#yeah i'm going to leave this here

[meiloorunsmoothie]

apparently this originally came from here but idk where the original is......so here you go 👍

[sergle]

I'm thinking abt that pretty fall leaves embroidery pattern post and about how like... it is categorically a repost, it's a reupload. right? a thing that is generally disliked. but because it's credited, it's genuinely boosting the artist in question. and it could ALWAYS be like this. reposting content could ALWAYS be a symbiotic relationship, but because sourcing back to the original creator of something is so uncommon, it's just easier to ask people not to repost it at all. and people still don't understand the difference. or they'll go to the effort of cropping out usernames/signatures to repost something, which is More Effort than literally crediting the creator of something you liked enough to want to repost. Like. I literally don't actually care if my own shit gets reposted, you have to understand. I just don't want it STOLEN. But "do not repost" is easier to write on my art than "you can repost this, but don't alter the image/remove my signature, don't you dare write 'credit goes to the artist' because that is not credit, please link back to my original post or someplace that you can actually find me. please use an actual link/url instead of writing a non-clickable link of my username, because making it text instead of a clickable link cuts the number of people who will go to the effort of visiting my own page in Half." All those aggregate themed accounts, those fuckin annoying as hell instagrams and facebook groups that are like "body positive art we love wamen 💕 hashtag feminism" and then MASS-STEAL plus sized art created by women, if pages like these that always go and steal my older self-portraits and other works... If they just put a link to my prints of those pieces in the text of those posts, or, fuck, my commission info page? I would literally be living on the moon right now. I would have a house on the moon

[bixels]

What did/do you like about Pharah?

Uh, gameplay-wise, I really love characters in shooters who rely on three-dimensional movement techs. Chaining together hover and jump to stay in the air for as long as possible and keep momentum is so satisfying, and picking enemies off from the sky made me feel like a bird of prey. I was a good Pharah main.

Story-wise, there unfortunately isn't much to canonically go off because Pharah is so underutilized and neglected. Her personality's pretty boilerplate "heroic hero" (she's literally inspired by Captain America).

But it's the crumbs/bits and pieces that I really latched onto. Pharah's a confirmed lesbian; her short story with Baptiste implies she harbors a crush on Mercy (fucking thank you.). She's biracial Egyptian/First Nations. She has major mommy issues, having grown up both admiring and resenting Ana. She's the bridge between Old Overwatch, inspired by the idealized heroes who surrounded her childhood, and New Overwatch. She's one of the only inter-generational characters in the cast; someone whose experiences span the gap, which is why I seriously believe Pharah would make a great main character.

There isn't much to go off of, though; she's a very uncomplicated character (she's a soldier for a private military corporation, lol.). But that just means she's a blank slate character, so I've seen fanfic writers run wild and create some really interesting takes on her. My favorite interpretation of her's a dense, herbo gym-bro type (a lot of her liens are about work outs, exercising, and playing sports) who's easily excitable under her seemingly self-serious, armored visage. We see how she tends to gloat and hype herself up when she's on a streak too, so Pharah definitely has a competitive and boastful side under her more professional and militant performance.

Now Mercy? Mercy is a real complex character.

[p1ctur3]

Can't believe it has been a full year since I starting posting AvA/M fanart

so I redrew my first piece of fanart :]

[rxj-the-punk]

Help I made myself sad. (spoiler below the cut)

[astramachina]

did you guys know i'm a writer? yeah i had no idea either.

anyway, AMAPOLAS IN THE DESERT is a new short story (3.4k words) that just went up for free on patreon if anyone's feeling zesty and wants to read about a displaced latino roaming the american southwest, coming across a questionable watering hole, getting flirted with by trickster gods, and getting torn asunder by a trans woman who may or may not be a primordial deity.

but also, for like a whole $1, you can get access to a T4T sci-fi romance short (8k words) inspired by H.G. Wells' The Time Machine.

but also also, i've got a couple of nonfiction essays dropping next year where i set out to piss people off by arguing that their favorite pieces of media are grossly mis-categorized (in a fun and non-judgy way; and who knows, it might make it onto podcast or even video format if i can afford to outsource editing). among other things.

[cak31ssuperi04]

fun fact: Them

[grinchwrapsupreme]

for a show that's fundamentally about family it's weird that we've never heard even a passing mention of Pete White or Dr. Mrs. The Monarch's families. Like we saw Sheila's wedding and her family wasn't there, and you can't tell me Rose hasn't asked Pete about his mother at least once. We know more about Brock Samson's family than theirs. Hell we know more about Underbite's family than theirs

[crabussy]

man its absolutely crazy how far simple politeness gets you. if you are polite to strangers on the internet who hate your guts 9/10 times they will LISTEN to you and TAKE YOUR POINTS INTO CONSIDERATION????? I've have genuinely very pleasant conversations with people whose worldviews COMPLETELY contradict my own and have come away knowing that they're thinking about what I said and may have even changed the way they think about the issue we discussed. it feels like it shouldn't work but it works almost TOO well. if people feel like you're listening to and considering THEIR opinions and experiences, they'll listen to yours too. it goes both ways!!!!

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

I can't believe it's taken me this long to have Leliana and Sten together in a party. I won't lie, Sten's usually my least used companion so I'm making a conscious effort to use him more this playthrough.

His banter with Leliana? It's so good.

Leliana: I saw what you were doing back there. Sten: Oh? Leliana: Don't play innocent with me. Sten: What are you talking about? Leliana: You. Playing with that kitten. Sten: ...There was no kitten. Leliana: Sten, I saw you. You dangling a piece of twine for it. Sten: I was helping it train. Leliana: You're a big softie! Sten: We will never speak of this again. Leliana: Softie!

