#shuttle run with music

[friendlycursedspaceotter]

honestly, dyspraxia would explain a lot. why i randomly fall and trip when there is literally nothing to fall or trip on. time blindness (that could just be the adhd, but you never know). why i hate driving with a burning passion and only do it because america is stupid about public transit. and also why autocorrect must save me and why i don't type with my thumbs and probably why my handwriting looks the way it does. and i can't catch things except when all the physics aligns and-- wait, did i have difficulty learning how to ride a bike? does this explain my dance issues?

was i just masking YET ANOTHER DISABILITY? HOW MANY DISABILITIES IN A TRENCH COAT AM I? AND HOW DID I NOT PUT THE PIECES TOGETHER UNTIL LITERALLY THIS WEEK?

and just so you don't beat me to it:

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Hotter Than Texas | Part I

(unofficially: Brother's Worst Enemy)

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

Alrighty y'all, this is for everyone who has so patiently waited for me to make this a thing XD Not sure if I could squeeze a whole series out of this one but we shall see. Maybe at least a part 2. Enjoy!

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin's baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley's dream girl worst nightmare.

Aka it's a road trip, strap in.

CW: swearing, age gap (10 years)

The mission is simple. Collect Seresin Junior from the train station near the main gate of the base and deliver said cargo to the Seresin homestead in Eastern Texas on his way to Atlanta, Georgia for a long overdue visit with his grandparents. It isn’t rocket science. It sure as hell doesn’t hold a candle to the canyon run he pulled off just the other month. And yet, Bradley’s drumming his fingers anxiously on the hood of his Bronco as he leans into its frame, waiting on the trolley from downtown San Diego.

While Jake and Bradley have recently made peace after their longstanding cold war, Bradley isn’t exactly thrilled to meet another one of his kind. Besides, he isn’t one for small talk, and the prospect of spending the next two days with a complete stranger is downright daunting. He prefers music to conversation and he’s hoping that his road trip companion won’t be offended when he turns up the radio and forgets there’s anybody else in the car.

When Hangman had asked for the favor, he assured Bradley that he was his last choice – which wasn’t exactly a compliment, but Bradley appreciated the gesture, nonetheless. By the end of the term, there was nobody from their squadron left on base except Bradley, and he would be heading east anyway, might as well provide shuttle service while he’s at it.

As the trolley whistles into the station, Bradley pushes off his car and straightens his back, watching the tinted windows as they zip by, a blur at first and then gradually separating as the trolley comes to a stop.

Bradley leaves his car to walk around the fence, not quite sure how he’s going to be greeting a person he’s never before seen, but it’s not like he’s going to fashion a sign for the occasion. He sticks his hands into his pockets, the breeze picking up his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt like a parachute before it starts whipping around his torso in the wind tunnel on the platform.

He glances around at the commuters stepping off the trolley, trying to pick out the blondes that might resemble his colleague, when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns his head, just as you say, “Rooster, right?”

He blinks at you, slightly disoriented. You look nothing like Hangman, thank fuck, because Bradley can’t take his eyes off you and, as inappropriate as this reaction is, it would make it that much worse if you did. He gives you a sideways grin. “What gave me away?” he says.

“My brother told me to find the dorkiest guy at the station,” you respond, grinning at him.

Bradley chuckles. “So, you’re walking to Texas, then,” he says, stepping around you.

You laugh, struggling to redirect the wheels of your suitcase.

Bradley bends down to grab the handle. “I can take that,” he says, tucking away the retractable bar and lifting it off the ground by the strap.

“Thanks,” you say, cringing slightly as Bradley lifts the luggage as though you’re embarrassed by its weight.

But after the countless exercise drills over the years, Bradley hardly notices that it’s heavy. In fact, he could probably carry it over his head. He eyes you inconspicuously as you fall in step with him, wondering if perhaps that might impress you – not that he wants to impress you.

“Actually, he said I couldn’t miss you because you’d be a head taller than everyone else, and probably wearing a very bright shirt.”

Bradley looks over at you with a grin. “Hopefully I didn’t disappoint?”

You eye his shirt flapping in the breeze. “I found you, didn’t I?”

Bradley lifts your suitcase into the trunk of his car and walks around to open your door for you.

You give him a suspicious look. “Thanks,” you say.

Bradley nods at you, offering a hand to help you in. Once you’re seated, he shuts the door behind you and exhales unsteadily the kind of sigh that often accompanies a guilty conscience. There’s no way he could possibly get entangled in a mess of this magnitude. And a colossal mess it would become if he were to develop any sort of soft spot for his recent enemy’s baby sister. Bradley, being a sensible, mature adult, understands this unequivocally. But, when he rounds the car and climbs into the driver’s seat next to you, the notion that he’s not allowed under any circumstances to find you attractive flies right out his rolled down window.

This is because you’re already tuning the radio like you own the place and because you smell like a goddess. Bradley has no clue whether it’s your hair or your perfume or your goddamn essence that’s permeated his upholstery in under ten seconds, but whatever it is, he certainly wouldn’t mind smelling it on his sheets in the morning.

Fuck. He’s fucking fucked.

“This alright?” you ask casually, as if you didn’t just hijack a stranger’s radio.

He cringes at the stereo; he’ll have to work on your taste in music. “Got your seatbelt on?” he asks as he pulls out.

You turn around in your seat and pull on the seatbelt.

Bradley promptly hits the breaks and you lurch forward slightly, the seatbelt in your hand getting stuck on its way out. He looks over at you with an air of seriousness despite the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The seatbelt should be the first thing you do when you enter a vehicle.” Not fiddle with the radio, he adds silently.

You raise your eyebrows at him in amusement. “Okay, dad.”

Bradley nearly shudders at your response. He’s probably a good ten years older than you, so, really, while dad might be stretching it, you’re not too far off. “Keep up that attitude and you’ll be listening to Metallica the whole way home.”

You smirk at him. “I like Metallica, so joke’s on you, bud.”

Bradley starts driving again. “If you like Metallica, then why are we listening to this trash?”

Your jaw drops and you reach for the volume dial to turn up the song. “How dare you?”

Bradley rolls his eyes. Something tells him he’s in for a wild ride.

…

About two hours later, Bradley pulls into a small gas station just past the border into Arizona.

“Want something to eat?” he asks, leaning across the console to pop his glove compartment and pull out his wallet. “Or drink?”

You purse your lips. “I could go for a coffee.”

“How do you like it?” he asks.

“With a pinch of salt.”

Bradley gapes at you. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

You snort. “I’m not joking. You should try it! Cuts the bitterness in half, my friend.”

Bradley cringes. “The bitterness is why I drink it.”

You shake your head and declare wisely, “You’ll see.”

“That you’re a nutcase?” Bradley mutters under his breath as he exits the car. He jogs over to the convenience store, determinedly blocking out the seductive quality of your persuasive tone. You could probably convince him to drink a pint of his own urine if you set your mind to it.

Bradley drums impatiently on the counter, waiting for the clerk to finish restocking one of the shelves with chips. While he’s waiting, he glances out to check on you as if you’re a child under his charge. You’ve stepped out of the Bronco to stretch your legs and Bradley doesn’t like the way the two guys in the convertible in behind are eyeing you.

Bradley cranes his neck to check on the clerk’s progress and lets out a stifled sigh. When he looks back outside, he sees that one of the men has approached you and, well, Bradley isn’t about to wait to see what happens next. He drops a bill on the counter and calls out, “Keep the change,” to the clerk before practically slamming his way through the doors with the coffees in his hands.

Why it bothers him that some random dude might want your number is not of consequence. What matters is that Bradley gets rid of this asswipe before you start enjoying his company.

He strides confidently past the man chatting you up and stops right in between you and him, handing you a coffee.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he cautions moodily, not entirely sure how to go about handling a situation in which, objectively speaking, he has no real authority.

You meet his gaze with a small smile. “You don’t say,” you respond with all the sultriness of a blazing, desert sun.

Bradley’s gaze remains unwaveringly on you as he unhooks a pair of Ray-Bans from the neck of his muscle shirt and slides them over his eyes. “Ready to go?” he asks in a level tone, hoping he can avoid what is bound to be an unpleasant interaction with the man still standing behind him.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” the man speaks up. “Didn’t realize you were with someone, honey.”

Bradley keeps his eyes on yours for several moments longer, trying his best not to show the irritation he feels at the way this rando just called you ‘honey’. Reluctantly, he turns to face him, wondering what in the world he could say that wouldn’t make him sound jealous as fuck.

But before Bradley could speak, you slide casually into his side, leaning on him like it’s the most natural thing. “That’s just fine,” you say to the man. “No harm, no foul.”

Bradley looks down at your head as it nestles into his shoulder and then lifts his arm to let you move in closer. Trying to play it cool, he skims the tips of his fingers across your lower back, which is warm and feels like the perfect place to rest his hand.

Convertible guy promptly departs, and Bradley is left standing in an embrace with the one person on the entire planet for whom he should never catch feelings, at a derelict gas station on the outskirts of arid Yuma, Arizona, and the heat is really starting to get to him. Slowly, you start to peel yourself away and Bradley, sensing your withdrawal, drops his hand and recoils from you like you’ve burnt him.

Did it feel nice pretending you were his girl? Sure did. Is he going to erase it from his memory and never let himself so much as shake your hand again? Absolutely.

Read Part 2

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I’ll be tagging the rest in the comments probably tomorrow!

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[mercurial-chuckles]

Savage Saturday Thought!

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader Warnings: Just fluffy fluff | Mutual pining | Smitten Captain Rogers | Dad kinda playing cupid | Unbeta'd | Lemme know if I'm missing anything. | WC: 832 A/N: This drabble is more of a case study. With all the weird stuff going on with my blog lately and the lack of interaction, I just wanted to see if my fic-tag posts are getting filtered out. Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy this blurb--and if you do, please take a moment to interact. It would mean the world to me. Drabble based on a prompt @buck-star (Thank you, Sydney 🩷🫂) shared it with me a while ago "Friends, that's all." "I've seen that boy almost snap his neck because he heard your laugh and wanted to see why you were laughing. But yes, keep telling yourself you're friends." Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! GIF credits to the OP. Thank you. Check out my other works: Masterlist

♡ Weeklong Thingamajig ♡

Indulge Away!

****

"Stop it," you grumbled.

If you could, you'd have fled, but the cabs cost a fucking fortune from the compound, and the shuttle services weren't running for the next four hours anyway.

Your dad shook his head, chuckling. You bet his eyes were glinting, too. But you didn't dare look his way, so you put your entire focus on staring at the lake.

The water was too still. A little breeze would help. Unbeknownst to you, your eyes shifted, catching sight of the man you'd been trying your hardest to avoid.

Holy moly! What a glorious man! Golden boy man, indeed.

He looked divine. That t-shirt he wore looked so good on him. A light shade of olive green. It suited him. Who were you kidding? You bet that man could pull off any color.

"Really? You can't keep ignoring me, young lady!" your dad piped in. And your attention immediately snapped back to the lake.

"I could try," you mumbled.

Your dearest dad was being far too annoying right now.

This was all Tony's fault, really. Tony had stumbled upon you having lunch with your dad near the compound one day while your father was in town. Unfortunately, Tony had been craving a milkshake that day and happened to spot the two of you.

What followed was Tony's overt excitement at seeing you there as if he hadn't seen you in forever. He was so loud it nearly made poor Derek drop the tray he was carrying to the next table. Tony had invited himself to join, and to your dismay, your dad had been utterly delighted. That was the beginning of it. From there, it had all been a downward spiral for your sanity. Tony and your dad had a common taste in music and a penchant for sharing your distressing tales.

Worse still, your dad now had access to the compound. This morning, he'd even called to say he'd pick you up himself since he was heading to the spring party anyway.

Not that you really minded. Not deep, deep down. Truthfully, you were happy your dad wasn't brooding or getting lost in his paintings anymore.

But the real dreadful issue?

Your dear father had become far too intrigued by your interactions with a certain man. Your dad was no fool.

So, when he'd innocently handed you a lemonade earlier, you should have recognized the look on his face. You should have braced yourself. But you'd been none the wiser.

Because.

You were sitting on one of the lounge chairs by the beach, busy enjoying the view. The scenery, the warming lemonade, the hubbub, the still lake, and most importantly, one extremely gorgeous Captain Rogers. The sharp nose, that jaw, those muscles, those thighs, and…

"It's for him, isn't it? Those special art supplies you requested for a "friend's" birthday last year. Those were for the good Captain. Weren't they?" He remarked casually, and you froze.

You'd been fighting your case, nonchalantly, but your dad was grinning at you with that weird smile.

That was three whole minutes ago and you were counting, just trying to keep a cool-as-a-cucumber look, which was, mind you, not an easy task in that scorching heat.

You did consider begging someone to take you home, but that would only mean handing victory to your father.

Maybe you could walk. Yeah, the heat was really getting to you. Wasn't it?

"Friends, Dad. That's all," you insisted, trying your best to steer clear of discussing your one-sided, clearly non-platonic affections for Captain Rogers. You were careful not to tread into that dangerous territory, even in your own thoughts.

"Uh-huh! Friends!" Your dad echoed, nodding.

"I've seen that boy almost snap his neck because he heard your laugh and wanted to see why you were laughing. But yes, keep telling yourself and me that you're friends." He continued, looking far too smug.

Your dad was overthinking Steve's reaction--the too kind-hearted, goddamn gorgeous man's reaction--just like you often did, and chastised yourself for doing that exactly.

You shook your head, a scoff ready to escape your throat, but you held your ground, and turned to face your dad.

"Excuse you, old man. Aren't you supposed to detest my guy friends? Isn't that, like, your thing?" you demanded lamely, feeling a flicker of satisfaction at gaining some upper hand in the conversation.

However, he simply laughed.

"Yeah, I do. But I don't mind this guy." He shrugged, gesturing subtly in Steve's direction before continuing, "I don't need to lecture him on taking care of you. He already does it better than I do. And he loves you." He smiled, completely oblivious to the emotional grenade he'd just tossed.

You gasped, the lemonade slipping from your grasp and spilling all over your sundress.

"Hey, you okay?" Steve's voice came beside you, sending your heart into overdrive. Your breath hitched. Your dad's little speech about Steve Rogers loving you had reached its perfect and utterly humiliating climax. Now, here Steve was, handing you a handkerchief, perched beside you, his brow creased in concern.

To your utter annoyance and Steve's evident confusion, your dad burst out laughing harder.

"I rest my case, cupcake," your dad exclaimed, clearly enjoying himself. "Steve's got you. Now, if you'll excuse me, Clint said he'd show me some cool tricks."

With that, your dad briskly walked away, leaving you to stare at Steve Rogers' balming blue eyes.

****

♡ Weeklong Thingamajig ♡

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[mbsneur]

Last Room

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Summary: you hate Alexia but your best friend salma wants you to get along well with Alexia

Warnings: Smut 18+

WC: 2078

please read this text before going to the story please don't be so strict with me but rather write to me what I can do better or what you wished were different. also tell me if you find the story too long or too short.. Also write to me if you liked it. My requests are always open (and English is not my first language so don't be mad at me) and if you have any ideas for the future about who I should write please tell me… the topics I will choose by myself unless you have a request for one or two people I will Read everything.. in the next survey I will take a few ideas from the old survey and new ones…. now read and I hope you like it <33

You hate Alexia, her stupid sayings, her arrogant demeanor, the fact that she always wants to take control. You just hate everything when you're around her, she just makes you angry

You had training at Barca, it was a hard training session, you were sweaty and it was hot outside. You walked off the pitch and your best friend Salma came running and put her arm around your shoulder "How can you still have so much energy?" you says laughing and you go towards to the changing room. You all had to get your flight to Paris today. You all have an event with Nike. Salma, Alexia and you the thought of Alexia coming with makes you angry

You sit down at your place and take off your shoes. Alexia and Patri come in and your smile turns into a dull look. Alexia had her big eyes on you again and you were already expecting a stupid comment: "You were good today y/n Finally you do what you're told, you're getting better ," she says to you with a laugh and Patri pushes her to the side. You roll your eyes and want to get up and go to the shower. "A simple thank you would have been enough," she calls after you You wanted to go back and tell her that she should just leave you alone and that she was annoying you but Salma came to your side and pushed you towards the shower

You just want to forget what Alexia said and you take a shower. After a while Alexia came into the shower and you open your eyes briefly and see Alexia scanning your body with her eyes

“Que pasa Alexia, what do you want, keep your fucking eyes to yourself” you say annoyed She raised her arms innocently and smiled "Should I wash your back" she said ironically and she and a few others burst with laughter. You take your towel to go out

You get dressed for the Nike event in a simple white shirt and blue jeans with white shoes. "Hey, hurry up Alexia, we have a flight to catch" Salma calls loudly towards the shower. You are about to put your things in your locker to leave You all wait until Alexia is finally finished. When she's done you run out. You all say goodbye to the others and head towards to your shuttle. The ride was quiet. You listened to music and noticed Alexia's eyes on you every now and then You always wanted to say something but you held yourself back

When you arrived at the airport you all looked for your check-in You still have some time so you decide to get something from Starbucks

You also try to keep as much distance as possible from Alexia. You were at Starbucks and then your check-in started. You handed in your luggage and went to your gate. You had time and you passed the time with music until boarding started and you left on the plane and Salma really wanted to sit at the window so you only had a seat left next to Alexia. You didn't know if this was one of Salma's tricks to bring you closer together but you didn't think it was a good idea. So Alexia sat down the middle and you in the aisle

alexia is a matcho she sat there with her legs spread as if it were natural she unpacked her laptop "alexia can you just make more space and not make your legs so wide it's annoying" you say and look at her snidely ", you really complain about everything where are your manners" she says with a laugh and looks deep into your eyes. All these comments make you angry. You decide to let her just so you can have some peace and

quiet

So you put on your headphones and fall into the seat, dozing until you finally fall asleep When the plane landed you felt someone bumping into your shoulder. You startled slightly and your head moved up from Alexia's shoulder. "Alexia, sorry, I didn't mean to on your shoulder." You said sleepily and rubbed your eyes, obviously embarrassed "It's okay," she says with a slight smile. She's suddenly so sensible. Maybe it's just because she's tired, you think to yourself

You're happy when you finally get to the hotel and can sleep in your own bed

You pick up your suitcases and look for your shuttle in front of the airport. A nice man greets you all in a black car. He takes your all suitcases from you all and asks you all to sit down. It was already evening

When you arrive at the hotel, Salma goes to the reception to pick up your room cards. "How many are you? I still have three names on my display that haven't checked in yet," the lady at the reception says nicely. "Yes, that's us," Salma tells her against "good but unfortunately I have to tell you that we only have two rooms available because you are a little late so two of you would have to share a room"

"Okay, it won't be bad," Salma says, smiling "Well, I need a signature from you here that you have accepted the room cards" Salma signs and accepts the cards

"I'll take the single room, you can share one" says Salma and walks forward "Salma no, I'm so upset I'm happy with my own bed. You can't leave me alone in a room with Alexia."

Alexia looks at you shocked "wow okay, what's your problem, I didn't choose it either, what have I done to you y/n" Alexia snaps at you, you ignore her and devote yourself to Salma "Salma, we can't share the room, you know Alexia and I don't get along," you tell Salma seriously and a little angrily.

"You'll manage to be normal for one night. There's definitely a couch or something. Tomorrow we'll be out of here again," Salma says, holding her card up to the sensor

You look annoyed at Salma as she closes the door to her room. Alexia looks at you with a laugh. "I'm warning you, don't say anything, you can sleep on the couch," you tell her and go to your room You don't know how you're going to get through this with the woman you hate. You're visibly annoyed about the whole thing. "Can't we at least treat each other normally the night , it's so difficult," Alexia says quietly to you. You've found your room and are holding your card on sensor "no alexia it's not possible your presence just annoys me you can just shut up and go to sleep right now"

You look into the room and don't see a couch

"Okey Alexia, I sleep on the side of the window and you keep your distance from me, you understand"

Alexia looks at you "why do you hate me mh" she takes a step closer to you you stand in front of the bed and look at her disparagingly she comes dangerously close „ I hate you because you always try to tell me what to do and with your stupid things Sayings are annoying" Alexia comes closer and closer and you can literally feel her breath on your face

You get a little nervous and Alexia grabs your arm. You look down and try to pull away but her grip becomes tighter

"I think you just need someone to fuck the sass out of you"

She starts kissing your neck lightly and you take your bottom lip between your teeth "Alexia, you're not as good as you think," you tell her flippantly, "let's see what a big mouth you'll still have after I've fucked you mindlessly." She says and now lets her hands slide up and down your sides, lightly squeezing the side of your chest

"Alexia you are shit, you make me so angry and you think you can give me instructions and you can't even play football"

She grabs your neck and raises an eyebrow. She pushes you onto the bed with all her strength and your breath goes out of you slightly. She pulls your shirt over your head and nibbles on your exposed skin and making you ache "give me more, come tell me more" says she against your skin and her grip on your neck becomes loose "I hate you Alexia for everything you say you think you're funny but you're not you're a desperate slut " you spit

"who is desperate and getting fucked" she spits back turning you onto your stomach

She pulls your pants over your ass and helps her by kicking them off your feet. She pulls hard on your braid which makes you scream. She pulls you up from the bed so that your ass is in the air and she pushes your head into the mattress slaps your ass hard which makes you whimper and cry after 8 more strokes she comes closer to your ear and whispers "I'm going to fuck you until you forget your hate and beg for me not to let you go" you breathe hard and sigh in the mattress

She pushes harder and says "and I fuck you so much for the bad girl you are"

you close your eyes and feel a hand in your fold alexia pumps into your hole without warning you breathe hard "fuck alexia i-fuck" you say moaning slightly and try to support yourself but she pushes you down again "mierda you are so tight baby How long have you been waiting for me?" Alexia says in a rough voice and pumps harder into you. You don't answer but instead claw at the paint. Alexia pulls hard on your braid. "Puta answer me" she says harshly. "I don't notice anything about you Even bad in bed" you say and moan loudly Alexia pushes two more fingers into you which makes you scream loudly "Alexia no I can't take it it's too much please"

you feel your tears welling up in your eyes "you'll take it until you cum and tell me who's in charge" you start to squirm and take her fingers as she tells you your legs start to weaken and shake your moans get louder and you hear loud curses from Alexia she fucks you with four fingers and you start to like it you feel how she pushes you closer to the edge "Alexia I'm close don't stop it feels so good" you say Between moans and gasps, "You won't cum until you tell me who you have to listen to" Alexia says and pinching your back lightly

you moan and don't want to say anymore but you also want to cum you want to feel her "Alexia please let me cum I'm begging you I need you to cum"

Alexia scratches your back and gets faster with her fingers. You moan and fill the whole room. "Of course you need me, Bebita I know but you have to tell me who you have listen to“

you press yourself against her "Alexia i have to listen to you let me finally cum please" Alexia laughs and starts to give you kisses "say it again" she says with a playful laugh "Alexia i have to listen to you please let me cum I can't hold it anymore"

You scream and she whispers to you that you can cum. Your eyes roll back and you moan through your hard orgasm. Alexia slows down and gently removes her fingers

do you want a part two? <33

[fandomnerd9602]

Little Pack Christmas

Wolf!Natasha x Reader

You and your wolf hybrid mate Natasha Romanoff were adjusting quite well to being parents to young five year old twins Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. The twins loved you both so much. They could barely stand to be apart from you. Even when you got them enrolled in a little school close by, they needed you both there to pick up and drop them off.

