#they run into him in the deep roads at the end of act 1?

[libartz]

What if Nathaniel was a companion in DA2??

We could’ve had him and Anders sharing Awakening tales and making inside jokes and confusing the fuck out of everyone

We could’ve had an interesting dynamic between him and the Warden sibling who he’d be senior to and might even command

We could’ve had Varric thinking he’s the ‘normal one’ until it becomes clear he’s just as kooky as the rest of them

We could’ve had a moment when Justice comes out and while every other companion is freaking out Nathaniel is like ‘oh hey man how’s it going’ which starts people fearing Justice less

(Also it comes out that the janders merger was Nate’s idea and the reactions to that would be interesting)

We could’ve had him and Anders getting together if neither was romanced like how Fenris and Isabela have a thing!!!

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

my experience with maxing out the twins' friendship is just-

Hawke: So, Carver, my dear baby brother who I love and adore, I only need +10 more points to max out your friendship. I've done the grind; through gritted teeth I've kissed templar ass so that we don't raise suspicion. I've supported and defended you and let you take the lead whenever I could. You're my favorite warrior. I took you to the Deep Roads with me because you desperately wanted to go and then made you a warden and you found a place, a purpose. I've practically written my own guide on how to earn as much friendship with you because I love you and it's totally worth it so can I please please have the last +10...? Carver: Hawke: Carver please I'm begging you Carver: Carver: +5 Friendship Hawke: AAUUGGGHHLKSAJDLKAJSDLK-

Hawke: So, Bethany, my dear sis- Bethany: +50 Friendship Hawke: Bethany: :)

[gghostwriter]

Yours Truly, Romeo

Chapter 4 __ The Profile & The Profiler

Spencer Reid x FOC

Summary: Washington, DC - A string of grizzly murders and obsessive love letters causes Olivia and Spencer’s paths to intertwine. With a serial killer proclaiming his undying devotion to her and the thick tension surrounding her and her agent turned bodyguard, Olivia’s life is writing out like a contemporary love story that she, as a successful writer, could see herself publishing.

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"You are a lover. Borrow Cupid's wings and soar with them above the common bound." - Act 1, Scene 4. Romeo & Juliet by William Shakespeare

“We believe our unsub is a white male driving an SUV. He uses the vehicle to abduct and transport the male victims from Washington DC to Maryland,” Hotch stated in front of the members of the Washington PD.

Morgan stood next to him, hands on his hips. “His victims are between the ages 27-35 and we think the unsub is in the same age bracket.”

“Add to that, our unsub is experiencing a psychosis specifically called erotomania. This form of delusion is when an individual believes that another person, usually of a higher status, is in love with him. His weapon of choice also gives us another understanding on his psyche to these killings, using narcotics to kill symbolizes the emotional detachment the unsub has to his victims—” Spencer elaborated.

“Which means the victims were a crime of opportunity, rather than crime of passion,” Morgan injected.

“—and with his use of methanol and formaldehyde to preserve the body parts, we believe we are looking for an intelligent unsub.”

“Which is not unusual. True psychopaths often have above average intelligence.” Hotch clarified.

“This type of unsub will not have injected himself into the investigation as we often see. He will not be following the case very closely unless his fantasy to Ms. Olivia Hill is disturbed.” Morgan concluded. 

The Washington chief detective raised his pen up in the air.  “So how come he hasn’t tried to kidnap Ms. Hill rather than kidnapping all these male victims?”

“It’s because his fantasy—transformation if you will—isn’t complete yet. He’s collecting all these different body parts to fit into her perfect male partner. Once that process is complete, he will try to kidnap her next.” Spencer explained.

Morgan took a deep breath. “There is something about him that would be helpful, he has a superficial connection to Ms. Hill. Not enough for her to notice his feelings but enough for him to project his fantasy, possibly a colleague or someone she interacts with on a daily short basis like a delivery man.” 

“We suggest not to go public with this information and to re-interview female co-workers to ask if they’ve noticed any untoward or suspicious behaviors from their male co-workers to Ms Hill,” Hotch said as Morgan’s phone started to ring. “Thank you very much.” 

With his back turned to the police officers leaving the premise, he accepted the call and put it on speaker. “Prentiss, what you got?”

She sighed. “Another body has been dumped in the Potomac River, skinned from his upper thigh to feet.”

“That completes his suit,” Spencer noted.

“Forensics is currently running his fingerprints in the system to see if we have him in the database. I’ll get Garcia to forward any information she has,” she stated before ending the call. 

The two FBI agents turned around to face their stern unit chief for further instructions. “Morgan, you’re with me for the re-interview. Reid, you go back to Ms. Hill’s residence and Reid,—“

“Yes?”

“—keep us updated on any slight disturbance.” 

Spencer nodded, gathering his belongings before dashing out of the precinct. 

———

Dusk was beginning to settle when Spencer turned off the SUV ignition in front of her residence. Crossing the empty and calm street road, he took note of any rustling noise, flickering neighborhood lights—the lack thereof—and dark corners where the unsub could hide while keeping watch of the doorstep. All the curtains were shut, he observed, as if mimicking a moat bridge drawn up to protect the castle and it’s inhabitants. Steeling his nerves, he knocked on the door and announced his presence.

“Olivia, it’s Dr Spencer Reid,” He called out.

Several bolts were heard being unlocked from the other side before the door fully swung open, Olivia’s eyes darting behind his stature before widening as it settled on his form. 

“Oh, uh-hi Dr. Reid, you look—different,” her cheeks turning a rosy shade of pink as she observed his change in attire. Gone was the brown sweater vest that emphasized his lithe form and the lilac button down shirt that was once hidden underneath now had its sleeve pushed up to his forearms. With the vest out of the way and the gun holster secured on his waist visible, he looked formidable, sensual, and dangerous rolled into one. The sharp contrast to the soft spoken and intriguing male that she met this afternoon to the knight and shining armor rounding her living space had her feeling lightheaded with desire.

Spencer sat down at the worn love seat sofa located in her office. “My team is re-interviewing your female colleagues and I’d like to ask you for any strange male colleagues and interactions that rubbed you off the wrong way.” 

“I don’t really interact with any other publishing employees beside from my agent and publicist,” she sat beside him with a glass of water in hand. “One of the perks of being a writer is not having to interact with anyone beyond necessary.” 

A heavy silence covered their surroundings. Their thighs softly caressing the other, as if whispering the subconscious declaration of intrigue and attraction. Eyes flitting across the room, never meeting each other’s gaze afraid of unconsciously communicating their innermost thoughts. 

His palms opening and closing, unsure of what he needs to do and apprehensive of what he wants to do. Hers drumming on her thighs, nervous of the palpable tension around them. He wanted to touch her delicate hand, he realized—to envelope hers in his, to trace patterns on the back of her hand that will never leave a trace but wishing it would, and to never let go.

“Dr Reid, is it too forward of me to ask if you’re in a relationship?” Olivia rushed out to ask, clearly sheepish with her inquiry. 

His ears turning red at the implication behind her questioning. “My job and its urgency isn’t ideal for a relationship,” he explained. “Being on call 24/7 and not knowing when I’ll be able to return home isn’t a fair deal for a potential partner. Statistically speaking, divorcees are common in the FBI, especially in the BAU.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” 

A silence crept between them. 

“Spencer,” he clarified, noticing the little scrunch of her nose as if asking him to further clarify. “Call me Spencer.” 

She smiled, the kind so infectious that he felt his own lips curling upwards and his filter evaporating into nothing. “Did you know that women in the romance community are more likely than the general population to be currently married or living with a partner?” He articulated as his fingers tapped a rapid beat on his thigh, an outward display of nervousness. “More often than not, most writers are to be in happy relationships. The stereotype depictions of the lonely, lovesick romance writer who pens alluring novels is largely false in narrative.”

“Huh, I’ve always thought the minds behind romance would be the hopeless romantic pouring over their frustrations, hopes, and dreams into ink to escape reality and live out their fantasies,” she countered back. 

His body shifted to face hers. “That is not necessarily incorrect. Romance novels are, for the most part, written by women, about women, for women but it also allows the writers to explore who they are as a woman. Who you want to be. Finding out what you can be. Pushing yourself to be more of who you are.”

“So it’s more of self navigation and therapy?”

He nodded, pleased that his intention was understood even if he explained it in a convoluting way. “Yes, actually more like a self discovery and research.” 

“Sadly and realistically speaking, I do tend to fall on the stereotype category of being a romance writer,” she shrugged as if it was no big deal. “So Mr Genius, how’d you end up in the FBI and as a profiler?”

His eyebrows scrunched in concentration unsure to what extent he should divulge. “I was recruited and this was the path that I wanted to do.” 

“Can you profile me, then?” She smiled, leaning further into him. “I’m no criminal but I’d like to see your job in action. To see if it’s how they portrayed it in the movies, I mean.” 

She was obviously flirting, Spencer noted. He was known to be oblivious to these types of advances as Morgan pointed out, mainly rooting from his deep sense of insecurity, but she was making it clear that she felt an attraction to him or maybe he was just projecting his own emotions, he countered in his mind. After all, he didn’t have the typical male physique—muscles that allude a capability to protect and attack. His greatest asset would be his IQ of 187 that slashes into 60 whenever her set of doe-eyed eyes looks into his with such trust and comfort. His hand moved on their own accord, swiping on her lower lip that was being assaulted by her teeth.

Her breath hitched and his hand quickly dropped, a visible flush coloring his cheeks. “That was, uh, that was inappropriate of me—“

“It’s alright, Spencer.” 

“I—it’s really not. You—you asked for a profile, yes?” He brought up, desperate to diffuse the atmosphere and change the subject matter. “You’re a perfectionist based on the organization of your home. Your books are a financial success but you still use an old sedan, possibly a hand me down from your father based on the color and make, which tells me you’re frugal with your income, despite the fact that your house is located in one of the pricier neighborhoods—I believe this is your biggest purchase to date—and that you possibly grew up in a middle income family. You subconsciously tap your fingers on your thighs when you’re nervous and you keep your nails short meaning you’re other tic would be nail biting which you’re trying to break. And you mentioned that you fall under the stereotype category of being a romance writer which tells me you didn’t date much during your school years and never felt the need to go through all the usual considered landmarks of being a teenager, kissing under the bleachers and such. Perhaps you’ve had a boyfriend or two, nothing noteworthy for inspiration and romance, so you pour your hopes and dreams into the characters and scenarios you create.” 

“You missed one more important piece.”

He titled his head, thinking of what he could have possibly missed.

“You, and my apparent attraction to you. How I’d like to see you again once this situation is through,” her voice trailed off, the sudden confidence evaporating from her body. 

There was silence. His intelligent, hyper-active mind not knowing how to respond. Her confession had rendered him mindless and mute.

The lights flickered, as if wanting to escape their bodies as the space in between lessens ever so slightly, before complete darkness and danger shrouded over. 

[alphabetboyluvr]

throttle - jjk | six

one/ two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - heavy on the angst, we finally learn jungkook's true motives, we learn about what happened to his mother, mentions of death, written before we knew jk's birth time so (1) inaccurate saturn placement, general smut, titty sucking, unprotected sex, very intense breeding thoughts from jk, it's angsty!! he dnf :( sad :(, hair dye, showering, fingering, jungkook's time runs out </3

throttle has 3 defined acts - this is the end of act 1

word count - 20k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

It's warm when you wake.

Daylight pours in through the curtains, of which neither of you bothered to close last night, and it rudely intrudes on the intimacy you've fostered together - yet when the man beside you begins to stir, small squeaks signalling that he's now awake too, you don't seem to mind all that much.

His hair is tousled like the waves of Busan's shoreline, lapping against the sand, adding a soundtrack to the sound of his breathing. You love it when he looks like this; serene and secure in the sanctuary of your company.

Last night's tête-à-tête is a distant memory, chalked up to a misunderstanding between the minds of two lovers who aren't yet aligned, but are getting pretty close to it. Rome wasn't built in a day, and nor was any love worth withstanding the test of time.

You're still learning about one another. Prior to last night, you knew nothing of Jungkook's romantic past, and while part of you is smug to have your initial assumptions about him proven right, it also makes your chest feel all heavy, too. Melancholic, almost, but you think it sounds far too poetic.

When you're met with his drowsy morning gaze - all puffy and unable to open in the way his eyes typically do - you can't imagine anyone ever wanting to hurt him. The thought of his eyes turning black when he looks at you, instead of their usual deep chocolate brown, has the chime in your stomach ringing like an alarm bell. You never want that. Ever.

He yawns, and says good morning to you with a smile that seems almost surprised to still see you in the sheets with him. He pulls you a little closer, nestles his nose to the crown of your head and inhales. He'll never get sick of that scent. Sick of you.

You're like gasoline spilt in the forecourts before a spring shower. It'll wrangle with the puddles of rain, which will pour and pour and pour - but still, it'll remain. An iridescent rainbow that refuses to fade.

You'll never wash away, he thinks. Forevermore; eternal.

He knows, just like you predicted, that he'll think of you whenever he passes gasoline puddles. Five, ten, twenty years from now. It won't matter how distant the memory of your laughter becomes, nor if he even remembers the colour of your skin as it blushes after a few too many drinks.

What he will remember is how your hair always smelt like gasoline.

It's a gateway drug to everything you are. One sniff; he's hooked.

Though he doesn't wish for death often, he hopes that when he does go, it'll be in his car. Hopes that an oil slick on a wet road will be the reason why. He'll smile as he thinks of you for one final time.

You'll get your vengeance, love.

But why waste time thinking of the inevitable future, when he could just revel in the present?

He's the first to suggest sleeping in, staying together, for a little bit longer.

"I'll call my dad, see if we can switch to this afternoon instead. You cool to run your errands in the afternoon? I'll take you to that place I wanna show you this morning. Then you're free to do as you please with your day."

A nod grants permission for him to set about altering his plans, and you watch him with curious intrigue as he opens up his contacts and heads straight for his father. You don't even have your father's number, anymore.

It's oddly comforting to hear Jungkook on the phone with his dad. The call is short, more formalities than anything, but you can hear his father's voice vibrate through the speaker.

You're integrated into Jungkook's life, now, you think. You're a part of family affairs, his plans, without even so much as a second thought given.

'Thank you' seems like a strange thing to say, but you consider it.

His openness with you is rancid. So sweet, so sickly; enough sugar to rot even the most frigid of hearts.

It makes you wanna tell him everything; who your father is, and how you can't call him anymore. You think Jungkook would understand, or at least he'd try to - and that would be the most meaningful thing a man has done for you in quite some time (though you're sure Yoongi would disagree, and cite one of the many things he's done for you that have gone unnoticed).

The words you want to say to Jungkook are lost in the feather down quilt, expert seams flawlessly keeping the pair of you pristine. It's like a shield, in a way. The world can't hurt you when you're beneath it. The needlework is exquisite, the finest cotton - Egyptian, you assume, but know better than to ask.

Not because you don't want to know, but because Jungkook hates itches he can't scratch.

He wouldn't have a clue of the sheets origins, but you're almost positive he would ask the reception staff for clarification later that morning, just to be able to give you an answer.

You don't want to trouble his mind with such trivial things. Especially not if it's working as hard as yours seems to be right now. You're counting every thread - two, four, six, eight - just as a way to distract yourself from him.

He's playing with your hair, and asking about your dreams - you didn't have any - and it's getting pretty overwhelming just how much of your brain you seem to be willing to share with him.

Sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four; you're asking about his, too, and he doesn't hesitate to answer.

He's talking shit about a praying mantis that stalked him as he slept, and reaches for his phone so that you can google what it means together. He doesn't hide his screen, doesn't clear his notifications, doesn't check what he was last searching for to spare himself from embarrassment.

Not that it matters, but he'd been checking to see if Lotte World was open. It's endearing, the way he seems to want to experience life with you. Comforting. Snug.

You lose count of the threads, and you don't care to start again.

"Positive and negative," Jungkook muses over his dream as he scrolls, holding his phone up in front of you both.

His arm is looped around the back of your neck, and you're busy watching the tendons of his wrist flex beneath his skin as his thumb flicks up and down the screen.

There are Seven Natural Wonders of the World, but you think the adjudicators must have gotten it wrong.

They clearly hadn't met Jeon Jungkook.

He's brighter than the Northern Lights; gets you higher than the peak of Mount Everest. More breathtaking than the Grand Canyon, more fire in his heart than Paricutin. Gets you wetter than Victoria Falls, but that's not really what constitutes him as being one of the greatest natural wonders of the world (though it surely helps). He rivals the Great Barrier Reef, and Guanabara Bay; expansive, a facilitator of life, new beginnings.

But the Great Barrier Reef is dying, and Guanabara Bay is the product of erosion. Everest is a death trap, the Grand Canyon too, and Paricutin forced hundreds from their homes. Droughts around Victoria Falls are threatening its very existence, and soon, what once was could be no more.

The only wonder worthy of comparison to Jeon Jungkook is Aurora Borealis. They burn brighter than before, making their way through their eleven-year cycle undisturbed, undimmed. They're magic in the mundane, and so is he.

He hums, unaware of how you're romanticising him to be far more than what he is, and it sounds like he's frowning. You reach over, thoughts absent, and take his phone to continue reading for him.

"To dream of a praying mantis could mean many things," you recite mindlessly. "Firstly, it could indicate that you need to remain calm and assess situations before you dive right in. Be patient. Alternatively, it could indicate that you are preying on others. Have you been calculated recently? Devious? Perhaps reflection is due. There are positive indications associated with the insect, though. A baby praying mantis suggests a bright, wise future ahead. To dream of being attacked by a praying mantis suggests that you are faced with a test that you are strong enough to pass."

You ignore all the bad, because of course you do, pass him back his phone and say, "see? Nothing to worry about."

He locks his phone, and lets it drop down onto the bed. The hushed clunk of it hitting your sheets is drowned out by his voice, all dulcet and dreamy in your ear.

"Wasn't worried, baby. Got you here with me." His lips press against your temple. "I got you."

Hook, line and sinker. Yeah, he's got you good.

But within half an hour he's got you coming undone; got you mewling his name, got you gripping his neck as he fucks himself into you like he always does so well. He's got you where he wants you, got you in missionary 'cause of that one time you lied and said it was your favourite, got your nipples in his mouth 'cause there ain't no way he can have you naked and not indulge himself just a little bit.

Jungkook has you. Has his way with you.

But you have him, too; have him whispering how gorgeous you sound, how much he loves the way you feel.

You have him coming undone.

Perhaps, neither of you 'have' nor 'has' the other.

Perhaps, you aren't commodities to be owned.

If anyone was to own you, though, you think you'd quite like it to be him. You think he'd keep you forever. He once said he would, so it's not like it's a foolish thing to daydream about.

And so you do just that as he weaves through traffic in the hustle and bustle of Busan. You think he's mad for choosing to drive instead of just getting the subway, but Busan is spread out so far that it would have taken a handful of changes to get to where he's taking you.

He's still not told you where you're going. Even when you ask for a dress code, he simply says, "as you are, baby. You're perfect."

He calls you baby a lot lately.

It used to just be when you were naked, but he calls you baby when you're all wrapped up now, too. When he puts his hand on the small of your back, to guide you in whichever direction he wants, and when he pulls your hand to rest on the gear stick beneath his, it's 'baby' that he hums.

In fact, he calls you baby so much that CC has taken a backseat.

The radio drones through the speakers, neither of you connecting to the aux. It's all very grown-up, you think, listening to the traffic news, and whatever is currently charting. It doesn't hit in the same way that your playlists do, but it reminds you of driving to the coast with your parents as a kid. The memories are fond - cherished by you - and it's how you like to think of your family.

Or at least it is, until the disk jockey segues into the morning news. There's the usual mindless garbage, celebrity gossip, upcoming festivals and community events - and then there's politics.

"The Mayor of Daegu Metropoli-" is as far as the broadcaster gets before you change the station. Jungkook doesn't react initially. In fact, it takes him a few seconds to reply, and when he does, it's inconspicuous.

"Not into politics?"

"Not into politics."

You're sharp as you deliver the lie, and Jungkook can feel the blade of your tongue slice his heart. He's deserving of it, admittedly, but you aren't aware of that. Not yet.

He switches the radio back. "I am."

You want to be sick, but you put it down to the fact that Jungkook drives a little faster than he really should do, and that breakfast had been substituted for sex. "You are?"

"Uh-huh."

Silence resume as you listen to the broadcaster. It's an innocent report about cities linking for eco-initiatives. Apparently, Daddy dearest will be visiting Busan just as you're leaving. It's an odd thought. You've taken pride in not keeping tabs, and yet here you are, wondering if you'll pass his car on Monday morning as you leave the city and he enters it. Unlikely.

A possibility, but unlikely.

When you pull your hand back to your lap from beneath his, Jungkook lets you. It's a call for attention. You want to see what he does. Want him to pull it back, want him to question why you've pulled it away - but he doesn't.

Instead, he talks.

"I hate politics," he admits. There's a sternness to his face. An honesty. "I can't name you a single politician who actually seems to care about the communities they represent. They're bastards," his voice quietens. "The lot of 'em."

Only then does he reach for your hand, again. He's the one searching for comfort, now.

There's something about the way Jungkook doesn't look at you, but grips your hand far tighter than he had done before, that has you concerned. It's unlike him.

"I agree," you tell him. "S'why I don't care for it."

He nods, pulling his bottom lip beneath his teeth, as if he's trying to stop a secret from coming out.

You wouldn't mind if one did. You'd quite like to know his secrets - even the deep, dark, scary ones. Especially those ones, actually. His jaw rocks gently, the pillow of his lip being massaged by his teeth, eyes hard on the horizon line.

"Probably should have given you a little warning as to where we're going," he eventually divulges, pouting his lips and letting air squeak through them as he inhales a breath.

Your lift your brows and furrow them slightly. "Why's that?"

The question is answered as soon as he flicks his indicator on. You look to the sign above the highway, and that's when you realise you're going off the beaten track. There's only one destination listed on the reflective sheet of metal: a marine life conservation hub.

Something tells you that you're not headed towards the marine life conservation hub.

Something - or someone- by the name of Jeon Jungkook, and the way as soon as his indicator is flicked off, his hand is holding yours oh-so-tightly, again.

Your eyes follow the trajectory of the road, and the small row of parking spaces covered in fine gravel. You're partway up a short mountain, and you know exactly why you're here.

Mounds of earth rest neat and uniform on the mountainsides, clustered together, decades of tradition lacing the soil. There's a small path that stretches to the upper elevation, where a set of mounds lie perfectly still, small statues and floral arrangements decorating them in the most beautiful of ways.

You know hillsides like these. It's been a while since you last visited one, but the memories of places like this tend to haunt people.

