Azúcari."

The brunette was already laying small kisses all over my face, making me laugh more, something in me purring deliciously at the feel of being loved so much. 

"You’re so sweet, Mis’", I said wrapping my arms around her broad comforting shoulders. "You’re right, I’m addicted. You’re my dark chocolate chunky cookie, all strong and sweet". 

Misa and I simply looked fondly at each other a moment, the moonlight reflecting in our shiny eyes while my fingertips traced random shapes on her nap. Then, I softy pressed my lips on hers and we lost ourselves in a long kiss as music started to resound from afar. 

“Everything is ready!”

I startled at the sound of Jenni’s voice close by, followed by the rustling noise of leaves and the tall and lean silhouette of the striker appeared behind us. 

"Hola tortolitos! Stop your crap and join the party!"

"Party!" Misa jumped on her feet at once "Vamos Nicky, yeahhhh!", she screamed, running toward the house. 

Jenni and I both rolled our eyes. "Misa…", we giggled in synch. 

When we arrived near the pool, Misa was already dancing like a beast with Laia, both of them covering the song with their voice. Jenni was quick to join them while I preferred to go sit in a lounge chair beside Alexia, watching her three teammates with a motherly look. 

"They’re always wild", she laughed. 

"Yeah, they’re having so much fun", I agreed, my eyes not leaving the bouncing shape of Misa dancing and jumping excitedly while looking in turn at Jenni and Laia. 

"And you Nicky, are you having good holidays ?"

I sighed of ease, "Perfect". 

The footballer chucked lightly "Good, I’m happy for you two. I hope you’ll find a way about the work problem", Alexia added a bit awkwardly. 

My heart tightened. Of course Misa has told them about the clause. I was searching my mind about what to say when two large hands pulled me to my feet and dragged me to the dance floor.  

"You have to dance on this one, it’s Formentera de Aitana! So right on point!", Misa told me, hopping in place while pushing me in the middle of the dancing girls. Soon their spirit took me too and we all sang in a chaos of false notes. 

We danced for hours, song after song. Time didn’t seem to exist as the party stretched in the night, cocktails and beer refilled as soon as swallowed. 

"No! No! Misaaaa! Noooooo!", I screamed in vain as the goalkeeper heaved me in her arms and ran toward the swimming pool with little care for my protests. A second later, our bodies broke the water surface with a huge splash.

I regain my breath, spitting "Fuck you Mis’! I wanted to wear those shoes tomorrow! And you took yours off before jumping! » I yelled, mad at the sight of the abandoned white snickers beside the pool.

The goalie just laughed and pulled me close to her, the melodious notes of the music accompanied our bodies pressing against each other in the water.

"Te quiero a ti… let’s go upstairs, we’ll say we’re tired". The brunette softy said, knowing exactly how to make herself forgiven, and I shivered with the realisation of how badly I wanted her right now.

***

I pushed Misa against the bedroom mirror, her hair still wet from the pool sent droplets on the glass. Our room was in fair distance from the party, we had closed all the doors we could and the air was warm and loaded with humidity inside the villa. 

My fingers slipped under her drenched T shirt and rose along her spine to reach the hook of her bra. I pulled both of them off, took a step back to take in the half naked figure of the goalkeeper. A smug smile spread on Misa’s face as my look got heavier with desire. 

Her hands grasped her own short, she slowly pushed it down her ankle and stepped out of them. She dared stay there a moment, in front of the mirror, the reflection presenting to me her bare body from every angles. 

I reached out to her, pressing against her. “You’re fucking gorgeous...” I yelped on her lips and she led me onto the bed, laying on her back before swiftly pulling me over her. I chuckled at her eagerness, taking my top off as I straddled her.

“I was dying to do that for hours! You were so pretty on that bench...” she panted, working at undressing me as well. But she froze as she pulled my pantie down. “Uh, um, mierda... Nicky, you’re having your period..."

“What?! No!“ I moaned bitterly, jumping off her and heading to the bathroom. “Fucking shit! No!”.

Misa groaned from the bedroom “Madre mia! Not on our last night together!”

“I think I'm more frustrated that you!” I said, changing pantie and coming back to the bed. I sent her a pleading look before bending down toward her lips. I kissed them softly, felt my core already screaming for her touch and my stomach swirling lightly. “But I think I’m ok to take care of you all night long, then” I confessed, chuckling at my girlfriend fidgeting under me. 

The goalie let out a small whimper and closed her eyes as her fingers sunk in my hair. Still kissing her with passion, I slowly spread my legs, opening hers wide in the same movement. Misa released another whine and squirmed. I was aiming to work her up and we stayed like this a moment, depending our kiss and caressing.