With the winter months approaching fast, you and Natasha had to move full time into your apartment. The guest room was already set up for the twins while Natasha moved comfortably into your room.

It was fantastic having everyone under one roof. And with the passage of time, you and Natasha realized that your first Christmas as a family was coming up.

“What are we gonna do?” Natasha found herself pacing the grounds of your apartment, “it’s our first real Christmas with them!”

“Baby they just need to know how much we love them.” You try to ease your mate’s nerves, “all that matters is that we’re all together. We’re a family now. And family is forever”

“Family” Natasha whispers, a little tear making its way down her cheek, “we have a family.” A little giggle escapes your wolf girl’s lips.

“We have a family” you let out a happy little chuckle

Wanda started showing interest in magical creatures and plushies. Pietro was showing all the makings of a young athlete. Honestly you were happy to see them thrive.

As it drew closer to Christmas. You and Natasha began decorating the apartment. The twins were more than eager to help with set up. You and Natasha would put the tree up, the twins worked on the ornaments.

In the evenings, you would watch old Christmas specials together. Pietro would cuddle into Natasha’s side while little Wanda loved staying cuddled between you and Natasha.

Finally Christmas Day had arrived. And with it, the children were the first up. The little deer hybrids ran into your bedroom, their little deer tails wiggling with anticipation.

“It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas!!!” Little doe Wanda exclaimed as she jumped on you.

Little Pietro took to jumping on Natasha, eager as ever, “wake up! Wake up!!”

Natasha let out a little wolf growl; despite loving the fact that she was a mother now, she still had to get use to how rambunctious kids can be.

“Give Momma and Poppa a couple minutes to wake up, detkas,” you explained before shuttling them out of your room.

Natasha sat up, her reddish hair and wolf tail being an absolute case of bed head. She turned to you with a little hum in her voice.

“Merry Christmas, my hunter” she whispered.

You tenderly took her face in your hands and kissed her, “merry Christmas my honey wolf”

Natasha giggled and took your face in her hands. The two of you sharing little kisses for a minute or so. Even though your eyes were closed, you could hear Natasha’s tail swishing happily against the bedsheets.

The two of you made your way to the living room and put on a Christmas music playlist.

You pulled out two presents for Wanda and Pietro, in truth you weren’t able to buy much due to the sanctuary being a charity that’s still trying to find its footing. But still the children’s eyes gleamed as you presented them with their gifts.

Pietro tore thru his present with glee and found a pair of new track shoes. He had really gotten into running lately.

“Track shoes!!!” The little buck shouted happily, “thank you Momma, Poppa!!”

Wanda tore delicately through her presents to find a little stuffed Niffler from the Fantastic Beasts movies. She had been slowly finding herself a fan of the Wizarding World Series.

“Niffler!!” The little doe exclaimed as she held it to her chest, “I won’t let you out of my sight, mister! Thanks Momma and Poppa”

Natasha smiled, seeing her children so excited for their presents. You slide a small box into your wolf girl’s lap.

“And this is from Poppa to Momma” you said with a little wink.

Natasha opened her gift to find a little pendant necklace with a little see through orb as its centerpiece.

“My hunter,” she whispers, “it’s amazing.”

“Look through the centerpiece,” you instructed her.

Natasha held up the centerpiece to her eye and saw the moon in its particular pathway. “It’s the moon,” she responded.

���Correction. It’s how the moon looked on the day you and I first met all those years ago.” You replied with a smile.

“Oh baby” Natasha teared up before launching herself into your arms, her tail wagging back and forth excitedly.

You kissed her wolf ears while rubbing her lower back. Your children dog piled onto you too. You couldn’t help but chuckle at your predicament. You were being love bombed by your whole family.

Your family. You wouldn’t trade any moment of this for the world.

A merry Christmas indeed.

Tags @lifespectator @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7 @ma1egamer @julieromanoff @texaswolf23 @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @russianredassassin @revanshand @iiconicsfan25 @idkwhatever580 @moonlit-imagines @moonlit-ficrecs @moonpheus @multi-fandom-enjoyer

[mcflymemes]

SCI FI SETTINGS / LOCATIONS PROMPTS *  sci-fi location based prompts for starters, adjust as necessary

spaceship-specific

[ 01 ] the cockpit of a dilapidated spaceship

[ 02 ] the bridge of a massive starship, with windows around the room giving you an incredible view of the stars

[ 03 ] beside the burning remains of a crashed ship

[ 04 ] tucked away in the bunks of a tiny spaceship

[ 05 ] outside a spaceship in the middle of space, using gravity-boots to walk safely across the ship and perform repairs or check a bad sensor

[ 06 ] a bustling ship hangar with crewmembers running about, rushing to get into their ships as the battle draws near

[ 07 ] the weapons locker onboard the ship

[ 08 ] the locker rooms onboard the ship

[ 09 ] the echo-y shuttle bay of a spaceship

[ 10 ] in the ship's command center during an intense battle

[ 11 ] the narrow passageway leading to the ship's weapon system/turrets

[ 12 ] the mess hall, crowded with crewmembers

[ 13 ] your muse's private room onboard the ship

different types of planets

[ 14 ] a dense, foggy planet with oversized plants

[ 15 ] the abandoned base on a moon with low gravity

[ 16 ] a swampy, foggy planet with frightening creatures lurking beneath the water's surface

[ 17 ] an entirely water-covered planet with structures built above the stormy seas for safety

[ 18 ] a hilly, remote planet covered in grasslands

[ 19 ] a lava-covered, mountainous planet with bubbling volcanoes

[ 20 ] a planet trapped in a constant storm, always raining and thundering

[ 21 ] the site of an abandoned colony on a once-habitable planet, now taken over by nature and destroyed by time

[ 22 ] a planet where life only exists underground, where it is impossible to survive on the surface

[ 23 ] a city planet, completely built up of buildings, nightlife, neon lights, and a seedy underbelly

assorted locations + scenarios

[ 24 ] a military base, now abandoned and controlled by a rogue ai

[ 25 ] trapped within a high security prison full of space pirates

[ 26 ] a holy temple, obscured in the mountains of a distant planet

[ 27 ] on the craggy side of a massive meteor

[ 28 ] a dangerous off-world facility rumored to house illegal experimentations

[ 29 ] a bustling, cramped cantina filled with music, drinking, and the occasional gunshot or two

[ 30 ] secretly aboard the enemy's ship, trying to remain hidden

[cosmicalls]

if you like dead poets society, you may like these!

just for fun: a little list of movies, shows, and books i like that i feel have something in common with dps. hopefully you'll find something you'd like, too!

not in any particular order. just the order that i thought of them in really

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A Separate Peace

by John Knowles - published 1959

a coming-of-age novel set at an all-boys new england boarding school. follows two boys, Gene and Finny, and their experiences during the summer and winter sessions of 1942. talks a bit about WWII and what role the boys may have to play in that, but it stays pretty focused on the school and the emotions involved during this time in one's life. all the growth and transformation and oddly homoerotic, perhaps very codependent, friendship of a bildungsroman that we love to look for.

one of my personal favorite books, even considering that it was assigned reading. i truly believe many of you would like it and i know for a fact some of you can vouch for me

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The Perks of Being a Wallflower

by Stephen Chbosky - published 1999 movie adaptation: dir. Stephen Chbosky - released 2012

follows Charlie and his general struggles of high school and with being, well, a wallflower. from goodreads: "Caught between trying to live his life and trying to run from it puts him on a strange course through uncharted territory. The world of first dates and mixed tapes, family dramas and new friends. The world of sex, drugs, and The Rocky Horror Picture Show, when all one requires is that the perfect song on that perfect drive to feel infinite."

very emotional. that's all! i preferred the movie, but i liked the format of the book being completely in letters that Charlie was writing. they're both good! (if you watch the movie, the english teacher's name is Mr. Anderson. so do with that information what you will...!)

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Matilda

by Roald Dahl - published 1988 movie adaptation: dir. Danny DeVito - released 1996 musical adaptation: dir. Matthew Warchus - released 2022

a young girl with an aptitude for reading discovers she has telekinetic abilities at the same time she begins attending school. unfortunately, the principal is an extremely harsh woman, and none of the students seem to enjoy it there. Matilda uses her courage and newfound powers to change her environment for the better, both at school and in her abrasive home.

such a good movie, a childhood favorite. the musical has a great soundtrack too!

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Good Will Hunting

dir. Gus Van Sant - released 1997

a janitor is recognized as a mathematical genius by an MIT professor, and he goes on an emotional journey to embrace his intellect. starring Robin Williams, our dearly beloved inspiration, as the therapist Will goes to see for much of the film.

i only saw it once and my description is lacking but ooh it hurt...... just trust me on this one

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A Series of Unfortunate Events

by Lemony Snicket - published 1999-2006 tv series adaptation: aired 2017-2019

JUST HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE okay. it's about a trio of siblings, orphaned, who are shuttled from one parental unit to another while being followed by a man after their immense wealth. they quickly discover they are in the midst of an intellectual conflict in a secret organization. they must rely on only each other, seeing as all the adults around them are wildly incompetent and/or unhelpful. and it is filled to the brim with literary references!!

both versions have really fun and witty narration, and the tv adaptation is extremely faithful. i don't know how else to describe it without going overboard so i'll settle for not descriptive enough! just trust me. yes it is a kids' series and yes it is one of my favorites ever. it's the vibes of it all

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If We Were Villains

by M.L. Rio - published 2017

about a group of Shakespeare theater students at a very pretentious arts school who find themselves in a very high-tension dynamic following a disaster that occurs after their halloween performance of Macbeth. lots and lots of Shakespeare, lots of dramatics, and the book itself is divided into five acts.

i finished this in about two nights and it was extremely creatively inspiring. it was a bit predictable, but that's not a bad thing. it still had me clutching my pearls and dropping my jaw

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"The Artist of the Beautiful"

by Nathaniel Hawthorne - published 1844

a romantic era short story about a man who feels utterly trapped by his occupation. he would rather concern himself with the delicate beauty of nature, and he attempts to realize this in his passion project - much to the disdain of the people around him.

a bit of a sneak sorry. i just think it's just in line with neil's whole thing you know. it's a lot of long and flowery sentences but it works really well i promise

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The Breakfast Club

dir. John Hughes - released 1985

the letterboxd synopsis really says it all: "They only met once, but it changed their lives forever. | Five high school students from different walks of life endure a Saturday detention under a power-hungry principal. The disparate group includes rebel John, princess Claire, outcast Allison, brainy Brian and Andrew, the jock. Each has a chance to tell his or her story, making the others see them a little differently – and when the day ends, they question whether school will ever be the same."

i don't have much to add and to be honest! kind of a stretch for this list! but i have faith

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obviously there are other shows and movies with the dead poets society leads, but i wanted to sort of branch out a bit for the bulk of this list. i will still list the ones i had in mind though

House M.D. (2004-2012) - tv series about genius diagnostician Dr. Gregory House and his team at a hospital in new jersey. Robert Sean Leonard stars as House's best friend and head of oncology Dr. James Wilson. very comedic but also very heartwrenching.

Tape (2001) - three friends meet at a motel room and dredge up and argue over unpleasant events of the past. starring Ethan Hawke and Robert Sean Leonard.

Before Sunrise (1995) - from letterboxd: "A young man and woman meet on a train in Europe, and wind up spending one evening together in Vienna. Unfortunately, both know that this will probably be their only night together." Ethan Hawke plays one half of the lead duo.

and yeah there's a LOT more but those are the ones i've seen and sincerely recommend. not to say others aren't good but this is a (very) curated list you see.

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phew that's not as many as i thought i had in my back pocket but it's still pretty good. plus, there's some things i havent read/watched yet that perhaps would have made it but alas! such is life

absolutely add to the list if you'd like!! let's all share our favorite stories

[daegudrama]

Title: Just for the Weekend Part 2

Pairing: Reader/Min Yoongi

Summary: When a chance encounter at a music festival turns into something deeper, you find yourself pulled into a whirlwind with Yoongi—a stranger who feels too familiar. Between stolen moments, electric chemistry, and a bond that feels effortless, you're left questioning everything you thought you knew about love and connection. With the festival winding down and the last day creeping closer, one thing is certain: what started as unexpected might just be the most thrilling, dangerous, and real thing you never saw coming.

Word Count: 10,809

Release date: 6/13/25

A few hours later, the desert sky is painted soft and peach as Yoongi stands in the shuttle line, hoodie pulled tight and sunglasses shielding his tired eyes. He shifts on his feet, heart thudding hard, arms crossed trying to keep it together. He checks his phone again. 6:58 a.m.

You’re still sleeping, curled up in the tent he snuck out of like a man on a mission.

The shuttle finally arrives. Yoongi climbs on and keeps to himself the whole way. At the store, he heads straight for the pharmacy aisle. Grabs the Plan B box first. Then a Gatorade. Then condoms—just in case you aren’t pissed off and do want to have more amazing sex with him. Then, for good measure and to give the guys a reason not to grill him too hard, some more alcohol, and peanut M&M’s, because you mentioned craving them the night before.

The cashier doesn’t ask questions. Neither do the security guards when he gets back to the checkpoint. One glance at the Plan B box and they just nod and wave him through like he’s a soldier returning from battle.

When he gets back to camp, the sun is up but the tent is still zipped shut. Jimin, Taehyung, and Jin catch sight of Yoongi, of the bag in his hand, and exchange a knowing look before retreating toward the showers to give the two of you privacy.

Yoongi exhales and ducks back inside the tent.

You’re still asleep, blissed out and warm under the blanket. He kneels beside you, eyes soft. Then he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek, and your nose, and your temple.

You stir. Smile. “You’re back…”

Then, all at once, it hits you. Like a slap.

Your stomach flips as last night flashes through your mind—his mouth on yours, your legs around his waist, the ache between your thighs. The high of it. The way you didn’t think. The way you didn’t stop.

Your chest tightens. You bolt upright. “Shit. Oh my God—Yoongi—we didn’t—fuck, I’m not on birth control.”

Your voice shakes. You feel cold and flushed at the same time. You’re supposed to be careful. You’re supposed to be the one who always has things under control. And now—

“I know,” Yoongi says, quiet, already reaching into the bag.

You freeze, confused. “Wait…how do you know?”

“Taehyung mentioned it last night. Then Jimin told me what you said.”

You stare at him as he pulls the box from the bag. The Plan B. Your breath catches.

Some of the panic eases, but not the guilt. Not the feeling that you’d let something slip. That somehow, despite everything, you’d let yourself be careless. And yet, his quiet preparation, the way he thought of you before you even had the chance to panic—makes your heart flip over in your chest. It’s nice, you think, maybe a little dangerous, to be cared for like this. To be held in the hands of someone who sees the fall coming and reaches out first.

You blink, eyes stinging a little, but you manage a nod. “Okay. Good. Thank you.”

Yoongi brushes his thumb over your cheek, his touch grounding. “We’ve got it covered. You’re okay.”

You nod again, more slowly this time, heart pounding but beginning to settle. Your hand closes over his. You still feel shaken, but he’s here. He didn’t run. And that means something.

It means everything.

You take the pill with a sip of Gatorade, then pause and glance at the bottle. “You got my favorite flavor.”

Yoongi shrugs, a soft smile tugging at his mouth. “You mentioned it yesterday.”

You spot the candy next. “Wait…are those M&M’s?”

He nods. “You were talking about them in line at the beer tent.”

Your heart flips again. “You remembered?”

He just nods like it’s nothing, even though it clearly isn’t. “Yeah. Figured it might help.”

The two of you settle, sitting cross-legged on the blanket, shoulders brushing as the morning light pours in soft and golden. You talk for a while—nothing heavy. Just music, the festival, the weird dream Yoongi had before the thud woke him up. You feel steadier. Safer. Like the sharp edges have rounded off again.

Eventually, Yoongi stretches out beside you, resting on one elbow, eyes on yours. “So,” he says casually, “when was the last time you had sex before last night?”

You laugh, surprised. “Over a year ago. Maybe longer.”

His brows lift. “Seriously?”

You nod, slightly embarrassed. “Yeah. I didn’t think I’d be breaking the streak this weekend, that’s for sure.”

Yoongi smirks. “Glad I could be of service.”

You shove his shoulder playfully, but your grin gives you away. “Don’t get cocky.”

“I mean,” he leans in a little, voice low, “you did look pretty cocky last night too.”

Your cheeks heat instantly. “Yoongi.”

“What?” he grins, eyes dancing. “Just saying. I wouldn’t be mad if we accidentally broke that streak again. Soon.”

You bite your lip, pulse kicking up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His gaze drops to your mouth. “You make it hard to think straight. I keep wanting more.”

You inhale, heartbeat wild. “Then maybe stop thinking.”

Yoongi hums. “Dangerous suggestion.”

“Maybe,” you murmur, your fingers brushing his. “But it’s been a reckless kind of weekend.”

His lips curl. “Best kind.”

And you smile, for real this time, because the storm is past and you’re still here. With him.

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By 10am, the tent is stifling, so you both emerge blinking into the sunlight to start the process of getting ready for the day’s shows. Jin passes you a mirror and a makeup bag while Jimin sits braiding Taehyung’s hair into uneven plaits.

Before anyone gets far, you plant your feet and hold up a pack of electrolyte powder like it’s holy scripture. “Nobody drinks a drop of alcohol until they drink this. I’m not babysitting your dehydrated asses.”

Groans and protests ring out but you’re firm. You go around personally handing everyone their bottle, watching each sip with your hands on your hips.

Once they’re halfway compliant, you finally duck into your tent and change into your outfit for the day— a high-waisted denim skirt, platform boots, and a pink crop top that reads RM's Princess in bedazzled silver gems.

You mix yourself a drink in a red solo cup, humming as you stir in some lemon and a splash (or maybe a few good glugs) of vodka. You turn to rejoin the group—only to choke on your sip.

Yoongi is standing there. In. The. Exact. Same. Shirt.

You burst out laughing, nearly spilling your drink. “Oh my god, are you kidding me?!”

Yoongi looks down at his top, then up at you with that tiny smirk. “What? I thought it suited me.”

Jin claps once, pointing between you. “One of you is going to have to change.” He breaks into his trademark windshield wipers laugh, wheezing.

“You change,” you say, still grinning.

“Absolutely not,” Yoongi replies. “I look fantastic.”

“You look deranged,” Jimin says. “But like, hot-deranged. I support it.”

Taehyung’s mouth is full of cheese puffs but he mumbles, “Couples who match stay together.”

Your grin doesn’t fade, but something shifts behind your eyes. You laugh it off, of course you do, but your brain is already running in quiet little circles. Couples who match...

You wonder, fleetingly, if that’s what this is—just matching outfits and shared drinks and banter under the sun. A weekend thing. A festival thing. Something the heat and the music and the glitter makes feel bigger than it is. But then Yoongi catches your eye across the camp and tips his cup toward yours with a wink. And your heart does that stupid thing again. That little leap. That little what if.

You don’t let yourself linger on it. Not right now. Not when everyone’s buzzing and beautiful and the day’s only just begun.

But even as you turn away, even as you toss your head and join the noise, the thought lingers like the taste of lemon on your tongue: What if this doesn’t end with the weekend? You push the thought out of your head and join back into whatever the boys are doing. 

You and Yoongi slip out of camp earlier than the others, drawn by the promise of the photo booth at the camping hub and the kind of light that only exists before noon at a festival—soft and golden, before the sun gets too mean. The walk is easy, the mood light.

Halfway there, you veer toward a slushie truck with a hand on Yoongi’s wrist. “Free samples,” you grin. “It’s fate.”

He raises an eyebrow, skeptical, but follows without complaint. The slushie hits your tongue like a miracle—icy, syrupy bliss—and you both moan dramatically in unison, then laugh at yourselves.

“Okay, worth it,” he admits, wiping his mouth.

At the photo booth, there’s no line, just a breeze curling through the open tent flaps and the hum of a nearby speaker playing an old Shinee song. You drag Yoongi inside and sit close, your knees knocking.

First photo: you grab his face and smash your cheek to his, grinning so wide it crinkles your eyes.

Second photo: you twist and kiss his cheek, and he plays along, covering his mouth with both hands like he’s scandalized.

Third photo: he turns to you gently, fingers curling along your jaw. His kiss is soft and slow, perfectly timed with the shutter.

When the strips print out, you both reach for them at the same time, and you can’t stop smiling. They’re perfect—warm light, flushed cheeks, the kind of photos that don’t need filters. You tuck yours carefully into your phone case.

From there, you head toward the front gates, even though they won’t open for another hour and a half. Moonchildren are already gathering, their shirts, signs and purple hearts giving them away immediately. You feel the same low thrum of excitement vibrating in your bones—the deep knowing that today is his day.

Yoongi carries the bigger bag, the one you over packed this morning. It’s stuffed with snacks, two handheld fans, sunscreen, a small blanket, a sweater, wet wipes, a portable charger, and whatever else you thought might save you from wilting later. The main stage is brutal during the day, no shade at all until sundown—but you’ll survive. You always do. For RM, you would stand on the sun.

While you wait, your competitive instincts kick in, and you start arguing about who should sprint for the barricade once the gates open. It’s inevitable that one of you will have to stay behind while they check the larger bag. 

“I’m faster,” you say, confidently.

“You’re chaotic,” Yoongi counters. “You’ll trip over your own excitement.”

“You have the bag!”

“I’ll throw the bag.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Watch me.”

You're both bickering through grins, shifting on your feet as more fans trickle in. The sun climbs higher. The gates stay shut. The moment pulses with potential—of a show, of a day, of whatever this thing is between you and him that neither of you wants to name just yet.

The second the gates open, you're off like a shot.

Dust kicks up under your boots as you sprint for center barricade, weaving through the early rush of festival-goers. Behind you, you can hear Yoongi shout something—probably a warning—but you don't stop. Not when you've got a perfect opening and the barricade in sight.

Security pulls him aside because of the oversized bag, and you throw a quick glance over your shoulder to catch him holding up his hands in mock surrender as a guard rifles through the snacks, fans, sunscreen, and extra layers. You’ll owe him for this later.

The front row is already dotted with a few familiar faces—Moonchildren, RM fans just as eager as you are—but it isn’t packed yet. You slide in between two people with a breathless, elated laugh, your fingers locking around the cold metal bar.

Fifth. You’re the fifth person on center barricade.

You take a second to catch your breath, chest rising and falling as the heat of the sun starts to press down on your shoulders. But your grin doesn’t fade.

