#*throws a dart* that compelled people to do things

[helenofblackthorns]

I need Cassandra Clare to start releasing concrete information about the wicked powers so I can start making real theories and stop creating theories off the vibes of singular sentences.... a girl needs enrichment in her enclosure

[littlejuicebox]

Shoutout Sunday

Here I am again with another recommendation list! This one is a bit different from the last, in that these recs are all fics written in third person rather than second person POV. Listed in no particular order. I wanted to include some smaller writers and newer pieces that may have not gained much traction yet!

I know I write a lot of second person POV, and I also enjoy reading this POV. BUT, I do want to encourage people to consider reading both first and third person work as well. 

Some of these pieces are THE most compelling things I’ve ever read. Especially when someone’s OC is involved. Creators put A LOT of love into their OC work. If you like a creator’s second person stuff, I strongly encourage you to read their things written in other POVS… there’s a high chance it’s even better than their second person work, tbh.

All recommendations are below the cut. Happy Reading!

Thrice Before Dawn by @cursedhaglette- This is a smut piece set in Act 1. I promise you all that I thought about this fic for days after I read it. Physically made me blush. Top tier banter and the ending is chef’s kiss. It’s sort of a One Shot but I believe it’s also an ongoing collection/series. 

Starlit Skirts by @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate - This One Shot is the fluffiest fluff to ever fluff. This piece made me tear up. Every piece of Emi’s is divine. Astarion is working on creating Tav’s wedding dress and has been for months. The issue is, it’s requiring constant altering.

Blood in the Mortar by @bardic-inspo (tumblr) / bardic_inspo (AO3) - An AA One Shot that is beautifully written and exceptionally compelling, based on the concept of AA’s love interest being a vampire bride. Her OC Naomi is fantastic! OP hasn’t written smut in over a year and yet she does well, as if it’s her day job. 

Memories of Us by @tallymonster - I maintain this is the only AU longfic I currently read and I adore it. There are a few chapters I am dying to catch up on. This version of Astarion is so interesting, I really like how she works with the concept of a vampire outliving all of his prior friends/contacts. 

Slow Dancing in a Burning Room by @tragedybunny - Bunny is an OG, I’m certain most of you are familiar with her One Shots. She has a huge Masterlist, and surely you can throw a dart and any title it hits will be a win. But this AA series is a new longfic work of hers and I cannot wait to see where she takes it. 

Loose the Arrow by pentuppen (AO3 only, unsure if the tumblr blog is the same person?) - This is the first BG3/Ascended Astarion longfic ever read and I was hooked. It inspired me to start writing myself! This storyline is compelling and the perfect blend of angst/comfort/smut.  I’m not going to give away the plot, but the author’s summary itself is intriguing. Here’s a bit: “One night every year. She is always there waiting and he will always come.”

[window-window]

— 0. THE FOOL

“IT MAY BE THAT THERE ARE MORE DANGERS THAN YOU SEE RIGHT NOW.”

UPRIGHT: beginnings, freedom, innocence, originality, adventure, idealism, spontaneity.

REVERSED: reckless, careless, distracted, naive, foolish, gullible, stale, dull.

–––

ALON AGBAYANI.

Last seen on January 20th. Alon is only known to have vanished due to their proximity to Dex at the time of disappearance. They have no (valid) emergency contacts and no loved ones closer than the acquaintance level. Had they been alone, it may have never been noticed at all.

PUBLIC BIOGRAPHY

Alon Agbayani has only lived in New Jersey for a couple years, transferring from another university outside of state. Vermont, Louisiana, Oregon -- which one isn't completely clear. They're so good at keeping personal information under wraps that it's not certain where exactly they attended college before. They have, however, been to all of those states short-term.

In terms of childhood, Alon was born and raised in rural central Florida. They'd visit their mother's side of the family in the Philippines for special occasions, and their father every other weekend, who stayed somewhere else in the same county Alon lived with their mom. As far as they're concerned, their parents were always separated.

They could tell you that, and who their immediate family members are, and ... not much else. They really have to think to bring most memories up to the surface. It's like they're under a state of perpetual brain fog. They sound blunt and to the point, and appear calm and collected in most situations, but in truth they run behind a lot more often than one would expect.

[CW: implied S/A discussion in the context of forensic psychology work in the next paragraph.]

A forensic psychology student in their last undergraduate year, they love their impending line of work hate their impending line of work? Alon Agbayani is obligated to complete their dissertation and how they feel about it is irrelevant. The subject they feel so compelled to pick apart -- repressed events, "false memory syndrome", how the latter concept further discourages the judicial body from taking survivors of any kind seriously -- is something they cannot mentally handle for reasons they don't understand.

But they're still studying. They can't afford to quit. How they feel about it is irrelevant.

Rationally, they know that they're failing school. It'll be near impossible to pull everything together by now, and sunk-cost fallacy is the only thing keeping Alon here. But they don't bother talking about it; no use complaining now. They did this to themself. They don't know anyone that well, anyway, not here. The same can be said the other way around.

Do they live on campus? Off campus? No one can tell. No one's asked and no one's seen them leave or enter their home.

People do not know anything about Alon. Baseline observations, at most. Even then, they're not concrete. They like their coffee black. Or was it sweet? Hot. They like rock music. Cold. Rock makes their head hurt. Long hair pisses them off, the feeling is awful. They wave when people pass by. They can't stand keeping their hair short. They dart through crowds and avoid interacting. They listen to rap, or pop, or maybe they like musicals. Sometimes they don't speak English. They're a very consistent person. They bite their nails. They want you to leave them alone. They don't like coffee at all.

Prepared, vigilant, has backups for their backups. Physically unable to relax, chronically uncomfortable.

FUN FACTS

– Wears the same expression most of the time. It's difficult to track what they're thinking.

– Values comfort in their clothing above style, or even practicality -- they're often wearing multiple layers.

– Severely farsighted. Their glasses are impossible to see through from the outside ...

– A good cook! Sometimes ...! Their favorite things to make are soups, stews, anything that lets you use up leftovers or throw things together like it's nothing. They volunteer at a nearby soup kitchen when they can.

– A night owl if I've ever met one. When their circumstances permit it, their schedule keeps classes either really late or really early! Dead asleep at noon.

– Alon is the host of a (DID) system. They are aware of this. No one else is.

[diazdefense]

hello all, as an eddie diaz defender there are some things i have been compelled to put out there in the tumblr ether. i trust that they will find their rightful audience 🙏

i would just like to address something that has been really annoying me as i've lurked on tumblr as of late, and that is the persistent arguments by a certain set of shippers that:

tptb only allowed 911 to make 1 character queer and they chose buck

if eddie does come out as gay, it would be something new and not something that has been written into the character for several seasons

now I could write up an entire dissertation on how eddie's relationships with women are all glaringly written with the intent to demonstrate eddie's repression, but i feel like that is unnecessary as you could find better write ups on all of that elsewhere.

what i do want to say is that it is incredibly frustrating for people to talk about eddie as if he is at the most a "queer-coded" character and not one legitimately written as gay. the writing is not subtle and buddie shippers are not reading into things bc of their ship.

the fact that the coming out storyline involving tommy was initially going to be with eddie was not just a fleeting idea the writers had on the same level as eddie initially being brought in as maddie's love interest. that obviously came during the ideation stage of eddie as a new character on the show, before he was the eddie we know today.

having eddie come out this season was a storyline written for eddie as an established character, a decision which is very obviously predicated on all of his prior characterization. tim minear did not just throw a dart and go "yeah, why not make eddie gay?". that was the storyline he planned to tell until there was a last minute change and it became buck's coming out instead. however, that does not mean that eddie's character has magically become straight.

he is still being written as the same repressed man, who has now reached a breaking point as his excuse that "shannon was the love of his life" and that's why he cannot forge genuine romantic connections with women has led him to lose the most important thing in his life.

this has brought eddie to the rock bottom from which he will finally be able to build himself back up, but this time by being true to himself and not just doing what others tell him or what he thinks is "the right thing to do". this is what eddie's character has been building towards and to not acknowledge that is to completely misunderstand him.

eddie will be coming out in season 8 and i hope when he does you will all realize JUST HOW WRONG YOU WERE.

(also buddie is obviously happening)

[empressofthewind]

/twirls into the room 1 2 3 21 for the ask for one nate river please!!!!

HELLO AND WELCOME 🥰 these were genuinely the hardest questions to answer because I could write essays upon essays about how much I love him but I tried to keep it at least somewhat brief!!

~

1. Why do you like or dislike this character?

I adore everything about him 🥺 here’s a bullet point list so this doesn’t just look like one daunting wall of text:

The very first thing that compelled me was his relationship with Mello. I love the idea that they’re designed to be two halves of L, and that he is fully aware of his own shortcomings as an individual despite Mello’s own permanent state of denial. He’s so understanding and forgiving of Mello’s actions, he defends him when he can’t be there to defend himself and gives him more credit in the warehouse than he gives himself.

He also demonstrates this level of empathy with his team, factoring their opinions into the decisions he makes and checking in with them to make sure they’re comfortable when he sets them dangerous tasks. He’s stated in Volume 13 to be sensitive, and this comes through so clearly in the way he interacts with the people he cares about.

He’s direct when he has to be, and he doesn’t put on a fake persona or play into childish mind games the way L and Light do. He’s honest with the people he trusts, and when he has to lie, he does it in the most straightforward, simple way. Most of his plans are like this - relatively straightforward, rarely overcomplicated. He’s sharp and he thinks things through very thoroughly, even at short notice.

Much of his personality comes through in nonverbal cues and subtleties in his dialogue, like the creativity in his construction of toys and puppets, and a vague streak of recklessness in the way he so casually destroys them. His inability to throw darts is also one of my favourite things about him, because of the way it starkly contrasts his tendency to be good at everything else. He can stack thousands of cards into the shape of an ‘L’ with the most insane impeccable precision but he cannot hit a dartboard from 1 metre away. Iconic.

He’s the least arrogant and prideful of the main cast, but he does have a tendency to be judgemental, with regards to the way he freely calls people stupid and gets frustrated by anyone he sees to be a mindless follower. I think it’s interesting though how he seems to feel much more strongly about that than L and Mello do. Mello wants to catch Kira to beat Near, and L wanted to catch Kira for the sake of his ego, but Near seems to have a real, genuine disdain for Light and everything he stands for, despite also somewhat buying into the idea that the whole thing is a game.

On the whole he’s just SUCH a unique and well-designed character, and I love that, for how direct and unapologetic he is, there are also many complexities to dig into if you’re willing to go looking for them.

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

His facial expressions!! In particular I am OBSESSED with his evil little smile 😭 he does it when he knows he’s right about something, and he gets immediately smug about it, and it’s especially delightful to watch when Light is on the receiving end and is just as aware that he’s been backed into a corner. I love his angry/frustrated look a lot too, especially when his cheeks get all puffy.

3. Least favorite canon thing about this character?

Everything about his anime counterpart, if that’s within the scope of the question lmao. For manga Near only, I do find it a little sad in the warehouse scene that he immediately writes off the possibility of Mello having deduced that Takada had the notebook. I get why that would be hard to believe from his perspective, but given that he is Mello Apologist Extraodinaire™️ in canon, it seems pretty depressing that he spends probably the rest of his life believing Mello saved his life by total reckless accident.

21. If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

I really like exploring his feelings, in a very general sense. His feelings towards Mello of course, but also his feelings towards L and the successor program, towards his childhood, towards himself and his own identity and future, and broadly, the ways in which he deals with these emotions. It’s very easy to read his character as entirely unemotional and I hear that said about him a lot, but I think he’s much more complicated than that and there are a lot of compelling possibilities to explore.

Something I dislike is probably putting him through too much angst 😭 I HAVE written fics that don’t end well for him and I can write them just fine, especially if there is a light at the end of the tunnel, but in general I much prefer making Mello suffer. This is mostly because Near is my favourite and he deserves the world, but I also do find Mello’s anguish more narratively compelling given that he’s more likely to react in ways that are irrational and self-destructive.

~

Ask me things :-)

[ghost-town-story]

FebruarOC Day 1: Aiden

James woke to the sound of somebody knocking at his door. For a moment, he debated ignoring it or making it Will’s problem, but the decision was made for him by Will throwing a pillow at his head.

James grumbled but acquiesced to the silent demand and got up. He fumbled his way to the door in the dark and opened it just enough to see out without letting too much light into the room.

On the other side of the door stood Aiden, feathers rustling as he wrung his hands.

James took one look at him, then slipped out of the room and closed the door behind him. “C’mon,” he said, wrapping an arm around the younger boy’s shoulders. “Let’s go somewhere quiet.”

“Okay.” Aiden nestled into James’s side and let James lead the way.

~

“So,” James said, settling down on the parapet. “What’s up? Or do you want me to guess?”

Aiden let out a huff of laughter, but his brief amusement vanished as quickly as it had arrived. In its wake, he took a breath and straightened up, the same way James always saw him doing whenever one of his parents came into view. Out of habit, James glanced around to make sure neither had suddenly noticed and decided to investigate Aiden’s absence before returning his attention to the prince.

“So, I’ve been thinking about some things,” Aiden started, his voice stilted and two wingbeats away from cracking and far too formal for James’s liking considering the circumstances, “and I—”

His voice broke, and Aiden’s feathers ruffled with poorly concealed agitation as he whirled away from James. “I—”

Another crack.

“Aid.” James reached out and brushed his fingers against flame-colored feathers.

The persona of the dutiful prince crumbled in an instant.

“I can’t.” The words left Aiden’s chest on a wheeze, his shoulders and wings rising to cover his face as he curled in on himself.

“Hey.” James moved in an instant, darting between white and orange feathers to catch Aiden as his legs gave out, making sure they both ended up on the ground with nothing worse than a mild bruise and ruffled feathers. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Aiden’s entire body shuddered with each gasping breath he took, his hands finding James’s shirt to clutch at him with a white-knuckled grip. “I don’t think I can do this,” he rasped.

“Do what?” James asked.

“I—It’s—” Aiden stumbled over his words for a few moments. “Ugh!” His head thudded against James’s shoulder, his feathers shaking with his agitation. James said nothing and just held him close, allowing him whatever time he needed to find the words that sometimes seemed to escape him.

After a few long minutes, Aiden finally managed to relax his death grip on James enough to sit back slightly, his feathers going mostly still. “That,” he said, his voice still thick.

James tilted his head. “What about it?”

Aiden huffed, refusing to meet James’s eye. “I can barely even talk to you about stuff and…” He paused, his breath hitching again.

James reached out to take his hand, rubbing his thumb over Aiden’s knuckles.

Aiden took a shuddery breath, then continued. “I can’t… talk to people.” His fingers wrapped around James’s, squeezing slightly. “And I know Mother—neither of them… like it. And I’ve been trying to do everything right but I can’t and now the meeting is tomorrow and I’m supposed to be formally introduced and I don’t think I can do it and—”

Aiden stopped abruptly, panting in the wake of his words.

“Aid.” James squeezed his hand back. “You do remember you don’t have to do anything for the introduction except sit there and look pretty, yeah?”

Aiden gave James his best unimpressed look, which wasn’t very compelling considering he was still trembling and sniffling. “I have to make a good impression,” he said, his voice not quite whining but close.

James scoffed. “Again, sit there and look pretty, and you’ll be fine. Can’t do worse than the Second Princess of Water.”

“Doubt it,” Aiden muttered.

“She nearly doused one of the People of Flame, almost started a fight between Earth and Flame, and stole at least 20 different feathers from the Sky,” James recounted. “And still the general consensus is that she’s just a little too free spirited and not necessarily a bad person or princess or whatever.”

Aiden remained silent, almost a little sulky as his cheeks flushed with color.

“Or you could always go the route of the Heir of Earth,” James continued. “She never left her father’s side last year.”

Aiden huffed, refusing to meet James’s eye. “But what if that’s not good enough?”

“Good enough for your father, or your mother?” James retorted.

Aiden didn’t vocally respond, but the way he curled in on himself, his free hand twisting in the hem of James’s shirt again, was answer enough for James.

“It’ll be good enough for your father,” James said softly, brushing Aiden’s hair out of his eyes. “And we both know nothing but Flame is good enough for your mother.”

“I am Flame,” Aiden bit out, but his voice shook too much to get much venom behind the words.

“And Sky.” James brushed a few errant feathers back into place. Aiden twitched his wings out of reach, and James didn’t chase them down. “So, sit there and look pretty should win over just about everybody of importance,” he said. “Seems like a win for me.”

But even as he said it, James knew Aiden would disagree. He had watched the Flame Princess (never the Queen of the Sky) spark and snap and scorch Aiden for daring to be too much Sky in her presence, and he had watched Aiden continue to chase after her attention and an affection that seemed to have died the day he gained his wings.

To James’s surprise though, Aiden didn’t vocally protest. His feathers rustled and he refused to meet James’s eye, but at the same time something like resignation flitted across his face.

“Plus,” James said, determined to lighten the mood at least somewhat, “if things somehow go terribly wrong, we can always run away and live the rest of our lives traveling the world.”

Aiden made a surprised little noise. “You cannot be serious,” he muttered.

“I absolutely am,” James said, giving Aiden his best innocent smile. “No matter what happens, I’ll be here for you. I promise.”

Aiden hiccupped and threw his arms around James, burying his face in James’s shoulder.

James hummed and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Come on,” he said softly. “It’s a big day tomorrow, and you need some sleep if you’re gonna do your best sitting pretty.”

Aiden let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, but he untangled himself from James to let him stand.

As James helped him to his feet, he whispered, “James, I—can—I don’t—”

When his words stumbled to a stop, James filled in the gaps. “Your room or mine?”

Aiden’s relief was palpable. “Yours, please.”

“Alright.” James wrapped an arm around his shoulders again, letting Aiden nestle into his side as they headed back to James’s room.

[tanoraqui]

hey!! i love your blog so much your takes are *chefs kiss*

i saw an Amazing post a few months ago where someone laid out a really cool plan for a silmarillion tv show and i cant find it again. it haunts my every waking moment. i think i saw it on your blog so i figured id ask if you knew it.

Either way, have a great day!

(note: I got this ask several thousand years ago, and am answering it now because I asked my roommates if I should write something serious tonight, or something ridiculous, or read a book; and they said ridiculous.) (note 2: I wrote the above several days ago. I'm posting at 6.5k words) (note 3: I'm going to pretend this is a deliberately timed gift to @thelordofgifs for their latest fic updates, which were bullet points of heartfelt and sober compelling canon divergence. this...is bullet points of [heartfelt? compelling?] lunacy. I hope you might enjoy it.)

Are you thinking of this, the "Supernatural but make it Silmarillion lore, and also women" show of my dreams? (Me, approaching the Tolkien estate with an offer for the rights to the Silmarillion: I swear, I will ONLY show the First Age in limited flashbacks. Everything else will be the characters as they are at least 10,000 years later, maybe even with an active framing device to identify them as modern interpretations of the characters...")

Oh huh, I forgot I thought a bunch more about that "teeechnically-not-AU" and never added it to that post. Regardless of whether it's the show you were thinking of, dear Anon:

one of the protagonists is definitely the reincarnation of Fëanor. Her name is Seraphina, which translates to something like "fiery divine being", bc her mom had a good sense of these things. They don't know this at first

her slightly older twin sister is Martha, named after their grandmother but it does mean the feminine of "master", because I spent at least an hour trying to translate any name Turin ever had into something reasonably modern and this is the best I could do (they also don't know about this reincarnation at first, ofc)

their father was killed by some sort of monster when they were babies so their mother took up monster-hunting ranging, etc. etc.

(the underground community of modern monster-hunters are called Rangers, in reference to the roaming heroes of old)

Seraphina, the Wild One(TM), ran away to go to college, where she double-majored in astrophysics and mechanical engineering and double-minored in linguistics and metallurgical engineering, and wrote an art history thesis. Martha, the Dutiful One(TM), stayed with their mother and kept ranging. They reunite when Martha shows up on Phina's doorstep because "Mom went on a hunting trip and hasn't been home in a few days", etc. etc.

the Bobby-style substitute parent should really, to (kind of) round this out, be a dwarf or hobbit. The full "Team Free Will" should represent all peoples of Arda... But I'm not making up OCs right now (yet)

a unifying legend of the Ranger community is that their unofficial network has been supported and guided for millennia by their cousins, the peredhel, Elrohir and Elladan, who quite simply never Chose and have been wandering the earth, saving people and hunting things, ever since their sister died. They don't NEED to Choose until they die, technically!

This is, in fact, true - or, it was. Until about 25 years ago, when [flips a coin] Elrohir married our heroes' mother, settled down into peaceful domesticity, and a few years later died dramatically to buy [throws a dart at a wheel of names] Laura and their children time to escape the whatever.

Laura knew about his profession and that he was older than he looked, but not his whole deal. She found that out later while vengefully hunting monsters...and never told her daughters.

The plot of Season 1 involves unravelling this mystery, including at some point meeting their elusive uncle Elladan (who has maybe gone a little mad with the sudden death of his twin? That'd be a fun season antagonist/arc/theme...dealing with grief...very topical!)

By the end of s1, all of the above have probably had a nice closure-giving(-ish) confrontation/conversation with Elrohir's ghost - who's been waiting in Mandos for his wife and/or brother despite Mandos's INCREASINGLY strident blandishments to stop acting like a cat in a doorway and choose - and Laura and Elladan are both dead in suitably dramatic circumstances.

...or, Elladan is. Apparently John Winchester didn't die until s2e1! So, what happens is:

- (earlier in the s1 finale episode, Laura, noticed something once or twice which her daughters didn't - saw a curl of smoke, seemed to be examining a McGuffin extra closely...)

- Laura has been mildly injured, and someone needs to guard a McGuffin or maybe a random innocent civilian caught up in this, so she stays behind while Phina and Martha go off to deal with whatever the actual big bad of the season is. Maybe a cult trying to sacrifice half-elves for some reason? Directed, though not personally managed, by whatever killed Elrohir in the first place, which is...I gotta figure an OC balrog? Like, not one of the big ones from canon. We'll just call her (Laura's) Bane henceforth.

- not long later, while Phina and Martha are fistbumping in the remains of the cult's hideout Seraphina maybe have used chemical explosives), or maybe discretely looting Elladan's body for useful weapons laying their uncle to rest, the scene cuts back to Laura

- she's pacing, patrolling. Ready for a fight. She senses something and goes even tenser, drawing her ancient sword. It glows softly blue - but this is no orc. Heavy footsteps, flickering shadows and firelight, maybe the sound of wings. We do not see the enemy, just a middle-aged woman in improvised combat gear with a pistol in one hand and a Gondolin-made sword in the other, and a look of iron determination and defiance. She pulls off the bandage on her arm, revealing that she'd faked her injury so the girls would leave her behind.

- "I knew it was you," she greets her old enemy, unflinching, as a faint reprise rings unnoticed in the Great Music. She moves to attack, met by a whip-crack and a flash of fire, and cut to black.

Season 2 starts where s1 ended, for Martha and Seraphina. They're almost back at their car (the beloved 1967 Chevy Shadowfax). Note: few times in s1, Phina has had strange visions or nightmares, never anything prophetic but once a good clue to defeating the MotW...

She reels with the force and horror of this one. Darkness, utter and choking, pierced eventually by a single desperate torch. A dark and empty hall where there should be life and light. Flickering firelight reveals blood on the floor...

She gasps, "Mom," and demands that Martha drive, drive, fucking drive faster already -

They're too late, of course. Laura is long-since dead.

...so, back to Monster of the Week, with additional focus on tracking down the Bane!

Seraphina's strange dreams and visions get more frequent, more memorable. Sometimes they're peaceful, full of beautiful Light. More often they're dark, or at least, dim - climbing strange, starlit mountains (finding a cousin of aconite which turns out to also be useful for defeating werewolves). Choking grief as her hand brushes the air just above a vibrant tapestry, too afraid to ruin it with touch. Fire in her throat as she shouts world-shaking words in a language she doesn't remember (she repeats them a moment later, fending off a corrupted wind-spirit, and it flinches even before Phina feels a burst of vicious, raging, burning strength.)