He doesn't reply to your earlier question. He doesn't need to. You already know exactly where you are.

His name escapes your lips, voice quiet, but pacifying. You rub his thumb with yours, which only makes him squeeze your small hand even tighter.

He's silent, but he's hoping you know that he's sorry.

Sorry for a whole host of things. Too many to list. This - taking you to a fucking graveyard unannounced and non-consenting - is what he's currently apologising for in the guise of silent squeezes.

"Your mum?" You ask, as he pulls into a space on the gravel parking lot.

He's only mentioned her once, and the fact that she would have been 'rolling in her grave' at the thought of him being rude to you. You'd clocked it at the time, but had never dared ask since. Figured that when he was ready, he would tell you. Seems like he might just be ready.

Jungkook nods, and when he looks at you, he seems younger. Eyes wider, searching for refuge; finding it in you.

"Mum."

When he makes no attempt to move, seemingly a little frozen in place, it's you who starts to squeeze his hand right back. "You wanna go see her?"

And again, he nods. There's a bottle of soju in the back from one of his many GS25 trips, so you reach for it, knowing that there was no way the pair of you could visit somewhere of such importance without an offering of some kind. He whispers a thank you, as if you've done something of value. It's just soju, and it's his, regardless. You wish you would have known. You'd have insisted on picking up banchan, or something more substantial.

There's reluctance as he leads the pair of you, second-guessing his every step. It's important that he shows you this part of him, although, when he thinks about it, he's sure he could have just explained it. Over a coffee, or on a walk by the river. He didn't need to be so dramatic about it all. The past has happened, and he lives with the consequences.

But that's this thing - the past has happened, and Jungkook is still living with the weight of it like it was just yesterday. The consequences of it rule his daily life. He needs to show you, because simply telling you wouldn't have been justice enough.

His mother's grave is well-kept. Tended to. The flowers - large, white, and glorious, though you're not sure what kind - are wilting slightly, but are fresh enough to put the dead foliage of the winter mountain to shame. The mound above her is small, so you think that perhaps she was, too.

You just can't help yourself, can you? Another assumption made.

Your thoughts are cut short as he reaches for the bottle of soju from your hands, and nods towards the small ceramic dish that's been collecting rainwater. Supplies are low - the winter is incredibly dry, and had it not been for a storm that blew in a few days ago, it would be empty.

"Can you?" he asks, but doesn't finish. You let go of the soju bottle which is now secure in his hands, and head towards the direction of his nod, to rinse off the flat stone ready for offerings - though a cap full of soju doesn't feel like enough.

He walks further ahead, while you tend to the service stone, pouring soju into the bottle cap, and tossing it in the woodland as an offering to the mountain God; a thank you for watching over his mother. It's been too long since he last visited. Things have just gotten so busy, and he's under so much pressure. He can't think straight, let alone do anything that makes any sense and - oh God, the weight of it all - it's all just too much. He can't handle it. Refuses to. If he could scream right, he would - but nothing comes out.

His lungs are heavy in his chest, heart pounding. He doesn't know why he gets like this. He thinks it's the guilt; the fact that his mother would hate what he's become. She didn't raise him to be like this. Vengeance wasn't part of her vocabulary. She was kind, and she was considerate, and she cared so deeply about him.

In a lot of ways, you remind him of her. The acknowledgement of this only serves to make him feel worse.

When he finally turns to face you again, you're waiting by her grave, watching him with curiosity. You've been to many graves, but only ever those of your own family members. Never somebody else's. Traditions vary, and you don't wanna do anything that he wouldn't appreciate.

It had always been the same in your family; the eldest men bowed first, down through to the youngest, and the women watched on. The respect of women wasn't worth anything, you see.

As Jungkook comes to stand beside you, he takes your hand, positioning you directly next to him.

"Will you do it with me?" he asks so timidly that it almost doesn't sound like him. "Please?"

You're hesitant. It's a big ask, not because it's a difficult task, but because you know the first bows are always reserved for those closest to the deceased.

"I never normally do it alone," he adds, noticing your reluctance. "I'm normally with my brother. I just... I don't want to do it alone. I'm no good at shi-" he cuts himself off, not wanting to curse. "I'm no good at stuff like this."

It's a request you can't refuse. You follow his lead, getting to your knees, torso folding to the earth as a sign of utmost respect. He holds his bow for longer than you expect, but you match it second for second. He rises and repeats. You follow suit.

You think it's important that you don't overstep boundaries, not in a place so sacred to the boy beside you, so you let him take the lead. Not once do you move before him, but when he resumes to a seated position, you turn your body to face down the mountain.

It's not tradition, not really, but it feels like the best way to honour his mother; to provide her time with her son, but still offer support should he need it.

"I'm not doing recitals," Jungkook says tenderly, a pain in his chest pinching and soothing when he sees what you've done. "You don't have to face that way."

But you shake your head.

"I do," you reply with so much kindness in your voice that Jungkook thinks it's a wonder he hasn't melted and become at one with the earth, too. "Just pretend like I'm not here."

He wants to laugh at such an instruction. How the hell could he be expected to ignore you, when the way he feels about you burns brighter than the North Star whenever you're close by.

Instead, he just tells you that you're dumb, and sits beside you, facing his mother's grave. You hear him unscrew the cap of the bottle, metal cracking just how it always does upon its first few opens, followed by a small glug.

You twist your head, and catch him pouring soju into the bottle cap, before he places it in front of his mother. He nods towards her, as if she could actually see him once more, then brings his arms to hug around his knees, pulled tight to his chest. The bottle is still in his hand, so he takes a swig. There's a faint grimace as he swallows it back, and then he passes the bottle over his shoulder to you.

It's kindly received, and his actions are mirrored by you once more, a shot finding its home in your throat. The soju is lukewarm, the heat of his clammy hands altering the temperature.

The bottle is passed back and forth, Jungkook silent as he tries to muster the courage to speak up. There's so much he wishes he could say, but so little that feels safe to divulge. It's not until the bottle is halfway done that he seems to have the strength.

"It's been four years," Jungkook eventually says. You stay silent, the words you want to say threading through your lips like cotton through a needle, keeping your mouth shut. Nothing that could be said would make any of this any better for him. "Doesn't get any easier."

Instead, you lean your head on his shoulder. You're still looking down the mountain, and he's facing up towards the peak. His head rests against yours, and there's comfort to be found in his posture. The support he feels from you goes beyond that of physical.

"It was a long time coming, so we had time to prepare," he adds.

He brought you here because he wanted to share this part of himself with you, so he knows he needs to make the effort to actually speak up. Nothing cryptic. No half-truths.

"How can you prepare a kid for that, though? 'Hey Kook, mum's really sick'," he imitates the voice of his older brother. "'Probably won't make it through the winter'. She did, though. Make it through winter, that is. The hospital couldn't figure out what was wrong with her for the life of them. First, they said it was a pancreatic thing, then decided it was liver. Kidneys, bladder - you name it, they tried to pinpoint it as that. Round and round in fucking circles. So much time wasted. Years. I was 14 when she first got sick. 19 when she passed."

He lifts his head from yours and hugs his legs tighter into his chest. He hates this mountain. It's like he's got hayfever, even in winter, as his eyes start to warm a little. Realistically, he knows that it's perfectly apt to cry in such a place, but he doesn't want to. Doesn't want his mum to think he's upset. Doesn't want you to think it, either.

Deep down - although really not that far down when he comes to think of it - he's still just that scared boy, knowing he's going to lose the person he loves the most in the world. Funny, how history likes to repeat itself, even if in a slightly different hue. The colours of grief are always the same.

"She ended up getting referred to a specialist in Daegu," he sighs, knowing that he's about to divulge far more than he should.

He's thought about this alot. Thought about what he'd say to you before he knew you - like, really knew you - and how he'd deliver the lines with such venom your throat would swell and you'd choke on the faux pars of your family, just like his mother had.

But none of this was your fault. You were still just a kid, like he was, when all of this transpired.

You had no jurisdiction over budget cuts or the shift patterns of overworked hospital staff. You weren't the one syphoning money out of the public health sector, and you weren't the one who followed orders to treat common symptoms with the same cheap medicine, regardless of the fact it could have been wrong for the patients.

You weren't the one who decided that those who benefitted from the specialist centre were expendable. You weren't the one who cauterised their funding. You weren't the one who ignored the pleas and cries for help from the families of those suffering.

You weren't the negligent medical staff who mistreated Jungkook's mother, and you weren't the man in charge of the budget who decided that her life didn't matter anymore.

But your father was.

And so Jungkook has thought about this moment a lot. He's thought about how he'd tell you that you deserved to lose just as much as he had. He's thought about how he wouldn't feel a damn thing except for satisfaction when your father got his just deserts.

Now that the time has come, however, all he can do is shrug.

"They were great. The staff at the centre in Daegu, I mean. Really fucking great. Genuinely wanted to help - but you know Daegu," is all he could really muster. "They don't have the money for shit like that. And nor did we."

Daegu's local government did, however, have the funds for a fucking waterpark installation, which opened three weeks after the clinic was shut down indefinitely. "We sacrifice the good of the few, for the good of the many," your father had once told you, and it makes you just as sick now as it did back then.

"Anyways," he tries to downplay it, as if the memories don't haunt him. "Funding got cut. Mum got sicker. It was..." he struggles to find the words to articulate just what he went through. "Dad was always a hard ass, yanno? Do your homework, go to school, you wanna end up with a shitty job? Drop out like me! That kind of stuff. It's only 'cause he wanted what was best for us, he just.... didn't really have a nurturing bone in his body. Just how he was built, I guess." He pauses. Gathers his thoughts. Shrugs. "Mum... Mum was soft. Do you need help with your homework? How's school? You can be whatever you want to be. Didn't have a clue what I wanted to be, just knew I wanted to be like her. Seeing her get sick..."

He stops talking. There's a heaviness that looms over him like a cloud blocking the sun in the height of summer. It's stuffy and claustrophobic, yet there's nothing that can be done to ease it.

"The specialist centre treated her for as long as they could, ran as many tests as they could afford, but-" He cuts himself off. "Well, I mean, we're at her grave, aren't we? Doesn't take a genius to work it out."

He doesn't mean to be so scathing with his tone, the words delivered with a snarl typically reserved for his boxing opponents (or Namjoon when he takes the lead in a drag race), it's just that he doesn't know how to articulate himself. Not when it comes to this topic. He's never shared it with anyone before. Never thought he would.

And especially not with you.

There are parts he leaves out. Just little tidbits. Anecdotes, like the way he spent the night his mother died just driving and driving and driving, only coming to a stop when his tank had exhausted the very last drop of gas - at which point he just sat, grief-stricken, cheeks wet until sunrise.

He didn't speak to anyone for weeks. Didn't do anything except fill his tank up, get out of town, and occasionally train at the club. The force of his fists against another person never helped, though. Even beating the shit out of Taehyung didn't lift his spirits.

How he quite ended up in his current predicament is a little more complicated.

It started the same as any other night he'd crawl through the streets, red tail lights leaving a trail that evaporated into nothingness, thanks to the winter fog. Eventually, he ended up in Daegu. It was a common occurrence.

The shadows seemed darker in Daegu; sinners glowing red in the haze of smog and winter frost. It felt like home in a way. Somewhere to hide when he no doubt sold his soul to the Devil.

Sometimes, he'd drive in circles around the affluent streets, just hoping, praying, to see the Mayor out for an evening stroll. Of course, it would be an accident when he put his foot to the floor, full throttle, wheels turning in the Mayor's direction. A freak mishap. A car fault.

And if he were to suffer the same fate as Jungkook's mother? Oh, well what a fucking shame that would have been.

He never did see the Mayor, though. Of course he didn't.

But he did, however, spot Kang's. The light had still been on, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. He knew Kang's, thanks to his club in back in Busan, and he wanted to fight. Wanted to pummel any fucker who voted the Mayor into power. Wanted to break their nose; have them swallowing their teeth.

Of course, seeing a jumped up kid - who, as Namjoon put it, looked 'fresh out of nappies' - with a vendetta against the most powerful man in the city had the older boys amused. Truth be told, they laughed in his fucking face. Told him he was in the wrong place, 'cause there ain't no way any of them would be caught dead voting for that pompous fucking twat.

Jungkook learnt a lot that night; learnt that he wasn't alone in his fight, and that other people had lost unfathomable amounts of their lives, their livelihoods, and their loved ones, as a result of your father, and his wasteful, inhumane policies.

Though not a single one of those boys shared the same story, they all shared the same callous, complacent antagonist.

And they all wanted vengeance.

That wasn't the only thing he learnt that night, mind you. It was also the evening he learnt your name.

It'd be romantic, if the situation had been... well, anything but what it was, really.

He learnt who you were, what you meant to the Mayor, and just how you could be the winning ticket for their vengeance lottery. A plan was devised over a few too many Soju's, and before he knew it, he was playing the long game. They wouldn't initiate the plan for years. Sleeping dogs had to lie, dust had to settle.

There was another election; your father reinstated to his position. Only after then did you stop making public appearances with him, and the rest of your family. You didn't seem to be part of the in-crowd anymore. Didn't really matter to the boys. All that mattered was that you had fewer eyes on you, now. You faded into obscurity; Jungkook into obsession.

See, he's like you in a lot of ways. He makes assumptions, too. Had this whole idea of who you would be mapped out in his head. Pin by pin, you realigned his red string; tied it around his pinky and linked it with yours.

"Dad isn't who he used to be," Jungkook finally admits. His Mother's suffering may have ended with her passing, but his Father's seemed to only begin as hers ended. She passed a baton, Jungkook thinks, and his Dad is still running the race. "Doesn't really talk all that much. Loves to fucking gamble, though. All of her life insurance is gone. Half of my salary goes to the loan sharks that he owes from a bad spot he got himself in a few months ago. S'why I needed to come, had to check that everything was okay and that he hadn't got himself into too much trouble. Nasty fuckers, sharks are."

"How bad is it?" You ask, knowing that sharks are more like parasites. "The sharks, I mean."

"Um," he pauses, and shrugs. There's no way you'll be able to understand what it's like being in financial difficulty. Not a fucking chance. "Pretty bad. They were hounding him to the point where he just locked himself up in the house, wouldn't answer the door for weeks. My brother's just had a kid, he can't afford to help, so I'm stuck footing the bill for the interest Dad's having to pay. 'Bout half my salary. I'm gonna be paying them off till I'm six feet under. Bastards raise the interest whenever they fucking feel like it. I'll never be able to pay it all back, not all of it, and Dad's too fucking out of it to get himself a proper job. Whole situation is fucked."

That's a tiny little lie. Should everything go to plan, he'll have the money he needs to pay the sharks off within a week or two.

Should everything go to plan.

See, this isn't about vengence. Not now. Not anymore. This about surviving the sharks - but Jungkook has blood on his hands, and it makes him so much more tempting.

When you lean your head on his shoulder, comforting and reassuring all in one gesture, he swallows back a sob.

He's sharing all this because he wants - no, needs - you to understand why he made the choices that he did before he knew you. He needs you to know that the guy who is going to fuck you over next week isn't the guy who's been, well, just fucking you for the past couple of months.

He rests his head on yours, hair interlinking, silky and smooth, as if you're one.

The way that he feels about you oozes from him like the blood of a fresh wound; red and hot, sticky and sickening. Yet he knows that he'll never let the wound heal. He'll pick at it like it's a scab, because he'll never want to lose the feeling that the potential of a happy ever after with you gives him.

His body relaxes a little, spine curving, posture sloped. There's no need to remain poised; no need to be anything other than the imperfect version of himself that you seem to like so much.

"I'm so sorry that this happened to you," you whisper, eyes closing to hide the foot of the mountain you're sitting on. It feels so wrong you being here. Feels like you're intruding; encroaching. Perhaps you're the parasite.

The weight that's lifted from Jungkooks shoulders presses itself against your sternum. It cracks your ribs and impales the snapped bones into your heart. It's quite aggresive, you think, for a secret.

They say a problem shared is a problem halved, so if this is only a mere fifty percent of the pain that he's endured, you don't even want to imagine his reality. Now is not a time for pitying yourself, or lamenting the fact that it was your father who ruined Jungkook's life by proxy. You're sure it wasn't your father's intention, but you also know that he wouldn't have cared had he known the impact that his choices would have.

So much is left unsaid. Nothing you can do nor say will erase the hurt caused by the man who provided for you. A private education, wanting for nothing, your heart's desires fulfilled all came at a cost. Jungkook is just one of the many receipts; ripped at the edges, ink faded, paper creased in such a fashion that it can never be undone.

The guilt will weigh on you for eternity.

There's a part of you that wants to tell him. Wants him to know who you are, where you come from, how you ended up here - but you're convinced as soon as he knows, he'll wash his hands of you. Especially now. It feels kinder to just stay silent.

And so you do. You let him process his grief, and follow his lead when he decides that enough time has been spent by his mother's side. There's little chatter as you make your way down the hillside, his hand outstretched whenever you come to a rocky patch, just in case. It seems he doesn't want you to fall.

He also doesn't mind the silence. In fact, he quite likes it. He knows you're probably uncomfortable. Burial sites aren't exactly on the itinerary list of many romantic getaways, and he's not deluding himself about your actual reason for staying silent.

You make assumptions. He knows this, and wonders if you just assume he knows who you are.

But if he tells you - for definite - that he knows, and that it's okay, and that it doesn't change a single thing about the way he feels for you, it'll be game over.

For him, for you, for God knows who else.

By keeping you in the dark, he thinks he's keeping you safe until he can figure a plan that really will ensure your safety.

The drive to the nearest subway station is silent, too. You lie about your errands, and tell him that catching a subway would be easiest, simply for the fact it is closer to you than any of the bus stops.

You just want to be out of the car.

It's not that you don't want to be with him; it's that you do. It feels wrong to lie to him, deceiving him.

Opposites attract, or so they say, but they're wrong. You're birds of a feather, apples that have fallen from the same tree, left to rot in the height of a Daegu summer.

Your day is spent without him, and yet you're utterly consumed. He's in every shop window, his laugh rattling in the exhaust pipe of every shitty car that drives past. There's no escaping Jeon Jungkook. He's not the kind of guy you can just forget.

In fact, you're so consumed by him that all you want to do is head back to your hotel and lay in wait for his return. You don't know when that will be, and refuse to text him when he's spending much needed time with those closest to him, but the idea is so tempting that you find yourself sprawled on the sheets for hours regardless.

Your day is wasted, but you think that days without him are wasted, anyway.

It's nearly seven by the time he gets home. There's a hum as a keycard is tapped outside your door, the metal of the lock grating against itself to bid the intruder of your heart a welcome entry. Your eyes move to the door, because of course they do. Watching the man you... enjoy spending time with come 'home' to you is something that you never realised you would enjoy so much.

You wonder if it's the highlight of his days, too.

The location never matters, for it's in his eyes that your find your home - though 'home' looks a little different when his eyes are all puffy and bloodshot, his dark irises acting like a curtain. The window is covered. He's hiding his soul from you.

Hard to notice, though, when his cheeks are wet, and you mistake that as his biggest vulnerability.

"Hey," you whisper, legs unfolding as you stand and walk towards him. The door shuts by itself, Jungkook not caring for it. He doesn't even toss his bag down; just kind of stands there. Sniffs. Shakes his head, goes to speak, but chokes on his words and how big they feel in his throat. "It's okay, it's okay," you reassure, a hand on his cheek, the other on his collarbone. "You're safe. What's up?"

He leans into your touch, jaw tense, eyes resting shut. It's been a long time coming, and he knows it. Wonders how the fuck he hasn't already broken. He wasn't made for shit like this; for lies and deceit, especially not when it's someone that he really cares for the will suffer the consequences of his actions.

All he wants, all ever seems to want, is to be in the shower with you. Doesn't even care about stripping bare. Wants to be saturated with the promise of purity; in the way he feels for you, how you feel for him, and how your life could be together.

There's nothing inherently sexual about his desire, though he knows he wouldn't be able to resist to the eroticism of having you naked and wet - it's just not his intention. He simply wants to be close to you. Wants to care for you. Wants to wash your hair and rinse you off; ease the burdens of everyday life.

He forgets that water isn't strong enough to cleanse him of his sins. It will run black, always, because of what he's done; what he will do. Like ink bleeding from his tattoos, he'll still be left with scratch marks of the choices he's made; scars in the place of his missteps.

No answer is given to your question. Instead, he sobs a little harder. Hugs you, now. Drops his bag to the floor and holds you so tight he's afraid you might break.

He'd rather this, though.

Rather his affections for you be the breaking point, and not his sheer cowardice that will no doubt shatter your perception of him.

Your arms wrap around his neck, feet strained to the very tips of your toes, your hand in his hair. You've never been good with those who cry; never known how to comfort. It's not your fault. Just how you were raised. Nannys and au pairs were all well and good, but they never had a mother's touch. Your scrapes and scratches got bandaids and banana milk, but never any kisses better.

There's a curious softness to the way your hold Jungkook. There always has been. You've never really understood it; the need you feel to nurture him. Perhaps part of you always knew - could always tell - that the loss of his mother had been more profound than he could articulate.

You don't want to mother him. It's not your job. Maternal instincts aren't your thing - but the way you care for Jungkook is so pure, so unadulterated, that you find yourself wanting to ease him of all his pains.

And so even though it's not your job, you'll kiss his wounds better, just so that someone does. You'll fulfil his needs. Be everything he needs. Why would he ever want for another when he could simply just have you?

Your lips press against his temple, willing him to heal. Whatever's wrong is clearly bottled up inside, and a small part of you hopes that your lips could draw the venom from within. It's fruitless.

"Tell me what you need," you say softly. You're not a mind reader. Life would be much simpler if you were."What do you need?"

He thinks it's a stupid fucking question. Doesn't understand how you can be so oblivious to it all; but also doesn't realise how much of an impeccable liar he is. It's a learned trait. He wasn't born to be like this.

He was born to be soft, to be gentle, just like you. Under the bravado of your sarcasm and vulgar language, you're nothing more than a heart in search of its place. More fool you for thinking his ribcage would be a fitting dwelling for it.

And so Jungkook tries a little softness back.

"Need you," he finishes his sentence with a slight hiccup, his irregular breathing throwing everything out of whack. "Need to know you'll stay."

It's cruel, the way he makes you promise the idea of forevermore, when he knows full well that come next week, that heart of yours? The one sitting comfortably in his chest beside his own? Yeah, come next week it will be in his hands, blood coating his fingers as they dig into the muscle and tear it apart.

How beautifully unaware, you are.

"As long as you need," you whisper back. "I'll stay for as long as you need me, Kook. You don't need to ask. You know you don't."