Yoongi jogs up a moment later, bag slung back over one shoulder, scowling half-heartedly. “Unfair. You’re fast.”

“You’re lucky I saved you a spot,” you tease, nudging your hip against his. “They could’ve filled up.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He pulls out one of the fans and hands it to you, then cracks open a bottle of water. “At least tell me I didn’t haul ass across a field for nothing.”

You flash him a smile, eyes already trained on the stage being prepped. “You didn’t. We’ve got a perfect view. Center barricade. It’s happening.”

He bumps your shoulder and settles in beside you, matching your grip on the rail. The rail you soon won’t be able to touch because it’s too hot. Around you, the pit starts to fill, voices buzzing with excitement, music thrumming in the background like a heartbeat.

The first act starts and the heat becomes harder to ignore. You're sweating already, but the energy in the crowd helps distract you. The sun is relentless. You twist your hair up and Yoongi quietly hands you a hair tie from the bag. His fingers brush the nape of your neck and linger for a beat too long. When you glance at him, he's already looking at you, a slow smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth.

He doesn’t seem the type to be touchy in public, but something about the heat, the music, the way you look right now—it short-circuits his restraint. He lets his fingers brush your hand when you reach for your water. Presses his knee against yours until the contact feels permanent. During the second set, he hooks an arm around your waist without thinking, tugging you back against him. You lean into it without comment.

Taehyung appears first, glitter across his cheeks and a flower crown askew on his curls. He thrusts an extra crown toward you. "Put it on, Post-It Princess," he says with a wink, and you do, laughing as the petals tickle your forehead. Jimin and Jin aren’t far behind, weaving through the crowd to find you.

Jin takes one look at you and Yoongi and raises an eyebrow. “Well, someone’s in a good mood,” he says.

Jimin just beams and pulls out his phone. “Selfie time.”

The four of you cram together, sweaty and glowy and chaotic. Yoongi ducks out of the frame but you catch him smiling as he watches you.

Jimin brings you a tray of skewers and lemonade he hustled from a vendor. “Eat before you pass out,” he says, holding a skewer to your lips like it’s a test of loyalty. You take a bite and make a satisfied noise.

When you finally open the bag Yoongi carried all morning, you grin. Everything is exactly where you packed it. None of the snacks have been touched. “You guys didn’t eat anything?” you ask.

Yoongi shrugs. “Figured you had a plan.”

Your chest warms. Silly, maybe. But it feels like being seen.

Between sets, Yoongi sinks down beside you. Then, surprisingly, he stretches out and rests his head across your lap. Your fingers move to his hair without thinking, brushing through the soft strands as he closes his eyes. His face is peaceful in the hazy light, lips parted just slightly.

You glance up and Jin is watching with a knowing look. He doesn’t say anything, just smiles and nods like: yeah, we see it.

As the third set begins, you can feel a light buzz building from the drinks, the sun, the joy. The pit is full now. Your friends dance around you, spinning and shouting lyrics, completely alive.

Yoongi stands behind you now, arms on the barricade on either side of you, close enough that you feel his breath when he leans in and murmurs, “Still okay?”

You nod, pressing your head back to his shoulder. “Perfect.”

When the next act ends, the stage goes dark for setup. There’s one more performer before RM. Taehyung, Jimin, and Jin take off to meet friends or hunt down food, but you and Yoongi stay. The pit is electric, buzzing with the promise of what’s coming.

He doesn’t move far from you. Instead, he takes your hand, fingers interlaced lazily while the sun begins its descent.

And you sit there, center barricade, flower crown wilting, glitter smudged, heart full.

Yoongi stretches out beside you, his head resting on the barricade while you sit, the heat of the day starting to soften as the sun lowers. He’s quieter now, just taking everything in, but his eyes flicker to you every now and then, as if he can’t help himself. His gaze holds, and when it does, you feel a subtle warmth creep into your skin.

You glance at him, still catching your breath from the last set, and feel an unspoken pull between the two of you. For someone who isn’t big on PDA, Yoongi’s been a little...touchier today. His fingers brush against yours, not by accident, and his arm grazes your shoulder more than once. Every time it happens, your heart skips a beat.

“What?” you ask, voice teasing but laced with a hint of curiosity.

Yoongi gives you a half-smile, leaning in a bit closer. “Nothing. Just thinking about last night.”

You feel your breath hitch at the mention of it, heat flooding your face. You’d been so caught up in the chaos of the day that you hadn’t really thought about the way his lips had felt on your skin, the way he’d kissed you with a hunger that had made everything else disappear. The way his hands had touched you like he didn’t want to let go, even for a second.

“What about last night?” you manage, trying to sound casual despite your racing heart.

Yoongi’s eyes glint, and his voice lowers, almost a growl. “You were...distracting.” His words linger in the air like a challenge, and you feel the space between you both heat up.

You look away for a second, collecting yourself, but the grin that spreads across his face tells you that he’s enjoying this, enjoying the way he’s getting under your skin.

“You should’ve known better,” you say, leaning closer to him, voice dropping to match his tone. “I warned you, I’m trouble.”

“Oh, I know,” Yoongi replies, the corners of his lips curling as his gaze flicks from your lips to your eyes. “That’s what makes it interesting.”

A beat of silence passes before you, feeling the heat of his words settle in your chest. You bite your lip, letting the tension stretch between you before you pull out your phone.

“Come on,” you say, breaking the tension but still feeling that electric hum between you. “We’re taking selfies. We look too good today to not document it.”

Yoongi groans dramatically. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.” You smirk, pointing the camera at both of you. “Smile. You’re too cute to ignore.”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t move away. When you click the first picture, his eyes flicker over to yours, mischievous and playful. You angle the phone again, snapping more shots as you both get into it, laughing and leaning closer with each picture.

“Wait, hold up,” you say, narrowing your eyes. “I think we need one more...but this time, I want to see if you can do better than that grumpy face of yours.”

Yoongi leans in a little more, his breath brushing your cheek as he whispers, “I think I’ve been holding back all day. Want me to show you?”

Your stomach flutters at the challenge in his voice, and before you can think twice, he leans in to kiss your temple, his lips lingering there a moment too long. The camera clicks as the moment catches on film, and you pause, your pulse racing.

For a second, neither of you says anything, the air thick with the unspoken.

“Damn,” you murmur, breaking the silence, “we really do look good together.”

Yoongi hums, a playful smirk still tugging at his lips. “Told you.”

You check the photos, your fingers trembling a little. You swipe to the next one, seeing the way Yoongi had caught your eye just as he kissed your cheek, and something inside you tightens—something that’s been building ever since you met his gaze for the first time today.

You’re still reeling a bit from how close everything feels—how close he feels—when you notice Yoongi unlock his phone, thumb lazily scrolling through something with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He shifts his position slightly, letting his leg press against yours as he gets comfortable again.

You glance down, curious, and your eyes immediately widen. You clock it instantly—that’s AO3.

Worse: you recognize the fic. Instantly.

He scrolls past a banner you know by heart, a stunning red-and-black graphic with clean font and jagged lines of war paint across a pair of silhouetted faces. Your heart jumps into your throat.

“Wait.” You practically launch yourself sideways, staring at the screen. “Is that—War? By glosswrites?”

Yoongi freezes. Like, full body goes stiff, thumb hovering mid-scroll.

You gasp. “It is! Oh my god. I love that fic! That’s, like, one of my top five Namkook fics of all time. No, scratch that, top three. Glosswrites is a genius. Their prose? The dialogue? The pacing in the siege arc? Unreal.”

Yoongi clears his throat and stares down at his phone like he wants it to disappear. His ears go red. “Uh.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why do you look like you just got caught with your hand in the cookie jar?”

He shifts again, clearly flustered. “...I wasn’t gonna say anything.”

You blink. “Say anything about what?”

He hesitates. Then, in a voice so low you almost don’t catch it: “I’m...glosswrites.”

You stare.

You stare.

Then, your hand flies to his shoulder. “SHUT. UP.”

Yoongi winces but laughs, turning away slightly like he can hide the way his cheeks are turning pink. “I didn’t think you’d read any of my stuff. Or recognize it.”

“You idiot, of course I recognize it!” You hit his arm lightly, half-scolding and half-overjoyed. “Are you kidding? You wrote Kingdom Come, Saltwater and Bone, and that absurdly emotional post-apocalyptic Namseok fic, didn’t you?”

He nods sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. That one got away from me.”

You gape at him, still trying to wrap your head around it. “Yoongi! I have cried real tears over your fics. I’ve stayed up until four a.m. refreshing the tag for an update. You made me care about political intrigue.”

Yoongi laughs again, eyes crinkling. There’s something in his expression that’s half embarrassment, half soft pride. “Damn. I really wasn’t expecting this reaction.”

“I’m obsessed with your writing,” you say, tone a little breathless. “You make heartbreak feel like poetry.”

His smile falters just a little, turning more sincere. “Thank you. Really.”

There’s a long beat where neither of you says anything. You’re still buzzing with the revelation. You look at him differently now. This person you’ve been falling into all day is also the architect of worlds that have lived rent-free in your head for years.

And he’s looking at you like he’s relieved you know.

You shake your head, grinning. “I can’t believe I hooked up with glosswrites.”

Yoongi chuckles, rolling his eyes. “Please don’t say it like that.”

You lean in closer, teasing, “Glosswrites. Kiss me again.”

“Stop,” he mutters, but he’s laughing, his ears still pink. “You’re gonna ruin my mystique.”

“Oh babe,” you say, curling an arm around his shoulder, “it’s too late for that. You’re mine now, and I know your secret.”

“Guess I’ll have to kill you,” he murmurs, tilting his head to rest against yours.

“Mm, let me reread Saltwater and Bone first.”

He groans, but his hand slips into yours without a second thought.

The sound system booms to life again, pulling you both back to the present. The stage lights flash in rapid bursts as the next artist steps up—someone with a strong cult following and a gritty, underground sound that makes the whole pit come alive with renewed energy.

You shift, stretching your legs while Yoongi leans against your side, still scrolling absently on his phone, probably checking comments. You glance at him with a smirk.

“Still reading your own reviews, glosswrites?”

He groans into your shoulder. “You're never letting this go, are you?”

“Never. I feel like I need to re-read everything now that I know it’s you. The longing scenes? The angst? Yoongi. You wrote that stuff.”

He lifts his head and raises an eyebrow. “And?”

You lean in, dropping your voice. “And now I can’t stop thinking about the scene in War where Jungkook says, ‘If I die, I want it to be with your name in my mouth.’ You wrote that.”

Yoongi flushes, and you grin with wicked delight.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he mutters, biting back a smile.

You nudge his knee. “Can’t help it. You’re hot and emotionally devastating. What a combo.”

The set on stage builds slowly—dark synths, flashing strobes, heavy bass that makes the ground tremble beneath your feet. The artist before RM throws the crowd into a frenzy with two unreleased tracks.

“I produced one of these,” he says casually, just loud enough for you to hear over the music.

You whip toward him. “What? Which one?!”

He just shrugs with a smug little grin, eyes sparkling.

By the time the set winds down, the anticipation in the air is tangible. People are chanting, screaming, checking their phones and recording the stage. Everyone knows who’s next.

The giant LED screen flickers to black for a long moment.

Then a low hum begins to rise—like the sound of static filtered through deep water. The bass line pulses faintly under it, then grows. A single spotlight flares center stage, casting a long, stretched shadow.

You grab Yoongi’s hand instinctively, and he laces his fingers through yours.

And then—RM.

He steps out from the smoke, hoodie half-zipped, chain catching the stage lights, posture calm but charged like a storm about to break. The entire crowd loses it. People are screaming, hands in the air, crying, chanting his name.

RM raises a mic. No fanfare. No big opening drop.

Just:

“Let’s talk.”

The pit erupts.

Yoongi whistles low. “He always knows how to start.”

You nod, eyes locked on the stage, already breathless. “God, he’s so cool.”

Yoongi leans toward you, still holding your hand. “He really is.”

RM launches into Intro: Persona, his voice crisp and sharp, weaving between the lyrics and the beat with practiced ease. The crowd sings every word like it’s gospel, and your heart thuds in time with the music.

There’s something powerful and raw about watching him perform—like he’s stripping himself bare in front of thousands and daring anyone to look away.

You glance sideways. Even Yoongi, for all his calm, has that look on his face—the one he only gets when something is really hitting. Like admiration, pride, and a little awe all at once.

RM rolls seamlessly into Do You, and the crowd surges forward like a wave. His delivery is sharp, rhythmic, full of bite—words slicing through the heat and dust as he prowls the stage. He spits each lyric with the kind of conviction that makes you feel like he’s aiming them right at your chest.

“You do you and I’ll do me,” he shouts, and thousands scream it back.

You and Yoongi jump and shout right along with them, your hands still loosely clasped between you. It's sweaty, chaotic, overwhelming—but it’s perfect. The kind of moment that feels like it belongs to just the two of you, even with thousands of people pressed in on all sides.

By the time Yun comes on, the sun has dipped low enough to give the stage an eerie golden glow. RM's tone shifts—slower, weightier. His voice pours over the crowd like honey and thunder. The visuals on the screen behind him flicker with old video footage: abandoned alleyways, dried fields, a shot of a cracked statue’s face.

You blink through the heat, suddenly aware of how still it’s gone in the pit. Everyone's listening.

RM pauses between verses and says, “For the ones still figuring themselves out...I’m right there with you.”

The silence that follows is reverent. You feel it sink into your skin.

Yoongi leans in and murmurs, “He’s good at this part. The unraveling.”

You nod slowly. “He makes being lost sound like a roadmap.”

There’s no reply from Yoongi, just the brush of his thumb along the inside of your wrist, grounding you as RM transitions into Forg_tful. The melody is softer, almost tender, like a lullaby for every scar you thought would never fade.

He sings, not just raps—his voice fragile in the best way, like something made of paper and light.

You feel the sting in your throat before you even realize you're getting choked up.

Yoongi squeezes your hand. You glance at him through blurred eyes, and he doesn’t say anything—just gives you that quiet look of his, like he sees everything and won't ask a single question you’re not ready to answer.

Then the bass drops back in for Still Life, and the crowd roars to life again.

RM grins wide under the lights, bounces across the stage, and yells, “Y’all still alive out there?!”

The pit answers with pure chaos. You scream, jump, laugh—and when Yoongi pulls you into his chest with both arms slung around your waist, you don’t even think, just melt into it.

He mouths the lyrics along with RM, pressed close to your ear:

“I’m still life / But I’m movin’.”

And in that moment, you are. Every part of you is alive, humming, held, understood.

The lights dim again, and you think maybe it's time. Maybe it's really happening.

Then the synth line from Joke hits like a warning shot.

The crowd erupts. Yoongi jolts upright beside you, and you both instinctively grip the barricade as RM walks out under a wash of white light, already spitting bars like the stage is on fire. His presence is magnetic. He’s commanding every inch of the space, making the mic an extension of his body. His tongue twists with impossible speed and precision, each word slicing through the air like shrapnel.

You don’t even try to sing along—you just scream and jump and grab Yoongi by the wrist as the bass drops and the entire pit moves like one living thing. It’s chaos. It’s glorious. It’s RM unchained.

As the song ends, RM breathes heavy into the mic, smirking like he knows exactly what he just did. He lets the silence linger, soaking in the energy. When he speaks, it’s soft, reverent.

“This next one’s for the people who’ve ever felt a little out of place,” he says, his voice quieter now, lower. “You’re not alone.”

Then the first notes of Lonely float out. The vibe stays up because this song is a fucking bop. The crowd only gets louder as he sings, “I’m fucking lonely, lonely, lonely…”

RM bounces around the stage, lit only by soft blue lights. When it ends, he doesn’t speak right away. He takes in the crowd with a look on his face like he can’t believe this is actually happening. 

And then: "This is the last one."

The opening strings of "Wild Flower" begin, delicate and trembling. The crowd doesn’t scream—they exhale. As if they’ve been holding their breath for years.

RM closes his eyes when he sings the chorus. Youjeen’s voice pours from the speakers like thunder wrapped in velvet, and the entire field seems to swell with the sound. The visuals behind him erupt—images of fireworks blooming into flowers, wild and free, petals carried by wind and ash.

You’re openly crying now, and so is the person next to you. Even Yoongi wipes under his eyes with a quiet sniff.

When RM hits that final “I just wanna be—wanna be a rock,” the sound is deafening. Every voice joins him. It feels like release. Like peace. Like defiance and surrender all at once.

And then it’s over.

He bows once, deep and long. “Thank you,” he says. Just two words, but they ring with everything.

The lights fade.

Yoongi turns to you slowly, tears still shining in his lashes. “Holy shit.”

You nod, voice gone, heart too full to speak. You just grab his hand and hold it like an anchor.

Because this? This was everything.

You're both quiet for a moment after RM’s set—still soaking it in. The field feels like it’s buzzing, but neither of you rushes to leave. You and Yoongi just stand there, shoulder to shoulder, a little dazed, like waking up from a beautiful dream you don’t want to forget.

Eventually, he bumps your hip with his. “Drink?”

You nod, and he threads his fingers through yours like it’s second nature. Like he needs the contact just as much as you do.

You wind your way through the crowd, his hand never leaving yours, until you find a drinks stand. He orders something fruity, you go for something cold, and then you’re wandering off toward the far corner of the venue with your cups in hand, the music from the other stage just a distant thump now.

You settle in a grassy patch beneath the shadow of an art installation—some kind of massive chrome sphere that reflects the setting sun. The sky is stained gold and peach. Yoongi flops down dramatically, his legs sprawled wide, his cup tilted toward yours like a toast.

“To Namjoon,” he says, voice a little rough.

“To Namjoon,” you echo, tapping the rim of your cup to his.

You sip in silence for a beat before Yoongi reaches out, resting a hand on your thigh like he’s just placing it there for a second. But it lingers. His thumb moves—slow little circles that make your breath catch. He’s watching you, too. Lazily. Like he’s savoring something only he can taste.

“I can’t believe I’m sitting here,” he murmurs. “With you. After that.”

You raise an eyebrow, teasing. “You sound like you’re about to write a poem.”

He leans in. “I might. But it’d get me banned from AO3.”

You almost choke on your drink. “Yoongi.”

He just laughs—quiet, low, and pleased with himself.

And then his lips are on your neck. Not rushed. Just soft, lingering kisses along your jaw, the edge of your ear, down to your collarbone. The warmth between you builds, a slow simmering thing. You shift, knees brushing, his hand sliding higher. His touch isn’t desperate—it’s confident. Comfortable. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“You’re trouble,” he says, barely a whisper.

“And you’re a menace,” you reply, catching his chin and pulling him into a kiss that tastes like fruit and heat and something a little dangerous.

When you pull back, breathless, cheeks flushed, you say, “We should walk.”

He stands with a groan, offering you a hand. “Yeah, before I do something regrettable right here in the grass.”

You giggle, but take his hand anyway. Together, you wander off again—this time toward the Always Tampax pop-up. It’s impossible to miss: glowing neon letters, loud music, and the heavy thump of bass pulsing from within.

Inside, it’s a fever dream.

The walls are lined top to bottom with pads, tampons, and menstrual cups. There’s a glowing dance floor in the middle. People are grabbing boxes like they’re free drinks. A DJ is spinning under a giant tampon chandelier.

You burst out laughing. “Is this…the tampon club?”

“Looks like it,” Yoongi says, spinning a box in his hand. “Best stocked club in town.”

“Take as much as you want!” a worker calls out, dancing past in a glittery jumpsuit.

You take a few packs, stuffing them into your bag. Yoongi grins and grabs one for himself too. “Emergency stash. Never know.”

Your cheeks hurt from smiling. You stumble out the back exit, still laughing—and freeze.

There’s a trailer behind the pop-up. Sleek. White. A sign taped to the door reads: REAL BATHROOMS. FLUSHING TOILETS. SINKS WITH SOAP. Like a mirage in the desert.

No one else is around.

You exchange a look.

The stall is tiny, barely enough room to turn around in—but that only makes it worse. Or better.

He’s on you as soon as the door locks—mouth hungry, hands fast, pulling you in like he’s waited all day. You gasp into the kiss, fingers tangling in his hair. The energy between you is heady, electric, a continuation of everything RM’s set stirred up.

Yoongi presses you against the wall, one hand on your hip, the other slipping up the back of your shirt, warm and firm and just a little possessive.

“You looked so fucking good watching him,” he growls against your throat. “Could barely keep my hands to myself.”

“You didn’t,” you manage to whisper, smiling into his mouth.

He kisses you again, slow and deep this time. Not teasing anymore. Just wanting.

Yoongi doesn’t waste time. His hands are on your waist, then your hips, pulling you flush against him as your back presses to the metal stall wall. You barely have time to gasp before he’s kissing you—hot, deep, like he needs it. Like he’s starved for it.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all day,” he breathes into your mouth.

You smile against his lips, teasing. “Just by existing?”

“Worse,” he mutters, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, palms sliding up the bare skin of your back. “Looking like that. Laughing like that. Dancing on me during RM’s set like you wanted to break me.”

You tug at the drawstring of his shorts in retaliation, laughing softly as he groans. “Maybe I did.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, flushed and breathless. His pupils are blown, lips swollen. “Say the word,” he whispers, voice raw.

You don’t hesitate.

Then it’s frantic—your mouths crashing back together, your fingers yanking his shirt up, his hands everywhere at once. You’re not sure who reaches first, but suddenly he’s pulling a square foil packet from the pocket of his shorts with a smirk and a half-laugh.

“Gotta be safe this time,” he says, almost sheepish, but his voice is low and rough.

“Seriously?” you whisper, breath catching, half-laughing, half-turned on beyond reason.

“Girl Scout energy,” he murmurs, already yanking your skirt up for easier access. “Always prepared.”

Your breath stutters as you help him, both of you moving fast and clumsy, like you can’t get close enough quick enough. Clothes shoved aside just enough. Skin against skin, heat meeting heat. The stall is small, but you make it work—bodies pressed together, hands braced against cool metal, your mouths locked like you’re afraid to stop.

When he finally sinks into you, you gasp—biting your lip to stay quiet, forehead pressed to his. Yoongi groans low and broken, his hands gripping your thighs to anchor himself.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You feel like a fever dream.”

Your response is lost in a moan you muffle against his neck, your nails digging into his back as he starts to move—slow at first, teasing, until your hips catch his rhythm and he picks up pace. The cramped space only heightens everything—every breath, every whisper, every desperate sound. The stall rocks just enough to make you both laugh mid-moan, trying to stay quiet and failing miserably.

You whisper his name like a prayer, over and over, and he kisses you every time like it’s the only thing grounding him.

By the time it’s over, your clothes are disheveled, your lips swollen, and your heart’s pounding like you’ve just sprinted the length of the main stage.

Yoongi kisses your cheek, your jaw, your shoulder. Reverent. “That…was insane.”

You grin, cheeks hot. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

He leans back slightly, fixing your hair like it matters, and smirks. “Tampon club forever.”

