#I HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL 11 MONTHS TO POST IT NOW MAYBE

[dvdsharkk]

IM SOBBING I WAS MAKIGN BIRTHDAG ART FOR FUCKING MEPHONE4 AND LIKE RIGHT AFTE RI WAS DONE WITH YHE SKETCH AND STARTED ON THE DRAFT I HAD TO TAKE A WEEK BREAK FROM THE INTERNET NOW THE ART IS GONNA BE HELLA LATE IM CRYING

MY MOTIVATION WHILE I WAS DRAWING JT WAS SO GOOD AND NOW ITS NOT IT MIGHT BE AN ABANDONED DRAWING NOW 😞😞

Also random ass picture below *slightly silly suggestive type vibe* (creds to artist)

[mattodore]

spinning them around

[bakanokiwami]

THIS PROJECT IS SUPER COOL!!!!

I don’t care how many people have said it. You deserve to hear it again.

Thank you so much!🥰It's been fun to research, so I'm glad people are seeing the bar charts and enjoying them!

[tropes-and-tales]

Dyin' for a Taste

Day 11:  Face Sitting (Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!) 

CW:  Idiots in love; pining; smut (oral, f!receiving); 18+ only.

Word Count:  4096

AN:  This was requested by an anonymous person!

AN2: When I say this is not edited, please know it is NOT EDITED. Full of typos and sloppy typing. Tropes is a fat-fingered old crone.

It starts with a joke.

The 141 is on a covert ops in the mountains.  It’s cold—the sort of cold that burns, that makes the bones ache.  You’re posted up in a perch, your sniper’s rifle at the ready if shit goes south.  The rest of the team is in the square below, waiting for the drop.

“My bollacks are gonna freeze off,” Soap complains over the comms, and you snort at the whining tone in his soft Scottish brogue. 

“Shoulda dressed for the weather,” you reply.  “Ghost probably has a spare balaclava.”

“And cover this handsome face?”

“Won’t be so handsome when your nose turns black from frostbite.”

You hear the tsch noise he makes over the comms, the very Soap, very Scottish noise of dismissal. 

“You’ll have to sit on my face then, hen, and warm me back up,” he says.

You’re rarely stunned into silence—you and the guys are always making off-color jokes—but when you open your mouth to reply, you only gape wordlessly.  The silence over the comms grows, expands, until Gaz—fucking Gaz—chimes in.

“I think she’s into the idea, bruv.”

And you can’t respond to that fast enough either, which leaves another long beat of silence over the comms, which likely seems like enough of an answer.

-----

The mission goes smoothly.  The team splits up as planned to avoid drawing attention.  You don’t see Soap again until a few days later when you regroup at HQ.

You think, perhaps, that he’s forgotten.  Maybe that’d be better.  You and Soap get along well, and sometimes he flirts with you, but he flirts with everyone.  It means nothing. 

And yet…

And yet, it’s Soap.  You might be able to lie to others, but you can’t lie to yourself:  you’ve spent many a lonely night with your thoughts drifting to him.  Turning him over and over in your mind. 

Soap MacTavish.  Handsome, almost unbearably so.  He could be a cocky asshole, be the sort of man who knows he’s hot and be insufferable about it, but he’s gregarious.  Friendly.  He’s a happy-go-lucky sort of man—or as much as someone in the One-Four-One can be.

-----

“Been avoiding me.”

It’s a statement, not a question.  Soap corners you in the mess hall, his blue eyes peering at you without guile.  He looks almost concerned.

“I haven’t,” you reply.  You try to shift past him, but he puts a hand out against the doorway, bars you with his arm.

“You have.”  He peers at you closer, his blue eyes somber.  “What’s wrong?”

“Why would anything be wrong?”

You thought, perhaps, that he’d forgotten…but those somber eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, then smooth out as he schools his expression.

“Maybe you think my offer was wrong,” he says.

“I never said that.”  You duck under his arm, but he lays his hand on your shoulder and stills you again.

“You’ve never said anything about it.”  You don’t look at him, but you hear his gentle snort of laughter.  “Your silence is deafening.”

You feel your face start to heat up because he’s not wrong.  Too much time has passed now to address that moment in the mountains.  You should have said something then, spat out some rejoinder to signal that it meant nothing to you, that it was just another dumb joke between you and Soap.  But something about that dumb joke conjures up the mental image of you and Soap, and your face burns in embarrassment.

So you duck from his light grip on your shoulder and it makes him laugh again, then call out to your retreating form, “the offer still stands, hen.”

-----

A month passes, then another.  You get leave for a few weeks and go someplace warm, a beach with golden sand and soft breezes where you can relax and forget the horrors of what you see every day.

Then you’re back on base, then another mission.  Over and over, the same routine.

Through it all:  Soap MacTavish, the team’s Golden Retriever.  Always with an easy grin on his handsome face, a laugh, a joke.  He teases Ghost, he does a passable impression of Captain Price.  He gives Gaz a hard time about their rival rugby teams, but it’s always good-natured. 

He jokes with you, but that joke—the one about sitting on his face—becomes just a joke between the two of you.  You don’t know if the other men have forgotten it, but Soap only brings it up when you’re alone now.

At the barracks, in the rec room, he’s sprawled out on the couch and half-dozing, half-watching a rugby match.  When you walk past, he notices, sits up.  Beckons you over, tells you to have a seat…then thoughtfully strokes his face with that damned smirk and comically waggling eyebrows.

“You’re a jackass,” you call out as you leave the room, but by now, it makes you laugh…and it lightly stokes that ever-burning flame low in your belly.

-----

Another time, he sidles up to you at the range as you study your targets with their tight formation of bullet holes.  He points out one shot, high in the corner of the paper, off of the concentric circles of the bullseye.

“Missed one,” he says.

You scoff.  “One out of….many.”

He matches your scoff with one of his own.  “Might be losing your edge.”

“I’m not.”  You know he’s winding you up, but that missed shot galls you. 

“Maybe you’re stressed out.”

You set the target down on the wooden railing.  “Maybe you’re stressing me out, MacTavish.”

It’s the wrong thing to say.  His blue eyes light up in glee, and he only gets out the first part of his retort—You know what’s good for de-stressing—before you drop to one knee and start disassembling your sniper rifle, ducking your head and hiding your burning cheeks from him.

“…nothing wrong with it,” he finishes as you shut the rifle’s case, and you realize you’ve missed part of what he’s said.

“There isn’t,” you agree.  You stand up and lean a bit on the courage that sees you through each mission.  You look him square in the eye and add, “but you’re just flirting.”

He gazes back at you, a soft smile on his face, only a little teasing.  “Not just flirting.”

“Sure.”  You roll your eyes.

He makes his Soap-branded tsch sound, then he loops his arm around your shoulders to pull you in close.  He smells like…well, he smells like soap, clean with a hint of something herbal.  It’s nothing he hasn’t done a hundred times—in safe houses after a mission, walking out of a bar on a night out with the team—that companionable way he pulls you against him.

“It makes me sad when you don’t believe me, hen,” he chuckles, and it’s low, right by your ear, his warm breath fanning over you. 

You’re not sure what spurs your next move.  You’re a natural-born sniper; you take the measure of everything around you—the curve of the earth, the speed and direction of the wind—before you squeeze your trigger.  You’re the same with people, cautious and feeling out every angle of their intentions before you make a move.  But you know Soap, and the question around his joke is the only uncertainty.

Something makes you act without much thought.  Your rifle case in your hand, your other hand tucked in your pocket, and Soap’s arm slung around your shoulders…the moment is crystalized, will be an easy memory to recall in the years to come because this is when everything between the two of you changes.

“You know what?” you ask, and you don’t allow him to hazard a guess.  Instead, you gaze at him levelly, straight into those bright blue eyes of his and add, “alright, let’s do this.”

It’s comical, how the smile drops from his face, how his mouth makes a little “oh” of surprise.  His eyes scan your face, quick, like he’s trying to find the joke, trying to find proof you’re just having a laugh at his expense.

“Bonnie,” he starts to say, and his voice has a rough edge to it.  His voice is missing its usual teasing edge, and he pauses to study you.  You don’t know if he realizes it, but the tip of his tongue darts out, licks against his lower lip, like he’s really thinking of it now that it could be a reality.

“Bonnie, are you just…are ye fer real?”  His voice is lower and his accent gets thicker, and it sets a frisson of heat shimmering through your lower belly.

You refuse to blink.  Refuse to look away.  “I’m for real if you are.”

“I was never joking about that.”

“Then I’m not joking either.”  You swing your rifle case towards the barracks, playing at bravery but willing the fluttery feeling in your stomach to calm.  “So let’s go.”

Soap—gregarious, convivial Soap—says nothing else on the walk back.  He keeps his arm around your shoulders, though, and his hand settles against your bicep, rubs you briskly before gently holding you there, like he’s proving to himself that you’re real, that the moment is really happening.

-----

Your nerve wobbles a little when you get back to quarters.  Soap’s nerves must have a similar wobble, because he turns to you and his usual boyish grin is gone, replaced by a grave expression.

“You dinnae have to do this,” he says, “if you don’t want to.”

Part of you wants to back out, chuck him in the arm and say it was just a joke.  You could still back out.  Soap is flirty and gregarious, but hooking up would irrevocably change your easy relationship with him.  It could change the tenor of the team.  And yet…

…don’t you both face death every day?  Don’t you see the absolute worst of humanity?  Don’t your bodies bear the scars of your hard, unrelenting lives—countless scars, visible and invisible both?  Don’t you all operate in your own bubbles of loneliness, sleeping alone night after night but crowded out by the ghosts you all haul around?

Is it too much to ask for even a moment of connection, of not feeling alone?

You gaze back at him.  Sweet Johnny MacTavish.  Handsome but not vain, smart but not aloof, funny without being cruel about his teasing.  Is there anyone you’d rather be with?

“I want to do this,” you tell him, and there’s no hesitation in your tone.  “If you do.  If you really were just joking around, then no harm, Johnny.”

His somber gaze softens at your use of his real name.  “Wasn’t joking at all.”  Then he opens the door to his quarters and turns to you, invites you in with a sweep of his hand, and when you walk past him, he lays his palm on your lower back to guide you.

-----

In truth, you’ve never actually sat on anyone’s face.  It’s one of those funny sex acts that you joke around about but have never gotten around to, like sixty-nine (always seemed more complicated than necessary) or food-play (always seemed too messy). 

Soap, it turns out, has never actually had his face sat on.

And it’s adorable, how he sheepishly runs his hand through the longer stripe of his short-shorn hair and admits as much.

“Figured it cannae be that complicated though,” he says.  He huffs out a breath, and you realize how nervous he must be, and it gives you courage to take charge.

“Kiss me first.  Then we can figure it out from there.”

The tame command makes his face light up and he murmurs, “yes, ma’am” in his brogue, and then he does as you say.

If Soap MacTavish is generally the team’s Golden Retriever, bouncing around with a wagging tail, he kisses with far more finesse.  He cups your face gently, reverently and leans forward, brushes the lightest of kisses against your lips like he’s testing the waters.  Like he’s waiting for you to pull away, and when you don’t, he kisses you again.

It’s awkward at first, but only because you’re both so tentative.  It’s uncharted territory.  He must be aware that you’re crossing a line in doing this, you think, and he must not care either.  But the awkwardness melts away quickly because Soap is a damned good kisser, skilled in how he moves his mouth against yours, his tongue against yours.  One of his hands stays on your face, cupping you gently and steering you, but the other hand touches your waist, your hip, slides around to squeeze your ass gently before returning to the dip of your waist.

He tastes like something warm and spicy, like cinnamon or nutmeg.  Everything about him is warm, really:  the way he cups your face but runs his thumb over your cheekbone, the way his other hand holds you steady as he kisses you.  And the way he looks at you when he breaks the kiss, the almost-shy way he tugs at the hem of your shirt and asks if he can take it off.

He’s warm too—his body, his skin as you bare it with each article of clothing shed.  You strip each other in tandem, and the sight of him leaves you breathless.  He’s like something carved by a Renaissance sculptor, but when you smooth your palms over the dips and swells of his muscles, you find that he’s warm to the touch, wonderfully so, and a wave of lust almost takes you out at the knees by how much you want to feel his body against yours, under you or on top of you, every inch of you pressed against him.

Soap must feel the same way about you—he touches you just as gently as before, almost reverent, but his goddamned eyes practically shine when he looks at you, then groans out, “fuck, but you’re stunning, hen.”

He maneuvers you both towards the bed, and then he stretches out across it, and this is precisely why your sexual repertoire has always been lacking:  when a brutally handsome man is stretched out in front of you like a damned buffet, your mind singularly focuses on one thing, and you rarely remember that there’s other, more adventuresome things you could do.

You’re already turned on.  Ever since the two of you walked back from the range, you’ve been on a low simmer of lust, and the desire has ratcheted up with each kiss, with each little grumbling groan of Soap’s, with each sweep of his big warm hands along your body.

So you’re already turned on, so why sit on his face when his beautiful cock—perfectly sized for you, the ruddy tip already leaking precum—is also an option?

And Soap is no dummy.  He must guess at your internal battle because he says your name softly, pulls your gaze back to his face where he smiles that brilliant Soap-smile at you.

“Alright then?” he asks.  He pats his upper chest.  “You can sit right here, to start.”

It hits you all at once how intimate this is.  Fucking, hooking up—that’s one thing.  But sitting on your teammate’s face feels like you’re taking a further step into the unknown.  Oral sex, to you, is already more intimate than regular ol’ intercourse, but sitting on his face feels…even more intimate.  There’s a lot of trust on both ends:  he has to trust you not to hurt him, not to put too much weight or force on his face or neck.  And you have to trust him too, since you’re basically smothering him you with your pussy, and many men are precious little babies about eating pussy.

“I could just…”  You trail off and gesture vaguely at where his erection strains and bobs against his belly, and Soap snorts before he replies, “we could do both, hen.”

When you don’t say anything, when you don’t move, he adds, “c’mon, sweet girl.  I’m dyin’ for a taste of ye.”

The accent is unfair, you decide.  The accent is not fighting fair.  Soap’s Scottish brogue is charming in the best of times, but his bedroom version is thicker, at a slightly lower register, and it’s entirely unfair.  It easily dismantles the rest of your meager defenses, so you nod and then kneel on the bed.  But when you start to awkwardly clamor on top of him, he stills you for a beat and taps his mouth, says, “give me a kiss first.”

And the kiss is unfair too because it reminds you that it’s just Soap, one of your dearest teammates, a man who often holds your life in his hands and whose life you hold in your own.  His now-familiar taste of spicy warmth on your tongue, and his lips curving in a smile against yours when he whispers, “climb on up, hen  Don’t keep me waitin’ anymore.”