And then she continues to call him "Softie" in later banter, I love it.

I also appreciate all of his banter with Shale, that's been a real interesting one.

Shale: I have a question of religion, Qunari. Sten: For you, kadan, I will answer. Shale: Would its "qun" accept a convert that was a golem? Sten: I do not know. It has never happened. We accept beings of all walks of life, so long as they are willing to accept their place in the world. Shale: And what place is that? Sten: One of equality. Within the Qun, an individual exists to serve. Shale: Hmm. That is less appealing. Would it consider birds to be its equal as well? Sten: Birds? Birds are... but animals. Enlightenment does not await them. Shale: Excellent. That sounds very promising.

Like... it's not that I don't like Sten, he just ends up being the companion who gets benched the most, especially once I've gathered everyone else. My Tabris always gets high approval with him, though don't ask me how. Every time they talk at camp, Sten's out here throwing "+7 Approval" and "+13 Approval" left and right? Rose is straightforward and doesn't take his shit, so I guess he likes that? I don't know, they're buddies though.

I have a rule that Alistair's never allowed to leave the party--he's a grey warden, too. He and Rose gotta deal with all the bullshit together no matter what, but that means I already have a warrior constant in my party. When I want another, I tend to gravitate toward Oghren more than Sten. That's mostly because I like Rose and Oghren fighting together a lot before Awakening, and that means poor Sten's a benchwarmer in the Blight.

Not this time, though, I'm working to rotate my party around a lot.

Except for Alistair.

He's never sat on the bench and he never will.

[jungkook97]

fling;; jjk

pairing: canon idol!jungkook x reporter!reader

word count: 4.6k

rating: ma

genre/warnings: romance, angst

summary: you were interviewing bangtan and couldn't help but felt a level of closeness to the youngest member. soon after, jungkook ended up taking a liking to you, proposing that you two should meet up throughout the week while he was in town for a little fun.

notes: this has been a fantasy of mine. it's angst as usual, but it's more so of lost connections that the boys may have upon going on these promo cycles overseas.

this also exists within the decision to leave jungkook fictional universe from the perspective of the reader.

© jungkook97 2023. do not repost or modify. please ask for permission to translate.

You were nervous. Very nervous. 

Your hands were shaking a bit, clammy as you wiped the sweat off on your dress as you checked your Apple Watch for the fifteenth time. It wouldn’t really change anything but more so of a tick that you had whenever you were nervous.

It was the first time you were assigned to interview with an A-list celebrity, or rather, an A-list group. You followed their careers from nearly the beginning, slowly becoming a major fan (minus the unhinged nature of being a stan, of course). It was as if you were living your dreams out in reality, something that you never thought in a hundred years or even this lifetime that you could do.

And so, you held your breath as the time ticked closer and closer to their arrival. The staff had arrived to go over some topics that you couldn’t talk about, the usual: dating, anything super personal, and anything that would be anti-capitalistic (although you had a feeling that some of the members wouldn’t have minded having such conversations). You knew the drill at that point as you zoned off, thinking about how you would be interviewing the biggest band in the world, talking to them and them actually responding back to you in real time. 

It was hard to grasp for you. Like everyone else, you always saw BTS as a group that meets a lot of people every single day, not really being able to distinguish faces or fully pay attention like operating on autopilot. The idea that they would be perceiving you drove you insane as your heart thumped ever so loudly in your eardrums, wondering who you saved in a past life to deserve interviewing a group you admired for so long.

Eventually, the time came to usher them in, and you held your breath in anticipation, continuing to self-soothe yourself by rubbing your hands on your thighs as they walked in one by one, looking exactly the same. You had seen them in concert in the press boxes, maybe a few times up close as a fan, but having them bow to you in greeting…it was a lot.

“H-hi,” you mustered all the courage to start the greeting, meeting eyes with every single member slowly, taking it all in. They responded, leaving your heart leaping for joy and also with an uncomfortable, but not uneasy feeling in your throat. You felt like it caught a mass while you were waiting for them, but you knew it was just simply nerves. “S-sorry if I’m too nervous around y’all–”

All of them started chuckling, with Namjoon putting his hands up in attempt to comfort you (it did a bit). 

“It is totally okay,” Namjoon spoke in his usual deep voice, perhaps an octave lower than you anticipated. “We get this pretty often, actually.”

You flushed in embarrassment, shifting in your seat trying to feel a bit more comfortable. You could feel the heat of all seven of them having their undivided attention to you, and the studio lights being as hot too. You weren’t sure if you were sweating everywhere else, if you smelled, if you shaved enough to get rid of any peach fuzz, or if you put enough makeup to look just as gorgeous as they were.

It didn’t matter anymore. You were in the moment. Too late to go back now.

You took a quick deep breath, exhaling slowly as you heard your cameraperson stating that they were ready to roll. 

“Let’s begin.”

It was easier than expected. Your nerves got the best of you at first as you stuttered the first few questions out before taking a five minute break. It was embarrassing, but the boys understood, trying to coax you and comfort you by stating that they get it often. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to be another young fan acting like a high school girl around their crush!” you laughed, wiping your tears away from the welling of tears as you were overstimulated (you had disclosed to them awkwardly about your neurodivergence, something that Yoongi immediately nodded and expressed his understanding much to your surprise). 

“You’d be surprised,” Namjoon reassured, smiling. “There was a male reporter earlier that kept freaking out about Jin-hyung.” 

“Really?” you chuckled as the members nodded in agreement, talking to their oldest in Korean, probably teasing him. You weren’t fluent in Korean, but you could tell from Jin’s red ears that they were making fun of the situation. 