You laugh so hard you have to bite your knuckle to keep quiet.

Then you flush, wash your hands in the tiny sink, and steel yourselves.

The walk back through the Always Tampax pop-up is a blur of flashing lights and pulsing bass. You both try to look casual, but you're giggling like teenagers, bumping shoulders, doing everything not to meet the eyes of the employees handing out free pads and tampons.

Yoongi grabs a box off the wall on your way through, still smirking. “Souvenir?”

You swat his arm, breathless with laughter. “Shut up.”

It’s around 11:30 when you and Yoongi slip out of the pop-up, blinking against the dark sky now lit only by strobes, projections, and the glittering glow of festival signage. The grounds still buzz—like the desert itself is vibrating with leftover energy. You lace your fingers through his as you start heading toward the Red Bull Mirage, half-thinking the others might’ve migrated there.

You’re right.

Jimin, Taehyung, and Jin are in rare form, leaning on the pop-up bar, absolutely plastered and shamelessly flirting with the Red Bull reps like they’re auditioning for a music video. Taehyung has glitter on his collarbones and no real sense of volume control; Jimin is twirling his sunglasses like it’s a dance prop, and Jin…well, Jin is shirtless, loud, and demanding samples like a celebrity chef at Costco. He is still sipping from his fish shaped flask. 

You groan affectionately and lean into Yoongi. “Our children.”

“They need supervision,” he deadpans, and you can’t help but laugh.

Despite yourself—and the reality of your bank account—you buy a round of vodka Red Bulls for the group. A poor financial choice, maybe. But the day’s been good. Better than good. And, frankly, they deserve it. Especially if they’re going to be hearing you and Yoongi rustling around the tent again later tonight.

Taehyung shrieks when he sees the drinks and throws himself dramatically into your arms before snagging one. “You’re a goddess,” he says. “An angel. A sugar mama in desert form.”

“You’re disgusting,” you mutter, but you’re grinning.

The five of you wander off, still laughing, and collapse onto a stretch of grass tucked behind one of the smaller art installations. The music from nearby stages pulses in the distance, layered with ambient lights and bursts of laughter from strangers.

You sit in a loose circle. Jimin and Taehyung are falling all over each other, limbs tangled as they drink and giggle and whisper. Yoongi’s pressed against your side, head resting on your shoulder, one hand lazily draped across your thigh. His touch is gentle now, warm and grounding.

Jin, glowing with sweat and pure Jin energy, is animatedly recounting his wildest moments from the Yuma tent earlier. Something about a stilt-walking DJ, a guy in a fur coat, and a beat drop so filthy it made a stranger cry.

“I swear to god,” he says, gesturing wildly with his cup, “I saw someone propose and someone puke in the same five seconds.”

You snort. “Festival romance and reality, hand in hand.”

Everyone laughs.

The circle quiets after a while. You finish your drinks slowly, the buzz setting in just right. The night air is cool now, breezy against the heat that still lingers on your skin. Yoongi turns his face toward your neck, pressing a soft kiss just below your ear. No one comments. No one needs to.

You lean back slightly, just enough to take it all in.

The lights. The music. The taste of Red Bull still on your tongue. The thrum of bass in your chest. Your friends—beautiful and ridiculous and yours. Yoongi, solid against you, warm and safe. You feel cracked wide open in the best way, joy spilling out where stress used to sit.

And for the first time in months, you feel whole.

So damn happy you could cry.

You’re just starting to debate whether to lie back in the grass or gather yourselves when Jin suddenly claps his hands like a dad at a cookout.

“Alright, my turn to contribute to this night of decadence,” he announces, wobbling to his feet. “Who’s hungry?”

All hands go up immediately.

“I saw a dumpling stand near the dome installation,” Jin says, eyes gleaming. “And a taco truck. And maybe some kind of fusion birria thing that made me emotional just walking past it.”

“God bless you,” Jimin whispers, reaching out like he’s seen a vision.

“I’ll be back in ten,” Jin says heroically, adjusting his nonexistent shirt and sauntering off into the crowd, looking like the drunkest bachelor at a wedding.

Yoongi’s still nestled close to your side, and you rest your head against his for a moment. His thumb rubs lazy circles over your wrist, the two of you content in your bubble of music, heat, and late-night joy.

When Jin returns, he comes bearing glory: two brown paper bags overflowing with tacos, dumplings, spring rolls, and something covered in sauce and cheese that no one can name but everyone accepts like gospel.

You relocate to a quieter spot, closer to the edges of the venue, away from the last stage still thumping. You all drop to the ground again, forming a loose circle lit by the soft ambient glow of a nearby art sculpture shaped like a glowing rib cage.

The food is divine—warm, salty, spicy, greasy. Perfect.

Jimin moans through a bite of his taco. “This is the best decision you’ve ever made, Jin.”

“I’ve made a lot of good decisions,” Jin says smugly, licking his fingers. “Like taking my shirt off. You’re welcome.”

Taehyung is curled up next to Jimin, messily devouring a dumpling with chili oil all over his lips. “We should eat like this every day,” he mumbles.

Yoongi passes you a spring roll and brushes a stray hair behind your ear. “You’re glowing,” he says quietly, just for you.

“It’s the sauce,” you say with a grin.

“It’s not.”

You don’t say anything, just lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek before going back to your food. You’re full, a little buzzed, and absolutely basking in the warmth of the moment—your friends, the food, the lights, the air heavy with music and memories already forming.

For now, there’s nowhere to be but here.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

You leave the venue in a loose pack, Jin leading the way like some kind of wine-drenched tour guide, still narrating his culinary triumphs as you all wind your way through the glowing art installations and past the last of the festival stragglers.

Taehyung has one arm slung around Jimin’s waist, the other hand holding a half-finished canned cocktail he snagged from someone on the way out. Jimin’s sipping from a tall cup of something neon and probably deadly, but he looks radiant under the moonlight, giggling as Tae nuzzles into his neck.

You’ve got your own drink, something citrusy and way too strong, and Yoongi's sipping from a flask he swore he wasn’t going to bring. You bump hips a few times as you walk, your bodies naturally leaning toward each other.

"You're a menace," you murmur as he takes another swig.

"You're the one who made me drink water before the bathroom incident," he fires back, smirking. "I consider this revenge."

The path to the campgrounds is alive with other festival-goers—groups with glow sticks, couples wrapped in dusty hoodies, someone playing guitar near one of the towers with a turtle on it. It all feels like one long afterglow, stretched out and humming.

When you reach your cluster of tents, Jimin immediately ducks into the supply tent and emerges like a champion.

“Who wants shots?” he sings, holding up a sleeve of tiny red solo cups in one hand and a full bottle of tequila in the other.

The answer is everyone.

You grab a small bag from your personal cooler and begin distributing water bottles, each prepped with Liquid I.V. and labeled in black Sharpie. You shove one into Yoongi’s hand before he can even think about touching a cup.

“Hydrate first, cowboy,” you warn.

He pouts but obeys, cracking the bottle open and downing half of it. “You’re so responsible when you’re tipsy. It’s alarming.”

“It’s the Virgo moon,” you reply without missing a beat.

Everyone takes a seat in the makeshift circle between tents, the fairy lights overhead blinking softly. Jin takes his shot like a champ. Taehyung downs his with a flourish and then demands a second. Jimin’s perched in Yoongi’s lap, teasing him as he sips water, and you’re already reaching for the next round.

The night isn’t winding down—it’s evolving. Buzzing. Glowing. And none of you are ready for it to end.

The tequila makes quick work of everyone.

By the second round of shots, Jin’s thrown his arm around Jimin’s shoulder and is dramatically reenacting the moment he got trapped in a crowd of shirtless ravers at Yuma earlier. “I thought I was going to die in there. Sweaty. Hot. Glitter in places I didn’t know could hold glitter.”

“Oh no,” Jimin says, resting his chin on Jin’s shoulder. “Poor baby. Do you need…mouth-to-mouth?”

“Only if you’re the one giving it,” Jin fires back with a wink.

Taehyung gasps like he’s been personally betrayed, grabs Jimin by the jaw, and kisses him square on the mouth in retaliation. It’s warm and playful and sloppy—Jimin laughs into it, kissing back just as dramatically before turning and grabbing Jin by the collar.

“Fine. You get one too,” he says, kissing him with a flourish.

Jin whoops, nearly tipping over from where he’s perched on a folding chair, and Taehyung cackles as he pours more tequila into a waiting solo cup. “We’re starting a revolution,” he declares, pointing at no one in particular.

“Of kissing?” you ask, already laughing.

“Of joy,” Taehyung corrects. “And bisexuality.”

The night is electric with that kind of high that only comes from heat, alcohol, and too much love between friends. You’re pressed into Yoongi’s side, his arm around your waist, both of you sharing the same fleece blanket someone dragged out of a tent earlier.

He leans in close, his voice low in your ear, “Are they always like this?”

You glance at him and grin. “Honestly? This is pretty tame.”

He laughs, squeezing your hip. “I love it here.”

There’s music coming from someone’s Bluetooth speaker—something funky, bass-heavy, perfect for slow dancing or grinding or just drunkenly swaying. Jin’s trying to convince Taehyung to start a strip tease, while Jimin dramatically pours shots for an invisible audience.

You and Yoongi just watch it all, cheeks sore from smiling, toes curled into the dusty grass. He kisses the side of your head. You nudge your nose into the collar of his hoodie.

Jimin flops down in the grass again and throws his legs across Taehyung’s lap. “I love you idiots so much,” he declares.

“Shut up and take another shot,” Jin says, but his grin gives him away.

You look around the circle. There’s dirt on your calves, glitter on your arms, the faint sting of sunburn under your shirt—and you’ve never felt more beautiful, more alive, more surrounded by your people.

Yoongi leans in. “Third shot?”

You raise your cup. “Let’s make it four.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The music from someone’s Bluetooth speaker fades in and out with the breeze, but you’re barely listening. Not when Yoongi’s knee keeps bumping into yours. Not when his fingers graze yours every time he takes a sip of his drink.

You glance over, catch him already looking at you. His dark eyes unreadable and lips parted like he might say something but changes his mind. You don’t look away.

“Quit staring, menace.” you murmur, nudging his leg with yours.

“Can’t help it.” He smirks, but it’s slow and lazy, the kind that says he’s been thinking things he probably shouldn’t say out loud. Not here. Not with everyone still around.

Your cheeks burn, but you don’t shy away when he shifts closer, his thigh brushing yours again, firmer this time. You can smell his cologne now—warm and woodsy, familiar. Dangerous.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” you say, voice dipping lower, “and I’m gonna think you’re trying to get in trouble.”

He laughs under his breath, eyes dropping to your mouth like gravity’s got a grip on him. “Maybe I am.”

There’s barely a beat of silence before he adds, quieter now, just for you. “Wanna sneak off?”

The words settle in your stomach like a spark looking for fuel.

Your gaze flicks to the others—Jimin dancing, Taehyung throwing popcorn at him—and then back to Yoongi. His hand rests lightly on your leg, fingers splayed over the denim of your skirt, thumb tracing lazy circles that make your breath catch.

You pretend to consider it, teeth tugging at your bottom lip. “Lead the way.”

Yoongi’s grin sharpens, eyes gleaming with something wicked as he stands and offers you his hand like it’s a promise. You take it without hesitation.

Yoongi already had someone prepare a space, and it was honestly kind of perfect. The back seats of Jin’s SUV are folded down flat, covered in thick blankets, extra hoodies, and a couple of pillows he must’ve stolen from the tent earlier. All the windows are blacked out with jackets and towels tucked into the edges, and with the trunk door shut, the sound of the outside world dulls to a soft hum.

You crawl in first, laughing under your breath, and Yoongi follows right after, pulling the door shut behind him with a definitive thump. The space around you feels stolen—intimate, secret. The air is warm from the heat of the day and still carries that electric buzz from earlier. You're both drunk, skin flushed and nerves on fire.

He settles next to you and immediately reaches out, brushing hair behind your ear and tilting your chin toward him. “You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, just before kissing you.

The kiss starts slow, but Yoongi’s never been good at hiding what he wants. His hand cups your jaw, his thumb dragging over your cheekbone while his mouth deepens the kiss, breath hot against your lips. Your fingers dig into his side, feeling the warmth of his skin under his shirt as you push it up and out of your way.

He shrugs out of it, eyes locked on yours, then leans back in, dragging his mouth across your neck, open-mouthed and deliberate. His hands are all over you—exploring, gripping, sliding under layers. Every touch makes you more restless, more eager, your hips shifting against his with growing urgency.

You let out a breathy laugh when he groans softly, burying his face in your neck for a second before pulling back just enough to say, “Gotta be safe this time.” He pulls a condom out of his shorts pocket and tosses it to the side like a promise. The look in his eyes is serious, dark, and full of heat.

Clothes come off slowly, messily, with whispered encouragement and breathless gasps between kisses. Your hands roam, learning the shape of his back, the way his muscles tighten when you drag your nails lightly down his spine. His mouth returns to yours, then to your collarbone, then lower.

The two of you move together in sync, laughter dissolving into low moans and hushed curses. The SUV rocks gently, and you both muffle your sounds against one another's skin, too far gone to care who might hear. You feel everything—every roll of his hips, every gasp against your neck, every lingering touch that leaves your body on fire.

And when it’s over, the windows are fogged, your bodies tangled, chests rising and falling in a warm, slow rhythm.

You lie there in the afterglow, cheek pressed to his shoulder, both of you grinning.

“You think they heard us?” you murmur.

Yoongi kisses your forehead. “Jin said the car muffles sound. He sounded confident.”

You burst out laughing and slap his chest lightly before pulling your clothes back on, piece by piece. You’re still wrapped up in blankets in the back of Jin’s SUV, limbs tangled, clothes lazily half-on, the smell of his skin still clinging to yours like warmth after the sun’s gone down. The windows are fogged, the outside noise a muffled thrum behind layers of cotton and metal. It feels like you’re the only two people in the world.

Yoongi shifts beside you, pulling the blanket higher over your shoulders. His fingers trail along your spine in slow, absent circles. You think he's about to fall asleep—his breathing is even, his body loose against yours—but then he speaks, voice low and unsteady.

“I need to tell you something,” he murmurs.

You lift your head from his shoulder, instantly alert. “Yeah?”

He hesitates. You can feel the tension gather again in his body, like a string being slowly pulled taut. He looks up at the ceiling of the car, then over at you, eyes soft but serious.

“This isn’t just…this isn’t just amazing sex to me,” he says, quietly but clearly. “I know it might look like that, like we’ve just been vibing and hooking up and having fun, but it’s more for me. It’s been more.”

Your breath catches a little. His eyes don’t leave yours.

“I keep trying to play it cool, like I can just ride this out until the festival ends and deal with it later, but I don’t want to anymore. I don’t want to go into tomorrow wondering if this is only what it’s been under the stars and the lights and all the noise. I need to know if this… us…is something real or could be. I need to know if I’m not the only one feeling it this deeply.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and trembling. You’ve never seen him look quite like this—open, exposed, vulnerable in a way that’s different than physical nakedness. Like he’s offering up something delicate, and trusting you not to break it.

“I think about you all the time,” he continues, quieter now. “I hear you in my head. You’ve got this—this hold on me. A soft spot that I didn’t see coming.”

It’s like hearing the lyrics of a song that always felt too close to home. Something quiet and aching, raw at the edges. Your throat tightens.

“Yoongi…” You sit up slightly, cupping his cheek, feeling the faintest tremble in his jaw. “I feel it too. I didn’t know how to say it, but I do. It’s not just the festival. It’s not just the sex. It’s the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention. It’s how you make me feel safe without trying.”

His eyes search yours, like he’s waiting to be sure, like he’s not quite ready to believe he didn’t screw this all up.

You lean in, pressing your forehead to his, your nose brushing his. “It’s you. You’re what’s real.”

Yoongi lets out a breath like he’s been holding it in for days. His hand slides into your hair, and he kisses you—not with hunger this time, but with something slower. Deeper. Like a promise.

Outside the SUV, the party is still going. Laughter, music, someone yelling about needing more tequila. But here in this little cocoon, it’s quiet. Sacred. A pocket of time that belongs just to you two. And in the soft dark, with your fingers threaded through his and your head resting on his chest, you know—this is the start of something.

You’re reluctant to move at first, wrapped up in Yoongi’s warmth, his words still echoing in your chest, but eventually, the rising sounds of laughter and music outside coax you back into the world. It’s almost 2am, but the camping area is alive, pulsing with leftover energy from the festival grounds.

Yoongi stretches with a quiet groan and opens the hatch of the SUV. Cool air rushes in, a sharp contrast to the warmth you’d been curled up in. You blink against the dim lights from scattered lanterns and strings of fairy lights zigzagging across tents.

As soon as your feet hit the grass, Jin’s voice cuts through the air like a siren.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls from his lawn chair, a half-empty White Claw dangling from his hand. “Look who’s decided to rejoin society.”

Taehyung, draped over Jimin like a living scarf, wiggles his eyebrows dramatically. “Must’ve been a religious experience in there. You both look very…cleansed.”

Jimin dissolves into laughter, clutching his stomach.

You try to keep a straight face but end up giggling as you lean into Yoongi. He smirks, but before he can fire back, Jin holds up a finger.

“I swear to God, Min. If I find so much as one mystery stain in my backseat, you’re paying for a full detail. Inside and out.”

Yoongi raises a hand in solemn promise. “Noted. Full detail. Deluxe package. Wax and everything.”

That gets a loud cheer from the group, and someone tosses Yoongi a beer, which he catches with ease.

As the teasing fades into chuckles, a familiar beat starts up from a Bluetooth speaker nearby—something bassy and smooth, enough to get heads nodding and hips swaying without much effort. Someone’s doing cartwheels in the distance. Someone else is offering glow sticks.

Yoongi turns to you, drink in hand, eyes still soft beneath the mischief. “Dance with me?”

You nod, sliding your hands into his as he pulls you gently into a little pocket of space between tents. The grass is cool beneath your feet, and the air smells of sunscreen, booze, dust and faint traces of festival food. Around you, groups of campers are still laughing, dancing, and clinging to the magic of the night like it might slip away if they stop.

He sways with you, hands low on your waist, lips brushing your temple once, then again. You close your eyes and let it all soak in—his body pressed to yours, the gentle thump of music, the hum of laughter, the occasional flicker of fairy lights above your heads.

Nobody wants day two to end. Not yet. Not when it’s been this good.

Not when tomorrow night means goodbye to this little dreamworld.

The music rolls on, one song blurring into the next like warm waves. The five of you move between lazy dancing and lounging, circling back to the foldout chairs and the soft patches of grass where someone’s laid down another blanket.

Jin eventually throws on a hoodie—still shirtless underneath—and starts making hot ramen with his tiny camp stove, dramatically narrating the entire process like a street food vendor on TikTok. Taehyung joins in as his sous-chef, passing him seasoning packets like they’re sacred scrolls.

Jimin, emboldened by a second vodka soda, clambers into Yoongi’s lap for approximately two seconds before collapsing beside him and laying his head on your thigh. “You guys are too cute,” he mumbles, poking at Yoongi’s knee. “Disgusting. Inspiring. Beautiful. Ew.”

You laugh and run a hand through his hair while Yoongi just shrugs like he’s being unfairly persecuted. “We’re in our honeymoon era,” he says, which earns a dramatic fake gagging sound from Jin.

“Already planning the registry,” you add sweetly, and Jimin slaps your knee with a groan.

By now, someone from another camp has brought over more snacks—half a bag of marshmallows, some chocolate bars, and a pack of mango-flavored Hi-Chews. You trade them for one of your Liquid IVs, and the barter economy is thriving.

Taehyung disappears for a minute and comes back with a little handheld disco light, the kind that projects neon sparkles onto the sides of tents. He sets it down in the middle of the blanket like a disco campfire, and for a few minutes you all sit and stare at it like it’s the most mesmerizing thing you’ve ever seen.

Yoongi curls his fingers around yours. You lean against him, shoulder to chest, legs tangled. It’s comfortable in a way you didn’t know you needed—like even though the night’s been loud and wild, this quiet glow, this warmth, is the best part.

“This has been the best night,” Jimin sighs dreamily, eyes closed.

“No,” Jin counters, holding out the instant noodles with the gravitas of a king. “Now it’s the best night.”

You all eat noodles straight from the pot with chopsticks and plastic forks, sharing bites and making dramatic noises of appreciation. No one mentions the hour, or the ache in their feet, or the fact that tomorrow is the last day. You’ve all silently agreed to pretend time doesn’t exist.

•Part 3•

[eppysboys]

Interview with Nancy Lee Andrews, March 2008 for 'Daytrippin'.

Daytrippin’: Let’s start from the beginning. When did you first meet Ringo Starr?

Nancy Lee Andrews: I met Ringo on a Monday afternoon in May 27, 1974.  John had rented actor Peter Lawford’s infamous Santa Monica beach home where he and May Pang hosted many get-togethers. Girlfriends and wives were cooking in the kitchen and kids were swimming in the pool.  It was a family get-together, rock ‘n’ roll style.  A seat was offered to me at the poker table and I found myself next to Ringo.  He was so charming, playful, witty and cute as hell. He might have had sad eyes, but they were twinkling at me that day.

Two months later, I got a call from May, who announced she and John were back in town.  They shuttled back and forth between New York and Los Angeles so I kept their funky ’68 Barracuda in my garage.  She asked me to bring the car to the Beverly Wilshire Hotel and we would hang out and have some dinner.  I knocked on the door to the suite expecting to see John or May, but Ringo answered instead.  It took me by surprise and I said, “Oh, hello.”  Ringo smiled and said, “I remember you… you’re my poker partner!”

After we exchanged flirtatious pleasantries, we headed down to Sunset Sound Studios where Ringo was working on Goodnight Vienna. John, May and I spent hours encouraging Ringo as he laid down vocals.  When he finished we ventured to The Fiddler, a favorite Sunset Strip hangout that stayed open late and served delicious fried fish and chips.  It had an old Wurlitzer jukebox. The two boys drank, dropped quarters in the jukebox, singing and discussing women, wives and life while May and I chatted, watching them.

Ringo turned more melancholy as we approached two in the morning, holding my hand, touching my face, and looking at me with those big blue watery eyes.  He weaved his way to the jukebox and punched in Charlie Rich’s “The Most Beautiful Girl In The World” over and over again.  At one point he was on his knees, resting his head against the speaker, which was at the bottom of the Wurlitzer.

“That poor guy,” I said to John and May.  “He’s still in love with his wife. Look at him, his heart is broken.” John said softly, “Nancy, he’s a good lad… give him a chance… you two will be good together.”  At that moment I didn’t realize just how prophetic John’s statement would be.

Daytrippin’:  So you knew John Lennon before you actually met Ringo?

Nancy Lee Andrews:  Yes.  I met John through my old boyfriend and legendary bass player, Carl Radle.  Carl played bass for Leon Russell and Eric Clapton and did many sessions in LA.  So I met John at a recording studio.  I can’t recall exactly what session it was but May and I instantly became friends that night and John gave me the thumbs up.