There’s no sexy way to climb on top of him.  Do you just kneel by his chest and throw a leg over him?  Do you straddle him lower and scoot up?  You split the difference, try to straddle him on his lower chest and scoot up, but then his one arm gets pinned.  Any other man?  It might be a deal-breaker being so clumsy, but Soap laughs underneath you—a genuine belly-laugh full of warmth that makes you giggle too.  He wrangles his arm free, then lays both hands on your hips and guides you the rest of the way.

This is unbearable intimate too, being so exposed to his bright blue-eyed gaze. You probably have tons of issues around previous men who didn’t eat pussy, who were grossed out by it, but Soap’s eyes practically glitter black with how blown his pupils are.  His face rarely hides its emotions very well (he’s a shitty poker player), and there’s no disgust in his expression at all.  There’s only desire, naked and apparent.

“Tell me,” he says, and his voice is a low growl that sends that frisson of heat straight to your core.  “Tell me what is working for you, yeah?  Don’t go quiet on me.”

You nod, and you wish you could think of something cool or funny to say, but Soap lifts his head a little and presses a plush, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other, where both are splayed in front of him, and before you can even beat yourself up for failing to think of something cool or funny, his mouth is on you in earnest.

Soap, a damned good kisser.  It translates to this, his skilled tongue and lips licking at you, suckling at you, swirling against you before he breaks up the pattern with an outright kiss, then resumes his routine.  He traces the tip of his tongue around the firm bud of your clit, the perfect amount of pressure before he snakes it lower, lapping at the arousal leaking from your entrance.  He’s unabashed about it, groans against your feverish skin, and you love him in this moment—love that he wasn’t joking after all, love that he had led you here, where you sit perched on him while he feasts on your cunt and seems to genuinely enjoy it as he does. 

Any other position, you’d lean down and kiss him, or pull him to you and kiss him.  Now, as he groans against you again, you reach down and run your fingers through the longer stripe in his hair.  He must like that, because he groans a third time, and his grip on your hips spasms tighter.

You remember what he asked of you, so when he purses his lips and suckles against your clit, you gasp out a startled “oh!” but then add, “fuck, Johnny.  Just like t-that.”

“Good?”  It comes out muffled against you, and he pauses his mouth long enough to gaze up at you with a smile.

“So good.”  You shift your hand, cup his stubbled chin slick with your arousal—a gentle movement that makes his smile soften too. 

“Like when you call me Johnny, hen.”  Now he sounds a little shy, like he’s edging close to something beyond a random hookup with face-sitting.

“Keep using your mouth like that and I’ll call you Johnny all the time,” you tease.

“Deal.”  And then he’s on you again, laving your sensitive folds with his tongue, his bit of stubble raising a warm burn against your inner thighs.  His hands on your hips pull you closer, and he encourages the slow, careful rhythm when you start to actually ride his face—a languid back-and-forth, mindful of his need for oxygen, while he eats your pussy with the fervor of a starving man.

Your orgasm approaches faster than you thought; you thought you might have to fake it, since you rarely come from oral alone.  But there’s something about this position.  You feel powerful in a benign way, in charge, but mindful of the man underneath you.  You run your fingers through his hair and Soap preens at the touch, just as he preens when you pant out praise for him, tell him how good you feel. How good he is making you feel.

He must sense it because his grip tightens on your hips, but his tongue moves faster and focuses solely on your clit—teasing with the tip of his tongue, then laving it with the flat of his tongue, then wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

“F-fuck,” you choke out.  “Johnny…fuck…I’m gonna…” but you don’t finish the sentence, you keen out a garble of nonsense as you come.

The heat in your belly pools over, spills over in a brilliant wash that courses through your veins, into your trembling legs and up through your body, makes your vision shimmer and crackle with sparks.  Your heartbeat, your panting breath are loud in your own ears, and you hear Soap groan but he sounds faraway.  He teases your orgasm, prolongs it by licking against you until you grip his hair tighter and hold his head still while you clumsily dismount, then flop gracelessly onto the bed beside him.

You feel boneless.  You feel heavy, sleepy, like you could sink into the mattress and sleep for days.  You close your eyes and feel the bed shift, and Soap disappears for a moment.  You hear running water—he must be cleaning his face, you think—but then the mattress dips again and he’s curling his warm body around yours, wrapping his arms around you as he pulls you to him, then settles the blanket over both of you.

“Good, yeah?”

You laugh.  “Yeah, that was good.  Especially for someone who’s never done it before.”  A beat.  “Give me a moment to catch my breath and then I can help you out.”

Soap chuckles above you, and you feel him press his lips to your forehead before settling again.  “No need.”

“But I—”

“Already came.”

The gears in your head turn slow when you’re sated from sex.  Coming makes you stupid.  “Huh?  When?”

Another chuckle, another kiss to your head.  “When I was eating you, hen.”

You turn your head and try to peer up at him.  He looks comfortable and sleepy too, content and sated.  “Seriously?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Told ye I was dyin’ for a taste.”  He shifts a little, pulls you closer to him.  He tugs the blanket more securely around your shoulders.  “If ye want a second round, I’ll need a few minutes.”

You appraise the situation:  the warm scent of Soap, the feel of his naked body pressed to yours, the warm little cocoon he’s created here in his bed.  Of course you want a second round, but you’re sleepy too, and the thought of sleeping with Soap doesn’t seem nearly as terrifying as it might have seemed before he had his mouth on your pussy.

“Or we could sleep,” you offer.

“Sleep,” he agrees.  “Round two tomorrow.”

The doubts from earlier start to surface in your mind, but they seem tiny and inconsequential when you’re wrapped up in Soap’s arms.  You feel sleep tugging at you—he’s already asleep, you think, breathing deep and even against you—so you chance to brush your lips against the bit of him you can reach and whisper good night to him.

But he’s not quite completely asleep yet because he kisses you back, another press of his lips against your head, and he whispers back, “g’night, hen.”

[tudtuds]

The infant's update was released, and a lot of us have been playing and adoring them, including me, the player that usually speeds the clock to my game kids grow up fast.

These cute little guys need a lot of love so I'm releasing my first set focused on kids.

This set started with the Cribs. I saw this acrylic one many months ago and swear that I almost bought it for my dog. So I waited for the patch and tried to create it but, as any crib has an alpha layer(the mesh layer that allows us to add transparency), I had to almost construct an item from scratch to get this on the game, and love it so much!

I even thought of releasing this set with some toddler items but there are plenty of items that I want to create for toddlers now so maybe a next set focused on toddlers' stuff.

You will get with this 22 new items and 3 new wallpapers;

I tried to focus on the Cribs and I really want a Crib that I could decorate by myself so I made a separate mattress, pillows, and even a blanket to place on it. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to add more slots to the cribs so I recommend placing the crib first and decorating it when you are sure about the crib position;

There are some items that need a specific pack to play so pay attention to the list below;

Base Game Items:

Armchair Ondina  - 23 Swatches;

Dresser - 30 Swatches - Same design as the changing Station but I bit smaller and is BG compatible;

Crib Acrylic - 9 Swatches (including some fun ones);

Crib Wood - 30 Swatches;

Deco Bassinet Wood - 30 Swatches;

Made to be used with Sixam's Invisible Bassinet Mod. To know more about it, go to the mod page: https://www.patreon.com/posts/invisible-80088219

Flag - 19 swatches;

Wall Hanger - 23 Swatches;

Crib Mattress - 32 Swatches;

Crib Side Pillow - 32 Swatches;

Crib Side Pillow Roll - 32 Swatches;

Crib Blanket - 32 Swatches;

Ceiling Lamp - 5 Swatches, all 3 wall heights;

Leaf Rug - 19 Swatches;

Regia Rug - 19 Swatches;

Tamanduá Stool (a.k.a  Anteater) - It's an EndTable with two slots over it - 10 Swatches;

Tamanduá Toy (a.k.a Anteater) - it's a toy - 7 Swatches;

Wardrobe - 30 Swatches;

Nifty Knitting SP

Tornet Rocking Chair - 30 Swatches

Growing Together EP

Changing Station - 30 Swatches

I know that some creators released it BG Compatible and I'm investigating it. If I manage to create it I'll add a BG version separately;

Infant GYM - 9  Swatches

Best Search Terms

"Tuds Crib", "Crib", "Tuds"

Download

patreon.com/TudTuds (Eary Access until May 11)

Follow Me

instagram.com/tud.tuds

twitter.com/TudTuds

Thank you so much!

Tuds

[taahko]

I just found your blog today can you please explain or point out a post that explains the MASH timeloop thing? I love the show but I've never heard anyone talk abt it that way before

oh yay hurray ive been waiting for an excuse to talk about this lmao sorry this is long

ok so basically maeve (my gf) and i started watching mash for the first time about a month ago and we started joking about it being like the characters were stuck in a time loop mostly because the same basic episode format is repeated over and over, because it's a sitcom from the 70s and the episodes arent meant to be watched en masse where you can start noticing all the little repetitions and plot holes and inconsistencies that naturally occur in longform tv

but then i started to pay attention to the dates being mentioned in the show - famously the korean war never technically ended, but american troops were involved in active on the ground fighting between 1950 and 1953, so the entire 11 seasons of mash have to be squeezed into that three year period. with 251 episodes occurring within 1,129 days, that gives every episode about 4.5 days of real time. so it works right? no time loop right? well wait a sec

for the first 5 seasons or so of mash they give very consistent dates about when things are happening. for example, bj arrives in korea in september of 1952, at the start of season 4. colonel potter arrives about a week after him, and talks about how he has 18 months left before his retirement. that gives us about 7 months for the shows final 7 seasons to take place in, meaning that by the episode 'point of view' in season 7 we should be around december of 1952. in that episode the pov character starts writing a letter home and in the corner he writes the date:

september of 1951. ok, could be that this episode isn't meant to take place in the regular timeline of the season - maybe for some reason its just like, a random flashback episode. but bj, charles, and potter are all present, even though none of them got to korea until 1952. now i KNOW that this is not like, the True Hidden Secret Lore of MASH, this is the writers realizing they were running out of road and turning back the clock a bit to accommodate for how long the show was running on. but play in my time loop space with me please

more talking points:

consistent jokes about time zones and how difficult it is to call the states because "our today is their yesterday but if you call them now it might not reach them until our tomorrow and by that point our yesterday will be their today"

hawkeye's increasing mania over the seasons and his conviction that the war will never end, comparing the camp to dante's inferno multiple times. maeve once pointed out that the closer hawkeye comes to realizing that he's trapped in a time loop the closer he gets to being institutionalized - and what does the series finale cold open onto ? hawkeye in a mental institution. the only way out is to lose yourself etc. sidenote frank also escaped the time loop by going insane and getting institutionalized

in a war for all seasons bj potter and charles are all present at the 1951 new years party as well as the 1952 new years party

there are three christmas episodes, two of which bj is present for even though he should only have spent one christmas in korea

details of people's families and lives shift around - sometimes potter's got multiple grandchildren, sometimes he only has one, sometimes its a girl, sometimes its a boy, sometimes she's 5, sometimes he's 2

we're not the first people to talk about this either, here's a good video compilation posted a couple yrs ago of time loop moments

overall ive been using the time loop thesis to add another layer to my mash viewing experience. it increases the already present sense of constant dread, anger, frustration, and disgust with their situation that the characters feel, plus it feels like a very poignant take on the united states' constant warmongering and violent existence. it really never ends, it just goes on an on. the future's been canceled by the war department- we're just gonna replay the past.

[3xiles]

Sweet lies part two

Pairing •Toji x gn!reader

Warnings• Angst!, Cheating, suggestive (they like lowkey make out), manipulation, UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIP!, Cursing. Lmk if i forgot any!

Word count • 1079 words

A/n • I had this pre written ever since i put out the first part but was so hesitant on posting it LMAO! Enjoy! Masterlist is pinned!

You knew life after the honeymoon phase was rough but nothing could’ve prepared you for the drastic switch in you and Toji’s relationship. About two months the after you guys got married is when you realized the mistake you made. Your days went from him coming home from work and showering you with affection to him coming in with an inaudible hello. You were confused on what you could be doing wrong. He was coming home to a clean house with food on the table, a bath prepared and you all dolled up for him, just how he liked it. This went on for months and throughout those months he’s just been coming home later and later. The man who was once coming home every day at five now walking through the front door as late as ten at night. It didn’t bother you until your 26th birthday.

You woke up excited to celebrate your first birthday as a married woman. For your birthday last year Toji went all out so you couldn’t help but let your expectations be high! Toji wasn’t there when you woke up, which was normal because he usually leaves extremely early in the morning. You spent your day pampering yourself to the max, expecting to maybe go out later. Soon enough five o clock rolls around. You sit pretty and patient on the couch, telling yourself he’s just running a little late. You wait… and you wait.. sending text after text to your husband every hour.

Hubby💍❤️

5:30pm

Y/n: Hey babe coming home soon?

6:15

Y/n: Toj idk what you have planned but i’m super excited! see you soon❤️

7:23

Y/n: Hey is everything okay??

8:54

Y/n: Hello?

9:46

Y/n: Toji it’s almost 10 where are you?

10:27

Y/n: Toji?

You send your last text with tears falling from your eyes. You hate to think he forgot your birthday. It can’t be. He just got caught up in something. It has to be. You check the time one last time. 11:03. You then tell yourself you need to go to bed. As you stand up from the couch the door opens and the man you’ve been waiting for finally shows. You do nothing but stare at him, tears mixed with mascara running down your puffy cheeks. “The hell happened to you?” he says, taking off his shoes, tie, and blazer. He begins to unbutton his shirt, purple marks adorning his chest. That was in that moment when something in you just… snapped.

“Toji, what is today?” you slowly walk towards him. He shrugs, scratching the back of his head. “Look doll, i’m beat. Can we talk tomorrow?” he begins to walk towards the stairs that lead to your shared bedroom “No. Absolutely the fuck not.” oh crap. did you just say that? he stops in his tracks and turns to you. “Excuse me?” Shitshitshitshitshit what do you say? why did u say that? “Toji i asked you a question. What. Is. Today.” you keep up the tough girl act, too deep to back out now. “Y/n.” he walks closer to you but you back away “Toji today is my fucking birthday. Today is my birthday and i’ve been home all day thinking my ‘husband’ was going to at least come home on time but you were out fucking some bitch!” You begin to yell, crying harder than you were before. “The fuck are you talking about?” You weren’t stupid, you knew he was cheating but who were you to say anything. You were nothing without him. You didn’t want to ruin things. You can’t lose him. “Toji, i know you’re seeing someone else but i at least thought you would have some type of respect or decency to not do this to me on my fucking birthday.”You’re falling apart in front of him.