“Yeah, it was funny,” Hoseok said, his light and bouncy voice filling up the room. He had become as fluent as Namjoon was over the past year after having spent a year in the U.S. after his enlistment. “Like, I think he got a…crush?”

“Ey, no~” Seokjin protested, you understand for him to disagree. He spoke some more, in which the interpreter from the earpiece all of you had translated, “He was a fan of all of us.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it was just you,” Hoseok pressed via interpreter. “I can tell he was one of us,” he pointed to him and Jimin (the both of them had come out to the public two weeks ago together as a part of the LGBTQ+ community). 

“A crush, huh? Worldwide Handsome getting everyone!” you laughed as the interpreter did as well, translating for the rest of the team. Everyone agreed, giggling as well. 

“Can we continue?” Namjoon piped in, his index finger imitating an old film camera rolling. You nodded, gesturing to the cameraman to continue.

You and BTS talked about a lot of things at length, questions that you never thought you would ever say to them. Surprisingly, a lot of the more “controversial” opinions got past the company, perhaps from all the work the boys had done to be as transparent to the fans as possible. Most of what you speculated the boys had felt during their hiatus were validated, and some were debunked to your surprise. You were shocked to learn that most of them had a lot of control over their solo activities, if not complete control despite what the conversation was at the time on Twitter. 

Eventually, the boys turned the mic back to you, asking something that caught you off guard.

“We heard you’re a huge fan of Jungkook’s,” Jimin beamed in mischief, nudging the youngest to pay attention. Jungkook had barely spoken at that point, but you had felt his eyes on you the entire time, getting you a bit flustered sometimes. 

Jimin wasn’t wrong. You were the biggest fan of Jungkook’s, mostly ever since his sudden glow-up with his tattoo sleeve. You had a soft spot for the kid (you were a few years older than him), and seeing him grow into this confident and sexy late-20 something was satisfying for you to see. 

“Y-yeah,” you stuttered out, your hands covering your mouth in shock. “How did you guys know?”

“Ah…” Jimin trailed off, looking towards his other members. “I think Namjoon-hyung found your Twitter fan account yesterday?”

Fuck.

“What?!” you exclaimed, standing up. The members cracked up as Namjoon began to protest, putting his hands up. “You stalked me?!” you asked teasingly.

“No! It’s just…” Namjoon started stuttering as well, caught in the act. “I heard from our translator that you were a big fan and so, I did some digging…”

“Well, you did a lot of digging!” you argued back, laughing and flushing madly. You didn’t want to look at Jungkook at this point, although you felt he was embarrassed based on how much he was shifting in his seat from the corner of your eye. 

You felt like you wanted to die. Die in a sense, you now knew that Namjoon saw your unhinged tweets about the group’s maknae. You wondered how far he scrolled down, if he saw your tweets crying about Jungkook’s sparkly ensemble at the last concert stop a few days ago that amassed to tens of thousands of tweets. You wondered how he even found it, considering that you didn’t even follow your fan account on your public one. Maybe you forgot to unlink it on your YouTube account, or maybe you had accidentally shared the numbers on your Instagram. It didn’t matter: Namjoon found it. 

It grew awkwardly quiet, and you could still feel the gaze from the youngest. You were too scared to even look at him. What if he thought you were insane or unhinged? Did Namjoon even show the tweets to him? You were mortified at the thought of him staring in disbelief. 

What was even worse is that he knew before you guys officially met, meaning he had been staring at you the entire time in silence, probably mortified that an obsessed, crazed fan of his was conducting the interview. In fact, it made sense as to why he was so quiet: he probably was judging you for being batshit nuts on your stan account about him. 

“Ah, I shouldn’t have said that,” Jimin sighed loudly, his words being translated. “Now it’s all awkward…” 

“N-no, it’s okay,” you lied, shuffling your interview cards. “I had a feeling you guys have your burner Twitter accounts just watching us,” you squinted your eyes at Namjoon. His cheeks turned red as you did the same, your heart fluttering. 

“It’s just Namjoon,” Hoseok emphasized, even though you knew that to be a lie. “He has too much time in his hands.” 

“Ey, shut up,” Namjoon said in Korean, chuckling. “Well…don’t you want to say something to Jungkook, maybe?”

You blinked.

“Say what?”

He shrugged, smiling. 

“I don’t know, I thought you guys would be the type to want to say something to someone you really admire. I’m sure Jungkook would like to hear from his biggest fan,” he teased. 

You blushed madly, laughing nervously. 

“I didn’t prepare or anything,” you began making excuses, your eyes slowly moving toward Jungkook’s direction to gauge his reaction. It took a few seconds, probably from the interpreter for him to understand what was going on before he sat up straight immediately, clearing his throat. 

“Yeah!” Jungkook exclaimed a bit too loudly, clearing his throat again. “I wanna…hear.” 

The rest of the members echoed the same sentiments. 

“Ah fuck,” you muttered. Not BTS putting you on the spot to confess your feelings. It wasn’t something you really wanted to do in front of the entire group and the crew, but the crew kept pressuring you to do it. After all, it would make great TikTok content. It was then you turned away from the group, just dying from embarrassment. 

“Come on, it would be so cute,” your PD encouraged you. 

“But it’s so embarrassing,” you whined as you flushed wildly, your back toward the group. “I have so much to say.”

“I’m sure Jungkook wants to hear all of it. He seems to really like you!”

Your heart skipped a beat from hearing that. That was true, the group and you kept having great laughs and teases throughout the entire interview. 

“Fine, fine.”

You took a deep breath, nodding towards Nicole, their interpreter. You could see Jungkook leaning in closer as you began. 

