#december is blocked up with the Visiting Members

[highvern]

Home for the Holidays

Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x fem!reader

Genre: romance, smut, angst, exes to lovers, Christmas!AU, fake dating

Warnings: she/her pronouns, Drug use, alcohol, mentions of aging family members, unhealthy family dynamics, mentions of illness (reader is a doctor), cursing, dry-humping/grinding, kissing, oral (f. receiving), masturbation, unprotected sex, angst, poor self-esteem/self-doubt, pining, some threats of bodily harm

Length: ~24k

Note: God this was such a doozy. I started it on December 1st and barely finished it this morning. Based on Happy Place by Emily Henry (if you like romcoms I highly recommend all her books) and most cheesy Christmas movies (Exmas). Did I project my middle child syndrome onto fellow middle child Wooyoung? Maybe! BUT why write if not to explore your own trauma lmao

Like, comment, reblog, enjoy or don’t! Merry Christmas! MWAH!

This blog is intended for 18+ only! MDNI or you'll be blocked!

June 27th

“So I have some news. I know it hasn’t been easy for us going back—”

“I think we should break up.”

“and forth so much but—What?” 

“I don’t think it's working out between us.”

“Oh,” is all you manage to say before your vocal cords seize.

Your mouth falls open, lips attempting to form words that don’t manage to make a sound. Eyes shifting around the room, the sheen of tears thickening as a few beads trail down your cheeks as you stand shakily; managing only a few steps away from the table before a choked sob wiggles free from an iron grip. People are staring as you nearly run out to the door, unaware that several whip around to look at the man left sitting behind you.

Wooyoung doesn’t chase you down. Doesn’t call or text as you walk the twenty blocks to Lisa’s apartment in the thick humidity of the city night; snot and tears trailing down your face.

Wooyoung doesn’t say anything at all as eight years shatter to pieces in a matter of seconds.

December 7th

Wooyoung

…twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight.

Wooyoung staples the finished packets together, ears tickled by jazzy Christmas music leaking from his computer speakers in the corner of his L-shaped desk. Surrounded by colorful brick walls of a midtown elementary school isn’t where most people his age would find themselves on a Friday evening but where else would he go?

His roommates have their partners over, he’d rather avoid the frigid dampness of the park he usually smokes at, and Wooyoung isn’t interested in the crowds clogging anywhere else he’d think to visit. The usual comforting bustle of the city only serves to set him on edge, making him desperate for a true solitude he really craves. Getting ahead on his classroom prep for the remainder of the semester seemed like the perfect, albeit a depressing way, to spend the evening.

The dulcet tones of Dean Martin are joined by an incoming call buzzing his phone across the wooden top of the desk. A familiar picture of his mom and him as a baby flashing across the screen before he answers.

“Hi sweetie,” his mom yells on the other line. Wooyoung can tell she’s driving home from work based on the poor audio quality.

“Hey mom,” he wedges the device between his shoulder and cheek, using his hands to continue organizing the worksheets for Monday; paper warm in his palms from the printer.

“I’m just calling to make sure you and Y/N are still coming for Christmas. I know the hospital is usually crazy this time of year so I thought I’d double check.”

“Actually mom—”

“Bibi keeps talking about wanting everyone home for Christmas but if Y/N can’t make it she’ll understand. She’s always been her favorite.” His mom laughs.

Wooyoung’s grandmother is impolitely frank about her age and never hesitates to use it to her own advantage. How does he tell her that his girlfriend, who she liked more than her own grandsons some days, is no longer his girlfriend? And how he is the only one to be blamed for that.

He might as well start digging his own grave.

“We’ll be there.” Wooyoung blabs before he can stop himself.

“Wonderful! I’m pulling into the driveway so I’ll talk to you later. Love you!”

“Love you too.”

Fortunately, on a cold winter night like tonight, the only other soul in the building is Mr. Rollins, a janitor with headphones permanently attached to his ears. The colorful combination of expletives pouring from Wooyoung’s mouth would make a sailor blush.

Typing in a familiar name to his message bar, Wooyoung realizes he hasn’t changed it in all this time; the string of emojis from the first night he got her number glaring back at him in mockery. A sting of bile blisters the back of Wooyoung’s throat as he steads himself for what he’s about to do. Who he is about to ask for the biggest mercy; one he didn’t deserve in the slightest.

Wooyoung: Can I call you?

Wooyoung inhales before hitting “send,” locking his phone and tossing it down like it’s possessed.

Barely a full minute passes before it vibrates with her response.

Y/N🥰🍯💖: are you okay?

He can’t even type a reply before the buzz buzz buzz on an incoming call tickles against his palm. 

Tapping into the false chipper personality he reserves for strangers and his class, Wooyoung answers with a simple. “Hey!” 

“Hi.” She deadpans.

“Is it a bad time?”

“What do you want, Woo?”

“How have you been?”

“I’m fine. But you aren’t calling to ask me that.”

Wooyoung wants to object but she’s right. “I’m not but I still care.”

“Sure.”

“Okay, so my mom called and asked if you were coming over for Christmas.”

“Why?” Y/N asks after a pregnant pause.

“Because I haven’t told them we broke up.”

A rush of clattering sounds from her end along with a few curse words sounding far away before she continues. “Are you fucking kidding me? It’s been six months!”

“I know! But I’ve been busy and there was never a good time and it’s just kinda snowballed.”

“Well, tell her now.”

“I can’t!”

“Why not?”

“Bibi keeps talking about how she wants everyone how for one last Christmas and with Kyungmin going to colle—”

“Please tell me you’re not suggesting what I think you are.”

“You know I wouldn’t ask unless I was desperate.”

“I thought us breaking up meant I didn’t have to deal with your shit anymore.”

“I can tell them your busy and the hospital is keeping you or—”

“No,” Wooyoung can picture the hand scrubbing down her face, fingers massaging her temples the same way she always did when his shenanigans got them in trouble. “I’ll do it.”

Now he’s the one to pause, “Really?”

“Yeah, it’d be nice to see them all one last time.”

“Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”

“I actually need to get back to doing that so–”

“Yeah, I’ll, ugh, talk to you later. Bye.”

“Bye.”

As the line clicks and Wooyoung is left alone in his classroom, the space abruptly feels too big. With each minute ticking by, he convinces himself he hallucinated the entire exchange because there is no possible way his ex-girlfriend agreed to this ill-thought plan. Everything feels too normal for her to extend such undue kindness his way, especially after how he ruined their relationship in a moment of insecurity.

Wooyoung: My flight out is 12/21

Wooyoung: You don’t have to come that early 

Y/N🥰🍯💖: im off starting the 19th

Wooyoung: I’ll pay for your flight

Y/N🥰🍯💖: great

Y/N🥰🍯💖: ill venmo you

Wooyoung: Cool, send me the details

There’s a weight on Wooyoung’s tongue at the new dynamic settling between them. Eight years of dating but now she’s a stranger. The last text messages arranging for their mutual friend Lisa to pick up a box of her stuff from his apartment. 

Six months and he didn’t know if she kept her hair the same way or what new book she was obsessing over in her sparse free time; if her neighbor in Boston’s yappy geriatric dog finally kicked the bucket.

Lovers. Almost fiancées. And now strangers.

December 10th

Wooyoung

Wooyoung wakes up to the early morning bustle of the busy streets just outside his window. His phone clock reads thirty minutes past his normal alarm which means he’s late. And that means his boss is going to tear his ass a new one. 

In a whirl, Wooyoung rushes to the bathroom. He wets his hands with the freezing tap water, patting his face and attempting to style his bed ridden hair. The door shifts to catch his foot as he exits, stubbing his toe and forcing him to hop down the hallway to his room. Wrinkled khakis and a sweater are all Wooyoung manages before he throws on his parka and is out the door. 

He sprints to the subway, just in time to see the doors closing on his train.

“Fuck me!”

“Too young for me buddy,” croaks the homeless man splayed on the bench in the middle of the platform.

Ignoring him, Wooyoug paces further down the station, anger filling him with restless energy. Glancing at his phone, he shoots an email to his principal that he’ll be late due to “train delays.” Thank god for the MTA being a regular piece of shit. 

Finally checking the stream of missed notifications during the night, he uses the lull to answer them.

Mom: Does y/n still like those chips we bought last time? I’m at the store getting a few things

Wooyoung: She said she’s happy with whatever you get!

Not a lie since Y/N would be happy to have snacks of any kind.

SANNIE⛰️: YOU DIDN’T TELL YOUR PARENTS? 

SANNIE⛰️: U R SO FUCKED

At least he can always count on San to state the obvious.

Y/N🥰🍯💖: here’s my ticket 

Wooyoung does a double take when he sees she’s flying out of New York, not Boston. Why isn’t she flying out of Boston? There’s no way it’s cheaper than flying out of Boston and she wouldn’t go through the trouble of getting down here unless she had a good reason.

Wooyoung: Why are you flying out of LGA?

Y/N🥰🍯💖: Because I live here?

A lump of lead hardens in his stomach. She lives here, in New York. She’s been in the city and he didn’t even notice. Questions race forward. How long has she been here? Where is she working? What neighborhood is she in? Why didn’t he know she moved back?

The last question is more his own fault than he cares to admit.

His train arrives without preamble, brakes screeching as it slows to a stop. Wooyoung crowds into the compartment, happy for it to be relatively empty. Finding a spot on the wall, he zones out of the chaos for the next twenty minutes. A group of highschoolers laugh obnoxiously in the corner, snatching one another’s phones as they share god knows what between them. A young mom tries to placate her crying baby, the older man next to her rolling his eyes as he devours his morning paper. When the doors open at his stop, Wooyoung pauses for a second as an elderly woman enters the train. Catching her eye, he offers her his seat; only standing when she’s close enough so no one else tries to take it from her. 

Wooyoung slithers out of the closing doors and bolts out of the station as fast as he can.

Panting and sweating under his black parka, Wooyoung arrives outside the red doors of the elementary school he teaches at. Principal Martinez is tapping his foot at the top of the steps, arms crossed in front of his chest, scowl etched deep on his face.

“This is the third time this month.”

“I know, I’m sorry! But the train got delayed with repairs or something and—”

“Save it. You have a class to get to.”

Breezing past, Wooyoung’s boots clack against the linoleum tile as he careens towards his classroom. The rowdy cacophony of third grade voices echo beyond the doorway, only increasing in volume as he peeks his head in.

A dozen shrill voices scream something along the lines of, “Mr. Jung you’re late!”

“You’re all just early!” Wooyoung goads back, sending a thankful look at the teacher who stepped in to watch them till he arrived.

The room descends into giggles, students finding their places as he settles at his own desk.

“So today, we’re starting with circle time!”

Y/N

“Let me get this straight: your ex asked you to pretend to be his girlfriend and now you’re spending Christmas with his family?”

Sparing a glance from the manilla folder containing notes on your next patient, you see Hongjoong watching you skeptically. The ridiculousness of the situation isn’t lost on you. You’d nearly convinced yourself the entire exchange Friday night was some cruel dream if not for the string of text messages proving it’d been real. Wooyoung’s first real attempt to speak with you post-breakup, and he asks you to pretend he didn’t break your heart six months ago.

“That’s about as straight as it gets.”

Hongjoong’s eyebrows furrow, “And you said yes, why?”

“Because…” 

You missed him? Because you still loved him? Because when you saw his message you thought he was finally ready to admit it'd all been a mistake? 

Because Wooyoung always convinced you to go along with whatever he asked?

“I really like his family.”

“Oh, sweet child.” He clicks, leafing through his own case file.

“Look, it’ll be nice to see them one last time and I’d rather spend the holidays with them than cramped in my apartment to avoid the tourists.”

“Are you sure that’s the only reason why?”

“Yep.”

“This can’t go wrong at all!”

“Shut up,” you say before dipping into the exam room, shifting your face into an enthusiastic smile. “How are we today, Mrs. Haspin?”

“We’re doing okay. Harper hasn’t been liking the new medicine you prescribed.”

“She hasn’t?” You gasp sarcastically, staring wide eyed at the tiny brunette with braided pigtails sitting on the exam room bed.

“They’re gross!” Harper cries with all the sincerity a four year old can muster, her tiny hands wrinkling the paper as she slaps the bed indignantly.

“Well that’s no good. I’ll make sure to check if they have other flavors.” You type a few notes in her electronic chart as you turn over your shoulder. “Mom, have you noticed a difference?”

“She’s not having as many coughing fits.”

“That is very good.” You curl your stethoscope in your palm, attempting to warm the cool metal. “Can I listen to your lungs, Harper?”

She shakes her head up and down vigorously, the pink and gold beads at the end of her pigtails clacking together.

“Alright, take a deep breath in.” The woosh of air entering her lungs fills the room. “And out. In. And out.”

You prompt her to continue several times, gliding the chestpiece along various parts of her back as you listen intently. A few crackles pop in your ears, mucus coating her airways; only made worse by the dry winter of the city.

“Very good, Harper.” you praise before turning to her mom waiting anxiously in the corner. “With the winter make sure you’re using the humidifier as much as possible but her lungs sound better than last time so I’d like to stay on the meds.” You swivel back to your patient. “I’ll check with the pharmacy if they can do something about the flavor. Okay?”

Harper beams, glad to be heard. Her mother beams for an entirely different reason. Her daughter struggled with respiratory issues since she’d been born and as she aged they’d only gotten worse. Harper was the first patient you took when you started two months ago and in that time you’ve grown fond of her.

“All right, I’ll walk you all to the front. I think we can push out our next visit until six weeks since she’s been doing so well. If anything comes up, please don’t hesitate to call us.”

Handing them off to the receptionist to schedule their next appointment, you return to your office for a quick lunch.

Y/N: Because I live here

Youngie 🖤: since when?

How do you tell him that you’ve lived here since the day he broke up with you? How that night at dinner you were planning to surprise him by moving back to New York and removing the distance that plagued your relationship for three years?

The benefit of no longer being in a relationship means you don’t have to explain anything.

Locking your phone, you scarf down the squashed sandwich you brought from home before rushing to your next patient. 

Wooyoung

Wooyoung: since when?

Wooyoung checked his phone after finishing pick up duty, one of several over the next month as a bargain to keep his job.

She’d ignored him. It wasn’t the first time his messages went hours before being answered. She was a doctor, and before that a med student, and before that pre-med when they’d met at some dive and realized they shared a behavioral psych class. Y/N always maintained a full schedule, only responding to the outside world when the night bled into the early hours of the day.

Wooyoung: Did you know Y/N moved here?

Yeosang: Yes.

Well fuck.

Wooyoung: You didn’t think to tell me?

Yeosang: You broke up.

Yeosang: ?

Even his roommate knew she’d been in the city.

Double fuck.

December 14th

Y/N

Another week passes before Wooyoung reaches out to you again. You’re set to leave in a few days but work requires all the energy you can manage thanks to a volatile respiratory season. 

Youngie 🖤: Our flights are around the same time. Do you wanna carpool?

You spoke with Yeosang frequently enough (once in a blue moon) to know they still lived in the dingy old walk up they could hardly afford. The high rise you rented further up Manhattan would be on his way to the airport but did you want to see Wooyoung sooner than needed?

Misery still festered in your veins since the break up. Eight years you’d dated; through senior year of undergrad, four years of medical school, and just shy of three years of residency. And the asshole couldn’t give you a single reason for your break up. No warning. No fighting. The same bouquet of delicate pink tulips waiting in hand for you as you arrived at the train station for your last visit to the city before relocating permanently. Yeosang texted you that very afternoon about his excitement to have you back as if nothing was wrong.

A beautiful afternoon holed up in his room for a late nap before dinner, apartment silent in the absence of his three roommates who’d usually greet you enthusiastically as you returned to the city for a visit. Wooyoung hadn’t acted any differently than the other times you visited, seemingly unaware of the surprise you planned to unveil at the fancy dinner he planned to congratulate you on finishing your long years of training.

But then he sat down and said the six words that replayed in your mind like a curse.

And that was the last time you heard his voice until Friday night; as if Wooyoung dove off the face of the earth. The only proof of living were the traces of him in his friends’ Instagram stories or faceless photos of him in their posts.

You’d never been one to post much on social media anyway but his shock at your move back to the city fanned a sick sense of satisfaction. As if to say “two can play at that game.” Wooyoung cut you out and you’d done the same. Keeping your move under lock and key despite sharing the same friend group.

Y/N: no thanks

You’re toeing the line of rudeness but what’s Wooyoung going to do? Break up with you again?

December 21st

Wooyoung

Terminal C of LaGuardia Airport four days before Christmas ranks among the top destinations no one in their right mind would want to be. Parents attempting to keep track of hyper children, businessmen scowling down their nose as they scream into their cellphones, adults slamming down overpriced drinks in preparation for the endless questions holidays bring.

“Bringing home anyone special?”

“When are you going to get married?”

“Grandchildren?”

The last is Wooyoung’s grandmother’s new favorite. Myungho faces the brunt of it; married three years and in no rush to add another mouth to feed just yet. When Wooyoung flew home for Bibi’s birthday in April, she decided to turn her inquiry towards him and Y/N. 

How fun it’ll be to answer those questions again with his temporarily not ex-girlfriend.

Security is long and laborious. One agent yells at him for keeping his shoes on, another rolls her eyes when he asks if his laptop needs to come out of his backpack. In front of him, a frail looking elderly woman struggles with placing the hard plastic bin on the rolling conveyor belt. Behind, grumbles of discontent regarding her holding up the line rise in volume as Wooyoung helps her with her things; sending a smile to her thank you.

And because no good deed goes unpunished, Wooyoung gets pulled for an extra search once he passes the large metal detector.

A burly pale skinned man with blue nitrile gloves sorts through his belongings with the gentleness of a bull in a china shop. Wooyoung’s wrecked and dusty backpack passes inspection easily enough but the contents of his carry-on end up spread across the shiny metal table for further examination under the sterile lights. Gifts for his family, some books he’s teaching next semester, and a navy velvet box he hasn’t left the city without in the past year.

That is apparently the source of interest for TSA as the man pops open the lid to scan the marquis cut diamond ring before putting it back in its place.

“Congrats, man.”

“Thanks.” Wooyoung gives a tight smile.

Nodding his head to his colleague, the TSA agent steps away and allows Wooyoung to pack his bags.

He really needs a drink.

Y/N

“I’m sorry ma’am, the flight is overbooked. But there is room on the next flight to Denver!”

“No charge?”

“Not unless you would like to upgrade to business class.”

You have the money and Wooyoung paid for your seat so it’s technically cheaper than it’d usually be. However, Wooyoung would take it personally if he found out you sat in business when he paid for a last minute economy flight on a teachers salary. A few hours of comfort aren’t worth adding to the awkwardness you’ll face over the next week.

 “No, thank you. But if there’s an aisle seat available that’d be great.”

She taps on her keyboard with manicured nails for a moment, the light of the screen reflecting on her face, before speaking with a perfect customer service smile. “Alright, your new flight number is AYX287 and you’ll be flying out of Gate 98.”

“Thank you.” You say, reviewing the boarding pass she printed. Your new gate is on the opposite side of the terminal but you have a little over an hour to make it there.

Rolling your silver carry-on next to you, you weave in and out of the other airport goers heading in the opposite directions. A curse of any crowded space, people forget to walk with a sense of purpose. You dodge a young couple, probably teenagers, standing in the middle of the walkway oblivious to anyone else; only to end up behind an gaggle of older women surrounded by a heavy cloud of perfume and cheap wine. One of their shirts reads “Happily Divorced!” in glittery cursive.

More nimble footwork and multiple sign checks later, you reach the correct wing of the terminal with forty five minutes to spare. Confirming that your gate does in fact exist, you turn back up the walkway to find a drink. Preferably several.

The first time you see Wooyoung in months will require the strongest alcohol you can finally afford now that residency is over and you're making the hefty salary you’d been promised at the start of medical school.

A friendly faced woman, old enough to be your mother, greets you as you take a stool at her bar. 

“Cranberry margarita.”

“Wanna start a tab?”

“Yes, please.” You answer, handing over your credit card.

The first overpriced drink goes down smoothly, a little sweet and perfectly tart. The second and third much the same. Pleasantly buzzed with fifteen minutes till boarding, you cash out and shuffle back to wait by the gate.

And in one of the cramped pleather seats of the waiting area, sits your ex-boyfriend.

Wooyoung

Wooyoung is hallucinating. Two gin and gingers and a THC gummy churning in his stomach make the mirage in front of him look incredibly realistic.

In her usual flying outfit, Wooyoung’s ex-girlfriend stands twenty feet away every bit as beautiful as the last time he saw her. Loose gray sweats, the same old hunter green crew neck with the name of his hometown in frayed golden embroidery on the front, sherpa lined short ugg boots, and glasses perched on the end of her nose. The silver carry-on she bought in the airport last time they visited his family at her side.

And a sour look of absolute disgust twisting her lips.

Better he sees her for the first time since their break up now instead of later in front of the audience of his nosy family. In the safety of anonymity, she can kill him multiple times over with her eyes, and Wooyoung can grovel and pander like he usually does.

Or Wooyoung would if she hadn’t taken a seat along the bay of windows at the opposite end of the alcove.

Wonderful.

Y/N actively avoids looking in his general direction for the next fifteen minutes. An impressive feat given he’s directly in front of the help desk and TV screen displaying updates for their flight. But she digs her nose into her phone, tapping furiously to who Wooyoung assumes is her best friend. If he wakes up to Lisa in his apartment one morning with a knife to his throat, there’ll at least be a paper trail of evidence.

The gate agent booms over the loudspeaker, announcing priority boarding and first class to come forward. Wooyoung’s bank account weeps at the idea of flying first class during Christmas. Who flies first class domestic? A true mystery for the ages.

The familiar head of hair, full of murderous thoughts aimed at him, boards with group three. Flashing a polite smile to the gate agent as she struts down the hall without a glance back. 

When Wooyoung is called with the last group, he’s first in line. The airport is a dog eat dog world and his good deeds end where the boarding line begins.

Nearly every seat is filled when Wooyoung shuffles down the cramped aisle, full overhead bins already closed half way down the plane. He doesn’t spot Y/N amongst the faces of passengers preparing for the next five hours, some already knocked out with eye masks and neck pillows.

Seat 27A, a window seat Wooyoung paid an extra $37 for, sits next to a blissfully vacant middle seat. There’s also just enough room for his black suitcase to fit overhead, snug between a gray hard case, and a blue duffle. 

The aisle seat in the row is occupied by a man who looks a little younger than Wooyoung's age, a college hoodie and baseball cap similar to his own. He rises, allowing Wooyoung to shuffle by and plop into his chair. Stuffing his backpack under the seat in front, Wooyoung shoots a few last minute texts. One to his family group chat, letting them know the flight is about to take off; resending the flight number for his dad to anxiously track. Another to his roommate group chat, reminding them to cover the drains before they leave town. And a final one to San, begging for thoughts and prayers.

He barely hits send when the seat next to him jostles with the weight of a body. Turning, Wooyoung spots the man in the aisle seat a few inches from himself. On the other side, his ex-girlfriend.

