#As stated before I will not be tagging any of my previously read books

[somethingclevermahogony]

Writeblr Interview

Rules: Answer the Questions

Thanks for the tags @mk-writes-stuff, @the-golden-comet, and @tildeathiwillwrite!

Short stories, novels or poems?

Novels or Epic Poems (Odyssey, Iliad, Aeneid, Epic of Gilgamesh is the GOAT (the officiant literally quoted it at my wedding)).

What genre do you prefer reading?

Fantasy or Epic Poetry. I haven't actually sat down and read a book in a while though, my life has been pretty overwhelmed with academic papers and such.

What genre do you prefer writing?

Fantasy, preferably High/Epic Fantasy, turn world-building up to the max.

Are you a planner or a write-as-i-go kind of person?

I do a ton of planning for the world (I'm a lore nut) and I plan out broad narratives and directions, but I tend to let the path to get there just sort of happen.

What music do you listen to while writing the story?

That depends on what I'm writing. I actually don't tend to listen to a lot of music when I'm actually writing because it distracts me. I listen before I start to write, what exactly I listen to changes.

Sometimes I listen to the same song from Little Shop of Horrors, Epic the Musical, or whatever. For awhile I was listening to Prom Queen by Beach Bunny over and over and over and over again. I don't know why I do that, it just scratches my brain.

Fav books/movies

I love the Gregor the Overlander Series. It balances silliness and fantasy with darkness. The worldbuilding is complex enough to be intriguing and yet so ridiculous that you just sort of accept it. Giant talking rats and Victorian Rats living in a massive subterranean world underneath NYC? Why not! The books made my mom cry over a cockroach so there's that.

As previously stated, Epic of Gilgamesh is great, its so interesting to see all the tropes and story beats already developed thousands of years ago. I love my two big burly bronze age queers.

Saying the LOTR movies feels like a cope-out, but I genuinely do love those movies.

Any Current WIPs?

The Testaments of the Green Sea series! I'm sure you've seen random tidbits on Tumblr if you've been in any of the worldbuilding or fantasy writing places.

If someone were to make a cartoon out of you, what would your standard outfit be?

Reading glasses worn too far down my nose, a button up shirt (probably blue checkered) with the sleeves rolled up, baggy jeans, and black shoes. Looks like a young chubby and scruffy caveman cosplaying as a 45 year-old English teacher.

Create a character description of yourself.

He was of average height, though he looked taller than he actually was owing to the mane of hair which surrounded his head and covered his shoulders and upper back in a blanket of brown curls. His beard and moustache were both of medium length, though his moustache was in need of a trim. A pair of fingerprint smudged, wire-rimmed glasses sat on the tip of a crooked and humped nose, as far away from his heavy brows and green eyes as they could be while still maintaining their grip on his face. He wore a checkered blue and white button up, the sleeves hastily rolled up to his elbows. His jeans were baggy, and though he hated to admit it, were swiftly developing a hole on the inner thigh. He's was normally a quiet man, prone to sit and nod, rather than to speak. The exception of course, was with his wife, in which case he could hardly be made to shut up.

Do you like incorporating people you actually know into your writing?

Literally putting people I know into my writing? No, I don't think it would really work to randomly insert my friends and family into my fantasy setting. I do like taking bits of inspiration from people though!

Are you kill-happy with the characters?

I guess that depends on what this means...because my series takes place over vast lengths of time, almost everyone in my stories does die eventually, but that's just nature. I don't shy away from killing my characters, that's for sure, though I try to make sure it adds something to the plot, I don't like killing characters just for the sake of it.

Coffee or Tea while writing?

Tea (The real answer is wine)

Slow or Fast writer?

Fast writer, sloooow editor.

Where/who/what do you find inspiration from?

Lots of things. A big part of my inspiration comes from the ancient civilizations that I study, like the Hittites and Mycenaeans. I also take inspiration from my family and my wife. Myths are a big inspiration too, I've said plenty of times that my MC, Narul, is Gilgamesh with social-anxiety.

If you were put into a fantasy world, what would you be?

Dead....or less pessimistically probably the local baker/cook.

Fave book cliche?

Found Family! Honorable mention for Gentle Giant characters!

Least fave book cliche?

Dark/High Fantasy including explicit depictions of SA or underage stuff because its "accurate", just the implication will suffice, I don't need that nonsense playing in my ear while I'm at work, thank you very much (Looking at you GRR Martin, or as my wife and I call you, JarJar Martin)

Fave scenes to write?

Scenes with nature or monsters! Trying to be descriptive and convey what the characters are seeing and feeling is really interesting to me!

Most productive time of day for writing?

Between 1:00 and 4:00 in the morning, unfortunately. That's also when my typos are the worst.

Reason for writing?

To bring my characters to life and to share their stories and scenes with other people.

I don't know how many people have already done this so I'm just gonna leave this one open!

Blank list under the cut:

Short stories, novels, or poems?

What genre do you prefer reading?

Are you a planner or a write as I go kind of person?

What music do you listen to while writing?

Favorite books/movies?

Any current WIPs?

Create a character description of yourself:

Do you like incorporating actual people you know into your writing?

Are you kill happy with your characters?

Coffee or Tea while writing?

Slow or fast writer?

If you were in a fantasy world, what would you be?

Most fav book cliche:

Least favorite cliche:

Favorite scene to write?

Reason for writing?

[inkspellangel]

Find the Word Tag

I was tagged by @cljordan-imperium & @mariahwritesstuff Thank you so much guys!<3

CJ's words: mug, box, flame, cold, and line Mariah's words: wash, live, heart and just

I'm tagging: @eccaiia @spuddlespud @eli-writes-sometimes @rms-writes & an open tag! You words are: home, pick, why & around

Mug

He settled down by his things, across the fire from her, and begun to cut up the animal. “There’s not any chance I could convince you to spare some for me?” He pointed at her cup. “You know, as a thank you for staying away all night or something.”

She didn’t want to spare him anything, but he did have a point. And he had also helped her with the tent. “Only if you have anything to drink from.” She could go as far as to pour him some coffee, but she wouldn’t lend him a cup.

He digged up a mug from his bag and held it out to her.

Box

At least this feels familiar, she though as she reached for the green lenses. They were gone. Her head went blank in fear as she searched the small bathroom for the little box. Hadn’t she put it on the sink before she went into the shower? She was sure she had.

She digged through the wash-bag with her dirty clothes, her bag and the floor. They were nowhere to be found.

Flame(s)

The previously combed-back hair now seemed to be out of control, and the hair tie that had kept it together was gone, letting the hair spread like flames on his shoulders. She wouldn’t go as far as to say that it fit him, but it did make him easier on the eyes. He was still an eyesore, but a tiny bit less awful to look at.

Cold

“She may seem cold and heartless but-”

“That’s not my impression at all.” Casey abrupted her. “I’ve met my fair share of cold and heartless people. The demon is definitely not one of them. No, I’d say she has shown herself to be quite the opposite.”

Line

“But dad said murder. Not manslaughter. And you say it was an accident?” Her father was always very specific with legal terms, he said it came with the line of work. If he said he was sentenced for murder, then something didn’t add up.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “His partner insisted that I did it on purpose. Therefore the murder conviction. The lack of proof was the reason I only got a year,” he explained. “Come to think of it. I believe you almost killed the guy’s partner, back in Ashshore.”

Wash

“I though he might’ve finally gotten around to telling you. Judging by the colour of your face I’d guess he did. Or did you wash your face with tomato juice?” He smiled at her, poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down beside her on the bed. “And what do you mean he’s gone? Did you end up killing him?”

Live

“Here it is.” Sakura pointed at the tall building in the middle of the city. Towering over the rest of the buildings. “The state library of Lucif.”

Fubuki thought that it really did live up to it’s reputation, of being an empire of knowledge. The outside did and the inside didn’t take away from it. There was bookshelves as far as her eyes reached. All of them filled to the brim with books, files and works of humanity. She could’ve spent years in here and not be able to read even a tenth of everything.

Heart

It was everywhere! It was there as a lump in her throat. Her lungs felt like they were breaking into pieces. The tears burned her eyes. But worse than anything was the painful hope in her heart.

It all came over her to quickly. It was so overwhelming that she fell to her knees. She collapsed right there. Somewhere in a hospital, in the arms of someone she couldn’t identify and she let the tears fall.

Just

But she also didn’t want to lie to Alexandr, so she decided on an excuse that was kind of true, but that didn’t risk exposing anyone. “I just want to be prepared in case something happens. I still don’t trust him completely.”

[swamp-world]

Aaaaa thanks @void-and-virtue for tagging me!! Also I am so sorry I have just vanished off the face of the earth, but consider this a general update and “I’m alive” too. Also it gives me a chance to babble about so very many things!!! And I will do so at length!!!

Currently reading: an incomplete list of what I am reading and cycling my way through at the moment.

1.      Rereading The Queen’s Thief series for some levity and joy in my life; I’m currently midway through Thick as Thieves again and am loving it as ever, 10/10 would recommend to anyone who hasn’t read it. Also my partner studies classics and so I get to go and harass them with this book series and ask about how it reflects elements of actual Hellenistic life (I know MWT wasn’t going by any means for a one-to-one but I really really enjoy getting to learn what a lot of the probable inspirations were, and also how the metaphysics of the Geniad reflect neoplatonic philosophy).

2.      The Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler. It’s absolutely brutal and I’ve been going through it slowly because it…is rough. It’s really good, but also wow it’s heavy. Feels very relevant to mention that like…my roommates and I have been having long discussions about the climate crisis, wildfires, and just the approaching Crumbles, and it’s lovely as ever to see a book that actually approaches the community-focused approach to the Crumbles. Not just doomsday libertarian preppers.

3.      In Deeper Waters, actually on your recommendation Kylie! I started reading the book like a year ago and then dropped it, but found the audiobook again, and the audiobook is also narrated by uhhh. Kevin R. Free if I’m remembering right? Who also does the audiobooks for The Murderbot Diaries, which I love with all of my heart. Loving the book, have to be honest that I don’t necessarily love the voice that he does for Athlen, but I love him too much to not listen to this. (Also I just looked it up and apparently he’s the voice actor for Kevin in WTNV?????? Makes sense but AAAAAAA [kronk voice] oh yeah it’s all coming together.)

4.      Tractatus Logico-Philosophiscus by Wittgenstein. Trying it again, finally. But I found the centenary edition by one publisher that lays it out in a tree format of sorts instead of just linearly? Which is apparently how Wittgenstein originally wrote it. This is to say—the edition I’d been reading previously addresses points in an order of like, 2.14; 2.141; 2.15; 2.151; 2.1511; 2.1512; 2.15121; 2.1513 etc. etc. etc. but the tree format addresses all points before addressing subpoints, so it’s 1; 2; 3; 4; […] 2.1; 2.2; 2.11; 2.12; 2.13; 2.14; 2.15; […] which is very very neat and way easier to understand in my humble opinion. (See attached diagram. As you can tell I gave up before even finishing the tree for proposition 2.02123.)

ANYWAYS that’s a lot of words and half an hour of trying to draw this out to say—it’s a piece of logical philosophy which is extremely foundational for 20th c. philosophy in pretty much every way, and it’s also extremely funny to me. A lot of people find it extremely dry but I think that it’s hilarious. And not in a way of like, I’m laughing at Wittgenstein, or that in a lot of ways I don’t think he was writing intending it to be humorous, but I don’t think he’s totally unaware of it. It just feels so cheeky at times. Because the whole thing is written in these expanding propositions which build off of one another, and so the propositions themselves are often very simple and straightforwards. Ex:

2.012    In logic nothing is accidental: if a thing can occur in a state of affairs, the possibility of the state of affairs must be written into the thing itself.

2.0121 It would seem to be a sort of accident, if it turned out that a situation would fit a thing that could already exist entirely on its own.

And that’s just hilarious to me! That part of proposition 2.0121 I’ve just annotated with “cheeky” because I find it very funny. I’ve tried reading this twice now (each time on a plane) and I finally sat down to review my notes from the first two sections, so now I can finally get into the meat of it for propositions 3-6.

What I love about the Tractatus is that a lot of people will cite the part of “What can be said at all can be said clearly and what we cannot talk about we must pass over in silence” but treat that like it’s the only and final conclusion of the Tractatus, because it’s really more like “Look! I did it! I solved all of philosophy, and it’s done nothing!”

Wittgenstein is absolutely on the list of Top 10 Saddest Men Of All Time and he’s a bastard and a motherfucker and I love him. He’s hilarious.

5.      Mengele: Unmasking the “Angel of Death” by David G. Marwell. This one is also very heavy and extremely depressing.

6.      Silver Under Nightfall by Rin Chupeco. I’m kinda on the fence about this one, I don’t want to DNF it but it’s a bit too heavy on the horny romance for me and not enough on the geopolitical vampire plot (personal preference). But I had been enjoying it for a bit, wouldn’t not recommend I guess

7.      Gay Bar: Why We Went Out by Jeremy Atherton, which is about the history and disappearance of gay bars and physical spaces for queer community. This one hits hard personally, right now my city only has one designated “gay club” though there are a lot of other queer places in a less official way. There used to be so many and it breaks my heart, and reading this has been equally heartbreaking and wonderful.

8.      Not a book but it’s making up the majority of my reading right now so I’m putting it on here because I need to babble about it that I’ve been catching up on a lot of school readings to try to turn in some late assignments from the last (checks watch) two years, so there’s been a lot of essays by Hannah Arendt, Walter Benjamin, a bit of Heidegger, and a lot of critiques of Heidegger—I’m currently rereading the part of Being and Time on Being-toward-death and Mitsein, and then following it up with sections of critique by Luce Irigaray from The Forgetting of Air in Martin Heidegger, and then the chapter “With Being-With?” from Being Singular Plural by Jean-Luc Nancy (and then after that, Simon Critchley wrote some notes on that, and I’m really looking forwards to reading that too); and also then “On The Coloniality of Being” by Nelson Maldonado-Torres, and then after that Aporias by Derrida, who I’ve also been reading a lot of for classes.

ANYWAYS.

Favourite Colour: You know when there’s a massive storm with really dark clouds, and it then passes, but the clouds are directly across from the sun, and so they’re being illuminated in front of you from the sun behind you, and then you have fresh green trees against the clouds? It’s the color in between the clouds and the trees, at the edges, because they look so golden. (Vital note: I do not wear my glasses as often as I should.)

Last Song: The Man With X-Ray Eyes by Bauhaus. Absolutely adore this album, it’s so so so goofy and I get this song stuck in my head all the time. Next time there’s a karaoke night I’m doing either this or Of Lilies and Remains because “Peter has fallen to the old cold stone floor wheezing and emitting a seemingly endless flow of ectoplasmic white goo from ears and mouth” is just so goofy and great to throw people off-guard. Please please please go listen to this whole album I love it.

Last Show: Baccano! Incredibly fun, 10/10, need to go and rewatch to get the plot straight in my head because of all of the time jumps. Also, outstanding jazz soundtrack. Love it so much. The best kind of bullshit.  

Currently Watching: My partner got me watching The Owl House finally and I love it with all of my heart. Eda owns my soul. Hooty is great. Luz is my absolute beloved. I cried seeing on-screen queerness in this kid’s cartoon. Also Eda reminds me of my favourite professor. Identical energy, both absolutely deranged.

Last Movie: oh god. Uh. Literally the only thing coming to mind is Godspeed You! Black Emperor, which is a 1976 Japanese documentary about motorcycle clubs/gangs/movements in Japan in the ‘70s. A very uncomfortable watch, because it’s just…it’s very interesting, but watching bōsōzoku with fascist symbols plastered on their bikes, helmets, clothing, and skin, and their interactions with the cops and legal system, and the one kid’s interactions with his parents? It’s brutal. I know I’ve definitely watched other films since then but for some reason this is literally the only thing coming to mind.

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: Sour and/or salty. It can be sweet or spicy or savory but the important thing is that it’s either sour or salty.

Currently working on: One (1) extremely self-indulgent angst fic that I started ages ago, long-term WIP for when I’m feeling sad. A pile of papers for classes but one for fun on the digital location of (sub)culture and dark academia (in which the only real physical location for “dark academia” to exist is the academy, which is a fundamentally hostile environment that just sublates what “dark academia” considers itself to be); an essay on Benjamin’s Language as Such and the Language of Man and Arendt’s discussion of the inarticulate cry, both in relation to klezmer ornamentation as pure expression of language and/or grief; a piece that I might submit to a music zine about how Bowie’s song TVC-15 uses the stylings of surf rock in ways that create ambivalence about whether he’s singing about a bad trip and a TV (which he is), or a car that he loves deeply (maybe). Also the long-standing thing I’ve been writing about locutions of love, still an ongoing project. A history of my university, maybe? The line between projects for fun and projects for work have gotten a bit blurred.

Current obsession: beating the old Mortal Kombat arcade terminal at the punk bar down the way. It used to cost a quarter per game but now it’s a dollar so I’m very determined to get way way way better at it because otherwise it’s too expensive to play.

 Tagging mutuals: Kylie I think you got most people I know but uhhhh. @uppercase-disgrace @edgy-contrarian dragging y’all into this??? anyone else who wants to!

[azulyrae]

˙ ↳ ❪ 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 ˖ !

☲ 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓. ‧₊°

› if you are underage. as previously stated, i am no longer a teenager, and the stories i write are befitting to my acquired maturity. that being said, i will cover sensitive themes every once in a while, and write suggestive scenes that might or might not lead to full-blown smut. i am no one's mother and therefore, not responsible for what you choose to read on the internet. however, i won't be condescending either. those who are either minors, or don't have a clear age indicator on their blog, will be blocked as soon as i notice their interactions on my stories.

› if you fit the standard dni criteria. a.k.a, if you're compliant with prejudice and/or means to spread hateful, toxic, and useless comments, under the intent of offending people with no rational reason. hate messages directed to either me or others will be thoroughly ignored and deleted, and the sender of it will be blocked.

› if you intend to request pieces that will reinforce meaningless hate to a character. we all have our own opinions regarding the pairings and individual characters, and as long as those opinions aren't misogyny in disguise, i won't meddle. but neither will i write stories that can, in any way, attract hate to a specific character ⸺ especially women. requests of "reader being jealous of [insert male character] with [insert female character]" will be deleted.

☳ 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 ˖ !

› english isn't my first language. despite the fact that i've studied and made myself comfortable with it, i might confuse myself with the language still. i will gladly accept corrections on any spelling errors, as long as it is voiced politely.

› i won't write about real-life people nor will i write about non-book characters. that is because i don't tend to dwell into other pieces of media, so if your request happens to be inspired by a character from, per example, a movie or tv show, i ask you to be specific ⸺ i won't be able to write otherwise.

› i write both for both nsfw and sfw, so as long as the character's story and personality are respected (no, i won't write smut with kaz). reader is mainly female or neutral, but i won't mind writing a male one if asked to. the gender of each story will be specified in the tags.

› i am a part of a lot of fandoms. this blog will mainly have stories of sjm-related characters, but that doesn't mean i'm not willing to write about other universes. apart from the two characters in my fixed post ⸺ kaz brekker representing the grishaverse, and grace blackthorn representing the shadowhunter chronicles, ⸺ i'll gladly write for any character so as long as i've read the books. if you're wondering whether i write for a certain character, all you need to do is ask.

› i'm not against writing about younger characters, but i won't write about underage ones. to me, writing is connected to personal comfort. if the character behaves in a childish-manner or isn't at least 18, i won't write about them.

› be polite. before sending in a suggestion, make sure to use the words 'please' and 'thank you'.

› self-insert is about leaving vague physical descriptions. you will never see me mentioning the length of the reader's hair, the color of their eyes, their biotype and etc. therefore, i will be ignoring suggestions that are too physically specific.

› now that those basis are covered, you can find my masterlist here.

[myfeelisfunny]

Hello hello, I am Mia and I have totally lost control over this blog! 🥳🥳

But because I read somewhere, that to help others (the blog) you must first help yourself (me), I have decided to finally get it together and start to organize some stuff!

So here we go, I guess...

💫About Me💫

There's actually not very much to be said about me specifically.

I'm Mia (on the internet at least ;D) and I have this Tumblr account, thx byee :))

jk, here are some Tumblr-relevant facts about me:

🙆‍♀️ I'm a cis woman, going by she/her pronouns

💬 I speak English, German, French and a bit of Spanish (I don't tag posts language-specific, though)

⌛ I started my fandom journey on Wattpad and am now very happy to have deboarded that particular train for Tumblr xD

🫣 I've also been here for a while, but spent most of my time lurking

💻 I actually don't have any other social media, because I'm very susceptible to doom-scrolling (but I want memes, so I'm very thankful for Tumblr and my saviour the chronological dash lmao)

🩷 I love that there's a community here for any obsession I find myself falling into, so I tend to just cram all of the fandoms in here without thinking twice (but my organization-effort does include trying to compile a list of my most consistent ones :D)

❤️ my offline hobbies include but are not limited to: reading, writing, singing, music, photography, knitting, Magic: The Gathering, nature (whatever that means)

📚 I am an indiscriminate enjoyer of all things written down, whether it be traditionally published books, comics or fanfiction

✏️ I wrote some fanfic in my teenage years, switched to poetry for a while, before coming back to long-form fandom writing

⁉️ Although I am an advocate for Don't like it, don't read it!, I recognize that sometimes it's not that easy. I myself have clear boundaries of what I am and am not comfortable seeing. Therefore I will disclaim that I participate in RPF for fandoms I post about here, but because this is my multifandom dumping site, I'm keeping the rpf-side of things confined to sideblogs with the appropriate notice.

💌 I am always delighted to meet new people and make new friends, so if you want to chat, please don't hesitate to send me a DM or an ask!! <3333

💫About this blog💫

As previously stated, this is my multifandom dumping site. But it is also my meme dumping site. Anything that is not related to a fandom is not specifically tagged (mostly).

In regards to fandom posts, I usually tag the fandom itself and, if relevant, specific ships. I don't normally tag characters, because that would get out of hand pretty quickly. ^^"

My top five most-consistent fandoms at the moment are:

🏎️ Formula 1 (sporadic live-blogging)

🌟 Captain America

🕵️ The Man from Uncle

🔎 Midsomer Murders

🌜 The Sandman (Netflix)

For more/all of them see the fandom list, I definitely had time to compile yet.

My own two cents are organized like this:

✨ #mia screams into the void for original posts

✨ #mia rambles to the void for my comments on other people's posts

✨ #artsy for all things art

✨ #kitties!!! for all things cats

✨ #oh don't go breaking my heart for all the heart-break

✨ #wtf did i just witness for all the mind-break

✨ #oh…oh no for all things 'this is very funny but also wtf people'

✨ I am working on the happy stuff, but atm it's mostly #lmao and all of its variations

✨ #queue what queue no you queue for...the queue

I am really trying to get some organization into this, so I might come up with some more things to differentiate between stuff. I hope this makes sense to anyone else aside from me as well lol.

In any case, if you have read this far, I am really impressed! Thank you for giving me the time of day, I am so glad you exist! (also pls come and chat with me if you want) 🥰🥰

[platonicpinotnoir]

Educated Monkeys & Flying Horses

Welcome to me blog sire...! I'll respond to any name, including Rhubi. Currently in my dragon ball phase.

I keep rewriting this post and it keeps being long, so for now I'll stick the whole thing under a readmore - I'm at the point now where I think that I can be brief.

I read slow but I'm working on finishing a few books right now. The most important one that I'd recommend is "In An Unspoken Voice" by Peter Levine - it's about the nature of trauma and the healing of it, and it's a real life-changer. I am going to be annoying about this.

I'm a neophyte in everything that this blog is, but that won't stop me from trying to make discussions out of things! I'm uneducated, but interested. I don't know what online niche this is or what sorts of online communities I'm meant to assimilate into, but I'm here.

I'm open-minded. I like to think and feel.

This blog is for DISTURBING THINGS.

Also SWEET things, like healing mindsets, or genuinely lovely things.

It will also get personal.

I also LOVE TO LAUGH and so I may peddle a lot of BULLSHIT!!!!!

Also everything I draw is a PR nightmare. & it all means the world to me.

Below is a more comprehensive take on this blog that was written previously (sept 2023), as well as a breakdown of the tagging system.

PEACE & LOVE ON PLANET EARTH !!

This blog is for disturbing things. But not exclusively - I have no allegiance to explicit taboo, and there is no point that I am trying to make in being deliberately gross (unless stated otherwise; and not to overshadow the artistic value, merit, and necessity of being purposefully counter or grotesque & macabre in a sensitive sense).

Things well within the range of acceptable/conventional and empathetic, and are still difficult and raw and honest and vulnerable, are of steep interest as well. Even just things that I find BOLD! Given stigma or otherwise. Further generalized: anything piquant in a certain, potent way!

There will be MORBIDLY / SINCERELY SWEET THINGS as well because ... there's so much there that is important.

Also just like. Interesting things. Art or insights about, like, humanity or nature that I found interesting. If my brain is turned on yknow. Sometimes it is

This blog will GET PERSONAL. As a mode of self-expression, self-comprehension in context of an outer whole, interconnectivity - HONESTY, really.

I want to encourage self-protection as much as self-exploration - Use the block button if there is something here that you cannot tolerate, now or ever! Or send me asks about it.

This goes without saying but: This post is prone to change/replacement, as no one can tell the future, and who knows what features + atmospheres + intentions will move in and out of this blog (and in other words, myself). When you consider life to be an ongoing journey: I would expect to post forward, toward deeper understanding or new thoughts, as well as in retroactive art-moods in order to express the backlog of ideas that I've entertained. But if the latter doesn't happen, that's alright. I'll try to let things pass with grace, then. I won't hold my horses, but I won't beat them, either.

It's unnatural, and natural given the unnatural circumstances: see it before you and accept reality. View it with due criticism, contempt, or aversion, and without taboo.

When it comes to fucked up art, my favorite subjects are those of an inappropriate intimacy, a damning devotion, and misappropriated/forsaken parental/power dynamics - and/or anything that I can call "honey horror" as an aesthetic term. I think that they're conducive for many interesting themes, insights, and discussions!

I am also very partial to the patterns of freezing -> thawing and of a soul returning (hopelessness as felt by a character is one thing, but a true hopelessness by conviction of the author has never been my thing!). So the topic of health and healing will come up frequently, I think. Unless it doesn't. Lol

Again, there will be gravely sweet things here as well! They're important, and when I suddenly care, I care DEEPLY.

Although - and I cannot overstate this - there will also be quite a fair amount of bullshit on this blog. It's what I do.

Healing is always in your loving hands.

TAGS:

Reblog - all reblogs (others' posts)

Art - reblogged art (mostly visual)

pinotnoirposts - all original posts (even if reblogged from another blog of mine--tagged at my own discretion)

rhubi archives - a subset of the above tag that is longer, perhaps more personal, textposts; either contained or open discussions

rhubi arts - personal art tag

Trauma - Posts that are predominately or explicitly about trauma in a visible way, moreso than the rest (all posts will have an undercurrent naturally!)

Healing - Posts that predominately or explicitly carry the theme or hope for healing

SWEET - Things that are so very sweet and wholesome, or morbidly sweet

BLOOD - blood! An aesthetic tag. Red blood (literal and visual), flesh, intimacy, devotion, damnation

FROOT - An aesthetic tag that is a focused subset of the above one: The need for love, intimacy, sex, rest, or pleasure - and the FEAR of it (or, the coming-around sensitivity to the need of it in the context of healing, which often has you weak and tremulous and feeling the awe/fear of nature/god)

Categorical tags, like "Quotes," "Video," and "Music"

Fandom tags, like "dragon ball"

CONCEPT TAGS:

Castor & Cain - Tarble and Vegeta tag (dragon ball)

Table - I like Tarble so he gets his own tag. Mutually exclusive with the previous tag

Stay GORE-geous!

