#snow in April when it should be spring

[jepergola]

New story today: "Easter Blizzard"

[guinevereslancelot]

sitting in a blooming garden would fix me

[defututus]

Even When I'm Not With You

Through Snow & Sleet

masterlist

modern!Eddie Munson x AFAB!reader, college AU, strangers to friends to lovers

Summary: You meet someone in one of your college classes and it's love at first sight.

content warnings: swearing, it's a very modern AU

word count: 5.6k

author's note: this is technically my first fanfic. I began writing it in April of 2024 and only got around to posting it now. This is the backbone of the AU I've maintained in my head since I fell in love with Eddie. It takes place at the university I went to, involves all my friends, and some personal experiences. Once again, thank you to my two best friends @corroded-hellfire and @munson-blurbs for encouraging me to write and helping me out when I got stuck. Hopefully you guys like it because I have more to share in the future! ❤️

The cold February air was biting at your face as you hurried across campus, slow enough to avoid the ice that no doubt sat in the dark waiting for one careless student to step on it and fall flat on their ass. The walkways were lit just enough to allow you to see where you were going but not enough to help you spot any icy spots so this was as fast as you were willing to move. What should have been a relatively easy day turned into a nightmare the moment you woke up. It had snowed overnight and the university grounds crew had neglected to salt the sidewalks once again so you nearly fell twice just trying to get from your dorm building to the dining hall next door. Once you had a decent breakfast you made your way to work and learned that there was a bad cold spreading among the employees and had claimed three of your coworkers that you expected to work with today, thus leaving you with only your team lead to help you in your department. A good chunk of your morning was spent unloading consoles set to be released soon and left you exhausted. There were a fair share of unhappy customers that you had to deal with, and it only got worse when you finally got to go on your lunch and realized you left your wallet in your room so you had to eat the day-old bagels left in the break room. Five o’clock couldn’t come soon enough.

Your university was located in the middle of a metropolitan area so you were fully aware that the rush hour traffic was bad. To avoid the inevitable panic of wondering if you could be held up in traffic and be late to class, you built your class schedule around your shifts to leave an hour and a half for you to get home when the longest it could possibly take is twenty minutes with heavy traffic. Tonight’s class, Physical Anthropology, was on the other side of campus so you also had to factor in the time it would take to walk there. Still, you would be left ample time to get home, change out of your work clothes, and even have dinner without the need to rush. You were thankful that this was the last week before spring break so at least you could relax when you weren’t working.

Your careful planning had worked perfectly up until today because you couldn’t possibly account for the accident on the highway. Everyone was trying to get home before the storm came back to make the streets undriveable, but one driver was in such a rush that they lost control and caused a small pile-up. The drivers were all alright, thankfully, but this left you sitting in traffic for over an hour and your anxiety slowly creeping up. You were close to emailing your professor to tell them you weren’t going to make it even though the university was right in front of you. By 6:15pm, you were finally moving and rushed across campus. You weren’t even going to change out of your uniform and decided to just keep on the sweater you wore under your coat. All you had to do was grab your bag right by your door and make the trek across campus. Unfortunately once you grabbed everything you needed, you were now left with 15 minutes to make the 11-minute uphill trek to your classroom, assuming there were no obstacles in your way. 

You made it inside the building and into your classroom with two minutes to spare, but in your mind you were basically late to class. You preferred to get there ten minutes early so you could choose a decent seat and get yourself situated, but by the time you were inside all the good spots were taken and the professor was already setting up for her lesson. The only seats left were in the back so you made your way over and put your stuff down at the first open spot you see. As you begin unpacking your things, the professor turns some of the lights off and puts on a video on osteology that you had been focusing on for the last two weeks. 

You were never a very social person in school, always preferring to keep to yourself and only talk when other people initiate a conversation. This class was only on your schedule because it fulfilled a requirement, nothing else. Your only friends here were within your small program and none of them were in this class with you. You didn’t know anyone's names or faces, especially not the person you just sat next to. His only acknowledgement of you was in the form of scooting a little bit so he wasn’t taking up all the space at the table you were now sharing. He was focused on whatever he was frantically writing down in his notebook, a curtain of curly brown hair concealing his face from you. However, you were able to see what he was writing in. It was a beaten up spiral notebook full of carefully organized notes with color coded tabs. There were flowcharts, sketches of what looked like maps, and character information. He also had some pages printed out that were tucked between the pages. None of those things really stuck out to you, instead your eyes were drawn to a hastily drawn creature in the corner of the left page. It was a scaled, humanoid figure with wings and horns. You could almost mistake it for a gargoyle if it weren’t for its stature and flames surrounding it. It’s something you’d recognize almost anywhere.

You whisper to the person next to you, “That pit fiend looks really good.” His pen stops mid-sentence and his head shoots up to look at you. A woodsy smell mixed with a hint of tobacco and mint wafted towards you with his movements. It was almost intoxicating.The first thing you looked at were his eyes. They were wide open with shock and they were the richest, most beautiful shade of brown you had seen in your entire life. His lips were full, a little chapped either from biting and wetting them or the cold weather sucking all the moisture out of everything. He had light freckled across his nose and a small, faded scar on his forehead. The rest of his hair that wasn’t previously obscuring his face was tied back into a bun. You both sat there in silence for a moment as he struggled to put words together. He’s wearing chunky silver rings and a worn Slipknot hoodie. You could even see the edges of a tattoo peeking out from under the collar and another of a goat skull on his left hand. 

“Oh, thanks. Um…” He looked down at the page for a second, ringed hands fidgeting with the pen he was holding before pointing towards the large flow chart, “It’s for this week’s campaign. I didn’t have a lot of time this week to plan so I’m trying to get it all done right before we meet up tonight. My friend, Jeff, his character looted these cultists…” He glances up to check and see if you’re listening and smiles when he realizes you’re actively paying attention, leaning in to get a better look at the pages. He continues with a little more confidence in his voice.

“So his character, this Triton named Kaglas, found a really old book on one of the cultists. Turns out this book was a cursed tome belonging to a demon prince and well, he cut his finger trying to pry the book open because it was being held shut with these really sharp teeth. The blood from his finger dripped onto the book and opened a portal so a prince of hell kidnapped him and now they’ll have to get past this guy to gain access to the prison… I’m just trying to finish up the encounter tables for the rest of the prison because I always leave those until the last minute.” Before he can delve further into the story, the lights come back on and papers are being handed out to each row of tables by the professor. “The goal of this lab is to identify the species of hominid based on everything you’ve learned so far. I’m not going to pull anything funny by giving you two of the same species so don’t worry about that. Each skull is numbered. Work with the other person at your table to identify the species, write the number down, and explain your reasoning. Please be careful with these.”

The papers make their way back to your way and you hand one to your new lab partner. He accepts it, mouthing ‘thank you’  and quickly scrawls Eddie on the top of the page. Good, you tell yourself. You know his name now, progress. There’s some shuffling in the back of the room as the professor goes off on some tangent. Both yours and Eddie’s attention is drawn back to the topic of his campaign. 

You began speaking to him in hushed tones, “Your friend doesn’t seem very bright. Who in their right mind would try opening a book bound shut with fucking teeth? And they got it from cultists? Are they trying to get their characters killed or are they just dumb?” Eddie stifles his laughter and shakes his head. You’re sure the professor is saying something as she moves to the back of the room but your focus is only on the man next to you. His laugh is more beautiful than any song you’ve heard before. He begins to rock his stool back and forth as he continues to speak.

“Honestly? I’m not sure. We’ve been playing together for years and I think they’re getting more and more reckless as time goes on. At this point they can recognize when I’ve set up a trap and they take it every time just for the hell of it…”  so, do you play?” 

There’s some shuffling going on in the cabinets in the back of the room as the professor begins pulling out skulls and placing one on each table. Eddie takes the skull and begins looking it over. You hear a quiet, “These are really cool.” You glance over at it and note the size of the skull overall and the lack of a brow ridge, quickly jotting those down before moving your paper closer to Eddie so he can write them down as well.

“I just started recently, it’s me and a few friends. We just saved this sweet little dwarf bookseller named Barnes when these half-elves stole his book cart with him inside it.” You watch Eddie examine the skull, running his fingers along the area where the sagittal crest should be. His rings catch the warm light of the old overhanging lights of the classroom. There was black ink on his hands, or was that oil? You couldn’t tell. His fingers were calloused and you could only guess he was also a musician. 

“Barnes, the bookseller, huh? What’s his last name, Noble?” The only response he gets is an eye roll before putting the skull down. “By the way, I think it’s a homo erectus. There’s no crest and its teeth are smaller.” You nod and Eddie hands the skull over for you to examine. You open its mouth to get a better look at the teeth and nod to him, writing ‘homo erectus’ on the paper. The skull remained in your hands and you began inspecting it out of curiosity. 

You bring the skull up to eye level and respond to Eddie with a small smirk on your face, “As a matter of fact, it is. Y’know, it’s actually a family business. His father started it and he has a bunch of brothers with the same name. They all have their own book carts in different cities. Honestly, I think they’re gonna be real successful in the future.” The story makes you laugh. The book cart wasn’t meant to be anything more than a place for your crew to gain information on the area but your insistence on “getting to know the locals” to annoy your DM, Emma, led to them creating a character that you felt attached to right away.

He rests his head in his hand and gives you a look that you can’t quite read. He has this smile on his face and this soft look in his eyes that you’ve only ever seen in romance movies when the main characters are starting to fall for each other. It wasn’t something you had the chance to experience yourself, always too nervous to ask people out yourself. Dating apps were totally out of the question because you had only heard horror stories from your friends who had tried it. You open your mouth to continue telling the story and maybe ask Eddie about his own campaigns when your professor pipes up from the front of the classroom.

“Guys, just as a reminder. These skulls are REAL and are ON LOAN TO THE UNIVERSITY and they are VERY EXPENSIVE. Please be careful with them.”

If you were being honest, you should have realized this sooner. It didn’t feel like plastic at all and had small indentations and ridges on it. This was a person. The realization nearly has you dropping the skull that once held someone's brain but thankfully, you were holding it right above the table so there was no chance of it being damaged. A laugh rang out from the seat next to you which took your attention away from what you held in your hands. He’s smiling at you. A big, toothy, beautiful smile and you wish you could look at that smile all day long. He hasn’t been in your life very long, maybe 5 minutes in total, but you were infatuated with him. Once he manages to calm himself down, Eddie slowly reaches out and takes the skull out of your hands.

“Let me take that from you. We can’t have you hurting this guy, can we?” Once the skull was out of your hands, you hang your head low in embarrassment. You feel your face growing warm and pull at the loose strings of your sweater sleeve. You bought it when you first started attending the university and it had been through the wash more times than you could and somehow created a hole in one of the sleeves. The hole was just low enough so you would stick your thumb in it and pick at it, like you were doing right now. Eddie lowers his head a bit to get a better look at you and asks, “So I guess you never realized these were real.”

You reply, face still feeling slightly flushed, “I never really thought about it, but it feels weird… I mean, that was a person,” you reply, pointing to it with your pen as you begin noting the state of its teeth and the sutures on the top of the head, “this guy had hobbies, he had a family, he lived a full life!”

Eddie interjects, turning the skull around to the back to reveal a massive crack in the middle of it. You cringe at the sight of it with Eddie bluntly replying, “I don’t think this guy had a full life. Looks to be cut pretty short to me. This is probably from an axe or some other tool.”

The rest of the class period was spent finishing the lab and learning more about each other. The two of you  talked about majoring in history and your love for classical antiquity while he told you about his band and working as a mechanic with his uncle. You also learned that your music tastes were pretty similar, you had a love for rock and metal and even complimented his hoodie (“I’m gonna be completely honest, you do not look like a Slipknot fan.” “Wow, rude.”). It felt as if you had known Eddie your entire life by the time class was drawing to a close. You two were so immersed in your conversation that you didn’t even realize you were one of the last people in the classroom. Eddie unlocked his phone to check the time,  allowing you a quick glance at his lock screen with a red guitar on it. Your musician hunch was right. He shoots up from his stool, hissing “Shit shit shit” and begins shoving his stuff into his backpack. You look at him bewildered and he says, “I’m sorry, I need to go. Our session is supposed to start in five minutes and I need to be on the other side of campus right now!” Once his bag was hastily packed and he was pulling his jacket on, Eddie looks at you one last time and gives you a sheepish smile. “I’ll see you next week, right? No, two weeks. I’ll see you in two weeks. It was great to meet you!” You don’t even get the chance to properly say goodbye before he leaves the classroom in a blur of black leather and denim. All you hear is the sounds of heavy boots running through the hallway and out the nearest side door.

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The walk from Eddie’s class to the student center Tuesday night was usually a leisurely one. He always made sure he got out the moment class ended so he would be able to fetch the keys for the multi-purpose room down in the basement and unlock it before everyone else arrived. Eddie always preferred to have everything set up so it was less likely someone could sneak a peek at his notes. He learned his lesson after he arrived a few minutes late and Grant got a peek at his screen and saw their Arakocra guide that was helping them navigate enemy territory was actually a spy for the local warlord. Eddie was a stickler for punctuality (ironic considering how he was always absent in high school) and would rag on anyone that was even five minutes late. Hellfire was meant to start at 8pm sharp and Eddie was rounding the corner in the basement, keys in hand, by 8:07.

By the time he has the key and rounds the corner to their room, he sees everyone standing outside and their heads all turn at once. He honestly found it kind of disturbing. 

“Well, well, well. Look who finally arrived,” Gareth said with his arms crossed, “we’re glad to see you could make it.” Eddie doesn’t bother trying to justify his tardiness to him and pushes through to unlock the door and set his stuff down at the end of the table. 

Everyone agreed that the drama room back in Hawkins High was definitely more comfortable than their current room and was more aesthetically pleasing. Eddie thrived when he was sitting on that throne. He would have taken it home with him if he could. However, there were some cons to that location that were rarely brought up. They had to lug extra chairs into that room every week and always had to keep their voices down. Sometimes they’d arrive and find out the space was being used for something else that week and they had to cancel the meeting. It was also located in the one part of the school that lacked air conditioning so it became unbearable once the weather started to warm up. Also, the wifi was horrible.

Eddie considered this room to be an upgrade. It wasn’t as nice as the drama room with its white painted brick walls with absolutely nothing on them and the uncomfortable chairs, but he always knew this space would be open since he reserved it for them every Tuesday night. He also appreciated the monitor hanging in front of the tables so he could display the maps and character art he did himself. Yes, they did trade in a very hot room in Hawkins for a very cold one in a basement, but everyone thought it was worth it. 

Everyone began to filter into the room and take their respective seats at the long table. There was only one seat open since one of their former players, Ronnie, had transferred to another school at the end of the fall semester so her seat was being used by Jeff. Eddie is working quickly to pull up the necessary resources and load up the map they were using last week with twisting pathways and lakes of lava. He’s filtering out all the chatter around him in order to get everything set up as quickly as possible. Jeff sits down next to him with a box of pastries from the local Dunkin Donuts. They could usually get them for free in the evening since they were about to be thrown out and Jeff was friends with one of the cashiers. 

“So… what happened to you?” 

Jeff’s question is only heard by Eddie and Doug, Hellfire’s newest member. The rest of the club were busy getting their own materials out and digging dice out of their bags. Eddie could vaguely hear Gareth complaining about losing his own set and having to use one of the sets Eddie brought because ‘Munson always has the weirdest dice, I don’t want to spend tonight staring at dice with a bunch of tiny baby heads in them’. Without looking up from his laptop, Eddie simply replies, “I had a lab and lost track of time, that’s all.”

Jeff doesn’t believe any of this. He and Eddie had been friends since they were both gangly teenagers who got detention for trying to skip gym class. Jeff knew when Eddie was lying - Eddie would always bite at his lip when he wasn’t telling the truth. It wasn’t just a lab. Something must have happened.

Jeff begins to probe Eddie with questions. He knew the only way he’d get Eddie to confess to whatever was going on was by guessing until he got a reaction out of him.

 “A lab, interesting… So you weren’t able to finish it in time and that made you late?” Eddie says nothing. 

“Did you drop something and get in trouble?” Someone else almost did, but not him. No reaction. 

“Did you eat something and get in trouble?” Eddie reaches over to the box of pastries and grabs a boston creme donut.

“Did you meet someone? You found your soulmate?” Eddie pauses as he’s sitting back down in his chair. Bingo. Jeff is shocked. Throughout all the years he had known Eddie, the man was never known to believe in love. There was a girl he met when he was 18 but that never worked out so Eddie assumed he’d live the life of a bachelor. He grew up with parents who hated each other and always seemed to be fighting so he never knew what a healthy relationship looked like. Whenever someone asked about his love life he would brush them off and say it just wasn’t for him. He said it so much that everyone couldn’t help but believe him. 

“Oh my god, Eddie Munson is in love.” Jeff says this slowly with a shit-eating grin on his face. He also said this loud enough that everyone else in the room could hear him so all the conversations being held ended at once in favor of learning about this mystery person in Eddie’s life.

“You’re WHAT?” 

“I didn’t know you were capable of that.”

“What are they like? What’s their name?”

The group questioning turned into an interrogation that yielded no results. Everyone only stopped once Eddie had finally located the music he needed and drowned their questions out with the sounds of a haunting violin, creaking, and muffled screams.