Great.

Y/N

Wooyoung’s familiar mop of dark hair remains unseen through each new rush of passengers, the plane slowly filling up more and more. You dread to think he got stuck the same way you did hours ago, forced on a later flight than intended. If that was the case, would you be stuck at the airport waiting for him? Given his parents had to drive two hours to pick you both up, the answer is probably yes. And two hours unsupervised with Wooyoung’s mom would ruin the entire plan.

Nature calls you to the cramped bathroom at the back of the aircraft as passengers at the front continue trickling in. Hopefully Wooyoung is sitting far away from you when you return to your seat.

Stupid motherfucker. You think, rattling the jammed door of the airplane stall in an attempt to force it open. Just as you're about to kick the door down, a flight attendant shoves it aside, flashing a tight smile of displeasure.

Shuffling up back to your seat, you awkwardly wait behind struggling passengers putting away their belongings in the sparse overhead space. Thank the powers that be, your new ticket came with better boarding.

Finally catching up to the familiar faces of the rows around your seat, you turn to find two men in your row. One in your seat, and the other your ex boyfriend.

You stop dead in your tracks, with a loud, “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Sorry!” The man who is not your ex-boyfriend apologizes.

“No! Not you, sorry!”

Wooyoung just stares blankly. If habit and history were to repeat itself, Wooyoung carefully timed an edible before stepping through security. Given his propensity for being obnoxiously early to the airport, he should be high as a kite.

And now you’re stuck next to him drunk as a skunk.

Great.

Taking the now vacant aisle seat, you attempt to ignore Wooyoung once again; plugging in your headphones and pulling out a book you’ve been trying to get through for months. Lisa’s recommendation of smutty fantasy romance with hot immortal faeries. You didn’t see the appeal but at her insistence, you gave it a chance.

“Hey,” calls a voice to your left. 

Nope, not doing this. You think, forcing yourself to read the opening paragraph again but registering none of the words..

“Y/N,” he tries again.

In your periphery, you can see Wooyoung folding over at the waist to look around the man sandwiched between you. 

“What?” You snap, ripping out your headphones.

“How’ve you been?”

Rolling your eyes with a groan, you sink back into your chair, headphones replaced and book in the pocket in front of you. It’s going to be a long flight.

Murphy’s law states that anything that can go wrong will and your flight is no exception. The packed jet is stuck taxing for almost an hour, courtesy of the trademark fog and rain of New York in the winter. You can feel the heat of Wooyoung’s gaze burn the side of your face, cheeks heating under his scrutiny. But the full scale meltdown threatening to unleash if you entertain him has no place in the sanctity of a last minute holiday flight of people just trying to make it to their next destination.

He doesn’t stop when the plane finally lurches forward, witnessing you brace for the worst part of flying; take off.

The loud rattles and pitch of jet engines skyrocket your blood pressure, flooding your mouth with saliva as a threat of vomiting everywhere; a sickening cold sweat pooling at your back. All you can do is close your eyes, and take deep calming breaths your guided meditation apps recommend. Running through the facts keeps you from descending into full panic. Airplanes are notoriously safe. The odds of dying in a plane crash are one in eleven million. You’re more likely to die in a car crash or from something one of your patient’s brings into the hospital.

But the brief suspension in time and space as you rise through the atmosphere unsettles you to your core. 

The panic steeping into your veins is temporary, eager to vanish the second you reach cruising altitude. It disappears like a late winter snow under early spring sunlight, leaving only trace evidence it ever existed in the first place. But it’ll be back with a vengeance under the screaming brakes and the sounds of wheels hitting pavement as you land.

The seatbelt sign chimes off, and the breath you’d failed to release follows the fading light that illuminated it. 

Wooyoung tries to talk to you another two times before giving up. The final instance is a plea for the bathroom, which you graciously grant; thrilling in the relief you feel at his absence.

The poor guy between you two looks worse for wear, having offered to trade seats with either of you so you didn’t have to talk across him. You apologize once Wooyoung is out of earshot, excusing the strange behavior with a white lie that he's just a friend from college you didn’t get along with and hadn’t seen in a while. The stranger's name is Jay, and he laughs at the irony.

“That’s crazy that you two ended up on the same flight. Are you from Denver?”

“Oh, no. Just visiting some family in Lavensville. What about you?”

“No way! My mom is from Lanesville.”

“Small world,” you laugh. “So what took you to the city?”

“I’m in grad school at Columbia. Getting my MBA.” 

“Excuse me.” Wooyoung arrives over your shoulder.

When you rise, you notice his face is tense as he passes to return to his seat. He pretends to sleep the rest of the flight as you chat with the man next to you. 

Six laborious hours pass before you land in Denver. Exiting the plane, you leave Wooyoung behind in favor of waiting by the restrooms on the way to arrivals. You tap your foot impatiently as he stumbles over, clearly exhausted by the late arrival of your flight and the idea of another two hours in his mom’s cramped sedan.

Shuffling next to one another in somber silence, you wait for Wooyoung to speak first. He dragged you into this, and it’s his job to make it work.

“How’ve you been?”

“Fine.”

“How’s work?”

“Fine.”

“Okay. Look.” He turns, stepping directly into your path and nearly toppling over when you bounce off his chest. “I’m sorry for all of this but you agreed to come so can we please at least act cordial?”

Unfortunately, Wooyoung is right. He might have put his foot in his mouth, but you didn’t take the chance to bail. He’s only fractionally more guilty than you.

“Fine.” You sigh.

He pins you with a look, eyebrows arched as if asking “are you sure?”

Shuffling around him, you begin your journey to baggage claim once again, Wooyoung hot on your heels.

“I’m working at a hospital uptown, I live in Yorkville, and I still prefer the buses to the train.”

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” Wooyoung nods. “I’m at the same school, in the same apartment, and still living with San and Yeosang. But Mingi moved to Williamsburg with his girlfriend.”

You try to smother the snarkiness of your voice but a sarcastic “I know.” slips free.

Even if you weren’t as close with the boys due to the break up, they’d been your friends as much as his; especially Mingi’s girlfriend, who’d you introduced him to. Lia invited you to their housewarming party when they finally settled in but you missed it due to work, and the nerves of seeing Wooyoung so soon after such a fresh break up. 

The conveyor belt of remaining unclaimed luggage spins like the saddest merry-go-round in existence. Wooyoung jumps forward to snatch your suitcase before you can react, rolling it your direction before diving back in for his own. Once out of the way, he calls his mom to confirm she’s pulling around to pick you two up. 

The silver sedan whips to the curve, Wooyoung’s mom beaming from the driver’s seat.

“My babies!” She cries through the rolled down window.

Mrs. Jung always gave you the enthusiasm your own mother couldn’t feign. Smiling at her before circling the trunk where Wooyoung packs away your bags, you snatch his hand before he can throw it closed.

“Should we tell them I still live in Boston?”

As if you’ve just spoken another language, Wooyoung simply blinks at you.

“How are we gonna explain separate apartments? It makes no sense.”

“Oh,” he gasps, as if the thought didn’t occur to him. “Ugh, yeah good idea.”

The security guard monitoring the pick up area begins striding towards the car, inhaling to yell a warning. Throwing your remaining luggage inside the trunk roughly, you both sprint to enter the vehicle. Wooyoung plants himself in the passenger seat, squeezing his mom in a tight hug as you buckle in the middle seat. Untangling from her needy son, Mrs. Jung peels out and joins the line of cars attempting to merge on the interstate. 

Reclining the seat back, Wooyoung knocks out immediately, leaving you to fend for yourself.

“How’s Boston, dear?” She chimes, voice light and bouncy despite the late hour.

You provide your stock answer for everytime someone asks over the past three years.

“Cold, wet. Lots of sick babies.”

“At least they’re consistent!”

You try to swallow the instinct to comb through Wooyoung’s hair as he naps. The first thing you learned about him in the early phase of your relationship was that Wooyoung needed some kind of physical contact at all times or he’d die. At least, he thought so. It’d been annoying at first; the constant hand holding, suffocating hugs that left your arms useless as you tried to study, even the overabundance of cartoonish kisses anywhere his lips could reach. But over eight years, you grew to appreciate his special way of showing affection. When words failed the man who always had something to say, he relied on touch to convey the things he couldn’t verbalize.

Even if you say all the right things and act like nothing's wrong, anyone who has ever been associated with Wooyoung will know something is up if he isn’t hanging off you like a koala. So if you’re going to pretend the last six months hadn’t happened then you have no reason not to treat him the way you always had.

Your nails snag on a few invisible tangles in his shaggy hair that spills across the cloth seat. It’s longer than when you last saw him in the summer, top half pulled back in an elastic. Continuing to provide updates, you gently brush the bangs hanging in his face. Wooyoung whines sleepily when you pause, causing his mom to laugh.

“Nice to know the city hasn’t changed him.”

Quick to appease, you start again before responding. “Eh, I don’t know about that. Have you seen some of his shoes?”

“Still?” She gasps.

“Unfortunately, I think it’s terminal.”

Mrs. Jung’s cackly laugh is a perfect doppelganger of her son’s. Shrill and mischievous, compelling you to laugh along in pure glee even if you don’t find shared humor; bewitched by the pure joy.

Once the initial rush of reunion wanes, she insists you doze along with her son. The gentle caress of warm air from the vents, paired with the smooth carols from the radio, lulls you down into a shallow rest.

Wooyoung

As his mom rolls to a stop in their driveway, the gentle glow of the car's cabin lights draw Wooyoung awake. Eyes only a quarter open, he stretches in the reclined seat with an obnoxious yawn, hands brushing the firm body of Y/N dozing behind him. She shrugs his hand off her thigh, burrowing back down into the collar of her sweater.

“Come on, sleepy heads. We’re home.” His mom announces as she opens her door.

Home for Wooyoung is a cream two story, five bedroom, three bathroom, Williamsburg Revival style home with royal blue shutters. His dad added the two car garage himself, meticulously matching the exterior to the existing home, blending old and new seamlessly under the watchful eye of his mom. The now gray and dead garden that usually bloomed wildly below the first floor windows was his grandmother’s contribution when she moved in before Wooyoung started highschool.

When his parents were two college students at the obscure liberal arts college Lavensville was built around, his mom had been obsessed with the very house Wooyoung grew up in. According to his dad, Wooyoung’s mom talked more about the house than anything else; a true historic preservationist to her core.

It was an odd way to ask someone to marry you, but his dad always said “Some women wanted a ring. Your mom wanted this house.”

His dad surprised her with the ring after she stopped crying about the house.

Golden string lights drip from the corners of the roof, casting the exterior in a buttery soft haze. Each window sporting a wreath with a thick red velvet ribbon. A heavy layer of snow coating the ground like powdered sugar makes the entire scene like something out of a snowglobe. 

Another yawn before braving the inevitable blast of chilly air, Wooyoung spots Y/N in the rearview mirror; features curled in a sleepy scowl, eyes squinted against the sudden light.

Wooyoung joins his mom at the back of the car, crowding her away from the truck as she insists on helping them carry everything inside. She manages to snag his backpack and Y/N’s carryon before he can shoo her towards the path to the front door where his dad is jamming on an old pair of sneakers to come help.

“We got it!” Y/N calls across the icy lawn, bidding the older man to stay inside as she struggles with her suitcase.

“I can see that.” His dad laughs, jogging down the salted sidewalk curving along the front of the house to reach them.

His dad lifts her larger suitcase out of the truck with ease, leaving Wooyoung to roll his own inside while Y/N balances her tote bag and his carryon. The wheels grate against the uneven brick sidewalk as everyone rushes to return to the heated interior of the house.

It’s well past midnight as they climb the staircase in the foyer to the second floor. Wooyoung’s room is just as he left it the last time he visited in the spring. The headboard of the tiny twin bed resting against the wall just under the window looking out to the front yard, posters from his childhood still tacked up crookedly. 

Wooyoung tries very hard not to think about the last time they shared the quilt covered bed of his childhood room. How the last trip here had been the last time Y/N slept in his arms, the last time he laid her bare beneath him. Six months and the memories felt as real as they had when it happened.

Sharing the tiny mattress could only mean trouble for the delicate truce Wooyoung had made with her in the airport.

“I can sleep on the floor.” He offers, unzipping his suitcase for clean clothes to sleep in.

Digging in her own suitcase, Y/N scoffs at the idea. “Don’t be stupid, what if Bibi comes in?”

“She’s gotten better about knocking!”

“Yeah, after she saw us having sex!”

Not like that’s gonna happen again.

“We can share the bed, it’s too cold up here to sleep on the floor.” Y/N says as she grabs her toiletry bag and shuffles to his door. “You’re a diva when you don’t get good sleep.”

“I’m not a diva” Wooyoung whines after her, rebuttal bouncing off the piece of wood separating them. 

When Y/N returns from the bathroom, Wooyoung takes his turn to brush his teeth and wash his face. It’s just for a few days, he reminds himself. She leaves the day after Christmas and after he returns to the city he can tell his family they decided to part ways.

Until then, Wooyoung gathers all the patience he typically reserves for the army of eight year olds he deals with every day in an effort to not descend into insanity.

He finds her balancing on the edge of the narrow mattress, a sliver of space behind her for him to sink into. Neither says anything as the minutes tick by, both refusing to fall asleep despite the fatigue swirling over them attempting to find root. Back to back, Wooyoung stares at the wall as he tries not to listen to the gentle whoosh of Y/N breath.

December 22nd

Y/N

Shuffling into the cold kitchen, you barely crack your eyes open as you beeline for the coffee pot resting on the counter. Wooyoung’s mom greets you from the dining table, eyes scanning her newspaper as you reply with a mumble “morning.”

One would think years of twenty-four hour shifts and early mornings would make waking up easier but you’d sleep all day if given the chance; however, Wooyoung suffocating you like an octopus forced you from the heated sanctuary under the covers and downstairs. Already it was too easy to pretend you were still together. Waking up tangled in him, his face squashed against your sweater clad chest as he snored, blissfully unaware of the budding panic attack you’d calmed with a freezing shower full of choked tears.

Planting your rear in a dark oak dining chair around the table, the jolt of caffeine and sugar lulls your senses awake as you scroll your phone. 

You send a text to your little brother, confirming your parents had made it to their cruise safely while your flight crossed the country. Two weeks in the Caribbean, all expenses paid, sounded a lot better than a week in rural Colorado with your ex-boyfriend. Thankfully, there’s no cell service in the middle of the ocean; so you don’t need to explain to your mother why you were spending Christmas with Wooyoung, who she truly was never fond of to begin with.

Sometime after bed, Lisa sent a string of vaguely threatening emojis and a picture of her yorkie with the Christmas sweater you bought as an early gift. Assuring her Wooyoung had been on his best behavior so far, you switched over to skim your clogged work email.

“Do you want some breakfast, sweetie?” 

“This is fine.” You say, raising your mug.

“How can you be a doctor and try to tell me coffee is a healthy breakfast?”

“I have horrible news if you think doctors have time to do any of the things we tell people they should.”

“Well it’s a good thing you’re here then because you have plenty of time now.”

Wooyoung

Wooyoung hates waking up alone. It feels inexplicably wrong. Especially after sharing an apartment with Y/N for those four years she was in medical school. There’d been plenty of road bumps but spending every night curled up under the comforter with the woman he loved made it all fade to black. He never slept as good as those years.

Except this morning, he wakes up to Y/N’s fingers brushing his hair like she always did when they’d been together, and for a second Wooyoung thinks the entire breakup must’ve been a horrible dream. Wooyoung hadn’t moved a muscle lest the passes of her short nails sending goosebumps down his spine stopped. Eventually, the lazy drags lulled him back into the land of sleep as her heart sang his favorite lullaby.

The second time Wooyoung woke up, she’d been long gone and he felt the familiar emptiness he thought he’d forgotten after all these months apart.

Trudging down the stairs with loud footsteps, Wooyoung spots his mom in the kitchen, mouth spread wide over laughter as Y/N sits at the counter, cradling a mug of steaming coffee. If Wooyoung had to bet, the ceramic mug probably contained more sugar and milk than anything.

“Morning,” he grumbles, forehead resting against the cool marble of the island as he continues to doze in front of the audience.

His mom pats his back as she passes to reach the fridge, “Go sit down, Woo. You're in my way!”

“Everyone is so mean to me,” he pouts, but rounds the counter to sit next to Y/N nonetheless, resting his cheek on her shoulder, feeling her startle at the contact. 

Wooyoung hides a satisfied smirk in her sweater when a hand starts scratching his back under his hoodie. He can almost forget their lying to everyone in the gentle passes of her cold fingers chilling against his hot skin.

 “Your brother is getting in this afternoon so we thought of letting everyone relax until this evening and then having a game night.” His mom calls over her shoulder, busy with the pan heating in the flames of the stove.

“Where’s Kyungmin?”

“He went with Bibi to volunteer at the church this morning.”

“Sucker,” Y/N mumbles for Wooyoung’s ears only, sending him into giggles.

Wooyoung’s grandmother has a particular way of guilting everyone in his family to do exactly what she wants. It’s why he’s sharing his childhood bed with his ex-girlfriend, why his dad keeps the house unbearably warm all year round, and why his little brother is no doubt undergoing military grade interrogation first thing in the morning.

Going to church with Bibi was less about being closer to God and more about being paraded in front of her old lady friends with single granddaughters. Wooyoung had been a victim until he met Y/N, each summer at home more exhausting than the last with not so subtle reminders Ms. So-and-so's granddaughter was very pretty and very available. But the second Wooyoung sent a picture to his mom of the girl he had not so casually started dating fall semester of senior year, his grandmother ceased all effort to set him up. And after she met Y/N at graduation, Wooyoung beamed with the knowledge his entire family not only approved but liked his girlfriend. 

Leaving poor Kyungmin to bare the brunt of Bibi’s well-meaning torture almost made Wooyoung feel guilty. Operative word being almost. Because Wooyoung had survived it, their older brother had survived it, and now it was Kyungmin’s turn to endure the special brand of Jung family meddling.

And the second his family finds out he's technically single, Wooyoung knows it’s only a matter of time before Bibi smothers him in his sleep for breaking up with the girl she considers family. And after, when she resurrects him from the dead, Wooyoung will be thrown to Bibi’s friends like a sacrificial lamb to starving wolves.

Stealing a sip of Y/N’s overly sweet coffee can’t clear his mouth of the sour taste.

“Wooyoung, you need to make up the guest bed for your brother.” His mom says, dropping a plate of eggs and toast on the counter for him and Y/N to share.

“What about her?” Wooyoung asks, lips stretching as he stuffs his face.

“She’s a guest!”

Washing down a harsh swallow with another sip of coffee, Wooyoung mutters a “hardly,” under his breath.

“Get your own!” Y/N snaps, shoving the mug out of his reach.

Wooyoung responds with a high pitched whine, huffing similar to a toddler rather than a man who's almost thirty. “Why are you both being so mean to me? I haven’t even done anything yet.”

Rising to pour his own mug of caffeinated gold, his mom quickly claims the empty chair before she bats Wooyoung away. Claiming something about “girl time” as an excuse to get him out of the kitchen before he can truly annoy them to his fullest potential.

Y/N

When the afternoon rolls around, Bibi greets you with a fierce hug and a grandmotherly pinch to your cheek, smiling up at you as she asks for any and every update since she last saw you in April for her birthday.

Luckily, Kyungmin unconsciously rescues you as he enters the house, boxes piled high in his arms of goodies from the other ladies at church trying to court him on their granddaughter’s behalf. Rushing to his aid, you give him a gentle side hug as you walk with him to the kitchen.

“So…” you start, eyeing the stacks of cookies crowding the counter. “How was church?”

A pained groan answers you, Kyungmin dropping his head to the marble counter with a thud. 

You can’t contain your snicker, snagging one of the deformed gingerbread men to dunk in your fresh cup of coffee.

“Only a few more months,” Kyungmin mutters under his breath, the reprieve of college clearly tethering him to sanity.

Wooyoung told you all about Bibi’s ways when you started dating, thankful to no longer entertain doting mothers and grandmothers interested in him only because he was single and knew basic manners unlike many of the men lurking around Lavensville. Poor Kyungmin didn’t stand a chance if Wooyoung hadn’t managed to charm his way out until he got a girlfriend Bibi approved of.

“At least we get snacks out of it!” You clap, continuing to sort his haul as Kyungmin hides in his arms.

A tan hand sneaks over your shoulder to steal the decapitated cookie still in your grip, turning to see Wooyoung nibbling on arm as he observes the collection of cookies, fruit, and other treats.

“Come on!” You stomp your foot like a toddler.

“Tastes better when it’s stolen.” Wooyoung winks, forcing you and his brother to dry heave in unison. Your reaction isn't genuine, only an effort to hide the squeeze in your chest at how easily he can fall back into old habits after months of radio silence.

Wooyoung’s mom breezes into the kitchen, unbothered by your bickering as she types out a text message.

“Myungho and Mia land in an hour. Your dad is already on the way to pick them up.” She rattles off, more to herself than anyone else. “Kyungmin, you need to tidy all of this up. Wooyoung you already put clean sheets on the guest bed? Great. Y/N, dear, would you mind helping with dinner later?”

“Of course.”

—

Dinner consists of chili you didn’t assist with other than pulling out extra toppings from the fridge for, and everyone chattering around the table. Myungho is sharing some story about his and Mia’s neighbor who refused to close their blinds, everyone laughing at Mia’s grimace when she recalled the horrors of the “tighty-whities” incident. Each time you stay with the Jung’s you're shocked how well they get along, everyone slotting together perfectly like some cheesy sitcom family.

It’s not that your family didn’t love each other, but there was little bonding you together other than shared blood and memories. Your mom clearly favored your brother while your dad tried to make up for the snub by prioritizing you. Growing up with the invisible competition left bitter resentment to this day. At least now, after years of therapy and freedom from the suffocating expectations of your childhood home, you and your brother shared a mutual understanding that it was your parents fault for the animosity between you. Nothing could the damage already deeply ingrained, but you’d become a more united front during family affairs. 

That’d been the first time you and Wooyoung fought in your tentative relationship. He hadn’t seemed to understand how you could talk about your brother with such vitrole, confused why you weren’t more excited to see him after living in the city permanently since sophomore year. Not that you’d explained your family dynamic prior to calling him in a full blown meltdown in Washington Square Park at midnight. But Wooyoung listened. And when you brought up how perfect his family seemed, he quickly corrected your assumption.

Wooyoung knew his parents loved him and his brothers equally. But they were helping him pay thousands of dollars in tuition out of state for him to be a teacher while his older brother made six figures fresh out of college as an engineer. Even if they were happy for him, Wooyoung struggled with the internal conflict of idolizing his brother and feeling like he’d never measure up.

It’d been the first time Wooyoung cried in front of you.

The tense conversation and awkward small talk of your childhood home didn’t seem to have space here at the Jungs, nothing but laughter and warmth filling each nook and cranny. Even the awkwardness of sitting next to your ex-boyfriend, pretending he was still your partner, seemed to be stifled with the company.