Seraphina is curious as hell and keeps pushing herself to learn more, see more. Do more. It's not just visions, eventually - she starts to read minds, here and there. She's always been a fidgeter, happiest with some petty creative task of wire and beads or yarn in her hands, but now she can swear that sometimes her craft supplies sing at times, directly surpassing her ears, and she can make things with quality, with power. A new-knitted scarf is sturdy as a gorget. Glass beads glow. The more Phina does, the more she's frustrated rather than satisfied - she knows she's missing something, and she HATES being ignorant. Being wrong.

Martha, always the responsible one, especially feeling the need to be so now that their mom has died, wishes she would stop. Wishes she wouldn't put herself, put both of them, in danger like this. Martha is literally game to fight an orc with her fists one on one, any day of the week; she's no stranger to a quick temper and impulsive action. But she grew up! Why can't her sister!

(Martha: [venting the above to a stranger in a bar or something. Meanwhile, Seraphina has found an medieval Songbook and is trying to, like, apply principals of Elvencraft to chemical engineering. more arguing ensues.])

Toward the end of the season, there's, idk, several murders at the site of a geothermal drilling experiment in the North Sea, and oh shit, Bane is trying to get something that came out of that drill shaft! Violent interrogation of some evil minions reveals that it's no less precious thing than a Silmaril! Our heroes read about those recently in some ancient tome! (Phina got a headache so bad, and a sense of being aflame, that she passed out.)

In the third-to-last episode of the season, they hunt the Silmaril to the unlucky random research facility to which it's been taken. Mundane authorities and/or scientists are already coveting it as a potential energy source, adding extra mooks...who mostly just die when Laura's Bane arrives. But our girls get to it just slightly faster. The jewel is in a jead-lined box. Phina has been increasingly consumed by single-minded focus on getting this thing; even as the Ban storms in all fire and darkness, she's furiously picking the lock. She flings back the lid; we see a shining gold-white jewel - and the Light consumes the screen.

The second-to-last episode starts with pure Light - then it fades to simple Mingling, as the Noldor hold a funeral for Miriel. They had rites for the fallen in their starlit home of old, when they knew no return. They are having a modified version now, knowing that in her weariness she will, at least, take a very long time; in the hope that it will help those who loved her move through their grief.

- young Fëanor (age 5ish), tears running down his cheeks, whispers to his father that he is sorry, so sorry he killed her. Finwë denies it fiercely, lovingly, and holds him tight. Indis approaches, seeking to offer comfort; Finwë sees her over Fëanor's head and, gratefully, shakes his head. She retreats.

- but in the next memory, it is Fëanor (age 10ish) who watches Finwë and Indis, as they move joyously in unison around their wedding dance floor. Someone says something to him, he responds bitterly.

- (I'm not sure exactly what narrative of Fëanor's life I want to construct here, but assume subsequent memories/short scenes include: dislike of half-siblings (ft. fear of loss/abandonment masked as superiority complex), finding genuine joy and contentment in craft, exploration, and Nerdanel & their children; Melkor & rising tensions with Fingolfin, the Silmarils, the sword Incident, banishment (ft. savage dislike of Valar), Finwë's death (the same memory that struck when Laura died!), the Oath, Alqualondë, the theft and burning of the ships...and Amrod...and shortly thereafter, Fëanor himself, in a rush that only wasn't suicide because he really thought he could bust in and kill a Vala right up until he realized he absolutely could not do that.)

- (very fast final montage of key events post death, only snapshots, maybe styled as tapestry seen from Vairë's Halls? Fingolfin, crowned, raising Maedhros from a bow and embracing him; the glorious hosts and castles of the Noldor, Dagor Bragollach, Fingolfin's death, Doriath & Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin's deaths, Sirion & Amras's death (both with the Silmaril evading them in the background), Morgoth's defeat by Host of the West with Eärendil shining far overhead, the final attack/theft, Maedhros's death, Maglor flinging the third into the sea and collapsing)

- camera close on Seraphina's face as she opens her eyes. They are shining with Light. She says, "Fuck."

FINAL EPISODE OF S2 STARTS WITH:

- a few second earlier: Martha sees from across the room as Phina opens the box and a joyous Light shines forth, and her sister collapses. The Silmaril falls and rolls.

- Martha doesn't have time to see where it rolls, because she has to fight the monster that killed both her parents. We've seen Laura's Bane in the shape of a woman with cavern-black hair and fiery eyes a few times before, and when it killed Laura and Elrohir, we glimpsed much more. But 2 episodes ago was the first time we saw it in all its terrible, burning darkness. The building is falling apart around it. There were a couple security guards and a scientist here; they're dead within moments.

- like her mother, Martha started out with a gun and a sword. She quickly gives up on the gun - it IS a special magic gun, but she's just better with a sword. She's snarking at the monster as she fights, because this is a gritty urban fantasy show so she's going to die, but by Eru she's going to die with sarcasm on her lips.

- the Bane's whip finally catches her around the wrist. It's not clear if it's the pain of the break or the burn that makes her drop her sword. The Balrog steps over it and grabs her by the throat. Darkness enwraps her, the searing, choking claws and the all-encompassing wings and the swallowing of her vision -

- Light pierces it like a blade. The Balrog falls back, dropping Martha to the floor.

- there stands her sister, Silmaril raised, almost glowing herself with its Light. Her eyes blaze with the particularly fiery Light that was always Fëanor's.

- Power in her voice, in English she says, "I am Seraphina Elrohiel [cool epithet she's picked up as a hunter]"; in the most traditional lisping Quenya she adds, "and I am Fëanáro Finwë-Curufinwë." English again: "I wrought this jewel five ages of the world ago…and to be honest, I don't really know what I can do with it now."

- - (the soundtrack crescendos, the Music crescendos; unseen, all around Arda and beyond, beings tuned into the Great Song of Ëa know that Fëanor once again holds a Silmaril, and go oh, shit, fuck!!)

- she smiles, fey and burning. "Do you think it's a good idea to stay and find out?"

- Laura's Bane flees with a snarl.

- Martha gets to her knees, and no further. She's panting, still catching her breath, bleeding and bruised and burned, and staring up at her incandescent sister(?).

- Seraphina (who is, has always been, Fëanáro Curufinwë) stays standing and glaring for a moment more, making sure the enemy has truly gone. Then -

- - [note: it came up, in their hasty recent recent research into the Silmarils while chasing them, that they are blessed such that evil hands can't touch them. they'd hoped this would be protection against the Bane, if they got there too late to stop it]

- - [note: in the very very brief memory-views of Maedhros and Maglor's last moments, it was clear that their grips on the Silmarils were agony]

- Phina falls to her knees, Silmaril dropping from her hand without protest. Once again it rolls offscreen, glow faded but still bright. All force of presence gone, she cradles her burned hand and sobs in agony and irreparable loss, not to mention the sheer overwhelming experience of everything.

- older sister instincts (again: despite the fact that they're twins) gets Martha moving when nothing else did. Still not actually sure what just happened, she crawls forward and hugs her sister.

...then they get out of there. Martha picks the Silmaril up carefully with a piece of cloth and puts it back in the lead-lined box, and Phina carries the box. For the rest of the episode, they hunt down Laura's Bane before it can escape them utterly - unless it tries to come back and get the Silmaril while they're still off-balance, which is entirely possible! Either way, they kill it so dead!

Season ends with the two of them sitting in a dingy motel room, or maybe back in the Shadowfax [car], staring at the Silmaril box. Martha says, "So...what do we do with this?" Phina says, "We find out what the hell happened to the other two!"

IN SEASON THREE...

...I stop having particularly coherent ideas for what happens, is what happens in season three

honestly, I was originally conceiving of this as 5 seasons a la Supernatural didn't it have a great show finale in 2010? so great. thank goodness they didn't make 10 more seasons for some canonically godforsaken reason. But Fëanor retrieving even just one Silmaril would so kick off an s4 level of divine intervention and incipient apocalypse...

I dunno, or maybe they CAN have a full season of Monster of the Week plus arcing plot which is half standard hunting, half various supernatural entities tracking them down either to steal the Silmaril or to kill Fëanor (again) for her many crimes?

They retrieve 1 Silmaril that season, while evading, idk, I guess Sauron is our Lilith equivalent... And it WOULD be fun to have s4 start with Martha kicking open Mandos's doors (she's holding 2 Silmarils; she can kick open whatever doors she wants) and demanding her obnoxious sister back...

(We COULD do a thing where the Valar deliberately put Fëanor back asap, but lbr they...would probably rather not, even if they need her alive to do certain things. On the other hand, if they did, what a fun conflict for her! On the third hand, SOMEONE has to Lúthien the other's Beren at least once - not that Martha is singing. She's going more for the 'threatens Ainur with swords' side of her heritage.)

(That WOULD create a fun 'Martha has been doing increasingly badass and angsty shit offscreen (while Seraphina was dead)' scenario that could lead smoothly into some flashbacks about what Martha was doing before the show started - namely, increasingly badass (and angsty) shit while Seraphina was in college...)

Because in terms of focus, the first 2 seasons are a little more about Seraphina. Having not Ranged for a while, she's more the audience's pov character to start, and then the big plotty drama is focussed on her in s2...and in s3, as they hunt the next Silmaril and she adjusts to being... That is, Fëanor adjusts to being...

She was Fëanor for a MUCH longer time than she's been Seraphina, but she's been Seraphina more recently and kinda more...vividly? She hasn't fully processed being Fëanor. Her hröa is human (and female-shaped and human-female-gendered, and elves don't define gender the same way and don't have gendered pronouns at all, so she's sticking with 'she/her' and it's not a big deal), and her fëa has been acting human, so her memory capacity is still mostly human, as are her reflexes, her need for sleep, etc... She's getting better, but it takes time.

But boy has this enhanced ALL of Seraphina's natural attention-seeking, forward-leaping, fight-starting, prideful, self-centered Protagonist(TM) behavior!

Which is driving Martha CRAZY, all the moreso because there's reason for it now. Aside from the fact that even with no memory of her past life, Seraphina was always brilliant, while Martha was just...normal at best. Clumsy and un-witty except with a weapon in her hand. Prone to sulking and shyness. Downright unlucky, while the universe seems to shower blessings on her sister.

Even when Fëanor is trying not to start a fight, she's so condescending. to her sister who is a mere mortal Man. Having been one for 25-odd years - still being one, in fact - Fëanor has lost much of her suspicion of Man as an usurping species (it was never really about Men anyway). But she's SO condescending.

(Martha IS her sister, still. Martha can hold the Silmaril without the Oath pushing Seraphina to burning wrath, because she is Fëanor's kin.)

(Though "Fëanor's kin" was only ever a stand-in for, roughly, "people Fëanor could trust to temporarily hold a Silmaril because he knew they'd give it back to him instantly if he asked." So, as the rift deepens between then, as she grows paranoid again...)

...returning to the point above: as Seraphëanor steps up as Person Who Can Explain Advanced Supernatural Shit, audience pov connects a little more with Martha. Also because Fëanor's radius of destruction is really fun to watch from the outside.

Yeah...Seraphina gets pretty high up her own ass over the course of s3, then dies, maybe heroically or maybe as foolishly as last time, then post-season hiatus smash cut to Martha kicking in Mandos's front door and dragging her back to life... I do love that.

SEASON FOUR...

After the shock wears of, the classic Fëanorian paranoia isn't helped by the fact that Martha IS keeping secrets. What she's been doing, who she's been doing it with...(some Maia, maybe even an Úmaia?) Though Arda's mythology doesn't have the same Heaven/Hell dichotomy as Earthly Christianity, so alaos we can't have the sexy sexy s4 thing of an angel on one sister's shoulder and a devil on the other's...

But basically I think s3 has to have been somewhat of a tragedy, as Túrin (unknowing) and Fëanor (just bad at this) played out their old tragedies in tandem. Rashness was often the undoing of both. Leaping to conclusions, action or both, though usually in opposite directions. With maybe a dash of parallels with ancient (ie, Second Age) Elf vs Man conflict - Martha is increasingly down on herself, but also, jealous of Seraphina's Protagonist Energy and increasingly ready to do some violence about it.

And none of that resolves in s3! Seraphina just gets killed!

So in s4, they have to figure it out. Seraphina needs to learn some sort of (gasp) humility, and how to let grievances (and loved ones) go. Martha needs to learn how to cope with regret and grief with means other than changing her name and moving to a different city.

(She's already starting, though! This time, she asked "what would Seraphina do', then broke into Mandos and demanded solutions!)

(...and Mandos, perhaps, was very ready to refuse until he got a good look at her fëa, silently went 'huh' in recognition, and waved them out.)

Then Martha starts having strange dreams and visions - maybe after they fight an ancient dragon? or maybe she already was, in the s3-s4 gap (after fighting an ancient dragon with her new Maia friend?)

Seraphina is initially PSYCHED about this- twinnies for real!! But they get some entity to look at Martha's fëa and they confirm that she's 100% a Man.

Monster of the Week episodes are still the main focus btw. Vampires and werewolves, cursed magical objects, rogue petty nature maiar, peacekeeping between factions of non-humans still dwelling secretly here and there... Though perhaps the masquerade is starting to fracture?

And, of course, some (other?) Maia has shown up and informed them that Sauron is embodied again and trying to complete a ritual to break a hole in the envelope of the world to let Melkor back in, which our heroes must stop!

Also, definitely need to get the 3rd Silmaril back this season. They got the one in the earth and the one in the sea...

- so, a fan favorite recurring character [a/n: IT'S MY IMAGINARY TV, I CAN IMAGINE THE FANDOM'S REACTIONS, TOO, AND ALSO TBH I'M CERTAIN I COULD DELIBERATELY CRAFT A FAN FAVORITE CHARACTER] is the twins' Uncle Earl, who isn't technically their uncle but rather an old family friend of their mother's. He is, in short, kind of an old kook. Some flavor of Southern - I'll flip a coin and say Louisianan? Lives on a houseboat, refuses to go ashore unless absolutely necessary because "the feds'll get me." Visiting nieces means there's someone else to go get groceries and gasoline (necessary, but he doesn't trust most delivery services or modern technology, either), so they've possibly never seen him set foot on land except maybe once on an isolated beach in rural Oregon. Fought in Korea. Has probably looked grizzled since age 12. Eats mostly fish, talks to birds, talks back to the radio.

- to be clear, this guy is not filling the Bobby 'faux-parent' role. ...okay maybe he is a little, emotionally. But he's not involved in "the family business." In terms of SPN characters, he's roughly Garth - appears once a season or so, is a delight for 1 episode, then we part ways. He calls Martha in s1 because there's been some "weird deaths" in the port he's in right now, and he knows they deal with "this sort of thing" but he can't get ahold of Laura. There's a mention of him in s2, that they called to tell him Laura had died. In s3, they need to lay low for a while so they join him on his boat for a few weeks, go stir-crazy and end up fighting a sea monster.

- Idk if he calls them again in s4 or they're trying to lie low again or they just run into him by chance...but they're dealing with MotW murders in some swampy Florida shore-town and on his ship (The Flower) when something much bigger than a swamp monster catches up with them. Say, Sauron sent an unstoppable Carcharoth-sized wolf monster, or maybe a super-vampire (some aerial combat would be fun), or just some Úmaia miniboss that a season or two would've been a season-climax boss fight...

- they're moored up when it arrives. Phina curses, Martha shouts for Earl to drive, drive the boat out as far and fast as he can! Earl was half-asleep at the table; he starts awake demanding if it's the feds?! Phina leaps to the wheel herself and slams the gas, while Martha grabs the old shotgun off the wall and fires at the giant shadowy wolf-monster.

They leave it howling on the pier. They'll have to go back and face it eventually, but they're not ready right now. Maybe they can even re-land far upshore, and it'll have lost their scent again...

- the giant shadow-wolf finishes howling starts chasing them running on the water

- Martha curses, and shouts Phina to drive faster. Earl (looking over Martha's shoulder, also cursed, almost impressed, at the sight of the wolf) tells her to give him the wheel. Phina shoves him away and shouts back as she yanks the wheel that they need to turn back, they can't win this fight on the water -

- the wolf is snapping at the Flower's keel. Phina curses in Valarian and yells at Earl to take the wheel and steer them back to land, while she runs back to help Martha fight the wolf.

- Earl flips a red lever in the [boat mechanics] cabinet under the wheel which we've probably seen before (Seraphina fixed something in s1), labeled "High Octane" and shouts, "Hold on, girls!" He slams the throttle again and the whole houseboat hydroplanes. The wolf falls overboard; Phina goes with it but Martha grabs her.

- the wolf gets to its feet on the water, and starts chasing them again

- "Confession time, girls!" Uncle Earl calls, steering the boat beyond full throttle while Martha and Phina get to their feet. "I did befriend your ma's dad while he was fighting in Korea. He whispered to the stars at night, when he felt lost." Adjusts a standing spyglass, tugs a string a couple times to turn on the lanterns on the prow and above the steering console, dons his navy blue-and-gold captain's hat. "I thought I couldn't have been happier to guide him home - then Elrohir met his Laura, and they fell in love. And had the two of you!"

- "Do you have a point?" Phina shrieks. She's scrambling to get her jacket out of her bag under one of the seats, because her Silmarils are in its pockets and the shadow-wolf is gaining. Martha, shooting at the wolf again, glances back, maybe having noticed that the old anecdote is phrased differently than before. Old Uncle Earl is standing unusually straight, his grizzled-gray hair gold-ish in the warm lantern light.

- "Yes!" he calls, jerking the boat away from the wolf again. Some of his Louisiana accent has fallen away, too. "Don't lose your wits - and keep holding on to something!"

- he tugs the light-cord again and the yellowy lantern-case above the wheel opens, and the light that shines forth is far brighter and paler. Its source falls into his hand as the lantern shakes with the Flower's speed, and he sets it on the brim of his hat - the illusion of which fades, leaving only the golden band on his brow with the Silmaril set upon, and Eärendil standing as tall, young, and golden-haired as when he first sailed the sacred seas. He gives the wheel another stern yank and the ship's prow rises even higher - and keeps rising, with the rest of the Flower in tow - the Foamflower, Vingilotë, every plank now aglow.

- "Also," he admits, looking over his shoulder to make sure neither of the twins has fallen off (again), "I'm your great-grandfather. I really am sorry to have - hey!"

- that's for Seraphina, who is Fëanor, Oath blazing in her heart, regaining her balance, sprinting up the deck and lunging with wrath in her eyes for the Silmaril.

- Eärendil dodges smoothly, while still keeping one hand on the wheel. "I said," he says reprovingly - while Martha bodily tackles her sister to the floor - "keep your wits Fëanáro. I'm here to help, as I ever have been for the people of Arda."

- the girls wrestle on the deck for a few more seconds before Seraphina calms down. It helps that they realize the wolf had grown giant wings of shadow and is chasing them aloft as well.

- btw: late in s4, the dwarvish researcher who's Bobby's fill-in and/or Martha's probably-trustworthy Maia friend should really be present as well for all of the above, but this ain't really about them. So I think they're just kinda. awkwardly Present for this family not-reunion. helping fight the wolf & all that.

- (Eärendil doesn't actually give back the Silmaril. But he lets Seraphina hold it for a few minutes, during which she is more at peace than she has been in millennia, and promises to let her have it again if/when she really needs it, if it isn't more urgently needed elsewhere. This is, more or less, satisfying to the Oath: as discussed "Fëanor's kin" was only ever shorthand for "people whom Fëanor could trust to hold a Silmaril without ever withholding it from him.")

Eeexcept it turns out that even Eärendil doesn't know that the Valar DO want Morgoth back, because they're kinda totally down to have Dagor Dagorath and reboot the world. Look it'll be great - Túrin - that's you, Martha - will help Eonwë and Tulkas slay him, then Fëanor will break the Silmarils, releasing the Light so that Eru can use it to Remake the world, Unmarred this time - Hey, where are you Children going? Stop stabbing people! Stab only the people we tell you to stab!

(Ulmo, ever wise, offscreen: When has that EVER worked? Especially with Fëanáro and his kin?)

Yeah, there's a scene very much like the end of SPN s4, wherein Martha gets grabbed by the celestial "good guys" and they admit that this is all kinda set-up but don't worry - here's your destined fuckoff-huge black sword, just wait a few minutes for your "sister" to once again achieve an evil end that's the exact opposite of what she intended; and then Martha has to convince the Maia she's been befriending all season to help her escape and go rescue Seraphina before she jumpstarts the apocalypse...

(Nb: Martha was already trying to stop Sauron from freeing Morgoth when the season started - she broke Seraphina out of Mandos party bc she loved and missed her sister, partly because she needed a Silmaril expert. But she's grown skeptical of the task somehow, while Seraphina - perhaps because Seraphina - has gotten vengefully obsessed with it. As Fëanor is wont to do. Hell, she has even more reason than she used to - she knows what Sauron did to her grandson.)

So, y'know

They do, of course, accidentally free Morgoth.

On the plus side, in the process, they get to jointly murder the SHIT out of Sauron, who was the REAL mastermind behind much of Laura's Bane's actions (and, honestly? Might've been the real one who killed Laura, and only set it up to look like a Balrog. Flames and shadows both can have many masters!)

SEASON FIVE, THE FINAL SEASON DEFINITELY FOLLOWED BY NO FURTHER SEASONS despite the temptation of a terrible sexy humanoid Ungoliant

I only have 3 ideas for season 5:

1. They go to Valinor at some point, of course. Perhaps to rally aid? The first elf they find, they introduce themselves grandly, Fëanor and Túrin Turambar here seeking allies to fight Morgoth! and the elf says blankly, "I have never heard of either of you." *squints* "You're Men, you say? Lord Ulmo keeps a Man on Tol Eressëa, I think. You could go to him?" But after that, as a running joke all episode, every other elf they meet recognizes Fëanor on sight (she has a very distinctive fëa) and immediately punches her in the face...and every other elf recognizes Tùrin on sight and all but tackle-hugs Martha while shouting joyfully that they never expected to see him again. Some (Beleg) actually do tackle-hug her (and nearly gets stabbed again) (#worthit).

2. To everyone's surprise, including the other Valar, Morgoth started his war upon creation subtly when he returned...but doesn't remain subtle for long, nor do those opposing him. By the end of the season, the masquerade that non-human sentient peoples and various other supernatural beings still live in Arda is all but shattered.

3. Then it's THOROUGHLY shattered in the finale. I don't know if the general human populace participates in the final battle - though I am SO weak for a moment when, like, the regular-ass armed forces, who are not necessarily allies to the heroes, show up to help fight a massive superhuman threat. When the SHIELD helicarrier shows up to evacuate civilians in Age of Ultron, when UNIT does pretty much anything in Doctor Who...I love it when the best protections & warriors the mundane human race could pull together also show the fuck up and help save the day because damnit, this is their planet too. ...Which is, in fact, very on-theme for Tolkien. So yes, actually, this definitely happens. Probably there's some conflict with US military forces mid-season, our heroes have to talk (fight & escape) their way out of being arrested for blowing up a national landmark while fighting a balrog, and the general in charge whom they'd half-convinced returns in the finale with a battalion to slam some missiles into Morgoth...

oh, and 4: Ar-Pharazón et al totally do come back from the dead. Probably on Morgoth's side lbr. They get a twisted undead immortality wherein they cannot die, just go on fighting for the dark lord to whom they once turned in jealous worship...

More importantly...

Okay, I really don't know exactly how the Dagor Dagorath goes. We're following the version that Eärendil will chase Morgoth from the skies; Tulkas, Eonwë and Túrin will fight him upon the field and Túrin will avenge his House and all the Race of Men by slaying him; and Fëanor will break the Silmarils and Yavanna will use their Light to remake the Trees, and the lands will be leveled or in some cases raised from the depths, and everyone will live happily ever after except possibly Men who aren't mentioned beyond Túrin.

This is what the Valar expect to happen (though they don't actually know-know Eru's plans.)

What happens instead is...