“Ok, so where were we? Uh, Tayr,” Eddie looks up at Jeff and points his pen at him, “you’re still imprisoned deep underground. You had 7 hit points when we last left off and you said you were planning to break both your ankles to get out of your shackles so I’m holding you to that.” Eddie then turns to Grant and Gareth who are looking annoyed that their friend is ignoring them, but he persists. He has a campaign to run. “Hylbaez, I believe you and Ariver were going to attempt horse stacking to get up to that open window. I don’t know how the two of you plan on doing that without your horses and how you’re gonna reach the 7th floor even if you had your horses with you. You’ve had a week to figure that out.” He looks over his notes one last time before looking up at the group. Nobody appears to be ready to play. No pencils in hand, only a few papers out. Hellfire won’t start until they get what they want. Eddie was really hoping they’d all drop the group questioning but that doesn’t seem like it’s happening anytime soon. With a huff, Eddie rubs his face and gives them all a look of resignation. “Okay, fine. You want to know? There was a girl that sat next to me. She complimented some character art that I’ve been working on and we talked about D&D for a while. I’m gonna try to get her number after spring break. THAT’S IT.”

It’s almost like everyone’s ears perked up when they heard him mention Dungeons & Dragons. Doug puts a hand up as if he’s in class and asks the question that everyone is thinking. “Are you going to invite her to join Hellfire?” It’s a question that Eddie had been asking himself on the hurried walk from class to the student center. Sure, the campaign they were playing had already begun but he could find a way to write you in. He knew he was a good storyteller so it would be a great way to impress you. Sure, he’s no Matthew Mercer or Brennan Lee Mulligan, but he never struggled to keep everyone’s attention and he’s proud of the stories he created. 

“I’ll think about it.”

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It had begun raining by the time their session was concluded (the student center was closing) and the shuttles weren’t running tonight so Eddie had to make the mile trek on foot. He didn’t even care that the elevator was broken again. He’ll, he wouldn’t care if it was broken for the rest of the year because he’s pretty sure he found the love of his life today and nothing could dampen his mood. He rushed up the four flights of stairs and fumbled with his keys before coming inside and slamming the front door shut behind him. His backpack was thrown onto the floor with a wet fwump and his bomber jacket followed close behind as he hastily shucked it off him.

Eddie had a routine he usually followed after each Hellfire Club meeting. He would always change into his pajamas, heat up the food he had brought back from the dining halls and make that his dinner, and retreat into his room where he’d go over what happened during their session and tweak his plans for their next meeting if necessary. He did this every week for the past three years he’s been DMing at this school and the only time he ever broke this routine was during finals his freshman year where he was convinced he’d fail if he didn’t dedicate all his time to actually studying. This was the second time he would ever break that routine. Instead of making himself comfortable, he stormed down through their small living space and walked past his own room to barge into the other bedroom.

This was the second year that Steve roomed with Eddie and the first year that they got their own rooms. Since they were so used to sharing a room together, it was second nature for Eddie to rush straight to Steve when he had to tell him something. Thankfully for him, Steve never locked his door so Eddie was able to rush in unannounced and blurted out, “You will NOT believe what happened today!”

Steve was sitting at his desk, still dressed in his red school scrubs from his clinicals earlier in the day with his nose buried in his textbooks. His hair was tied back in a small ponytail, wearing his glasses, and headphones over his ears. When Eddie forced his way into the room, Steve nearly jumped out of his seat and ripped his headphones off his head and was glaring daggers at the other man.

“Do you ever learn to knock?” Eddie ignores the comment from Steve and goes to the other side of the small bedroom to sit down on Steve’s bed, still wearing his damp clothes and definitely tracking mud across the apartment. Steve is only angry for a moment until he sees the giant smile on his friends face. Eddie wasn’t exactly a grumpy person, but Steve hadn’t seen him smiling like that in a long time, probably not since Eddie got Metallica tickets from his Uncle Wayne as a graduation present. He was smiling so much that Steve was sure his face actually hurt. Eddie was beaming just like he was all those years ago.

Eddie’s leg began shaking from excitement as he began speaking, “I think I met my soulmate today. I was in my anthropology class and she sat down next to me and she’s perfect. I mean, first of all, she’s beautiful. She plays Dungeons and Dragons and we like the same music and she’s so fucking funny.” The metalhead then gets up from Steve’s bed and takes the few steps it takes to stand right in front of him. He’s wildly waving his hands around as he recalls everything that you two talked about during that lab. Steve swore Eddie didn’t stop to breathe even once during this entire recollection. As the story starts to wind down, Eddie removed his hair tie from his hair and ran his fingers through his dark locks. He sighs and says, “Honestly man, I didn’t think after Paige that I’d find anyone who I really connected with but she’s different. I don’t feel like I need to hold back when I’m talking to her.” Eddie finally stops talking and takes a breath before moving back to Steve’s bed and flopping down to lay on his sheets, wet hair and all. 

Steve fully turns around to face Eddie with an impressed look on his face as he closes his books, asking the other, “I’m happy for you, man. So what’s her name? Did you get her number?” Eddie hears this and his eyes widen, opting to look up at the ceiling rather than Steve. He realizes his horrible, horrible mistake and is kicking himself for hurrying off rather than taking an extra minute to get your name and contact information. His silence prompts Steve to scoot closer in his chair as his tone turns more serious. “Eddie, did you get her number?” Silence. “Her instagram?” Silence. “Snapchat??” Eddie purses his lips, too ashamed to say anything. “Munson, did you get ANYTHING from her??”

Eddie groans and sits up now, rubbing his face and tries to defend himself. “Listen. I was going to be late to Hellfire and I didn’t want to listen to anyone complaining about being late so I just told her I’d see her after spring break. I wasn’t thinking straight! I swear I’ll get her number the moment I see her in two weeks.”

It’s now Steve’s turn to groan and he shakes his head, getting up from his chair and moving to sit next to Eddie and begins to try to reassure his friend, telling him, “Ok, here’s what we’re gonna do. There’s like a missing connections instagram page for the school. You just need to message them and tell them you want to find her and get her contact information. Maybe she’ll see it.”

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You spent the rest of the week hopelessly searching for Eddie in the massive crowds of students. There were a couple instances of spotting a head of curly brown hair only to be disappointed when you realize it’s not him. There’s about 40,000 students in this school so you wonder why you figured you could just find him casually walking around campus. Your roommate, Elena, suggested looking at your school portal page to see if you can find him on your class page but your professor didn’t enable the ‘Students’ section, only opting for pages that were vital in completing coursework. One of your friends spent two hours scouring Instagram and Facebook convinced that they could find Eddie but came up empty handed. You told everyone you knew what he looked like and what his name was, but he wasn’t in anyone’s classes or in anyone’s dorms. It was like he just vanished into thin air. Elena reassured you that you’d see him in two weeks so all you had to do was wait.

Your search was paused during spring break and put on an indefinite hold when things went downhill. People all over the world were getting sick and you watched in horror as the virus slowly creeped closer to your home state. Then into your county. Spring break was extended for an extra week as the school administration worked to find a solution to keep the staff and student body safe. Schools around the country were shuttering their campuses while yours promised in-person classes would resume shortly but they soon changed their mind. You received an email by week three stating the remainder of the semester would be spent online and you needed to pack up your dorm room. The administration was unable to confirm if you’d be returning to campus in the fall. At this point, both you and Eddie came to the conclusion that you’d never see the other person again and it would take a miracle for you two to reunite.

————————————————————————

I’m not sorry

[oddinary4bts]

When the End Comes | ch 1 (jjk)

☆summary: Seven years after you've started dating Jungkook, long distance creates a wedge in your relationship. When the only solution seems to be breaking up, you go your separate ways even though love still lives in the two of you. Will you find a way back together, or has the end come for you and Jeon Jungkook?

☆pairing: photographer!Jungkook x lawyer!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, there is mature content in every chapter)

☆genre: breakup!au, slice of life!au, angst with a big A, smut

☆warnings: angst, like. Just angst. Curse words, Jungkook's car, mentions of Jungkook's accident, mention of reader getting kicked out in TFS, explicit content: breast/nipple play, hickey, oral sex (female and male receiving), fingering, hair pulling, jerking off, squirting, praise, pain kink (Jungkook), balls squeezing (lmao), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

☆word count: 9.4k

☆series masterpost

☆a/n: First chapter is here and it's time to CRY (I apologize in advance for the therapy bills) :') Thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing this, you are the best <3 and thank you to @jessikahathaway for supporting me with this project, you are amazinnng

☆Read The Forgotten Spaces here, the prequel to When the End Comes! It does not need to be read to understand When the End Comes, but I think it still should be read first to have a better understanding of the characters in general!

☆Add yourself to the taglist here (if you were on the taglist for The Forgotten Spaces, you're already on the taglist for When the End Comes!)

☆☆☆☆☆

But love never leaves a heart, where it found it, found it You found it Someday, I'll fall into you That's where I'll be now when the end comes

When the End Comes, Andrew Belle

☆☆☆☆☆

Wednesday, April 19th 

                The setting sun turns the living room into liquid gold, bathing you in golden warmth that traces your features delicately from where you sit on the couch. Spring is upon you – outside, you can hear birds singing, and the gentle wind of spring carries the smell of melted snow, of wet soil and of early leaves.

You sigh. Your phone has been dead silent all day, as it’s been for weeks now, and the loneliness of it keeps the winter cold close. Always.

Jungkook said he would call. He often says it, often promises he wants to go to sleep with your voice at his ear, since he can’t sleep with you in his arms. Years ago, when he first started his job in Europe, he did, calling you every night when you got home from work and he went to sleep in a European city too far from you.

He usually leaves for a few months at a time. Never more than three, and he usually stays for a month after that before leaving again. He’s been photographing for museums all over Europe, and his latest job at the Louvres in Paris seems to have been keeping him more occupied than the others.

You’d think it’d make sense – the Louvres is the Louvres. But you miss Jungkook. Miss the early years of your relationship, when you spent almost every day together. When he moved in with you in your first apartment, the one he had found for you while you weren’t even dating yet.

A deep ache has settled inside of you this time around. Because, even if he says he’ll try, even if he promised it wouldn’t be like the last time he was away, this time is worse. Far worse. You’ve only spoken to him on the phone once since he left half a month ago, and he texts you sparingly throughout the week.

You never thought there would come a day when your relationship with Jungkook wouldn’t be what it was at the beginning. Hell, the honeymoon phase lasted for almost three years, and then you had another year before he started working overseas. The first months he had spent away had rekindled the flame, passion and desire burning through you the moment you laid your eyes on him again the day he had come back.

But distance is difficult. Distance can tame even the wildest flame, and you’re starting to believe it has tamed the flame between you and Jungkook. You hate it – every night for a week you’ve fallen asleep with a heart so heavy it felt as if you weren’t going to wake up. And every day you’ve woken up feeling even worse, and you don’t know what’s going to help anymore.

You turn your head, catching sight of the frames on the shelves by the window. They too bathe in setting sunlight, shining like the glass is made of gold. From where you’re sitting, you can’t really see the pictures, but you know them by heart.

There are the pictures from his first photo exhibit, when you were still in college. Pictures of you, of him falling in love with you and you falling in love with him. Then there are pictures of that first Christmas, and of the first time you celebrated your birthday with him. Pictures of you, of him holding you, and of his hand in yours. Pictures from when Jiho gave birth to her first child Lisa, and then a picture with you two on a camping trip with Lisa and her younger brother Charles. That trip happened two summers ago, replacing your usual annual visit to a cabin in the woods, the year after the dance crew retired. Because as much as you and your friends loved that cabin in the woods, loved the dance crew, you eventually grew out of it.

There are pictures from Heather and Bridget’s wedding last fall, pictures of your story with Jungkook as it unfolded through the years.

No new pictures have been added since that last picture in the fall, because nothing worth taking pictures of happened since then. Jungkook has been gone most of the time, and when he’s here he’s too tired to do anything, preferring staying in and cuddling on the couch as you watch hours of Netflix without ever speaking.

You see the doom. It’s been coming for you, tightening around you like a scourge. Nothing you’ve been trying to do has helped – not even the nice lingerie pictures you sent him two nights ago. Not even the letter you wrote for him, though he did have flowers delivered to you at the firm.

Your coworker Harrison made fun of you for the flowers, teasing you like he’s taken to teasing you whenever something related to Jungkook happens. Which, as much as you hate admitting, is not much anymore.

Sometimes, when he’s away, you think he’s a ghost in your life. You wish you could turn back time and go back to the night where it all started between you. The July night of years ago, or perhaps the night of the hotel roof in Chicago. You struggle to pinpoint where you’d go back, but you do believe that anything would be better than the now.

You blink away the blurriness in your eyes, taking a deep breath to steady the aching beats of your heart. You glance at your phone – your empty notification screen stares back at you, a reminder that for all he says, he’s stopped trying this time around.

You figure you could call him. Could make the effort, but you’re tired. Tired of trying when it seems like it doesn’t work anymore. And so your aching heart keeps beating in your chest, and you put your phone away to cook dinner when it’s become clear that he won’t call.

And when you go to bed, after having taken the dog out one last time, your phone still lies empty, the picture of you and him that you have as a background taunting you, haunting you until troubled sleep finds you in its hold.

Friday, May 5th

                Jungkook hates himself. Hates how every time he says he’ll call you, he ends up falling asleep. He doesn’t know why; it’s like his heart fights against his body. But tonight, he’s determined to call. He’s been meaning to show you the lights of the Eiffel tower, when the clock strikes midnight, and he promised he will tonight.

You haven’t replied to his text. He’s been feeling you slipping through his fingers for a few weeks. You barely reply when he talks to you anymore, sending one-worded answers most of the time. Maybe that is the reason why he’s been struggling to call – there’s an impending doom lingering around your relationship, and he wants to avoid it for as long as he can.

He’s been replaying your fight earlier last week on repeat since it happened. You, screaming that he said he was going to change, was going to try to call more and make more effort before he went to Paris. Him, telling you that you should be understanding, that he’s doing his best and that most nights he goes to bed before you’ve even finished work. You’d told him sometimes you wished you could hate him, as it’d be easier than loving him from afar. The words struck harder than a physical blow could have, and since then the doom has been clearer in the distance, as if it’s getting closer.

Just thinking about it hurts too much. He can’t wait for his contract with the Louvres to be done. Can’t wait to be home, and to tell you in person just how much he loves you.

He thinks his love has just been growing stronger. Through all the years, it’s just been growing inside of him, making him into a better person with every beat of his heart. The thought brings a smile to his lips, strangely enough, even though there’s still pain in his heart.

He still remembers when you first got Bam. He thinks that day is the one that made his love grow the most, until he thought his heart was going to burst in his chest. It fortunately never did, and he looks at his phone’s background quickly, needing to see you.

There you are, in all your glory. Hair a mess as you hold a tiny puppy in your arm, with your eyes sparkling like they’re holding the light of the universe. Of his universe, and it hasn’t changed. Still, today he knows if he were to see you, you still would hold the light of his universe.

After all, it started a July night seven years ago, and it’s never going to go away.

Thirteen days until he’s going to be home. And he decided to take a longer break this time around – he doesn’t have another contract yet. He’s been approached by the Victoria and Albert museum in London, but he’s told them that he likely won’t be able to go until late October.

They said they’ll be happy to have him whenever his schedule allows.

He’s yet to tell you – it’s a surprise, and he reckons your relationship terribly needs it. And he’s excited, as it means months that he’ll get to spend with you.

He’s going to take some small photography jobs back home until then, and spend the rest of his time with you, whenever you’re not at the firm. He reckons he can always meet you there for lunch – he used to do that when you first got the job at the firm where your father used to work.

Jungkook sighs, and he glances at the time on his phone. It’s almost time to call, and he’s proud he’s been able to stay up, sitting on the balcony of his Airbnb, watching the Eiffel tower in the distance.

The Louvres is paying for the Airbnb, and they really chose one of the best in the city. The view of the tower is beautiful, night and day, the architecture of it satisfying in ways he can barely comprehend. He took pictures of it through the different weathers, and he’s excited to show you when he’ll be back.

Five minutes before the clock strikes midnight, Jungkook lets out a long yawn as he goes to your profile, hitting the Facetime button. He’s told you he would call, up to the very minute, and he doesn’t want to disappoint this time around.

He watches his face on the screen as it rings. It rings and rings, and yet you don’t pick up. Something unsettling grows in his gut, and he pulls at his lip piercing in worry as he calls again when the call claims it failed to connect.

He tries four times more, until the Eiffel tower is sparkling in the distance, and your form still has yet to appear. So he looks up, watches the show and then heads to bed, each of his step feeling heavier than the last.

The next morning, he wakes up to some texts of yours.

[04:21 am] bby <3: sorry, i was out for dinner with friends from work [04:22 am] bby <3: I assume u’re asleep now? [04:41 am] bby <3: good night

For some reason, he can’t bring himself to reply.

Thursday, May 18th

                It’s been raining all week. The world, crying as if it’s coming to an end. It’s unsettling, and you miss the sunrays. Miss the warmth that they carry, because now the world seems void of any.

You’re not looking forward to going home. It’s the first time that the thought of seeing Jungkook is scaring you – you have a feeling the distance between you is more than just physical, and you’re afraid to see him.

Afraid to be faced with the fact that everything changed irreparably.