“So, Y/N, when are you planning to move back to New York? You finished residency, right?” Mia asks over her glass of wine, eyes bright.

“Ugh,” you stutter, unprepared for such directness.

“Or maybe you’re thinking of moving to Boston?” She eyes Wooyoung.

“We’re, uh,” Wooyoung pipes up, frantically looking at you.

“I’m looking at jobs in the city but nothings come up yet.” 

“That sucks.” Myungho chimes, working to help their father clear the table for games.

Rather than answering, you take a long draw of your drink before rising to hide in the bathroom.

In the silence of the small half bath under the stairs, you attempt to control your stuttering breath. A few splashes of cool water on your face help shock your system but it does nothing to stop the  It’d taken years to perfect the stone-faced facade you presented to families when the outcome was less than favorable. 

A light tap at the door startles you from the nose dive your conscious has taken.

“I’ll be out in a minute.” You call, scrubbing your hands in the sink.

“It’s me,” Wooyoung chirps on the other side of the wood.

Opening the door, Wooyoung leans his shoulder against the jamb, eying you warily. Pulling him into the cramped space, you press the door closed as you lean against.

“I can’t do this, Woo. I can’t lie to them.”

 “Don’t think of it as lying! Just pretend you're back in that drama class in college!”

“Oh, you mean the class I almost failed because I couldn’t act?” You whisper harshly.

“Just let me take the lead okay? All you have to do is be normal.”

Another knock on the door startles you both. When you got so close to Wooyoung, you have no idea, but there are only a scant few inches between you and you can smell the peppermint schnapps on his breath.

“Wooyoung, Y/N. Is everything okay?”

Twisting around your stiff body, Wooyoung nudges you out of the way as he twists the handle and pulls the door inward.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung answers, opening the door to a concerned Bibi. “She wasn’t feeling well.”

Bibi brushes past him, the cool back of her wrinkled hand pressing against your forehead. “Are you okay, dear?”

“I’m fine, just got a little light headed.”

One arm curls around yours, the other gently patting your back as Bibi guides you back towards the kitchen with Wooyoung trailing behind.

“You know, when I was pregnant with Wooyoung’s father I got lightheaded all the time.”

“Oh?” 

Bibi’s implication isn’t lost on you, or Wooyoung for that matter when you hear him curse as he trips behind you.

“Almost everyday I’d have to drink a gallon of ginger tea just to get out of bed.” She guides you into a seat before turning. “I’ll make you cup while the boys set everything up, okay?”

“That’s really not neccess–”

But Bibi is already filling the kettle and rummaging in the cabinets for tea bags as if you didn’t speak at all.

Wooyoung

Cursing his grandmother for making an already tense situation worse, Wooyoung shakes his head as she flutters around the kitchen. Perhaps he should be relieved Bibi moved away from asking when they were getting married and fast forwarding straight to asking for grandchildren. At least Wooyoung hadn’t been as close to being the dad as he was as being a husband. Kids were completely hypothetical; but marriage had almost been a reality.

Kyungmin is already setting up the Scrabble board and dishing out letters. Eight people was far too many so like every year they divide into pairs. Mom and Dad, Myungho and Mia, Kyungmin and Bibi, and him and Y/N.

The board begins to crowd with letters. Bibi and Kyungmin struggle to play anything worth more than fifteen points while his parents brush off challenge after challenge as they fill the board with words like “Paczki” and “Rudistid.”

“Quips, baby! Do you know how hard it is to get rid of a Q?” Mia asks everyone, high fiving Myungho next to her. 

Wooyoung exchanges a conspiratory smile with Y/N before he ruins their celebration. “I know! And when you have a U and an I and every other letter I need for QUILTING on a double word score. Plus bingo for all the tiles we don’t have…Boom 96 points.”

Arms thrown around each other's shoulders, he bounces up and down with Y/N in victory. Their cheeks squish together, matching bright tipsy grins pulled across their lips. Almost like everything is normal.

“No fair! You’re an English teacher!” Kyungmin protests, nostrils flared.

“Yeah to third graders, Minnie. You know just as many words as they do, I promise.”

Y/N doesn’t move from his hold except to take another swig of the tea his grandmother made her. Wooyoung tries not to think about what it means; having an arm curled around the back of her chair while she settles into the crook of his chest, watching his family over the top of her head, relaxing firm pressure of her body against his own. Taking the tentative peace for granted, Wooyoung greedily overindulges in the illusion of normalcy.

December 23rd

Y/N

In the cool toned light of the snowy dawn, you wake in Wooyoung’s arms once again. This time you're both on your sides, Wooyoung pressed firmly behind you as he snores in your ear. A familiar lump pokes against your rear, scorching your skin through the layers of clothes that serepate you.

Wiggling in his grip, you're ashamed of the quiet moan fleeing your lips as Wooyoung flexes his arms to hold you tighter, his hips rolling against you harshly to pin you to him.

Blame it on the months without feeling another person’s touch, or the liminal space that exists when the world is asleep and void of any real consequences, but a hollowness stings your core and dampens your panties.

Years of dating meant years of exploring one another’s bodies, discovering every spot that drove the other mad and perfecting the balance of teasing and satisfaction. You still remember the first night in your shared apartment years ago; Wooyoung blindfolded and tied to the bed, putty under your fingers as you rode him until your eyes felt permanently crossed and your legs numb. And just when you thought the night was over, sated with his cum leaking onto the sheets, Wooyoung knotted the silk scarf around your own wrist and “cleaned up” the mess between your thighs until you actually blacked out.

The very memory has you arching backwards, clenching around nothing but disappointing emptiness.

It’s wrong. So so so wrong. To fantasize about your ex-boyfriend while he’s asleep next to you, none the wiser to your stuttered breath and pounding heart.

But the way his hand on your stomach fists the fabric of your shirt, pulling you into him again, beckons you closer to the edge of temptation. Wooyoung told you to act natural. What’s more natural than enjoying some half asleep heavy petting? You’re already pretending to date him, why not reap some of the old benefits you’d missed in your time apart?

Just as you turn in Wooyoung’s arms, set on waking him with an offer even he can’t refuse, he yawns awake. Arms stretching high, he pushes you from the toasty covers and onto the floor with a bang!

“Jesus Christ!” You groan, jolting pain in your elbow shocking your system as it catches the edge of the bed frame.

Wooyoung’s head pops over the side of the mattress, “Why’re you down there?”

Scoffing, the back of your head thuds against the floor; eyes sinking shut as you fight the urge to murder him. Three more days and you’ll never have to deal with the ridiculousness that follows Wooyoung like a shadow. 

You hear, rather than see, Wooyoung exit into the hallway. Stretching your lungs around another deep breath, you follow behind him. Passing the bathroom door as you pad down stairs, you're greeted with an empty kitchen. The stove clock reads just past nine so more bodies should trickle in soon, called by the coffee you’ve begun brewing. Sending a silent prayer to the universe, you prepare for quality time with Mrs. Jung and Mia. Another day of lying to the people who treat you better than your own family. 

Wonderful.

Wooyoung

Like a teenager with his first wet dream, Wooyoung hides in the sanctuary of the bathroom.Thankfully, his brothers aren’t prone to waking before noon and he stakes his claim by locking the door and entering the steam.

Maybe dry humping his ex-girlfriend while half asleep was a bad idea but Wooyoung knows she pushed back into him with a purpose. He’d heard the whimper she tried to silence, felt her press her legs together the way she did when she was wet and needed his help.

Wooyoung hadn’t meant to launch her to the floor but overdue break up sex with the rest of the house due to wake up any minute couldn’t be a good idea. And with three more days of their charade Wooyoung needed less complications, not more.

But the knowledge of how wrong he should feel doesn’t stop the memories of them together from placating his mind as he palms his aching cock. Months of abstinence fail to dissolve Wooyoung’s photorealistic memories of his ex-girlfriend in compromising positions; bent in half to take his cock, staring down her nose as she sits in his lap. And his personal favorite, Y/N on her knees, eyes watering as her swollen lips stretch around his length, the flared head nudging the back of her throat.

The swiftnesses of his orgasm is a fatal blow against his fragile ego. Biting the meat of his fist, Wooyoung watches his cum sink down the drain. Unfortunately, the confusion pulsing through him doesn’t follow.

—

As Wooyoung descends to the living room, he spots his dad and his brothers watching a documentary on the Discovery channel. Sinking into the worn leather of their ancient couch, he cracks open one of the books he brought from home. Brave New World wasn’t light reading, but he’d been meaning to give it a try since Yeosang recommended it to him and what better way to spend his free time? 

Soon enough, his dad snores from his spot in the recliner, chin tipped back against the headrest. Kyungmin remains entranced by the colorful birds dancing across the screen while his other brother no doubt taps away at work emails cluttering his phone despite the holidays. It’s the kind of peace and content Wooyoung loved about his family. Co-existing without needing to interact, enjoying each other's presence while living their own lives.

Y/N

The acrid sting of acetone and nail polish burn your nose under the harsh white lights of the nail salon. Mia is happily chattering away, blasting through any stilled pauses or awkward silences. Bibi and Mrs. Jung sit at the counter getting their nails painted by the attendants in calm silence.

You try not to kick the young woman scrub your foot as she brushes against your ticklish nerves, squirming in your seat as she gives a tight lipped smile at your discomfort. For a week off for Christmas you cashed in every favor, picked up every single on call asked of you, nearly breaking under the demand to stretch yourself so thin as the new doctor in your department. The horrific results of hours on your feet were being ground down and clipped before you. 

Relaxing was… difficult for you. Or other peoples’ definition of relaxation was. To you, the perfect day off was running around town, hitting an early morning pilates class followed by an overpriced coffee and finding something to do in the city that offered everything. Sitting still was a necessary evil to get to and fro but it left you to stew with your thoughts you preferred to drown in an overwhelming weight of activity.

“Y/N,” Mia calls, bringing you to turn and look at her. 

Her usually glowing face is apprehensive, lip worried between her teeth and eyes downcast.

“Yeah?” 

“You work with kids, right?”

“All day.” You laugh, trying to break the tension.

Mia hesitates, struggling to find the words she wants to say. “After all the stuff you’ve seen, do you still want them?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you and Wooyoung think you’ll have kids someday?”

“I mean not anytime soon considering…”

That we aren’t together. You finish in your mind.

But Mia assumes the unspoke truth is the fact you’re supposed to be living in Boston while Wooyoung is living in New York.

“I mean of course, but like you guys both work with kids and I feel like you know the worst that could happen! My friend Mina just had her baby and she says she can’t sleep. She just sits up all night watching him because she’s afraid somethings gonna happen.”

“Mia, are you and Myungho?”

“Not yet,” she smiles. “But we’ve been talking about it more and I know I want that with him but I’m just—”

“Scared?”

She nods sheepishly.

Hesitating as you weigh your next words carefully, you think about all the conversations you’ve had with worried parents. Most of the kids and parents you met were under less than positive circumstances. Babies with underdeveloped lungs, toddlers who couldn’t breath from just sitting up. You’d be lying if it didn’t make you question having your own. The powerlessness you felt when no matter how hard you worked to fix things it was all for naught. 

But all of the bad days don't outweigh the good ones. When NICU preemies got to leave the ward with their families for the first time. Having a child take their first full breath because their medication was finally starting to work. The plethora of thank you cards hanging on your fridge and displayed in your office from the families you’d helped.

And you remember all the stories Wooyoung told you about his classroom. Kids who could barely read falling in love with the books he gave to them, hounding him for more stories. When he made way with a problem child, watching them begin to excel under his gentle guidance. Giggling at Wooyoung hiding his tears at the end of year advancement ceremony when all his third graders became fourth graders every year.

“I think being scared means you care. And you can always call me if you’re worried, no matter what happens.”

“I’ll definitely take you up on that.” Mia laughs.

“You’re gonna be a great mom.” You whisper, squeezing her arm.

Mia squeezes your hand back, “I always wondered what it’d be like to have a sister.”

“Me too.”

You look away as Mia blinks, breathing away the wetness glossing your own eyes.

—

Upon returning home, you find all four men passed out in various positions in the living room. Mr. Jung in the recliner that predates your birth, mouth wide open and glasses crooked on his nose. Sprawled across the floor is Kyungmin, gangly teenage limbs starfished to the edges of the carpet. Wooyoung and Myungho share a blanket across their laps, both with their backs on opposite sides of the couch. 

You four try to contain your laughter at the sight. If there was any doubt about who fathered the Jung boys, the shaggy black hair and symphony of identical snores would easily lay those rumors to rest. 

Bibi shuffles down the hall to her room, claiming a nap to be a great idea after the pampering from the nail salon. Mia and Mrs. Jung head into the kitchen, each teething with bulging bags of groceries for tonight's gingerbread competition.

But you can’t take your eyes off Wooyoung. The only time he ever looked so peaceful was when he was sleeping, face positively boyish and missing the stress induced wrinkles from managing a class of eight year olds. The urge to cross to him and kiss the freckle on his lower lip floods your brain but you’re able to stuff it down when he whines in his sleep, twisting to re-adjust on the lumpy couch.

Following the shuffle of plastic bags echoing from the kitchen, you busy yourself with unpacking the boxes of pre-made gingerbread houses, candy, and tubes of icing. Neatly organizing the packages on the counter, Mrs. Jung pushes you and Mia upstairs as she starts to prepare dinner.

The clock on the stove shows it’s closing in on three, giving you enough time to shower and have a nap of your own before the mayhem of the evening.

Cranking the faucet to the highest setting, you waste no time waiting for it to heat as you jump under the cold water. Wooyoung called you a psychopath the first time he witnessed you shower routine but you’d been busy applying for medical school, working in the student health center, and tutoring in the biology lab, all while maintaining a perfect GPA in the fall semester of your senior year; you didn’t have time for the simple pleasures of wasting precious minutes while your apartment’s old pipes struggled to carry hot water through the faucet. And as they say, old habits die hard.

The chill brings sharp clarity with it. It’d only been two days and you’d already fallen into the same bickering as before, been tempted to kiss him when no one was around to fool, and nearly fucked him in his childhood bed. 

Three more days. You think, shivering lessening as steam billows around you. 

Then you can leave this entire maddening ordeal behind you forever.

Wooyoung

The squeeze of Wooyoung’s heart threatens to topple him to his knees at the sight of Y/N curled up in his bed. His old college hoodie circles her face, lips pouted and eyebrows furrowed at whatever dream world she’s lost in. 

Wooyoung aches to wake her up with innocent kisses as he holds her to his chest, fingers ironing out the wrinkles of her forehead as she breaches the surface of sleep. To smile at her whines of protest of being interrupted from a rare opportunity to rest without worrying about work or some other responsibility.

But what Wooyoung wants, he doesn’t deserve. As bold and indulgent as he might be in front of the prying eyes of his family, he isn’t cruel. Even if it kills him not to touch her like he used to be able to, Wooyoung won’t subject her to the torture of his feelings. It’s the least he can do for pulling Y/N into this sham after ending their relationship without explanation. 

“Y/N,” he whispers, fingers prodding her shoulder. “Gotta wake up.”

She responds with a throaty groan, pulling the edge of the blanket over her head to hideaway.

“C’mon it's almost time for dinner.” 

“Youngie, it’s cold.” Y/N protests as he tries to lift the covers.

Grinding his teeth against the nickname, Wooyoung continues to pry the quilt from her iron grip.

“I can get Bibi up here.”

Flying into a seated position, she blinks against the overhead light. “I’m up!” 

“That’s what I thought.” Wooyoung smirks, crossing to the door. “Let’s go sunshine.”

Y/N mutters empty threats under her breath the entire way to the kitchen, so close she’s cast in his shadow under the threat of Bibi’s wake up methods. Nothing like a woman pushing eighty banging pots over your head to get the blood pumping.

Everyone else already crowds the table, picking apart the trays of snacks as they organize their supplies kits. 

Jung family tradition requires everyone, sans Bibi, to decorate their own house according to the year's theme. After an hour, she picks her favorite and the winner has the honor of opening the first present on Christmas morning. Y/N demolished Myungho’s long standing winning streak the first year she entered the competition; Mia taking her place the next year in Y/N’s absence. Since then, Kyungmin reigned supreme despite his creation looking like a haunted house no matter what the theme was.

“Alright,” Bibi stands once Wooyoung and Y/N have taken their seats at the end of the table. “This year's theme is movies. On your mark, get set. Go!”

A room full of adults, plus Kyungmin who's only a few months short, should act with a sense of decorum and dignity. A fair and clean competition in the name of holiday spirit, family, and comradery.

But Jung house rules mean cheating is not only expected, it’s encouraged.

The table is warzone. Icing dripping off the sides and onto the tile floor. Candies trailing everywhere like shrapnel. Mia hides a piece of Myungho’s roof in her lap, and their mom steals the level their dad insists on using every year. Even Kyungmin slowly starts hoarding the bags of colorful royal frosting one by one in the pocket of his hoodie before anyone can notice.

Wooyoung catches Y/N attempting to eat his bag of gumdrops in his periphery. Their half gone by the time he’s noticed but he simply laughs under his breath. What she doesn’t know is that those are her gumdrops and his are stashed under the table since they sat down.

The little sugar addict is nothing if not predictable.

Most of the houses are beginning to take shape, albeit much more loose definitions of whatever each person decided to do. Kyungmin’s house is poop green with a red roof, streaks of color patchy against the brown cookie sheets. His mom sticks with the traditional decorations instructed on the packaging, no doubt prepared to argue it somehow fits the theme despite being the same every year. Mia’s is laced garishly with pink and pastels, while Myungho crumbles pieces of his for whatever godforsaken reason.

Wooyoung focuses on decorating his tiny gingerbread man with black slashes and stripes.

“Time!” yells Bibi as she whacks the bottom of a pot with a wooden spoon, everyone drops their last piece of candy before hands fly up.

As always, his mom manages to be the only one to finish due to years of practice. Everyone else’s houses are… interesting.

“Mine’s the Grinch,” Kyungmin says.

“The Grinch?” Y/N asks, confused by the horrendous green and red abomination.

“See, you get it!” 

Shaking her head, Y/N points to her own monstrosity. “Okay, so the yellow skittles are the yellow brick road and the green on the house is meant to look like the Emerald City from Wizard of Oz.”

Perhaps if the Emerald City burned to the ground and became ruins but everyone nods at the vision.

“Mine is supposed to be Barbie's Dream house.” says Mia, gesturing to the mound of pink frosting sliding from the roof.

Myungho slams a toy dinosaur from their childhood on top of his pile of cookie pieces before declaring, “Jurassic Park.”

“Home Alone,” his mom chimes.

A chorus of groans around the table answer.

His dad’s is covered in chocolate bars and marshmallows. It looks decent but Wooyoung doesn’t get it until he tells them it’s “Willy Wonka.”

Nodding in appreciation, Wooyoung presents his.

“Nightmare Before Christmas.”

The gray and black icing swirl to make a ugly blob, but Wooyoung will argue it’s exactly what he was going for. Especially with his miniscule Jack Skellington perched in the yard.

Bibi circles the table, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at each entry. She shakes her head at Kyungmin, clearly disappointed in his failure this year. 

“Eunkyung wins!” She cheers, raising his mom’s hand like she won a boxing match.

Claps and whoops fill the kitchen as she beams, proud to win a second time in the history of the competition. 

“Wooyoung, put the winning house on the mantel please.” His dad asks, already moving towards the pantry for trash bags.

“Your majesty.” Wooyoung bows in front of his mom, laughing when she slaps his shoulder.

What he fails to realize is Y/N is leaving the same door he is, and that a sprig of green leaves sit just above their heads.

“Mistletoe!” his mom squeals.

“Huh?” Grunts Y/N, confused.

Wooyoung looks up and spots the infuriating piece of decoration, another pair of eyes trailing after his own. 

If they were still dating, Wooyoung would swoop her into his arms and make an entire production of giving her a short peck on the cheek, his parents were watching after all, while Y/N laughed at his ridiculousness. But now he hesitates as he looks into her eyes, barely missing the nod as she leaves a brief kiss on his lips before turning and leaving the room.

Even under the brief contact, Wooyoung’s lips feel like they’ve been zapped with lightning; his entire body on high alert. So lost in his own world, Wooyoung doesn’t realize he watches her walk away until she’s turning a corner and is out of sight. 

Remembering the gingerbread house still in his hand, Wooyoung continues into the living room to place it front and center on the mantel. 

Y/N

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! You think, watching yourself in the mirror as you brush your teeth.

You’d spent the rest of the night sweaty and flushed, stuttering like an idiot because of a G-rated kiss with your ex-boyfriend for crying out loud. 

What was wrong with you? 

It was like the butterflies of the beginning of your relationship were waking from dormancy, demanding to let loose in your chest.

But none of this is real. Wooyoung only reached out so Bibi wouldn’t be upset over a last minute cancellation. He didn’t ask to explain why he ended your relationship so suddenly. Didn’t try to weasel his way back in and kiss everything better. All the touching and joking you’d missed so much were nothing more than an elaborate plan for Wooyoung to not be seen as the bad guy by his family. His way of delaying the inevitable. 

And you’d fallen right into the mess subconsciously hoping it might have meant something more. 

The foaming residue of toothpaste splashes against the porcelain sink as you finish washing up. Hiding in the bathroom can only buy you so much time before you have to face Wooyoung again, a new feast of tension waiting for you on a silver platter.

His tiny room is notably empty. Wooyoung nowhere to be seen as you burrow into the blankets. Hopefully, he stays away until you're fully unconscious and able to avoid the entire ordeal.

—

A draft of frigid air invading the warm haze under your mountain of quilts wakes you. Wooyoung shushes your indignant protest, pulling the top layers off. His weight doesn’t dip the bed behind you. Instead, you listen as he shuffles around, the dull thud of pillows and blankets hitting the floor. When he quiets, you turn to see him curled into a ball on a makeshift sleeping matt next to the bed. 

The questions burn on the tip of your tongue. Why is he sleeping on the floor? Was he that upset about the kiss? 

But you don’t ask and Wooyoung doesn’t provide an answer.

December 24th

Wooyoung

Christmas eve is Wooyoung’s favorite part of the holidays. Not even a poor night sleep on the freezing unforgiving floor can dull his excitement. 

He’d risen early, sneaky out of the room the second the sun peaked from the horizon and illuminated the space. Y/N slept soundly, back turned away from him as he evaded her successfully.

A fresh powder of snow fell sometime in the night. So with a hot cup of coffee and a need to get lost in something mindlessly physical, Wooyoung heads to the garage for a shovel to clear the sidewalk and driveway.

Wooyoung knows he should apologize to her. She’d basically avoided him after they got caught under the mistletoe, scurrying upstairs the second it was polite for her to do so. Technically, she kissed him. But the entire situation wouldn’t exist if he didn’t put his foot in his mouth.

Plus, the entire ordeal of yesterday morning couldn’t be ignored. And Wooyoung was ashamed he didn’t feel ashamed.