Daytrippin’:  So what was John like as a person?

Nancy Lee Andrews:  He was high energy.  He loved a good conversation. He liked facts about a subject.  And he was simple when it came to his needs, music, food and friends.  He was a night owl and liked to go to the movies after midnight.  One night we went downtown to a funky theater with Bob Dylan to see a Bruce Lee marathon.  Those were the days when a Beatle could make a run in the middle of the night to Pinks for a pig out on hot dogs.  He would get so excited in the recording studio and start sort of dancing when he was hearing what he wanted.  He just loved to get groups of us at the microphone for backup vocals. We had a lot of fun.

Daytrippin’:  And you met George Harrison before all of them. (Her boyfriend at the time, Carl Radle, played bass on All Things Must Pass and The Concert for Bangla Desh.)  What was George like?

Nancy Lee Andrews:  George was quiet but had this intensity when he talked to you.  Again, this guy loved music and it was all about the music.  His wife at the time, Pattie Boyd, was great to hang out with.  She’s a creative woman and a wonderful person.  A few years later Ringo and I went to visit him and Olivia at Friar Park in 1979.  They were so happy.  Olivia cooked a delicious dinner, he played the guitar and we wandered around that huge mansion while he told us its history.  He opened a door, I think it was in the kitchen and handed us candles and told us to follow him.  I thought, Oh, we’re going to the spooky cellar but the stairs kept going down and down and finally we landed on a flat surface.  I looked, and couldn’t believe what I saw… it was a cave complete with stylolites. Walkways through a cavern.  There was even a stream running through it!  I had my camera with me and we had a hilarious time shooting with and without the flash.  I have so many incredible pictures of us in that cave.

After that we settled in his study/music room and he handed me a bowl of rubies… big ones, small ones that were all cabachons.  It was days before my birthday and he said to pick what ever I want and have something made.  While he and Ringo talked and played the guitar I settled in front of the fireplace and designed a necklace with lots of hanging rubies.  One of those nights I’ll never forget.

Daytrippin’:  So after John set you up with Ringo, how did your relationship develop?

Nancy Lee Andrews:  After our first date we were hooked on each other.  We just continued until one day we were looking for a house together and we were a couple.  Our world was fast and on the move all over the world.  We had a place in Monte Carlo, England, Amsterdam and LA.  Between the recording studios, movie premieres, promotion tours, traveling nine months a year and juggling the children, friends and family we were gypsies — elegant gypsies.  Sometimes we would unplug the phones and hide out in our own house not letting anybody know we were in town.  Just a few days of old movies, some home made popcorn and our favorite meals.  Those days were some of our best times.

Daytrippin’:  Your new photo book, A Dose of Rock ‘n’ Roll, chronicles your life with Ringo (1974-1980) as well as the decade of the 1970s.  How did you go from an Eileen Ford Model to becoming a rock photographer?

Nancy Lee Andrews:  I always had a camera in my hand and recorded what was happening in front of me.  Thinking back, there are so many times I wish I had clicked the shutter instead of feeling the moment was too personal and awkward to take a picture.  But you know there are thousands of images from our life and the people who just happened to be there and I would click.  Like the great images of George at the Grand Prix in Monte Carlo… click, click… they’re in the book.  But not all of them, so I’m going to introduce many new images in the gallery shows.  If I used half of what I have the book would be many, many volumes.  You know looking back I had the ultimate all access pass and nobody ever told me to put my camera down.

Daytrippin’:  How did the camera figure into your relationship with Ringo and how did he help boost your career?

Nancy Lee Andrews:  The camera was a huge part of our lives.  We were both posers and loved to give it up for the camera.  He loved the way I saw things and encouraged me to shoot.  One day he said he needed a new head shot for the new album and said, “You shoot it.”  We went out by the side of our house where the light reflected beautifully and we did our little session.  After that we did his next two album covers — Ringo the 4th and Bad Boy, the “Ringo” TV Special and various other publicity images.  He is a natural in front of the camera.  There are images I took of him while in Morocco that are breathtaking.  He actually looked like he could be a Bedouin lord… a flowing Black cape with a long hood… he merged with the culture and they accepted him as one of their own as we strolled through the Medina.  We were living in our own personal movie in a foreign world and I was shooting it.  What a trip!

Daytrippin’: You also helped Ringo write a song, the lovely “Las Brisas” on Ringo’s Rotogravure. How did that come about?

Nancy Lee Andrews:  We were in Acapulco, I think it was the first year of our relationship, and it was so romantic at the Las Brisas Hotel. Everything was pink — pink jeeps, pink flowers floating in the pool, etc.  I was fascinated with the language and was asking someone to translate words for me and writing them down on a napkin in a poem form.  A band was playing and Ringo picked up the napkin and stared singing the words.  We worked on it over the next few days and it became our little song.

Daytrippin’:  You also took the cover and back shot of Ringo’s next album, Ringo the 4th.  What inspired you?

Nancy Lee Andrews:  Fantasy, fairy tales, sword and sorcery, not sure but evolved from a nice bottle of champagne and maybe a book we had been reading.  I think I put that sword in his hands to represent him slaying his demons.  There was this big empty closet in our suite at the Plaza Hotel in Manhattan.  I mean, it would have been a bedroom in some apartments. Any way it was the perfect light box when the flash went off.  We had the best time shooting in that closet with my girlfriend, Rita, on his shoulders.

Daytrippin’:  There’s a famous shot of you, Ringo and Paul and Linda McCartney on 5th Avenue in New York.  What was Paul like and how did that photo come about?

Nancy Lee Andrews:  We were strolling down 5th Avenue back to the Plaza Hotel and we hear someone calling Ringo’s name.  I turned and saw Paul and Linda across the street.  I mean what is the chance of that?  Paul had a photographer following him so when he caught up with us the photographer snapped away.  Paul and Linda came back to the hotel with us and we ordered some tea up to the suite.  I found Paul very charming and down to earth.  He and Linda were a real couple; you know, they were a unit.  Linda had a wonderful sense of humor.  We never hung out with them.  They were always on the farm and Paul had his own music.  He did write a song for Ringo’s Rotogravure, Pure Gold. Paul said it was about me for Ringo, so he recorded it.

Daytrippin’:  Ringo once again called upon you to take publicity photos for the “Ringo TV Special” in 1978.  What do you recall about that shoot and how did Ringo approach the project?

Nancy Lee Andrews:  He took the role seriously because it was the first vehicle that revolved around him.  American TV was a very important vehicle to promote his music.  We had just acquired a house in the Hollywood Hills and it was empty, so we decided to use the living room as our studio.  It was great fun working with an art director and director.  Ringo was surrounded by some great performers who just loved him.

Daytrippin’: You met a lot of famous people through Ringo.  Who was the most memorable?

Nancy Lee Andrews:  The Duke!  We were having dinner one night at the El Padrino Room at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel and I was beside myself because John Wayne was sitting a table away.  He was in my line of sight, but not Ringo’s.  I was fidgeting and terribly distracted.  Ringo finally asked me what was wrong with me and I gushed, “I can’t believe this but John Wayne is sitting right over there.”  Ringo’s eyes lit up and we sat there like two starstruck kids.  When John Wayne was leaving he walked right by our table and Ringo stopped him to say hello.  He was so nice and very tall.  Ringo asked him if he would give me a kiss and he said sure.  He put out his hand and pulled me up from the table and laid a Maureen O’Hara big one right on my lips.  I was a puddle with a stupid grin on my face as Ringo laughed and the other diners smiled at me.  Now that was a man and a legend!

Daytrippin’:  You’ve got some great photos of Ringo and Keith Moon at Trancas Beach in Malibu.  What was your relationship with “Moonie” and was he as crazy as he has been portrayed in the past?

Nancy Lee Andrews:  Keith had two sides.  Some of those pictures in Malibu capture the soft cuddly side of him.  The other side was the Mad Hatter who could make any tea party interesting.

Daytrippin’:  You also developed close friendships with other Beatle cohorts such as Harry Nillson, Dr. John and Donovan.  Give me a brief thumbnail of each person.

Nancy Lee Andrews:   I loved Harry Nilsson like a brother.  One of the most brilliant and fascinating men I have ever met.  Dr. John was all about the music, too.  He loved his kids, a southern gentleman.  Donovan is very impish and fun.  He loves to entertain and gets everyone involved when he knows he has your attention.  A great subject to shoot.

Daytrippin’:  The book portrays a very fast-paced, jet-set lifestyle that you shared with Ringo, including trips to England, Japan, Monte Carlo, Morocco, Mexico and the Yucatan. Didn’t you nearly die in a plane crash in the jungle in the Yucatan?

Nancy Lee Andrews:  Here’s what happened:  we were having a nice time in the Yucatan for about a week until Ringo suddenly became restless.  He woke up one morning and said, “Get me off this island.  I don’t care how you do it, but get me outta here.”  In a matter of hours I managed to book a twin-engine plane to Merida that seated six people.  Our party of four, the two pilots and our embarrassing amount of luggage put us well over the plane’s weight capacity.  Despite that and a looming tropical storm, no one could talk Ringo into staying another day.  The pounding storm forced us to fly so low that the bottom of the plane was brushing against the tops of the trees.  I was trying to calm my friend Susan S. Fair down, who was sure that our plane was going to go crash in the jungle and our remains would never be found.  Hilary Gerard, Ringo’s manager, was holding Tibetan prayer beads up against his third eye, furiously chanting and wishing for a cigarette.  While everyone was frantic and on the verge of breaking down, Ringo was as calm as could be.  He said very matter-of-factly, “Don’t worry, it’s not my time to go, so we’ll all be fine.”

Daytrippin’:  You went out with Ringo during the height of the disco era.  I have it on good account that he took ballroom dancing as a kid and is pretty light on his feet?

Nancy Lee Andrews:  Oh my god, he was a fabulous dancer.  We loved to go to the discos in Monte Carlo and Regine’s was our favorite.  The DJ knew that we loved “I Heard It Through The Grapevine” by Marvin Gaye and would play it at least twice while we were there.  Ringo would jump up and pull me to the dance floor.  He had moves that were so simple but looked so good.  Also we loved to go to Tramps in London… they had the best bangers and mash (sausage and mashed potatoes).  We would gobble it down around 2 a.m. before we went home.  If other women wanted to dance with Ringo they didn’t ask — they  knew I would scratch their eyes out.  As far as ballroom dancing I honestly did not know that about him.  Hmmm, maybe that’s where he got such good timing.

Daytrippin’:  Your relationship with Ringo came to an abrupt end when he met Barbara Bach on the set of Caveman in 1980. You were actually engaged to Ringo at the time.  How did you find closure?

Nancy Lee Andrews:    It took time.  I thought he would come home to me but he fell hard for Barbara Bach.  I put my focus on photography.  I had a business called Headshots for Women and advertised in Variety.  My beauty lighting had the girls lined up.  This was before photoshop.  I had an air brusher and he would wipe the lines away and the women loved it!  Love my computer.  I had a couple of committed relationships over the next ten years and finally gave up.  That’s when I met my husband and we are now coming up to our 15th anniversary… not to mention the few years of courting.

Daytrippin’:  Tell us about your life today and what are your future plans?

Nancy Lee Andrews:  Well, life is very exciting these days.  The book is coming out and will show my photography, even though it’s a flashback to the ’70s.  My friend, May Pang, is also coming out with a book of never before seen photos of John.  We’re going to be doing gallery exhibits and book singings together this spring in Scottsdale, Arizona; Palm Springs, California and NYC.  I have a wonderful exhibit at the Tennessee State Museum this summer, a combination of A Dose of Rock ‘n’ Roll and a dash of country.  I also head up IconicPhotos.com, a Web gallery showcasing some fine photographers work at prices that won’t dent your wallet.  I’m currently negotiating gallery exhibits in London, Paris, Amsterdam and San Francisco.  Whew, this is only a few months into the year and everything seems to have just taken off.

[scififettuccine]

A Wild Fix: Part 2

Pairing: Frenchie x Reader

Summary: The day of the dreaded Supe Convention is finally here. After being paired with Frenchie for your part of the mission, you run into some unexpected conspiracies with some unexpected people.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Homelander, mentions of suicide, mentions of suffocation, Supes being Supes, not proofread (they never are)

Notes: Omg guys look at me being fancy and trendy and cool with the photo header >:)....(Please don't make fun of me I'm a writer not an editor, I tried my best okay?) Anyway here's part 2! Finally posting it after a lot of deliberation, but I hope it was worth the wait! Lots of description in this one, I'm proud of myself 💪 Here's Part 1.5 if you missed it. Big plans for part three, enjoy <3

The day of the Supe convention approached fairly quickly. You would be lying if you said that you hadn't been losing sleep over it. The whole situation was sort of a tightrope walk. If you went to the convention with The Boys, it was bound to end badly. Like you had mentioned to Butcher, it was a suicide mission. But if you told Butcher no, there was a possibility of losing the group as a whole. For better or for worse, they had been the only people in your corner since you joined The Seven…the only thing keeping you stable. As much as you hated that basement…it had become more of a home to you than the tower, even with Frenchie’s irritating presence. You had lost a lot of things in life. A lot of important things. You knew, even if you didn't want to admit it, that you were not stable enough to lose anything else. The outcome of the convention, at least in your mind, would be grim regardless of whether you worried or not. But you couldn't risk losing them, not when they were the only thing close to family that you’d had since…well since you could remember. Calling them family seemed stupid, as you’d only known them for about a month and a half. But truthfully? You didn't know what else to call them. No word seemed good enough.

Butcher had informed Annie of the plan, and the three of you had gotten together to discuss how dangerous the whole ordeal was. Butcher, of course, didn’t care. So, like clockwork, when the day arrived, everyone was informed of the base plan, and ready to go. You and Annie had shuttled into the casino turned convention center with the rest of The Seven, as was planned. The ride was tense and awkward, as it usually was when all of you were together. No one except for you and Annie were really friends, but of course Homelander tried to make it seem like you were. Unfortunately, you got the privilege of sitting across from him on the way there. He tried to create conversation, and you played into it, scared of what would happen if you didn’t. You two hadn’t gotten off to a great start, due to the fact that you had talked back, and he had choked the fear of his every movement into you. And ever since Butcher had info dumped about all the things he had done? You were even more careful around him. The conversation was bland small talk, not exactly focused on anything. You were honestly sort of drifting into space until he mentioned something that caught your attention.

“You’re young, right? You like music?” He asked, his sickeningly white smile on full display. You tried your best not to make a face, unsure of where he was going with it.

“I’m 27… and yeah. Yeah, I like music.” You responded, your fingers moving idly to crack your knuckles one by one. Homelander tilted his head ever so slightly before his gaze shot down to your hands. But as quickly as he had looked, he made eye contact with you once again.

“You know that guy, Mixer? He’s performing at the convention. Feisty little thing, I’ve met him on a few occasions. I remember the day he was signed on to the company.” Homelander paused, chuckling. “He was nothing, then. Fresh out of highschool. The kid could barely look me in the eyes…Now he’s dominating the music industry, with shitty pop but…Still dominating. Funny how those things work out, huh?” He asked. You nodded, glancing over at Annie for support. You didn’t have a clue how any of this was relevant, and you honestly didn’t know how to respond. Annie looked back at you and gave an encouraging smile. What a help she is, you thought.

“I met him at this convention a few years ago, right before he joined Residency.” You informed. Homelander audibly scoffed when you mentioned the team.

“Residency? They’re a PR nightmare in the making. It’s such a strange mix of people, too. I never understood where the inspiration came from.” He chuckled.

“Weren't they kinda supposed to mimic Payback to an extent?” You asked, genuinely curious. He waved a dismissive hand.

“Payback was a PR nightmare too. Come on! I mean, one death and the whole team dispands? Where's the strength in that? This is America! Keep fighting until you can't fight anymore. That’s what I always say.” His disgusting, distorted sense of patriotism always made you nauseous. The man was a blatant white supremacist, and saw the country like it was some holy land. The ideals itself weren't the most sickening part…it was the fact that he wholeheartedly believed them., to the point of influencing others to do the same.

“Yeah…Yeah.” You chuckled awkwardly, putting your hand over your heart, and shaking the other fist in the air. “Land of the free.” With that cringeworthy comment, the conversation sort of died off, ironically just in time for you all to head into the convention center. You and Annie had a few things to handle first, but you had already given The Boys their passes, so they could get an early start.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

It was around lunch time when you and Annie met up with the rest of the group. You had decided to grab a bite to eat at one of the restaurants in the casino. Everything was open and being paid for by Vought, which was honestly one of the nicer parts of the convention.

“Oi. Listen up.” Butcher started, cutting through the small talk once he finally finished his food. “I say we split up into groups, yeh? Divide and conquer. There’s an even number of us, which makes it an easy split.” He scanned the group with his eyes. “MM and Annie, you take the arcade floor, all levels.” He pointed to Hughie. “Hughie and meself will take the shopping center…” His eyes fell on you, and he chuckled ever so slightly. You weren't even paying attention, too engrossed in the pasta you were eating. “Oi, marinara face.” He called, trying to get you attention. You instinctively looked up and wiped your face, figuring you were being messy.

“Sorry…” You grumbled.

“You and Frenchie take the theaters. Go sit in on as many presentations as possible, and bring back anything of interest.” You almost groaned when he paired you with Frenchie. There were four other people for fucks sake, and he knew for a fact that you two didn’t get along. You looked over at Frenchie, narrowing your eyes ever so slightly. He didn't look too happy about it, either, rolling his eyes as he pushed his plate away from him. He muttered to himself in French when he stood up. From what you had gathered over hearing it often, it wasn’t the most accurate.

“Right. That settles it. You know your tasks. Meet back here around…” Butcher looks down to his watch. “3:30-4:00 yeh?” Everyone exchanged one last ‘good luck’ before splitting up, leaving you with Frenchie. The two of you stood in awkward silence for a good minute, before you reluctantly broke it. 

“Of course he would task us with sitting through the boring stuff.” You joked weakly, hoping he’d laugh. He did, but it wasn’t genuine, strained too. Neither of you really had a reason to be nice to the other, in all honesty. All you ever did was insult each other. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jackets before speaking. 

“Oui. Let’s get it over with, then?” He asked, finally meeting your gaze. He was glaring daggers at you. That pissed you off. You were trying to be civil, at least long enough to get through the night. But when he looked at you like that? Like he wasn’t even trying? You glared daggers right back at him. The tension between the two was frustrating, partly because you couldn't figure out what type of tension it was.

“Lets.” You responded, your tone unreadable. The sooner this was over, the sooner you could get away from him.

Upon inspection of the schedule that had been sent to you on your phone, the first event happening in the theater on the first floor was a presentation of Vought’s assets, given by one of the higher ups from the company. Not much info would come from that, you figured, but you wouldn't know unless you sat through it. You turned your head in Frenchie’s direction as the two of you walked out of the restaurant and towards the theater.

“The first presentation starts in forty minutes. It's nothing exciting but it wouldn’t hurt to sit in and listen.” As you waited for Frenchie to respond, you realized your inside hand was a little too close to his. You pulled it away ever so slightly and moved to put your hand in your pocket. Frenchie nodded in response, not seeming too interested. You shouldn’t have let that tick you off…but you did.

“Listen dude. If you’re gonna be an asshole all day you can go do something else. I can handle this myself.” You said, your tone sharper than intended. Frenchie scoffed and rolled his eyes, looking over at you.

“I did not say anything!” Frenchie protested. “Did my nodding offend you that much?”

“It was the inflection.” You huffed, rolling your eyes in return.

“Mmm…Oui. The inflection.” He said mockingly. At that point? It was no use fighting with him, so instead of coming up with a witty retort, you looked around the casino. The line outside the door to the theater was already a bit long, and very colorful. Most Supes wore their uniform suits to the convention, so you could pick out almost everyone, at least those who were signed with Vought. Your eyes fell on a few old friends you had gone through the scouting process with, some people you had met at the last convention, and then an extremely familiar color scheme to a certain Supe’s suit that stuck out like a sore thumb. A bright white ensemble that stood out in a sea of colors…one that belonged to the Supe, Laugh Track, one of the Supes you had mentioned to Butcher.

Laugh Track was another member of Residency, one you were not particularly fond of. You had never personally met the guy, but something about him was just…unsettling. He was rather tall, not as tall as Playback, but almost a head above Mixer. Build wise, he was lanky, at least from what you could see. His Supe suit mainly consisted of a white jacket that resembled those worn in asylums on television, almost a straight jacket, but with control of his arms. There was no visible zipper, and the jacket’s collar went all the way up his neck. His mannerisms were always strange, which was sort of on brand for him. His powers were described as “weaponized hysteria.” It was just a fancy way of saying that his contagious laughter made people go absolutely insane, or at least laugh until they turned blue and suffocated. Laugh Track always stood very stiffly, and usually had a very blank expression on his face, his eyes wide and observant. You’d heard him speak in commercials before, and his voice didn't necessarily ease the feeling of dread you felt when you saw him. He had a strange accent, almost British, but not quite. It was very breathy and weirdly persuasive. He wasn’t unattractive by any means. He had neatly kept bleach blonde hair, bright blue eyes, pale skin…Something was just off.

Laugh Track was standing towards the end of the line, eerily still, his hands, which were covered in little bandages, twitching ever so slightly at his sides. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you could only assume that they were darting around the room. You looked over at Frenchie, who was coincidentally already looking in your direction, his mouth slightly open, as if he was about to say something. You shook off the strange feeling that filled your chest and gestured to Laugh Track.

“Do you see the way his hands are twitching?” You asked, purposefully going out of your way to not look directly at Frenchie. Why the hell was he already looking at you? Was he staring or something? Frenchie looked over to the Supe, his eyes narrowing.

“Maybe he has a tremor. Rude to judge him for it, non?” You huffed and looked back to Frenchie, a less than amused expression on your face. You went to go say something else, but your ears perked up when you heard a familiar voice.

“Roman! There you are. I was looking all over for you.” The voice belonged to the man who was arguably the talk of the whole convention, Mixer. Frenchie followed your gaze and looked over at him too. Mixer originally had a Supe suit as well, but ever since he got popular and became more of a poster child than a Supe, he sort of just wore the stylish shit he wore on stage. On that particular day, the outfit consisted of a sleeveless black t-shirt with his logo on it, and ripped black cargo pants with a bunch of adornments hanging off of them. You had to admit, he knew how to dress. The shirt showed off his tattooed arms, and was tight enough that you could see the outline of his chest. After the slight shock of Mixer just appearing in front of you, you added his comment to your mental index. He called Laugh Track “Roman.” That must have been his legal name.

“I haven’t moved since the last time you saw me.” Laugh Track responded, his breathy voice mixed with the accent making you slightly nauseous. Mixer laughed and playfully nudged Laugh Track’s shoulder.