“You’ve always been my favorite,” you began. “And uh, I always admired that you always did what you wanted no matter how many people said you shouldn’t. You’re strong and rebellious, something that I admire because I wish I had half of that strength…”

You closed your eyes at this point, your eyes swirling in its eye sockets. You couldn’t believe you were saying this to Jungkook who was right in front of you. For a moment, you forgot that you were interviewing him, that it was a professional setting. You felt like you needed to say all of this, knowing full well how much Jungkook had felt insecure about his image change and how he was being perceived. He was pretty explicit about that in the recent lives you were able to catch, and you wanted to comfort him. 

“And I know that a lot of people have a lot to say about you, and as an older fan, I just want to say…not all of us are like that. I’m not, at least. I want you to be happy, to be loved, to be able to not be restricted by society’s standards. I want you to know that I will always love you no matter what, that you will always be my favorite person. I hope one day, you will find someone or something that will make you feel like home, Jungkook. I want…” 

You swallowed. 

“I want you to be comforted. And unconditionally loved.” 

You sighed deeply, shaking your head as you opened your eyes, looking right at Jungkook. You felt a bit confident after all of that as Nicole continued translating for him. He was listening intently, crossing his arms trying to digest all that you said. 

“Ah…” he vocalized a few times, nodding his head. His eyes grew glassy as he closed his eyes a bit. 

There was silence, this time more comfortable than before. You held your breath in anticipation, wondering how he reacted to that. Was it too much? Were you being a little too extra? 

Fuck, that was too much was it. 

“I’m sorry if that’s a lot,” you blubbered out, putting your hands up in defense. “I…kind of lost myself there.”

A moment of silence for the translations. 

Jungkook laughed. 

“Ah, it’s okay,” he said in Korean. “Uh…”

He smacked his lips together, his eyes looking at the floor sheepishly. He then looked up at you, his eyes sparkling with genuine happiness and joy. 

“Thank you,” his voice echoed in your skull as he thanked you in English. 

You looked away abruptly, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. It was a lot, and you felt like you could die at any moment. 

“Uh, let’s take a break, yeah?” Namjoon piped in. You agreed, taking your lavalier mic off and running straight to the bathroom. 

Or rather, let’s end this so I can die in a corner, probably. 

It wasn’t long until the interview was over, much to your dismay. While it felt like you were floating on clouds, it felt too short, too professional for your liking. 

Ever since your confession though, you felt a pair of eyes intently following your every movement, or so you thought anyways. You never once coded Jungkook’s stare to be intense, but he was quite attentive after your little spiel, nodding and laughing at your jokes (even though it was off by a few seconds for translations). You wished that you were native in your own tongue, but as the interview went on, you surprisingly knew more than you thought, laughing at the supposed inside jokes they had. You guys went briefly over the infamous dumpling incident, which, at this point, had its own lore. 

The boys felt approachable for once, although you knew for quite some time that they would be. You were similar in age with them after all, the same age as Namjoon give or take a few months. It felt like you were talking as friends rather than an actual interview that you were being paid to do. 

Nonetheless, the interview was a success, and you were packing your things up to go home. 

That was, until Namjoon approached you. 

“Hey,” he began, startling you. Your eyes widened at him coming up, being his normal self. 

“Hey,” you managed to say back, trying not to freak out. Is he about to do what I think he’s about to do? “What’s up?”

“Uh…” Namjoon put his hands in his pockets, smiling sheepishly. “I was wondering if you wanna get dinner with Jungkook and I. He told me he really liked your energy today, and was wondering if we could talk more over some food.”

Holy shit. Is this real?

“Uh….” was all your stupid self could say, gawking at him as if he said something completely unintelligible. “Um…”

Say yes, you asshole.  

“It’s fine if you have to like, uh, edit and shit,” he continued, his eyes averting away from you, his voice trailing off. 

Fuck, dude. Say something back. Say YES. 

“Um…” 

Then, you saw Jungkook at a distance, overwatching the whole conversation. His lips were pursed into a pout, his neck extending toward the direction of you two, perhaps trying to hear what was going on. There was no way you could be making this up. Jungkook seemed… interested in wanting to spend more time with you. 

Romantic? Unsure. But definitely interested. 

This wasn’t the first time a celebrity has asked you to dinner (in fact, you were a looker yourself, whether you liked it or not), but with BTS? They were more definitely out of your league. However, you felt like you had been friendly at this point, so why not? 

“Yeah, why not?”

Dinner was a blast. In fact, it was the most fun you ever had. 

While you and Namjoon exchanged even more funnier quips, teases and passionate arguments about life, you and Jungkook sat next to each other, just feeling rather comfortable. It wasn’t to say that you two were feeling each other up, but Jungkook, an avid fan of Namjoon’s, was taking your side the entire time, initiating contact here and there to definitely show more than just platonic interest. You were taken aback at first, recoiling your hand when he “accidentally” brushed his hands against yours, but after a while, you leaned into him, showing your desire to get closer too.

Jungkook wasn’t as shy as you thought he was, and by the time dinner was over, he was playing footsies with you, his shoulder leaning against your own but disguised as him getting a bit too drunk for everyone’s liking (well, Namjoon’s anyways). Namjoon showed signs of feeling like the major third wheel, but he was, after all, the wingman in all of this, awkwardly smiling his infamous smile when he felt out of place. 

“Ah, you guys look really comfortable, huh?” Namjoon pointed the obvious out in his native tongue as you laughed. Jungkook leaned into you as you cupped his face with the biggest grin ever seen. 

“He’s adorable,” you replied back. “Cuter off-camera, if you ask me.”

“Gag,” Namjoon teased. “You guys need a room?”

You were staring into Jungkook’s doe eyes at this point, the chocolate pools of wonder. He was deeply in love, or at least, enamored by your presence. It turned out he was feeling you as well throughout the interview, and something in the air felt right to him. Not per se, bells ringing in his ear (he was past the romanticism), but he wanted more. So much more than what you two could do in front of Namjoon. 