And that's the kicker.

It's what has him in such a sorry fucking state.

Your hairband around his wrist, and the scrunchie on his gearstick, had been the catalyst to his tears; you're his demise.

There's a dusty footprint on the dash, right by the passenger seat glove compartment. It's yours, small and insubstantial, from the drive back from the beach the day before. Anyone else and he'd had tapped their legs, made them put their feet down.

In fact, he did with you, too. He'd tapped your leg, and was met with refusal, so instead he had just wrapped his hand around your ankle, and kept it there until he need to change gear down from fifth. He knocked it straight into third, and as soon as he was off the clutch, his hand eased off the stick and wrapped around your ankle once more.

It's gonna be you, it's gonna be you, it's gonna be you.

When he's cold and alone in the weeks to come, it's gonna be you he thinks of at night.

When he spills a couple drops of gas onto his clothes at the pump, it's gonna be you he thinks of when the scent of it makes him feel all lightheaded and nauseous.

When he gets into the ring at Kang's and is perishing just to feel a little rush, it's gonna be you that he thinks of.

It's gonna be you.

Far sooner than you realised, and for far longer than he can even imagine.

"Shit," he hisses, pulling away from you and heading towards the window. His back hunches as he leans on the ledge with one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose with the other. He sniffs back the evidence of his upset and shakes his head. "Sorry. Just been a long day. That's all."

You perch on the side of the bed, understanding that space is needed. You're not good with comfort, but you are good with recognising the needs of others, at least.

"No bother," you shrug, not that he sees it. "We don't have to talk about it."

"Nothing to talk about," he says as he turns to face you. His features are all red and puffy, the friction of sleeves against his cheeks tarnishing them in flecks of crimson. A weak smile is plastered on his lips, and he knows it's not convincing. "I'm good."

And so you pretend that you are convinced, for the simple fact that he wants you to be. "I know. Was just saying. If you did wanna talk, you could. If not? We can do something else."

Jungkook's mind jumps to fucking away the upset. Seems like a good distraction.

But he also knows that if he fucks you right now, he'll cry. He won't mean to, but he'll feel the way you pulse around him, and he'll start thinking about your heart, and then his nose will be nestled in your hair, and he'll be thinking about all that he stands to lose, and then he'll break the fuck down; buried in your pussy, suffocated by the adoration he feels for you. It's a grave he's dug himself.

He pouts as he shakes his head, bottom lip protruding as if he doesn't give a fuck what you do. "Not fussed. What do you wanna do?"

You hold out your hand to encourage him to walk towards you, and he does it without a second thought. He kicks his shoes off by the foot of the bed and takes your hand, climbing onto the mattress with you.

"Not fussed, either," you hum all rather pleasantly, pushing a few strands of his hair back and out of his face. The blonde is growing out, and there's a warm band where the toner has faded. It doesn't look bad, but you also know there's nothing better than fresh hair to boost a mood. It's your classic hot girl in crisis mood. He might not be a girl, but he's hot as fuck, and seems to be in a crisis, so maybe it could help. "Why don't we dye your hair?"

There's a grin on his lips, his brows lifting as he pushes your hair behind your ear, too. "Dye my hair? You saying you hate it?"

"God, you're so dramatic," you laugh - and that's the exact reason why he's so bloody dramatic. He loves to hear you laugh.

"You do hate it?!" he cries, feigning pain. "You think I look like shit?"

"The shittiest," you confirm, though the way you're smiling at him says otherwise. If your smile was anything to go by, he'd think you love his hair.

He'd be right.

But maybe it just went with the territory; a byproduct of loving him for everything he is.

The thought of you loving him flashes in his mind like a weather warning: Storms ahead. Take cover.

It's replaced by mindless banter; you telling him how ugly you think he is, and him pretending like his feelings are hurt. There's a tussle between the pair of you, just for an excuse to be touching one another. It's inevitable that you end up on top of him, holding his hands above his head to stop him from tickling at your sides. He lets you take this role of dominance, even though he could overpower you if he really wanted to.

He wants you in charge; wants you calling the shots.

"Let's dye my hair," he agrees and seals the deal with a kiss. "You gotta do it too, though. Yin to my yang."

"Matching hair?" You raise a brow as your hair hangs delicately around your face, tickling at his.

"Matching hair," he nods, because fuck it. He's never gonna get to do the couple shit with you. Never gonna get you a matching pair of sneakers, never gonna switch the sim card ports in your phones. If this is his only chance, he's gonna take it. "You'll do mine, I'll do yours."

It's a fair trade. One you can't argue with - and so you simply smile. "Alright, fuck it. I'm in."

────────────

"Forgotten something?" you hum, as Jungkook makes a u-turn on your way out of the city. You're not really surprised, nor concerned about his change in direction. You trust him. Wherever he goes, you'll follow.

The blue of Busan's endless harbour darts past you, teasing you, mocking the freedom you think you have. You're shackled, cuffed to the armrest, a prisoner of the way your heart beats a little faster, a little harder, whenever you're inside his Pony. It never eases. It's just like that chime in your stomach, which only gets louder with every rev of his engine.

You're sad to leave the city. Had never cared much for Busan before. You care for him, though, and that's what makes the difference.

"No," he says with a small smile, one that he's trying to hide. There's excitement in his gaze, celestial entities sparking in his midnight eyes.

"Hotel's a little further up," you add.

"I know," he smiles again, simple and pure. You're a bad listener, he realises. Stubborn. Believe your own assumptions, even when presented with contradictory evidence. It's a flaw, yet he can't help but find it endearing. "We're not going there."

He glances over towards you and catches the way your face changes as you recognise the road you're heading down.

He loves that little thing you do with your brows; the way they furrow for just a second as you try to figure out what's happening. It's a common occurrence, brief confusion, and it only ever flashes over your features for a moment or so, but it's undeniably one of his favourite expressions of yours.

You're holding it now, brows still pushed together as a grin rests on your lips in disbelief. He flicks his indicator, and it's all but confirmed: you're heading towards your bucket list hotel, the one you've dreamt about for years but never fancied booking alone.

It's been mentioned between you once, maybe twice - and he remembered. Maybe it's the bare minimum. Maybe it isn't as much of a big deal as you think it is - but your heart swells like proofing dough in a baking tin, waiting for heat to transform it into its final form. Soft and warm, it'd be everything he needs to survive.

And yet the only thing you can articulate is, "fuck off."

He takes it all in good humour though, because he knows you, and he understands that you're overwhelmed with an abundance of delight. It trickles from every part of you, your happiness infecting him like some sort of disease. A glorious cause of death he thinks it would be, to perish from your pleasure.

"Can't," he grins. "The booking is under my name. You need me here, Little Miss Clutch Control."

The change in his tone from factual to flirty has you all hot and bothered. You didn't expect such a lame term of endearment to get you feeling like this, but something about hearing it in full glory really gets to you.

The car pulls to a stop, but neither of you get out. You continue talking, bantering, existing next to one another. You're prolonging it, the anticipation that makes your hands all clammy, feet tingly. He's the one to break from the cautious climate between the pair of you, when he says, "if you go check us in, I can bring our bags."

They say that you should never meet your idols; that the disappointment of them being just like any other human breaks the infatuation.

The same can be said for a hotel.

You've dreamt about this moment for so long. The room is gorgeous - not quite the top floor, but close enough - and it looks exactly how you always imagined it. White marble coats the floor, the walls, the ceiling, too. It's grand and demure, but it's cold. The bed is flush to the floor, and there's little else to look at other than the view which pours in. It's blue. Cerulean. Sky and sea, with nothing in between.

It's everything you expected, and everything you wanted.

But what you want isn't always what you need.

You find yourself missing the old hotel. Just a little bit. You miss the intimacy you felt in the previous room with Jungkook; the warmth, the limerence you shared. It's hardly surprising. That room saw your fledgling romance crash and burn, but it's also where you patched each other up and promised not to let it happen again. A lot was learnt beneath those sheets. On top of them, too.

Still, every inch of you - your face, your body, your posture - is draped in delight. You're radiant.

The hotel really doesn't matter. It's the effort that he's gone to which has you so enamoured. It's more than you think you deserve.

But most of all? You can't believe that he actually cares so much about your desires, your dreams, your wants, that he tries to turn them into realities.

"Gone to a lot of effort for 'just a friend from Daegu,'" you simper into his lips as he joins you by the window, watching a ship seep across the ocean.

He smiles. Pecks you once. Twice. Holds it a little longer. Withdraws. "My best fuckin' friend," he growls, a little frustrated with the way he knows you're gonna be using that against him for months (if you make it that far, that is). Pinkies beneath your jaw, thumbs on your cheeks, he kisses you again. "Stop saying shit like that, C."

"Or what?"

"Or," he laughs tenderly against your lips. "I'll be left with no choice but to show how much your... 'friendship' really means to me."

The worst part of it all is that Jungkook actually believes it. He really does think you're his best friend.

It's a shame. He always thought that once he found his best friend, then that would be it. He'd settle for life. Loyal like a dog, is Jungkook, yet he'd always anticipated his mating habits being like those of a wolf. After all, what's a soul mate if not your best friend?

Big, big shame.

For now, though, his focus is on the present. There's a future outside of these four walls, and he'd love for you to be it.

And so he behaves in such a way that he convinces himself you could be. You; his, eternal. No sharing. No take backs. In this shit together for life.

Comfort comes in the form of his smile, and the way he makes you feel so secure in yourself. He laughs at all your jokes, reciprocates humour that matches your own. Tells you tales of childhood, and has you thinking maybe one day you could have little terrors of your own. You ask him what he'd call his kids - and proceed to tell him that his hypothetical son, 'Manta Ray', would 100% hate him. He asks you what you'd call yours. You list your girls names. They're pretty. Standard. Nothing remarkable. For a son? You look at him, lashes low, smile saccharine, and simply say, "Manta Ray."

It's that statement which has Jungkook determined to fuck you raw tonight; fill you up, toy with the idea of what it could be like to get you pregnant. It's far too soon for any of that, but the thought of it gets his balls all tight, cock twitching in his sweats. He thinks about the way your body could change; all shapely and swollen because of the semen he's fucked into you. He thinks about your tits, and it's when he thinks about tasting your fucking milk that he knows he has to stop. He's way too far ahead of himself, all horny and engorged, wetness seeping from his tip.

It's inevitable that you'll end up naked at some point.

But it's not just because he's like a dog on heat, right now.

See, your dream of staying in this specific hotel comes in two parts.

The first is sweet; innocent pleasure found in the harbour view.

The second is far less innocent. It's still about the view, but more so about how much you wanna get railed in front of it.

Jungkook wises up to this pretty quickly, without complaint.

It's impossible not to - primarily because he's reclined on the bed, legs spread, cock hard as he strokes his thick shaft, watching you strip for him by the time night has fallen.

He takes in the sight of you under the silver moon; ethereal in the way she beams on you. The curves of your body are accentuated by the shadows, his lips desperate to devour every inch of your skin.

You're made for the moonlight, he thinks, made to be more than just a being of the sun.

He's always thought he belonged to the night, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe he belongs to you.

It's not long before he's taking in the rest of you in; your scent, the way you sound, the tremor of your sternum as you laugh while he dapples kisses down your body.

You're celestial, laid bare, your soul for the taking. His lips are tender against your skin, as if he knows he could steal it. Keep it forever.

He's trying not to. He doesn't want to keep you, not like that, and not forever. He wants you to find happiness after him - but selfishly, he never wants anyone else to hear your laughter, not when it's coated in syrup, sweet enough to devour.

It's all very conflicting.

He can't wrap his head around it.

Can't make sense of any of it - but he can wrap his lips around your swollen pussy, tongue teasing as his fingers find their home inside you. He can make you forget the world, and that's exactly why you'll never be able to forget him.

His name is lodged in your throat as you come undone for him; a block of ice that melts with the heat of his limerence as he kisses through your post-climax comedown.

Body heavy on top of yours, his cock digs into your thigh as he ruts a little, unable to stop himself. He tries to hold back, but your tongue is in his mouth, hands are in his hair, and you're moaning.

The sound of your desire vibrates against his lips; has him shifting his hips until the tip of his cock is kissing your soaked entrance.

You tell him that you want him. Need him.

He shakes his head, and smiles, though he doesn't find much happiness in the admittance that comes with the gesture. "I'm no good for you, CC."

"Bit late for that, don't you think?"

His lips press into your throat; travel down to the hollow of your collarbone, skirt the tops of your breasts, and then he kisses right where he thinks your heart might be.

"You're so good for me," he whispers, lips brushing against the skin of your bare chest. You're more than he's ever deserved; more than he'll likely ever experience again. There's a fear - a very valid one - that this could be the last time. Part of him doesn't want it to happen. It will all feel so final, he thinks. Alternatively, perhaps it would give him closure - but what about you?

He's trying to do right by you, but it's so gut-wrenchingly difficult when all he wants is to give you what you want, instead.

He's slow as his hips begin to pulse, pushing ever so gently against your entrance before he retracts. He repeats this; once, twice, three times. Asks if you're ready. Waits for your nod. Feels his heart ache when you do. Sinks into you, slowly. Sheaths himself within your walls. Whines as he hits your cervix, balls ghosting your perky little ass as he does so.

Full capacity, you're stuffed with his cock, and yet he pushes just a little deeper to hear the way you gasp.

It won't take long to have him unloading himself into you. Doesn't even thinks he needs to fuck you. Your throbbing walls could milk him, even if he stays entirely still on top of you. He knows he'd make you so filthy, cunt throbbing, plugged with his fingers because he wouldn't want any of his creamy load to escape your pussy.

He knows exactly how he'd fuck you, how he'd position you afterwards, how he'd keep you reaching Nirvana again, and again, and again, just to increase the chance of fertilisation.

Jungkook is losing his fucking mind.

He's always been thankful for your birth control, because he loves to fuck you raw, but he hates it now. Wishes your body would just let you mother his future children. Doesn't give a fuck about anything else.

You're it.

He thinks you're fucking it.

His lips wrap around your nipple, mainly to stop himself from saying things he can't take back. Doesn't imagine you'll react too well to him growling about how much he wants to see your belly all round, tits engorged and leaky, body destroyed (though he'd argue it was beautiful) thanks to his insatiable cock and need to keep your pussy as his.

His mouth is warm; wet and gentle but firm with its movements. He's doing it with intent. You know why. You know what he's thinking about, cause you're thinking about it, too; how you're built for him to ruin in the most beautiful of ways, and how it's only fair he should reap the rewards.

"I know, baby," you husk, fingers stroking his hair as he groans against your soft chest. There'll never be another him. Ever. "It's cause we're good for each other."

There's something going on with him. He's always fucked you well, fucked you right. This is more than that, you think.

You aren't an idiot - but as vulnerable as he may seem, now doesn't feel like the right time to ask. You've dated men in the past who grew irate when sex would be interrupted by matters of the heart, and you've been conditioned to not 'ruin the moment.'

Jungkook wishes you would. Wishes you'd tell him to stop, tell him that he shouldn't do this, tell him that you don't want him - but you do, you do, you do.

There's movement; your hips working against his own, your hot walls milking his length.

He knows he shouldn't let himself indulge in such a ludicrous fantasy. You'll never get the picket fence. Never get the rose garden. Never take the kids to basketball practise on a Sunday, and fuck in the car as soon as you get a moment of peace together.

On the contrary, you think he should indulge in these little dreams - but there's hesitation, and it confuses you. All of his movements stop. His forehead rests against yours. He's inside you, still, but not how he was.

"You wanna stop?" You ask with a voice so tender that Jungkook just wants to melt into you. His lips find yours, pressure controlled, restrained.

One hand is supporting his body above you, the other holds the underside of your jaw. There's no further discussion, just mewls; groans of want, need, desire. Your legs wrap around his thighs, encouraging him to follow through on the pleasure that the hardness of his cock is promising.

He could do it. Make you his. Fill your sweet little cunt up so well like he always does. Have your back arching, body at his disposal. It'd be so easy.

Or at least, it would be if he wasn't getting soft.

It's not you. Fuck. God, no. Nothing to do with you. He's just so inside his head over everything - the way he feels, the fact he knows you arent built to last - that he's finding it hard to focus. That family he thought of? The happy one he could have with you? It'll never exist.

Jungkook can't think straight, let alone keep his prick straight.

You can feel that his cock isn't as firm as it was, but you think maybe it's just a blip. Maybe Jungkook trying to make himself last longer? You're not really sure of the mechanics involved in that, but it seems plausible.

You move your hips to give him a little encouragement, your pussy stroking against his shaft ever so gently. You're wet - so fucking wet - for him, and it gets him even more wound up.

Why is his body not responding in the way he wants it to? Why won't his head just let him fuck you like he wants to fuck you? Unfair, he thinks, so unfair.

You don't mind the fact he's not rock hard. He's only human. It's natural for things to not always go right, and it's not like he'd be the first boy you've ever known to have performance issues. It happens to everyone at some point or another - yourself included.

"What do you want me to do?" You offer, because you think it will help; think that by showing you don't mind helping out, it will make him feel more comfortable.

But he knows you've noticed and it's fucking mortifying. This never happens to him.

Then again, he's never fucked a girl he likes as much as he likes you. Naive of him to think he could trust his body not to betray his mind at such an important moment. Only fitting, really, considering that it's his mind that will betray his heart when it matters most.

It's a cycle, and Jungkook's struggling to get to grips with the pedals. He'll fall off, crash and burn, if he's not careful.

"Shit," he hisses as he bridles his hips and pulls himself away from you. His back meets the mattress with so much force that your body shakes, cold and alone without the weight of him on top of you. He lies next to you, staring at the ceiling, cock limp, jaw tense. So fucking embarrassing. "Dunno what's wrong with me."

You tell him that it's normal, nothing unusual, and that you don't care - but it's not normal. Not for him, and especially not when it comes to you. He's been a walking boner since the moment he met you. Hard as a steel pole for weeks. In fact, if anything, he's barely soft these days.

"Just give me a moment," he says, though he doesn't move. He's trying to focus.

He breathes, in and out, slowly, his eyes glued to the ceiling, tattooed hand draped across his sternum. In, and out. He remains flaccid, cock resting shamefully against the top of his thigh.

This is, he thinks, hands down the most mortifying experience of his adult life.

You don't give a shit, but he's so uptight; lips pressed shut, eyes hard, as he seems to look anywhere but your direction. It gets you feeling all insecure. You didn't think you were the problem at first, but now it's starting to feel like you are.

The awkwardness is uncomfortable, and the fact that you're naked is even more so.

You're both on top of the quilt, so you can't even hide. Instead, you have to reach down the bed for the closest piece of discarded clothing - Jungkook's flannel shirt.

It's about now that he wants to die. Not like a brutal, slow death (the kind that he knows he deserves). He just wants to be zapped like a fly with an electric bat. The kind you see Ajummas with during the summer, wafting them around in the air, tasing everything they come into contact with.

He rubs his palm across his face, and when he's done, his hand comes to rest over his pathetic cock. The worst part of it all is the minuscule trail of precum that has oozed from the tip of his cock and onto his thigh, tangled in his leg hairs.

He could have fucked you. Could have fucked you so well.

But instead, he's watching you get dressed - although he isn't even doing that. He can't even bring himself to look at you.

He had asked for a moment, so you decide to give him just that. You head towards the bathroom unannounced, and Jungkook wants to tell you to stay, but he can't get any words out.

Door locked, closed, metal threaded through a loop, you're alone - and you fucking hate it. You're embarrassed and ashamed and confused. Your acceptance of his performance issue was genuine, but it doesn't stop it from hurting. You think his desire is dwindling, and you don't know what you'll do if it burns out completely.

You breathe. Take a second to reset yourself. Everything is fine. Everything is okay. Jungkook is just having issues. It's not me, it's not me, it's not me, you tell yourself, though you don't really believe it, and then you head back towards the bedroom.

When you return, Jungkook's got his underwear on.

He's sat with his back to you, facing the sea view, legs crossed, knees raised for his chin to rest upon. There's a crease in his stomach, his posture pathetic and feeble.

You'd never tell him, because you know that he trains so hard at the boxing club, but you sort of like it when torso creases like this. It makes him seem human. Soft; his hard exterior subdued, just for you.

The bed shifts as you walk across it and plonk yourself down beside him, mirroring the way he sits. There's a tugging in your chest, like your heart is clawing against your ribs, begging to be let out so it can go and sit beside Jungkooks. You tell it no, that it has to stay put.

But then he inhales a sharp breath through his nose, and you can hear he's torn himself up over what just happened. Your head rests on his shoulder, and your heart pacifies. His bottom lip is beneath his front teeth, the pressure so great that it feels as if he could burst through the skin. He doesn't ease up.

Silence remains. You can hear the waves crashing through the double glazing, and you wonder why you find such peace in something so hostile. The sea could kill you without a care in the world, and yet you'd let it, if meant your final moments were as peaceful as this.

"I'm sorry, CC," Jungkook eventually whispers. His voice shakes, and your lips press a gentle kiss onto his shoulder.

"You don't have to be."

Oh, but I do, babe. You'll never know how sorry I am.

You continue, knowing Jungkook won't clarify any of his misgivings. "C'mon," your head knocks back. "Let's sleep. Check out is early."

And so he settles into the sheets with you. Doesn't really say much. Just spends an eternity looking at you. Such a sight to behold; a work of art framed by the sea view.

That's the thing about works of art: you can see all their imperfections up close.

You've an eyelash that sticks out straight, while the rest of them curl. There's a small scar just below your ear from a childhood accident. He must have pressed a thousand kisses against that spot and never realised before.

He's never paid much notice to your piercings - lobes, double; helix, single - but he notices now that the stud in your cartilage has a stone in it. Opal, he thinks, but isn't sure. He wonders why you chose that one. Doesn't think you chose it just because it's pretty. You put too much weight on intangible things like fate and karma to have not chosen something specific.

You'd had a field day when you found out he was a Virgo, but he didn't have a clue what you meant when you said, "Saturn in your seventh house? Curious."

He was even more confused when you apologised for the fact you have Mars in your seventh. At the time he'd made some juvenile joke about sticking his seven in Uranus, but he wishes he'd listened more carefully, now.

It was the first time you'd shown belief in something other than the power of peach teas to remedy a bad mood, and it was significant. Not to him, admittedly, but to you. In turn, it made it important to him.

There's very little he actually can say about you - concrete things, like your childhood hangout area downtown, or the career path you had dreamt about. He knows how you laugh, what kind of humour gets you, but not what makes you sad. Doesn't know how you grieve.

How much of you does he really know? Or has he just been infatuated with the idea of you?