The silence is strong. He walks towards you and wraps his arms around you, holding you close. “Things just haven’t been right with me, i don’t know why i do the things i do. You know how much you mean to me baby, i never want to hurt you.” i never want to hurt you. Those words replay in your mind. He brings his hands to hold your face, wiping your tears with his thumbs. “You know I love you and only you, right?” you wanted to yell at him. You wanted to kick and scream but something in you made you believe every word he was saying. Instead of doing any of those things you just nodded. Shame rose in you but it all started to fade away when his lips connect with yours. You know this isn’t right, this isn’t healthy but that doesn’t stop you from wrapping your arms around his neck and letting his hands wander. “I’m so sorry baby.” his lips travel to your neck. You try to hold back sounds but he knows just what to do to get it out if you. “Gonna let me show my girl how sorry i am?” you just started at him. not wanting to say yes but you didn’t want to disappoint him by saying no either.

You have to draw a line somewhere. “I think i just wanna go to sleep…” Removing your hands from him and stepping back. His looks confused but he doesn’t press further. Is it bad that part of you wishes he did? You wished he would’ve showed some kind of kind want, not just wanting to fuck out of pity. You know why he didn’t tho, he already got his fix of pussy for the night and it didn’t come from you. What a shame.

That night you couldn’t sleep, you were up all night silently crying. Is this really what your life was? You had lost yourself in this relationship. Your 26th birthday was a wake up call. The next few days were rough, he was just coming home later and later. Not to mention he wasn’t even trying to hide his affairs, He started to be careless. Not bothering to cover the scratches or hickeys that covered his body, leaving his phone open when you could see messages from the multiple girls and having panties and various other items in his car that didn’t belong to you. It’s like he was trying to hurt you, but isn’t that what he said he never wanted to do?

[what-even-is-thiss]

Changing people's minds on major things is actually a very long and difficult process for both parties. I didn't actually believe that pedestrian-centric city design would be better for people that drive cars until I spent almost a year living without a car and watched hours of youtube videos explaining the issue to me. Turns out that traffic actually does go down and driving does become more pleasant if you make it harder to drive a car and easier to walk. I just straight-up refused to believe that for years. Because people just talked about it like it was obvious. But it wasn't. Because I had spent my whole life in a car-centric city going around in a car and also I was an English major in college who did not study urban planning. You can't expect me to change my entire mindset around transportation all at once. I did reach a eureka moment like two weeks ago but that was after like three years of getting exposed to these ideas periodically and living without a car for 11 months.

And yeah this post is about my big dumb animal brain accepting the science behind narrow roads and the evils of certain types of zoning laws, but it's also about stuff in general. If you don't know why someone isn't changing their mind on something, it's probably because the information they're getting hasn't reached a critical mass in their monkey brain yet. Whenever you hear stories about people changing their minds on things or leaving a certain ideology the story never goes "A person on the internet did a slam dunk on me and then I changed my mind."

It's usually a long process that happens over the course of months or years. Seeds planted here and there that coalesce eventually into a new thought or ideology over the course of years or snap together or send someone down a new path after a certain event. Same with me about pedestrian-centric cities. For me the tipping point was finding this video, which isn't necessarily super special or the best and the guy who runs the channel, in my opinion, isn't the most qualified or the most sympathetic towards every city in every situation, but it was the feather that tipped the scales in my brain to "Oh, wait. Maybe everything I thought I knew about how cities work is wrong actually." But that video alone didn't change my mind. With the amount of stuff and people that have gradually and gently been giving me information over the past couple years, something else was bound to eventually change my mind.

People on Tumblr yelling about abolishing the car, if anything, slowed down me changing my mind. Every time I saw a person saying that driving cars is stupid and that cars are bad I took a step back into my old way of thinking in defense. Because I grew up only ever using a car to get around. Rhetoric like that felt like a direct attack on my family, who I know to be loving people who care about other human beings and who drive cars literally everywhere.

And you might say, posts and videos like that aren't actually an attack on people that drive or have to drive. Okay then. Why are they phrased like that? Because that makes you feel good? Because you're angry? Alright, your anger at how it's currently impossible to get around if you don't own a car and how people who don't actually want to drive are being forced to drive is reasonable. And now I understand why it exists. I'm kind of angry too now that I get how this stuff works. However, is calling the people you're trying to convince stupid to their face and immediately bombarding them with your most radical ideas that might be completely detached from their reality and how they understand the world really the most productive way to channel your anger?

What about a guy with a knee problem that lives in rural Appalachia? Do you think he is gonna be convinced by your angry rants about bike lanes? No. He lives on a mountain that he can't climb or bike up because he's disabled and has only ever known getting around in a car. What about a person who overheats easily living in a suburb in the middle of the desert? Do you think she is inspired by your green lush pictures of trolleys running through parks in The Netherlands? No. If she leaves her house for too long without ice water she could literally die and you're going on about getting rid of, in her mind, the only thing that lets her go to the grocery store and not faint.

And again, this post is about my inability to comprehend walkable cities, but it's also about everything else you might ever want to convince someone of. The way you talk about things with your in-group that knows exactly what you're talking about should not be the same way you talk about that thing with people that you're genuinely trying to convince of something.

[madschiavelique]

𝐆𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐧!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐌𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐀𝐔

This au was first talked about on 04/11/2023 with my amazing bestie @sunflowersandsapphires and I thought it could be cute to share these thoughts !! (I'm gonna post several AUs ideas we had and discussed on throughout the months because DAMN the thoughts are delicious)

please note that english is not my first language and that there might be some little grammar mistakes here and there !

word count : 2,2k

We’re all familiar from up close or far of the myth of Medusa, also known as one of the gorgons. People often tend to forget that there were 3 gorgons on this myth : Medusa (of course), but also her sisters Euryale and Stheno. 

To give you a bit of a refresh on the myth of Medusa – just from memories okay, the versions of each myth vary in mythology and this is the one i remember best – she was in love with Poseidon and the god decided at one point to bring her to one of Athena’s temples so that they could make love there, her two sisters helping her getting in. 

The two lovers were taken during the act by Athena herself who cursed the 3 women by making them gorgons, creatures with snake hair (and body too I believe) that could turn to stone anyone that made the mistake of looking at them in the eyes.

So my mind went like “huh, wait a minute you’d have to be able to see to actually turn to stone right ? So what would happen if-” and it all clicked.

I think somehow Athena’s magic on the gorgons would make them prone to often get reached by men that are ill-intended. So who knows, what if reader is one of the gorgon sisters, hum ? 

What if men in the past have tried to come and attack you, what if men in the past successfully killed your two sisters and that you’re now all alone ? What if you lost faith in the possibility of anyone being nice to you, or of anyone not considering you as the monster that you are ?

You lived bitterly, secluded in an area people never walked by in fear of getting attacked by you. You're just so used to people coming to you with the intention of killing you that you expect everything to be a threat. You know better than to be afraid, your powers serve you well enough that you don't have to live in fear.

Until one day, Matt gets lost. He’s never passed through that area before, and the surroundings are so different to his sensitivity. There’s a certain presence, an aura that makes his senses blurry as he walks hesitantly.

Of course, you notice his presence. You’re used to living underground, and the vibrations his footsteps and his stick send through the earth are enough for you to come to the surface. You get out, ready to fight, ready to stare, ready to kill.

He hears you, turning around and simply asking “Hello ?”

But ironically, you’re the one to freeze this time : he is looking in the void, and the usual signs of petrification are not lining up on his body. You frown, and the gut wrenching feeling of fear takes you as much as the weight lifting sensation of relief.

Maybe your powers aren’t working anymore, maybe this is your last moments of torment, maybe you will join your sisters in Hell, maybe you’ll die and get humiliated once more. 

But maybe you’re finally free from your curse, maybe only the snakes remain on your head but you can’t turn anyone to statues anymore : maybe you can finally get out of this situation where you’re all alone.

You just want to make sure though, so you step forward a bit, not entirely in case he tries to attack you by surprise, and ask “Why have you come here ?”

He tilts his head towards the sound of your voice, a curious gleam passing his eyes as his eyes won’t settle on you.

“I’m lost.” he answers.

Now you scoff, thinking it’s another trick to make you fall. You’ve had wise men trying to kill you in the past, using their wits to trap you in enigmas or other stupidities that would bring your downfall. 

“I don’t fall for tricks and traps,” you say as you step closer to him.

He doesn’t seem to step back, nor does he seem afraid, not in the slightest. You tilt your head a bit until your eyes bore into his, making sure your gaze is aligned with his own.

He frowns, tilting his own head to the side, “Tricks and traps ?”

Your eyes go wide and your shoulders fall as the realisation hits you : he’s blind.

The fear dissipates, but gives its place to disappointment. Of course your curse is not lifted, of course the possibility of you going back to a semi-normal life is purely impossible. You step back, looking at him as if discovering him for a second time.

“You’re not here to kill me ?” you question as you cross your arms over your chest.

He’s the one to scoff now, placing both of his hands on his stick.

“Kill you ? Why would I do such a thing ?”

There’s genuine confusion in his tone, but you’re not ready to let your guard down about all of this.

“Don’t play ignorant, you know why.”

“I assure you I don’t.” he answers. 

Now you’re both confused.

You are mostly because it’s the first time your powers don’t act on someone, as well as the first time someone isn’t here to kill you nor is aware of your existence.

As for him, he’d just arrived here because he had lost his way, and now here he was in front of a woman that was claiming he was here to kill her. So who could she be that people came so often here with that purpose only ? 

There was something different about you, your smell indicated a strong presence of wet stone, but of something much different. Something that smelled like warm sand, like diluted metal, like scales of snakes. He wondered if perhaps you had one on you, or if the area had plenty of them he had to beware of.

You couldn’t tell if he knew of the legends, for who knows : maybe your sister’s tale had gone forgotten. If he was aware of your story however, he looked like someone pretty calm about it, which made the word ‘unusual’ turn into a euphemism for your situation.

“You’re simply lost ?” you end up interrogating.

“I never used this passageway before,” he conceded, “I wanted to use it as a shortcut, but I’ve never gone this far away from the places I know by heart.”

You continued looking at him. He was well built, enough that his physique could be considered as one of the many heroes that had tried harming you. Yet the more you looked at him, the less the thought of him being here to cause you pain and kill you faded. He only had a bag, and his walking stick. 

Your silence perplexed him.

“Why would people want to kill you ?” he asked again, pulling you back from your reverie.

The question made you feel weird, because it seemed like such an evidence to you that seeing an alternative to this interrogation seemed impossible on the spot. Why would they not want to kill you ? They had plenty of reasons anyway.

“Doesn’t matter,” you answered on the spot as this being somehow the only thing your could provide as an answer.

“I think it does,” he interjected, and your parted your lips.

In all these years of being a gorgon, never had your had much of a conversation like so. He surely didn’t care about your life, and maybe was this another ruse to lure you in and make you easier to kill.

Guessing how answering these questions wasn’t one of your fortes, he sighed.

“Could you help me find my way back, please ?”

You’re hesitant on the case of his demand. Every man before him had wronged you, had turned against you to try and bring some glory to their pathetically short lives while you remained eternal and undefeated. 

What if it was another trick by Athena ? What if this was her final resort to bring glory to humans ?

And in any case, men had taken away your sisters, how could you not be angry at them and not wish to help them ? 

But this one… He seemed kind, disinterested in any kind of glory in any shape or form, just a blind man lost in your woods.

Not daring to be closer to him or even touching him in case this could ease your way into death, you grabbed the foot of his stick and rose back up.

“Hold on to it,” you mumbled as you started walking towards the next path.

You turned a second to him, a grin plastered on his face. Not a vicious one, to your relief, but a grateful smile.

“Why’s a lady like you all by herself on this desertic passage ?” he questioned, walking at your pace as he tried to make sure by waving his arm in front of him that he wouldn’t be hitting anything.

You weren’t here to make friends with men, but you hadn’t talked to anyone in a while. The sight of him having so much trouble directing himself because of your gauche handling of his stick sent you a wave of pity. You dropped the wood, and he stopped, surprised.

“Already there ?” he asked in surprise.

But you came to him, taking his hand and have it circle your arm so that he could still use his stick.

“Thank you,” he softly smiled as you both started walking again, your mind trying to chase away the way his arm against yours felt. “So, why are you all alone in here ?”

“Because bad men chased me until there was no place other than there for me to live,” which wasn’t far off the mark.

“Exiled ?” he interrogated.

“Feared.” you breathed.

“How could you be feared ?” the question rang wrong to him.

“How could I not,” you almost laugh as your free hand comes to caress the neck of a snake.

“I don’t find you terrifying,” his lips came to form an inverted smile as he rose his eyebrows.

“It’s because you are safe from my unwanted danger.” 

“Am I holding the hand of the most dangerous person to ever be ?” he laughed, the lack of seriousness in his tone making the situation all the more ironic for you.

“You just might,” you answered, a bit less tense than you were seconds ago.

“Well, it pleases me,” he admitted and you stiffened.

Trying to play it cool and not get nervous that this could be your last conversation ever, you asked : 

“To be in danger ?”

His head turned to yours, his gaze still lost somewhere you could never be in.

“To be in good company.”

Your walk with him came to an end, and Matt had by now remembered the way to get to the path. He wished you goodbyes, and you came back to your cave thinking how much of a strange situation it had been. 

He hadn’t tried to kill you on the way, but maybe had an acolyte of some sort of his placed a trap in your cave. You meticulously made your way back to your place, but nothing different was to be found.

What an odd encounter.

And thus he came a second time to you.

“I’ve lost my way again,” he had explained.

“Have you got the memory of a goldfish ?”

But nevertheless, you had accompanied him back again, and had chatted again, and waved goodbyes again.

But still, he kept getting lost, and kept coming back to you for your guidance. 

You had the full conviction by now that he had the worst sense of orientation a man could have ever gotten.

And he had the full conviction that you were not a monster, so he pretended to not know his way although he now knew it by heart just to have an excuse to meet you again and talk to you.

“Seems like I really can’t remember my way anymore.”

“Matt, you always come to me with the exact same path, you know that right-”

“Really can’t remember it anymore, such a shame, looks like you’ll once again have to accompany me.

“It’s the second time you’ve come to see me today.”

Of course he tries to play it off and placing this on his atrocious sense of orientation, but there are some moments where he accidentally lets the cover slip.

“It’s near a huge rock.” you explain again.

“You mean the one shaped like a heart that is about 300 steps from here ?”

“Yes exact- wait a minute, if you know the placement so well, how come you always get lost ?”

“...”

“...?”

“Amnesia has taken me, what were we talking about ?”

“Matt you’ve gotten ‘amnesia’ three times this week. You need to speak to someone about that.

“You shouldn’t worry. Actually I feel like I have most of my sense in your presence lately, your company cures me of my own obliviousness-” he says as he trips over a rock immediately.

And you’re quite oblivious to this, but also the more you understand about this, the least do you complain about it. 

Maybe loneliness started slipping away from you after all.