You’ve slept in his clothes every night of May. It hasn’t made you feel closer to him, has only made you feel like he’s drifting further away, like a piece of wood lost at sea, pulled away by the current. And as much as you long for his return, you fear he’s crossed a threshold now.

You fear you’re not into it anymore.

The thought has made you cry countless times. You never thought you’d get to a moment in life when splitting with Jungkook seemed to be an option. You thought you were made of forever, of an eternity built just for you. You thought he’d always be enough for you, and that you’d always be enough for him too. But when Taehyung and Jo got engaged and said that they’d marry the first weekend of September, you realized that you want that for yourself too.

You want to start growing with your partner, you want them to be around. And Jungkook just isn’t.

You’ve spoken to Jiho about it. A haunting conversation, that you’ve been replaying in your mind constantly since it happened a week and a half ago.

She came over, only to find you cradling the picture of the July night sky, the one Jungkook had given you after his exposition. She sat next to you, tired eyes surveying your profile. When you started crying, she pulled you in a hug, and held you against her chest as you sobbed.

When you calmed down, she ran a soothing hand on your back. She waited for you to patiently find your words, and when you had, they spilled from your mouth, with no dam to stop them anymore.

“I think I’m going to break up with him,” you told her. It had you chasing more tears away, hating the weakness of your heart as it broke in your chest. “I can’t do the distance anymore. I want something like you and Hobi have, like Jo and Taehyung have. I want someone to wake up to every day and… I don’t… I don’t think loving him is enough anymore.”

She offered you a sad smile, her features sober as she nodded once. “Will you regret it?”

A lone tear spilled on your cheek, holding all the answers she needed. You let it roll down your cheek, let it fall in your lap. Jiho nodded once again, understanding, and added, “I’ll be there for you.”

Your decision was made that day. You don’t think you’ll change your mind, but you’re afraid to see him. Afraid to be faced with the reality of it.

The worst part is, you think you already started getting adjusted to living without him. Hell, the distance has been a good training, so you think you’ll be okay after. It’s just the during that scares you, because you know that when he breaks, you break too.

You know how much you broke for him once. You know you’ll break again, know the first days are going to be hell, but you know that in the long term, it’s the right decision.

At least you hope so.

Jungkook texted you that he got home in the middle of the afternoon, and that he was going to take a nap. He said he couldn’t wait to see you, and you’ve had to swallow countless lumps in your throat whenever you’ve thought of the words.

You take a deep steadying breath as your shift ends, leaving you with no choice but to head home. Harrison notices your fallen features, and he offers you a kind smile.

“It’s going to be okay,” he promises.

You want to tell him he’s a liar, but all you do is offer him a tight-lipped smile in return.

*****

                The apartment in soundless when you finally reach home. Outside, the wind plays in the leaves, splashing water against the windows. It makes for a relaxing sound, yet it does nothing to relax you.

You take off your shoes by the door and drop your purse on the small table just a few steps in as Bam comes to greet you. You pet the dog mindlessly, scanning your surroundings to see if Jungkook is coming too, but it seems he fell asleep. You stop by the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water as you survey the world outside the window, hoping it holds any kind of solace. It doesn’t – the world is crying, and you think by the end of the night there’s a high chance you will be crying too.

You sigh, try to swallow around the lump in your throat but it doesn’t work. You choke on a sip of water, and startle when Jungkook asks if you’re okay.

You didn’t hear him sneaking up on you.

You turn around, the sense of impending doom growing tenfold at the thought that he’s going to be right there, in the flesh, when you set your eyes on him. And he is – a sleepy Jungkook is standing in the door of the kitchen, leaning against the frame as he offers you a small, tired smile.

You’re not sure what to do at first, and when he opens up his arms for you you rush towards him, leaving the glass of water on the counter.

His embrace is familiar, warm. If he wasn’t gone for so long, you think it’d be enough to keep you here, forever. You both remain silent, and your heart beats achingly in your chest as you try to hold him closer, as if you can be one.

As if that’ll make him stay.

“Hey,” he says, voice choked with emotion.

You only hold him tighter, and tears burn behind your closed eyelids as you hide your face in his neck. He smells familiar, like home. He smells like the clothes you’ve been wearing in an attempt to gather the courage to break up with him.

You hate yourself deeply, then. You think about the years, and aren’t they enough? Isn’t the love enough?

He grabs your shoulders, delicately, to push you away. And then his hands move to your cheeks, and he’s tilting your head back to press his soft, pink lips against yours. It’s barely just a peck, and it hurts so much you think you’ll die.

“How was work?” he asks when he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours.

You breathe in slowly, and then out, your breath mingling with his in the space between you. “Long,” you answer, because it’s the truth.

“I’ll cook you dinner,” he says.

If he notices you holding your breath as your heart keeps on breaking, he doesn’t say. Instead, he pulls away, leaves you standing by the door as he moves in the room proper. You’re not sure you’ll survive a dinner with him, not when the inevitability of what you’re going to do is looming over you, like a sword of Damocles ready to cut the link between you and him.

“Okay,” you breathe out.

You sit at the table as he fishes ingredients out of the fridge – stuff you clearly didn’t buy. Which means he went grocery shopping, and you just ache so fiercely the air turns to poison in your lungs.

“Do you want to chop the vegetables?” he asks.

You gulp before nodding curtly. “Sure.”

You move closer to him as he puts said vegetables on the counter, and you grab a knife as he hands you a cutting board. It’s familiar, domestic, and it helps lessen the pain somehow. To have this moment, with him, even though your decision is made.

“You’re silent,” Jungkook comments as you finish dicing an onion.

You purse your lips, head hanging low as you reply, “I’m tired, sorry.”

He turns on the stove, placing a pan on top of it. As he’s putting oil in it, he glances at you. You barely notice from the corner of your eyes, but you still can tell he’s trying to figure how to reach you, in the dark place where your mind has gone.

“Something happened?”

No. Nothing happened. Nothing happened when it should have. Was distance really enough to kill your relationship with him?

Needing the conversation to move away from the current subject, you reply, “Not really.” Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you add, “How was Paris?”

“It sucked,” Jungkook is quick to answer. “It was a lot of work and I barely had time to explore the city.”

“Mmh,” you hum, nodding your head.

You freeze as he moves closer, taking the knife out of your hands. He forces you to turn towards him, and he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I took some pictures of the Eiffel tower for you,” he admits. “It was pretty at night. Made me think of you.”

You shut your eyes tight, and for once you win against the tears that were threatening to spill. “You did?” you let out when your eyelids finally flutter open again. “You can show me over dinner.”

“I’d rather just spend time with you for now,” he says, softly, and you hate that his big, doe eyes feel like heaven. “I… I missed you.”

You think he knows. You both know what’s coming. But you want this last moment with him, so you say, “I missed you too. Way too much.”

“You’ve been sleeping in my clothes,” he teases, but it’s lacking the usual lilt to his voice that makes you roll your eyes playfully.

“Yeah.”

He pulls at his piercing, and you focus on that because his eyes are going to read every little treacherous thought in your head, and you don’t think you’d survive that.

He doesn’t say anything else before he busies himself with putting the onion you diced in the pan. You lean on the counter to watch him cook, handing him the ingredients that you know he’ll need.

You’ve cooked together a thousand times before, and never you would have thought that there’d be a last time. You clench your jaw against the pain, and though you don’t feel hungry, you sit at the kitchen table with him to eat.

You manage to get some food down. Jungkook is an amazing cook, and you’ve always loved his food. It’s something you know you’re likely to miss, when he won’t be around anymore.

Fuck.

After dinner, you do the dishes while Jungkook brings Bam outside, as he usually does when he’s here. He’s back before you’re done, and you focus on finishing to clean the dishes, trying to ignore him.

He’s been silent through the meal, and you’ve avoided the glances he’s sent your way. But when he grabs your wrist, gently, you meet his gaze.

His eyes shine. It takes you a few seconds to register that it’s because tears are welling up in his innocent gaze, and you wish you’d die right on the spot.

“Why is it awkward?” he asks.

You purse your lips and then bite the tip of your tongue, as if it’ll help. “Can we go to bed early?”

You don’t know why you asked that question. You convinced yourself to break up right away, but then again you think you need a last time.

You need a goodbye.

He nods, blinking the tears away. His hand moves until it’s wrapped around yours, and he pulls you to the bathroom. He turns on the shower, but before he’s taken his shirt off you step in front of him, fist closing around a handful of fabric so you can pull him close.

There’s urgency in the kiss, along with yearning. It’s quick, it’s heated and desperate. You wonder if he can taste the goodbye on your tongue – does it taste bitter for him too?

Though he seemed startled from the sudden kiss, he’s quick to kiss you back, to grab your waist and pull you closer, as if that’ll make you stay. And while you kiss your mind runs with the memories – the first time you’d kissed, in that hot tub. The kiss on the hotel roof, the kiss after he’d helped you move in your first apartment.

More than that, it’s a memory from four years ago that resurfaces the most. It takes the centerpiece of the stage of your mind, and you find yourself back in your old apartment, the first one you’d ever had. The day wasn’t a special one – just a random Sunday, one Jungkook convinced you to spend in bed. He’d held you all morning, littering small kisses on the top of your head. At some point, you’d made love, slowly, lazily, as if you had all the time in the world. Halfway through it, Jungkook had stopped, resting his forehead on yours. Against your lips, he’d whispered, “Will you still love me when I’m old and grey and grumpy?”

Back then you’d laughed, before wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into a kiss. After, you’d replied, “You know I’ll never stop loving you.”

And as you’re kissing him right now, you hope he knows that you’ll never stop loving him.

His tongue swipes at your bottom lip, seeking to deepen the kiss, and you let him in. Taste the dinner in his mouth, like he’s sure to taste it in yours too. It eases the bitterness somehow, and when his large hands move to your ass, you let out a breathy sound.

He swallows it as if it’s the ambrosia of the gods, and then he pushes you back towards the counter next to the sink. The shower runs in the background as he pulls you on the counter, large hands guiding you. You instinctively spread your thighs to allow him to step closer, and then you wrap your legs around him. His hands find your cheeks again, and he kisses you fervently, hungrily, yet his touch remains gentle on your cheeks, thumbs swiping back and forth.

When oxygen becomes needed, both for you and him, he rests his forehead against yours.

“You think we can wait after the shower?” he teases, and this time it has a little bit of the usual bite.

It only hurts, because now you’re not so sure he’s aware of what’s to come. He probably only thought that it was awkward because of the distance – physical. Not because the end is coming. So you let him believe it, agree to take a shower.

You let him wash your hair, a thing he’s taken to doing six years ago whenever you take a shower together. Something about him liking the scent of your shampoo. After that, you let him wash your back, but you can’t bring yourself to do it for him. To your relief, he admits he took a shower before he napped, to wash away the airplane vibes off him. So it mostly goes unnoticed, and then you’re getting out of the shower. You barely have time to dry yourself before he’s pulling you to your room, to your shared bed.

To the bed where you’ve cried yourself to sleep every night since you’ve made your decision.

He sits you on the bed, thumbs swiping on your cheeks gently when he bends down to peck your lips once.

“I’ll be right back,” he says.

You watch him leave, thinking you should find it funny that he’s butt-naked, as you are. Yet you don’t laugh, just put a hand over your aching heart as you wait for him to come back. It hurts even more when he comes back with your heating pad, a tentative smile on his lips.

“I thought this might help,” he says as he walks over to you, offering it to you.

You look at it, not knowing what to do. “Why?”

“Aren’t you…” he trails off, motioning towards you. “I don’t know, you’ve been weird. Thought you might be on your period, or having cramps?”

He’s too sweet. Too caring. Why can’t he be like this when he’s away too?

“Oh,” you let out. “I’m not.”

He looks puzzled, and his eyes drop to the heating pad in his hands. “Oh. Do you…” He gestures with the heating pad, but you shake your head no. He looks disappointed, and he puts it on the dresser before coming to sit next to you.

There’s a moment of silence, and you glance at the TV on the wall. The black screen reflects the grey light from the rainy world outside, and you turn to look out the window next. The rain is still relentless, and the trees outside look greener, darker, though that might be because the sun set behind the clouds, and night is slowly taking over the world.

Being with Jungkook has never been awkward before, and you hate that it is right now. You’d wish for one last moment, for a memory to treasure, but now you think you might have just been selfish.

He glances at you, pulling at his piercing. “Did something happen with your mother?”

He’s trying. So hard. Doesn’t he feel the distance between you and him?

“No,” you reply.

As a matter of fact, you only talk to your mother three times a year now. Without fault, she calls on Christmas and your birthday, and five years ago you’ve started calling on hers too. Other than that, you barely even text.

“Then…” he trails off before shrugging. “Whatever. Do you want to sleep or should we watch something?”

“Can we watch a studio Ghibli movie?”

Jungkook glances at the Totoro plushie, nestled in the pillows at the head of the bed right next to Appa. “My neighbor Totoro?” You nod once. He offers you a smile, nodding his head too. “Sure. As long as I get to hold you.”

You worry at your lip, though you still say, “Yes.”

A minute later you’re nestled in his embrace, and he’s starting the movie on the TV. You barely can focus though, mind zeroing in on his naked skin against yours. You want to ask him to stop with his overseas job, to come home permanently, to build a future with you here, without distance between you and him. You want to tell him you love him so much it hurts, want to tell him the months away from him are killing you.

All you do is watch the movie as if in a daze, and halfway through it, you tilt your head to look up at him. He sees you looking, and his tongue darts to his piercing as he glances down.

Your eyes go to his lips, and you reach to steal a kiss on them. This time, it’s incredibly slow, painfully so, and his arm tightens around you as his breath gets caught up in his throat.

You rest a hand on his cheek, before sliding it to the nape of his neck to keep him as close as you possibly can. He turns his head to deepen the kiss, and you turn the other way as you push your tongue in his mouth. You gently tug at the hair on the back of his neck, appreciating its silky softness.

Committing it to memory. Remembering when it was so long he could tie it back in a small ponytail, remembering when he cut it shorter for the first time. You’d teased him saying that he was a stranger, and you reckon you’d take that stranger back again.

You’d take the sweet innocence of the third year of your relationship again over what it now is.

Once, you thought you’d always want to see the end. To be able to glance back on the past, to swim in the nostalgia of the memories that it holds. Today, as the end comes, you realize you were wrong.

There’s no beauty in the ending.

Jungkook moves until he’s hovering over you, between your legs. You wrap them around his dainty waist, and you pull him inevitably closer as your hands run in his hair, while his hold him up on each side of your face. It takes him a few seconds, but soon he leans on his elbow, and one of his hands lands on the top of your head while the other moves to cup your breast.

He squeezes gently, fingers expertly pinching your nipple the way he knows that you like it. You moan softly, desperately, and he does it harder as his tongue meets yours.

“Fuck, I missed you so much,” he says as he pulls away, and then he’s littering hot kisses on your jaw, and on your neck. He sucks a hickey on the spot that connects your shoulder to your neck, and then laps at it to ease the sting. He’s still pinching your nipple, and though it hurts you just want more.

He doesn’t disappoint. His kisses move lower, until he’s sucking on your other breast, tongue circling your nipple as it hardens in his mouth. He flicks it once, make sure it’s perched nicely on your chest before he moves to the other one, repeating the action.

Your core heats up with need, but even this demonstration of the passion between you and him doesn’t do anything against the ache of your heart. The pain wins, and you shut your eyes tightly in an attempt to focus on the sensations. To focus on him as he moves lower, slowly, pressing wet kisses on your stomach, down to your pelvis, and then on the inside of your thigh as he pushes your leg on his shoulder.

“I want you,” he murmurs between your legs, as if he’s speaking the words directly to your pussy.

“I want you too.”

That much isn’t a lie. You do want him, all of him, even though you’re aware it’s going to be the last time. So you try to disconnect mind and body, and the moment he sucks on your clit you think you succeed.

You lose your hand in the strands of his hair, tugging as his tongue starts a hellish rhythm on your clit, never once faltering as you squirm under the ministrations. When your juice is coating his chin – which you reckon doesn’t take long – he moves lower, dipping his tongue inside of you.

“So sweet,” he praises once he pulls away, just enough for you to feel his lips moving as he speaks.

“Kook…”

The nickname barely crosses the threshold of your lips, yet the grip he has on your waist, where his hands have found a home, tightens. The only indication that somewhere behind his lustful gaze, Jungkook is aching too.

“Baby…” he says back, and then he returns to press figure-eight on your clit, though this time he pushes a finger inside of you.

It curls to hit the right spot inside of you, and he slowly rubs against it, before he decides better and starts to finger you, slowly. Digit moving in and out, keeping that right arch to make you see stars in no time.

When he adds a second finger, you tug on his hair, hard. Mostly by reflex, but when he meets your gaze as you look down at him, you pull harder. His fingers remain deep inside of you as he meets your lips for a heated kiss that tastes like you, and your hand blindly aims for his dick.

He’s rock hard, as he always is when you fuck for the first time after he’s been away. You sigh in satisfaction, thumb collecting precum on his tip that you spread on his dick. Instinctively, he bucks his hips as you start jerking him off, with the tight grip you know he likes, and you make sure to flick your wrist when you go back up.

He grunts against your lips, and his fingers start to move inside of you again. You don’t know when they stopped, but you know that he’s grown impatient now, and he’s unforgiving. When he pushes his thumb against your clit so that he can rub it at the same time, you moan unashamedly loud, another sound that he swallows like a man starved while his lips move against yours.