[lanonima]

I have finished Jing Wei Qing Shang so it’s update time again~

I’m taking a few days off before I start anything new, but the next thing on my list is about a quarter of the length so it won’t take long once I start.

Romantic - Fucky is not how risque a work is but rather my opinion of the attitude/quality of the main relationship, the way the characters interact with respect to one another. I like a lot of stuff in fiction but if you’re easily made uncomfortable, stay towards the top half.

Easy reading - Plot-heavy is how I personally consider the plot’s intricacy and successful implementation, regardless of the author’s intention.

Jing Wei Qing Shang

Author: Please Don’t Laugh

Quality: 9.8

Enjoyment: 10

Comments: I have to start off by saying: damn girl. The improvement evident in this book is absolutely insane. A few minor issues prevent me from giving it a 10 out of 10 – her transitions are still extremely abrupt, the ending is slightly weak and some plot points remain unresolved, and her use of narrative repetition is too heavy-handed for my taste. Other than that, this book leaves me almost speechless. Very similar to Female General and Eldest Princess, there are many similar themes and events. But while I thought FGEP was fairly cute, I like this one way better. If you like angst, political intrigue, and lesbians, you should definitely read this book. I have no doubt that Please Don’t Laugh will continue to improve in the future, and I really look forward to following her career.

Would I read it again: 100%, I absolutely intend to read this again sometime in the future. It's very long and very dense but delightful and ultimately worth it.

My reviews for everything else are under the cut.

Mo Dao Zu Shi

Author: MXTX

Quality: 9.5

Enjoyment: 10

Comments: I have a huge emotional connection to this novel. There are some weak parts, the tension isn’t quite even, she’s pretty terrible at erotic scenes and not great at fight scenes…but that being said, I love the characters and some of the plot points really ripped my heart out. This is a novel that’s really driven by the characters so if you’re a character-focused person like me, definitely look into it (as if we all don’t already know it lmao). I really, really love this story. Every single adaptation of it has also been great, but the novel is still my favorite. It was my introduction to xianxia novels too, so you can say it changed my life!

Would I read it again: I’ve already read it twice, and consumed every adaptation (sometimes also multiple times)

Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System

Author: MXTX

Quality: 6

Enjoyment: 5

Comments: I’m not much of one for comedy and, as I discovered, not really into system novels either. Clearly weaker than MXTX’s later work, many of the characters are somewhat bland, she hasn’t quite found her groove yet. It’s not my style but the fandom is hilarious and the fans constantly produce content that I actually do find entertaining so overall I still have some fond feelings for this one, even if not for the source material.

Would I read it again: I found a different translation and am willing to try again in the future, I’m also willing to watch the donghua. But I can’t guarantee I’ll like it any more than previously.

Tian Guan Ci Fu

Author: MXTX

Quality: 10

Enjoyment: 10

Comments: I love this book…but not as much as I love Mo Dao Zu Shi. I think the plot is somewhat typical, however the characters are great once again (though maybe slightly less deep than MDZS), and her use of thematic repetition and foreshadowing are killer. Actually, I liked this book more the second time around because it just hits differently. Definitely the best of MXTX’s couples, they are so soft and sweet. Very long, but worth it.

Would I read it again: I already have, was personally translating the manhua before I hurt my arms, and am eagerly awaiting the donghua this fall!

The Villain’s White Lotus Halo

Author: A Big Roll of Toilet Paper

Quality: 10

Enjoyment: 10

Comments: Fuck, I love this one so much…..even though it’s also a system novel. But that part is in it so rarely that it reads more like pure fantasy. I love the characters, I love the plot, I love the way the relationship is developing. Oh yeah, the translation isn’t even complete but I already purchased not only the original from JJWXC but also the print edition. I’ve even drawn fanart for it, which is so unlike me. Every time a chapter comes out, I’m ruined for the rest of the day, I can’t think about anything else. Good fight scenes, which is uncommon. My favorite danmei novel so far.

Would I read it again: I fully intend to once the translation is complete, and also plan to read it in Chinese later (I’ve already read certain parts in Chinese hahaha but not the whole thing)

2Ha (Husky and his White Cat Shizun)

Author: Meatbun Doesn’t Eat Meat

Quality: 8

Enjoyment: 10

Comments: 2Ha is not for the faint of heart, it’s very horny, and violent, and has a lot of questionable content. However I love it so much. The story and characters are great, Meatbun really has me by the heart. The writing is a little more on the casual side but it hardly matters because the story is so great. Good fight scenes. Chu Wanning is like, the ultimate Me™ character, I hate how much I adore him. If you read this, just go into it knowing that it’s a long emotional journey, the characters are very dynamic and there’s a lot of character development.

Would I read it again: Same as the above, I plan a reread when the translation is done and have read parts in Chinese and might read the whole thing again later. Cautiously eager about the up-coming live action and donghua.

Di Wang Gong Lue

Author: Yu Xiao Lanshan

Quality: 2

Enjoyment: 9

Comments: This is one of the most terribly written things I’ve ever read, but I’m a character girl and the characters and ways they interact fucking kill me. I’m constantly entertained….although I don’t think this is actually supposed to be a comedy. If I were going to treat myself and like, take a bubble bath and read something that made me laugh, this is exactly the sort of trashy romance I would want to read. Technically a political intrigue story but it’s so abrupt and full of holes, are any of us reading it for the actual plot? The donghua is on Youtube, I watched it first and recommend others to do the same. If you can handle that, you can handle the book because it’s exactly the same in quality, just gayer. I do love the main couple a lot, the set-up surrounding the relationship is great, and the side characters are also really fun.

Would I read it again: Probably not, but I’m still having fun with it. I watched the donghua and read a bit of the manhua as well, which has very cute art and is probably my favorite version of the story.

Liu Yao

Author: Priest

Quality: 6

Enjoyment: 7.5

Comments: I really struggled getting into this one, it took me about 25 chapters to get invested. Initially I had rated it a 6 in enjoyment but after careful thought, I realized that even though it was so hard for me, it probably is my favorite Priest novel and I really do love the main couple so much. Her side characters also seem to be slightly stronger than usual in this one. Decent plot, not too much or too little. It seems really chill to me, doesn’t provoke much of an emotional reaction but I do think it’s very sweet, which is nice sometimes too.

Would I read it again: No, but I think (?) it’s supposed to get some kind of tv adaptation (drama or donghua, not sure), and if that happens, I’ll watch it.

Didn’t Know the General was Female

Author: Rong Qing

Quality: 4

Enjoyment: 6

Comments: Not the greatest thing I’ve ever read, but cute. It’s short, and a little lesbian fluff is never a bad thing. Writing is a bit weak and the plot is basic, but the characters are enjoyable and I liked it overall.

Would I read it again: No.

Wrong Way to a Demon Sect Leader

Author: Yi Zhi Dayan

Quality: 4

Enjoyment: 7

Comments: Again, not the greatest in writing or plot, it’s a bit shallow. But I found the idea of it to be entertaining, and actually liked it more than I would have assumed. It’s fairly short and cute, like a good summer beach read.

Would I read it again: Probably not, but possibly, if the stars align.

Female General and Eldest Princess

Author: Please Don’t Laugh

Quality: 7

Enjoyment: 6

Comments: A very good first effort, but the writing is a bit weak. It’s slow to start and I don’t think the political plotline is spectacularly strong. Some things were left unexplained, and her sense of battle tactics and fight-writing were very confusing, definitely room for improvement. I don’t think it’s as good as people say, but she writes with the air of someone who will continue to improve. And also, a lesbian author writing lesbian stories so that’s a plus. Overall I enjoyed the experience, this story is definitely worth a read.

Would I read it again: Maybe, but probably not.

Sha Po Lang

Author: Priest

Quality: 7

Enjoyment: 7

Comments: Originally I rated this one higher, but on later thought I realized that I actually enjoyed Liu Yao more. I personally have issues with the way Priest writes, and this book showed a lot of them. Characters were okay, I did like the main couple, but side characters were weak as usual. The plot is pretty good, though not great, and I think some of the pacing is off. Some descriptions were confusing, but that could be a translation issue. Overall, still a pretty good political drama, but I would say that of the three I read, this was the Priest novel with the least impact on me.

Would I read it again: No. But I will watch the live action if it ever gets made.

Guardian

Author: Priest

Quality: 6

Enjoyment: 5

Comments: I love Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan, thought the plot was interesting, and there were some enjoyable moments. But it has all the problems I usually have with Priest in addition to some choices that offend me as a queer reader. I spent about 75% of the time reading while pissed off. And actually the fact that it had a happy ending kinda bummed me out because I love a good tragedy. Overall, I can only give it an average score. If you like Priest, you’ll like this one too. I’m not a tv person but I binged the hell out of the live action, I really loved it, so I was sort of disappointed that the source material didn’t seem as strong as I had assumed.

Would I read it again: No, but I will happily watch the live action again some day.

[dilfdoctordoom]

On Tom Taylor, the Current Nightwing Run & Ableism

I did mention I was gonna do a post about it, so here we are. There are some things I want to make clear before we begin: the issue exploded on Twitter on the very first day of disabled Pride month; disabled people have been discussing the ableism in Taylor’s Nightwing run since it began; nobody has blamed Taylor for what happened to Barbara in 2011. We are, however, blaming him for the way she is written in his series during 2021. 

I am also going to be discussing the ableism in the fandom in this post. The reactions I have seen, from here to Twitter to TikTok, are showing not only a great misunderstanding of the situation, but a purposeful misunderstanding. The very real reasons disabled people are angry right now have been twisted to make us seem ridiculous and overly sensitive and I cannot help but feel that is very intentional.

Another quick addition: disabled people are not a monolith. Barbara Gordon spent over 20 years as a paralyzed wheelchair user. Stating (and I would like to note, never truly showing) that she is a part time cane user now is still erasing her disability. These things are not interchangeable.

So, with that out of the way, let’s begin.

Tom Taylor’s run is ableist. That is a fact of this situation. He made the active choice to include a version of Barbara Gordon that is ableist caricature. Story wise, the role that Barbara plays could have easily been filled by anyone else. There is no real season, within the narrative and outside of it, for Taylor to include this version of Barbara Gordon, who has received a decade of criticism from disabled people. It’s very well known that this iteration is problematic, to put it kindly, and Taylor is aware of that. 

He made the active decision to include her, anyway, showing, at the very least, that he is passively, if not actively, ableist. Passive ableism is still ableism and disabled people are allowed to take issue with that.

That alone is reason enough for disabled people to be angry. But that’s not why things exploded on Twitter.

On July 1st, the very first day of disabled pride month, the new design for Barbara was dropped. After months of teasing Barbara’s return to a wheelchair using Oracle (see: Last Days of The DC Universe, Batgirl (2016), etc), they debuted... a new Batgirl costume that the artist has openly said draws inspiration from the Burnside suit.

There’s a lot of issues to unpack here, so let’s start small: the issue with consciously calling back to Burnside. The Burnside era of Batgirl stories was... beyond awful. The villain of the series’ first arc, was an AI based on Barbara’s brain patterns when she was disabled. It was evil because of all the rage and pain Barbara felt. The actual Barbara, on the other hand, was good -- because she was able bodied. Because her PTSD had been tossed aside. It was a horrifically ableist era that drove the idea that Barbara’s life was terrible when she was disabled; that it was some horrible, twisted secret.

Comics have kept that narrative going. Barbara is seen hiding books on chronic pain; she reacts aggressively to the mere idea that she could be in a wheelchair again, acting like it would be weakness. Whereas Barbara had once been Oracle not because of, but in spite of, her disability, who was fantastic representation for the disabled community, she now acts like it is the most shameful thing in her life.

To call back to Burnside is to call back to that ableism and make no critique of it. If anything, it’s to embrace the ideas of that era.

There is also the design itself to consider. Many people have pointed out the inclusion of a back brace, as if that saves it from ableism -- it does not. Any person who has ever worn a back brace can take one look at this design and know that they did not consult a disabled person. Hell, by how impractical that thing is, I doubt they even Googled a picture of a back brace.

It’s a superficial acknowledgement that Barbara is supposed to be disabled. Something that was apparently thrown in to appease the numerous complaints of Barbara being able bodied; something that no one working on it put any effort into.

When it comes to aids, this is not a new thing for Barbara in Infinite Frontier. She’s said to be using a cane occasionally, that we got a better look at in Batman: Urban Legends, and as any cane user can tell you... that is not a cane that could feasibly be used. It’s another pathetic attempt to acknowledge that Barbara is supposed to be disabled, without actually doing anything of importance.

[IMAGE ID:  A segmented cane with a tri-pointed handle with a wrist strap. There is a stripe across the sections to connection them, labelled “solar battery charger buttons”. The text reads: “telescoping antenna doubles as cane or weapon if needed”. END ID]

Dropping this design (which we have now established to be problematic) on the very first day of disabled pride month is a sickening move. The very first day, and DC has doubled down on their disability erasure, thrown in superficial things like a back brace to act like it’s fine.

Tom Taylor is definitely involved in this, whether you like it not. No, he is not in anyway responsible for the events of the New 52 and what they did to Barbara Gordon, but that does not absolve him of blame for what is currently being done to her in his run.

When the design dropped, it started trending due to disabled fans reactions. To be clear: we were directly calling out the ableism in this design. This was Tom Taylor’s response:

[IMAGE ID: A tweet from TomTaylorMade that says: “Hey, @Bruna_Redono_F I think our new Batgirl suit is getting some attention.” He then adds a winky face emoji and tags @jesswchen and @drinkpinkkink. Attached are a screenshot showing that Batgirl is trending in the United States and a picture of the design itself. END ID]

This is him, bragging about how the disabled community reacted. Perhaps before this tweet, you could’ve made an argument that he was not ableist, but after he flaunted the fact that disabled people were rightly furious over this, like it was something to be proud of? No. If you are defending him, you are a part of the problem.

Taylor has included ableist writing in his Nightwing run, beyond the inherent ableism that comes with the current iteration of Barbara Gordon (whose inclusion, yet again, is his decision).

[IMAGE ID: A panel from Nightwing #79. Barbara and Dick are standing in his apartment. Barbara is saying: “I have some pretty new technology holding my spine together. I’m happy to do most things -- eat pizza in the park, take down low-level thugs -- but leaping from rooftops seems... unwise.” END ID]

What Barbara says in the panel above has bothered a lot of disabled people. The implication that she couldn’t “eat pizza in the park’ and “take down low-level thugs” without a spinal implant that conveniently erases her disability is... fucked up, to put it mildly. Those are both things that Barbara has done in a wheelchair. The first one is something wheelchair users can do and the implication that it’s not is beyond offensive.

But, let’s leave Barbara behind for a moment. I have previously mentioned that disabled people have been discussing the ableism present in this run long before July -- and that ableism is not only centred on Barbara. Dick is also a player in all this.

Dick Grayson was shot in the head. I don’t believe I need to retread the story, but just in case: Dick was shot in the head by KGBeast, developed amnesia from the event, and went by Ric Grayson for a long enough period in comics. If you have been active within the DC fandom for the past year or so, you know all about this controversial storyline and its fallout.

The Ric Grayson arc concluded itself the issue before Taylor became the writer for the series and ever since his tenure has begun, Taylor has completely ignored the reality of Dick being a disabled man. We understand this is comics, that things do not function the way they do in our world, but still -- it is clear that this gunshot wound to the head has affected Dick massively. We had an entire arc dedicated to how he struggled to find himself in the aftermath.

Taylor is choosing to write Dick as an able-bodied man, despite his canonical injuries and how they would impact his life.

This man is choosing to give empty gestures towards Barbara being a disabled woman (as discussed above, the completely dysfunctional back brace, etc) whilst writing her as able-bodied as possible. He writes both Dick and Barbara as able bodied as humanly possible. That is ableist. He is ableist. This is the same man that said he made a dog disabled ‘in honour of Barbara’. I do not think I need to elaborate on why that is bad.

The least he could’ve done, was get a sensitivity reader. We know that Taylor is not beyond getting people from marginalized communities to consult on his work (see: Suicide Squad), so why, when writing two characters that should be disabled, one that the disabled community have been criticising for a decade, does he not reach out to a single disabled person? A mere Google search could’ve improved the situation massively. In both the new design and the current writing, it is beyond clear that this is not just an able-bodied person writing it -- it’s an ableist person.

He could have listened to the numerous disabled fans that spoke out. Instead, he chose not only to refuse to do that, but to describe justifiable anger as ‘raging’. He treated us like we were crazy for daring to speak out about blatant ableism being parading around of us in our pride month.

Tom Taylor has failed to do the bare minimum and in doing so, he is, at very, very least, guilty of complicity. Again: passive ableism is still ableism.

The argument at hand is not just about Barbara Gordon and the continuing ableism that shines out from her current writing. The argument is about the treatment of disabled characters in his run. It has also become about the way he treats physically disabled people.

We also can’t have this conversation without acknowledging the fandom’s role in it all. I waited a day to write this up, to allow all the reactions to flood in... and I am sickened.

We have everything across the board. Able-bodied people that have actually listened to disabled people, who have supported us (which is deeply appreciated). Able-bodied people who may have had good intentions, but a skewed sense of the situation and perpetuating some of the more insidious lies being spread around (IE. that this is only about the new costume).

There are, obviously, the ableist reactions, though, that we will be discussing here. People deeming the current issues as ‘crazy’, calling disabled people ‘overly sensitive’ and ‘delusional’. Many people have completely glossed over the examples given for why Taylor, specifically, is ableist, and instead have resorted to telling disabled people that we are wrong and should be mad at DC instead.

It’s important to note that Tom Taylor is an adult man. He doesn’t need a fandom to attack disabled people for daring to call him out. He is not the victim in this situation; he has, for quite a few disabled people, been the aggressor.

I have seen claims that Infinite Frontier is a ‘slow burn’, implying that disabled people need to patient... as if we have not waited a decade for less ableist writing. There is a complete refusal from able-bodied fans to actually listen to what disabled people are saying. They would much rather rush to the defence of the (honestly rather mediocre) current Nightwing run. 

Disabled fans know that comic book spaces are ableist. We know that both DC and Marvel and many of their writers are ableist. We are still allowed to be pissed as hell about it and acting like the current reaction being had right now is disabled people being ‘overdramatic’ is yet another example of how the able-bodied side of the fandom both refuses to listen to and undermine disabled people when we call out ableism.

We know it when we see it. We always do and we always will and we will always be able to recognize it far faster than an able-bodied person. If this many disabled fans are coming out and talking about an issue, calling it ableism, then it’s time for you shut up and listen.

Stop being a part of the problem and start supporting disabled fans for once.

[shititbe]

Anyway, Peter Parker is Bi, and I Won’t Be Convinced Otherwise.

Firstly, we have to get our bases covered. What exactly is Bi-sexuality? What is sexuality? 

Sexuality is defined as a persons identity in relation to gender(s) they are attracted to. Why is this important? Peter’s sexuality has never been specifically stated in the comics, nor in any other form of media. It’s assumed that he is straight because of his popular relationship with Mary Jane Watson in the comics, and the movies. 

Now that we have a bases for what exactly sexuality is and how it’s defined, let’s go over Peter’s partners. 

Obviously Peter and Mary Jane are a piece of comic book history. They eventually get married, though sadly, during the events of Civil War II (I think, don’t quote me) Peter and Mary Jane sell their marriage to Mephisto in order to save Aunt May

They later had their memories of their marriage restored, they have yet to get back together and it’s been a few issues if I remember correctly. Next we have Peter’s first, and most unfortunate love, Gwen Stacy. 

They dated in high school where she later died. Of course, Peter has dated other people (namely, Black Cat, Betty Brant, Carol Danvers, Anna Maria, Cindy Moon, Lian Tang, and so on). Since we have his known history of heterosexuality out there, we need to move onto another important part of Peter’s Bi-sexuality. An important implication in any media, especially queer media though, and that is the homoerotic subtext. 

Homoerotic subtext is important part of queer culture, a lot of the time it’s used to portray a characters queerness without saying it out (see: Dorian Gray by Oscar Wild or Great Gatsby By Fitz). In current decade, homoerotic subtext is often used for queer baiting or creating more realistic male friendships. 

So what’s the difference between someone creating a health male friendship (or a character comfortable in their heterosexuality) and implying a character is queer? 

Here are some examples of a healthy male character, both with himself and his friendships.  

Clearly he’s just taking the shit, and messing around with Reed. He’s comfortable enough (or as I like to see it, so traumatized because good god this guy has been Spider-Man since he was 15 good god that’s awful. He probably doesn’t care anymore). Here are some examples of Peter a little more than just a straight man shooting the shit. 

This has three meanings. Two of which I will take, one of which is just deeply embarrassing. Despite Peter’s history with humiliating events, I don’t think he would get his own spunk in his eyes. Leaving the other two options, he has experience getting spunk of - some kind - in his eyes, and/or he’s taking the shit again. Which is very likely. 

Kissing a cop? For....no reason? A little not so hetero of you Peter. 

You can practically hear his disappointment in his voice. Also could be read as taking the shit, but why would you. 

Making out with The Thing? Gay. 

This one is the most important. Peter is clearly tired, annoyed by his teammates (see wolverine being wolverine in the corner). Shits on fire, its mid battle, and Peter has the audacity to mutter “I hate men” to himself. The only people I have every heard say this in that was are lgbt and straight women, and lgbt men. This kind of expression only comes from people who date, or deal with men in a completely different world than straight men. Straight men use this phrase as an endearment, “Oh have you seen Bill today, I hate that guy.” “Man Jerry can do so many push-ups, I hate that guy.” Very different language, and implications (I also, obviously don’t know how straight men speak). 

 Now that we’ve gone over our bases, and homoerotic subtext. How else could we gather that Peter Parker is Bi? There are many tropes in media - queer media - that allure to a characters queerness. Like homoerotic subtext, there are ways to tell an audience something without specifically saying it. 

This is a gay wedding Peter went to in the recent comics. I don’t know if any of you have been to a gay wedding recently, but Peters face (the first panel above the wedding) is the same exact face I made at my first gay wedding. It’s the face of excitement for not only the couple, but for yourself. The hope that maybe, you too can actually be in a same-sex relationship. 

I’m also going to allure to queer tropes as stated previously. Such as the real, and fictional trope of lgbt people sticking together. Thousands of years of belittlement and oppression will make groups of people not want to wonder out, and subconsciously look for others like them. 

Johnny Storm (and Wade Wilson since he comes in later but I couldn’t find a picture of the confirmation) is cannon Bi-sexual (Pan-sexual). 

Their friendship is deeply homoerotic as most queer friendships in media and real life are. Johnny flirts with Peter on many occasions (saying his ideal women is a female version of Peter, inviting him over to watch is sex tape, and so on) and of course oh my god they were roommates. 

Some other popular queer tropes are: Found Family, Soulmates, and Enemies to lovers. Because it’s superhero related, this includes the Identity Porn tag as well.  

Peter Parker and Wade Wilson have a famous Love/Hate relationship. I mean, how could you expect anything less when your first meeting with this known mercenary is him throwing your civilian persona out the window of a car. Now, Wade still doesn’t know Peter is Spider-Man in the current run of comics, but that doesn’t make anything about them any less gay. 

For the Found Family Trope: 

Because it’s Peter and Wade, their whole development can be read as Enemies to Friends to Lovers, so I wont bother backing that up because, uh, it speaks for itself. One panel really does to add that cause though 

I’m not going to explain what a free-pass list is.

The Soulmates part I know I have to back up. 

For SoulMates:  

Now this panel requires a little explanation. Wade kills Peter, not knowing he’s Spider-Man. Weasel takes over for Peter (they don’t know its him) so no one suspects he’s dead. Deadpool begins to feel guilty he killed his best buds best bud, so he tries to bring Peter back to life. Losing his stunning good looks (switching back to how he looked before Weapon X making his wife Shiklah estranged (then she married Dracula but thats beside the point)). Spider-Man is Peter’s “true self” or patronus for Harry Potter fans. Wade is stupid and hasn’t connected the dots yet, effectively making him the biggest simp in history. Seriously, who destroys their marriage for the c h a n c e for getting some with their idol? A Simp, that’s who.

Peter forgives Wade for killing him (and for saving him from killing their genetic daughter itsy-bitsy). If someone killed me they better be hot as fuck before I even thing about forgiving them. Ignoring Peter’s super sexy forgiving nature, uh, he’s kinda simping. 

Died in each others arms. Nothing else is needed. 

They’re heartmates. From what I read, the feeling has to be mutual in order for it to work. The witches (long story, comics are hard to explain) that captured deadpool were expecting his wife so they could get the headmistress back. Instead, they got Peter. Basically Heartmates = soulmates but chosen for you instead of chosen by you. 

To conclude my point: 

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. 

[ad-hawkeye]

HI HELLO MY OTOME BLOG IS A SIDEBLOG SO I AM COMING IN ANON FORM ALSO I HAVEN'T REACHED OUT BEFORE HI!!! THE ARTEM IS ACE HEADCANONS ARE MY EVERYTHING. MY ASEXUAL AND ARTEM STAN ASS LOVES EVERY SECOND OF THIS.

Fr I thought I never thought too hard ab why I headcanon him as ace bc I headcanon almost every character I like as ace (bc I can) but maybe that's why I was so attracted to Artem when I started the game? Like maybe that's why I became such a hardcore stan?

Because the vibes are SO THERE. I say this as a professional ace-spec vibe reader. You also mentioned in the tags of one of the posts that you headcanon him as grey romantic AND I ABSOLUTELY AGREE THE SIGNS AND THE VIBES ARE ALL THERE I LOVE THIS HEADCANON.

I think the most endearing thing for the aces is that he's always just so respectful and sweet and awkward and not pushy at all, as previously stated by other posts. I like to read stories or play otome games and rewrite scenes in my mind to take out any pushiness or sexual implications bc it makes me uncomfy and with Artem I don't have to rewrite it in my mind because he's already ideal. Like he is absolutely the kind of guy to be the most respectful and accepting ever about his partner being ace-spec even if he isn't. And that is so refreshing compared to almost every other otome guy I've read (and I've played a GOOD amount of otome games) where if I were to make a "reasons blank wouldn't date me" thing they would all be "I'm asexual and he's horny" so maybe the reason we gravitate towards Artem is the feeling that he would truly accept us? I don't even self insert in otome games but whenever there's sexual implication there's still that like, painful moment of realizing that the world at large isn't made for a-specs I guess??? And I've never not once had that with Artem. Sorry if that got too deep💀

ALSO SORRY THIS IS SO LONG I'M A HUGE FAN OF YOUR CONTENT AS AN ARTEM STAN THANK YOU FOR ALL THAT YOU DO❤️❤️❤️

!!! HI ANON!!! 💖 oh my gosh we are kindred spirits right down to our otome blogs being our side blogs </3 which. my apologies to anyone reading this for not following back or sending asks. i promise the limitations of a side blog are my sole reason!!

but oh my god YES, i am totally the same with ace headcanons. it isn’t even intentional! it’s just the way i think. i think i was initially drawn to artem because in the first few main story chaps he doesn’t actually do much besides invite her to join nxx and then stand there looking at her awkwardly sometimes.

his personal story locked me in with the advice book and introduction to his soft side. i do have a slight bias for tot’s personal stories and cards over the main story, though, simply bc the main story (by design) can’t “pick a side”, tends to not get mentioned in other stories, and sometimes feels like it was written by a different writing team?

regardless, i’m so happy to hear you agree on the gray-romantic take!!!! i specifically picked gray-romantic over demiromantic because while this is the first time he’s been romantically attracted to someone, he fell for her before there was any notable emotional connection. mc would fit the demi label a bit better me thinks hehe.

as for artem and the ace crack they stashed inside of him, you make really, REALLY good points here. holy shit, actually. i think you nailed it. i never realized JUST how often other otome games made me feel uncomfortable or left feeling like i was ‘different’. same goes for real life, i suppose. hasn’t happened while reading artem’s route though. even the cards with shameless.. er, fan service. they tend to, from what i’ve seen, play artem as the “whatever you want/whatever makes you comfortable” kind of guy, so your point holds really strong.

getting fully personal here, but i think about this a lot. tot is a popular otome game and even though there would be like. rioting in the streets if one of the boys wasn’t sexually attracted to the mc (which in itself is another depressing reminder of how different i am), it doesn’t really change the already released stories that we love. and it ultimately doesn’t matter what artem winds up being - bc like you said, ace vibes aside, artem being “respectful and accepting about his partner being ace-spec even if he isn’t” is genuinely just. such an accurate take. i can’t believe i haven’t thought of it from this perspective before. you’re so right. 

even on the flip side. if he was ace i could see him communicating with a non-ace partner about that whole situation and i just. man. i’ve called artem the antithesis to your typical otome boy as a joke before, and you know. maybe i was onto something, maybe this was the true ace crack all along HAHA.