(I could continue on this au but I have WAY too many others in mind that I want to put out there !!! I'd love to see any of the thoughts you'd have on this au besties <33)

[jmvore]

Jokes on You ➻ Prologue

» RATING › 18+ [M I N O R S D O N O T I N T E R A C T] » GENRE(S) › smut, angst, fluff » AU › infidelity, polyamorous, married!au » PAIRING(S) › jimin x reader, yoongi x reader, & jungkook x reader » WORD(S) › 700(w) » SYNOPSIS › It was supposed to be your annual Christmas date that you have every year. A chance to talk and to try to get an understanding of where you are within your arranged marriage but... He didn't show, leaving you sitting in the middle of a crowded restaurant and embarrassed about being stood up by your spouse. It’s okay though at least you have three other men who want to spend time with you. » WARNING(S) › no warning(s) to account for aside from your husband being an absolute shit-head. » SMUT WARNING(S) › none here. will put on each chapter. » ORIGINAL POST DATE › 12/26/2001 » RE-POSTED DATE › 9/9/23 » A/N › Thank you @/saradika for the divider(s)! they’re so cute. Anyway thanks for reading lovelies.

[11:23pm] dickhead: I won’t be able to make it, baby but I’ll make it up to you. I promise. I’m so sorry.

You’ve been staring at his text message for damn near an hour in utter disbelief. What pisses you off more is the fact that he waited until he knew you would be there to tell you. You would have been fine. There are other places you could have been spending your time. Other (deserving) people you could be spending your time on.

However, leaving you here with nothing to go on but this text message he sent an hour ago?

Frustrated doesn’t even begin to describe your mood. You’re trying your hardest not to break your phone or make a scene because what the hell? If this was any other type of dinner, you wouldn’t have cared.

But…

It’s Christmas Eve (soon to be Christmas) and it was his idea to spend the night celebrating. He was the one who made the reservation for the night. He was the one who said he had planned a night in the town. He was the one who told you to wear that red bodycon dress that shows off your assets and makes you look and feel pretty.

And it was him who had you sitting in this fancy-ass restaurant waiting like a damn fool.

You reached out to him to try and figure out where the hell he was but he didn’t even have the decency to call or text you back. It’s only when you leave him a shrew of messages cursing him out is when he shoots back with that half-ass apology.

No explanation as to where he is.

No care in the world of how him leaving you here made you feel.

Sometimes you wonder why you let your parents marry you off to him in the first place. You knew it was for their benefit. Something about their business being in debt and you being the one to (hopefully) bring their business back from the dead through this union. You weren’t truly paying attention. In the end, it didn’t matter because soon after you said your vows they went bankrupt, forcing them to give up everything they worked decades for. You never forgave them for forcing your hand. Especially after you learned the reasoning behind the marriage.

You were their wild child. Their problem child. They hoped you being married would force you to settle down. To give them the grandchildren they desired seeing as their only other child, your sister Eun-ji, had cut all ties (and now you see why honestly).

After a while, you found yourself distancing them from you and your life until you got to a point where you only talked to them every once in a blue moon. Which, wasn’t often. Maybe once every two or three months.

As for your husband… Over time you grew to tolerate his presence within the confines of your house. You could even say you grew to like him but you never loved him.

Not the way he used to love you.

And now, this whole sham of a marriage has been nothing but disappointment after disappointment. That feeling of ’like’ you had slowly dwindled into disdain and in return, you gave up. You're not as upset as you should be but it doesn't matter. You hoped that he would slowly realize how irrelevant he is because you realized it very early on. Honestly, you’re ready to take that next step to leave this burden of a marriage. It not benefiting you anyway.

The first step, however, is getting the hell out of here.

You stand to leave. Brain on overdrive because you want to leave this establishment as soon as possible. You flag down a waiter as another waitress makes her way toward you with what looks like a bouquet of lilies. She mentions he had them reserved for you before bowing and apologizing. You’re getting more pissed off as the time ticks by and the more you look at the flowers, the angrier you become.

All you want to do is go home.

You pay what little bill you had before bowing and apologizing. You hoped the walk to the valet outside wouldn’t be that terrible but, of course, nothing ever goes to plan. 

You turn to leave and immediately smack right into a waiter holding a tray of drinks. The tray crashes to the floor as the vase of lilies falls and crashing to the ground causing it to shatter. She apologizes profusely, trying to wipe off the remnants but it’s a little too late. Your favorite dress is ruined and you’re already growing sticky. It’s uncomfortable and it makes you feel repulsed. You know it’s not her fault, rerouting your anger to your soon-to-be ex-husband. You tell her it’s fine when she offers to get you another vase for the flowers but you refuse. You didn’t even want them in the first place.

Finally outside, you wrap your coat tighter around your body as the valet brings your car around. You thank the man and give him a small tip before settling, you let your tears of frustration fall. Embarrassing doesn’t even begin to describe how you feel. From being stood up to having drinks dumped on you (not intentionally of course), you wondered how could this night get any worse.

Glancing at the clock you realize it’s almost thirty minutes away from being Christmas and you’re about to spend it alone. Although, you don’t want to go home. You don’t want to see his face and you for sure, don’t want to be in the same house with him. You much rather spend it with someone you know who wants to spend it with you.

You groan, tossing the present (you wish you hadn’t had) for him to the back seat. You don’t want to look at it anymore, a reminder of a horrible night.

“I should call him…” You grumble and scroll through your contacts until you see the person you’re looking for. You dial his number and he picks up on the third ring. Excited that you had time to call. You shouldn’t be this thrilled to talk to another man that’s not your husband but… the would have mattered if this marriage was a complete farce.

“Hey…” You sigh in relief, knowing the night is going to be just fine and he leaves you in a much happier mood after the shit show you’ve just endured

You can skip chapters to who you want to read!💖

Prologue

Choice 01⇢ Yoongi ⇢ Bittersweet  ⇢  6k+

Choice 02 ⇢ Jungkook ⇢ You Make Me Better  ⇢ 5.6k+

Choice 03 ⇢ Jimin ⇢ You & Me ⇢ TBA

Epilogue

[robbersofmyheart]

A coffee shop meeting…

Summary: Fate steps in when a teacher in her not-even-quarter-life crisis meets Matty Healy.

A/N: There's a very strong possibility that I'll never post any other writing on here again, but I hope this brings a smile to someone else's face. This was a daydream born of my love both for the 1975 (Matty in particular tbh) and for the found family trope. Hope you enjoy it!

“You don’t happen to have a light, do you?”

“No, I don’t. Maybe it’s a sign you shouldn’t smoke it.”

“I’ve done a lot worse, believe me.”

“Oh, I know. Doesn’t make that nicotine any better for you though.”

Eleanor looked across at her companion, eyebrows raised in challenge, waiting to see if he had a comeback. The café, which had been heaving when she arrived a couple of hours ago, now had only two customers remaining. In their typical British fashion, they hadn’t spoken until now, despite being alone at their adjacent tables, so Eleanor was surprised to hear him finally breaking the ice over the rattling of coffee cups being tidied away. She watched as he put the cigarette back into the packet, a smirk overtaking his features.

“So you do recognise me then.”

Crap. Of course that’s what he took from that. Matty Healy - 1, Eleanor - 0.

“Yes, I recognised you, Matty,” Eleanor replied with a sigh. She couldn’t believe she’d lost that easily.

“Why didn’t you say anything? You were the only one in here that could see my face.”

“I was working,” she paused. “Or at least trying to. I don’t usually focus well in busy places, too many more interesting things to study.”

“Why are you here then?”

“My cousin lives in Manchester and I’d come to visit him. We managed to have half a day before he got called in for a last-minute shift at work. I missed my train home by literally seconds, then I saw that the next one was cancelled, so I thought I’d get some planning done while I wait for the one after to arrive.”

Matty was listening to her intently now, his chin resting on his hand. Eleanor wondered what he was doing here. Since he arrived, he’d alternated between drinking cups of coffee, scribbling frantically in his Moleskine, and watching the comings and goings of customers out of the corner of his eye. Before she could ask him, however, he dived in with yet another question for her

“And what sort of planning would that be?”

“Factorising quadratics with Year 9, area of a trapezium with Year 7, and recurring decimals revision with Year 11.”

Matty exhaled loudly, leaning back in his chair, the glint in his eye telling her that he was impressed. “You’re a maths teacher then.”

“Bingo.”

“That must be a tough gig.”

“Just a bit.”

“You seem quite young to be a teacher.” It was a statement, but the furrow in his brows betrayed his confusion.

“I’m 22, so I guess I am.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

Eleanor hesitated, considering what her reply would be, and Matty waited patiently, almost watching the cogs turning in her brain. “I do, for the most part. I work with an amazing team of people, and I love seeing the difference I make to those kids’ lives. Not everyone has that purpose, so I’m lucky really.”

Matty narrowed his eyes at her, knowing that she wasn’t telling the full story. And that was how Eleanor found herself pouring her heart out to the curly haired singer, the troubles that she had bottled up inside her for months finally breaking free, whether she liked it or not.

She told him about how she lived in a permanent state of exhaustion, tired from the never-ending to do lists and the unbearable repetitiveness of her daily life. She told him about the part of her that regretted throwing herself into such a big career at such a young age, and how she felt that she missed her chance to be young and wild and carefree because she’d always been so focused on her work. She told him about how she’d thought about leaving her current life behind and starting again so many times, but had ultimately been too scared of failing and letting people down when they’d given up so much to help her get to where she was now.

To his surprise, Matty didn’t feel like interrupting her once during her monologue. He simply wanted to let her talk, to let her share her thoughts with him. It was like he could actually see some of the weight lifting off the girl’s shoulders as she unburdened herself of her worries, and it almost made him smile to think that she felt comfortable enough to tell him when he somehow knew that she had never told anyone else. So he just listened, letting her ramble on until she ran out of things to say.

When that time finally came, Eleanor let out a big exhale and looked Matty in the eye as he responded with one word: “Wow.”

Eleanor felt her face start to burn and she buried it into her hands. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. This is probably the last way you wanted to spend your afternoon, being on the receiving end of my word vomit.”

“You know what, it actually made a refreshing change. Didn’t expect to get recruited as a therapist today.” Matty watched her shoulders start to shake under her blanket of blonde waves, and was shocked at the worry he felt that she might be crying. But when she looked up she was giggling, despite the faint sheen of tears in her eyes.

“Oh, so you’re my therapist now?”

“You mean you didn’t purposefully choose me? I’m wounded.” That made her laugh properly this time, and Matty found himself unable to hold a soft smile back any longer before his expression turned more serious. “Look, I’m not going to pretend like I know how to solve your problems, and I’m not even sure if you want me to, but can I say one thing?” She nodded. “I think that if the people that you’re worried about letting down really love you, they’ll be more upset if you carry on doing something that’s making you miserable for their sakes than if you give it up.”

Eleanor mulled over the singer’s words and whilst she knew deep down that they were true, it didn’t change the fact that she was absolutely terrified at the idea of giving up teaching. Below the supportive façades, she knew her parents would always berate her for leaving such a stable, well-paid career, and her pride would never let her return to work at her current school with people that she adores if this mysterious plan B failed. She relayed all of this to Matty.

“Well who gives a flying fuck what anyone else thinks anyway! What’s the point in life if you don’t do something you love?”

“But teaching is the only thing I’ve ever even contemplated doing, I’ve got absolutely no idea what else I’d do.”

“Listen, you’re young, intelligent, beautiful, and you’ve literally got the whole world out there with so many possibilities - it doesn’t matter if you don’t get it right first time.”

“Careful, Healy, I might start thinking you like me,”

Now, if you asked Matty Healy of The 1975 why his immediate response was to do a stereotypically girlish impression of that comment before flipping off the young woman sat in front of him, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. Nor could he explain why, after only an hour of talking to her, he felt such an incredible fondness for her, an almost brotherly affection, which prompted him to tell her how amazing she seemed to be. But he could describe how his heart soared as she laughed at him, and then sunk as she realised the time and started hurriedly packing her stuff into her bag.

“Shit, shit, shit. Do you think I can make the train in 5 minutes? I can’t miss this one as well. This is all your fault you know!”

“Hang on, how is it my fault? You’re the one who started emptying your brains onto the table.”

“And you were the one who made the mistake of listening.” Eleanor swung her bag onto her shoulder, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”

Then she was running out of the coffee shop, a blur of blonde hair and floral perfume.

It was only then that Matty realised he didn’t even know her name.

***

1 year later…

“Lovely to meet you, take care.”

As soon as the interviewee had left the room, the smiles on four of the five faces dropped and they let out a sigh.

“Guys, if you want to actually do this, we do need to hire someone.”

Matty tugged at his hair in frustration. “It’s not that we’re not on board with it, Jamie, it’s just got to be with the right person. I mean, it’s letting someone totally unknown to us into an entire chapter of our lives, not just our careers.”

It was just over a month ago that The 1975 had told Jamie Oborne that they were ready to start working on their next album. In the same meeting, Jamie had proposed an idea that he had been mulling over for a while. The response to ‘A Theatrical Performance of an Intimate Moment’ had been better than anyone had anticipated, and the fans always loved seeing behind the scenes footage. So, Jamie had suggested filming the entire journey of their next album, from concept to creation to tour, and releasing it as a mini-series. Of course, the band could get the footage themselves, but whether they would actually remember to do it was a different story.

That was how they found themselves in a boiling hot room in the London office of Dirty Hit, having collectively decided against all 15 people they had interviewed for the role of documentarian.

“I mean, they all just seem so serious,” Matty continued.

“Boring, you mean,” George muttered.

“This thing does have to look good, though, for it to work, and these were the most qualified of all the candidates,” Jamie countered.

“We don’t fucking care about qualified!”

“I think what Matty’s trying to say, mate,” Ross calmly cut in, “Is that we were thinking of something more low key. More of a collection of home movies than something carefully filmed and edited.”

“Yeah, we don’t know how long this thing is going to go on for, way over a year at least, and we don’t want to feel like we’re putting on a show the whole time. It’s got to be authentic. It’s gonna be fucking weird at the start but after a while we just want it to be like a mate is casually filming what we’re doing.”

Jamie had to admit that George closed their argument well, and he was sold on it. He just wished that they had told him sooner.

“Okay, okay, I get it and I’m happy for us to go ahead with that. There’s one more person for us to speak to today, who was kind of my wildcard, so if she’s more what you’re looking for then we can revisit some of the other applications tomorrow.” With that, Jamie left the room to get the last candidate.

“A wildcard? What is this, mid-2000s X Factor?” Matty huffed, to the amusement of the others.

But any annoyance that Matty felt was washed away in an instant when he saw who his manager was holding the door open for.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Matty’s words might have sounded rude, but it was the smile spreading across his face that shocked everyone the most.

“I’m here in an attempt to annoy you for longer this time,” Eleanor smirked.

“Well, you’re failing miserably at this point. How are you?”