“Can we use yours, hyung?” 

It didn’t take long before you two fucked after Namjoon and the two of you parted ways. In fact, both of you leaped onto each other madly the moment the door closed behind you. Of course, it was met with the typical NDA the morning after, something that you were quite used to at this point. It was a given that your night with him would be done in secrecy and with a contract to never speak of it, but to be honest, you weren’t planning to do that anyways. Jungkook was yours, even if it was for a split second.

“You’re incredibly beautiful, you know,” Jungkook breathlessly said after some time had passed, your bodies entangled with each other under the pillowy white sheets. “I never felt like I could just connect with someone I just barely knew.”

You grinned back, kissing his lips and the rest of his face. 

“Call it karmic,” you replied back. 

Jungkook, not knowing what the word was, leaned back in confusion. 

“Kar…mic?”

“Uh…” you struggled to find the Korean word equivalent, trying to run through your shoddy vocabulary. “Um…it’s like…fate…?” 

You weren’t sure what the word was, although it seemed to be received well with Jungkook. His pupils grew dilated as his mouth relaxed into a comfortable smile. He closed his eyes, leaning against you. 

“Ah…fate, right?”

You blushed wildly. 

“Yeah…fate.”

For the next week, you two met up every night in between your guys’ respective craziest schedules. Thankfully, it was easy because you were able to attend their next show (at the request from the artist, of course). While the others were in the press box though, you were in the family and friends’ box in which Jungkook may or may not have secretly passed by to steal a kiss or a hug. The two of you had agreed that this would be a short thing, nothing too serious. After all, the language barrier was a bit rough, and you two were working professionals. 

However, you couldn’t help but to feel more of a connection besides a little fling because well, both of you were totally into each other. He eventually gave his personal cell (or at least, the U.S. one he used in the States) to text, something that Jungkook admitted he didn’t do often. Adoringly, he had his read receipts on, and it looked like he always checked to see what you wrote, even if it took a good hour or two to respond. 

“I’m getting better at it, okay? Heh,” he would write, sending butterflies in your stomach. He was making an effort, although you can never be sure if he was like this with other people. Not that it mattered, you knew what it was, and you weren’t going to be caught up in it. 

As the days went on, you and Jungkook started sharing intimate details about each other, something that you only had when it was a real relationship. This confused you, but maybe it was because you used to be the only one who did it as a part of the neurodivergence part of your personality. You found out more about his flings, how much he craved for more than just fucking around.

“I don’t know,” he said one night as you brushed your fingers through his hair, his face buried deep into your chest. “I feel like…you know, I want something more with all of these people. Like…I’m wasting my time whenever I do these things, but…I can’t help it. How can I find someone when I’m Jungkook of BTS?”

It was a lot to take in, but you took it on like a champ. There were thoughts that you wondered what Jungkook would think about, and it felt unreal that he could say all of these things to you in the comfort of his hotel room, away from all the lights and the glitz and the glamour. In this moment, in this scene in your guys’ story together, he was yours. 

“Do you want more?” you asked quietly. You weren’t sure as to what you were saying, but it felt right to ask. 

He shifted his head and moved it up to see yours, closing the gap between you two. 

“Always. I always want to be loved unconditionally.” 

It was getting complicated, fast. 

You weren’t sure how to end it. In fact, time was ending it for you. It was Jungkook’s last day in the States, and it seemed like Jungkook suggested you go on tour with him for the next stop, Central America. While you weren’t entirely opposed to it, you knew where this was going. Last time, a celebrity had suggested that you to do a documentary film on them, and while you were flattered, it was just another way to keep you around at their convenience. 

It wasn’t to say that Jungkook was being selfish. Rather, it was the circumstances that made him think this way. With how restrictive the industry was, and how incredibly famous Jungkook was as well, it was hard for him to see people besides those closest to him, which at this point, had began to warn you during your time in the family and friends’ box at the shows about Jungkook’s quick attachment to people. 

“I know he always says he doesn’t get attached, but he really does,” an ex-fling told you in confidence in between VCRs. “He told me he was going to keep it professional, but the guy lies.” 

You were dreading it. Although you felt great that you slept with your favorite, it wasn’t your intention to get anything more out of it because well, what is there left? You signed an NDA, the company regularly asked if you two used a condom…it was getting invasive, weird, and it was starting to turn you off.

And so, the last night came through and you two met up again. This time, you knew it was the last time, and to Jungkook, maybe the start of something new. 

As you began to pack up your things, Jungkook laid on the bed sprawled out underneath the sheets. 

“So…Mexico…” he began. You sighed, knowing it was coming. 

“No, Jungkook,” you replied, turning toward him. “As much as I liked this, I can’t travel with you.” 

“I’m not asking for you to travel with me,” he rebutted, sitting up and grabbing his shirt to put it back on in one hand. “I’m just saying, come with me to the next show! It would be great coverage for the magazine.”

“Jungkook-ah, that’s not how it works,” you doubled down, zipping up your weekend bag before putting your jacket on. “I have to get approval from my editor. Plus, people are starting to talk, and frankly, I started getting texts from your fans about us.”

There it was, what you had been hiding. Honestly, you were used to it from the last celebrity you hooked up with, but this time, his fans, or his stalkers to be exact, knew everything about you, threatening to ruin your life if you didn’t stop fucking him. It was getting emotionally taxing, but you wanted to hide that from him. After all, you were confident that wasn’t his first time hearing this. 

“They’re not my fans and you know this,” he argued, now getting up and putting on his Adidas track pants. “The real ones will know it’s a little fling.”