“I figured you would have gone to get a drink or something.” Mixer smirked and nudged his knee with a bottle of Dr Pepper. Laugh Track turned his head towards Mixer, which gave you a moment to catch a glimpse of his smile. It was…unsettling. Disturbing, even, he looked almost manic. But Mixer? He just tilted his head, and smiled sweetly back at him.

“I told you that I wasn’t thirsty.” The taller man let out a chuckle that honestly made you want to walk away. It was so unnerving, yet Mixer didn't seem affected at all. You and Frenchie made eye contact for a moment, before looking back to the two Supes. Frenchie looked just as uncomfortable as you.

“I know you did, but this thing is going to be long. And if we intend to get the info that he wants us to get, you can't be running on nothing.”

You played that sentence back in your head for a moment. The info that he wanted them to get? Who was “He”? And why were other people at this convention also digging for information? Especially people like Mixer. He had it made in the shade, what else would he need to know?

“You are being very loud about this. Hush.” Laugh Track said, taking the bottle of soda from Mixer’s hand. Mixer laughed softly and nodded.

“Right, right. My bad.” Before Laugh Track could respond, the doors to the theater opened, and the line started to move. “Remember, seats closest to the under-stage door on the left side of the theater. He said they should be reserved.” Mixer reminded as the two started walking, their shoulders practically glued together.

“Yes. Under-stage door on the left side of the theater, stage right in perspective of the presenter, reserved seats.” Laugh Track responded. You and Frenchie exchanged a look as the Supe’s in front of you had their lanyard passes scanned, and walked into the theater. As your own passes were scanned, Frenchie leaned over to you.

“Let's follow them and try to sit as close as we can get, oui?” He suggested. You nodded. That actually wasn’t a half bad idea.

“Good idea.” You responded. You could have sworn that you saw Frenchie smirk. The two of you kept a safe distance away from Laugh Track and Mixer as you made your way into the theater, but made sure you didn't lose sight of them. The flow of the crowd pushed you and Frenchie closer together, but in the heat of the task, you didn't really notice.

Maybe this presentation wouldn't be so useless after all.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sorta kinda leaving you on a cliff hanger there if ya squint. I really like where this is headed and I'm very excited to start writing part 3. Lemme know what you think! Full disclosure I laughed harder than I should have at the “Land of the free” comment so I hope it made you chuckle. Adieu!

teeny tiny taglist: @llynx7 @stinkysam @xcryptk33p3rx

[darl-ingfics]

Lee Chan and His 12 Useful Hyungs

Fandom: Seventeen

Sickie: Dino (flu)

Caregiver(s): Seventeen

Word Count: 4,315

Notes: Well now... this one absolutely got away from me! I had the idea, meant for each vignette to be short... that clearly did not happen... so hope you enjoy!!!

Chan woke up to a headache. Not a crazy headache, certainly not a migraine or anything. But the kind of discomfort that announced its presence as he sat up, throbbed again when he stood up, and pulsed as he turned on the overhead light. Rubbing at his scalp, Chan pushed on, squinting and wincing his way through his morning routine. But after a few minutes, as he left sleep further behind, the pain subsided to a dull throb Chan could easily forget about. It was an annoyance for sure, yet also nothing that a few painkillers couldn’t fix.

Waking to a headache was common in this line of work, anyway. Didn’t drink enough water yesterday? Headache. Didn’t sleep long enough? Headache. Performed a concert with blaring music and screaming fans the day before? Headache. 

Chan threw back three Ibuprofen capsules and went on his way, grabbing a protein bar for breakfast just as the vans pulled up to shuttle the members to the studio. 

As soon as he stepped outside, Chan winced at the brightness of the sun. An aching pulse shot through his head, and he instinctually clamped his eyes shut. Suddenly, he felt a presence against his head, the brilliance of the sun disappearing from behind his closed eyelids. Chan blinked his eyes open to find the brim of a baseball cap blocking the harsh rays from his eyes. He looked around, noting Jun hanging close to his left side. When their eyes met, the older dancer gave him a soft smile. 

“It’s bright today,” Jun said quietly.

Chan nodded. “It is. But I’m okay. You don’t need to sacrifice your hat for my eyes.”

“Thought it looked cuter with your outfit,” Jun replied. He patted Chan’s shoulder affectionately, winking discreetly. 

The maknae smiled. “Thanks, hyung.” Jun nodded. He was good about noticing the little things like that. 

*

Morning dance practice went as smoothly. But with each successive run through of the new title track choreography, Chan felt his energy flag more and more. Despite the pills he’d taken, the headache from that morning had become a steady pain, beating against his temples. And the pain seemed to be seeping through the rest of Chan’s body the longer he was on his feet. He didn’t notice it right away, but after two hours or so, Chan realized that his entire body hurt. Or, maybe hurt wasn’t the right word. His muscles were tired, overcome by an uncanny soreness. 

During a water break, Chan rolled his shoulder and shook his head, attempting to clear some of the creeping fog away. The action, instead, caused him to stumble, nearly falling to his knees. The only thing that kept him from crashing to the floor was the body he’d fallen into. 

“Woah there!” Seungkwan laughed, catching Chan in his arms and steadying him on his feet. “You good, Channie?”

“Y-yeah.” The dancer shook his head again, plastering a smile on his face. “Must’ve tripped on air…”

“Hey, you can’t be graceful all the time; that wouldn’t be fair to the rest of us,” Seungkwan teased, ruffling Chan’s hair. Chan laughed, swatting off his friend’s hand before continuing on his way to his water bottle. He didn’t see the way Seungkwan’s gaze hardened after he’d passed him, his lips drawing into a tight line as he watched Chan closely. There were perks to having a best friend like Seungkwan, perks Chan didn’t even know he needed yet. 

*

At lunch, Chan slumped down at the table, grateful for the break. He opened his pre-prepared lunch and began eating happily. But after four hearty bites, he felt… full? Chan stared at his meal as if it had wronged him. Sometimes, after particularly hard dance rehearsals or performances, the adrenaline would shrink his appetite. But that wasn’t the case today. 

Chan took another deliberate bite. When he swallowed, though, it hurt. And he choked, coughing around the disturbance. 

He felt a hand on his back as he finally swallowed and caught his breath. Chan met Wonwoo’s worried eyes. “You good, bud?”

Chan nodded. “Yeah. Food went down the wrong pipe.” He knocked a fist against his chest twice, clearing his throat for emphasis. 

Wonwoo gave him a sideways smile. “You’re food taste okay?” He nodded towards the table. “You haven’t eaten much.”

Chan nodded again, a bit more enthusiastically this time. “Yeah, it’s great. I just… I’m still too worked up from practice. You know? Adrenaline stomach?”

Wonwoo snorted. “It feels weird to call it that.”

“It does, but you know what I’m talking about.”

“Right.” Wonwoo smiled again, knocking Chan’s shoulder with his own. “As long as your body has what it needs, okay?” Chan nodded, taking a big bite of his meal in response. Wonwoo’s smile deepened in a way Chan wasn’t aware it could. 

*

The second half of practice somehow felt worse. While Chan had eventually been able to stomach a majority of his lunch, he did not feel recharged at all. In fact, he felt worse than before. His muscles were screaming louder. Each breath tore at his now-most-certainly sore throat. The headache had transformed into a haze around his thoughts that dulled the edges of the world around him.

Chan pushed on, though. He still asked detailed, clarifying questions. But not as many. He still danced through every single run. But he was missing the usual spark that lit all of his dance moves. He considered taking his shirt off three times because it was so hot in the practice room. But no one else seemed overbearingly warm, so he didn’t. Chan didn’t complain, didn’t ask to sit out. He just chugged his water, listened to instructions, and stayed on his feet. 

So, at the end of the day, when Chan was pushed into the middle seat of the van, he didn’t quite mind as it meant he got to lean his head against Seokmin’s shoulder. The vocalist immediately began to play with Chan’s hair, humming a tune only the two of them could hear. The sweet melody swiftly sent Chan into a dreamless sleep. 

Seokmin had to shake Chan several times to wake him up, and the maknae woke up groggy and confused. The vocalist smiled softly, completely endeared by the younger man’s adorable sleepiness. “Hey bud. We’re home. Why don’t we go inside and take a shower, yeah?” Chan nodded, fighting against the heaviness of his eyelids. He allowed Seokmin to guide him from the van and into the dorm, moving on autopilot. The brain fog had gotten worse after his nap. 

*

After taking a quick shower, Chan stumbled to his room, and fell onto his bed. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he did. For two hours. And he woke up coughing. 

The kind of cough from deep in his chest, which suddenly felt tight and full of gross shit that hadn’t been there a few hours ago. 

After regaining his breath, Chan clutched at his chest, trying to make sense of the world around him. Everything felt too hot, and breathing felt too hard. He ran a hand across his forehead, arm shaking. He felt sick. 

He couldn’t be sick. There wasn’t time for that. 

Chan decided he needed a thermometer. If he had a fever, that would determine if he was actually sick or if this was just a… a dream or something. He pushed himself up from bed, stumbling to the bathroom, feeling curiously out of place and disconnected from reality. 

When he reached the bathroom, Chan opened the drawer where they usually kept the thermometer, and began to shuffle the contents around. He couldn’t find what he needed. He didn’t realize that his cry of frustration was out loud until he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“Channie, love, what’s wrong?” Joshua asked, eyes wide with worry. 

Chan sniffled, throwing his hands to the side, giving up in frustration. “I don’t feel good.”

Joshua clicked his tongue, placing a cool hand on the younger man’s forehead. He hummed sympathetically as he moved his hand to Chan’s cheek, frowning at the heat radiating from the flushed skin. “You weren’t like this a few hours ago,” the vocalist muttered to himself as he quickly fished the thermometer out of the drawer (it had, after all, been right there.) After slipping the device under Chan’s tongue, Joshua reached for the maknae’s hands, grasping them tight. “This hit you out of nowhere, huh?” As Chan nodded tearfully, Joshua began to work his thumbs in soothing circles around the back of Chan’s hands. 

The thermometer beeped. Chan didn’t move as Joshua reached for the device. His frown deepened upon seeing the number. “Can you tell me more about your symptoms, love?” Joshua asked. 

Chan sniffled again, running his wrist under his suddenly streaming nose. “My throat hurts. My chest hurts. My head hurts. My body hurts.”

Joshua clicked his tongue. “Oh baby.” Chan’s lower lip jutted out. He usually hated being called ‘baby,’ but right now? It made him feel safe and loved. “Let’s get you something for that fever, and then back to bed, yeah?” Chan nodded, allowing Joshua to minister to his needs. He didn’t need to be tough right now. It was late, and he didn’t feel good. He was allowed to love being babied for once. 

*

When Chan’s alarm went off, he was miserable. The cough from earlier had deepened, worsened. He felt no less feverish, no less hazy and foggy and sick. Still, there was work to be done. Chan pushed himself up and out of bed, despite the shivers that wracked his body. Pulled on clothes. Dragged himself downstairs. 

“Absolutely not.”

Chan blinked up at Seungcheol, who had suddenlyappeared in front of him, pressing a firm, cool hand against his forehead. 

The leader clicked his tongue. “Chan, you’re burning up!”

“I’m… I’m okay.” Chan’s tongue felt heavy, making it difficult to get the words out. It also didn’t help that his head felt like it was full of concrete, and breathing suddenly felt like a chore. 

“Sweetheart, you’re sick,” Seungcheol said, hands grasping the younger man’s shoulders. “Go back to bed. I’ll get you out of practice today. Hopefully for the rest of the week.”

“Nooo…”

“Lee Chan, yes. We only have rehearsal today. They’ll have no problem with it,” Seungcheol said authoritatively. He gave Chan’s shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “Your body finally picked a good time to get sick. You have time to rest and recover properly. Take it.” Chan didn’t realize he’d started to cry until the leader wiped a tear from his cheek. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“I’m sorry too,” Chan whispered. He turned to the side, coughing harshly into his sleeve. Felt another wave of tears brimming in his eyes. 

Seungcheol had yet to let go of him. Those hands, while cold on Chan’s skin were blessedly warm against his back as he gently led the younger man back to the stairs. “Come on, hun. Let’s get you back to bed.”

*

Chan did not remember falling asleep, but here he was, waking up. His blankets were a tangled mess around his body, which felt heavy and sticky and uncomfortable. Chan groaned, prompting another cough that left him whimpering. He hated this. He hated this so much.

After taking far too long to detach himself from his blankets, Chan groped around on his nightstand for his water bottle. When he didn’t find it, he felt like crying. Wait, no. He was crying? Over a water bottle? 

“Fuck this day,” Chan whimpered, scrubbing harshly at his nose. He pushed to his feet with more force than necessary, throwing himself off balance and falling gracelessly to the floor. Chan cried out in frustration, hitting the mattress with a fist. 

The door opened with a soft creak. “Channie-bug? Everything okay?”

Chan looked up at the door with a pitiful grimace. “G-Gyu?” he asked, unsure how to make sense of what he was seeing. Everyone was at practice. Weren’t they? What time was it…?

“Yeah, it’s me.” Mingyu crossed the room in two steps and knelt down in front of the younger man, placing a soothing hand in his hair. “Not a hallucination, bud. Cheollie didn’t want to leave you alone, so I’m here for the morning, and someone else will come in the afternoon.” Chan nodded as if that explanation had made it past the congested haze that was his brain. “Do you need something, love? Were you trying to get up?”

Chan blinked. Tried to remember why he got up. How he got here. “I… I don’t know.” He bit his lip as his eyes filled again. Chan gave a frustrated sob. “Why can’t I stop crying?”

“The flu’ll do that you to, bug,” Mingyu’s heart constricted with sympathy as he watched Chan struggle. He reached up to snatch a tissue from the box on the nightstand, gently dabbing at his friend’s cheeks. “Your body’s just reacting to the yuck.”

“Well can it stop?” Chan asked, sniffling bitterly. Mingyu smiled, snagging a few more tissues and offering them to the younger. As Chan blew his nose, Mingyu peeked up at the nightstand again.

“Where’s your water bottle, bud?” 

Chan’s eyes lit up. “THAT’S what I was getting up for!” 

“Perfect!” Mingyu hopped to his feet. “One water bottle, coming right up.” He turned to the door, spun around on his heel to pop a kiss on the top of Chan’s head, and then disappeared out into the hallway.

*

An uncertain amount of time later, Chan awoke to the sound of something crashing in the kitchen, followed by what was supposed to be a relatively quiet curse word. The dancer blinked, cleared his throat, tried to remember where and who he was. 

He remembered Mingyu being there, getting him water and giving him some pills and then practically carrying him to the den to watch a movie, insisting that a change in scenery would be good for him. The rapper had settled Chan onto the arm chair, bundling him up in two blankets (one of which was Mingyu’s personal favorite, and the other was one Hoshi’s mom had made). He’d then put on a movie and settled himself on the couch. Chan couldn’t remember what movie it was. All he remembered was feeling cozy and comfortable listening to the warm sound of Mingyu’s laugh and running commentary. 

That must’ve put him to sleep eventually. Because now Chan was still on the armchair, but the TV was off and Mingyu was no where to be seen. 

The dancer sat up slowly, and turned his attention towards the kitchen. He could see a tuft of silver hair peeking over the counter, could hear a litany of muttered curses. Minghao. 

“Hao?” His voice was a congested croak, far too quiet and foreign to his own ears. But it caught the attention of the man in the kitchen, who instantly shot to his feet. 

“Did I wake you?” Minghao asked with a guilty smile. “Sorry about that. Someone put the pots away in the wrong spot, so they all fell the minute I opened the cabinet.” His smile was bright, but there was venom behind it. Chan felt himself smile. “Any idea who could’ve done such a thing?”

Chan shrugged. “I think I saw Cheollie-hyung doing the dishes the other day? And Hoshi-hyung helping him?”

“Heathens.” Minghao shook his head. Chan smiled harder, pulling his knees up to this chest and resting his chin on top of them. “I’m making you lunch, by the way.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t need to eat all of it. The goal is to eat enough to take more meds. And have left overs you can just heat up when you need them.” 

“Okay.”

“I will also be making you tea now that you are awake and it will not get cold and go to waste.”

“Okay.” 

“I could literally say anything right now and you’d agree, yeah?” Minghao cocked his head to the side, taking note of how flushed Chan’s cheeks were. Yep, the next dose of medicine was imminent. 

Chan grinned, his head falling to the side in a mirror of Minghao. “Yeah.” He sighed. “I love you, gege.”

Minghao beamed at his friend’s adorableness. “I love you, Channie.”

*

Chan was still on the armchair, fading in and out of sleep, when the group came home that evening. Naturally, the door opened to a whirlwind of chaos: laughter, excited voices yelling over one another, shoes thumping against the floor. Minghao immediately yelled at them all to quiet down, which he didn’t seem to see as ironic at all. And no one really listened to him either, instead surrounding Chan with the full force of their attention, asking how he was feeling and filling him in on their daily shenanigans. Chan attempted to listen, but found himself incredibly overwhelmed and unable to process most of the words being thrown at him. So he just simply nodded along. Until a cough bubbled up and doubled him over. 

“Alright, alright, break it up.” Jeonghan’s voice broke through the din. “That’s enough excitement for our Channie.” The vocalist stepped forward, cupping Chan’s face in his hands. “How’re you feeling, lovey?”

“Bad,” Chan answered. “But I’m happy you’re all home.” His voice cracked, and he shrunk out of Jeonghan’s grasp, coughing roughly into his fist. 

Jeonghan pouted, clicking his tongue. “My poor baby.” Instead of brushing him off like usual, Chan just matched Jeonghan’s pout, telling the elder all he really needed to know how truly awful his youngest brother was feeling. “Come on.” He held out his hands, which Chan accepted. Despite the protests of the some of the other members, Jeonghan wrapped an arm around Chan’s shaky frame, and led him lovingly back to his room. 

“Was practice good?” Chan asked as Jeonghan placed him on his bed.

“It went very smooth.” Jeonghan patted Chan’s before he began to buzz around the room. “We reviewed the title track choreo from yesterday. The choreographer actually went back and changed that part you suggested after marinating on the change overnight.” The vocalist gently threw a fresh pair of pajamas on Chan’s lap. “Feel comfortable changing on your own?” Chan nodded and began moving to do just that. “Then we kept cleaning that dance for most of the morning. And in the afternoon, we started unit song choreographies.” Jeonghan paused, helping Chan lift his old hoodie the final stretch off his arms. “As per usual, the vocal unit doesn’t have a ton to do, but we’re also adding a ton of wicked harmonies, so I’d much rather stand around and let our voices do the dancing, you know?” 

“Um-hm.” Chan nodded along as he finished pulling on his new pajama pants. Jeonghan was talking in that soft, honey-like voice that always put Chan to sleep. And on a different day, Chan would accuse the elder of manipulating him. But today… Chan was ready to go back to sleep.

As Chan laid back down and Jeonghan carefully tucked his covers back around him, Seungkwan appeared in the door. “Hey! Why do you get to monopolize the maknae?!” he whined. Chan looked up, hazy and just along for the ride. 

Jeonghan huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s my baby, and I have been deprived of taking care of him in his time of need all day. I’m allowed a little selfishness.” 

Chan giggled a bit to himself, burrowing deeper under the covers as his eyes slipped closed. “You guys are so funny…” he mumbled before nodding off, making both Jeonghan and Seungkwan wish they were filming the exchange to remember just how adorable Chan was at that very moment. 

*

“Oh, you poor thing,” Soonyoung cooed when he came across Chan slumped against the bathtub at two in the morning. 

Chan, pale and sweaty, sniffled pathetically. “I thought it was time to take more medicine… but it just made me throw up.” 

Soonyoung frowned, kneeling down in front of Chan and caressing his feverish cheek. “Your last does was around what? 8pm?” Chan shrugged. “You haven’t felt nauseous before now, right?”

“Right,” Chan confirmed with a tiny nod. “Just after taking the Nyquil…”

Soonyoung snapped his fingers, startling the younger man. “It’s probably cause you took it on an empty stomach.” Chan blinked in surprise. “I don’t remember you eating much yesterday.”

Chan touched his stomach, a look of betrayal on his face. When he met Soonyoung’s eyes again, there was a sheen of tears threatening to spill over. “Why does my body hate me?”

“Oh, lovey,” Soonyoung chirped as he pulled Chan against his chest. He could feel the younger man trembling, from crying or fever or what Soonyoung didn’t know. But it broke his heart to see their dedicated, responsible maknae so out of sorts. He tightened his hold on Chan just a tiny bit more. “How about you come out to the kitchen with me? We can get you something little to eat, and then see if we can get you some more meds? I’ll have a stern talking to with them on your behalf.” 

Sniffling, Chan let out a single laugh. “Thank you, hyung.” He had yet to release Soonyoung from the hug. And Soonyoung wouldn’t let go until he was ready. 

*

At 6am, Chan thrashed awake. He shot up, gasping for air around the gunk settled in his throat. He coughed, and it hurt. His throat burned, lungs throbbed, and his ears rung with the horrific choking sound he could hardly believe was coming from his own body. 

“Hey, hey, easy, easy.” 

Hands were thumping against his back, trying to help clear his airways. And by some miracle, it worked. The fit ended, leaving Chan with the disgusting sensation of loosened phlegm in his mouth.

“Here.” A cup materialized in front of his face, held out by the same ghost hands from before, and Chan spit into it, not caring how gross the whole fucking situation was. He didn’t protest when the ghost hands wiped at his lips with a tissue, or pushed him back to lean against his pillows. 

“You’re okay.” Chan finally turned bleary eyes up to find that his current savior was Jihoon. The producer, who looked like he was on his way to the gym, offered him a reassuring smile. “I heard you yelling in your sleep, but just as I walked in, you woke yourself up. Whatever it was, it was just a dream, love. You’re safe.”

Chan nodded. He felt the tears slipping down his cheeks before he could even register them welling up in his eyes. Jihoon clicked his tongue, thumbing away the water from his brother’s cheeks. 

“I don’t even know why I’m crying,” Chan sniffled, voice terribly quiet. He shifted his legs, suddenly aware of how sweaty his skin was, and how damp the sheets around him were. He grimaced. “Why am I so sweaty??”

Jihoon chuckled, planting a hand in Chan’s hair. “That’s the fever, dummy. On both accounts, actually.” Chan pouted. Jihoon laughed again. “Pouting isn’t gonna fix anything.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?”

“You could take a shower? That might help clear all the yuck out, and get the sweat off. And no one will know if you’re crying or if it’s just the water.”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Chan rolled his eyes. “But a shower does sound nice.” 

“Want help with that?” Jihoon asked, genuine concern in his eyes. 

Chan shook his head. “I think I’ll be okay. Go to the gym.”

“I’m gonna wake Seungcheol just in case, so at least someone knows you’re in there.”

“Okay.” Chan paused. “Hyung, I love you.”

Jihoon beamed. “I love you too, bug.”