“I’m good. Really good, actually.” A genuine smile crossed her face this time. “Didn’t think you’d remember me to be honest.”

“I often wondered what you decided to do with your life in the end,” Matty shrugged. “It frustrated me knowing everything and then nothing at all. So I guess you have already succeeded in your goal to annoy me.”

Before you had chance to reply, another voice broke through to join the conversation. “Sorry to interrupt this lovely chat, but would someone kindly explain what the hell is going on here?” It was George, and he, like everyone else in the room, was stumped by Matty’s sudden personality transplant.

Now very aware of all of the eyes on her, she looked to Matty for help, who simply sat back in his chair before saying “Well, I think you’re sat in the better seat for a storytime, don’t you? Anyway, I don’t even know your name.”

So Eleanor told the room about how she had met their frontman, briefly mentioning the life crisis that she’d been having at the time, whilst Matty impatiently waited to hear what happened after she left the coffee shop. She told them how she’d stayed in teaching until the end of that school year, before handing in her notice. Her boss had been sad to see her go, but told her that if she ever decided that she wanted to come back then he’d always find a job for her. Eleanor’s family, however, reacted quite differently; she ended up having a massive row with her parents about it and her relationship with them still hadn’t quite mended fully. Ever since her move to London, she had been taking whatever bar jobs she could find and spent her days applying to any jobs that took her fancy.

Matty couldn’t help the pride that was coursing through him for the young woman sat across from him. She had taken all of those ‘What ifs’ that she’d told him about, thrown them in the fire and walked away, when he knew that all of her instincts would have been telling her to do the opposite. He looked around at the others, and was both amused and pleased to find that they all seemed to be as entranced by Eleanor as he had been at their first meeting. In Matty’s eyes, she was the perfect fit, and he could tell that she was quickly winning the others over as well.

Surprisingly, it was Adam who spoke up first. “So, you’re saying that you’re totally unqualified for this job?”

“Never done anything like it before in my life. But it sounded interesting and I’m always up for learning new stuff.”

“Never been behind a camera? Never had anything to do with the music industry?” Ross asked, slightly taken aback by her honesty.

“Not the music industry, but I used to study music at school and I still play the piano from time to time.”

“And I take it you’re on board for annoying Matty as much as humanly possible?” It was George this time.

“Oh 100%.”

Matty rolled his eyes, but the smile remained on his face. She’d done it. Now, there was only one person left to convince. Matty quickly joined the others in looking at Jamie the way they used to look at their parents when the ice cream van pulled up on their road.

Eleanor watched on nervously as some sort of telepathic conversation seemed to transpire between the band and their manager.

Eventually, the silence broke and a new chapter began.

[autisticprentiss]

Sleepover

Emily Prentiss X reader.

You and Emily start cuddling to help each other sleep on away cases. It's probably not the best idea when you're both hiding feelings for the other.

Part 1/?

Not edited, and posted from mobile :/

/ Wednesday 7th, 11:55 pm. Seattle. /

You stand with the team watching Hotch talk with the motel receptionist. You can tell from the way she doesn't quite meet Hotch's eyes that you're not getting as many rooms as he's asking for. 

You've been with the BAU for 6 months now and have managed to avoid sharing a room on non-local cases up until now. 

Hotch takes the offered keycards from the receptionist, and heads back over to the team. 

"We got two shared rooms, any volunteers?" He says. 

You shrug, "I'll share," it's 5 to midnight and you know you won't be spending that much time at the hotel while you're on the case anyway, so you may as well try and get into a bed quickly. 

Emily nods, "I'll room with Agent Y/N." 

Hotch hands you each a key marked for room 305 and waits for anyone else to volunteer. 

After a moment of silence, Hotch sighs, "Okay, Morgan and Reid; you're sharing too. Everybody get some rest, we'll meet back here at 8am."

You see Rossi and JJ both silently cheer and thank Hotch as they grab their keycards and run off like they're worried Hotch will change his mind. 

Emily laughs as Morgan grumbles under his breath as he takes the other matching keycards from Hotch. 

"Please, no podcasts tonight." He begs Reid and they walk off towards the elevator with Hotch. 

It's just you and Emily left in the small reception area, you quickly look at her then dart your eyes to the stairwell, already starting to move when you challenge her, "Race you?" 

You don't stick around to hear her reply, but you can hear her footsteps right behind you as you race up the stairwell. 

You're at the door first, but the lock refuses to accept your card and Emily smirks as she unlocks the door on the first try. 

"I guess we'll call it a tie?" She suggests, laughing as she drops her go-bag on the bed closest to the window. 

You both go about your routines, getting ready for bed silently and whisper your "Goodnights" into the darkness. 

/ Thursday 8th, 1:30am /

You turn again, bury your head in the pillow and try not to scream. 

You've been trying to fall asleep for over an hour now, and everytime you feel you might be close you jolt awake. 

"Trouble sleeping?" Emily asks.

You mumble, "I'm used to a weighted blanket at home, just need to adjust."

You can hear her shuffle about in her bed, before she speaks, "Come over here. Bring your bedding, I'm the big spoon." Emily's voice has a finality to it, and you know she'll just insist if you argue so you sigh and throw your pillow at her, dragging your blanket behind you. 

She pulls you to lay next to her, covering you both with the blankets and shifting until she's comfortably pressed against your back. 

"Sleep now," She says, throwing her arm around your stomach. 

After barely 10 minutes you feel her breathing even out on the back of your neck, and you relax fully against her and fall asleep. 

/ 6:40am /

You wake up slowly, warm, minutes before your alarms due to sound off. You and Emily must have both moved around in your sleep, instead of spooning you, she's now on her back with you cuddling her side like a baby koala. You have one leg thrown over her hips and your head is buried in the crook of her neck, you wish you weren't just cuddling as friends or co-workers, you want to wake up with the casual intimacy of nosing along her jawbone, trailing kisses along her skin until she stirs. 

Instead, you gently nudge her shoulder, sneak in a quick boop to her nose, "Em, you might wanna wake up soon." 

She mumbles something, you're not sure it's English, and pulls herself up to rest on her elbows. 

"I think I know what 'well rested' means now, that's the best I've ever slept." Emily sounds surprised, and you hum.

"Maybe we should cuddle more often," you joke. 

"I might take you up on that, seriously I don't even think I need coffee this morning."

"That's a shame, I was going to shout you for getting me to sleep last night."

"I said I don't need coffee, not that I didn't want it." She pouts, you pull yourself away and out of bed to where your go-bag ended up and fish your wallet out, throw it towards Emily's bed.

"3 sugars with milk please? I'm gonna grab a quick shower." 

You shower quickly, just finishing up when you hear Emily come back in the room. You dry and dress quickly, heading back into the main room. 

Emily hands you a coffee cup and small brown paper bag, "I brought you a crossant too."

You thank her and both of you sit at the small coffee table, flicking through the case file and sharing some thoughts while you eat. 

At 7:30 Emily crumples her cardboard coffee cup and sighs, "I'll shower and we'll head down to the lobby." 

"Sounds good," you nod. 

/ 8am / 

Emily and yourself are the first to reach the lobby, with Morgan and Reid close behind, playfully arguing with each other as they exit the elevator. 

"How and why do you two look so awake and alert?" Morgan asks. 

You laugh, "We didn't room with Reid," and Emily makes a mock snoring sound. 

You, Morgan and Emily all laugh while Spencer glares. Hotch, Rossi and JJ exit the elevator together and everyone stands up a little straighter, ready to receive your assignments and head down to the precinct. 

Hotch clears his throat, "Reid and Y/L/N you'll head to the precinct and meet with Detective Babineaux, he'll show you where we can set up a workspace. Prentiss and Rossi, go down to the mourge and see M.E Chakrabarti and the two victims' bodies. JJ, Morgan,  you're with me, we're speaking to the victims' families." 

Everyone nods along as he speaks, and you break off into your groups. Since the Medical Examiner's office is part of the precinct, you, Reid, Rossi and Emily share an SUV.

All thoughts of sharing a bed with Emily again are gone from your mind as you focus entirely on the cases, reading over Reid's notes while Emily drives.

/ 

[heeracha]

▸▸ now playing: waiting for us, stray kids.

▸▸ dedicated to: park jongseong.

genre/warning(s): post breakup au, exes to lovers, a drop of angst, kissing mwehehe. let me know if i missed something! unproofread

note: to the anon that requested #57 !! thank you, i hope u like it !! event is open until all 100 spots are taken, so send in if you want <33 thank youuu <333

wc: 1k 🧍🏻‍♀️ oops

heeracha's spotify wrapped 2022 — [ open ]

relationships were hard, everyone knows that.

but you honestly thought you wouldn’t be one of those people who had a time that broke up. you just thought that if it’s really it, there’s no need to spend time apart from each other. 

it was stupid how you and jay broke up. it was a stupid fight, a stupid misunderstanding that could have been easily fixed if you two took the time to calm down. but jay was stressed, he was on the edge and so were you. there was an unspoken tension with the two of you. probably because you two haven’t seen each other for weeks and only sent dry messages to each other. you just remembered jay shaking his head and left the apartment with a slam of the door.

the moment you heard the slam, you regret everything. you wanted to chase him and apologize for everything, but you thought maybe he wanted to break up already. you didn’t know jay, on the other side of the door, walked back, about to open the door again. but he thought maybe you didn’t want him anymore.

jay was the perfect boyfriend you asked from heaven, your 11:11 wish, your shooting star wish, literally what you thought was something impossible and you were heartbroken when you two broke up. you thought it was already over.

you didn’t expect after a few months, you would run into jay at a coffee shop. you expected it to be awkward, expected jay to even pretend like you don’t exist, but when he looked at you, he gave you a small smile. then, he talked to you. it was like reminiscing with an old friend. he proceeded to ask for your number to catch up with you to which you gave right away.

jay never deleted your number, but he had to ask in case you changed it. 

months flew by, you and jay became close again. you two see each other almost everyday. you don’t know how you feel anymore. you know you love jay, still, but will you still take him as your lover again? you don’t know. you were having so many thoughts. maybe being friends was better with you and him.

there was no occasion, but you and him wanted to go out for the night. you both went to a nice place, talking for hours as you both ate your food, not realizing you two were the only ones left. it felt like you were dating again.

“those were good times.” you say, looking at him as you rest your temple on your knuckles, elbow on the table. jay smiles, leaning forward as he presses his lips against yours. you kiss back, of course. it’s park jongseong, the love of your life. and then, your mind started to think of all the possible scenarios that would happen. things could get bad again and one of you walks out again. no more chances again.

jay softly pulls away, looking at you to see if it was okay with you as you stare back into his beautiful eyes. he slowly leans in, but you move back. jay halts his movements, before moving back and clearing his throat.

“i’m sorry.” he mumbles and you shake your head. “i thought…” he chuckles out of embarrassment. “i thought you were in the same place as i am.” he admits, looking down. if it was wanting to be with each other again, then yes.

you sigh, leaning your forehead against his temple as your hand plays with his collar. “i am, jongseong.” you mumble. “i want to be with you again, but the past couple of months got me thinking, what if we’re better off as friends?”

“i understand.” jay says, putting his arm around you. “it’s okay.” he softly says, his finger tracing your arm up and down. “i will wait for your decision, okay? i’ll wait for you, for us.”

“what if it’s a no?” you mumble, looking up at him and he only smiles.

“It’s okay. just let me know.” he says.

“jongseong, i don’t want to lose you again—”

“hey, hey.” jay says, holding your hands as he looks into your eyes with so much love. “yes or no, you won’t lose me. i will be here for you, always.”

“yeah?” 

“yeah.” jay confirms and you slither your arms around his waist as he puts his arms around you, pressing a kiss on your hair. 

that night, he takes you home with a smile, wishing you a good night. he waits for you to get inside your house before he drives off. by tomorrow, he didn’t bother bringing up what happened and didn’t act any differently. he was true to his words, he understands and he will wait.

but even though he acted as is, you failed not to think too much about it because you can’t deny it. you really wanted to be with him. you couldn’t wait for the morning, you didn’t care it was already three in the morning. you wanted him.

so, you got up, grabbed your jacket, phone and keys. you drive to his house, pressing the doorbell and knocking because you weren’t satisfied until he opens the door. you were being annoying, you know that. but you wanted him.

the door opens, a sleepy jay rubs his eye like a five year old. “y/n? is everything okay?” he asks and you step closer, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. jay, still confused, wrapped his arms around your waist. “everything okay?” he asks, trying to get a look at your face.

you lightly pull away, pressing your lips against his. jay was startled, but he composes himself right away. he kisses back, kissing you like it had been awhile, but also as if it was his last.

you pull away, leaning your forehead against his as he looks at you through his lashes. “everything’s great.” you mumble, hands settling on his neck as your finger softly plays with his nape.

“yes?” he asks, hopefully and you nod.

“yes.”

a hand comes up behind your head as jay presses a kiss on your temple, then your lips. he pulls you in an embrace, placing his lips on your shoulder as he closes his eyes, savoring the moment.

“i love you, jongseong.”

“i love you, y/n.”

— likes, comments/feedbacks and rbs are highly appreciated mwa 🫶🏻

[wishesunderthestars]

Eunoia // Ch. 23

eunoia (noun): beautiful thinking, the possession of a well-balanced mind, which exhibits goodwill and kindness

Pairings: Hybrid! BTS x reader

Summary: You are a world famous director and you have dedicated your life to your job.You have everything you could ever dream of; wealth, recognision, talent, your friends and family. But loneliness isn’t cured by success. So what happens when you somehow rescue seven hybrids? Can they fill the void?

Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, eventual smut

Word Count: 5.7k+

Warnings: past abuse, past sexual abuse, cursing, past violence, mentions of blood, panic attacks

Masterlist

Chapter 1, Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22

This chapter is shorter than usual but I’m in the middle of my exams so I decided to post it as it is instead of waiting until it was longer. 

Many thanks to my incredible beta reader @thewishofafallenangel​ <3

The taglist is now closed

Jimin’s head was spinning and phantom hands were squeezing his neck. They had been there once, solid and hard, cutting off his breath. Now, he could feel them again, holding him down. Punishing him.

Namjoon and Jin had been kissing. It couldn’t be. Why would they do that? Why?

“Minie?” Namjoon called his name softly, rising to his feet.

Jimin considered running. It was his first instinct; get away, pretend nothing happened. But something kept him rooted in place.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice unsteady.

Jin sent a wide-eyed look to Namjoon. Jimin’s chest hurt.

“Come here, Minie,” Namjoon said soothingly. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you before. Come here and we will talk.”

He extended a hand to him and, even through the fear, Jimin couldn’t resist taking it. Namjoon was safe, he was his pack alpha. He and Jungkook were the reasons he was here, he wouldn’t have survived in that shelter if it hadn’t been for them. Jimin would trust his life in Namjoon’s hands.