Most of the Morgoth-defeating does go exactly like that. Except probably they don't kill him for good - they CAN'T, because the Marring of the world is part of what Morgoth is, and the only way to undo him completely is to remake the world completely.

Which maybe could be done, by Eru if no one else, if He were beseeched? Which might be done with the strength of the Silmarils, their Light released?

And Seraphina does break the Silmarils. That's important for her - giving up her Protagonist role, just as slaying Morgoth - embracing her Protagonist role - is important for Martha.

...but I don't think they give the Light back to Yavanna. No offense to the Trees, but they never illuminated most of Arda anyway, and the world is round now anyway - and making it flat again would fuck it up - and we have, like, electrical lights, now.

Hell, maybe Seraphina is ready to give up the Light... Her instinct is to hold it back, to follow her own novel plans with it, but, oh, to regain what was lost! And she has come around on...some of the Valar. Selectively. Yavanna's one of the okay ones.

- but Martha, half-dead from the battle, drops to her knees beside her and catches her hands before she can loose the Light upward unto the grasp of the Tree-Queen.

- "Together?" Martha says (Túrin Turambar, ever the greatest Men had to offer - bull-headed, loyal, brave, unafraid of death, loving and losing and loving again).

- Seraphina's trembling lips curve into a fierce grin (Fëanäro Curufinwë, ever the greatest Elves had to offer - brilliant in mind and spirit, devoted, ever seeking to preserve and glorify the beauty of the world, and eventually learning some wisdom about letting go).

- "Together," she agrees.

- together, they hold the Light that once shone in the Trees, the Lamps, and the Flame Eternal of Creation itself; and as they release it, reach for the Great Music of Ëa that is deep in both their blood - for they are the daughters of Elrohir, son of Elrond, son of Elwing daughter of Dior son of Lúthien Tinúviel, daughter of Melian the Maia; and indeed, even before that, they are both trueborn Children of Eru, are they not? - and eschew utterly the Choice of the Peredhel by leaving the world round but Un-Sundering the Sea, that the kindred might still live apart, if they wished it - the Elder in their land undying, the Younger in their realms of quick and sometimes joyful, often savage change - but that they might visit one another, at least, as they pleased.

(I mean, wasn't the false division of siblings the whole problem from the start?)

Random Additional Features of this Show/AU/Thing

All elf and ainu side characters, canonical and not, will be cast gender-blindly, and characters referred to with the understanding that elvish personal pronouns don't necessarily correlate with physical phenotype, but Ainur do generally try to match local standards of gender assignment. Dwarves will all use he/him (and have beards!) even when fairly clearly female.

I have no idea what Martha is doing for gender once she remembers being Túrin. With all the time Túrin spent with Elves, she probably rolls pretty smoothly with being she/her now, though it's weird. Her memories definitely integrate more easily than Fëanor/Seraphina's, though, as much because she's the same kind of being both times as because there's less of them.

Both protagonists are definitely bisexual. Martha has a range of love interests; it's a running joke (at first) that Seraphina has a total Thing for redheads. Any kind of redhead. But especially creative ones - any kind of art or invention.

The role of Gabriel WILL be played by Maglor, albeit with a different death (don't worry, he'll be back for the finale) and much more...gloominess. And angst. Okay, and maybe his first appearance, in s1 or 2, IS cursing them - not knowing who they are - into a musical episode. (A WOMAN HAS NEEDS; THE WOMAN IS ME.)

When Martha meets Fingolfin and/or any of Fëanor's other siblings, probably in s5 but maybe s4, they immediately Vibe completely. It's the shared experience of growing up with Fëanor for a sibling. Needless to say, Seraphina Hates This.

Their chief researcher friend is a dwarf, who is also on the young-ish side I think, and a woman (he/him).

There's gotta be a notable hobbit on the Team before the end, too...but overall, hobbits remain symbolically representative of the Civilians in this war story.

Durin is alive again somewhere. Durin usually reincarnates in time to guide his people through particularly difficult times - or, to try. Their dwarf friend - what the hell, I'll just call him Bobby - tries SO hard to be Cool about meeting him, and fails SO hard.

I generally prefer to judge and characterize the Valar and associated Maiar as fallible to the point of clumsiness or negligence but basically wise and thoroughly benevolent...but I AM willing to throw some of them under the characterization bus for ease of making conflict in this hypothetical CW show.

...I probably have many more random thoughts but it's 3am and I want to post this whole insane thing. Feel free to ask me questions if you have them! And/or petition both the Tolkien estate and a major TV network for the rights, money, and support to help me make the terrible but wonderful show we deserve!

[websitebloggers]

How to Make a Multi-Media Decision About Tools for a Website. Crafting a standout website is a bit like digging for gold—you need the right tools and a clear vision to strike it rich. As you navigate the digital landscape, refining your multi-media decision-making about the tools at your disposal is a crucial step towards building an impactful online presence. First things first, ask yourself what you want to achieve with your website. A well-defined purpose is your North Star, guiding each choice you make, whether you aim to entertain, educate, or showcase your work. Next up, let’s sift through the options. The internet is brimming with tools, some flashier than a showroom car, but a deeper look under the hood is essential. Not every shiny object is suited for your needs, so focus on tools that genuinely enhance your website. A solid content management system (CMS) can streamline your workflow and keep your content organized, ensuring you’re producing engaging material rather than just throwing darts in the dark. User experience is another crucial factor. Your site should be a welcoming space, not a labyrinth that leaves users scratching their heads. Prioritize easy navigation and fast loading times—because nobody likes to wait in a digital line. As you explore tools, consider their scalability too. The best platforms aren’t just built for today; they pave the way for tomorrow’s growth, allowing you to expand functionality without starting from square one. When it comes to blogging, understanding your audience's preferences can help you decide on multimedia formats that resonate with them. Do they prefer visuals, audio, or traditional articles? Once you figure that out, you can pick the right video editing, audio production, or graphic design tools to enrich your content. Lastly, remember that experimentation is your friend. The digital world is fluid, and your tools can evolve alongside your content strategy. Analyze what works and be bold enough to make changes when something isn’t cutting it. In conclusion, making informed decisions will empower your voice and support your vision. Roll up your sleeves, embrace the process, and let your creativity flow. With the right toolbox in hand and a clear roadmap, you'll forge a compelling digital presence that draws people in and keeps them coming back for more. So get out there, mix the right tools with a good dose of heart, and watch your website transform into something truly remarkable. To read the rest of this article, please click on the link below: https://websitebloggers.com/how-to-make-a-multi-media-decision-about-tools-for-a-website/?feed_id=15260&_unique_id=6707a2d67f0fc

[zoeticthoughts]

Don't start with a plot: start with a point. What do you want to say about the world, about society, humanity, etc.?

In other words, what is the theme you want to tackle?

If you feel compelled enough to build a world and populate it with characters, there must be at least one thing that you want to say that spurred you on initially. Even if you protest that you just created them "because I think they're neat", there must be something ABOUT them that makes them neat to you!

Then, when you have a theme -- maybe something about the difficulty of making good choices, or something about how we owe each other our time and attention, or that revenge is a hollow pursuit, or that revenge can be satisfying if you can truly move on afterwards, or that people need to stop caring about money so damn much, or gender, or religion, or that we need to take care of the earth better, or whatever -- then you can start thinking about how to echo that theme in your characters and your world. If you're writing about the fragility of world ecologies, who in your roster cares about that? Who doesn't? What events could occur that emphasize this point and where in your world would these events have the most impact?

Fundamentally, we tell stories to create a vehicle for our emotions and opinions that can resonate with others that don't necessarily share those feelings or thoughts. Pick something you care about -- just one thing, roll a die or throw a dart to pick one if you have to -- then explore your world to see how you can echo that theme within it.

Does anyone have a word of advice?

I'm writing a fantasy story.

I already have the world, the characters, and the overall feel of the story, but I still haven't got the story itself

Nothing is working. NOTHING

I already bent and twisted this world and these characters in all possible directions, and I still haven't got a satisfying or coherent story.

I have no idea of what I'm doing.

I have a cacophony of many ideas to where to take this narrative, but they simply can't come together to make anything coherent.

I really need help.

What I'm doing wrong?

@thealmightyemprex @ariel-seagull-wings @princesssarisa @mask131 @the-blue-fairie @tamisdava2

[tineteenieworld3]

Mike Wheeler analysis

Back on what I said last night about Mike and a sword, I’m gonna expand on the fact that people who may say things like:

“You all want this [insert goofy pic of Mike] to use a sword? Bffr”

Aren’t quite understanding the depth of his character besides surface level appearances. Mike is a complex character that holds a lot of different aspects to him, sometimes more so than alot of others. Of course he can be goofy and fun, that’s a big part of his character and almost all of their characters (at least when talking about the four boys) but that doesn’t take away from other important aspects either.

I said this last night. But no one is expecting Mike to be Hopper or Nancy, we’re expecting him to be Mike. A Mike that has never once just cowered behind someone and not tried to fight. He’s the heart of their group because of the awareness he has that, in a physical fight, he stand almost zero chance. What makes him so compelling is that he doesn’t care.

He’s gonna run towards Billy and try to fight him. He’s gonna throw that rock at Troy. He’s gonna hold up a candlestick as a weapon to fight a demogorgan. He’s gonna try and kill dart with a little microphone. He’s gonna try, even if it spares everyone else just a few seconds.

Once again, the most in character thing Mike could do is pick up a sword and just try. You think that boy is gonna stand and watch as other people do something? Absolutely not. He’s gonna be right in the front, holding up a weapon and knowing he’s gonna lose but he’ll lose trying.

That’s his character. Just because Mike is lanky doesn’t mean he’s some ditz that’s gonna follow people around like a lost puppy or damsel in distress. Mike is not even close to being like that. He’s gonna fight and he’ll pick up a sword or a rock or a shoe or waterbottle or fricking picture frame to use because that’s who he is. No one is saying he’s a dragon slayer. We’re saying he’s Mike Wheeler and if he’s going down, he’s gonna make sure he makes it just a little more difficult for whatever or whoever is trying to take him down.

Being a hero doesn’t mean the person is secure in their fighting skills and knows they’re gonna win. It’s them trying even if they don’t feel like they have even the smallest chance. Mike Wheeler is more of a badass than anyone because he knows he stands no chance and doesn’t care.

I don’t usually care when people mischaracterize characters, because it’s not that serious and they’re all fake. But when it’s smarty pants mischaracterizing I get irked.

Mike isn’t a dumbass that’s or a side character or some useless asset. He’s their leader, and he’s their leader because he deserves to be.

He’s such an amazing character I love him.

[ladyartemesia]

TEASER: Kim Seokjin and the Mean Omega

Pairing: Nerd Alpha Kim Seokjin x Popular Omega Reader

Genre: A/B/O • Enemies to Lovers • (Sorta) College AU • Best Friend's Brother AU (Who is surprised? No one?)

Teaser Word Count: 3.6K

Teaser Warnings: A/B/O sexual dynamics • suggestive content

Rating: Explicit (18+) (Teaser is PG-13)

Summary: In the modern world, alphas are almost unheard of so why even bother learning about them? After all, as a spoiled (but reasonably kind-hearted) omega who is used to getting whatever she wants, you have better things to do. However, when unexpected circumstances throw you in the path of (extremely) nerdy and (probably?) shy Kim Seokjin, you're shocked to discover that he won't be wrapped around your little finger as easily as all the rest. Bringing that infuriating geek to his knees quickly becomes your personal mission in life... But it turns out that Kim Seokjin is not what he appears to be and the mean omega who eats beta boys for breakfast is about to get way more than she bargained for...

Author’s Note: This story would not be here without the love, support and friendship of my incredible support system. You talk with me, you laugh with me, you listen when I’m crying, and you read my chaotic drafts when I am ready to pull my hair out of my head in frustration. I love you all. @ppersonna @xjoonchildx @untaemedqueen @lemonjoonah. ALSO thank you to each and every one of you who encouraged me to post this story. This fic is dedicated to all of you as a token of my love and appreciation. Your support keeps me writing. Never doubt that for a second.

“...due to discriminatory anti-alpha policies in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, alphas were nearly eliminated from the general population…”

You heaved a weary sigh and rolled your shoulders—stretching the buttons of your high-end Oxford shirt to their limit. The beta sophomore to your right whined audibly and you smirked.

“...despite efforts to restore the genetic balance of designations, alphas currently comprise less than one percent of the population…”

Your back arched slightly as you crossed your legs, letting the absurdly short hem of your skirt ride up even higher. The poor boy you were tormenting shifted miserably in his seat.

How was he supposed to focus on a Human Biology and Designation Studies lecture when the living breathing embodiment of every sweaty undergrad’s fantasies was twisting her fingers in her hair and wrapping her pretty pink tongue around a strawberry lollipop right there in the middle of class?

“...unlike betas and omegas, alphas possess enhanced strength and the ability to compel other designations with their voice. Unmated alphas especially were often baselessly feared and distrusted...”

You knew exactly how you affected boys like him. You were a shameless tease who relished their attention and the power it brought you. Who needed drugs when driving a man mad with desire was a rush more potent than any high?

“...and that’s all for today so please read pages 450-466 in the text over break and remember to turn in your essay on scent and consent in intimacy—”

That poor sophomore looked like he had finally worked up the courage to speak to you, but you were already out the door and tearing down the hall toward your beautiful (and entirely platonic) counterpart, Kim Taehyung.

“Do you think Professor Moore is unaware that class is over at 3:25 or is he just torturing us for science?”

Taehyung shrugged, falling into step beside you with practiced ease.

“I mean I would torture you for free so it’s hard to say.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up at his characteristic dry humor, but the irritation at being held in that sweltering lecture hall for an extra ten minutes had frayed your temper.

“It’s the last class before spring break, I’m sure he was on some sort of twisted power trip.” You dug around in your purse for some chapstick, ignoring Tae’s amused snorting, “Alphas barely exist anymore and none of us are likely to meet one. Why bother learning what they can do?”

Taehyung tilted his head in amusement.

“You might be surprised.”

The final party before the beginning of spring break was always a laid back affair.

Many people had already caught planes to their various destinations, but your flight was scheduled for early tomorrow morning—leaving you with some time to kill.

Taehyung pressed his newest experimental concoction into your hand within minutes of entering the house (a surprisingly neat bachelor pad owned by two seniors, Jung Hoseok and Min Yoongi) and then darted back to the kitchen to craft more questionable alcohol potions like a deranged party warlock.

You had just found a comfortable place on the couch and were contemplating whether sampling your best friend’s mad scientist elixir would be worth the probable damage to your body when—

“H-Hello...”

It was that sophomore from your Designations Studies class. What was his name again? Jungwoo? Jinwook?

“Jungkook,” you smiled, delighted to have remembered before it became awkward. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You motioned to the empty cushion next to you and the man in question scrambled over like he’d won the lottery.

“I—I know we don’t know each other well, but I noticed you were absent during Professor Moore’s lecture on intimacy and scent consent so I—” he blushed deeply, “I wrote the essay for you—and I brought a copy on my flash drive if-if you want it.”

Your heart melted immediately.

“Oh my gosh Jungkook, that is so sweet of you!”

Your gaze darted over his muscular form and thick brown curls.

Sweet indeed.

“I don’t want to miss out on the learning though,” you pouted, placing a hand on his tattooed bicep. “Can you explain it to me?”

Jungkook nodded vigorously even as his wide eyes fell to where your fingers were sliding slowly over his chest.

Scent consent was a pretty basic and universally known concept, but you really were touched by the handsome sophomore's consideration.

Why not give him (and yourself) a little reward?

“Um so basically if two people are involved in...intimate activities—”

You leaned forward to nip his ear lightly and he whimpered.

“Like this?” you asked innocently.

“Y-Yes. Like that.” He gulped. “In an intimate situation consent or refusal can be smelled. The scent of refusal or reluctance in intimacy is strong, unmistakable, and has a high chemical potency.”

“Is that so?” you drawled, sliding over onto his lap. Jungkook’s eyes rolled back into his head and you bit back a grin.

He was adorable.

“Uh-huh—it—oh my gawd,” (you were nibbling on his ear again) “it can immediately block sexual arousal and performance in the other partner. Meaning, if consent is not present, then it becomes difficult or—ahh” (his voice began to waver under your continued attention) “—or even impossible to continue with intimate acts.”

Your hand slid up to his cheek, bringing him closer till your lips were almost touching.

“Then what does it mean if I’m still so turned on right now?”

“It means,” Jungkook shuddered—nearly delirious with your scent, “that I really really want you.”

Across the room, Park Jimin chuckled as he watched you seduce his enthusiastic friend.

Jeon Jungkook was such a sweet kid.

Hopefully he wouldn’t get too attached.

“Wow... Some people are genuinely born blessed I suppose.”

Jimin turned to see Jung Hoseok eyeing the dimly lit corner where you and the eager young sophomore were exploring each other.

It was a rather...provocative spectacle. Not quite raunchy (you weren’t truly an exhibitionist)—just insanely sexy.

Jimin’s gaze lingered on the smooth curve of your thigh where Jeon Jungkook was currently holding on for dear life.

Lucky bastard.

“Ah you know how she is,” he sighed. “That boy isn’t going to get any farther than anyone else.”

It was relatively common knowledge that you liked to mess around but rarely—if ever— fully hooked up with anyone.

Jimin asked you about it once during a drunken game of truth or dare and you had just shrugged, mumbling something along the lines of avoiding STDs (which—to be fair—was at least part of your motivation), but the truth was a little more complicated than that.

In terms of experience, you weren’t a virgin, but... you hadn’t actually had sex in years.

You loved the chase, the foreplay, the build-up—the game of cat-and-mouse between two people who were attracted to one another.

But the final consummation was always so…

Wildly unfulfilling.

Every encounter left you frustrated. Empty.

Grumpy—even.

So you stopped bothering with it all together. (That was what sex toys were for after all.)

At the end of the day you were perfectly content being labeled a tease—it meant that people tended to know what they were (or rather weren’t) getting into when they rolled the dice with you.

Besides…it hadn’t even put a dent in your throng of admirers.

You were sunny, spoiled, indulgent, almost universally adored—

And you loved every minute of it.

“You know…” Hoseok took a long sip of his drink. “I always thought she would end up with Taehyung, but it’s been three years.”

Like you, Kim Taehyung was a trust fund brat and it was only natural that two beautiful and absurdly privileged people would gravitate to one another. You met at a freshman pledge party and had been an inseparable (and formidable) dynamic duo ever since.

The undisputed king and queen of campus.

Yes—maybe the two of you were a little self-absorbed at times, but it was hardly your fault that people tended to instinctively cater to the force of your combined looks, wealth, and charisma.

And it didn’t hurt that neither of you were ever intentionally cruel or unkind.

Just... habitually thoughtless.

(Though not when it came to each other. If anything your friendship was one area where you were both a little more human.)

Jimin shook his head.

“Nah that’s never gonna happen.” He tapped his nose. “They’re scent-crossed.”

Hoseok’s eyes widened.

“Really?”

Scent-crossed pairs didn’t smell sexually attractive to each other.

Like. At all.

No matter how physically or visually appealing an individual might be, it would be near impossible to form a sexual or romantic attachment to them if you were scent-crossed. Alphas, betas, and omegas were all subject to their noses first and foremost in the realm of attraction.

You and Taehyung smelled like comfort and home to one another...

But you were more turned on by a crisp cup of apple juice than you were his scent and the feeling was quite mutual.

He might as well have been your actual brother.

“That explains so much.” Hoseok snorted as he watched a drunken Taehyung do a flying leap on top of both you and Jungkook.

“Why is sunlight so offensive?” you croaked, dragging yourself and your luggage toward the boarding ramp next to an equally miserable Taehyung.

“The next time I book a flight before 9 AM, please shoot me,” he grunted.

Your parents were celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary with a month-long European cruise so your best friend had graciously invited you to spend two glorious weeks of spring vacation at his family estate.

The invitation had actually come as somewhat of a surprise because—for all your closeness—Taehyung was uncharacteristically tight-lipped about his family.

Not that he was deliberately withholding information per se… It was just that he never really brought them up beyond an occasional passing comment.

The one time you did ask him about them directly he sighed and said—

“We’re very close, but… I suppose we’ve just gotten used to being very private.”

There was clearly more to the story, but you were confident that Tae would share it if and when he was ready.

“My parents are in Seoul opening a new branch of the company. They took my little sister with them and my older brother has his own house so it will be just us.” He snuggled deeper into the first class seat directly next to yours. “We’ll hang out by the pool and chill during the day, then hit up some of the new clubs or whatever at night.”

“So… No one from your family will be there?”

Perhaps the invitation was not so surprising after all.

“Nope. Just you and me and thirty acres of ocean front property.”

You grinned.

“Perfect.”

“Whose room is that?”

The two of you were lugging your bags down the main hall of Taehyung’s expansive mansion when a strange hint of...something caught you right by the nose.

Your friend turned to find you frozen and staring curiously at a familiar door near the balcony.

His eyes widened, but you were too preoccupied to notice his momentary concern.

“That’s just Jin’s room.”

A firm hand wrapped around your wrist and dragged you away, but your eyes stayed glued to the source of the mysterious scent until you were around the corner and out of sight.

Your suite for the next two weeks was right across the hall from Taehyung’s. There was a whirlpool, a full bath, a balcony, and an ocean view that would rival the cover spread of any travel magazine.

Tae headed for the shower (to ‘wash the airplane off’) immediately after showing you the room and you were thinking of doing the same except…

Your mind kept going back to that door and the hint of scent you detected.

There was something… different about it.

It was faint—and far from fresh (which made sense considering that one of the few things you did know about Kim Seokjin was that he hadn’t lived in this house for years).

But still…

The need to smell it again pressed insistently at the back of your mind.

Suddenly the sound of Taehyung singing raunchy lyrics in the shower carried over through the walls and you found your feet moving almost of their own accord.

What Tae doesn’t know won’t hurt him, you rationalized, making your way down the hall toward Jin’s door. Besides—it’s not as if I’m going to steal anything…

You just needed to find that scent again.

By the time your fingers closed over the knob every one of your nerves was strangely—acutely—alert but nothing could have prepared you for what was waiting behind the door.

Oh. My. Gosh.

“What a colossal nerd.”

The room was covered floor to ceiling in Nintendo memorabilia.

Bright primary colors assaulted your eyes from all directions in the form of action figures, posters, pillows, and every other conceivable merch variety known to man.

In the center of the suite stood a large king-sized bed covered in a custom black couture toile-style Mario-verse bed set (that looked every bit as expensive as it was geeky) and a mountain of high quality Nintendo character plush toys.

Everything was simultaneously luxe and nostalgic—a rare combination of sophisticated aesthetic balance and childlike indulgence.

And the scent was there.

It was faint and covered under layers of cleaner and air fresheners, but still lingering just below the surface—too weak for you to get a really good whiff, yet potent enough to torment you.

You moved forward unconsciously toward the strongest source of the hypnotic smell—the strangely inviting expanse of Kim Seokjin’s mattress.

Suddenly the urge to climb—no crawl—across the bed itself and roll around in it like a kitten in catnip gripped you out of nowhere.

“What the hell?” you muttered, rubbing absently over the mating gland at the base of your neck.

Something very odd was going on with your body.

Your restless gaze zeroed in on one of the stuffed toys piled atop his pillows. It was a cute little mushroom man your brain recognized as a Mario character named ‘Toad’.

Take it.

Your mouth dropped open in shock.

You need it.

“Am I going insane?” you wondered aloud.

You have to take it.

Muscles in your hand began to twitch involuntarily. You bit your lip.

Bring it back with you.

Several minutes later a freshly washed Taehyung wandered over to your room and found you sitting perfectly still on your bed while staring off into space.

His head tilted in curious concern.

“Everything ok?”

You started a bit at the sound of his voice, but recovered quickly.

“Never better!” you chirped—almost too brightly. “Let’s go get some dinner, I’m starving.”