You time your ministration on his dick to those of his fingers on you, and soon enough a knot forms at the pit of your stomach. It grows impossibly tight impossibly quickly, and when Jungkook moans in your mouth you lose it, the knot uncoiling as your orgasm finds you.

He fucks you with his fingers through the high, through every wave of your orgasm, your legs shaking as he keeps going until you squirt.

“Good girl,” he praises as you cry out his name, your grip on his dick growing tighter. It has to hurt, but obviously Jungkook likes pain, so he only bucks his hips, seeking for friction.

It brings you back to the present, to this bed, and you return to jerking him off as his fingers leave you empty. He brings them to your mouth, makes you lick them clean until he’s satisfied and pulls them away. He kisses you, languidly, and your tongue dance with his as he grunts from a particularly skilled flick of your wrist.

“I want to suck you,” you say in between kisses, and he doesn’t let you do it for a time.

He’s too focused on your mouth, and you reckon you want him to keep going at it. To trap you in this moment with him, so that it may never end.

So that you may never have to break up with him.

“Can I fuck you first?” he asks, bucking his hips once more. “I want to feel your tight pussy swallowing my cock.”

“I want to suck you,” you insist as he’s sucking a new hickey on your neck.

He pulls away, meets your gaze with a lazy smile on his lips. “Well then of course.”

In another world his comment would have made you laugh, but the only thing it does is make you push him until he’s lying on his back and you’re kneeling next to him.

You look down at his dick. It’s just as pretty as you’ve always thought it was, with the brownish base to the tip that’s currently flushed red with arousal. Precum makes it glisten in the dim light from the world outside, and you let a blob of spit fall on it to add some lubrication to your jerking off.

When you feel ready, you bend down to lick a stripe along his dick, from base to top, following the thick vein. He groans, and he puts your hair in a makeshift ponytail so he can watch as you swirl your tongue around his tip.

The taste of his salty precum fills your mouth, and you hum in contentment. You wrap your lips around his tip, sucking hard once before teasing his frenulum with your tongue. Your free hand moves between his legs, and you grab his balls, massaging them gently.

They’re already tight, and you know he’ll come if you suck him for too long. You still can’t resist, and you take him as far as you can, swallowing around him so he can feel your throat constricting on him. It makes him moan out your name, which in turns makes you moan against him.

“Fuck, baby,” he lets out.

You move up until almost just his tip is in your mouth, before going all the way in once more. And then you start bobbing you head up and down in a quicker fashion as you drool on your chin, your spit coating his dick.

You squeeze his balls once, not daring to do it for longer than a few seconds. You don’t want him to come, so you let go soon after, hand moving to his thigh. You find the hard knot of his scar, and you lightly trace it with your fingers, almost instinctively.

Another part of him that you want to commit to memory. His scars – they made him into the person that was right for you. You hate that distance undid it, wish you could turn back time but alas it’s impossible.

So you focus on his dick, moving your hand away from the scars. He doesn’t let you suck him for a lot longer. Soon, he pulls you away by the hair, bringing you to his mouth instead. You kiss him as you climb on top of him, and right as he pushes his tongue in your mouth, you grab his dick to align it with your entrance.

Even though he fingered you before, he still stretches you as you sink on him, and you let out a broken moan as you dig your nails in his shoulder, where your other hand has been holding you up since you climbed on him.

You sink down until he’s fully imbedded inside of you, and then you rest your hands flatly on his chest, feeling the muscles of his pecs under your palms. You meet his gaze, hating how he’s looking at you carefully. For a moment, you both don’t move, taking the other in, and you’re struck with the realization that maybe he does know. Because his eyes are infinitely sad, infinitely pained, but when he blinks you think you might have imagined it.

You’re going crazy. You used to be able to read him like the back of your hand, but it seems the pain in your heart is keeping you from doing so, from picking up the book where you left off. Perhaps because you’ve gone blind, or maybe you forgot how to read altogether.

Jungkook feels like a stranger.

“Baby,” he lets out.

“Jungkook…”

He wets his lips, and then brings you closer. Forces you to bend down until he’s wrapped his arms around your waist. He starts moving, incredibly slow, and says, “I just want you close.”

It hurts too bad, and you hide your face in his neck. He tightens his grip around you, and after that all that can be heard in the room is your heavy breathing, mingling with the sound of the TV.

He feels healing, as much as he’s breaking you. Or you’re breaking yourself, you don’t know anymore. You wish to stop time, to interrupt the chronology of it, until all that’s left is this moment in time.

You know you can’t.

Jungkook doesn’t stop moving for a long time, as you let out breathy sounds against his neck. He’s not grunting anymore – you don’t think you or he are enjoying this, right now.

“I really want to suck your dick,” you murmur against his neck, lips tickling him.

“You’re not into this.”

Of course he’d sense it. You wrap your arms around his neck as he slips out of you, and you refuse to move for a little eternity.

“I’m okay,” you lie.

“Stop saying that you are,” Jungkook answers, and his voice has taken a cold tone. Maybe because he’s freezing – you don’t think he’d purposefully speak to you like that. “I know you aren’t.”

“Kook…”

He says your name, a loving plea that could have changed the ending, if the months hadn’t passed.

“We need to talk,” you breathe against his neck.

You think you hear his heart breaking. Like a car wreck: it’s so loud you don’t think you’ll make it out of the crash. Only, he did get out of it once – you can only hope he’ll get out again.

He runs his hand on your back, loses it in your hair. He’s gentle, infinitely so, tracing your body to remember you by when you’re gone. At least that’s what you think it is.

“Yeah?” he lets out with a small, quivering voice.

A tear spills from your eye, falling onto the soft skin of his neck.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

He holds you tighter, turning his face so that he can press a kiss to the side of your head. It’s a desperate move – it holds the weight of the universe.

“I…”

He never finishes the sentence. His words are lost to him, and you steel yourself for the glimpse you’ll give him. And when you do, you see his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I can’t do the distance anymore,” you tell him.

He nods once. “I’m staying until November.”

He blurs behind your tears, and they roll down your cheeks freely. You don’t try to dry them, and neither does he.

“But then you’ll go again.”

He doesn’t need to say anything to that, because you both know it to be the truth. His reply is physical: his arms let go of you, falling on the bed on each side of him.

You move to sit next to him, instinctively grabbing a blanket to hide yourself. Jungkook shuts his eyes before pressing the heel of his palms against his eyelids. As if that’ll stop him from crying, from shattering into thousands of little shards that will go by the wind.

The end has come. It’s upon you, it’s right this instant in time. You think you’ll forever hate this moment – will you ever recover?

“It’s just better for both of us,” you say, your voice breaking into a sob on the last words. You wish you could be stronger, but you break too hard for him. “It’s been so hard and… we both don’t try anymore.”

“I’m staying until November,” he repeats. He sounds choked, and when he pushes himself up, allowing you a glimpse of his face again, you see that he too is crying. “Please.”

“Kook…”

“No but…” he stops, laughs a laugh that turns into a sob. “I tried.”

“You didn’t.”

Maybe he did. Maybe to him he did, but it wasn’t what you needed.

“You don’t get to tell me I didn’t,” he says and he scoffs, pain laced with his next words. “When I tried, you were the one that was unavailable.”

Because you were already done then, you realize. It’s a startling realization, and you wish it wasn’t real. But it is, as real as the rain lashing at the window, as the agony in Jungkook’s gaze.

His doe eyes are pained, tormented, and you wish you could ease it. Comfort him, but you’re the source of the torture now.

“Yeah,” is all you manage to say.

He looks at you for a time, holds your crying eyes, and then he loses it, hiding his face in his hands as sobs rock through him. You’re shaking like a leaf where you’re sitting, and you feel like you’re going to be sick.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out.

“We can make it work,” he tries.

You’re shaking your head no, sobs racking through you too, when he glances at you. “We can’t. We tried, Kook. We tried and it didn’t work.”

“It’s the distance,” he says. He dries his cheeks, sniffles hard. “What if I drop the job?”

“It’s your dream,” you remind him. “Don’t.”

“I don’t give a shit about this dream if it means losing you,” he insists.

Your expression is apologetic, and suddenly your eyes clear up. Too much – the clarity in your mind feels dizzying.

“It’s too late.”

The words fall like a meteorite – you think they hit harder than the one that killed the dinosaurs, millions of years ago. They hit him so hard you think they disperse the pieces of his heart to the four corners of the Earth.

You want to be selfish, you want to keep a piece of him for yourself, to remember him by, but you let him go. You have to, if you want to make it out alive.

“Come on,” he pleads. “We’ve been through so much…”

You swallow around the lump in your throat. “I know.”

There’s finality in your voice, and he hears it just as well as you do. You think he’ll fight more – Jungkook never backs down from a challenge – but to your surprise he goes incredibly still.

“Nothing I can do or say will make you stay, huh?”

You shut your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He goes cold then – like hell. Empty, freezing over, and he steps out of bed to grab some clothes in his luggage that he’s yet to unpack. You watch him, watch the last tears on his cheeks falling as he bends down. No new ones join them – he’s retracted somewhere inside of himself, probably in an attempt to protect himself. You’re not sure he’s aware of the coping mechanism, but you can recognize it.

He was in that same place when you met him again the year after his accident, before you started dating. Once, he told you that you were the one to rescue him from it.

Who will rescue him now?

You start crying again, and you force yourself to get out of bed. To grab some clothes as he’s zipping his luggage after getting dressed.

“Stop,” you tell him. “I already have plans to go stay with Bridget and Heather.”

He stops moving, and then slowly gets up. He glances at the door of the bedroom. Bam is looking through the small gap, and he gently pushes on the door to open it wider.

“What about the dog?” Jungkook asks, sounding so detached you can barely recognize him.

It breaks you even more. You’re selfish – you wish he’d fight more. You wish he’d convince you to stay, but now he looks like he doesn’t even care anymore.

You probably deserve it.

“You can keep him,” you say, as you struggle to put your clothes on, hands trembling so much it makes you lose your fine motricity. “When you-“ A sob breaks the sentence. “When you leave again I can take him in.”

Jungkook nods, and then he glances towards the television. The movie is still playing, yet it’s nearing the end now.

Everything comes to an end.

“Fuck,” Jungkook curses loudly, and he moves to the bed, grabbing the remote so he can turn the TV off. He then looks at the bed. “You’re leaving with those?”

“Jungkook…”

“You’re fucking leaving with them?”

He’s motioning to Totoro and Appa, and you cry some more as you nod. “Okay. Yes. I’ll come back later for the rest.”

“Okay.”

There’s an immense silence then, as you finish putting your clothes on. As you go to the closet, where you’ve already packed a duffel bag with stuff for a week. Jungkook scoffs when he sees it, and it almost makes your legs give out under you.

“You weren’t going to give me a chance, were you?” he asks bitterly, reproachfully.

“My decision was made,” you answer with a small voice. “I just… it’s too hard.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

You know Jungkook often hurts others when he himself is in pain. It’s something he said he didn’t want to do anymore, a side of him he told you he hates. You’re not surprised to see it come to the surface right now – you don’t think he’s ever gotten his heart broken like this before.

So you’re not surprised when he adds, “We should have broken up when we fought on the phone. Because why was I so fucking stupid to think you still loved me?”

Your heart breaks. It’s been breaking, but now it’s different. Burning, throbbing pain takes over the beating organ, and you struggle to breathe. The air is boiling in your lungs, and it’s so fierce you feel it in every inch of your body.

“I do,” you tell him. “It’s not because I don’t love you…”

He laughs. He bursts out laughing, and it’s a little crazed, a little scary. “Right. Yeah. Tell that to yourself.”

In that instant, you remember when you’d told him you loved him for the first time. At his art exhibit, choked on emotions you thought you’d always know. You don’t know them anymore, but he’s wrong.

You’ll always love him.

“Kook…”

“Will you fucking stop calling me that?” he asks, and he finally meets your gaze again.

“Sorry…”

He sighs loudly, tongue poking at his cheek. “Are you leaving now?”

It’s weird – the way he says it reminds you of your mother when she kicked you out years ago. It reminds you of the early days with Jungkook and you don’t think you can move. You’re stuck in the spot where you’re standing, watching him as he watches you.

When his gaze breaks and he lets out, “Please”, you finally start moving.

First to the bed, to grab Appa and Totoro, and then towards the door.

You push the door open, and Bam wags his tail as you walk out. You’re crying again – you’re not sure you ever stopped – but the sight of the dog makes everything worse. Because it’s not only Jungkook you’re losing, it’s Bam too.

It’s your life. You’re losing everything that matters to you, in an attempt to save yourself. In an attempt to find something better for yourself, something that won’t ache for months at a time like being with Jungkook now does.

“Hey, Bamie,” you say, and you hold the plush toys away as he tries to bite into Appa’s paw. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

You bend, and you let the dog lap at your cheek, as if he can dry your tears. When he stops to look at you curiously, head tilted to the side, you press a kiss to the top of his head. You can’t move for a time and, as if sensing it, Bam remains entirely still too.

He only moves when you stretch, and it’s to press his body against your legs, as if trying to stop you from leaving. Tears cascade down your face, and you tell him you’re sorry, too. You repeat that you’ll see him soon again, hoping that it’ll help, and then you’re walking around him. Walking towards the door, walking towards the crying world outside.

Jungkook follows behind, silent as ever, hands lost in the pockets of his sweatpants, eyes lost in the void. You put down your stuff by the door, put on a light coat and grab your keys. You store them in your coat pocket, and then head to the door, to put on your shoes.

Every step feels like lead, like death, and you just keep crying. It only stops when you meet Jungkook’s gaze, when you’re ready to leave.

Or as ready as you’ll ever be.

“So that’s it?” he asks.

“That’s it,” you agree, and you wish you didn’t. Wish those weren’t the words you said.

He nods once, looking like he’s burdened with a great fatigue. “Alright.”

You want to scream at him to say more, but he doesn’t. Only stays silent as he looks at you, doe eyes so big. His waterline is wet again, and he’s got red splotches all over his face. He’s fighting the tears this time around and you wish you’d give him a reprieve, wish you’d be able to leave but, once again, you’re rooted in your spot.

Maybe because you still have more to say.

“Thank you for…” You pause, take a deep, shaking breath in. “Thank you for the years. I had a lot of fun with you.”

“Please go.”

You nod once, and then you turn around. It occurs to you that your hands are full, and you look at the doorknob as if it’s foreign. Jungkook must have noticed, because he steps forward, his hand reaching for it.

He stills halfway there, with his arm right next to you. And then you hear him choke on a sob, and you drop what you’re holding to face him, to pull him into a hug.

You don’t know how long you cry, holding onto each other like this. Because the moment you’ve wrapped your arms around his waist, Jungkook wrapped his around your shoulders, and he hid his face in your hair.

You cry and cry, together. The last thing you’ll ever do together, you reckon. You wish it wasn’t the case, wish the ending was still at the end a very long road, but it’s come short tonight and it’s too late to stop now.

You break against him, holding him. He’s shaking in your arms, as much as you’re shaking in his. Both of you trembling leaves in the wake of your end. And then you fall to your demise, carried away by the wind.

You don’t know when you let go of him. Only come to your senses when you’re in bed, sometime between dusk and dawn, away from him.

You’re never going to hold him again.

Teaser | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

Pain. I'm crying again from rereading one last time before posting. Please don't hate me oop- let me know what you think of the fic! Did we like it, even though it hurts? All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate.

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[violetsiren90]

Evergreen | Bang Chan/Reader

Pairing: wolf hybrid!Bang Chan x human!f!Reader

(A Nothing But You universe fic)

Genre: hybrid AU; one-shot; established relationship; domestic fluff; slice of life; mountain living; pregnancy

Word Count: 1689

Summary: Seasons change, life moves on - but some things stay the same.

Content Warning: PG-13 for themes but my page and all its content are 18+ (minors, dni); wolf hybrid rut; mentions of knotting and marking; mentions of rut symptoms that include insomnia and lack of appetite; deep emotions; the use of "your" and "belonging" in the sense of committed love NOT ownership; pregnancy; mentions of different states of undress; domesticity and shared domestic responsibility; homesteading; Chris being the sweetest and most caring 😭����; Chris chopping wood 😳; mentions of food and eating; implications of sexual intimacy, parenthood

Author's Note: I guess I went and fell in love with these two. This is a companion one-shot to Nothing But You. This one-shot is a different flavor, not as soft and cozy all the way through - there are more notes here, I think. Some sweeter, some sharper, but in the end, it's still them. I wanted to peek into their lives and see how they lived and loved. 🥰

If no one has told you yet today, please know that you are so loved, and so worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

~January~

Snow burdens the branches of the pines, the bitter North wind whistling between the trees, through the darkness, and over the blanket of fresh powder shrouding the forest floor. The mountains are sleeping, but your wolf is awake.

He nearly collapses, sinking to his knees as he shuts the cabin door. You spring up from your place by the fire to rush to him, but he holds up a hand, a growl rumbling low in his chest. You freeze. Panting, he slowly raises his face. Snowflakes cling to his lashes and dust over his head and shoulders. The dusky circles under his brown eyes speak of weariness, yet their expression is dark and wild. His nose is flushed from the chill. Beads of sweat quiver on his brow.

The fever still hasn't broken.