The wolf hybrid pulled him to the bed and situated him between him and Jin with his back to the headboard. It was warm, surrounded by their mixed scents of summer rain and honey buns. He would have been purring any other time.

Namjoon sniffed the air and he frowned. “What are you thinking? Why do you smell so afraid?”

Jimin looked down in shame. “I don’t know,” he whispered. His scent had soured, it must have been unpleasant to anyone smelling it.

Namjoon’s large hand cupped his nape and applied pressure in a way that usually had Jimin melting like wax under a flame. But he couldn’t let go of all the tension in his body.

“You can tell us,” Namjoon urged gently. “Did seeing Jinnie and I together scare you? Why are you afraid?”

Jimin hugged himself, he needed the comfort. “How…. Why did… Why did you do that?”

He felt sick asking them that. They always knew better than him. They were so much better than him. How could they fall into the same trap he had? And he felt sicker still for the longing that stirred inside him upon seeing them together.

His eyes were trained on his lap but he sensed them exchanging looks.

“Why were we kissing?” Namjoon asked. He waited until Jimin nodded to continue. “Because we like it. We like each other and…” he fumbled. Namjoon was always so sure of what he said and how he said it. It wasn’t often that he stumbled over his sentences. “It feels good and we want to.”

It sounded simple, it made sense but Jimin knew it wasn’t that simple. It couldn’t be that simple. It was dangerous and if you learned of it, it could hurt you. They loved you, it was evident every time you were together. They looked at you like you had spoken the world into existence. They wouldn’t want to hurt you, he was sure of that.

Maybe that was why they had told no one.

He was biting his lip so hard it was beginning to hurt. “How long?”

“A few months,” Jin said quietly as if to soften the blow.

There was a sting in Jimin’s eyes and the hand on his nape couldn’t ground him anymore. You were nothing like his Master, he repeated to himself. Just the thought of Namjoon and Jin suffering like Jimin had made bile rise in his throat and blurred his vision. No, you would never do that. You wouldn’t punish them. But what if… What if you felt so betrayed you sent them away? He couldn’t bear that, it would kill him.

“My baby,” Jin whispered, wiping his cheeks. Jimin hadn’t noticed the tears falling from his eyes.

“Be careful,” he begged them brokenly. “Please.”

Jin pulled him to his chest and Jimin gripped his shirt, afraid to let go. “Be careful of what baby? We are safe here. Nothing will happen to us.”

Jimin could only sniffle and hold on to him. Another set of arms enveloped his waist and a whine slipped past his lips wanting to be as close to both of them as possible. Namjoon obliged, pressing against his back so Jimin was squeezed between them.

“She can’t…” Jimin sniffled. “She can’t know about this.”

“Who?” Namjoon asked. Jimin hid himself further into Jin’s chest at the following question of your name. “Why shouldn’t she know? Do you think she will be mad?”

Jimin whimpered and Jin rubbed his hands up and down his back. “Hybrids… Hybrids shouldn’t do that.”

“Why?” Jin asked. “Why shouldn’t we?”

“It’s bad,” Jimin mumbled against his shirt.

Namjoon’s arms tightened around his waist and his lips pressed tenderly on Jimin’s neck as he scented him. Everything was too much. His heart was beating so loudly and quickly he was afraid it would burn out and simply stop and fog had shrouded his head in white.

“Why is it bad?” Namjoon asked patiently.

Jimin shut his eyes, the memories flooding back. “He said it’s bad. It’s wrong.”

They froze and Jimin whimpered. Namjoon went back to scenting him but he could feel that his jaw was clenched. He rarely talked about his past owner, he didn’t want to remember and any mentions of him made his pack angry.

Jin stroked his hair lovingly. “Why would it be wrong?”

“It’s just… It is.” He had no way of explaining. It had to be wrong because it had cost him everything.

Namjoon breathed in sharply. “Did you-? Have you been punished for kissing another hybrid?”

Jimin wanted to crawl out of his skin, vanish like a cloud of smoke. They knew what he had done. Once he’d thought they would be disgusted. Now he knew they wouldn’t but his lungs were still stone and his heart was racing. He couldn’t run and hide—like his every instinct told him—not when Namjoon and Jin were holding him like this.

“Yoongi,” Jin said under his breath. Jimin’s sob was enough confirmation.

“That monster.” Namjoon’s voice came out in a growl. “He hurt you. He hurt you and Yoongi. Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jimin sniffled. “I-I’m sorry.”

“No, no, baby,” Jin cooed, placing a kiss on the top of his head. “We aren’t angry at you. Joon just wants to help, he isn’t mad. You don’t have to tell us but if you do, we can understand you better. If you don’t want to, that’s fine too. You just have to know that he was wrong. He was so wrong. You shouldn’t believe anything he’s told you. Kissing someone when both of you want it, loving someone, it can’t be wrong. Did you want to kiss Yoongi?” Jimin nodded his head tentatively. “Did Yoongi want to kiss you?”

Jimin sniffled. “Y-yes.”

“Then there is nothing wrong with that.” Jin tugged at his hair lightly, just enough for Jimin to feel it. “Look at me.” And Jimin did, because he would do anything they asked of him. “Whatever he said to you wasn’t true. You are free to love whoever you want and kiss whoever you want. It isn’t wrong just because you are a hybrid. That shouldn’t dictate who we can love.”

More tears slid down Jimin’s cheeks but Jin was quick to brush them away. He wanted to believe him. Oh, how he wanted to believe him. A war was tearing his head in half.

“He…” Jimin choked on the words. It was still vivid in his mind’s eye. His body had stopped hurting but the images of that night were the same, being replayed again and again in his nightmares. “He caught us kissing. I knew it was dangerous but I didn’t stop. I didn’t stop. Yoongi was soft and sweet, everything I’d never experienced before.”

He drew in a shaky breath. It hurts, it hurts to remember.

Namjoon’s hand was rubbing his belly as he scented him. Jimin would have broken down completely if it hadn’t been for their scents on him.

Jimin was crying, he was crying so hard he thought he could lose all the water in his body. “They hit him, they broke his leg.” Namjoon’s hand stilled on his stomach and a low growl rumbled in his chest. Jimin sobbed as he remembered the sickening crack, how he had tried to crawl to him. “They… They hurt him so much. So much. He sold… He sold him to the… to the fighting ring.”

His sobs grew louder and Jin shushed him gently. He was lost in his pain and his grief. He had relived that night too many times.

“He… He made him watch,” he uttered.

“Watch…” Namjoon repeated. Suddenly he pulled back and Jimin hadn’t felt as dirty since coming to the Castle. “He didn’t. Please tell me he didn’t.” His voice was unsteady, coming out through gritted teeth.

Jimin couldn’t do anything other than sob.

Namjoon wrapped him up in his arms again and when he slotted his face in his neck, it was wet.

“Joonie? Are you crying?” he asked through his own tears.

He could feel him nod. “I am crying for everything you have been through. Everything I wasn’t there to protect you from. All the horrible things that monster made you believe were normal and all the beautiful ones he taught you were wrong.”

Tears were falling down Jin’s face too and Jimin reached up to touch them. “Don’t cry, please.”

Jin gave him a watery smile. “It’s hard not to.”

They stayed there for a while, whispering comforting words to each other until their tears slowed down and stopped. Jimin was about to drift off when there was a knock on the door.

“Can I come in?” you asked from the other side.

Panic seized his body again and he almost shot up in the bed but Namjoon and Jin held him in place.

“It’s okay,” Jin reassured him and then called, “Come in.”

The door opened and you walked inside. You looked the same as you had when Jimin had been in your office, casual clothes and hair pulled up in a ponytail. Had it been only a few hours ago? Less? It seemed like it had been days since he had been sitting in your lap and playfully scratching your jeans.

“So here’s-” You trailed off upon getting a better look at them. Jimin hid his face in Jin’s chest. He had to look horrible after all that crying—puffy cheeks, bloodshot eyes, and red nose. “Did something happen?”

“Jimin saw us kissing,” Jin said.

Jimin gasped. How could he say that so casually? How could he-? Unless… Unless you already knew.

Your lips parted in surprise. “Are you alright now?”

Jin looked down at Jimin. “Can I tell her?” When he nodded, Jin continued. “He thought hybrids shouldn’t be kissing each other. He was afraid you might be mad if you learned of it.”

“Mad?” You sounded so confused, Jimin felt bad. He shouldn’t have doubted you but he was so scared and fear blinded him. “Why would I be mad?”

“See? Everything is fine,” Jin told him and Jimin sagged in his arms like his strings had been cut off.

You rounded the bed and sat down at the end. “Why did you think that?”

“His past owner,” Namjoon replied for him, the hate and rage evident in his tone.

“Jiminie,” you said. “I could never be mad for something like that. Your life is your own, you are free to live it the way you want, do whatever you want. There are no rules here.”

Everything came crashing down around him and there was only one person he could think of. “Jungkook,” he muttered. He had run away from him, he had hurt them both so much for no reason. He had destroyed what could have happened between them because of unreasonable fear.

“Jungkook kissed you,” Namjoon said. “That’s the thing he couldn’t forgive himself for.”

Jimin shook his head forcefully. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.” The tears that had taken so long to dry were coming back. “I wanted to kiss him. I wanted him. But I thought I was betraying you. Now I’ve lost him.”

You frowned. “Betraying me? In my office, the day you ran after Yoongi, that’s what you were talking about. Oh Jiminie,” you said. “You haven’t lost him. Jungkook loves you to death. You could never lose him.”

Jimin wiped his eyes. “It was my fault that he was so hurt he had to travel to Virginia to be away from me. And all that because I was stupid. I hurt him for nothing.”

“Hey, don’t say that.” You scooted closer to them and Jimin reached a hand out to you, which you took before joining them until you were all tangled up in a mess of limbs. “He will understand if you tell him. Jungkook loves you so much.”

“But I…”

“I won’t hear anything about this, it’s a fact.” When you spoke like that, like you possessed all knowledge in the world, it was difficult not to believe you. “Do you still want to kiss him?”

His cheeks were burning. “I- Can I?”

Your fingers trailed down his neck and Jimin leaned to the side to expose more for you. “Of course, you can. You don’t have to ask me. The only person you have to ask is Jungkook.”

“What if I… What if I lost my chance? What if I destroyed what we could have?”

“You just have to tell him,” Namjoon said. “Tell him what you told us and he will understand. Have you talked about it?”

Jimin lowered his gaze to his lap. “I told him that it was wrong for us to be kissing. That we were betraying you. I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” you said, thumbing at his scent gland. You had learned how to make his body go pliant and syrupy like honey. “I want you to forget anything he ever told you. You are free to do what you like here, love whoever you want.  I’m sorry if I haven’t made it clear. I knew there was something wrong and I should have talked to you about this. I’ve been so focused on my job that I overlooked you and I’m so sorry.”

“No, no.” He couldn’t let you believe that his own mistakes were your fault. “I didn’t want to talk about it. I was ashamed. And afraid. I shouldn’t have doubted you but I was scared. I thought it was wrong and I… I didn’t want you to know.”

He forced down the sob crawling up his neck. The lies he had been fed all his life were churning in his stomach. Why couldn’t you be his first owner? He wouldn’t have been hurting his pack then. Would they be happier?

But that wouldn’t have been possible. You’d talked a lot about how you didn’t want hybrids and without their unique pasts none of them would have ended up in the Castle.

“Next time that you’re hurting here,” you touched his forehead, “or here,” and his heart, “come to me. Talk to me. About anything. If you ever wonder if something you want to do is wrong, ask me. Most likely it isn’t but if it helps, a simple question can go a long way.”

“I will,” Jimin promised.

You raised your pinky and he intertwined your fingers with a tiny giggle.

“We should be honest with each other. When we’re hiding things even if we’re doing it to protect each other, the result is the opposite,” Namjoon said. He looked at you and it was as if a hundred words passed between you.

You tangled your fingers in his hair and Jimin purred, wriggling to get closer to you. “There is something I should tell you then but I don’t want you to be scared.”

“Scared? Is everyone okay?”

“Everyone’s alright, kitten,” you reassured him and Jimin preened at the sweet nickname. His old Master would call him kitten sometimes, it sounded like weak. When you called him kitten, it sounded like love. “I’m just afraid of making you uncomfortable because of… your past.”

“My past?” Jimin asked slowly, confused.

You combed back his hair with your fingers. “Jin and Namjoon aren’t the only ones kissing. Namjoon and I kissed first.”

“And they both kissed me,” Jin added.

What you said didn’t register at first. When it did, he looked at the three of you, all touching in one way or another. How had he not noticed? He had seen the way you gravitated towards each other when you were distressed or worried but he’d never thought…

The longing was back, stronger than before, squeezing his chest uncomfortably.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” he asked weakly. Thinking of you together, it made so much sense. But he also wanted…

“I don’t know,” you said, stroking his hair. “I mean, I do. But only about myself. We haven’t discussed this and maybe we should have. It started a while ago.” Your eyes found Namjoon’s. “It was new and a bit confusing for me. Very confusing for me. I like to put things in boxes so I know how to deal with them and I couldn’t find a box for this. We had some hard moments but we figured it out. And then we fell into Jin and… That complicated things a bit for me.”

“I didn’t know if we were supposed to tell anyone,” Jin confessed.

You reached for Jin who had ended up on Jimin’s other side. “It’s my fault. I was worried. I’m always worried about something it seems. Something happened a while ago and I guess it made it even harder.”

“What happened?” Jimin asked. You exchanged a look with Namjoon and Jin and Jimin felt out of place for a moment, the only one not knowing. “What?”

You pressed your lips into a line. “It was a couple of months ago. You aren’t the first one to learn about us. Yoongi knows. About me and Namjoon. And he has probably told Hoseok.”

“You told Yoongi?” he asked in disbelief. Although you and Yoongi were growing closer and Jimin couldn’t be happier about it, the fact that Yoongi knew about this and he didn’t stirred a feeling of betrayal inside him.

“He saw us kissing in the garden,” Namjoon said. “The night before he disappeared. He said some very messed up things I wouldn’t like to ever hear again. He was furious and I was too. We had a fight and you know what happened after.”

You hadn’t given them a reason why Yoongi had disappeared. Not you, not Namjoon, not even Yoongi himself had ever told him why he’d left. Jimin had guessed that you and Yoongi had had a fight that had pushed him to leave the Castle. He had no idea that Namjoon had been involved.

“It was a difficult time for me. It was when I went to the gala my parents organised and my mother said something… And then Yoongi just made everything worse,” you said. “He was scared and I can understand why he lashed out but it hurt all the same. And I was already having doubts.” You sighed and caressed Jimin’s cheek. He leaned into your touch like a moth drawn to a flame. “Regardless of how we act and how I view you, I’m still your owner and I’m worried… I’m worried that it may seem like I’m taking advantage of the situation.”