“Do they though? Do you though?” 

There it was, the hard truth. 

Silence enveloped between you two, and Jungkook stood there in the dark with his hands in his pockets. He was staring at you, his eyes clearly pleading for you to not leave. 

“Don’t leave,” Jungkook’s words came after. “I know this seems a lot, but I really like you. We can make it work.”

Make it work…as if that could ever be a thing. 

You walked toward Jungkook with your weekender bag slung over your shoulders. Slipping your shoes on as well, you came closer to him, his breath hitched as you leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. 

“I’m sorry, Jungkook,” you began. “We can’t keep doing this. This is our last night together.”

He exhaled sharply, his eyes closing slowly. 

“I know.”

It didn’t take long before you two blocked each other on everything, pretending that you two didn’t exist to each other. It took a few more weeks before the fans stopped bothering you, probably focusing on the next fling Jungkook had. 

And so there it was, you had a fling with one of the biggest stars in the world. 

If only you knew what would happen next.

END. 

[reinedeslys-central]

"I think you should totally get in the back of my truck, actually," Leo says, linking pinkies with Jason. "What's the line? 'I can show you the world'?"

Jason stares down at where their fingers are curled together, peach on olive. He can't stop looking. "You don't have a truck."

Leo groans. "That was one time. I promise this one's legal. See?" He gently untangles their hands and slips behind the blue Chevy, returning with a slip of wrinkled paper that he triumphantly shoves in Jason's face.

LEO, I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU BREAK MY CAR WHILE I'M IN IOWA I WILL HAUNT YOU TO THE END OF TIME.

Your loving cousin, Nyssa (P.S. You can take your boy for a ride. I'll allow it. There's blankets in the back (and please help yourself to the glovebox). Don't tell me.)

Jason's eyes travel down the sparkly purple pen, catching on the note at the bottom before flickering back up. There's something that aches in his chest at the words 'your boy'.

He's not sure what expression takes over his face, but Leo, for his part, sees him and immediately ducks his head down so he can read the paper too, frowning. Jason follows his eyes down to the same line as they widen and Leo turns a raging, glorious red before hastily re-crumpling the note and sticking it into one of the many pockets of his cargo pants.

He clears his throat awkwardly while inspecting the dying grass at their feet. It looks like it could be good grass if it ever rains again this month, nice and long and thick.

..Yeah, nevermind.

He takes his glasses off and cleans them in an attempt to - what, exactly? It's not like he's got the object permanence of a toddler. It's not like looking away will stop him from thinking about red-hot blushes and bouncing curls and sharp smiles and -

Leo claps once, calling Jason's attention back up to him and the pretty blush staining his freckled nose. He looks just as awkward, laughing bashfully.

"Well, that's just Nyssa. Uh, she probably wouldn't actually haunt me, she doesn't believe in ghosts - not, I mean, if you do -" his words trip over each other, diverting the original innuendo that was definitely just meant to tease Leo since Jason's never even met her, not to mention he's not his, finally ending with - "but as you can see, it's clearly perfectly legal. So."

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Somehow I doubt that." Leo groans. "Oh, come on, dude, live a little, why dontcha?" He sidles up to him again, draping a warm arm over his shoulders and drawing him over to the car doors. "I know, you know, your dad's in California, your mom's in Paris, and your sister's at a party."

Jason opens his mouth to protest again and -

"- and before you say that you have homework," Leo scoffs, "allow me to remind you that we did our homework together yesterday, and you're already done your math homework for tomorrow, because you're a nerd."

Jason closes his mouth. "It's a school night," he offers weakly.

"Yeah, and every minute you have us waste out here is another minute we're not in the car, ergo another minute we're wasting, on a school night." Leo steps around him and holds his hands out again, eventually latching on to Jason's wrists and tugging him closer so he can peer into his eyes.

Jason may or may not forget how to breathe.

"Are you tired? You don't look tired," Leo frowns. "If you really don't want to go, I won't force you, y'know."

Jason forces his lungs to expand, contract, expand, so he can blurt out, "No, I mean, you got me. I'll go."

Leo grins as bright as the setting sun and twists around, whooping. He not-so-gently pushes Jason towards the car door before jogging over to hop into the driver's seat.

It takes a while, once they're actually on the road and leaving their neighbourhoods behind, that Jason finally goes, "You know, I'm just as concerned with how legal this is as I am with the fact that you still haven't told me where we're going."

Leo glares at him through the mirror. "Hey, if I told you then it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it?"

Jason hates surprises. "For all I know, you just kidnapped me for a surprise road trip to Toronto, and I didn't even pack my toothbrush."

Laughter bubbles out of the boy sitting at the wheel, quickly escalating into a full guffaw. "You're funny," Leo gasps, wiping away tears at a red light. "How did I not notice that you're funny?"

Jason's definitely never been told that he's funny. He might joke, sure, but being 'funny' is reserved for people like Percy, people like Leo or Cecil, who carry humour on them like sugar on a pastry, baked into their laughs and sprinkled over top with how clever they are.

No matter how hard Jason's tried, he's never been very clever.

Leo's still laughing, now more of a soft giggle as he pulls into the left lane to make a turn. He tries not to let it affect him.

"You should joke more often, dude. Bet all the girls would love that."

Jason looks outside at the trees and farms they're passing. Judging by the position of the sun, they're heading pretty much due south. There's nothing down south for them to be doing, though, especially not this late at night.

Skinny dipping, maybe. He wouldn't put it past Leo to suggest something like that and actually go through with it. But dragging him along? They barely know each other. What's a couple months on all the other people he knows?

"You wanna turn the radio on?" Leo says. Jason looks over to see him watching him with an odd smile. "Shotgun's choice, right? Don't worry, I won't judge. Even though I bet you listen to those 24-hour 'nature recordings' for fun and don't know what real music sounds like."