OH MY GOSH DON’T APOLOGIZE AT ALL!!!! this was such a good read and it makes me so happy to know i’m not the only one in fandom like this 😭 😭 like i know i said this before, but i never actually intended on mentioning this hc bc i was unsure of how people would respond, especially since we all like this game for different reasons and i wanted to respect that, so i’m genuinely like. really really moved and happy HAHA!! i swear i’m gonna cry or something ;; 

AND AAA now you’re gonna REALLY make me cry, thank you for the kind words!!! i’m so happy people like my silly little rambles :’’] sincerely hope you have a wonderful day, anon!!! def feel free to message me anytime !! 💖💖💖

[cellydawn]

sans IS gaster (OR the sans theory masterpost pt. 2)

Part 1 || ❤️ || Part 3

(drawn by me, color by @magenteel​)

Previously, we discussed: Sans and his hand in the destruction of a world, his connection to Ice-E and Deltarune, and how he relates to Gaster. We’re going to continue the thread we left off on.

Section III - Gaster (Cont.)

Snails are mentioned too many times throughout Undertale for them to not be of any significance. As it turns out, they are pretty important in unraveling the mystery behind Gaster and Sans.

When you enter the area with Napstablook’s snail farm, you’ll notice that Sans’s theme is playing despite him not making an appearance. 

In one of Papyrus’s phone calls, he mentions that Sans recently bought snail-shaped pasta and says “He’ll probably fill them with hotdogs and slime.” Toriel also owns a book called “72 User for Snails”. Track 72 in the Undertale OST is “Song That Might Play When You Fight Sans”. That’s multiple times that Sans is likened to snails. 

Snails belong under the taxonomic class Gastropoda. Gasterpods.

These long pauses between words and phrases are not unlike how Gaster speaks.

Here is Gaster speaking with us in the opening sequence of Deltarune. And...

Now. Let’s move on.

(More under the cut.)

Mus_smile is the track that plays in room_gaster. This is my personal opinion, but the character that is the most strongly associated with smiles is Sans.

And Sans is certainly intelligent enough to be the prime suspect for being Gaster. The proper name for his namesake is Comic Sans Microsoft, or Comic Sans MS. MS can also be used as a suffix for the name of a person who has a degree in a Master of Science.

Sans also owns quantum physics books. The subject of Gaster’s scientific research is revealed in Entry #17: “photon readings negative”. Photons are described as a "quantum" of electromagnetic energy, and are of course within the realm of study under quantum physics.

Gaster, like Sans, is brilliant yet slow-working. Slower than Alphys, who is repeatedly noted to have nothing to show yet as the royal scientist in the eyes of the people and is shown to slack off constantly.

Gaster is implied to have perished, and I suppose he did, in a way, if these speculations do end up being correct. However, there’s something more to this statement. Ghosts are sort of in the realm of being not-alive, and Sans and Napstablook have a surprising level of comparability.

They both:

Get likened to “garbage”

Have connections to snails (Napstablook runs the snail farm)

Speak completely in lower case

Pretend to sleep and say “Z’s” out loud

Have black “sclera”

And the black sclera is also a topic of its own; it’s equated with the status of being brought back to life. Being “determined”. (See: Asriel and Undyne)

Undyne is especially suspect due to the strange right-eye-phenomenon she has in common with Sans, with spears shooting out of hers. Spears that are actually colored light blue, not unlike Sans’s eye. 

To recap: 

Sans and Gaster are heavily involved in Deltarune

They have been displaced from time and space

They have connections to snails

They are both doctors with knowledge in quantum physics

They both “fell” into the abyss

They both talk similarly

They are both slow

They are both characterized by their smile

They are both some degree of dead

Sans is Gaster or a significant piece of him. Sans has Gaster Blasters because they belong to him. If all prior conjecture proves true, he is and will be responsible for the destruction of a world or THE world within Deltarune. After all, the Latin definitions of “gaster” and “sans” are to destroy and to be without, respectively. 

That brings us to the next subject: why is Sans Sans? More specifically, why is that his name? Why even change his name?

Below is the Japanese version of the fun event with Sans’s phone call. It features completely different dialogue from its English counterpart. 

Am I Licca-chan? (Select No) Then from now on call me Sans. I need to check every once in a while. I won’t know when my name has changed. 

“Licca-chan” is a well-known Barbie-esque dress-up doll in Japan, so popular to the point where it is even used as a synonym for other dolls from different companies. Perhaps it implies that Sans is adaptable due to Licca-chan’s nature as a doll and how she is in a constant state of change to reflect the times. It also seems to be a pun on “liquor” because Sans was talking about beer in the English version. I tried to scour the Japanese fandom for clues, but they also seemed stumped. If anyone has any ideas on what this could mean, please let me know!

Regardless, “Sans” doesn’t seem to be his actual name. Perhaps his true name was Gaster...?

Additionally, If the player changes the name of the fallen child via going into the code, this message appears in the stats menu. The vernacular is very Sans-like, with his frequent use of question tags at the end of his sentences (I counted 14 huh’s from Sans).

Finally, let’s talk about the number six. We know that it’s Gaster’s number--All of the explicitly Gaster-related fun events trigger for fun values in the sixties, Gaster’s stats are all comprised of 6′s, Gaster’s “typer-value” is 666--you get the idea.

The concept art Toby drew for the Alarm Clock’s character screen features what is presumably Sans and the number six.

“The Choice”--the track that plays during Sans’s judgements--is “Undertale” slowed down by 666%.

Section IV - Angels and Demons (The “Why”)

In modern day culture, 666 is closely associated with the devil. The Book of Revelation (13:17-18) asserts that 666 is “the number of a man” (this is important, and we’ll come back to it later) and is “the number of the Beast”. The Beast is mentioned as “coming out of the abyss”. 

Sounds a lot like someone else we know, doesn’t it? And how fitting for Sans, the one who judges our sins and demands us “to burn in hell”.

But if we go further, the Beast of Revelation is described to have seven heads representing seven kings. The beast itself is an eighth king who is of the seven and "was and is not and shall ascend out of the bottomless pit, and go into perdition." 

Chara is an eighth of the seven fallen children. 

There’s something Chara, Sans, and Gaster all share, and it’s their association with demons.

Here is an excerpt from the Cutting Room Floor:

Among the four strings in version 1.0, the last one, designated by variable “demond”, stands out for two reasons. 

 The letter “d” is separate from the other letters denoting the demon variables--the rest, “x”, “y”, and “z” are in sequential alphabet order.

The speech pattern of the last string is different from the others. It has that signature question tag at the end of the sentence that a certain character is known for.

In version 1.001, the strings clearly reflect Chara’s speech pattern. This time, all the variables are in sequential order from “a” to “d”. 

Pieces of dialogue at the near-end of a genocide route from Chara and Sans. Recall that Chara is using the same “Now” from earlier with Gaster and Sans.

Chara makes a reference to Banana Yoshimoto's book “Kitchen”. Take note of the page number.

Chara is also linked to the number nine. It’s the highest achievable stat in-game. It’s the stat of the locket and real knife. It’s how much damage Chara deals. It’s also the number six flipped upside down. 

The connections are undeniable. 

And yet, it goes further. Let’s take a look at how Christmas comes in to play.

In Deltarune, there are a few references to it, the most foremost probably being the importance of Noelle Holiday as a character. We also get Lancer’s laugh and the joke with “Krismas”.

Back to Undertale, there is significant Christmas iconography represented by “Gyfmas” and Gyftrot (bearing a strong resemblance to Photoshop Flowey, the DT Extractor, and Gaster Blasters).

What I’d like to focus on is Santa.  Papyrus describes him as “a chubby, smiling man who loves to surprise people.” From the thank you note addressed to Santa we find in Sans’s room, we can assume that Sans is a Santa, at least to Papyrus. It’s pretty fitting, since Sans can be described as someone who “knows if [we’ve] been bad or good”. Maybe he can even tell if we’re sleeping or awake with how the Dark World appears to be linked with sleep and dreams (please read my theory on Sans being a Darkner for more on this).

So we can reasonably conclude that Sans presents himself as a friendly, child-oriented figure, in-line with the nature of Comic Sans, a font for children, and Ice-E, a mascot of a company marketed towards children.

…

Santa is an anagram of Satan. 

…

To recap: Gaster’s association with the number 666 marks him as a “demon”. Chara and Sans are also called demons and similarly have connections to the number 6. This is more evidence that Gaster and Sans is or used to be the same people, and Chara has some form of correspondence with them.

I failed to mention before that there is actually a second Beast of Revelation “from the Earth” with "two horns like a lamb”. From the “earth” like Flowey, with horns like Asriel. 

Asriel is most likely the “Angel” depicted in the prophecy within the scope of Undertale; he’s named similarly to Azrael, an angel of death, and one of his attacks is literally called “Angel of Death”. He also bears a striking resemblance to the Deltarune in his God of Hyperdeath form.

Surprise, surprise, he and Sans also share parallels. 

Let’s start with their introductions. “Flowey the flower”. “Sans the skeleton”. It’s a similarly alliterative greeting and they’re both using fake names.

Mirrored dialogue yet again...

…and similar meta-commentary.

These three characters--Sans/Gaster, Chara, and Flowey/Asriel--they have all fallen. Gaster fell into his creation. Chara fell into the Underground. Asriel had “fallen down”. (Sans and Papyrus are also the only sibling pair other than Chara and Asriel. I won’t talk about Papyrus in this part though because this thing is shaping up to be too long already.)

What does this mean for Sans? I have a personal theory.

Above the entryway of the Judgement Hall, there is a reversed Deltarune. The triangles are inverted and the wings are more bat-like. In the room where only Sans appears, the same room that plays a version of “Undertale” slowed down 666%.

I think Sans is a candidate for the Angel prophesized to destroy the world in Deltarune. I think he is Sans Serif, a seraph. He fell into his experiment and became a “fallen” angel, a demon. 

The Angel’s Heaven mentioned alongside, on the other hand...  Heaven can also be used to refer to God. Dog is an anagram of God. 

Sans has many, many connections with dogs, especially one Annoying Dog. More on this next time.

Part 1 || ❤️ || Part 3

[mymelodyheart]

Save The Date Chapter 5 ~Roses and Thunder~

Previously in Maybe Baby ...

"How do ye feel?" 

She rolled over and summoned herself to tell him what's on her mind. "I-I feel good ..." 

The light in his eyes dulled at her dithering. "There's a but coming. Tell me what's bothering ye. Maybe I can help," he offered.

She shut her eyes."There's something I've meant to ask you. I know it's a big ask, but ..."

"Out with it, Sassenach," he pressed gently.

She held on to their connection generated by the intimacy of the moment. "Do you think you can take some time off to come to London with me for Hawkin's book signing? It's just that ...I-I really need you to be there ...by my side."

To her surprise, a slow smile formed his lips. "I can do that."

She let out a sigh of relief but wished she could articulate to him why she wanted him to come other than the fact she loved having him by her side. She reasoned there had been enough revelation for one day, but she knew it was just a feeble excuse. She needed to come clean even if her troubles seemed inconsequential, but it would have to be for another time. 

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

Tumblr link

  Tom found a vacant slot in the parking area at Inverness airport and neatly pulled in between a van and an SUV. Claire took out her compact mirror from her bag and checked her hair. It was a muggy day, and she'd heard on the news earlier it was forecast to rain later this afternoon. She sighed as she smoothed the unruly tendrils back. There was no use. Her dark curls almost always went impossibly frizzy in the humidity. Feeling way too chipper to worry about the state of her hair, she quickly dabbed on some lipgloss and checked her phone. 

"We're slightly early," Claire observed absentmindedly. "Are you sure you don't mind tagging along for my dress fitting?"

When Claire had heard Mary Hawkins was on the same flight as Annalise, she'd offered the author a lift with an invitation to attend her dress fitting before heading to Broch Mordha. Mary had eagerly accepted and even suggested Tom be their chauffeur for the morning, knowing there would be bubblies served. 

Tom grinned as he turned off the ignition. "I've freed up my schedule for Mary. So wherever Mary goes, I go. I'm sure it'd be an interesting experience to witness a gaggle of lassies gush over dresses and gowns."

Claire laughed. "Don't worry, my friend Geillis will be there with her boyfriend. He'll keep you company. And there'll be smoked salmon, crowdie and oatcake canapés to ease the pain and boredom of putting up with us."

"Fine by me as long as naebody asks my opinion on anything that has to do with gowns."

"I wouldn't dream of doing that. It would be a fruitless endeavour."

He let out a hearty chuckle. "Shall we then?"

Claire gave up on curbing the idiotic smile forming on her face as she stepped out of the car and almost skipped alongside Tom. Her cheery disposition hadn't anything to do with the excitement of seeing her bridal dress but more to do with just having left behind a six-foot-three inch aroused male lying in a tangle of sheets, wheedling her for one last quickie before he went to work. 

Glancing around with a dreamy sigh, she realised she was lagging behind, and Tom was already holding the entrance door open for her. She quickened her pace and slid past him, hoping he hadn't noticed any tell-tale sign of her dirty thoughts.

Resolved to concentrate on today's events, she allowed Tom to steer her through the throng of crowds while she went through her mental checklist, reminding herself of items required, things to be done, and essential points to be considered for the day ahead. Mrs Abercombie from Juneberry Boutique was closing her bridal shop for the whole morning to accommodate her second dress fitting, and someone had arranged for food and drinks to be served for their small party. Jenny, her future sister-in-law, should be there by the time they arrived as well as Geillis, her friend from Glasgow who would be accompanied by her police boyfriend, Finlay. If Claire had anything to say about it all, she thought it was all too much of a big fuss for just a dress fitting, but she'd long ago decided to go along with it if it would keep everyone happy and off her and Jamie's back.

Today everyone was in a good place and thrilled to be part of her upcoming nuptials. She should be more grateful for her friends and family's efforts to make her wedding special. After all, this was an exciting time, and it was almost her duty to enjoy herself. Annalise and Mary would arrive any moment, and it was time to loosen up a bit and take part in the fun.

..........

Jamie grabbed a chilled bottle of mineral water from the cool box and leaned back against a tree, glancing up at the sky. It wasn't midday yet, and already the air felt sticky and oppressive. Heavy thick clouds were forming, and by the looks of it, he was pretty sure a thunderstorm would be due soon. There were still heaps of work to be done before the rain came, but he allowed himself to take a breather and cool down, making way for his thoughts to flow. 

The weekend had ended well, better than he'd expected or hoped for. Quentin had obviously enjoyed his visit at Lallybroch, so much so he'd stayed there for the night and didn't return to the cottage until Jamie had been about to leave for work. Not that he minded having Quentin around, but the time on their own had given Jamie and Claire ample opportunity to reconnect and smooth out any doubts between them. At the mention of babies, his shock reaction had caused Claire distress, and Jamie hadn't liked seeing her upset for one bit. When he'd reassured her his response had nothing to do with not wanting bairns and that he needed more time before embarking on parenthood, she'd seem placated and been her usual charming self for the rest of the weekend. 

Suddenly remembering Claire's schedule for the day, he wondered if she was at the boutique already for her dress fitting and if she was having fun. Jamie hoped she was because she deserved every simple pleasure life had to offer after the year of ups and downs they'd had.

His phone ringing brought him back to the present. Pulling it out from his pocket, he wasn't surprised to see Claire's name popped up on his screen. Whenever he thought about her, more often than not, she called. It often seemed as if they read each other's minds. 

"Sassenach!" he answered. "How is it going?" 

"Mary and Annalise arrived on time. So all good. I'm in the changing room at the moment." 

"Mmm, dinnae put anything on just yet ...I'll be right there," he teased. 

"Sorry, but Mrs Abercombie is about to come in and help me with the bustier. I swear to God, I think she'll enjoy putting me in this torture device. I wish I hadn't eaten that greasy breakfast uncle Lamb whipped up for us yesterday. I feel bloated." 

Jamie laughed. "Ach dinnae fash. There's more meat on a butcher's pencil than on ye, lass." 

"Actually, I called to find out if uncle Lamb made it back. He's not answering his phone." 

"Saw him this morning. He told me he's feeling a bit rough, whatever that means. I presume he had a bit to drink and will be taking it easy today." 

"Good," she sighed in relief. "He's got a flight tomorrow, and I've been worried about him all morning. You and I know, Uncle Lamb, Murtagh and alcohol never mix well. The only thing that kept me from stopping by Lallybroch this morning was knowing Ellen would have taken good care of him." 

"Aye, there's that. If anything untoward had happened, we would have found out soon enough. So stop worrying and enjoy yer day with yer mates." 

"And how are you feeling today?" 

Jamie grinned as he thought of their vigorous activity between the sheets last night and this morning. "If ye must know, ye've worn me out. I'm totally knackered." 

"Is that so?" Claire's voice lowered a notch. "If that's the case, you and I should have a night off tonight. Maybe watch a film for a change." 

"Perhaps. But I doubt if ye'll be able to concentrate long enough to watch a film without yer hands creeping into my pants." 

A sound of incredulity passed her lips, making him smile. "Oy! You seem to have a short memory. I haven't forgotten the way ye were begging me to come back to bed this morning after I came out of the shower. Or do you need reminding?" 

"I only begged ye to come back to bed because ye were looking at me like ye wanted to have me for breakfast. And here I thought ye needed a bit of push to take what ye want." 

"Unbelievable!"

"And I love ye." Jamie heard feminine chatter in the background, and he knew he'd taken enough of her time. "Go, Sassenach and have some fun," he said. "Give me a call when ye're back." 

"Will do. Love you too."

..........

Claire was sprawled faceup on the chaise longue, squirming and fidgeting with the edging of her bustier in the hope to try and get air into her system. Not even Nat King Cole singing L-O-V-E through the shop's speakers could get her in a love-up mood. "Jesus, this wasn't this tight during my first fitting. I'll probably have to buy a new set of bridal lingerie."

Mrs Abercombie pulled the curtain that divided the dressing room and the reception area where Tom was sat with Geillis' boyfriend, Finlay. The boutique owner frowned at Claire. "Ye must have gained weight, lass. Did ye get yersel' pregnant by any chance?"

"Wot?" She struggled up into a sitting position with the help of Annalise. "God, no! Of course not. I've just over-indulged a bit over the last few days. I'm a writer, and writers have weird eating habits."

"Weel, that's always good to know in advance," Mrs Abercombie said, bustling about. "We still have plenty of room for alteration and one more dress fitting before the big day." 

Annalise gave Claire a sympathetic look. "Hey, I'm here for a week. We'll get you in tip-top shape in no time. We'll join a fitness program."

Claire groaned out loud. She had never been into exercise or fitness anything, even though it was Jamie's thing.

"Not to worry," Mrs Abercombie clucked, hanging the plastic garment bag that contained her wedding dress on a hook. "That's what dress fittings are for, and that's why I insisted on having yer dress made two sizes bigger."

Geillis, Claire's fiery red-haired friend, looked over with critical eyes as she popped open a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. The Champagne lightly spewed over the top in her distraction but caught it in time when she poured the fizzing alcohol into the neatly lined coupe glasses. "It's supposed to be a bit uncomfortable, Claire," Geillis reasoned. "That's the price of looking fabulous on yer special day. I promise ye, it'll be worth it when Jamie gets a load of yer awesome tits."

Claire tugged at the mesh panel of her bustier and grimaced. "He's got a load of them plenty of times already, and he still can't get enough."

Mary cackled as she grabbed a Champagne and offered a glass to Claire. "That's why he's marrying ye."

Claire took a sip of her bubbly and handed it back. "Ta, but I need a clear head for this. And speaking of Jamie and tits ..."

"Hello, excuse me!" Jenny interrupted, slapping her clipboard against her thigh. "We're talking about my brother here."

Mary shoved a glass of Champagne towards Jenny. "Oh, drink up and lighten up a bit, Jen! We're mainly talking about Claire's tits here and speaking of ...I remember once Ian saying he sleeps best when his head is resting on your delicate pillows of love. You didn't seem to mind then."

Jenny's eyes widened, and before she could come up with some rejoinder, Mary had already disappeared through the curtains and slipped into the front room.

Claire continued to tug and fidget. "What I was trying to say is ...when it comes to boobs, it just goes to prove that men can concentrate on two things at once. That's men's selective focusing for you!" She fell back once more onto the chaise longue. When Annalise offered her a hand, Claire shook her head, determined to get on her feet on her own. She knew she could do it if only the boning structure didn't painfully dig into her skin. She tried to sit upright again but struggled. "Shit, I'll never get up from here."

"Turn on yer tummy, hen," Geillis suggested while plating canapés.

Claire did as she was told, pushed up and slid backwards off the ornate sofa. "Ah, that's better. Now I need someone to pick me up and plonk me into the dress."

"No need ...just step over here, pet, and we'll do the rest," Mrs Abercombie assured, pointing at the circular, elevated platform. "And please stand with yer back to the mirror."

Claire nodded and climbed onto the raised surface, feeling suddenly conscious of her half-naked state. Wrapping her arms around her, she tried not to fidget as she anticipated the next brand new torture.

Mrs Abercombie shook her finger at Claire's friends. "Remember, no comments until we've fitted the dress properly and Claire has seen the result."

The girls nodded like good little girl scouts, their lips twitching in an effort to suppress their amusement.

As Claire waited patiently for Mrs Abercombie's assistant to take out the wedding dress from the garment bag and smooth out the fabric, she glanced over at her future sister-in-law. "Alright, Jenny, you said you wanted to give me the low down of the wedding details. Let's all hear about it."

"Right. Wedding details! I thought you'd never ask." Jenny reached out for her leather satchel bag and pulled out a binder. "Let's see what we have here..." Taking a sip of her Champagne, she opened a folder that revealed colourfully tabbed sheets and scanned the pages. "We'll skip the wedding guests part for now since the replies are still coming in." She flipped on to the next page as Annalise and Geillise gathered behind Jenny and peered over her shoulders. "Wedding favours! As we've already discussed, all welcome gifts will come in woven baskets decorated with tartan patterned ribbons. Male guests will receive a miniature engraved quaich pewter, and for the ladies, a silver dragonfly hair comb. All baskets for adults will contain an Oxford treat box with assorted dinky chocolates, a wee bag of tablet fudge, a packet of wildflower meadow seed and a couple of bottles of miniature single malt, personalised with the bride and groom's names. As for the bairns, they'll receive various sweets, biccies and an activity and game bag to keep them occupied."

"Wow! The wedding favours sound marvellous, Jen," Claire said as she stepped into the wedding dress that was being held out for her. "I would never have thought of those things. I'm bloody useless when it comes to organising stuff like that."

Jenny smiled genuinely for the first time that morning. "I'm glad you like it, Claire."

"Of course, I love it! How about the videographer and photographer? Uncle Lamb has constantly been harping about it."

"It's sorted!" Jenny waved a pen in the air. "We've locked in Gregor McLellan. He's excellent and very sought after."

Claire had never heard of the name, but whoever he was, he sounded expensive. Sucking in her stomach, she straightened her back for Mrs Abercombie as she felt the back zip tug. "Anything else?"

"Well, we've already discussed the caterers and the menu, and that's already agreed on. Mrs Fitz will be making the cake, and she will get in touch with either me or ye to arrange a date for some cake sampling. As for the drinks, Da will organise the open bars and beverages."

"Sweet heavens! All I need to do now is give Jamie a nudge into deciding what he'll wear. He doesn't want to have anything custom made for him. He says he has a couple of kilts and a few formal suits tuck away in Lallybroch."

"Oh, that! That's taken care of. Willie and Murtagh will make sure yer Jamie scrubs up well on yer wedding day."

Claire let out a sigh of relief. Though Willie was outdoorsy like his brother, he had a refined taste when it came to formalwear. At least, she could rest easy knowing Jamie was in good hands. That sorted, for now, she refocused on other matters. "How about the guys at the marquee hire? The Grants, isn't it? Do we have any more updates from them?"

"Aye, the Grants. They're on the case, alright. The latest email I got says they'll arrive at Lallybroch four days prior to the big day to set the wedding tent up. Helpful guys, the lot of them, if I may say so. They've even advised me on how much square footage we'll need based on the number of guests and caterers. Of course, not to forget, the size of the dancefloor and the number of persons in the band." 

Claire did a semi-whirl. "Band? Couldn't we just hire a DJ or something? I'm kind of fond of pop music and oldies but goldies."

Jenny bit her lower lip. "Yer uncle Lamb insisted on a ceilidh band. But they're not only folk and bluegrass musicians. They're a function band and have some modern and pop repertoires up their sleeves as well. They're quite good and have outstanding reviews online. If ye want, I'll send ye some Youtube links of their gigs."

"What's the name of the band?"

Jenny grinned. "Papa Shandy and the Drams. A great name, isn't it? Quentin personally picked and booked them. Ever heard of them?"

Claire shook her head in response and glanced over at Geillis and Annalise. They merely nodded their approval and uttered, "cool name." Though her friends could be opinionated at times, she was surprised they haven't shared any of their thoughts or offered any input. From what Claire could garner, they seemed impressed with the details so far as well as her future sister-in-law's meticulousness and attention to detail. If Claire wasn't mistaken, she was quite certain this was Jenny's way of making amends after their relationship had taken off to a bad start. And the fact that they were moving forward from the past gave Claire hope for their budding friendship.

"Well, sounds like you have everything under control," Claire smiled, making a mental note to buy Jenny something special.

"Getting there," she sighed, ticking off some list on a page. "Anyway, I have a summary here for ye and Jamie to take home. Go over it, and if there are any changes ye wish to make or add something, let me know. I want to have it finalised within a week." She clapped the folder shut and smiled. "So that's it! Any more questions?"

"Where're the shoes?" Mrs Abercombie interjected. "And accessories?"

Before Claire could reply, the girls had already sprung onto their feet and scattered in different directions, going through bags and handing over bits and bobs. She'd been instructed by Jenny to bring everything she'd need for the wedding, and she'd done just that and much more. There were all the pieces of jewellery Claire owned, hairpieces recently bought, a variety of clutches and undergarments and even make-up remover. It was over the top, but after all the efforts Jenny was making for the wedding, the least she could do was try her hardest not to forget anything. 

All the fineries finally laid out on the table, Mrs Abercombie began making adjustments to the bodice and skirt while the assistant tweaked at the hem. Claire sucked in her breath for the most part and cooperated with every instruction, knowing that the sooner she was done, the sooner she could go back into her comfortable clothes.

"I need to let out an inch here at the back," Mrs Abercombie remarked. "If I were ye, I'd stay away from those canapés. Either that or ye need to do more exercise."