The quickening rhythm of her breathing encouraged me to hold on. I sent a finger tracing the shape of her abs and felt her hips bucking over nothing. My palms brushed the insides of her tights, going, but very slowly, toward her intimacy. Her hips wiggled again, accompanied by a low moan. “Nicky... you want me to be as frustrated as you?” 

“Shh, just wet a little more for me” I teased, not really minding if she had get the play on the word as the young woman pulled my lips against her neck and sighed. I took my time to lick the soft skin there and ended by nipping her earlobe, sending a shiver along the goalkeeper’s wriggling body.

Lowering my hips, I spread her legs more and started to press against her powerful tights. The moves sent her body upward in little trusts, her intimacy still spread out and completely left alone. Misa’s brows were furrowed, lost in her longing as her arms ensnared my neck.

“Por qué me torturas así?” the brunette shuddered against my lips.  

It was my time to moan, the thought of arousing Misa beyond reason blowing my mind and setting my lower belly afire. I continued to grind on her more roughly as I pined both her hands onto the pillow. Her chest rose up as she arched, whining more, and presented itself irresistibly to me. 

I descended my mouth to graze at the flower tattooed between her breast. My lips found her nipple and sucked it gently. Her legs wrapped themselves around my hips as I eagerly licked her chest, turning both of us into a whining mess. The brunette legs were pressing on mine, desperate for a contact between them but I hold them wide apart and she finished by closing her eyes, her plump lips parting to let out frustrated whimpers.

My mouth ended her complaint, pushing my tongue between her teeth and my fingers between her legs. Her jaw dropped as she released a long sigh of relief. Misa was drenched, having me panting with delight and I waisted no time before gathering her wetness on my fingers tips to coat her lips and slide easily on her core. Her pelvis moved along with my fingers. She had buried her face in the side of my neck, her mouth on my ear allowed me to perceive every sounds of her jerky breathing, making my hairs bristle and my brain dizzy with want.

When I stared to move in circles on her clit, the woman moans turned into tormented cries. She squirmed again, her pelvis pressing more against my hand and sliding my fingers downer. 

Getting where Misa wanted me most, I tried to settle better over her body when I heard her whiny voice in my ear. “The strap we brought, in the drawer facing the bed… I want you… llévame”

I moaned, her demand spreading goosebump over my all body, and rose up at once to retrieve the precious item. I opened the drawer, searching at the back of it, my hand falling on a suggestive shape wrapped in a silky black fabric and I swiftly pulled out a purple toy and a harness. 

Misa stretched lasciviously as she watched me put on the harness, securing the toy in it and coming back onto the bed over her. Her hooded eyes kept looking up at me expectantly, yet her moves directed my body over her, guiding my hips until the end of the strap rubbed against her core. The sexual tension between us was so strong it was palpable as we continued to stare in each other eyes, our breath rasping and our hips moving in anticipation. 

I led the strap downer to line it up with her entrance. “listo?” I preferred to ask, making sure she was still willing to take it. 

Misa nodded and enfold me with her arms as I began to push very slowly. The goalie winced at the stretch, her grasp tightening around my shoulders. “Are you alright?” I checked. 

“Sí” she sighted, “Bésame, Nicky.” 

I obeyed immidialaty, kissing the corner of her mouth while pushing further inside. Misa’s mouth fell open. A particularly loud cry filled the bedroom, her back arching when my hips met her pelvis. I waited for her to get used to the feel, our face pressed together in a tender making out, and pulled out softy. Her hands racked randomly on my back, holding me closer as I plunged the strap again and I started to make love to her. 

I slightly quickened the pace, Misa whined louder, her hips accompanying the new rhythm. As she arched more, her head fell back onto the pillow, her arms going up and her fingers digging into it. My nose grazed the crook of her exposed neck, inhaling her intoxicating scent.

I was beyond the point of excitement, feeling something hot and swollen growing inside me as my love for Misa seemed to overflowed all around us, bonding us more than the strap between our legs. I felt the toy going in less easily, guessed she was tightening around it and I slowed down. The rhythm less demanding, my glance rested on her face, her blissed out features were more than I could take in. 

A high pitch moan escaped my lips. Misa opened her eyes, two dark pools reflecting my own craving. I couldn’t suppress a strangle yelp as something burst inside of me. My hips pressed against her pelvis as my body shivered under the uncommonly soft and fluttering orgasm that took over me. It felt different, less intense than coming at touching but it lasted as I stayed unmoving, buried inside of her. 