Then you grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall toward the kitchen—shutting the door before he could catch a glimpse of his brother’s stuffed Toad doll stashed underneath your pillow

“...a critical water main rupture in the city’s New Market district early this morning has forced several residents out of their homes as flood water swelled up to nearly two feet. The governor declared a state of emergency and ordered hotels around the city to accommodate the displaced citizens. Crews are still clearing the water and assessing damages. We expect—

“Hey!” you shouted through a mouthful of cereal, after Your best friend switched off the television, “I was watching that!”

“And what you should be doing is getting ready for the pool.” Tae snatched your cereal bowl and dragged you by your shirt collar toward the stairs. “It is the first morning of our vacation. I’m not trying to waste any time. Now go.” He shoved you forward, smacking your ass for good measure.

You swatted back at him half-heartedly as jogged back up to the room where you enjoyed a surprisingly restful sleep last night.

Kim Seokjin’s door glared at you accusingly as you shuffled past—unable to let you forget that you had kidnapped it’s little mushroom man in an unexplained fit of kleptomania, but that was a problem for your future self.

The you of right now was going to zen out in the Kim family's premium glass-enclosed indoor pool (it was still a little chilly for the outdoor pool) with her best friend and bask in the simple joys of good company and no responsibility.

...Or not.

A few minutes later you bounced into the living room wearing a simple black tankini with a cute floral cover only to find Taehyung on the phone with his head in his hands.

“Yes, sir. I understand… I...I know this is my responsibility...”

That didn’t sound good.

After a few more tense moments, Tae hung up and collapsed backward into the couch with a heavy sigh.

“That water main break you heard about on TV this morning was the last straw between the province and its current contractor. They called an emergency meeting for new bids.”

Your heart dropped as you sank down beside him.

“Your dad wants you to go...doesn’t he.”

Taehyung nodded miserably.

“He can’t leave the Seoul opening on such short notice and managing government construction contracts is part of what I’ve been training for. This could be huge for our company.”

“Well...why doesn’t your brother go?”

“Jin is the brains behind most of our patented gaming and tech innovations. He wouldn’t even know where to begin with this sort of thing. Besides,” his lips quirked up in a rueful grin, “my brother doesn’t have the patience to stroke entitled geriatric egos for hours on end—which is likely what I’m going to have to do.”

The two of you headed back to Taehyung’s room where you helped him pack some suits and toiletries for his trip.

Naturally you were disappointed but...this was a great opportunity for your best friend to prove himself in his chosen field and you both knew it. In fact, he was already starting to brighten a bit.

“The meeting is about a hundred miles north of here. My dad’s secretary already handled the flight and hotel room.” His eyes darted around the suite to see if he was forgetting anything.

It was clear he was nervous, though you were sure he didn’t need to be. Kim Taehyung was a trust fund brat, but he was also talented and deeply passionate about his family’s company.

Someday this would be the norm. The two of you were stealing time in college, determined to live a little before the expectations of your powerful families transferred fully onto your shoulders.

It was becoming more and more clear, however, that your carefree time was slowly running out.

Mother had already spoken to you about potential marriage alliances and your father expected you to intern with his Vice President this summer just as your elder sister had...

Taehyung’s voice suddenly interrupted your bittersweet introspection and you couldn’t help but smile at how grown-up he looked in his suit and briefcase ensemble.

Everything was going to change, but not quite yet.

“They estimate negotiations should take around a week or so…” He walked over and pulled you into a tight hug. “There should still be some vacation left for us when I get back.”

“Hurry back then,” you mumbled grumpily into his chest and he chuckled.

“I will.”

Taehyung had been gone for less than twenty minutes when you decided that the best use of your time would be to eat more snacks.

The last thing you expected when you skipped merrily into the kitchen was to find it occupied by a shaggy-haired homeless man in glasses.

Your first instinct was to scream which caused the homeless man to drop the apple he was biting right onto the floor where it rolled around for a small eternity before coming to rest at his ankles.

Your second instinct was to grab a butcher’s cleaver from the nearby knife block and wave it chaotically at the intruder while shouting something along the lines of—

“You’ve made a huge mistake! My boyfriend is the biggest, meanest mafia boss in Seoul! Leave now and he might let you live!”

The homeless man continued to stare at you with a mixture of confusion and shock, but made no move to run away in terror like you were hoping.

So you tried again.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?! The last man who touched me drinks his steak through a straw now! Do the smart thing and leave before my boyfriend comes down those stairs and it’s too late!”

Infuriatingly, the homeless man was still not fleeing for his life and frankly you were starting to get frustrated. You drew in a deep cleansing breath and were prepared to issue another grandiose threat when he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry, miss. I... think there’s been some sort of mistake. Who is your boyfriend?”

There was no rational explanation for what came out of your mouth next, but it rolled off your tongue so smoothly and you didn’t even flinch.

“Kim Seokjin.”

For the first time in your entire exchange, the intruder looked truly alarmed.

Now that’s more like it.

“You’ve heard of him I see. He’s a dangerous man and my body belongs to him.” You slammed the cleaver down onto the countertop with a (hopefully) menacing slash. “Kim Seokjin doesn’t like when other men put their hands on what belongs to him.”

There was a long, unpardonably tense moment of silence…Then the stranger slowly reached forward and picked up a mobile phone from the table in front of him.

His eyes remained locked with yours as he pressed a quick series of buttons, brought the phone to his ear, waited a few seconds and said—

“Taehyung… Would you mind telling me why there is a half-naked, knife-wielding omega in our kitchen claiming to be my girlfriend?”

Hello! Please comment on this post if you would like to be added to the taglist!

You guys were all so wonderful, and encouraging, and excited that I literally got this teaser out in three days! If you like what you read so far, please let me know! I cannot put into words how meaningful and valuable feedback is to me. I truly treasure it! It fuels my creativity and keeps me writing. I would love to hear from you!

[stumpyjoepete]

[lightly edited]

The story here, for those who may have forgotten 2015 (it was a long time ago!) is that the NSA inserted a backdoor into a major encryption standard and then leaned on manufacturers to install it. The backdoor was in a pseudorandom number generator called Dual EC. It wasn’t terribly subtle but it was *deniable*. You could say to yourself “well, that could be horribly exploitable but nobody would do that.” Lots of serious people said that, in fact. But they did.

Not only did the NSA insert this backdoor into encryption standards, but they allegedly paid and pressured firms to implement it in their products. This includes major US security firms like RSA Security and Juniper. (That we know of!) In 2013, compelling evidence confirming the existence of this backdoor leaked out in the Snowden documents. We didn’t know quite how widely it had been implemented yet, but even then it was shocking.

It would be such a terribly embarrassing story if it ended there. But it gets even worse. One of the products that the US Intel agencies allegedly convinced to use the backdoor was Juniper, whose NetScreen line of firewalls are widely deployed globally and in the US government. We didn’t know about this because the company hid it in their certification documents. Even if we’d known about this, I’m sure “serious” folks would have vociferously argued that it’s no big deal because only the NSA could possibly exploit this vulnerability (it used a special secret only they could know), so (from a very US-centric PoV) why be a big downer?

But the field is called computer security; not computer optimism. We think about worst case outcomes because if we don’t do that, our opponents absolutely will. In fact, they already had. What nobody had considered was that *even if the backdoor required a special secret key* only the NSA knows, a system with such a backdoor could be easily “rekeyed.” In practice this would simply mean hacking into a major firewall manufacturer’s poorly-secured source code repository, changing 32 bytes of data, and then waiting for the windfall when a huge number of VPN connections suddenly became easy to decrypt. And that’s what happened.

The company was Juniper, the hack was in 2012. It is alleged (in this new reporting) to have been a Chinese group called APT 5. Untold numbers of corporate firewalls received the new backdoor, making both US and overseas systems vulnerable. The new, rekeyed backdoor remained in the NetScreen code for over *three years*, which is a shockingly long time. Eventually it was revealed around Christmas 2015.

Fortunately we learned a lot from this. Everyone involved was fired and no longer works in the field of consumer-facing cryptography. ... I’m kidding! Nobody was fired, it was hushed up, and everyone involved got a big promotion or lateral transfer to lucrative jobs in industry.

The outcome of the Juniper hack remains hushed-up today. We don’t know who the target is. (My pet theory based on timelines is that it was OPM, but I’m just throwing darts.) Presumably the FBI has an idea, and it’s bad enough that they’re keeping it quiet.

The lesson to current events is simple: bad things happen. Don’t put backdoors in your system no matter how cryptographically clever they look, and how smart you think you are. They are vulnerabilities waiting for exploitation, and if the NSA wasn’t ready for it, you aren’t. The second lesson is that “serious” people are always inclined away from worst-case predictions. In bridge building and politics you can listen to those people. But computer security is adversarial: the conscious goal of attackers is to bring about worst-case outcomes. It is very hard for people to learn this lesson, by the way. We humans aren’t equipped for it.

I want to say only two more slightly “inside baseball” things about Juniper and this reporting: - First, the inclusion of Dual EC into Juniper-NetScreen wasn’t as simple as the NSA calling the company up and asking them to implement “a NIST standard.” [image] - Juniper’s public certification documents don’t mention Dual EC was even used in NetScreen products. It lists another algorithm. The NetScreen Dual EC implementation is included *in addition* to the certified one, and without documentation. That stinks like cheese. - And of course there is a very coincidental “oops” software vulnerability in the NetScreen code that allows the raw output of Dual EC to ooze out onto the wire, bypassing their official, documented algorithm. For more see: [link]

I’ve told this story eight million times and it never ceases to amaze me that all this really happened, and all we’ve done about it is try to build more encryption backdoors. It makes me very, very tired.

Addendum: the White House Press Secretary was asked about this story, and their answer is “please stop asking about this story.” h/t @jonathanmayer

[echoalyssa]

Hi! I wanted to ask you if you could rewrite the Cheating Chase request a made a little time ago but with Jaden with the reader being famous just like him and the whole situation havin' an impact on internet and with their (shared) friends or you could write a part 2 for Cheating Chase request but only if it's not gonna bother you in any way...

❤Thank you!❤I LOVE YOUR WRINTTING❤

Warnings: Some naughty time is inferred in this!

Jaden’s music is pounding through his surround sound speaker system. He’s throwing another party. One of his signatures. Bryce is chanting “Shots shots shots!”

Jaden’s busy making out with his girl. He’s got her pressed against a wall.

“Wanna ditch my own party?” He murmurs into her ear. 

She giggles and begins to lead his girlfriend to his bedroom. A girl bumps into his shoulder hard but he barely notices, just continues steering his girlfriend to his room.

When they’re done and getting dressed he wonders where his phone has gone. It had been in his back pocket before...

A knock on the door startles him. It’s the girl who had bumped into him earlier. At least he thinks it was. He’s really not sure. He doesn't look at anyone who isn't his girl.

“You dropped this. Bryce said you were up here.”

Jaden vaguely notes her creepy smile but quickly forgets once his phone is back and his girl calls for him.

~~~ You’re barely home from Jaden’s party when your phone begins to blow up. IT vibrates almost continually, calls and texts filling up the screen. All want you to check Jaden’s instagram.

You plop down on the couch and answer the call from Mads, your best friend.

“Have you checked!?” She shrieks, loud enough that you have to take the phone off of speaker-phone for a second.

“I’m checking now! But what can possibly be so urg-”

No. This can’t be right... it can’t... there, one of his most recent posts, theres no way.

It’s a set of nudes, captioned ‘my beautiful baby girl’ with a kissy face emoji. Except.. those aren't your nudes which means... not that you'd want your nudes posted but...

Mads, taking your silence as an answer whispers, “Y/N I am so sorry.”

You can't speak, your fingers go numb. Your phone falls from your grip and clatters as it hits the floor and bounces.

Mads is speaking but you can't hear her. Your heart feels like its beating a mile a minute.

There had to be some sort of explanation, if you just called him he would be able to clear this up. Right? Right!?

So you pick up your phone, Mads is saying that she’ll make the friend group unfollow him. You excuse yourself, hang up, and dial Jaden. It rings, and rings, and rings, Then, “Hey it’s Jaden. Hit me up later!”

You try again. And again. And again. You get his voicemail every time.

Somehow you’re all the emotions at once. You pull up his instagram, and this time your notice your name is no longer in his bio the way it had been for so long.

‘That’s it.’ You think. 

You unfollow him on instagram, remove his name from your own bio, and delete all the pictures of the two of you together. 

Then you go to Snapchat and un-add him. His contact gets deleted, you unfollow him on twitter and delete his face from your camera roll. 

Satisfied as you can be, you fall into bed and let the tears come.

~~~

By the early afternoon of the next day the gossip is at full roar. You venture on to youtube, and right there, the first video you see is by ‘annaoop’ who is almost the most well known gossip youtube channel focusing on tiktokers.

‘Jaden Hossler cheats on Y/N L/N’ the title reads. Something within you compels you to click on it. 

Her voice rings, talking about ‘tea’. She shows the censored versions of the pictures from his instagram. They’re basically just one blurred skin colored square. 

“How dare he? He hasn’t commented on it at all... Y/N deleted photos of the two of them such as this one from their trip to Bondi Beach.”

The series of photos she displays make your heart clench. ‘Annaoop’ then begins to pull up the followers page on Jaden’s instagram. 

She informs you and the rest of her viewers that Mads, Nessa, Thomas, Petrou, Chase Hudson, Charli, Mia, and others have unfollowed Jaden’s instagram, and sided with you.

From the way she narrates you can tell she’s on your ‘side’. Apparently, Bryce has unfollowed you and written on his Twitter that Jaden would not be making a statement until he talked to you. Except he wasn't even trying to talk to you.

Your fans are going after Jaden, and from the screenshots some are getting ruthless. Some fans have even jumped ship from Jaden to you.

And then theres the die hard Jaden fans of his that are trashing you for not being good enough to him. It had already been established that it wasn't your body because it had a tattoo that you didn't.

Your phone is still blowing up but you don't truly want to talk about it. So instead you post a statement to your instagram and twitter. 

‘I haven’t been able to reach Jaden. We are no longer together because of the incident. Just because this happened does not mean I want or condone you attacking him or any of his friends and family. I love y'all and I will be okay <3 Y/N.’

No sooner than you had posted the statements, theres a loud pounding at your door. Very reluctantly, you open it.

It’s Nessa, she rushes in gushing. “Jaden’s coming here. I heard from Josh who heard from Blake, who heard from-”

“Nessa!” You interrupt, “When?”

“Well you know how bad at math I am but hypothetically, I mean technically he should be here soon!”

And as if right on cue, there’s the sound of your doorbell followed by rapid knocking by a heavier hand.

“I’ll go out the back door so he doesn't see me. Good luck, I love you! Call me if you need anything!” She gives you a quick and fleeting hug and then darts off.

He’s still pounding at your door. And having no other choice, you let him in. As soon as you do he's speaking so quickly that you can barely understand him. 

“Y/Nwhyhaventyoubeenansweringmeivebeencallingandcallingandcallingyouandyouhaventansweredandisawyourannouncementthatwerebrokenup-”

“Did you also happen to see the pictures you posted on your instagram?” You cross your arms.

“Ofcoursebutisweartoyouandeverythingreally-”

“Slow down or we can’t have a conversation Jaden.”

He gives you one sharp nod and takes a few big breaths. “Do you remember at my party when I got knocked by some girl?”

You frown, “No, and I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“Well, thats the thing. It was orchestrated to look inconspicuous. She must have taken my phone then because after we were alone... y’know... well she showed up. Gave me my phone claiming I dropped it and Bryce told her where to find me except he didn't. She’s been stalking me Y/N. That’s how she found my room, knew my password. You know I have more respect for women than to post their nudes. You have to believe me! She blocked you from my phone, thats why nothing went through!”

It made sense... and you should believe him but what if he was just a really good liar? So many people were involved in your relationship and now this drama. You’d always tried to keep the private details of your life well... private. But life in the spotlight often prevented that. Maybe the damage had been done. Maybe it was too late. You just didn't know.

“I need to think about it Jaden.”

[feralthoughtdump]

Arsonist’s Lullaby

Part One: Kiss With A Fist

Part Two: Only Angel

Bucky and his Angel’s relationship grow closer. 

Word Count: 6.8K

CW: violence, Bucky and his nightmares, John Walker being an ass, a little bit of fluff, smut, brief shower sex, Bucky steps on the reader with his boots, spitting, choking, spanking, Bucky using his metal arm, crying, FATWS ep. 3&4 spoilers

The cold air of the cargo container was strange, given that they were in a southeast Asian island. It sent a chill down Angel’s spine. Like something would go very wrong. They survey the empty space, searching for Nagel.

Sharon was certain Nagel was here, but there was no sight of him.

But Angel could hear the slight vibrations of music coming from… somewhere. 

She approaches the back of the container and feels around the rough metal wall. 

“Hey, I think he may be in here.” She beckons them over. 

Pressing a gloved hand onto the metal, she pushed, revealing a small laboratory in front of them. 

“You three go ahead.” She mutters. “I’ll keep an eye out with Sharon.”

Before they can say anything, she strides out of the container.

“You don’t need to worry about them.” Sharon crosses her arms as the door closes. “I know them well. They can hold their own.” 

“Oh, I know.” Angel chuckles. 

“Bucky likes to call you Angel, huh. Seems like you two bonded pretty quickly.”

She gives Sharon a humored look as they stroll around the dock.

“I thought psychopaths couldn’t form bonds.”

“You know I didn’t mean it.”

Their eyes dart all over the place, looking for any oncoming bounty hunters. 

“How’d you get my photo anyways?” 

“Heavy analysis of CCTV footage, a few phone calls, and a lot of digging. The photo was shit quality, but it was enough for me to go off of.”

“Was it enough to catch me?”

“I guess so. Then Zemo blew up the UN so we tabled the case.”

“Interesting. Maybe that UN bombing was a blessing in disguise. Saved me a life sentence in a high-security prison.”

They turned a corner.

“You wouldn’t have gone to jail. MI6 would’ve given you a job instead.” 

“Hmph. I’d rather die than be a servant.”

From the corner of her eye, Angel spots a passing black shadow. 

“Guys,” she presses a finger onto her earpiece. “Someone’s here.” 

A gunshot rings out from the container and the hairs on the back of her neck stand. Sharon gives her a knowing look and they turn the safety off of their guns. 

“Here.” Angel whispers, handing Sharon a knife. “It’ll come in handy.” 

Three bounty hunters transverse on them and they open fire, taking them down one by one. 

“We don’t have much time, hurry up!” Sharon yells into the earpiece. 

A bounty hunter wraps their arms around Angel and she grabs a knife, jamming it into their arm. 

Adrenaline floods her system, dialing her senses up to ten. A swift roundhouse kick sends another hunter tumbling to the ground. 

From behind her, she hears Sam and Bucky yelling and she runs towards them. 

“It’s in every action movie!” She hears Sam yell.

If her life wasn’t on the line, she would’ve laughed. 

“You okay?” She pants.

“No! We’re not!” Sam yells. “Zemo shot Nagel!”

“What? Where is he?”

Her question was answered when a container set fire and exploded. She spots Zemo standing atop another, donning a purple mask. Before she can point him out, he sprints away. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” 

Gunshots ring from her right and Bucky wraps a protective arm around her. In her peripheral she sees a bounty hunter riding towards her on a motorcycle, guns blazing. She quickly wriggles out of Bucky’s grasp and sends a knife into the tire, throwing the hunter off of the vehicle and into the fire. 

“Good aim.” He says, mouth agape in surprise.

“You just threw that dude into a fire!” Sam exclaims.

“Yeah, well, he was going to kill us.” 

 They continue to run through the maze of crates, turning corner after corner, dodging bullet after bullet.

As much as he hates to admit it, the sight of Angel in action, when her violence wasn’t directed towards him, sends a rush through his system. 

Zemo speeds towards them in a convertible, signaling them to get in. Sam jumps in the passenger seat while Bucky and Angel sit in the back. 

Her pupils are blown wide and Bucky swears he can feel the electricity radiating off of her. Without stopping to calm down, he grabs her face in his hand and presses a passionate kiss on her lips.

His heart skips a beat when she kisses him back, and in the corner of his eye, he spots Sharon giving either him or Angel, a thumbs up.

… 

Bucky makes it a habit to call her Angel all the time. He likes the way it slips off his tongue. He likes the way her eyes seem to glimmer when he calls her that. It’s as if the more he calls her Angel, she seems to glow more and more. 

He calls her Angel when they board the jet on the way to Latvia.

He calls her Angel when she sits down to change the gauze on her thigh.

He calls her Angel when they get to the Riga safe house. 

The more time he spends with her, the more he notices the little things about her. He notices how her tongue sticks out a little when she does her eye makeup.

He notices how her head would bop along to music in her earbuds

He notices how she’ll curl up on the couch, tucking her knees close to her body, while she sketches.

He notices how she’ll mutter curses in different languages. Mandarin, French, Russian, Spanish just to name a few. 

He notices how she took off her jewelry when she showers with the exception of a gold chain. A gold chain with a dangling pendant. A pendant of a little angel.

He notices how she uses apple cinnamon body wash. It made her smell warm. It made her smell like home. 

She gets along with Sam. Even Zemo. 

She talks about philosophy with Zemo and when she converses with Sam, they talk about music.

She’s a force to be reckoned with. Fiery. Just like Selby had said. A firebird. 

And despite her cool, hardened front, there was a gentleness to her.

The jet had touched down in Latvia late and night and they collectively decided to get a good night’s rest before finding Karli. 

He had woken up from a nightmare. Reliving the memory of killing Yori’s son. 

He didn’t know what compelled him to do it, but he padded over to Angel, reading Anna Karenina. Glasses perched on her nose, hair loose and resting past her shoulders. 

She looks up at him.

“Nightmare?”

Bucky nods, tears pricking are his eyes.

She places the book on the floor and stretches out on the couch.

“Come here.” She whispers arms open wider

She let him lay his head on her chest, nose pressed against her sternum. With gentle hands, she runs her fingers through his hair, slowing his rapid heartbeat. 

The serum had made his hearing sharper and from his position between her breasts, he could hear the soft thumping of her heart. It calmed him. 

“Can you sing to me?” He mumbles.

The hand playing with his hair stops.

“Sing to you?” She asks.

“Mhm.”

“I-“ she pauses “I don’t really-“

“Please.” He begs. 

She’s quiet, just calmly stroking his hair, then she sighs.

“What do you want me to sing?”

“Anything. Just… please, I want you to sing for me.”

She ponders for a moment before she parts her lips, voice shaky and quiet. 

When I was a child, I heard voices

Some would sing and some would scream

You soon find you have few choices

I learned the voices died with me

He closes his eyes and noses at her sternum. 

When I was a child, I'd sit for hours

Staring into open flame

Something in it had a power

Could barely tear my eyes away

The song is unfamiliar. He didn’t listen to music all that much anymore. And even when he listens to music, it was mostly from the 40s.

All you have is your fire

And the place you need to reach 

Don't you ever tame your demons

But always keep 'em on a leash

Her voice, still soft and quiet, is haunting. The way it wraps around the lyrics, warms his heart. He breathes in the smell of her apple cinnamon body wash. 

When I was 16, my senses fooled me

Thought gasoline was on my clothes

I knew that something would always rule me

I knew the scent was mine alone

He loves the way he can feel her chest move up and down. The way her voice sounds so rich with his ear pressed against her chest, the music echoing within her ribs.

All you have is your fire

And the place you need to reach

Don't you ever tame your demons 

But always keep 'em on a leash

He reaches his hand to play with the angel pendant on her necklace. Finger running over the grooves. 

When I was a man I thought it ended

When I knew love's perfect ache

But my peace has always depended

On all the ashes in my wake

As he drifts off to sleep, he can hear the last lines of the song lingering on her lips. The images from war. The torture he endured, the people he’s killed, the amends he has yet to make, all temporarily fade from his mind. 

All you have is your fire

And the place you need to reach

Don't you ever tame your demons

But always keep 'em on a leash

And for the first time since Steve left, Bucky was able to sleep without disturbance.

… 

“You have a lovely voice.” 