It appeared two days ago, with other sudden changes. Christopher has grown restless and short-tempered, and won't sleep in your bed. He smells intoxicatingly of cedar wood and amber.

You've been through it all before, his annual rut at the end of winter - four days of watching him endure the throes of primal agony. He would steal away at night, to hunt, your proximity far too overwhelming for his heightened senses and desires. Unchecked he would fail to stop himself. He would take you, mark you, knot you.

He hadn't in the four years you'd shared a bed and the comfort of the other's flesh. You'd spoken of the mating rites, but he always held off, afraid to break you. So protective of you always, and without a second a thought to himself.

You respected his space, his wishes, attempting to help him navigate the torment of his natural longings as best you could.

But this year it had taken him like a wild fire. The fever wouldn't break. He wouldn't sleep or eat. And now, here he was, half frozen and shivering on the floor.

No more.

You slowly cross to pull him up against his weak protesting. You peel away his frost-damp clothes and drag his heavy frame to rest upon the bed. With his last strength he tries to push you away, but you slip under the blankets beside him, pulling him into your arms.

His eyes flutter shut as he curls against you and nuzzles into your neck, whimpering that when he wakes it will be too hard for him to hold back.

You tell him not to try.

You tell him that you need him, want him - all of him. This part too, with all the others.
You assure him softly that you're not afraid, nor should he fear to make you his...you already belong to one another, after all.

You whisper that you love him.

Christopher exhales, tears trickling down his cheeks to mingle with the sweat and melted snow. You hold him to your breast, brushing soft kisses into his hair.

Cedar wood and amber.

~April~

You shake out a flannel shirt, crinkled and bunched from wringing to hang it on the line that stretches from the side of the cabin to a young yellow birch within the clearing. You smile as you fasten it with clips. He had worn it on the first day he visited the diner. It was faded then, and it has grown more timeworn still. But the fabric is thick, the seams hand-sewn, and if the dye has begun to abandon the thread it is only ever the softer. 

Strong and soft, like him.

The warblers are singing in the branches of the white pines as they busily fashion their nests. You stroke a hand down over the little bump of your belly, musing over the nesting that has started to change the trappings of your own little home. There's still plenty of time, but Christopher's excitement has poured forth in the form of hard work, and you're certain that when your time comes he'll have stored by enough for the next three winters yet.

You hear the rumbling of his truck a ways off. He left in the wee hours, the bed loaded down with wares to sell to suppliers in town. By the time you've strung up the last piece of washing he's already at the mouth of the trail, his arms laden with flowers and parcels wrapped in brown paper. The light wash of his denim shirt brings out the early kisses of the spring sunshine on his honeyed skin.

You follow him into the house where he puts your wildflowers into a vase and insists that you sit while he tends to lunch. Unwrapping the brown paper packages you find a set of pretty maternity pajamas, a box of chocolates, and the goat's milk soap you like. 

He's already eaten half his sandwich when he sets yours down, and you tug his wrist, pulling him into a chair to prevent him from setting out to work yet again. 

When the dishes are cleared you won't let him leave. He'd work every second of every day and well into many nights if you let him. But today you want him to rest. It's a mild and lovely afternoon and the chores are done. Other things can wait.

You sit across his lap on the porch swing he built two summers before. Your arms encircle one of his as you rest your head on his shoulder. 

His lips brush your forehead as his thumb caresses the little curved scar where the slope of your shoulder meets your neck. The one that means you belong to him and no one else.

The birds sing and the swing creaks.


~July~

He calls you from around the other side of the house. You draw an arm over your dripping brow and struggle up from where you're crouched to spread a batch of plump, ripe blackberries between the screens of the drying rack. There are still so many. Some you'll turn into jam. Christopher will eat the rest. He loves them. You rest the colander still half-full with berries against the full swell of your belly, wrapping an arm about the rim to keep it in place. 

You're hot and uncomfortable these days. But, when the morning's work is through, you'll go down to the lake together to shed the day's heat in the cool, still waters. You'd been every afternoon that week. Christopher was a strong swimmer, and would stay in far longer while you sat on the shady bank with a book. When he finally quit the water yesterday, he'd never found his clothes - instead he'd pressed you back into the lush green grass and made you sigh his name. 

As you round the far side of the cabin your eyes catch his form. He stands under the sweltering sun, stripped down to pair of fitted khaki work pants and thick suede boots. His muscular chest is slicked with sweat and he stands, panting, with his weight pressed into his right hip. He holds an axe in his hand.

His mouth pulls up at the corner and his tail swishes at the site of you. You tuck yourself against him wrapping your free arm around his damp waist. Oh how you want to swim. To hold his strong body in the dark water.

He gestures with the axe at what he's fitted together with stripped pieces of soft pine. A little cradle. He nudges it with his foot, setting it to rock. You bring a blackberry to his lips and he accepts it.

You kiss him.

Salty skin and summer fruit.


~October~

Your eyes flutter open to the sound of little cries. You sit up and stretch, blinking in the softness of the early autumn light.

You inhale deeply. Cinnamon and hickory smoke.

Outside the air is growing crisp and the leaves of the deciduous trees are blushing and abandoning their hosts, covering the floor of the wood in their pageantry. Fruit and game have begun to grow scarce as the forest prepares to enter the long slumber of the colder months. Nights require fires more often than not.

There is a small fire crackling now. A little black cauldron hangs over the flames, and you can smell the porridge simmering within. The man you love sits in a rocking chair near the warmth, a little bundle in his arms. He looks up at you as you rise and he smiles. He's been all smiles lately. In fact, you don't think the little dimple has left his cheek since he met the tiny she-wolf in his arms two weeks ago.

He says she looks like you, but all you see in her beautiful little features is Christopher. She has two tiny fuzzy ears and a darling little tale.

You reach down to stroke her fat cheek and your heart aches.

It aches from love, so much of it.

When the doctor placed her in your arms a part of your heart that you hadn't known existed burst to beating. You thought you loved the man who had knitted her inside you as much as you were able, but you had been ignorant in that respect as well. When he took your daughter in his arms and looked down on her face you thought that there wasn't room in your chest for things so vast, so deep.

You named her Hannah, for the sister her father had lost. It meant "grace".

So fitting, you think.

You move your fingers into Christopher's curls and he looks up at you. His brown eyes are soft and warm. The lovely eyes you saw that first day at the general store - the same through every changing season.

The maple and the birch will wax and wane, but not the cedar, not the pine.

Some things will remain.

And he is evergreen.
 

-Fin-

[ilguna]

☼ plinth legacy pt2 (Coriolanus Snow) ☼

summary; in the weeks leading up to your wedding, Coriolanus hasn’t been himself. ma is chalking it up to nerves, but you know a guilty conscious when you see one.

warnings; swearing, betrayal, death mention, grief, still an arranged marriage.

wc; 3.4k

part one

--

“(Y/n), my dear,” Ma begins, brushing imaginary dust from her long burgundy skirt. “Would you like to start your plan from the beginning?”

You watch her gingerly take a seat in the lounge chair next to Pa, neatly folding her hands in her lap, waiting for you to begin. Your eyes flicker around the room, going from face to face to see the expressions of those who are watching you.

Your family is calm, patient and eager to hear what you have planned for the wedding. Most of them are curious on what the next Plinth wedding will look like, especially since it’s taking place in the Capitol, with a boy from a different background than your own.

His family is a little more unnerving. Grandma’am—as Coriolanus calls her—has been complaining since she stepped foot inside of your home. Whether it be the temperature of the house, the way it’s furnished or what she’s been served by the avoxes. 

This was expected from her, Coriolanus warned you she would be cranky leaving the penthouse. And you remember from your brief counter last year that she wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around. You would’ve rather spent time with that Dr. Gaul Coriolanus has told you so much about. 

As for Tigris, she’s been pretty absent. You’ve tried your best extending invitations to her with every appointment you’ve made. She’s responded to a few of the letters, but she doesn’t come to most of the venues. From what you’ve noticed, she usually feels more comfortable tagging along if Coriolanus isn’t involved.

It may be because she feels like she’s overstepping. 

Coriolanus has been distant, too. You thought he’d had more of an opinion during the planning process of the wedding, but he’s more than happy to go along with what you want. Which is out of the ordinary for him.

Your eyes fall to the book in front of you, fingers carefully pulling up the brightly colored cover. As you go to flip it open, your eyes snap to Coriolanus, who's sitting on your right. You hope he’s been paying enough attention these past couple of months, because Pa’s going to have a lot of questions that he’ll be expecting Coriolanus to answer.

You swallow dryly, skipping past the first couple of blank pages at the beginning. You hate giving presentations at the Academy, and this is no different. In fact, it’s worse because Pa is the one analyzing every decision you’ve made thus far.

“Well, starting with a date, we were thinking late spring.” You murmur, playing with your nails. “The flowers will be in bloom, making it the perfect time to create specialty bouquets for table arrangements and bridesmaids. It’ll be the perfect opportunity for an outdoor wedding.”

“What if it rains?” Pa asks, raising his eyebrows.

“I’d like to have the wedding in a greenhouse.” You tell him.

“Where?” Grandma’am asks, “Certainly not in the Snow penthouse. I won’t have you ruining my roses.”

Coriolanus shakes his head. “No, we’re planning to have it at the botanical garden in the heart of the Capitol. We weren’t sure if that idea would work out at first, but I made a trip to talk to the floral coordinator early yesterday, and she said that they don’t normally hold weddings but they’d make an exception.”

A smile fights its way to your lips. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.” Coriolanus says, reaching over to hold your hand.

He squeezes your fingers, when you look at Pa, he gives you an approving nod, telling you to continue. “I was thinking May, Coriolanus suggested as early as April but I would like it to be warm out.” You flip to the next page in the book. “When it comes to invitation cards, we’ve gone back and forth on what they should look like.”

You pull out the most recent example card that the vendor gave you to show Pa. You flip it around, holding it out to allow everyone to see. 

The truth is that you can’t decide what the cards should look like. You’ve changed the color of the square of paper about a dozen times now. You wanted to try white, but it seemed too pristine and made the black lettering bolden. You tried a gentle pink, trying to call for springtime colors, but it seemed to feminine.

So far, all you’ve seemed to like is the yellowy-beige color, which was suggested by Coriolanus, thankfully. He was watching you drive yourself crazy trying to decide something so simple, which is why you shouldn’t be given the entire workload, but it’s too late to change that now.

There’s a black stamp on the invitation of a rose with a stem and thorns, a move you made because you were hoping it would make Grandma’am happy. The look on her face right now is hopeful, she doesn’t seem to have any prominent emotion from what you can see.

It has yours and Coriolanus’s full names in a nice cursive that reminds you of Ma’s handwriting, and below it is the boring details of when the wedding will be taking place. There’s a large gap on the paper where you’re supposed to fill in where the venue will be, which you will fill out fully later tonight, after you’ve received the feedback from your guests.

“This looks nice.” Ma carefully plucks the card from your hand, holding it out in front of her to get a better look. “Are you planning on writing the invitations yourself or having them printed?”

You hesitate, “Well, as much as I’d like to handwrite these, I don’t have the time.” You start, shaking your head a little. “Coriolanus is at University, so he’s focusing on his studies right now. So I’ve already taken a lot of the responsibility of planning on my plate. And with how many people are on the guest list…”

“Oh, I could write them for you.” Ma waves her hand, the relief goes through your body instantly. 

“Thank you.” 

“What will the thank you notes look like?” Ma asks.

“I haven’t gotten there yet.” You tell her, “I’m working from start to beginning, so I’ll be there soon.”

“We should meet together next week to figure it out.” Ma nods, “I’m going to keep this.” She places the card on a side table, and then returns her attention back to you.

“The next part we have figured out is the attire.” You tell them, flipping the page in the book to show the concept drawings you had for Tigris regarding the bridesmaids outfits. 

And, of course, your wedding dress.

This is the part where Tigris really came to life to help you. As soon as you mentioned getting her opinion on what you’d drawn up, she started to make a plan to come and see you the same day. 

When you sat down with the bridesmaids, all you told them was to give you an idea on what style they like, and you’d figure out a way to put it into a concept. The only rule you had was that it needed to be a long dress, but it wouldn’t fall below their ankles. 

When Tigris saw that you’d done most of the work for her, she perked up. She liked the fact that you wanted to go for simple dresses with pastel colors, something that would compliment the dress you had in mind. And even though you weren’t planning on asking Tigris to make the dresses, she told you she’d get them started immediately.

You stopped her, trying to tell her she didn’t have to, and you weren’t trying to make her do that. You had a seamstress in mind, you’d done a lot of research and window shopping downtown, trying to find one that you liked. But Tigris told you that she wanted to do this for you. And while she was at it, she’d make her own dress.

She ruined your plan a little, because you wanted to ask her to be your Maid of Honor at a dinner you were planning. You had no choice but to ask her then, you didn’t want her to start on a dress she wouldn’t be wearing. You know her, she’d make something better for herself for such a title.

She accepted, of course. 

“Tigris has done most of the work when it comes to putting the dresses together.” You tell them. “I don’t have pictures, just concepts of the bridesmaid dresses. As for the tuxes for the groomsmen, I’ve scheduled an appointment for them to get fitted downtown. Coriolanus will be leading that.”

He nods. “It’s two weeks from now, sir. I would like for you to come if you had the time.”

Pa looks at the calendar on the wall for a moment. “I’ll have to look in on what I have planned that day.” He turns his attention to Tigris. “How long will it take for you to complete the dresses?”

“I should be done by March.” Tigris tells him with a smile. “If I had more time, I would do the tuxedo’s, but I’m starting at a boutique later that month. It’ll consume most of my time.”

“I see.”

You give Pa a moment to think before you keep going. “The only part I haven’t planned out fully is the actual wedding. We were waiting on a venue to respond to us.”

“She was also hoping for the botanical garden.” Coriolanus says. “Since it’s confirmed now, I’m sure we’ll be able to tour where we’ll be set up and choose tables, chairs and arrangements soon.”

Pa stares at your book, “Well, it appears as though you’ve figured most of it out.”

“We’re still working on catering and the flavor of the cake.” You tell him.

“Which we will have an answer for soon.” Coriolanus chimes in.

At this, Pa gets to his feet, watching Coryo. He slowly rises as well, the grip on your hand loosening until he has to let go altogether. Pa extends a hand for Coriolanus to shake, and the two of them hold on for a long moment.

“If either of you need anything, you’ll contact me immediately.”

“We will.” Coriolanus tells him.

Pa lets go, “I’ll arrange a car to take your grandmother and cousin home.”

“Thank you.” Tigris says. “You really don’t have to.”

“It would be impolite not to.” Ma tells her. “Can I ask you a few questions about the dresses you’re making?”

“Of course.” Tigris gets up from where she’s sitting to follow Ma off to the side. Tigris originally offered to make her a dress as well, but Ma is set in her ways. You warned Ma that if she changed her mind then she needed to let Tigris know as soon as possible so she could prepare to arrange her timeline. 

Grandma’am doesn’t move from where she sits, so Pa goes to talk to her. She’s in charge of the Snow household, despite the fact that her memory is going. He does it out of respect for Coriolanus, because he knows how much she means to him. Mostly because you’ve warned Pa.

Speaking of Coryo, he stands beside you for a second or two, before slightly bending down to speak to you. “I’m going to grab myself a drink in the kitchen, would you like anything?”

“I’ll just come with you.” You tell him, rising to your feet.

You let him lead the way, following him quietly. He knows he can help himself to what’s in your parent’s fridge, but he still waits for you to open the doors and hand him a soda. You don’t grab anything for yourself, you basically had a whole pot of tea to yourself earlier because Ma and Grandma’am were too engrossed in conversation. And Tigris doesn’t like tea, she just took a cup to be polite.

“I think that went well.” Coriolanus murmurs, popping the can open.

You hum, crossing your arms over your chest. “Pa seemed happy. I wish you would’ve told me about the garden, we could’ve stopped by again this afternoon so we could take a look around.”

“They closed early today.” He makes a face. “I thought about it—I even asked, but she said that we would have to come back on Monday.”

Three days away. 

“It shouldn’t set us back too bad.” Coriolanus says, as if he’s reading your mind.

You shrug, you have months until the wedding. The only factor you have to be worried about is receiving the furniture in time. Since the Hunger Games aired, the districts have been tense and rebellious, unwilling to fall in line. You can’t blame them, of course. If you were still in Two, you’d be giving the Capitol hell.

Except, you’re on the other end now, and Pa won’t stand for the wedding being delayed any further than spring. You were going to see how long you could push it back for, hoping that he’d change his mind and let you make the decision on your own, but he’s got bigger plans.

Pa said that if you’re not married by the summer, then he’d figure something else out for you, and you wouldn’t have an input on it. So, you folded and chose the spring. You’d much rather be married to Coriolanus, and not some nobody you’ll meet for the first time when he lifts your veil.

“I’m not worried about it setting us back. We have plenty of time, I made sure of it.” You tell him.

Coriolanus’s eyebrows twitch, confused. “You made sure of it?”

“Well, I did it for my own sake, because an arranged marriage so soon after my brother’s funeral is a little sickening. And you seem to be on the fence about the idea, too.”

He shakes his head. “I’m sure that I want to marry you, (Y/n).”