The girls laughed out loud at the older woman's blunt declaration, but Claire simply took a deep breath and gave herself over to the convenience of being attended to, adorned and even bossed around. A vague recollection of her mother making clothes for her when she was a child suddenly surfaced. She saw herself standing on a stool as her mother sang and pinned the hem of her dress. A wave of nostalgia evoked a longing for her parents and bittersweet memories of her childhood, making her wish they were here to see all these.

"Right, let's take a look," Mrs Abercombie announced, breaking Claire's brief reverie and stepping back to assess her handiwork.

Claire twisted her hips and sashayed on the spot, making the girls laugh and whistle. "So ...how do I look?"

"Nobody says a thing," Mrs Abercombie firmly reminded Claire's friends. "I want to hear and see Claire's reaction first when she sees herself in the mirror."

Even though everyone remained tight-lipped, Claire could see the approval and awe shining from their eyes. "So, when do I get to look then?" Claire asked, suddenly giddy with excitement for the first time.

"I think you need these first," Annalise said, carefully placing a pair of shoes at her feet." Slip these on, and I'll strap it on for you."

Taking Geillis hand, Claire slid her feet into a pair of Jimmy Choo's ivory satin pearl sandals. Not used to high heels, she wobbled a bit before recovering her balance. "Oh dear, I think I'll need lessons walking in these," she laughed nervously. "And there's no way I can wear these all day and night."

"That's why I bought ye a pair of these," Jenny said, holding a pair of white sneakers studded with tiny pearls and embellished with an ivory bow. "It even has the date of yer wedding adorned at the back of the heels."

Overwhelmed by Jenny's thoughtfulness, Claire clapped her hands over her mouth to suppress the tears of gratitude threatening to spill. "Oh Jenny, that's so sweet. Come here and let me give you a hug."

"Hugs later," Mrs Abercombie ordered, raising a hand. "We don't want to spoil the dress. Right Claire, whenever ye're ready, please close yer eyes."

Claire did as she was told and held on to readily assisting hands as she slowly pivoted on the spot. Anticipation hung in the air, and the sanguine expectation made the moment all the more seemed endless. She envisioned her mother before her and the emotions the image conjured - excitement, hope and fear of the unknown tightly knotted together, creating a fourth emotion that was hard to define. Whatever it was, it tickled like she had a handful of butterflies fluttering in her belly.

"Ye may look now," Mrs Abercombie said in a hushed tone.

Claire slowly lifted her eyes and took in the reflection before her, and gasped. Statuesque was the first word that came to mind. She'd never been the type to wear a gown, but this beautiful dress dramatically transformed her, accentuating her height and doing wonders to her curves. She was so glad she'd opted for a sheath gown against the better judgement of her friends. Annalise had thought the style would have been too restricting, and Jenny had been convinced Claire would look better in an A-line classic. But this ... this was even better and well beyond her expectation. 

Her hand shakily hovered over the body-hugging material, taking everything in from the off-the-shoulder style to the translucent tulle base intricately hand-embroidered with beading and thread work. Her eyes were restless, admiring every detail, but there were so many things to look at and no words adequate enough to describe the beauty she'd been transformed into and what she felt at that moment.

"Mrs Abercombie, it's beautiful," Claire whispered.

Mrs Abercombie smiled triumphantly. "I'm glad ye like."

Like? Are you kidding me? Claire wanted to correct the older woman, but she understood that Mrs Abercombie was giving her the prerogative by remaining impassive. The prerogative to be thrilled for this moment and be filled with anticipation for her wedding day, when the man she loved would see her looking beautiful and splendidly dress like a movie star. 

"Goodness, gracious me, you look like an earth angel all vamped up!"

Everyone's head snapped towards the curtain divider direction, and there stood Mary cradling a bouquet of blood-red, long-stemmed roses. "Oops! Sorry for startling everyone ...I couldn't help myself." Mary clutched her throat and shook her head. "Good Lord, Claire, you look absolutely out of this world."

Claire barely heard the compliments. "What's that?" she asked, eyeing the roses.

Mary glanced down. "Oh, these ...the receptionist told me it's for you."

"For me?"

Mary snatched the card and read out loud, "You look beautiful today, love J." She grinned at Claire. "Romance is definitely not dead. What a sweet man, your Jamie, is."

Everyone awwed, raved and gushed over the sweet and thoughtful note.

Claire frowned. "May I please see the message?"

"Of course," Mary replied, walking towards Claire and handing over the card. 

Claire read and re-read the words before looking up.

Geillis touched her hand. "What's wrong, lass?"

Claire shook her head. "It's odd."

"What's odd?" Annalise asked.

"This doesn't look like Jamie's writing," Claire replied.

Jenny stepped in and peered at the card. "It's definitely no' Jamie's writing."

Annalise waved a hand in dismissal. "Maybe it's the florist's handwriting, and they've been instructed to write that message."

Claire wasn't convinced. "It's not Jamie's style," she explained. "He usually ends messages with the words love you and an X. He's quite consistent that way. He never signs J or his name. And he's never given me roses because he knows I don't like them."

"Oh, that's right," Annalise said, suddenly remembering. "You've never been keen on roses."

"Maybe it's from John, your former boss?" Mary implied. "He's quite fond of you, you know?"

Claire shook her head. "Fond, yes. But John is practical when it comes to giving gifts, and he thinks buying flowers are a waste of money. Sending these expensive roses would be a gesture out of character for him. Besides, why would he send these? For what occasion?"

"Oh, oh ..." Jenny's eyes lighted. "Maybe it's from Jamie's therapist? His name is Joe, right?"

Claire chewed her bottom lip. "No, not Joe. Definitely not. That would be too weird, and I don't think his wife, Gail, would be too impressed if she heard about these expensive roses. I don't think that's his style, and on top of that, I hardly know the bloke."

"Well, who the fuck gave you these roses then?" Gellis asked, the furrows on her brows intensifying. 

Everyone looked at Jenny.

Jenny sputtered. "Me? Of course, it wasnae me, ye bunch of dafties."

"Weel, there's only one way to find out who the sender is ..." Geillis suggested.

"Eh, how?" Mary asked.

"My boyfriend is a police officer," Geillis answered. "We'll get him to interrogate the florist. I can see the tag of the flower shop on the wrapper."

Claire groaned out loud. "Oh, for God's sake, Geillis. Do we really need to get him involved? It's not important. Soon enough, we'll find out who the mystery sender is."

Geillis' smile was wicked. "Just hang fire," she said before shouting, "FINLAY!"

"WHAT?" Finlay shouted back from the other side of the curtain.

"Get yer sweet, hairy arse in here! Pronto!"

..........

Later that afternoon, Claire walked into the cottage, attempting to forget about the unexpected delivery at the bridal boutique while the sound of thunder rumbled across the sky. She'd given the bouquet to Mary, citing allergies as an excuse. It might as well have been the case since she didn't like roses, especially coming from strangers.

Geillis had sensed something was off and had sweet-talked her boyfriend to find out who'd sent the flowers using his influence as police. But the quick investigation had come up blank. Claire had been informed that the flower shop owner had found an envelope on the counter by the cash register. It contained a hundred and fifty quid, instructions and a notecard, and the florist had only happily complied with the request. Reviewing the video surveillance recording hadn't produced any results either since the person who'd left the envelope had been wearing a sports cap and a hoodie, obscuring most of the face.

The thunder clapped once more, and she realised anytime soon, it would start to rain. Rollo was safe in the house, but Adso was nowhere to be found, and he hated thunderstorms. She needed to find the cat before it came pouring down. 

Grabbing Adso's treats, she made her way out through the kitchen backdoor. She clicked her tongue and shook the packet of cat biscuits to entice Adso while searching and scanning through bushes and shrubs. With no luck, she decided to check the surroundings of the shed.

"Claire!"

Her heart lurched, and as she whirled around, she toppled backwards, hitting her head on something hard. A sharp pain exploded on her skull, causing her to squeeze her eyes shut.

"Oh, God, Claire! Ye alright?" 

The agonising pain was momentarily dulled by the familiar voice. She tried to open her eyes, but her vision blurred.

"Easy now there, Claire! Dinnae move. I rang yer doorbell, and when ye didnae answer, I walked around the house. Ye forgot yer handbag in the car, and I came back to bring it to ye. When I called out yer name, I must have caught ye by surprise, and ye slipped and banged yer head."

Tom? It was only her friend. Damn those roses! She'd been on edge ever since that bloody bouquet arrived, and now she'd panicked over the sound of her Tom's voice.

She tried to speak, but it hurt to talk. 

"I've called 999 just in case yer fall had caused more damage. I've sent a message to Jamie and Annalise as well. I'm terribly sorry for sneaking up on ye."

"It's alright," she managed to croak.

"Tell me where ye are hurting," Tom asked calmly.

She was about to reply, but another shearing pain fired at the back of her head, so excruciating it almost robbed her of air and made her see shooting stars. She felt the beginning of rain dropping on her, and suddenly she felt cold and began to shake. And just before the world went dark and silent, she heard the wails of sirens.

 Dear Readers,

Did I promise you drama in the last chapter? Oh yes, I did. Oh, and the drama in the end! Well, where have I heard this line before?  "...along with the sunshine, there's gotta be a little rain sometime ..." Just like in real life, Jamie and Claire get to experience a bit of rain too. But in Jamie and Claire's case, they're experiencing a bit of a thunderstorm. Hang in there with me, and we'll get through this together. Alright?

Drama aside, thank you all for your readership and feedback from my last update. It's been a pleasure reading the comments. Though I'm not great at replying to each individual message, please know that your thoughts, words, and inputs are greatly appreciated and motivate me to write for you. 

Looking forward to your reaction, and until then, stay safe and enjoy the summer! X

[ace-of-spaders]

@meetmeatthecoda's headcanon about sick and clingy Red constantly seeking comfort in Liz's touch conjured up the following soft but angsty (I can't help myself, I just love hurt/comfort and angst-with-happy-ending, and both those things fit perfectly with this ship) scenario in my head and it was too good to just let it gradually slip from my memory, so here we go:

When Red gets sick, he can't really rest during the night because he seems to be physically unable to find a comfortable position, constantly tossing and turning and trying to pile more blankets on top of his shivering, miserable form (while Liz relentlessly pulls them off, leaving him only one thin blanket, because his fever is raging and he shouldn't be overheating) and keeps slipping in and out of restless, fitful sleep, full of horrible dreams about Lizzie - always about Lizzie - and she's always hurting in them, either physically (someone is injuring her, torturing her or killing her because of their connection - because of who he is... he never hated himself more than in these moments - and he's powerless to stop it - powerless to help her, save her, do the only thing he dedicated half of his life to - because he's either not fast enough or not agile enough or simply frozen in place, physically unable to move, do anything over than watch, and it's killing him) or emotionally (in these dreams, they're back to square one, with her yelling at him that he ruined her life, hurling insults at him and blaming him for everything bad that's ever happened in her life, angry tears streaming down her face, and him aching to take her in his arms, to soothe her pain, to comfort her but knowing all too well that she won't let him and that she's, to a degree, right – he did bring a lot of woe into her life), and he can’t do anything to stop it.

Liz doesn’t get much sleep either because she’s too busy worrying about and taking care of her sick beloved criminal – bathing his face with a washcloth that she frequently soaks in cool water to try and bring down his fever, even if just a little, so he can get some rest, helping him change out of clothes he sweats through while Dembe changes the bed linen (a couple of times, Red even dozes off right where she lets him lean against her shoulder for support – his too warm forehead pressed against her neck, his shallow breaths warming her skin – while she helps him change into a fresh shirt), making him drink Gatorade to stay hydrated and feeding him broth Dembe made for him (using the same recipe Red has been using whenever Dembe himself gets sick ever since he was a little boy) whenever he’s lucid enough to drink and eat and trying to soothe him any other way she can think of, from cuddling with him to reading him books of poetry she can find at whatever safe-house they’re currently staying because her voice (and the poetry, as I wrote here) seems to calm him.

Only in the late hours of the morning – once they’ve relocated to the living room to have some light (because Red doesn’t have much appetite anyway but doesn’t want to upset his beloved Lizzie or Dembe by refusing to eat at all) breakfast – with his stomach full and warm, his fever subsiding a little and his shoulders and head pillowed comfortably on Liz’s lap, Red gradually slips into an exhausted, dreamless, restful slumber – to great relief of both Liz and Dembe who were seriously worried about him not getting nearly enough sleep that’s one of the only things that can help him battle his sickness – and Liz is so afraid of disturbing the long-awaited, much-needed peace that’s finally settled over Red’s tired, aching body, so afraid of waking him if she tries to rise from the couch, upon which Red cuddles with her, and so unwilling to leave his side when he’s in such state that she reaches for her phone with little hesitation and calls Cooper to let him know that she won’t be appearing at, the Post Office in the following couple of days because her very dear friend is sick and she has to take care of him (judging by the amused lilt in her boss’s voice as he wishes her “dear friend” to get better soon, Cooper understands perfectly well the identity of this friend of hers… and doesn’t really mind).

And Red’s sleep may be a little less deep than she previously thought because Liz can swear that he smiles faintly, as she ends the call and brings her hand back to stroke his head again, before burrowing his face in her stomach, settling in a little snugglier against her, and relaxing again.

PS: also tagging @my-robot-heart and @tale-xistime because I think you might like this...)

[curly-bangtan]

Heatwave Drabble #9: sweet night (M)

[Heatwave // Godless // Heatwave Drabbles] <- must read first!

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Summary: After a series of miscommunications and immaturity that lead to a rip through both your friendship and ambiguous relationship, this last turn of events could be the deciding factor of whether or not you’ve lost each other from your lives forever.

Genre: angst, smut, fwb au, roommate au, f2l

Warnings: SO much angst and feels, slight slow burner and a lot of build up, unprotected sex, hot tub, oral (m&f), food play, crying, i don’t want to give too much away eeee

Word count: 23.8k a monster i know ;-;

A/N: The end is finally here!! It’s late but trust me when I say I worked all day on this and did not do an ounce of revision today because I wanted to get this done. I’ve been writing this series, and this ending in particular, for so long and have been so nervous about getting this perfect. So please enjoy~

(quite a few ppl also couldn’t be tagged from the taglist and it’s 3am so i honestly dk how to fix it ;-;)

.

You used to think heartbreak was for the weak, after all you can only hurt as much as you let yourself be hurt. So... maybe you are weak. Because that ever-constricting ache in your chest has not diminished even a bit since that day you left him.

Four weeks. Not a word to each other.

It’s a hollowing feeling - someone you’ve had in your life every day for the past few years, a constant companion, suddenly completely absent in a blink of an eye. You don’t think you could put it into words even if you tried how this affected you. Life feels so foreign, your personality dulls.

The anger you felt for him dissipated quicker than you’d anticipated, but the anger at yourself only grew. No matter how you look at it now, you can only see it as being your fault.

But the decision to part ways was for the best, you have to keep reminding yourself. You shouldn’t be around each other anymore.

Whenever you see him around campus, you spin around and speed off the other way, hoping that he doesn’t see you too. Okay, you are weak, okay. But your heart twists at the sign of him, not just squeezes but twists into thorned knots. It’s the sort of pain that takes from you, makes you a different person unrecognisable to yourself.

You had moved in with Lotta. When she asked you what happened, all you had said was that you two had a massive fight and fell out. She knew better than to prod further from the telltale signs that you were close to tears from a simple question: the trembling throat, pursed lips, uncharacteristically quiet voice. And you were grateful because you knew you couldn’t afford to be asked about him without breaking.

The bed feels awfully cold in the nights of early February. And every night, you stare at his name on the screen of your phone, contemplating. One tap and you can hear his voice. One tap and your longing could be absolved. You always almost give in to this overpowering urge itching within your fingers. But you wouldn’t even know what to say to him.

Hi. How are you. I miss you like crazy and I think about you everyday but I know we should keep our distance but I’m just so sorry for everything.

You liked to think that maybe this break is just temporary, you both need space from each other because the toxicity built up so quickly that neither of you could think or breathe. But the longer time is spent away from him, the more you convince yourself that it wasn’t meant to be. It was never going to work; you knew this from the start but had been too optimistic.

And the mistakes you both made… You can’t forget them and the scars you’ve left on each other; you don’t think he’d be able to forgive you, not any time soon anyway.

You wonder if he’s doing the same, if he too is agonising over every wrong step he took to lead you two to this state, or if he’s cursing you for destroying everything. For his sake, you hope he’s moving on. Because that, for some reason, feels so much better than knowing that he’s crying over you.

The strange thing is that you had been the one to break things off. The look of lostness in his red-rimmed eyes laced with an unmissable reluctance will always be an enigma to you. Because he was furious, distraught. So why was he shocked by your ending? How was he not done with you?

That day you left, he wordlessly stood next to you as you packed your things. When you handed him his grey hoodie, the one you had gradually claimed as your own under mutual tacit agreement over your months together, it had truly felt like the end.

“Are... Are you sure? I don’t mind if you keep it.” He had said, voice raw from the arguing but also the tears he was fighting back.

You couldn’t look at him, you knew you would fall apart if you did. “I think it’s best if you take it back.” Why did he want you to keep it anyway?

Something was missing in both your voices when you spoke to each other, reflective of the heart-shaped void you had carved into the other. Everytime you think back to that moment, you want to kick yourself. You could have at least kept the hoodie - that way you could at least have a piece of him to cling onto in your lonely desperate nights.

Because now you have nothing. Nothing of his in your life, no reminder at all that he ever existed with you except the memories embedded so deeply in your heart that it hurts.

No one ever mentions him to you; you think they got the hint from Lotta not to. He’s a ghost.

Haunting you with his heartbroken eyes that shattered at the sight of Jimin. You’ll never forget that.

Sometimes, you’ll just be having dinner with her, and you’ll be crushed with this suffocating wave of missing him. It knocks the breath out of you. Because you can momentarily forget that it’s over, and mistaken Lotta as him. So when you look up and realise that it isn’t him, he’s not here, it’s as if someone is digging their nails into your scabbing wound and releasing the blood of your heartache once more.

And Lotta would look up and ask you, “What? Is the rice overcooked?” And you would want to cry because he would always overcook the rice.

And sometimes, you would just want to blurt it all out to her, right then and there. Tell her everything that had happened with you and him, because - god - keeping it inside is exhausting. But the words get trapped at your throat, unable to be enunciated. Which is just your forte, isn’t it? Not being able to say how you feel...

You are a competitive person, that has never been a secret. You are used to winning at everything you wish to win at, it is in your nature.

So losing Taehyung has been the biggest loss of your life. It had been a gamble from the start, whether it would work or not. There were so many signs pointing in the direction of yes, this is going to work, you love each other so much. Because still to this day, you believe that you are soulmates, and you were one step, three words, away from a happy ending. But then, caught up in this game you played, you hadn’t realised that he had been yours from the very start if you had only just accepted him. And that was your downfall: your failure to see his love for you in the form of his actions, rather than the words of validation you were seeking.

And thus, you had lost your lover, your best friend, your other half, completely of your own doing.

The realisation haunts you every night.

.

It’s Galentine’s Day. In this household, you don’t say the V word.

Lotta has booked a weekend trip to celebrate your mutual [forever alone] relationship status. Some strawberry farm in the countryside for friends to pick berries and make jam and bond over their mutual loneliness. Apparently that’s a thing nowadays.

It would have excited you before, a trip like this. The idea sounds much like a sweet attempt from her to cheer you up, (you haven’t been trying to hide how down you’ve been), so as much as you wanted to just wallow on this shitty holiday, you agreed to go with her.

And to be honest, this might be exactly what you need. A weekend away with your best friend away from the city could heal you. Best friend? Should you call her that? You’re not sure because that title has always referred to someone else previously, someone you shouldn’t be thinking about.

To your credit, you’ve been doing better. You think about him less and less each day; you stopped crying after the first week. You’ve always been a progressor with astounding growth. It’s not to say that you’re doing fine - that would be a reach - because small things such as a cup of hot chocolate would still remind you of him and the string of memories that come with it. But you think your heart is finally slowly starting to stitch itself back together.

Galentine’s weekend just so happened to fall on the weekend of Lotta’s Geophysics trip to Barcelona, as inconvenient as it is. But, rather than letting this disrupt her plans, Lotta had been adamant about going.

“My flight lands at 7am. That’s two hours before we are supposed to meet and depart from the coach station. That’s plenty of time.” She had waved away your concern when this topic of discussion came up last week.

“You never know with flight timings. We could just blow it off and have just as nice of a weekend at home watching movies.” Strawberry picking sounds great for the soul, but so does Netflix and ice cream. “We could have a Saw marathon like we’ve been wanting to.”

“Saw marathon on Valentine’s day?” Lotta scoffed at your suggestion

You blinked. “What’s wrong with that? We love scary films, it’s our thing.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’ve already paid for the trip and it’s non-refundable.”

“I’ll subsidise the cost, there’s no point forcing this trip if it won’t work with your schedule. You haven’t even let me pay you back for my half of the trip yet.” Lotta is like that with money, overly generous when completely unasked for. If you don’t mention paying her back, she would never have asked you to.

“It’s my treat to you, shut up. Just trust me, Y/N, I’ll make it to the coach on time, I always make it on time.” She shook you by the shoulders. “We’ll make our separate ways to the meeting point Saturday morning and everything else will go smoothly. There’s no reason to cancel the trip. Plus, V day is on Sunday, so do you really want to see all those shitty ass rom-com Netflix suggestions or would you rather be enjoying the great outdoors? Trust, we need a break in the countryside. It’s going to be an amazing weekend, you’ll thank me later.”

Right now, as you make a final check through your lightly-packed bag before you leave the house, you find yourself agreeing. You do need the fresh naturally strawberry-scented air to expel all these negativity from you. You want to feel yourself again, be happy and loud and excitable.

Collecting for your trip ticket that Lotta had left on your desk before she went to Barcelona, you decide right now that: yes, this will be an amazing weekend. Law of attraction and power of manifestation. Lotta’s flight will be punctual and you will make some fond memories together.

You’ll be okay.

You arrive at the meeting spot twenty minutes early because you are known to be prone to tardiness. The tour guide welcomes you keenly. He is a young, twenty-something you reckon, tall man, graced with dimples and honey skin. You think you would find him attractive in different circumstances, but you haven’t gotten to the stage of feeling attraction for anyone else yet.

“Your ticket with the barcode, miss?” His smile is charming, you guess. It’s more an observation than an enticing quality. You hand it over to him wordlessly and watch him scan the creased piece of paper. “Great, that’s perfect. And your partner?”

“Partner?” You frown, but realise what he means. This is a Galentine’s programme, of course he expects you not to be alone. “Oh, she should be coming, we came separately because she’s just getting off a flight right now.”

“Oh! That’s very sweet of her to rush back to spend this weekend with you.” The endearment in his smile heightens.

“Yeah… She’s the best.” There’s no particular reason for your awkwardness. You’ve always been a social butterfly, yet lately, you’re keeping more to yourself, avoiding unnecessary conversations because your mind is always too preoccupied.

“I am Jae, by the way, and I’ll be your guide for the weekend. I hope you have a wonderful time with us this Valentine's day. Hop on board.” Giving him a polite nod, you climb onto the empty bus, noting the swirly hearts beside the large red words ‘STRAWBERRY LOVE’ on the side of the big white vehicle. Kind of tacky, but the idea of this programme is kind of cute so you guess it’s suiting. After assessing row after row, you plop down at a window seat you deem worthy and settle your bag on the seat beside you, head leaning on the glass as you await your partner.

Dear partner, please don’t be late, you text her.

Soon, other participants of this trip start arriving, filing a crooked queue in front of the tour guide to register. You don’t pay much attention to them except to examine for Lotta’s face. The coach is set to leave at 9:00 on the dot in order to arrive at the farm at noon, it is now 8:56 and Lotta is still not here. You don’t want to lose faith in manifestation magic, but worry is settling in. If it comes down to it, you will beg Jae to wait for you. With your texts unread, you decide to phone her.

Come on… Just let this one weekend go smoothly for you.

Nervously playing with the ends of your hair, you exhale in relief when she picks up. “Oh thank god, Lotta. Where are you? The coach is leaving in like two minutes. You’ve landed right? I’m not sure if I can convince the people to wait for you that long but worse comes to worse, I could ask for the address of the farm and you can commute there yourself. ” A silence replies after your slur of panicked words. “Hello? Dude, hurry.”

“Wait, so he’s not there yet?” She asks hesitantly.

“Who? The tour guide? No, he’s here. Where are you?” Just then you hear a thunder of running footsteps. Expectantly, you look out the bus window for your friend’s arrival, only to find…

“Wait, Lotta… What the fuck did you do?” Something drops in your stomach.

“Look Y/N, don’t be mad. This is for your own good, you need this.” You can practically hear her stealthy smile through the phone.

An icy chill strikes down your spine. You simply cannot believe what you are seeing out the window. She-

“Lotta…”

“Trust me, okay? You have been so fucking depressed the past month. You need to fix this problem, please. I hate seeing you like this, so if not for yourself, then do it for me.” There’s some guilt in her tone, you’ll give her that. But you are in a state of utter disbelief, borderline shell-shocked, the groves of your brain tangled in itself.

“Lotta, where are you? Are you even fucking coming?” Absolute mortification fills your chest to the brim at your gradual realisation of her ploy.

This can’t be happening.

“I promise, this is all for your own good. Please have a great weekend. I love you. Bye!” And with that she hangs up, leaving you wide-eyed, jaw-dropped, staring out the window...

At a panting, slightly sweat-beaded Taehyung handing his crumpled ticket to Jae.

“Made it just in time, mate.” You can just about make out Jae’s words from the shape of his mouth as he greets Taehyung and proceeds to recite his ‘I’m your tour guide for the trip’ speech. Taehyung nods interestedly, reciprocating with that sheepish smile of his as he scratches the back of his bedhead.

What did your best friend do? Did she just… set you up…? As you hear his loud unmissable steps stomping up onto the coach, you know you’re doomed. It’s over for you. You might as well fling yourself off a cliff.

Looking around the bus, you realise that it of course is completely full except for the seat beside you.

The power of manifestation is fucking bullshit. You’re stuck with this bad luck for the rest of your life.

And this weekend, you’re going to die.

You see him as a blur at the start of the aisleway, a mere figure in swatches of peach and brown and black. You hear pounding, a booming pulse in your ear.

It’s Taehyung. Taehyung. Your, but also not your, Taehyung.

Each step he takes approaching the only available seat he sees, you shrink lower in yours and keep your eyes pressed shut, but for what reason you’re not entirely sure. There’s no hiding now.

Your confrontation is inevitable, a few steps away. Then he finally sees you.

“Y-Y/N?”

Your heart soars to your throat at the sound of his voice as everything around you vanishes. This can’t be real.

Slowly, you turn up to face him. When your eyes meet, it’s like someone has driven a sharp object into your chest and twisted. His face is exactly how you remember, but also not quite. His big brown eyes are wide with surprise in a pitiful expression of bewilderment. His sleep rumpled hair, grown out to almost cover his eyes, yet still very much permed in the style you loved. His lips are jutting out, slightly parted in confusion at your unexpected presence that reminds you of how it felt to kiss him.

And the look of disgust that you had expected - absent.

You want to throw your arms around him. There is always a warmth emitting from Taehyung - the kind of warmth you feel when you enter your house on a snow ridden day and the gust of heat accompanied by the smell of home simply swallows you like a wave. But there is also something different, unfamiliar almost, about him. He is rougher round the edges, hints of facial hair dotted below his nose, dressed in slacks that he only usually wore strictly as pyjamas and never to go outside in.

As your eyes fall to the rest of him, you notice his fists tighten around the straps of his backpack, the balls of his knuckles whitening.