Angel was pulled from her sleep when she hears Zemo’s voice. 

She glares at him and places a finger on her lips, shushing him. Bucky was still lying on top of her, still asleep and she didn’t want to wake him. 

“My apologies.” He smiles. 

“Were you watching us last night?” She interrogates quietly. 

“No, but I do have a keen sense of hearing. I heard you singing to James.” 

She turns her head to meet his eyes. 

“He had a nightmare. It was the least I could do for him.” 

“Understandable.” He nods. “My son used to have nightmares and my wife’s voice was the only thing that could put him to sleep.” 

“I’m sorry.” She mumbles sympathetically. “About your family, I mean. I know you lost them a while ago.” 

Her hand combs through Bucky’s hair. 

“I understand how vengeance and anger overtook you. You needed your revenge. But don’t hurt him.”

“Hurt who? James?”

“Yes.” Her voice darkens. “If you lay a finger on him, I won’t hesitate to bury you.”

Zemo sighs. 

“I have no intention of harming him. I see the way you look at him. It’s the same look I used to give my wife. You care for him dearly and given your line of work, I know you’d do anything to avenge the people who harm the ones you love.” He walks towards her and offers her a cookie. Angel takes it with a wary hand. 

“You’ve got anything else you want to say?”

“I do have a question about that song. I knew that something would always rule me.” He quotes. “Was that about yourself, or James?” 

She narrows her eyes. 

“It was just a song.” 

“Yet it implies that something will always have power, control, over the songwriter.” He tilts his head. 

“What are you implying, Baron?”

“It’s not an implication. It’s an observation. You two share a common trait. For James, it’s his past. His time as the Winter Soldier looms over him. As for you, you seem to have this, how do I say it, a compulsion to kill. It will always stick to you.”

“Baron, I suggest you pick your next words very carefully.” 

Bucky stirs and she lifts her hand from his head.

“Mmm. Good morning.” He mumbles, voice rough and heavy. 

“Good morning to you too sleepyhead.” She coos, rubbing his cheek with her thumb. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mhm.” He hums.

She gives Zemo a look that says ‘get out.’

Zemo gives her a smirk and walks away, leaving the two of them alone.

Bucky opens his eyes and Angel can feel her heart melt. He balances himself on his arm to press a kiss to her nose.

“You look cute with bed head.” He chuckles. “So pretty. I could just eat you up.” 

“You look quite pretty when you sleep.” She giggles and rubs her nose against his. 

He places his head back on her chest and they lie there for a while, listening to the sounds of the city. 

Finally, she sighs. 

“Alright, Bucky, I’m gonna go take a shower.”

He whines and wraps his arms around her.

“No, stay.”

“Bucky,” she says sternly, “I have to wash my hair, let go.”

With a huff, he sits up and lets her get off of the couch. As she stands she turns around spotting Bucky, arms crossed and a pout on his face. 

“I never said you couldn’t join.” 

Bucky jumps up and runs to her. He places his hands on her waist and turns her around, pressing a kiss to her lips. She links her fingers with his and he follows behind her towards the bathroom. 

While they wait for the water to heat up, she reaches into her bag to pull out bottles of product. 

He spots the shimmering bottle of apple cinnamon body wash and smiles. 

“Apple cinnamon body wash.” He notes.

“Mhm. It's inexpensive but it smells nice.”

“It does.” 

She places her hand under the stream of water and gets a feel for the temperature. The water is hot, just how she likes it. Her hands pull the t-shirt over her head and then her cotton underwear. 

Bucky waits for her to step into the shower before he strips down and joins her. 

A content smile crosses her face when the hot water hits her body but her peace is broken when she hears Bucky yelp. 

“Why is the water so hot?” 

“I like it hot.” She turns to face him and playfully pokes at his navel. “It’s relaxing.”

“You’re going to boil me alive.” He grumbles. 

“If you don’t like the hot water,” She bluntly states, “then get out.” 

She shampoos her hair, letting the bubbles froth around her fingers, and then she pours a bit into her hand and reaches up to massage it into Bucky’s hair. 

He runs a metal finger down her sternum, collecting a bit of the bubbles that run down her body. When his finger reaches her scar, his touch lingers. 

Seeing the guilt in his eyes, Angel places a finger underneath his chin and has him look into her eyes instead.

“Don’t.” She murmurs. “You’ll only torture yourself reminiscing on the past.” She pulls him under the stream, letting the water wash away the shampoo in their hair. 

She’s got a meticulous shower routine, one that she likes to perform herself, yet she’s okay with Bucky standing next to her. When she combs the conditioner through her hair, she does the same for Bucky, knowing it would soften his hair even more and make it smell like vanilla and pomegranate. 

She places a bit of the apple cinnamon body wash in her hands and rubs it onto his body. Her hands pay extra attention to the scar on his shoulder. 

“It’s got vitamin E in it. Helps with scars.” 

Bucky turns her around, making her face away from him.

She can’t see exactly what he’s doing, but she hums with relaxation when she feels his strong hands rub the body wash into her skin.

“You’ve got some knots in your shoulders.” He notes.

“I’m aware of that.”

“You’re stressed.”

“I am.” 

When the water washes away the body wash, the shower is filled with the scent of apple cinnamon. 

She’s surprised when she feels a kiss on the back of her shoulder but nevertheless, she enjoys it.

Bucky presses another kiss in the center of her shoulders and kisses her along the line of her back. He sinks to his knees and places a kiss onto the dimples of her back. 

“Buck, what are you doing?” She smirks, turning around. 

“I just wanna love on you.” He murmurs against her skin. “Can I?”

She blinks owlishly, then slowly nods her head. 

“Y-yeah” she breathes. 

Bucky places a kiss on her scar and runs his tongue over it, sending a fire through her. 

“Open your legs for me, doll.” 

She shyly parts her legs and Bucky smiles up at her.

He grabs her waist,  hoisting her knees over his shoulders, pressing her back against the wall. 

She lets out gaspy whines when he kisses and nips at her thighs, letting his stubble rub against the sensitive skin.

“Bucky,” she whimpers “we- we’re going to waste water.”

“Don’t worry about that, doll.” He murmurs. “Just let me make you feel good.” 

He licks a stripe up her folds, causing her to gasp. She grabs onto his hair, pulling him closer. 

“So sweet, baby. You taste so sweet.” 

She doesn’t reply. She couldn’t. Not when he was making her feel so good. 

She slaps her other hand onto the wall, trying to hold herself up. Bucky tightens his grip on her and leans in closer, continuously licking into her, making her head spin. 

She tries to say something, tell him she’s close, tell him she’s going to cum quicker than she thought, but the only sounds that leave her mouth are breathy moans. 

When he pulls away, she whines. He gives her a cocky grin. 

“Wanna cum?”

She vigorously nods her head. 

“That’s a shame.” He lets go of her legs, almost dropping her onto the tile, and wraps an arm around her waist to keep her steady. “We’ve got a big day ahead.” His tone is teasing, almost mean. “I’ll let you cum later.” 

She’s left on the edge, and she’s angry. No, not angry. Frustrated. Frustrated and desperate. 

“You’re mean.” She grumbles, shutting off the water. 

“If you give me attitude, I won’t let you cum at all.” He chuckles. 

She pushes him away and wraps a towel around her body. 

“I don’t need you to cum anyways.” She grumbles under her breath. 

As she walks away, he grabs her by the back of her neck and pulls her into his chest.

“If I were you,” He lowers his lips to her ear, “I’d behave. Now,” he releases his grip and gives her ass a smack. “Get dressed, we’ve got a lot to do today.” 

She digs through her duffel to find a simple red jumpsuit. The neckline is low enough to be teasing, but it had enough support and pockets to be practical. 

“Sounds like someone had a good morning.”

She turns around, a big grin stretching across her face when she sees Sam. 

“Sam! Good morning!” She cheers. 

“No need to good morning me when I woke up to the sound of fucking.” he grumbles, annoyance in his voice. 

She chuckles as she buttons the front of her jumpsuit. 

“So, Bucky tells me we have a lot going on today. What’s on the itinerary?”

“Hopefully, we can track down Karli and convince her to stop. At least that’s my plan.” 

“Sounds good.” 

He grabs his jacket from the chair. “I’m headed out to get something to eat. Do you want anything?” 

“I’m okay.” She smiles at him. “Thanks for asking.” 

Sam reaches the door and turns around. 

“One more thing, you’ve got a great voice.”

“Was I that loud or did no one sleep at all last night?”

Sam chuckles. 

“I think after the past few days, it’s hard for anyone to get a good night's sleep.” He looks down, fiddling with his fingers. “What you did… what you did for Bucky in Madripoor, when we were undercover…”

“What did I do?” She asks curiously. 

“When Zemo had him go all Winter Soldier, you fought alongside him, you got to that first guy before Bucky did.”

Angel is quiet. She says nothing, looking down at her hands and picking at her cuticles. 

“He might not say this to your face, but I’ve been around him long enough to know that he’s thankful. And so am I.”

She doesn’t know what to say. What would she even say?

“I can see now why he likes calling you Angel.” 

With that, the door closes. 

She walks over to the kitchen, looking through the cabinets. The shelves were fairly empty, mostly just tins of cookies and candy, and a box of cherry blossom tea. She huffs in frustration when her fingers brush over the tin of candy, barely moving it. 

“Need some help, doll?” 

Bucky grabs the tin and places it on the counter.

Her frustration is reignited at the sight of him in a tight, black t-shirt. She wants him to bend her over, fuck her until she sobs.

But she knows he won’t give her that.

Before she can grab it, Bucky holds it above his head. 

“You’re evil.” She mutters. “Come on, give me it.”

“Nope!” He smirks. 

“Go fu-“

She yelps when Bucky loops his thumb through the belt loop of her jumpsuit and pulls her close to him. 

“Remember what I told you? Watch your language.” 

“Give me the candy or you’re not getting head for a week.”

Bucky’s eyes widen and he hands her the box. 

“Thank you.” 

She presses a kiss to his nose and walks away with the box. 

She knows what Bucky’s doing. He’s riling her up, teasing her. 

But two can play that game. 

She sits up on the counter and opens the tin. 

Turkish Delight. Candy she used to eat as a child. 

He’s staring at her. She can feel it. Her fingers pluck a candy from the box and hold it up. 

“Want one?”

Bucky walks over to her and wedges himself between her thighs. 

“Sure.” 

She unwraps the candy and places a finger on his chin, beckoning him to open his mouth.

Her fingers place the treat on his tongue.

“Sweet, isn’t it?”

He kisses her and she can taste the sugar on his lips. 

“Almost as sweet as you.”

She grabs another and hops off of the counter, humored by Bucky’s frustrated look. 

“Sam probably wants everyone ready by the time he gets back. So, I don’t know.” She eyes him up and down, ready to drool at the sight of his arms. “Get dressed.”

“Oh doll, I’m already dressed.” He chuckles. 

“Good. Then help me out.” Her fingers deftly unbutton the top of her jumpsuit, exposing her black sports bra. She reaches for her harness and shoves it in Bucky’s hands. “Buckle me in.”

… 

Sex was the last thing on her mind when she’s face to face with the new Captain America. 

“Karli Morganthau is too dangerous for you to be pulling this shit.” He yells. 

Angel rolls her eyes at the sight of John Walker. 

“How’d you find us now?” Bucky replies, voice full of annoyance.

“You think two Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?” 

Angel’s seen his face in the news. Lemar, the better of America’s new dynamic duo. 

“No more keeping us in the dark, and you can tell us why you broke him” John points to Zemo “out of prison.”

“He did that himself, technically.” Bucky answers. 

“That is an unbelievable explanation! And who the hell are you?” He points to Angel. 

“I’m a friend.” She grumbles, eyes narrowed. 

“You have no business being here. And whatever you’re wearing, all you’re going to do is draw attention.”

“And your little Mr. America getup isn’t?”

“Why don’t you go back to working in European intelligence or whatever it is you do.”

“You better watch your mouth, Mr. Walker.” She snarls. “Is that really how you speak to a lady?” 

“I know where Karli is.” Zemo interrupts their feud.

“Well, where?” 

“All we know is,” Sam answers, “It’s a memorial. We’ll intercept her there.” 

“That means civilians, high risk of casualties.” Lemar states.

“Alright good.” John schemes. “We’ll move in fast, take her by surprise.” 

“Not a good idea, John.” Angel retorts. He halts in his steps and turns to her.

“You have no clue what you’re getting yourself into. This is an American situation.” 

She leans in until she’s staring into his eyes. Rage broils inside of her. 

“Let me tell you something John, I don’t care about your medals of honor. I don’t care that you’re wearing that red and blue suit. So I’ll tell you this once, and only once. If you dare speak to me like this again, I won’t hesitate to-“ 

Bucky pulls her back, giving her a stern look. 

“Hey,” he rubs her shoulder, trying to settle her anger. “He’s not worth it.”

“Oh, so she’s your little girlfriend huh?” 

Angel presses the tip of her knife against his chin and backs him into a wall.

“You stay out of Bucky’s business.” She seethes. 

“Hey, hey, hey!”

This time, both Sam and Bucky had to pull her away, but she keeps her murderous glare trained on him.

“Jesus Christ, Barnes. Keep your little psycho under control.” John spits. 

“Hey, don’t speak to her like that,” Sam demands. “Just because you don’t know her doesn’t give you an excuse to be rude.” 

“Either you show her some respect,” Bucky says “or all of the help we have to offer is off of the table.” 

Sam nods in agreement and eventually so does Zemo, who adds a small shrug. 

“I wasn't actually going to kill him.” She mutters under her breath.

“We know.” Sam pulls her into a side hug. He directs his words back to John. “I want to talk to her alone.”

“I’m not losing her again.” 

“Look, the person closest to her died. She’s vulnerable. If there’s any time to reason with her, it’s now.” 

“What?” John halts in his steps. “No, wait stop. We are way past reasoning with her.” 

“Sam,” Lemar states. “If you walk in there cold, you could die.”

“But if you walk in guns blazing, you could have the blood of hundreds of civilians on your hands.” Angel folds her arms. “Besides, if things go wrong, I’m trained in mixed martial arts.”

“You think a black belt will save you from  a super-soldier?” 

Angel snorts. 

“It has before.”

Bucky looks down and stifles a laugh. 

“I used to counsel soldiers dealing with trauma, okay?” Sam argues with John. “This is in my wheelhouse.”

They’re all silent, staring daggers at each other. 

“John,” Lemar breaks the silence “If he can talk her down, it might be worth a try.” He gives Angel a kind smile. “And I think we give this girl a chance to show us what she’s got.”

“Thank you.” She smiles back. 

“I’m sure this can all come to an agreeable conclusion.” Zemo points forward. “My associate is just up ahead.” 

They watch as Zemo approaches a young girl, handing her some money. She beckons them to follow her down a cobblestone path, into a building, and through the boiler room. 

“You’ve got ten minutes,” John states while handcuffing Zemo to a pipe. “Then we’re doing things my way.”

While they wait, Angel spends her time playing with her butterfly knife, spinning the handle around her fingers.

“How do you not cut yourself doing that?” Lemar asks. 

She spins the knife closed. 

“I have before, it’s just about practice and being careful. Here, I’ll show you.” 

Bucky observes Angel showing off her knife tricks to Lemar. 

Despite the stressful situation, he still felt a pang of possessiveness. She was his Angel. He gave her that name and when she said she’d accepted it. In a way, she was his and he was hers. 

“What’s your name? I don’t think you’ve ever told me.” 

He hears Lemar ask.

Angel giggles.

“It’s Artemis. Like the goddess.”

Artemis. It’s fitting, Bucky thinks. The goddess of the hunt.

“That’s really cool. Let me guess, your parents were huge mythology fans?”

“You can say that.” She chuckles.

His eyes narrow when she smiles at Lemar. 

Their conversation continues and Bucky’s jealousy burns brighter when she places her fingers on the fabric of Lemar’s suit, giving him a comment on how she’s got an eye for fashion and how nice the fabric was. From his position by the door, he sees her turn to him and give him a wink. 

Bucky scowls. That little minx.

John crosses his arms and stares daggers into her.

“What exactly do you do, anyway?” He scoffs. “Are you some kind of spy?”

Angel raises a brow. 

“I’m not a spy. I’m just a problem solver.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” John shakes his head and secures the shield on his arm. “Nevermind. I’m going in.” 

“Oh, come on John, it’s only been eight minutes.” 

“No. Don’t do that. Don’t patronize me.” 

“I’m not-” Angel sighs and turns away, focusing her attention on pulling her hair back.

Bucky stops him before John can get through the doorway. 

“It must be so easy for you.” John’s voice is full of malice. “All that serum running through your veins. Barnes, your partner needs backup. Do you really want his blood on your hands?” 

Bucky can see Angel slowly shake her head, telling him not to give in to John’s words. But he can’t. He’s already done so much harm. He’s responsible for the deaths of so many people, he can’t let Sam become another. 

So, he lets John walk past him, Lemar following along. 

Angel runs up to him. 

“Bucky, why’d you do that?” 

“I can’t… I can’t risk it. I can’t risk losing him.” 

She sighs and places a gentle hand on his cheek. 

“I understand.” Her lips land a gentle kiss on his nose. “But don’t let his words get to you. Now,” She grins and lightly smacks his ass. “Go make sure he doesn’t kill anyone.” 

With one final kiss, Bucky runs off. 

She turns around to see the handcuffs dangling from the pole. Her blood runs cold. Zemo escaped and who knows what he’ll do.

She runs through the halls, boots quietly slapping on the concrete floors. From her left, she hears a series of loud gunshots and crunching glass. 

Her feet lightly tread next to the walls, ears picking up every little sound. 

She jumps, heartbeat pounding when the thump of a body falling to the ground meets her ears. 

Did Zemo kill someone? Was it Karli? Another Flag-Smasher? 

She runs through the door closest to her. From behind a table, she spots John staring at a small vial. A small vial of the serum. Before she can say anything, he runs away. 

As she quietly walks into the room, she spots Zemo, lying on the ground, unconscious. No one else was here. 

She crouches down next to him and gently shakes his shoulder. 

“Baron? Zemo? Come on, wake up.” 

He doesn’t move. 

She picks up his wrist, pressing her pointer and middle fingers on the vein. A sigh of relief passes her lips at the feeling of a pulse. 

Her hands shake his shoulder again, this time, with more vigor. 

“Zemo!” She shouts.

His eyes snap open and he groans in pain. 

“You passed out Baron.”

“I’m aware.” He grumbles. “John Walker threw the shield at me.” 

“Of course he did.”

She offers him a hand and helps him stand up. 

“Can you walk?” She asks. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be okay.”

The two make their way through the city until they reach Zemo’s apartment. Sam was already there, typing away on his computer. 

Angel wets a towel in the kitchen and hands it to Zemo.

“Go, lie down. Put this over your eyes.” 

She walks down the hall towards Bucky’s room. With a tired sigh, she removes her shoes, jumpsuit, and harness.

Her eyes close as she lies on the bed in her underwear. The sports bra felt much too tight but she didn’t care. She was tired. Her morning sexual frustration had caught up to her but she didn’t feel like doing anything about it.

Even though it was only seven in the evening, she just wanted to sleep.

Right when she’s drifting off to sleep, the slam of the bedroom door jolts her awake. 

Bucky is standing in front of her, arms crossed, eyes filled with rage.

“Get off the bed.” He snarls. 

She laughs and rolls over onto her stomach. 

“No. If sex is what you want, let’s do it on the bed.”

She hears a sigh behind her and her eyes widen when she feels Bucky’s hands wrap around her ankles. 

“Buck, what are you-”

Her words come to a halt when he pulls her off of the bed and onto her knees. 

“You wanted me to fuck you?” He seethes. “Fuck you rough until you can’t speak?”

“That was the plan.” She smirks. 

He twists a hand in her hair and pulls her head back. Her breath is shallow as she looks up, meeting Bucky’s angry eyes. 

He’s mad. At the entire Karli situation, and maybe with her. But his anger towards her, she assumes, is fiery, lustful anger. Anger that she can have a lot of fun with. 

“If you had let me cum earlier,” She snaps, “ maybe I wouldn’t have been such a brat.”

She rubs her thighs together, trying to alleviate the arousal burning through her. A whine leaves her lips when he kicks her legs apart. 

He tightens his grip on her hair.

“You really need to learn some respect.”

Bucky places the toe of his boot on her back and pushes her face down onto the floor. She doesn’t resist, giving in to his dominance. 

“Aww, look at you,” he mocks, “You were so bold earlier, my Angel. Where did that fire go?”

Her heart swells. He’s no longer calling her Angel. He’s called her his Angel. She was his. 

Footsteps echo around her and she takes a shaky breath when his black boots come into view. 

“Look at me, doll. I wanna see those pretty eyes.”

His voice is commanding, authoritative. It drew her in, made her head spin.

She looks up at him with wide eyes as he bends down on a knee.

“Were you trying to rile me up? Trying to make me angry?” 

She nods.

Bucky roughly grabs her chin, cold metal digging into her cheeks.

“Use your words.”

“Y-yes Sergeant.” She squeaks.

He stares down at her, anger and lust in his eyes. 

“Open your mouth.” 

Her lips part and Bucky spits, letting his saliva pool on her tongue. 

His fingers press on her chin, closing her mouth. She swallows, heat burning in her tummy. 

“So now, you want to be a good girl, huh?” 

He picks her up by her neck and shoves her face into the soft mattress. His fingers loop around the elastic waistband of her panties and pull, the fabric digging into her cunt. 

“Yes, I’m your good girl.” She whines. “I’ll be good. Promise.” 

He leans in close, his warm breath brushing over her ear. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

He rears his metal hand against her ass, leaving a red handprint of her skin. 

A choked breath leaves her lips. She relishes in the pain and gives him a cocky smile.

“Is that all you got Sarge?” 

He lands another hard smack, this time on her thigh. A whimper escapes her lips.

“Oh, you’re really asking for it, aren’t you?” 

He shifts his hand on her neck, wrapping it around the front of her neck. She squeezes at the sides, slowing the circulation of blood to her head. 

She opens her mouth to speak, but the hand on her throat stops the words from leaving her lips. 

The clinking of his belt buckle sends a wave of lust through her. 

She was finally getting what she wanted.

His hand on her neck is released and she takes in a sharp breath.  

He pulls her panties down her legs and throws them to the side. 

She gasps at the feeling of cold metal rubbing between her folds. Her fingers dig into the sheets, grabbing at the fabric. 

“You’re practically dripping.” He muses, “Who knew you were such a masochist?” 

“Only for you.” She keens. 

“Only for me? Not for anyone else?”

“Yes! Yes! Only you!”

Bucky hums and lands another smack on her ass. She yelps and tears threaten to spill from her eyes. 

He shoves two fingers inside of her and she gasps at the cool feeling of the metal. 

She squirms around as he twists his fingers, pressing against that spot inside of her.

Hunger swarms her brain. She wanted, no, needed more. 

What he’s doing is sadistic, she thinks. Constantly bringing her to the edge, but never letting her tip over. 

He lets his thumb press against her clit and the tears she’s been trying to hold back spill over. She lets out a quiet sob into the sheets but Bucky doesn’t stop his movements. 

“I need more.” She quietly whimpers. 

“You think you have the right to beg?” He asks nonchalantly. “After that little show?” 

“I’m sorry.” She cries. 

Her eyes squeeze shut and she turns her head, letting her cheek rest on the bedsheets. When she glances up, she can see Bucky’s amused smirk. 

She feels the tip of his cock pressing against her entrance and she holds her breath. 

“Oh doll,” he coos, thumbing away her tears, “You’re so pretty when you cry.” 

A sudden thrust of his hips buries his cock inside of her. Bucky clamps his hand over her lips, muffling her desperate cries. 

“Shh, shh,” He whispers gently. “It’s okay, love. Be a good girl and take it.” 

He starts moving, his hips slowly thrusting into her. The fire inside of her burns, hotter and hotter. Her head is reeling as she feels herself come closer to her impending orgasm. Despite how rough he is with her, she feels safe. Safe with him. She feels safe enough to fall into submission, open and pliant for him. 