“What?” Jimin asked dumbly. “Is it… Is it because of me? Because of what he did?” he continued, choked up. Was he the reason you hadn’t told them? Because of what his past owner had done to him?

“All I want is for you to feel safe here,” you said. “I didn’t want to do anything that might scare you.”

Jimin surged forward and buried his face in your neck, sinking in the scent of the ocean and books. “You could never scare me. You’re… You are safe, I feel safe when I’m with you.”

“That makes me very happy,” you said, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I care about you so much. I don’t ever want you to be afraid, especially because of something I did.”

Jimin shook his head. He was getting scent drunk from his pack’s scents, the feeling heightened by his vulnerable state. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you too, kitten,” you whispered, your breath tickling his ear and making him shiver. “We all love you so much.”

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

 Jimin fell asleep soon after and you had to untangle yourself from him, which wasn’t an easy endeavour with how persistent sleeping Jimin was to keep you there. Jin had to take your place for the younger hybrid to let you go. The producer of the Raven Cycle had sent you an email about some changes in the filming schedule and you had to call him to discuss that and a few other things about the filming process.

“Back to your office?” Namjoon whispered, getting up from the bed as well.

“It won’t take more than half an hour. An hour if the producer is in a particularly talkative mood,” you said quietly so as not to wake up Jimin. He deserved to rest. “I should have been more attentive to him. Maybe all of this could have been avoided if I had been more clear, if I had asked more questions.”

Namjoon caught your hand in his. “Don’t think like that. It isn’t your fault. If he had told you, you would have eased his worries. But he didn’t. You aren’t a mind reader.”

You sighed. “What happens now? Jimin knows and we can’t keep Jungkook in the dark. And there’s Yoongi and Hobi too.”

Namjoon’s thumb drew circles on your hand. He looked at you and Jin, who was watching you silently. “We can tell them if both of you want to. I think it would be for the best.”

“How exactly are we going to do that? What will we tell them?” You pressed the power key on your phone to see that you had another email from the producer. “I have to go. We’ll talk later.”

Before you could turn away, Namjoon pulled you into a quick kiss. The tension in your shoulders eased as if his lips were magic.

“An hour at most,” he reminded you.

“An hour at most,” you agreed.

The call lasted precisely fifty-six minutes. It wasn’t about anything too complicated or ground-breaking. A few scenes would be switched around and some changes to the script may follow. The producer was making it into a much bigger deal than it was and you had to be the one to give him a reality check. These things happened all the time. The sets of his show in Virginia had literally collapsed in spring because of poor construction and overlooked safety protocols, this was a piece of cake.

Ending the call, you stretched your arms above your head and headed to the towering bookshelves. You picked up two folders containing some of the earlier plans for the Raven Cycle as well as printed pages of the books completed with handwritten notes in the margins. Analyses of scenes and lines, comments, and ideas written by both you and Maggie in the first couple of your meetings.

You were so absorbed in your vision for the show stretching from a couple of years ago to last year that you almost didn’t hear the knock on the door. You had left it half open—something you had been doing more lately and was very out of character for you when you weren’t living alone—so with a push, Namjoon and Jin walked inside.

“Hey,” you greeted them, closing the folders and putting them back in their place. “Did Jimin wake up?”

“He did,” Jin said, taking a seat on the couch. “He’s better. As good as he can be. How are you?”

You turned to him surprised. “Me?”

“I can tell when you’re overthinking,” he said with a hint of smugness.

Puffing, you plopped down on the couch next to him. “Is it that obvious to anyone or just you two?” Namjoon sent you a look. “Okay, fine. Apparently, it’s obvious.” You ran your hands over your face. “What should we do now? Jungkook is the only one left in the dark. How do we tell him? What do we tell him?”

Jin placed his hand on your thigh. “Do you not want to tell him?”

“It isn’t that I don’t want him to know, that I want to keep you a secret but-”

But you did. It was easier when you didn’t have to explain to anyone what was happening between the three of you. Usually, when you got romantically involved with someone, Taylor would know about it the moment it happened and you would tell John and Zayn shortly after. You couldn’t do that now. The situation was unique and there was so much prejudice and stigma surrounding this that had you second-thinking everything.

“How do we explain?” you asked. You were learning that not everything needed labels and you were growing to be okay with that, but labels could have helped a lot in this case. “Do we just say we’re kissing? And that’s that?”

Namjoon came and sat down on your other side. “It could be as simple as that. We’re pack above everything else but there’s a romantic aspect for us as well. It doesn’t have to be this big thing, this big reveal. I love both of you, I love you as my pack and I love you as my partners. Jungkook will understand, I am sure he will.”

You thought your love for him couldn’t grow anymore. It was already too big, too wild. But in moments like this, you were proved wrong again and again.

“I love you too,” Jin said, ears pink but facing you with determination. “Both of you. In every way.”

Those words were hard to say. A little awkward, a little clunky on your tongue. You could say them just fine when it was a light-hearted joke, when it didn’t have to mean much more. In relationships, you were a lot more hesitant. You counted months before letting them out, unsure if that was truly what you felt or simply the bliss of the honeymoon phase. It was important to you that the three words didn’t lose their meaning and the gravity they held.

When it came to your hybrids, there was no doubt about what you were feeling.

“For the record,” you said. “I love you too. I have for a long time now. Probably more than I’ve ever loved anyone else. That’s why it’s so scary.”

Jin wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head on your shoulder. “It is. But we have each other, right?”

“We do,” Namjoon promised. There was so much love and reverence in his gaze that it left you speechless.

“I never thought I could have this,” Jin admitted quietly. “This is so much more than what I allowed myself to dream about.”

You covered his hands with your own. “You deserve to be the happiest. And dream big. Big big dreams.”

He giggled and your heads bumped together lightly which made you laugh more.

When the laughter ceased, you rested back against Jin’s body. “We should tell them, shouldn’t we?”

“Only if you’re okay with it,” Namjoon said. “You don’t have to be afraid. They’re our pack.”

“What about Yoongi?” you asked. “You remember what happened the first time. This is… This looks too much like what he thought of me back then. What if he snaps again?”

You preferred to keep that night and some of the events that followed locked somewhere in a dark corner of your mind. But it was all you could think about now. You were kissing two of your hybrids, making out. Isn’t that exactly what Yoongi had accused you of?

“You are nothing like what he thought,” Namjoon said, his tone leaving no room for arguments. “We aren’t doing this as some form of repayment for letting us stay here but because we love you. And I’m sure he knows that too by now.”

“And if he says anything out of line I’ll scratch his eyes out,” Jin said. You were about to laugh before Jin stilled and you remembered. “I didn’t… I don’t know why I said that. I wouldn’t hurt any of you.”

You intertwined your fingers with his against your stomach. “I know. It’s okay. It was a joke. It was funny, it’s okay.”

Jin dropped his head, rubbing his forehead against your neck. “I had almost forgotten. It’s like that didn’t really happen to me, like it was a nightmare.”

“The fault was all his,” you said. “He should be in prison for what he did.”

 “I almost blinded him, I had his blood on my hands.”

Namjoon put a hand on the side of his neck, his thumb caressing his cheek. “And he deserved worse. I’m so sorry you had to go through that but you did what you had to do. You’re here with us now, you’re safe.”

Jin shot forward and kissed Namjoon, trapping you between their bodies. The passion of their kiss vibrated through your core as they devoured each other. Jin’s lips were bitten raw and red when he pulled back. He strained his neck to kiss you too and you turned around to make it easier.

The three of you fell on the couch, giggling and kissing.

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

 Jungkook was taking advantage of the sunny days and the nice summer weather before autumn and its strong winds came. He had set up his canvas in the back garden and had spread his supplies on the grass. He had painted every corner of the garden and most of his pack mates at some point and he was running out of ideas. No, that wasn’t exactly right. He wasn’t running out of ideas but he was apprehensive about painting something that he could only see in his mind and not something solid in front of him.

He cocked his head to the side and stared at the empty canvas. He could paint a sunset, he was good at those, or a forest. In his sketchbook, there were a few pages of messy line art dedicated to Cabeswater from the Raven Cycle and its real-life version in Virginia. He could envision the colours, the dark greens, blues, and purples. The magic thrumming in the trees. He could envision it all too well but he wasn’t sure he could make it come to life on the canvas.

The paint tubes were lined in a tray that used to be pristine once but was now smeared all over with multiple colours of paint. The shades of green were running out. Jungkook would have to run upstairs to the atelier at some point to get more. The purples were almost full still.

“What are you painting, Jungkookie?”

Jungkook was startled, he hadn’t noticed Hoseok walking up to him. The fox hybrid’s fluffy tail was wagging behind him as if he were a dog hybrid. It looked very soft, Jungkook wondered how soft it would feel under his fingers. Not that it would ever happen, hybrids’ tails were very sensitive and they rarely let anyone touch them. In all of his life, no one had touched Jungkook’s tail, it was small and easily hidden underneath his clothes.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Jungkook said, taking stock of his paints hoping they might offer him some inspiration.

“I’m sure that whatever you paint is going to be beautiful,” Hoseok said with a large smile. He sounded so sure like it was a fact of life.

Behind him, Taehyung stared at the canvas and supplies with large eyes. Jungkook had seen him watching him paint before and Hoseok had shared how fascinated the tiger hybrid was with the gallery.

“Do you want to paint with me?” he asked them.

Hoseok chuckled but Taehyung’s eyes widened.

“Painting isn’t where my talents lie,” Hoseok joked. “Taehyung should try though. He might enjoy it.” He talked in Korean to the other hybrid, who seemed to be at a loss for words.

Taehyung said something that had Hoseok shaking his head and gently guiding him to stand in front of the canvas. Jungkook picked up a round paintbrush and held it out to him. Taehyung reached for it reluctantly and held it as if it was gold.

“We can paint something together, yeah?” Taehyung nodded cutely. “You can pick any colour you want.” He pointed to the tray. Hoseok didn’t translate but Taehyung went closer, inspecting all the colours.

“Really?” he asked. His deep voice always startled Jungkook but there was something about it that made him crave to hear it more.

“Really,” Jungkook said. “You can choose one now and then you can choose more. Whichever ones you want.”

Taehyung considered it for a moment before pointing to a royal purple and looking at Jungkook for approval.

“That’s very pretty,” Hoseok complimented his choice. He was cross-legged on the floor, a safe distance away so he would be out of the danger zone of paint splatters but close enough so he could watch.

“It is very pretty,” Jungkook agreed. “Let’s begin.”

They started with simple lines and curves. Taehyung was making abstract faces that Jungkook found oddly endearing. The whole process was fun. They didn’t speak a lot but Taehyung was smiling wide in a way Jungkook had never seen before. Being happy suited him and Jungkook vowed to do anything in his power to help him be happy more.

The tingle in his nose from the scent of vanilla and muffins made him look back.

“That looks nice,” Jimin said walking towards them. “Is Taehyung helping you?”

“I was running out of ideas. Taehyung is of great help.” The tiger hybrid had stopped painting and was looking at the two of them.

When Jimin reached them, he wrapped his arms around Jungkook’s waist. “Can we stay like this while you paint?”

It wouldn’t be the most comfortable, restricting his movement quite a bit, but Jungkook liked a challenge. “You don’t have to ask.”

He started painting again, Taehyung following his example. Jimin stayed glued to his back while they worked.

“Are you okay?” he whispered to him quietly. His scent was intense and Jungkook knew that something must be bothering him.

“I am, I promise.”

Please comment and reblog it motivates me to keep writing

[moregraceful]

YES RECS!!! and rarepair??? be still my heart

To anon and also the three beautiful people who responded to this post and the 7 beautiful people who liked it, thank you so much I am so glad 11 people trust me to make a fool of myself as I try to encapsulate the feeling of finishing a fic and going WAHOO!!! this is me going into the street with a vest and a clipboard aggressively telling tourists to read the fic

Here are my inaugural rarepair recs, please enjoy this image I whipped up on Canva. also if you read any of these, please leave a comment for the authors, the rarepair trenches are hurtful and comments that are nice can sustain an author for months. also not cutting in case of these authors are vanity searching bc finding ppl reccing your fic in the wild is always such a treat

made up by sarcangel - josh manson/kurtis macdermid, colorado avalanche. you ever read a summary and go there's no fuckin way the author pulls this off....and then they do??? hoo boy i read the summary for this and if i weren't bored out of my mind waiting for my cookies to freeze, i would not have taken a chance on it. BUT I DID! AND I'M SO GLAD I DID BECAUSE IT WAS SO FUN!! what if josh manson was a secret cosplay tiktoker of geralt from the witcher and what if kurtis macdermid found josh manson's secret cosplay tiktok and he had to just suffer in lustful silence in the avs locker room knowing josh manson had a secret witcher cosplay tiktok and is really hot. does this sound deranged? yes it does. but the author pulls the concept off with such charm and joy and with such an obvious love and care for these players, i was captivated the whole way through and left my cookies longer in the freezer than i was supposed (the cookies were fine.)

maybe so (and maybe not) by sarcangel - matt nieto/alex newhook, colorado avalanche. friends and enemies and lovers, i fear not all of you appreciate matt nieto as much as you should, but thank god for alex newhook bc he does!! chris macfarland you will not see heaven. anyway this is a wonderful slice of life that is tagged pwp but it's actually more like....early twenties career anxiety with porn. what if i was on an entry level contract struggling emotionally, psychologically, sexually, and you were matt nieto. what then. the sexual pay off for newy's emotional agonies is so good - often when a fic is like, 80% feelings ending at 20% porn i just end up really dissatisfied because it never feels like a logical conclusion. but this was just pitch perfect right up until the end, the smut felt earned and moved the emotional arc forward. i would also like to add that i was forcibly reminded in this fic that nieto had a mustache but it was unfortunately terribly erotic for me. oh wow.