*

“I’m so over this…” Chan whined, flopping back against the recliner. After his shower that morning, he’d felt almost human again for a good hour. But he’d fallen back asleep at the end of those blissful sixty minutes, and woken up to the stuffy nose from hell. The concrete feeling in his sinuses was back full force, and he’d had a tissue box practically glued to his hand ever since. 

“Well that sucks cause you’re only on day two,” Hansol pointed out, settling onto the couch next to his friend’s ‘contaminated chair,’ as Seokmin had branded it last night (despite Minghao very obviously spraying the chair down with Lysol after Jeonghan had taken Chan to bed. Chan didn’t blame them; he would’ve encouraged such behavior if he’d been in more of his right mind). 

“Useless. Useless and unhelpful,” Chan chided petulantly.

Hansol just laughed. “The two things I strive hardest to be.” Chan scoffed, simply shaking his head. Hansol shook his own head in response, looking down at his phone. 

A few minutes passed before Hansol hear a quiet, “You’re not really useless, you know.” Hansol looked up. Chan was looking down at the chair, tracing its pattern with a finger. “I like to joke that you’re all annoying and overbearing and bully me and stuff. But… but that’s all it is. A joke. Most of the time. Sometimes you really are all those things. Not you, specifically. What I’m trying to say is… thanks.”

Hansol smiled, soft and sincere. “For what, Channie?”

“For giving me your hat when the sun hurts my eyes.” 

Hansol’s smile deepened as he remembered seeing Jun place his own hat on Chan’s head before texting the “13 MINUS CHAN” group chat: ‘maknae’s head hurts & he’s not whining about it. code yellow?’ In just one moment, Jun had correctly predicted the path they were on now, tuning the rest of the members onto their youngest’s frequency so they were all there to catch him the minute he stumbled. 

Chan met Hansol’s eyes then, smiling softly. “I love you, guys.”

“We love you too, bug.”

[hunieday]

9th Anniversary story - Chapter 4 : A serious match-up.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9

Please note that I am not a professional translator and I'm only doing this to share the side materials to those who cannot access them, if you notice any mistakes please let me know nicely. Enjoy!

Reporter: Next up is the shuttle run!

Reporter: When the music starts, you’ll begin running. Every time the sound plays, you need to touch the line 20 meters ahead with your foot, then turn around and come back.

Reporter: This test serves to measure endurance. It’s easier to understand if you see it, so we’ll have a staff member demonstrate.

Staff: Here I go.

Izumi Mitsuki: Ah, I see.

Momo: You keep up with the song’s tempo and go back and forth.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: Momo-san, this seems like something you’d be really good at.

Momo: Probably. You gotta run around like this all the time when playing soccer.

Momo: But hey, Gaku seems like he’d be great at this too, no? You’ve got stamina and willpower.

Yaotome Gaku: I’ll do my best to not lose to you, Momo-san.

Tenn Kujo: Nanase-san, are you really doing the shuttle run?

Nanase Riku: Yeah.

Tenn Kujo: The shuttle run is…

Izumi Iori: No need to worry. If anything happens, I’ll stop him.

Izumi Iori: Nanase-san, don’t push yourself too hard. Take it easy.

Nanase Riku: I know, I know. I’ll be fine!

Nikaido Yamato: You just got over your cold, Riku. No wonder Kujo and Ichi are worried about you.

Nanase Riku: Yamato-san? I didn’t have a cold or anyth- … achoo!

Izumi Iori: Sure you didn’t.

Izumi Iori: Nanase-san needs to take it easy, so I’m expecting you to step up, Nikaido-san.

Nikaido Yamato: Me?

Izumi Iori: You’re not losing to anyone when it comes to stamina and endurance.

Nikaido Yamato: You think so? I’m probably gonna lose, you know.

Izumi Iori: Someone without endurance and stamina wouldn’t be plotting reve- mmmmph!

Nikaido Yamato: Good boys should always stay quiet. Well then…

Nikaido Yamato: Guess I gotta get a little serious.

Nanase Riku: Yamato-san, you’re so cool!

Tenn Kujo: Our Gaku won’t lose.

Yuki: Neither will my Momo.

Reporter: Alright, everyone! Get ready!

Momo: Huff… Huff…!

Momo: …I give up…!

Reporter: And we’re done!

Reporter: The shuttle run winner is the person who ran the most, so let’s announce the first place first!

Reporter: Momo-san is our longest runner! 128 rounds!

Yuki: That’s so impressive! Well done! I only managed 30.

Mido Torao: Didn’t you quit way too early…

Izumi Mitsuki: Haa… That was exhausting…! How many did you get, Mido?

Mido Torao: 93. You?

Izumi Mitsuki: 97.

Mido Torao: Wow, nice! You’ve got guts.

Izumi Mitsuki: You could’ve gone further, Mido!

Reporter: Second place! Yaotome Gaku-san! 118 rounds!

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: You did it! Congrats, Gaku!

Yaotome Gaku: Haa… Thanks! I started off a bit too fast, but I managed to push through till the end.

Tenn Kujo: Gaku’s always been surprisingly determined for a rich kid.

Nikaido Yamato: Ugh, shit! I thought I could beat Yaotome…

Reporter: Third place! Nikaido Yamato-san! 112 rounds!

Nanase Riku: Yamato-san, you got third place!

Rokuya Nagi: Wow! That’s a great achievement! Good job, Yamato!

Nanase Riku: You promised you’d step up!

Rokuya Nagi: OH… Fufufu. You look like a hero.

Nikaido Yamato: Stop jesting. I didn’t even do that great.

Nanase Riku: You did amazing, you looked so cool!

Nikaido Yamato: Haha… Well, as long as you’re happy, Riku.

Tenn Kujo: I thank you for your efforts as well. For no reason, of course.

Nikaido Yamato: Yeah, I know.

Reporter: Momo-san, what’s the secret to winning the shuttle run?

Momo: My partner dropped out early, so I had to make sure Re:vale left a mark, I gave it my all!

Yuki: Get a rooooom!

Momo: Kyaaaa~! Re:vale are soooo in love! (1)

Osaka Sougo: …They’re fangirling over themselves…

Yotsuba Tamaki: We should learn to hype ourselves up too.

Osaka Sougo: You mean yelling “kyaaa” over ourselves? I wonder if we can manage it without it being awkward…

Yotsuba Tamaki: Give it a shot.

Osaka Sougo: Hello, I’m Osaka Sougo.

Yotsuba Tamaki: Sou-chan, you’re so cool!

Osaka Sougo: Woohoo!

Osaka Sougo: How was that?

Yotsuba Tamaki: You bombed it.

Osaka Sougo: I told you…We’re amateurs..

Yotsuba Tamaki: Yeah.

Osaka Sougo: That was embarrassing…

Yotsuba Tamaki: Don’t sweat it. Congrats, Momorin!

Momo: Thanks!

Reporter: Now, let’s move on to the 50-meter dash.

Reporter: The 50-meter dash serves to test your speed.

Reporter: You will run in a straight lane for 50 meters, starting in a crouched position.

Reporter: After the cues of “on your mark” and “get set”, the whistle will blow, and you’ll run straight to the finish line. Your time will be recorded the moment your torso crosses the finish line.

Nikaido Yamato: This one’s just about raw speed. I have a feeling I know who’s gonna be the fastest.

Inumaru Touma: This one’s gotta go to Tsunashi-san. He’s tall, has long legs, and just looks fast in general.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: If you say that, then Torao-kun must be fast too.

Mido Torao: I wonder… I might do okay in a 25-meter dash, but I’m not sure about 50.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: I get that. You have to pace yourself, right?

Mido Torao: Exactly. There’s gotta be a strategy. Maybe instead of going all out from the start, you gradually increase your speed?

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: That actually makes sense! I’ll try that.

Mido Torao: Uh… I was just rambling. I’d hate to be wrong.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: Don’t worry about it!

Natsume Minami: Inumaru-san, you’re quite the runner aren’t you? You must be confident.

Inumaru Touma: I’m not sure?! I’m on the faster side, but everyone here seems pretty fast too.

Isumi Haruka: Touma’s fast! Ah… but Izumi’s really fast too.

Izumi Iori: Well… I’m decent.

Rokuya Nagi: Mitsuki too. The Izumi brothers are quite the fleet-footed runners.

Izumi Mitsuki: I’m gonna go all out!

Yotsuba Tamaki: I won’t lose!

Momo: Same here! Running is a straightforward, simple competition!

Yuki: Is it though?

Nikaido Yamato: If you say so.

Yaotome Gaku: I’m in. I’m finally beating you today, Ryuu.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: I won’t lose!

Reporter: Alright, let’s begin! On your marks!

Izumi Iori: …

Izumi Mitsuki: …

Reporter: Get set… Start!

(Flashback)

Young Izumi Iori: …Huff… huff…the goal…!

Izumi Brothers’ Grandfather: Ohhh… Iori, you’re really fast.

Young Izumi Iori: I wore the sneakers you gave me, grandpa, so I feel faster than usual.

Izumi Brothers’ Grandfather: I see, I see. That’s good to hear.

Izumi Brothers’ Grandfather: Oh my. Isn’t that Mitsuki over there with his friends?

Mitsuki’s Friend: Mitsuki, you’re pretty fast! I heard your little brother is fast too.

Young Izumi Mitsuki: Yeah.

Mitsuki’s Friend: Who’s faster?

Young Izumi Mitsuki: That would be me. I’m the big brother after all.

Mitsuki’s Friend: But I heard your little brother managed to do backflips before you, right?

Young Izumi Mitsuki: That is true…

Young Izumi Iori: …

Young Izumi Mitsuki: Though I have won against Iori in the past.

Mitsuki’s Friend: Yeah, in the past. What about now?

Young Izumi Mitsuki: Not sure… but I think I can still win. I’m his big brother, after all.

Mitsuki’s Friend: Really? What if you lose?

Young Izumi Mitsuki: I won’t.

Young Izumi Iori: …

Izumi Brothers’ Grandfather: What’s wrong, Iori?

Young Izumi Iori: Um… I wanna go home now.

Izumi Brothers’ Grandfather: I see. Let’s head back home then.

Izumi Brothers’ Grandfather: I wonder what Mitsuki and his friends are talking about? My hearing isn’t as sharp these days… Maybe I shouldn’t interrupt them.

Young Izumi Iori: Yes…

Izumi Brothers’ Grandfather: Alright.

Young Izumi Iori: …I know you bought them for me, but I think I’ll store these shoes in their box for a while.

Izumi Brothers’ Grandfather: Why? I thought you liked them?

Young Izumi Iori: I do, it’s just… I don’t want them to get dirty. I’ll keep them safe.

Izumi Brothers’ Grandfather: Ahaha, you don’t have to worry about that. Look at Mitsuki.

Izumi Brothers’ Grandfather: He’s playing with his friends until the shoes I got for you two are covered in mud. That’s how it should be.

Young Izumi Iori: …

Young Izumi Iori: (No, it’s not okay… Nii-san has lots of friends, but…)

Young Izumi Iori: (Nii-san is the only friend I have.)

Reporter: We’ve reached the end…!

Izumi Iori: Huff… haa…!

Reporter: 3rd place! Izumi Iori-san! 6.51 seconds!

Izumi Iori: …Hah…

Reporter: 2nd place! Yotsuba Tamaki-san! 6.41 seconds!

Yotsuba Tamaki: Ughhh…! Damn…!

Reporter: 1st place! Izumi Mitsuki! 6.39 seconds!

Izumi Mitsuki: Hah… hah…! Hell yeah!!

Momo: Ahhh! I’m so frustrated…! I messed up my start!

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: Hah… hah…! Ahh! That was close…!

Mido Torao: …Damn! I’m sorry! I’m serious! All because I was rambling…

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: No, no! Mitsuki and the others were just really fast! You too, Touma-kun!

Inumaru Touma: …No way! That's not my limit! I wanna run again!

Rokuya Nagi: Mitsuki, congratulations!

Izumi Mitsuki: Thanks! But hey, did you really go all out? Aren’t you actually faster?

Rokuya Nagi: No, no, no. I’ve only mastered self-defense.

Rokuya Nagi: However, I am not good at sports.

Nikaido Yamato: Is that so? Nagi, if you don’t work out properly you’ll get mounted by some thugs again.

Rokuya Nagi: OH… I certainly don’t want to be mounted, I am a very proud person.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: Self-defense… If you’re good at that, maybe you’ll be good at the next event?

Rokuya Nagi: WHAT…? OH! The vaulting box!

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: Have you done it before?

Rokuya Nagi: Yes. I am good at it.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: Me too!

Mido Torao: I think I can do that one too…

Isumi Haruka: You got this, Torao!

Reporter: Now, before we move on to the next test, what was your secret, Mitsuki-san?

Izumi Mitsuki: I’ve had a great rival close to me since childhood! Right, Iori?

Izumi Iori: Yes, that’s right.

Izumi Mitsuki: …

Izumi Iori: Congratulations, Nii-san.

Izumi Mitsuki: Thanks, Iori.

To be continued…

The joke here is that Re:vale are reacting to their own selves as if they’re their fangirls.

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Crossfire” pt.1

Commander Cody x Reader x Captain Rex

⸻

The Outer Rim. A nowhere planet with a forgettable name. A bar that stank of spilled liquor and dreams that died in the dust. The kind of place where no one asked questions and everyone had something to hide.

Perfect.

You stepped through the door, your boots leaving gritty impressions on the warped floorboards. The air inside was thick with smoke, body heat, and the sour scent of desperation. The music was low, sluggish. There was laughter—loud, drunk, desperate—and the unmistakable tension of blasters under tables.

You spotted them before they spotted you.

Kenobi. Clean robes despite the grime. Always did like to pretend he wasn’t in the gutter with the rest of you.

Skywalker. Brooding in the corner like he owned the galaxy.

Ahsoka. Sharp-eyed, too observant.

And then the clones.

Commander Cody, sitting at the bar, looking like he was trying to blend in but failing miserably. That rigid spine was a dead giveaway.

Captain Rex, by the sabacc table, helmet at his side, hand near his belt. He looked right at home in this kind of chaos.

And of course, they hadn’t noticed you yet. Not yet.

Their target sat in a booth at the far end, sweating bullets. A former Seppie bigshot gone rogue, data chip hidden in his belt, secrets worth a fleet. Everyone wanted him.

And you’d been paid a lot to make sure he didn’t leave this dump alive.

So you didn’t hesitate.

One clean shot between the eyes.

The bar froze. Then erupted.

Blasters were drawn, tables flipped, civilians ducked. The rogue Seppie’s lifeless body slumped in the booth as chaos swallowed the room.

You ducked a shot, returned fire, elbowed a low-level bounty hunter in the face (probably the idiot who’d been hired to extract the Seppie), and spun—only to feel the hard press of a stun round hit your shoulder. Your world blinked white.

⸻

You woke up cuffed, sitting across from the same bounty hunter you clocked earlier. He looked pissed, bleeding from his nose.

“You broke it,” he snarled.

“Yeah?” You smirked. “Want me to break the other half for symmetry?”

“Enough,” Cody growled from beside the shuttle door.

You turned your head lazily toward him. “Commander. Still as charming as ever.”

“And you’re still a pain in my shebs,” Rex muttered, arms folded as he leaned against the wall opposite you.

You gave him a wink. “Thought you liked that about me.”

Skywalker wasn’t as amused. “You just jeopardized months of intel.”

Kenobi, to his credit, looked more tired than angry. “Why did you kill him?”

You shrugged. “Because someone paid me to.”

“That’s your only reason?” Ahsoka asked, arms crossed.

“I’m a bounty hunter, kid. What did you expect—moral qualms?”

The shuttle rattled slightly as it took off. You leaned back in your restraints, smirking at the other bounty hunter who was still fuming.

“If you keep glaring at me like that, I’m gonna start thinking you like the pain,” you said.

“I’m gonna gut you.”

“You can try. They’ll probably stop you halfway through. Probably.”

⸻

When the shuttle touched down and they dragged you toward the brig, you kept up the banter, kept smiling through it. They threw you into a cell—right across from someone you hadn’t seen in a while.

Cad Bane.

He sat on the cot, arms folded, hat gone. He looked up slowly, red eyes gleaming.

“Well, well. Look who finally got caught.”

You leaned against the bars, grinning. “Still bitter I outshot you on Lothal?”

He gave a dry chuckle. “Nah. Just funny seein’ you in a cage. Guess even you couldn’t run forever.”

“I’m not running,” you said. “Just biding my time.”

Cad raised a brow. “That’s what they all say.”

From behind you, you heard Rex mutter to Cody, “This is going to be a long debrief.”

Cody replied, “We should’ve left her on Taris.”

You smirked. “You missed me, admit it.”

They didn’t answer—but you swore you saw the corner of Cody’s mouth twitch. Rex didn’t look away fast enough.

Yeah.

This wasn’t over.

⸻

The cell was cold. Imperial-grade, sterile, humming with the low sound of energy fields. The kind of place designed to keep people like you in line.

You sat on the bench, arms draped casually over your knees, studying your chipped nails while the other bounty hunter—Dren or Dray, whatever his karking name was—paced like a caged nexu.

He stopped in front of you. “When we get out of here—”

You cut him off without looking up. “You’re going to try to kill me. Yeah, yeah. You’ve said it five times already. Sixth time’s the charm?”

He growled low in his throat.

Cad Bane laughed from his cell. “If he doesn’t do it, I might.”

You smiled sweetly. “Aww, Bane. Missed me that much?”

He smirked. “Not as much as I missed your karkin’ messes.”

Before Dray could lunge, the door hissed open.

Commander Cody stepped in first, helmet off, expression carved from stone. Rex followed close behind, also helmetless, his eyes scanning the room like he expected you to pull a trick just for fun.

And oh, you wanted to.

“Let’s make this simple,” Cody said. “One at a time.”

He gestured to Dray, who sneered at you before being dragged out by two troopers.

⸻

They threw him into the chair, cuffed to the table. Skywalker stood near the door, arms crossed. Ahsoka leaned in the corner. Kenobi took a seat opposite him.

Cody and Rex remained silent but close.

“So,” Kenobi started, polite as ever. “Why were you sent after the separatist?”

Dray spat blood onto the floor. “Someone big. Black Sun, maybe. Zygerrians. Don’t know. Don’t care. I don’t ask.”

“But you were told to bring him back alive,” Ahsoka pressed.

Dray shrugged. “My job. Pretty sure hers was the opposite.” He jerked his chin toward the door.

Skywalker’s brow twitched. “And you didn’t think to stop her?”

“Have you tried stopping her?” Dray barked a bitter laugh. “She doesn’t stop until the job’s done.”

Kenobi exchanged a look with Cody. “And what do you think her goal really is?”

Dray smirked. “Chaos. She lives for it.”

⸻

They didn’t even bother dragging you. You walked.

Rex stayed close. His arm brushed yours once in the hallway. Neither of you said anything, but the contact lingered.

They sat you in the room, uncuffed your hands—but you didn’t miss the stun baton nearby.

Kenobi this time sat across from you. Ahsoka and Skywalker flanked the wall. Cody stood by the door. Rex leaned against the table, arms folded, watching you carefully.

“Who hired you?” Kenobi asked.

You shrugged. “Don’t know. Credits came clean. Dead drop. Professional middle-man.”

“What were your instructions?”

You smirked. “Make sure the Seppie doesn’t leave the bar alive. Job well done, I’d say.”

“You jeopardized months of intelligence,” Skywalker snapped.

You tilted your head, mock-innocent. “Aw. You poor things. Didn’t have a backup plan?”

Rex cut in, voice low. “Why take that job?”

“Because it paid better than babysitting cadets,” you replied, eyes locking with his.

Cody’s jaw tensed. “You knew we’d be there.”

You let the silence stretch.

Kenobi sighed. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

You leaned forward, grin sharp. “I’ve always played dangerous. And the best part? I win.”

Cody stepped closer. “Not this time.”

You looked up at him. The air shifted. That heat. That damn history.

“You sure about that, Commander?”

He didn’t answer.

But he didn’t break eye contact either.

⸻

Later: In the Cells Again

“You’re going to get us all killed,” Dray snapped.

“Only you,” you replied sweetly.

“Keep talkin’,” Cad Bane drawled, “and I’ll kill ya both just to sleep in peace.”

You laughed. “You’re too old and slow, Bane.”

He smirked. “You sure? Maybe I’m just waitin’ for the right moment.”

You stood and leaned against the bars. “You want out, don’t you?”

Bane looked up slowly. “You plannin’ somethin’?”

“Maybe. But I’m gonna need you not to shoot me first.”

Dray scoffed. “You’re conspiring with him?”

You turned. “I’d rather get spaced with Bane than babysit you for another karking hour.”

“You’d die before we even got to the hangar.”

“I’d die after stabbing you in the eye,” you snapped.

“Enough!” Cody’s voice cracked through the corridor. “You’re all on thin ice.”

Rex followed behind him, eyes flicking between you and Cad Bane. “What are they whispering about?”

“Escape,” Bane said easily.

“Sabacc,” you said at the same time, deadpan.

Cody sighed. “Stars help me.”

You flashed him a grin. “Come on, Commander. You never did like me quiet.”

Cody stared at you, tired and tense. “You’re going to make this hell, aren’t you?”

You leaned in through the bars. “Only for you.”

Behind him, Rex didn’t laugh. But he looked away—like maybe he remembered too much.

And it wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

⸻

He came to your cell alone. Helmet under one arm, posture like durasteel—guarded, unreadable. But his eyes… they lingered.

“I don’t get you,” he said finally.

You arched a brow, leaning against the wall. “That’s the fun, isn’t it?”

“You could’ve walked a different path.”

“Couldn’t we all?”

He stepped closer to the bars, voice lower. “You’re good. You’ve always been good. But you waste it chasing the next high, the next payday.”

You met his eyes. “And you waste yours dying for a war you didn’t start.”

Silence crackled between you.

“You know I almost trusted you once?” he said, quieter now. “Back on Ryloth.”

You smiled sadly. “I trusted you too. That’s why it hurt.”

Cody’s jaw clenched. He stepped back.

“Good night,” he muttered.

But as he walked away, you whispered after him, “I liked you best when you didn’t follow orders.”

He paused. Just for a second.

And then he was gone.

⸻

Night cycle hummed over the Republic cruiser like a lullaby—dimmed lights, soft hums of systems in idle. Most troopers were off duty, leaving only the skeleton crew watching the prisoners. Which made it the perfect time.

You sat on the bench in your cell, silent, eyes cast down—but your mind was spinning like a rigged sabacc deck.

From the cell across the hall, Cad Bane shifted. “So. We doin’ this or not?”

You glanced up. “I’m in. As long as you don’t shoot me in the back.”

He chuckled darkly. “Only if you give me a reason.”

“You always find reasons.”

⸻

It started with a cough. A sound code—three stuttered bursts and a hum.

You shifted the small sharp sliver of metal you’d hidden in your boot sole. Slipped it into the lock of your cuffs. Click.

Bane did the same. Quick, smooth. Silent.

Then came the bang—explosive discharge from a faulty conduit Bane had rigged with the power from his bed frame over the past two nights.