Her sobs against his hand become louder, more intense and he bends down to nip at her neck.

“Are you gonna cum, angel? Cum all over my cock?” 

She nods, eyes squeezed shut. 

“Do you think you deserve it?” He asks.

“No,” she mumbles against his hand. “But I want to.”

He brushes his fingers down the length of her back and she shivers. 

“You wanna cum, doll? Ask nicely.” 

He releases his hand and grabs her hip, pulling her deeper onto his cock. 

“Please.” She gasps. “Please, let me cum!” 

“You have to do better than that.”

“Please, I’ll be so good for you! I’ll never flirt with anyone again! Just please! Please, I wanna cum.” 

He picks up his pace, and she finds it harder to stave off her orgasm. 

“So polite.” He hums, “But not yet.”

She lets out a pathetic sob.

“Please.” She whimpers. 

“Be patient. You’ll get to cum soon.” 

Her breaths are shallow as she tries to keep herself from cumming. She bites down on her lower lip but the pain does little to help.

Relief washes over her when Bucky speaks again.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me. Come on angel, cum for me.” 

Her teeth bite down on the sheets as she’s hurtles over the edge, her orgasm sending shockwaves through her body. 

As her chest heaves and her mind becomes foggy, she can barely feel Bucky pull out and releases him cum on her back. 

She lies there, upper half sprawled over the mattress, a dopey smile on her face. A hum of pleasure slips past her lips when Bucky wipes his cum away with a warm washcloth. 

“You okay, doll?” He asks. 

She nods her head. 

The bed shifts as he sits on the bed and pulls her towards him. 

“Come on,” He lies down and pulls her close to him. He noses at the back of her shoulder. “Get some rest.” 

The sun was about to set, bathing their bodies in a golden glow. He runs his metal fingers over her bicep, cooling down her heated skin. 

She’s tired, so tired. Yet she’s happy. The first time in a long time that she’s actually felt happy. 

“Bucky?” She asks in a fucked out daze.

“Yes my angel?” 

A moment of silence passes. 

“You’re the only one who’s made me feel human.”

...

Once again, tysm @sojournmichael for reading over my little snippets of writing!

[stutterfly]

Swipe Right 03 | Local Networking | JJK (M)

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, brot7 x friendship

Genre: E2L, fluff, angst, humor, [eventual] smut, PersonalTrainer!Jungkook, fuckboy!Jungkook, Nerd!Jungkook, Nerd/IT!Reader

Word Count: 12.9K

Last time on SR02: Drinking games are fun but you probably went a little overboard last night when you let your feelings of animosity towards Jungkook get the better of you. The experience has at least allowed you to work through some of your anger. Then he surprised you by helping get you to bed when you started feeling sick… so he’s not all bad. Who knows, maybe you’ll be able to patch things up?

Tags: Fuckboy Jungkook, pining, flirting, jealousy, sexual tension, sloppy makeout sessions, Joonie is Y/N’s best boi, girls helping girls, friendship feels

CW: drinking, anxiety/panic attack mentions, mentions of negative body image

Series: Activate your SIMCard

Fic: Swipe Right (3/?- Ongoing)

AN: I was inspired to write this next instead so please enjoy! Do not repost. masterlist // previous chapter // next chapter

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Jungkook awakens to Seokjin’s bony fingers poking his side. He attempts to roll over with a grumble, forgetting where he willingly chose to spend the night before a collision with the floor reminds him. Seokjin cackles out a squeaky sound as his friend groans and reaches for the couch cushion to bring him to his feet.

“How did you get in here?” He murmurs, rubbing his eyes. “Ugh… what time is it?”

“Is that any way to greet a guest? Didn’t I say I’d be back to make breakfast for Y/N?” Seokjin is already picking up the hoodie partially hidden beneath the blanket nearby. “Hmm what’s this?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen and he tries to snatch it back from him, but Seokjin has already turned away and draped it around his back. He quickly feeds his arms through the sleeves and contentedly sighs.

“Oh, little Jungkookie…” he begins in a teasing voice, “don’t tell me you’re stealing her clothes now and wearing them like some creepy pervert.”

“Tch. No. She left it on the couch.” Jungkook flares his nostrils and scoffs. “Take it off. You’re going to stretch it out.”

“It’s oversized. It’s fine,” Seokjin fires back, holding up a floppy sleeve and waving it in his friend’s face.

Jungkook crinkles his nose in disgust, catching the subtle scent of his friend already diluting yours. “God. Stop wearing so much cologne.”

Seokjin forcefully blinks, briefly scrunching his features as he holds back what he really wants to say. “Cologne? I’m not wearing any. You must be smelling my natural irresistible scent. Intoxicating, isn’t it?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “You’re gonna make it stink like you.”

“Hmm? Do you think she’s going to get this back and feel compelled to… ” The older man zips the hoodie and lifts the fabric to his face to take a deep inhale. “Smell!?”

When Jungkook groans at his laughter Seokjin quirks a brow at him. “You were sleeping with this over your face so I thought you might suffocate in such a delicate scent. Really my balancing aroma means I’m your savior. You should be bowing down to me.”

“Whatever. You gonna cook or what?” Jungkook asks, waving a dismissive arm as he crosses the room.

Seokjin recognizes the path his friend takes as the one leading to his bedroom. “What? Are you going back to bed? Don’t expect me to bring a plate to you in there.”

“Don’t worry,” he sighs as he passes the bathroom, hearing the water from the shower beating against the tile floor. He’s never had to pee so badly in his life. “I’m just going to awaken the princess.”

He pauses to press his ear against the door to his room. He can’t hear anything. With a careful, quiet turn of the knob, he cracks the door open just enough to listen for movement. It’s not until he’s sure of the sound of your soft snoring that he opens the door further to peek inside.

Your body is turned so you’re facing the empty side of the bed and at some point you’ve swung your leg over his comforter to trap it between your thighs. You almost look content with your nose buried in his pillow. It’s easy to forget that a scowl isn’t a permanent expression branded on your face when you look so peaceful and sweet.

The carpet muffles his footsteps as he crosses the room, sinking to his knees as he approaches the side of the bed. He places an elbow on the mattress and rests his chin in his palm as he reaches out to touch your shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispers, a soothing tone coating the word.

His fingers trace a gentle path up your arm but you don’t stir. Still knocked out? He knows he shouldn’t be surprised. You really did have a lot last night. He’s just glad you didn’t throw up, especially not on his favorite set of polyester sheets. They’re far too expensive to be covered in puke. If he had known you’d be sleeping here he would have changed the sheets like he normally does for company. He’s not exactly used to sharing his personal belongings. It’s much easier to keep everything separate. Compartmentalize. But here you are fucking all that up, like you do.

Before he can even register all of the reasons he should not have his hand in your hair, his fingers move of their own accord, gliding through it like they belong there.

“Mmm… That feels good,” you murmur, leaning into the touch.

Your eyes open, the thick fog of sleep slowly lifting with your eyelids. You’re not sure you’re seeing the person before you properly so you rub your eye with your knuckles and groan.

“Please tell me you’re not who I think you are.”

“Who do you think I am?” he whispers teasingly, failing to keep the laughter from his question.

“Jungkook,” you groan in warning, turning your face into the soft pillow to hide. “Go away.”

“Hmm,” he hums, carefully massaging his fingers along your scalp. “I thought you said it felt good.”

Blood rushes to your ears as you fight to not melt straight into the mattress. You definitely said that out loud. That was a thing you said to Jungkook. Out loud. Fuck. It does feel good, too good.

“Yeah, well…” Your strangled, frustrated sigh cloaks the delight in your tone as you force yourself to look back at his face. “That was before I knew it was you.”

His focused expression morphs into a cheesy smile. “Now that you know it’s me, it really goes from being good to being great, huh?”

You attempt to smack his hand from your hair but his fingers get caught in a massive tangle of knots. You immediately yelp a pathetic sound, sitting up and yanking your head back, which only ensnares him further.

“Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait!” he warns, volume of his tone rising as he climbs up on the bed to lessen the strain on your scalp. “I think my ring…!”

“Ah….! Ah!”

He can’t help the devilish smile that curls his lips at the sound. The labored breaths you offer so freely begin to lodge themselves into his brain for later recollection. For now he suppresses the laughter bubbling in his throat and places his other hand around your head.

“Hold still, princess,” he whispers.

He leans over you to get a better view of the strands trapped in the fine metalwork looped around his middle finger.

“Fucking hurry up,” you hiss, trying to ignore the heat building in your face.

He sighs a loud, frustrated sound at you. “Gimme a sec.”

It’s not like he’s taking his time. He’s not. So what if you’re laying in his bed? So what if you’re cute when you whimper? So what if the scent of your shampoo is making his stomach do somersaults? He pauses to quietly inhale, hoping it’s enough to satisfy the tingling desire in his chest.

You turn your head to the side and do your best to focus your eyes anywhere but the heavy creases lining his obliques. Luckily the ink on his skin steals the entirety of your attention. Your eyes follow a trail of grey brush strokes along his side that seem to grow purple in hue as they wrap around his shoulder and encircle an image you can’t quite make out from your current position. You turn your head, angling yourself slightly to attempt to see more. A sharp tug quickly pulls you back to reality.

“Ow! Jungkook! Fucking pull it out!” you bark, frustration seeping through your tone.

Every time you think you’ve successfully suppressed your feelings of infatuation, they resurface and leave you feeling like a moron. You know better yet you still fall victim to your mind’s own blind spot. Why does having crushes on people have to make you feel so oblivious?

“I’m trying!” His tone is defensive and pouty. “It’s hard to concentrate when you’re yelling at me, you know.”

“Hey!” Seokjin’s call causes you both to jump. “What is it that I’m hearing right now?”

Jungkook laughs, “I’m being a gentleman and pulling it out.”

Seokjin snorts. “That was fast. The least you could do is close the door. Come out for breakfast when you’re done.”

“Seokjin…No! That’s not…!”

There’s a lump in your throat and you realize you can’t form words to continue the rest of your objection to his assumption. You pound a fist against the muscular chest hovering over you. Jungkook coughs as though the air has been knocked from his lungs, quickly following it with a laugh as he pulls his fingers from your hair. The ring remains caught within your locks.

“I want that back,” he says, climbing off the bed and focusing his attention on the dresser nearby.

He digs through until he pulls out a t-shirt, pulling it over his head. You’re working the ring from your hair, carefully pulling it free. A flannel shirt smacks your face and lands in your lap just as you sit up.

“I want that back too.”

“Why would I need your shirt?” you sneer, balling the flannel up and tossing it back at him. “Mine’s perfectly fine.”

He catches it in one hand and throws it back at you quicker than your brain can register the action. You fail to miss the way his eyes rake over your body, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

He shrugs with an air of nonchalance. “Thought you might be cold.”

As he exits the room, he shuts the door. It’s after you hear the click of the mechanism that you see the bra you’ve obviously discarded at some point during the night splayed out on the floor just beyond the foot of the bed. You turn the ring around in your fingers a few times and drop your gaze to two very hard nipples threatening to cut holes in the fabric of your shirt. You drop your forehead into your lap and gather the fabric of the flannel around your face.

“Fucking hate you,” you whine into the flannel.

Moreover, you hate the way your heart beats faster every time he teases you. You hate the way you’ve started thinking about him again. You hate the attention and love it all in the same breath. You hate the way you’ve begun to crave it and you’re afraid he knows it. You sigh and rise, looking around for your phone. You vaguely remember kind of maybe possibly setting up a potential date with Jason. It’s better to focus on that than whatever nonsensical feelings are stirring on your Jungkook radar.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

It’s not until you’re sitting at your desk three days later that you second guess your profile pictures on tinder being the most up-to-date. Do you still look the same as a year ago? Two years? You don’t even feel like the you that you were a month ago. How are you supposed to show your most genuine self when you’re so worried that someone is going to accuse you of being insincere about your appearance?

Pushing down your insecurities and trying to get your mind off of things, you sift through personal emails on your second monitor. Checking for bills due before heading into the lab is a good way to clear your mind of unnecessary noise. Focus on here. Focus on now. But even staring at the screen for the electric company’s login page can’t save you from wandering back down the road of worry.

Jason’s been nice. He was patient with your social anxiety when you said you didn’t want to meet right away without getting a sense for him first. After a few weeks, you forced yourself past the discomfort because you started to like who he presented himself as. But pictures and long texts at the end of a busy day can only tell you so much about him. It’s time. You’ve been hinting at it for a while and now it’s finally going to happen. Who knows? Maybe he’s just as scared as you are. He said he can relate to the anxiety so maybe you can bond over being awkward together. But what if he sees you and doesn’t like what he sees? What if you’re nothing like what he thought?

You take a deep breath as the bill payment goes through and you close the tab, moving to the next cluster of emails to clear from your inbox. They’re mostly newsletters you don’t have the motivation to unsubscribe from and the daily recipe emails you swear you’re going to try out when you have more time to learn to properly cook a meal. It just seems like so much effort right now to your stressed out brain. You don’t even bother looking at any of them.

Delete.

Just as you’re about to close the tab, a new promotion notification pops up.

[IRON KINGDOM IS LOOKING FOR HEROES]

Despite every fiber of your being telling you not to, you open the email. You scan the corny greeting and find an offer for a free month of personal training for new clients who sign up for a membership. You’re relieved to see the email is signed by trainer Hwasa and accompanied by cute animated doodles of an arm flexing with 8-bit plus symbols, sparkles, and a big “LVL UP!” sticker.

Their marketing tactics sure seem geared towards gamers. No wonder Jungkook works there. It’s a bit cheesy, but you can’t help but find it endearing. Maybe a gym will give you the confidence you need to stop worrying about your appearance entirely. Fat chance. But it’s still a chance. You star the email and close the tab, heading back into the lab to work on today’s repairs.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

“Late night?”

You rub your eyes and yawn at the cafe table, thankful when Namjoon slides an iced-coffee towards you. You’re grateful you haven’t put on makeup today because it would have smeared all over your hands. When did 11am become too early for a Saturday?

“Thanks, Joonie.” You smack your lips before trying to hide your smile by sipping through the straw. “I stayed up playing games with Jason.”

“Oh?” He seems genuinely surprised. “Have you guys met in person yet?”

You shake your head. “Next week. We’re supposed to… go to an arcade bar. But we played some co-op games on Steam last night.”

Namjoon offers a blank stare. “I have no idea what that means.”

“We chatted over headsets and played some stuff together. It was fun.” You smile down at the cap on your drink as you take another sip.

“Did he sound like a nerd?” Jennie teases as she sits down beside you with her own cup of piping hot coffee.

“He had a deep voice actually. I was surprised,” you admit, an air of infatuation dressing your tone.

“Deep like Namjoon’s?” Jennie asks, elbowing you playfully. “Or Taehyung’s? What if it’s one of them and they’re just fucking with you? Totally cat-fishing.”

Namjoon squirms in his seat across from you, not wanting to admit his once moronic idea to give you some hope by making a fake profile to build you up and deleting the whole thing as soon as it was made. He laughs into his cup. “Like I could do that.”

You laugh and wave her off. “Namjoon’s is like rocky deep and Taehyung’s is like breathy deep. This is more like…”

“…Yes?” Jennie rolls her hand towards you repeatedly. “Words?”

“Rocky deep?” Namjoon frowns and pouts quietly. “What does that even mean?”

“It means it’s got grit, but it’s pleasant. You’re fine, Joon,” Jennie explains, dismissing his concerns with a wave of her hand.

“…Buttery?”

“Oh.” Jennie quirks an eyebrow, clearly intrigued as she sips her coffee. “Smooth and silky hmm?”

“Uh….” you purse your lips. “I mean… more like N…Nasal butter.”

Coffee spurts from your companions’ mouths and noses. They both quickly gather napkins to deal with the mess.

“Hot! Hot! Ow! Fuck. Wow. Never say that phrase again in your life, Y/N!” Jennie coughs. “Just say. Deep voiced nerd. That’s all you gotta say!”

Namjoon is cackling like a madman, despite the fact that he’s still wiping at his nose and mouth.

You purse your lips and shyly tap your fingers together. “I thought it was a good description.”

“Which is exactly the reason why I re-did your profile in the first place,” Jennie huffs, wiping down the table.

“Okay so….” Namjoon struggles to contain his laughter. “Are you excited to meet Jay-Jay in person now? Or should I call him Nay-Bae now?”

You roll your eyes and sigh. “Guys, look. I’m super fucking scared to meet this guy. What if he doesn’t like me?”

They both answer at the same time. “He’ll like you.”

“You guys are biased because you’re my friends. But like. You know not everyone is attracted to everyone else. Everyone likes something different. So like… what if he’s not attracted to me in person?”

“He’s seen pictures of you. He shouldn’t have swiped right if he didn’t find you hot,” Jennie says matter-of-factly. It almost makes you believe her.

“But those are mostly selfies. Good angles, y’know? The body shots are older, like a year or two?” you try to reason.

“Y/N. Your Zelda pic is from Halloween, which was months ago, not years. He’s going to like the way you look and if he doesn’t he’s a moron,” she fires back.

“I just… Don’t feel like the person shown in those pictures. I don’t want him to think I’m lying to him.”

Jennie bites her lip, knowing how insecure you are about your body image, how sensitive you are about it. Years of being bullied tend to have that effect on people.

“Honey, if he thinks you lied in your photos then he’s not the guy for you,” she says, hugging an arm around your shoulder.

Namjoon nods empathically. “Besides, he may not be right for you either. It’s a test to see if you’re compatible.” His eyes widen and he sits up straight. “Oh. Treat it like a test! You did well on exams, right? Well, this is just a kind of exam that you get to grade. Think of yourself like a… professor.” His face splits into a goofy dimpled grin.

Jennie smacks her hand to her forehead. “Namjoon…”

Just treat it like an exam in prerequisite courses. What did you do for those? Truth be told you soaked in lectures and relied on cramming for exams an hour before taking a test. The weird part is that you would walk in nervous, but you’d sit down and take a deep breath and you’d tell yourself something. What was it?

I know it or I don’t.

No amount of stressing ever changed that phrase. By the time you got the exam in front of you, you could admit if you were lacking in knowledge somewhere and that would be your own fault. The essays were easy enough to bullshit if you knew the general premise of the question. Either way you figured out what needed more studying and you fixed the problem for the next test. Convert that to dating?

Your brows are furrowed and you’re staring at the table with your lips slightly parted when you answer. “We like each other or we don’t. Either way it’s okay because I can always try again with someone new.”

Jennie raises her eyebrows, shocked at your response. “Yes.”

“Exactly,” Namjoon says, offering a soft smile.

From behind the counter a few feet away Yoongi glances up at the three of you, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His hands are already working to pour a perfect heart shape into the milk of another customer’s latte, but his eyes remain fixed to your table. Namjoon’s wave pulls him back to reality and he focuses on the task at hand before milk can spill over the side of the cup. You turn in sync with Jennie, just in time to see Yoongi delicately setting out the cup on a plate and calling for its recipient. He offers a cocked smile and subtle nod in your direction before focusing on his next order.

“That boy is a workaholic,” you say, picking up your cup and tonguing the straw to your iced coffee before taking a sip.

“Workaholic? I guess you’d know all about that, huh?” Jennie teases, facing you again.

“I take breaks,” you say defensively. “I do.”

Namjoon takes a long slurp of his coffee and focuses on the bland painting nestled in the corner of the cafe.

“When’s the last time you took a lunch break, like, away from your job?” she prods.

“I… don’t have time for that… But I do pay my bills at work, which totally counts as a break.”

“Wild.”

Namjoon chuckles, covering his grin behind his hands. “Oh, that reminds me. Geeksquad, you cancel your free week before it charges you?”

You pout, working your straw in and out of the lid with restless fingers before rolling your eyes with a huff. You tap your phone to wake it up, knowing if you don’t do it now you’ll forget. “Thanks, mom.”

You’re greeted with the email you’ve been staring at all week, tormenting yourself over a response. “Hey, uh, so… remember how I was talking about being worried about the way I look?”

Namjoon sighs like he’s about to die on a battlefield over this. “Geeksquad. You’re gorgeous and smart and funny. You need to stop stressing over this.”

You blink a few times in surprise, feeling the heat rising in your face and hoping it’s an invisible involuntary response. “Oh. I, um…” A nervous laugh escapes your lips. “I wasn’t asking you to talk me up again.”

He clears his throat loudly, clearly embarrassed for overstepping. “Ah no, I wasn’t. I was just saying… in general. You know? You sell yourself short.” He’s quick to down the liquid in his cup and dart his eyes elsewhere. Is there a hole he can go crawl in?

“Now I’ve got enough from the both of you to trick my brain into producing dopamine for the day. Thank you.” You laugh. “But… I was just thinking… maybe a good way to boost my confidence on a larger scale would be to maybe join a gym?”

“What gym?” Jennie asks, raising her eyebrows with a knowing smile.

“Well…” you focus on canceling the trial at your fingertips while you talk. “Iron Kingdom is running a special where if you sign up for a membership you get a month of personal training for free. I was thinking of signing up with one of the coaches there… Not Jungkook,” you clarify.

She nods. “I mean they’re pretty popular and cheap. Exercise is a natural mood booster. Just know you’ll probably see him from time to time.”

“How often could I possibly see him if I’m going before work?”

“Bold of you to assume you’re gonna be getting up before you absolutely have to,” Namjoon jokes with a laugh. “I’ve seen you pre-coffee at six am on a weekday. I think you’d rather die than be up earlier than that.”

He’s not wrong. You click your tongue and give a slow half-nod, half-shake of your head. “I have an iron will, Joonie. I can condition myself.”

He scoffs. “Riiight.”

“Besides, I’ll be more accountable if both of you are going with me.” You bat your eyelashes at him.

“Hey don’t drag me into this. I’m content waking up at six thirty every day. Don’t ask me for more. I could maybe do after work.”

Your sweet smile turns into a sour pout before turning to Jennie. “You said you’d sign up with me before we knew Jungkook worked there.”

“Workouts before I’m awake were not part of that discussion. I will gladly do weekends with you,” she agrees.

“What is this, split-custody?” you whine.

She sighs. “Fine, I will sign up for classes with you too… if you stick with it. We’ll get Namjoon to sign up for one too.”

“What?” Namjoon shakes his head. “Hold up. I never agreed—”

“We’ll make a thing of it. Get a meal after,” she says with an aggressive smile as she kicks his shin under the table. “My treat.”

I’m bribing you to do this for her, Namjoon. That’s what she’s really saying, but you appreciate the sentiment anyway.

“We’ll let you pick what we can sign up for together,” you offer as your consoling statement.

He finishes his coffee with a heavy sigh. “Alright. Alright.”

He’ll have to ask Jungkook what the most low-effort class at his gym is and hopefully he won’t poke too much into the reasoning for his sudden interest. Knowing his friend, though… It’s a matter of time.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Since Yoongi is thinking of applying for a bartending job at a new place that just opened up, Hoseok insisted on having the weekly Saturday night hangout there. Something you instantly like is that the space is divided into a louder dance scene and a muted lounge atmosphere separated by a wall of glass that mutes just enough sound to dull the loudest out basslines in the next room. The high energy of the club heavily contrasts the laid back scene in the lounge. Ups and downs. Seesaw is a fitting name.

You’re more of a lounge kind of girl, enjoying a noticeable lack of vibrations rattling your skull as you settle down with a new drink. Jennie and the others may favor the other side and you’ll no doubt be dragged back in, but a moment of respite is all you really need right now. You run your fingers through your hair as you tie it up, staring down at your phone. Jason sent you a selfie and he’s every bit as cute as the photos you keep going back to look at. Sweat lines your brow as you attempt to make yourself presentable enough for a photo of your own.

Taking a look around the room self-consciously, you lift the phone and don a plastic grin. You snap a pic that you spend ten seconds internally tearing apart before sending. You tip the glass towards you, the orange juice and tequila going down all too easy and leaving a tangy taste on your tongue. When you wait for the dots on the screen to stop moving, your stomach drops.