Mind numb in the cold monotony of moving slush from the concrete to the yard, muscles burning at the strain, Wooyoung loses track of time as the sun moves across the sky.

His dad finds him shoveling the end of the driveway, pants soaked and breath heaving. 

“You okay, kid?” the older man asks, sipping his thermos.

“Fine,” Wooyoung pants. “Why?”

“Because you’re out here.”

“Just helping out.”

“Wooyoung.” A sharp sternness to his tone as his dad’s gloved hands halt the shovel.

He hates that voice. Wooyoung’s dad was soft spoken and good natured, the quietest member of their boisterous family. Always gentle with three rowdy sons that constantly pushed the endless bounds of his patience. Wooyoung can count on one hand the times his dad used this voice on him. Apparently now is one of those times.

Wooyoung looks his dad in the eye before lying to his face, “I’m fine. Really.”

Eying his son skeptically, Wooyoung’s dad clearly doesn’t believe him. 

“Alright.” he drawls. “But come inside, your mom made pancakes.”

Y/N

“Come on Kyungmin, we don’t want to be late!” Bibi calls from the hallway.

In front of you, Kyungmin blanches; terrified of another day surrounded by prodding grandmothers. He looks at you for help, but you offer a sympathetic smile and a shrug of shoulders. If only he knew how much torture you were being subjected to in the name of keeping Bibi happy.

Wooyoung had been scarce since the early hours of the morning, slaving away at clearing the driveway alone. He made a brief appearance at breakfast and lunch but found any excuse to stay faraway from whatever room you planted yourself in. 

Taking the hint, you set up camp in the kitchen. Laptop screen reflecting off your blue-light glasses as you skimmed another journal article about forced oscillation technique and impulse oscillometry. Fascinating as it was to you, it’s just boring enough to anyone else to keep them away; allowing you to waste away the entire afternoon in the most productive way possible.

The sun is already setting by the time others begin to trickle into the kitchen. Mia begins filling snack trays for the trademark movie night; half sweet, half savory. While Myungho sets to work on a batch of mulled cider they picked up at the market.

Kyungmin stomps into the kitchen with a fuming Bibi hot on his heels.

“They’re nice girls, Kyungmin. There was no need to be rude!”

Your wide eyes meet Mia's twin expressions of shock. The youngest was a sweet kid; perhaps he had an attitude sometimes, but he was a teenager after all. To hear he’s been out right rude and in front of Bibi no less, comes as a surprise.

“You’re crazy!” Kyungmin yells, arms waving wildly before he flees to his room.

The sudden silence of the kitchen is rattling. No one moves or speaks as Bibi starts organizing random objects and mail on the counter, clearly uncomfortable with her grandson’s outburst.

Slipping from your chair, you turn to follow in the direction you know he’s bound for.

—

Winter in Colorado is brutal enough, but the wind slicing across your cheeks as you teeter out a tiny window onto the roof at the back of the house makes you regret wearing only a sweatshirt and matching sweatpants. 

Kyungmin’s lone figure is illuminated in the silver moonlight. A telltale stench fills your nostrils despite the thick smoke evaporating in the wind the second it leaves his mouth. Waddling towards him on your butt, you stop next to him. He passes the glass bowl into your waiting hand without a peep. 

You take a long hit before speaking, allowing the tingle of THC to flutter through your veins. 

“Wanna talk about it?” You ask, cradling your knees to your chest in an effort to conserve warmth.

“No.”

“Okay.”

The thick woods fencing in the backyard bends in the wind. Pine trees shake the fronds like feathers, fluffing up as the wind flutters by. A lone swing, attached to a rickety playground set, swings back and forth. It’s beautiful and eerie. Only your breath and the occasional cough from Kyungmin disturbs the fragile place.

“I can’t wait to go to college.” Kyungmin mutters from under his hood.

“Have you heard from anywhere yet?”

“No. But I don’t care where I go as long as I’m not here.”

“Was it that bad?”

“She’s crazy! All of them in that fucking church are insane!”

“Wooyoung told me the same thing.” You chuckle.

“They just stare at me. It’s creepy.” 

“Yeah, that sounds pretty creepy.”

“And Andi just laughs whenever I try to tell her about it.”

“Who’s Andi?”

“A friend.” 

Kyungmin’s tense response tells you Andi isn’t just a friend at all.

“What's she like?”

“She’s nice. She’s in my history class at school.”

“Oh?”

“And she got a scholarship to play soccer in Georgia.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah, she is.”

“So you like her?”

“I mean, of course I do. She’s my best friend.”

“Kyungmin…”

“It doesn’t matter. She’s so out of my league.” Kyungmin sighs.

“Why do you think that?”

“She’s smart, and she’s athletic, and she’s funny. She wouldn’t see me like that.”

“Okay.” You nod, “Well, when Bibi started pimping you out at church, what did Andi do?”

“She got really mad when I went on a date with one of them.”

“Oh, really?”

“She didn’t talk to me for like two weeks. I thought she was just, like, on her period or something.”

Shaking your head, you turn to face the ignorant boy. “Alright, first things first. Never, under any circumstances, assume a girl is mad at you because she’s on her period. Ask your brothers or your dad how that's worked out for them. Second, how would you feel if Andi went on a date with someone?”

Face twisting in disgust, Kyungmin grabs the piece again to take a hit.

“Exactly. Maybe you should ask her on a date.”

Kyungmin snorts at the idea, “Yeah, sure.”

“Party out here?” Myungo calls from the window.

Turning, you spot Wooyoung and Mia peaking around his broad shoulders.

“Yeah but it’s B.Y.O.W.”

“Perfect.” He calls back, folding in half to step on the roof.

“Just think about what I said, okay?”

“Okay.” Kyungmin promises as he links his pinky with yours.

Mia and Myungho land on Kyungmin’s other side, a joint visible in Mia’s dainty fingers. Wooyoung plops down next to you, lifting the bowl from Kyungmin and dumping the ash on to the roof.

As he focuses on packing it, you get your first glimpse of him all day. The tip of his nose is red and he keeps sniffling, no doubt from the hours he spent outside or in the garage doing who knows what. Wooyoung’s hair is a mess of tangles, sticking this way and that in the wind and you choke on the urge to straighten it for him. 

You’ve never been good at staying mad at him, even when he’s clearly in the wrong. And what’s worse is Wooyoung knows it. 

Wisps of smoke pour from his nostrils before he passes you the bowl again. Shaking your head, Kyungmin plucks it from his brother’s fingers.

You feel Wooyoung’s breath caress the shell of your ear before he speaks.

“What are you guys doing out here?” He whispers.

“Bibi.” You whisper back.

Wooyoung nods lazily, eyes glazed already. Landing on his back, he looks up to the sky. 

The pale light sharpens his features. Strange how all three brothers looked so similar yet different. Kyungmin still had the round cheeks of adolescents, limbs gangly as he towers over his brothers at only seventeen. Myungho was broader than both but only a fraction taller than Wooyoung, square jaw and cropped hair. But Wooyoung was all angles and sharpness. Even from the first night he approached you in that dingy karaoke bar near campus, you knew he was handsome. But now he looks ethereal. Like some beautiful demon coming to take your soul and laugh all the while. 

Eventually you all end up shoulder to shoulder, each lost and thought and staring at the lonely full moon above. Wooyoung’s hand brushes your own, sending throbbing jolts of electricity through your body. Hooking your pointer finger around his, Wooyoung sighs next to you before settling. 

It somehow hurts worse than if he would have let go.

Wooyoung

Exhaustion and pot nearly knock Wooyoung out as he passes his bedroom door. An early night, lost in the land of dreams where he doesn’t have to think about why he can’t look Y/N in the eye; why he felt a punch in the gut when he spotted her on the roof with his little brother, taking care of him like Kyungmin was her own family; how he wanted to cry when her fingers circled his own. 

Wooyoung’s attempt to uncomplicate his life only seemed to tighten the noose around his neck.

Jung family tradition dictates a Christmas movie with gross amounts of sugary snacks on Christmas Eve. The tradition started before Wooyoung could remember but it’d been his favorite all the same. What little kid didn’t cherish the opportunity to wake up to Santa dropping presents under the tree? Not that he or his brothers managed to stay awake more than half way through whatever movie his parents pulled from the dusty DVD collection on the bookshelf. But as he grew older, Wooyoung appreciated the uninterrupted time he was gifted to spend with his family, especially with each of them living in separate corners of the country.

The new set of matching pajamas every year were simply a bonus.

This year’s boast a deep green with a vintage Christmas light pattern. The inner flannel is positively delightful against Wooyoung’s freezing skin, lulling him into a light doze as leans against the couch between Y/N’s spread legs. 

Kyungmin sprawls in his usual place on the rug in front of the coffee table, glazed eyes glued to Will Ferell terrorizing New York City in yellow tights. Mia and Myungho are off on the other side of the couch, Bibi taking the middle seat. His parents are snug in his dad’s recliner, resembling two teenagers rather than the fifty year olds they really are. Adorably disgusting how in love they still are. 

Resting his cheek against Y/N’s knee, Wooyoung twists his hands in his lap. He can’t touch her. Not sober and absolutely not high out of his mind like he is at this very moment. Because if he starts, Wooyoung is too weak to stop himself. And considering the way she keeps staring at him every time she thinks he isn’t looking, Wooyoung doesn’t think Y/N would want him to stop either. 

—

Bedtime is the same awkward dance as before. His entire family pulls each other into tight hugs, mostly aided by the edibles Myungho slipped them before they all descended downstairs. Calls of “Love you,” and “see you in the morning,” land against his back as he trails behind Y/N.

They get ready for bed in the dark, flashes of bare skin visible in the light trickling in from the cracked curtains covering the lonely window. Turning to face the wall, Wooyoung plugs in his phone while he listens for her to land on the mattress.

When the shuffling ceases, he finds her in a nest on the floor, back towards him.

“What are you doing?”

“You took the floor last night.”

“You don’t hav–”

“Just go to bed.” She bites, voice fragile.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” he huffs, temper rising as he crosses to the other side of the mattress.

“I’m fine.” 

“Just take the bed.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Sitting up, Wooyoung barely makes out her scowl. “Why do I need to explain everything to you?”

“Why are you being so stubborn?”

“I’m stubborn? Me?”

“Considering you’re the one on the floor while the bed is empty, yes you’re the stubborn one.”

“Because I’m fine here!”

Wooyoung wades through the quicksand of his brain for a response. Upon finding none, he flops on the pile of blankets next to her.

“What are you doing?”

“Sleeping. Now shut up.”

“Wooyoung,” she sighs.

No more energy to fight, Wooyoung burrows deeper into the mound of quilts; set to sleep next to her on the floor if she continues to refuse the bed. If he was a diva on poor sleep, Y/N was a menace. She’d cave eventually when her hips ached from the painful stiffness of the unbending wood.

Except Wooyoung can’t sleep. All of his nerves are heightened next to her. His entire left side burns in her heat, acutely aware of every shift of her weight or rustle of the blankets. Wooyoung’s lips still burn from their kiss. A childish brush against his mouth but he can’t stop replaying it in his mind over and over. And when he thinks about yesterday morning, when he dreamed about her and then woke up flushed against her, it all makes his blood rush to his head and a weight settles on the back of his tongue.

When Y/N stops twitching beneath the covers behind him, breath even and shallow, Wooyoung finally follows her into sleep.

December 25th

Wooyoung

Christmas morning brings Bibi through the upstairs hallway with a familiar wooden spoon and small tin pot. Wooyoung hears the first crash slide under the crack beneath his door, an ice bath to his system.

He’s still on the floor, a foot between him and Y/N. 

“Get up.” Wooyoung shakes her, not wasting a second as he stands to dive into the still made bed.

She groans in the morning light, eyes crusted as she looks for the disturbance.

Another shrill beat sings through the hall. Much closer to Wooyoung’s door than last time.

“Shit!” 

Y/N tackles him into the pillows. Both attempting to look natural as the door rebounds against the wall, a well rested Bibi standing in the doorway.

“RISE AND SHINE!” His grandmother wails, drumming a rhythmless beat and she turns to stalk towards Kyungmin’s room at the end of the hall.

Dual sighs of relief leave their lips, Y/N rising to stalk to the bathroom without looking back.

Y/N

Mrs. Jung’s victory grants her the privilege of opening the first present this morning. Everyone gathers around, matching states of messy hair and bed-wraggled pajamas, to shred shiny wrapping paper at ten in the morning.

Her first gift is the large rectangle box addressed from her sons, all of them failing to stifle their matching laughter as she slowly unwraps the picture frame. You and Mia had helped arrange the picture last time everyone was together for Bibi’s birthday, sneaking out of the house with the excuse of seeing a movie when you drove to the mall for an old school photoshoot at the department store. 

Wooyoung’s parents join in the giggling bouncing of the walls as they take in all three boys dressed head to toe in denim, arms wrapped around on another’s waists prom-date style as they stare dead faced at the camera. The cherry on top is their matching bowl cuts, making them resemble a nineties boy band. Another frame slips out of the paper, a similar photo of you and Mia except her chin rests on top of your head, eyes obscured by yellow tinted sunglasses.

“Oh my god,” Mrs. Jung guffaws. “You all are ridiculous.”

Passing the frames around the room, Mrs. Jung takes turns hugging her sons along with you and Mia. 

“Oh, my girls. Thank you for putting up with them.” She whispers into your ears, Mia on her left and you on her right. 

You refuse to think about how tomorrow you’ll leave their house for the last time as you squeeze her back tightly. 

As the youngest, Kyungmin is charged with passing out rounds of presents while Mr. Jung collects the discarded ribbons and paper. Thankfully, bringing a gift for Wooyoung wasn’t an expectation. Why sacrifice sacred luggage space to exchange gifts with someone who lives in your backyard? Mia and Myungho never brought their gifts for one another, and you and Wooyoung followed suit.

But that didn’t stop you from braving the hoards of the city in an effort to last minute Christmas shopping before flying out. Bibi loves the fancy lotion you brought her, and Kyungmin is more than satisfied with the promise of whatever new video he can afford with a Playstation gift card. Wooyoung’s parents leaf through the books you bought in a last ditch effort to provide some sort of parting gift. Myungho screams as he unwraps the mug with “IBS: I be shitting” blasted across the front and Mia opens each tin of specialty tea for a whiff of the herbal scents.

Hours later, surrounded in the disarray of boxes and bows, Mrs. Jung announces it’s time for brunch. Everyone takes turns washing up or teetering upstairs to brush their teeth but she pulls you aside before you have a chance to follow.

“Y/N, we have one last gift for you.” She whispers, removing a small box from behind her back. “I didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone just in case but I want you to know how much we all love you.”

You pull out a cardboard box and a thick card.

“To my future Daughter in Law,

There isn’t a single day I don’t thank the stars for how lucky my son is to find someone as incredible as you. He’s a better person because of you and our family is so blessed to have you in it. I was lucky enough to be given three amazing sons but now I’m fortunate enough to have two daughters as well. 

Love, Mrs. Jung”

Each word is a new punch to the gut, tears swelling in the corner of tight eyes. Focusing on opening the box in an effort not to break down in the hallway, you unveil a simple silver chain with a knotted pendant. The same you’ve seen Mia and Mrs. Jung wear on special occasions.

“Oh, I can’t—”

“Nope. I won’t hear a word of it! It’s family tradition. Bibi gave me mine, and now I get to give you yours.”

“But I really—”

But Wooyoung’s mom is a force to be reckoned with. Slipping the delicate piece of jewelry out of the box, she slips it around your neck and straightens it before you can stop her. When she’s happy, you fall into her arms in a fierce hug as you weep into her shoulder.

“Oh sweetie,” she coos, patting your back comfortingly; clearly thinking you're overcome with emotion at officially being a part of the family.

You don’t correct her. Why ruin such a heartfelt moment by shattering the illusion now that you're so close to the end? Instead, you take comfort in her embrace, willing the tears to stop with the same principle you use in the hospital: save the crying for the shower.

Stepping out of the hug, you allow her to wipe away the trails of tears marring your cheeks with soft swipes of her thumbs, a soft smile at her tutting over you. Mrs. Jung pulls you into one last bear hug before pushing you upstairs to compose yourself.

Wooyoung stares as you pass him on the stairs, evidently alarmed at the evidence of your crying. But you keep your eyes down as you trudge by. 

Wooyoung

Wooyoung can’t help but worry at what happened between presents and breakfast to make Y/N so upset but his mom keeps squeezing her shoulder and Bibi just smiles knowingly in her direction. The new necklace circling her neck is familiar but Wooyoung can’t place why and he hasn’t had the opportunity to ask. 

Crowding into the living room as the sun sets, he doesn’t miss the way Mia intertwines Y/N into a fierce squeeze, practically bouncing off the walls with giddiness. He doesn’t have time to ask what it’s about before another movie is starting on the TV to wind down for the evening.

He can feel the tension rolling off her in waves next to him. Muscles locked and leg jittering the same way it did before she had to take her MCAT or open exam results. When the screen fades to black, Y/N is up the stairs and out of sit before he can blink.

Following her up, Wooyoung finds her perched on the edge of his bed, fingers stroking the pendant resting between her collarbones. Shut in the quiet of his room, Wooyoung asks the question that’s buzzed in his veins all day.

“What’s the necklace about?”

“Your mom gave it to me.”

“I thought so.” He nods. “But why was everyone acting weird about it?”

Rather than answer, Y/N hands him a note. Wooyoung recognizes the tight cursive of his mom’s handwriting. Regret trickles down his spine and bubbles over with each word. He’d never meant to be cruel when he asked Y/N to come here but then again he didn’t think about how hard this must have been for her. To secretly say goodbye to his family and their relationship after she was already working through it on her own. He should have known she was bottling it all up, the same way he was prone to.

“I didn’t realize she’d—”

“Why did you break up with me?” She asks, still staring at the floor.

Regret transforms into the shame that’s eaten him alive for months. Wooyoung’s mouth won’t form the truth for what he did so he lies.

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit!” She bites, glazed eyes blazing as she rounds on him. “Eight years. We dated for eight years and you think you can tell me you don’t know why?”

“We dated for eight years and you didn’t even say anything when I did it! You just left.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! What was I supposed to do? Beg you to stay?”

“You just gave up.”

“No, you gave up!” her voice cracks, finger pointing accusingly. “I didn’t even know we were having problems.”

“Boston was always a problem!”

“Which I was already planning to fix.”

Wooyoung recoils from the invisible smack against his face. Is that what she was planning to tell him when he interrupted her? 

“What?”

“That night I was trying to tell you I got a job in the city. That I was moving back.”

“You’re joking.”

Shoulder sagging under the weight of their mess, Y/N falls back onto the bed.“It was gonna be my last weekend trip down.”

Sniffles and desperate breaths fill the space. And Wooyoung gathers the courage to tell her the truth.

“I was planning to propose.” He can see her head turn in his peripheral, but he’ll lose the gaul if he sees her face so Wooyoung stares at the wall ahead as he speaks. “I had the ring for a year. And I was gonna ask you but I…” he trails off.

“You what?”

“I got scared.”

“Of me?”

“Of everything. I thought of how much we’d have to change, and I didn’t want you to feel like you had to give anything up to be with me.”

“Wooyoung, I never felt like that.” She objects, shaking her head. “I hated Boston. Do you think I was moving back to the city for you?”

“Kind of, I—”

“I have my own life there. I lived there for seven years! I was always planning to move back.”

“Then why were you being so secretive about it?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise. I knew you’d been stressed and I ddin’t want to add something else to your plate and… because I was worried if I brought it up too soon something would go wrong.”

“I still have it by the way.”

“What?”

“The ring.”

“Why?”

“I think some part of me feels like if I let it go then it’s really over.”

“Are you trying to tell me you want to get back together?”

“I didn’t want to break up to begin with.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

“Because I’m not good enough for you! I’ve never been good enough and I know you say it's not true but it is. I’m a public school teacher with shit pay and an apartment I can barely afford. That’s all I can offer you and it isn’t close enough to what you deserve.”

“Do you think I’m that shallow?” Y/N fumes, clearly not understanding what Wooyoung meant. “Why do you think you get to decide what's good enough for me?”

“Because someone has too! One day you’re gonna wake up and realize you can have anyone you want.”

“Not anyone.”

Y/N

The suffocating atmosphere of Wooyoung’s room pushes you into the chilly shower stall. In the stifling steam and perfumed bubbles, you quietly let all the emotions of the day run wild; eyes puffy, face swollen, and snot dripping from your nose to be washed away by the boiling streams of water. You hide for as long as possible, shivering as the heated water runs out and frigid ropes blast your skin. Unable to endure anymore of the stinging icicles, you exit the stall red nosed and blue lipped. 

Wooyoung sits on the edge of the bed with his back to the door. You watch his shoulder tense, rising closer to his ears as you pad closer to lay down. 

You’re too tired to sleep on the floor, too exhausted to fight with him again. So you curl under the covers, body sliding back when Wooyoung joins you. 

“I’m sorry.” he whispers, tracing his index finger along the knobs of your spine, attempting to comfort you the same way he always had.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.”

You both stay there in the silent darkness, their breaths and the hum of the heater keeping absolute stillness at bay. The tears you split in the shower followed you to the pillow, running down your cheeks as you try to keep the worst at bay. Wooyoung doesn’t stop tracing shapes between your shoulder blades, the worn cotton of your sleep shirt rubbing against your heated skin. How is the source of your distress the same as the source of your comfort?

Turning to face him, you realize how close he’s moved. Scant inches separate your chests, the heat of his legs licking your own bare ones under the blankets. You spot his own tears, eyes swollen and red, thick lashes clumped together as they fall.

If your love for Wooyoung was an ocean, you’d be lost at sea for years. 

He watches you watch him, hands finding one anothers and tangling together. When Wooyoung opens his mouth, pausing as a sniffle breaks free, you surge up to connect your lips.

Startling for only a second, he eagerly kisses you back. Tears and spit gloss your lips as you dip your tongue into his mouth, licking against his teeth before retreating to bruise his lower lip with your own. Wooyoung manages to roll on top of you, pinning you to the mattress as if you plan to up and leave at any second. You respond by crushing your lips together a fraction harder, attempting to communicate the longing and hurt words can’t convey.

The hem of his shirt finds its way between your fingers, moving further up his stomach with each insistent tug. Wooyoung’s own hands busy themselves, one buried in the hairs at the base of your scalp, cradling your head to move you this way and that as he continues exploring your mouth. The other wrinkles the pillow case beside you, muscles rippling as he holds himself over you. 

When you wiggle your hips, thighs spreading to cradle him between, he dives to your neck. Blood rushes to the surface as he nips and bruises the delicate skin below your jaw, scorching pants raising goosebumps in its wake. He shudders when your nails scratch down his abdomen, thumb dipping under the band of his pajama pants.

It's been nearly eight months without this. Two months before your breakup, in this very bed while the rest of the house was asleep as Wooyoung laughed into your neck while you drunkenly whined for him to touch you.

As familiar as those memories are, this time is entirely new. 