A rush of heat spreads through your stomach, you ignore it. “Are you sure? You haven’t been acting like yourself recently, at all. Normally, you’re more… dominant when it comes to making decisions, and yet you haven’t had a single opinion on what I’ve done so far with the wedding—our wedding.”

“That’s because I’m happy with what you want.” Coriolanus says. “If I had an opinion, the wedding would be too traditional and boring for your taste.” He reaches to move a hair out of your face. 

“You’re not entirely telling the truth.” You tilt your head to the side. “You haven’t been the same since you came back from District Twelve. I saw it in your face but I thought I was wrong.” You stare at each other for a long second, and then you begin to speak softly. “I know how hard Sejanus’s death was, but it seems to be affecting you the most.”

Coriolanus shakes his head again, looking off to the side.

“Is it because he would’ve been your best man?” You ask, reaching for him.

“It’s not that.” Coriolanus says, a little too harshly.

You open your mouth, and then close it, hand dropping back to your side. You watch his face, the way the anger slowly dissipates. When he sighs, he reaches for his blonde curls, pushing them away from his forehead. “I’m sorry.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I see.” 

“See what?” Coriolanus asks.

“You’re guilty of something.”

He pales slightly, “What would I have to be guilty about?”

“You aren’t the same person as you were before.” You squint at him, beginning to problem solve out loud. “I’d say it would have something to do with Lucy Gray, but that doesn’t seem right. It has to be Sejanus.”

Coriolanus shakes his head. “I haven’t changed.”

“It’s strange you were discharged so soon and honorably.” You pause, watching as he begins to resemble a blank sheet of paper. “How my driver had to drop you off at Dr. Gaul’s lab under special instruction.”

“(Y/n), we should not have this conversation here.”

“No, you’re going to tell me what you’ve done, or I’m going to tell Pa to call off the arrangement.” You threaten. “Grandma’am can kiss her penthouse apartment goodbye.”

Coriolanus stares at you in shock, his eyes flicker to the doorway behind you, checking to make sure no one is there. He lowers his voice, “You have to understand, District Twelve was not as simple as it sounds. Sejanus and I found that out after the first few times we went to the Hob. It’s a warehouse in the Seam—the poor part of Twelve.”

“Okay…?”

“Sejanus got himself wrapped up in rebels. We got caught in a situation regarding Lucy Gray and the people she knows, and a couple people ended up dead.” Coriolanus hesitates. “A couple days later, Sejanus and I were caging jabberjays and I accidentally recorded him talking about a rebel plan. He wanted to break a prisoner out of Capitol custody and live in the woods between the districts.”

“It wasn’t an accident.” You say. “You did it on purpose, didn’t you?”

“I was about to be moved to officer training in District Two.” Coriolanus tells you. “I didn’t want to be wrapped into what he was doing. I sent the bird to the Capitol knowing that Dr. Gaul would play the recording attached to it and hear what Sejanus said.”

You can feel yourself grow distant, soul leaving body. 

Coriolanus did this. He killed your brother. He’s the reason why you’ll never be able to see him again. Your brother, the only person in this world that knew you from the inside out, that could make you smile on the worst day. The only person that knows what it was like to grow up in a district.

All because Coriolanus didn’t want to discourage his behavior.

You suck in a breath of air, hands balling into fists at your sides, contemplating giving him a black eye.

“He was a traitor.”

“He was your friend.” You tell him, body feeling as if you’ve set it aflame. “He was my brother. Did you ever consider talking him down instead? Remind him he had a family back home?”

“I tried, (Y/n). He was on the right track for a little. He thought that he’d be able to keep his head down to get through training so he could become a Peacekeeper, but he couldn’t let it go.”

“I’ve cried to you about his death.” Your face twists. “I grieved with you. Or at least, I thought I did.”

“You did.” Coriolanus reaches to grab you.

You slap his hands away, holding a finger up. “Do not touch me.”

“He was a brother to me.”

“Clearly not if you got him killed.” Tears well up in your eyes. “Did you even sprinkle the bread on his body?”

Coriolanus shakes his head, eyes falling to the ground.

You begin to breathe heavily, holding back the urge to wrap your hands around his neck to strangle him. You know you have to think of the consequences. If you were to kill him now, you’d be sent away, yourself. Unless Dr. Gaul intervenes and kills you for getting rid of her best student.

You can’t believe he’s studying under her.

“Is everything okay in here?” Ma’s voice comes through behind you.

Coriolanus’s eyes snap up, watching your face, seeing the murderous rage. You press your lips together, taking in a deep breath as you turn around to look at Ma, a tear rolling down your cheek.

Her face drops. “What’s wrong, honey?” 

“(Y/n).” Coriolanus whispers under his breath. “Please.”

You force a smile to your face. “Coriolanus just told me he’s giving me his mother’s ring.” You lie. “Isn’t that great?”

Ma places her hands over her mouth in disbelief, eyes lighting up. “Oh!”

When you turn to look back at him, he seems relieved, but his body is still tense, as if he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. He’s right to be expectant, because you mouth, “You owe me for the rest of your life.”

[ckret2]

👀 I want to hear more about this Bill AU

You were the very first person to send me an ask about the Bill AU, and it was an open-ended question, so I've been saving your ask special for... a fanfic. IDK how often or how much I'm gonna write actual full fic for this AU but for now, here: the first half of Bill's reunion with the Pines family. (Attempted murder included.)

(Edited 7/28/2024 - now compatible with TBOB!)

####

February 25, 2013

The vengeful demon standing in the door of the Mystery Shack possessed only four items in the universe:

Two safety pins.

A time tape tied around his waist like a belt.

And a tunic he'd fashioned himself in the style of an ancient Greek Doric chiton, folded and pinned so perfectly that the wearer must have seen them thousands of years ago when they were at the height of fashion.

Soos couldn't identify an authentic Doric chiton. All he knew was that the tourist who'd just come in looked like a short fat lady with brown skin, curly golden hair, weirdly skinny arms, bulging jaundiced eyes, and a toga made out of a bright purple children's Pony Heist bedsheet.

Soos laughed, flashing the tourist a double thumbs up. "Hey! Awesome toga. That should really be like a thing. Imagine if we all wore togas. We could just wake up, roll our bedsheets around us like a burrito, and go out!"

"Watch out, you can't tell when Big Fashion is listening in." 

"Haha. Who?"

The tourist hadn't looked at Soos once; instead, her gaze was darting around the shop restlessly.

"Are you shopping for something specific?" Soos asked with his best customer service voice. "Post cards? Snow globes? Weird taxidermy thingamajigs? Pants?"

"Where are the Pines?" the tourist asked, casting a sharp look at the "employees only" door, then the vending machine.

"Oh, Mr. Pines! The original Mr. Mystery! Heh—he actually retired a few months ago. The Mystery Shack's under new management!" Soos planted his fists on his hips and puffed up his chest. "It's me, I'm the new management."

"But where are they?" the tourist pressed.

"Uhh, he and his bro are somewhere in South America, I think? Hey, if you wanna meet him in person, his last letter said he might visit for spring break if the family can make it. First week in April."

"First week in April," the tourist muttered. She glanced over her shoulder toward the door, thoughtfully fiddling with the time tape wrapped around her waist.

"Oh, dude! I've tried to use a tape measure as a belt too! Haha! It worked great, until I bumped the button and it retracted. Yeesh. Hey, do you want a fur belt? We sell fur belts now." Soos turned away, rummaging through the new display next to the t-shirts. "They're all sustainably, ethically harvested! I bought a bunch of old rugs from the Northwest Manor to slice up."

Soos grabbed up a fuzzy pink belt. "Check it, I think this is unicorn hide or something. Bet it'd go so good with that Pony Heist toga..."

The tourist had seemingly vanished in thin air. Soos looked around. "Huh." He shrugged and stuck the belt on a shelf beneath the cash register in case she came back and decided she wanted it later.

Once all the other visitors had left for the day, and Soos was left alone to clean up, he thought back to that togaed tourist whose yellowish eyes had never stopped moving—the way she'd looked toward the door as though worried someone was following her. Soos glanced around the shop nervously. "Is anyone there?" He lifted his broom like a samurai sword. "Hello? Big Fashion?"

Nothing answered. He shrugged and kept sweeping.

###

April 1, 2013

A vengeful demon who possessed nothing but two safety pins, a time tape belt, and a purple Pony Heist bedsheet chiton stood in the center of the Mystery Shack gift shop.

Which was weird, because Soos didn't hear the door and she totally hadn't been standing there a moment ago.

"Oh hey! Toga Lady!" Soos turned to Wendy, who was picking up a few bucks working spring break while Melody visited her family. "It's Toga Lady. She came in like a month ago. The toga's cool, right? I think it's cool."

Wendy glanced up, choked back a laugh, and scrambled to grab her phone for a picture.

"So, where are the Pines?" Toga Lady asked, with an edge of impatience.

"Oh, dude, did you come all the way back here to meet them? Sorry, the Mr. Pineses couldn't make it. They couldn't get a flight out of Atlanta." Soos stopped, frowned, and pulled a water-stained letter from his pocket to double check. "Sorry, Atlantis. Something about a giant lobster attack?"

"Daryll would pick now to invade," Toga Lady muttered. "I suppose the children aren't here."

How did she know about the children? Maybe she'd visited last summer and remembered them? Like, early summer, before Pony Heist came out. Soos would have remembered the toga. "Naw, heh. They went to Roswell."

"Oh, cool," Wendy said distractedly, busy texting a picture of Toga Lady to everyone she knew. "Checking out the competition."

"Yeah, Dipper's sending me like a billion pictures of the alien museum."

"Well," Toga Lady said impatiently, "when are they showing up?"

Soos was beginning to get the impression that Toga Lady was less an admiring fan, and more one of those customers. The kind that used speaking to the manager as a threat. All the same, he said, "June first, for sure. That's when the kids get here for summer break so the Mr. Pineses are coming too. Definitely. Promise."

She rolled her eyes—one of them twitched, like she'd gotten something in it and was struggling to keep it open—but said, "All right, fine! June. What's the difference? I've waited this long." She leaned next to the door by the snow globe shelves, fiddling with her belt, as if she was settling in to wait right there for the next two months.

Soos frowned—she might drive off tourists, blocking the door like that—but said, "Oh! While you're here, I thought you might be interested in this belt." He reached past Wendy to grab it from beneath the cash register. "I didn't get a chance to show you last time before—"

He looked toward the door. She was gone. "Huh. Did you see Toga Lady leave?"

Wendy shrugged. "Wasn't looking."

"Huh." Soos replaced the belt. At least he knew when he'd see her next.

###

June 1, 2013

"What's with the belt?" Stan asked.

"Oh! It's for a regular." Soos pointed with both hands at the fuzzy pink belt peeking beneath his suit jacket. "I think she's comin' today. She wanted to meet the original Mr. Mystery."

"Hey, an admirer." Stan's chest puffed out and his grin widened. "Is she cute?"

"Uh... if you like bedsheet togas?"

"Ooh, a party girl."

"These are new," Ford said, inspecting a jar with an alien fetus floating in green goo.

"Oh, yeah!" Soos said, following as Stan joined Ford at the glass display case. "Dipper sent me like, a billion keychains of these little alien guys from Roswell. So I started filling Abuelita's empty spice jars with aliens and green jello. Cool, huh? It looks like we stole them from a secret government lab or something."

Stan laughed, slinging an arm around Soos. "Listen to this! Brilliant! I knew I put the right guy in charge."

Soos grinned goofily. "Aw, gee, Mr. Pines..."

A flash of purple caught the corner of his eye. Toga Lady was leaning next to the door by the snow globe shelves, fiddling with her belt.

Here was a chance to show off his great business instincts with Stan watching. Time to make a sale. "Oh, hey, Toga Lady! I didn't hear you come in! Still rockin' Pony Heist, huh? Hey, I've been trying to show you this belt I think you'll like..."

But she wasn't listening to him. Her gaze was fixed on the Pines twins' backs. As Soos watched, her expression darkened, and her grin widened.

The vengeful demon reached past the snow globes, seized a heavy "mysterious green crystal cluster ($250)" made of glue and broken glass, and heaved it up over his head. "Hey, Sixer!" Face contorted in a snarl of a smile, he turned the cluster over, sharp shards pointing downward. "Welcome home!"

Bill Cipher swung the glass weight down toward Ford's head.

(If you wanna keep reading, all chapters are on tumblr right here!)

[random-townie]

Tweaking up the Festivals Calendar for my save file

Check also the previous post on how I created brand new holidays with new traditions and changed the calendar layout to 21 days per season.

I think festivals in TS4 are generally a really nice feature.

I like the random calls from friendly Sims to invite me to the festival. Sometimes my Sims are stuck in tedious routine and trip to a festival with some friends or to meet new Sims is a nice way to keep yourself reminded not to make every sim day exactly the same.

The thing about the Festivals is that as players we have no control whatsoever on the their schedule. You can freely delete, edit and create new holidays with traditions of your choice without any mods, but festivals just pre arranged by the game and they happen when they happen.

This can be fixed with another great life-quality mods that is very vanilla friendly - Schedule Festivals Yourself by @zerbu.

So here are my rules for the Festival Schedule.

I don't necessarily want certain festivals to happen in winter, I want Sims in their party outfits on a San Myshuno night out not freezing to death.

All of them will happen way less often, because of both game/mod limitation to have only 1 holiday per day and because I want them to be more rare, hence more inviting to take part in them if next one is gonna be only next year.

Humor festival happens after the Bloomfest, think of it as Aprils Fool .

It will be followed by GeekCon on Sunday.

Flea market will be happening on one Saturday each Spring, Summer and Autumn.

Spice Festival as above, but on Fridays.

HSY Cheerleading and Football Team events will happen twice a year - before the Spring Break and Harvestfest in the autumn.

Second week of the summer is when I combined Youth Festival and Series of Sulani Festivals in a row with the Summer Break holidays I added before. I think of some of the worlds like Sulani to be mostly vacation worlds. Sims can plan summer holidays there to attend all of the festivities.

Fishing Competition and Flower Festivals are for the next weekedns, let's give Sulanians a chance to catch a breath from all the tourists.

Beginning of autumn hosts series of Finchwick Harvest Fair events, where all 5 fairs will start in the middle of first week/month and progress over the next 5 days. It's also a chance to have longer vacation in H-n-B to attend local fairs and admire the nature. Locals will have only one chance year to show off their biggest harvest/best farm animals.

After the Spooky night holiday Sims can attend Festival of Light. In my irl home city we have a light festival each year in the autumn, when evenings come earlier to fully enjoy the show.

The first day of winter is Sunday and it is the day when everyone goes to Mt. Komorebi for a Snow Festival.

And last but not least there is Chess and Computer Science weekend in "January".

And here is what it looks so far in my Random Save File . WIP - missing Romance Festival and L&D festivals and more custom icons to better identify some of them. Hope you enjoy it and get inspired to try something new in your game 💚

To schedule Festivals you need to add a new holiday on any day you wish and pick respective festival from the traditions list. It even adds likes to the traditions/festival activities based on your Sims characteristics, which is an extra sweet twist. I still need to play test the mod but I give it much hope.

Shout out to Peter Plays It on YT for his videos on all the festivals to keep me reminded of their character and fit them better in my Sim year.

***

If I ever share my save file publicly I'll surely include all the must have small mods that make the gameplay better and allow customization for things that IMO should just be a part of the game.

[cinderellaenjoyer]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ The Realms of Fairyland . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖

There are 7 realms in Fairyland - 4 are the Realm of Seasons, the other 3 are the Realms of Skies.

The Realms of Seasons are all on the ground, but the Realms of Night and Day are located on floating islands. There is intermingling among the realms in each of them, although it's more in the Realms of Seasons than in the Realms of skies since the latter is in, well, the sky.

Information about the Realms under the Cut!

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 The Realms of Seasons

☘︎ ݁Spring - this is the realm Hope ends up in the first book. Looks like a typical Fairy garden (toadstool houses are common, but there are also cottages and the likes), only much bigger and with a royal palace in the middle that's covered in flowers, both on the wall and on vines. Plant life thrives the most in this Realm, since spring is associated with rebirth. It rains all through April, but the magic there gets stronger in May (because of the saying 'April showers bring May flowers). The people here wear lighter clothes, some wearing clothes made out of flowers and leaves themselves like you see in typical illustrations of faries. In April, market stalls make sure to have something over them in order to not get whatever is being sold wet, and it's advised you wear some for covering so you don't get wet and sick either.

☘︎ Summer - it's a beach kingdom, with most homes looking like beach houses and the palace looking similar to a sandcastle. Seashell jewellery is commonly worn and sold here, and the general clothing is either short selves or long enough so that it provide shade. Wearing black to the Summer realm isn't advised since it absorbs a lot of heat, and black isn't used in building materials for the same reason. It doesn't rain in the summer realm at all, therefore they use water from the Sea and filter it. It's plant-life is mostly coral and costal flowers. The constant sun and heat can be a little irritating if you didn't grow up there, but you get used to it.

☘︎ Autumn - Warmer than Winter but colder than spring, so most people where longer sleves most of the time. It's largely trees with the leaves you see in autumn, only the trees never fully loose their leaves even when they fall off. I like to think the palace here is carved out of an absoloutley massive tree. It also has a history of cyptids and mysterious going ons in the woods. It also has the best pumpkin havest out of the realms. It gets more frequent rain throught the year than the other realms.