JASON: lmao looks like someone photobombed you. You look good though.

Good. You look good. Not cute. Not hot or sexy. Good. Why does that feel so mediocre? Maybe it’s because he’s never actually said “you’re beautiful” or anything to that effect. It’s not like you need to hear it all the time, but every once in a while would do wonders for your confidence.

You’re not even worried about the first part of the text until you scroll back up to scrutinize your features once again and see a familiar dark haired figure in the background with two middle fingers raised. You zoom in on the figure and grit your teeth when you realize he’s sticking his long tongue out with a knowing grin.

“Getting a better look?” Jungkook asks, chin digging into your shoulder as he leans over you and plants a hand on the table. “Don’t worry, I don’t blame you.”

“Jungkook,” you warn, fire flaring up in your gut. “Go back to the noisy side where you belong.”

“What, you think I don’t like it quiet sometimes too?” He almost sounds offended as he hops into the chair beside you. His tight-lipped smile and quirked brow fill you with feelings of mistrust. “Keeping quiet can be a challenge. And I always like a challenge.”

“Is that why you’re still bothering me?”

He takes the orange off the rim of your glass and pops it into his mouth with a shrug.

“Stop trying to ruin my chances with Jason and stop stealing my fruit.”

When he smiles at you the orange rind peeks out from the space between his lips and you sigh in frustration.

“I left your cherry.” He points to the fruit half buried in ice as he places the empty rind on the table.

He laughs when you crinkle your nose at the mess he’s made, wiping the table down with a napkin.

“Jason,” he huffs, rolling his eyes. “It’s been like a month hasn’t it? Has he even eaten you out?”

Your eyes widen and you flounder to formulate a response.”Ah–I–You–Uh–K-Kook!”

“I mean– taken you out?” he laughs hard at the way you trip over your words. “No, no, wait. The first one. I meant the first one.”

“Does this work for you?” you question after taking a long sip from your drink. “The dirty jokes. The crass humor. The douchebag behavior…”

He raises his eyebrows and shrugs. “I thought we had something special, Princess. You were in my bed and everything just last week.”

“Okay you’re–That’s–Totally out of context.” You take another sip, reaching the red syrup at the bottom before digging your finger past the ice to reach the fallen cherry. “And you’re avoiding the question.”

His smile falters for a fraction of a second. “Depends on the girl. You’d be surprised by how many say they don’t want an asshole and they roll their eyes at the jokes, the crass humor… Just like you do.” His voice gets low and breathy, shifting in his seat so his shoulder touches yours. “But that douchebag behavior, as you put it…”

Steady fingers reach for the nervous pair tapping the table beside your phone and you tense. His hand is warm and soft as it curls around your cold, clammy ones. Your breath hitches in your throat as you fix your eyes on his thumb kneading soft, comforting circles into the back of your hand. Your eyes rise slowly up to the owner, never moving past his jaw, too afraid to meet his eyes. Why couldn’t these stupid crush feelings just go away when you started talking to Jason?

“It’s a tactic. It’s a game to me. And it works…” he chuckles a subtle sound, watching the way your gaze lingers on his lips. “It’s flirting, Princess. Do you want me to stop?”

“I…” The truth is that you don’t know. Your body aches for him to continue but when it’s over and he’s done playing games with you, you’ll feel like a fool again. Is it really worth it?

Dark eyes bore into yours, a look of longing in them that almost makes you forget they’re attached to the face of a fuckboy. You blink slowly, caught in the trap of featherlight touches you know you could leave in an instant. So why don’t you? It feels so fucking good to be touched, to feel wanted, even for a moment. You find yourself leaning into it, leaning into him. Even as he feigns a shy smile and chuckles, you hate yourself so much for not breaking away from him. A strangled noise escapes you that sounds like a laugh that is alien to your own ears.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he whispers, followed by a whimsical laugh.

Fuck. Why did he have to be the one to say it? Friends don’t count. Jennie and Namjoon don’t count. But Jungkook? He’s not exactly the same classification of friend as either of them. Are you even friends? Last week he made a point of calling you everyone else’s friend, but never called you his. Is it because he wants something more or because he sees you as something not worth calling more? Your lungs are burning. Are you holding your breath? It feels like you’re holding your breath. Your chest rises and falls in rapid succession.

You take a deep inhale and try to calm yourself enough to rip the band-aid off. Maybe he’ll get the hint. Maybe he’ll stop hurting you. You swallow, not knowing if you can play his game but knowing that you have to try.

“I’ll admit… When I met you I felt attracted to you.” In an attempt to seal the emotion from your voice, the tone sounds deeper, almost sultry.

He smiles like he knows he’s won you over and closes his eyes, leaning in further. He opens them promptly when you place your fingers to his lips and push him back.

“But then I met the real you. Pompous. Arrogant. Shallow. Narcissistic. You think you’re God’s gift to women, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. You play with people just because you can, like a boy who never grew up. So, let me be clear. I know what I want and it’s not you. I will never want someone like you. Go back to the noisy side and you might find someone who does.”

He doesn’t make a sound as he pulls away, hands sliding off you entirely until they’re hanging over his own thighs. You can feel your lip quivering but if he sees it he doesn’t mention it as he leans back in his seat and pokes his tongue into his cheek. There’s too many emotions coursing through your own brain to properly read his expression. Any guess you might make would be tainted by your hopes and subsequent disappointment. It’s gone as soon as you blink.

“The noisy side is fun too. Thanks for the orange,” he says, flashing you a toothy grin that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle as he casually strolls away.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Twenty minutes have passed and the sting of your words remain. He tilts his head back and downs another shot, setting the empty glass down the bar counter before disappearing into the crowd. For twenty minutes he’s been telling himself he’s unbothered by your comments whilst thinking of nothing else.

I will never want someone like you.

Not the first time he’s heard that one, but it has been a while since he’s elicited such a negative response from someone. How could you say that with such malice? It’s not like you have any reason to sing his praises, but he wonders how low he’s become in your eyes.

You think you know me so well, he thinks as he tightens his jaw, trying to focus on any of the warm bodies darting in and out of his periphery.

The more he thinks about it, the more annoyance becomes a prominent figure in the forefront of his mind. He’s bothered by the fact that he’s bothered, but maybe that’s because he realizes now that you’re not hanging around Namjoon to try and get closer to any one of them with malicious intent. So what do you want? Do you really just want friends? It’s hard to believe his assumptions were the ones that were wrong, but it seems pretty clear now; you’re not using his friends at all. You just stumbled into this family like a graceless clutz with your jokes, your wit, your kindness, your… nerdiness.

It’s infuriating just how likeable you are. How was he supposed to know that you weren’t putting on a front? It’s hard to find genuine people in this fucked up world and he’s done his best to barricade himself within the ones he’s found. Skepticism has been his guardian; it’s protected his friends from those who would use them and it’s kept the rest of the world a safe distance away. But here you are again making him question himself. It’s annoying.

Navigating past writhing, sweaty bodies, Jungkook dons a scowl and looks around for his friends as he tries to push down his feelings of irritation. He’s hoping to find Namjoon on the outskirts of the dancefloor when he spots Seokjin and Taehyung laughing across the way. He feels his body relax a little and he breathes a sigh of relief, knowing a distraction for his mind is imminent. Just as he’s about to be free of the crowd, there’s a body colliding with his. Lean, tattooed fingers reach out to steady the girl around the waist. She’s already apologizing for her partner’s lack of skill as she turns around.

Agitation dissipates in an instant as he comes face to face with your now wide-eyed friend, Jennie. Maybe she’s exactly what he needs right now.

“You don’t have to throw yourself at me like this you know.” He grins, already moving his hips to the music. “Wanna dance?”

She closes her eyes for just a second, letting her hips sway beneath his palms to the beat. It’s then she catches herself and slaps his hands from her hips. “I’m already dancing with someone else, thanks.”

Jungkook’s expression sours as she turns away from him to look for her dance partner, grumbling how Jungkook scared him off. Am I just completely off my game tonight? What is wrong with me?

He sighs and makes his way towards his friends, hoping sharing some drinks with them will lead to a lift in his mood. He spares a glance up to the glass separating the lounge from the club. You’re fixated on your phone, leg bouncing anxiously back and forth and he finds himself wondering what could possibly be so enthralling, so nerve-wracking that you’ve already downed most of your next drink. He rolls his eyes. You’ve consumed enough of his thoughts for the evening. Whatever the cause, he can’t be the solution. You’ve made that much clear.

Jungkook drapes his arms around both of his friends, interrupting whatever conversation they’re in the middle of. “I’m bored!”

Seokjin blinks rapidly in disbelief. “What’s this? You’re alive?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, reaching his palm down to tweak Seokjin’s nipple through his shirt, causing him to shriek and shy away from him.

“What? You disappeared so suddenly I assumed you must have been lured to your death by a pretty face!” he argues, rubbing his palm over the tender spot on his chest and maintaining a fair distance from his friend.

Jungkook scoffs, poking a finger in his ear and blocking out his elder’s words before turning to Taehyung. “Tae, you up for a game? First to five?”

Taehyung sucks his teeth and gives the room a once over. “Dances? Kisses?”

“Numbers.” Jungkook declares. “She has to text you first and you have to show proof.”

He raises his eyebrows and laughs. Deciding he could use the confidence boost, he nods. “Yeah, I think I could do that.” He turns his gaze on Seokjin. “You in?”

Seokjin’s sour expression morphs into a wicked grin. “I’ve got nothing better to do. Should I see if anyone else is game?”

Jungkook tongues his cheek and laughs. “You think you can keep up, old man?”

Seokjin moves in to pinch Jungkook’s arm and quickly backs away before he can retaliate. “I’ll show you how a real man woos a woman.”

“Let’s get a round first,” Taehyung suggests, already making his way to the bar.

Jungkook takes out his phone with a grin, sending a group text announcing the start of tonight’s shenanigans. He makes sure to include you.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Namjoon thrusts the water towards you. “Drink.”

You know you should. That last Tequila Sunrise went down way too easy and you’re starting to sweat just sitting here. You attempt to shimmy your hoodie off while maintaining a death grip on your phone. It doesn’t go well.

“Joonie,” you pout.

He pries your phone from your sweaty hands, allowing you to free yourself from your sweaty confines.

“You get this back when you drink some of that,” he argues, pointing to the glass of water. He grabs a french fry off the plate he ordered for you both to share. “Eat some of these, too.”

He talks while sucking in air between his teeth, as if to cool the hot potato scalding his mouth. “Hot! sssch-Hot!” He promptly spits half of the fry back into his hand. “Uhhh, maybe wait a sec though.”

“What? Is it like, hot?” you ask in the most valley girl voice you can muster. You offer him a napkin with a giggle. “You’re a mess, Professor Kim.”

He sheepishly takes it from you, disposing of his half-chewed food before grumbling, “Geeksquad, I swear—”

You simply take a fry from the plate and nibble at it with a smug grin, quickly moving onto the water he provided you. The pair of you sit together in silence for a minute, carefully picking at the plate of fries. Once you’ve sucked down more than half the glass of water you reach your hand out in a grabbing motion.

“You shouldn’t have to try so hard,” he says, handing over your phone

“But I like him,” you counter, mouth full and licking the salt from your fingers.

He lets out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, I know. But I wanna know why this guy keeps putting off meeting up.”

“Maybe he’s nervous, too.” You shrug, scrolling through your missed messages.

It’s a painfully short catch-up session and your heart sinks at the realization that he’s not doing anything to keep the conversation alive. You place the half-eaten fry currently in your hand back on the plate, appetite completely dissolved along with your hopes.

“I want another drink,” you mumble, staring down at the screen.

“What did he say?” Namjoon asks, scooting his seat closer to yours so he can read the conversation and you let him.

“Nothing… Nothing and that’s the problem,” you admit, feeling a sting at your eyes.

Nononono not my makeup. You dab at the inside corners of your eyes and swipe your fingertips along the edge to clear the tears before they fall.

“How am I supposed to go on a date with him if he won’t talk to me? I feel like I always have to initiate and keep it going and compliment him. It’s exhausting. Does he even like me? Why did he swipe on me?”

“I think he likes you… But it does seem like you’re carrying the conversation,” he admits, scrolling through the messages. “He might be more introverted than you… Or he’s keeping his options open.”

There. He said it so you don’t have to. You’re not sure if you hate him or love him for it. You lean back against your seat and look forlornly at the plate of fries. Most people your age don’t have reservations about seeing more than one person at a time, so why is it so hard for you to do? Jason is your only prospect and it’s exhausting even trying to manage that much. You can’t imagine having several other conversations happening simultaneously.

“So what do I do?”

“Put Jason on the backburner.” He presses the power button on your phone, the screen going black before he taps on your glass. “You finish your water, eat some more fries, and come dance with me.”

“I dance like a fool,” you remind him. “You really wanna be embarrassed?”

“We’ll both dance like fools then,” he says while filling his mouth with fries. “Come on. Don’t just watch me eat.”

You oblige him with a grin, matching the amount he’s stuffed his face with and laughing at each other’s puffed cheeks. Both of your phones buzz against the tabletop in unison and you exchange a curious look before checking your messages.

JUNGKOOK: numbers game JUNKGOOK: first to collect five wins JUNGKOOK: person has to text you as proof

You cringe and fire back a text to let everyone know you were included on a group text you definitely wish you weren’t.

YOU: ew JUNGKOOK: oh sorry princess must have included you by accident 🥴🥴🥴  JIN: You can play if you want! I can be your wingman. Together we will take down the maknae JUNGKOOK: lol JUNGKOOK: i guess you can practice flirting 😏 TAEHYUNG: Buying a round first JIMIN: 😱Coming!!\ HOBI: 😈 JUNGKOOK: Joon Yoongi in or out

You quirk an eyebrow at Namjoon. “Do this often?”

He shifts uncomfortably, visibly wilting under your gaze. “I mean, sometimes it’s fun to get drunk and flirt.” He grabs his beer and polishes off the last of it while texting back a response. “Judging me, Geeksquad?”

BUZZ. BUZZ.

NAMJOON: Gimme a minute.

You roll your eyes and grin. “No more than you judge me.”

“So a lot then. Got it.” He laughs.

You hum in contemplation as your fingers tap against the screen.

YOU: im in if you buy me a shot

The texts come through all at once, filling you with regret.

HOBI: COME GET IT JIMIN: Okay!! 🥰 TAEHYUNG: Coming up YOU: I was talking to the party leader YOU: please don’t buy me multiple shots JUNGKOOK: wooooooooow okaaaay JIMIN: Don’t worry I will drink what you can’t 😂

Namjoon is already laughing. “You did that to yourself.”

“I just want to beat him at his own game,” you grumble. “I think I’m just addicted to wiping that stupid smug ass grin off his face.”

“You know what I think?” He points a fry at you accusingly, waving it in your face before it breaks half, the errant piece falling into your lap. “I think you guys should date. You would make a cute couple.”

Your nose crinkles in response and you glare at him.

“Kidding, kidding….” He laughs when you lightly smack his arm. “At least you guys are talking again.”

You grimace, remembering your earlier conversation with Jungkook. The more you think about it, the more a sense of dread grows deep within your chest. You feel terrible about the things you said. You meant them at the time but now you just feel guilty because replaying them in your head sounds cruel. It’s not that you don’t want to fix things— you do. 

Last week showed you he’s capable of some semblance of kindness. You thought maybe you could press the reset button on your whole friendship if he ever nutted up and apologized, but he’s only dug himself into a deeper hole since then. Every time you think you’re about to move past it, he does something that causes that anger to flare within you.

You sigh. “He gets under my skin, Joon. I don’t think I’ve ever been so mean to someone before. Ever. I wanna knock his teeth out of his skull.”

He chuckles. “I know… And I know it’s hard to believe but he’s a good person where it counts, Y/N.”

“Must be buried deep down,” you snort, finishing off your water, “if ‘sorry’ is too hard of a word for him to say.”

Namjoon raises his eyebrows and nods. “That’s fair. I’m not going to make excuses for him or tell you to forgive him. He can be an ass. He has been an ass to you. All I’m gonna say is that we all have flaws. We all have defence mechanisms that seem logical to our own brains based on our experiences… our feelings… our trauma. We all got issues. Say what you want, but you’re not exactly an open book, Geeksquad.”

When you look like you’re about to object to that statement, he cuts you off. “Just listen.” He lines up the salt and pepper shakers on either side of the vertical menu standing in the middle of the table. “You got two closed off people like this. They complement each other pretty well but there’s this wall between them, right?”

“Tch. Namjoon…” you scoff. It takes everything you have to hold back the smile curling the corners of your mouth. “Are you calling me… salty?”

He rolls his eyes and cringes with a grumble. “Like talking to Jin sometimes, I swear… Look. There’s a door on the side right over here. And here.” He points to both sides of the menu with a fork and a spoon. “But they’re both too busy yelling over this wall, mishearing every other word. They’re forming assumptions about the other without ever having a conversation like civilized people face to face. But if either one walked a little bit, they might see something more than they previously imagined.”

“Hmm,” is all you manage to answer, biting your tongue to prevent you from speaking any further on the subject. “I finished my water, mom. Are you done playing with the table’s accoutrements?”

He snorts, dropping the utensils. After stuffing one last fry in his mouth he wipes his hands on his jeans. “Alright you know what I gave you my hot take. Do what you want.”

“What I want is to show this guy how it’s done,” you huff.

“How? We’ve all seen you dirty talk your cup like you’ve never seen porn in your life,” he jokes.

“I’ll be fine. I don’t have to win. I just have to beat Jungkook. That is my only goal. Besides, I can be charming in my own way Joonie,” you argue, grabbing a handful of french fries. “I have… finesse.”

In fate’s comical stroke of irony you fumble some of the fries on the way to your mouth, like one does when inebriated. You shamelessly fish one from your cleavage, moving your breasts around and inspecting the space between to ensure nothing is trapped in your bra. You look back up at him with a sheepish grin and pop the fry into your mouth.

He drops his forehead into his hands. “Yeah, sure. Finesse.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Something you’ve learned about yourself in the last forty minutes is that you are terrible at this. It sounded like a great idea to enter this competition but you should have known better. You don’t even talk to people you like. Why did you volunteer to talk to absolute strangers? Anxiety swells inside your belly like a balloon, mixing with the alcohol you’ve continued to consume within this time and creating a sloshy mess that makes you contemplate your existence.

For the first ten minutes you struggled with the internal conflict that is approaching a human being. What if they are absolutely out of your league and smite you on the spot with rejection? Mortification seems a fate worse than death far too often. You wish the ground would do you a solid and dissolve into liquid. Then you could just dive in and majestically doggie-paddle away from your problems.

Once you gathered enough courage to engage someone in conversation you were so nervous that you lost your balance, accidentally knocked his drink from his hand, and he promptly excused himself. You haven’t seen him since. The next one didn’t go much better. Stammering and stuttering over your words is about the least sexy thing you could do while trying to be smooth. You excused yourself from that one.

The last one you came down with a case of the hiccups mid-introduction, appearing far more inebriated than you are– at least more than you think you are. That guy raised his eyebrows at you and laughed. He fucking laughed in your face. What little confidence you had at the start of this event has quickly shattered into a thousand shards of self-loathing, each one picking a different part of your body to critique and pin to your brain like a bulletin board of shame.

You lean your elbows on the bar and spread your fingers out against your forehead, looking down at your cup. You wish Jennie was here to get the numbers for you. She would excel at what seems a hopeless task for you. A check-in text revealed she is safe and still having fun with some guy who is apparently “awesome.”

You haven’t seen her all night and you don’t feel like interrupting whatever fun she’s having with Mr. Awesome just to settle your petty squabble with Jungkook. At some point you have to take care of your problems on your own. Maybe you just need to face the fact that he’s going to completely destroy you in this pointless competition.

Have some humility, you tell yourself. It’s okay to suck at things.

It seems far from okay, even though you know it absolutely does not matter. The tears are already building behind your eyes and you’re not quite sure why, but it probably has something to do with the bubble of anxiety slowly creeping up your throat. You swallow, feeling it form a knot and clog the passage at the acknowledgement of its existence.

The guilt over your conversation with Jungkook remains a steady source of the anxiety that gnaws at the corners of your mind, telling you that you should apologize for your harsh words. He hasn’t said anything about it or given any indication that he’s bothered. After all, it was the truth wasn’t it? But the words sit in your mind, heavy in their cruelty. Have you become the person who says hurtful things in the face of adversity, who lets their emotions twist them into someone they never wanted to become? All of the embarrassment and rejection are extra layers that inflate the bubble in your throat.

You push the remainder of your drink away from you as you stand, looking around with a tearful pout. There’s enough light to scan the vicinity for the faces of your friends but you come up empty. It dawns on you for the first time how badly you have to pee so you make your way to the bathroom, relieved that there doesn’t seem to be a line of women holding the door open for one another.

As soon as you’ve passed the threshold of the heavy door the tears freely stream down your face. Your vision blurs with the rising heat in your cheeks. There are a group of women huddled around the sinks and mirrors and they all look up to watch you stumble towards one of the stalls with your hands out for balance. You can’t see their faces through your tears but you know they turn their attention towards you, voices falling into a hushed whisper.

Some of their outfits cast an ill-defined shimmer in the light of the restroom and your gut sinks, knowing they’re probably dressed in beautiful clothes you could never have the confidence to wear yourself. You quickly cast your gaze to the shiny tiles at your feet, the silver glitter embedded in the swirled white marble giving you something to focus on as you pray they’ll be gone by the time you come out.

When you emerge from the stall you stand at the sink, vigorously washing your hands and wiping your eyes with your wet knuckles before bringing your face down low enough to splash and clean.

“Hey…” A soft voice makes you look up from the sink, water dripping from your hair, down your forehead and into your red, puffy eyes. “Are you okay?”

You sniffle and blink a few times as one of them hands you a couple paper towels. Embarrassed, you wipe your face and slowly let yourself focus on the group. There are four of them and, as you suspected, they are all fucking gorgeous. Two of them have long black hair that dances over the skin of their shoulders with each swaying movement. One is wearing a blinding red-sequined dress and reaching down to adjust the strap of her heel. The other dons a flowing white dress that exposes her shoulders, the modest look complemented with knee high boots that could captivate anyone’s attention.

The third girl has her brown hair tied up in a tight ponytail away from her face, playful bangs just barely hiding her eyebrows. She looks so sophisticated in her simplistic black wrap dress. You wish you could look as half as beautiful as she does. The one closest to you has long blonde hair styled in waves that frames her face perfectly. Her makeup is absolutely flawless. She must have just touched it up. Looking at the white crop top and matching white jeans, you’re astonished to find she hasn’t spilled or wiped anything off on herself.

Are they as drunk as you are? You surmise they might be as you look from their outfits to their expressions. The way they frown and attempt to comfort you with misty, compassionate eyes has fresh tears spilling down the contours of your face.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you choke out, wiping at your cheeks.

“That’s okay!” the one in red says, stumbling towards the blonde as she attempts to remove the shoe strapped to her foot. The other two catch her before she smacks against her backside. She wears a sheepish grin and takes off the other shoe through hissed teeth. “Ah! Better! Nobody knows anything for sure, if you think about it!”

She waves her strappy heels in her hands as if that proves some deep wisdom she’s trying to demonstrate.

“What’s wrong?” the blonde asks, ignoring her friend as she cocks her head to the side.

“I tried to get back at him. He made me think he was one way and then he wasn’t. He’s a jerk!” You hiccup, as though these women already know your history with the person consuming your thoughts. “I want to get over it but he never even— he didn’t even— not once— he-he didn’t say sorry.”

The four girls huddle against each other, nodding as they listen to your rambling as though it’s a sermon worth extracting a lesson from.

“So then tonight I blew up and I was like, hey you’re a dick and I liked you but that’s over because who could love you? And I was like, oh no I was too mean! And I was about to apologize. But then-but then he wanted to play a game with his friends and he sent it to me too. Collecting numbers. And I was like, no! You know what? I’m gonna play and beat you because fuck you, Jungkook. And now I feel so… stupid be-because… I can’t do it! And he knew it. He’s right.”