NOTE BEFORE THESE NEXT TWO RECS: i am fully planning to do a @theresonly1u rec list specifically now that i'm finally nutting up and reading so many of them, and now that eleven people explicitly and/or tacitly gave me permission to holler. but while i work on that, here are two recs from that fest that got me howling this week

My enemy, please stay close to me by planesandtrainingwheels, igor shesterkin/ilya sorokin, new york rangers & new york islanders. while i abstractly understand the circumstances around why fandom is so fucking weird about russian players besides ovi and geno, i think that's an incredible stupid bias FOR AMERICANS SPECIFICALLY bc i swear to god if these guys were canadian white boys, there'd be skywriting. anyway this fic whips ass, it makes wonderfully economic use of the constraints of the challenge while still managing to add perfect color and life to the scenes...it's a very fun take on red string of fate and soulmates and i just had an absolute blast thinking about two people tying themselves together because they're competitive teenage morons and then fall in love about it. it's soooo good

sign by frausorge, thomas bordeleau/william eklund, san jose barracuda. i initially had a rule for myself that i wasn't going to rec fic by personal friends and mutuals but i decided to break that just for the 1u recs bc so many mutuals participated. also because i need to start discourse: i truly believe the only people who understand the san jose barracuda on a soul level are trans people. case in point - this drabble that captures past/present/future anxieties and possibilities that spin out in front of you when someone makes an off-hand comment and someone else decides to be brave (NOT in the way you think!!) it's a perfectly and expertly executed 100 word moment that had me both so tense and emosh that i read the last sentence and had to go stare at a bowl of spaghetti about it. would i read 20k of this, yeah??? but i'm also so thoroughly satisfied by knowing it's a small moment that opens up two very beautiful lives to so many different futures. i love thinking about all the ways it could end. when william eklund makes the sharks opening night roster and i sit in the stands and have feelings disproportionate to the situation, know that it is because of this fic.

thank you for bearing witness 😌 i must now return to tasks

[excelsi-or]

summoned (pt. 11)

hi everyone!! i've been writing a ton for other things the last month (original work???? scary and shocking), but now i need to let those stories stew for a bit. SOOOOO a promise to you all and myself that i will finish posting this story before the year is done! @darum-darimda i've seen your tags on the last few posts and they've made me really happy! 💕

pairing: woozi x fem!reader/fem!OC

w.c. 2.8k

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10

With a gasp, she jolts upright. Her heart is racing; she can feel it pulsing hard in her neck. She puts her hands flat on the bed and takes stock of the gasping breaths, the slight pain in her chest. When the door opens, she isn't surprised to see Jihoon standing there.

"I thought you were getting possessed," he says softly.

She hangs her head. Her breaths are shaky, the incoming air to her body cool and sharp. "Nightmare, I think."

"Hm."

When her heart rate comes down, she straightens her spine and lets out one long exhale. Then she notices Jihoon still standing in the doorway watching her.

"I'm fine."

"I know."

"Yet you look concerned," she chuckles. 

He shrugs one shoulder in response. She doesn't know why that's so charming. 

"Are you going to go out tonight?" she asks.

Jihoon shakes his head. "No. I wanted to finish a book."

"Ah."

When she doesn't move to lie back down, he demands, "Why are you not going back to sleep?"

"You're kinda staring. How am I supposed to sleep?"

Jihoon frowns. "Since when has my presence disturbed your sleep?"

She lies down, using her pillows to prop herself up a bit more. "It's different when you're staring."

"I'm not staring."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Waiting until you fall back asleep."

"Why?"

He shrugs again.

She smiles a little, but she closes her eyes. 

It's not Jihoon's presence that is preventing her from sleeping. Actually, if anything, it's comforting. But her brain is circling around and around the conversations she had today. She and Jihoon had gone over them on the drive back, but her brain seems to be trying to make connections.

"Is this going to take a long time?" Jihoon asks after a while.

She snorts and sits up. "Yes. Apparently, I want to think about the Grand Plan." She stretches towards her bedside table for the notebook she'd used during her impromptu interviews. 

Jihoon takes a seat on the edge of her bed and leans towards her to get a look at the notebook. He hasn't seen the notebook, but he's surprised she's actually taken notes.

"I wanted to be accurate," she says when she notices him scanning the pages.

"It's great work."

She hums. "But what does it mean?"

"Well, you forgot to mention that Eliza said this," Jihoon points to the middle of the page of her second interview. "She's describing espionage."

"Well, she did turn the conversation to Russia and US relations."

"You guys seemed to have been talking about American recipes, though."

She shakes her head. "Demons don't always seem to think in straight lines. But what's catching your attention?"

"She said something about international seeds?"

"In the context of them being planted."

"Planted specifically for plants? Or could it have been metaphorical?"

"You're thinking that she turned the conversation to espionage, because she was talking about demons going international to spy on angels?"

"And further the Grand Plan."

She shrugs. "Anything is possible now. Would the demons have thought of something so cunning?"

"We're not all stupid."

"I guess that's true."

She flips through the pages, and Jihoon reaches for her wrist. He doesn't touch her, but the heat of his hand stops her.

"These four," he says, and flips to four different interviews, "say that the Final Day is coming."

"They all also mentioned the Antichrist."

Jihoon frowns. "The Antichrist?"

She looks up at him. "Maybe they think the Antichrist is coming."

"Very specific events have to happen for that," he mutters.

"Well, what else could the Antichrist mean?"

Jihoon shakes his head. "I need to think on that." 

The interviews don't yield much more, other than to tell them that the demons don't care whether humanity survives or not. If anything, they are pretty anti-humanity.

She sighs and leans back into her pillows. The notebook falls closed in her lap. She looks over at him. "How long have you and Seokmin known each other?"

Jihoon blinks at the random question. But they do seem done talking about the Grand Plan. "We met in the 60s."

"The 1960s?"

"Sorry, the 1360s."

"Oh."

Jihoon snorts at her surprised expression. "I've lived a long time."

She hums and studies his face. There seems to be a question she wants to ask, but Jihoon senses she holds back. "Where did you guys meet?"

"He bumped into me in front of a church."

"You were in front of a church?"

Jihoon shrugs. "Just scaring some God-fearing people."

"Did Seokmin lecture you?"

"Incessantly, but he seemed to like me. I don't know why. He invited me to his shop for tea."

"Shop?"

"He had a tea shop at the time. Sold all sorts of varieties of tea, dried leaves, the tea bag was starting to become an idea. Didn't really have the plastic thing down yet, so the paper would melt in the hot water."

"Doesn't sound delicious."

"Or popular. He had to wait a while for tea bags." Jihoon describes a fragrant tea store, the walls covered in shelves that stocked all sorts of tea varieties. Many of them are extinct now. The floors and counters are so well greased that they're reflective. And Seokmin was very particular that his tea be accessible to everyone. So, he had another selection of easier to get teas that the less wealthy people could afford.

"We talked until nightfall."

"Wow."

Jihoon nods, casting his mind back to that first meeting centuries ago. "He was so sure I was an angel then."

"Really?"

"The eyes eventually gave it away." He looks over at her, his eyes flicking black and green. "I hadn't quite learned the trick to keep them... normal looking. Wore a lot of hats and sunglasses at the time."

"Ominous."

"Well, you know. People could get killed looking like me."

They let that sit for a while before she asks, "Did you?"

"Get killed?" Jihoon snorts. "They tried. Seokmin got upset, though, the second time he realized that I was possessing humans and—"  He remembers he's talking to a human and stops himself. "Anyway, I learned to play different tricks."

She tips her head, but Jihoon doesn't seem to want to elaborate.

Or rather, he does want to elaborate, but seems worried that she'll judge him.

And she probably would. Human and demon scales of acceptable are definitely different.

"How did you meet Seokmin?" he asks her. He slips the notebook out of her lap and places it on the bedside table.

"High school. He was in my literature class."

"Did you know he was an angel?"

She pauses to consider this. "When I first met him, I wouldn't say I knew exactly. I was 15, maybe? Linnaeus didn't tell me the truth about my parents until I was 16. But when he did, I was certain about Seokmin."

"And you never told him?"

She shrugs. "Never really came up in conversation. And then he was busy becoming a lawyer. Not that he ever really studied."

"Of all professions, I would never have expected him to become a lawyer."

"He has businesses on the side. He's his own lawyer. I don't know how ethical it is, but no one's stopping him." She wiggles further under the covers.

Jihoon gets to his feet once she's asleep. It's nearly imperceptible the way she falls asleep. It was as if he'd blinked and she was unconscious. 

He catches one last glimpse of her as he shuts the lights off and closes the door.

At the picnic the next afternoon, she learns a few things very quickly about having a demon.

One, this one hates the sun. Jihoon insists on staying in the shade for as long as possible. When the boys drag him to play foot volleyball, he plays, but he also slathers on as much sunscreen as demonly possible.

Two, they can't get too far away from each other. They've tested it enough times to know 2 metres is about the limit before she feels a tug at her waist and suddenly Jihoon's at her side. The invisible tether's pull is so uncomfortable that she's just been lounging near him in the shade of a tree.

Three, it's evident he has a moral compass. And it's confusing.

"Stop," Jihoon says.

Lying on her stomach on their picnic blanket, she has her sketchbook open in front of her. Jihoon leans back on his palms, watching her sketch, the two of them trying to come up with some sort of coherent plan.

"You can't keep assuming that I'm going to take your soul."

She rolls her eyes. "How many times has Seokmin needed to heal me today?"

"How was I to know that demons liked sunbathing?"

While there isn't any reason why Jihoon can't be around them, the demon has suddenly gotten very cautious whenever other demons are around. He's reached out for her to take on her human scent, forgetting that his skin is the temperature of the sun. More than once, Seokmin has had to discreetly heal various parts of her body.

Her lower back is still sore.

"All your friends think we're dating. It's getting very bothersome trying to divert their minds."

She waves him off, as she taps the back of her pen against the paper, thinking. "Leave it. They think I'm dating every man they don't know."

"You're okay with them assuming that?" Less strain on him.

"We've been together all afternoon, can't leave each other's sides, and you keep touching me. So, yeah, Demon, it kinda looks like we like each other." She stabs the sketchbook. "I have no idea what we do. We don't know what they want, we don't know what was on that computer. You said all the bad stuff, the war, the uprisings in different countries, the pandemic, could be demons edging it all along. But all of that has historically happened before. They mentioned the Antichrist a few times." She stares down at her notebook, which just has doodles of Pup and the boys throughout. "What are they trying to do?"

It clicks for Jihoon then. He straightens, his eyes widening, turning cat-like to the deep human brown.

"You look like you're going to possess someone? Or is that your idea face?" She looks out to the grass where the boys are playing. "Is Pup okay?"

Pup is happily playing with the humans.

"Your mother doesn't know because what's coming doesn't directly have anything to do with us. It's why the demons have all been giving vague answers." Jihoon gets to his feet and pulls her to standing.

Before the burn on her hand can turn third degree, she pulls away. "What's going on?"

He picks up her bag and guides it over her shoulder before dragging her by the bag strap towards the car. "You said it right there, and it all just came together in my head. A new war, uprisings, pandemic. There's death everywhere. It's so obvious, but most demons wouldn't think specifically of it. But clearly it's been on some of their minds. What does all of that sound like to you?"

She frowns.

"Did your parents not bring you up on theology?"

"It shouldn't surprise you that we typically avoided that sort of stuff in my household."

"How's that even possible knowing who your parents are, I'll never understand." He goes to the driver's side of his car. "The Four Horsemen."

Her jaw drops at that realization. "That... is surprisingly obvious." She tosses her bag into the car. "Let me just ask Wonwoo to take care of Pup. I'll be right back." 

Jihoon watches her hurry back to the picnic. 

And then he hears someone call out to him. With a name he doesn't like to use.

The demon turns and comes face-to-face with Linnaeus.

"I thought that was you." Linnaeus looks past Jihoon to his human walking over to her friends. She joins the game for a bit before stopping it completely to say something. "Thought I recognized you in the elevator." He turns back to Jihoon with a smirk. "Xero's daughter, I see."

Jihoon's eyes narrow, but he says nothing. Linnaeus always liked a fight.

"Whatever you and that human are up to, I suggest that you stop what you're doing. You do not wish to fall out of favour with Him."

When Jihoon still doesn't respond, Linnaeus tries a different angle.

"That human of yours may have a larger role to play than you think. What do you think was going to happen when Xero and that angel she 'fell in love with' mated?" Linnaeus shivers before a grin grows on his face. "A catastrophe."

Jihoon wants to say something in her defence, but her voice echoes in his head. He's just trying to scare you. Whatever lead you're following is getting a result the demons don't want.

"Do you really want to continue to live in this, in this, this purgatory? Are you not sick of needing to deal with the angels constantly? The Grand Plan is near completion, and you are doing nothing to help it along."

Linnaeus continues trying to convince Jihoon to stop, but then the human, Seokmin, and Hansol start walking over.

"I would reconsider where your alliances lie."

"Who was that?" Seokmin asks, his eyes following Linnaeus's figure as it saunters off. 

She doesn't say anything, just watches him walk away. When she meets Jihoon's eye over the car roof; he's sure that the human knows exactly who he'd been talking to. 

They all climb into the car.

"Wow, sweet ride, Mr. Demon," Hansol says as he puts his seatbelt on.

"He's moving up on my human list," Jihoon says to her, as he turns the key in the ignition. "I won't even demand that he get out of the vehicle."

She snorts, her smile playful. "Get off your high horse. Where's—?"

Seokmin sits back in his seat, his palm hitting his forehead with a loud thud. "Horse. The apocalypse! How could I have missed that?"

Jihoon glances at the angel in his rearview mirror as he pulls out of the parking spot. "The human helped me with that one."

"But where exactly are we going?" she asks.

"We're going to Mrs. Han's store." He swerves into the left turn lane, ignoring the barrage of honking. "It's the only time we've sensed something evil without a body being attached to it." He speeds off as soon as the light turns green.

And then the lights don't stop being green.

Hansol, who is gripping both his seat belt and the handle of the door with his eyes shut tight, asks, "Why though?"

Jihoon's so focused on driving that he doesn't remember to scowl when answering Hansol's question. "The hospital and patients I could tie back to demons. The abandoned building that we visited is a demon body dumping ground. Demons are stirring up shit here, but it's not the only side of the story." He pauses to whip around a corner, nearly missing the turn.

Seokmin and Hansol both gasp and hold their breath. Meanwhile, she's dozed off in the passenger seat again.

Jihoon catches the side of her head on another turn and nudges her back into her seat.

"What concerned me is that Seokmin said angels are manipulating humans too."

Hansol gasps. With his eyes still closed, he turns to where he thinks Seokmin is. "What? You never told me that."

"Humanity is like putting the world in limbo. While you all still exist, we don't live in eternity," is Seokmin's vague answer.

Hansol doesn't like it. "I don't want to know more." He turns away, wincing at the next sharp turn. "Does your plan involve us all surviving today, Mr. Demon?"

"The plan is to get in there and demand to know what's going on."

"Oh, we're not even going to be subtle?" Seokmin inhales sharply on a tight turn. "God, Jihoon, can you slow down?"

"The world could be ending soon and you want me to slow down?"

"What is the likelihood that the world is going to be ending—?" Before Seokmin can finish his question, Mrs. Han's shop comes into view. The black smoke is now billowing out of the front door and seeping out through the front window.

As Jihoon comes to a stop, his human rouses. She has to blink a few times to readjust to the sunlight, and then fiddle with her hair. "Hmm," she leans forward to peer out the windshield, "seems we are right on time." She grins at Jihoon and hops out the car.

Jihoon and Seokmin exchange looks.

"Something's weird now," Seokmin agrees to Jihoon's unasked question.

The demon slams his car door closed. "You think?"

part 12