Wooyoung’s thumb, knowing and skilled, brushes across one of your nipples over your shirt, using the rough fabric to his advantage; stiffing it to a tight peak before allowing the weight to settle in his palm. Arching your back, you remove the piece of cloth separating you. Wooyoung barely allows you space to slough it over your head before he’s back on you, latching to the side of your neglected breast as he curls his hips into yours coursley. Your body reacts on nothing but instinct; back arching closer, thighs spreading wider as his knees carry him further down the mattress.

Reverent caresses of his hands lead him to the apex of your thighs, his breath fanning the damp patch of your shorts just before Wooyoung tucks his thumbs into the elastic to nudge them down, breathing deeply as he bares you for his eyes.

A tentative lick up length of your slit pulls a pathetic whimper from the back of your mouth. The flat of his tongue lave against your engorged clit, slow and torturous as Wooyoung indulges in your taste. Rough palms slide beneath the meat of your thighs, lifting your legs to rest on his shoulders. A harsh suck against the bundle of nerves locks your muscles tightly around Wooyoung’s head but he takes it in stride as he drops a hand to slip his fingers inside your clenching hole. Curling the pads of his digits upwards, you feel him in your throat as you bite back moans. Your fingers twist in Wooyoung’s inky hair at the delicious torture, hips rocking into his eager mouth as he pants against you; refusing to separate from your drenched center. 

When his unoccupied hand slips into your own, a death grip on your entertwined fingers, you fall apart. Your chapped lips nearly bleed from effort to remain quiet, writhing in Wooyoung’s hold as he continues to lap up everything you offer him.

A final suck against your clit has you scrambling to pull his mouth to your own, tasting yourself on his soaked cheeks and tongue.

“Please,” you whisper into his mouth.

Wooyoung responds by kissing you gently, the passion curling your toes while he fists his length before allowing the flared head to nudge your entrance.

Finally presses forward, fitting inside you as he always has, another tear burns down to your face. It all comes rushing forward, never ending waves rolling over you after you’ve been knocked down into the surf. Memories, good and bad, race through you at a breakneck speed. The tingling elation of the night Wooyoung asked you to be his girlfriend, the nerves of when you asked him to move in together during medical school. Sadness when you moved away for residency with the promise to come back. The numbing despair you felt the night you thought would be a turning point in your lives. The straw that breaks the camel's back is Wooyoung's admission that you’re too good for him. Choking your own pain down, you try to hone in on a spot on the ceiling in an effort to stay grounded.

Several seconds pass before Wooyoung notices the fresh bout of sobs, mistaking choked whimpers as whines of pleasure after such a long time apart. His nose traces the tendon of your neck as he cants his hips slowly, one hand still tangled in yours, the other pressing your knee up and around his waist to stretch deeper. When the dig of your nails into his shoulder turns from a sting to a cut, he leans back and realizes his mistake.

Eyes find one another through the distorted haze your sorrows create, his rounded with concern still glazed with evidence of his own tears. Staring at one another in a silence broken by sniffling and staccato breaths, a second set of tears mix with your own as he rests his forehead against yours. Locking your arms around Wooyoung’s broad shoulders and hooking your knees around his back, you try to seal him into your skin. 

“I’m sorry.” he whispers, voice broken and cracked. “I’m so sorry. I–” he hiccups. “I didn’t–”

What he’s apologizing for is a mystery. Forcing you into this charade? Telling you he was planning to propose? Breaking up with you in the first place? 

Perhaps it's all those things. Maybe it's none of them.

“I love you.” He whimpers into your hair, lips branding the words into your skin.

It’s not enough. But for tonight, you’ll let it be.

“I love you, too.” you whisper back, straining to brush the tip of your nose against his own.

Tomorrow, you’ll fly back to the city and hide in your apartment and pretend to be okay. Dive so far into your work that you forget the way Wooyoung has ripped the healing wound on your heart open again.

Tonight, you’ll pretend the missing piece has finally been found and can stay forever.

Tensing your thighs, your locked ankles nudge at the dip of his spine to remind Wooyoung he’s still inside you. He hesitates for a moment but your lips silence his objections, just as eager to indulge in the fantasy as you are.

The pace is bruising, stomachs firmly pressed together as he reaches for the top of the bed frame to provide more leverage. Wooyoung’s back ripples and flexes as he pounds into you, the vibration of his weak moans tickling the sensitive pads of your fingers as they etch down his ribs.

Consumed by an overwhelming need to touch him everywhere, you cradle his face between your palms. Wooyoung flashes his eyes open, as if startled you’re still there, before leaning into one of them. Thumb tracing his lips, he drops a searing kiss to the crease of your knuckle. The tenderness burns the remaining oxygen out of the room.

His next word is so quiet your ears fail to detect them over the slap of your bodies connecting or the squeak of the old bed frame. But Wooyoung’s said them against your skin enough times over the years for you to know the feel of his mouth forming around the sound.

You come with a muted whimper. So worn from tears, pleasure fizzles in your veins like the gentle ripple of the wind through the trees. Clenching around Wooyoung harshly, the tell tale hitch in his breath signals the beginning of his end. 

But he is truly done for when you lean up and whisper his words back into his ear, “forever.”

December 26th

Wooyoung

Wooyoung wakes to an empty bed, cold sheets, and the pillowcase squishing his cheek already damp from the tears he shed while sleeping.

December 29th

Wooyoung

A tedious drive to the airport grants Wooyoung ample time to stew in discontent, replaying the events of the past week over and over in his head.

Was he insane to think Y/N wanted him too? All the moments he nearly forgot they’re barely more than strangers after months of silence, how they still fit together so perfectly. Wooyoung knew he’d been a mess after the break up but the past week made him realize how lost he felt without her. Like the ocean without the moon to guide the tide; like he was missing half his heart. How many times had he opened his messages to text her something mundane from his day, just to close them and realize he’d ruined the best thing in his life in a second of weakness? And now having her next to him again, knowing he can’t fix what he did?

“When were you planning to tell us you two broke up?”

“Huh?”

“Wooyoung, I know.”

“How… she told you?”

“Poor thing was crying the entire way to the airport. I told her I wouldn’t let her fly by herself if she was that upset until she explained.”

“What’d she say?”

“That you two broke up a few months ago but you didn’t want to disappoint us.”

“Did she say anything else?”

“You know Y/N, always keeps her cards close to her chest.” His mom looks at him from the corner of her eye. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“I made a mistake.”

“If you two weren’t happy then it wasn’t a mistake.”

“But we were happy! She’s the one and I messed it up because I’m not good enough for her.”

“Where is that coming from?”

“I know you and dad wanted me to be an engineer like Myungho, okay? Even Kyungmin wants to be a lawyer! I’m the family disappointment. It only makes sense I’d disappoint Y/N too.”

Wooyoung’s mom is notorious for going under the speed limit, waiting to turn even if the oncoming car is five hundred feet away, and using her blinker religiously. Which is why Wooyoung thinks she’s having a seizure when she veers off the road and onto the shoulder like an F1 driver.

“You are not a disappointment! To me or your father or anyone. You are my son, and I have always been proud of that. I’ve seen you teaching, the way those kids look up to you. You’re doing exactly what you were meant to. And if my worrying has made you feel that way then I am so sorry. I’ll we’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy sweetie.”

Crossing his arms, Wooyoung flicks away the beads of moisture tracing down his chin. “You’re my mom, you have to say that.”

“Well I’m not Y/N’s mom but I talk about her the same way.”

“Yeah well she’s a doctor, saving kids lives and all that.”

“You don’t think you do the same thing? Those kids come to school excited to learn because of you. Just because you’re not finding a cure for cancer doesn’t mean your job isn’t important. And Y/N isn’t disappointed with you either. She loves you, Wooyoung. Why don’t you let her decide what she wants?”

“Yeah, well I think it’s too late for that.” Wooyoung mumbles, eyes on the toes of his shoes.

“Maybe you should ask her if she thinks so.”

December 30th

Wooyoung

Rather than give into his impatience, Wooyoung stews on his mom’s advice. And each passing hour conveniences him more and more she’s wrong. Especially when San and Yeosang sit with him in their cramped living room, bottles of beer and empty takeout littering the coffee table.

“You’re pathetic.”

“Fuck you.” Wooyoung responds.

San, red faced and tipsy, slaps the leather armrests of the chair before rising.“Fuck you! You broke up with her over nothing and instead of trying to get her back you have a fucking pity party? Grow a pair.”

“She doesn’t want me!”

“Did you ask her?” 

“I don’t have to!”

“You’re an idiot.” Yeosang butts in.

Wooyoung knows his hesitation speaks for itself when Yoesang keeps talking.

“You can ask her to pretend you’re still dating but you can’t tell her you wanna get back together?”

“It’s not that easy!”

“Yes it is!” San argues. “You love her right? You care about her?” San doesn’t continue until Wooyoung nods. “Then she has a right to know.”

“What if she says no?”

“Then she says no. Cross that bridge when you get there. You’re already broken up, how much worse can it get?”

Surprisingly, Wooyoung agrees. He sits forward, looking at his roommates before asking.“So what do I do?”

December 31st

Wooyoung

When Wooyoung’s messages go unanswered and his calls fall into the abyss of Y/N’s full voicemail box, pulls out Plan B.

Unfortunately, Plan B has no moral or ethical oppositions to castrating him.

“Go fuck yourself!”

“Lisa, please!” Wooyoung begs into the phone.

“No! Not once but twice I’ve had Y/N crying on my couch because of your dumbass. I’m not letting it happen again!”

“I need to talk to her. Please just help me!”

“What makes this time so different?”

“I—,” Wooyoung freezes. What does make this time different?

He hears Lisa sigh on the other end of the phone, almost as if she’s disappointed. “Just leave her alone, Wooyoung.”

And the line clicks dead.

Walking back into the kitchen from the worst call of his life, Wooyoung spots San’s downcast face while Yeosang watches him from the table; both clearly overhearing his exchange with Y/N’s best friend.

The vinyl table top shakes as Wooyoung drops his forehead down with a bang, groaning in frustration. 

“She’s working at NewYork-Presbyterian.” Yeosang mentions, returning to munch on his bowl of cereal.

“What?”

“Y/N works at NewYork-Presbyterian.”

“How do you know that?”

Shrugging, Yeosang takes another bite and swallows before explaining. “She told me she got a job there when she was planning to move back.” 

Wooyoung has Yeosang’s shirt in his hands in a flash, nose to nose with his lifelong friend. Never in his life has Wooyoung been so furious with the man before him.

“You knew this whole time?” He bites, his eyes so wide with anger the whites show.

San is at Wooyoung's back, winding his arms around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him off their other roommate.

“You knew all of this and you didn’t fucking tell me? You’re my friend!” Attempting to shake him off, Wooyoung keeps pressing forward. 

Yeosang rises to his feet, hands wrapping around Wooyoung’s wrists and squeezing till the pain forces him to let go. “Yeah, and you’re acting like a real asshole right now!”

“Guys calm down!” San yells, managing to pull Wooyoung back now that he’s no longer attached to Yeosang’s shirt.

“Why didn't you say something?”

“You ended an eight year relationship out of the blue, I wasn’t about to let you get back with her just because you decided being single wasn’t your thing anymore.”

The words slap Wooyoung in the face. Even his own friend’s don’t trust him not to hurt Y/N anymore. “I’m not— I wouldn’t,”

“Come on, Woo. All you could talk about was how excited you were to ask her to marry you and then you come home and tell us you broke up with her. She’s my friend too and I don’t want to see her hurt.”

“So why are you telling me now?”

“Because you were desperate enough to call Lisa. If you fuck up again she’ll actually kill you.”

Wooyoung isn’t going to mess up again, not if he can help it. And if he does, he’ll walk straight into the river before Lisa can force him.

But for now, he focuses on getting Y/N to listen to his apology.

January 1st

Y/N

Chief complaint: Father reports patient’s fever and cough have become more severe since previous visit. Reports child is refusing solids but drinking well and taking soft foods such as apple sauce. Sleeping okay.

One of the residents pops her head into your office, “Dr. Y/L/N you have a delivery at the reception desk.”

“Thank you!” You call, not missing a beat as you continue your notes. 

Impression: Upper respiratory infection, right otitis media

Plan: Amoxicillin prescribed, five day follow up with p.r.n. at PCP.

Finishing your chart, you rise and head out towards the receptionist desk. A familiar bouquet of blush pink tulips greet you, a silk white ribbon knotted around the dip of the crystal vase. A small envelope is tucked into the spread, sending a terrified jolt through your system.

“I wish I had someone send me flowers as pretty as this!” Jessica sighs, eying the arrangement enviously.

“Yeah,” you laugh, unable to muster an ounce of false humor.

You snatch the bouquet before turning back the direction you came. 

Once back into the safety of your office, door shut and blinds drawn, you open the note.

If you don’t want to see me ever again, I’ll let you go. But I can't say enough how every time I ever put my arms around you I felt that I was home. I’ll be waiting at our spot on Saturday. As long as it takes.

–W

You don’t realize you’re crying until the ink of the note begins to bleed. 

January 3rd

Wooyoung

Wooyoung is the first customer to enter the cozy coffee shop overlooking the southeast entrance of Tompkins Square Park at nine a.m., claiming the tiny wobbly table off in the corner that provides the perfect view of the door. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. It feels wrong to scroll through his phone as he waits so he snags one of the artsy newspapers sitting on the counter while the surly barista prepares his order.

After an hour, adrenalin maintains the pleasant buzz through Wooyoung’s system, fueled further by espresso on an empty stomach. Each chime of the bell over the door results in awkward eye contact with a stranger that certainly isn’t his ex-girlfriend.

After three hours, his butt is numb and Wooyoung’s abandoned the newspaper he’s memorized. The NYT mini crossword archive isn’t as extensive as he thought.

After six hours, he’s had enough coffee to power a jet plane and his leg jitters aggressively. He’s started people watching through the window, making up stories for passersby entering the park and crossing the street. Half his heart hopes they’re happier than he is, the other half hopes he’s not alone in his misery.

When he’s been at the shop for eleven and a half hours, burned through every source of distraction possible and can describe in vivid detail the features outside the glass wall that separate the inside of the cafe from the sidewalk, Wooyoung accepts that she isn’t coming.

He stays till close, every minute that ticks on a drop in the bucket of regret in his heart. The barista starts stacking chairs, passive aggressively swiping the frayed broom in a ring around his table, so Wooyoung does the sensible thing and waits outside. 

The bitter wind wafting through the city finds home in his bones despite his thermals and padded parka. Wooyoung desperately clings to the tiny drop of hope still clinging to his heart. Shaking from the chill and overindulgence in caffeine Wooyoung watches as the clock hits nine. 

She isn’t coming.

She doesn’t want him back.

Wooyoung watches a couple laugh in each other's embrace across the street, clambering over one another in amused content. There was time that would have been him and Y/N, high from the intoxicating joy of one another’s presence and the city lights in the winter. Fingers interlocked as they trapeze through crowds, ignoring every other soul in favor of focusing on each other.

Eyes stinging, he turns to head for the train station but nearly shouts as spots the woman in question ten paces away.

Her hair is a mess, nose and cheeks blushing from the cold, breath obscuring her face as it fogs in the cool air. But she’s here, looking every bit unsure as he feels.

“Hi.” He says, dumbfounded.

“Hi.”

“You came.”

“I did.”

Wooyoung might faint. His heart is beating a mile a minute, breath shallow and labored. She’s here. She’s here and she’s looking at him like that. And the fear creeps into his pause.

“I’m sorry.” He warbles.

“I know.”

But she can’t so he says it again.

“I’m so sorry.”

“You keep saying that.”

Because he can’t think of anything else. Nine hours of going over the grand speech about how he missed her and how breaking up with her was the greatest regret of his life flies out the window now that she’s in front of him and willing to listen.

“Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

“No.”

“Then talk to me, Woo.”

The only thing she’s ever asked him for is the truth. Wooyoung’s been so afraid that if he tells her how he truly feels, she’ll think less of him. That being so in love it terrifies you is disgusting, pathetic. 

“I don’t know where to start.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Since they opened.”

“Why?”

“Because if you came I didn’t want to miss you.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“Why did you?”

“Because—,” she pauses, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”

“I had a whole speech prepared.”

“Really?” She smiles apprehensively.

“Yeah, but now that you’re here I don’t remember any of it.”

“Then just tell me the truth, Woo.”

“I’m an idiot.”

Laughing at his outburst, she nods at him. “That’s a start.” 

And the space between them grows a little warmer.

“That night at dinner, when I went to the bathroom, I got an email.” Wooyoung starts, stepping closer. “I’d applied for a grad school program and I thought I was gonna get in but … I didn’t. And I think that and the nerves from proposing just caught up to me. I thought you’d want to stay in Boston after all and I didn’t want you to feel like you had to move back here. And it snowballed and all those feelings of not being good enough came back and— When you didn’t say anything, didn’t ask why or try to argue with me I thought it meant it’s what you wanted too.”

Shame flushes through him, a tsunami of disgust for allowing himself to think so poorly of her. Y/N never made him feel less than. The only person in their relationship who thought he wasn’t good enough for her was him and he let that destroy everything in a second of self doubt. 

“I tried to convince myself I did you a favor. That you’d be better off without me and you’d meet someone better. Find someone good enough for you. But I was wrong. I am wrong. There hasn't been a single day since we met that I don’t think about you. Even when I try not to, you’re always in the back of my mind. And then I think about how selfish I am for wanting you back. But when it comes to you I’ve always been a little selfish because I love you. And—” he breaths for the first time. “And I don’t know how to be me without you.”

The humor is gone from Y/N’s face. Her beautiful eyes brim with tears, rimmed red not unlike his own; chin shaking. The wind is louder than ever now, cars wheel sloshing across the wet pavement crashing between them.

“Please say something.”

“How do I trust you again?” Her voice cracks, and it knocks the air from Wooyoung’s lungs.

“I don’t know.” Wooyoung looks at the ground, guilt-ridden.

Everything, all of the pain and heartbreak, was his fault. He dug them into this mess and now he doesn’t know how to get them out.

Y/N

Seeing Wooyoung, the man with an answer for everything, admit for once he doesn’t have an elaborate plan in motion to win you back is refreshing. You didn’t want Wooyoung who’d fix everything, Wooyoung who’d carry the burden of your relationship by himself even if it killed him. All you wanted was for him to tell you the truth.

And now that he has, you’re done being apart.

Nearly topping to the ground as you tackle Wooyoung in a fierce hug, you focus on inhaling his cologne and basking in the feel of his body pressed firmly against you. He barely manages to steady your combined weight, feet scrambling to regain his balance on the icy sidewalk.

“Don’t you ever do that shit to me again!” You yell, arms squeezing around his waist.

Wooyoung hesitates for a moment, clearly shocked at the turn of events. Rising out of his chest, you look at his gaping mouth and furrowed brows before his arms knot around your shoulders. 

“I missed you.” You whisper into the delicate kiss you land on his lips.

“I love you.” Wooyoung whispers back, forehead resting against your own.

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

Four months later

Central Park in May is a bustle of people enjoying warm days following months of slushy snow and gray skies. Shrill screams bounce off the trees as children dart across the walkways, giggling groups of friends crowd around blankets on the greening grass, and a menagerie of dogs zigzag around their owners in the fresh air.

Today is a rare day where they both can spend interrupted hours lounging in one another’s presence, eager to make up for years of long distances and the months neither likes to talk about. Wooyoung woke Y/N with innumerable kisses across any sliver of skin his lips could find, basking in the knowledge today he’d finally ask the question hanging from the tip of his tongue since this time last year.

Sprawled across an old throw blanket, skin warming in the afternoon sunshine, a thick book obscures her face from view as Y/N rests her head in his lap. Wooyoung tries not to check his pocket for the millionth time this afternoon, ensuring the little velvet box is still there. He isn’t worried she’ll say no. But the phantom fear from the last time he planned to ask creeps up no matter how many affirmations he silently repeats in his head. But when she looks up at him, crinkled eyes visible just above the edge of the book pages hiding her smile, Wooyoung forgets all his worries.

Plucking the book from her grasp, he carefully marks her place before setting it down beside her hip. Wooyoung folds in half to silence her protesting “hey!” with a kiss, humming when she gives in all too easily. 

“I was reading that.” She mumbles as they separate.

“Wow, you’d rather read some smutty book than kiss your real life boyfriend?”

Laughing, she presses another peck to his mouth before answering.“Glad you understand.”

“What about your fiance?”

Y/N smile melts into shock, mouth gaping and staring at him like a deer in headlights.

Wooyoung smoothly maneuvers her up and out of his lap, pulling the jewelry box from his pocket as he kneels on a lone knee.

“Y/N. You’re my favorite person in the world. The only person I can ever imagine spending the rest of my life with. I love when you sing in the shower, and how you put way too much sugar in your coffee. I love how smart you are, and how you’re nice to everyone even if they don’t deserve it,  me included. And how everytime I look at you my palms get sweaty and that just thinking about you makes my day better. You are the love of my life. Will you marry me?”

Wooyoung is shaking so violently he fumbles the velvet box twice during his speech. He drops it a third time when Y/N tackles him in a fierce hug, tear filled laughter spilling from their lips and into the field where they lay. 

“Yes!” She squeals into his neck, “Yes, I’d love to marry you.”

At dinner with all their friends, he subconsciously holds Y/N’s hand so the diamond glints at anyone looking. When Wooyoung walks home, giggly from champagne and love, he kisses her knuckles a ridiculous amount of times just to feel the cool band under his lips. Once inside the doorway of her apartment, Wooyoung crowds Y/N against the door; his thumb focusing on the bevel of the diamond sitting on her ring finger as his other hand pushes the strap of her sundress off her shoulder so his tongue etch her collarbone from dip of her throat where the locket he gave her for their first Christmas together rests to under her ear. 

“So, future Mrs. Jung, now that we’re alone, how would you like to celebrate?” He asks, nipping against the sensitive skin she sighs, chest arching into his own.

“What if I wanna keep my last name?”

“Is that what you’re focusing on right now?” Wooyoung asks, a strong thigh moving between her parted legs.

“Yeah, future Mr.Y/L/N. I don’t think there’s anything else to discuss right n—fuck, Youngie.”

Wooyoun can’t help but giggle at her reaction, rocking again just to hear her moan his name once more. 

“What were you saying?”

“Don’t,” she huffs, whimpering at another torturous drag. Wooyoung can feel the heat of her cunt through her panties and his jeans. “Don’t be mean to your future wife.”

“Love when you talk dirty.” He bites, teeth raking against the strained muscle raising from the side of her neck.

“That turns you on? Calling me your wife?”

“Feel for yourself.”

“And if I call you my husband?”

Wooyoung doesn’t dignify her question with an answer other than sprinting to the bedroom to demonstrate just how much he likes the new name.

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[thesims4blogger]

The Sims 4: New Game Patch (December 5th, 2023)

Following last week’s Laundry List, there is a new game patch out today in preparation for the release of The Sims 4 For Rent Expansion Pack this Thursday (December 7th).