“Taehyung-” Saying his name feels like a release. A rush of satisfaction at the way the syllables roll off your tongue so naturally, then a flood of emotion that comes with all the memories his name invokes.

Then you’re at a loss for words again. You are so utterly unprepared for this situation because you didn’t think you would meet him again so soon, not until you’ve moved on. You’re not ready to face him.

What do you say? How are you meant to act around him?

He looks equally as lost, though you read him easily. There’s a flash of hurt in his eyes, the same that you’re sure you had. But it dissolves much quicker with him, almost into relief and content as if he’s glad to see you.

You know from the slight downward angle his brows are pointing that he has definitely missed you. Perhaps in a completely different way from you missing him, but he’s missed you.

“If I could just have everybody's attention!” Jae’s voice booms from the speaker, startling every passenger. “Young man over there, please be seated.” You quickly snatch your bag into your lap to let Taehyung sit next to you. The seats aren’t the most spacious; despite pressing your side against the window as much as you can, Taehyung’s shoulder comes brushing past yours as he settles into his own seat. Your heart flutters. “As all our participants are now present, our ride will begin immediately. The duration of the ride will be three hours, but a pitstop will be made at around halfway for a quick snack or toilet break. Please ensure all seatbelts are fastened during the entirety of our journey...” He drones on.

Three hours, you bristle. Everything is happening all at once and your mind can’t catch up. You’re going to be stuck on this coach for three hours next to Taehyung. No, worse. You’re stuck with Taehyung for this whole weekend in a strawberry farm.

Glancing over, his lips are pressed into a thin line, no doubt with the same chaotic thoughts racing through his mind. There isn’t much leg room, and though his thighs are purposely clamped together to avoid touching you, you know he can’t keep them clamped this tightly for three hours without cramping. Your legs are going to touch at some point.

God, why are you even losing your mind over something so juvenile? You’ve been reduced to a pre-teen girl so easily flustered by the thought of touching thighs amidst this turn of events.

Everything is gonna be okay, you tell yourself. This is gonna be fine. You don’t have to speak to each other. Just put in your earphones and fall asleep against the window.

But you have so many questions, for Lotta, for Taehyung. Did she plan this? How did she know that he’d be here? Hell, did he know you’d be here? No, there’s no way. The shock on his face was genuine.

He stares ahead, though visibly extremely puzzled. You suppress the urge to glance over at him every second to check that it’s really him.

“Thank you everyone for joining us so promptly. As you already know, I am Jae and I will be the guide to your trip to our beautiful strawberry farm over this Valentine’s weekend.” You pause. Right, this is a Valentine’s weekend trip, you had momentarily forgotten. And you’re stuck with Taehyung here. Two days, two nights. You’re not sure if you could withstand his presence for that long. Will you ignore each other for the entirety of this trip? You would be fine with that, and in all honesty, you think you might prefer it over speaking to him because that would only sprinkle salt on your wound.

A sharp pain in your palm reminds you that you’ve been gripping onto the programme leaflet that was handed to you. You smooth out the creases of the paper and flip it open to skim through what you have to tackle ahead of you.

Day 1: Go strawberry picking with your partner at our scenic farm in the lovely spring weather while the sun is out. A heavenly spa awaits you afterwards to wind down and indulge together. For an amorous evening, go stargazing under our cloudless skies...

Alarm bells start ringing immediately, from the cursive font of the strangely-worded phrases, to the shades of reds and pinks of the background. You skim further down the page, the kernel of anxiety growing exponentially at your throat.

Day 2: Make delicious strawberry jam and learn our signature recipe for a splendid strawberry tart. When dusk falls, enjoy a romantic candlelit dinner with your partner amidst the symphonies of our string quartet.

Fuck. Wait, what the fuck.

You flip back to the front page.

Strawberry Love: The Perfect Couple’s Romantic Getaway Valentine’s Weekend

Strawberry… Love…

“What the fucking shit?” You can’t help but cry out loud. Lotta- She-

The passengers of the bus all turn to shoot you at look of concern at your outburst, Taehyung included. His eyes dart around the features of your face to search for an answer. “What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong… What’s wrong…? What isn’t wrong at this point?

You feel defeated, absolutely fucking defeated that you don’t even have it in your to be shocked or angry. There is no way you can ignore him for the whole weekend when the programme of your trip - a couple’s Valentine’s trip - obligates you to spend time with him. The thought of making stupid little strawberry tarts with Taehyung… Your blood can’t even boil, you’re just fucking speechless.

Lotta, that conniving genius that is your best friend. How did she manage to pull this all off? Galentine’s trip your fucking ass. She tricked you into a romantic holiday with Taehyung, fucking hell...

But that means - she knows. The mortification hammers into your stomach. There’s no reason for her to do this other than for the purpose of getting you two to make up. Lotta fucking knew about you and Taehyung.

How? For how long? And why does she think that this will benefit you in any way? You and Taehyung are over and you were slowly (fine, excruciatingly slowly) moving on. Until now.

Letting out a huff of your frustration, you turn to look at Taehyung, properly look him in the eye for the first time. You can’t stop your chest from constricting. He regards you with that confused expression of his, eyes holding your glare but barely just, bashful from your sudden undivided attention channeled towards him. “I need to know what you’re doing here first.” It comes out harsher than you mean for it to, but it stems from your desperation to stay inert while your emotional sanity is precariously threatened right now.

“Me? I… Well, Lotta told me that she had a ticket for this weekend-trip to a strawberry farm type thing that she couldn’t go to anymore, so she asked if I wanted to go in her place because she knows that I like strawberries.” He furrows his brows. “Okay, that sounds really stupid out loud but I swear I didn’t know that you were gonna be here.” He throws his hands up, nothing but honesty flooding his chocolate eyes.

But of course, Taehyung doesn’t lie, you are sure from the times you’ve witnessed him not being able to muster up an excuse to get rid of an annoying relative on the phone. What’s more convincing of his truth is that he would not be the most difficult person to fall victim to Lotta’s scheme - drizzle in mentions of food and he is completely your pawn. You almost feel bad for this unsuspecting fool; he still has no idea.

But Lotta, that sly bitch… You are going to wrangle her when you get back.

“Taehyung… She lied to you.” You sigh, watching his features slowly contort in deeper confusion.

“Wait what? So we’re not going to a strawberry farm?” He sits up in alarm, looking around the bus as if that would grant him any insight whatsoever. You almost laugh at his naivety because as much as you want to uphold your cold exterior, something about him, his ever present innocent boyishness maybe, never fails to penetrate through to you.

“No, that’s not what I meant. She lied to me too; she told me that this would be a girl’s trip because we’re both single and bitter for Valentine’s. Get it? It was just a setup. For you and me.”  As the clockwork finally turns as he processes your words, a visibly distressed grimace forms. “Look at the programme, Taehyung, it freaking says: Strawberry Love: The Perfect Couple’s Romantic Getaway Valentine’s Weekend!”

As those words resonate from your mouth and the realisation finally dawns on him, dread settles itself in the pit of your stomach, cold, dry and coarse. Saying it aloud somehow finalises it - this is actually happening, you’re going to have to spend this weekend with the one person you’d least like to be stranded with right now.

“Lotta… But why would she…?” Deep red roses effloresce across the apples of his cheeks, and you feel yourself unconsciously mirroring his reaction as your mind flashes back to the planned activities of this tour. You’ll be made to pick berries and bake pastries together. And the romantic candlelit dinner… You can’t even finish that thought. Because even now, you find your eyes roaming every inch of his face, trying to memorise his details because it’s been so long.

This isn’t healthy for your heart. You were on a path of recovery, a path of forgetting him and forgiving yourself, and now you’ve been flung back to square one.

The bus jolts. His leg lightly knocks into yours and both your attentions momentarily divert to the touch, glaring at where the thick grey material of his joggers meets the thin cotton of your trousers. A long second passes before Taehyung lifts it away from you.

“I don’t know why she’d do this. All I told her was that we had a massive falling out.” You mutter. Except you do know, you know her very well. This was no mistake, but the result of careful planning. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“So maybe she’s trying to get us to reconcile?”

As soon as those words come out, you both seem to freeze in your spots, blinking in bewilderment at the slightest mention of the elephant in the room. It might be wishful thinking but you hear a sliver of hope in his question, and you think he hears how it came out too.

Reconcile.

Could the two of you reconcile after everything you put each other through in your last few days together? The thought tears you apart emotionally. Of course you want to reconcile, of course you want to be with him. But haven’t you proven enough that what you had didn’t work? Afterall, everything you had together came crumbling down at the smallest hitch in your path. What is there to reconcile but a dysfunctional relationship?

And how could either of you forget the torment you endured? The noises of Taehyung with another woman through the thin walls, your betrayal of his heart when you mistakenly slept with Jimin.

Reconciliation doesn’t seem possible in the foreseeable future.

“N-not reconcile in that way, I mean, like, for us to make up.” Taehyung stammers, hand waving about in his nervous state. “I mean- no, not make up, but like… make… peace. Yeah, make peace. Sorry.” He winces timorously at his spectacular fumble of words. It’s surprising how nervous and timid he is acting. He should be brutish to you, savage and hostile. But he isn’t.

“Yeah, I got what you mean… Don’t worry.” You can’t stop the corners of your lips from turning up, just a fraction. “But yeah, I think she wants us to make peace.” You conveniently do not bring up how you’re certain that she knows about your history and that this holiday she booked for you and Taehyung is most definitely for the purpose of reconciliation in that way.

“Right.” His bottom lip pinched between his teeth in a manner that makes it feel as though it’s a sight you shouldn’t be looking at, Taehyung’s attention shifts down to avoid your eye. Though, there’s a clear glimmer of expectation as he asks, “So… do you want to talk it out?”

The bus bounces, violently this time, as it drives over what must be a pebble. It rattles your thoughts so physically that you have to grip onto your trousers for support.

This is the deciding moment. Now is when you can choose how you go about this which will determine the rest of your weekend together.

Do you want to talk it out?

The painful memory of the last time you had tried to “talk it out” rakes its claws down your back. All the yelling, the hurtful accusations hurled both ways, the reluctance to accept blame… It haunts you so much so that your voices still ring in your mind, echoes embedding the misery you had both felt and inflicted deep in your bones.

The three stages of your fight painted clairvoyantly in your mind.

One: The Hurting Each Other.

You fuck guys without learning their names.

Two: The Guilt-Tripping.

I didn’t sleep with her. I couldn’t even kiss her for more than a minute on her bed because it felt so wrong it made me fucking sick. I stayed on her couch and thought about you all fucking night. Happy?

Three: The Falling Apart

I… I thought it was clear how I felt…

Always replaying in a loop.

“I’m not sure what there is to talk out.” You say, hating how callous you sound but knowing that it’s a necessary evil to convey your intent. That was in the past. Taehyung is your past. Talking about it would only drag you back into that perpetual cycle and there’s not much left in you to afford that. You look out the window at the open plains of grassland to avoid the hurt you know he can’t hide on his face. “I think it’s better if we keep our distance as much as possible and not make it difficult for ourselves.”

“Okay.” You hear him reply, but only a quiet mumble. From the faint reflection of the window, you see him tighten his jaw and fit his Airpods into his ears. The monster that is your guilt and bitterness sinking its fangs into your throat.

It’s better this way.

And so the bus continues to speed off to the countryside, driving you further and further from civilization and your chance of escape from this doomed weekend with the boy you’re trying to stop loving.

.

You wake up to someone gently shaking your shoulders. “Miss…” You jolt upright.

The first thing that elucidates in your sleep-fogged vision is your tour guide’s kind face smiling down at you. The second, when you come to your senses, is that you are leaning against Taehyung’s frame, his shoulders much harder than you remember them to be. The boy himself is fast asleep beside you, arm loosely linked with yours because you know he has a habit of holding things in his sleep. You hastily pull away.

“We’ve arrived, Miss.” Jae says politely, that humoured glow in his pupils eliciting a bashful blush from you.

“Oh right.” You look around to find the coach empty except for the three of you. “That’s embarrassing, I’m sorry.” The last thing you remember was the angry texts you spammed Lotta with before the songs in your playlist all blurred into one.

“No worries. Forgive me, I’m still learning names.” The heat of the sun is seeping through the glass of the windowpane, licking tenderly at your skin to rouse you awake. “I’ve tried to wake your partner, but it seems...”

“I’m Y/N. And don’t worry, he’s impossible to wake up.” You pause. There is a chance for you to rectify his misconception that you and Taehyung are a couple, except it would probably require some explaining or white-lying and now is not a great time if you’re holding up the whole group. “I’ll do it.”

Despite the conversation being had right over him, Taehyung shows no sign of his slumber being disturbed. His head is tipped back, mouth hanging open with a small dribble of drool beading at the corner of his mouth. Still the same deep-sleeping idiot.

“Oi.” You nudge his ribcage, scaring Jae with your coarseness. “Wake up, Taehyung.”

Nothing but heavy breathing.

“Dude, we’re here.” You grab his face between your harsh fingers and begin shaking vigorously.

Not even a stir. You remember how you used to like to joke that Taehyung could sleep through a burglary, and just to prove your point, you woke up in the middle of the night one time and screamed at the top of your lungs. He did not even move a toe.

“Uh-” There is a hint of worry in Jae’s face; perhaps he thinks that Taehyung has a health condition.

“It’s okay, I’ve got the trick.” This time, you pinch his nose with considerable force and clamp your palm over his mouth, ignoring the smoothness of his skin under your touch and the feeling of his lips skimming your palm. You glance up to find Jae’s eyes almost bulging out of their sockets, swaying uneasily at your method to wake him. “Don’t worry, it works every time.”

But true to your word, in a few seconds, Taehyung is sputtering for breath, eyes flying open in befuddlement, scrambling to sit up. You let go of his nose and smile at your tour guide only to find him petrified.

“What?” In disarray, Taehyung wipes at the corner of his mouth and pats his hair back down from its messy temperment. His heavy body no longer slumped against yours, you feel a weight lifted off your chest, though the fact that you had fallen asleep on each other plays at your mind, lingering to taunt you.

“We’ve arrived.” Jae winces.

You stare at the patterned seats of the coach, trying not to pay attention to Taehyung’s embarrassed apology and explanation on what a deep sleeper he is. You’re not going to think about Taehyung and sleeping. Mindlessly, you trail behind the banter men off the vehicle. You’re not going to think about how good it feels to sleep beside him.

The sun greeting you when you step foot onto ground instantly refreshes your mood, banishing away those thoughts that were slipping through the cracks. There’s something so healing about the air of the countryside, fresh and unpolluted and full of the pleasant crisp scent that one would associate with green and yellow. Staring back at you is a seemingly endless field of bushes dotted with red, the sweet berry smell already perfusing into your nose.

You ignore the crunch of gravel sounding from Taehyung’s steps not far from you and proceed to join the waiting crowd, their phones out to capture the stunning scenery.

As everyone gathers, it’s difficult to concentrate on Jae’s briefing of the weekend planned ahead, starting with an introduction to the farm which you frankly do not care to learn about. You try not to glance over at Taehyung at the corner of your eye, at how his hair is still sticking out awkwardly in the back, his eyes slightly swollen from sleep. You try not to notice his hesitancy, standing a distance from you despite everyone else standing in their couples.

It’s like a buzzing in the back of your mind, a constant tug at your consciousness, not allowing you to relax as much as you want to in this serene environment. You want to stop thinking about him but you can’t.

“In February, the weather is set to be nice and warm during the day and slightly chilly in the evenings, so I do hope that you have packed sufficiently as stated in the email. Now, if you look to your left...” Jae’s monologue drones on like white noise, because all you can focus on is not focusing on Taehyung.

Lotta has not replied to your hounding messages with anything of use, no answers to your plethora of questions. Just relax. Stop making such a big deal out of it, grow up and make up with him because you clearly aren’t over him. You wanted to tell her that things are not that simple, she doesn’t know how badly you both fucked up. Yet, you know her response would only be some pretentiously worded reply full of the condescending wisdom it always contains when she’s telling you off.

You’ll admit it, as stubborn as you are, Lotta’s advice is right 9 times out of 10. She was right when she said you shouldn’t have gone with Taehyung to Mykonos within two weeks of knowing him because he could have been a killer or psychopath. She was right when she pointed out that you act like Taehyung annoys the living shit out of you but you secretly care deeply for him.

But she’s definitely not right this time, you are adamant about it. It would be a miracle if you and Taehyung could even be friends within the next six months, let alone… And if anything were to happen, setting you two up on a romantic holiday together is certainly the wrong way to go about it. It feels so inorganic, like you’re forced to spend time with each other.

Out of habit, you steal a glance at him. It’s not a surprise to find him not paying an ounce of attention to Jae either. Taehyung is staring off into the strawberry field, face angled away from you such that the sunlight is hitting his skin in all the right places to glaze a golden aura over him.

It’s strange to see such a permanent sadness in his eyes, a melancholic nostalgia. You hate yourself - you did this to him, you broke him. Does he hate you? Resent you? You think you’d rather he did.

Soon, the group of you are whisked away down a pebbly path to a rustic looking hotel beside the farm where you will all stay in. It’s not the old run-down type of rustic, but more the luxurious kind that very evidently serves an aesthetic purpose. And that’s when you begin to notice, this “farm” is not really a farm at all, but more a boujee farm-themed resort. This trip could certainly not have been cheap. As much as you are here against your will, you can’t help but feel immense gratitude to Lotta for her willingness to spend such money on you.

You are stopped at a grand lobby, the style of which resembling a small piazza of Southern Italy - warm neutral-toned Roman concrete walls with a green flourish of vines and bushes. It’s absolutely stunning, a surreal setting that you only see in movies. It’s impossible not to feel the air of romance circulating this architecture. You glance over to find him, stood an awkwardly respectful distance away from you, gaping around at the interior of the building in awe. He is a sucker for art, especially architecture. You almost wish you were friends again only to hear him gush about the beauty of this place.

When Jae begins to hand out room keys, it suddenly occurs to you, perhaps the worst aspect of your predicament this weekend - you are sharing a room with Taehyung.

You are sharing a…

Heart sinking, you look over again to see if the same thought has dawned on him. It has. His eyes are fixed on Jae in an eerily blank way, his jaw tense, a single bead of sweat trickling down the side of his forehead which you will excuse as the heat.

When Jae approaches you, Taehyung automatically joins your side in a dazed worry. Eye contact made was brief, not enough for you two to communicate whether or not you tell Jae that this was all a mistake and you would much rather be apart.

“Here you go, Y/N.” Your guide flashes you that charming grin of his as he waves your keycards before you. Instinctively, you receive it in your palm. “You guys have got the deluxe suite - wonderful choice.”

“We-” You begin, but he doesn’t seem to take notice. You’re starting to notice that he perhaps likes the sound of his own voice a bit too much.

“As I said, strawberry-picking will start at half past so that gives you a bit of time to drop off your luggage and freshen up after the long ride.” He continues. This will probably be the only chance you get to tell him that you and Taehyung aren’t a couple before it becomes too late, and you’re going to miss this opportunity because of another one of his monologues. The desperate itch in your chest grows an uncomfortable size. “Please meet here at the reception on time. And as for your luggage - oh, I see you two are lightly-packed. Low maintenance, my favourite type of people. In that case, your room is on the ground floor, if you follow that lovely couple down that corridor over there.”

And just like that, he smiles, retracts his extended arm pointing towards the direction of your room and turns to guide another couple.

“Wai-” You call after him weakly, but he has once again launched into the same speech he’d recited to you to a new audience.

And there goes your chance of rectifying this weekend.

You stand there for a good minute, mind trying to piece together how, just how, you will manage to survive this weekend. Taehyung is quiet beside you, equally as baffled at what to do.

“Should we head to our room then…” He mutters after too long a moment of unmoving stature. “I kinda want to change into some lighter clothes and we don’t have that long.”

You nod without looking at him. Because you can’t stand looking at his face right now, the face that you’ll be stuck with for these two days, the face that you love.

Silence between you now grows more familiar as you walk wordlessly to your room, the round corner of the plastic keycard digging hard into your palm. It’s painfully awkward. Your echoing steps provide the only stable rhythm against the storm between you.

Beep. The door opens at your will with a swipe of the card.

You weren’t prepared for what exactly the deluxe room entails. Its size could easily be a tiny studio apartment: a small seating area consisting of a pearly white sofa and a glass coffee table so delicately built that you would not trust yourself near; a mini-kitchen on the left side of the room accompanied by a generously stocked beverage bar; a king-sized bed in the far right wine-red in colour and excessively buried in frivolous cushions. But the belle of the ball is really the glass panelled-wall at the back of the room that you face as you enter, spanning from ceiling to floor, opening up to the patio hand-plucked out of your dreams. Rose bushes, circular beige woven garden daybed, and not to mention the hot tub.

You are completely in awe. Your mind instantly flashes to Mykonos. This luxury is the furthest from a farm experience whatsoever. It really explains how every couple on this trip looks like the child of a wealthy politician with their finely manicured hands and sickly cologne.

“Woah.” An octave deeper than usual, Taehyung expresses his wonder as he surveys the extravagance that is your room. “This… How much must this have cost?”

“I have no idea.” You whisper, still in your state of near speechlessness while your feet take you to the glass wall.

This is a place of romantic films, a place for honeymoons. Everything is in a rose-gold tint, glistening almost mockingly under the soft February sun. Why are you here? You almost hear the slabs of sandstone ask.

Behind you, you hear him huff out the marvel that he is submerged in. His backpack slides off his shoulder, swung carelessly towards the loveseat. And plop he goes, starfished onto the bed.

Then the fear returns, reclaims its usual residence in your throat. As you pry your eyes away from the opulence of the veranda to look at Taehyung, his head lifts up at the same moment. The short-lived mist that clouded over your reality finally disperses.

You blink again at his sprawled out limbs. He blinks back.

It is as if a switch has flipped, the speed at which he jumps back onto his two feet, fright jarring his mouth agape. “I’llsleeponthesofa.” The slur of his words are unintelligible to your ears, but his display of alarm is almost comical, threatening a smile from the corners of your lips at the hysteria of your situation despite the same alarm you are experiencing.

“What?”

“I’ll sleep on the sofa.” His voice is firmer the second time he says it, tilting his chin up as if to reassure you of his confidence.

“It’s okay, I’ll sleep on the sofa.” You sigh because you know how much Taehyung is bursting to sleep in a king-sized bed. It was his first time in Mykonos, and you had not heard the end of how it was the best sleep he’s had in his lifetime. So imagine him now.

He bristles, a genuine look of offence fleets. “Of course not, I can’t allow that.”

“Why not?” Your tone with him is foreign, lacking the playfulness it once had - just an aloof callousness.

“‘Coz! I’m not gonna let you take the couch while I sleep on this massive bed.” He gestures at the couch for emphasis, letting his arm dangle afterwards. He is less different with you than you are with him, you note.

“You just answered my question with the very statement I was questioning you on.” You cross your arms and lean against the glass, allowing the warmth to bask through your shirt.

Taehyung frowns and mirrors your action, the muscle of his bicep flexing more than usual from the agitation in his motion. “‘Coz you’re a light sleeper. Just stop being stubborn and take the bed.”

You’re not quite sure why, of all things, ‘you’re a light sleeper’ is what moves you. The consideration he still holds for you inhibits any protest you wish to sound.

He cares about you, he clearly still does. Just like how you would willingly give up the bed for him.

God, you don’t want to fucking be here. You wish it didn’t have to be so painful, every single little interaction between you just reminding you again and again of how much you loved and hurt each other.

Taehyung takes your silence as compliance and begins to unpack, ruffling through his bag for a change of cooler clothes with his shoulders tense in discomfort. You know what the mature person in you should say: we can just share the bed. But you can’t think of a single reason why that would be a good idea.

With this Valentine’s trip completely planned for you two, it feels like the universe presenting you with an undeniable temptation. Everything around you is telling you to just get back with him, to give in to your inhibitions and fall back into him. You’ve got the champagne in the cooler, hot tub in the patio, rose petalled bed all laid out in front of you at your disposal. An inner voice chanting make up, make up, make up. Because what’s stopping you?

What’s stopping you is that look on his face when he saw Jimin fixing the back of his shoe beside you as you were walking him out. What’s stopping you is the sound of another girl moaning his name right down the hall from you.

So maybe some could see it as strength for resisting the yearning, for being able to put up a front and speak to him so indifferently. But you see it as weakness, because you still cannot move on.

.

Despite the sun blazing down your back, the cool gust of spring weather eases what otherwise would have been scorching heat. Never would you anticipate that you would be spending this weekend sifting through strawberry bushes to find large red ripe summer fruit, yet here you are. You don’t even think it’s strawberry season.

You’ve never been a country girl, but the dirt feels strangely comforting under your nails. Well, comforting is perhaps not the best word to describe your state of mind right now. As much tranquility as this farm is bringing you, with Taehyung always no more than two metres away from you, you don’t think you could ever relax.

In black sports shorts, plucking his own berries on the other side of the same very row of bushes, sweat trickling along the veins of his neck… Of course your attention is scattered.

Not to mention, you keep catching his shifting eyes. You thought you ought to say something, but what exactly? The awkwardness is prominent as it is.

A heavy exhale. You find a particularly large berry, leaves curling upwards to indicate its ripeness as the strawberry expert (yes, strawberry expert) had taught you. Pluck. And off it goes into your basket.

This is definitely therapeutic. You imagine every strawberry to be your feelings for Taehyung. This one over here shall symbolise his musky scent that you fall asleep to. Pluck. This one, his stupidly attractive perm, so long that even you would tell him to trim it because it’s covering his eyes. Pluck. His eyes… Especially when he’s confused as he makes that wide-eyed puppy dog face, which is very often. Pluck.

You glance up, you can’t help it.

And he’s already looking at you. Caught red-handed, literally red-handed because his hands are somehow stained with strawberry juice. Instantly he whips his head back down at his basket that is rested by his crouching knees, though there is not much in there for him to look at.

“Stop making this weirder than it already is.” He almost jumps when you speak, clearly not expecting any sort of interaction from your end.

Slowly, he glances back up at you, dark wavy fringe swaying from the slow tilt of his head. “I- Sorry, I wasn’t- Um, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

There’s something quite breathtaking about Taehyung under the sun, the way the rays reflect off his honey-tan skin to give an effulgent finish like a marble statue of some Ancient Roman God worshipped by priests and maidens. The coat of sweat gathered at his cupid’s bow could possibly be your undoing.

You love him, despite all the strawberries symbolic of his traits that you were picking.

And you hate yourself for that. You don’t want to feel like this anymore. You’re so sick of this heavily-hearted feeling of being dragged down by your emotions all the fucking time. You want to be able to look at him and feel nothing, look at him and not be intruded by the echoes of that night.

It makes you sick, the thought of him inside someone else. Physically sick to the core.

“Well, you are. So stop looking at me.” You state coldly. You just want to forget everything and let go of him, but his presence is not letting you do so. If being a bitch is what it takes, you’ll gladly be a bitch

“No, you have dirt on your face.”

Embarrassment slams into you like a wave, wielding you to shut your eyes and take a deep breath of humiliation. It’s instant karma for being a bitch. “Oh.” You say, carelessly wiping all over your cheeks with the back of your wrist, more with the intention of hiding the rush of blood to your face than to actually clean. You keep your eyes trained on a tiny pale berry in the bush, hoping that he’ll look away from you.

But he doesn’t. “You’re smearing it.” You look up to find his lips drawn in a tight line in attempt to hide his amusement. Everything is just working out wonderfully for you, isn’t it? Yet before your mind can process it, he rises from his crouch and leans over the short bushes.