☘︎ Winter - You should probably wear thicker clothing because it's constantly snowing and cold here. Almost everything is covered in snow. Ice-sculpting is a common art form. The palace is made out Ice, but really strong magic ice, most other homes are made from logs and wood, like the cabins you see in movies. It has the least plant-life of the realms, but it does have forests with pretty large trees and these special flowers called 'Snowdrops' that only grow in the snow. Most places have fire places, or are enchanted to be warm on the inside, the palace being the most obvious example of this. There's also some animal life here, mainly snow-foxes and dogs that are kept as pets

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚ The Realms of Skies

ཐིཋྀ Day - The realm that's in an eternal day, based closer to the sun, though not so close that it can burn you. You can sleep at any time since the sun never sets, so you could sleep in the afternoon and wake up in the evening. It gets confusing for those who didn't grow up in the realm, but those who grew up there are used to it. Like summer they wear short, lighter clothing, but extra creams and enchantments are used to further avoid burning up. The sun and the colour yellow are treated as VERY significant and special in this realm in particular. Sunflowers typically grow here, and the light of the suns rays are used to charge and strengthen the sun (think solar pannels but in vaguely old times and magic). It can get cold in winter and autumn, but since they're sun-based not too cold.

ཐིཋྀ Night - The realm that's in an eternal night, so a similar case to the sun. They use Lunar magic as a source of power, as well as the stars. A lot of fashion and accesories are based around starlight and the moon. There are lamps in the streets so people can see where they're going. It's colder since it's based in night, but only gets really cold in winter. Black and dark colours are fine to wear here, but it's recommended you also have something bright on you or carry a light source just in case. There are also special flowers here called 'starlight drops' since they grow from fallen stars and stardust. Many nocturnal animals (owls and such) are common here.

ཐིཋྀ Twilight - an island between Day and Night, connected through the roads of Dawn (Day to Twilight) and Dusk (Twilight to Night). It's generally a mingling between Day and Night. It has some very pretty scenery, especially with the twilight in background. It's smaller than Day and Night, which are much bigger realms, but still pretty decently sized, like a big city.

Hope this all sounds good, more will be added when I write/describe the book!

@jewishdainix since you also asked about the world building!

[ravensraven]

A somewhat comprehensive EAH timeline

This is solely based on the show and specials. Some stuff is pure speculation but I think this is what makes most sense.

Year 1 –

Nothing

Year 2 –

Chapter 1

Legacy Day

Chapter 2 (happens right after chapter 1 – shown by Blondie’s Just Right episode happening not long after Legacy Day)

True Hearts Day (speculation: February? Assuming that EAH dates align with ours and this happens around our Valentine’s Day celebration)

Thronecoming

Chapter 3 Part 1 (Ginger in the BreadHOUSE to Faybelle’s Choice) (speculation: the forest fest festival and the outdoor movie theatre have big late spring/summer vibes. In "Ginger in the BreadHOUSE" everyone is afraid of her, while in Spring Unsprung she seems to be liked, so it makes sense that it happens before the special)

Spring Unsprung (speculation: not a lot of time passed since Thronecoming – the storybook of legends wasn’t found-, so it should fit at the end of their second year, in spring).

Year 3 –

Chapter 3 Part 2 (The Legacy Orchid to Tri-Castle-On) (The yearbook plot takes place during the whole year, starting in September and ending in June)

Way Too Wonderland (speculation: in April, not long after "Save Me Darling" - because in the episode Darling hasn’t revealed her identity as the White Knight yet)

Courtly Pleads Her Case and What’s in the Cards for Courtly Jester (after wtw for obvious reasons)

Chapter 4 (must happen before Dragon Games because in "A Big Bad Secret" Ramona just transfers into EAH)

Dragon Games (speculation: around june, giving Raven enough time to master her powers but before the year is over)

Epic Winter (speculation: also in June, in summer. Dragon Games and Epic Winter should take place around the same time, since Jackie and Northwind use the shattered mirror after the Evil Queen's escape for the Epic Winter plot, and Faybelle is tasked with fixing the school after DG, so it probably happened days after DG, if not straight up the day after. As shown in this special, they still have classes here, which might’ve been extended because of what happened during Dragon Games and the damage caused).

“There's no business Like Snow Business“ (Apple and Maddie visit Crystal’s palace so it has to come after Epic Winter)

Tri-Castle-On (speculation: it does take place in June, and it would make sense to happen at the very end of the school year, since this is also when the yearbook e-corn is planted).

Year 4 –

Nothing again

[jonnysinsectcatalogue]

False Honey Ant - Prenolepis imparis

Let's briefly revisit these mismatched individuals and be reminded of the warmer days of spring and nuptial flights. Though of different sizes and forms, the Ants in these pictures are the same specie, but are simply designed for different purposes. All the smaller winged male Ants here must do is secure a female and successfully form a mating pair with her. After that, his job is done and that'll be the end of him. At least he gets to enjoy the sun and breeze as he does so, as other species of Ants may have to venture underground to find a mate. Those that do are heavily scrutinized by queen's workers, and should he be deemed unfit, he will be carved apart and converted into food for the colony. If he's lucky, it will just be the wings that are eaten (first). Meanwhile, the swollen female has a long life ahead of her, especially when she finds a suitable colony location deep within the ground.

When the queen is ready, she will have shed her wings and shall foster a wonderful home teeming with loyal subjects and defenders by suppling an egg output thanks to the male's contribution. With a fill of resources inside her abdomen, she has all the energy she needs to facilitate a nest and the first batch of workers. Do not be confused however, she is full of fat reserves, not honey (unlike true Honeypot Ants such as Myrmecocystus spp.), hence the name "False Honey Ant". As the fat reserves begin to dwindle, however, sclerotization of exoskeleton progresses, as can be seen in the winged queen in Picture 9. As such, these young queens have time, but not unlimited time to find a home. I hope to see the nuptial flight this year if I can, but the emergence can be somewhat unpredictable. What is predictable however, is that this Ant will likely emerge earlier than other species as they are more tolerant of colder temperatures. They are so tolerant in fact, that they may even forage during winter, provided it isn't too cold and snow doesn't impede their locomotion.

Pictures were taken on April 8 and 10, 2021 with a Google Pixel 4.

[strugglingclassicist]

would you share some of the things you like about winter and darkness? i would like to become a winter enjoyer given that i now live somewhere that gets a lot of it

I love how everything slows down. Where I live there's great fluctuation in light throughout the year, to the extent that for me at least, the changes in the light is what defines the changes of the yearly cycle. The year mirrors the cycle of day and night (and dusk and dawn), and in winter we are in the night of the year. It is a time for rest. I can feel my heartbeat slow down, my breath is calmer. I find winter and the darkness comforting, I feel more grounded in a way.

I love how the sun shines when it is below freezing, pale, without really warming unless you stay completely quiet with your face turned towards her. But I can go weeks without seeing the sun at all, and I love how important smaller sources of light becomes, like from peoples' apartments, the passing tram, the strange light the sky sometimes can have when it is about to snow, how much light there is in fallen snow. The snow also accentuates the quiet of winter. I love how it absorbs all sound, and sometimes when it snows it is so quiet that you hear the rustle of snowflakes against bare twigs and the ground and everything around you.

It probably helps that I've always been a bit of a night owl, but I don't mind how dark it constantly is. It feels a bit like a blanket. Again it is this feeling of everything calming down a bit, people are quieter of both sound and movement around me. Like many others I need a lot more sleep during winter, and I don't have the same capacity for socialization as I do in summer. The evening starts earlier, and I turn a bit more contemplative. It is not as if I don't want to be with people at all (well maybe a little bit sometimes), but I want to see fewer people, and I want us to be calm and present with each other when we do meet up. I crave different foods, heartier and warmer, and I do really enjoy making a good soup or stew.

winter is maybe not the time of great inspiration, but one where I want to chip away slowly and steadily at the things I want to do, at my own pace.

winter is a season where contrasts are so present and important. light and dark and the light that shines in the dark. the cold and harshness is contrasted with warmth from clothes, fire, homes, food, people. I find that I am more mindful of my surroundings and what I make of them. The conditions of winter makes all these things a lot more impactful.

But I do also really appreciate the cold. My bedroom window is constantly ajar, and I love sleeping in a cool room (under a heavy and warm duvet). I like feeling cold on my nose and on my cheeks when outside. And I actually really enjoy swimming between October and April, especially when paired with a sauna.

winter gives me a certain quiet joy, but I think I am also of a particular temperament where I feel very touched by the change of seasons, and especially winter. Winter is like the quiet between great movement, and I feel like it is fully necessary for me. I don't know what you mean by "a lot of winter", I hope you also get to experience and appreciate the changes of the light. Or I think I've heard it used to describe having a lot of snow, maybe storm, and coldness. Wear wool. Nothing is better than wool. A thin layer against your skin, and woolen socks is the most important investment you can make if you're cold or miserable. Nature around you is resting before the bloom of spring, you should see if you can do that as well. If there's something about the winter that you struggle to appreciate, see if you can find something to contrast it with. Also if it is very icy and slippery on the ground and you're not used to that the trick is to lower your center of gravity as you walk over the ice.

[hiccanna-tidbits]

@jackunzel-time

Jackunzel Month Week 1 - The Artist and the Muse

***

You hide your eyes behind the shades Your stroke can make the climate change Your art should see the light of day (you and me a masterpiece)

You never let your colors show Lose your face when we get close I’ve seen you paint, nobody knows (you and me a masterpiece)

You’ve got an artist inside you Come drown in my navy blue Tonight let the artist inside me be you

Baby paint me like a canvas – don’t mind You’re dripping colors on the mattress tonight Dip your brush into the pallet, all mine Make the shades of you and me a masterpiece

Put your body where my heart is My love I’m the muse and you’re the artist Don’t stop Gotta finish what you started Oh, god Make the shades of you and me a masterpiece

You make me Scream in Starry Nights The golden kiss, mysterious smile You never let the paint run dry (you and me a masterpiece)

I’m standing pose for your design Your fingertips, they reach for mine Let’s make a mess and cross the line (you and me a masterpiece)

You've got an artist inside you Come drown in my navy blue Tonight let the artist inside me be you

Baby paint me like a canvas – don’t mind You’re dripping colors on the mattress tonight Dip your brush into the pallet, all mine Make the shades of you and me a masterpiece

Put your body where my heart is My love I’m the muse and you’re the artist Don’t stop Gotta finish what you started Oh, god Make the shades of you and me a masterpiece

Make the shades of you and me a masterpiece

Baby paint me like a canvas You’re dripping colors on the mattress Drip your brush into the pallet And make the shades of you and me a masterpiece

Baby, paint me like a canvas – don’t mind You’re dripping colors on the mattress tonight Dip your brush into the palette, all mine Make the shades of you and me a masterpiece

Put your body where my heart is My love I’m the muse and you’re the artist Don’t stop Gotta finish what you started Oh, god Make the shades of you and me a masterpiece

***

People always ask her at art shows where she gets her inspiration. Come spring, the assortment of pieces she's pumped out during the darker months never fails to amaze.

Streetlights shining through blizzard flurries. Ice on early April buds. Peach, rose, and lavender sunsets through snow-filled clouds. White-topped pine forests so mesmerizing that you can practically feel the stillness and silence of the winter.

Every time, Rapunzel smiles mysteriously and cites another artist.

"He's...underappreciated. His work hasn't ever had its day in the sun. But I've seen the best of it."

She always straightens proudly at the last part. And her customers can't help but be jealous that she gets to see this mysterious obscure talent apparently hidden from the rest of the world.

It has to be hidden, or else Rapunzel's work wouldn't be so uniquely spectacular. More people would paint even the coldest and bleakest of winter nights--even with no holiday lights to shine through the darkness.

"What's their name?" people always ask, hoping to investigate the esoteric artist themselves.

"Jack Frost."

And they laugh, because they think she's just being poetic. Taking inspiration from the fabled creator of ice patterns on morning windows and vast, quiet snowscapes.

If only they could see the white-haired boy just above them, perched on a nearby lamppost and chuckling to himself. Invisible to all the world except the artists who see beauty in his work.

***

HIHI I'M SO SORRY I'M LATE

Heh, you didn't really think I'd forgotten Jackunzel month, did you??? Had a lot on my plate these last couple months but by GOD am I gonna pull through for my children!!! I've been making them November content for 3 years straight and I ain't about to stop now!!!

Anyways this song popped up on my spotify and I was like oh huh. Yeah that's a Jackunzel song all right. And then this happened!

I feel like it could be from both of their POVs, btw! Like Rapunzel is the one we think of as the artist, but Jack kinda is, too--just look what he can do with snow and frost! Art that never sees the light of day indeed ;_____; And "your stroke can make the climate change" like??? Literally Jack??? Also love the idea of him doing little frost designs on her skin and clothes ;_____; Just little reminders of her mans she can carry around for a while before they melt! Especially in the summertime, when she could really use it!!!

But "come drown in my navy blue" is very Jack @ Rapunzel, too. And Punz definitely has a golden kiss and mysterious smile akdjsuilkh

Depending on how you interpret these two and their relationship, you can pretend some of the, er...spicier implications of this song are a metaphor for like. Deep conversations and enthusiastic cuddling if you like XD

Can you imagine Rapunzel actually painting in her bed and getting acrylic all over her blankets and insisting it gives them character??? Shit would be hilarious. Jack would also thoroughly approve of the chaotic and general unhinged nature of it all ajshdksgd

I missed them!!! God, it's been too long!!!

As always, moodboard pic credits available upon request :3

[bromcommie]

Sokovia falls in spring.

Much of it is blurry now, forced into oblivion, but he remembers that part with vicious detail - the unassuming, forgettable prelude to hell; Lazarus Saturday, the intermittent tinkling of bells down their cul-de-sac and the heavy wet air while he sat out on the wide expanse of the balcony, sipping on his lukewarm coffee and sneaking a rare indulgent cigarette while the house was empty. It'd done little to ward against the chill of the morning, the kind of cold that broke him out into consistent goosebumps and seeped down into his bones, seemingly misplaced in early April. The metal railing stuck to the warm skin of his forearms when he leaned over it to peer idly down at the street, to where snow had accumulated in front of the row of brand-new luxury apartment buildings; all alike in their appearance, all that same shiny glass and metal and blinding white that had become popular in the last fifteen years, fifteen years too late in regards to the rest of the world, and that would fall apart in about as many. All laid out like a poor man's idea of opulence and a stark contrast to the unkempt street.

He'd hated it initially - hates it still, really. The cheap sterility of it, this sign of the times made palpable infrastructure that was devouring what was left of a once beautiful neighborhood, clashing with the old, dilapidated villas and steadfastly grey communist architecture. But Sandra had said, it's a peaceful neighborhood. There's a good school nearby. Sandra had said, There's a life for us here, love, and it'll be a good change of pace. Look how beautiful the view is from up here. Sandra had said: just because you grew up in exile doesn't mean Miho should.

And she was right. So a pristine-white, new-century-cold castle on the hill it was. He could still fit his dream of a future in Sokovia into a different shape, he told himself; what mattered was what was inside, anyway.

He'd watched as a gaggle of children slipped and skittered their way downhill from the international school, kicking the stray willow wreaths that had slipped off the heads of previous passersby back and forth until they'd get stuck in the muddy slush, and found himself wishing again that he'd gone with his wife and son to visit her mother in Kralyev Pole. But he was scheduled to go back to Vienna in the morning - it was a familiar rhythm by now - and Sandra had just pressed a firm kiss to his cheek and said we'll see you back home at Easter in a purposeful, loving tone that almost got lost between the distracted flurry of packing and her distant eyes.

Looking down at the murky palette of the street below he'd wished, not for the first time, that it'd all felt a little more like home. That he wasn't itching to be back on that plane out of the country the second he landed, a feeling amped up to 11 the second his family had set foot outside the building.

But then again, Novi Grad had never been his home; not really, not in any way that mattered.

He'd been in a foul mood already when his father called, the glaring absence of sound from the open double doors behind him and the grey sky pressing down over his head like a steel trap setting his teeth on edge. He'd let the phone ring and ring for almost a full minute before guilt had finally, inevitably, won over.

Their conversation had been relatively brief, caught between perfunctory and utilitarian, much like all of their other phone conversations since he'd started splitting his time between Sokovia and work abroad. They talked about the unexpected snow, about what is to be done for the anniversary of his mother's death, about whether Mihailo would like a BMX sports bicycle for his birthday. He'd tried explaining that his son still didn't really know how to ride one well - that at eight, the five-speed he already had was perfectly fine, thank you, but it's a nice thought. His father had just scoffed.

"You were never athletic as a child either, you know. Never climbed trees with the other children. Always too afraid of falling, I suppose," he'd said mostly to himself, and then, "If the kid actually had someone around to teach him, maybe he'd be learning faster."

On a different day, he might've let it slide. On a different day, he wouldn't have let the sentimental old age in his father's voice feel like a personal affront. "Nobody ever taught me, and I learned just fine."

This wasn't necessarily true. For most of his young life, Zemo had been coached by a wide plethora of professionals: French, German, Latin, shooting, violin, tennis, horseback riding, mountaineering, art, diplomacy, you name it - he'd had a teacher for every single one of the skills his parents and his surroundings had deemed necessary for a young man of his stature, and eventually, with more or less effort, he'd excelled at all of them; but never alone. There'd been Katya, the au pair that practically raised him in his childhood, young herself and lost in a foreign country and still the warmest presence he'd had in his life. There'd been Oeznik, who'd governed him with a much stricter hand than his own parents, but who had guarded Zemo's life with his own nonetheless.