If you have auto updates enabled in Origin’s “Application Settings”, the game will auto-update once you open Origin. If you have auto-updates disabled, you will need to manually update by clicking the game in your library.Advertisement

To ensure your game is up to date, check the game version found in Documents > EA > The Sims 4 > GameVersion.txt. Your game should now read: PC: 1.103.250.1020 / Mac: 1.103.250.1220 / Console: 1.84

Sul Sul Simmers!

The newest expansion pack has been freely living in all our heads and For Rent is finally due! The Property Owner is coming to visit in just a few days, but in the meantime there’s a couple of Base Game additions and a bevy of fixes to call out and share. Our favorite SimGuruNova is going to go into details below. Thanks all!

–   SimGuruNinja

What’s New?

Sink Assignments

The jig is up for Sims who had a penchant for shoving Harvestfest turkey bones down the drains of those poor, poor bathroom sinks. Starting today, all sinks can now be designated as Kitchen or Bathroom sinks.

The assignment you choose determines whether hands or dishes are autonomously washed in them. Unless, of course, you live for the chaos and assign the wrong labels to each sink. We won’t stop you from letting your Sims continue to be little freaks!

Switch Control to This Household

Listen, as much as we love the Manage Worlds screen, every healthy relationship requires a bit of space. So, we’ve declared a bit of independence from Manage Worlds, giving you the chance to switch your active household from Live mode directly with the “Switch Control to This Household” interaction! While we added this as a means to switch between units of your Residential Rental more seamlessly, this interaction will be available on the front door of all occupied residences, not just Residential Rental units. Rejoice with me, my fellow rotational gameplay Simmers!

Base Game Additions That’ll Knock Your Shoes Off

In celebration of the release of For Rent, we have a few housewarming goodies coming to the Base Game. Along with a cozy new outfit that’ll have your Sims lounging in style, Sims can now interact with the Men’s Shoe Rack and Women’s Shoe Rack items from Base Game to set rules for the house determining whether or not shoes are removed at the door. Which means everyone will know whether or not your Sim is wearing socks under those sneakers (please, for my sanity, make sure they are!)

Bug Fixes

Base Game/Multipack

Quick Meal interactions on fridges have been renamed to “Quick Meal or Drink” and “Microwaved Quick Meal or Drink”. Gone are the days of “Glass of Milk” erasure!

Sims who finish their drinks while also eating will now make sure to finish their meal afterward. That’s right, Mrs. Landgraab, chugging your Juice on the Rocks doesn’t count as “girl dinner”.

Child Sims with the Genius trait will no longer gain the Want to Solve Hard Problems, They’ll have to wait a few years before diving into such complex abstraction.

Sims with a Fear of Fire will no longer be tormented by constant, unavoidable fires starting while they are cooking.

On a somewhat related note, Sims will no longer be given the option to Cook Together on broken stoves.

In an attempt to curtail unwarranted surreal horror gameplay, household members should no longer randomly be labeled as neighbors and become unable to use doors.

In the spirit of respecting the laws of physics, towels hung on the wall are no longer translucent when hit with natural light.

Though they are things of beauty, certain columns will now, indeed, fade away… when they would otherwise be blocking the camera in Live Mode.

Sims will no longer be constantly using their phones at every hour of the day. Not a cell phone in sight, just simulated people living in the moment. Beautiful.

Hairy houseguests deciding to shave in your Sim’s bathroom will no longer cause the game to freeze.

Sims should now actually be able to finish writing songs. Perhaps those of us with closets full of unfinished projects should take notes.

Child Sims will now only have age-appropriate thought bubbles.

After plenty of confidence building exercises, certain table lamps will no longer snap to the wall when placed and will be comfortable standing wherever you place them.

Infants who age up in a dirty diaper will no longer produce stink clouds as if forced to wear that dirty diaper into adulthood (Rest assured, I hated writing that just as much as you hated reading it).

Sims will thankfully no longer slip and fall in mud puddles while holding an infant.

Adjusted frequency of body hair on randomized Sims to be slightly less excessive.

Some of the less friendly toddler and infant hairs have been taught proper conflict resolution and will now play nicely with hats.

Sims living on Private Dwelling lots are now willing to make exceptions for food deliveries. Because everyone loves a good pizza, even territorial curmudgeons.

Basement stairs should now play nicely with terrain when the lot has a raised foundation.

Changing foundation height should no longer stop windows from being placed on curved walls.

Sims have learned what it means to be that guy and will no longer constantly ask “What Happened?” for no apparent reason during conversations.

Sims who would invite themselves over and make themselves a little too welcome have relearned their manners and should now knock.

Much to the disappointment of illusionists everywhere, glass walls over basements should no longer hide basement walls when viewed from above.

We’ve educated Sims on the dangers of over-caffeination, so autonomous coffee making/drinking should happen a bit less frequently.

Blonde gardeners and redhead pizza deliverers everywhere can breathe a sigh of relief, because parents with graying hair swatches are now more likely to have children that match their base hair color, rather than unexpected red or blonde hair.

When loading back into a save and entering Manage Worlds, there’s no longer a chance that occupied lots appear empty.

A previously unnamed PooHoo bush has now discovered its true name.

Console

Hitting the Undo button on the controller no longer pulls up the search bar in Build Mode.

Kits

The nails from Poolside Splash are now tagged for both masculine and feminine frame Sims.

As fun as it was, Sims should no longer grow a second pair of feet when wearing the retro bikini from Poolside Splash.

Laundry Day

Hampers can now be dragged in and out of Sim inventories in Live Mode. The excuses for putting off laundry end here!

Dirty cloth diapers will now go into laundry hampers, where they belong, rather than the floor, where they do not belong.

Dream Home Decorator

The Standard Gas Oven by Blazin’ Ladles no longer disappears when placed on lots. May your ladles remain ever ablaze…

My Wedding Stories

Certain veils should no longer force Sims to have red hair (seriously, what is it with this update and red hair?)

Werewolves

Werewolves will no longer autonomously Check On infants during their rampage. And thank goodness for that.

Seasons

Plants no longer revert to dirt piles in dormant phases, and instead will simply stop growing. They should also now only become dormant when entering their off seasons, at the appropriate time.

Get Famous

Sims who have chosen to forgo the spotlight will no longer gain unwanted fame.

Cottage Living

Sims will now retain the Heroic Haggler buff when buying discounted items at village shops after haggling. Let them enjoy their Karen moment!

Your Sims will no longer be doomed to a life of Sisyphean crafting endeavors. They should now be able to complete the task to create a Cross-Stitch for the Taste for Adventure errand.

High School Years

The pink swatch of the Benchmark Seating chair is no longer masquerading as blue in the preview.

Teens who get more than 250 Social Bunny followers should now be able to complete the third level Admired Icon aspiration.

Growing Together

Playing other households will no longer cause Sims to forget certain achieved Milestones. In other words, the game will neither gaslight nor gatekeep your girlboss Sims anymore.

We gave that creepy tree in San Sequoia a stern warning. It should no longer be encroaching upon the buildable area of the Sequoia Cottage lot.

Sims will no longer earn the First Promotion milestone when getting a new job, no matter how much your Sim is willing to be annoying and debate the semantics of that.

Toddlers should now be able to Sing a Song with infants without being interrupted.

Horse Ranch

Your adorable little money laundering scheme has yee’d its last haw! Sims will no longer receive double the stated number of Simoleons for selling mini goats and sheep.

Sims riding horses should now have an easier time saying howdy (and other things) to other horses nearby.

Sims will no longer be taunted by an unreachable log filled with frogs in Chestnut Ridge.

The era of heavy metal square dancing has waned. Sims will now only autonomously perform Cowpoke Dance if Ranch music is playing.

For Rent

Fixed an issue where rent could go into negatives or be excessively high.

[skippyv20]

Balmoral & Buckingham Palace Limited Tickets

Hi Skippy & Friends-Pilgrim here with a few international travel tips for those from Montedeceito, Ca about booking reservations and tours for families. It seems KCIII has invited the entire world to visit his family’s favorite retreat AND the world is interested, so tickets are going fast. The Castle Internal Guided Tour is already sold out so the W. LA tourists will be clueless about any historic facts. The Afternoon Tea Tour is also booked and is only an adult experience…so no invisible kids running around there, even if they are make believe ex-royals.

Oh dear-the Balmoral Expeditions are also sold out. But the Mews Gift shop is open so the ILBW can go rip off ideas for her latest HomeGoods business flop opening with no merchandise available for those stupid enough to give her their credit info. It is important to note that Castle tickets are non-refundable unless there are major government restrictions no matter how loud you shout!

As for accommodations, booking one of the quaint cottages to stay in, they are almost totally blocked out through December 2024. Good luck trying to hook up with other family members who want to avoid you like the plague anyway.

Also, since your egotistic heyday when you demanded to have your own office and living quarters inside Buckingham Palace back when you were acting like a bigshot intimidating staff, friends & family, you can now take a tour to see what they never allowed you to experience. Guided tours are set to open this summer making this a nice add on to the Balmoral excursion. I am sure your old room in Soho House will be dusted and available when and if you are in town.

PLEASE don’t make the mistake many tourists do by thinking the 5 Star luxury Balmoral Hotel in Edinburgh is the actual castle. Remember, your favorite royal monitor runs this town now. Just saying…you may want to detour this city entirely.

You know what Mr & Mrs Carparkle? You should just stay in your own dark hole, keeping your heads low of flying debris. Forget fake PR events propping up your nonexistent credentials. No amount of paid for, word salad, fake articles, filled with shoulda-coulda-woulda phony baloney announcements will work either. You are yesterday’s leftovers on burnt toast and we all know it. Ciao for now…

Love it!😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

[shares-a-vest]

Fruity Four Advent Calendar, Day 23: Gifts

Prompt List

I was totally a day ahead of myself with the Nativity prompt and I wrote this out in one go. Just a steddie-being-dumb ficlet.

"Eddie, what is this?" Steve asks.

He heaves himself up from a kneeling position on the floor, back almost giving out after packing up Christmas decorations.

It is the 28th of December and he has decided it is probably time to pack away everything, thinking he could only extend Christmas on for so long. It has been the best Christmas Steve has had, maybe ever. Everyone gathered at his house throughout the Christmas period, hanging decorations and hanging out. He'd hosted a dinner party with Eddie, Nancy, Robin, Johnathan and Argyle while he was visiting for Christmas. He had invited over Max and Dustin to help with their Christmas wrapping. He did a lot of baking and cooking seeing as his mother wasn't around hogging the kitchen. Wayne came over with Eddie for a roast pretty much any night before his set of night shifts.

"What is it?" Eddie asks, not looking up from the Christmas lights he is absolutely, totally packing with neatness into their assigned box.

"This!" Steve says, holding out a small, red box in his direction. "It was just sitting on the mantlepiece behind that terrible photo of me from fourth grade."

He makes a face at the goody-goody-looking school photo of his younger, incredibly lame and chubby-cheeked self.

Eddie looks up. His eyes go wide with panic as his brows disappear under his fringe.

"Nothing!" he shrieks, shooting upright, entirely suspicious.

He bounds forward, crossing the Harrington's living room and attempts to snatch the box away. But Steve blocks him, holding his arm up to keep the box from his reach. And damn it, his strong, muscular arms are just ever-so-slightly longer.

"Is it for me?" he teases, bopping Eddie's nose with his free hand.

"No!" he whines, still trying to reach for the box.

They tussle and Eddie practically jumps on Steve in an attempt to reach the gift. They immediately lose balance and fall to the floor. The box rolls out from Steve's grasp and Eddie lunges over him for it as they scuffle like overturned turtles in the middle of the living room.

Eddie of course, begins to play dirty, running a hand up under Steve's sweater and nosing into his neck, making him squirm.

"Stop!" Steve begs through laughter as Eddie begins to tickle him.

"I gotta get that box, Stevie," he says through gritted teeth, trying to reach the box again.

He rolls them over so he's under Steve, a weird move that is probably going to give his former-wrestling team member boyfriend the upper hand but he's a fraction closer. He reaches out his fingers, outstretching them as much as possible, poking his tongue out for some extra power.

Steve reaches over and pins his wrist to the floor.

"If the box is for me, dude, why would you hide it in my house?"

Eddie looks up at him, floundering completely. He huffs a breath trying to move hair from his face. But with his free hand, Steve does it for him, shifting his bodyweight so his very nice and athletic body is keeping Eddie on the ground.

Steve chances a glance at the red box and catches a glimpse of the ring on Eddie's middle right finger.

"Is it a ring?" he asks, voice quiet, eyes glazed over as he stares beyond the polished flooring.

Eddie screws his eyes shut, relenting, his body going weak under Steve's hold.

"Yes."

Steve slides off him and sits on the floor in stunned silence. For Eddie, it is the most optimal move because he can now cower into himself, crawl up into a ball on the floor and die of embarrassment.

They sit in silence, punctuated only by nervous, shocked breathing for a good few minutes before Eddie wills himself to speak.

"It was just a ring. Not an engagement ring or anything. I just know you like my plain one," he mumbles before uncoiling himself and looking over to a misty-eyed Steve. "But then I thought, this is stupid and looks like a fucking purity ring or some bullshit. And if I gave it to you while everyone was here they'd think it was an engagement ring."

"So, why is it still sitting here?" Steve asks, throat dry. "You could have explained all that. And... I'd understand."

Eddie knows what that fleeting pause means. They were both so goddamn dumb about their feelings and how much they meant to each other. Even though they were dating. They were inseparable. And they so obviously wanted to spend forever together.

"I forgot where I put it," Eddie admits meekly, grunting as he sits up and crosses his legs to face him.

Steve just bursts out laughing, doubling over and falling back to the ground. Eddie giggles and reaches for the box, slapping an exhausted hand over it to slide it to himself.

"You are so stupid!" Steve shrieks, tears prickling as he laughs.

"My forgetfulness is clearly a detriment to my entire existence."

He scoots over to his laughing boyfriend and attempts to get him back up. When Steve finally moves and wipes tears from his eyes with his sweater sleeve, Eddie has the gift ready for him.

[beardedmrbean]

Gangland shootings and bombings that have plagued Sweden's biggest cities have spread to quieter suburbs and towns, shattering its reputation as a safe and peaceful nation.

Half an hour north of central Stockholm, Upplands-Bro features lakeside boat clubs, copper-red wooden villas and apartments flanked by pine and spruce trees.

But a 14-year-old boy was found dead in a forest here in August, and since January there have been several shootings and bombings targeting houses and apartments.

"It's awful. We've [been] woken up by explosions in the neighbourhood and it's scary," says 42-year-old Anna Petterson, who lives in Bro and has three children. "It's very much something that we're aware of, and we talk about a lot, and are afraid of."

Sweden has been a European hotspot for gang-related shootings and bombings for several years. But recently the violence has shifted beyond low-income, vulnerable urban areas and police say one reason is that gang members are increasingly targeting rivals' relatives.

Detectives suspect some of the latest violence has been organised by criminal leaders based in other countries, including Turkey and Serbia.

More than 50 people have been killed in shootings so far in 2023, and there have been more than 140 explosions. Last year, more than 60 people died in gun violence, the highest number on record.

"What started out as gun violence between young gangs looking to defend their territory has turned into a vicious circle of firearms trafficking and gun violence," explains Nils Duquet, a firearms researcher based at the Flemish Peace Institute in Brussels.

"Gangs have also matured and are no longer just the street criminals, but are often connected to higher-level criminals as well."

Innocent bystanders are also among the dead.

In September, a 70-year-old man and another man aged 20 were killed in a pub shooting in Sandviken in central Sweden, and a newly graduated teacher, 24, died in an explosion just outside the university city of Uppsala.

Soon afterwards Sweden's Prime Minister Ulf Kristersson gave a rare national address admitting that "no other country in Europe" was experiencing this sort of situation, and promising tougher penalties for deadly violence.

Evin Cetin, an author and lawyer who has represented teenage shooting victims and suspects, says boys as young as 13 or 14 are being recruited by gangs, often through social media promises of money and designer clothes.

"Children are using their own bags not to carry books, but they carry the drug markets in Sweden on their own shoulders," she tells the BBC on a visit to Upplands-Bro, part of a nationwide schools tour to more than a dozen areas affected by gang crime.

Others are trying to tackle the problem by organising street patrols in areas affected by drugs and violence.

"That we're out and go around chatting with our kids and young people - it increases safety," says Libaane Warsame, during a night walk in Jarva, northern Stockholm, on a wet, windy Friday night.

Jarva looks like a lot of Swedish suburbs, with well-maintained apartment blocks, a few shops, and a nearby forest. The main difference is that it is more multicultural than many neighbourhoods, and it has Stockholm's highest unemployment rate.

Mr Warsame began patrolling the streets after his 19-year-old son - who police say was not in a gang - was killed in a shooting in December 2020.

"It's hard for [young people] to sit at home for hours without any income, any work. So they go out and stand around and there's a big risk that they will be recruited."

He also runs an organisation that supports families who have lost loved ones in deadly violence.

This year there have not been any fatal shootings in Jarva, but many locals say they remain on edge.

"I haven't been outside so late… because I don't want to make my mum worried," says Gizem Kuzucu, 17.

She often spends her evenings studying at Framtidens Hus, a youth centre, and says none of her friends have been in trouble with the law. But she has been exposed to crime on social media.

"I've seen a lot of videos on TikTok [in which] people are, like, talking about crime. They are like saying 'follow me on Instagram, I'm gonna post like a rapper that got killed'."

Another teenager at the youth centre, Libaan, says he grew up around older criminals and "did commit a few crimes" when he was younger.

"Kids here, they are really, really mean to each other…they don't know how to speak about their emotions, so what they do instead is that they lash out," says the 18-year-old.

Swedish police do not currently map gang members' nationalities, but research for the Swedish National Council for Crime Prevention in 2021 showed young people born in Sweden to two parents from abroad were overrepresented as suspects in murder cases and robberies.

The right-wing coalition government, elected in September 2022, believes the rise in gang violence in recent years is directly connected to Sweden's earlier immigration policies. Until 2016, it had one of the most generous asylum laws in Europe.

"We can now see that 'outsideship' and lack of integration, in combination with trade of narcotics and organised crime is creating this very, very toxic mixture," Foreign Minister Tobias Billstrom told the BBC in September.

The government wants to make it harder for immigrants from outside the European Union to get social benefits, and to make preschool compulsory for children with two foreign parents in some areas, in order to improve Swedish-language skills.

Earlier this year, it became an offence to recruit children to participate in criminal activities. Stop-and-search zones are set to be introduced in early 2024 and ministers want to double prison sentences for offences including gun crimes and explosions.

The BBC was not granted a government interview to discuss these plans, despite multiple requests.

At the state-funded Swedish National Council for Crime Prevention, researcher Klara Hradilova-Selin believes tackling gang crime "should have been a more important issue earlier" for previous coalitions on both the right and left of the political spectrum.

"There are colleagues of mine who were actually warning like decades ago [about] this kind of development of growing marginalisation in the deprived areas."

Worries about how gang conflicts are impacting the country's international image are also growing. "Sweden has always been viewed as an extremely safe country. Maybe one of the top safe countries in the world. And this image is falling apart," says Hradilova-Selin.

According to a recent survey for the Stockholm Chamber of Commerce, eight out of 10 Swedish companies questioned believe it will get harder to attract foreign talent, investment and visitors due to the ongoing violence.

At Framtidens Hus youth centre, teenagers are being offered the chance to drive, dance and make podcasts. Former criminal Libaan says he would like a job that involves writing, or helping others, but he believes his future is also dependent on how he is treated by other Swedes.

"I don't feel included in the culture even though I'm born here. They kind of see me as this ghetto kid who has no future."

[lazypanartist]

Chapter 2

---

A Rose By Any Other Name

Would Feel As Frigid

-

Warnings: mentions of violence, other questionable activities, theft, and the American school system

Notes: a little over half of you said to name Reader, so that's what we'll do!

-

Previous

-

Previously, we were introduced to Casey and their fellow delinquents, so here's the rundown:

Jack - jock. Interviewing Blockbuster

Will - Poor guy.. Interviewing Icicle Sr.

Dan - Another jock. Interviewing unknown

Lainey - dealer of some form. Interviewing Devastation

Rachel - got caught carrying drinks to Jack and Dan. Interviewing Shimmer

Olive - hotboxed a school bathroom 🙄 Interviewing Psimon

Adam - yearbook guy. Doesn't like Casey/POV

---

I was handed a checklist of questions to ask Jr. during session one. Things like his name, age, family, hobbies. Y'know, icebreakers.

Bob escorted me to the visitation room I'd be using. He'd called a few more guards over to get everyone else settled, but I was obviously his favorite.

"Nice place you guys have here," I offered, breaking the silence. "I've heard it's the best protected prison in the country."

"Not th' country. The world." Bob scoffed pridefully. "Not even Superman can break down the defenses."

"Really?" Of course I'd heard that one before, but hey, might as well try and get the guards to not hate you, especially with his earlier comments. "How'd that get managed?"

He gave me what was probably a wary side eye, but with his perpetual scowl it seemed more like a glare. Still, he seemed to be in a good mood.

"Lead re'nforced titanium. Tensill and brute strength? Unmatched. 'S not the only stuff, but those're the main bits."

Before I could ask more questions (probably for the better) we made it to the interview room. Bob stopped me outside the door, his hand resting on the handle.

"'Member what I said, how 'e's potentially violent?"

I nodded, now wary.

How could I forget?

"Well, 'e's typically better 'ith other kids than when adults are nearby. Now, because'a that, you're goin' in alone."

He must have seen the apprehension on my face, because he smiled. Still mocking, but it was there.

"Here's yer panic button." He handed me a small block, a red button in the middle. "It takes a lil' force ta press, 'n alerts the guard station. There always someone in th' hall here, so you'll get help soon."

He clapped my shoulder, hand moving from the doorknob. "Get to it."

And he left.

Great.

Steeling myself, I entered the room.

Junior was already there, hands cuffed in front of him, feet kicked up onto the table. When I stepped in he grinned, cuffs jangling as he pulled his feet off the only 'true' piece of furniture in the tiny, cold room.

"Hey."

I blinked. "Hey."

He gestured to the chair opposite himself, and I took a seat.

"I heard I'd be getting some company. What'd they call it.. future inmate prevention?"

"I.." I certainly hadn't planned for him to start the conversation, and with his growing smile, I could tell he already knew.

"Oh, come on! I won't bite, I promise! It'd really ruin this whole thing for both of us."

I sighed. "Yeah.. yeah. Sorry. I have a few icebreakers."

He snorted, and I could feel a smile of my own start to form.

"Icebreakers? Is that really appropriate?"

"According to the staff, apparently."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. Hit me."

"Okay. Number one, what's your name?"

"Cameron Mahkent."

"Okay.." I scribbled it onto my sheet, the chipping graphite being the only sound for a moment. "Okay. Question two - how old are you?"

He hummed quietly. "Seventeen."