Jason rolls his eyes and plays with the dial until the 106.1 comes on. Leo groans. "Seriously? They keep playing, like, the same six artists over and over. Sure, Top 40's fine, but show a little variety, you know?"

He shrugs. It's like Leo said - he doesn't really know radio stations. His dad - when he deigns to drive the family places - is much more of a silence-of-doom, or failing that, an ominous-car-conversations person. "You put something on, then, if you're so set on it." He replies.

The warm light from the street plays over Leo's knuckles as he switches the wheel to one hand, blindly flailing the other one towards Jason until he hits the box behind the gear shift. "Pick a CD from here, whatever's fine. Eh, maybe not the Chopin or Metallica though. Might shift the vibe a bit too much."

Obligingly, Jason tugs at the black, faux-leather box until it comes open with a muffled thunk. Inside is a stack of CDs, spanning everything from Katy Perry to Vivaldi to Iron Maiden to Monsta X.

"Your cousin's got quite the music taste," he tosses out, rifling through the stack while giving periodic glances out the window to make sure they're not, like, five seconds away from a crash or something.

If there was anything Beryl Grace taught her kids, it was how to be a responsible passenger.

Almost on autopilot, Jason digs the pink-purple Teenage Dream CD out of the pile and then has to hastily shove the polaroids that spill out from underneath it back between the surrounding paper disc-sleeves (Mamma Mia!, he sees, and ..Heng:garæ? Whatever that means). That can't be safe for the discs, especially in a moving card, but then again who is he to judge. He doesn't even own any CDs.

They've fully left the town behind now, sailing down the open road with nothing but trees, farms, and the occasional streetlight in sight. He leans over and pops the disc into the CD drive, wondering again for the hundredth time where Leo's taking him.

Leo rolls to a stop at a four-way and watches him skip over the first two songs. "Whadya choose?"

Jason smiles. "Is now a good time to tell you I was born in Pasadena?"

The open bars of 'California Gurls' start to play, and Leo's warm, penny-brown eyes widen before he laughs, bright and a touch wild, incredulous.

It's weird. It's so weird. Maybe this is what his father meant when he said not to get any weird ideas in his head so close to finally reaching the decade-long goal of an Ivy League school. Maybe this is what his mother meant when she'd chastised him, saying hormonal teenagers got more impulsive with puberty and he should take care to keep listening to his parents, lest he lose everything he's worked so hard for.

If anyone else had tried this, he thinks, he wouldn't have said yes. He would have stayed at home, studied ahead for bond enthalpy and subjunctive Spanish, made tomorrow's lunch and cleaned his room. Adhering to routine. Acting - being normal.

You have to be normal, Jason. That's how they love you.

I will not tolerate an abnormal son.

Oh, Jason, it's like you just don't understand. What will people say? About you? About our family?

Leo isn't normal. Or maybe he is. Normal doesn't exist, when he's with Leo. He likes that about him.

He takes a risk and rolls the window down halfway so he can lean his head out and watch the sky, crisp wind tousling his hair. Leo smirks at him and switches the wheel to his right hand so he can roll his window down to match.

"Ten minutes," he says. "Look alive, buddy."

"There must be something in the water", Katy Perry croons.

also from 'burning like a glowing star', this valgrace fic I'm writing.

more stuff: Writing Directory

[shima-draws]

Perona and Zoro are so sibling core...

[romance-rambles]

godheim clarence | because it's you

On a seemingly normal day, as he's braiding your hair in the morning, your husband asks you if he should cut his hair. You try to be brave about it.

1.6k, post-clarence epilogue, misunderstandings + fluff, reader is mc, series: none

"SHALL I CUT MY HAIR short too?"

You register your husband's words as a joke at first. Why would you not? It flows so seamlessly from your own, after all—about how he might actually thank you for freeing up his time in the mornings if you chop off your long hair.

You know full well Clarence will not.

It is not enough to prevent you from chasing after your favorite kind of high. The one where he huffs exasperatedly and tells you as much, as a lovely but faint scarlet hue spreads across his cheek. The one that leaves you with the singleminded desire to kiss him, which you waste no time in doing—because you can.

So, expecting to see a hint of mirth in his blue eyes, you roll your eyes and watch him through the vanity's mirror with an unfaltering grin.

There is none.

Instead, the mirror reflects only the almost clumsy seriousness you've come to expect in his endeavors to prove himself worthy of being your husband. It is both flattering and worrying.

And sometimes, it makes you wonder if you were too harsh on him in the early days of your time together in the void, when you demanded apology after apology from him. Then, you remember that he's the same man who catches fishes only to free them in the end—and that this is simply sort of endearing idiot he is.

It helps immensely.

"Would you like to?" you ask carefully, concealing your silent insults with a half-awkward smile.

You would not like him to.

But it is rare for Clarence to express an interest in his appearance outside of what you make of it. His most frequently worn coat is the one you once complimented him, under a brightly-lit street lamp as he wrapped his scarf around you instead. He always buys the same fragrance, and only when it runs out, with a polite explanation of My wife likes this one the most that drives most merchants mad.

The only response he's ever offered when shopping for clothes is: If you like it, I'm fine with wearing it.

Biting back a scowl, you add, "I think you'd look good with short hair."

Of course he would. Even putting aside his hairstyle when he was younger, your husband is handsome enough to pull anything off.

You are, of course, very biased—it's an accusation you've never tried to deny.

"I see." With a pleased hum, Clarence ties off your braid. "Then I'll pick out a date. Would you like to come along?"