After all, you're everything he was hardwired to hate. Perhaps he's fooled himself. Maybe the wool he's been pulling over your eyes is over his, too.

He's the one who's been knitting, though. The crochet is a product of his own making. He's only got himself to blame.

But of course, neither of you are to blame. Not really. This was never meant to be more than what it is. You're just a friend from Daegu, after all.

It doesn't feel like that, no, but for all intents and purposes, that's what you are. You aren't his girlfriend. He's never asked for more, and nor have you. Keeping things simple has only served to make everything so much more complicated.

"Hey," he whispers quietly, just to get your attention. He's embarrassed, and it shows in the way he's nibbling down on his lip, but he doesn't want to be. Deep down, he knows that there's no shame to be found in what happened, and yet he can't help but think maybe you like him a little less, now.

Maybe that would be good. Maybe you should like him less. Actually, he's certain that you should.

But he doesn't want that. The idea of you looking at him with anything less than utter adoration has his stomach in knots. He's so used to it now; the way your pupils widen, lashes flutter. It's juvenile, and he knows it doesn't mean as much as he thinks it does, but he's convinced that your eyes don't lie.

He and you both are nothing but spinners of yarn; the tellers of tall tales, romancers of wrong-doings. Rumplestiltskins' of sorts, spinning gold where there once was straw.

You murmur a noise, but your eyes are still shut. It isn't enough for him. Needs to be greeted with your eyes; to be welcomed home. And so, he tries again, thumb stroking your cheek, the side of his head nestling into his pillow as he shuffles in a little closer. "CC?"

A delicate breath huffs from your nose as you smile, curiously smitten with how tender his voice sounds. Part of you is tempted to feign sleep a little longer just to have him addressing you like that again, but you find your eyes open - and once you're looking at him, it's borderline impossible to stop.

"Morning," you smile, even though the moon is still peering in, checking in on the lovers she's nurtured to a point of no return.

"Morning," he smiles back. The clock on the wall behind you read 2:24am. "Missed you."

"Been right here," you counter, as if the chime in your stomach isn't ringing like Jungkook's phone always seems to do whenever he's getting lost in you. His thumb strokes at your cheek again, then pushes your hair behind your ear. He wants to see all of you. Every inch of your skin, every fleck of colour in your iris, every strand of hair; wants it all. The hollow of your collarbones, the slope of your shoulders, the curve of your chest beneath his flannel shirt. All. Of. It.

"Too far away," he pouts.

"Too far?"

"Too far," he doubles down, still stroking hair behind your ear just because he can. Your head nestles into the pillow as you figure out what he's after. 'You' is the simple answer, but what exactly he wants from you is unclear.

"I can be closer," you whisper.

All he does is nod. He doesn't want to ask for what he wants, fearful of repeating his earlier mistakes - and to be honest, he doesn't really want to fuck, anyway.

But Jungkook hasn't fucked you in a long time. Sure, he's been sleeping with you - having sex with you - but he can't qualify it as fucking. It's too brash. Too careless. Inaccurate.

The way he fucks himself into you lately is deliberate; a facilitator of the way he feels. And he's not gonna call it what it is, because the term makes him uncomfortable, but it's undeniable.

Jungkook fucks you like he loves you. Kisses you like it will be his last, touches you like it's still the first. He's tentative. Tepid. Tactful.

More than anything, though? He's absolutely fucking terrified.

The fear doesn't leave; not when your body grinds against his, not when you end up on top of him, not when he's kissing you like he means it, stroking your skin as if you bruise like a peach. It never dilutes. Never ceases.

He can be rough, if he wants to be - but he doesn't.

He wants softness, with you, always.

And he'll only have himself to blame when he loses it all.

────────────

There are 38 boxes of hair dye facing Jungkook, and he thinks they all look the same. 

You had been in Daegu for less than a minute when you reminded him to swing by an Olive Young to pick up some hair dye - and how could he ever refuse any of your requests?

It's so simple making you happy. A peach tea from a drive-thru on the way home, no complaints when you change what's playing through the aux after 20 seconds because you get bored, the way his hand squeezes your knee at red lights. Making you happy is the easiest thing in the whole wide world - but of course it would be.

There's no hardship that comes with your happiness. Everything Jungkook does is second nature, as if he's been doing it his whole life, and not just a few months.

"See, this one is ashy," you say, and he pretends as if he understands. It's been twenty minutes now, and no conclusion has been reached. You thought it would be easy, an in and out job, but Jungkook is full of surprises. It's not like you mind though. Learning his ways - how he behaves when no one else is watching - is a luxury that very few are able to indulge in.

He catches your gaze occasionally, and the way you marvel at him without even realising it. It makes him smile. Make him blush. Has him scared you're gonna start noticing his imperfections.

You won't - and even if you do, you'll file them under 'endearing habits' or 'cute quirks'. He's nothing short of perfection as far as  you're concerned.

Foam or serum? Powder or liquid? He didn't remember it ever being this hard before.

But of course, it wasn't. He wasn't actually the one who had dyed his hair blonde. Namjoon's sister had; a trick to foster intimacy with him when he wouldn't reciprocate her longing gazes after casual fucks.

He hadn't told you that, obviously. Didn't have a death wish - but he did remember that, for a short period of time, her attempt at faking closeness seemed to have worked.

It was a moment of madness for Jungkook, one too many sojus and he'd been seduced; a couple more and all of his clothes were on Naejeon's bedroom floor. He did as he always had done with her; took her from behind, spanked her ass when he was done and offered to drive her home after the alcohol had worn off - but he'd been foolish and gone back to hers that evening. While he was still a little bit worse for wear, he'd agreed to let her do his hair. He thought it'd be fun. She thought that maybe he'd realise there was more between the pair of them than just a good time after dark.

It wasn't long, and it wasn't love, but Naejeon had him reassessing whether or not it was just fucking, through the simple means of hydrogen peroxide coated strands of hair.

As much as he lamented the time he had spent with her towards the end of their arrangement, for a while she had been good for him. He'd become kinder, more gentle, and it seemed you were the one who reaped the rewards.

"And ashy is..." he carries his words on, as if the answer is on the tip of his tongue, but you know him well enough now to know that they're not. He's overwhelmed by the choices, simultaneously wishing he could pick without a care in the world, but also worrying about making the wrong decision.

"Bad."

"-Bad, yeah, that's what I was gonna say," he bullshits, but you don't mind the white lies all that much. He goes to say something, then cuts himself short. "And why is it bad again?"

It's the fourth time you've explained colour theory to him. "It's bad because you need a warm tone over the blonde, otherwise it will go green."

"I like green," he speaks with a small pout, not realising the green his hair will go isn't the same green as the trees in May. It will be murky, and grotty, like the streets in April rain.

"So do I," you smile. "But not for my hair. How about this one?"

His eyes follow your hand to one of the thousand boxes: a deep crimson red. It's not a shade he was expecting, nor one that he thinks will work on your hair. You know it won't, so you add "we can just bleach a little bit first. Like the underneath layer, or something."

His head tilts, a dimple forming as he tries to imagine what it will look like. You can see he isn't sure, and that he feels a little hesitant. He wants to do this. Wants to reinvent himself with you - an artist fixing up an old oil painting, filling in the cracks, restoring it to its former glory - but he's scared that what's done cannot be undone.

Ironic, really, that it's his hair that he's scared of. Consequences have meant little to him as of late, and yet here he is all pouty, huffing through his nose a little bit because the poor baby can't decide.

It makes you laugh how childish he can be. He just needs a little push you think; a helping hand.

"You trust me?"

The question is asked so flippantly that it would seem unfathomable for the trust between the pair of you to be broken. Flirtatious in your tone, he knows this is all just fun to you. Maybe he should loosen up. Maybe it should be fun for him, too.

Yes is the answer to your question - not that he'll give it to you. Words are dangerous. They can be used against him.

"I think you're mad," he tells you, but there's a smile that he just can't hide. It rests on his lips, crooked and glorious; sun breaking through a storm. It's yours, you think. Mine, all mine. "Get the bleach, you little fucker."

"See," you grin back, all big and pleased, and Jungkook thinks he'll never be able to smile without you. "You do."

You do as you're told; grab the bleach, get in line. Jungkook stands behind you, kisses your hair, tells you he likes it enough as it is, but that he's excited to do this with you. And then he's whispering some bullshit about how he wants kombucha, but the one he likes is sold out, as per usual.

When you go to pay, his card is already in the machine. It's on him. Everything during your trip has been. There's something charming about it; chivalrous. You've never needed a man with a white horse, but you got yourself a boy with a red Pony regardless.

Scarlet in colour, his car screamed danger when you first met him, but as you ride in the passenger seat, feet on the dash, hand beneath his on the gear stick, you feel safe. There's a world out there around you and yet none of it can penetrate the metal body. You like to think it's bulletproof.

It's an old car. A heap of shit, if you will, especially by today's highway standards. You had made a point to pay your respects a little longer at the road safety shrine at Haedong Yeonggungsa when you visited in Busan. 

A bullet would tear through it - but how lovely it is to pretend that you could be invincible together.

You ask if he fancies doing his hair at your place.

It's the first time you've ever offered.

You asked if he trusted you earlier that evening, and now you're the one showing him that you trust him.

This is bad. Really bad, in fact. In too deep; six feet under. He's sinking, buried in the way that he feels for you, but thinks that it's just his guilty conscience that's tickling at his tummy.

Your apartment isn't too dissimilar from his; a little one-room, cheap and drab, but brightened by your personality. There are photos on the walls, pictures with friends, postcards of art, memories of times you barely remember, now. Your bed is sort of hidden, a shelving unit separating it from the rest of the room. The first thing he notices about it is how many pillows you have. Plushies, too. He looks bewildered, but you simply shrug and smile. "Never take me to an arcade."

Your statement only serves to make that an insatiable desire of his. He's obsessed with the idea of you in front of the machines, neon lights glowing in your eyes, lips parted as you aim for yet another ridiculous plushy.

In fact, it's all he wants to do now, go to an arcade with you. Considers saying fuck it to the hair dye, and heading downtown instead.

But you usher him into the bathroom, and say, "c'mon, buddy. I gotta bleach mine first before we can put colour on."

Perched on the closed lid of your toilet seat, Jungkook watches on in awe as you get to work on your hair. The way you called him buddy plays on loop in his head. He thinks it's a joke because of the fact he told Taehyung you were just a friend, and he'd be right to consider that. He realises, rather quickly, that he doesn't ever want to be just a friend to you. Impossible, he thinks.

Mindless chatter takes hold as you paint bleach onto your hair. It's only on the underneath layer, and it washes out to be the most god-awful orange, but it's fine. All you need is a base for the colourful dye to stick to.

You've done this before, he assumes, but doesn't like that he's picked up that trait of yours - so instead, he asks about it.

"Shoulda seen me in high school," you smile. "Rebellion was my middle name."

It's said in jest, but Jungkook wonders just how true that is. You're the black sheep of a family you're pretending doesn't exist.

"Did it win?" He teases. "The rebellion?"

He likes the idea of your defiance being nurtured at an early age. You've always had fight in you, or so it would seem. It's something he finds attractive, the way there's bite behind your bark, and yet he appears to have you tamed.

You don't look at him as you smile, putting on a pair of latex gloves and reaching for the tub of crimson dye. The plastic container fits into your palm like it was made to be there. This new identity? The one that matches Jungkooks? Made for you.

Painting the dye onto your hair without much care, you shrug. Consider telling him about your family. Stop yourself at the last minute.

"Rebellions endure," you tell him, all matter of a factly and as if you know what you're talking about. You don't. You're a sham. Wouldn't know rebellion if it bit you in the ass. Stupidly, you think that disowning your family counts as an act of rebellion - but you did it all so quietly that no one even noticed. Rebellion would have been publicly denouncing them - also would have saved Jungkook a whole lot of hassle, that's for sure. "There's no winning. Just perseverance."

He doesn't agree. Thinks that life is a rotating door of winning and losing; a turnstile in the subway that will let anyone through given they can pay for the fare. That's what life boils down to for Jungkook; who has money, and who can spend that money.

The ones with the wallets always win.

Give it a week, and his wallet will be fat enough to run with the big boys - and yet he's never felt less powerful in his whole entire god damn life. He's watched girlfriends fuck about with his friends, his family disintegrate, his mother die. You - and your stupid fucking smile, the way your eyes always land on his lips before they meet his eyes, the smell of your gasoline tainted hair - trump it all.

He's a loser in this game, whether he 'wins' or not.

There's no winning without you.

There's a clamminess to his palms, a beating in his chest that goes a mile a minute, far too fast for a healthy heart. You're a comedown short of a cocaine upper, and Jungkook knows that his addiction has grown out of hand. Cold turkey is going to leave him in tatters, but he can't seem to ween himself of your body, your touch, the way your pinky loops with his. He knows what this is. Knows that the way he feels is far too much for what you are.

You catch him looking, his stare stern, and hard, and it has you smiling. He looks so serious - angry, almost - but you know he isn't. He's just thinking. Contemplating. He does it when he eats, too, and he's never angry when his belly is full. When you smile, the furrowing of his brows eases, and he begins to smile, too.

"What?" He questions, his eyes so fond that you can't believe you get the luxury of a man like him looking at you like that. Lucky bitch, you think. Luckiest in the whole wide world.

"Nothin'," you grin back, and he rolls his eyes. He looks so pretty, a strand of hair hanging over his forehead as you wait for the dye to process. His will be brighter than yours - just the tips of his hair where the bleach once was, but you think he'll look so pretty with a little colour against his honey skin.

He won't be able to hide the way he's paired with you. You've always scoffed at the couples who walk down the street in matching shoes, matching clothes. You think it's cringe. Vomit inducing. Gross.

But you're also so smitten that your lips are constantly curved into a smile, eyes fond as you look at him. You're absolutely infatuated.

So is he, but chooses to downplay it. Has a smirk on his lips as if he isn't obsessed with every little thing you do. "This is so dumb. Can't believe we're doing this."

"You suggested it!" You protest.

So hot, he thinks as you whine. He just wants to have his way with you, right then and there on the spot. Feels like he can never be close enough to you.

"So? Didn't think you'd agree," he smiles as he sinks his lips onto yours and forget all above the fact he's supposed to be careful.

Within half an hour, he's spraying you in the face with the showerhead, when he should be rinsing your hair instead. He laughs when you squeal, not caring for the fact you're both still fully clothed. A kiss is gifted and received, then given back, water from the shower hitting you both.

You're both in black, so the running red dye doesn't matter, despite the grout in your tiles turning pink.

"This doesn't seem like the most efficient way to rinse out hair," you husk against his lips, but he ignores you. Presses your back to the wall, and supports his body with a palm on either side of your head. The shower is clamped beneath one of his hands as the head sprays directly onto the wall, but he doesn't care.

"Yeah you're right," he agrees, his showerless hand cupping one of your breasts and squeezing it through the fabric of your soaked shirt. "Would be far easier if you weren't wearing this."

You laugh now, 'cause he's just so bloody predictable. A one-track mind, but you're glad he's thinking like this again. He's so much more himself when he isn't in his head over things.

His shut down yesterday has scared you; left you thinking that maybe he didn't want you anymore. The way his lips are on your neck, rough, teeth present, not caring about the crimson water running down your throat, suggests otherwise.

"You're a menace, Jeon Jungkook," you whisper, voice airy and light as it dances around the room, weaving between the droplets of water that pitter-patter on the ground. A menace; a maverick. Both could be true. When you look at him and see the way the dye is dripping down his skin, too, you think 'masterpiece' may be more apt.

He holds the showerhead over himself, letting the water run faster, more freely. The red feels never-ending, as if he'll be forever tainted by the colour of your love.

He then does the same to you, deliberately aiming straight for your face just to fuck with you. He loves how cute you sound when you squeak, body instantly shifting to defend itself.

"No, no, no," he koos, pulling the shower away and hugging you close just so that you don't retaliate against him. 

The way his clothes stick to his skin is uncomfortable, but you love the way his muscles feel beneath the drenched cotton. His chest is strong, arms even more so. Needless to say, he's obsessed with the way you look too: his shirt over your shoulders, water collecting in the fabric and forcing it to stick to the contours of your curves.

Reaching for the taps, he knocks the temperature down a little bit. 

"I'm sorry, baby," he whispers, pressing a kiss into the side of your head. The shower pours onto your feet, but you can feel it travel up your legs. There's a shift in your position as Jungkook says 'You should lift my shirt a little bit."

You feign naivety. Pretend like you don't know what he's going to do. "Like this?"

It's inched just a little further up, resting just above the lace trim of your underwear. You're a tease; Jungkook your favourite victim.

He nods. Swallows. Rests his lips ajar as he struggles to breathe. "Just like that, C."

The heady nature of the steam fogging up the bathroom fails to hide the fact he looks nervous; intent on succeeding where he had failed the night before. He watches as your lips part, brows furrowing. 

The way your chest heaves isn't lost on him, but he finds himself lost in you, and the way you look at him when he begins to hit just the right spot with the steady stream of water. You grip onto his arms, rising to the tip of your toes. A moan husks in your throat, and he smiles.

Crown of your head to the tiles, you let your head tip back, eyes closing. Your showerhead isn't something you often indulge in for pleasure by yourself, favouring your hands or a toy instead - but there's something so deeply erotic about the way he's watching your body respond to the water that he's controlling.

Occasionally he'll dip his hand down to your clit, not wanting the showerhead to take all the responsibility for what Jungkook knows will be his favourite part of the day. It's noticeable, the way a little extra moan will escape your lips whenever he uses his fingers. It's ego-boosting. Cock-swelling.

Your nails begin to dig in deeper to his muscles, no doubt leaving a print on his skin. Your whines, sultry and slow, take dominance over the running water which has been soundtracking your build-up.

"That's it," he keens, finally slipping his middle finger into you. He curls it, and the way you silently gasp has him smirking. He's still got a firm grip on the shower, his wrist moving in small circles to make sure he hits all the right places. "You gonna come for me, C?"

You're not there yet. Just a little further. A little more. A little - oh, fuck -deeper. You wanna tell him yes, yes you will, but all you can do is nod. Your eyes are shut, too embarrassed to look at him when you know you're going to finish in record time. The way you moan is sinful, and it only gets worse when you feel his tongue circle one of your nipples through the soaked shirt. He sucks, and lets it go with a pop.

"Keep-" you try and speak, but it's lost to the pleasure that's running down your spine.

He laughs. "Keep what?"

The question is answered by the way his lips wrap around your other nipple in place of a question mark. His tongue works at the swollen bud through the shirt, massaging it just enough to have your hips grinding against the pressure of the water, riding on his finger.

It's when he adds a second finger that things really start to become out of your control. Nothing you're saying makes any coherent sense. His replies are simple hums that vibrate against your chest as he sucks on it.

The thing that tips you over the edge is his third finger. The sounds you're making are lewd, and filthy, reserved only for him.

"The way you take me, baby," he grits against you, amazed by everything you are. "God, you take my fingers so well, don't you?"

"Kook-" you try, but are cut off with his lips against yours. His tongue is in your mouth, your hands in his hair, heart pressed against yours - and then you're unable to think, let alone kiss back. Your moans melt into his mouth, onto his tongue, and he devours every single one of them.

"Shit," he moans right back. "Yeah. Fuck my hand like that. Like that, CC. Coming all over my fingers aren't you?" His teeth graze your neck. "Filthy fucking slut."

The hands that are in his hair drop to his throat, and squeeze. His eyes are on yours as you ride out your high, but it's a warning you're giving him. He knows this. He likes it.

"Not like that one?" He teases, jaw hanging slack in a crooked kind of fashion that makes him look like he's from an 80's movie. You shudder a little, the ends of your orgasm still washing over you.

On the contrary; there's nothing you'd enjoy more than being bent over his leg and having him call you nasty little names while he leaves handprints on your ass. You're just fucking with him. Know that he'll take the graze of your nails as an indication you wanna fight. And you do. Just in such a way that you end up fucking, too.

You're still shaking as he withdraws his fingers. He looks at them, how they're coated in your juices, and debates who should get the honour of licking them clean. His eyes are on yours as he licks a stripe up his index finger.

"Fucking hell," he husks, lips wet from your mess. No one's ever tasted as good as you before. He doesn't think anyone else will ever compare.

He was gonna be strong about this; gonna take a sample and then give you the rest - but he just can't help himself. He sucks on his fingers - index, middle, then fourth - one at a time, before all three are in his mouth.

If you were breathless before, then you think you might have stopped breathing altogether, now.

He stares at you. Sucks. Withdraws, but only a little. Pushes his fingers further into his mouth. Closes his eyes. Groans. Moans. Grunts. Begins to withdraw. Opens his eyes. Releases his fingers with a kiss at the tips.

His eyes look down your body, then up to your eyes. "Where were we again? Ready to shampoo?"

The visual of him sucking on his fingers plays on repeat in your head. You need to see it again.

It's almost embarrassing how paper-thin you are when you shake your head, and say, "rinse and repeat. Gotta do that again."

He raises a brow. "Which part, C?"

There's a playful nature to him, pleased and protected in how easy he finds it to get you coming undone. He feels safe, now. There's security to be found in your eyes; a sanctuary, a dwelling, a hearth. Somewhere to curl up on the cold nights. A place to congregate. Someplace to call home.

You'd give him a key, if you had one. Put it on a chain around his neck. Maybe you'll just match your door code to his, instead. Cute couple things. The kind of shit that makes you roll your eyes and gag a little.

Ironic, really, when you think about it, as you wash the remainder of the dye from his hair. He reciprocates, but you don't think he's done it properly. It's only now that you pull his shirt off your body and let it fall to the bathroom floor with a loud slap. He sits on the closed lid of your toilet, still fully clothed, drenched, ruby red hair framing him perfectly. 

It suits him, even now, before it's styled pristine in that rugged kind of way he manages to perfect so effortlessly. He watches as you run the water through your hair, and you're surprised when you glance in the mirror to find him looking at your face. You thought his eyes would be elsewhere. 

In all honesty, they had been - you just caught him at a good moment.

Smiles are exchanged between the pair of you without your consent. Funny, how everything with him is involuntary, but in the best possible way. You don't have to think about happiness, it just comes.

"You look like a mermaid," he tells you, cheeks dimpled and bright. You cast your eyes to your legs - which are very much legs and not a tail - and give him a questioning look. "The hair," he clarifies. "I mean the hair. Bet you'd look fit as fuck with a tail though."

"My lord," you groan, tilting your head back in jest. "I'm dating a dude who's into fish?"

"Dating, eh?" Jungkook's ears grow red and hot, but he hides them well.

He wouldn't mind it if you were dating. Would quite like it actually.