"Oh!" I couldn't stop the quiet exclamation. "So you'd be a junior, too."

"Yeah? I'm a December baby."

"So you'd be sixteen at the start of the school year.." I had already put the number down, but if the goal was socialization.. "How long did you go to public school? If at all."

"Off and on until.. sixth grade, I think?" He glanced to my right before focusing back on me. "Then dad pulled me completely for training."

"Oh." I blinked before glancing back to the sheet. "Brings us to question three - what's your family dynamic?"

"Mom.. left. When I was about nine. She was going to take me with her, but dad wouldn't allow it." He shrugged, cuffs clinking again as he shifted in his chair. "He's harsh, but hey, tough love."

I didn't really believe him, but it wasn't my place to ask. Not yet.

Instead, I must have frowned, because he paused.

"He's typically in charge here at Belle Reve. The Capo. He rules the Pen with an iron fist."

"Oh.." My eyes widened. "So does that give you any special privileges compared to the other detainees?"

He laughed this time. Not a scoff or snort, but full-on cackling, like I had told the funniest joke in the world.

"Are you kidding?! I don't get treated any better than anyone else - in fact, if people try to overtake dad as Cappo, they shoot for me first.

I blinked and, almost instinctively, pulled my clipboard up.

"Question four.."

I left about thirty minutes later, scribbling the tail-ends of answers onto my paper. A guard had come through the back to pull Cameron aside, and told me it was time to leave.

When I made it back to the check-in area, most people looked traumatized. Jack started off immediately about Blockbuster - he'd been flanked by two guards the entire time.

Will was even worse. Apparently Cameron's dad - Icicle Senior - had been allowed to have one of his personal guards - Mammoth. There were four guards between them - which is why Bob had been so nice as to leave Cameron and I alone together.

Laine had liked Devastation, and Rachel was okay with Shimmer - didn't like her cultist attitude much, with Will saying Mammoth had been the same.

Olivia had hated Psimon from the get-go, but from what she said, it sounded mutual. I felt more sorry for Psimon than I did for Olive, honestly.

Dan..

"Who did you even pull?"

He flashed me a grin. "Poison Ivy."

"And?"

He held his paper up proudly. "She shared her thoughts."

I glanced over it. "Except for family life."

He shrugged, wincing when Bob grabbed the paper from him. "Oh well."

I handed mine to him as well, and he raised an eyebrow.

"It looks like Casey here is th' only one who got answers for everything - family life, criminal history, childhood. Congrats."

I shrugged, glancing at everyone else.

"Really?"

Olive rolled her eyes. "My guy didn't want to answer anything - just kept asking his own questions."

"And Blockbuster didn't want to talk about ANYTHING before his transformation," Will piped in.

"Devastation didn't actually give me another name for her." Lainey shrugged.

I glanced back in the direction of the visitation hall.

"Huh."

---

Next

[shadowydonutperson]

@soaps-mohawk

This is Quinten (my OC)

She is a Mortem Omega.

Mortems are not aggressive and violent unless they are threatened or if they are provoked.

They rely on their animalistic brain, therefore they can smell the slightest bit of adrenaline and cortisol (stress hormone).

The kill instinct is there and will kick in if their mates, pack members, or if they are threatened or in danger.

Only allows trusted and bonded pack members in their nest. Is a mother cat to other omegas especially if the omegas are unbounded, and very nurturing to pups (children).

Can create a brotherhood/sisterhood bond with other omegas for both unmated and mated omegas.

(Unless she loves them romantically.)

Due to their instincts they do unfortunately get euthanized if they ever show their animalistic side.

Libido is extremely high when she is in heat and non heat cycles.

Can follow an Alpha's commands, and also be submissive to them.

(basically she can do just anything that an Omega's biology makes them do.)

Her scent is Vanilla, orange, and cherry blossom.

Has thick curly brown hair.

Vibrant green eyes.

Pale skin.

Has freckles literally EVERYWHERE on her. (All natural.)

Short, curvy but physically strong.

Has ADHD.

Insomnia.

Night terrors.

Can pass out due to high blood pressure.

asthmatic.

Autistic. (Loud noises, heat, or bright lights in general.)

Sleepwalks. (Worse after anything horror), under stress (if she takes melatonin for it. Also can worsen it).

Her favorite color is Teal blue.

Her favorite animal is a red panda. She has a red panda squishmallow she has gotten as a courting gift from Soap, and a beaded bracelet from Ghost. She takes very much care of them.

She's a cuddler if she's able to trust enough. When that happens she'll squeeze herself in between Soap and Ghost because she can. (Her words.)

Ethnicity: Swedish

Languages she can speak: English, German, Swedish, (working on Spanish.)

She is 21 currently.

She is a Sagittarius.

DOB: December 18th.

5'2.

Loves kids, wants a few in the future. Fine with biological and adoption.

Last name is Classified for legal reasons and due to her Biological Status.

Has a necklace that had once belonged to her baby sister, a watch that had belonged to her baby brother that was gifted to him by their grandfather who was in the Army before his passing.

She never takes the necklace and the watch off unless she is deployed, showering, or sleeping.

Laswall and Simon knows about her status as an Omega and has proven to Simon that she isn't a weight to be dragged but an asset to the taskforce.

She is claimed by Simon as his Omega via Bite mark. (I forgot to add it in the drawing.)

She can pick up Soap (Johnny) and pick literally drop him. 😂

Her parents are an Alpha & Beta pairing, her (Dad's parents) Grandparents Beta & Beta pairing.

Mom: Alpha

Dad: Beta

Grandma: Beta

Grandpa: Beta

Younger sister: Beta (not presented)

Younger brother: Alpha (not presented)

Younger brother: Beta (not presented)

(All family members have passed)

Since she had scent blocker collars she was able to pass as a Beta and get her piercings and tattoos without an Alpha's or a Beta's permission.

Background: (TW: DEATH, ABUSE, MOMMY AND DADDY ISSUES)

Quinten is the first born out of four children. She was born in Visby, Sweden. As a child she had a loving Dad, and a neglectful Mom, after her mom had her younger siblings she became extremely emotionally abusive. Her father became distant after the younger ones were born.

Later her mom became physically abusive to Quinten and her siblings. Unfortunately she had to step in to take the hits, her "mom" would give them.

A year later her father owed a debt to some very sketchy people but unfortunately wasn't able to pay it off. Which caused these people to pay them a visit to the family.

A few weeks later when Quinten had gone to the store for some after school work as a janitor, (she had a scent collar that blocked off her actual scent allowing her to pass as a beta.) she came home late at night and smelled something extremely foul and cortisol (stress hormone) she knew something was wrong.

Her parents and siblings were long gone when she came home. She was 17 years old at the time.

Within the months of her 18th birthday she had enlisted in the Swedish Royal Marines for Women. (Idk what they call it there.) After paying for some very expensive scent blocker pills she had passed her training as a mechanic, Laswall had recommended Quinten to Price to TF141.

She is a gifted mechanic, her talent came from her Grandfather who was a Norwegian engineer in WW2 (before the invasion and takeover of Norway.) for the Allie forces and taught her when she asked him to. (Before her presenting age.)

She met the guys not long after the Taskforce was created, took a while for her to trust and bond with them. Which wasn't easy for some of them. (Ghost) At the time she kept to herself and never told them that she was an omega the whole time. Mostly because she had a history with abusive Alphas, and asshole Betas who treated her like shit solely because she was an omega.

Her having a pack was an odd thing for her to get used to. But still couldn't tell them what her rank really was yet.

Personality wise:

Keeps to herself, unless trust is formed. Intuitive when something or someone is sketchy or odd. An ambivert (introverted and extroverted). Very independent, does not like being told what to do unless for a reason. Knows what to say and how to approach it. Emotionally intelligent, either your biggest cheerleader or your biggest pain in the ass. (There's no in between. Big sister instincts.) Very sarcastic. Only throws hands when the situation calls for it, her words hurt more than her two hands. Dark sense of humor. Far more mature than her actual age. Very empathic. Basically FAFFO. A smartass. Has a colorful dictionary, (habit of swearing).

Likes: Rain, animals, poetry, art, chocolate Carmel candy, hockey, winter, Halloween, dubbed anime (how funny the English dub can get.) food, movies, winter.

Dislikes: Thunder, fireworks, heat, raw tomatoes, scrambled eggs, lace fabric, silk fabric, horror movies, cinnamon (the scent) pumpkin spice, (literally everything about it.)

Common sayings:

"Shut your face hole."

"My heart fell out of my ass.."

"It's hotter than Satan's ball sack."

"Well, shit."

"Bitch. 🖕"

"You good? Nope nevermind you're fine."

"I don't speak cuntanesse."

"Fucking whore..."

"Fuck off."

"Better find a way to leap through my window, bitch."

"Sir, yes sir."

"Negative, sir."

"Ma'am yes, ma'am."

"Negative, Ma'am."

"I don't know who pissed off Zeus, but he's not happy..."

"Älskling?" ("Loved one" in Swedish.)

"Gullet." ("Cutie" in Swedish.)

(Dr. Keller knows due to her access of the team's medical history files.)

Left (Quinten) and Right (YN)

A/N: I'll color this when my hand feels better.

[incarnateirony]

So some of you are probably wondering what the FUCK I am on about if you missed the pieces.

The short version, is the bronly lane is melting down realizing that The Winchesters was a fan developed and submitted project not too dissimilar to how Wayward started, and they realized who the fuck wrote the pitches and initial storyboards.

As I’ve mentioned before, mid December after the finale, we received first news about how haunted jensen was about the finale and had already taken steps to try to fix it but still was sleepless about it.

A group of several media members and screenwriters pulled together four development klatches to discuss different angles and pitches, which narrowed into two that combined their ideas, which after Patrick helped incite distress in the server, left only one.

People in that server, even part of the development process, were part of the server split. They were not there for the submission process, so it missed them until they started recognizing the script changes as little more than shifts between my different pitch angles while pat was running dumbfuck circles about it.

These people mostly hate me, and several report to him, so he’s realizing it is, in fact, true, and that our project was submitted before there was ever Guttedgate.

Pat’s entire universe is crumbling right now, because for all of his effort of acting like he understands what’s going on, he’s been completely sitting in the dark, and now even a few of his own moles know what the fuck is going on. 

What seemed to nuke it into their brains was seeing the script framing of dean change from my post-15.18 variant pitch to the post-finale road and me just posting the pitch rooms to be a shithead and remind them, even past the ban/blocks. Like. They’d see it.

And these same people know what I mean when I say things like “Billie paid me a visit.”

And the wincels are all collectively pissing their pants right now.

we just kept it quiet so they wouldn’t fuck this one up and left them to petty mindless bitching.

and I'm sorry, I’m gonna say Pat. I don’t want to hear shit about him magically changing his name the exact second he became a viral fucking failure. By picking an even more gendered less neutral name so conveniently nobody can point out that Pat’s a big giant cockup, because nobody knows who “Will” is. Fuck off. Delete yourself dude.

[blizzardfluffykpop]

12 days of Winter Year #6

Groups you can request for are MONSTA X, PENTAGON, GOT7, SEVENTEEN, and Xdinary Heroes. 

To request, pick a prompt and a member from one of the groups listed above, and the specific reader you want it for (if not specified, I’ll make it gender neutral). Also, I do not write smut.

Prompts that are strikethrough have been requested. I’ll be doing these throughout December.

Update: All prompts have been written so they are no longer strikethrough!

Please request!!!

“It’s freezing out– and you want ice cream?” “Yeah.” “Let’s go get some!” 

“I’ll have a blue Christmas without you.”

Kissing under the mistletoe

“Well, pull up an ice block and lend an ear” [Parent/Grandparent/Family Friend au]

“Do you want to watch the snow fall with me?”

Wrapping presents together

“Christmas lights can’t compare to how bright you shine.” 

Visiting a Christmas light display together

“Do you want to spend the holidays with me?” “You would do that?”

“You want to watch sappy hallmark movies together?” “Eh, why not?” 

“Would you be my date to the Christmas Ball?” 

Make Your Own Prompt!

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

A handful of congressional Republicans met Tuesday with Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy in a signal of continued U.S. support even as hard-right members of the party vow to block future aid to the embattled country.

The newly appointed chairman of the House Foreign Affairs Committee led a small delegation to Kyiv to meet with Zelenskyy for the first time since the start of the war a year ago and since Republicans won the majority in the House of Representatives in November.

Chairman Mike McCaul and four other Republican lawmakers said they discussed at length what Ukraine’s military needs to fight off Russian aggression. Zelenskyy provided them with a list of weapons, including longer-range artillery and air-to-surface missile systems.

The meeting came one day after President Joe Biden made an unannounced trip to Kyiv to reaffirm U.S. support for Ukraine as the war heads into its second year.

Biden has been trying to keep the allies unified in their support for Ukraine as the war is expected to intensify with spring offensives. The biggest hurdle facing the President is House Republicans. McCaul’s visit Tuesday is the latest in a series of efforts by the Texas Republican to make the case to his party for why the U.S. should continue spending billions of dollars on the war effort.

“We have seen time and again the majority of Republicans and Democrats support our assistance to Ukraine. But the Biden administration needs to layout their long-term strategy,” McCaul said in a statement. “There are some Members who would be more supportive if they saw a long-term strategy that was based on a Ukrainian victory rather than sending just enough support to prolong the war but not win it.”

A spokesperson for McCaul noted the delegation has been focused on oversight and ensuring there are guardrails in place for any future aid to Ukraine.

A far-right faction of the Republican Party has been expressing its opposition to continued U.S. support to Ukraine since last spring. That campaign intensified this month when a group of 11 House Republicans led by Rep. Matt Gaetz of Florida put forward a “Ukraine Fatigue” resolution. It stated that the U.S. “must end its military and financial aid to Ukraine” and urged the combatants to “reach a peace agreement.”

“America is in a state of managed decline, and it will exacerbate if we continue to hemorrhage taxpayer dollars toward a foreign war,” Gaetz said.

Thus far, the U.S. has provided four rounds of aid to Ukraine in response to Russia’s invasion, totaling about $113 billion, with some of the money going toward replenishment of U.S. military equipment that was sent to the front lines.

Congress approved the latest round of aid in December. While the package was designed to last through the end of the fiscal year in September, much depends upon events on the ground.

For his part, Zelenskyy has been working with both Democrats and Republicans to ensure their support once the country runs out of aid, likely to happen in late summer. “It’s really very important. We’re thankful for the U.S., for its people,” Zelenskyy said in an video posted by his office after the meeting.

In comments later on social media, Zelenskyy added, “Thank you, American congressmen, for supporting Ukraine and understanding the importance of stepping up aid to help us achieve victory over the aggressor.”

[seolarzone]

Her family

↬ Mother ;➵ Kwan Eun-ji

Status - Deceased

Birthday - 7th June 1964

Occupation - Assistant veterinarian

Contact name - N/A

Relationship - She died when sora was only a few weeks old, However Sora's brother had a great relationship with her.

↬ Father ;➵ Ryu Min-jun

Status - Alive

Birthday - 11th January 1964

Occupation - Headmaster at a prestigious university

Contact name - Abeoji / So-jin

Relationship - They used to have a great relationship when she was a child, She used to look upto him a lot but as she grew up and he got busy they became distant. They're relationship tourned sour after he supported her step-mother during an argument which led her to leaving her family . Currently they don't really speak but she hasn't blocked him just incase.

↬ Step-Mother ;➵ Takahashi Kaede /

Status - Alive

Birthday - 22nd August 1966

Occupation - Part-time Chef

Contact name - Gibo [Blocked] / Sora [Blocked]

Relationship - They were very close growing up , whenever she had free time she would teach Sora how to cook , She is the reason Sora can cook so well. The turning point in their relationship was when Sora decided to become a K-pop idol which was something her step-mother never really considered as a respectful career. The relationship truly became bad when one day Sora visited with her members and Kaede started making remarks on her career and on her bandmates which led to a huge argument and Kaede involving her members angered Sora and led to her walking out of the house . They are not on speaking terms right now and that doesn't seem like something that would change soon.

↬ Aunt ;➵ Ryu Minji

Status - Alive

Birthday - 26th September 1967

Occupation - None

Contact name - Gomoo / Sojiniie

Relationship - Minji practically raised Sora. She was the one who encouraged Sora to audition for YG , She has supported Sora in almost everything that Sora does and has always been by her side. As a child Sora used to spend every summer at her house in Seoul. Minji's husband owns a popular hotel line across north Asia and is extending it toward Europe as well , which is why Minji is quite rich and doesn't really need to work. Since he was always away on business trips him and Minji never really had time for a kid which is also why Minji treats Sora as her own child. Sora has a lot of love and admiration for her and always wishes her on mothers day

↬ Older Brother ;➵ Ryu So-jung

Status - Alive

Birthday - 16th April 1991

Occupation - A professor at a college

Contact name - Tolerable ?? / Little sister

Relationship - Growing up Sora and Ha-jun never really had a close relationship due to the age gap as well as the fact that he was always been busy with his own studies and friends and never really had time for Sora. They only started to get closer after Ha-jun and Nuri became serious. They are on good terms now and Sora tries to visit him and his family as often as possible.

↬ Sister in law ;➵ Park Nuri

Status - Alive

Birthday - 5th November 1991

Occupation - Owns a bakery

Contact name - Fav in the family / Absolute Favorite

Relationship - Sora loves Nuri , THey have a very sibling relationship where they go to cafes and talk about evrything in life , visit amusement parks , Ditch Hajun if he annoys them too much etc, Sora has mentioned how Nuri is litrally the only one in the family with a braincell. They both love and care for each-other . Sora absolutely loves whatever Nuri bakes and tries to promote her bakery whenever she can.

↬ Neice ;➵ Ryu Eun-ji

Status - Alive

Birthday - 24th May 2020

Contact name - N/A

Relationship - Sora absolutely adores her. She spoils Eun-mi so much and tries her hardest to be the best aunt on the planet for Eun-mi.

↬Family Pet ;➵ Ryu Daidai

Status - Alive

Birthday - 26th December 2012

Contact name - N/A

Relationship - Sora's first pet, She rescued him during her training period and her aunt took him in , His name 'DaiDai' Litrally means orange in Japanese. He is a little old now so Sora might have to say good-bye soon.

[nikproxima]

Where Are They Now - MTVs

With the introduction of the latest plan from NASA and the Olympus Partners to pursue not only a Martian program, but a Lunar one, it was ultimately deemed necessary to ensure that a new generation of Mars Transfer Vehicles continued to power crews out to the Red Planet without sacrificing capabilities. While the original nuclear thermal design had proved to be highly advantageous for the program, there were elements in which the design struggled - notably crew capacity and lack of full reuse characteristics. In 2020, a group at Marshall Space Flight Center, the very same birthplace of the first generation MTV, would gather to begin to design the next generation of spacecraft. Initial designs called for something referred to as the Deep Space Transport, or DST, highlighting the multi-mission nature of the vehicles, and centered much of their focus around a fully solar electric architecture using a large, rigid “workshop” module. Ultimately, this configuration would end up with intense power draw requirements and longer trip times, something that mission planners wanted to avoid in order to ensure maximum science return on the Red Planet itself. The next option explored would be a hybrid of sorts, a massive methalox chemical stage, supplemented by a nuclear powered VASIMIR thruster. These twin propulsion systems would work together for various phases of flight, with the Nuclear-Electric element doing the outward push, and the chemical stage performing the arrival burn at both Mars and departure from when the time came. Post arrival, the electric stage would ignite once more to slowly spiral down to the Low Martian Orbit customary of Olympus operations, where the vehicle would rendezvous with the Base Station and MADV for the sortie to the Martian Surface.

Endurance conducts her first test of the new VASIMIR system, fed by a powerful nuclear reactor.

In December 2027, after a long and arduous design period, the first launch of the newly named Armstrong Class MTV Endurance would be conducted by Jupiter-OPAV, carrying the largest single element - the chemical transfer stage. This would see Adventure pushed to her absolute limits, having recently completed her Block III upgrades. After a flawless flight to orbit, the great chemical stage would separate and coast free, with the OPAV pod returning to land in the California desert. Over 7 additional launches, the inflatable habitat, workshop, node and truss segments would be launched to the growing vehicle. In March of 2028, she would be visited by the crew of ACEV Kitty Hawk for checkout once the reactor had been delivered, configuring her for her service life. She was an impressive vehicle, with MTV Endurance acting not only as a fully functional Mars Transfer Vehicle, but a testbed for technologies needed to augment future human spaceflight endeavors. Her first crew would marvel at her size, and conduct final bolt tightening and maintenance work before her series of practice burns over the next few months, simulating various maneuvers. With a successful electric thruster demonstration under her belt, she would be topped up by a series of new, commercially and internationally launched methane tankers In June of 2028, Endurance would receive her crew onboard ACEV Columbia, having launched only 12 hours prior onboard an Atlas EvO. Their international crew consisted of members who had only been children when the first rotations to the Red Planet had begun, finally fulfilling their dream of walking on worlds unknown. Olympus 19 would cast off from planet Earth only 8 days after their arrival, conducting a 6 month voyage to Mars to further research at Foundation. Soon, Endurance’s sister ships would be brought online one by one, Constellation and Pathfinder - to continue the dream of human exploration of Mars. This dramatic capability increase would also see the need arise for a second MADV, to support larger crews operating around Mars. Enterprise’s sister ship, Phoenix, would be launched to Low Martian Orbit to support crews of up to 16 at Foundation as the complex expanded dramatically.

Endurance waits patiently in orbit for her maiden voyage, a gargantuan undertaking finally complete - ready to power the future of human endeavors in spaceflight.​

Minerva herself had already been modified in support of Destiny, removing her drop tank mounting points and habitation section, with those components being returned to LEO for servicing and potential conversion. What remained of her now was the core fuel tanks, solar arrays, a cargo mounting point for the Altair Common Lunar Lander, and her avionics ring. To spaceflight enthusiasts, she was a shell of her former self, but in the eyes of the Mission Planning Office, she was right where they needed her to be. An international crew of 6, commanded by Olympus 15 veteran Lance Novak would set off from Earth in August 2027, launching onboard ACEV Columbia for the short journey to the Moon. Minerva would brake into an elliptical orbit, high above the gravitational anomalies that limited Apollo’s stay in lunar orbit. On August 28th, 2027, the crew of Destiny III would board their lander, Artemis, and make the descent to the Lunar surface, aiming for the rim of Shackleton Base. Their lander, a joint project between NASA, ESA and JAXA locked on to the Russian built beacon already in place onboard their cargo lander, and soon the crew of 6 could begin their initial operations, setting up a permanent, rapidly expandable base on the Lunar surface. Prometheus and Selene would soon see retirement from Martian sorties as the Armstrong Class ramped up their operational cadence. They would spend their golden years here, servicing the Earth-Moon system as they ferried crews, cargo and more between the growing base at Shackleton, supporting crucial operations as the population of the moon rapidly grew through the 2030s. Soon, the needs of the growing base would surpass that of the original MTVs, and the great ships would be broken up in Lunar orbit, with usable components brought down to the surface to expand the growing base. Tanks would be repurposed for hydrogen storage, vital in support of the growing demands of fuel production. The MTVs would find themselves living out their days incorporated into human architectures, spread out across the lunar surface. Well, nearly all of them.