It's just that things like big-game hunting and history lessons took precedence over things like bike riding and soccer, which was just as well, really. He never liked being mundane.

At the Academy it was a different story altogether. Unnoticeability, the skill of being no more interesting than the person next to him, only came later, and at a cost.

"Just make sure your Germans let you out in time for Easter," the old man'd muttered, "if they even recognize that sort of thing."

He remembers that part clearly, too, that bitter emphasis: your Germans. Like Zemo'd picked the wrong thing to do with his abundant time and money, the wrong way to employ his very specialized skill set, the wrong side of the family to lean into; like his name and heritage were something he'd picked himself and not something that was hammered into him by way of memorization, that he was taught to take pride in and embody down to the last detail. Like this mild-mannered, West-oriented young man who spoke German and a handful of other languages softly but deftly, who subsumed all his wilder impulses and hid his smoking and all his other dirty habits from his family and from the world behind a courteous smile wasn't an inadvertent yet nonetheless direct creation of the man on the other end of the line. A prince and a baron, turned a lowly gastarbeiter.

"They're Austrian," Zemo'd said simply. "Look, I have to go - Sandra and the kid just came in. I'll talk to you later."

It's not the last conversation he had with his father, but it's the last one he rememebers. Subtle judgement, the smell of smoke and cold and stale Turkish coffee and all those little clear bells, ringing, ringing, ringing: Lazarus rising, just to fall a week later.

Novi Grad falls on his son's birthday, the 11th of April, the day before Easter. It takes everything else down with it.

This was not the first time Novi Grad had fallen. Historically, this wasn't even the first time it’d suffered this extent of loss of life. But it was the first time the ruins were cauterized before something could grow from in between them like weeds out the sidewalk. It was the first time that what was lost was acknowledged as such: dead, gone, our condolences for your loss. Nothing more to be done.

There’d been excuses, of course, and platitudes spoken by the feeble remaining government, echoes of the UN and NATO and the EU he'd learned to recognize as empty long before he started working in security consulting:

We empathize greatly with all Sokovian nationals in this trying time. We’re doing everything in our power to stabilize the situation. We’re doing everything we can to never let a catastrophe like this happen again. It’ll just take a few weeks, a month, a year or two or five to rebuild, but patience is of the essence here.

We’re all very horrified, you understand. There aren’t enough resources for everyone, you see. It’s a very complicated situation, there’s no one answer here – now’s not the time to be pointing fingers. But we’re doing everything we can. We’re sure it’ll be enough.

Daće Bog. That’s what his mother used to say – like a vague handwave to ward off all the legitimate fear and anxiety before it can ever take root in her body, in her home. If she saw even a glimpse of it in her son’s face she’d take it as a clear sign that she had personally failed somehow, which would, exacerbated by alcohol and pent-up emotion, upset and anger her more than the original problem itself. Zemo'd learned how to bury and snuff out these embers of fear very quickly.

There's talk of persecution of royalist dissidents abroad - God will protect us from the infidels, you'll see. The regime changes and the country plunges into economic crisis - so what, it'll pass, God willing, and then we'll be able to return. Yet another war breaks out, nothing but a parasitic twin to the last, devouring the country from the inside out and draining off fresh blood – well, it's nothing new. it'll be alright, God willing we'll get the bastards before they get us. Crkli dabogda.

And he’d just nod his little head and allow, very neutral, very acquiescing for the tender age of nine, thirteen, sixteen - sure, of course, it'll all be fine. Much later, he'd adjust the poorly-fitted camouflage greens that would squeeze too tight around his neck and say in that same steady tone of voice into the payphone receiver, Don't worry, mama, don't worry, it'll be taken care of. Daće Bog.

That’s all she’d ever say on the topic, or any topic really. God save us, God willing, God will provide – that was her eternal refrain. Well that and, just you wait until your father gets home, if she'd perceived him to be acting up somehow - more often than not by virtue of sheer existence alone.

This was, of course, yet another half-truth - his father never really took to beating him. There were always bigger things to worry about, things that belonged to the grander picture - too wide for him to fit into as an important variable and just manageable enough to squeeze into his young body like a manifestation of a future his father was pouring all his hope and dreams into.

Either way, the fear was there. The fear of disappointing, of coming up short to the ideal of what a son should be; it was all it took to keep him in line. Father, God – they became two sides of the same coin, the same promise of impending judgement. Both instilled far more trepidation in him than comfort.

It’s only when the bulldozer finally digs up what remains of their old country estate and he can pull his father’s unrecognizable, mangled body into his lap – so small and frail, when did his father get to be so small and frail? – that he thinks: what was I so afraid of all those years?

*** Excerpt from my Zemo character study - turned out to be much longer than a snippet, but I got carried away. Still very much a WIP, but thought I might as well post it until I figure out where I want to go with it.

Translations: Daće bog - God will provide, God willing Crkli dabogda - may they all die, God willing gastarbeiter - (German) foreign or migrant worker

[jodithann827]

One Night Stand (Revised)

9/13

This chapter is rated teen/ Ao3/ @today-in-fic

Ray’s Deli

Saturday, April 17 1993

*Ding Ding*

The ringing of the bell on the door announces their presence. Walking into the small deli, Emma lodged on one hip, Scully pauses, searching. She spots him, sitting across the room at a small corner table, out of the way of the hustle and bustle of the lunchtime rush. She steadily makes her way towards him and notices a small high chair in place of where a chair should be. Her heart melts, just a bit, realizing he purposefully sought out one for Emma to sit in. He stands as she approaches.

“Hey Scully,” he greets her, a sheepish grin on his face. She thinks it’s adorable, him being cautious, not fully sure how he should act around her now. She gently places Emma into the high chair before gathering some small toys to occupy her. She then focuses on herself, removing her jacket, a lightweight spring one that she places over the back of her chair.

“Hi Mulder, thanks for grabbing the high chair for her,” she offers him a wide smile. Smiling back, he nods, but his eyes wander to Emma, they are magnetized to her face. All he can do is stare. He saw her last night, but it’s as though he’s really and truly seeing her for the first time today. She’s enchanting, the most beautiful child he’s ever seen.

“Emmy, do you remember my friend from last night? Mulder? Can you say hi” Scully prompts the child, gently combing two fingers through her hair. Emma briefly looks up, acknowledging her mother said something to her but then is right back to her toys.

“She’s pretty shy around new people,” Scully explains, grabbing a menu to decide her order. It’s a tactic and she knows it. She frequents this deli enough to know the menu by heart, but having it close gives her something to do with her trembling hands. Mulder nods in recognition and they are quickly interrupted by a well-intentioned waitress, wanting to take their orders. Once the minutiae of ordering is out of the way, they stare at each other, a bit awkwardly, not knowing who should break the silence first.

“When’s her birthday?” Mulder finally asks, unable to handle the silence. He figures it a fairly easy question.

Scully takes a sip of water before answering. “February 15th. She was born in the middle of a blizzard. Some 6 inches of snow on the ground when I went to the hospital.”

“When did you find out?” he asks without elaborating, knowing she knows.

“About six weeks after. There was a stomach bug going around, so I thought I was sick. I was training at Quantico, pushing myself to the brink so I thought it was exhaustion on top of possibly having a bug. My friend Ellen, the one who I was at the bar with that evening, she’s the one who suggested I take a test. I was floored when it came back positive.”

“We were careful, Scully,” he blurts, then lowers his head, embarrassed if anyone overheard him. He looks ashamed, but she gives him a forgiving smile.

“I know Mulder, I was there,” she tells him softly. She realizes she'd been living the life for over two years, while he was just given the information yesterday. Understandably, he needs time to comprehend, to adjust. “Condoms aren’t one hundred percent effective.” She looks at him, looking at Emma, who had abandoned her toys in favor of the crayons and paper that were within her reach.

“Look, Mulder, I know we’re in a strange situation. It is weird and difficult, and awkward as hell. It’s a life that you may or may not have imagined yourself in. I just want you to know that I am ok. Emma is okay. It took a while for us to get to this place, but we are. We are happy and healthy and living our lives. We don’t need anything,” she hopes she doesn’t sound harsh, as it’s certainly not her intention. She wants him to understand that she doesn’t need anything from him.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asks.

“You just did,” she smiles, her attempts at lightening the mood fall slightly flat with the arrival of the waiter and their food. Scully busies herself tending to Emma, cutting her food, and moving the toys. She turns to look at Mulder. “Of course, Mulder, you can ask me anything.”

“If you knew how to get ahold of me, would you have?” He waits for her answer, which comes immediately as the words leave his mouth.

“I never would have kept anything from you. You know, even before I found out I was pregnant, the day after we met, I went through my apartment with a fine tooth comb, looking for anything, any clue, that would give a glimpse as to your identity. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find anything, and it’s not like I could use the FBI database to find you, though nothing would have come up, William,” she emphasizes with a slight laugh. “I wanted to tell you so badly, Mulder. That night we had, it was amazing and I tried to deny the connection, if I’m being honest, because it terrified me. Never in a million years did I expect any of this to happen, even though she’s the best thing that has ever happened to me.” She pauses, ruffling Emma’s hair. In turn, Emma provides a fistful of pancakes into Scully’s mouth, which makes Mulder bark out a surprised laugh. Emma, understanding she did something funny, attempts to do it again, much to Scully’s amusement.

After wiping her syrupy face, Scully continues. “Look, Mulder, when you sat in that hotel room in Oregon and disclosed everything you’d been through with Samantha, well it made me realize that I couldn’t dump this situation on you, not that Em is a situation, but you know what I mean. You have so much going on with your work and your search for the truth. You said it yourself; nothing else matters–”

“But Scully,” he interrupts. She holds a hand up, indicating she’s not finished. Her voice is steady and even when she continues.

“I love my job, but Emma is my world, my everything. She comes first in my life, no matter what. I live and breathe for her and we have a pretty good life going for us. She’s not lacking anything. My intent is not for you to feel like you need to step in or step up. I’m going to leave it up to you, but I don’t want you to feel pressure. If you want to be in her life as my friend and co-worker, that’s fine. If you want to be cool Uncle Mulder, that’s okay too. If you decide that you want to be a father to her, I won’t stop you. But the one thing I absolutely will not tolerate is having her hurt by significant people going in and out of her life,” she pauses to let him digest the information and after a moment passes, she adds, “I don’t want an answer from you right now. It’s a big decision and I want you to take some time to think about it.”

He hears Scully’s words, but can’t help his continued gaze at Emma. Deep in his heart, he knows he’s already falling in love with her. He acknowledges Scully’s words with a slight nod, not trusting his voice.

“It might change our working relationship or this friendship we seem to be developing, but I’m willing to try and figure it out if it’s something you want,” she tells him.

“Scully,” he says, finally finding his forgotten voice. She looks at him, her skeptical gaze searing into Mulder’s memory. He pushes forward with his request. “I’d like to spend the day with you ladies if that’s okay. Scully looks at Emma, who’s polished off most of her pancakes, at least the ones she didn’t feed to Scully, smiles, and nods.

Scully Residence

Saturday, April 17 1993

Exhaustion. He feels it from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Every body part aches and he feels as though he could sleep a million hours. But his heart is full, bursting at the seams. He nurses a beer as he sinks further into Scully’s couch and thinks about the day he had. Once they’d finished lunch it was decided that an adventure to the local park was needed. At first, Mulder was hesitant. Mr. ‘willing to jump into any dangerous situation that crossed his path’ was nervous about playing with a small child. He’d sat back and watched Scully interact with her daughter; his daughter; their daughter. She’d pushed her on the swing, crawled up the plaything, down the slide, and chased her around the woodchips. He wasn’t sure who his eye was drawn to more, Emma or her mother. He would have been content to sit there all day, just watching them in their blissful happiness.

Out of the blue, Emma toddled up to him, grasped his pinky finger, which dwarfed her microscopic hand, and attempted to pull him to the swings. “Push,” she demanded with a giggle. Mulder had looked at Scully, looking for permission. The mega-wat smile on her face was all he needed. He lifted Emma, placed her on the rough material, and started pushing. He was overcome with joy, as well as astonishment. He couldn’t believe how light and little she was. She clapped her hands and squealed with the delight of a child on a summer day each time Mulder’s hand connected with her back. Every so often, he would turn to face Scully, needing assurance that he was still doing okay, and each time he was rewarded with a smile.

After their romp at the park, Mulder suggested a quest for ice cream, which delighted Emma. He wasn’t sure if more of the melted cone ended up in the little one’s stomach or on her face and clothing. The icing on the proverbial cake was when Emma decided to reenact feeding Scully and Scully ended up with melted chocolate ice cream on her face and in her hair, and though she tried to be annoyed, she laughed right along with Mulder and Emma. Without thinking, Mulder took a napkin and dapped at the sticky substance on her cheek. He couldn’t get over how natural the day had felt.

Squeals of delight brought him back to the present. Scully was bathing Emma, possibly unsuccessfully if the sounds coming from the bathroom were any indication. It sounded more like an exuberant playtime. What am I going to do, he thinks to himself while he waits for them to finish. Knowing he has a monumental decision to make, he takes another sip of beer. It’s a two-fold problem. No, problem isn’t the right term because any fool would be lucky to be in his shoes. But it was an issue he had to address, sooner rather than later. He’s a father, and nothing would change that. Emma had already captured his heart with her soft eyes, warm smile, and joyful attitude. If it was just about Emma, his choice would be easy. But who’s he kidding? None of this is easy. There’s Emma, and then there’s Scully. He’d be lying to himself if he admitted he didn’t think about that night often. How easily they communicated that night, how much fun they had, and how mindblowing the sex was. He was also really enjoying working with her on the X-files. She challenged him in ways he’d never been challenged before. She made him think and work for his theories. How sustainable would the partnership be? Would he be able to be a father to his child and just be a friend to her mother? There were so many questions racing through his mind.

“I started to put her down,” her voice startles him. He turns to see Scully, holding a pajama-clad Emma. “She keeps saying ‘Mudder’ so I’m thinking she wants to say goodnight to you.” Emma reaches out her arms to Mulder as Scully comes closer and Mulder’s arms automatically lift to receive her.

“Goodnight sweet Emma,” he nuzzles into her cheek.

“Night Mudder,” her sweet voice carries through the room. She yawns and snuggles into his chest, her eyelids heavy and her thumb going straight into her mouth.

“Do you want to put her to bed?” Scully asks in a hushed tone. He nods and stands, ever so carefully, a man holding the most precious gift, and follows Scully to Emma’s room. He places her, softly, into her crib. Instinctively, he kisses his fingers and then places them onto Emma’s cheek, before smoothing her hair out of her face. They carefully back out of the room and retreat to the front of Scully’s apartment, Scully, in search of a glass of wine, and Mulder, in search of his half-finished beer.

Once enveloped in the couch, Scully lets out a monstrous yawn after giving Mulder a shy and apologetic smile. “I love her so much, but she can be exhausting at times.” Mulder gives her a skeptical glance and redacts her statement. “Okay, all of the time.” Mulder nods approvingly.

They sit in silence for a while before Mulder praises her. “I don’t know how you do it, Scully. I barely survived the day.”

“You get used to it and it helps that she is a good girl. My family helped out a lot in the beginning. They still help a lot since I am working more now,” she explains.

“Will you…” he starts but trails off. He hesitates, watching her sip her wine.

Sensing his trepidation, she gives an encouraging nod. “What, Mulder? Ask me, it’s okay. I told you I would tell you anything.” Her voice is soft and reassuring.

“Would you feel comfortable enough to tell me about her birth? I don’t mean the details, you don’t have to share those, but maybe just the experience?” Scully is taken by surprise. The request is the furthest thing she thought he would ask. Smiling, she nods and takes his hand. Then she begins.

[evenasyoungastheyare]

Good Saturday morning (here), afternoon there.

Movie share - I watched this older movie (2016) last weekend (on Netflix) - Maudie. It was about a Canadian folk artist. I'm sure that is what caught my interest.

If/when I make it to Halifax, Nova Scotia I will have to look the house up. Imagine living your day to day surround by all of this bright artwork on everything you could get your hands on to paint. (I might need a sleeping mask.)

Have you watched anything interesting lately? Is so, please do share. An artist I should look into? We have had a mild winter here. (Other parts of my country have been blasted with snow.) As we head into spring and our gardens wake up, I look forward to your photos.

Enjoy your weekend. Take care. W

Hello W,

Thank you so much for such a sweet message and I am very sorry it took me a week to answer. I was a little bit sick and then I was too busy.

Yay! I hope I will have time to watch the film it looks great. Unfortunately, I didnt watch any new films last two weeks. We were talking about authoritarian regimes and we watched The Death of Stalin and with the second class we watched probably my favourite adaptation of Dracula Bram Stokers Dracula directed by Coppola. It was fun. We will do some analysis of the film next week. What kind of movies do you like? I think I could recommend you some.

Oh my! The weather here is crazy. Today was april weather. Sunny, then rainy then came snow and then was sunny again. Flowers and trees are blooming. Everything is quite forward this year.

By the way, I need some beauty mask too :D.

My dear W, take care.

Have a beautiful day!