You ignore him for a moment, caught out in the admittance of how you view the relationship between the pair of you. You don't feel embarrassed as such, you just didn't want to be the one to elevate the status of what you are.

"Not anymore," you say. "I prefer men who like girls with feet."

"I'd let you give me a foot job any day of the week," he protests almost too quickly. You reach over to knock the tap off, so Jungkook reaches behind himself to pull the towel down from the rail. He stands as it falls, opening it up for you to wrap around your body.

Gestures like this are normal for Jungkook; thoughtless thoughtfulness. You notice it often, and you always say thank you, but he just shrugs. He doesn't see it as a gesture. He's doing what he wants to do, and what he wants is for you to feel comfortable. He wants to ease your burdens.

Perhaps it's guilt. The knowledge that he's about to be the biggest burden you've ever encountered.

Or perhaps it's the language he speaks when words aren't enough.

Perhaps, just maybe, he's in lo-

The moment is cut short when Jungkook's phone begins to ring in the kitchen. You usher him out, tell him to get it, and head to your bed. Flopping down, still wrapped in your towel, you listen in to the conversation - "Jin? Yeah. Yeah. Back in Daegu. Tonight?" - and notice the way his posture changes. His back grows tighter. Voice becomes agitated. He's whispering, but is seething. You sit up, eyes trained on him.

He glances over to you, brows hard, eyes narrow. He looks away. Looks back again. Looks like he might fucking cry.

"No Jin, tonight is a bad idea. It just is, alright! No- Fucking hell, would you listen to me alright? Jin, she- No! No."

He looks at you again, eyes wider than the full moon peering in through the kitchen window. Divine feminity washes over him and berates him for his choices - but you mistake it for the sheen of a good man.

It's guilt that glitters in his eyes when he looks at you. He thinks you're gorgeous, but knows you must be a little bit stupid, too. 

How the fuck did you let him in this far? Why didn't you see right through his facade? Why didn't you just cut him off? 

God, he adores your brain - is absolutely enamoured with it - but fucking hell.

A beautiful fool is what you are, and to play a fool is to lose.

He wishes you never agreed to go on that fucking date. He only asked in the first place because he couldn't bring himself to let you get hurt, but it's gonna be so much worse now. Infinitely more destructive. Physical pain you'd have gotten over. Maybe even forgiven.

But this?

Jungkook's standing on dynamite. If he even takes one step toward you he'll catch the tripwire that will strike a match on the wick, and everything will be in fucking tatters.

It already is.

And all the while, you're reaching into your wardrobe to find him a pair of sweats big enough for him.

"I don't care what Joon says!" He hisses into the phone as you finally find the pair of sweats you had in mind. They're far too big for you, but hopefully they'll do the trick for him. "How far am I? From Kangs? 'Bout half an hour."

You close your wardrobe and look at him, head tilted, brows pinched together. He's barely a five-minute drive from Kangs. Ten tops. You figure he must just want more time with you before his boys steal him away.

"Jin?" He says into the phone, but is met with what must be a response he doesn't like. "Jin? The fuck man! Just listen to me! Please! Plea- fuck."

His words are interrupted by the crack of his phone hitting the steel sink basin in your kitchen. Shoulders hunched, he rests his palms against the counter, his breathing accentuated by the way his back is moving.

You're not scared, but you are cautious. You know he boxes. Know he has the potential to lose his temper.

If only you knew how well he's controlling his emotions in this moment. He should be given an award. A medal. A plaque. Jeon Jungkook, Container of Emotions, 2022.

Or perhaps 'Liar of the Year' would be more apt.

"You good?" You asked, edging towards the kitchen, sweats in hand. "Here, change into these. You'll catch a cold, otherwise. I'll put the heating on tonight."

Jungkook shakes his head. Stays silent. Sniffs. Is cold when he finally growls, "no, you won't."

"It's fine," you promise. Your heating bill is never that expensive. "I don't mind."

"C-" He begins, but cuts himself off.

When he turns to face you, his eyes are black. Just like they are in your nightmares. You always thought you'd die if he ever looked at you like this. The way your skin crawls has you thinking you might.

"What?" you speak so quietly that Jungkook wants to set himself alight on the gas stove top behind him.

He closes his eyes. Hangs his head in shame.

"You trust me, right?"

Something about his tone, his demeanour, has you frozen.  Your kitchen light is off, bathroom too, and there are shadows on his face that obscure his intentions. 'No' echoes in your head, but you can't bring yourself to speak it into existence. 5 minutes ago, it would have been an unequivocal, unwavering 'yes.'

He tries again. Eyes wide. Still focused on the floor. Petrified. You mistake them for being honest. 

"Tell me you trust me, C."

"I-" you choke on your words, heart lodged in your throat. He refuses to look at you. Heat gathers on your lash line, and it confuses you. He confuses you. You don't understand what he's asking of you. He's in your home. You invited him here. Is that not proof enough?

"C," he demands an answer. His eyes are on you now, finally looking in your direction. They're black, and they look right through your skin, as if he's watching the way your heart beats beneath your ribcage. You find yourself cowering into a shadow of the woman you are, and it's just another thing he adds to the list of reasons to hate himself.

You're meek and pathetic when you nod in response and say, "of course I do. Why would you even ask that?"

He's never seen you timid. Never seen the way you used to be before you left your family and became a human in your own right. There's something deeply unsettling about the way he's managed to revoke you to this version of yourself, and he knows this just as much as you do. 

He sniffs back a sob. Turns away from you. Rakes his fingers through his damp hair, and turns to face you again. Jungkook is struggling to survive inside the vessel of his which has been taken over by a fucking monster.

"Yoongi," he speaks quickly, not wanting to waste time. "Your co-worker, right?"

You nod. Say nothing.

"He lives around the corner, right?"

There's no reason for Jungkook to know that. No feasible reason at all. You can feel your pulse. You're panicking. Why does he know that?

"Take the fire exit and go to his, okay?" He says. "And fucking stay there until you hear from me, alright? Don't leave his place. Stay with him."

He expects you to nod. Expects the pathetic demeanour that's masking who you really are to agree with him. Yes, Sir. No, Sir, Three bags full, Sir.

But you stopped letting men tell you what to do a long fucking time ago. You don't take orders from any man - and you especially don't take orders from boys.

You stand straighter. Taller. Raise your chin, and look at him through your nose. For a second, you almost forgot who you were.

"What the fuck is going on, Jungkook?"

The question is stern. Sterile. 

Fuck.

He's so taken aback by the way you address him that he feels winded. Cannot breathe. Will die.

"You said you trust me-"

"Yeah, and you'd never given me reason not to trust you before now, but what the fuck is this?" You gesture between the pair of you. "You say jump, I say how fucking high? Nah, fuck that, Kook. What's going on?"

He paces, pushing a tense hand through his damp hair, before rubbing his face with his palm. The red runs through his fingers like a warning sign. Danger. You better run, too.

"C, you just gotta trust me-"

"Trust?"

You laugh now. At him. Trust? When he's behaving like the sketchiest dude you ever met? You think the fuck not.

"I don't trust you," you spit, and rightly so - although you know you're being reactive. You should be calmer. Evaluating the situation, considering why he's asking this of you - but you've seen red, and it clouds your better judgement. "It's earned, not owed. Either you tell me what's going on, or you get the fuck out of my house."

"C-"

"Do not try and reason with me, Jungkook," you assert. "You tell me, or you go."

And that's when he realises. 

That's when he knows there's no coming back from this.

"I can't," he whispers, the crack in his voice so painfully tortured. "I can't do either of those, C."

"You're gonna have to."

"C-"

"Kook."

"Plea-"

No, you think. You told him not to try and reason with you. What does he think he'll achieve? You'll magically say yes?

Incorrect.

"Get out."

"I can't."

"I'll even open the door myself, if I really have to."

"C-"

"You've got thirty seconds."

"C-"

"Twenty."

"You gotta just-"

"Ten."

"You're not even giving me a second!"

"Five-"

"Fine."

"Four."

"You want the fucking truth?" He shouts.

"Three," you smile. Yes. I do.

"You really want the truth so fucking bad, do you?"

Oh, you big fucking baby, you taunt internally. Men. Always too good to be fucking true. Always have to do something to go and fuck it all up. 

You toy with the possible answers of what the truth could be. Fucking someone else? The other woman planning on showing up for a fight? Maybe the mother to a child of his, or something like that. He seems to be good at running from his responsibilities, so it would make sense.

"Two."

He pauses. 

And then he thinks fuck it.

You want the truth? You'll fucking get it.

"I know who your family are, C. Know all your dirty little secrets. Everything. And I also know that if you don't shut the fuck up and listen to me, you're gonna get real fucking hurt tonight. That's why you have to trust me. You have to get out of here. Something bad is gonna happen thanks to the past you keep trying to hide, so I need you to trust me. I don't want you to get hurt."

Bull. Shit.

This might all make sense to you one day. 

But for now, all you can focus on is the audacity that the man in front of you has.

You reach over to your front door, and open it wide. His time is up. 

"I don't fucking trust you. Now get out of my apartment before I call the police and have you arrested for breaching the peace. Clock struck one, Cinders. Time to flee before I find out who the fuck you really are."

He looks at you, helpless and confused. This isn't what he had expected. Not in the slightest.

"C-"

"One. Now fucking leave."

────────────

[sweet-villain]

Just Another Lie~ Part 1

Summary : Billy works in the mechanic shop with Eddie, Eddie Munson. But he hasn't told you. He kept it away from you while you moved on in your life to be a mother, to Billy Hargrove child. What happens when things get ugly?

Angst

Eddie had always been fascinated by cars since he was a young boy. He would spend hours watching his father tinker with engines and fix up old cars.

As he grew older, his love for cars only intensified, and he knew that becoming a mechanic was his true calling.

After graduating, Eddie wasted no time in pursuing becoming a mechanic.

He landed a job at a local auto repair shop and quickly proved himself to be a skilled and dedicated mechanic.

At the auto repair shop, Eddie's expertise was evident in the way he handled every car that came through the doors.

He had a natural knack for diagnosing and fixing any issue that a car may have.

Whether it was a simple oil change or a complex engine repair, Eddie approached each task with determination.His attention to detail and meticulous work ethic earned him a reputation as one of the best mechanics in town.

But he wasn’t the only one. He worked alongside someone he learned to tolerate. Someone who isn’t exactly he would call a friend of his. 

Billy Hargrove. 

He had a tough exterior and a bad-boy attitude that seemed to repel authority.

But deep down, Billy was just a lost soul trying to find his place in the world.

Growing up in a broken home, he never had a stable father figure to look up to, so he turned to his love for cars and mechanics as an escape. From a young age, Billy was fascinated by the inner workings of vehicles.

He would spend his weekends at the local junkyard, scavenging for spare parts and learning everything he could about engines and transmissions. It was his own little sanctuary, away from the chaos of his home life.

As Billy got older and started working odd jobs to make ends meet, he always found himself gravitating towards anything that involved cars.

Whether it was working at a gas station or helping out at a body shop, Billy was drawn to the mechanics and the thrill of fixing something broken and making it run like new again.

He had a natural talent for it, and it gave him a sense of purpose and control that he had never experienced before.

Eventually, Billy landed a job at the local mechanic shop, and it was there that he truly found his calling.

He was able to use his skills and knowledge to help people, to fix their cars and get them back on the road. And for the first time in his life, he felt like he was making a difference.

Billy tolerated working alongside Eddie Munson, the two didn’t see eye to eye in the past but things have changed and they have grown. The two sometimes helped the other out with certain cars that came into the shop. 

They both liked their job therefore they didn’t act out, cause any messes or push each other who gets to work on what car.

Eddie had been working on a car for what felt like hours. Every time he thought he had fixed the problem, the engine would sputter and die again.

Frustration was building as he wiped the sweat from his forehead and leaned against the hood of the car.

He had planned to take it down the road now it seemed like that was not going to happen.

As he was lost in his thoughts, a little boy came walking up to him, his big blue eyes curious and filled with wonder. Eddie could not help but smile at the sight of the boy, who couldn't have been more than 7 years old.

The boy was holding a toy car in his hand and had a look of pure excitement on his face. 

The boy had a mass of blonde curls on top of his head, he had the brightest smile that Eddie has seen. 

'Hey mister, what are you doing?' the boy asked, his voice filled with innocent curiosity.

Eddie explained to the boy that his car wouldn't start and he was trying to fix it.

The boy's eyes widened in amazement as he watched Eddie tinker with the engine.

He was fascinated by all the tools and parts that Eddie was using, asking questions and trying to understand what each one was for. Eddie couldn't help but feel a sense of joy and nostalgia as he watched the boy's enthusiasm.

Where did the boy come from? Where were his parents? 

“ My daddy fixes cars, too!” the boy shouted with his hands in the air like two fist bumps. 

A pair of footsteps could be heard as Billy rounded the corner with his eyebrows knitted and a deep frown on his face as he looked around until he spotted the little boy. 

“ There you are, I’ve been wondering where you’ve run off too” Eddie’s eyes grew wide at the moment, noticing the same hair Billy has as the little boy. The little boy resembles Billy, a lot. A light bulb goes over his head as he understands where this boy came from. 

This was Billy’s son. 

“ Here I am, daddy!” the little boy cheered as he hopped up and down on his feet, giggling. Billy shook his head as he knelt down next to the boy and began to tickle him. The little boy laughed telling his dad to stop it otherwise he would pee his pants. 

Billy laughed. 

Eddie has never been like this, nor to anyone at all. It was new. Kinda nice too. 

Billy notices that Eddie has been watching this the whole time, he clears his throat and picks up the little boy. 

“ Sorry, Munson.” Billy tells him. “ Didn’t mean to bother” he adds as he looks at the car that doesn’t seem to want to start. Billy eyed it, and turned back to Eddie. 

“ Having trouble?” Eddie scratched the back of his neck and nodded his head. 

“ Daddy help! Daddy help!” the little boy tells Billy, “ You can do it” 

Eddie chuckles at the little boy and can’t help feeling a tad of sadness inside of him. He never got a chance to be a dad, one of many things he wanted in life. He never found the right person. 

There was someone in the past. But the past was the past. 

“ What is his name?” Billy was looking under the hood of the car to notice that Eddie had been talking to him. Eddie glances down at the boy, puts his rag over his shoulder and kneels down in front of the boy. 

“ What’s your name, little man?” 

“ Dino!” the little boy points out the dinosaur picture on his shirt as a reference. 

“ That’s really a cool name, little man. My name is Eddie” Eddie didn’t want to reach out to shake the little boy’s hand. Not because he didn’t want to. But he had grease on his hands and he hasn’t washed his hands yet. 

“ His name is Daniel,” Billy says, removing his head from under the hood. He had a smirk on his face meaning he figured out the problem before Eddie had. This was a game they played where one found the problem and would not tell the other. 

“ No, Dino” Daniel stomped his foot on the ground and crossed his arms over his chest. “ Mommy calls me Dino” he stomped his foot again, not having his way. 

“ Dino” Billy nodded as he wiped his hands with the rag over his shoulder. “ Come on, Eddie here has work to do. He hasn’t even begun to look real hard to fix the problem..” 

“ You’re just going to leave me hanging, Hargrove?” Eddie huffed as he waved his hands around. “ Right now? It’s almost closing time.” 

Billy shrugged as he gently pushed onto his son’s back leading him to the office where Billy was going to give him a bowl of candy. Right before his mom would pick him up. 

As it was almost closing time, the window of the mechanic shop was foggy from the day. 

The bustling sounds of car engines being fixed and tools clanking against metal filled the air.

The smell of gasoline and oil lingered, but amidst all the chaos, a figure caught everyone's attention.

A beautiful woman with long flowing hair and a confident stride, walked into the shop with a purpose. Heads turned and conversations paused as all eyes were drawn to her. 

She seemed out of place in such a rough and dirty environment, but her determined expression showed that she was not one to be underestimated.

As she made her way towards the counter, the mechanics couldn't help but admire her grace and poise.

Some even stopped what they were doing just to catch a glimpse of her. She was like a breath of fresh air in a place filled with grease and grime.

As she approached the counter, she flashed a bright smile at the mechanic behind the desk and confidently stated her request.

She was picking up her son. The mechanic behind the counter blinked a couple of time and not comprehending what words were coming out her mouth, 

He tilted his head to the side as he eyed her. He couldn’t stop staring at how pretty she was and it annoyed her. Her nose scrunched up in disgust as she sighed. 

“ Nevermind” she mumbled underneath her breath and looked around. She had no idea where her son would be or her ex boyfriend for that matter.

She had to run some errands today with her mom, begged Billy to take little Daniel to work and she would be back soon. 

Her boots hit the ground as she eyed under each car and hummed as she passed on the working cars in the shop.

The smell of gasoline hit her nose causing her to cover her mouth and nose with her sleeve as she continued her search. 

It wasn’t too long before she saw the mop of blonde curls knowing those shoulders too from afar and headed that way.

The little boy opening the tool cabinet and banging it shut perked her attention. A wide smile came to her face seeing her little boy was entertained. 

“ Oh, Dino…” she sang, removing her sleeve from her mouth.

The little blonde head turned and those big blue wide eyes stared at his mother with joy on his face, he dropped what he was doing and made a run to her.

She met him with open arms and lifted him up as she twirled with him in her arms. 

Little Daniel was giggling as he waved his arms, enjoying this. Billy had stopped what he was doing and laughed along with his son seeing the happiness on his son’s face. It always brought joy to him. 

“ Hi, mama,” Daniel greeted her. His mother gave him a squeeze to her chest as she happily peppered his cheeks with kisses. Daniel moved his face, giggling saying how icky it was. 

“ But you love my kisses,” his mother said. Billy’s heart clenched as he watched the scene in front of him wishing he could go back to the time he ended things and regrets it every day for letting you go.

You were the most beautiful thing he has ever seen and you’ve given him something that he would die for, a reason to live and the main important thing in his life.

His son. Daniel. Dino. 

Daniel wiggled his mom's arms until she set him down. 

“ You have to meet my friend, Eddie,” her son tells her. His blue eyes widened in excitement. “ Can she, daddy?” he turns to look at his father in question, a small pout on his face that he knew his father would cave into. 

His mother wasn’t aware of who this Eddie was, but the name rang some familiar bells in her mind. She used to go to high school with Eddie. 

Daniel took his mom’s hand and led the way in excitement. 

“ Eddie! Eddie!” Daniel kept shouting through the mechanic while Billy bit down on his bottom lip knowing he was going to get yelled at later when she found out who it was really.

He never told her it’s the Eddie she went to high school with. 

The same Eddie that broke her heart all those years ago. 

Eddie was happily eating his lunch when he heard his name benign called.

A soft small voice called out his name. Eddie chuckled to himself, setting his lunch down knowing who the voice belonged to now; He stood on his feet but he didn’t stand for long because his eyes met hers. 

His eyes scanned her face and he found his heart stuck in his throat. It was you. 

He knew you. All those years ago and here you were standing there right in front of him. 

It seemed like just yesterday that the two of you were running around the school, at the Hideout, at Family Video and in your neighborhood, causing mischief and getting into all sorts of trouble. But now, here you were, all grown up and a mother.

It was like he was stuck in a time warp, unable to comprehend how the years had passed by so quickly.

He remembered the days when you would come over to his house, your pigtails bouncing as you eagerly asked him to play with you. And now, you were standing in front of him, with a child of your own.

He knew you since you were a little girl playing with him on swings and sharing your lunch with him. 

As he took in your appearance, he couldn't help but notice how much you had changed.

Your once carefree and mischievous demeanor had been replaced with a sense of maturity and responsibility. Your eyes, once full of innocence, now hold a sense of wisdom and experience. It was clear that motherhood had transformed you in ways he couldn't have imagined.

Eddie couldn't help but think back to the last time he had seen you, at your high school graduation.

He remembered how proud he felt as he watched you walk across the stage, ready to take on the world. And now, here you were, taking on the biggest role of all - being a mother.

A smile appeared on his face as he was ready to say your name and throw his arms around you but you had other plans in mind. 

“ Don’t you fucking smile at me, Munson” you closed your son’s ears as you started the sentence.

Eddie’s face dropped hearing your tone. You have never forgiven him for what he has done and he deserves that. 

He sighed and looked away, not knowing what to say. 

“ No, not today or ever” you mumbled to yourself but he heard it as he watched you walk away from him with Daniel holding your hand. He winced when the door you had shut loudly causing the paintings in the office to shake off the wall. 

He was surprised they had not fallen. 

You stood in front of Billy Hargrove, anger boiling inside, you couldn't believe he had the audacity to keep such a huge secret from you.

How could he not tell you about Eddie Munson? Was he planning to keep it like this? Does he even care about your feelings? 

You couldn't wrap your head around it. The two of you had been friends for so long, how could he betray you  like this?

You thought about all the times you two hung out, the laughs you two shared, the secrets you told each other.

You two had a child together. And yet, he kept this huge secret from you.. It felt like a slap in the face.

“ I can’t believe you, how long were you going to keep this up? Huh?” Billy’s shoulder sunk down. He knew he had screwed up. His eyes casted down at his shoes as you continued to yell at him, feeling hurt. 

“ You knew what he did, and you still try to hide this from me. Why? What did I ever do to you?” your voice trembled. 

“ Mama” Daniel called out to you. You forgot for a moment that your son was there. 

“ Oh Dino” you kneeled down in front of him, sniffling. 

“ Don’t cry” he says and offers you his toy truck that he always carries around.

“ This will make you feel better,” he adds. You sniffled, chuckling as he dropped it in your hands. You pull him into you as his arms wrap themselves around his head and he puts your back with his small hand. 

You adored moments like this with him. 

“ …I’m sorry…” you heard Billy say to you. You held up a finger up to him signaling he didn’t have the right to talk to you at the moment. 

You were having a moment with your son. 

As you were putting Daniel in the car, a voice spoke out. 

“ 'I know I don't deserve it, but I need to say this. I am so sorry for hurting you. I have been a complete jerk, and I don't blame you if you never want to forgive me.' Billy paused, his eyes searching yours for any sign of forgiveness when you turned to look at him.

'I know I've been a terrible person, but please believe me when I say I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t mean to not tell you. I was going to. I didn’t know how or when…” 

Part of you wanted to forgive him, to believe that he was truly sorry.. But another part of you was still hurt and angry, unable to forget the pain he had caused.

You remained silent, unsure of how to respond. Billy took your silence as a sign to continue.

“ I didn’t know where to start. I knew the two of you had history and as our son’s father, I should have told you whom I was working with. But at the same time I didn’t because this is work, and this isn’t your business. And we have been doing good at being friends, for our son. For Dino” he looks over your shoulder at his son in the car. 