Hera’s time in service ended long before her sisters. Due to the damage sustained by Chris Taylor’s impact along with the structural failure of the robot arm, the helium coolant circuit and one of the redundant ammonia circuits were emptied long before her arrival at the world of her birth. Through the careful management of propellant and power, flight controllers were able to keep her alive all the way back to Earth. In the absence of coolant, bled off into the vacuum of space, the Valkyrie engines had their control drums locked in the neutral position and had the xenon quench fired shortly before entering the Earth-Moon system to ensure the reactors would never start again. Hera had built up too much energy during the abort to be captured at earth. She would be forced to leave her crew behind as she threw herself past their home. The final act of her propulsion system would be supporting the safe separation of the Lifeboat, burning the last of the hydrazine propellant, the last drops of her blood, to increase separation from her precious crew and give them the best odds of making it home. NASA had good reason to believe heliocentric space would become much busier in the future, and since she could not be tracked on her solo trek around the sun, Hera was made to pose as little of a hazard as possible. Hera had mostly been bled dry but as a final precaution, all her propellant tanks were opened to vacuum to minimize the risk of a breakup. One by one her batteries were discharged and isolated from the solar panels to prevent their explosion. The team behind each subsystem said their goodbyes as their respective computer, pump, or gyroscope was turned off for the final time. The final command sent was to turn off the remaining CMG and broadcast the abort repeater tone indefinitely. The message ended with a text string to be read by no one. “Thank you Hera. Rest well” Back on Earth, Hera’s lifeboat was placed on display in an annex built onto building 30 at JSC. New flight controllers are brought into the room on their third day of training where the audio recorded onboard Hera during the abort is played back, a reminder of painful day's past. The intent is to not only remind them of the stakes of the job but demonstrate that they will never run out of options in their fight to bring a crew home safe. Hera herself orbits silently between earth and Venus. Over many years a tumble slowly developed from the uneven pressure exerted on the two remaining radiators and the reflective MLI on her tanks. Despite this - she remained intact and never experienced a close encounter with any planet again. She remains the only original Olympus hardware that is left unperturbed or unmodified, free to silently observe humanity's future in the solar system.

Photos by Jay

Additional Writing by Posstronaut Peter

Read Proxima here

[inquiringquilter]

Quilt Block Mania - December is Forest

Welcome to my stop on the Quilt Block Mania Blog Hop. Each of the designers participating in the hop are sharing a block pattern inspired by this month’s theme, which is Forest!

I love walking in the woods, and for this month’s block I imagined a quiet evening in the woods at Christmas. Above, a single star lights the way. The only witness? A tiny cardinal.

To learn how to get my free pattern, see How Do I Get the Free Silent Witness Pattern? at the end of this post.

To me, a cardinal represents a small glimmer of hope in the bleak winter landscape. So in Silent Witness, although no one else is there to see the bright star that lights the way, the cardinal witnesses it and becomes a reminder to us of hope.

I call my block Silent Witness. It uses raw edge fusible applique techniques. I hope you’ll make my block and tag me on social media @inquiringquilter!

To learn how to get my free pattern, see How Do I Get the Free Silent Witness Pattern? at the end of this post.

There are lots of designers in this hop so be sure to visit all of them for your free pattern. Here are links to all the blocks in the Quilt Block Mania Forest Series:

Owl by Carolina Moore Silent Witness by Inquiring Quilter Forest by Inflorescense Designs Forest Tree by Scrap Dash Bear Paw by Epida Studio Snowy Forest by QuiltFabrication The Grove by Patti's Patchwork Mushroom by Penny Spool Quilts Reindeer by Crafty Staci Christmas Tree Farm Enchanted Forest by Sew Worthy Mama Wolves by Paleofish Designs Fat Bear Week by Sallys Sewing Circle Chipmunk by Katie Mae Quilts Fox by Appliques and More Heart of Oak by Flowerdog+Co Snowman by Colette Belt Designs Mountain Forest by Oh Kaye Quilting Starry Sky by Patchwork Breeze

I used to make my block into a mini quilt so I could display it at work. Now that I’m concentrating on my business, I don’t seem to have the time! But you can make mini-quilts with each month’s Quilt Block Mania block from me, or you can collect the blocks from all the designers in each month and make a quilt.

Scroll through my past Quilt Block Mania blocks. By the way, if you missed any of my previous Quilt Block Mania blocks, they are available in my shop.

US CUSTOMERS INTERNATIONAL CUSTOMERS

Quilt Block Mania returns next month with a surprise theme, so be sure to come back on the first Tuesday of the month to see what I create!

How do I get the free Silent Witness block pattern?

My Silent Witness block pattern is free to my email subscribers. I send out a short newsletter every Sunday with news about blog hops, sales, and the goings on here at Inquiring Quilter and I also include a code in my newsletter for downloading this month’s pattern for free.

The newsletters go out each Sunday, with the next one on December 10th. Watch for it in your Inbox! Inside the newsletter is a code that will enable you to download the block pattern from my shop for free.

If you’re already a subscriber, you don’t need to do a thing except wait until my newsletter arrives. Then open the newsletter and use the code to download my pattern.

If you aren’t a subscriber yet but you’d like to be, click here to sign up. Then watch for my newsletter on Sunday to get your code!

Before you go, let me tell you about everything that’s going on here this week.

Happenings Here at Inquiring Quilter

If you follow me on social media or subscribe to my newsletter, than you know that I’ve just opened up the My Quilty Neighborhood membership for the first time!

I’m so excited to create this special place for you to continue your quilting journey as you build strong friendships with other quilters.

Right now, the My Quilty Neighborhood membership is open for founding members at the lowest price it will ever be--$10.99 per month. The founding members and I will be deciding the things that the membership should include—so we'll be building our perfect quilty world together.

I don't know for sure what the membership will include because I'll be guided by the desires of the founding members, but most likely it'll include monthly Quilty Q&As, Sip and Sews, Sip and Chat meetings, free patterns, and tutorials. If the founding members wish it, the membership will also include challenges, swaps, BOMs, and anything else we can dream up!

I would love to have you join us! Hurry though—the doors close to the My Quilty Neighborhood at midnight EST on Tuesday.

If you're not sure, you can always join for the first month and then quit if it's not for you. Fair warning though—I don’t think you’re going to want to because this is going to be wonderful! The founding member price however will only remain in effect as long as you stay a member.

My weekly show and tell linkup, Wednesday Wait Loss is six years old! Over the years, my little weekly group has encouraged many wonderful finishes. Join us by sharing your latest project.

Here’s a link to this week’s show and tell link up.

If you’re looking to make new friends, join me on Facebook this Saturday for my weekly online quilting retreat I call my Saturday Sew-In. The fun starts at 8 AM EST and runs through 6 PM EST. It’s not live but there are get to know you prompts throughout the day to spark discussion and friendship. This is a fun and friendly group and you’ll soon make friends—real friends.

In addition, you’ll be inspired by other quilter’s projects and you’ll gets tons of encouragement as you share your own. If you’ve been missing companionship since COVID started, I guarantee you’ll find it here. Saturday Sew-In takes place in my private Facebook group. Click here to join my Facebook group. Be sure to answer the questions so I know your not a bot.

Thanks for stopping by!

This post may contain affiliate links. By clicking on a link and making a purchase, you help offset the cost of running this blog at no additional cost to you. Thank you!

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Tell me…will you be making my Elephant block?

[arpov-blog-blog]

....."Saudi Arabia 

From December 2016 through February of 2017, Saudi government lobbyists reserved blocks of rooms at Trump’s D.C. hotel, “paying for an estimated 500 nights at the luxury hotel in just three months,” and spending at least $270,000 at the property in total. Trump continued to benefit from Saudi business in office. When the Saudi Crown Prince visited New York in 2018, several members of his entourage stayed at the Trump International Hotel in Manhattan. Earnings from the room rentals caused revenue to spike 13 percent, putting the hotel “back in the black” after two years of decline. Weeks before the murder of Washington Post contributing columnist Jamal Khashoggi by agents of the Saudi government, Trump’s business partner in Indonesia signed an agreement for a Saudi-backed company to work on a development with Trump-branded elements. Asked about the deal, “an official with the Saudi-tied firm also said they expect to be involved in the development of a different Trump-branded project in the future.” Trump returned the favor, shielding Saudi leaders from criticism after Khashoggi’s murder and going so far as to allege Khashoggi was tied to terrorist groups. 

Qatar

After several Middle Eastern countries cut diplomatic ties with Qatar for allegedly backing terrorists, Qatar spent hundreds of thousands on lobbying to put itself back into Trump and the U.S.’s good graces. They purchased a $6.5 million condo in Trump World Tower, and started renting space in the “most valuable asset” in Trump’s portfolio, a San Francisco building he co-owns, directing $125,000 per year in rent to the president. After Qatar finished renovations in February 2018, the office sat completely vacant. In April 2018 he welcomed the Emir of Qatar to the Oval Office and praised the country for fighting against extremism. 

United Arab Emirates

Trump raked in money from the United Arab Emirates through his Dubai golf course amid concerns about corruption and human rights abuses in the country. Before taking office, Trump was paid as much as $10 million in royalties from the golf course and other projects in Dubai. On top of that, the U.A.E. spent up to $10 thousand per night for rooms at Trump’s D.C. hotel from late 2017 to mid 2018. Trump acted favorably to the U.A.E. in many ways during this time, from his administration’s “maximum pressure” agenda against U.A.E. adversary Iran to supporting a $23 billion arms deal with Abu Dhabi in 2020. 

Turkey

In 2017 and 2019 groups with ties to the Turkish government held four events at Trump properties and Turkish officials made 15 visits to the Trump Hotel in D.C., where they spent up to $10,000 per night on rooms. Around the same time, Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan pressured Trump to shut down an investigation into sanctions violations by a state-owned Turkish bank. DOJ officials attempted to quash the investigation on the orders of Trump, though it ultimately proceeded. 

Kuwait

The Embassy of Kuwait hosted three independence day parties at the D.C. hotel. In turn, Trump bestowed a “top U.S. honor” to Kuwait’s ruling emir.

Trump has been anything but shy about how much he appreciates the business. As Trump bragged about his ties with the Saudis, “They buy apartments from me. They spend $40 million, $50 million… Am I supposed to dislike them? I like them very much.” That’s held true after Trump’s presidency: During a Saudi-backed LIV golf league tournament last year at Trump’s Doral golf club in Miami, Trump said of LIV, “It’s big time and it’s big-time money. It’s unlimited money. They love golf and the Saudis have done a fantastic job.” LIV golf recently announced its $50 million championship would move from Jeddah to Trump’s Doral golf club in Miami.

The $9.6 million that we know Trump made from Middle Eastern countries during his presidency is likely just the tip of the iceberg. CREW tracked conflicts of interest involving multiple countries that are not even present on his tax returns. For example, officials from Iraq, Oman and Yemen made visits to Trump properties while he was president. Because we don’t know the total cost for these visits, we did not include them in the tally.

What we do know is that becoming president was Trump’s best business decision, and his tax returns show how great the office was for his bottom line. As the 2024 election creeps closer, foreign interests including those in the Middle East are already buying access to Trump and pouring money into his pockets."

[atlanticcanada]

'Find a way to do it': residents of wildfire-ravaged N.S. community anxiously await evacuation exits

With evidence of the devastating May 28 wildfire surrounding them, residents of the Westwood Hills subdivision in Upper Tantallon, N.S., worry about it happening again.

Knowing there is still essentially only one way in – and out – for many residents in the community only adds to that anxiety.

“We don't have a lot of time to wait here,” says Dustin O’Leary, president of the Westwood Hills Residents Association. “I think our concern and the effort that we are taking right now is to push HRM to escalate the timing of this.”

Getting out during the emergency wasn't easy, with a main artery road out of the community blocked by the raging fire at one point.

Now, with charred woods all around amidst the summer heat, residents want that fixed without delay.

“The original timeline for a [city staff] report… [that] appeared was December of this year, which clearly is not acceptable,” he says.

He gathered more than 1,500 signatures on a petition to push the city to work faster.

The area’s municipal councillor, Pam Lovelace, says the city is aware of the urgency.

“And we’re all working as fast as we can because it is imminent. It is going to happen, we just of course can’t say that timeline, I don’t know when,” Lovelace says.

She says bringing all the pieces together — from land ownership and access to construction and engineering — is complicated.

Friday, Lovelace took CTV News to one of the spots being considered as a potential egress point, at the eastern end of the subdivision, nestled at the bottom of Wyndham Drive at Hemlock Drive.

At the end of a gravel, municipal cul-de-sac is a rough road literally hewn out of the woods.

“This over here,” gestures Lovelace, “is the fire road that firefighters busted out, in order to be able to get into the woods and then open up that road for equipment and firefighters to get through safely.”

“This goes deep into the woods and almost reaches Pockwock Road,” she explains.

Lovelace says the road could potentially be finished to connect onto Pockwock, which leads to Hammonds Plains Road.

“At the end of the day, we want to look at as many options as possible, and since this road has already been busted out, certainly discussing that with the private property owners, the community, ensuring this is going to be viable for all of those vested interests to have access to egress.”

“Obviously we want to have the shortest and fastest route possible so that as many people in Westwood Hills can get out if needed,” she adds.

“There are more options on the western end as well, to connect to Highway 103,” she says.

Last month, Westwood resident Nick Horne pointed out another possible exit route — at the dead end of Wright Lake run, where a bridge once crossed part of the lake onto provincial Crown land.

Lovelace has said that site is complex, as Nova Scotia Power owns the land immediately after the waterway.

Friday, a spokesperson with the utility told CTV News NSP is open to considering the use of its land as an emergency evacuation route.

“We are more than willing to work with stakeholders and residents in the Tantallon area to discuss the possibility of access or easements on our land where there is a need and support from the community,” writes Jacqueline Foster in an email.

“We have recently met with the local HRM councillor and indicated we are open to further conversations to help find a solution,” she adds.

During the local state of emergency last month, the city used its temporary powers to quickly build exit routes out of two other affected neighbourhoods: Highland Park and Haliburton Hills.

O'Leary argues the same could happen in Westwood, and would like to see another exit done before summer ends.

“Find a way to do it,” he says, “because you've got some really good community members here who are nervous, and rightfully so.”

For the latest Nova Scotia news, visit our dedicated provincial page.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/Sz7DQxy

[camrynsthoughts]

healing my inner child.

as a kid, I loved doing just about anything as long as it wasn’t being dragged to the dentist or the doctor. I was such a creative child, constantly making videos or parodies with my friends. music videos, making up songs/lyrics, anything like that I loved. I loved being in the presence of my friends and my family members when they were around. walking to kylie’s house to play outside with the other kids on her street, playing cops and robbers on layla’s block, going to Rockies for the weekend and making stupid skits on my iPad. I loved going to the park with my mom or dad and swinging on the swings while talking. or hanging out in my grandma’s room when she lived with us at my house and playing on her iPod touch or her laptop. and don’t even get me started with reading her my diary of a wimpy kid books out loud before going to bed and her and I cracking up. I've always loved being in the presence of others that I loved. playing with toys, sitting in my living room playing guitar hero world tour with my mom on the drums and me on the guitar. I even remember when I was very little playing like I was an acrobat in a carnival and my dad and mom would throw and flip me around on our sectional couch and I'd land my stunts I'd do like I was a mini performer. I loved going down the street to Sweet Tooth in downtown highland to get blue moon ice cream with my dad. I loved going to Florida on vacation with my whole family and playing in the pool all weekend and playing mini golf at the resort. I loved visiting Canada and either swimming in the hotel pool or down the street at the community pool when I’d stay at my dad’s mother’s home. When I became older, but was still a child, I loved writing and reading and losing myself in pieces of art. I’d get lended books from Mr Gough and I’d read them front to back and would be so excited to share my thoughts and get new books to fly through. I loved escaping into music and daydreaming about all the concerts I’d attend one day. I even really liked music as a young child. I’ll never forget my cousin showing me YouTube when I was little and watching so many music videos and weird al parodies. I remember I had a little portable CD player with headphones and would bring them with me anytime I’d have to be in a car. I was in my grandpa’s pick up truck sitting in between him and my cousin, with my headphones in and my portable CD player in my lap. I was, apparently, singing out loud with no shame along to the songs that were playing into my ears. I believe they told me to stop... or they laughed at me. I can’t remember. I remember learning all the lyrics to On The Floor by Jennifer Lopez on YouTube and then gathering all my family around so I could perform and sing them the whole song. I really had no shame. I was just having fun. I loved writing make believe stories like I was an author and I remember even indulging into poetry in middle school (which I have grown to hate, a lot.) I loved doing just about anything.

From all these activities I loved doing as a child, I honestly love doing them all still to this day give or take the family members and friends who aren't in my life anymore. I think if I as a kid knew the people who aren’t in my life anymore, she’d be really sad. I came across a photo of me from a family vacation last night. It was dated December 24th, 2008. I was eight years old and I was happy and I was surrounded by family; My mom, dad, aunt, cousin, grandma and grandpa. If eight year old Camryn knew that majority of those people were strangers to her now, I don’t even want to know what she would think. I probably would’ve acted un-phased because, well, that’s what I ended up doing once each person left my life one by one. I acted like I could care less. But growing up, that was far from the truth. If eight year old Camryn knew her whole life was going to flip upside down just a year after that vacation, she would be semi shocked. Her dad has left before, but he always ended up coming back home. But if she knew that last time he left that he’d never be back, I wonder if things would’ve happened differently between my dad and I’s relationship. If eight year old Camryn knew she was going to go from being “daddy’s girl” to only having her mom in the picture as her caretaker, she’d probably feel weird... It’s sad because before the age of eight, I have no core memories with my mom. I really was conjoined at the hip with my dad. If eight year old Camryn knew that nineteen year old Camryn wasn’t even going to be slightly phased by the death of her grandpa, she would’ve been disgusted. it was sad having to see my mom go through those emotions, but I had none. at the end of the day, we weren’t close and I never got to know him once I grew older. that’s not my fault, but eight year old Camryn would never be able to understand. If twelve year old Camryn knew she would go back and forth with being friends with Layla, she wouldn’t believe it. She probably wouldn’t even imagine the hurtful things we have said to each other now. If fourteen year old Camryn knew she was going to end up going to college for writing, she’d be so proud.  But she’d be confused as to why I don’t write or read as much anymore. What fourteen year old Camryn doesn’t know is that my brain is fried out now. That creativity I once had has unfortunately escaped my body. But it’s okay, she is on the journey to getting it back. If seventeen year old Camryn knew that reaching out to her grandma would result how it did, holy fuck she would be destroyed. Me and my grandma were always so close and she was always my favorite family member. If she knew how badly that relationship wasn’t there anymore once she was back in her life later on, she’d probably never would've  reached out to her in the first place that one night. And that’s really sad. One thing that eight year old Camryn would be happy to know if that she still has an amazing friend group that is there for her always. So at least that hasn’t changed.

If I could say anything to my thirteen year old self, I’d tell her it’s okay to let people into your life. You’ll learn life lessons through everyone you let in and it even allows you to learn more about yourself, which is necessary. When I was younger, I was so avoidant to meeting new people and hanging around new people. I really only talked to those I was already close with and others I did not trust for a second. I grew out of that by the time I was in high school thankfully. But I’ll never forget when I was thirteen, I would say I was never going to get married or have children. I just wanted to be an independent woman and support myself and not have to rely on a single soul for comfort. My thoughts on that have changed, maybe not fully, but I’m still growing. But it’s definite that thirteen year old Camryn was just scared to let anyone in. What was the point of letting people come close to you and depend on them for anything if they were just bound to leave? Honestly, I don’t blame her for thinking that way and I almost even salute her for being grown enough at such a young age to think that way. Although it’s sad because there were under lying issues as to why I felt that way, it’s nice to know that at a young age I didn’t need to rely on others for myself. But I’ve learned, even though there are inevitable bad parts of letting others close to you, there are endless great parts about forming relationships with others. No matter how long those relationships last. 

If I could travel back in time, into my childhood, I honestly wouldn’t change anything. I always go back and forth with this idea but I think I always end up coming to the conclusion that everything happens for a reason and I wouldn’t change anything that I have ever done in my life. Without doing everything I’ve done in my past, and going through events I’ve had to go through, I wouldn’t be who I am today. my father leaving was inevitable, but if I had any power to stop that from happening, I honestly don’t think I would. if he never left, I strongly believe I would've turned out to be such a brat. I would've continued to get spoiled and I would probably turn out like the type of people I hate now. and that makes me cringe. if he never left, I wonder what type of relationship I would've ended up having with my mother. I was not close with my mom whatsoever when I was growing up at a young age. I remember when my dad left, I felt like I was living with a stranger. now I cannot imagine if me and my mom weren't as close as we are to this day, and I still sometimes think that me and her could be even more close than we even are to this day. still to this day, our relationship is growing and trying to find a happy place where we don't hurt each other as much. but I wouldn't want to have it any other way than that. if he was still in the picture, she could still be considered this “stranger” in my head, and that’s a crazy thought to even process. if I could go back in time and keep in touch with my grandma whenever she distanced herself from my mom, resulting in her distancing herself from me as well, I probably wouldn’t have kept in touch. when I was little, I didn't understand my mom and grandma’s relationship with each other. I didn't understand why they fought all the time and why my grandma disliked my mom so much. and honestly, until I was older, I always believed it was my mother’s fault. once I became older and learned the lore behind all of that drama, I always had my mother’s back. and I would never beat myself up for not reaching out. I was a child. fuck, even if I could travel back to my first love interests, I wouldn't do anything differently. I learned valuable lessons about others and myself that I would never trade for anything. all these events have made me the person I am today and I am okay with who that person is today. 

starting today, I need to realize that everything that happened that damaged my inner child was out of my control. I think I put this emphasis on my younger self that I could’ve made everything turn out differently, but I really couldn't. I wasn’t an adult, I was a child. and no child deserves to have to grow up and be the adult in a world full with adults. I beat up my child self for not reaching out, not answering my dad’s phone calls, for not trying harder to maintain these relationships that I lost throughout life. but that wasn’t my job to do. I was a child. I grew up too fast which makes me view my child self as an adult. but no matter how grown and mature I felt, I wasn't an adult. I was a child who spent her youth watching the relationships of adults crash right in front of her and thinking she was a reason for it. and she wasn’t. and she didn’t deserve to ever feel that way, ever. you can’t expect a child to end an already broken family that was broken long before she was around. and I think I need to finally come to an end with those thoughts. it’s not fair for eight year old Camryn and she deserved ten more years of feeling how she felt when she was eight and not feeling like she did when she was nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, and so on. child Camryn did nothing wrong and I wish I could go back and tell her that. but starting today, she knows and she will continue to grow, learn, and prosper.