I paused a moment, my lips brushing her cheeks, breathing out my pleasure and emotions, before resuming my trusts inside and out. As soon as I moved again, her whines resounded in the bedroom, higher pitched, almost pleading now. Combined with the way her fingers sunk in my flesh, I could tell she was close and I started to pound harder and faster.

This time Misa fell silent. I felt the small blows of her breast on my face, erupting from her mouth each time I pushed my strap back inside. Her pretty features were frown hard, dying for a release, her all body clinging to the toy, her tights starting to tremble as I filled her again and again.

“Dios mio! ” She cried. I was panting now as I felt her clenching again. My forearms supporting my own weight were becoming shaky but I hold on, trying to keep a steady pace. I grasp her muscled shoulders, burring my face in her neck, knowing she could hear how insanely turned on I was by making love to her like that. 

A long cry escaped her soft lips, her brows furrowing more before relaxing completely when a last thrust pushed her over the edge. She yelled again and again, louder every time, her body wiggling with enjoyment under mine as her embrace tightened madly on me, locking me there when I wouldn't have moved an inch away from her. 

Her whimpering lasted, quieter now, and she loosened her grip. I pulled out of her and took the harness off. I dropped myself at her side, crawling back to her face. My heart was drumming in my chest with efforts and emotions as I kissed her cheek, my palms stroking her shivering body with all the tenderness I could. “I love you so much.” I sighed, feeling my eyes burning at the sight of her, crumbling with pleasure. 

Misa rolled toward me, her breathing was still shaky and her eyes shut tight as she nested her face against my chest. “Humm, love you Nicky” she whispered, her lips slightly trembling. “You make me feel so good, and safe.” 

I pressed her body closer, not baring the tiniest space between us, my heart bursting under my overwhelming feelings. Misa’s words felt like a gift nobody had ever give me… A few tears fell from my eyes before I knew what was happening, dripping on the goalie resting in my arms. 

She looked up at once, tender a first, then lost when she saw I was crying.

“It’s alright” I smiled, my voice heavy with my emotions, “I’ve never felt that way with anybody… you’re so special Misa, and you make me feel special too.”

Misa’s fingers delicately wiped the tears off my face, her lips pressing on my temple. “You’re going deeper than the strap…” the goalie’s chuckled, her own eyes shiny. 

I didn’t know for how long we stayed like this but we had fallen asleep for a long time when our bodies finally parted. When the light woke me up in the middle of the night, I realized we hadn’t pulled the curtain, the full moon high and bright in the cloudless sky. Tomorrow, each of us would return to their families for the rest of holidays. Misa and I would not see each other for three weeks.

I went back to bed after having closed the curtains, pressing my face between her shoulder blades and I started drifting back to sleep, her snores welcomed tonight, knowing that I was going to missed even that in a few days.

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[spiritofpassionfruit]

A–Aventio TGCF idea?? Wherein Civil God Veritas Ratio meets the infamous Ghost King Aventurine during his first mission cuz cuz like— The "live for me" paralels?!? The one who has all the luck partner as well?!? The villain who was actually not the Villain this whole time!?!? The loving humanity a little too much it causes the downfall of a god?!?!?!?

Rant AU in the tags proceed with caution

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

wanna ask how you feel about the eridan bpd headcanon/theory(?? not sure what to call it!) you're so good at your character analysis and i'd love to see your outlook on it

Since I don't have a degree or any formal training in psychology, I feel deeply uncomfortable diagnosing characters. I've made an autism joke before but only because I'm on the spectrum. He's definitely traumatized and anxious, but I mean those as descriptors of his behavior rather than capital-D Diagnoses. I try to focus on those when I can - the cause and effect of cognition, self-image, and behavior - and those factors may very well match up with DSM criteria, but I try not to touch an actual diagnosis with a ten foot pole unless the author has explicitly stated that X character has Y condition.

[magentagalaxies]

vent incoming:

got my grades back for my courses last semester and most of it was to be expected, mostly A's, maybe an A-, etc. but i honestly can't get over the fact that my independent study (the buddy cole documentary) was for some reason given a B. like sure getting a B isn't bad per se, I usually get at least one B every semester and i honestly don't really care about what my exact gpa is as long as i can graduate, but come on. this school put me through months of psychological torment over this project and didn't even have the nerve to give me a B+??? i'm still coping with the self-doubt they forced on me and this bullshit is not helping!!

[pyrriax]

ANYWHO goodnight tumblr i'll be back on the art grind tomorrow i think 🙏