He sniffles. He reached out to take your hand, but you pulled away, still not ready to forgive him.

He understood, and with a heavy heart, he walked around the car to kiss his son on the forehead and say bye and that he would be back soon to see him.

You watched over your shoulder, melting at the sight of him being such a good father to Danilel.

You felt eyes on you and turned to look towards the shop seeing Eddie has been watching you. Your mouth turns into a scowl and your nose scrunches up in disgust. 

You hated Eddie Munson. 

He deserves it. 

Billy closed the door and as he walked around you, he noticed the look on your face and looked towards Eddie watching the two of you. 

“ He still talks about you” Billy says like he was going to fix it. 

“ He never meant anything at all to me” 

Billy snorted. 

“ What’s funny?” 

“ You’re full of shit and you know it” He says as he walks away. 

[ot7stan4life]

Always

Yoohyeon (Dreamcatcher) x Female Reader

*Requested*

(1 part - completed ✅)

Word Count: 4,711

Summary: One night, you’re walking home from campus when you hear someone following you. Things escalate quickly and before you know it a strange man has you pinned against the wall with his fist around your throat. You manage to get loose but not far when he lands a punch to your face, sending you to the concrete. Little did he know, drawing blood was the rescue call you needed when a motorcycle pulls up in front of you.

Warnings: sexual harassment (it’s over before anything serious happens), physical assault, blood, violence, cursing, smut, vampire bites/blood sucking

The night air was eerily cold and quiet as I left the campus gym to head home for the weekend. This area wasn't always the safest at night, but I convinced myself the short walk to the subway wouldn't be too much of a risk. Though the dim moonlight shaded by clouds and the deserted roads lit weakly by flickering streetlights did little to help protect me as I started my way down the sidewalk.

The distant sounds of night traffic and city life calmed me for the time being and the subway was in sight before I knew it. Only one block left to go and I was out of harms way. Until I started to hear something approaching. Footsteps. Distant, somewhere behind me. Slow at first, but then picked up their pace. So I did the same, speeding up to a fast walk and eventually a jog as I tried to close the distance between me and the stairway down to the subway. All I had to do was cross the street-

"What's the hurry, baby?" The man's deep, grossly taunting tone elicited a sickly chill sensation in my body warning of danger. Stupidly, my feet froze in fear, choosing neither fight nor flight. "Come here, just let me talk to you a second." His footsteps grew closer and I finally snapped out of it, turning towards him and grabbing my pepper spray from my bag.

"Don't come any closer!" I shouted, holding the mace up in front of me. The man looked to be in his 30s with long, greasy hair and a cocky grimace that showed off a few silver teeth.

He halted his movements, raising his own hands in mock defense. "Woah, woah, easy there," he chuckled in a way that I knew was condescending, like he thought my attempt to protect myself was pathetic. "I was just gonna offer you a ride, that's all."

I scoffed, staring him down. "I don't need a ride," I said firmly, about two seconds away from turning on my heel and sprinting in the opposite direction. Although, the dude's muscles exposed by the white wifebeater he had on told me I stood little chance of winning that race, so that was out of the question.

"Alright, you don't need a ride," he repeated, advancing towards me once more. I started taking a few steps backwards so that he couldn't close the distance. "Then maybe there's something else I can offer you." The smirk on his face made me sick to my stomach. He kept getting closer, his steps reaching further than mine. This situation was getting worse by the minute and I knew if I didn't act now this wouldn't end well for me.

"I don't want anything from you-" I yelled just as I pressed down on the pepper spray, but nothing managed to come out of it before he swatted it out of my hand, moving so fast he looked like a blur. There was no time for me to escape now when he backed me against the nearest building with his hand around my throat.

"I was trying-" his tone dripped with anger as his grip tightened, cutting off my airway, "to be nice!" My hands desperately clawed at his massive fingers but it was no use. He was too strong. So I hiked my knee up and did the only thing I knew to do.

When it landed forcefully between his legs, his hold on my neck loosened and I took my chance to run. "Help!" I screamed, hoping that someone nearby might hear me. Then I remembered. There was someone. "Help, I need you, Y-"

My last word was interrupted by a searing pain in my face that sent me crashing into the concrete. His fist had landed an excruciating punch to my jaw and I could already feel the bruise forming beneath my skin. My hand reached up to assess the damage and came back with a smear of red on my fingertips from the fresh cut on my bottom lip. Blood.

"Oh dude, you really shouldn't have done that," I mumbled, knowing exactly what was coming next.

"Why?" he chuckled again, utterly oblivious to his impending doom. "Are you gonna beat me up or something?" he said like a twelve-year-old boy mocking his little sister.

"Not me," I replied, grinning when I heard the familiar hum of a motorcycle approaching.

The man went silent as the low rumbling grew louder and headlights soon blinded us from the right. I watched from my spot on the ground as the bike stopped a yard or so away from us and a black figure got off. Still towering over me, my attacker tried to act tough but I knew he was seconds away from cowering in fear. I, on the other hand, finally felt at ease.

"And who the fuck are you?" He yelled, annoyed that someone had interrupted him.

The figure slowly took off the helmet, balanced it on the seat of the bike, and walked into the light. When the man got a view of the biker's appearance—short brown hair, innocent-looking feminine features, slim but muscular body covered by a black leather jacket and jeans—he scoffed. "This is what I'm supposed to be afraid of?" His finger pointed lazily at her while his eyes were focused on me. Big mistake.

I smirked. "You will be."

He merely had time to furrow his eyebrows before the woman in front of him reached out to crack his finger in one effortless snap, spin him around, press him face first into the building, and pin his arm behind his back. He screamed in agony at his now broken appendage and started whimpering like a wounded animal from the painful position she was holding him in.

"Did you hurt her?" She growled, her other forearm digging into the top of his back, making his face scrape painfully against the brick wall.

"Ow, ow- no, no I didn't," he whined, exposing himself for the true coward he was, scared of a 5'7 twenty-six-year-old woman.

"Then why the fuck is she bleeding?" Her voice had grown harsher by the minute as she bent his arm further in the wrong direction.

"Ow, please- I-I don't know," he pleaded, but she wasn't having it.

"Don't fucking lie to me!" She yelled, releasing his arm only to turn him around and slam his back into the wall so that they were face to face. Her eyes were so intense as she stared back into his that I swear I almost saw them turn red and the pressure of her forearm against his chest never weakened. He couldn't even squirm against her, her hold was so tight. "Did you hurt her?" She repeated, narrowing her eyes at him.

His body seemed to still and his pupils dilated as he stared, hypnotized by her gaze. "Yes," he finally answered truthfully.

I could practically see the anger boiling in her as her jaw clenched, but she managed to keep her voice calm. "Are you going to do it again?" She asked.

"Y-" he started to answer until she clutched his collarbone, tightening her grip so much that the bone beneath her fingers started cracking. "No," he yelled, half in agony, half to answer her question.

"Say. It." she seethed, digging her thumb further into his collar with each word.

"I'm never going to hurt her again," he stuttered weakly. She stared at him for a moment, making sure he was truly convinced.

"Good," she said, finally satisfied, before her gaze turned mean again. "Now, run."

The man didn't wait any longer to question whether her threat was real or not, instead sprinting away the second she loosened her hold on him. I half expected her to go chasing after him to make sure he couldn't even make the decision to break his promise, but I knew she wasn't like that anymore. She knew I never liked seeing that side of her.

"Yoohyeon," I called out, seeing her eyes still trained on his receding figure as he hobbled away in pain.

Without hesitation, she was crouched down on the ground in front of me in a flash, eyes now soft and touches gentle. "Are you okay?" Her voice came out as a whisper and I knew she felt bad that she wasn't there sooner to protect me.

"Thanks to you," I reassured her with a small smile. Though it turned into a grimace immediately after, a sharp sting of pain reminding me of the cut on my lip. Yoohyeon frowned, her hand reaching out to hold my cheek.

"You're bleeding," she whispered, her eyes darkening at the fact.

"I'm okay," I insisted once more, grabbing ahold of her hand. Her skin was cool against mine. "Will you take me home?" I whispered.

She smiled sadly. "Of course."

Without giving me a chance to do it myself, Yoohyeon lifted me up off the ground and walked me over to her motorcycle. After tightening my backpack on my back, she demanded that I wear the helmet. She would always insist that she didn't need it anyways. Giving in, I let her help me put it on, careful not to make my injury any worse than it already was.

Once she made sure the buckle was secured under my chin, she took her seat on the bike and held her hand out to me. I grabbed it, her strong grip making it easy to steady myself and swing my leg over to take my place behind her. Out of instinct, I wrapped my arms around her torso and leaned into her. One of her hands rested on top of mine for just a moment before she started the engine and I knew it was her way of reminding me that she would always protect me.

After tonight, I knew I'd never have to doubt that again.

-

We made it back to my house not long after and, when I walked inside, Yoohyeon ended up hesitating in the doorway. I sat my bag down in the hall and took my shoes off before noticing her there, looking over at me like a lost puppy who had just shown up at my doorstep, waiting to be let in.

I smiled at her as best as I could with my split lip. "It's okay, you can come in."

She smiled shyly, staring at the ground and stepping through the threshold. Just as I had done, she took her shoes off at the entryway and followed behind me as I walked into the kitchen. She stayed silent, just watching as I dug through the fridge for an ice pack. It was unusual how quiet she was being. Maybe seeing me hurt had really shaken her up. But even then, this wasn't the first time something like this had happened. I was lucky I had someone like her to look out for me, but I wondered if it was starting to take a toll on her. Or if it was something else entirely.

Settling on a bag of frozen vegetables for a makeshift ice pack, I closed the fridge and leaned back against the counter to place it on my face. The bag never got to make contact with my skin, Yoohyeon's hand darting up to stop my movements. I don't even remember when she got in front of me, but now she stood mere inches away. Her eyes were locked onto my lips as she brought her thumb up to brush against my bottom one. It stopped just before reaching the cut and she swallowed thickly, staring at the dried blood there.

Her gaze flicked up to mine, eyes darker than I had ever seen them before, and she muttered, "Can I-"

"Yes," I rushed out, already knowing exactly what she wanted.

Her hand holding my wrist let go and moved to the nape of my neck. I discarded the bag of vegetables on the counter behind us and clung to her waist as she leaned in. Her lips met my bottom one in a gentle kiss, almost as if she was testing the waters. When I didn't pull back from the pain, she repeated her actions, only this time she began sucking down on my lip without pulling back. I gasped, more out of surprise than pain, feeling her tongue swipe over the cut. Her fingers gripped the back of my hair and she got more greedy now that she had finally gotten a taste of what she really wanted.

She was quickly getting carried away and the moment I felt something start to pierce my lip, I had to push her back. If she actually still used her lungs, I was sure she would've been panting while she stared back at me, eyes glowing a crimson red as two sharp fangs slowly hung from her mouth.

"Are you hungry?" I asked in a whisper, though the answer was already obvious.

"Yes," she whispered back—more so because she was embarrassed to admit it out loud.

"Okay." I gave her a soft peck on the lips before she stepped back. "Come on," I said softly and she let me pull her up the stairs and into my bedroom without question.

I took a seat on the bed and looked over to see her standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. "Come here," I laughed, gesturing her over. She nearly teleported to the edge of the bed, giving me the chance to grab her arm and pull her on top of me. I'm sure she would've fumbled into me if she didn't have such fast reflexes, but she did, allowing her to catch herself with her arms on either side of me and one of her legs landed between mine. She stayed like that for a moment, just staring down at me like she didn't know what to do. Her fangs had retracted, but her eyes were still glowing, telling me she was nervous.

"Why are you acting so shy today?" I asked softly, reaching up to pull her face towards me. She still just stared into my eyes while I tucked her short hair behind her ear. Something about the way she was acting had my heart racing. "I know you'd never hurt me. You know that, right?" I whispered, tracing her jawline with my thumb and soaking in her pretty features.

Her eyes scanned slowly across my face for a second before she finally leaned in. She was more gentle and restrained this time around, careful not to be too greedy, but still intentionally cherishing each and every kiss I gave her. And it was sweet—like so sweet that she was making me fall harder in love with her with each kiss—but after a few minutes, the feeling of her cool, full lips sucking the warmth from my own and leaving me lightheaded was making me want more.

"Take this off," I breathed against her lips, tugging at her leather jacket. She finished the kiss before leaning back to sit up and do as I asked. I felt my face heat up when she finally removed it, her sleeveless shirt underneath showing off her biceps that flexed when she leaned back down to continue kissing me. My hands trailed down her arms, admiring the curve of her muscles before making their way to the hem of her shirt. She leaned further into me, transferring all her weight onto one hand to use the other to hold my face.

When my fingers edged their way up under her shirt, she slipped her tongue over my lip. I parted mine, allowing her to finally deepen the kiss. Our tongues met just as my fingers grazed over her abs and the sensation caused her to sigh into my mouth. My heart pounded in my ears but I knew she could hear it too when one of her hands grabbed both of mine, slowly leading them up her torso and under her sports bra. She whined and lowered her body further into mine when my fingers brushed across her nipples. Her kisses quickly became less coordinated and I knew she was starting to lose her self control. But I wanted to enjoy this for longer—until she really couldn't hold back anymore—so I pushed her up before she lost it completely.

Our lips separated and my lungs fought for oxygen while hers remained still. It was an unfair advantage, especially when she got carried away, completely forgetting that I needed to breathe. Sometimes I thought about how, if we had both been turned, we could kiss for days on end without ever needing to take a breath. But then I remembered, waiting makes the reward so much better.

So, I decided to drag it out, not letting her have what she wanted just yet. While she was still on top of me, I took the chance to slip her shirt off over her head and throw it to the side. She tried to lean back down to kiss me again, clearly impatient, but I pushed her over and straddled her. Sitting up, I took a moment to take in every inch of her perfectly sculpted abs, burning the image into my memory—not that I needed to given her literal immortality and self-proclaimed undying love for me. Even still, I didn't get to see them every day (though I wouldn't doubt she'd let me stare at her shirtless for as long as I wanted if I asked).

She watched me intently as I shamelessly checked her out, her hands now gripping my thighs almost painfully while she fought to contain her hunger. She never lasted much longer. So I took my shirt off, slowly, as her eyes were on me, because I knew it drove her crazy. Still, she didn't make a move to take over again, showing me how good she could be for me. I ran a hand across her stomach, leaning down into her. I almost thought her skin felt colder than normal, but I knew it was because my body temperature had grown so hot.

Her hand moved to my waistband, while her eyes followed mine as they raked up her body and landed on her face. I couldn't help but stare at her skin that lacked any blemishes or beauty marks besides the cute little mole on her nose and her features that looked like they were crafted so carefully and intentionally by the gods above. She quite easily had to be the most beautiful woman I had ever seen and it baffled me to think that she craved no one other than me.

Overwhelmed by this feeling of intense admiration, all I could do was kiss her. And that must've been what she was waiting for, because she met me half way, pulling me into her by the back of my neck. "You're so perfect," I told her when I pulled back, sending the tiny amount of blood she currently had in her body rushing to her cheeks.

I kissed her on the lips one more time before moving to place kisses across her jawline and down her neck. Her skin was like cool, smooth silk and the heat of my lips left a trail of fire in their wake that I knew she was addicted to. She gripped the back of my head as I planted kisses above her bra and down her stomach, trying her best to enjoy this moment even though her hunger was fighting to take over. As I neared her waistband and started sucking down on the soft skin above it, she started to break.

"Y/N," her voice came out weak and I peered up at her to see her jaw clenched and eyes desperate. The hand that wasn't gripping my hair had already torn a hole in the sheets from how much she was holding back.

My stomach fluttered knowing how worked up she was just for me and I crawled back up to her. "I know," I whispered before kissing her. She didn't kiss back as much as she wanted to and I soon found out why when I felt her fangs slowly growing from her mouth. I smirked and hummed happily against her lips. "You've been so good for me, baby," I praised, rubbing my fingers across her jawline while kissing her again. She whined as her fangs grew their full length and pushed me back so that she didn't bite into my bottom lip.

"Sorry," she mumbled, embarrassed that what I said was finally what got to her.

"Don't apologize," I smiled and kissed her on the cheek before rolling off of her to lay on my back. "I'd say I've made you wait long enough already," I said, suddenly feeling nerves rise in my chest when she got back on top of me. Though they all went away when I looked up to see her staring down at me with two little white teeth peeking out from beneath her top lip, resembling a giant puppy.

"Are you su-"

"Yes, I'm sure," I cut her off with a gentle laugh. "You're sweet, but you don't have to ask me every time." I pushed myself up and kissed her bottom lip to show that I was being sincere. "I promise it's okay," I whispered and rubbed my nose against hers before laying back down. "I'll push you back if it gets too much, okay?"

She stared at me a second longer before whispering, "okay." I settled back into the bed and made myself comfortable before flipping my hair to one side, out of the way of my neck. She lowered herself onto me, kissing along my jaw as much as her fangs would allow her. The gesture was a million times sweeter knowing how hard it was for her to resist sinking her teeth into me right away. She leaned onto her forearm while her other hand met my waist, gently rubbing across the skin there to try and keep me relaxed. Her lips planted a few weak kisses down my neck, working me up to what she was about to do. I reached my left hand up to brush her hair behind her ear before settling my hands at the back of her neck.

She gave me one final peck against my pulse point to show her gratitude before grabbing the opposite side of my neck for leverage and sinking her fangs into my skin. I inhaled, one of my hands instinctively tangling itself into her hair while the other moved to clutch the back of her hand. The initial bite was never enjoyable, a searing pain spreading across my body as her teeth tore through layers of skin like needles piercing my vein, but the sensation of her cold thumb rubbing soothingly over my fingers that were now tightly wrapped around her palm managed to distract me long enough to get past the worst of it.

It barely lasted a few seconds and the following feeling made the pain more than worth it. Her bottom lip pressed into my neck as she started sucking down, draining the blood from my veins at an intoxicatingly slow pace. She could feel every beat of my heart as I could, relishing the way it sped up just for her. As much as she was addicted to the taste of me and had the uncontrollable urge to drink her share in seconds, she learned to enjoy the process and take her time. It only took a few feedings and an impulsive hand sliding past my waistband for her to figure out that the experience was just as pleasurable for me as it was for her.

I pushed her off of me that night, embarrassed she caught how turned on I had gotten from the feeling. But, this time, the strangely intoxicating sensation of blood rushing through my veins and Yoohyeon's mouth latched onto my throat kept me from stopping her hand as it traveled down my body. Instead, my free hand joined my other, locking my fingers together at the nape of her neck.

Before she reached my shorts, she paused, silently asking for permission. Her incessant sucking had me growing dizzier every second, making it difficult to form coherent thoughts, let alone spoken sentences. All I could manage was a feeble, "please."

Within a second, her hand slipped beneath my shorts, more than happy to grant my request. I gasped and tightened my grip in her hair, subconsciously bucking my hips the moment her cold fingers brushed across my clit. A wave of pleasure like I had never felt before overtook my body. I could feel her voluntarily inhale into my neck at my reaction, edging her to dip her fingers lower. It didn't take long for her to feel just how soaked she made me, forcing a stifled moan from her throat that vibrated against my neck. I whined, tightening my thighs around her hand at the sound.

Yoohyeon continued sucking and started a similarly slow, mind-numbing rhythm rubbing her fingers against me. The pain of her feeding off of me and the sensation of her icy skin against mine heightened my senses, making every little touch a million times more intense. It was almost too much, it felt so good, and the longer it went on, the more overwhelming it became. I had been close since the moment she bit me, making her teasing pace absolute torture.

"Yoohyeon," I said breathlessly, feeling a thousand degrees too hot.

There was no need to say more when she plunged one of her long, slim fingers inside of me without warning. Something between a gasp and a moan escaped my lips and my hand reached down to grab her wrist. She was much stronger than she realized and I hadn't grown used to her yet. She immediately started to pull back, misreading my reaction.

"I-it's okay," I said breathlessly, keeping her hand in place. Still, she didn't make a move to continue and the sudden lack of contact was driving me crazy. "Please, Yoohyeon," I gripped her wrist tighter, "I need you."

Yoohyeon didn't hesitate any longer, sliding her finger back in and returning that excruciating wave of pleasure she had just taken away from me all at once. I lifted my hips off the bed to meet her pace, her finger reaching deeper with each slow, tantalizing pump. Even with how gentle she was this time, I could feel myself seconds away from coming undone underneath her. Realizing she was acting so shy because of how desperate she had been to fuck me ever since she found out I was just as turned on by her feeding from me as she was almost sent me over the edge alone. And it would've eventually, had she not suddenly added a second finger, her relentless roughness as she stretched my walls and sucked me dry of the very thing keeping me alive catalyzing my climax instead, finally sending me over.

Now I understood why they called it a 'little death,' because I felt it. My heart stopping for a full few seconds, my mind losing all capacity to function, my voice unable to do anything other than call out and my body ascending to the heavens as the pleasure surely only angels were capable of gifting washed over me in waves. Waves that Yoohyeon rode out with me, her fingers making sure I felt every last drop of pleasure each of them had to offer while she kissed my neck, drawing the high out as long as possible to show just how much she felt for me. Insurmountable. Inexplicable. And yet I knew its value. I knew what it was.

"I love you," was the one thing I could process as I came crashing back down, only to be caught in her embrace. I love you, as if she still had to say it after letting me feel it in a much deeper way than words could ever even begin to articulate. And yet she did. "Always."

**This imagine was transferred over from my Wattpad account OT5Stan4Life**

[my-jokes-are-my-armour]

His home is them

I loved this season that we see Jaskier part of the found family. Weird uncle Jaskier 😊. But there is a point that seems recurrent in S3, but that roots in S1 and S2 : Jaskier doesn't have a house and doesn't seem to want one. He never speaks about his family, only places to go.

The wandering bard

The Book!Jaskier (lets give him his english name for practical reason - Dandelion) is a travelling bard also but he seems to enjoy city's comfort way more than Netflix one. Like, Jaskier is at ease in cities with all the comfort he wants and so, but way more adaptive to all kind of fields. Also in his design, he feels more like a wandering bard.

Dandelion is more like Valdo kind of wandering bard in his appearance, with bright colors. He adapts surprisingly well to tougher moments and places, but to the court environment also. Jaskier can do that too (S1) but to the point where we find him in S3, like not anymore. He barely remembers how to act in front of a prince.

When we see Valdo, we can see glimpse of the former Jaskier pursuing fame, in his sofisticated outfits in S1, yet even the Jaskier back then was not afraid of not been clean all the time. By the end of the mountain episode, he had durt on his face and his outfit, and didn't seem to bother much. What mattered to him was his friend.