When his thumb meets your cheek, it almost sears you. As his eyes are focused on the dirt on your face he’s brushing away, yours are locked on his gaze - gentle, warm, familiar. The collar of his shirt droops low, exposing his chiseled collar bones, protruding so enticingly as if for the sole purpose to catch your attention and remind you that it was one of your favourite places to bury your nose in.

Taehyung’s touch is heartbreakingly gentle; the rest of his fingers come under the side of your jaw for support, though only fleetingly. The whole exchange is brief, the dirt brushed away as swiftly as your relationship had crumpled.

You feel it in your nose first, that overwhelming wave of sadness, and then behind your eyes. You want to cry. You want to cry as he pulls away, as he realises that he has unconsciously acted out of familiarity, as a shyness reaches his eyes when he meets your glare.

It was only a mindless sweep of his thumb on your face, yet its impact is explosive under your skin, reminiscent of a time when such a touch had different implications, elicited a different response.

You quickly blink it away - the tears, but not the heartache. That wretched feeling in your throat does not permit you to thank him, so you just stare at each other, the world around you a mere blur of blues and greens. You watch his chest rise as he sucks in for air, wondering if the same memories are now visiting, no, haunting, him.

You can’t do this because you’re not strong enough. For you whole act of indifference in front of him, your constant resisting against the urge to fall back into him, you’re still not strong enough.

But to your surprise, or perhaps even gratitude, he’s the one who picks up his basket and paces away without another word. You watch the back of his calves, the slosh of his overgrown hair, as he walks away.

.

You stare out the glass door at the patio. It’s dark, you can scarcely see a thing with the lights outside switched off. It acts as a perfect canvas for your imagination, for scenes of your past together to materialise before you.

It’s not been a full day yet, and you already feel so drained. This is impossible. You want to call Lotta to pick you up, but upon deeper consideration, you don’t think you have the heart to. This must have cost her a considerable amount of money to book. She had the full intention that this will bring you and Taehyung back together, yet it is doing everything but. You don’t want to imagine her disappointment when you return in streams of tears.

After the session of strawberry-picking, your baskets were handed over for your fruits to be washed and prepared for your baking class tomorrow. Following that is your free time, when you are left to your own devices, at liberty to roam around the farm, dine at their organic restaurant by the hotel. Taehyung had taken Jae’s recommendation of visiting the spa; you opted to stroll (sulk) about, as far away from him as possible.

It’s unhealthy, this continuous bombardment of thoughts of him. Your month’s worth of progress has reduced to ashes.

Maybe you don’t even actually have feelings for him anymore. It could purely be a deception of the closeness you’ve developed for each other that you mistaken for love. You had spent almost every single day of the past two and a half years together, under the same roof, sharing a bed towards the last few months. It’s the safety and intimacy that your brain associates him with that forbids you from moving on.

Maybe you’re actually over him romantically. But the wanting, the missing him as your best friend still lingers.

The door to your room opens abruptly. Hair damp, Taehyung strolls inside in a white bathrobe and slippers, his clothes bunched up under his arm. Tiny beads of moisture dot the sparse view of his chest you have.

“Oh, you’re here.” He says, his step faltering at your clearly unanticipated presence. Or perhaps the sight of you, staring out into the dark, completely alone in this room is just awfully strange. “I thought you’d be eating at this time.” Eyes dropping to the ground as the door shuts behind him, his movements are clearly timid and weary, an rare expression on Taehyung.

“Not that hungry.” You mutter. “How was…” You ask out of habit, but immediately catch yourself. Quick eye contact before you both look away like docile animals. It’s too late for you to take back the question now anyway. “How was the spa?” And to make it appear that you don’t really care and was just asking out of courtesy, you turn back around to face out to the patio.

Completely unnecessary and petty move, whatever.

Except you see his reflection on the glass from the illuminated room all too well. Visibly easing that you’ve looked away, he plops his clothes down at the end of the bed and trails into the bathroom to fetch a towel for his hair. “Was really nice, they give good massages. You should give it a go at some point.”

“Okay.” He gives his head a good shake before drying with the towel. It feels creepy that he doesn’t know you are watching his reflection, so your eyes drop to your feet. You wonder if his masseuse was female. Not that it matters at all.

“What time are we meant to meet them for stargazing again?” He is speaking a lot - well, relatively. It saddens you that his usual tone of endearment when he would speak to you is now missing. It’s like speaking to a stranger, but worse, a stranger who takes a stab at your heart after every word.

“At 9, so that’s in…” You raise your wrist to find your watch absent from where it usually sits on your wrist. Right, you had removed it before strawberry-picking so it doesn’t get dirty and left it on the coffee table. Just as you turn around to retrieve it, you are met with Taehyung slipping his robe off. Your eyes widen.

The fluffy material glides down his shoulders like he’s made of gold, revealing the sculpture of his upper body that you scarcely recognise because he never used to be this toned. You thank any higher power there is that he is wearing his boxers, but they do nothing to conceal the faintest V at his hips and the bulk of his thighs. He isn’t bursting with muscle, but body definitely more well-defined than you remember.

“Have you been working out?” It just slips out. You wish, as the heat floods to dizzy your mind, that you had the capability of holding your tongue for once in your life.

Taehyung hesitates, Adam’s apple bobbing at his jugular. That shy awkwardness returns when your eyes meet. “Yeah. I mean a little, here and there…” Self-consciously, he brings his arm across his chest to rub at his bicep, but the gesture only flexes the muscle he has gained.

Your knees feel slightly weak. It’s the lack of dinner, you tell yourself. It’s not just your knees that feel weak though, your heart is thumping haphazardly into arrhythmia.

“But you hate exercise.” The stability in your voice surprises you.

“Yeah I did, but Seojoon said it’d help me take my mind off… things.” Lip between his teeth, Taehyung searches around for a top. Sheepishness in the form of a soft pink tint on his round cheeks turns you soft.

‘Things’, meaning you.

When you realise you’ve been staring, you immediately look down, fingers fiddling with each other like you’re some virgin freshly exposed to the spectacle of the male body. You’re anything but yourself, and so is he. Taehyung exercising? You almost scoff.

“You don’t have to… You’ve seen me naked, you know.” Taehyung mumbles, finally locating the sweatshirt he intends to wear. When you hear him pull it over himself, you sag in relief, the immense weight that his starkness strangely bestowed on you finally alleviated.

“Yeah, but it’s different now.” Now that we’re not together anymore. Not that we were ever together.

You know he feels it too, the sting of those words. The hurt in his eyes fill you with a sort of bitter self-resentment that you cannot wrap your head around. Stop looking at me like that. Stop making me feel like a bitch. Just stop hurting me.

“Yeah, it is.” But for some reason, it stings even more when he says it. His agreement should be a triumph, yet it feels more like the acknowledgement of the broken bridges between you.

When it comes from your mouth, it’s you convincing yourself more than anything. When it comes from his, it sounds like the truth.

.

Of the many things that are slowly killing Taehyung this weekend, the painfully awkward silence is among the most unbearable. It’s the loud kind of silence that he hates where there is clearly so much to say to each other yet none of it is coming out. There’s a vast ocean between you, roaring waves engulfing any sort of message he wishes to communicate.

This has to be one of the strangest experiences of his life - being set up by your friend on a couple’s trip to a resort disguised as a strawberry farm for Valentine’s day with you - and he has experienced a lot of weird shit in his life.

To be honest, he hasn’t been doing so great the past few weeks.

All the anger and bitterness had taken two days to melt away into miserable wretchedness. Two days, that’s all it took for him to not be angry with you anymore because there was one person he was angrier at - himself.

Because Taehyung was quick to realise that losing you is miles, miles, worse than what you had done to him. It was a sudden sort of realisation, the kind that hits you in the middle of doing something. What had he done?

The way he yelled at you, the things he said. His chest always sinks at the rememberance.

You didn’t know it was Jimin, you truly didn’t. But he exploded on you nonetheless, impermeable to your explanation. That wasn’t him. That raging bellowing man wasn’t him. If only he had just calmed down and talked it through with you, maybe he wouldn’t have been sleeping alone in your bed that your scent still clung on to.

And when he thinks about how you had heard him with that girl from the club, the bar, wherever his inebriated state took him that he doesn’t even remember…

Taehyung regrets everything.

How you got to this point was so extremely stupid. He should have just confessed to you, simple and easy, no complications needed. You are a commitment-phobe, he always knew he’d have to be the one to say it first. So why didn’t he? What the fuck was holding him back?

All he had to say was to not go on that date with Junho. That’s all you wanted. Why why why didn’t he just say how he felt?

Taehyung never knew himself to be a crier before this. He had shed a tear or two when he found out about Ryujin’s cheating and his friends’ betrayal; that was a stab in the back that left him gutted from the inside. Yet still, he got by, he survived because he found you. And he had naively thought, I managed to bear through this so nothing can really be worse than this now can it?

It can, and it did.

Once it starts, it won’t stop. The tears. A great tempest swallowing him whole and dragging him under until all he could hear was his own pounding heart. It is always before bed, when he would have the time to himself to truly think and reflect. But sometimes it comes during the day as well. He will be doing something as mundane as washing his hair in the shower, and he would suddenly break down because you had left him your shampoo that you would always get annoyed at him for using.

The house just feels empty. The absence of your voice, your warmth, your lips pressed on his neck every morning before his eyes even fully opened. Gone.

Yet, every corner is etched with the memories you share, your ghost lingering by the sofa that you adore whenever he’s watching TV, or curled up beside him every night in bed. It’s impossible to forget you.

Even as Seojoon moved in to fill your vacated room and help with the rent, the place was cold. It will never be the same because nothing could ever replace you. Everything he had and cherished - swept away just like that by none other than his own mistakes.

Yes, you had hurt him a lot. At the time, that pain felt insurmountable, like the worst thing you could ever do to him. But ultimately, upon the endless nights of thinking, he has realised that what hurt him the most was not you, but losing you. Not Jimin, not Junho, but how what could have been between you two fell apart so quickly by the poor choices you both made.

“Now if you look up to your left, you might be able to see one of our February constellations, the Pictor.” Jae announces, voice full of an enthusiasm that Taehyung could only envy as he guides the tour group towards the centre of a large plain field behind the hotel where you will all be stargazing. It is a lovely, breezy, cloudless night. You are several paces ahead of Taehyung, keenly reading the constellation manual leaflet lit up by your phone; he knows just how much of an astronomy geek you are. “It consists of four stars, as shown on your Star Guide, that are actually very dim and usually not easily spotted. The name Pictor means the Painter’s easel.”

Taehyung stops. Despite the darkness, he sees your shoulders tense too.

The easel you had gifted him on his birthday sits in his closet, stowed away from being a constant reminder of how much you loved him and how much he should have held on. It just sits there, collecting dust, untouched since the day you left.

The halt in Jae’s walking indicates your arrival to the intended location. “Here we are. Let’s settle down, love birds. I’ll set up this gorgeous telescope for anyone who wants to explore the sky in greater focus which I highly recommend.”

Spreading across the field, the group unrolls the picnic blankets you’ve all been given, dropping down to rest atop the covered grass.

No time is wasted from everyone else to snuggle up to their boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, wives. The atmosphere is sickly, even for Taehyung. The couples around him have done little to hide their affection for each other since the beginning of the trip. It is a romantic vacation after all, but is it really so necessary to display your love so publicly?

You stand static and poker-faced on the other side of the mat, clear signs of reluctance to participate plastered all over you.

Taehyung has never stargazed before, let alone in this context. The stiffness in your movement as you sink down onto your knees and lie down in discomfort makes him wince. He realises now that neither of you have a choice but to put away any ill feelings and lay beside each other.

As he gets down next to you, his head nearly tumbles out his chest at the sudden proximity that he has grown so unused to. In the dark, your scent washes up to him like a timid tide lapping at the shore, hair swaying off your shoulders as you get onto your back. The size of the mat does not permit him elsewhere other than immediately beside you, no more than five inches from touching shoulders. Five inches from touching.

Truthbetold, Taehyung feels himself going insane. It started from the moment he saw you on the bus, your wide eyes, parted lips, so pretty despite the look of terror you wore. He didn’t think he would have the chance to see you any time soon. He hadn’t truly comprehended the magnitude at which he missed you until he saw you again.

And he has been spiralling since. Every gesture making his senses scream in agony, the desire to just talk to you mangling at him. He misses you like crazy. Not necessarily in that way, but just your presence, your funny comments, your feign annoyance when he annoys you. He misses the companionship.

You are both on your back now, the blanket feeling either slightly damp or too cold for comfort. The star-speckled sky hanging above you both is endless, a panoramic painting from east to west. You stare at the sky like it’s your lover, so Taehyung does the same. Astronomy doesn’t interest him as much as the meaning and purpose behind the act of stargazing. The people he’s with and the memories he makes.

Wordless, you stare at the sky, ignorant to his presence. The soft hum of everyone else’s whispers accentuates that frustrating silence between you. Taehyung is so fucking tired of the silence because he’s bursting with things to say to you, to ask you.

“Are we just not going to speak?”

His question startles you for you almost, almost, turn to look at him. The slight angling of your head before you catch yourself does not go unmissed by him.

“What do you want to speak about?” Taehyung hates the coldness in your voice. The unfeeling sounds so real. Why are you being this way? Do you seriously want nothing to do with him? That possibility scares him above all else.

Someone giggles a few yards from you two. On this large grassland, the couples are dispersed in their own little bubble of sweet affection, but not enough for his ears to not pick up these little sounds that send courses of envy through his vessel.

“What do you think?” The four weeks you spent apart were four weeks of lamenting over all the things he should have said, and all that he shouldn’t. And Taehyung’s is done with regretting unspoken words. He just wants to get everything out in the open, out of his system, so he can move on.

“I mean-”

“Look, Y/N. This is stupid, the whole ignoring each other thing. Don’t you just want to say your piece and get that weight off your chest?” In the distance, crickets chirp faintly. The discomfort shuddering in the five-inch area between your shoulders is screaming volumes. Taehyung doesn’t turn away from the sky for the fear of the expression he would see you wear.

He expects a note of irritation in your voice, for you to start arguing with him which he truthfully doesn’t mind because that is at least progress. But instead he gets a quiet defeat. “I don’t want to reopen wounds that are already ripping open, Taehyung.”

It wrenches his soul, truly. He doesn’t recognise you when you speak anymore, both with the things you say, and the way you say it. “Talking will help it heal.” Because that’s both your final goals here - to heal, to be cured of the ailment that is heartbreak.

“How exactly is it going to change anything?”

“I don’t know. We’ve had time to calm down and think and I think we should have some closure so we end on a good note.”

It’s funny now, how Taehyung is the one pleading to speak to you when he should be the one who’s angry at you because you were the one to commit the last and biggest fault. He doesn’t see it like that though, that’s all in the past. To be friends with you again, that’s all he wishes for, he doesn’t care about anything else at this point.

“So this is about amicability to you? You want to end on good terms.” Neither of you still dare to look at the other, eyes locked on the stars but somewhere distant.

“Well, yeah. Do you not?” He asks. He hadn’t expected you to be this uneasy, he thought you would have liked the idea of peace amongst you. “Everything towards the end happened so quickly, wouldn’t you like some closure?

“I would rather take my time and heal in my own way. To be honest, I don’t have anything to say to you about that topic except that I’m sorry, but I’m sure you’re sick of hearing that. It’s pointless.”

You’re coping with this differently, Taehyung understands. But it doesn’t take much effort to be pleasant towards each other, to smile and greet each other like normal people instead of scrambling away from every eye contact. How do you suppose you’d be able to move on like that?

“So not even friends right now?” He tries one last time. A soft breeze washes over you, wafting your scent towards him.

“No, I don’t want to be friends right now.”

Your bluntness stings. Taehyung finally gives in and turns to face you. Your striking profile greets him, your eyes still stubbornly glued to the sky. Your unwillingness to budge or compromise even a little bit is frustrating.

“We were best friends for the past two and a half years. More than best friends, we were literally two peas in a pod; we lived together, ate together, studied together, slept together. And now we don’t even talk. You’re okay with losing that? You’re telling me that I’m the only one who misses it more than anything else?” His angry whisper sounds ridiculous as he tries to keep his volume down, conscious of the setting he’s in.

But then he sees you blink, hard. Then blink again. Your pursed lip trembles. Another two consecutive blinks. When you look at him, your eyes are so glassy that they reflect the entirety of the galaxy above. “How am I supposed to be your friend right now when I can’t even look at you without feeling this great pang of sadness every time?” Taehyung immediately wishes he hadn’t pushed you.

“I… just would rather have you in my life as a friend than not have you at all.” His voice softens to a tone more apologetic. He is the reason for the tears you’re holding back right now and he despises it.

“I would rather not have you in my life at all while I slowly get over you than have you as just a friend because my heart can’t take this constant torture. I just want to be over you but I can’t do that if I have to pretend to be okay around you. And I just don’t get it Taehyung. How are you so willing to be friends again? After what I did, how could you look at me and not hate me?”

Taehyung frowns at you because he doesn’t see how you can’t understand it’s not about that anymore. It’s not about the blame, the who did what to who. He doesn’t care anymore but the fact that you do is alarming. You still can’t let it go.

“Okay, so is this about you not forgiving yourself?” He prods, and watches the brief flash of confusion on your face.

“I-” You’re quick to dispute but stop. Because it’s the truth.

A long silence ensures. You stare at the collar of his sweatshirt, zoned out. Taehyung knows you’re in deep contemplation, you know his points have strong grounds. There is no reason for hostility or callousness between you because it would only hurt each other more.

“Look,” He takes a deep breath. “I just think that it’s unhealthy for you to act like this. You’re burying and burying what you’re feeling without actually facing it. Trying to be friends is a good first step in accepting that we’re not together anymore; being cold to each other isn’t. Think about it.”

Another long pause. He watches you blink, watches your chest rise and fall at every breath.

“I understand your point, I know my coping mechanism isn’t healthy but it’s all that I know right now. We’re different, we’re hurting differently and healing differently. I’m sorry for acting out on you when it’s myself who I want to punish. But I seriously don’t have the strength to be your friend right now, I wish I did but I really don’t. Just give me time.” The fact that you’re not arguing with him says a lot; you have both matured from this experience. It’s sad that this is what it took for you to do so.

“Okay. I respect that.” Taehyung says. “I’m sorry for pushing this onto you, it’s selfish of me, sorry. I just… I don’t know, I guess I’m pathetic. You were my best friend and I want to salvage it as much as I can. I just miss you, that’s all.”

You don’t say anything, but Taehyung is okay with that. Because he knows you miss him too, you miss the friendship, the having each other to lean on.

The difference between you and him is that you can’t compartmentalise your lingering feelings for him and put that aside right now, whereas he can. You need to rid those feelings before you can be his friend, and he’s okay with that.

He stares at Pictor, it’s four weak stars that dim beside much brighter constellations yet somehow call to him. And he almost smiles.

.

You stare at your own reflection in the mirror.

That conversation with Taehyung resonates with you more than you’d care to let on. You let every single word he said sink in, your inner turmoil contemplating the points he made. Because he definitely has a point.

What resonates with you most is the word closure.

He’s right, everything between you ended so quickly that there was no time to process and accept it until it was already over. Maybe that’s why you’re finding it so hard to let go. If you were to be friends again, you could at least normalise his presence and gradually move past this.

Twisting the faucet on, you splash some water on your face to clear this dilemma from your head. And after wiping yourself dry, you exit the bathroom into your room with a great sigh.

Taehyung is wearing the grey hoodie - that’s the first thing you notice. As in the grey hoodie you would always claim as your own because of how soft its material is. The grey hoodie that you regret giving back to him. The grey hoodie that he would always wear when you guys gamed at midnight and it would always end with you on his lap, his locks tangled in your fingers while his mouth explored yours.

You take it back, fuck being friends, you’re back to square one.

He glances up in the dark, eyes surveying your silhouette from head to toe as he places a pillow on one end of the couch. Ever since that conversation, there’s the most subtle difference in his permanent expression - his lips look inclined to smile, his eyes hold an understanding for you that makes you feel vulnerable.

And, god, it makes you want to try. He deserves it, to have his best friend back in his life even if that best friend is you, the person he trusted the most in the world only to turn around and impale him in the chest with those stupid decisions of yours.

The omnipresence of your awkwardness hasn’t faltered though. “Taehyung, I said I would take the couch.” You protest, though you’re starting to see that it’s futile. You may be the more stubborn one between the pair, but there are certain things that Taehyung would never back down from.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen, Y/N.” The corner of his lip turns up properly now, like he’s silently snickering at a joke he thought of. “That’s just - not gonna happen.”

“What’s so funny?” Switching the bathroom lights off behind you, you ask. You hadn’t packed well for this trip, you are only in a flimsy camisole and a pair of sweats, the cold air coaxes goosebumps on your skin. His gaze follows you as you draw the curtains shut over the glass wall, leaving only a strip of moonlight streaming in.

“Nothing.” Taehyung places both hands on the top of his head, an action that causes his hoodie to slightly ride up his torso. You fix your eyes on the floor as you approach him and the sofa. “It’s just funny how you think I’d ever let you sleep on the couch while I sleep on the bed.”

There is a dead end down this path you’re going, neither of you would let the other win. So you simply ignore him and situate yourself on the couch, stretching your legs to span it wholly. “Good night.” Fixing the pillow he had placed, you shut your eyes.

“What, no.” You can hear the smile wipe off his face, almost making you chuckle out loud. “Y/N, get up.” Hastily he hovers over you. But when you show no sign of acknowledgement, he shuffles away. A moment later, you feel a great gust of air, then the softest silkiest duvet landing over you.

Your eyes fly open. And there Taehyung stands with his arms crossed smugly. “If you take the couch, you also take the covers.”

“No! You’ll be cold.”

“You’ll be cold. You’re not wearing enough.”

You give up. “Oh, for god’s sake, Taehyung. Fine. Let’s both sleep on the bed, okay?” His entire expression dilates. He doesn’t even blink as you get off the couch and cross your arms back at him. “Problem solved.”

Taking his wrist in one hand, dragging the plush duvet in the other, you walk to the bed and sit him down. No noise of protest emits from him, so you go back to retrieve the pillow from the couch in a huff.

“Are you sure?” His voice is suddenly timid, unsure. And he’s right to be so, because you’re quaking on the inside as well at the prospect of sleeping beside him.

It’s not going to be good for your heart, you know that definitely. But like he said, you need to face this. If you touch a paper cut enough times, it stops hurting. “It’s just sleeping, it’s no big deal.” You lie. “You want to be friends right? Well let’s start with this. Let’s stop being stupid and childish.” You can’t look him in the eye as you rearrange the bedding back to its original state before Taehyung messed it up.

His reply merely a quiet yeah… before you both hesitantly crawl under the covers and tuck in. Heat flushes to your face as you do so because the action feels so familiar, yet everything about it is different.

Absolute silence. Backs facing each other. An arm's length or two between you but it feels like more. You don’t even shut your eyes because why pretend that you’ll fall asleep?

Your own palpitation is so vigorous that it’s audible. The thoughts whizzing around in your head are unstoppable, a persistent prodding at your skull. His scent is strong, that sweet honey musk that used to seduce you to sleep now the very thing that’s keeping you up.

It must be, what, ten? twenty minutes? of just laying there as you ponder your future with Taehyung, if you want a future at all. He’s right, you miss his friendship above all else. As much as you love Lotta, there is an intangible quality missing between you, that extra spark that existed between Taehyung which boosted your dynamic up to an incomparable level. You understood each other without having to speak, care about each other more than yourselves - that love was almost familial. Losing that has been too much.

Then you hear Taehyung shift onto his back. “Y/N?” Your heart skips a beat.

“Yeah?” You answer after a pause, mind racing through all the possibilities of what he could say. You hate this permanent uncertainty of what he’s thinking.

Silence follows for a short while, the endless possibility of what he’s going to say flooding your mind. Then, “You know how I can’t sleep without holding something?”

You stop breathing.

Because you see very clearly where this is going, and it’s down a road that you don’t know if you can withstand.

He can’t sleep without holding you. Holding you.

You take a deep breath and clamp down on your lip, grateful that your back is facing him so he can’t see the pathetic weakness on your face. Can you do this?

Can you do this without wanting to cry? Can you do this without succumbing to your momentary desire to just turn around and kiss him because you won’t be able to think straight with his arms around you? You’re really not sure.

“Yes…?”

“Can I…” Something rustles the covers, perhaps his arm, or maybe he’s inching closer. In the pitch black night, every movement feels amplified, more impactful. “You know…”

“Can you what?” You’re not being difficult, you’re giving him the chance to take back on this request. To just say nevermind and turn back around. Because you’re not equipped for his touch; you don’t want it, you don’t want the pain that comes with it.

Another pause. Take the chance, please. But his deep hesitant voice sounds in the dark, “Can I hold you please?”

You shut your eyes. That feeling in your nose again, that rush. Hold it in, don’t cry, stupid emotional bitch, don’t cry. What’s there to cry about? You wonder if this torment will end, and you wonder if you could ever stop feeling this much for him.

“I swear I’m not trying anything, I genuinely can’t sleep.” His voice has a way of penetrating deep into your bones, begging you even if it’s not his intention to.

You could say no, right? Just say no.

But that isn’t facing it, that isn’t overcoming your heartbreak. If your goal of this trip is to come out of this weekend completely devoid of feelings for him, then you need to let him stop affecting you.

“Okay. Please don’t make it weird.” You whisper, not daring to move a muscle.

Taehyung sags in relief, the bed dipping with his weight. “I won’t, I promise.” The sound of him shuffling closer to you constricts your throat. You close your eyes, awaiting the warmth of his front to meet your back, counting down in your head for that dreaded moment to come. “Come closer.” He murmurs.

When his hand fits around your waist, you know it’s an act of unconscious habit rather than intent. Slowly, he drags you into the enclosure of his chest, his scent and heat enshrouding you until you are completely engulfed by him.

He exhales, the fingertips of his breath caressing your hair ever so gently.

Every fibre in your body is tensing, eyes firmly shut and toes curled inwards. His hand feels enormous on your waist, holding you the only way he has ever known how to. With a unique type of affection that is so pure and devoted, yet also with a hint of protectiveness and possession.

Taehyung lets go of your waist only to encircle his arms around you entirely, his legs curling up under yours until you’re both cocooned together.

“You okay?” The back of your neck feels tender, sensual even, from the tickling heat of his breath. You’re too keenly aware of how close your heads are positioned, of the searing sensations that his hands are causing.

No, you’re not okay. Your skin has been lit on fire. Memories that you’ve long since tried to bury are surging back at full force, slamming into you one after the other. He’s too close, he’s everywhere. There is no distance separating you right now, yet you still feel miles away from him; you can’t comprehend his intentions nor decipher his thoughts. The fit of the crook of your back into his chest is perfect, a heartbreaking kind of perfect. This feels so so familiar. This is exactly what you had yearned and dreamt for every night for the past month - to be in his arms again. So why does it hurt even more than being alone?

Instead, you nod, “Mmm, yeah.”

A compulsion is yanking at you to lean back into him.

Taehyung exhales again and rests his cheek on the back of your shoulder where he always used to perch. If you were naked right now, he would be speckling this shoulder with soft dainty petal kisses. You hate that there is still a part of you, and mind you a very significant part, that wants it.

Your hands are inches away from touching each other; just one lift of your wrist and your fingers can clasp. The urge indunates you.

It would be so easy right now to just succumb - let your hand crawl into his because you know he would hold it, turn around and start kissing up his jaw until your tongues are tangled. You think it’s purely physical, these impulses, at least that’s what you want them to be. You just miss the intimacy, that’s all. But then why does it feel like you’ve swallowed a kaleidoscope of butterflies? Except their wings are made of glass, and everytime they flutter, you feel the shards scratch along your insides. There is desire laced in the pain. You don’t know which one is worse.