You start to sob and the girls begin to make a fuss, all talking over each other to try and quell your tears.

“No no no! Honey, you can do it!”

“What is it?”

“Don’t cry!”

“Fuck Jungkook!”

“Look. There’s no man on this earth ruining your makeup over,” the blonde says, grabbing another paper towel and running it under the water.

“Unless it’s a really good blowjob.” The woman in red grins from ear-to-ear, unashamed of her boldness.

“Oh my god, Joy.”

“Sounds like some fuckboy shit.” The woman in the black dress crosses her arms, tapping her fingers on her elbow as she stands up straight. “Okay, how do we beat him?”

Brow furrowed, you look at her as though she’s grown another head. “I can’t. I tried to get numbers and I just made a fool of myself.” You hiccup. “I swear I’m not even that drunk. I’m just horrible at talking to people and I get so nervous that I–” Your lip quivers and you grimace, knowing your face is scrunched up into ugly-cry mode. “I freeze. And that’s probably why… why…”

“Hey, no more of that, babe,” the blond says, dabbing at your smudged eyeshadow and seeing if she can salvage any of the liner you had been wearing. “We’re gonna get you back out there and help you win. You gotta be your most fabulous self when you get to throw it in his face.”

“Getting numbers…” The woman with the heels in her hands leans on the others. “Any ideas?”

“What if we just give you ours?” The woman in the white dress smiles at you and comfort floods your senses. “Is he really gonna check to see if we’re men? Does that even matter?”

You struggle to blink and look at them all through the blonde’s constant dabbing above and around your eyes. “I need to have five numbers text me first. That’s all they said when they were going over the rules.”

You give the one in black your number first and she smiles. “I’m gonna text someone to help if they end up calling any one of us. My brother is here with his friends. He’s a shit, but he’ll help me out if I ask with minimal questions. Oh, I’m Seulgi by the way. You can put me down as any name you like.”

You feel your phone buzz twice. Great. Think of fake guy names. I can’t even think of a story how I might have charmed these ‘guys.’

As if reading your mind, she continues on, “Or you can just use the names of his friends. This is Joy, Irene, and Chungha.”

The two of them wave at you and the blonde smiles. “He sounds like he’s the worst. He’s gonna be so pissed you got numbers faster than him. It’ll be great.”

The contact Seulgi pulls up next makes you stare at the label as the Chungha wipes lines down your nose and chin. It reads: [DAMN BROTHER].

“Th-Thank you…” You sigh in disbelief. “You guys are the nicest people I know. I’m gonna cry.”

“Don’t.” Chungha laughs. “I just fixed your makeup. How much time do you have? We wanna make this believable.”

You fish the mobile device out of your back pocket and scan through your group chat. “Looks like most of them are still at two or less.”

“Still got a shot then,” Seulgi comments with a grin. She’s clearly the most sober in the group. “We’ll space it out every ten to fifteen minutes or so. Seem reasonable?”

How do you thank these strangers? You are truly at a loss for words. A small nod and a wide grin is all you can manage.

“Do you wanna dance to kill some time?” Joy asks with a giggle.

“You should sit down and drink some water,” Irene chides. “Or someone will step on your toes.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

After drinking water and conversing with your newfound friends for some amount of time, you’ve almost forgotten about the game. Seulgi’s brother and his friends have joined your booth and you have to admit that although strangely cozy it’s socially draining. It’s not until Chungha nudges you to check your phone that you find more than a few of your competitors have reached their fourth achievement. You quickly text that you have the number you need and that you can keep going if they really want you to. The responses start pouring in, a mixture of confused and surprised. In Jungkook’s case, he calls bullshit and asks everyone to meet back up where they started: the bar.

Although you rise from the booth on steadier legs and hold a clearer mind, suddenly you’re feeling nervous. Your new friends assure you that no matter what they have your back. They all toss their cellphones on the table in a circle.

Chungha starts writing down names on napkins and matching them up with the devices. “If any of them ring we will make sure someone answers.”

After exchanging hugs with all of the girls, you make your slow descent down the stairs. Namjoon and Seokjin are already waiting for you at the bar.

“Oh! Y/N, my friend! You had me fooled!” Seokjin slaps his hand around your back, squeezing you towards the broad expanse of his chest. You take a few seconds to yourself, trying to remember how to breathe.

“How the hell…?” Namjoon asks the open-ended question with a big smile and you respond with a goofy one of your own.

“Uh-ehhehehh. Well…” You scratch your cheek and sheepishly present your phone. “I was told my failure to communicate effectively was charming in its own way.”

Namjoon quirks a brow at you and snorts. “Eloquent. Been drinking water, huh?” He drapes your hoodie around your shoulder. “Here. You forgot this earlier.”

You’re about to thank him when the rest of the group huddles in around you.

“Where’s Yoongi?” you ask, avoiding the glare Jungkook is throwing your way.

Hoseok is scrolling through his phone. “Hmm… Oh, he texted me. He’s…” He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Busy.”

You raise a brow at the tone of his statement but don’t get a chance to ask what he means because Jungkook is already tapping your shoulder.

“I want to see your numbers,” he whines. “I don’t believe this.”

You’re annoyed but it’s not like you can fault the skepticism in his tone. While you didn’t burst into panic mode tonight, you’re pretty sure it’s because you were too drunk to spiral into a pit of despair over your embarrassment. Maybe you can find comfort in that while Jungkook scrutinizes your messages.

You can see his jaw tighten and shift from side to side. As his tongue pokes harder into his cheek with each new message he opens, you bite down on your lip to keep yourself from laughing. He forces a smile as Taehyung, Jimin, and Hoseok all crowd around him to peer down at the screen. He looks up and blinks hard. It’s hard to miss the fluttering of his lashes when he blatantly rolls his eyes.

You tilt your head to one side and smile at him sweetly. “Yes, Jungkook?”

“Looks like you won.” His tone lacks malice but even with his face partially obscured by the long hair falling across his face you can tell he’s annoyed. He sighs and raises his eyebrows, using his pinky to swipe the hair from his face. “You know, actually now that I think about it, I feel like it’s kind of unfair.”

“Here we go,” Jimin mutters, rolling his eyes. “Don’t mind him. He’s just a sore loser,” he leans in to whisper. “He does this every time someone else wins.”

“I’m just saying I feel like it might be an easier game for girls,” Jungkook says defensively.

“What? Are you kidding me?” You nearly lunge for him in your fury. “Why is it easier? Because guys prey on girls all the time? Especially the ones who are drunk and vulnerable?”

Jungkook looks taken aback that you would jump to such an assumption. “Ah, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You don’t know how many times I messed up. It was really hard for me,” you snap, poking a finger against his chest. “I bet you didn’t have someone laugh in your face, did you?”

Nonononono don’t you fucking cry, you tell yourself, trying to hold it together.

Jungkook’s brow furrows, passing you a look that you swear is almost sympathetic. “No. I didn’t.”

You don’t need his pity. Tearing your gaze away from him, you look over your other companions. They wear uncomfortable grimaces and concerned frowns. The air between your group is heavy, charged with a palpable tension. You pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling embarrassed by your admission of one of tonight’s failed attempts.

A laugh escapes with your held breath and you shake your head. “It’s fine. Don’t look so sad for me. It went well after. It takes more than that to make me cry, you know.”

Oh no. They know. They know I lied about everything. I have to say something. I have to come clean. I’m guilty.

The cheerful pep in your tone seems to break the tension because Seokjin claps his hand around Jungkook’s shoulder and smiles. “That’s our girl!”

Maybe you’re better at lying than you give yourself credit for.

“She won fair and square. So I think she gets the prize.” Taehyung displays both sets of teeth with his charming, boxy smile.

You cock your head to one side. “Prize?”

“Winner gets dinner!” Hoseok sings as he takes your hands in his and wiggles them back and forth.

“Your choice, bought by the one who started the competition,” Namjoon chimes in.

“Why wasn’t this said at the start? I feel like I didn’t know all the rules. Maybe I don’t want that. I don’t have to eat with you right?” you ask, frowning at Jungkook.

Even when you win, you lose. You take your phone back and shove it into your back pocket.

Jungkook breaks into a cheesy grin that causes creases to form on either side of his nose. “If you want to. I know it’s tempting.”

“I make him get me something really, really good when I win,” Taehyung says, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “And then I eat it in front of him.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “But then I get a burger of my own, so does it matter?”

“Wait, what would have happened if Jungkook won?” you ask, wondering if you should have just stayed on your path of failure.

“Then the person in last place buys the winner food,” Namjoon responds simply, leaning across the bar to order another drink.

Oh. That’s worse.

“Congratulations, Y/N! You won your first game!” Jimin throws his arms around you and presses you tightly against his chest.

“Blipp! Achievement unlocked!” Taehyung laughs from behind him.

Jimin leans against your ear and whispers, “Oh, you smell good.”

It sends a shiver vibrating down your spine that he no doubt feels. When he pulls back to look at you, an innocent smile plays at his lips. Your mouth hangs agape as you stand there blinking stupidly at him, trying to decide if you want to look at his soft lips or enticing eyes. Who does he think he is, smiling like he hasn’t caused a short circuit in your brain? It’s like he gets off on it.

“Let’s dance to celebrate,” Hoseok suggests, rolling his hips dangerously close to you.

It’s then you remember there are more people in the immediate vicinity besides Jimin and yourself. Inhaling deeply through your nose, you purse your lips and compose yourself as one by one the group starts to split in two directions. Taehyung, Hoseok and Jimin make their way towards the crowd of dancers. Jungkook stands there looking at you as Seokjin and Namjoon turn their attention to the bartender.

“I think I’m gonna hang here instead,” you call, eyes falling back to the muscular figure before you.

He shoves his hands in his pockets as he reluctantly shuffles towards you. You think he might be sulking until the soft tips of his fingers brush across your shoulder. “You did good. Congrats.”

He mumbles something else but you’re sure you didn’t hear him correctly. There’s no way he apologized, even in passing.

You look at Jungkook’s back as he walks away, trying your best to divert your traitorous eyes from wandering down towards his ass. You sigh and rub at your temple with your fingers. It felt okay. Why didn’t it feel great? As you turn your attention towards the bar your eyes pause on a familiar face staring back at you. Long blond hair frames her amused features as she leans back in her seat, sipping on a cosmo.

“Boys are dumb.” Chungha laughs, placing her drink back on the bar just as the bartender places a glass of water next to it. She drops her lime wedge into the water and offers it to you. “Wanna drink, babe?”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You’re glad you made the switch to water hours ago. Seesaw is only a few blocks from your apartment so you might actually be able to save money and walk home tonight. Chungha has been talking your ear off about her stressful job but it’s not like you mind letting her dominate the conversation. It’s kind of nice to listen, especially when your energy is dipping. You smile at the bartender when he takes both your empty glasses away and a flash catches your eye from across the bar. There’s a girl posing for selfies with someone.

She must not have liked the first photo because her hand goes up and there’s another flash that distracts you from the way Chungha excuses herself and promises to come right back. You rest your chin on your palm and watch another pair of hands wrap around her waist. They slowly travel across her hips and as they travel lower you can see the tattooed expanse of his meaty biceps. She starts giggling and reaching back to pull her companion forward and your stomach sinks like someone’s tossed a heavy boulder in it. Jungkook’s long hair brushes against her cheek as he nuzzles into her neck.

Your jaw tightens as you watch, eyes refusing to leave the sight of him kissing up her neck. She turns towards him and pulls him to her lips as his hand flies up to cradle her jaw. Why does the sight make you feel so sick? Why can’t you look away? Maybe he can feel you staring or maybe it’s just coincidence, but fate is cruel. His eyelids flutter open and meet yours across the bar even as his companion is shoving her tongue into his mouth. Your mouth goes dry and the stone in your stomach breaks into a thousand shards that poke holes into your chest. Pins and needles threaten to pop your lungs like balloons as anxiety inflates your chest.

His brows are furrowed, concentrated as he keeps his gaze on you and continues kissing her. Those eyes staring back at you are dark and hungry, something you’re not quite used to seeing even through his fuckboy antics. They’re taunting, goading you to say something, to do something. You can’t help but think for a moment that maybe he’s looking at you because he wants it to be you. He wants you to see what you’re missing. It’s like he’s pleading for you to take her place.

Or maybe your delusional brain is creating a fantasy based on lack of romantic interaction.

Chungha scrapes her chair across the floor, causing you to jump and force your eyes away, but she’s smart. She follows where your eyes had been, watching Jungkook switch to pretending to be invested in his partner and occasionally darting his eyes back to you.

“Hey, isn’t that… Douche guy over there?”

“What? Is it? Psshft.” Your attempts at nonchalance are pathetic and you both know it, but you still continue on anyway. “Wow he’s just… making out. Over there. At the bar. Huh. Wow. That’s a lot of… tongue. Don’t you think he should like… move it back somewhere private?”

“He keeps looking at you.” She scoffs. “You know what? I think he’s trying to make you jealous.”

“What? Why? He doesn’t even like me,” you try to reason, not wanting to let hope bubble in your belly.

“Well, you told him off earlier, right? He definitely seems like the kind of guy that wants what he can’t have as soon as he hears he can’t have it. It’s a game to him.” She laughs as she watches you watch him. “It’s working isn’t it?”

“I wish I knew how to beat him at this game,” you say, catching his eyes and noting the satisfied smirk on his lips as he brings them back to his girl.

“I have an idea.” Chungha wears an impish smile as she cradles your jaw with delicate fingers, bringing your gaze back to her. “But only if you’re okay with it. ”

Your heart skips a beat as she carefully watches your expression. You nod, blinking a few times in surprise. “Y-Yes.”

“Is he looking?” she asks, brushing her fingers through your hair.

You’re so focused on her flawless makeup application and how good it feels to have someone’s fingers roaming through your hair that you almost forget to look. “Mmm-uhhh…… Yeah. Yeah, yup. He is.”

She laughs, sliding her hand over the back of your neck and closing the distance between you. Her lips are soft and instinctually you close your eyes, losing yourself in the kiss for a moment. It’s been a long time and it feels just as good to kiss someone as you remember. Your eyes snap open and you look across the bar to find Jungkook’s jaw completely slack. His eyes are wide with the image of the pair of you burned into the backs of his retinas. His arms have fallen limp against his companion and she takes the time to drunkenly nip at his lip and do all the work herself.

Not wanting to waste an opportunity to taunt him back, you deepen the kiss and grab the sides of her head, sliding your fingers through her silky blond locks. You ensure your tongues visibly slide against one another for the show you now know he’s watching. When you pull back you gently suck her bottom lip through your teeth, hoping Jungkook feels the exact same way you felt watching him.

“Did we get him?” she asks with a shy smile and embarrassed giggle.

You savor the look of blatant amazement on Jungkook’s face. You completely forget how embarrassed you would normally be in such a circumstance and you laugh. “Oh yeah. We got him good. Wow, thank you so much. The look on his face is priceless.”

“What the fuck.”

The familiar breathless whisper has you looking past Chungha at Namjoon. He’s holding a handful of nachos loaded with toppings at the halfway point between the plate and his mouth, which is hanging agape. All of the toppings on his chip fall to the bar with a splat.

Seokjin pokes his head from around Namjoon’s hulking form. “Wow, I love this bar. Let’s come back often.”

[malghra]

a chorus so sublime: chapter 1

I must admit, I can't explain

Any of these thoughts racin' through my brain

It's true

But, baby, I'm howlin' for you

Alright

There's something wrong with this plot

The actors here have not got

A clue

Baby, I'm howlin' for you

For Darklina Week, Day 1, Songs & Lyrics, Title from Breath of Life by Florence + The Machine

Chapter title and lyrics from Howlin' for you by The Black Keys. 

This fic starts in episode 5, so you can assume that the story is mostly canon compliant up until episode 4. Any changes pre-episode 5 that will be referenced in the story will probably concern Mal. I lowkey ship show!Malina, they're very cute, but then again I lowkey ship almost everyone with everyone on this show 😂 Darklina is just the only ship compelling enough to tempt me into writing. Anyways, I'm probably going to write Mal closer to his book counterpart, just because I feel the relationship needed a bit more conflict and it will add to Alina's inner struggles.

For now, what you need to know about Mal is that he did sleep with Zoya and that he didn't react well to the revelation of Alina's powers. Just remember that for future reference.

What else? Alina is going to leave the Little Palace at some point, and after that, events will unfold similarly to what happened on the show from episode 6 onwards, but I wanted to develop the Darklina relationship a bit more before it all falls to pieces and I try to come up with a way to put those pieces back together.

The first chapter is Aleksander's POV of his and Alina's first kiss.

I spent a bit of time debating what Aleksander should call himself in his POVs. I honestly couldn't see him referring to himself as the Darkling. I also decided that in the universe of this fic, he hasn't told Alina his real name yet. I imagine that at the beginning of this story, he mostly identifies with his title, and not with his true name, so for now, he'll be referring to himself as The General.

Chapter is below the cut, I hope you'll enjoy this!

The day of the winter fete had arrived, and the General had been up since before sunrise. Despite his mixed feelings regarding such events—especially ones such as today when his Grisha were expected to perform like a troup of otkazat'sya clowns, there was a tinge of excitement to his disgruntled thoughts.

Today was the day Ravka and the rest of the world would learn what the Sun Summoner could do. She still had a lot to learn, she still needed time to grow, but she could give them a good show. Their audience of royals, nobles and foreign dignitaries would be easily enough beguiled by the light spectacle they had practiced.

It was a new start, a day of hope and promise, but that wasn't the reason he had risen before dawn. Sleep tended to elude the General for long bouts of time every couple of years. It didn't matter though. He didn't need much of it anyway, but it was an easy way to pass time when he got bored or tired of life.

Fortunately for him, that was not the case right now. These were exciting times. He had never been closer to achieving everything he'd been working for during the last couple of centuries.

He finished his cup of tea, and as he passed the mirror, he reached up to close the top button of his shirt he must have missed earlier.

He heard the soft padding of footsteps in the other room. It was almost time.

"Ivan!" he called out. "My kefta."

As he turned away from the bed, he found himself eye to eye, not with his loyal Heartrender, but with his Sun Summoner.

"You're not Ivan," he blurted out, taken aback by her sudden and unexpected presence in his bedroom.

"Sorry to disappoint," she retorted sardonically. Saints! Why was she always saying or doing the unexpected thing, usually displaying an utter lack of the deference he was so used to being treated with by everyone else around him? And why did that make him want to smile instead of chiding her and reminding her of decorum and etiquette?

"Do I sense a little disdain for my Heartrender?" he asked, mostly to distract himself from his train of thought. "You know, once you get to know him he's actually quite funny."

Ivan Krasimirov tended to have little patience with people and he didn't care much for pointless social interactions, but the General had known him since he was a boy and he liked to imagine he knew the reserved Heartrender better than anyone else. And Ivan was a loyal man, who understood the cause and had display unseen measures of dedication.

"I bet you find volcra hilarious," his Sun Summoner huffed.

Her innocently intended quip stung, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, but he managed a wry smile. It was rather hilarious after all, perhaps even more so if one knew.

"May I?" she asked. For the first time since she'd entered, he noticed that she was holding his kefta.

"Thank you." His arms felt oddly stiff as he turned around and reached back so she could help him into the garment.

"I hear you were able to focus and split light without the gloves," he told her. She had shown tremendous progress in the last couple of days, but it was better to be prepared. He'd ordered Kostyk to make the gloves weeks ago, just in case.

"I appreciate the gesture, though."

"Well, they were only a safeguard, really," he assured her. "In case of nerves." She was standing closer than he'd expected when he turned to face her again.

"I imagine there are few gatherings in Keramzin that involve such..." He found himself looking for a word that wouldn't sound as an insult to the humble childhood she still seemed to be clinging to so stubbornly. That stubbornness had its charm at times, but in this case he couldn't really appreciate it. "Spectacle," he decided.

"None, in fact," she answered with that some sarcastic aplomb from earlier, and then she whirled around and darted away from him.

Frowning, but intrigued, he followed her out of his bedroom.

Despite her sudden jitteriness, she confessed that she wasn't nervous anymore, though she had considered throwing herself down the stairs to get out of it. Almost certain that this was just her odd sense of humour, he reminded her that he had healers.

He tried not to smile as she laughed at his retort. He studied her as she stood with her back to him, wondering at her suddenly anxious demeanour and the tension he could feel rolling off her body.

He sat down on the edge of the table, listening as she explained why she wasn't nervous anymore. Confusing, unfamiliar warmth pooled in his chest as she spoke but he tried to ignore it.

"That we can offer Grisha and Ravkans hope for the future," she concluded her little speech. She was so close to where he wanted her. He almost had her. He knew he would be able to make her see reason. What she was sharing with him, the fact that she was sharing it with him at all, it all made him hopeful.

Triumph made his chest swell, and his power hummed just below the surface of his skin, ready to surge, to call out, but he wouldn't show her the immense satisfaction that overtook him in this moment. He settled for a heartfelt, "That means a lot to me, Alina," turning her name into a soft caress.

She turned around, half surprised, half... proud, he decided, satisfied that she had pleased him. He could take it a step further.

"You mean a lot," to me, he meant to say. It should be easy to feed her the lie that had come to carry more truth in it than he cared to admit. He needed her, but that should be the end of it. Hadn't he taught himself to stop wanting a long time ago?

She'd lowered her eyes, making it even easier for him, but he found himself incapable of saying the words. "To everyone," he concluded.

She blinked and met his gaze again. Before he could even try to decipher the look on her face, she had closed the distance between them, her hand on his collar.

Some deeply ingrained instinct almost made him recoil. He wasn't used to this. It had been a long time since anyone dared to approach him in such a way.

And then that pull was drawing him in again, that tug he had felt from the first moment he had laid eyes on her, that he had dismissed until he had touched her arm and knew, even before cutting her skin. The confusion and discomfort that always came with it must be clear on his face, but if she had seen them, she must have decided to ignore them.

Then she surprised him by kissing him, softly and tentatively, tender fingertips gently grazing his beard. He couldn't remember when he had last been kissed like that.

He had expected that sense of elation so akin to the triumph and satisfaction he'd felt earlier. He should have predicted the ringing in his ears, the thumping of his heart, the tingle running through his veins as her power called to his, begging to answer her call, as overwhelming as it was.

But the urge to respond to her kiss, the desire to surrender, the sudden, vast fear that gripped him, they all took him by surprise.

Something that had laid dormant for ages bubbled up from a place deep inside of him, frustratingly elusive and only vaguely familiar. It slipped away from him like water he tried to cup in his hands before he could recognize it.

He might have started kissing her back—he was too stunned to tell—but then her lips left his, and she nudged his nose with hers as she pulled away. His eyes flew open at the sudden loss of contact. He couldn't remember closing them.

She was searching his face, colour high on her cheeks. As he rose to his full height, he could see that sliver of doubt growing, that fear of rejection creeping up on her, even as hope sparkled in her eyes, her lips curling into a cautious smile.

He offered her a smile back, let the surprise he didn't need to feign show on his face.

"Not many people surprise me, Miss Starkova," he told her.

Her face lit up, and he followed her example as she lowered her eyes, allowing himself a pleased grin. He started leaning in to initiate a second kiss.

The door was pushed open and Alina jumped back, turning her back to him.

He cleared his throat, pushing his shoulders back to compose himself.

For the briefest moment, Ivan's eyes flitted from him to Alina, but he hid his reaction well.

"Excuse me, General," he apologized. "Your presence is required at the fete."

"Of course. Thank you, Ivan."

He glanced back to find Alina's cheeks flushed and her eyes on her feet.

"Miss Starkova," he said coolly, and she bit her lip.

"Next time, knock before you enter my chambers," he snapped at the Heartrender on his way out the door.

"Apologies, moi soverenyi," he mumbled.

The General dismissed the man with a nod. He should be thanking Ivan. He had almost acted on impulse, like some common fool. So then why was he clenching his fists to keep from strangling his most loyal Heartrender?