But after the mountain, Jaskier turns into a more adventurous person on his own. And the contrast with Valdo is more visible.

Valdo has a rich doublet, very clean clothes and hairdo. Everything is for parade. Jaskier has rich clothes too and some jewellery but he is more in a kind of free style and his trousers and boots have clearly seen many roads. His outfit is now more practical.

No fixed home

This is something that come across several times in S3 (vol 1 to date).

First Vespula throws him out of her home. Before the reconciliation. Still it's her place. A recurring one, as Geralt knows where to find him. On a side note, I guess Vespula is one of his muses, as she throw his music sheet out of the window. So he is probably composing at her place.

But then, still with Vespula, she jokes giving him bad titles for other countries because he is having affairs everywhere. So he is still wandering the Continent, even with her as an anchor.

When Radovid proposes him to become Redania's royal bard, he laughs. "No, a staid life at court is not for me". Later when he chooses to accept the proposal in exchange of Rience death, he grins while saying that he could maybe settle there.

But why does he say he could stay at one place ? It's clearly not for Radovid at this point. He is intrigued but has not fallen for him yet. The answer is : if Redania welcomes his found family then this is where he belongs 😭.

The found family is his home

Since S1, being with Geralt seems his natural habitat. As long as he is with him, he seems thriving. Also Geralt is a wandering man himself, a hard life for a soft boy but going everywhere, anywhere, is kind of his thing, innit ?

Sleeping outside, no problem. Washing in a lake, no problem. Going to the hunts, or near, no problem. As long as he is with Geralt...

We also see him trying to bound with Geralt's world, the dwarves, the others witchers... But it doesn't work at first.

In S2, we see him opening his heart to Yennefer. They are still frennemis but there is respect and acceptance, deep down. And she learns that he is a true friend.

This season, we see him earning respect from Yarpen Zigrin, like he has become strong enough to run into battles and help those who need. He is no warrior but he has a knight heart.

But most of all, we see how he has bounded with Ciri. The last member of the found family. He can't protect her like Geralt or Yennefer, with magic and swords. But he protects the last glimpses of true childhood she has left. He doesn't cary the gloom accompanying her destiny. He sees her like she is without any judgment over her capabilities and powers. She is just a little girl who needs her laugh and ray of sunshine. And he gives that to her without restrictions.

His home is where his White Wolf goes. His home is where his mama Witch need his shoulder. His home is when he can make his pocket sized Princess giggle and smile.

[deusexlachina]

Wannabe Warden Part 9: You WON'T BELIEVE which member of the Hawke family becomes a Grey Warden

In which my quest to find the Grey Wardens reaches a tragic twist.

The Deep Roads Expedition is kicked off with Varric's brother Bartrand making gratuitous sexual metaphors, a social situation nearly as uncomfortable as styling yourself in the image of a knight you believed to be dead but who is still alive and now it'd just be even more awkward if you went back, because it might look like your family friend was uncomfortable with you transitioning, and Other Aveline would rather die than have awkward conversations, because death is meaningless to her.

Bartrand reminds us that these tunnels are bound to be full of leftover darkspawn, which I cheer at, although it was meant to be a warning. Cowards.

Just as we set out to go, I am stopped by my mom and her unflattering haircut. Bethany can't go into the Deep Roads! I mean, she can understand why I would want to go there. The Deep Roads are the ultimate resume-padder for aspiring Wardens. But Bethany!

Unfortunately for her, Bethany is a goddamn adult who does as she pleases, so I take Bethany and Anders along with Varric. After all, Varric has to go, and Anders is a Deep Roads veteran with Grey Warden powers, healing magic and a demon.

We fight our way through the Deep Roads until we encounter an ancient civilization with glowing rocks and idols to unrecognizable gods, which is always a good sign in adventures like these. We find an idol of lyrium that's red, which is supposed to be different from normal, blue lyrium, except you can find "raw lyrium" outside of here that's clearly red.

Despite this, Varric proclaims that he's never seen any kind of lyrium like this, which is the first and last time Varric will fail to recognize and have very strong opinions about Red Lyrium.

That's because, as soon as he hands his brother the idol, he goes villain on us and locks us in that section of the Deep Roads. This is terrible! There aren't even any darkspawn here! There are only these unknown monstrosities that the Codex calls profanes, presumably because as soon as he sees them Varric starts spouting profanities.

A Hunger Demon inhabiting some rocks is feeding on the hunger of the profanes, and before I can wrap my head around how a being of pure hunger would be sated by even more hunger, it offers me a deal - stop killing the fucking profanes, and he'll point me to a key that I can use to escape. I agree, although it pisses off Anders, who hates demons despite sharing a body with one. Actually, I agree precisely because it pisses off Anders, and I'm more of a Rival to him, so there are more rewards for pissing him off whereas pleasing him would set him back to the default. This is a clever mechanic that is implemented pretty weirdly.

Having successfully pissed off my friend, something that you want in Dragon Age 2 and in no other context, I set out towards the key, and encounter another lyrium rock monster - one less interested in talking. Do you remember how I died horribly on the last expedition? This is why.

This is the Ancient Rock Wraith, and it is not only the hardest boss in this game, but the hardest boss in all of Dragon Age. By a large margin.

Every time it loses a third of its health, it blasts your entire field of vision with deadly radiation that quickly kills anyone trapped in it and which can only be avoided by quickly running and hiding behind some columns. There's a similar mechanic in Hades, which is designed as a very difficult action game, and Hades uses it for the final boss whereas Dragon Age 2 is an RPG that uses it right at the end of Act 1.

The room-filling death radiation is the least of my problems. It can shoot chain lightning at your party, severely damaging several companions at once. It can explode with energy, severely damaging several companions at once. It eventually changes forms and starts rolling around, severely damaging several companions at once. I'm glad this thing doesn't have a nose, because if it did it would might sneeze and severely damage several companions at once.

I look up as many different strategies as I can and, using my Maker's Sighs that I brought in uncharacteristic humility, try them all. None of them work. Determined not to reduce the difficulty level all the way down to merely the highest possible difficulty in the unmodded game, I start sewing strategies together, using the most beautiful parts of each to create a monstrous creature.

With select strategies synthesized, and a few of my own, I devise a strategy so complicated it deserves its own post, which I promptly make, because there's some pretty bad advice out there and the good advice isn't all concentrated in one place. Nobody should have to suffer through the Ancient Rock Wraith and their self-imposed fanmade harder-than-nightmare difficulty on their own.

This process takes me more than a day, which is just as well because I was too sick to do much else.

Speaking of being sick, Bethany is feeling nauseous. I reassure her we're all pretty nauseous, since we were just running in tight circles to dodge the Ancient Rock Wrath of the Ancient Rock Wraith. But then we take a look at her face, and she's got ghoul eyes and veins.

The darkspawn got her. Anders knows of a cure...becoming a Grey Warden. But he's not in the order anymore, because he retired. You cannot retire from the Grey Wardens - and that's exactly why he stole their map, in hopes of interfering with their plans to find him. My dream of finding the Grey Wardens is now Bethany's only hope of survival. There's no time to ask questions, like:

What the Wardens would even do to him if they caught him, and why that would ever be a higher priority than their sole mandate of fighting darkspawn.

How a map into the Deep Roads would help to find Anders who, at the time he stole the map, was hiding above ground in Darktown

Why the Grey Wardens would even need a map to find Anders, when they can sense the darkspawn taint in each other, as Anders himself knows full well

If Anders believed that the map would help to catch him, what he was doing keeping it instead of burning it or selling it to his allies in Lirene's Ferelden Imports for a few coppers despite it being a VALUABLE ITEM, LIRENE. (Given that her own prices are in silver, the markup must be over 1000%, which is excusable solely because she's helping refugees, the good soul)

In fairness to Anders, he's been going through a lot lately, including getting a whole ghost jammed up in his head. He's not been at his most clear-headed. This is also presumably why, when he uses his power to track the darkspawn taint in darkspawn-infested tunnels, he is surprised to find that he has tracked darkspawn.

But, just as we think the trail has gone cold, in comes WARDEN STROUD HELL YEAH!!! "Who's Warden Stroud?" Really! Who's Warden Stroud? Shame on you. He's. Uh. A Grey Warden. Orlesian. Got a big moustache.

Unfortunately, Stroud doesn't want Bethany. The Grey Wardens don't recruit out of pity, he says, looking me dead in the eye.

The life of a Grey Warden is hard, so it's really better to just put Beth out of her misery, since the taint falls somewhere between a stomachache and instant death. But, in a reversal of his prior position on euthanasia, Anders won't let Bethany die. She just beat the Ancient Rock Wraith. Anders stresses that the Wardens are really scraping the bottom of the barrel looking for recruits, an argument Stroud can't dispute because they hired Oghren. Once you let in Oghren, you're done. Everyone knows you have no standards.

Stroud reluctantly agrees, but says that this makes them even. For...stealing his maps? Which he clearly didn't need?

But Stroud has no time to stick around. He's got to rush Bethany to the Joining ritual while I go back home. I will likely never see her again.

But I couldn't possibly part with little Bethany. If becoming a Grey Warden is what it would take to stay with my little sister, then that's a sacrifice I am willing to make. We've always been by each other's sides, no matter what, even when I went on dangerous adventures. We're even specced to complement each other's skills! I tank, she heals!

So, in conclusion, we're kind of a package deal, me and Beth, and you've got to recruit her, so really you might as well - wait! Where are you going? Don't leave me! I'm literally giving you a free extra Grey Warden! How many people are dumb enough to willingly sign onto that? Wait! No! GET BACK HERE YOU MOUSTACHIOED FUCK!

[nancydrewwouldnever]

Pushing It (Boston Globe, 1 Feb 2009)

In Hollywood, where everybody grabs at success, Sudbury's Chris Evans has made it to a starring role in the new film 'Push' - and he doesn't mind saying what it took to get there

By Rebecca DiLiberto, Globe Correspondent / February 1, 2009

LOS ANGELES - Meet Chris Evans: oversize hoodie, unassuming posture, well-washed chinos, freshly scrubbed skin, rosy cheeks, $10 haircut, willing to make eye contact with strangers. Hanging out over coffee at a suburban strip mall, you wouldn't figure him for a movie star.

That's exactly how the Sudbury native likes it.

"I think when I first came out here I was very hungry to get to the top," says the actor, who stars as a young telekenetic on the run from authorities in "Push," opening Friday. "Now I'm kind of at this middle road, and I'm looking around like, isn't life pretty much as great as I want it right now? If you get too far, there's no off switch. Once you're Brad Pitt, you can't not be Brad Pitt."

At 27, Chris Evans is the model of how to go from being a high school drama geek to claiming status as a successful working actor. While his career hasn't necessarily exploded yet, he's had a critically acclaimed turn as an astronaut-slash-engineer in Danny Boyle's "Sunshine," and a commercial windfall as the human torch in "Fantastic Four" franchise - notches on a resume that anyone aspiring to work in Holly wood would envy.

How did Evans get to here from there? At the beginning of his career, he paid his dues in some barely seen films.

"Luckily, my first couple of movies were really terrible," he says. "There was 'Not Another Teen Movie' not a blockbuster, and then 'The Perfect Score,' which was gone in a New York minute, and then I did a movie called 'Cellular,' which was gone, then 'Orphan King,' which never even made it to theaters.

"Your first movie, you think, 'This is it! Look out world!' And then you're like, 'Oh. . . back to the drawing board, I guess.' And then three or four times in you're like, 'All right no one sets out to make a bad movie, but there are a lot of them.' "

Evans is not one of those leading men whose ego you have to stroke. In fact, he won't let you. Complimented on his performance in "Sunshine," he credits director Boyle: "He could make this coffee cup give a brilliant performance." Congratulated on the natural relationship he shares with costar Dakota Fanning in "Push," he says, "Dakota is unbelievable. She could be acting with a sneaker."

While Evans and Fanning indeed demonstrate a real connection in "Push," the movie itself is a bit uneven, and Evans is the first to admit it. With compelling action sequences and charismatic actors, "Push" is a respectable popcorn flick, but its story has trouble hanging together.

In the film's own production notes, Evans is quoted as saying, "We're not sending any deep messages. This is a pure entertainment film, like a lot of my favorite movies."

While Evans is careful not to say anything specifically negative about "Push," his shrug and tone suggest that he's chalking this one up to experience. "This process was one where I had to learn a little bit. It was the first time I've ever worked on a movie where there was no rehearsal, and that just felt crazy to me. But. . . everyone likes to do things differently, and you've got to be ready for that."

Evans says he has learned that the key to turning in a performance he's proud of lies in trusting his director. "At the end of the day, you're handing your performance over. And so if a director says, after a take, 'You know what, try it just really angry. Just get furious.' And you're like, 'Well I don't know if I want to give you that, because I don't know if I trust what you're going to do with it."

The director Evans has trusted completely so far is "Sunshine" director Boyle, who has been receiving accolades this year for his work on "Slumdog Millionaire." Evans attributes the performances Boyle gets out of his actors to rigorous rehearsal. "He's a theater guy, and the actors he hires are all of the mind-set that preparation is the key. We were in London about a month before we started shooting and we ran it every day, like a play. . . . I got to the point with Danny where he could've been like, 'Do the next take in Spanish,' and I would've been like 'All right, I will do that Danny, I trust you so much I'm ready to be vulnerable and explore and take risks.'

"Danny Boyle's a ninja. I don't know if I'll ever have a better performance, he's just so good," Evans says.

Evans is brimming with anticipation for his next project, "Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World," which co-stars Michael Cera and will be directed by Edgar Wright, late of "Shaun of the Dead" and "Hot Fuzz." "I would trust [him] with my finances; I would trust [him] to organize a party. He's just smart. I can't wait. . . to give [him] whatever [he] wants and let [him] run with it and then hopefully kick out a good product. It's an exciting process to feel safe."

Film sets aside, the place Evans feels safest is at home in the Boston area where he has extended family. His uncle is US Representative and former mayor of Somerville Michael Capuano. Growing up, he performed at the Concord Youth Theatre - his siblings are also alums, and his mother is now the artistic director - and was obsessed with going to games at the Garden, eating pizza at Leone's, and sledding in Sudbury. And let us not forget seeing nature films at the Museum of Science's Omni Theater. "I haven't been in like five or six years, so maybe the screen isn't even that big, but I remember it being huge. They always have such great movies. 'Polar Bears'! Or 'Deep Caves!' "

Last year, Evans got to settle back into his old ways when he took a three-month sabbatical at his childhood home. "No one talks about movies, and no one [cares] about acting, and they'll give it to you straight," he says of connecting with his old circle of friends. "You come out [to LA], and every single conversation you have at a nightclub is, you know, 'Hey, I saw your trailer! What are you working on? You know what I saw? You know who I met? You know who knows you?' "

[sapphim]

@knife-eared-jan replied to your post

Hm I guess this is also what happens to Origins Leliana in the epilogue when she is hardened? It drove me nuts that I couldn't figure out how to change her outfit for that.

You got it! But epilogue Leliana is actually a great example because there's a few things going on there, and while I did say that the approved method of changing the way a character dresses in Origins is to swap out their equipped armor, that was a lie of omission bc the other, SECRET method, as you may have noticed, is to make a FAKE IMPOSTOR CLONE wearing different clothes and pretend that it's actually been the same person all along. Anyway I'm gonna ramble for a bit.

So the "real" Leliana that we know and love is gen00fl_leliana (the fl stands for follower) and this is the Leliana that's added to the party pool, goes on adventures with us, hangs out at our campsite, and gains skills and approval. Meanwhile, the Leliana who appears in the epilogue is a fake pretender to the name, epi200cr_leliana. Who is she. What does she want. She's inscrutable. But she uses the same hf_leliana headmorph, so you'd never know. It's this Leliana who comes pre-equipped with that ugly dress. And then indeed, hidden deep within the bowels of the epi300ar_post_coronation area script is some code that very quickly before anyone can notice swaps her into that even uglier armor in the case that she's hardened.

The "correct" and I'd argue probably "only" "sensible" way to get around this code and put her in whatever you want would be to use PRCSCR to run your own script forcing her into a second outfit change immediately after the first completes. You can go mad with power with a tool like PRCSCR.

(There's quite a bit of other monkeying about that happens in the post-coronation area script. For example, if Zevran is in a romance with a female warden he (or his evil twin) is surrounded by an attentive crowd of ladies, but if the romance is with a male warden, he's swarmed instead by a gaggle of gents. As for the no romance crowd? To quote the script comment in the toolset, "Shady peeps." Happy for him.)

DA2 looooooooves doppelgangers, btw. Nobody loves fakey fake fake clones more than DA2 does. I suppose at one point they may have intended for major NPCs characters to look substantially different between acts, and then had to drop it as out of scope, but then there are also fakey impostor clones of your followers littered throughout various areas of the game. If you ever fought Fenris in the climax or put Bethany down gently in the deep roads, "no" you "didn't". You did stab Anders in the back though. That was the real Anders, just so you know.

Anyway, did you know there are four different Gamlens? One for each act and then one to appear in the brothel. They actually are seven different Gamlens in the game files (including one for the prologue separate from act 1, and a different brothel Gamlen for each act) and then they ended up not using all of them. Why. We'll never know. We'll never ever know why they wanted to do that.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

You ever think about how in spite of knowing their exact locations, the game never gives any indication that templar Carver has reported his mage sibling, Merril (a blood mage) or Anders (an abomination) to his superiors?

I do think about that a lot, even though I tend to ignore the Templar Carver route because I know Warden Carver to be true in my heart and soul... but I totally get the appeal of Templar Carver within DA2's narrative, y'know?

It's so fascinating, really. I've never played a run with Templar Carver, I just can't bring myself to do it, so I know I'm missing out on smaller details of it. From what I do know, this drives me crazy in the best way possible.

Deciding whether to bring him or not to the Deep Roads is such an important choice, not only because it affects his fate, but how it affects his relationship to Hawke. He tells you that he wants to go, he makes it very clear that it's important to him that he goes, too... and Hawke can just leave him behind and it hurts him. I don't think that registers enough with some people just because of how Carver is, like it doesn't matter what Hawke's motivations are [staying behind for his safety, not wanting to bring him, thinking someone should stay with Leandra, etc] it still hurts him because it tells him that Hawke doesn't need him, and Carver wants to be needed.

And yes, there are other contributing factors to why he joins the templars, but it doesn't matter what your relationship is to him, it doesn't change the fact that he doesn't turn Hawke or his companions in.

Sure, the meta reason is it's a video game and you're playing the main character. You're never in any actual danger of being captured by templars, and you're not going to lose your companions to them that easy.

But if we look at it through the narrative and Carver's character, that's when it gets interesting. You can max out his rivalry and be an utter asshole to him [there's a point where you can call him a brat and mock him for being stuck in your shadow, like Hawke can be real cruel about it] but it doesn't matter, you're still his sibling. He even makes a remark about how you might not know what that means [referring to leaving him behind] but he does. He refuses to kill Hawke in the end when Meredith makes the order, too.

Which can I just point out that Hawke has the option to let Bethany die in the end if she's with the circle and they side with the templars? Just saying, Carver NEVER does that no matter what, but Hawke has the option to betray Bethany like that and it's fucked and interesting and it makes me want to eat my chair-

As for Merrill and Anders, I think he knows that if he turns either of them in, then the chances of Hawke being brought in as well skyrocket. They're all friends, they're in the same group... bring one in, and you'll probably get the other two.

I also think Carver just genuinely likes Merrill. Yes, I'm a Carver/Merrill shipper, so I have a bias, but even if you remove anything romantic from their dynamic I believe that's true. Of all the companions, Merrill is the only one who doesn't make fun of him, or find him annoying, in party banters. He never snaps back at her, like he's never defensive with her, he's just a little awkward and nice.

Like, HE'S SO NICE TO HER! He tries to find common ground with her! She asks him about "swording" and he's taken aback by her saying he's good at it, but you KNOW that if someone like Anders asked him the same question, he's be all, "shut up, you're stupid, stop talking to me >:["

Think back to that banter Carver can have with Aveline post-act 1 where they're talking about how the guard wasn't the right place for him [hard disagree with you there, Aveline] and Carver says he was a bit of a tit, wasn't he.... and every companion will agree except Merrill. She doesn't say anything, whereas other companions like Anders will be like "ugh maker YES" and if you have a purple Hawke, they'll go on to other ways Carver was a tit like?? I think Carver and Merrill got along and he doesn't want to turn her in because she was nice to him! And she's a blood mage! He knows what will happen to her if the templars get ahold of her! He doesn't want to see her made tranquil or killed!

At that point, he's witnessed what bad blood mages can do, assuming you've brought him along for those quests, but even so. He knows Merrill isn't like that and he likes her, so of course he's not going to turn her in despite that being his literal duty.

Then there's Anders who Carver doesn't like. If you're in a romance with him, Carver will tell him that's why he doesn't turn him in but c'mon Carver, you know that's not the only reason. My theory is Carver may not like Anders and he knows the man's got a spirit of justice inside of him... but Anders also runs a free clinic. If he's ever taken in by templars, then so many people [including a LOT of Fereldan refugees] will be without free health care and will suffer for it. I think in Carver's eyes, Anders might be irritating but he doesn't more good than harm. Carver knows first hand how shitty refugees and poorer people are treated in Kirkwall. Anders' clinic is the one place they can go for help and actually get it, and he's not going to be the one to take that away because the templars say "magic bad."

So yeah, I'm not as informed about the Templar Carver route, but I do think about how if I did do that route, he wouldn't betray Hawke or their companions no matter what and what that says about him.

[felassan]

Thoughts/wonderings on the Dragon Age: The Missing issue 1 preview pages (Dragon Age: The Missing #1 spoilers at link), under a cut due to spoilers (please note post contains spoilers for front pages and synopses of subsequent issues beyond #1 as well):

I know it isn't new, as we saw her before in this piece of art, but I love Evka's design, like her hairstyle, her facial markings, etc.

Evka and Antoine is a pleasant surprise, I'm looking forwards to spending time with them and learning more about them, and I hope they both make it out of the issue alive.

going by the presence of two other characters (that resemble Teia and Viago) on the cover of #2, it seems Evka and Antoine are the companions for issue 1 only, but still, the composition for the adventuring party of issue 1 is such a treat. No humans, and dwarf-heavy!! I'd like to see more of that sort of thing in DA going forwards

about that. Evka and Antoine in #1. #2 has what looks like Teia and Viago on the front. #3's synopsis says Varric and Harding run into a pair of Veil Jumpers, and I wondered here if they could be Strife and Irelin. based on this I have wondered if each issue of Dragon Age: The Missing features a different cameo of 2 of the 'newer era', 'Tevinter Nights & similar' characters, perhaps even representing different factions? [Wardens, Crows, Veil Jumpers/The Triangle Guys, ?]. a) how fun, and a neat way to re-feature and expand on these characters before DA:D b) could we be seeing these folks in DA:D? c) who could it be in The Missing #4?