What baffles you the most is how he is alright with this, how he initiated this. He said he wants to at least be your friend, but this surely feels like a breach of friendship to anyone. Holding each other in bed is not being friends. But then again, you both have always had a warped perception of what friends should be doing.

You don’t understand how it’s so different for him. How the areas where you are touching, even if separated by layers of clothes, doesn’t tear through his sanity. If he doesn’t feel the same crack in his heart, then what does he feel?

With every heavy breath he takes, you take a silent one, eyes shut and praying to be swept away by the sleep that you don’t believe will reach you. You haven’t slept well since that night. Taehyung, on the other hand, you know is instantly sound asleep. It never used to take him more than five minutes as long as you were in his clutch.

But then, maybe there is a soothing essence in his presence with his overwhelming pleasant scent and rhythmic breathing, or maybe you’ve just exhausted your body with constant overthinking, a hazy fog drifts over your consciousness. You’re so tired, physically and mentally drained... And Taehyung feels so warm and snug around you...

The last thought you have before you drift off into reverie is that you feel his fingers slide between yours, holding not firmly but with intent. And you don’t know if it was you or him who moved it so.

You wake up from the damp heat gathered in all your crevices, the thin coat of sweat mildly irritating your skin. You are facing the glass door to the patio, and though the curtains conceal much of the windows, strips of sunlight topple past the cracks and unfurl into your room.

Taehyung’s arm is around you. Still.

After these years of living together, you know everything about Taehyung like that back of your hand. You can tell whether he’s awake or not from his breathing. And he’s most definitely asleep, though only lightly.

You look down and examine your position. In the course of the night, his forearm has travelled progressively higher until it is just about cradling your breasts. One of his legs is thrown over yours, entrapping you in his embrace. In his tangle of limbs, you slowly try to twist onto your back while prying him off.

He stirs, pulls you in tighter.

Which lands your rear in the unfortunate position of right atop his crotch. His crotch that is very much awake and way too excited.

Lethargy immediately expelled, your eyes open wide.

Morning wood is a usual occurrence for Taehyung, especially after a night of merciless teasing, but randomly a lot of the times. You shouldn’t be as surprised as you are, nor aroused. He has mentioned before how uncomfortable it can be, a blaring hard presence, a sore tension waking him up in an unforgiving manner. Which means that he can precariously wake any second n-

“Mmmm.” Voice an octave deeper than its norm, he hums, announcing his returning consciousness.

Taehyung’s morning wood and morning voice. You are being tested right now.

Your concupiscence has been gradually building up in the last few weeks from the lack of any sexual activity save for your own fingers and toys. It’s human nature, and completely goes against your will - but you feel the old friend that goes by the name lust stirring at the pit of your stomach.

At your proximity, the tip of his member digs deep between your cheeks, prodding at your entrance incontestably. Your whole body stiffens as the slowly waking Taehyung nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck habitually, arm tensing around you. Ever so slowly, you look back to steal a glance. His wildly curly hair falls over his forehead gracefully, lashes fanned out from his closed lids. He’s too beautiful for his own good.

Your core dampens and you quickly turn back around.

Fuck, please, no. You can’t be thinking about him like that. It’s so wrong. But his erection burrowed between your ass is banishing any clarity or sense from your head.

But God, you fucking miss this.

You’re going mad from deprivation. The dry spell of the past month had been voluntary, on the basis that you knew it wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism because you would only picture Taehyung over the faces of those nameless men. And because you knew no one knows you as well as he does, thus no one will succeed in satisfying you as well as him. Your sex drive was non-existent right after the break-up; sex simply didn’t cross your mind once while you were nursing your broken heart. And then it came ebbing back, though faintly and infrequently, you regained your libido and would find yourself fantasising on some lonesome nights.

But now, the situation at hand is that: you’ve allowed Taehyung to cuddle you in his sleep and you’ve consequently woken up to his undeniably hard cock poking between your legs. And he is seconds away from fully waking up as well.

So what now?

“Taehyung.” You say firmly, pushing his arm away from your breasts. It’s best if you call him out for it now rather than let it hang awkwardly in the air unsaid.

“Hmmmm..?” He rumbles sleepily. You don’t have to turn around to be able to envision his face, eyes slowly blinking open but reluctant as ever, true to his deep sleeper title.

“Taehyung.” This time you nudge back gently for emphasis. What it achieves is additional friction. Your whole lower half achse to grind back onto him, to slide over his hardened cock, to reach back and pump it in your hands.

Fuck.

You can’t.

You could, so easily, but you shouldn’t. You and Taehyung are completely over in every sense of your relationship. You can’t let this moment of weakness strip away all your efforts in moving on.

“Wha…” He mumbles, finally peeling his arm off you to stretch out. A loud yawn ensues. You take the opportunity of his loosened hold around you to twist back and pin him with a glare, hoping that your thirst is masked.

“You’re hard.”

Eyes still puffy, he stops mid-stretch at those two words. And looks down.

Did he… not notice? Or did he, in his morning hazy, momentarily get the situation confused and forget that you weren’t together?

Taehyung scrambles away from you so abruptly that he almost falls off the bed. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t- It just- I can’t control it, Y/N, you know I can’t.” His stammering is followed by his jerky movements to readjust his bulge as discreetly as one can allow in such situation. The detonation of terror on his face exacerbates your embarrassment. Because you simply don’t know what to do with yourself - with your core tingling in arousal simultaneously as your brow twitches in annoyance. When your vexed eyes meet his, you see another wave of panic crash onto him.

How did you get in this situation in the first place? If only you had just slept on the couch last night…

“Yeah, I know, stop reacting like that. Don’t make it weirder than it already is.” You berate, yanking the covers with all your strength over your shoulder and roll away from him. The distance is more for your own good. You can’t be near him right now, you can’t think about his fucking cock slipping into you.

You want to fuck. You want to fuck Taehy-

Stop that fucking thought.

“I’m sorry.” His morning voice, oh god. Burying your face into the pillow does little against the fluid pooling in your panties.

“Can you go to the toilet and… fix yourself.” When the words leave your mouth, the imagery of him fixing himself flashes before your eyes. And something pulses violently down there. Fucking fuck.

“Um, okay, sorry.” You try to not peek at him as he gets up from the bed, slightly limping as he makes his way to the toilet. But you succumb nonetheless.

His cheeks are scarlet, veins bulging on the side of his forehead, and you’re not sure if it’s from his embarrassment or the discomfort of the boner. Your eyes drop from his profile because his morning face has always been one of your weaknesses, except unfortunately for you, your eyes land on his bulge.

Another pulse down there.

You hate yourself. You feel dirty for even thinking about him like that because it’s so wrong. But then again, he’s probably thinking about you like that as well, hence the raging erection.

When the bathroom door shuts behind him, you let out a sigh. You don’t know how long you can keep hold of your sanity for like this. You’re swimming in a sea of confusing emotions: the constant melancholy you have of missing him and missing the way things were before you had fucked it up; the desperation to move on and understand that he was only a chapter of your life that is now closed; the bitter resentment that you have for yourself as a consequence of not being able to do so; and now the inescapable desire aching between your thighs because of how inherent these memories are of how he would fuck you until you cry like nobody else could.

What doesn’t help is the hint of a slow pumping rhythm from the toilet, and Taehyung’s ragged breathing.

Fuck.

You don’t want to think about how he’s jerking off on the other side of the wall right now, gripping his cock as he leans against the sink, head thrown back. But that’s exactly what you’re thinking about.

Is he thinking of you as he’s doing it? You’re not sure if you want him to, because while you wish he wouldn’t, you also hope that this lust you feel is reciprocated still, that you’re not the only one going crazy with arousal.

Your hand almost trails down to your core when his pace quickens, but his sharp inhale strikes at your inner righteousness. You stop, sit up and rush out to the patio for some fresh air.

Happy Valentine’s Sunday indeed.

.

The dough feels sticky in your hand despite the layers of flour you’ve doused your fingertips in. Baking has never been your forte, you simply don’t have the patience or precision for such a crafty hobby. You glance over to check on Taehyung’s progress at the other half of the counter.

He has the easy job. Of course, when it came to allocating roles between the pair of you in this baking session, the jam-making landed on him because there’s no way he would succeed in making the strawberry tart.

You can’t help but smile at the way his lips are puckered and brows drawn in concentration as he chops the berries as finely as he could. But the way the top half of his hair is pulled back into a little sprout of a ponytail… You gulp.

Neither of you have spoken a word of this morning’s awkward event; it had been a tacit agreement not to as soon as you made eye contact when he stepped out of the bathroom. It has set a lewd tone for the rest of your day. At every blank moment where your mind isn’t preoccupied, especially when you’re doing something as frivolous and kneading dough, your thoughts would wander to the memories of his warm rigid-

You stop yourself. You’re in public and he’s chopping strawberries right next to you.

You’ve noticed how, every time you’d have those sinful thoughts, your mood would lighten a little. The pang in your heart that used to always plague you would profoundly diminish. Of all things, of course sex is what eases your sadness the most, that’s just so characterisitic of you isn’t it?

“Is everything going well?” One of the baking assistants comes over to your counter for the seventh time now (yes you’re counting). She is a petite, rather pretty, pleasant looking girl. And you have not failed to notice how every time she checks up on you two, her attention is always solely on Taehyung. Here you are struggling with your asscheek of dough yet she only cares to ask how Taehyung, the strawberry chopper, fares?

“Yup.” Taehyung spares her a brief glance before dumping the diced pieces of fruit into the saucepan.

“Would you like some more flour?” You almost scoff out loud. You’re the one working with flour over here! Why is she asking him?

“No, thanks.” He doesn’t look up this time.

The assistant smiles to herself as if he’d said something particularly sweet to her. Until her eyes land on you. “Uh- What about you, ma’am?”

“All.” You land a punch on the buttery dough, death glare and all. “Good.” Another punch. Eyes not once wavering. She has the brains to scramble away.

You don’t have the right to assert this sort of possessiveness over Taehyung. But it’s the principle. This is a couple’s romantic holiday; she must be under the presumption that you and Taehyung are together, so how does she still dare to ogle over him like that?

“She’s flirting with you.” You rumble when she’s out of earshot.

Taehyung looks up at you from stirring his jam mixture, his lips still slightly pouted from his focus. “What? Who?”

“That baking assistant who came over just now.” You grit, trying to suppress this irrational vexation.

“Oh. Really?” Clueless, he scans across the room. “Was that the blonde or the brunette one?”

It’s a relief how truly oblivious he is that you don’t bother answering his question. It’s also completely unlike him. Since when did Kim Taehyung not notice when a girl takes interest in him? How fascinating must those strawberries be to capture his undivided attention like that?

“Would you like some flour?” You mimic, batting your lashes at him.

A wide grin spreads across his cheeks. To be honest, you don’t know what prompted you to display such friendliness to him all of a sudden. Perhaps what happened this morning, or even the fact that you slept on the same bed last night, breached one of the walls towering between you. It’s progress.

“You’ve got flour on your face.”

Fuck, again? You need to stop handling stuff like dirt and flour because they keep ending up on your face. “Ugh.” You huff, trying to let the embarrassment brush off. “Where?”

From the mischievous smirk that his grin morphed into, you should’ve known. Before you could suspect, Taehyung dabs one of his fingers into a small pile of flour and smears it down your cheek. “There.”

“You-!” You gasp, your own finger already caked in flour flying for a counter attack at his face.

But his reflexes are fast as he catches your wrist in lightning speed and tugs you towards him, his other hand simultaneously slathering another streak of white down the bridge of your nose. You tumble into him, foolish grin on your face as you twist your wrist out of his grip and manage to smear your floury thumb onto his chin.

Taehyung catches you before you could trip over your feet, smiling so wide for the first time this weekend that you can’t help but giggle. His grip on your waist feels warm. You’re close enough that you have to crane your neck to see him, close enough to see the individual hairs of his brows.

Yes, something has definitely shifted since last night.

The desire is a flame, devouring all your other senses until all you can focus on is his touch, his molten chocolate eyes, his tongue swiping out to wet his lips. You just want to…

Kiss him.

You admit it, you want to kiss him so fucking badly.

Ignition in his eyes, he stares at your lips too, smile slowly faltering. The hammering of your spastic heart cancels out all other noise in the room; you don’t see anything else except him. He doesn’t move, and neither do you. That lustful monster in your mind screams, Damn the consequences. Just kiss. Fuck being friends and fuck being strangers. Kiss him.

“Alright, lovebirds over there. These pastries won’t make themselves. Let’s get cracking!” Both of you jump and the sound of the head chef calling.

A bucket of ice cold water showers over you, extinguishing that prosperous flame. And reality materialises once again around you.

Not just the physical reality, but the reality of your situation as well - you can’t, you shouldn’t be acting like this around each other. There’s being friends, and then there’s this. The line is fine, it has always been.

It’s difficult to separate the weeds of these conglomerated emotions. You miss each other, want to kiss each other. You want the hurting to end, he wants to be friends. Your break up had been too messy for either of you to have a clear vision of what you need to do to overcome this.

Except maybe there is a cure-all solution to this.

You return to your ball of dough as Taehyung goes back to stirring his boiling jam. Yet your attention is now scattered, because a seed of an idea, most probably a very bad one, has been sown in your head.

.

It is most definitely a reckless idea, one that has the potential of going very south.

You bring it up during dinner, the supposed “romantic candlelit dinner with a string quartet” which neither of you are remotely dressed well enough for. “Taehyung, you know how you talked about closure and all that yesterday?”

Taehyung pauses, forkful of tenderloin steak stopped in midair. “Yeah..?” The hope in his voice is infused with an uncertain hesitation.

“I think we should have sex. One last time. For closure.”

The violin strikes a particularly high pitch in the background. Taehyung doesn’t move a hair for at least a good ten seconds before he blinks at you. This was definitely not what he’d anticipated from you, you can tell. But well, of course it isn’t. The idea surprised yourself.

“What? I think I heard something else, say that again?”

Oh boy. “No, you heard it right. I said I think we should sleep together for closure.” You sound unsteady to your own ears. “Release all this pent up sexual frustration we have for each other one last time and then be done with this. You said you want to be friends, right? I actually think it’s going to work for me, I’ll be able to move on afterwards, I’m almost certain.”

Frowning, Taehyung puts his fork down. “Really…? You want to have sex?”

“Yes.” You’re not even going to be shy about it at this point. You weren’t sure how this scene was going to play out but you’d envisioned it to go much smoother than this. “Do you want to?”

“I mean…” Colour of wine stains his cheeks. “Yeah… But are you sure? You were just saying last night how you can’t look at me without hurting. Do you understand why this is confusing for me?”

“I know it sounds contradictory and counterproductive, but-” You halt when you realise that there is no but. You don’t know how to verbalise the explanation that convinced you in your head. “Look at it as break up sex. It’s a common thing because it works. Like you said, we ended so quickly, in a blink of an eye. Just see this as the closing chapter of our relationship. If you don’t want to do it, just say it. I just had to throw it out there.”

Worry drips down your throat when his blank expression remains unchanged - worry that you’ve made a fatally wrong move to make things irreparably awkward now, if he so wishes not to follow through with your suggestion.

But then he nods, ponderously and maybe not entirely convinced, but you’ll take it. “I think you have a point… The thing about closure and ending this better than we did the first time round.”

“So… You’re down.”

“Down.”

So, the rest of dinner flies by with the two of you wolfing down your meal as hastily as you can. The entire time, your mind is buzzing with a strange sort of excitement for you are confident that this is necessary in accelerating your process of recovery.

You and Taehyung started with sex, so naturally, you should end with sex.

If you are eating cookies from a jar and that jar is suddenly taken away from you, you would be overcome with a surge of anger and unjust. You will always remember that awful person who took it from you. But if you are told that the jar will be taken away and the cookie in your hand is the last one you can ever have, you will cherish this last cookie and take your time eating it. It would taste different from all the other cookies you’ve had in the past - better, sweeter, because you know that it’s the last one.

Taehyung is quiet, indecipherable as you stroll back to the room. You understand his doubt, you really do. Because a night ago, if he’d have offered you the same suggestion, you would’ve thought he’s insane. But after the incident this morning, and the sparse flirtation throughout the day, there is a clear indication of unresolved sexual tension on both ends.

End this once and for all with a bang.

“Are you really up for it, Taehyung?” You check one last time, swiping the keycard at the door. “If you’re not comfortable, then we shouldn’t.”

When you look back as you push open the door, you catch his eyes, filled with purpose and trust. “No, you’re right. We need the closure.”

As the door closes behind you after you enter, it feels final - your fate is sealed, this is happening. You both stop in the middle of the room, facing each other. Shoulders tense and fists clenched. The bed has been made from this morning, a strawberry gift basket sitting on the coffee table in the corner of your eye.

Your breath feels shaky.

“So…”

“So…”

His throat is trembling too.

You break into a smile at how pathetic you’ve both become around each other, and once you do, Taehyung observably loosens up. “What are we being so nervous for?”

He smiles too, and takes a step towards you. “I don’t know.”

Bittersweet. It’s the best way to describe how you feel right now. Because this is it.

“Do you want to get in the hot tub? It feels like a waste if we don’t use it before we go. It’s our last night here.” The buzzing beneath your skin grows as you ask, and a spark lights up in his eyes at your idea.

“Say no more.” He presses a kiss on your forehead. It’s utterly out of the blue and fleeting, but enough to make your heart leap, both from the bewilderment and the knowledge that this will be one of your last acts of affection.

Taehyung walks past you towards the glass door, peeling off his shirt in the meantime to reveal the new tone of muscle on his back that he’s acquired in the past month. “I’m going to get some alcohol.” You maunder.

Your fingers are shaking as you rummage through the wine cooled for the drink you best see suitable. A strawberry champagne catches your eye. How fitting.

You can’t explain how jittery you feel as you completely strip off your clothes. This is the last time with Taehyung. The profound significance, the pressure, the emotions, tide after tide hitting you.

Two glasses of champagne in your hand, you inhale sharply, and let it all out.

This is it. This is the conclusive ending you asked for.

Warm water bubbling up to his chest, you find him seated in the hot tub awaiting you. The boxers discarded by the side implies that it was a last minute decision of his to go completely naked. And when he notices your nude form strutting out to the patio to join him, he sucks in. The way his eyes rake down your body then back up to your face sends flutters to you core, but also a nostalgic pang.

Eye contact does not break for a second as you climb into the hot tub and sit yourself adjacent to him. The chilly evening breeze with the heated effervescing water provides the perfect ambient temperature. Taehyung accepts the champagne you hand him, finger brushing over yours in a way that could only be intentional. He’s savouring every touch.

“To Mykonos, to the heatwave, to us and our last time.” You toast. The lump in your throat almost doesn’t permit the words to be said.

“To Mykonos, to the heatwave, to us and our last time.” He repeats after you. Clink. And down the drink goes.

A sigh, from both of you. The champagne is bittersweet, too. And you feel that surge behind your nose again, the sting behind your eyes.

“Isn’t it funny how the universe plays out?” Taehyung says, gaze falling to your lips, then your neck, then collar. He slides closer to you. “The first time we kissed was in water, the Mediterranean Sea. And now, the last time will be in water too.”

You don’t say anything for you need a moment to collect the tears. Then you place your glass on the edge of the tub and waddle through the water until you are perched on his lap. He receives you like you’re made of glass, gentle hands coming around your bare back to pull you down onto him. You brush away his dark untamed curls from his face, appreciating the thickness of his hair between your fingers because you don’t think you’ll get to touch it again. His hands trail low to the small of your back; you feel yourself brush up against his member, already hard and poised.

You want to tell him that you love him, that you will always always love him. But you know you would break if you say it.

So you just lean down to kiss him.

People like to describe their kisses like electricity, fire, a bolt of lightning striking down their spine. But for you, it really isn’t like that at all. When your lips meet, it feels like your first sip of cocoa on the first day of winter warm but not hot enough to burn, feels as though you’re interlocking fingers in a crowd of busy bodies and his thumb brushes over yours to tell you it’s okay, I’m right here and I won’t let go.

And you both pull away at the same time, a string of saliva between your mouths.

Because you both feel it, and it’s too much.

But this is the last time, you remind yourselves. Last time.

So your lips fall back onto him, fuelled by a passion you’ve never felt before. His mouth is velvet, fitting over yours so perfectly that it hurts. His hand finds your face, wet from being submerged, and he holds you more tenderly than he would an infant. Your chest is imploding from every ragged breath you take between hot kisses and you just let it.

Arousal pulling at your strings, your hand snakes down his front, dips into the water and wraps around his cock. “Ah…” Taehyung groans into your mouth. Your touch swipes across his tip. “Fuck, baby.”

Baby.

That is your undoing.

His teeth find your breasts, taking your nipple and teasing it until you’re whimpering in need. The roughness of his tongue tingles your sensitive bud so much that your eyes roll back and your vision is black and dotted with stars. The water providing you with a newfound ease, you pump him relentlessly, sitting up so you can slide his tip over your clit and along your folds. Because neither of you can wait, you’re cutting to the chase. Anything else can wait until subsequent rounds.

Every time his head brushes past your clit, a convulsion shoots up you. Your thighs quiver around him as he digs his fingers into the flesh of your ass. And when you inch by inch sink down onto his cock, the euphoric stretch in your walls numbs all other sensation.

You have missed this so much. It’s been so long.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Taehyung’s voice is shaky, breath hitched.

“It’s ‘coz I haven’t…”

You don’t have to finish the sentence for him to understand and reply, “Me neither.”

The boost of reassurance and confidence that it grants you makes you roll your hips over his. From the absence of sex the past month, your cunt has grown unaccustomed to his size. Your entire core aches, but in the best way you could ask for. The water sloshes as you gain a steady rhythm. You have to bite down onto his ear to stop the volume at which you want to cry out because you remember that you are outdoors.

Taehyung’s face burrows into your neck, panting hard, but thrusting harder. You think back to every single one of your times together, from beginning to now. Your arms encircle tighter around him as you kiss the shell of his ear.

The initial pain in your walls is beginning to trickle away, leaving in its wake the claws of pleasure running up and down your body. Taehyung’s cock performs wonders on you that no one else can - it’s just a fact that you have to accept now. Nothing will compare.

Yet you can come to terms with it. You can gladly accept that Taehyung will be the best thing you’ll ever have.

But then you feel the dampness. At first, you mistaken it as droplets of water splattering onto you so you ignore it. And amidst you bouncing onto him, you don’t notice how Taehyung’s shoulders are shuddering.

You stop.

And feel the streaks of his tears running down your neck from where his face is pressed onto.

You can’t describe the shattering in your heart when you look down to find him crying into you. You can’t speak, can’t move, can’t even cry back at him.

It leaves you in wreckages, how he’s holding you close to him still, clinging on despite your how you’ve stopped, muffled sobs cracking out of this throat.

It takes a while for you to regain your voice, but his tears are still ceaseless. “Taehyung…”

When he looks up, you’re struck with another ammunition of distraught. The redness of his eyes, the sad distortion of his beautiful features, the endless endless tears...

“Y/N, I can’t. I really can’t.” His voice is hoarse, as if he’s been screaming silently.

“I-I’m sorry, you should’ve said. I’m so sorry I didn’t realise.” You’re stupefied from the horrendous sight of a completely broken Taehyung underneath you. You immediately climb off him.

“I-” He sniffs. “I love you so fucking much. I love you more than I love myself and I can only ever love you more each day.” You feel it again, the surge in your nose, the sting behind your eyes. You’re choked up, speechless, resenting yourself for putting him through this. You want to bury your head in the water and cry until you pass out. 

“Y/N, I didn’t ever want to lose you because I know I would lose myself. But then I lost you. And I lost myself.” His sobs strangle you by the throat.

“Taehyung, I’m sorry. About everything I’ve done. It’s all my fault and I will always hate myself for hurting you so much.” A single tear rolls down your face, you can’t hold it in anymore. Then a second, third. At the unstoppable oceans pouring from his eyes, you feel destroyed.

“I don’t even care about that! I’m not hurt by Junho or Jimin, I don’t care. Having to wake up every day knowing that you’re not beside me has been the most painful thing I’ve had to deal with. You are my home, Y/N. I don’t want to live in a life that you’re not a part of. I just can’t live without you and I can’t stand it. I can’t- I can’t...”

“Then don’t.”

Confusion draws his browns into a frown. “What?” His face is still warped in pain. You can’t stand it anymore either.

“Then don’t live without me.”

Your teeth dig into your lip to stop your own bawling.

All this conflict back and forth has taken such a toll on you and what for? At the end of the day, one unwavering fact stands true and untested: you love each other no matte what. So why should you let mistakes of the past keep you apart?

“What?” He says again, though understanding starts to seep through.

“I love you, Taehyung. I can’t not love you. I’m not myself if I don’t. So let’s stop this bullshit. I can’t live without you and you can’t live without me. So then let’s not leave each other again.”

You stare at each other, on this cool February night, warm water gurgling up to your collars, the cloudless night sky flaunting it’s collection of stars. And you promise to stay by each other for as long as you live.

“Okay.” That’s all Taehyung can muster.

“I’m yours, Taehyung. My heart is completely yours forever.” His violent flow of tears subside into gentle trickles.

“Okay.” He stands up in the tub, and you mirror his action. Water weeps off your skin, inviting the cold to infiltrate.

Nothing more needs to be said. Your mouths find each other the way they always do, the crashing of your lips, scraping of your teeth. A new tear rolls off Taehyung’s face and onto your fused lips, but it’s different this time. They’re tears of insuppressable joy, knowing that the taste of your tongue is entirely his, the porcelain of your skin is entirely his. You’re shivering from the temperature of the night, but you don’t feel the cold.

His hands come behind your thighs and lift you up to his face level, wrapping your legs around your torso the way he did in Mykonos. With careful steps, he carries you back into the room, past the bed, that poor couch that was collateral damage to your mutual pining, and sets you down onto the bathroom countertop.

When he finally breaks away from the kiss and takes in your beauty under the bright light of the room, there is no less than absolute adoration in his eyes. Never anything less. “I love you and I’m yours.”

Taehyung wraps the only massive white towel he can find around your wet naked body, disregarding the cold attacking his own. You frown at him, hooking him between your legs so you can fling the towel over his shoulders as well.

“I love you and I’m yours.” You say back, blotting his body dry. It’s such a simple statement, yet the meaning it holds for the two of you is so heavy. They’re the very words that you have never found the strength to say to each other, until now.

“Say that again.” You melt under his smile, not a single trace of worry to be found in your brain.

“I love you. And I’m yours.”

You twist your neck back to follow his glare at reflection in the mirror of your huddled bodies under the towel. Cheeks pushed up from glee, heads leaning against each other, and just like that - all your heartache vanishes without a trace.

“Mine?” Taehyung pecks your brow, still smiling.

“Yours.” Legs clamping around him tighter, you turn to face him. “And how are you this hard again already?” His cock’s ability to stay erect is astounding, truly.

“Don’t you know? You could breathe and my cock would be hard.” Laughter erupts both your chests and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

Allowing the towel to drop around you, your hand slips between your bodies to clutch onto his length. Responsiveness ripples through his toned abdomen. “I want to suck…” You nuzzle your nose to his, your breaths amalgamating.

Taehyung sighs into your mouth. “But I want to-” Your grip tightens around him as you drag out a pump, eyes wide with feign innocence. “Okay, what the fuck, that’s not fair.”

“You’ll get to do whatever you want to me after.” You trail your mouth along his jaw.

“F-Fine.”

He lets you slide off the marble counter with the skin of his neck pinched between your teeth. When he realises that you’re marking him in clouds of purple, his head falls back and gives himself up as your canvas. You understand the appeal of hickeys now. For you two, it’s an agreement, a promise, an exchange of trust. You continue down his front, teeth grazing his nipples, lower and lower, kissing along the protrusion of his pelvic bone. Until you arrive at his cock.