He's careful to adjust the hair tie first, concealing any stubborn tufts hair poking through between the gaps before he reaches for your usual red ribbon. Then, with a practiced ease that comes only with years' worth of repetition, he loops it through the hair tie and twists into a proper bow.

Today, you cannot find it in yourself to admire his careful movements through the mirror.

"I'm never going to hear the end of it if I do that," you answer, shuddering a little at the thought. The people at this village are mostly kind, but a few of the louder ones tend to comment on Clarence's tendencies a bit too frequently for your liking. "You remember what happened last time, don't you?"

Your fingers traverse down the full length of your neatly-braided hair to pull it over your shoulder. Their grasp on the end of it lasts for only a second before your hand falls to the edge of your stool. Gulping, you swivel around and soon find yourself properly face to face with your husband.

He smiles faintly. "In a sense, they weren't wrong."

To properly hold onto his face, you have to scoot closer to the edge. Clarence bends down slightly, further easing the burden on your arms. Your eyes narrow fondly at him before you ruin the moment by smushing his cheeks.

"They were insulting you," you correct him, indignation fueling your flat tone. "I'd say they were very wrong."

His expression grows helpless and fond. Wrapping his hands around your own, he settles down onto the hardwood floor. In doing so, he ignores your chiding entirely; instead, he looks at you with a hint of reverence in his gaze.

"Perhaps," Clarence agrees softly. "I've heard worse."

Inhaling sharply, you press your foreheads together. When you next speak up, your tone is softer. "Do you have a cut in mind?"

"The same as it was when I was younger, I suppose," he says, sounding a bit uncertain.

You do your best approximation of a nod. You're not entirely certain what brought this on, but that won't stop you from being the most supportive wife to ever be supportive. As you squeeze his hands gently, you hope he can sense your resolve.

"Alright," you say, a bit forcefully, as you press a kiss to his forehead. "—now get off the floor. It's my turn to do your hair."

IT'S WHEN YOU'RE CAREFULLY UNTANGLING your braid at night that you remember the conversation from that morning.

"Did you decide on a date?" you ask curiously.

Clarence hums. "I didn't get the chance to quite yet."

He's watching you from his side of the bed, both hands occupied by a book he stopped reading the moment you walked in after your nighttime routine. When you shake your hair back to normal and settle under the blankets, he wordlessly turns the lamps off, with only a flick of his hand.

Accepting his answer, you snuggle up against his chest, fully intent on going to sleep—

Except you can't.

Curiosity nags at you, offering you the same question over and over again in the hopes that you'll break. And break you do as you call out your husband's name.

You can't quite make out what his expression is, but you know he isn't asleep. It's only been a few years—just a little over a decade, to be precise—since they've reunited. Adjusting to a life within the bounds of time, you know, takes some time, especially for someone like Clarence who had seemingly outgrown the need to sleep even before he entered the nothingness.

"Clarence," you whisper, "what made you want to cut your hair?"

For a moment, he remains silent. You can hear his beating heart, and that is enough to let you know that he's flustered.

"Clarence?"

"You said I looked very handsome," he says finally. "The other day."

Upon hearing those words, your mind offers you nothing noteworthy. To you, calling your husband handsome is no different making sure your heart's intact. You think you might actually die if you don't tell him, but you haven't tested it before.

Your heart, however, is filled to the brim with affection for this man, the one you've searched nearly your entire life for.

Even if you do want to throttle him a little bit.

"You'll have to be more specific, dear," you tell him, gently touching his cheek. He's warm, you think. You're tempted to turn the lights back on. "I'm sure I say that every day. And why would that make you want to cut your hair?"

Clearing his throat, he adds, "To be more specific, you didn't say it to me necessarily. You were—" Clarence pauses, a hint of uncertainty to his next words. "—talking about my younger self."

Oh.

The gears in your head start to turn. Now, you can faintly recall the memory of you waxing poetically about the man whose image remains in use on one of the most popular and frequently sold-out stamps even now, centuries later. Mostly, you remember smiling through a comment about how carefully you must've chosen your husband—as if she hadn't pressured into picking a man other than your husband to gush about.

You would've chosen the Archmage who seemingly had no relation to your husband regardless, but it would've been nice to know ahead of time.

Because you do have eyes, Eliza. That's how you know there isn't a man alive that's more attractive than Clarence.

Still, there hadn't been any deeper meaning when you chose his younger self specifically. There'd been a stamp nearby and you'd used it as a reference, in the hopes that it would help the other ladies downplay your incredible knowledge of his features.

You're almost certain they think you're deranged.

"Clarence." You giggle, suddenly amused. "Clarence. You look very handsome today."

Clumsily, you press a loving kiss to his forehead. Then, to the mole under his eye, to the tip of his nose, to his other cheek, until finally, you kiss him on the lips. At some point, while you're busy being productive, he goes from laying on his side to laying on his back.

"What brought this on?"

He sounds bewildered. You think it's cute.

After taking a moment to compose yourself, you begin to explain. Throughout, he's mostly silent, save for the occasional acknowledgement. Still, you don't have to worry about whether he's listening or not.

Until the very end, his hands—still wrapped around you—give him away.

"I like your long hair just as much, because—" You give him another peck on the lips. "—I love you. No matter what, you're always the best-looking man in the room."

Clarence wastes no time in answering you, though he very nearly chokes on his words. "And I...you."

"Good." Feeling satisfied, you rest your head against his chest. "Do you still want to cut your hair? ...Clarence?"

"I think," he says, clearing his throat. "It's fine the way it is."

You don't try to point out why.

[maxphilippa]

uh. vent art. or something. losing yourself and losing everyone who you cared about as a result

[cedarw00div]

redeemed Gort au....He gets tadpoled instead of durge....hregrgrggrr...