I like Varric's dialogue, I can hear 'his voice', u know? he seems so tired and on-edge in this. :[

So, if something has been dragging the people of Marnas Pell away / abducting them, the title could have a double meaning. It's not just Solas who is kinda 'missing', that Varric, Harding and the Inquisition remnants are looking for. these poor people are missing as well. if so and since that's the title of the whole series, not just one issue, that could be a plot thread that runs through all 4 issues

Varric and Harding's dialogue "Stop him, what else" / "But you were his friend, right? Maybe you could, you know, talk to him?" exchange nicely reflects the Solas choice Stop/Redeem at the end of Trespasser

"It fits, though. A refuge in the ass end of nowhere. He's really gone down in the world", Varric pls, the shade

"You were his friend, right?" reminded me of when the Inquisitor can ask Varric in Haven 'tell me about your friend Anders, the mage who blew up the Kirkwall Chantry'. poor varric, he must be so tired and feel so guilty feeling like his friends keep ending up doing stuff that isn't good for the world either with his involvement or under his nose without him knowing.

the light/dark shading on Varric's face feels quite intense compared to the others. it emphasizes for me how on-edge and stuff he's feeling/acting

Has Harding's hairstyle changed since DA:I? ^^ she wears it in a long braided ponytail now? reminds me of the Harding-esque dwarf in this DA:D concept art

interesting, they're in the Deep Roads with those familiar dwarven statues, but when Antoine is looking at the wall, that looks like a carving of a human-sized figure on a horse

"A tall, dark figure, emerging from the Deep Roads to drag the unwary to their doom" 👁️

"There could be a human or an elf down here, using the place as a base for whatever terrible scheme they've concocted" 👁️

the shadowy figure at the end 👁️

I guess if they told Evka and Antoine, they would probably become people Solas does know, not 'people he doesn't know', and the Inquisition remnants are trying to keep their operations secret and uninvolved people out of harm's way. I also wonder specifically what lead it is that the Inquisition remnants had that sent Varric and Harding down here after Solas in the first place. is it just Varric & Harding looking into these, or are there other groups of known faces investigating others?

about the kidnappings, and the possible it's darkspawn/maybe it's not darkspawn stuff. we know that darkspawn take female captives during raids and take them into the Deep Roads (the origin of Broodmothers). in the novel The Calling, the Architect's darkspawn captured and took captive Warden Bregan. ofc that doesn't mean it's darkspawn, especially since Evka and Antoine hadn't sensed any yet, just that it's not unknown that darkspawn kidnap people. is whatever/whoever's taken the people doing effed up experiments on them? is there any connection to the underground monsterpools from Horror of Hormak? how does it link into the plots of subsequent issues e.g. going by the Venatori presence in the synopsis for #2, maybe it is them who are the culprits?

could investigating the kidnappings be why Evka and Antoine had been recalled to Weisshaupt in TN?

also I'm just so excited! Obviously we knew that this comic was coming, and that it's stated to be a DA:D lead-in. but it's still just so exciting to finally see the DA:D storyline, or the prologue thereof, finally kicking off (things like TN & the short stories were great but more in the vein of bridging content between things, this feels more like 'Chapter One').

[synergysilhouette]

Choices review: High School Story

Continuing on with my reviews, I'm doing one of the fan-favorites: High School Story! In the first trilogy, you play a sophomore going to a new school and you have to navigate new friends, new bullies, an evil principal, and a school rivalry. For the second trilogy, captioned "Class Act" you play a freshman who's school life focuses mainly on extracurricular activities, namely drama and helping friends run for class president. Don't worry--it's not as boring/cliché as I make it sound. And I have a habit of listing drawbacks to things rather than positives, so don't assume I hate the book! Make sure to check out my overall feelings at the end of each review.

Book 1 was really great. While the plot didn't intrigue me like other stories and the media's usual portrayal of high school made the relationships in the book feel very PG by comparison, but the characters were probably the best part of the book. Something that kind of annoyed me is how Michael is labeled the "bad boy," even though he really isn't. He's more of a loner who occasionally breaks rules--and I'm glad, considering I'm not big on bad boys. I do think it sucks that you can't pair Emma and Caleb together if you're not romancing them--maybe not in book 1 since Caleb is still processing his breakup, though. I do wish we had more extracurricular options, but I understand this is in the earlier days of the app, and they did well with what they had. I feel like Zoe and Brian's arcs in this series are A MESS, though. Zoe cheated on Caleb since Summer vacation and Brian had some kind of feelings for her, but when Caleb finds out, she tries to go back to him, and it felt very flat. Brian also gave a weak apology, and it looks bad because you decide whether or not Caleb forgives him, which makes it feel like MC allowed room for Caleb to excuse Brian's actions again. I'm just glad the writers didn't make Brian and Caleb become friends again, considering what comes later. Another thing I'd have enjoyed was explaining why MC transferred to Berry High, as well as their relationship with their parents; half of their dialogue with Scott is just "Dad/Daaaaad/Dad!" Overall, it was a good book, even if it didn't immediately have me wanting more.

Book 2 covers how the principal is caught in a scandal and is replaced by the vice principal, who is not only totalitarian, but also scamming the school. In comparison to the previous installment, it felt better and inferior in my opinion; It was too bad that despite us being able to make Emma and Luis a concrete couple in book 1, we don't have the option to lock down a relationship until the end of book 2. I also wish MC got the option to work at the school station during the winter season, and the friction in the school felt unfair towards students like Caleb who didn't think anything bad of Principal Isa's hall monitors. Those who fought against Isa were really insensitive to those who followed her rules like they didn't understand those who were raised to respect authority (even to extremes) and were being abused themselves. And lemme just say: the road trip gave me "The Freshman" vibes and I wish we'd gotten to have more fun like that outside of our "High School Story." And why were Maria's dads the only parents who were suspicious of Isa?

Book 3 was probably the best book in the OG trilogy--and shouldn't the last story in an arc always be the best, from a writing perspective? After a fire burns down the rival school, they come and stay at your school--and rivalries inflame the school. I will say it was kind of weird how deep this rivalry was, given that how you act affects the attitude of the freshman students from your rival high school. Speaking of them, I'm glad we can pair up some of our rejected love interests, though they brought up something I wished we could've discussed more in the series: sexuality and identity. It's rare to discuss sexuality in GOC books with main characters since everyone is playersexual, but Cameron talking about being nonbinary and Emma talking about coming out as bi had me wishing that we'd gotten to address this earlier (especially since many modern genderlocked Choices books try to work sexuality into the mix). For example, if in book 1 you go to homecoming with someone of the same sex, your dad doesn't know it's romantic and you have the option to come out to him in book 2 (honestly I'm surprised Aiden didn't have his own Kaitlyn Liao moment by coming out to his helicopter parents). I also wasn't the fan of the main villains being from the rival school (and how they look like college students, even if some high schoolers look like that). If they had to go that route, make Zoe and Brian the villains, both of them further spiraling after Caleb's disassociation from them--or have Skye be the villain with Brian to give off a Cheryl and Jason Blossom vibe, and after Skye's beat, she becomes the better person we see in book 1 of Class Act. I kinda wish these books were spaced out during several school years rather than one.

Class Act: Book 1 has you play a Freshman character at Berry High, and your original main character makes occasional appearances, with mention to their dating life and extracurricular activities if you choose to import them. The book primarily focuses on how you navigate your crush on your childhood best friend Rory and auditioning for the school play. NGL, it was messed up how we get blamed for our original MC getting hurt while auditioning, and I HATE slow burns, so the crush on Rory and cold shoulder from Ajay was annoying, to say the least. But it was satisfying--but you know what would've been super interesting? If this book kicked it up a notch and focused on investigating how MC got hurt (or maybe a random character is hurt/killed). Though I will admit part of this desire is fueled by wanting Daniele to be punished for her actions. It's mentioned later that she's going to therapy, so maybe that could've been court-mandated? And the twin dating Amber felt kind of out of nowhere; I feel like Amber didn't need to be a factor in this in that the twin could've had their life together better than MC, but that's just me.

Class Act: Book 2 wasn't as fun for me as book 1. It focuses on how MC's twin and Rory are running against each other for class president. It was super icky, especially if you're romancing Rory. Your twin's feelings of betrayal feel (almost) unjustified since they expect you to help them win simply because you're related. It's super ugly and Ajay's issue with his parent's divorce felt like a B-story despite how it affected him. But I do want to praise the fact that we see the characters wear new outfits for the winter season!

Class Act: Book 3 focuses on your spring musical going to an international convention in London! Honestly it's the most fun I've had in the CA trilogy. You also find out that MC and their twin have a biological family member living in London. I don't recall it being mentioned before that they were adopted. Was this addressed in the previous books? Maybe I missed that, but it was fun to get to know more of your character's family--though I do hate how it feels like a missed opportunity to cement MC's ethnicity; oftentimes, MC is customizable but their race is ambiguous. It'd be nice getting to know more of their British culture (along with Asian or African, depending on their race). But a BIG issue I have is with Rory's dad. Throughout the book, he sneaks around with one of MC's teacher, and it's revealed that he's been going through some emotional things that he couldn't bring to his wife...and we all don't dig deeper than that. I won't fault him since it's a "toxic masculinity" topic, but the fact that his wife forgave him so quickly felt a bit off, I guess? And Skye is being manipulated by her parents since they're financing the school play and it's future in London is in their hands. It was a really good arc, though in my alternate idea for "HSS: Book 3," it would've been interesting to see more Brian in the book. Even if he's awful, it'd make more sense. Overall, it was an enjoyable book.

HSS was a long series! Honestly I find "Class Act" more interesting story-wise, but the original trilogy had 5 love interests (not that having the option of Rory being a handsome male theatre nerd completely secure with his masculinity wasn't AMAZING), so in that aspect, it's superior. Both trilogies are replayable and as a franchise, a fun time, though the changeable extracurricular activities and various love interests in the original series makes it somewhat better, imo.

[chaoticrebels]

Ten ( 10 ) SIX ( 6 ) 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 .

tagged by: @misfittcd​

tagging: everyone

1. ♫ ❪ Luna, Ember, Blue, Taylor ❫ ❥ Devil's Worst Nightmare - FJØRA 

I felt heaven Shaking hands with angels Never saying never Winds blow turning tables And I've met monsters Drank from the well of poison water Heed me now Satan I'm coming for your sons and daughters Just 'cause I look like an angel Don't mean I won't get down in the dirt Just 'cause I look like a good girl Don't mean I won't do things that hurt Beware evil I'm the Devil's worst nightmare

2. ♫ ❪ Blue, Ember, Ji-Woon {Given the pronouns change for him} ❫ ❥ Vicious - Bohnes

That girl is vicious, she's vicious Got venom in her kisses She's wicked, she's wicked Yet somehow so delicious And I love how she devours me

3. ♫ ❪ Ji-Woon ❫ ❥ "Wicked as They Come" - CRMNL 

First things first, I'm a sinner It's no fun being a saint Heart as cold as the winter And I don't wanna be saved Sold my soul to the devil Got no fear of the dead Cozied up to the dreadful And I ain't scared of the end Only the unlucky they know me Pay me what you owe me I'll be over soon Three, two, one, sink my teeth into you Hurt so bad, make you howl at the moon See you on the dark side when I'm done I'm wicked as they come I'm hooked on the taste of revenge Blood in the water, blood on my hands See you on the dark side when I'm done I'm wicked as they come

4. ♫ ❪ Ji-Woon, Storm, Pan ❫ ❥ "All Eyes On Me" - CRMNL

Knock em over one by one Sometimes we do it just for fun Don’t ask me to apologize Cause we live like it’s do or die All eyes on me (oh oh oh oh oh) I’ve got the rising power I’ve got what you need Take it a little bit louder  If you like what you see All eyes on me Can’t catch me I’m on the run All that’s left is a smoking gun  I come with a warning sign Keep away I’m rough to ride I take the cash, I’m taking names I rule the world, I run the game

5. ♫ ❪ Draco, Billy, Casper, Roxxi ❫ ❥ Tortured Soul - Chord Overstreet

I toss and turn most every night Insomnia is hard enough to fight Whiskey taste is on my breath Part of me is scared to death What if I told you the truth But I chase you down with 90 proof? One more sip for a tortured soul You're diggin' my heart in a deeper hole And a thousand thoughts going through my mind Cigarettes keep it occupied

6. ♫ ❪ Kas, Twyla, Pan ❫ ❥ QUEEN OF THE FREAKS - AViVA

So, I'm a little c-c-crazy Get off my back You're curious but scared I'll give ya A heart attack But I know you're always sick of acting brave I think it's time to come and see I can be good, but I can be bad You think these names would be making me mad Just say my name out loud (freak!) I can be good, but I can be bad You think these names would be making me sad But it don't bother me I'm a freak And you know it I'm a freak Don't I show it? I'm a freak And I own it Won't you come and play with me?

7.  ♫ ❪ Storm, Draco ❫ ❥ Easier than Lying - Halsey

I’m only whatever you make me and you make me more and more a villain every day But you don’t know you reap, you sow Whatever you give to me, from yourself you take. Well if you’re a hater, then hate the creator it’s in your image I'm made

8. ♫ ❪ Billy, Eddie, Steve, Casper, Violet, Roxxi, Storm, Nikita ❫ ❥ Running Up That Hill - Kate Bush

It doesn't hurt me Do you wanna feel how it feels? Do you wanna know, know that it doesn't hurt me? Do you wanna hear about the deal that I'm making? And if I only could I'd make a deal with God And I'd get Him to swap our places Be runnin' up that road Be runnin' up that hill Be runnin' up that building Say, if I only could, oh You don't wanna hurt me But see how deep the bullet lies Unaware I'm tearin' you asunder Oh, there is thunder in our hearts Is there so much hate for the ones we love? Oh, tell me, we both matter, don't we?

9. ♫ ❪ Billy, Casper, Ryker, Jakai ❫ ❥ I’m Not a Saint - Billy Raffoul

But I've had one too many cigarettes burning up my lungs Had the taste of one too many lips hanging of my tongue, oh, oh Sunday morning getting high, drinking here alone Thinking up a brand new alibi for not coming home, oh, oh And I'm sorry I lie so much

I'm not a saint, but I could be if I tried Lord knows I've got habits to break I'm really good at being good at goodbyes I'm gonna give you fair warning that I I'm not a saint, but I could be if I tried Lord knows I don't learn from mistakes And I'm not here unless I'm here by your side

10. ♫ ❪ Storm, Pan, Luna, Draco ❫ ❥ Dark Horse - Katy Perry

Make me your one and only But don't make me your enemy (enemy) Your enemy (your enemy), your enemy So you wanna play with magic? Boy, you should know what you're fallin' for Baby, do you dare to do this? 'Cause I'm coming at you like a dark horse (hey) Are you ready for, ready for (hey) A perfect storm, perfect storm? (Hey, hey) 'Cause once you're mine, once you're mine (hey, hey, hey, hey) (There's no going back)

[open-hearth-rpg]

Open Hearth Video Roundup - October 6, 2023

Capitalites, Eotenward, Girl By Moonlight. and more.

Welcome to the weekly Open Hearth Gaming video roundup!

These recorded sessions represent only a portion of the games we play every week, and anyone is welcome to join the fun! If you'd like to play in games like these, join our Playabl community and click on the "Calendar" tab to sign up for upcoming games. To browse our library of videos of past sessions, please visit our YouTube Playlists page.

Open Hearth Gaming Calendar

Capitalites (Session 5 of 5) Donogh runs for Madelancholy and Thomas Manuel Opening night is fast approaching and things are threatening to spiral out of control. Can Camilla hold the production together? Can Salman grow to be a worthy member of the company? Can Ami make a professional breakthrough and keep her relationships?

Free from the Shadow: Samurai Fantasy (Session Zero) Lowell Francis runs for Elle, Mike Minutillo, and Sherri We work through World and Clan creation in the session zero for this adaptation of Free from the Yoke for samurai fantasy play. We learn of the history of the conspiracy and fallen Kami who nearly destroyed the Empire and about our three PC Clans who hope to bring order to the land.

Fate of the Quadrant (Session 3) Alun R. runs for Lowell Francis, Paul Rivers, and Will H Acting First Officer's Personal Log - Stardate 48157.9 - Lieutenant V'Sal Reporting: Captain Prel hasn't explained why we have been diverted from Starbase 310 to Deep Space 9 but we should be dropping out of warp there any time now. What I will say is that the announcement of the change is the first time I've ever seen him show even a glimmer of genuine interest in our mission. Meanwhile, the presence of Princess T'ren & Ambassador Dijenn remains...trying. Mixing Federation and family affairs is rarely straightforward but I had hoped that this would be a logical opportunity for a reconciliation. Still, as I have come to understand in my time in Starfleet, logic has its limits and so, it appears, do my parents. Then...shore leave on DS9, a prototype installed and through the wormhole, before an unfamiliar foe must be confronted and tunnels beneath the ruins of New Bajor explored...

Eotenweard: Northumbria (Session 1) Alun R. runs for José Feito, Paul Rivers, Sabine V., and Will H We meet Black Jell, the Loon, with a single wandering eye who was brought to the others by a vision of blood; Solinus, the Rogue, who sees his Gift as evidence that he may matter to God; Cadog of the Order of St Adrian, the Sword of God who was told those he met at a cross-roads were worthy; and Fynn, a Skinchanger who recognized the others having previously dreamed of them. Together they have been drawn to the once thriving settlement of Thrydingas beside a river now clogged by rotting fish, something Cadog's Order says is 'demon-sign'. The villagers mark their huts with protective wards but they clearly desire the opportunity to return to fishing, while their naive Lord prefers to listen to stories... There's more rotting fish, projectile vomiting, and a slave girl's fear...and then...a lurking threat in a sinister fen...

Star Wars Saturday

OSR 5 in 1 - Spacers Rich Rogers runs for Anders, Keith Stetson, and Steven Watkins We end the series with a favorite Star Wars trope - a prison break!

MCU Sunday

Demigods (Session 1) Rich Rogers runs for Alex, Cody Eastlick, and Steven Watkins The new Warriors Three fight the Followers of Set from Egypt-World and have a drink with Adam Mann before learning his truth!

Off-Calendar Highlights

Hearts of Camelot: Once and Forever (Session 3) Madelancholy runs for Chris Greenbriar, David Miessler-Kubanek, and Rod Santos Exploring the manor finds our heroes in varying levels of trouble: Sir Granit is stuck in a wall, Sir Elio talks to a parrot, and Ydelles gets a hint of their host's intentions.

Heroes of the Hearth: Fresh Faces (Session 1 of 2) Madelancholy runs for Paul D. and Rob Fletcher "Today we do not sing of adventurers, but the people behind the adventurers...we sing of how they themselves deal with the threat that holds their lands in thrall..." Supposedly this story game can be done in 2-3 hours...the first time we played this, it was a time crunch in 4 hours. This time, we breathe life into different characters and make this two-shot of village life with a world threat looming - check out Part 1!

[soyezheureux]

hello tumblr! i have something to tell you here.

i started napping at 1:30 and planned to wake up at 2:30, but i actually just woke up at 4.10 and my body's all sore! i just went through a memorable and quite tiring thing today with my bro and my dad.

so this morning, early in the morning, the three of us went to an empty field where my parents do refreshing aka gardening. we went driving a manual car with my position as the driver. tbh, i haven't driven that car in a while. you know what? all my arm and leg muscles are like being reset all over again 🤣😭

i had 2x engine stalls in the middle of the road due to my failure to handle the condition. if take a driving lesson, i was practicing the failure in the 1st lesson which is the "start and stop" material hahahaha. thanks God, i was lucky that the people behind me this morning were very patient. they didn't immediately act in a way that made me more nervous like honking a long horn or something. 2x incidents, 2x in different places and all gave the same reaction. thank you for giving a helpful reaction, may they always have an easy life 🙏🏻

my dad assigned me to accompany my bro to learn to drive while he took care of his garden. i agreed coz my bro's level with this manual car was still close to 0 (sorry not sorry). it's a bad idea to teach others if you're not really proficient hahahaha. just like any other beginner, i just taught him how to go forward, backward, turn around, and keep the car engine from stalling after a stop. silly, right? 🤣

my brother's already proficient if he only drives on straight and smooth roads. but i think we can all agree that the learning level has to go up, right? so yeah, we learned to drive on a road with a "not so steep climb" and we need to use the gas, brake, and gear pedals along with the hand brakes in a smooth and coordinated way. trials 1-3 were still pretty rough, the engine was always off. when the car was in reverse while turning, the positioning was still not good and it made things difficult for us. i understand that and always give words of encouragement so that my brother doesn't easily give up trying 😂

until finally on the 5th try, when the car's in a backward position and uphill, our rear tire's already at the end of the road divider before we even enter the ravine. it's not that deep, but we'll definitely needed another car to pull our car out of the ravine 🤣 i kept reminding myself to stay calm and not showing a negative reaction. i tried to get out of the car and change positions to be a driver, but.. it was hard. even with the handbrake on, once the foot brake's off, the car's getting more backwards. finally, the engine hit rocks and the ground.

i gave up. i know i couldn't handle it alone with my bro. i told him to run and call my dad in his garden. my dad come to the rescue and his first reaction was always the same: calm down, observe the situation, and then invite us to discuss and think about the solution. this is a bit OOT, but one of the things i admire and i wanna imitate from him is his ability to stay calm and focused on solutions without blaming anyone, even in difficult situations.

AH, there's one situation i forgot to mention. the environment where we were practicing the car was very quiet! grateful coz at least my bro doesn't get nervous and embarrassed, but it also means the three of us have to work harder to get the car out 😂 i don't remember how long we had to fight in the situation earlier, but i do know that my hands are covered in scratches from the rocks we use as wheel support. my clothes and pants are also covered in stains from dust, soil, and residue of tire/oil(?)

i didn't even think about taking the documentation of the situation even though i had a desire several times coz i didn't wanna burden my bro. i just focused on working and made sure he was involved in the situation so that he could learn.

the problem is solved. we went back to the garden. i was weak and tired, i couldn't drive or sit in the passenger seat. so i just put my body in the trunk of the car while hugging the jack and other equipment we used earlier 😔 believe me, drinking water is heaven after such a situation. so, i drank some water and felt better, then i drove home safely 😎🤘🏻