“Do you remember the whole ice cube thing during the heatwave?” You run your finger up his length, over his oozing slit. The heatwave feels like an eon ago, but also like just yesterday.

Stiffening, Taehyung looks down. “Yes…”

“How about I pay you back for that one?” You take his shut eyes and sparse nod as compliance because you know he’s not capable of words right now.

You dash away to collect a glass of ice from the drink cooler, but on your way find something even better. Something you’ve always wanted to try.

Taehyung is slowly touching himself when you return, mildly surprised by the second item you brought back with you. “Whipped cream? Isn’t that from the gift basket?”

“You up for it?” A smirk stretches.

“Very up and very hard.” He lets go of his member and watches you drop to your knees.

To moisten him first, you slowly lap circles around his head, applying considerable pressure and letting the tip of your tongue tease at his sensitive opening. You look up when he moans, and takes his girth into your mouth, sliding his cock further and further down your throat until he pokes the back. Then you pull up with a pop, echoing within the walls of the bathroom.

You take two ice cubes from the glass, one placed between your lips, and the other to massage over your clit. The icy sensation strikes a numbing sensation into your core when it touches your bud of nerves. The cube in your mouth, you begin to trace slowly from the base of his shaft all the way up.

A string of profanities leaves Taehyung at the temperature, and seeds a satisfaction between your legs.

The ice is melting quickly from the heat of your mouth so you waste no time to guide it down to his scrotum resting on your palm. “Fuck.” He whines, his whole length twitching.

When this cube dissolves into nothing but a puddle of your tongue, you take another, ruthlessly educing those curses from him. His tip is the most sensitive part of him, so that’s where you focus on, smearing the edges of the cube around the curve of his head. His thighs tense in euphoric spasms.

The whipped cream comes next. With a few shakes of the canister, you hold his cock pointed towards yourself and view the spiral of white untainted cream unfold onto his head.

“Ah!” Taehyung yelps.

“You good?” You glance up to check that he still has a rein on his sanity.

“It just scared me.” You chuckle and place a kiss on his shaft.

“You should be scared.”

Eyes lock on his, you watch him watch you vulgarly smear the cream all over his cock with your lips. Its sweetness oozes into your mouth and sinks into your tongue. “Mmm.” You hum at the pleasant taste. Then you start to suck, the cream providing you with a lubrication that your spit has never been able to replicate. His cock glides into your mouth with such little resistance that you gag around him.

“Oh fuck, that feels so good.” He can’t look away from you, your hollowed out cheeks and large eyes as you bob your head deeper and deeper. Ribald wet sloppy noises squeaking from your mouth. “Uh fuck.”

Taehyung’s fingers entangle in your hair, guiding your motion in and out. The cream swirls in your mouth, the taste prompting you to suck harder until your mouth adheres like a second skin to his cock. He’s soon panting, even as you come up for air and to spray more cream on him.

“Yeah, keep going. Can I come in your mouth?” His eyes are almost screwed shut, but still open to keep watching. The rise and fall of his chest, and the bulging vein down the side of his cock - he’s close.

You keep sucking, relishing in the taste of the cream, the ease at which his tip glides along your throat, your own fluid dripping from your cunt.

“Fuc- Ah!” Gripping your hair tight, he thrusts hard into you as he cums, ribbons of his own cream mixing in your mouth. Taehyung’s dick pulses violently at the shaft. You watch his jaw fall open, brows pinch together, as the liquid dribbles down your throat.

You pull his length out of you with a great gasp and swallow all the remnants. “Shit. How was that?” Out of breath, you wipe the mess around your mouth with the dropped towel.

“Give me a second to recover from that, baby.” Arms on the countertop to support him, Taehyung lets his head droop back so far that his hair touches his elbows. You wet the towel at the sink and clean his slowly limping member. “Fuck that was…”

When his eyes open again, there is a fury that you know to be afraid of. He hauls you up onto your two feet and latch onto your lips, not caring about the filthy things they’ve just done to him.

“I need to be inside you.” He grumbles. “Give me five, ten minutes and I'll be ready again.”

“Hmm.” Arms sliding around his neck, you let him walk you onto the bed, hovering over you while his hands fondle your breasts that have become lonely. The insides of your thighs are slick with your arousal - that doesn’t go unnoticed.

Scissoring your folds open with his long digits, this thumb finds your clit, bulging and throbbing with desire. The vibrations coursing into you as he starts to rub compels you to arch back. You are really just a plaything when under his touch, as malleable as dough.

“Taehyung!” And for some reason, you calling out his name flips an animalistic switch in him.

With your neck fully exposed, he ceases the opportunity to nibble all over your unmarred skin, leaving angry blotches in return of your marks on him. This thumb is working quickly, the pressure at your clit superimposing second by second.

“Wait.” He lifts his head up abruptly, though fingers still going. “Do you want to sit on my face?”

Your heart jolts in excitement at the mere mention of it. “Didn’t even have to ask.” It has always been something you’ve wanted to try but never gotten around to.

Swapping positions, Taehyung reclines onto his back while you situate your knees on either side of his face. His hands grip onto your waist, guiding your descent onto his thrill-teeming face.

An incredible shock of pleasure fires up your spine when he takes your clit between his lips and sucks. This position grants him an unobstructed access to your pussy, no awkward angle, no cramping neck. So the assail he commences is totally, and unfortunately for your lucidity, merciless. His hands grapple onto your freely hanging breasts, rolling your nipples between fingertips.

Crying aloud from the ecstatic twisting sensation, you feel your eyes water. It’s almost too much, the mind warping accumulation of tension in your cunt. “Like that, Taehyung.”

One of his hands leaves your breast only to insert his digits into your dripping slit. Your thighs are aching, close to giving way; you don’t think you can withstand this tremendous stimulation.

His tongue doesn’t stop and neither do his fingers. Breathing through his nose heavily, he continues to coil your core into loops and loops of hypertension

You’re so close, so close.

And you’re there.

The pulsing waves of your orgasm sweep you away. You don’t even hear your own moans, just the roaring of your blood in your ears. Your whole body writhes above Taehyung, but your muscles don’t permit you to move off him while so ransacked by this high.

It last long, nearing half a minute before your senses come back to you.

And finally, you sag and topple over, trusting Taehyung to catch you and roll you onto your back.

“What the fuck.” You pant, low frequency pulsations still resonating down your legs, in awe of how he never fails to tip you over the edge. And the striking difference between the male and female orgasm is that, unlike Taehyung, you immediately want more when you’re done. “Taehyung, please, I need you to fuck me.”

His reply startles you. “No.” You open your eyes and find him regarding you with such reverence that only confuses you more.

“No?”

Cupping your face in his palm as he props himself on his elbow over you, Taehyung leans down and kisses your nose. Then your mouth. “Y/N.” Your temple. “I want to.” Your ear. “Make love to you.”

He paints a constellation of wet kisses all over you.

“How does that sound, baby?”

You immediately pull him back onto your own lips, a desperate craving as you kiss him back hard. “I love you.” You really do. It’s the one thing you’re the most certain about in this world.

“Ahhh.” Readjusting over you yet still keeping the close distance between your faces, he takes his cock in his hand and pumps. “You know you do to me when you say those words?” He kisses you again, so softly that his lips feel like rose petals. As he lines his tips along your entrance, you shut your eyes and prepare for it.

“I love you.” You repeat. And he sinks in.

It feels different, so entirely different from the previous time tonight. There is not an ounce of concern, of doubt, of hesitancy. You feel safe underneath him, secure.

His tender moans unravelling into songs of vulnerability. “I love you, too.” He whispers into your ear, and you understand what he means by how much these three words have an effect because them alone are almost enough to capsize you again.

His thrust, though lacking its usual roughness, does not lack in anything else. Every time he plummets into you, his mouth finds yours. Your hands are interlocked, pinned down onto the pillow. The surprising intimacy of that act overflowing to the brim. And you swear you could see heaven right then and there.

You feel nothing but love and devotion throughout.

He makes love to you over and over again this night, Valentine’s night. And despite your usual preferences, the sensations between your legs, in your chest, in your mind, are unrivaled.

Transcendental.

When it’s all over, when you’re nothing more than sweaty skin, damp hair, and hearts full of love for each other, you spend your time taking in each other’s details. His unblemished complexion. The beauty mark under the lashes of his right eye. The perfect shape of his cupid's bow that doesn’t seem humanly possible. Everything.

“What we had didn’t work, but we’re not going to repeat those mistakes again, I won’t hurt you again, I promise.” You whisper softly as you caress his cheek. “It’s all or nothing. And you have all of me.”

The glaze over his sincere eyes hasn’t left yet, though you don’t suppose your eyes are completely dry either.

You continue, “Seeing you break down like that today was… the hardest thing for me to witness. So much worse that our stupid pointless fights, and the nights where I would cry myself to sleep. And I can’t apologise enough for causing you that much pain.”

Taehyung’s eyes trailing down bashfully, and you almost worry that he’d cry again.. “I… I can’t believe the day finally came where I cried during sex…” You let out a round of laughter at what he chooses to dwell on.

“I love you so much that it makes me sick. I’m honestly disgusted and mortified by myself.” You snicker in his hair.

“Look, what about me? I love you so much that I cried during sex. Not even just a tear either. Full on sobs. I think I’m the bigger loser here.” The fact that he can joke about the situation reassures you that he’s over it. The mood once again lightens.

“All this just because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants during a heatwave.”

He pulls you closer into his rumbling chest, laughing to himself as he toys with your earlobe between his teeth.

You fall asleep in each other’s arms, for the first time as each other’s lovers. And for the rest of the nights that come after.

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A/N: Alexa, play ‘Fuck it I love you’ by Lana Del Rey.

Thank you everyone for the incredible love and support you’ve unfailingly shown Heatwave. As my first fic, I am of course so very attached to these characters and ending this series is such a bittersweet feeling. It’s been such a lovely journey to write this couple and although I don’t plan on writing anything for them in the next few months, I won’t close off that possibility completely.

Love you!

- Kristy

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27/04/20

© Copyright 2020

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[show-choir-gal]

How You Two Meet - Dead Poets Society Preference

Masterlist of Masterlists

Guide: Y/N: Your Name Y/F/N: Your First Name Y/L/N: Your Last Name

Warnings: Mentions of death in Gerard's

Neil Perry: You met when you both auditioned for a play at a community theatre Audition day has arrived, but Neil was more nervous than ever. The boys accompanied him into the theatre just in case something were to go wrong. Neil was reading over the audition lines, which come from Romeo and Juliet. The boys were really hyping Neil up in the back of the theatre until an older man came up on stage and got everyone's attention. "Attention everyone. Thank you for coming out for the auditions for Antony and Cleopatra. I truly believe we will have a wonderful cast for such a great Shakespearean tragedy. Ladies, please hand my assistant your paperwork and line up for your audition. You will perform your monologue onstage by yourself and then you will exit and take a seat. We will have a brief break and then begin with the men. Break a leg." He said as he exited the stage and sat in his seat next to the assistant he mentioned previously. One after the other, girls performed their monologues and the boys gawked. But then you got onstage and the group of boys just stopped dead in their tracks. "Hello, I am Y/F/N Y/L/N and I will be auditioning for Cleopatra." You performed your monologue of Juliet II ii 85 with all the passion and strive you could muster. Once you finished you had a standing ovation. You bowed and sat next to a girl you befriended at the audition. The girl auditions finished up and you all went on a brief break so the boys could prepare. "Neil, if you don't go after her, I will" Charlie said cheekily as he elbowed his friend. "That was the most beautiful and talented girl I have ever seen." Neil said as he looked in your direction across the room. It was soon the boys turn and one by one they went across the stage and performed, and then appeared Neil. "I'm Neil Perry and I will be auditioning for Antony." He performed his heart out, reciting Romeo III iii 33. He sat down right behind you. When all the auditions were officially over, the director came on the stage once more, "Brava ladies and gentlemen. Those were some amazing auditions and my assistant and I will have a hard time deciding the roles. This can take up to an hour so just be prepared. You were all amazing but remember that we have to make decisions. See you all in an hour or so."Just as the director and assistant left to deliberate on the casting, Neil turned towards his group of friends who were all enthusiastically giving him 'thumbs ups'. Neil smiled and turned back around. Suddenly you turned to the boy behind you. "Neil, is it?" "Uh, yeah I'm Neil. And you're Y/F/N, right?" "Yup! I wanted to let you know you were amazing up there! I was really invested. You have a promising career as an actor, I can't wait to work with you." You said with a smile as you turned back to the girl next to you and started chatting up a storm. Neil's heart melted at the thought of just simply being around you.

Todd Anderson: You were chilling in Mr.Keating's classroom because he's your dad You were sitting in a desk in the middle of your dads classroom, discussing some novels and plays before his students showed up for the class. You and your dad were discussing the interesting aspects tagged along with Franz Kafka's "The Metamorphosis" when you were suddenly interrupted by a few boys entering the room. "Don't mind them, they like to come early." Your dad said as he waved the boys into the classroom with a smile. "How was Death of A Salesman, Mr.Keating?" Neil asked, knowing he went to see the play over the weekend. "Oh magnificent Mr.Perry. I do wish I could've brought you boys with me but I had some great company with me either way." Your dad as he shot you a smile. "Oh did you bring a lady friend with you?" Knox asked but as soon as those rolled off his tongue you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. "We keep forgetting about this doll in Todd's seat. Who are you darling?" Charlie asked as he looked from Todd to you and winked. Your dad chimed in before you could get a word in, "That is Y/N. She's my daughter. We actually saw the show together." Charlie blushed and leaned back in his seat, trying and failing to make himself seem smaller. "Sweetheart, I know you had some rather bold opinions of the play. Also you can sit in the front so poor Mr.Anderson can sit down." Your dad said as he motioned to a desk near his desk. You looked back at Todd who was staring, he turned and blushed as your rose from the seat you were just occupying. "I am so sorry Todd." You replied as you got up and moved seats. Todd quickly sat down but started to stare again as you began to explain how you felt about the play you had seen with your father.

Charlie Dalton: Select girls are allowed to attend Welton, and you were chosen and played in the schools orchestra Welton was known for only letting in some of the best, and when they were letting up to 10 girls into the school for the very first time, your parents did not hesitate to make sure you got one of those spots. Top of your class, president and captain of several clubs and teams, and first chair in the saxophone section with several professional orchestras vying for your skill made Mr.Nolan not even hesitate to welcome you to the school. You walked into your first class of the day. which was English, with your bag on your back and your saxophone case in your hand. You walked in and everyone turned around and stared at you in awe. "Miss Y/L/N, I was wondering when you would be joining us! You can take the empty seat next to Mr.Dalton and tell us a little about yourself." Mr.Keating said with a smile as you made your way to the empty seat. "I'm Y/N, I transferred from a boarding school about an hour away from here. I am top of my class and I play first chair saxophone." "That's brilliant! I love seeing a bright, young mind in my presence. I see you have your instrument with you, would you liked to play something for us?" "Uhm, yeah I would love to." You replied with a smile as you took out your saxophone and assembled it and tuned it. "This is Flight of the Bumblebee, one of the most difficult songs to play on any instrument." "Do you need someone to hold your music?" Charlie asked, rather enthusiastically. "No thank you, I actually have the piece memorised." Charlie looked sad but immediately perked up when you started to play. You were so engrossed by playing you you didn't notice Charlie making heart eyes and melting as he stared at the beauty in front of him.

Steven Meeks: You're staying your uncle Keating at Welton for the year as a foreign exchange student You and Keating just finished the meeting with Mr.Nolan about the terms and conditions about your stay. It was early in the morning and Keating offered to make you a cup of tea before classes were supposed to start, you agreed and stayed in Keating's classroom. It was supposed to be about another 45 minutes before classes began, so you popped a Beatles album into the record player and was just sitting at Keating's desk and absorbed the atmosphere of an American classroom. You were reading "Catcher in the Rye" as you waited for you uncle to come back to the classroom. You heard some robust laughter come closer to the room and you recognised it as your uncles but there were other voices you didn't recognise. You looked up from the book as soon as the laughter was in the classroom. Your uncle entered with two students by his side, he gave you your cup of tea and looked at the boys. "Mr.Pitts and Mr.Meeks, this is my niece Y/F/N. She's an exchange student from England this year. Can you boys help her around during the day so she doesn't get too lost?" Keating asked with a smile. Both boys were starstruck by the girl in front of them, but Steven was falling in love by the moment. Gerard snapped out of the fit first and elbowed Steven to get his attention back to the real world. "Of course I can Mr.Keating." Steven stumbled out, Gerard just facepalmed as you looked at your uncle and both of you chuckled. Steven finally noticed the music playing, and he may not listen to music all that often but he didn't recognise. "I really like this song, who sings it?" Steven asked shyly. Your eyes went wide open and your mouth went agape, "Do they not have The Beatles here in the States?! Let me show you them, they're AMAZING!" You grabbed Steven's hand and led him over to the record player. Keating looked at you two and back at Gerard with a smile, knowing that look better than any poet he's ever researched.

Richard Cameron: You two competed against one another several times during debate competitions First debate competition of the year was in a few hours. The two teams were in the respective classrooms preparing for the competition ahead. You had to go use the restroom so you excused yourself and walked over to where the restroom was located. You bumped into someone as you rounded the corner. "I am so sorry, I didn't see you there. Are you okay?" The boy asked. "Yeah I'm perfectly fine, just got a little spooked." You replied with a smile as you made eye contact with the boy in front of you, you blushed. He stuck his hand out with a smile, "Richard Cameron, Welton Academy." You returned the smile and took his hand, "Y/F/N Y/L/N, Hamilton Academy. I look forward to seeing you on the debate court." You shook his hand as you winked and walked toward the bathroom.

Knox Overstreet: You tutor his sister back at home Knox was coming home today, his parents told you that before they left to pick him up and bring him home. You were tutoring his younger sister in English and geography. She wasn't bad by any means, but her parents always believed she could do better. You never pushed her too far because she would always reiterate that she is doing the very best she can. You knew how it was to be pushed passed your breaking point and you would never want to do that to a student you tutor. You two took a break and the front door flung open and the sound of teenage boy filled the hallway. He immediately went upstairs and put his stuff away as his parents came into the kitchen to ask how their daughter was doing. In the middle of the conversation Knox came into the kitchen as well. He immediately stopped in his tracks as he made eye contact with you, you blushed as soon as he smiled. "My my, Knox Overstreet, I hadn't seen you since you started attending Welton. You look dashing if I may say so, growing into a fine young man." You said with a smile. "Wow Y/F/N, you look beautiful yourself. Going to be an amazing woman one day." He said as blushed back at you. "Maybe, Y/N, if you're not too busy you could tutor Knox as well. Make sure he doesn't lose his muster during break." His father chimed in. His sister came in unexpectedly and said, "I think he just needs a tutor in general, I'm pretty sure I'm smarter than him." This earned a chuckle from everyone and a blush from Knox and you shot an empathetic glance his way

Gerard Pitts: You met when you were forced to attend Welton by your father, Mr.Nolan, because your grades were slipping "You are attending Welton and that is final, young lady." Your father practically spat at you. You got up in a huff as he escorted you to your English class. "Mr.Nolan, what brings you in here for today?" Mr.Keating asked with his usual smile. He practically shoved you into the classroom, "This is my daughter Y/N. She's going to be attending here because her grades slipped too low for my standards elsewhere. Don't go easy on her." Mr.Keating shot you an empathetic glance, "You may sit next to Mr.Pitts. And rest assured Mr.Nolan, I will help whip her into shape in no time." Mr.Keating motioned to the empty chair with a smile. You walked to the empty seat and sat down. Gerard could not take his eyes off you. Mr.Keating had everyone work on a poem as he came over to your desk to ask you if everything was alright. Gerard was tuning in. "I don't know anymore My mum didn't even want me to come here. I got one C because my friend passed away and suddenly it's the end of the world for my father. You'd think he would care a little more since I'm his only child, you know?" You ranted, letting a single tear roll down your face. Gerard immediately noticed and got a tissue and gave it to you. "Thank you that was really sweet." You said with a shy smile. "Well, I can't let a pretty girl cry when I'm around." He said with a smile filled with empathy.

[rusty-k]

A Theory About the Saint of Duty

[HTN/TLT SPOILERS]

Hey TLT people--

There was a reddit thread about the Saint of Duty the other day (link), and I commented some G1deon thoughts of mine that’ve been brewing in my head for a while. I figured I’d bring them to the tumblr tag to open up some discussion and see if anyone else buys this theory, or honestly just to spread some G1deon love. (I imprint on minor characters; it’s a curse.)

This is more or less copied from my reddit comment word-for-word, but here’s some general thought on Gideon the First’s personality, and why I have a theory that he might’ve lobotomized himself like Harrow:

G1deon character thoughts

G1deon as we know him in HtN is likely very different from the man he must've been 10,000 years ago. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he changed significantly between the start of the Wake affair and the events of book 2.

More so than any of the other Lyctors, Gideon and Pyrrha seemed to have had this strong synergy going on. Unlike most necros, Gideon is a buff beef jerky man, and we see two rapiers in G&P's room. The winnowing/construct trial is also referred to as "Pyrrha's trial," which has always struck me as a curious detail and suggests to me that Pyrrha knew more about necromancy than cavs generally do. We know that the saintly epithets refer to the cavs, in general, but I don't think that was exactly the case for G&P; based on the previously stated, I believe they were both equally dutiful people, willing to throw themselves into each other's studies and share each other's skills.

Aug and Mercy were forced to rush their Lyctorization process because of their reckless cavs, and G1deon was next, but the fact that Pyrrha compartmentalized suggests they were closer to figuring it out than Aug and Mercy were--which I think is greatly due to the harmony of their relationship.

We know from what the other Lyctors & John have said that Gid loved and respected Pyrrha deeply. I wouldn't be surprised if the ferocity with which he threw himself into his saintly work over the 10,000 years emerged--at least partially, if not primarily--from his devotion to her. There's Pyrrha, the most spectacular cav and an all-around badass, and Gideon--having taken her to fuel his ascension--acting as John's attack dog with an intensity that would make her sacrifice worthwhile.

It's difficult to gauge how much Gideon actually enjoyed any of this; John seems to think he did, but I wouldn’t trust John for shit, and I'm sure John's understanding of G1d is heavily skewed in his own favor.

I think it's also important to consider Pyrrha's side of this story as it relates to G1deon’s current state, as well as the Wake affair. Her actions raise several questions. First of all, how long did it take for her to realize that she could take control of his body? How exactly did it happen, the first time? And how aware is Gideon? Does he have any inkling at all? Is there something more to his forgetfulness, something purposeful?

I have to imagine that in any case, Pyrrha must have gone through a lot over those 10,000 years. 10,000 years of odd sensory deprivation, which was probably hell for a fiery badass like P. 10,000 years of watching Gideon put up with John's bullshit, of watching the other Lyctors die off one-by-one and accumulate a host of mental, physical, and emotional scars. I'm convinced that Pyrrha's relationship with "duty" changed over the course of the years as she watched from this disembodied perspective, and that her "treachery" against John (her affair with Wake & possibly feeding intel to the BoE) was just a natural progression of that change.

When Wake factors in, I'd bet good money that the driving factor in both Pyrrha and Gideon's attraction to her is that she reminds them both of Pyrrha. Hell, Pyrrha even says this outright: "She was the most dangerous woman I'd ever met who wasn't me." I imagine that P's attraction to Wake, beyond this cool display of cockiness, also emerged from a sort of nostalgia--maybe Wake reminds her of what life used to be when she had a body, when she could fight and command, when she had a cause to occupy her energy. On G1d's side, he sees a woman who's dedicated and dutiful, even if it's for an enemy faction, and a woman who would undeniably make one hell of a cavalier (I think someone says this in HtN, although I'm forgetting who, so correct me if I’m wrong). I'm sure there's nostalgia in it for him, too.

Then, there's elephant in the room: Wake's fiery red hair and Pyrrha's name, meaning "flame-colored." I'm convinced that at least some of the similarities were physical. And at the bottom of it all is the inherent sexiness of finding a worthy opponent who's also hot. Lol.

Gideon Prime Lobotomy Time(?)

Here's where things get squirrelly for me, and the main reason why I have a theory that G1d's current state might be partially self-inflicted.

G&P were having discrete affairs with Wake, which inherently brings up logistical questions. First of all, how? And how exactly did Wake come to "kiss" Gideon "before she realized what they were?" How long were the durations of time in which Pyrrha kept his body under her control? In any case, after Wake & Gideon initiated their leg of the affair, it continued throughout the two years up until Gideon Jr.'s birth, which implies that Gideon Prime had some agency and willfulness in all of it. It's difficult to imagine the permanently-spaced-out-thousand-yard-stare man we know in HtN actively participating in such an entanglement.

Of course, I’ll acknowledge that it's entirely possible that I'm wrong, and that Wake just jumps his bones when she feels like it, and he's like "ok I guess," so take this as you will; but I'd like to put forth the suggestion that G1d's memory loss and overall lack of lucidity might be self-inflicted, to the tune of Harrow's lobotomy. We don't know how aware Gideon is of Pyrrha's presence, but it does seem to be the case that Lyctors having an awareness of the cav is dangerous for the cav. Being an accomplished necromancer, I'm sure Gideon was/is a smart man. Pyrrha mentions that she was "able to go underground" from him, but what if Gideon started to catch on to Pyrrha's presence through the double-affair? What if Wake let something slip? What if the thing that Wake didn't realize about them was the fact that Pyrrha's survival depends on Gideon's lack of awareness?

What if he lobotomized himself at some point, after catching onto Pyrrha's presence, at the expense of his sanity?

What really strikes me is the post-incinerator scene (HtN ch.31, pg. 292 in the hardcover):

The Saint of Duty turned his body toward you. He was clutching his rapier; but it was idle ... His eyebrows were very slightly drawn together, a sort of exhausted crinkle. He looked at you, and he said in a voice you had known since you were eight years old: "I sometimes--forget."

It was the tone--clinical, enamelled, half-defensive, half-endangered--the tone of someone admitting a final fraily. It was familiar because you had used it yourself. Understand I am insane.

It's his quiet resolution that does it for me; he knows something's missing, and he's accepted it. He's being set up as a parallel to Harrow in this particular moment, and it just makes me wonder if the parallel goes beyond his understanding of his own “insanity” and extends to the means by which he has become "insane." 

Pyrrha's already being set up as a parallel to Gideon Jr., both in terms of her formerly-skewed sense of duty and her compartmentalization, so I think this sort of dual-parallel between G1d and Harrow would work nicely, if only from a meta perspective.

In short, I think Gideon the First's feelings on everything that happened are complex, fraught. I think "duty" is what defined much of his personality, and I think what we see of him now is the result of split senses of duty having torn him apart:

he's torn between his devotion to Pyrrha (and by extension, ironically, his devotion to John) and his interest in (and perhaps love for) Wake;

torn between John's command to kill Harrow and whatever it is that caused him to pull punches (I'm guessing a combination of basic decency and solidarity); and

at the end of it all, he's quietly accepting of his own "frailty," understanding that the current situation is the shitty result of everything that's happened over the past myriad, and that there's likely no way to set himself straight, even though his shortcomings put him in direct conflict with the man he's "supposed to be," according to this awful religion, and according to what others think of him.

Anyway, for those who’ve stuck around, that’s all I have to say for now! I’m just so fascinated by the Saint of Duty/the Pyrwakeon story that’s going on behind the scenes; there’s such an understated intensity to it, and honestly, it didn’t even hit me until months after my first read-through. 

I’m curious to hear what other people are thinking, too!