Smoke filled the hall.

Guards shouted.

The cell shields dropped.

You were on your feet in seconds, vaulting out, slamming a stolen baton into a clone trooper’s head. Bane rolled beside you, gunning another down with a blaster stolen mid-scrap.

Dren/Dray, the other bounty hunter, stumbled into the hall behind you. “What the hell is going on?!”

“Keep up,” you snapped, firing at a control panel to unlock the main access hatch.

But he didn’t keep up.

He panicked.

He tripped the silent alarm.

And you watched, stunned, as he shot toward you in his confusion—blaster bolt nearly missing Bane, grazing your arm.

“You idiot,” you hissed.

Bane growled. “He’s gonna get us killed.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You turned and shot him point-blank in the chest.

Dren gasped, staggered, eyes wide. “You—”

“Should’ve stayed in your cage.”

He dropped. Dead weight. Smoke and blood.

Bane didn’t comment. Just nodded.

You both bolted.

⸻

Later—after the alarms died, after the blast doors sealed, after you slipped into a half-abandoned maintenance shaft and disappeared into the dark—Rex found you.

He always found you.

You were nursing your arm in an old hangar, steam hissing from busted pipes, blaster on your lap.

He didn’t raise his weapon. Just stood there. Watching.

“Was it worth it?” he asked.

“Surviving usually is.”

He took a few steps closer. His armor scraped the floor. His eyes, so damn tired, locked on yours.

“You didn’t have to kill him.”

You sighed. “He was going to blow the whole thing. He already tried to shoot me.”

“He was scared.”

“So was I.” You looked up. “I still am.”

That caught him off guard. He blinked. “You?”

You gave him a tired smile. “I’m not made of stone, Rex.”

He knelt in front of you, gaze softer now. “I know.”

Your hands brushed when he passed you a med patch. You didn’t move away.

“You could come back,” he said, voice so low you almost missed it.

“Come back to what?” you asked, searching his face. “The war? The orders? The cage?”

He didn’t answer.

But he didn’t stop looking.

And you didn’t stop hoping he’d say something that would make you stay.

Instead, you stood. Pulled your hood up.

“If you see Cody…” you started, then paused. “Tell him I liked the way he looked at me. Even when he hated it.”

You turned.

Rex didn’t stop you.

But his voice followed you, low and sure.

“You still owe me a drink.”

You didn’t turn back.

But your smile did.

⸻

The outer rim planet fell behind you in a smear of stars and scorched debris. The freighter Cad Bane had “borrowed” from some now-dead smuggler creaked through hyperspace like a dying animal, but it flew. That’s all you needed.

You leaned against the console, arms crossed, one leg kicked up. Bane was at the controls, hat tilted low, cigar smoldering at the edge of his teeth.

“You always bring the drama,” he muttered without looking at you.

You smirked. “You miss it.”

“Miss the pay. Not the company.”

“You’re full of shit.”

He chuckled. “And you’re still too loud for stealth work.”

You both knew it was banter. The real conversation sat thick between the lines.

You killed a Republic target. In front of the Republic. You got out. And now… now you were heading straight for the heart of it all.

“You sure about this client of yours?” Bane asked finally.

You looked out the viewport. “He pays well. Doesn’t ask too many questions.”

“Too many questions?” Bane repeated with a slow grin. “That’s usually my line.”

You didn’t answer.

⸻

The freighter touched down in a private bay tucked into the shadow of the Senate. No inspection. No questions. It was already cleared.

You didn’t ask how.

Bane didn’t follow. “I ain’t steppin’ foot back on this dirtball unless someone’s bleeding for it,” he muttered, lighting a fresh cigar.

“Suit yourself.”

He gave you one last look as you descended the ramp. “Watch your back, girl.”

You flashed him a smile over your shoulder. “Always do.”

The hangar door sealed shut behind you with a hiss like a final breath.

You weren’t escorted.

You didn’t need to be.

You knew the route—hallways hidden in plain sight, guarded only by shadows and silence. A turbolift opened to a private suite carved beneath the Senate tower. Cold. Ornate. Smelling faintly of incense and age.

He stood there waiting—Chancellor Palpatine.

A soft smile curved his lips. The kind of smile you should never trust.

“My dear,” he said warmly, stepping toward you, “I trust the target was… eliminated?”

You bowed your head slightly. “Clean shot. Left no trace.”

“I’m sure they saw it differently,” he murmured, amused. “Tell me—how did our Jedi friends take the loss?”

“They were angry. Confused. Lost the asset and control.”

Palpatine smiled wider. “Excellent.”

You said nothing.

He stepped closer, his eyes sharper now. “You’ve done well. But I must caution you, my dear—you’ve caught the attention of some very dangerous people. Commander Cody. Captain Rex. Jedi Skywalker…”

“I can handle them.”

He tilted his head. “I’m certain you think so.”

There was something about him—like he could peel the skin from your bones with just a glance.

He reached into his cloak and handed you a small black chip. “Your payment. And… a little something more.”

You took it, eyes narrowing. “What’s the bonus?”

“A new target,” he said softly. “But not yet. When the time comes, I will summon you.”

“And if I’m busy?”

His eyes gleamed like ice in the dark.

“You won’t be.”

You stepped back into the shadows of the Coruscant underworld, chip in hand, heart pounding. Not fear—no. Something worse.

Anticipation.

You’d just made a deal with the devil.

And he was wearing the face of the Republic.

[zookja]

Watched Conclave for the first time.

Here are my thoughts, and I am not ashamed they might not be brief.

Obvious spoiler warnings for Conclave (2024) and Conclave, the book from 2016 by Robert Harris under the cut.

First off, the contrasts. There is the most obvious one visually, the old versus modern contrast: cardinals in their traditional clothing (and their traditional rituals) using shuttle buses, coffee machines, smoking cigarettes and vaping. All that constitutes for modern men. However, as it turns out, despite the times having changed, the essence of men, of being, has not. More on that later.

In the book, the old versus modern contrast (at least how I remember it) was only really shown when talking about the shuttle buses and the outside news, as in the car bomb, or the clinic Benítez wanted to go to. Much else there is not, but it's been a full month since I devoured the book.

A much shorter contrast (and quite honestly the only other I really noticed in that first time watching because I was so amazed by it) was the one after Lawrence addresses Adeyemi about his scandal with sister Shanumi. Adeyemi asks Lawrence to pray with him and they do so under the sobs of Adeyemi while the camera cuts to the next (5th) vote of Adeyemi carrying his ballot - we are presented with an Adeyemi in shambles and with Lawrence who will not tell anyone due to his confessional duties (or whatever it is called) right next to a composed Adeyemi among every other cardinal. Inner feelings versus outer presentation, something that is often highlighted in media and life, but the head-on comparison in one scene took me by surprise.

Also very short: Shortly after Lawrence reads the news to the cardinals about the car bomb, we can see the cardinals going up the stairs engulfed in light while the nuns go down into darkness. I don't know if I see any more meaning in that yet, except the obvious one that women do not have to say anything in the catholic church and in the movie are referred to as "invisible" by sister Agnes.

And of course there are so many other visual contrasts throughout the entire movie. And I am sure I missed some obvious ones as well.

Second, the music. Sparse, precisely put in when needed and left out when not. Minimal use which makes it appear even greater when the credits roll. (To be honest, the only reason I wanted to speak about the music is because thank fucking god they put in Miserere Mei, Deus.)

Third, our main candidates. There is that one shot that made me stop the movie and examine it very closely. It's when Lawrence informs the cardinals about the explosion and I think that single shot encapsulates the characters in the ending state of the story the best. Deliberately by the director, no doubt.

First one I noticed: Tremblay. To the uttermost right, in darkness, completely alone, with a huge gap to the other cardinals both literally and figuratively. He's broken and defeated. He played unfairly to become pope, paying cardinals left and right to vote for him while vehemently denying any wrong-doings. One cannot buy friends however, and now he's alone with no chance.

Second one: Adeyemi. Similarly to Tremblay, he's at the margin of the group, however, he is still somewhat in the group. He sits with his hand resting on the back of the chair, as if accepting his situation and his by-gone chance on papacy.

Third one: Bellini. He's sitting right, more to the center than Adeyemi and he, too, sits in the likes of his state of mind. Head down, away from Lawrence in the front, eyes glued to the floor. He stated from the very beginning he does not want to become pope. As Lawrence said, he "does not have the courage" to become pope. It seems as if he is cowering.

Fourth one: Tedesco. Similarly to Adeyemi, he too is at the margin, but more surrounded by cardinals on each side than Adeyemi. He is still in the run, he still has everything to lose. But he is calm, certain that the events of that day will get him to win. And what was that? "Let me tell you, there is one sin which I have come to fear above all others. Certainty. [...] Certainty is the deadly enemy of tolerance."

And then right there, in the center of it all, be it engulfed in darkness so much it took me a while to find him, our fifth candidate: Benitez. An aspect that is more clear in the book: Benítez often is away in prayer, silent and listening deep inside himself, something Lomeli (as Lawrence is called in the book) is jealous of in the beginning since Lomeli struggles himself. And here, Benitez is silent, listening with his whole attention. Situated in a straight line to Lawrence with his back to us, all his attention towards Lawrence's words.

Notable: None of those five candidates move the entire time of the few seconds-long shot. They are like statues. All around them the cardinals move, look around. And then with them, Adeyemi moves, and he is the only one of our candidates who does. For me, it's a sign that he has accepted his defeat and becoming one with the mass of other cardinals who never really had a chance of becoming pope.

Back to the essence of men, of being: Everyone of the candidates got something to hide, got some flaws about them. Adeyemi is clear: He, the traditionalist, sinned in the most traditional way by breaking his celibacy. Bellini does not have the courage. Tremblay played unfairly and got knocked out fairly. Tedesco wants only power that brings the papacy. Lawrence doubts, which is okay, but he has his finger's everywhere. Most of all, all of them see the conclave as a war, something Benitez directly addresses in his response to Tedesco's scampering. Because Benitez knows what war is. Actual war. And he calls them out in his quiet yet steadfast way on exactly that.

Thanks for reading so far about my first thoughts on Conclave, the movie. The book already had me in shambles at the end, but the movie is something else due to the subtleties in the acting.

[jeffffffffest]

Jeff Satur Cinematic Universe Primer

Overview: Jeff tells a variety of stories in his music videos with really interesting characters. Over time, those characters have returned and begun interacting with each other. Here are a few of the most common you’ll run into!

Sunshine [gifset]

Sunshine made his first appearance in the Dum Dum MV, where he has blue hair and “Sunshine Moonshine Love Die” tattooed on his neck and chest. Sunshine then appeared in the Space Shuttle No. 8 Asia Tour Promo Trailer in a pale blond wig alongside another Jeff.

When Jeff was called on to do a sexy version of Dum Dum on Chuang Asia, he said he was too shy and that he would have “another [him]” perform it instead; he performed as Sunshine. During Space Shuttle No. 8 in Bangkok concerts, he had a body double in Sunshine’s wig onstage with him, and sang ‘Strangers’ to him. Sunshine also appeared in projections during the concerts, along with the quote:

Sunshine noun. a god who honestly feels emotions, never lies to themselves, and will stay forever in your soul.

Jeff confirmed that three characters appear in Dum Dum. Sunshine is the one wearing a black suit and seen playing a phin. Moonshine is shown in either a tank top or shirtless and can be seen carrying a gun or with a metal attachment over his arm. Lovedie is the one dressed in a suit, sometimes referred to as “Businessman Jeff”, who is killed and then gasps back to life at the end of the video.

In an interview on ล้นFEED ep.17 @ 14:20, eff shares that Lovedie represents someone broken – love that dies, a broken or dead love – someone who needs help from Sunshine. Sunshine represents the darker side that stems from anger and aggression. Moonshine is split off from Sunshine. The two were “conjured” by Lovedie and Moonshine handles the things that Lovedie can’t do. Moonshine helps Lovedie get revenge in the MV.

Ghost & Husband [gifset]

Also called Clone, Ghost appears as the titular character in the Ghost MV, who is revealed to be a clone of another Jeff (commonly ‘Husband’ or ‘Military Jeff’). Clone/Ghost has implants down his spine. He was captured by the military (specifically, Military Jeff) and freed at the end of the video.

In the Yellow Leaf MV, it’s revealed that Clone/Ghost doesn’t age. He still has the same appearance many decades later, after Husband has died. Husband/Military Jeff is implied to have spent time during the Ghost MV in outer space (there’s a rocket launch at the beginning of the video). There is a love triangle between Husband, Clone, and their Wife (she is implied to have married each of them separately by accepting their rings).

Rain God [gifset]

Jeff held a fanart contest for Halloween 2023, and the winning entry depicted him as a rain god. He posted a photo/video shoot on his Instagram dressed to match the fanart. This is believed to be partly inspired by the Black Tie MV  – there was a joke on set that Jeff was a rain god, because the rain for the courtyard scene began when it was time to film, and ended as soon as they finished shooting it.

Black Tie [gifset]

Jeff in the Black Tie MV is sometimes referred to as ‘Black’, and has a bow tie tattooed across his throat. He appears in black-and-white when alone, and in color only when shown with other people–which includes his own reflections in mirrors. Jeff is also seen wearing red. Although it has not been confirmed that this is a separate character, some fans may include him as another character referred to as ‘Red.’

Lucid [gifset]

Lucid is the titular character in the Lucid MV. He might be one of the fae folk, or a lost boy from Neverland. He appears injured and wild in someone’s bedroom…or possibly their dream. He has long hair and anachronistic clothes, with a cut across the bridge of his nose. At the end of the video he’s seen at the base of a tree (possibly dead), almost completely covered in flowers.

Steal the Show [gifset]

Jeff appeared along with Shaun in the collaborative Steal the Show  MV. They have a passionate rivalry and/or flirtation. There’s a lot of imagery in this video, including Jeff hanging off a giant birdcage which Shaun is separately seen trapped inside. This character has been referred to as ‘Thief’ and ‘Passion.’ Shaun’s character is referred to as ‘Reason.’

00008 [gifset]

In an effort to give his fans heart palpitations, Jeff released a Dum Dum Unchained Live MV. He appears chained on his knees in a basement or warehouse, wearing a lace blindfold, with finger-shaped bruises around his neck. There are additional bruises all over him, and a tattoo that reads ‘00008’ below his left collarbone. The number is now believed to refer to Jeff’s first album, Space Shuttle No. 8.

SS8 [gifset]

The Space Shuttle No. 8 Asia Tour came with its own promo trailer, in which a dark-haired Jeff and a pale-haired Sunshine (from Dum Dum) face off on a train in outer space, which has “departed the Saturn hemisphere” and is “now en route into the unknown.” On the train are references to many of Jeff’s previous songs and videos, including Highway (a flower), Loop (a clock), Lucid (a flower crown), Black Tie (a photo on the cover of the newspaper with the headline “Jeff Satur: Escape…From Earth!”), Complicated (a bloody hammer), Fade (a record player), and Comedy (playing in the background).

Along with the SS8 Album came The Journey Book which tells the story of how the Writer, Sunshine, and other characters from the various SS8 music videos are connected in a virtual reality simulation. Scans of the Journey Book can be found here by vani-ash.

Ride or Die [gifset]

Jeff’s character in the Ride or Die MV, sometimes referred to as ‘Ride,’ first appears in a straight jacket and is brought into a room to undergo some sort of psychological test by a female in a suit (usually referred to as Becky, after the actress who portrays her). Ride is abducted and taken to a hideout where he works with Becky to perform a heist. She ends up betraying Ride. As the betrayal plays out, the scene cuts to a potential flashback filled with Macbeth imagery, where we see Sunshine dressed as a king. As Ride gets arrested and at the end when Ride is once again in a straight jacket and seated in front of the woman who betrayed him, we see Sunshine, dressed in a police uniform, watching the arrest and the confrontation through a security camera.

The streaks of white in Ride’s hair are related to Sunshine. The director of Jeff’s SS8 BKK tour revealed that in a conversation with Jeff, the streak of white signifies a person who has been possessed by Sunshine.

Lost and Found [gifset]

The Lost and Found MV has two Jeffs. One with shorter hair, wearing khaki, appears in the video in brighter and warmer lighting. Another Jeff with longer hair and a black trench coat is seen in darker and cooler lighting, and appears dragging a heavy crate behind him as snow falls around him. Khaki Jeff finds his way home to his love, and one day after using paint that she mixes, he faints. Khaki Jeff is confined in a plexiglass box where he and his paintings are being auctioned off. Trench Coat Jeff barges into the auction, dragging his load (of emotional baggage) and reaches out for Khaki Jeff’s hand. As their hands touch through the plexiglass, they exchange places with Khaki Jeff free to escape while Trench Coat Jeff urges him on with a smile.

Red Giant [gifset]

The Red Giant Concert promo video talks about the stage in a star’s life as it comes to an end, growing bigger and burning hotter until it gives birth to something greater–reborn as a red giant. The Red Giant has white hair, red skin, black nails, and the same tattoos as Sunshine. It also has two white horns on its forehead that gradually fade to red as they get closer to its skin.

Other Jeffs

During the Space Shuttle No. 8 in Bangkok concerts, Jeff wore a black feather cape that spread into wings for his cover of ‘Feeling Good.’ (You can see a glimpse of Bird Jeff, as well as his body double Sunshine, in this Est Cola video.

The Fade MV shows him being reincarnated through several different time periods, always connected to the same person, up to the present day. (In the present, his name is Jeff, and hers is Trinity.)

The Complicated MV shows the end of a relationship and how it eventually leads to Jeff’s character taking revenge for his friend’s life. This character is sometimes referred to as ‘Comp’ or ‘Kay.’

The Scar MV with bodyslam shows him levitating into the scene, and at the end he crosses into a portal. There’s a lot of imagery in this video as well.

While Jeff was a contestant on Call Me By Fire, he was a caged fallen angel in the Law of Attraction performance and an imprisoned/enthralled therapy patient in Animal World.

For his Siam Halloween Concert 2023, Jeff dressed up as a vampire, in a corset with blue contact lenses and fangs.

During The Kingdoms concert, he was referred to as the ‘King of Darkness’, mentioned being in hell, and was shown in promotional materials and projections with an eagle.

For the Siam Halloween Concert 2024, Jeff dressed up as Damon, a character from Happy Ending, a series created by Jeff. Damon is a character in a story within the show.  The ~7 minute Happy Ending pilot can be viewed on YT.

For Enchanted Festival 2024 Jeff’s persona was promoted as a “Demon of Fire: The eternal vulture hunter, filled with fiery and eternal power. Join House of Fire with our hero as we prepare to enter the haunted magical realm of Enchanted” … although at the actual performance Jeff performed as Sunshine (in a lace bodysuit with lace gloves).

Jeff also wrote a song for Pramy Cat as part of a sponsorship endorsement. Pramy might show up in a work as a Cat Dad or Cat Mom.

Although not technically part of Jeff’s music-related universes, there are times when characters that Jeff plays in other series, films, and the like might appear as a character. His roles include:

Damon Cillian from Happy Ending (anticipated 2025)

Thongkam Khanlongsuk from The Paradise of Thorns (2024)

Kim Theerapanyakul from KinnPorsche (2022)

Sean from Love Area Part 1 & 2 (2021, 2022)

Marwin / ‘Win’” from Ingredients (2020)

Mike from He She It (2019)

Raon from Wuju Bakery (it might never be released, sadly)

Sean from Vamp (TBA)

[jeffyfitoftheyear]

🌟Jeff Satur outfit of the year 2023🌟

Okay sats, it's here. We've suffered all year, now it's time to see which cunty little Jeff fit reigns supreme for 2023!

Instructions for how it will work is below. Nominations are now open! And will close on the 20th of Dec, 1pm AEDT. Here's a link to a time zone converter.

Submission rules:

Images must be from 2023, and must be submitted with a nominated category. Images submitted with no category will be admired dutifully, but then discarded. 

Submit an image to this blog with a nominated category. You are allowed to submit as many as you like!

The categories are:

Promo Event: this can be a music award, brand event, sponsorship appearance or affiliated sponsorship photo post.

For a music award event if Jeff performed: the outfit on the red carpet would go under promo event, the outfit on stage would go under concert

Music Video Any outfit from Jeff’s music videos and collaborated music videos. This also includes promo like the Space Shuttle number 8 video, as it has the similar levels of planning/art direction.

Concert: Any outfit Jeff wears on stage.

Magazine: Any outfit from a magazine shoot.

*If you have a photo with a fit that doesn’t seem to fit any of the above nominated categories but you really want it in, nominate it with Misc, and we will try to shoehorn it into one we think it fits, if we can. This isn’t gonna be an exact science 💖

Bonus Round: Thirst trap (please submit these with ‘thirst’ as the category.)

These are not outfits, these are Jeff thirst traps. Like this :)

*thirst trap is important for our morale pls submit your worst

The spirit of this is silliness. Please campaign for your favorite Jeff fits. Wax lyrical upon how and where gender was stolen. Tell your friend about the cunty little boots and hot little corsets. 

Advisory: Don’t be negative on other outfits, don’t comment in ways that insult or put down other outfits, people or Jeff. This is just for fun! So please, have fun and be considerate. 

How it will work:

Images will be submitted for different categories, then moved on into voting rounds.

NOMINATIONS:

Open to Submissions! Send all images to this blog's inbox, with your nominated category.  Send as many as you like!

ROUND ONE:

Winnowing down submissions

(This will be the trickiest bit and will need the most participation. So please, look upon the Jeffy images and cast your valued votes upon your most favoured fits….)

Submissions will be gathered under four categories, and posted under a cut (this will be four separate posts, one for each category). Each image will be numbered. Each person gets three votes per category, and can choose their top three images by commenting. 

For example, you can comment under a post: I choose 21, 9, and 8!

Each image you choose gets one vote. If you are biased you can do this:

I choose 11, 11, and 11

PLEASE be cutthroat. It will both be funny, and help us winnow down the images.

The top images will be chosen by the highest number of votes cast.

The top five in each category will then progress to the next round.

ROUND TWO - 24 hour poll

Category finals

Four separate posted polls for each category. (Promo Event, Music video, Magazine and Concert)

Vote for your favorite in each category. The four winners of each category will move on to the finals.

ROUND THREE, SEMI FINALS - 24 hour poll

The four winners from the Category finals will go into a face off. Who gets bracketed up against each other will be chosen by past polls results. The two highest scorers/percentage winners will go up against each other (for example if Magazine got 61, and Promo got 72, they will be up against each other, whilst the lower scorers get put up against each other)

The two winners proceed to the FINALS

ROUND FOUR, FINALS!!! - 24 hour poll

FINAL ROUND

This is it. The moment. The two cuntiest Jeff fits of 2023 will be pitted against each other….

The final poll will run for 24 hours, and after that the winner will be declared!!

_

Okay I tried to make this simple and as straightforward as I could. Happy to answer any questions etc, below!

Also beautiful boobtube Jeff gif by the immeasurable @guzhu-furen 🙏��